I went kayaking a couple of weeks ago. It was beautiful. Sometimes, this city amazes me.

It was Fucking Hot earlier this week. Tied a record a few days ago for Hotter Than Hell (96*F, if you were wondering), at a time when we didn’t even have a fan in the apartment. In Muskegon, we count our 90* days on our hand. I’ve already experienced at least two. Fuck. This.

And of course… The heat gave me a cold. Bite me, mother nature. I’ll blow my nose in a tree, that’ll show you!

For the record, this is the official Homosexual Agenda. Already I’ve learned so much! (Warning, try not to choke to death laughing. )

http://www.conservapedia.com/Homosexual_agenda

I guess you’d call it an epiphany. And that’s a big word.

This is very interesting. The internet is a place for multiple personalities, that’s being proved.

So, here I am. Living in Somerville for the Summer and loving every second of it so far, though it has been only two days. Known as “The home of peace, love, and understand… ing, (“And a motherfuckin’ cigarette!” – E.Fox),” this apartment is inviting and fun and down for whatever. I haven’t really had that awkward getting-to-know-you time with the roommates that I don’t know as well, that point where you feel obligated to introduce yourself and your basics. Which is nice. I hate feeling like I’m quoting my MySpace profile.

Other than that, not much to report. Going to Bowling for Soup on July 14, heading home for two weeks on July 18, and I’ve recently been unceremoniously dumped by my tutee… tuttee… tutti… that kid I was tutoring.

Snuggles, bunnies, and sunshine.
Kim

Dear Mitch Hedberg:

Well, I thought it was funny. Not as funny as the picture I MISSED of the entire escalator strewn about the back lobby of the Pru, which admittedly would have been far more appropriate for this use, but still. Every time I seen an escalator out of service, I think of Mitch and smile.

I’m still in the Bat Cave. It’s June 13th, and the girl currently inhabiting the apartment that I am moving into hasn’t moved out yet. Nor has she paid June’s rent. This is frustrating only because I have paid June’s rent, and she’s basically living there on my four-hundred dollars. Well that, and she said she’d be out by MAY 28. If she’s not out by Friday, I’m asking her for two-hundred dollars, and I’m not feeling a lick of guilt about it.

There’s a Bowling for Soup show at Axis in July, shortly before Axis gets deservedly dozed. Surprisingly, it’s actually an all-ages show, and also surprisingly, it starts at 6p. I’m just worried that the tickets won’t come in time, since they’re being mailed to my parents’ house in Michigan. Nerves.

I need to pack.

I hate moving.

Purple rain, purple rain.

In case you haven’t heard, the logo for the 2012 London Olympics was unveiled today. It’s pretty terrible. See for yourself:

D’fuck? It looks like Kids Incorporated drunkenly raped Ghostwriter but didn’t want to tell Nickelodeon Arcade about the affair, leaving the poor bastard-kid-late-eighties-logo to grow up on the streets, ultimately skipping school to go shoot coke and giving blow-jobs for lunch money. (Look closely.) None of those activities, I feel, embodies the Olympic Spirit… except for maybe the blow-jobs. A petition to get it changed can be found here.

I participated in the Boston AIDS walk yesterday morning. 6.2 miles of walking behind a beautiful Tran-Woman who did the entire thing in heels. And her hair looked better than mine, too. In all, though, a good morning for a good cause, and I even got a free lighter out of the deal!

I snagged the newer of my nipple rings on my loofah in the shower the other morning. Twice, in the span of about thirty seconds. This A) fucking hurts and B) apparently leads to light pink crusties. NOT FUN.

Dad: “So, do you have any new holes in your face that we should know about?”
Me: (long pause) “Y’know what… no. No, I don’t think so.”
Dad: “Well, have you let any close up yet?”
Me: “Oh, of course not.”

I’m starting to realize that I wake more rejuvenated if given the chance to be held while I sleep. I’m such a freaking toddler; I really do crave constant physical contact, and I never get it. POUT.

I’m packing. I don’t want to be. I hate packing, and I hate moving… especially because it feels as though I do it CONSTANTLY. In the midst of the cleaning/packing adventures, though, I’ve found what might well be one of, maybe, two paintings I’ve ever done. I don’t paint often, though I wish that I did. This–plus a combination of alcohol, hormones, and kinky thoughts–lead me to my next big “project.” I want to paint with my body by having someone paint me, and I them, and then having lots of great sex on a really big piece of paper. This project is greatly inspired by that scene in Better Than Chocolate, only far more humpity.

And with that… Adieu.