things I am so done with:
most things
thing I am not done with:
my homework
Hello, Nineteen.
I was never one for planning birthday parties
or expecting too much from people
or making a big fuss of turning one year older.
“It’s just another day,”
I always tell myself.
But surely,
starting from midnight
up until now,
everything has been
wonderful.
From a room full of strangers
singing “happy birthday”
followed by accompanied shots
to phone calls
from friends back home
with a mixture of slurred words
to forming closer bonds
and creating unforgettable memories
to finding out who
really has my back
when I’m being the most ridiculous person
to the comforts
of my own bed
to a call from a
bratty baby and a forgetful mother
to a delicious brunch
with my nakama
and to productivity
alongside “ratchet” surprises
from people who I’m beginning to see as a
family.
Honestly,
I’m happy.
So damn happy.
Winter quarter fucking sucked.
Here’s to an awesome spring quarter.
Here’s to an awesome year.
Thanks to everyone who sent me birthday wishes.
I’m so fucking appreciative of everything.
“What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today. And you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are —underneath the year that makes you eleven.
Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the part of you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five. And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.
Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That’s how being eleven years old is.
You don’t feel eleven. Not right away. It takes a few days, weeks even, sometimes even months before you say Eleven when they ask you. And you don’t feel smart eleven, not until you’re almost twelve. That’s the way it is.”
I love how real nights like that are. Good company, good talks, good memories.
On another note, let no one say that we are UC Socially Dead. We throw the biggest.
Cats from LA, OC and RSide, lets do this again.
Im also really proud of our underclassmen as well. Thaz all
Fuck yeah.
Woke up to a graphic design internship possibility.
I’m insanely happy right now.
Student living got you down?
Check out these 18 amazing snacks that you can make in a cup in the microwave! Cheap and easy these are the perfect snacks!
YAY my student union is posting student snacks!
That last one looks amazing.
Oh God I needed this!
tag your porn, MY GOD
