I just kind of realized how immature I am.

Like, farting is hilarious. I always get a kick out of listening and telling true fart stories to people. Farting and then passing it to your friend via waving-hand motion is really satisfying.

Naked artsy people make me giggle–but I try to giggle on the inside since it’s not really nice to laugh at naked artsy people. I took a life drawing class last year, and it took me a while not to look like I was trying to hold my breath (from laughing) every time a model disrobed in front of the class.

I like pressing buttons, more specifically, unfamiliar buttons, buttons I’ve never pressed before (omfg), just to see what it would trigger. The anticipation is the best part, but sometimes the outcome of pressing a button can be really anticlimactic, aka the one’s that doesn’t work.

And the worst of all (I cringe as I begin to type the inevitable), I own guns…toy guns. Though uh I really don’t feel like explaining what I do with them.

Oh yeah true story, when the workers were cleaning out my bedroom for renovation, the cute younger one came up to me with a box and asked, “Did you want to keep these with you?” Confused, I glanced at the box and noticed that he was holding a box of my toy guns. If there was ever a time I wanted to kill myself, it would be that time.

And the point of all this? Nothing really, I just don’t want to work on my finals. Carry on.

PS – I am still screwed.