The Fabric of my Life and Russell the Magnificent

You’ve seen the cotton commercials, right? Of course you have. Everyone’s watched them! They get some musical artist to sing a little song about how cotton is “the fabric of [their] life.” Now, to me, saying that something makes up the fabric of your life sounds deep. For instance, if I were to describe the fabric of my life, I would say that it was made up of music and books, of family and friends, of deep discussions and laughter. Apparently I’m not literal enough to write commercials. And honestly, do you only wear cotton? I see a lot of acrylics and polyester going on out there. Personally, I’d love to say that wool was the fabric of my life. It isn’t true, but I love it. Ooh! Or maybe linen! I like to iron things, so that would be perfect, minus the starch. I mean, when I see ‘cotton,’ I think baggy shirts or stiff summer dresses—I’m not thinking “oh my gosh, that just makes my LIFE!” Someone should be fired.

Okay, my ADD moment is over; on to the most important subject of the week: commercials are out advertising the new Robin Hood! Starring Russell Crowe and Cate Blanchett! I’m more excited than I have been in about three years! (My mind is screaming like an eleven-year-old, hence the egregious amount of exclamation points.) Cotton may make some people’s lives, but Russell C and Cate B make mine. Honestly, I think Cate Blanchett has to be one of the most breathtaking women alive, not to mention inconceivably talented. I’m pretty sure that I’ve mentioned my regard for Russell Crowe before, so I’ll cut it out…until after the film actually comes out. Really, though—I was bouncing up and down like a kid on Christmas Eve—it was intense. I’ve been waiting quasi-patiently for more news to come out about the film, and then, to my intense delight, a preview came on during Project Runway. It was like the angels were singing. I would have screamed, but my mother was asleep, so I decided to be considerate. The preview played AGAIN last night, and the effect was pretty much the same. MAY 14th, PEOPLE! BE THERE! If you claim to love good film, it isn’t an option. I mean, Robin Hood was sort of a big thing to me during childhood. I wasn’t exactly a model of femininity, so I always had men for role models. Robin Hood was one of them. Last year, I renewed the novelty by watching all three seasons of BBC’s series, titled (originally) “Robin Hood.” I should probably spend more time writing about this series (considering the amount of time I spent watching it over Christmas break), but I’ll just tell you that it’s corny, sweet, and stars the attractive-in-a-rough-way Jonas Armstrong (and you can download it instantly on Netflix; YAY!). Don’t blame me if you don’t like it; I can’t explain why I like it. Let’s put it this way: I actually sat down to watch an entire episode because I realized that Richard Armitage plays a central role. I was hooked. Back to Robin Hood. Basically, I don’t think this is going to be your childhood Robin. Crowe always seems to play some pretty gritty characters, so look for depth and oh-so-much action! Excuse me while I go make myself a count-down calendar decorated with little pictures of the evolution of the character.

I Don’t Usually Do This…

But something has to be said. I try to keep up with the Project Runway season, and this year I’ve watched most of the later episodes (there’s really no point in watching early on, except to see the winners develop). Last night, as I’m sure some of you know, was the season finale. I was happy with the three designers that ended up at fashion week—they were all defined, talented, and excellent craftsmen. That being said, I was more impressed with Seth Aaron’s and Mila’s collections than Emilio’s, who I thought would blow me away. Don’t get me wrong—I’ve been a big fan of Seth Aaron the whole time, not Emilio; I just see the judges loving Emilio. If you haven’t watched it and want suspense, a) get offline, and b) don’t read this post.

I was a committed fan of Seth Aaron after the design-your-own-print competition when he made the most fabulous jacket/tie set that I adored. When I saw the designs in progress for fashion week, I instantly loved them (I have a secret inner side of me that has always wanted to pull off a punk-chic look), but…they weren’t going to win the competition. Yay! I agreed with Tim! I love Tim! When his collection came down the runway, I was actually giddy. I loved every piece, even that strange purple dress. I wanted to wear it all! Even the yellow coat, and I CANNOT wear yellow. The red dress was AMAZING. It helps that I already adore 40s fashion, so it was just sort of the collection for me.

Mila also appealed to me because of her retro looks, the sleek lines, and, of course, her signature: black and white. I wish she had thrown more color in over the season, but I think she had a strong run of it. I think I gained the most respect for her after the hardware challenge. Her collection was great—very Mila—but it definitely needed color. I’m pretty sure she only had two pieces that weren’t totally black and white. That being said, I could again see myself wearing many of the pieces. They were runway worthy, and yet you could see the typical fashion lover wearing them comfortably.

