June 24, 2002 :: 3:06 p.m.
harcore lacking something to do
So I was listening to the radio on the way home from picking up the van this afternoon, and I heard Hootie & The Blowfish. Strange how I didn't recall his complete lack of enunciation. If I didn't vaguely remember the words I'd have had no idea what he was saying. On the upside, though, I also heard "Love is a Battlefield." Gotta love Pat Benetar.
It's like 800 degrees out. Blech. No fun. Adam and I are going to hang out, but neither of us has any idea what to do. It's so sad. Our options are, in theory, limitless, but in all reality there's very little to do. Go to the bookstore, rent a movie, hang ourselves with shoelaces... argh. I have no clue. If it wasn't so fucking hot out, I'd say we should go to the park, but melting really isn't my idea of a good time. Mer. I wish we lived somewhere more interesting.
There's this really weird Spanish movie on that I was getting into, but Mason just changed the channel. Bastard. I'm going to see if my mom's home yet.
back & forth
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