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Posts tagged with random.
my sweet twenty-one is fastly approaching!
college babble:
To fulfill my duties an art student, I’m required, along with a group of my ‘need for creation’ peers, to take part in the worldwide artsy fartsy fest known as the “Sketchbook Project.” This should be a doozy.
My varsity year is killer. On the bright side, I have smiley faced nails that are reminiscent to the claws of my Rihsus Pieces circa 2008.
chitter chatter:
What’s Gucci, my nigga? What’s Louis, my killa? In other words, hello!
“A Word From Me” posts have been scarce due to the cloud of hecticness that came and rained all over my lazy parade in the month of August. To stray away from my usual long winded ramblings, I’ll give you the short and sweet version (the spark notes for elevenfourty, if you will) of the aforementioned excuse that justifies using my blog as an eclectic picture dump. In efforts to make my upcoming year of being a Spartan a success story, I’ve been working to put my foolproof game plan in action for this fourth round of college. This includes furnishing an apartment fit for two and being sure that I can consistently scrounge up the moolah to make rent every month. While tailoring my Varsity (click for explanation behind the nifty nickname) year of college to complete perfection has ate up ninety-nine percent of my precious minutes, hours, and seconds, I’ve also been doing lots of mini-productive things here and there. The latest from that list being, getting ready to witness my big brother, who, by the way, is always making sure my blogging home is clean-cut with the .com addition, tie the knot with his lady/newest member of our cuckoo bananas family. In fact, I’ve already bought a barf bag and a hefty bottle of Clorox to douse my eyes with when they engage in the lip lock that solidifies their marriage. Don’t pass judgement. As the baby sister, I like to think my older siblings are as pure and nun-like as they come. Bleh!
CH-CH-CH-CH CHERRYBOMB!
Last noche I got bored of my typical internet habits so I got the bright idea to flip through all 900+ channels of absolute U-Verse bullshit to lessen my boredom. During the rigorous thumb exercise on the clicker (remote, channel changer, thingamabob-whatever tickles your pickle), I stumbled across a scene where, “forever a tiny tot in my head” Dakota Fanning, was decked out in funky 70’s garb with a flowing crimson tide on her inner thigh to match. Intrigued by the vintage setting and a few blinks away from blowing chunks over Aunt Dot’s famous Blood Smoothie dripping onto the pavement, I strapped in for all 106 minutes of “The Runaways.” Which, by the way, was based on actual musical happenings in the 70’s. Initially, I had my doubts about staying tuned in for the entire shebang as I had caught wind that the maker of the “K-Stew face” was on the roster. Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally on Kristen Stewart’s team. I just wasn’t in the mood to endure her extreme awkwardness and that twitchy thing she does with her eyes. Not to mention I had recently watched the trio of Twilight movies, in no particular order, for the upteenth time. In other words, my temporary anti K-stewness should be understandable. With all that gibberish said, I ended up finding myself too fascinated to not give this movie a shot for the hell of it. I watched as David Bowie mega-stan, Cherie Currie (Fanning!), transformed from the average fifteen-year old of the groovy 70’s to a sex pistol front man for an all-girl rock band by the name of, you guessed it, “The Runaways.” Once Currie linked up with the rebellious Joan Jett (K. Stew), and two other rock ‘n roll chicks, the movie became a whirlwind of teenage angst that included your stereotypical rockstar essentials of popping pills, sniffing fluffy powder, bumping uglies, sporting cigarette scented hair do’s, behaving erratically on stage, and having sweaty brawls backstage-I loved it. As a matter of fact, I can’t even get the catchy “Cherry Bomb” tune to stop playing on repeat in my head, that includes the 1976 original and the movie’s remix. All in all, it’s a interesting watch and I’d definitely recommend that all of you hard-rock lover’s and hipster Sundance heads check it out for your viewing pleasure.
mischief managed:
Bloody hell. The sun is beginning to show itself and even though I’m tucked away under the covers, I’m too gassed to catch some z’s. Thus, I thought I’d rock myself to sleep by rambling a bit about Wizarding World War 2, as my iTouch cranks out some quirky tunes from my Potter playlist for background noise.
AMERICAN TALK DOS - Featuring a tiny portion of the wondrous Potter cast.