Emilio, oh, how annoying you’ve been. I couldn’t wish him off the show because his talent deserved to be on, but at the same time, the man drove me crazy. Never have a watched a more entitled contestant unfold. Still, his dresses were fantastic all the way through, and I honestly thought that he had the entire competition in the bag—apparently he did, too. When I saw his collection, though…I wasn’t a fan. There were a few pieces that I really did love, but overall, it was the exact interpretation of the 90s. I hate the 90s look. The collection had great flow until they hit that last dress; what was it doing there? It completely didn’t fit. Also, why was Raven there? Or Nigel Barker? Isn’t he on another show? *nods head*

Basically, I sat through the judging scenes repeating “Seth-Aaron-Seth-Aaron-Seth-Aaron” over, and over, and over again. If I hadn’t been a total fan of his before (which I was), this one collection would have sold me. (The other thing I did sitting through the judging was think, "did they have a seizure when they chose Faith Hill to be the guest judge? Why would they EVER choose her?! I thought she was going to give the competition to Emilio. Luckily, she was just a decoy for the real judging process. HA, Faith Hill! HA!) You can imagine my delight when he WON! YES! Honestly, of the three, he’s the only one that I could see liking as a person, either. That was a plus. NO, it is his talent alone that won him that not-so-important-but-dramatic-competition! Go Seth Aaron!

(I’m sorry about this brief lapse into enthusiasm. I’ll return to normal by tomorrow.)

Boring Lives: A Call for Change

You’ve probably noticed that the blog looks a little different. Congratulations, Sherlock. My ADD nature has set in again…plus, I was crazy bored today. Honestly, this will probably happen a lot over the life of this blog. I’m one of those people that needs some change every once in a while (read: a lot).* I get bored with my life pretty easily, and I want something to shake it up. Unfortunately, my parents aren’t big on letting me repaint my room every month. Because of this, I choose very neutral colors, and change artwork, curtains, pillows, anything possible, really, just for something fresh. Hey, I spend 88.8% of my life in here, so it has to stay relevant. Instead of doing something harmless like painting, I end up changing my hair.

This phase of hair destruction began about three years ago, when I realized that now was the time to experiment in life. I used to make just subtle changes—fringe here, a little extra layering there; now, it’s started to get a little more…dramatic. I decided in about two weeks that I was going to donate my hair. This was back when my hair was nearly to my butt, and in relatively good condition. Because I’m decent at learning braids and quite the proficient with a bobby-pin, this kept me content and busy, but then it happened: I got bored with life. Off I went to the hairdresser, and off came my hair. Twelve long inches and a bad haircut later, and I probably would have cried if I had realized how ugly it was. Really, I hadn’t recognized yet that my hairdresser was getting to be a quack. Anyway, I worked with this shapeless head of hair for a while, and it started to grow out again. By the time it had grown a little past my shoulder blades, I was bored again, and decided to swallow my deep hatred of bangs (that came from when I was about seven and thought they looked best when parted and swept to either side of the forehead. Photos may follow.). Armed with a magazine and a specific idea of what I wanted, I headed off the salon once again. This result was actually miraculous. I had never realized before that my generous forehead really should be hidden by bangs, and besides, anything that brought me a little closer to Audrey Hepburn was a good thing. I was happy with my hair, the attention that it was bringing me…but not with people telling me things such as, “wow, your hair looks great like this! Don’t change it!” Don’t change my hair? Psh. How boring.

I changed it. I desperately wanted a 20s/30s bob (and I still do), so I went to the salon and asked for a short to mid-length bob. I came out with a lob. A LOB. Really, who hears a girl say “I want a bob” and translates it to “I really really want a lob”? Apparently, my hairdresser does. Needless to say, it looked pretty stupid on me, and I spent the next few months trying to disguise my hair. Since then, I’ve just been letting it grow. Life’s boring, but I need a new hairdresser before I can attempt to actually get a bob again.

Instead of hair, I’ve changed my desktop background, this blog, my homepage, my makeup, my wardrobe, my desk arrangement, diet, and anything else I could think of to shake up my life a bit. I begun to have a shoe-shopping mania that comes on every other week. I have to stop going into TJ Max, because I almost always leave the place with a new purse, now. I’ve begun to search the web for a good rectangular scarf to use for a 40s turban. This is a bad place in my life, it would seem, and soon the shears are sure to rear their ugly head.

