50 Things To Do Before You Die. Number one: shout for help.
This is what happens when I go out with my parents: we get totally wasted and then inevitably get charged with 5 parking violations across the city. Go figure.
We tanked the Odyssey for the second time this week. It's around 10 years old anyway, so my parents are thinking about getting a new SUV to replace it.
I say this all with a slice of extremely good, crude humor because at this point, signing off on court dates and making close friends with law enforcement has become a sort of family outing tradition. We lot are good justice abiding citizens - we do our part as humbly as possible. But sometimes, when what was supposed to be a two hour trip becomes a 6-8 hour one just because of some discrepancy over street sign wording, we get a little antsy.
We went to New York city this past Wednesday for two purposes: 1. To visit my childhood sweetheart the Museum of Natural History and 2. To buy cake in the slums of Chinatown. So around 10 in the morning we set off on our purpose-filled mission. Yet again I underestimate New York City weather and rumbled in completely unprepared for rain and pneumonia inducing cold. Regardless, I manage to trek through four floors of exhibits in less than two hours, as well as had the reverberate force of my stomp calculated and compared to that of an earthquake's. I barely weight as much as a lamb so clearly I've still got a ways to go if I want to rank myself as high up there as Il Nino.
Then there was some giant frogs and dinosaurs. And the occasional screaming child. Oh and a 65 foot boat almost fell on my face.
I was also assaulted by a stuffed cheetah. By my mother. Good times.
Then we went to dinner and my father realized that his parking skills were significantly lacking in awesome. He had somehow managed to riled up 5 parking violations by 3:00 pm and had to trek downtown (we were sitting ducks around 30 rock) to pay the bill and get the police to undo the massive wheel lock they had on our baby Toyota. We didn't get back home until 6 or 8. Still, it was probably the most fun I've had in a while. It has also made me extremely happy that I did not decide to go to school in the city. God I would have hated myself by the third week.
A sick, self-abusive part of me almost delights in the suffering I usually incur at school regardless. I am well aware that "suffering" is a rather hefty word but that doesn't stop it from being utterly accurate.
Get this: When I was 15, I wanted to be a cop. I figured, right after high school, I'd enroll in the police academy, get awesome and then move to Sheng ri la or something and bust some ass. This was an honest to god serious consideration (and hilariously, the only one both my parents have supported full-heartedly).
In other news, I've revamped my journal layout and gave it a bit more of a personal touch. We all need a bit more pinkness in our lives. And gray matter.
We tanked the Odyssey for the second time this week. It's around 10 years old anyway, so my parents are thinking about getting a new SUV to replace it.
I say this all with a slice of extremely good, crude humor because at this point, signing off on court dates and making close friends with law enforcement has become a sort of family outing tradition. We lot are good justice abiding citizens - we do our part as humbly as possible. But sometimes, when what was supposed to be a two hour trip becomes a 6-8 hour one just because of some discrepancy over street sign wording, we get a little antsy.
We went to New York city this past Wednesday for two purposes: 1. To visit my childhood sweetheart the Museum of Natural History and 2. To buy cake in the slums of Chinatown. So around 10 in the morning we set off on our purpose-filled mission. Yet again I underestimate New York City weather and rumbled in completely unprepared for rain and pneumonia inducing cold. Regardless, I manage to trek through four floors of exhibits in less than two hours, as well as had the reverberate force of my stomp calculated and compared to that of an earthquake's. I barely weight as much as a lamb so clearly I've still got a ways to go if I want to rank myself as high up there as Il Nino.
Then there was some giant frogs and dinosaurs. And the occasional screaming child. Oh and a 65 foot boat almost fell on my face.
I was also assaulted by a stuffed cheetah. By my mother. Good times.
Then we went to dinner and my father realized that his parking skills were significantly lacking in awesome. He had somehow managed to riled up 5 parking violations by 3:00 pm and had to trek downtown (we were sitting ducks around 30 rock) to pay the bill and get the police to undo the massive wheel lock they had on our baby Toyota. We didn't get back home until 6 or 8. Still, it was probably the most fun I've had in a while. It has also made me extremely happy that I did not decide to go to school in the city. God I would have hated myself by the third week.
A sick, self-abusive part of me almost delights in the suffering I usually incur at school regardless. I am well aware that "suffering" is a rather hefty word but that doesn't stop it from being utterly accurate.
Get this: When I was 15, I wanted to be a cop. I figured, right after high school, I'd enroll in the police academy, get awesome and then move to Sheng ri la or something and bust some ass. This was an honest to god serious consideration (and hilariously, the only one both my parents have supported full-heartedly).
In other news, I've revamped my journal layout and gave it a bit more of a personal touch. We all need a bit more pinkness in our lives. And gray matter.