Don't tell anyone that I listen to James Blunt.

I just need you guys to know that *as* I type this, "Goodbye My Lover" by James Blunt is playing softly in the background. While it's just by accident that it's playing, it still sort of makes me want to crawl into the corner and weep while thinking wistfully of a lover. I don't, like, have a lover to weep about, but I'm positive it's a feeling I could conjure up on cue, if necessary. It's necessary right NOW, says James Blunt. However, I'm busy blogging and things, so no time for wistful thoughts about an imaginary lover.

PLEASE note I don't regularly offer up this sort of information about my closeted affinity for James Blunt OR his melancholy heartbreak anthem, BUT. I like you guys. You're lucky. She says to the entirety of the Internet.

Also what's totally awkward is that my mom's told me -- more than ONCE -- that she demands this song be played at her funeral. Aside from being totally morbid to listen to the song now and think, "Golly, one day this'll go great as the soundtrack to my loving mommy's funeral," imagine how bizarre it'll be at her one-day funeral while I'm all rocking myself in the back pew, crying about the one time I loved Ryan Braun and he didn't love me back. Goodbye, my lover...


OK it's safe, the song's over.

So. Osama bin Laden's dead. I mean, that's pretty exciting news. I don't really know what else to say about it that hasn't already been said by everyone on the entire planet, twice, so I'll leave it at that. I would've felt un-American if I didn't at least mention it in my first post post-Osama. And how baller is Barack Obama? Please tell me you guys saw his speech at the 2011 White House Correspendents' Dinner. PLEASE. If not, go here. Watch. Laugh. See Donald Trump grow increasingly pissed. It's amazing.

And that's the end of political conversation on my blog, promise.

<watches as people remove from Google Reader because she's a flaming awful liberal bitch, etc>

<if I post my birth certificate here will you come back?>



OK, for real. Sorry. Shhh.

On an unrelated note (as if everything in this post isn't already unrelated), I moved to Madison over two years ago, not really knowing anyone here. I made friends over time. Best friends. Running friends. Neat friends. Friends, friends, friends, all over. YAY. But now, slowly but surely, everyone is starting to leave. Or wanting to leave. Or planning to leave. Suddenly I'm realizing that before I know it, I'll be alone here AGAIN.


I kind of hate it, and I'm all, "POOR ME. POOOOR KRISTA," and throwing sad arms all over the place because WHY DOES EVERYONE LEAVE ME? and stuff and things. But. BUT! I am not leaving. I'm not. I once declared -- while unemployed and high on Madison summertime and possibly wine -- that I would never leave Madison. I loved it. I did. IT'S THE BEST PLACE EVER YOU GUYS. And I still mostly feel that way. So, come Hell or no friends, I'll be here. But I just want to make sure that when I am all alone here, you guys will all be my friends.

No, I'm serious. You guys. Don't make me play James Blunt again. Oh god. Or THIS. Oh. So that.