The Science of Lauralogy

I’m all set up in my new subletted third of a basement. It’s the first real house I’ve lived in here in Portland and I’m quickly coming to the realization that this is the city I want to live in. Forever. I really don’t want to move to Miami. I really don’t want to do City Year. But I will and maybe I’ll come back and continue my love affair with this city. But for right now, I’m enjoying being an unemployed townie. While technically I have two jobs, neither has officially began  yet, so I’m living up the unemployed status while it lasts. Thus far, I’ve done Tobey related maintenance/repair things, slept with someone right after I said the official goodbye to the boy I would’ve married (even though we joked, I would’ve mentioned him had the conversation not segued), walked a lot, drank a lot, and generally milled about. I also made a good awesome buttermilk blackberry cake. 

In line with graduating and finishing everything Reed related, I started a new journal. A nice journal. A physical journal with acid-free, lightly lined paper, a leatherette cover, and matching bookmark. It has one entry so far. Ironically detailing my regression into my townie loving ways. Good decisions abound. Good covers don’t abound:

I found a beer I like a lot. A real beer, a ‘fancy’-ish (i.e. not dear old PBR or $1 Olys) beer. (Henry Weinhard’s Private Reserve…. also Vanilla Creme is dope!). I guess I’m officially a hipster adult now. My only complaint is that this adds another thing to the ever-growing list of things “I atleast walk away with” from the Movie Man and all drama that is sure to ensue. Add Dennis Wilson and a push towards garage and you have a full-picture of our could-be, won’t-be, really don’t want it to be relationship. (But still Greg Cartwright seems to make the bad decisions a whole lot better–that and the junior high nature of it):

Everytime I look over to my new clothing storage unit/counter top and I see my Reed diploma (still in the little book thing since I haven’t bought a frame yet) I can’t help but feel really proud. Like I told the carnie boss today at my job interview (woo! I’m a carnie AND an autism school’s teacher’s assistant!), with each passing day, I’m realizing just how much I learned. I’m still waiting for the day when I wake up and feel smart again, though. I’m more proud of my laurels than my diploma though:

Every jackass gets a diploma, but the laurels (as douchey as I feel for saying it) are special. We all worked really hard, even if it didn’t always seem like it, to get those. And damn, I almost died getting mine. If that cyst wasn’t symbolic of my thesis, then I don’t know what the hell was going on with that! 

I need to take the pictures from my family’s camera (and mine for that matter), but here’s the shot emailed to me by the photography company. I’m surprised that they managed a good shot since all I was thinking about was “don’t fall, remember to shake the Dive’s hand, don’t wipe your hand after you shake, etc.” I ain’t even glaring, rolling my eyes, yawning, or fidgeting!! Me in all my shining graduating glory:

 Woohoo! Go me!

Who knew “American Girl” never charted? Not me. That’s for sure.