One thing that has not changed, however, is the thrill I get out of making people laugh. I miss that feeling, and I want it back. Nobody reads this site so I don't mind using it as a staging area for my next project, but I'm ready to get back in the swing of writing that makes people laugh. To start, let's talk about the weather shall we?
So for the past few months I've been living in California working on a project for my employer. For those of you unfamiliar with California, go to your nearest postcard store (go ahead, I'll wait) and grab something off the shelf at random. Chances are you are now holding a picture of California. Or Burt Reynolds, though I'm beginning to think that the lady who runs my local post card store just has a thing for mustaches.
The explanation is that California is perfect. It rains for exactly 15 minutes every year, and the whole state feels bad enough about it to spend the rest of the year apologizing with 75 degree weather. Occasionally a picturesque cloud will drift by, only to promptly be swept out to sea, thoroughly embarrassed at ruining someone's postcard (A little known fact about California is that nearly half the state's revenue comes from the postcard industry. At any given time, you are likely being photographed by 2-3 postcard photographers. There's a reason everyone works out here).
When I was a kid I had to wake up before school, boil a pot full of water, and take it outside to put in my dog's bucket of drinking ice with the hopes that it could temporarily become a drinking slush, only to have it freeze in mid-air as I was pouring it! Jasper died that winter from dehydration. I still miss you buddy.
Well that's not entirely true, but you get the point. It was cold, dammit, and I was raised to survive in that cold. Fast forward to today where it's four in the morning, 58 degrees, and I just had to get another blanket because my body suddenly thinks this qualifies as chilly. I used to bathe in 58 degree water to avoid frostbite and now I have to wear a parka if it drops below 70. If only I could grow a mustache like Burt Reynolds. At least then I'd feel like less of a weakling.
