Mr. Ryan would also tell stories about his wife, "the dragon" and his tattoo. All of which makes him sound cooler than he was.

My pants are kittenish.


This morning I woke up in a hot sweat, which is a cold sweat if you don't have air conditioning and always get really really hot right before you wake up. Seriously, the little temp gauge on my alarmclock (which always somehow ends up jumping from my nightstand to right where my neck meets my pillow (but the alarmclock is contoured, so it just snugs right in)) said 98 this morning. You could almost fry an egg on my neck!


{explanation of last statement: at the start of "summer" every year when i was a little australian, they would take us out to the jungle gym and line us up, and then the headmaster Mr. Ryan would crack an egg on the rim of the slide and drop it right where the slide levels off, and it would immediately begin to pop and sizzle. Then Mr. Ryan, like the brain-on-drugs/egg commercials of the americas, would pause for dramatic effect, and say "Do you want the skin scorched off your bum? Then stay off the slide until May" So to me, the fry-an-egg test is the line in the sand of hotness. Like in 20 questions when ppl ask "is it bigger/smaller than a breadbox?" (aka the breadbox divider). /end explanation}