In which our hero discusses girls and the weather

I have been admonished on my dating habits. Apparently I don't date enough, and I'm inclined to agree. I've actually met a tonne of new girls in the last couple months and am getting to be pretty good friends with them. They're all fun and classy. And a bit crazy, and that's pretty important, I mean, who wants a Boring Betty or . . . a standard Sally, a Mediocre Madeline, Average Amanda. Right, I'm stopping now. I aced the poetry unit of alliteration.

Moving on, it is hot outside. I enjoy it, it means if I sweat profusely I'm not alone. Not that I sweat alot, but I'm very self conscious of it. Like, very very very. It's probably the part of me I freak out about the most. No one likes a sweaty pig. Not even pigs. Well maybe fetishists, but Lethbridge is a far cry away from Vegas.

/end digression

But don't get me wrong, I enjoy the weather. I'm not one to find fault with mother nature on any occasion. Except our annual brown muddy Christmas's. Those are wholly unacceptable. Most meteorlogical events are fine by me insofar as they do not cause my death. I love rain, snow is nice, hot is nice. I'll take what I can get.

Call me cliche, but you could probably chalk this up to our "get it now" society.

Boo its too hot, I can't wait for winter.

Boo its too cold, I want the summer.

Spring is too wet.

Fall is too dry.

blah blah blah.

Learn to cope.