My new pad

Cassie and I have officially moved into our new apartment! Renting a U-Haul and moving all my crap is something that I hope to God I never have to do again. My arms are still killing me from all the heavy lifting-- I still can't believe how Nick and I managed to move my treadmill down three flights of stairs by ourselves. I think it was sheer willpower (well, on my part at least-- on Nick's it was probably actual strength). And of course, the move would not have been possible without the help of some very key players: Nick, Cassie, Cassie's dad, and my mom (who made a surprise plate appearance in the bottom of the seventh). Thank you all so much! I'm eternally indebted to you guys.

What I've learned from being an adult

It's still so hard to believe that in a month I'll officially be back in school. I'm really excited since I've missed school a lot this year, which I know sounds kind of lame and hypocritical, especially considering that the whole time I was in school I couldn't wait to be done and get out into the "real world." But what I've learned about the real world is that it's not all it's cracked up to be. Working 40 hours a week actually pretty much sucks. No matter what, there's just not enough time in the day to do stuff, and it's especially difficult trying to find time to hang out with friends. My social anxieties and extreme introversion only compound the problem. When you require a certain amount of alone time each day (my specific formula is for every one hour I spend with people, I need two hours to "recharge" by myself), you don't necessarily feel like hanging out when you get home from work. Typically I get home around 6:30 every day. Say I decide to go out to dinner and a movie with friends, and I end up getting back to my apartment around 10:00. I've just spent three and a half hours hanging out. Using my formula, that means I require SEVEN hours of being alone in order to recharge-- and no, sleeping doesn't count. So if I want to maintain my sanity, I'd have to go to bed at 5:00 in the morning!! It's true, sometimes I can cut back on my alone time and be OK. But then I run the risk of hibernation, in which I am forced to hole myself up for days, sometimes even weeks (though unfortunately this is often not possible), without hanging out with anyone. And then, and only then, can I successfully re-enter the realm of humanity without having completely snapped. And to all my friends, thanks for putting up with me and all of my neuroticism-- I don't know why you guys put up with me, but I'm definitely grateful that you do.

Moving

Any way you cut it, moving's a bitch. Packing and unpacking are a pain, and of course the worst part is making countless trips back and forth and up and down multiple staircases, trying to load up your car or truck or whatever. What could possibly make this process even more unbearable? 90+ degrees of sweltering, cloudless, sweaty Pacific northwest heat beating down on you at all hours of the day-- of course, I really shouldn't be complaining yet-- right now all I'm doing is packing in this nauseating heat. I can't even fathom actually attempting to physically move boxes...the forecast says it's supposed to drop to the low seventies by next weekend, so I'll keep my fingers crossed-- otherwise I truly might not make it.

Obsessions

The problem with me (well, maybe I should re-phrase: one of the problems with me) is that I get completely obsessed with things-- not necessarily in a creepy, psychotic way, but in an "all-consuming" sense. I guess the thing is that once I get really into something, whether it be running or moving to my new apartment, I honestly find it extremely difficult to think about anything else. I think of my obsessions as being almost akin to a state of mania, in which I'm basically on a manic high during these times. I think that I actually exhibit manic symptoms when I'm so consumed: difficulty with eating and sleeping, a feeling of invicibility, etc. (Of course, I experience these symptoms to a much lesser degree than someone who actually suffers from bipolar disorder-- at least I hope I do!). But I'd be willing to bet a fair amount of money that a CT scan of my brain would corroborate the assertion that my obsessiveness produces manic-like symptoms. Looking on the bright side of my exhausting states of complete obsession, at least I'm more productive than usual!

The Race

Well, I ran the 5K yesterday and didn't quite meet my goal of under 25 minutes. I ran it in 25:31, so I was close. I did, however, manage to knock 16 seconds off my pace time from my previous race in May. My mom and I are planning on running the IronGirl in September, so that gives me exactly 8 weeks to train for my next race. I found this "Intermediate 5K Training" plan online, and I decided that's what I'm going to do. As long as moving to a new apartment doesn't screw up my schedule and knock me off balance like it did at the end of last summer. But I don't think I'll let that happen again this time (at least I hope I'm smart enough to learn from my past mistakes). Running = happiness, and if I truly want to be happy I'll have to figure out a way to fit it into my schedule, no matter how busy I am. Plus, what it really boils down to is that I'm just too damn competitive to settle for anything less than the best.

Another race

Tomorrow I'm running another 5K. The last race I did I averaged 8:30 miles, so I'm hoping to knock off at least 30 seconds a mile for this one, especially if the course is flat (which I really hope it is, especially since I've been a little lax about my incline workouts). So my goal is under 25 minutes...and by the end of this summer I hope I'm back to last year's race times (which unfortunately might not happen until I lose my 10 pounds of extra "muscle").

Got pride? Apparently not some people.

On my way home from karate tonight I saw a couple standing on a street corner with a sign that read, "Just married w/ baby on the way. Need money to keep our hotel. God bless you." Hmmm, looks like you should've thought of that before you had a shotgun wedding and got yourselves knocked up. Sorry if it sounds harsh, but I find it incredibly insulting when people are standing on the street begging for things. Don't these people have any self-respect? I wouldn't care how poor or desperate I was, I would seriously rather do the most thankless, menial servitude on earth than sacrifice my pride and dignity by pathetically standing on a street corner trying to guilt people into giving me their hard-earned money.