Basically, I’m changing the blog to save my sanity. Enjoy.



*My grammar/spell-check spastic system is telling me that “needs” is grammatically incorrect. Apparently it also evaluates literal statements.

Where there's Smoke...

There must a troubled teenager.

My life has become, if possible, even slower lately…well, my social life has—studies are killing off whatever they had left me at the beginning of the year. Anyway, the purpose is to say that I don’t have anything to report. Rather than give an annoying rundown on my day (as I seem to do way too often), I decided that it was time to share one of my favorite little gems of a family story.

It was probably two years ago that my mom decided that it was time to finally worry about me getting involved in unsavory activities. This would probably start at an earlier age in most homes, but as I was pretty much locked in my room either doing school or reading books (and subsequently not exactly friend material for the “rough” kids around), my parents apparently saw no reason to add any more grey to their heads before absolutely necessary. Enter: my summer job.

It should be noted that I wasn’t exactly naïve going into my job; I was (almost) completely aware that my coworkers were no angels and had a propensity to party every night. I also soon found out that they liked to “corrupt” the new kids that they deemed worthy to hang out with them. Now, there are a few things that can make them absolutely hate you as a new kid. A few examples would be a) talking too much b) talking too little c) acting afraid of them in the open and d) not treating them with enough respect as befits their seventeen plus years on the planet. Luckily (in I’m-so-glad-they-didn’t-make-my-life-living-hell sense), they were all relatively okay with me, and, in fact, became more so as time went on. Eventually my bluntest coworker started in with the inevitable questions, with conversations sucha s this one becoming quite common:

“Do you drink?”
“No, ___.”
“Would you drink?”
“As in ‘would I drink right now if given the chance’? No.”
“Why not?”
“Well, to start, I have this thing about not wanting to have a record…”
“So?”
“Wait, you do realize it isn’t legal, right?”

Basically, the waters were being tested to see if I would party with them. They’d even invite me out without specifics on what the evening would hold, but this became a joke quickly after one night when two of the girls called me from a bar and grill.

“Heeeeey! What’chya doin’?”
“A? Why are you calling me at midnite?”
“I’m out with J and we wanted to know what you were doing!”
“I’m reading a book, A.”
“What?! You’re reading? At midnight?” *peals of laughter*
*sigh* “Yes. Yes, I’m reading at midnight.”
“What’chya readin’?”

She then made me give a short synopsis of the book, and then put my other coworker on the line, making for an interesting conversation, since I’m pretty sure that neither of them were exactly sober at that point. To be honest, none of it bothered (or still bothers) me that much. Eventually, it just became the joke of our workplace, and we all understood our place. I was officially the nerd/over-zealous book reader, they were the partiers, and we could coexist comfortably and even amiably at work. Honestly, all of this rambling has been to explain that, yes, my mother was aware that I was now within reach of anything that she considered wrong, illegal, or immoral…about four years after everyone else.

Because I’m so lucky, this means that my mom decided that it was time to start bugging me about my whereabouts all the time. During the school year, she has no worries—as I said, I’m in my room with poor internet connection, so it’s a pretty safe bet that I’m squeaky clean. However, they start to worry more during the summer since I actually see my friends in person and meet new people—away from them. Apparently I must be the type to throw off all caution, because this little scene occurred sometime in August, I believe:

*Mom arrives home from a day of shopping. My dad and brother have been working, so I’ve had the house to myself. After helping her get the bags into the house, I leave her to arrange them in her OCD fashion well I go pretend that laying out in the sun will add color to my near-albino body. After about fifteen minutes pass, Mom walks out to the deck where I am, and, as I get up, hugs me. Tightly. Suddenly, I notice that she’s sniffing my hair. That’s right, sniffing my hair.*

Me: “Um…what do you think you’re doing?”
My mother: “Nothing! I’m just hugging you!”
*doesn’t let me move; continues to sniff hair.*
“Mom, why are you smelling me? I showered, okay? What, do I smell bad?”
*Finally backs off*
“Well, the pantry smelled like cigarettes.”
“So naturally you thought that I must have been smoking cigarettes in the pantry.”
“Well, I thought I should check. It’s a mother’s job.”
“I think the most insulting thing is that you think I’m stupid enough to smoke them in the pantry. Don’t you think that I would have the sense to at least do that somewhere that you would smell it?”

