NOLA, be kind to me. I’m new.

This weekend:

1. My dad is getting married!
2. I am driving to New Orleans with Sprink & Steph to find out about housing options and eat beignets. We’re doing it in 3 days, start to finish, with gas at $4 a gallon. (Sometimes opportunity does not wait for gas prices to go down.)

It just recently occurred to me that school means, like, class and homework. With all this moving and form-filling and financial aid and immunization records and passport-type photos (Yes, I had to order a set of 2×3 inch wallet prints of my face in order to send one in at the school’s request. Now I have 7 more 2×3 inch pictures of my face lying around), I had forgotten that in the end my prize is, um, school? What the. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t really the best student the first time around. My plan this time is to make sure there are no classes after lunch. Or early morning. Or on sunny days. Or, like, during Ellen.

I’ve been wondering about school supplies, too. Do you think the other kids in my class would make fun of me if I showed up to grad school with these? I just really like them. And, according to Will Smith in the 1988 hit Parents Just Don’t Understand: If they’re laughing, I don’t need them cause they’re not good friends.

And look, the inside looks like wood!

I know what you’re thinking. I should buy these, and fast!

Okay. Switching gears entirely…
Please view, at your convenience, my latest Brookie & Lil pics. They are nice.

(Bryan. Stop zooming in on my face.)

You might be tempted to think I look pregnant here. Don’t do it.