Fourteen
Dear Journal,
I still feel silly every time I write in here. It's just terribly cliché. And then I remember Mandy encouraging me to find an outlet now that I'm only seeing her once a month. Moving right along, today was a lazy Saturday. Noah slept over, and he and Finn had stayed up most of the night playing Grand Theft Auto. By the time they rolled out of bed at noon, I had made them a big breakfast of all their favorites. Including bacon, for Noah, which he apparently never gets at home, based on how much and how quickly he ate. (He's told me repeatedly that he's a "bad Jew", and it's somehow funnier each time there's proof.) We then spent the next six hours watching one movie after another. Apparently, they had decided it was "bad movie day", since their choices were all of films that were simply too cheesy or horribly written to ever take seriously. Carol and Dad had a date planned for tonight, so we ordered pizza and slipped the pizza boy (Sam) an extra large tip, even though he's told us repeatedly to stop doing that. Eventually, we chose to watch Veronica Mars. It was disturbingly hilarious the first time I ever convinced those two lunkheads to sit through an episode. They complained and whined and said it would be lame. I'm pleased to announce that they quickly became addicted. In fact, I'm almost positive Noah has started an online petition in an attempt to have a network pick it up again. They're learning to trust my judgment, even if it is very slow going. Now I'm going to change into pajamas and finish my cleansing and moisturizing before they drag me back down into the living room to continue the "murders and Mars marathon". Boys…
-Kurt