Sarge had a Boys’ Night on Friday. I may have shut myself up in the office to write, with loud country music on. I may have even forgotten to eat my cheese-centric dinner, reserved for nights Sarge isn’t home. I flipped between the very sparse notepad on Sarge’s Linux-run computer, last.fm, Facebook and Irene updates. At about midnight, I decided it might be a good idea to call my Mom, and left a long-winded message on her machine. So long,…
I like snow. When it’s falling outside my window, lit by street lamps and I’m inside, curled up with a book and hot chocolate, I love snow. When I’m out in snow being pulled backwards and neither eight years old nor on a sled, I turn into a bitch. We went out to run Christmas/birthday errands on Saturday, before heading to a Christmas party. We got two feet away from the front door and my front wheels caught some gray…
