A walk, a smoke, a punch to the face

I’d rather punch myself in the face than blog on this stupid computer. Our new monitor is so pretty, but until tomorrow when they FINALLY hook up the DSL, pretty much useless. I guess we’re going to go watch Flight of the Conchords now (Thanks, K—n family! You’re our favorite generous little pirates.), so it’s not a complete waste of space.

Just to catch up a bit, here’s our new apartment building. The two windows on the top right are ours. We went walking yesterday and today, and there is a nice path leading into town, with only one semi-treacherous road to cross  on the way. I liked the pond circles – similar to crop circles, but less reliable for long-term alien communication.





Can you find two cats in this picture? Very tricky, I know. We didn’t used to let our cats into the bedroom, but for the sake of the carpet (as in, they rip it to shreds if the door is closed), we’re giving it a try. Max especially prefers to sit on our heads, and Harriet enjoys curling up under the blankets by our feet.


Sadly, our apartment complex is haunted. You can almost taste the ectoplasm. We managed to persuade a few people over anyway for pizza and margaritas last night. It was a good time – E even got to try out his corncob pipe – and now I feel like we’re actually back in Bloomington to stay. Which is good, because, um, we are.




~ by themeansister on January 11, 2009.

3 Responses to “A walk, a smoke, a punch to the face”

  1. My lovely face finally made it on to your blog! Now all my dreams of fame and fortune will start to come true. That is how this blog thing works, right? Lots of fame and fortune…

  2. Did I have a sickly child???

  3. No, Mom, it’s someone else’s sickly child! She’s the one on the far right of those pictures, if you want to double check. I’m, like, 99% sure she belongs to someone else.

    And, Sickly Child, you would not BELIEVE the fame that comes with this. Oh my head. And the fortune! I mean, together, That Guy and I are making five figures. FIVE FIGURES. I know, right? It’s almost inconceivable.

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