Late night laundry. I've got a little more than a day to get things around the apartment fixed up before
Tara gets back at the end of her Reading Week. Dishes, vacuuming, sweeping, laundry, recycling, check. Tomorrow is about dusting and cleaning the bathroom, oven, and inside of the fridge. She KNOWS that I've been living like a slummy bachelor, but that doesn't mean that she needs to SEE it.
I kid not about the bachelor thing. Outside of work, I've been almost entirely unproductive. I haven't exercised, or shaved, or eaten much that didn't come out of a can, or wasn't microwaveable. I *did* beat Baldur's Gate: Dark Alliance on Extreme difficulty, but somehow I don't think that counts for much.
Yeah, so, picked up some tickets to see
Franz Ferdinand next week with my communist-at-least-while-he's-in-university brother (don't worry, he's a good sport), and tickets for the
Distillers show at the Opera House in March. I have a feeling that without all the frat-types that were in attendance when they opened for the Queens, it'll be a helluva lot better experience.
Now if you'll excuse me, my cat has gotten very upset over the fact that I've thrown off his schedule by staying up late on a weeknight. I think I've managed to translate his cat-speak into English. He's saying: "GOTOSLEEPGOTOSLEEPGOTOSLEEPGOTOSLEEP!!!". I'm destined to become a crazy cat man.