March 28, 2002 :: 2:16 p.m.
do not ask such things
I hit myself in the eye with a glob of peanut butter a bit ago. It was foul. I do not recommend it to anyone. No, my friends, steer clear of flying peanut butter. Do whatever it takes.
In other news, it's finally nice out. After days and days of cold and wind and rain and even a little snow, the weather boss has turned cheery and granted us some sunshine. I had breakfast on the porch, and then changed into sweat-like clothes and headed out for a walk. I ended up going back on the trail, which was lovely as I haven't been back there since... oh, way too long ago. On my way back I morphed into Ms. Trash Collector, filling the Wal-Mart bag that I found along the road with paper and cigarette boxes and beer bottles. I'm utterly disgusted with people and their inability to clean up after themselves. I mean, it's one thing to leave trash in your house or your car (after all, my car is chock full of useless crap), but to just throw shit around outside is quite something else. Have some respect.
Ah. Anyway. When I got back, I disposed of the litter and changed into something more presentable than a ratty t-shirt and sweatpants, though I'm not sure why since all I've really done this afternoon is hang out in my room. I spent about an hour or so punching the shit out of my big, inflated Powerpuff Girl (Bubbles, if you're interested), because it's fun and it lets me get out some frustration - that sort of thing. I'd rather have a punching bag, as Bubbles moves around too much and is very short, but I lack both the money to buy one and a place to put it, so alas. She does her job well in the mean time.
Decoupaged my guitar for a while. Didn't get much done, because I wasn't really into it. Oh well. I never play the thing anyway, it's just fun to look at. You know.
I'm in a strange mood. It's quite good - splendid, even - but odd in a way that I can't put my finger on. Hmm. Mason and his friend need to leave so that I can get on my own computer. I want to listen to things and I can't on this one, obviously, because said things don't exist here. Poo. Actually, Mason and his friend need to leave for way more reasons than the music. They're being loud and obnoxious and grating at my sanity.
Overheard: "So Kevin, what do you call your penis?" Yeah, my brother just asked that. I don't think I want to know the answer. Freaky.
back & forth
Wait, there's more!
I like pina coladas - March 30, 2005
must... finish... projects... - March 22, 2005
Mr. Postman delivers the good stuff - March 18, 2005
when everything is bad - March 16, 2005
of fruits and menstruation - March 15, 2005