. . . And Breathe. . .

Phew! The SAT's have been taken (by moi, of course) and I am finally a (mostly) free woman! Or girl, rather, but that didn't fit so well into the sentence.

Last night I bullied my father into picking up Lula Magazine at Border's on his way home from work, so when I woke up in a panic at 5:30 this morning, I calmed myself with a leisurely flip through its bewitching pages. Because my brain lacked coherency at such an ungodly hour, I can only remember those glorious photo shoots as a hauntingly beautiful, ethereal jumble - whoops, guess I'll have to read it again! And again, and again, and again. . . One can never read Lula too many times.

I will say this, though:

Ali Michael is my modelsoulmate. This is not just because we are both freakishly pale with fine brown hair, nor is it because my eyebrows bring hers to mind when I hold off on the tweezing. No, Ali Michael is my superfantasticmodelBFF because we both survived the harrowing experience of being run over by a horse. You may laugh, but I feel that bonds us together like - oh, I don't know, hydrogen and oxygen? Heh, bio is ruining my similes.

Okay, more posts to come now that I'm no longer in SAT crunch mode, although maybe not this weekend. I am in dire need of non-academic socializing, and possibly a riffle through the SoWa Open Market on Sunday. Vintage clothing, indie designer lines, art, live music, and giveaways make it high on my list. If you're in the Boston area, you should make it high on your list as well. Maybe I'll even run into a few of you! Let me know if you'll be there, k?

And now I sleep. I'm beat. Hooray for naps!