Balls deep.

Balls deep.

Breaking news: I'm going back to school. Like, right now. I'm applying to a single subject teaching credential program and knocking off some pre-requisites.

When I used to try to think about my dream job, someone Sarah and I ran into one day at Balboa Park comes to mind. He teaches english and writing and is the cross country coach at her old school. Perfection! I just couldn't shake it. (I would also be an advisor to the ecology club or what have you and maybe, like one of my old science teachers, would specify that they could be late to class if they had teenager "issues" they needed to take care of. And I'll be damned if I'm not each and every student's favorite teacher who is also feared and respected. Riiight.)

I can't even begin to explain the joy/elation/relief/fright/standardized-test-fear/overwhelmedness/etc I'm feeling about finally figuring out what I want to be when I grow up. This has been a very, very long time coming and I'm not about to dilly dally anymore. I'm going balls-deep. (I said balls-deep within earshot of my work boyfriends the other day, and I may never live it down. I would quote an after-midnight drunken new year's eve text message from John mocking my usage of the phrase but it's really not for mixed company.)

There are at least two standardized tests in my very near future. Perhaps three. Tests, I hate you.

In other news: please see flickr for some recent house/food/party carnage pictures. The kitchen will stay like that, without upper cabinet doors, at least until Erik puts them on himself without any help or complaining privilidges. I love the open display. And those hinges are little bitches.

Now that I've figured this whole future thing out, I have absolutely zero patience for my current job, which has strangely increased my productivity and decreased Time Spent Crying In Cubicle. However, it's also slightly increased Time Spent Missappropriating In Cubicle. C'est la vie. Balls deep!