Although no one I know under the age of 25 has a real job right now, it has recently come to my attention that I've been an unpaid intern at the Stranger since January, and apparently I'm supposed to start grad school at the end of this month. Oops. If you are devastated (there, there), I am too. Because I actually like writing police reports and neighborhood blog news roundups and having awkward conversations with strangers who don't want to talk to me and then writing about them. Missing pets? Attacks committed with weird, improvised blunt object weapons? Paging through city council member agendas as thick as I am tall? PUBLIC RECORDS REQUESTS?!!!?! I'm all over it!

Then there was the time Cienna and I had to drive around the wilds of Places That Are Not Seattle taking a bunch of pregnancy tests and watching videos about the horrors of abortion in the name of investigative reporting. There are few things weirder than driving, decidedly un-pregnant, to a crisis pregnancy center in a Lakewood strip mall while listening to Lady Gaga and getting kind of nervous about the fact that you're about to sort of lie to people who, though they are certifiably evil, at least think they want to help you. (Worth it.)

But best of all, I have been able to spend six months channeling what would otherwise just be fits of rage into posts about this year's absurd attack on women's healthcare by insane people like Kansas state Rep. Pete DeGraaf (R), who argued back in May that women should be prepared to be raped, because he always has a spare tire, and those are totally the same thing, and Texas Gov. Rick Perry, who used to support mandating the HPV vaccine, but went back on his word this week, because his base is crazy vaccines cause widespread promiscuity or whatever the fuck (ZZZZZZzzzzzz). Just for old times' sake, here's where you can donate to Planned Parenthood.

My tenure in the news section has never not been weird. I liked it anyway. But I'm really a poet*! (Do you feel deceived?) Last year I applied to MFA programs in creative writing, because my ambition in life is to have a degree in feelings art and never make any money. So for the next two years I will be writing and teaching writing to undergraduate art students at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. I leave tomorrow for Little House on the Prairie Tour '11. (Brace yourself, it gets even nerdier.) The car is packed. My mom is coming with me. We're stopping at the Laura Ingalls Wilder homestead in De Smet, South Dakota. There may or may not be bonnets involved. I can't wait. But I will miss posting videos of cute baby animals on Slog every weekend. It has been the realest.

*I know, I know.