Forget spring—summer is in the air. The thermometer on my computer says it’s 85 degrees outside. There’s a pale green haze around the trees as the leaves hit the budding phase and prepare to emerge, and all the daffodils are in full bloom. I’ve broken out the flipflops (actually, that happened about three weeks ago. It only needs to get above 50 degrees for it to be flipflop season in my book) and the tank tops are next on the list. If it snows anytime between now and November, I will go batshit insane.
Someone invented a brilliant device for people who want to make their subconscious known. Thanks to Collision Detection for the link.
It’s so sad when the celebrity crushes of my youth end up aging badly. Not just badly, REALLY badly. When I was 13, I was an avid reader of such high quality publications as Teen Beat, Bop and 16, and Corey Haim was my fave. There must have been 5-6 head shots of him on my wall and I used to kiss them until the paper puckered. But not now.