I am bored.

Over at the parent's house. Relatives over. Booooooooooored. *sigh*

Sometimes you just don't want to talk about what you're doing because when you say it out loud it sounds hopelessly idealistic and kind of pedantic and boring. Even worse, if whatever it is you're doing is kind of cool sounding, then when you talk about it -- it's like you're bragging.

It's annoying.

You know what my dream is? To be paid to write and draw, and maybe travel. I'd like that. I recently wrote a little piece for the Anti-Advertising Agency. I was griping about the ads before movies. It kind of filled me with joy that I got to gripe about something for an entire group of other people, rather than what I normally do -- which is gripe to myself and bemoan the fact that I'm the only one listening.

Subject switch: I need a haircut. Badly.

...Today is a pleasant kind of summer day, the kind most people don't like, which is to say it's very cool and overcast and not at all warm. I'm wearing a light hoodie sweater over my t-shirt and jeans, and I'm not sweaty, nor do I feel like laying down and dying from the heat. I really just want to punch people who like warm summer days. They're not pleasant. They're not fun. They're uncomfortable and filled with sweat. I know I mentioned the sweat thing already, but I really can't put TOO fine a point on it -- I hate being sweaty.

I don' t mean to sound like some basement dwelling goth-emo kid about this, really. It's not that I hate sunshine and puppies. I love a good sunny day, and puppies are alright in small doses -- with the proviso that they don't piss on my leg. I just don't like summer days. I love a good sunny day in autumn or in spring. In winter, sunny days, while sometimes blindingly white, they can be quite beautiful. But summer... with a sunny day in summer comes excess heat. Excess heat leads to me being warm. Being warm leads to sweat -- you see my connundrum here?

Also, being that I am of British descent (I am a melange of the British Isles, if you will), I am naturally pale. Really pale. (Okay, my brother is paler. He looks like a white sheet with hair and blue eyes.) Being so pale, I'm prone to burning and for those who don't burn easily -- getting a sun burn sucks all ass, just an FYI.

My brother just did a little dance for me. It'll live in my brain forever -- until I go crazy and die.

Also, the ice cream in my parent's freezer has committed seppuku; it's innards are strewn all over the ice cubes that lay below it. It's my belief that the frozen peas were its second.

That's all... I'm out.


listening to: They Might Be Giants (in my head) and that stupid Chocolate Rain song (also in my head)
mood: Bleh

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