On Portland

On Portland

I am back from Portlandia, again.

Two things to know about Portland:

Portland is a beautiful city. Really.

Portland is just about as deathly full of hipsters as you're probably imagining. The only way to tell the artistically impoverished from the actual homeless is their iPhones.

Also, they sell shirts that say "Recycle or I'll kick your ass. Love, Portland." That's a thing.

People also should shut the fuck up about Seattle. We're the city that's too nice for it's own good? Portland cars stop for you when there's no crosswalk. I passed no less than three people on street corners with free hug signs. Everything in Portland that isn't a bar closes at 9. If Portland was an elementary school student it would be that girl who's really nice but not the brightest, with large metal headgear who offers to help the teacher with everything. Detroit would use her as a bankroll.

[Also, I feel a little ridiculous, sitting on tumblr on a mac looking at my cheap wayfarer knockoffs and writing about another one night trip to Portland. PRETENSION YES.]

Happiness is happy

Today was marvelous.

I woke up rather unhappy about getting up, then drove to practice. It was hot enough to sports it, which was nice, and I ran with my friend for 35 min at sub 8 min/mile pace. We ran the backwards jail loop a full five minutes faster than normal, and it's close to 5 miles. Kind of died. But it was cool. Also, my other friend told me she talked to this friend of mine who has apparently had a crush on me for a bit, and she successfully conveyed to him that I am not looking for a man right now. Which is true, actually. But yeah I owe her one. Anyways I got home, made myself a lovely grilled cheese sandwich with pickles, took a shower, got dressed and drove back out into town. It was raining by then, but three of my friends and I drove into Tacoma and got cupcakes at the most delicious place ever. We then walked a few blocks to my favorite tea shop ever, that only vaguely smells like pot, and large, steaming cups of the best tea ever for two dollars each. We sat in there for almost a full half hour just watching the rain and talking with the guys who work there, then ran back to the car and went to the nearby theater of independentish films. Seriously, I love the Grand. Anyways, we saw some nauseatingly pretentious coming-of-age film, but it was also a little bit great, and we were the only ones in the theater so we laughed lots. In the lobby we found posters signed by the cast of Brokeback Mountain, The Queen and even The King's Speech. It was all sunny when we got back, so we drove back to where we had parked our cars before carpooling and then I stopped by my friend's house to pick up the third Harry Potter book, which I somehow cannot find. On the way home mom had me stop at te local farm market thing, where I picked out strawberries and rhubarb for a delicious pie and got some good looking plums. I had a nice chat with the lady who owns it, because she's an old friend, and she thanked me by name when I left. When I finally got home I worked on my design notebooks for about an hour, for the whole MIT thing, then picked up Prisoner of Azkaban. It was my favorite for a long, long time. Halfway through mom brought me up for some homemade apple crisp, then I came back to my bed and finished my book. I now sit here typing up this record on my lovely new macbook.

I write this here not because it's particularly interesting to read, but because I need to have a record, you know? To often the interwebs, this tumblog included, get too full of teen angst. In the meantime I thought I'd say, for what it's worth, I'm a happy, healthy teenage girl who is perfectly cool with her small town and gorgeous island. Yay. Everyone should find something in their life to love.

Oh and I leave for Boston a week from tomorrow, bitches

:)

On Numerical Interpretation

Or, I Desperately Need To Know If and Hope That I Am Not the Only One Who Does This

So, sometimes I get numbers-numbers and clock-numbers messed up. What this means is essentially that sometimes I forget there are numbers between 60 and 100. I don't know if it's because of running and how much of my life is based on specific times, but I really have trouble switching. This sounds confusing, I know. Look at it this way- sometimes, when I'm watching something count up from 0 to a much larger number, I expect the digit in the ones place to turn from a 0 to a 1 as soon as the numbers pass 59. Because 59 is the last number before a new hour/hundred/whatever, right? Turns out no, it doesn't work that way. For another example, I was trying to cut words for a paper that had to be a maximum of 650 words, and I realized I had cut it to 630 words instead because I just knew the max was the number between 700 and 600, and 30 is always halfway for me.

I think this might be a problem.

please tell me this isn't just me/won't be an actual problem ever?

I love my physics teacher.

See, this is what Johnson does to curve our grades. Please note that we didn't actually have a final, and "Hydrodynamic Projectile Motion Investigation" was us launching water balloons at each other.

ilyatoujourslesoleil:

I….what? I like this anyway.

because this is gold