i love steve jobs

Dear Steve,
You are brilliant. Your computers are lovely. I stroke mine all day. Like a puppy. I think you should add that to your list of product features. Totally soft and stroke-able. Thank you for replacing my monstrous dell notebook that I accidentally spray painted powder blue during a moment of creative madness and that sounded like a steamroller whenever I attempted to open Photoshop. I heart you. And our new laptops. And I promise I won't let any paint near its silver shininess.



I found out I was accepted into the design program! I'm so happy I don't have to drop out of school and sell balloon animals on the corner. A few snippets from the portfolio:


Procrastination, your name is Sara

Supposedly I have been keeping a daily sketchbook for my figure drawing class. It is due tonight at seven. Supposedly it will have 105 pages. I need some ice cream. And some sort of magic awesomeness that will make my fingers whip out 104 more pages in the next few hours.


a little show

For one of my classes we had to put on a mini show today. My piece was the tree. I'm torn on deciding what my favorite part of the show was: a) watching grown adults participate quite savagely in an easter egg hunt ten feet away from us (some people had war paint. really?) or watching a fellow group member's husband pose as a samurai as part of our display. Nevermind. I just decided that the man playing ultimate frisbee in biker shorts wins. Oh if you could have seen him slide ;)


Why I am not particularly fond of wednesdays

Today. Work. I am sitting in my cubicle when three guys approach my desk and ask me to look at a book cover file because one of the lines is not matching up right when they print it. So I look at the job jacket to see who the customer is and groan out loud, "oh, HIM. I HATE his stuff." And then a very deep, scary voice from behind my chair says, "That's rude. Why do you hate my stuff?" REALLY?? Am I that dumb that I did not notice the customer himself standing behind my desk??? Yes. I am. And because I did not know what to do, I pretended like I didn't notice and sat for five minutes in strange silence while I fixed the file. And then, awkwardly I threw out, "Oh it's not you, I say that about everybody. Um. Ha. Ha." Good thing he's a little strange. I told him I had been battling a headache and he told me that I needed to imagine my headache was a great big flaming ball of neon green mass, then I should physically shake my head and remove the ball, zip it up real tight in a plastic bag, and fling it over the mountains. Weekend Countdown: 2 Days.
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