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In lieu of my Potter-loving heart shattering into a million itty bitty pieces in about 72 hours, I thought i’d join in on the depressing dashboard festivities with my fellow Potter addicts. To kick off my mourning fiesta, here’s a charming video displaying Ron, Neville, & Draco three of my favorite guy brits taking a second stab at learning the American way in under five minutes. If you give a bit of a shit, here are a few highlights where my wizard boo’s, practically clueless of our American antics, inadvertently coerce a few hearty chuckles out of me:
- Tom taking a gander at a photo of Kim Kardashian and confidently stating that the woman before him was Jennifer Lopez, only to realize it was one of the Dash’s after catching wind of the term “sex tape.”
- Skewing their lovely british accents to impersonate what you’d hear coming out the mouth of your average citizen of the Red, White, and Blue. Matthew (who obviously had a successful run-in with puberty, yowza!) and Tom totally passed that portion of the test with flying American Flag colors. Rupe’s, on the other hand, was a little rusty in his imitations. However, he automatically receives something like a “Get Out of Jail Free” card seeing as he doubles as Ron Weasley, a bad mamma jamma. Oh, and it wasn’t until this clip that I realized how “American” the word “brewski” actually is. I’m thinking about adding that particular word back into my everyday lingo.
- “Wh-what is a brewski?”
- Being good sports and singing an annoyingly catchy tune that Nashville teen, Miley, had all of us based for during the summer/fall of ‘09.
- “You guys are keen on guns?” - Tom while receiving a NERF gun during the parting gifts portion. I’d give anything to load my NERF gun and shoot around with him and his mega-debonairness.
- The crazy fact that I’m every bit of an American girl, yet I don’t know what the hell “JAG” is nor have I ever seen such a show on my 24 inch. What, is it like “MASH”?
(via lumos-maxima)
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Being the die-hard 90’s buff that I am, I’ve had this tee, featuring our favorite all-american babe Bayside Tiger (and inspiration for naming my iTouch), Kelly Kapowski, sitting in my buggy over at Urban Outfitters for quite some time. While this picture of Madam Kapowski, featuring that retro gradient backdrop, was printed on a boat load of plain white’s to be adorned over the flesh of male 20 somethings who had prepubescent school boy crushes on her (oh, and Based Bieber), as the opposite, I’ve been wanting her to sign my yearbook with little sharpie ink hearts since I was a little tot in elementary. Therefore, I’m more than the perfect candidate for merch like this, especially when it assists in helping me to pay retail tribute to my wonder years. Not to mention, it’d be a nice little addition to the small Saved by the Bell section of my closet that already houses a Bayside Tiger hoodie. What’s stopping me from snagging this screen tee is the debate I’ve been reffing between my inner impulse buyer and my debit card on whether I should buy this merch directly offline or make the trip to the nearest Urban Outfitters. The latter seems like the more sensible solution, as the brains over at WEB UO are out to make my experience with spending the little bit of green left in my deflated bank account a reoccurring nightmare with that outrageous $10 flat rate shipping fee. Bastids.
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For the past few days, I’ve actually been on a bit of a man hunt for this beaut. Meaning, I’ve been sifting through the 3 Stacks amount of notes and trying to find a clue as to where on the interweb this bag is located. However, being the ball of brilliance that I am, I didn’t catch the fact that this photo before you doubles as a link to the Roxy site that has this baby up for sale. All I need is a blonde wig thrown over the tousled pile of dark brown mess on my head. Anyway, I’m considering snatching this up as the navy blue JANSPORT I used to lug around campus had a run it with a pesky bottle of CLOROX and is now resembling that of a blotchy mess and reeking of an awkward mix of bleach and vanilla (don’t ask). Besides, it’s totally my cup of tea.
(via fish-fillet)
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Can I talk my shit again? As much as I adore my california lovin’ hippie, Ms. Aiko, the ramble that will commence in a few doesn’t have a thing to do with her, that lovely voice, or all the much-deserved buzz that’s been invading her bubble as of late. In fact, it’s all about that beverage she’s taking sips from. Boxed Water-a nifty little gift to our friend Earth and another excuse for everyone, including me, to continue to avoid getting their H2O fix from any one of their household sinks for the low price of Free 99. Aside from the good deed that’s embedded in this product, it was the packaging that initially piqued my interest for Boxed Water. You see, as a budding graphic artist and typography enthusiast, I tend to gauge my love for the simplest of merchandise, bottled water for example, based on its design. Believe it or not, I’m a frequent “Nestle-Pure Life” buyer because of the interesting look of the Eco-Shape bottle and their bubbly font usage (can’t believe I admitted that). Digressing. As far as the merch above goes, I love it’s simplistic look and the quirkiness of the clear liquid being contained in a milk-carton esque contraption. Furthermore, even though I’m not the best fit for an eco-friendly crusader, I always get a kick out of doing my part in keeping the Earth happy as best as I can. Thus, I’ll probably get my hands on a carton sooner rather than later.
