(no subject)
Well, my stuff is moved into the apartment. Now just to unpack everything... >.<
Melody's doing well. She eats. A lot. Thus she craps. A lot. She must have a crazy fast metabolism... and she's taken to sleeping in my room whenever there is body heat to be found on the futon. If you close the door on her-- she opens it. If you lock the door on her-- she swipes her paw under the door, yowls, scratches, and wedges her face underneath and stares at you. So sweet but so spoiled.
Andrew's birthday was uneventful. He didn't feel too well. But Sunday night I made him a birthday dinner-- biscuits, peas, and four cheese chicken helper. Mmmm. And the birth control pills make me crazy the first week after I start the active pills. Me no likey. It's like instant mood disorder. But watching Catwoman and playing Resident Evil: Dead Aim-- or rather, watching Andrew play it, 'cause... yeah-- helps.
Andrew found some more info on the L.A. place that called him back. They're a wildlife outpost-- like a reserve, or sanctuary, or zoo-- in the San Fernando Valley. They're just rebuilding after being shut down for two years due to nearly 300 USDA CITATIONS. Damn. It was founded and is run by Martine Colette, the daughter of some Danish diplomant, born in France. She looks like a safari Dyan Cannon or something. But she was the woman who called Andrew... and apparently it's about a curator job. So it'd be like his current boss's job-- only over a bigger place, with lions and such. So he's a bit daunted. But hopefully it will motivate the Macon Museum to promote him... give him a salaried full-time position. All of his coworkers have resigned. It's just him now, and a redneck named Larry. Aiyah...
I guess I should seek breakfast. I got up to go to my Maymester econ class today... but it starts tomorrow. Oopsie. Now I'm up waaaaay too early for no apparent reason. :3
Melody's doing well. She eats. A lot. Thus she craps. A lot. She must have a crazy fast metabolism... and she's taken to sleeping in my room whenever there is body heat to be found on the futon. If you close the door on her-- she opens it. If you lock the door on her-- she swipes her paw under the door, yowls, scratches, and wedges her face underneath and stares at you. So sweet but so spoiled.
Andrew's birthday was uneventful. He didn't feel too well. But Sunday night I made him a birthday dinner-- biscuits, peas, and four cheese chicken helper. Mmmm. And the birth control pills make me crazy the first week after I start the active pills. Me no likey. It's like instant mood disorder. But watching Catwoman and playing Resident Evil: Dead Aim-- or rather, watching Andrew play it, 'cause... yeah-- helps.
Andrew found some more info on the L.A. place that called him back. They're a wildlife outpost-- like a reserve, or sanctuary, or zoo-- in the San Fernando Valley. They're just rebuilding after being shut down for two years due to nearly 300 USDA CITATIONS. Damn. It was founded and is run by Martine Colette, the daughter of some Danish diplomant, born in France. She looks like a safari Dyan Cannon or something. But she was the woman who called Andrew... and apparently it's about a curator job. So it'd be like his current boss's job-- only over a bigger place, with lions and such. So he's a bit daunted. But hopefully it will motivate the Macon Museum to promote him... give him a salaried full-time position. All of his coworkers have resigned. It's just him now, and a redneck named Larry. Aiyah...
I guess I should seek breakfast. I got up to go to my Maymester econ class today... but it starts tomorrow. Oopsie. Now I'm up waaaaay too early for no apparent reason. :3