People, laziness and bedroom doors.

Oh hey, blog friends. Just sitting here listening to some Rachael Yamagata and feelin' like an emo. She's so... moody and magnificent. It's been a while since I last posted. Not that posting gratuitous photos of Eric Northman is bad, but perhaps this blog could use some substance. Which is unfortunate, because today is not that day, either. Golly, what have I to blog about today? I saw Kings of Leon a couple weekends ago. They were most excellent, not that I expected any less. Had a fantastic weekend afterward with my good friend, Jennie, and ended it by making poor decisions over three pitchers of margaritas with more friends. Lesson learned: no more margaritas on Sundays. Ever.

Met some more awesome people last week. I'd admit that I know them through Twitter, but then you guys would look at me funny and be, like, "Dude. Twitter? Really?" In which I'd follow up with punching you in the face. I love Twitter. That is all.

Speaking of epic meetings, I finally met Sara this past weekend. We've been acquaintances on Dailymile and Twitter for, approximately, ever. Since she lives in Texas, well, internet is how we roll. But she was in town over the weekend, and it was teh awesome (tm). We hugged and laughed and ate at Ryan Braun's restaurant (where I was highly disappointed to learn he was not there waiting to propose marriage to me) and watched Glee. Which, if you knew us, is the most magical of plans.

All of the awesome of the last two weeks has made me 409 percent more thankful for the people I've met and things I've accomplished thanks to this blog and Twitter. Seriously. It's kind of incredible. I'm considering legally changing my name to Krittabug. OK, no. Not really. But still.

I also finally watched "The Big Lebowski" over the weekend. Apparently a person is not human until that happens. I thoroughly enjoyed it, then ruined it by following it up with "7 Pounds." Seriously. Have you seen that? Ever? It was like "Marley & Me" all over again. Only less dog and more terrible, awful depression. SOB. Sob. It was so sad. Waaaaah!

In other news, today marks exactly two months until my next marathon. Marathon No. 8. The Milwaukee Lakefront Marathon. And do you know how enthused I am about this marathon? On a scale of 1 to 3? Negative 9. I'm just not into it. Even a little. It's like I crossed the finish line in San Diego in June and that was just it. I've had such a hard time training. For no reason, really. Legs feel great. Nothing's injured. But my mind will have none of it. I swore to myself today would be the day I'd get out of my funk and get out there, but already, as I sit here, my chances of running after work are falling through the cracks. I'm not ready for a burnout. I refuse. So in some way, shape or form, I am getting to the start line in Milwaukee ready to kick ass.

In more exciting news, I finally move out of my studio within the next week. YOU GUYS. A bedroom door! I can haz one! It's been so long since I've had a home with more than one room. A year and a half, actually. I don't even know what it's like to be all, oh, hey, I'm gonna go sit on the couch. BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE ONE. My bed is my couch is my dining room table is the ONLY place I have to go in my apartment. It's so awful, and that never really hit me until this morning when I looked around my too-small, too-cluttered, too-ridiculous apartment and wanted to scream. I am ready. So ready. And so it shall be.

Thank God.