Ah Penis, How I Have Missed Thee

Hello again, internet

Right now I should be trying to fill out my 100 question test in order to pass training in my super cool new job, but I felt I have been cruel to my hundreds of loyal fans who are no doubt waiting with bated breath for my next snarky blog entry.

I am here for you, guys. It's all going to be ok.

Obviously, a lot of things have been going on since I last wrote. I have returned to my hometown and started working full time in a very exhausting work environment (the outdoors). Also, people. I have been catching up with a lot of people. I haven't had an extended stay in my hometown basically since the summer after I graduated high school two years ago. So of course people are clamoring over each other trying to hang out with the great world traveler that I am, wanting to hear all about the wonders of California (no one ever really cares about Canada). Unfortunately, I can really only tell them about the inside of my apartment and a little bit about the grocery store down the street where old folks from nearby retirement communities overrun, but that is ok. I just embellish it a little bit and they eat it up.

Along with all the people stuff in my new/old-found life here in Colorado comes my favorite thing: men!

Yes, I am actually interacting with the opposite sex again. (Ok, I know there were boys at my school. But none of them count. Trust me on that one) It is pretty exciting really, being around so many more boys. I can feel my invisible penis re-growing into the magnificent beauty that it once was. It is a truly glorious, elated feeling

For those of you who have not heard of or experienced the presence of my invisible penis, let me explain.

I discovered the existence of my invisible penis back in late 2010/early 2011 or so when I was living and attending school in Canada. I started to notice my ability to get guys to become very friendly with me, but their adamant determination to stay on the friend side of the line. Rather than assuming it was because I am a terrible flirt and my tendency to recklessly throw walls between me and just about every person on the planet, I theorized that it was because of an invisible penis attached to me that had somehow started growing. It fuels me with good ol' testosterone that drives me to do very manly things like pee outdoors when drunk and never talk about my feelings, but more importantly it signals to other men that I am an awesome bro. But nothing more. Because that would be gay, right?*

I like my invisible penis. Having it around makes me feel way more relaxed about hanging out with dudes because we both totally know we are just bros. And I don't have to feel anxiety about anything more happening. Also I like guys and also hanging out with them. They are often more straightforward about pretty much everything. It balances me. Plus, being bros with guys makes me feel more badass, which we all should know by now is the most important goal in my life.

However, I think my "sexy meter" has possibly also increased, likely due to my pole adventures and the fact that I have turned a noticeable amount of fat into muscle recently (and I am not just saying that--other people are). I say this not because I am totally narcissistic and think I am hot stuff (both of these things are true, but that is completely beside the point) but because of how my interactions with men have been affected in a seemingly conflicting way by my invisible penis and my very real female anatomy. The results have been quite...curious.

Let me elaborate.
Here are some recent interactions I have had with the opposite gender that display said conflict.

(Disclaimer: I am definitely not exaggerating or reading WAY too much into my interactions with these guys. They all clearly want me)

1. My new job requires me to sword fight with foam swords at least 4,267 times a day. Right now, I have just been in training with the other staff members, none of which I have ever met before, but all of them are really awesome, albeit incredibly geeky. The staff is about 50/50 male-female, so obviously I am meeting and interacting with a lot of new dudes, which is totally cool. But is it me, or are they wailing on me with particular vigor? I just keep getting completely beaten in sword fight duels. I think it is clearly some kind of advance on me. I mean come on, that smile on their face after victoriously beating the crap out of me with the sword is totally flirtatious! Totally. They may run off to face other opponents after they are through with me, but they always come back to me for more.

2. Almost every guy I have talked to in the past week and I have had some seriously intense and flirtatious conversations about cartoons. It is so sexy, the way we can excitedly relate about television created primarily for children. Right?

3. The other night I attended a beach/bonfire party after dark. Beach and bonfire being a relative term here in Colorado, of course, but you get the idea. It was classic: young people sitting around a fire on a lakefront, roasting hot dogs, hanging out and doing young people things. You know. Anyway, I was expressing my desire to have myself a nice, juicy wiener, but my laziness to get up and grope around in the dark for one. Without any persuasion at all, a guy immediately offered to get me one and then did so. ...All I am going to say is that you can read into that however you want.

