Greetings From Scenic Southwestern Indiana
Everything is exponentially better in my beautiful hometown, Bloomington, including the odds that I wouldn't have to go to work tomorrow if I were living there at present, because the Icepocalypse cometh to central Indiana. From what I hear, they're not predicting an Icepocalypse '11 for us down in the Evansville area (sorry for rubbing it in, the_dark_snack and rest of the Indy crew), but it is windy as shit currently and every time something smacks against the house I keep worrying that the Undead Zombie Tree is finally going to snap and eat some brains, or that the car will get hurt (NOOOOOO), or that the Internets will go out which would SUCK since we just got the computer back. People have been making noises about OMG THE TEMPERATURE WILL PLUMMET 20 DEGREES AND EVERYTHING IS GOING TO ICE OVER, but I'm frankly not sure about that. (According to weather.com, it's just going to plummet 30 degrees and we're not supposed to get hammered that bad, but the weatherman is always a pathological liar so your guess is as good as mine on that one.)
Oliver is in the bathroom, where he spends the night until we are SURE that he is house-trained and won't destroy everything in sight, and the sounds of things banging against the house are freaking him out; I can hear him trying to get out of the bathroom in a FUCKIN' DOORS, HOW DO THEY WORK? manner. I feel really bad for the little guy, but I know if I let him out and let him sleep in the bed with me, he's going to get it in his head that all he has to do is act sufficiently distressed to be let out of the bathroom. Also, I sleep with my door closed, and I don't want my nice warm bed covered in cat byproducts, kthx. (Also also, whilst kittens are adorable, I don't want to play with them at two in the morning when I could be getting another three hours of sleep.) Poor kit.
I need to get back on the wagon as far as minimal levels of functioning go. Goddammit, l33, don't be a useless waste of space.
Oliver is in the bathroom, where he spends the night until we are SURE that he is house-trained and won't destroy everything in sight, and the sounds of things banging against the house are freaking him out; I can hear him trying to get out of the bathroom in a FUCKIN' DOORS, HOW DO THEY WORK? manner. I feel really bad for the little guy, but I know if I let him out and let him sleep in the bed with me, he's going to get it in his head that all he has to do is act sufficiently distressed to be let out of the bathroom. Also, I sleep with my door closed, and I don't want my nice warm bed covered in cat byproducts, kthx. (Also also, whilst kittens are adorable, I don't want to play with them at two in the morning when I could be getting another three hours of sleep.) Poor kit.
I need to get back on the wagon as far as minimal levels of functioning go. Goddammit, l33, don't be a useless waste of space.