Yes, readers, my mom was convinced that not my father, who used to smoke cigars regularly, not my brother, who would have more access, but little me was the culprit of smoke in the pantry. (Consequently, I went to check the pantry myself. It didn’t smell like smoke—more like dead mouse.)

Have a lovely April day, and remember to be grateful for mothers who aren’t nosy.

Fill in the Blank: Interviews ______

Well, I’m back earlier than expected from my Houghton College visit day! We drove down last night under the guise of dropping my brother off at college, but we all know that the trip was all about me (sort of). My mum and I spent the night at the tiny little inn there, which is actually pretty adorable. (Somehow we ended up with the same room as we had two years ago when Brother first visited the college). Since the dining hall was already closed, we walked down the one real street of the tiny little village to their posh-ish Subway. (Seriously. Cathedral ceiling, picture windows, a spiral staircase—it has it all, as far as Subway goes.) I’ve recently discovered that banana peppers taste like potent pickles, so I was happy with the small dining selection available. After a night of Wives and Daughters and me stuffing my face with crackers because I was ravenous and there wasn’t anything else to eat, I drifted off into some psycho dream land filled with chicken thieves and kitchen knives. Let’s hope those dreams weren’t prophetic. In the morning, my mum woke up feeling nauseous and dizzy, so we went up to the admissions building to plead for an earlier interview. A lovely admissions counselor, Kate, complied, and I had a lovely chat about Barbara Kingsolver, Sense and Sensibilities, and internships at publishing houses in the big city woven into the dread interview. Overall, it was not near as bad as I had expected. (I also received my first Houghton T-shirt. Granted, they give these out like other colleges hand out paper cups of water, but it is still my first—a [sort of] momentous occasion.)

Ooh, I should also mention that Tommy Hilfiger outlets are the bomb. Yesterday I snapped up an adorable ruffled cardigan (one of my major weaknesses) which was partially cashmere (I won’t mention how much—it really is too small of an amount to really count for much other than to assure everyone that there are traces of cashmere present) for *drum roll* six bucks. Really. It was really nifty too, since I had been drooling over a similar style put out by J. Crew (whose website I’m currently salivating over) only a few months ago. Score! Oh, how I love my outlet malls.

In other news, my grandfather once again sent me a lovely little book…from pre-1920s. Yup, an ancient copy of “Burns: The Poets Day by Day” is now in possession, and I’m loving it. Books used to be not only the art of words, but of craftsmanship; each book was carefully assembled, each portrait carefully set in place, protected by thin sheets of tissue paper. Today’s poem was “Lassie wi’ the Lint-White Locks.” I think the best parts of this book would have to be that the inscription is dated 1921 in Gananoque, Ontario, and that whoever previously owned it penciled in the names of friends and family on their birthdays. I share a birthday with a mysterious Elsie!

Serendipity: Bread and Cheese, making the new Bagel Twists at Dunkin Donuts divine.

Recap

Hm…I’ve been terribly remiss once again. Where to start? Ah, yes: How to Train your Dragon. Honestly, I think that’s going to be the best children’s film of the year, but don’t judge it based on the fact that it is mean t for the kiddies. I went with my brother (a sophomore in college) and a friend (a freshman in college), and we sat in the theatre through the entirety of the credits in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, there would be a bonus scene at the end—you know you love a movie when you’re willing to do that. (I’ll save you the time: there isn’t a bonus scene. Nada. Zip. Zilch.) It was adorable, it was sweet, it was humorous and endearing. The characters had depth and growth, and the dragons were majorly cute. (Yes, even the guys admit to that.)

I’ve been planning to write an entire post on this, but here’s just a quick note: go retro for the spring and summer! The warmer it gets, the better it is to break out the old-Hollywood glam! I’m talking about big shades, red/coral pouts, killer sling backs and peep-toes—and that’s only for day. Glamour is an around the clock deal. Rather than look like a mannequin from your grandmother’s closet, try touches of the look around your outfit, slowly adding more and more pieces. Most importantly: make it your own. Reinvent the look for yourself; don’t be a carbon copy of Marilyn or Audrey.