4. The same thing happened with a marshmallow about an hour later, with a different guy. Once again, take from that what you will

5. And once more, that same night I was sitting in fairly close proximity with one of the male species. It was getting kind of windy and cold at that point, so we were sitting pretty close. In a very romantic gesture, I lent him my girl scout camp hoodie. He graciously accepted it. We talked for pretty much the rest of the evening after that. It was like out of a movie. Kind of. Almost. If I were a man.

6. At a different party I recently attended, a guy was flirting(?) with me. I am pretty sure. Or maybe he was just very high. He kept finding me to talk to me for some reason, which is usually what I interpret as flirting.  In any case, after telling him I am an animation student his flirtation mainly consisted of pitching me a cartoon idea about a superhero who has super-PTSD powers. As much as this seduced me, I managed to ward off the temptation by aptly saying I needed to pee and then avoided him for the rest of the night.

7. Speaking of being high, finally I received the greatest of all romantic gestures: being invited to share a joint. This is Boulder, after all. It doesn't get more romantic than that. I was flattered, but I also turned this one down.


So yes, clearly you can see how difficult it has been for men to interpret what kind of behavior to exhibit around me. Should they be hitting on me, or just hitting me? Should they be retrieving me wieners, or just hot dogs? Is it weird to want both? Poor guys, they must be really confused. Suffice to say it has resulted in some entertaining situations for me. It will be interesting to watch this battle between my genitalia to see which set will win them over. I wouldn't hold your breath though, given my track record and the title of this blog, my penis is probably going to be victorious. I guess we shall see...


*Not that I am saying there is anything wrong at all with being gay!

MILFs

(I meant to write this on Mothers Day, but unfortunately I was driving across the desert like a beast all day. 800 miles in 12 hours anyone? And that is including stops. Yea, I know, you are jealous.)

Older MILFs...they seem to be everywhere these days. What is up with that? I always thought when you hit 40 you started to shrivel up and let the world claim your physical stature in return for boundless "wisdom," otherwise known as complete cynicism and a notebook of lame regrets. But no, that doesn't seem to be the case anymore. I think MILFs are on the rise, what with so many Craigslist ads looking for cougars because of their "experience." Seriously, have you looked at the m4w ads on there? Every 1 out of 4 listings is looking for an older woman. I worry that it is really going to start hurting my chances of ever finding my true love on Craigslist. Alas, poor me. If I can't find a man on Craiglist all hope must really be lost. Or maybe I just now started to pay attention because of all these ads, because really, everywhere I look is some hot old woman ready to kill it.

Actually, the concept of MILFs has been on my mind for quite some time...basically ever since last February when I joined that hiking club full of old people and I went on a hike where a 68 year old woman beat me up the mountain, and then bounded off to go train for a marathon afterwards. The woman looked not a day over 45. She was not just a MILF either, but a GMILF. At the time I just felt shame in that I could barely lug my own 19 year old ass over the Californian hills, but looking back I just feel awe. I am in awe of all the hot older women that are taking the world by storm these days. I see my friend's mothers, my own mother, and all of their friends and think "wow." Old people really have no excuse when standing next to these people. They are straight up, legit MILFs.

...The only MILF I am not in awe of is the stupid woman who walks up and down the road outside my apartment every weekday afternoon for two hours. She bobs up and down in her tight little pants with her well toned hourglass figure and hair that looks blonde from far away but is actually kind of whitish grayish when you get up close. And every time you pass her she looks straight at you and says "HI!" in a strong, smiley voice. Ugh. Don't talk to me like that lady, can't you see I'm running? I can only ever wheeze back "hi," in a high, breathless voice, revealing that much more of how much I am struggling. Damn her. Seriously though...why does she walk up and down a half mile stretch of busy road every day? There are tons of nice parks and trails nearby...it baffles me. Anyway, she might not even count as a MILF since I have no idea if she is actually a mother or not. If she is, then her boobs are totally fake. Just sayin'

Yes, it initially bothers me that older women can be in better shape and look better than I am. They are supposed to be dying, their bodies are in decay!  I mean come on, these are supposed to be my prime years. I don't like to think this is going to be the best it'll ever get. That thought kind of makes me want to cry and eat a pint of ice cream and hide on the internet for the rest of eternity. Which doesn't hep. On the other hand, looking at all the hot older women gives me hope that there is still time to be super awesome and look great. And with that thought I have formulated a new goal: become a MILF. Because really what is a higher honor than pushing one or more 10lb pink goblins out of a small hole in between your legs and then feeding it and attending to it's every whim for 18-40 more years or until you die and STILL looking stunning? Maybe being president or inventing some important shit, but other than that! MILF is the only way to go. And I am going to become one, or so help me god.

