just a boring blog entry.

I cut my hair again. Big fat surprise.

People who've known me for years didn't even notice. My fresher Brooklynite friends were so excited to see my real self that they stopped singing momentarily to blurt their approval during branch choir practice when I walked in early for church the following day. It's great to have such overwhelming approval about peeling a layer back.

I don't know what to say. New York is a weird place. Brooklyn is a weird place. Everything in my apartment has been carried in by my arms. Except the stuff my roommate carried in. And the couch. I paid a long-haired smoker with an old van like the one my mom used to drive us around in $60 to move my lovely craig'slist purchase over the threshold and into my tiny abode. He was nice.

This hands-on lifestyle and obligation to forge my own sanctuary forces me to grow up. It juices out my maternal instincts. I've started cooking again. It's become my biggest hobby. I bake only for birthdays and work/church functions. Otherwise, I'm freezing soup, packing home-made granola bars, and pecking at the spinach salad I stuff into the same ikea tupperware I bring to work for lunch everyday. Oh, and oats. I'm obsessed with eating them raw and with jam and cinnamon and milk and honey and yogurt. I don't know why.

Running, on the other hand, makes me feel like a gangster. I own this place. Ask anyone who witnesses white puffs escape my mouth at 7 o'clock every morning. The numbers are few. I've pounded the gray gum sidewalk spots in every direction. I've battled the hills in jewish, chinese, and russian neighborhoods. The cold can't keep me in.

brooklyn noises.

I have been famous for my ability to sleep. It used to be my cure for all bad moods, R-rated films, and boredom. I could sleep anytime and anywhere and in almost any position. I once fell asleep while Tom was hanging sheet rock with a nail-gun in the room next door. I once slept through an entire Mogwai concert by inserting a pair of earplugs and resting my head on the bar toward the back of the venue. The truth is, I grew up in a nosy home. When things are too quiet, it means I am alone. When I am alone, I am more likely to feel lonely.

When I finally got my own bedroom at age 17, I acted excited. The truth is, I was a bit scared of sleeping downstairs by myself. I couldn't hear my mom vacuuming or the clank of her dish-washing in the middle of the night; only the vague, creepy noises that sounded through the heating vents overhead and occasional branches scraping against the windows at the provocation of the wind.

I arrived in New York at 5:30am after a sleepless night on the plane. Dylan met me to lug my bags through the urine-scented subway stations that led me to my new apartment. Suvi let me sleep in her bed for a hours and then woke me for church at noon. My legs were noodles as I ran to catch the bus in my best high heels. (I honestly feared that the entire lower half of my body would give out on me.) And church was enoyable/ torturous because of my enthusiasm at my own arrival and my simultaneous want for sleep. After church there was no time to return to the apartment. There was a fireside and meal in only a few hours, so I opted to sleep in the Relief Society room in the little Park Slope, Brooklyn church building. I lined three padded chairs in a row in front of the window and found a quilt meant for humanitarian aid in the unlocked closet.

There was so much noise! People filled the sidewalks in their shorts and sundresses and cars blared hip-hop songs as they stalled at the intersections. It felt wonderful.

love + ¡nternsh¡p

Sometimes blogs are for making announcements:

1. I will be moving to the fine city of New York sometime not long after finals to intern at Modern Identity. (Check out their incredibly minimalist website here.) I cannot fully describe my excitement.

2. I've been dating a guy so incredible that I've been not only willing, but excited, to sit through an entire basketball game without opening my sketchbook or laptop once (with finals quickly approaching) in order to watch him play. I'll be attending a soccer game tonight with the same enthusiasm and purpose.

finally!

I made it to Jared's show at Black & White gallery in Chelsea. It was definitely better in real life.