As for normal life, I’ve been scrambling for two weeks now. My grandma has been having health issues that keep her hopping in and out of the hospital, I had to hop up to my gramp’s place in the Adirondacks for a day this past week, there have been endless errands to run and endless amounts of studying to do. So is life, I suppose (Abatiwaha! Sorry, couldn’t resist. Old choir songs always haunt me like that). The only delicious news is that I found an adorable maxi for a reasonable price at Target a week ago. Sure, I tend to steer away from stores that will have their clothing spread near and far, but for summer dresses, I’m less particular. I feel like winter pieces are here to stay; they’re staples of the wardrobe and should be chosen with care and consideration, never scrimped on. Summer, however, is just to have fun! Clothes wear out faster in the summer, don’t you think? It’s something about how we live a fuller life then. I’m thrilled to try out the length when it warms up again—hopefully my height will help me pull it off!

My Achy Breaky Back has Enemies

What a morning! As my clock poured forth the sounds of a dull news report this morning, I rolled over to hit the snoozer, like every morning. Unlike every other morning, instantly I could tell that something was wrong: my back had done it again. My left shoulder blade was screaming every time I moved, and I couldn’t get comfortable. I figured it would slip into place if I started moving around, so I went to take my shower. Bad idea. I’ve passed out before, so I know the symptoms and how to stop it, which is a good thing since I started to faint just before stepping into the shower. Have you ever noticed how your thoughts are sluggish and ADD when you’re light headed? My thoughts ran something like this: “Ooh, my ears feel hot. What’s that sound? Oh, I think it’s the blood running to my head. Oops, I guess I’m going to miss my violin lesson today…which probably means I won’t be able to go to the movies. Crap. Hm…I feel queasy. I haven’t felt queasy in a long time. How long has it been? I can’t remember. OOH, pretty spots!” Seriously. I go a little loony. I sprawled on the floor for ten minutes before I heard my parents get up and moving, and then ended up falling asleep on a heating pad in bed for a while (the best thing to come out of this). I should probably note that I have issues with doctors. Not with them as people, they’re normal people who I can hate or love like anyone else, but I take serious offence when they’re poking and manhandling me. Today was a manhandling day. I went in to my local GP since he does adjustments as a kind of specialty, so he worked on my back for about twenty minutes. Was that ever awkward. Two vertebrae were obedient, but I still have one that’s being mean to me. Back to the heating pad, I guess.

On a happier note, going to the doctors is how I know that I’ve lost three pounds while still eating half a pan of brownies, cupcakes, frosting, chocolate and white cheddar popcorn as staples of my diet. Yay! I also passed the 5’9 mark, even though I’ve been convinced for a year that my growing days were over.

I can now officially gush about Public Enemies: THAT WAS SO GOOD! Really, I loved it. I’m more enthusiastic than my brother is, and you’d generally think of it as more of a “guys” movie, but that’s just how I am. I could watch Pride and Prejudice back to back with Gladiator and have the time of my life. It was another film that had me ogling the costumes. I’d also like to say once more that Johnny Depp is amazing. Fantastic. Fabulous. Miraculously talented. *gush gush gush* My only complaint was that the style of filming changed twice in the film; it had a low-budget feel at both the night chase in the woods and directly after the death of Dillinger. However, I’m pretty sure it was intended—it just sort of bothered me. Again, you shouldn’t watch if you tend to be squeamish (it is a gangster sort of film, after all), but I highly recommend it.

Twilight, Alice, Bunnies and Enemies

Happy Day-after-Easter, everyone! I know that I was incredibly lazy this weekend, so now I’ll have to catch up on life online. Where to start? I’ll check the box for Friday. Basically, I finished off my work for the week, and then called up a chum to come over for some giggles and face-stuffing. She brought three movies along with her for our entertainment (I think we’ve gone through all of mine by now): The Blind Side, Twilight, and New Moon. I know, I know, you all just gasped. I associate with a Twilighter? It’s true, but in my defense, I’ve tried my utmost to convert her. I also had a devious plan (not really) that I’ll mention later. I had expected The Blind Side to be all weepy and sappy, but I laughed more than anything. Granted, this could have been because when we reached the first football game of the film my dad goes “Oh no, this is where he goes blind, right?!” Let’s just say that it took us a long time to stop laughing after that. Blind SIDE, not blind GUY. Where he picked up that Big Mike goes blind, I’ll never know.