Here is my detailed and outlined plan for becoming a MILF that really breaks down the process into achievable steps. I think it is really helpful in simplifying the whole process.

1. Tone up really good before the whole thing starts so we are at least working with some good framework
2. Find a man
3. Attack him
4. Have his babies
5. Hand the babies off to the man, tell him to make me a salad, and then go for a long run and do some weight training after. (You can't just do cardio only to have a really nice bod, after all)
6. Repeat step 5 every day for the rest of eternity

BAM! MILF status achieved. Doesn't that sound easy to you? Most of the work is in the first step, which according to my plans should last another 10-15 years. So this should be a cinch. I hope it motivates and helps other people out there become certified MILFs as well. Happy belated Mothers Day everyone.

Child Comic Prodigy

Hey guys. You are in for a real special treat today, as I have something really amazing to share. 

I don't mean to brag or anything, but I was basically a childhood prodigy when it came to art and writing. My teachers always put my stuff on the wall in the hallways. Well, usually. And ok, so maybe I only got a "check" mark on my cactus coloring page in the desert unit in 3rd grade when that smarmy Isabel girl who everyone loved got an O (for outstanding) but still. I was pretty talented.  

I had been writing short stories (mostly about horses) for years when I started developing my first comic. It was based off one of my long standing OCs (that means original character for the less artistically inclined of you who are reading), which was a horse that I drew everywhere. I named her Daisy and I tossed in some horse friends for her to converse with in their little horse universe. In the original series the characters were all teenage horses. This allowed me to steal plot lines from Disney television shows such as Kim Possible and The Proud Family and reiterate them scene for scene and word by word, but with teenage horses. It was gonna be big.

This was WAY before My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, mind you. I was ages ahead of my time, really.

 I know what you are thinking. I AM brilliant, aren't I?

What I wouldn't give to be able to find those lost pages of possibly the most amazing comic ever, but alas, they are lost to time (my parents probably threw them out when we moved, because trust me, I've looked). In any case, at one point I decided to widen my demographic market and turn all the horses into baby/toddler age. Instead of interacting in a high school setting, they were in kindergarten and had their own cubbies. Except they all said and did the exact same thing the high school horses did, because I still wanted them to be hip and edgy. It also meant I could still steal plot lines from episodes of popular Disney channel shows. The name of the comic was "Baby Blurb," which has no real meaning except that I stole the title "Baby Blues," and then changed it a little bit, even though the comics have really nothing in common. 

Today I present to you what remnants of the comic I discovered in my basement. Try not to be blown away. You can obviously see that I was born to be an artist, and a character designer in particular. 

Model/Expression Sheet

Look at those riveting character designs! Each one so unique. I like the differences between Matt (the bully) and Claire (a normal horse), it really speaks to their character. I really knew their personalities well, too. "Popular," and "Normal," ... they were all clearly very complex horses. And the dynamic movements! Look at Daisy covering her face with "embarresment," --such comprehensive anatomy! You could pretty much put this in a book called "Character Design 101."

Here are also some test panels/sketches I drew out 

I really have to say, I was quite insightful and precise with my dialogue. Just think about it.

Josh: I have a game
Courtney: I will be there, unlike the other girls.

What subtext.
Or perhaps if that isn't riveting enough, try these:

Daisy/Courtney: hihihihihihihihihi

Courtney: This is talking

Matt/Claire?: Yo dude wassup?

Wow!
And the backgrounds...don't ask me about what all those numbers are! Probably a reference to classical literature. I would do something like that at 9 years old.
Don't forget about the random seahorse drawings that I threw in the mix (yes, those are seahorses). They never appeared in the comic, unfortunately, but I think they also demonstrate my talent as well.

So what do you think? I have considered rebooting this series before, but I worry MLP is monopolizing the pony/horse market right now. I dunno though...there is just so much good stuff here, I think I really have something. I think it could be really successful, especially if I convince people on the internet that I am still 9 years old. Then they will really be amazed.

I hope you feel glad to have had this insight into my artistic talent. It is very exclusive content, mind you, so careful not to spread it around too much. When this series gets big though, you will know you heard about it first!



