I woke up this morning to my cat pressing a bottlecap against my forehead.
Good morning, frisky little bastard. Yes, 06:11 is a fantastic time to play chase-the-Smirnoff-Ice-cap and a bagless furry teabagging. Thank you.
Its one of those days where I wish I could fake cramps or something and beg off school and spend the rest of the day curled up on the couch watching the stories and eating artfully extruded cheese out of a can. I walked a whole bunch this weekend and the general opinion of my joints this morning was that I'm a hateful bitch who must be punished. I glossed them with so much ActivOn that I could have slid noiselessly into a wetsuit. (While the suit wearing doesn't appeal overmuch, the speargun as an accessory does indeed.) My attitude can best be described, in the words of another distinguished cat, as 'crabilated'. But never fear; I'll be taking to the highways of the Twin Tiers this week and I am almost certain my visits to cities far and wide will yield some amusement. In the meantime, I have posted new adventures From the Back of the Bus....