Adventures in Seafaring, Episode Two.

Yes, Zynga and like-missioned companies, I would be delighted to give your inane games access to my personal data. If they're going to get my hopes up with these notifications whenever I sign on, only for it to be an invitation to sign in to a worm-infested virus-ridden clone of a clone of a clone of an old arcade game, they could do me the courtesy of giving them silly names. Bubbledy-Boppity-Boo sounds good. That might actually be one. (And while I'm at it, no, my computer, I will never let you update Java again. Not until you deserve it. Pull yourself together, Oracle. Lives are on the line.) I tell you, folks. Facebook used to stand for something.

So, uh. Hi. I went tubing down the river yesterday, and I am just magnificently sunburned. It is just Farmer's Tan, USA over here. Unknown Zip code. It was all kinds of fun (for instance: one fun, two fun, red fun, blue fun—I could go on), considering I didn't fall in or scrape my flippity-floppity-foot-less feet across the rocks on the bottom, or the rogue tree branches to the sides. It was a jolly good time.

Here's my train of thought in advance, since I know you'll be asking: "Jolly good, what what. Pip pip, cheerio." I am currently feasting on Apple Cinnamon Cheerios. That's the number one perk of being a grown-up: getting your preferred mix of cereal. Parents can't control you forever, you know. Although, I still have never even tried Count Chocula, or Cookie Crisp, or basically any of the higher quality options out there (read: including chocolate). Maybe parents can control you forever? The research is inconclusive at this stage.

Point of order: when I said "being a grown-up," what I meant was "being old enough to be regularly mistaken for a grown-up." A subtle but crucial difference. I dare say the difference is even vital. Lives are on the line, here.

One downside to the tubing experience. (Obviously, having my brains so sunburned they're basically scrambled eggs trying to fall out my ears is not a downside. It's a neato parlor trick.) The downside is that I would emerge from my peaceful reverie every so often to catch a mosquito in the act, to catch them red-proboscissed. As I am merciful toward other such pathetic creatures, I was humane. But it's hard to know you are that much closer to being a vampire, or a superhero with powers from a radioactive mosquito. Being. Mosquito-Man. would. be. the. worst. thing. There, now that I used that punctuation style unironically, my transformation to a twentysomething female blogger is complete. Oh. my. goodness. so. cute.