...
Also, my handwriting still looks like that. I guess I was a born calligrapher as well.

My Long Overdue Post about Pole Dancing

In the middle of finals, you think my brain would be hitting critical levels of overloaded thoughts of drawing...animation....maya....portfolios...perspective...volumes! Oh the volumes! They're all wrong! Everything in this animation is warping, make it stop, oh god please make it stop!

Ok, so maybe some of my brain is a little on the fritz about all my art finals. And the liberal arts too, at that. Can anyone tell me how the ideologies underlaying Russian Communism in the early 20th century were seen through the relationship between humans and the environment? I bet not. I can't even tell you, which is bad because I have to know by this evening. That is what I should be doing right now. Instead I am writing this blog. 

 But only a small fraction of my brain is freaking about finals in comparison with the amount my brain is thinking about pole dancing. I can't stop. It is starting to get to the point where it may or may not be a serious problem. It is very distracting in any case, so I guess I can count myself lucky that I am good at getting most of my work done early, or at least in a timely manner, because if not I'd probably be screwed. Or at least very tired. 

About 4 or 5 weeks ago I was browsing living social, a site where you can find local deals and coupons to varies services in the area. I was on the prowl for a decent massage deal, not because I was in any particular pain, but mostly because I wanted to spoil myself with something besides food for a change. You know, positive feedback for all this exercise I've thrown myself into. Instead I signed up for more exercise. Figures. But when I saw the deal for 2 pole classes for $30, I just couldn't say no. I'd be so rebellious! It would add to my badass status for sure. Also, everyone on Facebook told me to do it. I just couldn't say no to the internet hoards. Besides, it was a bargain. And we all know how cheap I am. I mentioned my ratty, two year old converse shoes with all the holes in them before, right? Yes, I still refuse to shell out $40 for another pair. Just can't do it.

Anyway, so I bought the classes and that meant I had to go through with it. Because of the whole cheap thing. Can't waste a dime. Right. Actually, I was really excited. I didn't know what to expect, but I was being so rebellious! Yea! Badass! 

On the website it said that the class starts off with a 40 minute "warm up." That is a lie. It is basically an entire workout in and of itself. Sure, there is some nice, fun stretching and "sensual movement" (lots of hip thrusting in various positions) but then there is the insanity of what is something similar to a pilates workout. I think. I've never really done pilates, except in gym class my freshman year of high school. I think. But I am pretty it is what pilates is supposedly like. This is the order in which things burnt with a fiery hate: my butt, my legs, my arms, my abs, my abs, my abs, my abs. 

Ok, so that is probably incorrect. It was mostly just my whole core. There are more than just abdominals down there. I would know. I finally learned anatomy in figure drawing. So now I am an expert. Clearly. 

Right so, basically everything hurt a lot. We did bicycle crunches and scissor kicks at a very fast pace non-stop for what felt like an eternity. In my version of real life it was more like 3 minutes. In the real reality it was probably half that time. Nevertheless, it felt like an eternity. Then finally that whole misery was over. I've noticed over the past few weeks that after each workout there is always at least one student who will say to the instructor "you were evil to us today with that workout," as she changes it up a bit every week so it is a slightly different workout each time. I find this odd, because that statement implies that sometimes the workout is easy. I have yet to see one of these mythical easy workouts. They are all evil, in my opinion. And somehow the instructor can literally dance through the entire workout. I am not even joking. She will bounce to the beat while doing planks like it's no big deal. 

Actually, as humiliating as it can be to see someone dance their way through a workout that makes you feel like you must have done something truly horrendous in past life to deserve this torture, this is one aspect of the class that I really, really like. By that I mean the dancing. And the music. The music is loud enough to burst your eardrums. Which is great, because no one can hear you pant like one of those sad little pugs in a doggy sweater vest. Also, the lights are really low so no one can see you sweating out enough liquid to drown a small child. Basically everything I am insecure about when I exercise is hidden. Why didn't I do this earlier?? Anyway, with all the low lighting and loud music it is a wonderful environment to get your dance on. And since other people are already doing it, it feels like no big deal.

