Of too many workouts, inherently hipster haircuts, and crushed dreams. (Among other things.)

Dear Simone–

So I figured it would probably be easiest if I started a blog in your honor instead of dealing with the formatting messiness of fBook. Et voilà! A blog just for you. You wanted to hear about my life? So you shall, but you can switch off at any moment. C'est à toi, cherie, but that is the beauty of using this site, right? I can't really make promises about the regularity of posting here, but I shall do my very very best.

What did I do today? Well other than read in bed this morning and go to my sole T/Th class at 11, I spent virtually all day working out. Which means bouncing around my room like a maniac in booty shorts and a workout shirt, because I teach Zumba, and I'm allowed to do stuff like that (and I get paid for it–I have the BEST job). I wrote a routine to that dub-step song that Duncan got me into, which has been stuck in my head for several days now (still not sick of it). I keep meaning to write a routine to this song, but every time I try I just end up having a little solo dance party in my room, and I only realize that I haven't been doing any choreography by the time the song ends. Fail. I started working out at 1:30, and I was basically working out solid block through the class I teach at 8 (which ends at 9). I could barely move when I got home. Those long days of PDT rehearsals paid off though, right? Kind of.

I didn't actually work out that *whole* time. My sister came by for chatting and coffee and after that I went and hung out with Duncan for a while. He does photography for the DTH, our oh-so-celebrated student newspaper (at a school where journalism is a hot major), and had just gotten out of doing a photo assignment covering this play. He actually had another assignment to do down in Carrboro, which is the hippie-liberal town just down Franklin Street from downtown Chapel Hill. We picked up his car and drove there (for time efficiency-it's really only a ten minute walk or so once you're off campus) so he could take pictures of cars on a road that they're going to expand. Not quite ready to return to campus, we went and got some local, organic munchies at the wonderful (if a little chère) Weaver Street Market. And what is more delicious than curried vegetables with rice, chocolate milk from a glass bottle, and blueberry danish, might I ask?

Life on a less literal level. Still mundane. First of all there is the continuing backlash from the haircut: I get random compliments from strangers on it, which is wonderfully flattering. I found all of these old glasses while I was home this past weekend, but if I wear any of them, I look like a shameless hipster gal.

As you can see, it's a serious problem and perhaps an even more serious temptation in many ways. Fortunately I've been able to abandon my Buddy Holly rims in Duncan's room (along with my peanut butter–I'm enough of an addict to classy peanut butters that I can polish off a full jar within 24 hours unless some limitations are put on my access to such deliciousness). Access to those glasses might make me end up like this.

I also got an amazing hat. But what kind of animal is that supposed to BE, anyway?

I thought it was an owl at first. Other suggestions have included a lemur and a koala.

Celebration time: I got a mix today! From my dear friend Ben, who is into Economics and Political Science, with a minor in Islamic Studies and who is EXTRAORDINARILY snobby about his music. He has excellent taste though, so he gets away with it. You met him briefly when you visited. He has gorgeous hair.

The CD he gave me features nothing but the Silversun Pickups, a band that I love, but that I had very little of in my collection. This is his favorite song by them. And his least favorite, which I gave you on your mix, and which this CD was in response to. My personal favorite is probably this song, but that might change after I've listened to this CD for a while. It's exciting. I'm kind of obsessed with music. :)

So my Guerilla Art Group is going to put a notebook out in the Pit in an attempt to get people to put their random thoughts in it. After two weeks of no one actually going out to get a notebook, I kind of got fed up with the whole thing and butchered one of my more lightly-used class notebooks to make this:

The layered aluminum foil looks like waves at the top, and the feathery looking bit is made of hand-torn shreds of printer paper, held on with good old Scotch tape. It took me quite a while to make, but it was totally worth it. :)

I'm struggling right now a lot with the whole idea of dating. There is an interested fellow, and we were quite fresh with each other the other day in his room, but I'm worried that I may have made a mistake with that. You might not know this about me (having never been in a position to be exposed to this trait), but I am probably one of the flightiest and most skittish people you know. I want to spend my life being able to travel where I want, when I want, with whoever I want to, and however I want to, all without any reason beyond for the sake of adventure. Needless to say, my issues with commitment are giving me pains at present, and I don't really know what to do with that, or with this poor boy (who has no idea what he's getting himself into). I have always been single, and I've recently come back to terms with my own lasting singleness. Food for thought. I think about isolation a lot. I actually wrote a fairly intense essay on the subject once, of my own volition and inspiration. Committed relationships. Terrifying. I tried to tell my sister why I didn't want to get in a relationship. She disapproved. No one can generate such crushing disapproval as can be gained from a philosophy major, let me tell you.

I won't always treat this like a diary. :) No matter what I write though, I will try to put up some cool stuff that I've come across in my explorations of the internet, past and present.

LINKS OF THE DAY:

Favorite stop-motion flick. It's short, but gorgeous.

Staircases, reimagined in all their ordinary splendor.

The three-year-old in me cannot get over this cake.

A chipmunk.

Learn Spanish! BBC style.


Affectionately,
moi