So my mum probably thinks I'm a wee bit nutty, because a few days ago she held up the papers and pointed at a picture of Chris Pine and said, "He looks so gay!" and I got all hyper when I saw Zachary Quinto was in the picture too.

So my dad also probably thinks I'm nutty because I went to see Star Trek for the third time today.

I've heard of people who went seven and a half times okay.

The ONTD StarTrek community has taken over my life. Sigh. I bow to its powers.

*

My holidays are so long, I've been complaining that I'm bored, but I don't really want to go back to class.

I kinda like this in between phase. I haven't been drawing since the semester ended and the Marchies are going to pwn us at drawing, for shizzle. I can't remember much of my Creative Thinking classes, or any of the classes for that matter. So I'm pretty much doomed once classes start. I'd rather not think about all that.

Because I realized, if I don't make it here, I don't really have much place else to go.

*

Father's Day is this Sunday. Oh sheet!

Dearest Daddee, if I could drive out I'd go buy something for you.

But I can't help thinking that buying presents gets a little old sometimes, and sometimes I feel like it's so stale and not thoughtful to just buy someone something, unless you know it's what they want. I don't know, though, I still like handmade things so much - it's like a piece from the heart.

That probably doesn't make sense, does it? Sometimes I pause mid-sentence because I can't find the word or words to describe what I'm thinking and they're just scratching at the surface but the ice is too thick, and then I come up with something utterly lame to replace the original. My vocabulary is shrinking. My sentence construction mechanism is failing. I need to read more.

And I can't help thinking that I can drive, but my daddee worries so much sometimes.
I understand, daddee. At least I like to think I do.

It'll probably take another ten years before I'm allowed to drive out on my own, and probably then I'll have my dad following closely behind in another car.

Maybe one day it'll happen. Like those stories of how you try to hold on so tight, they end up going in the opposite direction. Your worst nightmare. I'll run off and marry a biker, leather jacket and all. We'll tour the US, stop over in all the good places, stay long enough in LA to spot some famous people. I'll get arrested for doing something stupid, just so I can tell my children a good story (I can't stand how boring my background is). We'll go to Europe and drink espressos and sit in those pretty outdoor cafes. Somewhere along the way we'll ditch the motorbikes and go for bicycles instead because they don't emit bad gases and bicycles rock anyway.

Then we'll be broke and living on friends' apartment floors (I always read that statement in biographies of famous actors), so I'll design stuff and make millions, and he'll do whatever he does to get MONIES. We'll be so blardy rich, I can have my swimming pool and my yellow iPod and all the skinny jeans and Converse Chucks I could ever want. I'll build an empire, then retire early to take care of the kids because I want to raise them like my mommee raised me.

Screw that. Early retirement no way. I'll be so bored. I'll work and still be able to raise my kids. You just watch me yo.