CANDY DESK
The candy desk is a tradition of the United States Senate established in 1968, according to the Senate Historical Office. The desk, located on the Republican side of the Senate chamber, was first stocked with candy and treats by Senator George Murphy. Those entrusted with the candy desk have included John McCain, Slade Gorton, Bob Bennett, and Rick Santorum. Most senators take advantage of the desk, even though eating is not allowed on the Senate floor. The desk is currently occupied by Senator Mark Kirk of Illinois. (via neoeno)
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I ran across this little interesting tidbit and loved the idea of a desk designated for a candy dump-especially in a setting that’s immersed in political mumble jumble. I wonder what types of old fashioned sweets were stashed in the desk during the 60’s and 70’s.
Ladies & Gentleman, the ultimate chub shit. Feast your eyes on my homemade blended coffee treat. It’s my favorite thing to whip up when I can’t get a hold of my frapp dealers. Oh, and many thanks to Baskin Robbin’s to “providing” me with their extra-large pink straws by the droves. I snatch up a shit load anytime I pay them a visit.
CARDBOARD BOW FEB 2011-MAY 2011.
Well, the ”giant cardboard bow-with a dash of eco-friendliness” creation has checked out, left the building, croaked, hit the big sleep. It’s sad, once I was given my freedom papers from that hellhole classroom that housed a certain bullshit Three-Dimensional course, I had big artsy plans for this little bastard. I was going to kick off those plans by scrapping the other cardboard masses it was sculpturally attached to and use it as a starting point for something to have in my room for that cutesy art-deco effect. However, after a sudden twist of fate that involved ridiculous amounts of water and a trickle of stupidity, the cardboard piece I had slaved over (I wish I had of taken pics of the final product to show you folks) had succumbed to soggy destruction. I was tempted to revive it from its go round with water damage, but the overall appearance was a bit shitty and my perfectionist ways couldn’t stomach the ashy feel after the water dried and the severe buckling. Ah well. I’ve already made it beyond the mourning stage and I’m hoping it’s alright up there in trash dump heaven. If my laziness allows it, i’ll probably journey to either Meijer or Walmart and snatch up some of their scraps to concoct another one of these babies.
COLLEGE BABBLE: Home sweet home.
Friends, Romans, Bitches, Countrymen:
After an awful morning that consisted of teaming up with my dad, my older brother, and a miracle to lug every troublesome gizmo, gadget, and doodad out of my jail cell dorm during the big move-out this term, my third year of college is history. Finito. Can we get much higher? Indeed, I’m no longer a Junior-but it’s a bit tricky as I’m not exactly a Senior either. In fact, in the words of King Hova, I’m Varsity, chump. That’s right, varsity. Call me a Poindexter, but I thought that’d be pretty nifty to refer myself as such given my current pickle. It’s simple, even though I’ll be in my fourth year and amongst the head honchos, the big leaguers, the creme de la creme of Sparta-my lackluster transcript and I had a chit-chat over Starbucks Frappes and decided that I don’t have the goods necessary to officially hold the title as a “Senior” (hence me brainstorming a more fitting and fun title for my fourth year class ranking). Goods being credits and completed major requirements. Many thanks to my then eighteen-year old self for opting to go down the rocky Journalism path, rather than honoring my first choice of getting into one of the Artsy Fartsy programs at school. Thanks to my dimwittedness as a freshmeat freshie, it didn’t click to correct my “major” mistakes until the start of Junior year. Because of this, I’ll be riding the university wave for another year or so to clean up the mess I made during the first two years of my life as an amateur journalist and to make up for lost credits. Oh, and I should mention that even though I may sound a bit snippy I still cherish my journalistic pen. However, the J-School program at school was a bore and strangely not my cup of tea. Anywho, I’m assuming I’ve rattled the brains of many somewhere in the midst of this school mumble jumble so I’ll pump the brakes on my motor mouth. I don’t call it “college babble” for shits and giggles.
QUICK BROADCAST: This’ll probably be the last of this particular rambling series until I step into the ring for ROUND 4 of this school thing.
