level of production: zero

 As forewarned, I haven't given much of an effort to maintain this blog, but I like to think that by doing nothing, it just ups my rank as master of procrastination. It's a very prestigious title, I assure you.

 And if my true lazy nature doesn't already stop me from getting out of bed, it is summer time. And this means I am currently off of school and have been reintroduced to an overwhelming amount of free time.

Don't get me wrong. Summer is fantastic. I'm not very excited to go back to school due to my recent acts of masochism (I've given myself a death sentence by signing up for AP Physics this year. There will be lots of crying), so summer get's a happy face sticker and a gold star. However, because it's summer time, I never feel like doing anything.

Responsible Me: Hey, maybe you should read a book today. 
The Procrastination Master: No. 

Responsible Me: Why don't we start our summer reading homework?
The Procrastination Master: No.  

Responsible Me: Let's exercise. Healthy living, yay!
The Procrastination Master: No.  

Responsible Me: Take a shower, you dirty fool.
The Procrastination Master: No.

Needless to say, my annual summer production rate is not impressive.

Sometimes I can't even make myself do things I actually enjoy. Like reading or writing.

For example, my best friend, Sammy, and I are co-writing a somewhat-lengthy story. Currently, it's my turn to write the next portion of the chapter, and I just... can't.

Which is a lie. I most certain can think of something. Most of the time, I know exactly what I want to write, but then I end up on youtube watching Ellen DeGeneres videos and googling silly pictures of cats. 

I also wish Sammy would stop being mean to me :(

Ha. Just kidding. Sammy's probably the nicer one of us two. Here's a drawing representing our relationship:

Anyway, I digress. My version of summer is equates to "Let's do nothing".

Most days, I spend large amounts of time with my family, which consists of playing games/arguing with my younger brother, bothering my mom, and scaring my dad.

Now to a person who I'm well acquainted with, my family and I are close. We share inside jokes and play pranks and makes fun of each other.

But to the average person, my dad isn't much of a talker. He exudes a sense of style that fools people into thinking he's younger than he really is. He usually does not acknowledge my friends. He denies singing to himself. And he spends a copious amount of time on his computer (much like his favorite daughter).

But his personality, in turn, compliments my mom, who is much louder and sometimes likes to force her presence. In a charming way, of course (Hi, ma).

Sammy, who is undeniable my closest friend, had not even received a proper "hello" from my father until a few years ago.

But underneath his quiet, hipster-esque exterior, Papa is a silly goose. 

For example, a few days ago, my favorite father, favorite brother, and I were sitting in our living room with our coordinating methods of technology like the tech savvy cool kids we are. My favorite mother, on the other hand, was in the kitchen.

While sitting next to my brother, who, at that time, was very much focused on the game he was playing, I smelled something foul.

In my family, bodily functions are nothing to be ashamed about. Usually, they're set aside and laughed at. Other times, they're dangerous. But this one in particular snuck up on the air I was breathing and knifed my sense of smell. 

So like the crime solver I deemed myself to be, I confronted him.

He denied it.

Gross, Pa. Gross.