All is well, darlings, and nothing too eventful has happened. Bryan and I drove down to Durham, North Carolina last weekend and the trip went well. I met his friends whom had come from all over the country to celebrate another friend's birthday, and I didn't even stop loving him when he and his old band mates cleared out the dining room, set up their amps, and hopped about the room while playing their old music drunkenly, happily, and out of tune. The crowd was an eclectic collection of old college friends who had all turned into architects, engineers, and designers, with the exception of one pizza-delivery man. Seeing that I hope to go into design it suffices to say that the connections established are priceless. Free pizza, here I come.

My rejection letter from the UC still hasn't come. Bastards. How dare they draw out this annoying process. On the upside, it's warm and sunny outside, so now I can wait by the mailbox in a plastic lawn chair with endless amounts of class and refinement for my rejection letter. If only I had a wife-beater and a shotgun to complete the delicate ensemble.

I need to go grocery shopping now. Please don't take this as rejection, my bumpkins; if the choice is between food and you, you can't really expect me to keep on writing. There are calories that need consumin', after all.