Mah youth

I've been badgering my parents lately for tales of their youth, and they both say they can't remember and that they were boring when they were young anyway (and let me tell you, in the case of my dad that ain't true, 'cause I've been talking to my aunt. Hoo boy). That got me thinking, I should write more here. Otherwise I'll be old and senile one day and I won't remember my youth.

Not fun.

So in the interest of not forgetting my entire life up to this point by the time I'm 40 and boring and LYING TO MY CHILDREN (should I have any), I'm going to try to not be so lazy about this.

So here's a hil-aaaarious tale of my golden years:


Like two weeks ago I went with my sister to the mall and we got some chocolate popsicles covered in cereal-y stuff. I accidentally spit out a ball of my cereal topping, watching in horror as it sailed from my mouth, forming a neat parabola through the gap in the glass case protecting the syrup and landed in the piña colada flavored syrup.

Then I looked around and saw that nobody had actually seen this, including the shop employees. Nobody, except for this one girl in the line who slowly moved her gaze from the piña colada towards me in disgust.

Yum, popsicles.