Given the whole extravaganza the high school graduation is back home—which involves an evening gala with tuxedos and full-length gowns—the graduates usually have a family portrait taken by a professional photographer. My sister emailed me these “professional” pictures today and they are quite atrocious. They looked like a 5-year-old photoshopped them. My sister’s cleavage is actually blurry, my face looks like that of a barbie doll, and no one has any freckles in sight. (My hair does look fantastic, though.) I told her to ask for the originals. Let’s keep the imperfections.
After a red eye to El Salvador last night and having to start working upon my arrival, I was pretty exhausted when lunch time rolled around. I went to my sister’s room—because the bed in my room sucks—and fell asleep while she was getting ready. She turned on the fan and it got cold, so I muttered something along the lines of “it’s fucking cold, get me a blanket.” I wake up 30 minutes later, freezing, to find that she grabbed a blanket and left it right next to me without covering me up. I was appalled. That seems like the next move after someone says they’re cold.
I received an email from my father complaining one of the dogs was bugging him while lounging at the beach, listening to Juan Luis Guerra. It’s almost as if he’s bragging about the gorgeous weather.
His life is oh-so difficult.