Tattoos, boobs and running. Made you look.

Oh hey. Yes, I am Krista. You may remember me from another life. A life in which I regularly posted on this blog. The days of yore. Ah. Yes. I sigh wistfully. Whatever. Hi. I'm still here with my spotty and stolen WiFi connection. It's totally hard to maintain a blog when 76 percent of the time the internet connection in your home doesn't work. God. Rude. Mayhaps if I wasn't stealing from the unsecured connection of a foolish neighbor I'd complain.

I digress.

So I've been 30 for approximately 11 days. I'm still alive, etc. The tattoo is still inked into my rib cage. Funny story, speaking of tattooed rib cage: so, as I prepare myself to get inked in what has been described as one of the most painful places to get a tattoo, I vocalize my concern to the large man with the needle and ink that I'm worried it's going to tickle. Dude looks at me, tattoo gun in hand, and says, "Oh. This isn't going to tickle. This is going to hurt like a mother fucker."



It did?

Gotta give the man credit for being honest. As a seasoned recipient of tattoos I handled the entire situation quite well, but hot dog that had some moments. Particularly the moment when I thought he was actually tattooing the words onto my boob, and I wasn't sure whether to speak up or simply accept that there would be literature painfully tattooed onto my boobage. And how awkward if I intended to show that tattoo to anyone. Thankfully, the phrase is not actually inked into my boob, and we can all go back to breathing normally again.

Also today was my first legit payday in nearly four months. An entire paycheck. Earned by doing actual work. I've never had more fun paying bills. I'm all, "TAKE THAT, RENT. YEAH. I CAN PAY YOU NOW. AND JUST WAIT UNTIL I HAVE MONEY LEFT OVER TO PAY MY ELECTRIC BILL. THE CLUB CAN'T EVEN HANDLE ME RIGHT NOW." It was amazing. It's funny what actually having money can do for a person. Like, it can pay for things. Incredible.

What else? Life's been busy. I've hardly had time to warm up the permanent indent my ass made on my couch the last four months. I didn't think I'd miss that place on my couch. I DO. I MISS IT. Although not as much as I love having a job and money and magical coworkers and things. But close.

On Monday I began the official Round Two of 50-miler training. May 12th. It's happening again. I was worried at first to admit to my mom that I was running another 50-mile race, what with how she all but threatened to disown me when I brought it up the first time a year ago. And then she said:


And then I died. Say what? Did she just "yay!!" me? My mother, she of Please Stop Running So Much Because You're Going to Die beliefs, went all "yay!!" on me, and now I don't know anything any more, including my own name and if the earth is round.  I dare say the joy of my epic day in September actually got to her. She LIKES it. SHE HAS A PROUD.

So, needless to say, it's significantly more fun this time knowing my parents don't want to give be a lobotomy. Also they bought me new trail shoes for my birthday. Suckers. I totally won them over with my wit and charm.

So that's life as of late. What say you, intertubes?