Notes on a rainy day

It's, as James would call it, a "perfect Seattle day." In my eyes, this means that it's cold, cloudy, and barely raining. First of all, my philosophy on rain is the same as the rest of my life: Go big or go home. I hate sprinklings, or little April showers. Either be dry as a whistle or go for the gold and soak someone. This spouty rain just makes me think God is eating watermelon and spitting the seeds, and the rain is somehow his leftover saliva. Even holy spit isn't appealing.

This is the kind of weather that makes it ok to be a nerd. It beckons you to make a huge mug of weak hot chocolate and either read a trashy/sappy novel or watch "You've Got Mail" over and over again with your best friend. It's why I didn't go to school on the West Side: I knew I would never get out of bed. And as ridiculous as my father found this, I know myself. And I know that pitifully rainy days are no match for my willpower.