Cause you can't you won't and you don't stop

Next to Thescariestsevenelevenintheworld, which, fun fact, is two block from my house, is a pair of wranglers. They're in the right lane of the intersection. And they're having a bad day. Tire marked,squished thin as paper, they're on their last leg. No, they're not on any leg. Ha. Pants joke. But who left those pants? Are they running around pantless in So-Pro? And who has so many pants that they can just leave a pair in an intersection? I know I don't. I have three pairs, two that I wear. Don't do the laundry math.

Surfin USA

I had a really sad moment today. It was right after the moment I was elated at the thought of getting together with some of my best friends in just a few hours. Liz Lemon, Kenneth, Jim, Pam, the whole gang. Then I remembered that those aren't real people.
In related news, look for Brad and Carey Morley tonight in Letterman's audience. The guest is Tracy Morgan. If you know anything about Tracy Morgan and talk shows, you know that the parents are in for an awesome, possibly terrifying time. Terrifying: one or two F's? It's times like these that I wish I was friends with the goose from Charlotte's Web and I could call her when ever the double-consinent conundrum arises. That whole sentence may be spelled incorrectly. I need to read more.

don't know how to act

There is a lawn not far from here with eight Morgan Philpot campaign signs. Eight. That seems like a waste of campaign funds. They also have a sign that reads Matheson=Pelosi. Which just seems like weird math. And possibly an inappropriate use of the equal sign, but it's been a while since I've had a math class. I did, however, throw out "transitive property" in conversation the other day and no one called me on it being the incorrect usage, which  means I was totally correct. So yeah, that's not what equal signs are for. Speaking of totally, I taught a Young Womens('?) lesson on Sunday and probably said "totally" thirty-seven times. Welcome back, 1995.

Around the world around the world

I ran a half marathon on Saturday. It was a bad idea. Not a bad idea to sign up and start training for the race, but a bad idea to sort of stop training and then lose my shoes and then still run 13.1 miles untrained on shoes far past their expiration date. But I knew I could finish. And I did. But what I didn't anticipate was the next 48 hours.  I'm starting to believe that I will never walk normally again. That the rest of my life will be filled with gripping stair railings, bed sides, car doors, and whatever else may be used to hoist my body from one place to another. It will be a life of Ibuprofen popping. Of "Hey Stephen, can you grab me the remote?" requests. A life of sitting in bed on Monday afternoon because the couch is too far away, let alone the office. Legs, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made you run downhill for that long. I should have stopped when I felt the blisters. I should have listened. I hope you find it in your (our) heart to forgive me. I promise to never put you through that again...maybe.

what the problem is

Stephen told me that extroverts get energy from being around other people while introverts get energy from being alone. Which explains why I get so exhausted at parties. And why I like going to lunch by myself. The thing is, the rest of the world doesn't really see my lonesome dining as awesome. They see it as sad. Accordingly, they treat me weird. Most people pretend I'm invisible. Like the two people in the restaurant, who, I kid you not, were no more than six inches away from me and gave each other a side hug, facing me. I was a part of their hug. They then proceeded to discuss what I have to assume is highly confidential information. I'd make such a great anti-social Private Eye.

that seems so very mean

I heard a political campaign ad that used the term "Wallstreet pirates." Oh man. I wish there were pirates on Wallstreet (one word or two?). Imagine the New York Stock Exchange. Full of swash-bucklers. That's just what our economy needs.