Twilight. Yes, I watched both films. Yes, I talked through the entire thing. Yes, I hated them. YES, I DID film my reactions! My goodness, those films were bad. I would normally apologize to any of you who enjoyed them, but I can’t today. Instead, I’ll ask you a question: what ever do you SEE in them? The dialogue is forced and awkward (“Say something to keep my mind off of them!” “um…well, you should put your seatbelt on.” “HAHAHAHAHA!” WTH IS SO FUNNY?) (…Sorry, that just confuses me. A lot.), the plot is weak and buggy (Alice, what ARE your powers? Couldn’t you tell Bella was alive? Couldn’t you see that she would be in the room with you? Or running to Edward? ARG!), and the characters are brats (paraphrasing: Oh my GOSH! Why did you save me, you big jerk? Why can you run so fast? You shouldn’t be able to DO that! Angst, angst angst!). Needless to say, my commentary is full of raised eyebrows, questions, scoffs and hurling insults. I eventually started to keep a tally of any compliments I made to the film. I could keep it on one hand. (Edward has a snazzy blazer on. He has a cool car, too, but that’s negated by the fact that they’re MOM cars. Um…Jacob looks better with short hair. There. Three.)Oh, and did anyone else notice that the Cullen clan seemed to have a monkey-pet-name fetish? Bella is Edward's Spider monkey (and something else "monkey" too, I think), and then either Alice or Rosalie calls their significant other a monkey as well. Is this a vampire thing? WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?!

On Saturday, I headed to the theatre with a plan to watch Clash of the Titans, but then realized that Alice in Wonderland was still in, so I got a ticket for it instead. Good choice. It was a little like I had been sniffing the Sharpies too long, but the costumes were FANTASTIC. I can’t gush enough about them. In fact, they were pretty much what pushed me into watching the film, since as a child, the book and the old movie versions freaked me out in a big way (which wasn’t helped when I read a few years ago that Carroll was a pedophile). Then there was my affection for Johnny Depp, because he’s such a fabulous actor. I’d love to say the same for Helena, but she just sort of freaks me out, to be honest. Anyway, I really did enjoy the film, despite the extreme sense of the surreal. I suppose that’s really part of its endearing feature. Mia Wasikowska impressed me, as well—she’s on my To-Watch list. Overall, the film was filled with excellent actors who did justice to their roles (never has the Mad Hatter had more depth), wonky settings, and an interesting plot, if not unexpected. This wasn’t your childhood Alice, and I liked it that way.

I think the bunny is pretty self-explanatory. There’s now enough chocolate to kill a herd of cattle in my house, so I’m sure to gain a few by next week since I have zero powers of resistance to the horribly lovely stuff. I spent at least a portion of the day sitting on a blanket under the sun reading “The Handmaid’s Tale,” so the day was pretty fantastic for me. I also watched the majority of “Public Enemies,” and it was quite a ride. Honestly, how can a film go wrong that has Johnny Depp, Christian Bale and Carey Mulligan (even if she doesn’t really have much of a part)? Even if I haven’t watched the end, I think I should be able to highly recommend it to anyone who isn’t squeamish at blood and violence (unlike in Twilight, no one’s head is ripped off at unexpected moments, I promise).

(I just realized that the photos didn't shrink to size like they were supposed to, but since they're off the web, you can click on them to view the whole photo.)

It’s Summe—I mean, Spring!

My current location is stretched out on my porch in cutoffs and a tank. On my porch. Outside. In April. Yes, bipolar New York has done it again! Our weather has shifted, and it’s now a balmy seventy. The birds serenade me and the flies buzz along in a random, scattered tune. It feels so good to feel a breeze on my skin and the sun on my face. This is the life!
My driving escapade of the post was when I had to drive my grandmother’s car to her house. She was, of course, in it with me, but that doesn’t say that I had any guidance or help. I think I inherited my driving “skills” from her. Basically, I was on my own. On a busy day. On some of the most congested roads in the most inconceivable layout you will find in a small city. Wouldn’t you know it, her car was blisteringly hot, too. I was stressed, to say the least, but I made it safe and sound.
Yesterday marked the beginning of my brother’s spring break from college, so in is typical whirlwind fashion, he arrived home last night. While he was chatting with my mother, I made a break for it and ran around outside for a bit, enjoying the sunset and the warmth with my oversized, over-aged puppy of a German shepherd, Whitaker. (I’ll try to post a few pictures as soon as I upload them onto my laptop.) The purpose of this escape was that I was still annoyed by the fact that my brother, a sophomore in college, is still buying himself videogames. I take issue with that. Hence, my flight so that I wouldn’t say too much and end up in a huge fight on his first night home. (I foresee a long week ahead.) I’ll ignore that little issue however, since Brother being home = a personal driver. To do list today: finish up some work, head off to a movie, and don’t end Brother’s life in an epic battle.