It's my half birthday. Celebrate with pie.

Hi guys.

Crazy psycho midterms week over here. My apologies.

Tomorrow is the flower shop's grand opening. Check it out, or else tell your mother to.

Cute scarves and jams galore. If it were pay day you know I'd be snatching 'em up before you all get to them. I'll be there from 1:00 on, in my fancy apron, probably hiding in the back and massacring foliage or shoving Gerbs in bottles. I have the best job ever. For real. I love it every day, even when I come home with nasty nails and soggy leaves stuck to the bottom of my boots. Glam.

Enough with the propaganda. I would now like to introduce you to The Weasel:

This is a picture from our roommate photo shoot a few weeks back (more on that later--I'm so behind).

Dottie once told us of her irrational fear of being Weaseled.
Imagine this:
You are walking alone and unsuspecting down the street. Happy and worry-free, you go into panic mode when a nearby stranger of the male variety walks casually by as if to pass, then suddenly grabs your hand, shoves it in his pocket, and balls his hand into a fist so that yours cannot escape. 

Here, Elizabeth done been Weaseled.

I will never walk alone, unsuspecting, happy, and worry-free around campus again.

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