I'm warm. Our apartment has good ventilation, but it's still a little toastier than I'd like.

I'm warm and my face is greasy. I've washed it a couple times, but when the temp is this high* that greasy sticky feeling never seems to go away.

I'm warm and my face is greasy and I have fat rolls. Two weeks of eating whatever I damn well please has made me less fat than I should be, but more fat than my clothes will stand for. I think my recent diet is best summed up by my niece's response when my mom accused her of eating chocolate cake for breakfast.

Olivia: "That wasn't breakfast. I already ate breakfast."
Mom: "You did?"
Olivia: "Yep. I had two pieces of bacon."

Drew and I went to San Francisco this past weekend. Now I want to go to UCSF more than Drew would like ("UCLA's still your first choice, right?"). I'm trying to temper my enthusiasm for the city with the fact that (a) parking is impossible and I can't imagine driving a manual transmission there and (b)... uhm.... there used to be a (b). Oh... something about it being an enclave for hippies and gays and how that's not the real world and I want to live in the real world (or some equivalent bullshit).

I'm still working on the personal statement. I should have turned it in a week ago, but I was in Missouri and then we went to San Francisco... and plus I'm lazy and I hate my essay. And now I'm going to Portland this weekend for a conference on healthcare for the homeless. And then next week we're going camping (which hopefully won't involve any drunken fence-crashing). So I really need to get this shit finished by tomorrow at the latest.

Shall I post it so you can all laugh at my faux earnestness?

* Ed Note: I just checked the temperature and it's 74 degrees. What a pussy I am.