On Finals, Baseball, Traveling, and Boyfriends

Usually I'd try and start out with a tag-line or something to grab the attention of the reader because I was taught that the only way anyone will ever read your writing is if you start off with something like, "BOOM!" or "What is the little plastic piece on the end of the shoelace called?" or "Hey ugly, read my story." (For the record the little plastic piece on the end of the shoelace is called an aglet. Yes, even tiny pieces of plastic that reside on the ends of shoestrings have names.) I'm hoping that the introduction above was interesting enough; if not, turn back now, because I'm leaving things as they are.
Some boring information:
I woke up at 7:38 this morning to prepare for my ATC Final at 8:00. (For another record, I got a 91 on the test, 94 in the class.)
Some not-so-boring information:
So my brother's fall season of baseball just started, and I have a few things to say on such things. (Some details: He's in the 7-8 age group, on the Yankees, and it's >5billion degrees here.) I think my favourite thing about sports isn't the family atmosphere, or the greasy food, or the chants, it's the soccer moms. I'm not sure why the name was secluded to just the sport of soccer. Because honestly, I, nor probably the majority of the population, has even been to a soccer game, so how can this judgement be made? But if soccer moms are anything like baseball/football/cheerleading/stage moms, there's a story that follows them. They pull up (after running everyone over) in their super car SUV, with their lawn chairs and coolers and loud mouths and act as if their child is the only child on the field. I always feel sorry for the kid because you can just tell they don't even want to be there, but due to some traumatic, life-altering event in their parent's childhood, the parent could not fulfill his or her dreams; henceforth, are living vicariously through their children. It just amazes me that this woman never had one thing positive to say to her kid, but sat right behind the child as he was batting. (Thank God he had the fence in between them to take most of the heat.) And she ran her mouth, and he struck out, and she ran her mouth some more, and he still struck out, and it was like a skipping CD. Repetitive and irritating.
On another note, the boyfriend and I decided to take a trip to St. Augustine today. We sang Bieber all the way up, and talked softly about the day all the way back. All the in-between stuff was fabulous. St. Augustine is gorgeous and I fell in love with 500 year old streets, gelato, street performers, crafty bums, and french dip sandwiches. I'm not going to post a sappy blog about how absolutely amazing my boyfriend is, because like I said before, no one really cares. And it's not that they even don't care, they're just jealous that they don't have a boyfriend like mine. And they won't. Because I've got the only one there is. *not in a sappy way*

The work of a Crafty Bum <3
Made from pine needles! 

PS - I'm going to start signing with the number of pieces of gum I go through a day and my current nail polish colour.


Pieces of gum chewed: 3
Current nail polish colour: Chipped Sparkly Silver