Sara the Hipster

Postsecret

QUICK UPDATE:

I was wondering what my life was missing.

And I realized:

I've been so wrapped up in Questionable Content, Doctor Who, Effing Dykes and Skins that I haven't been religiously checking Postsecret every Sunday.

Have I grown out of it? What does that even mean?
Ah, realizations, you are so weird.

I have a stats quiz tomorrow and still need to clean my room. Shit.

Where to take a sixteen year old girl in San Francisco

When you input that statement into google, it comes up with stories of a shooting, a stolen SUV, a Japanese baseball team that drafted a 16 year old girl, and Charles Manson.

But anyway,

my dad and sister are coming up for the weekend!

And I was supposed to plan out what we are supposed to do...

And I didn't.

And I was looking things up to do.

I went to Chinatown recently with my new roommate, which was fun, and we got horribly lost and ended up in North Beach and then at City Lights which is where we were meaning to go anyway, so it worked out.

But it was really frustrating when I wanted to buy these earrings at a little dumpy shop but the worker, who only spoke Chinese, couldn't get my card to swipe properly and did lots of motioning which I didn't understand and it is in those instances where I wish I knew more languages like how to say, "No, I have money on the card, it just has trouble swiping," in Chinese.

What would my sixteen year old sister even want to do anyway?

She wants to go to Haight, which is fun, when it's not pouring.

And it's pouring.

So, we'll see how the weekend goes.

I will be sure to update you all.

Dream dream dream... dream

So I had a dream last night that I woke up crying from. So it goes:

My father had a painting of our backyard. And in my dream, our backyard was an English country-side with some sort of cottage or Parthenon structure nearby.

But the painting was done in a crude modern art in-third-grade-I-drew-this kind of way.

So, in the dream, when my father told me, at the Cal Train station, that he had given the painting to the SF Moma, I began to violently sob. I was outrageously upset. I just kept sobbing and sobbing. I had only sobbed this much in my dreams when my mother dies in them.

And I was especially upset that he didn't at least sell it or keep it. All he got was this little card that said something like Donor but it wasn't that with HILL INTRO underneath with a little plastic bouquet in between that stuck out. But I just kept sobbing and shouting at him.

Wonder what it means...

Conversations with My Mother

So I called, trying to figure out where in godforsaken Texas we are staying, and so it begins:

Me: Hey Mom, what's the address of Uncle Tom's place? Arielle was asking because...

Mom: Oh I know! It's crazy! I can't believe she'll be so close...

Me: Yeah, in Austin.

Mom: No, we're in Cedar Park which is close by but...

Me: No, ARIELLE is staying in Austin...

Mom: Oh oh yes of course. Well how are you? All good? (And this is my mother's way of beginning to end the conversation)

Me: Yeah...

Mom: Well, alright then, I'll let you go. Buh-bye.

Me: No wait, Mother! Tom's address?

Mom: Oh, I don't know it. Love you. (click)

Our conversations might as well be:

Mom: So are you dead?

Me: No

Mom: Raped?

Me: Nope.

Mom: Alright, Sweetheart. I'll send you money later this week. (click)

Petty Procrastination

Hello lovelies!

So here I am, not doing work, yet again. Even though now I have used this handy add-on for Firefox called "Leechblock" which is, for all you Mac kids out there, like Self Control. You set it for a period of time, an hour for me right now, and pick sites that you don't want to go on but know you will anyway and probably spend hours on not doing the final that is looming over your head due at 11:55 tonight.

I should probably set this as one of the sites as well.

I'm going home on Saturday! I don't quite know how to feel about that. It'll be nice, and not so nice, to see friends, and family.

How do you pick what books to sell back? I like some of them and I don't know if it's worth it to sell it back at half the price I got them for.

So, right now, I'm going to go back to the grindstone with my hair sprouting out of my head in a 'do resembling Pebbles from the Flinstones.

More Roommate Drama

Hello poppets!

So this has been a particularly stressful week for me. We had the dreaded roommate meeting Friday afternoon.

Now, for those of you not up to speed, my direct roommate has been having her boyfriend sleep with us every night she's been here.

And, on top of that, she's been having randos crash in our living room.

Apparently, no one was bothered by this but me. But that doesn't matter because after she told me so-and-so was staying Thursday night right before she and Tim went to bed, I lost it.

Me: Why didn't you ask me?

Her: You weren't here.

Me: Well, why didn't you text me and ask me?

Her: You're never here. I just forgot.

Yeah, you just forgot.

Anywho, after lots of discussion then arguing then crying, Christina graciously agreed to having time spend the night only twice a week and in the living room.

How accommodating of her.