  No church yesterday. I was surprise, but not all that disappointed about it. Surprised because my father thinks attending Sunday service makes you Christian, although I certainly disagree. I wasn’t disappointed because, well, I didn’t want to go. Instead we went to a vinyl sale downtown.
Every man there seemed to be Seymour ala Ghost World in my eyes. Middle aged, argyle-sweater wearing lovelies who may or may not still be living at home. There was some really great stuff I should have bought. But I don’t have a record player so it’s probably moot to buy a record I can’t listen to. My dad is likely to buy one soon, which shall be fun. I would love that. We ventured off to Barnes and Noble, which has become our Sunday afternoon routine. My dad treats me like an intelligent adult, and we each buy a book or a magazine and drink something from Starbucks. I’m a chi-with-soy girl, and my father likes double-shot espressos. I bought High Fidelity, and it’s excellent. I wish I were British so badly sometimes. I’ve begun to just talk like I am, in hopes I might fool someone. At the very least, I’ll have the lingo down by the time I end up living there. Leigh, Robin and I went to a different Starbucks later that night, coffee-ed it up and meandered downtown.
We listened to Dave Matthew’s in her car, even though Leigh is anal about volume control. She’s a terrible driver, but I love her. We watched High Fidelity back at Robin’s house. I suppose for regular people, it would have ruined the book, but it only made me want to jump further into it. Robin owns every movie ever made, and can quote full scenes from each and every one. She would make a poor music critic though, because she loves the movies too much.
She finds something sweet, prophetic, and funny in everything. This is the girl who liked Mona Lisa Smile. We held a small birthday party for Conor Oberst, as well. There were streamers and confetti and cake with candles. My friends are a blast. I wonder if it’s sane for someone to hold a celebration for someone they don’t actually know, but it doesn’t concern me too much.
I thought it was sweet. Today was a homework and cleaning day, and although I was invited to “toke up” at David’s house (long, unfortunate history with this person… he listens to shit music and therefore not worth any space in my blog) I didn’t want to go. Ten days until I can watch Sixteen Candles with irony. Affectionately… Anna 