I am one who can never get enough of dancing. I am the one who would stay until the very end of all the lame high school dances because I actually thought it was more fun than going to someone's house to eat ice cream/party (depending on what grade I was in). I am the one who will burst into dance in the middle of campus, or in any awkward situation ever. And if you have or could have seen me at the dance parties we used to throw at the good ol' girl scout camp, you would know I can freaking pop til I DROP yo. Here is a picture of me in a killer outfit working my killer moves at said all girls camp last summer. Brace yourself. 

Don't you love those leggings? I did too. That is why I totally stole them from the costume room. (+1 badass point?) Although I still have yet to encounter a situation in which I can actually wear them into public without having people think I am a time traveller from the 90s. Or 80s? Sadly, I am too young to determine what era these leggings belong in. I just know this: they are akin to God. With a capital G.

I really enjoy a dance-y atmosphere. I've never been to a real club, but I always thought I would have a good time at one. And I always wished I could have taken dance classes as a kid, but that was probably the one physical activity I never participated in when I was young. Seriously, I did almost every little kid sport there was, besides maybe karate. Soccer, softball, basketball, tennis, track and field, ice skating, horse back riding, swimming. None of them stuck. I don't know why I didn't do dance. There were a lot of things I wanted that I could probably just have asked for, but I didn't know that I could. Like that one time I wanted plums at the grocery store, but instead of just asking my mom to buy plums, I tried to smuggle one out in my dress. As I was scheming how I would eat it without my mom seeing me when I got home, I looked up and saw a squished plum at the end of the aisle. The plum from my dress was gone. Mission plum-snatch failed. And so did mission ask-for-dance-classes, although that was never a real mission. It just never really occurred that I really wanted it until what felt like too late, when everyone I knew who danced had been doing it for years and years and were all competitive and stuff. I just wanted to dance casually, but that didn't seem like an option for a girl in her mid-teens. 

That is why pole dancing class actually seems like the perfect way to fulfill all the lost dance classes of my youth. No one can do it until they are 18, so no one really has a "leg up" on being a child prodigy or whatnot. (see what I did there?) I don't feel like some old fart when showing up to a class. It's nice. I know all the older people reading this blog probably think I really have no concept of what it actually feels like to be an old fart, but we had campers last summer who didn't even know what VHS tapes were, so I think I have at least started down that road by now. 

After the so called "warm up," the real pole dancing business begins. Actual pole dancing is like gymnastics, acrobatics, yoga, pilates, and dancing mixed together but all sexy-like. You even add in lap dance moves, which I can proudly say I've been instructed in now. I must remember to add that to my resume.

 All the beginner tricks basically go like this: walk around the pole being sexy, grab the pole in some variation, hold on for dear life, and let gravity do the rest of the work. The hard part is holding on for dear life, which you think would be easy, since it is your dear life after all, but it isn't. The tricks all have fun names like "goddess," or "siren," or "dirty goddess." Yea, they get really creative. Actually no, they do. I am pretty sure I heard some more advanced students talking about a trick called "thumb up the butt" ...oooor maybe they were talking about something else. I don't want to know. More advanced moves involve climbing, hanging upside down, and basically being a freakin' BAMF because sometimes I see people 10 feet in the air spinning around holding on to the pole  with nothing but their armpit. Wha...?!?! How does that even work?!

At the end of the class everyone does a little dance. New students perform a simple routine. Older students get to do all the really cool freestyle improv. This is one of the best parts of the class, being able to watch everyone move so beautifully. Because it really is beautiful, and not just in the "pole dancing is hot" way. I think I have mentioned how I appreciate human bodies before. They are just so magnificent, especially when they practically defy gravity and move in ways that just seem so...natural. It is truly stunning, and you really learn to appreciate it when you know how hard the tricks that they are doing are.

Have you ever seen the movie Suckerpunch? Hopefully not, it isn't a very good film. Zack Snyder really should have just made a video game, because that was basically what it was. It would have made a great video game...or maybe just a decent one. Anyway, there is this huge plot point in which the main character, Babydoll, can apparently dance in such a way that it completely entices and distracts every man watching from anything else going on. You never actually get to see the dance in the movie and that always really bothered me. What kind of dancing could she possibly be doing to be so amazing? How is it possible?? Well, now I get it when I watch the other students and instructor dance. And whenever it is my turn to dance, I feel kind of like Babydoll in those scenes. It is really weird. But cool. 

