Wow, that title really makes this sound like it is going to be some super emo emotional pain thing post. But I'm talking about true physical pain here.
So, I finished some models in architecture today:
And decided I didn't want to go back to my room at 7:00. I needed something to do though, and looking around my desk, I discovered wooden sticks, string, glue, and newspaper. Know what that's a recipe for? You guessed it: A KITE!!!
Only problem being that somewhere in the construction process, my box cutter decided to make an attempt at removing the end of my finger:
We were out of band-aids in the studio so I had to walk across the street to CVS to buy some. The lady behind the register thought it was rather amusing that I was buying band-aids when she saw I had a paper towel taped onto my finger and a bunch of dried blood on my palm.
Then on my way back a couple guys asked if I wanted to buy some weed. I turned them down. One guy truned to the other and said "dude. We're in Austin. Why can we not find anyone that smokes?!"