My (late) Christmas gift to you, dear readers.

In the past two days I think I have viewed the following clip 16546984965165 times. It's hypnotic.

Some observations I have made:

1. The best transitions come from the use of silk flowers
2. Henrietta and Merna have a zest for life that is absolutely infectious
3. Where did Henrietta get that awesome sweater? Santa did not bring me that for Christmas
4. Merna's bangs are just uncalled for. I did nothing to her to deserve that crime of hair.

Alas, Merna had loftier ambitions, and went on to record the club remix with the wonderful Calpernia Addams. Henrietta was just not ready for the big time:

And If You Can't Keep Pace, They Pick You Up. Mickey Means Business, Son.

Devonna Devonna Devonna Devonna why oh why did you have to put the idea of the Disneyland Half Marathon into my head? What was it, Succubus, that made you sing your sweet song to me, thus tempting me into registering for 13 miles of grueling Southern California heat. A full marathon is too "Runners World" Magazine for our hero, though dividing the gauntlet neatly in half has proven to stimulate my quixotic tendencies.

Visions of animated former compatriots dancing in my head, I started to train* for said half-marathon this week. With 226 days, 22 hours, 49 minutes, 42 seconds (thanks Disney Half Marathon countdown clock!) left until this exercise in torture, I better get on the ball with this. Promises of a giant Disney medal await me should I finish. While Disney's lawyers have assured me that I, my family, co-workers, local Starbucks girl, and any future unborn children I may have will be sued should I post any pictures of said medal, let me assure you, dear reader, that it is appropriately blingy, and would be well complimented with a Flava Flav style grill.

Germán sporting his marathon medal.

Yes, kids, you too can look like this.

*By "train" one should read "jogged for one lap around the track, wheezed, and sputtered to a stop all the while gasping for precious, precious air and longing for death.

Although This Is Nothing In The Scheme Of My Years

Tonight, as I soaked in the bathtub (Calgon, take me away!), I pondered the idea of finishing up my college education. As i refuse to move from my current location until I am actually ready this time, this would mean I would have to attend Boise State University. The mere thought of this induces uncontrolled vomiting, so I had to think of something else so not to ruin my recent bath-cleanliness.
I want so badly to leave Boise (and greater Idaho, for that matter), but I think I really WILL need to attend BSU. At this point, a degree is a degree.

However, I will not continue with my chosen major. For one, they don't offer it here. Second, I feel my professional longings shifting towards a new direction; surely this will materialize into a complete idea one day. At that point, I will make my decision.

Of course, no decision is more pressing than the one Mousy and Sad Girl debated in the classic Mi Vida Loca. Let us rat our hair, apply liberal amounts of AquaNet, and observe:

"Bring the table to me, Gilbert"

The above image was taken sometime in Jan 08. Every year during this time, my best friend Denise throws a massive celebration we call Denisemas. Traditionally, after an evening singing Denisemas carols with close friends, we end the evening hugging each other in a drunken stupor. However, the point of the above picture is to point out HOW FAT I WAS (all caps for added emphasis). Seriously, at that point I seem to be one step away from official ZIP code status.

Cut to December 08:

Excuse the messiness of the bedroom behind me. I still can't wrap my head around the fact that I look like that. Yes, it was brutal. Yes, I got sick, big sick. Yes, I can't eat anything and this makes me a social bore since eating rituals are an integral part of social interaction. Dammit, though, I look like that.

"Hello, my name is Germán, and I enjoy talking about myself"

Really, I have kept a journal for years over at LiveJournal, and I will forever consider that my internet home. However, it has come to light that there are actual people that I know in my real I-see-Germán-everyday-and-I'm-not-sick-of-him life that want to know the daily minutiae of my being! Well, much like Christina Aguilera, I am a genie in a bottle, and you have most definitely rubbed me the right way. I grant you this wish: The World of Germán. Enjoy.