HEY THERE.

Not dead, just busy. For realz.

I am spelling things that do not have the letter Z with that letter.  I am making poor choices.

My boss occasionally points out that I reference choices fairly often.  This is a habit from camp.  There are no bad kids, just kids who make bad choices.  This can be applied to a number of situations.  For instance, the skirt I wanted to wear today is not a bad skirt, it just made a bad choice to be not clean at the moment.

The skirt makes its own decisions.  Duh.

Tomorrow I'm going to be documenting/interviewing/blogging about my school's fashion show, Bodies of Art.  It will be awesome, hopefully.  And I found someone on the interwebs who was willing to let me interview them!  People don't hate me!  I don't come off as painfully awkward to everyone!  WOOOHOOO!  So that's the post that's going up after the Bodies of Art post on Fifteen-Seventeen.  Speaking of Fifteen-Seventeen, I got to talk to some people who I've had a giant internet crush on for YEARS and it was so.  Freaking.  Cool.  They were awesome.  Really.  I wrote about them.  I am reasonably pleased with the amount of success I've had with that blog so far.  I mean, I freak out about what I'm posting quite often, but no one's told me that they hate it, and people other than my mom have read it.  That's success, right there.

PARTY ON.

I'm in class, and I have to go to the bathroom again because I guzzled down two bottles of water in an hour.  That might not have been the best decision, but I was thirsty because it has been unreasonably and unseasonably hot for the past week.  Also, my roommateboyfriend made me go running yesterday, and now my legs, THEY ARE FEELING THE RUN.  Ouch.  I think I might go again tonight.  My running goals are something along the lines of "Do not die of inactivity when I am twenty-three." and not very much along the lines of "Run in the Olympics."

So that's what I've been up to.

Also, I have worn shorts/skirt/skirt this week.  CRAZY, BRO.  The people! They are seeing my legs!  I am scared.  Also, I need to get better at shaving.

I am embarrassing myself.  In a major way.  Let's put this on the internet and pretend it never happened.

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