When the class is done it does not mean things are over. There is of course, the being sore for several days after each class in the kind of way that makes you feel a little bit like crying every time you have to get out of your chair. Oh, and don't forget the bruises.  Here is a picture of the bruise I got *during* the first class I went to. Not after, during. This baby was forming and also throbbing terribly before I even walked out of the studio that first day.

It came from bashing my leg very ungracefully into the pole about a dozen times. Nothing says sexy like a giant purple, yellow, brown, and pink lump on your leg. I haven't had any more bruises quite this big since, but my left knee has permanently looked like bruised, rotting pear for about a month now and I currently have over 20 bruises on my legs just from last night (I counted). There is a particular move where you have to hold on to the pole with your crotch as tight as you can while spinning around and prancing your legs that makes your crotch biscuits (wobbly inner thigh triangles) look diseased after. The first time I did it, I had a giant bruise on my inner thigh that was pretty much jet black for a solid day. Sometimes these bruises are little speckles, seemingly indicating to any potential lovers that you might have some sort of weird STD and to stay far, far away. Also, sometimes when I am on the toilet I like to push all the bruises on my legs like buttons and pretend I am operating a fork lift or a super computer and am hacking in to the government system because I am in a really cool heist movie with George Clooney.

 I know, I do really cool things in the bathroom.

I am sure you are wondering why on earth I apparently like this so much if it causes so much pain. Well, besides the fact that I think the bruises make me feel like I have real battlescars, rather than just all the snot and sweat wiped on the front of my shirt when I run, I have to say that I REALLY DON'T KNOW. It is perplexing. I have never been this into any form of exercise before. Sure, I talk about running a lot and how much I like it,  but I still have to make myself do it. I still feel miserable during the run if I forget and let my brain turn on. The good feeling only comes from accomplishing what I set out to do afterwards. This is a whole different slice of cheese. 

I think a lot of it comes from how fun it is to dance and "fly" around a pole (it is more like straggling around in the air, but you know what I mean). The pounding music and low lights only add to this. I like to think that I am dancing for myself, needing to impress no one, and that frees me. But I also think that there is more to it than that. I have been doing a lot of reading on the internet about this activity and people who do it all seem to say the same things. They got hooked right away. They are addicted to it. It gives you this sense of empowerment, strength, and inner-sensuality that makes you feel incredible. When you dance, you are inside yourself, feeling and flowing through the movement without ever using your brain. All of this seems to be unanimous among pole dancers. I know it sounds like corny bullshit that you spew out to sound deep, but it's real, I swear to you! I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. Maybe Jung was right, maybe we all do have a collective unconscious, and maybe dancing allows us all to tap into that stream together, where we all feel the same thing. There are women who even say that it makes them feel closer to God, ironically enough (There are women in Texas who "pole dance for Jesus," I kid you not, click here for the article) 

I buy it. If I am this into something physical, something that takes this much strength training--an activity that has always been grueling for me--there must be some worth to it. I don't understand this addiction, but I love it. I have been spending way too much time looking at pictures, pole dancing blogs, watching videos, and browsing pole dancing trick dictionaries. I had trouble even getting this blog written because it is so distracting. Every song I listen to I have been assessing whether or not it would be any good to dance to, and looking up more music that would be fun for dancing. I feel inspired to draw pole dancers, to paint them, to animate them even! I have been scheming how I can do it more, how I can convince my parents to help pay for classes, how soon I can get my first paycheck for my summer job so I can afford more classes. It has completely engulfed me. All I want to do is improve. I look forward to class all week and count down the days just like I am waiting for the next episode of one of my favorite TV shows or my mandated Mac'n'cheese night.

It is all slightly scary. But I think it is also good. I feel stronger, and every week I get a little bit better at the tricks I've been taught. I'm fairly certain it has even helped my running. On Monday I ran 3.5 miles like a breeze and even ran entirely up the half mile, 18% grade hill without stopping or walking. I've never been able to do that before. I beat the dragon!! When I got to the top I had this dopey smile of joy. This mixed with my beet red face and pouring sweat probably concerned all the passengers in the cars going by, but I didn't care. I just feel so damn good lately. It has even made me forget about my plight of men, or lack thereof (mostly). That is an amazing feat right there. 

I don't know guys, this thing may just be the most badass thing I've done yet, besides my mud run of course. I'm really excited to go broke for this hobby. I really am. I just hope I can keep it up.

Ok, now I REALLY need to study. Excuse me while I go try to not fail an environmental history test.