Best line of this weekend
"Maybe it was gay and its parents kicked it out of home."
- Sophie on a very small and squishy lemon found in Cummings Park. We planted it in the hopes it would grow into a tree.
And because I am bored, photos.
Chris and I (and Carina, and...uh...someone in the background) on the train one day in August, looking incredibly spazzy because Chris was in the middle of exclaiming how cool the camera was. Everytime I see this photo I laugh. So does Sophie. xD
Me and Jem at Mathswell, me looking stoned as is typical, her looking, in her own words, "muntified". That's the St. Pat's hall in the background, hurrah.
The new haircut. It is short. This camera sucks.
The singing masterclass (or as I have taken to calling it, singingmajig) was awesome. I actually sang (I'd Give My Life For You, from the musical Miss Saigon) well!! The 'rentals were thrilled that Alison Hodge (she just directed the Onslow production) didn't have as much to critique with me as everyone else did but I was just disappointed I didn't get to be a politican (she was telling all the less confident people to pretend they were Helen Clark giving a speech). I was pretty damn pleased I got a pillow baby though. And someone's grandma came up to me afterwards and told me I sang beautifully. :)
Still can't find Wuthering Heights.
EDIT // Or my jersey. Starting to become an annual thing, this losing of the jersey just before Term Four. Shall no doubt endlessly irritate parents. Actually never found Sophie's vest either. Oops.
Have not done textiles homework due on Tuesday. Terrible. Shit. Crap. Bloody goddamn motherfucking wanker. (While not entirely necessary per se it made me feel better for about two seconds.) Why the hell do I want to know about pajamas from some period of history? Ugh ugh ugh. Hate textiles. Hate hate hate hate. Only one term and a week left to go and I suspect I shan't have finished anything by the end of said. Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh stupid fucking subject.
Go the immaturity.
- Sophie on a very small and squishy lemon found in Cummings Park. We planted it in the hopes it would grow into a tree.
And because I am bored, photos.
Chris and I (and Carina, and...uh...someone in the background) on the train one day in August, looking incredibly spazzy because Chris was in the middle of exclaiming how cool the camera was. Everytime I see this photo I laugh. So does Sophie. xD
Me and Jem at Mathswell, me looking stoned as is typical, her looking, in her own words, "muntified". That's the St. Pat's hall in the background, hurrah.
The new haircut. It is short. This camera sucks.
The singing masterclass (or as I have taken to calling it, singingmajig) was awesome. I actually sang (I'd Give My Life For You, from the musical Miss Saigon) well!! The 'rentals were thrilled that Alison Hodge (she just directed the Onslow production) didn't have as much to critique with me as everyone else did but I was just disappointed I didn't get to be a politican (she was telling all the less confident people to pretend they were Helen Clark giving a speech). I was pretty damn pleased I got a pillow baby though. And someone's grandma came up to me afterwards and told me I sang beautifully. :)
Still can't find Wuthering Heights.
EDIT // Or my jersey. Starting to become an annual thing, this losing of the jersey just before Term Four. Shall no doubt endlessly irritate parents. Actually never found Sophie's vest either. Oops.
Have not done textiles homework due on Tuesday. Terrible. Shit. Crap. Bloody goddamn motherfucking wanker. (While not entirely necessary per se it made me feel better for about two seconds.) Why the hell do I want to know about pajamas from some period of history? Ugh ugh ugh. Hate textiles. Hate hate hate hate. Only one term and a week left to go and I suspect I shan't have finished anything by the end of said. Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh stupid fucking subject.
Go the immaturity.