(no subject)
I have witnessed such a varied assortment of nocturnal creatures out in the wild recently. Raccoons and deer with their babies (or cubs/fawn), crackheads on 6th and Market trying to sell me feather boa's at 3AM, etc. But the other night, I saw a new creature that was unprecedentedly adorable and, I suppose, unprecedentedly goff. I saw bats for the first time in the wild the other night! I heard some high-pitched screeching noises (I suppose it was their sonar?...) and saw two little bats flying above my friend's entryway at his apartment building. They were so wee. According to a little bit of research I did about Bay Area species of bats (including the 12-14-year-old Marilyn Manson fan), I think it was a Western Pipistrelle.
My cat has dandruff. I don't know any other creature who could actually benefit from being so gross. Everything about him is perfectly endearing and adorable. His right eye was just watering, so I wiped it away for him. That little guy actually turns me into an overly doting mother of a two-year-old.
There is so much that I need to get done, but I'm just not doing any of it. My car is in dire need of a damn good interior clean (which I intend on doing today), my room is absolutely squalid and I can't handle it anymore. Not only that, but I came up with a really fabulous design plan for it about two weeks ago, which includes, but is in no way limited to, painting my walls. It may be a little ridiculous with the prospect of me moving out in the near future imminent, but it's something I really want to do, and something that my mum is completely supportive of funding. I just wish she was into fashion as much as interior decor. Anyway, I don't want to reveal my plan, but suffice it to say, it's going to take a lot of time and antique/artifact/bone findings. I'm quite enthused.
I haven't been completely useless. I've begun working an additional day of work now in the hopes of paying off my debts slightly sooner than normal so I can get on with my life and transport myself at least as far as L.A. in the near future. Although my low C and two high C's on my Biology, History, and Philosophy midterms (respectively) were momentously disappointing and dismal (although it was own goddamn fault-- less hedonism, more brain food), I did get an A on my paper on A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man in my literature class that I take in Berkeley. My professor is the same one I had last semester for my late 18th-early 19th century literature course, and she is a notoriously difficult grader. It was like a giant shout-out to my hommie James Joyce. Or something.
Sometimes Bubbles from AbFab reminds me of a British version of Björk.
My cat has dandruff. I don't know any other creature who could actually benefit from being so gross. Everything about him is perfectly endearing and adorable. His right eye was just watering, so I wiped it away for him. That little guy actually turns me into an overly doting mother of a two-year-old.
There is so much that I need to get done, but I'm just not doing any of it. My car is in dire need of a damn good interior clean (which I intend on doing today), my room is absolutely squalid and I can't handle it anymore. Not only that, but I came up with a really fabulous design plan for it about two weeks ago, which includes, but is in no way limited to, painting my walls. It may be a little ridiculous with the prospect of me moving out in the near future imminent, but it's something I really want to do, and something that my mum is completely supportive of funding. I just wish she was into fashion as much as interior decor. Anyway, I don't want to reveal my plan, but suffice it to say, it's going to take a lot of time and antique/artifact/bone findings. I'm quite enthused.
I haven't been completely useless. I've begun working an additional day of work now in the hopes of paying off my debts slightly sooner than normal so I can get on with my life and transport myself at least as far as L.A. in the near future. Although my low C and two high C's on my Biology, History, and Philosophy midterms (respectively) were momentously disappointing and dismal (although it was own goddamn fault-- less hedonism, more brain food), I did get an A on my paper on A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man in my literature class that I take in Berkeley. My professor is the same one I had last semester for my late 18th-early 19th century literature course, and she is a notoriously difficult grader. It was like a giant shout-out to my hommie James Joyce. Or something.
Sometimes Bubbles from AbFab reminds me of a British version of Björk.
