H.I.P

Hip shit I did today:

Worked in a coffee shop.

Shopped in a thrift store where I purchased: two pairs of skinny jeans (one for the future-- so tight I had to tug them up bit by bit like PANTYHOSE) one black and purple gingham shirt, Catcher in the Rye, A Million Little Pieces, Into the Wild, and a book about learning French. (Oui, je voudrai commencer de nouveau.)

Attended a housewarming party (my darling friends bought a condo!) wherein I found myself uttering the pretentious as HELL sentiment that Brothers was the Black Keys album that made them huge, and it was GOOD, but people discount/don't bother with their older stuff because of it. (P.S Rubber Factory is excellent.) I didn't mean that Brothers sucked because people like it, I think it's AWESOME that people want to listen to more of their music...I just...I know they have good stuff before it? Either way, I came off sounding like a prick. Mission accomplished.

Inwardly scoffed at long distance friend's supposed declaration of hipster potential as accredited by another supposed hipster. (Major character flaw: I am obsessed with labels and certain stereotypes. I can admit this, I know it sucks, and it makes me suck. The end.)

Received texts of a confusing and literary nature from my older sister about D.H Lawrence, Lady Chatterly's Lover, blah, blee, blahh.
Received tweet about this radio and LOVED It.

Now, this blog. Now, sleeping.
I want to go somewhere-- far or near. I just want to go.