My Skin Cells Hate Me

Had the BEST night on Saturday night. Leesh was up from Sydney, so we reuinited the remaining Parkhillians and hung out, first at a pizza place on Darby Street that we're all so find of, then we celebrated her return by dancing our brains out at G. It was great, trashy fun. In the spirit of trashy fun, shortly into the night, I decided my initial plan of remaining sober and driving home was stupid, and that if I left my car at Beaus, I could get a taxi home, and enjoy a few cheeky beers throughout the night. Ended up not needing a taxi, because Sarah is the worlds most awesome friend, but still. The point remains my car was at Beaus.

Beau lives in Cooks Hill. I'm in Adamstown. How far is that? Let me show you.

I walked the black line. Which is much further than it looks. Because I'm an idiot who can't judge distance. But anyway, the worst part about the trip, was, being the kind of boy that doesn't play outside often, I forget the usual precautions, like, you know. Sunscreen. Hence, I am burnt like a mofo. But that Oh So Attractive burn that manages to show the world the exact shape of my single. Some people tan and look attractive. I look like Dr Zoidberg.

And to make matters worse, because of the recent advertising campaign warning people against skin cancer, all I can think is how I've traumatised my skin cells, so not only am I in ridiculous amounts of pain, I feel guilty about it! I feel like I should give my skin cells a little cuddle and say sorry.

This is why I don't go outdoors...