I love my roommates part 2039812039820193:
“Don’t put your food in the dead cat box!”
—things I never thought I would say. (One of my roommates works at a veterinary clinic, and is using the boxes they put dead animals in to pack with…I object.)
Internet friends: I did not forget about you! I love you. All, individually and personally. In fact, I never told you this, but I have been mad crushin’ on you forevz. Wil u d8 me, chk y or n.
But I moved home for the summer, I’m working two serving jobs, and it’s been really fucking nice out…so my blogging will be sporadic at best. I can promise photos of small town adorableness and summertime adventures in the near future.
In the mean time, you’re looking so sexual today. Tell me about your day, baby?
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Barb’s wedding again again. Look at my adorable dad (he is 16 in this photo, aw) and my nana’s fabulous hat.
Barb’s wedding again.
Barb’s wedding…nana looking stylish as always.
And Barb at her prom. This one is so good: that dress, the flower belt, the beehive, the curtains…I am really into how blurry it is, and the ultra dark shadow.
My Aunt Barb on her kick ass bike.
My beautiful nana, aunt, and dad.
Med school?
Why did everyone I know apply to medical school? It’s weird. Out of nowhere, I suddenly feel so much less accomplished than 97% of my friends and friends-of-friends and acquaintances, who all applied to med school. Even The Boy From Yale* came to stay at our apartment so he could go to his Western med school interview this morning. I am not exaggerating: we hosted a party here last night, and I was one of three people who hadn’t applied to med school.**
*The Boy From Yale is a good story. He’s studying biology at Yale, he rows, is super cute and tall and nice and stuff, and yet…he had never touched a vagina until my roommate (aka The Virgin Slayer) came along. I don’t understand.
**The other two weren’t liberal arts slackers either, one was in engineering and the other applied to veterinary school.
Got into the grad program I wanted. This is cause for…celebration? Part of me is happy, because I got exactly what I asked for. The other (majority?) part of me is a little sad. I had planned on not getting in, on taking a year off, on traveling and living at home and relaxing for a year. Now I have to be an adult and actually start a career and shit.
Is this what I need?
Drunk is the only possible way I will be able to write this essay on Thomas Szasz’s The Myth of Mental Illness without losing my shit. It’s worth 50% of my final grade, and I have so many mixed feelings about it. Alcohol will clear my head, right?