All-Star Game

Surprise, surprise, the AL won AGAIN, making them unbeatable for the past ten years. Ichiro had his first All-Star strike-out and went 0-3, but the AL still came out on top. At least the NL kind of acted like they considered winning for awhile...

Where's the punchline?

Maybe my expectations are too high for popsicle jokes, but I'm pretty sure this doesn't even classify as a joke:

Q: What did the bug say when someone stepped on him?

A: Nothing-- bugs can't talk!

Huh?! I ate my popsicle at top speed only to reveal this lame excuse for a joke? I want my money back...

Grossed out (part II)

OK, so there are a lot of things that are completely disgusting, but the taste of sour milk has got to be near the top of the list. Yesterday morning I woke up and went into my kitchen, with the entirely reasonable goal of preparing myself a simple bowl of cereal. I poured my Special K into a bowl, and even decided to slice some strawberries to make my breakfast more closely resemble the picture on the box (which definitely shows fresh fruit as opposed to dehydrated fruit, despite the actual contents of the cereal box). Anyway, I knew I didn't have very much milk left, so I poured it into my bowl and it was just enough for my cereal. I unwittingly plunged my spoon into the picturesque Special K that looked so appealing it could have replaced the photo on the cereal box or been pictured in a commercial, took a bite, and to my utter shock and horror, my innocent and unsuspecting palate was met with the stupefying and bitterly repulsive taste of sour, putrid, vomit-inducing, completely rancid milk. Needless to say, my taste buds are still recovering.

Birth Order

I've always been pretty fascinated with birth order, I think mostly because there are five kids in my family and the labels "oldest," "middle," and "youngest" aren't as clear-cut as a family of say, three kids. Despite the fact that I'm technically a middle child, which is kind of lame to begin with because then that means two of my other sisters are middle children as well, I've always felt more like an oldest child, primarily because I'm kind of bossy and am super responsible. But on the other side I'm also kind of attention-starved (in my family, that is, not in other areas of life), so I feel like I'm actually "a middle child with first-born tendencies." I took a "birth order personality quiz" and it labeled me a "first-born," so I guess my self-analysis is pretty accurate (well, at least as far as psychoanalysis and online quizzes go). What I also find really interesting is how birth order affects people's compatibility. Supposedly my parents are one of the "worst love matches" in terms of birth order compatibility. Hmmm.

Pedophile Quiz

Can you spot the pervs from the other various criminals? Find out.

Everything's finally falling into place

Well, it looks like everything is finally falling into place. The last year has definitely had its ups and downs, and now that it's summer and I'm in a perpetual state of mania thanks to (1) extended daylight hours, and (2) warm weather, I feel fairly certain that I do in fact suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder. This past winter totally sucked and I was pretty down most of the time. But it's hard not to hole yourself up when you're kind of an introverted hermit anyway and you live alone. Now that I'm preparing yet again for stressful life transitions, I'm hoping that this doesn't launch me into another mild depression. In just a few weeks I'll be moving into a new apartment with my BFF Cassie (not to be confused with my littlest sister Cassie, although our lease technically begins on Lil' Sis Cassie's b-day-- how's that for confusing?) over in Capitol Hill. While I am super-stoked to move to Capitol Hill and once again unite the dynamic duo, I am not looking forward to the actual move. I've got such a crapload of large, heavy pieces of bulky furniture in my current apartment that the thought of moving a couch, a bed, a dresser, and a treadmill makes me sick to my stomach. But oh, well. I guess it's a small price to pay for living with one of my favorite people and saving roughly $200 a month on rent...which I will definitely need to save since I am now officially going to grad school in the fall! My head has been spinning for the past month. I'm just hoping everything works out.

Grossed out

I know that on my blog (and hell, probably in everyday life, too) I come across as kind of gross since I always seem to be talking about poop or farts or things that smell or young co-workers that I find attractive, but I swear that I'm actually only 50% gross and 50% trying to be funny. That being said, I take comfort in knowing that there are some people in the world who are still grosser than I am. For example, today I was walking down the street and saw a couple completely making out. And maybe if I were in a different mood I'd have found it somewhat romantic, or maybe if I hadn't only two days prior had to steer my little sisters out of the path of an ill-disposed of used condom plastered to the scorching asphalt of a K-Mart parking lot I'd have found the kissing at the very least more stomachable (for lack of a better word), but instead it was just kind of...icky. To me, it's simple: Making out in private=fun. People making out on screen=romantic. Hearing gossip about friends making out=entertaining. Watching people who demonstrate absolutely no respect for the boundaries of public displays of affection=gross. Finding a used condom melted to the pavement in a K-Mart parking lot=entirely repulsive and morbidly intriguing.

Mother Marisa?

Last night I had a dream that I had a baby and then forgot to feed it. I think this is a sign that I'm definitely not ready for motherhood (not that I was seriously considering it).