... and she survived.

It's a good day.

Okay, so the windchill is minus eight-hundred and thirty-six (aka -27), but I still have my health. (Please don't push me down the stairs. Then my health will likely be temporarily gone.)

I'm so pumped for summer. Sure it's months away, but I feel it's reachable. This winter has been lovely and splendid thus far. And, a critical point has been met:

JANUARY IS OVER.

It's done! We survived!

I figure summer will officially start around May 6, when I return from spring holiday. I'm going on a delightful adventure to Florida and one other state, likely New Mexico. "Why New Mexico?" you may find yourself asking. To which I HUFF! and say, "Why NOT Nuevo Mexico?" Do you not love the thought of bicycling and llama trecking? Have you no sense of adventure? HAVE YOU NO DESIRE TO LIVE?

I will also acquire lovely tans lines and eat gogs (a new unit of measurement) of tortillas.

I am supposed to be donning my excessive quantities of clothing for a wander to Tuesday Night Beer Club (I'm a founding member - such a visionary, she is). But... despite me saying it's a lovely day, I don't have so much ambition to re-layer. I hate changing clothes. The idea of simply calling a cab, or paying a friend to pick me up, is increasing in desire. It would be about a 25-minute walk to the bar, not much longer than simply walking home. The advantage of walking home, then putting on a sad/cute/rockin' hot face to mooch a drive from Darling Roommate is that I wouldn't show up at the bar in thirteen layers of clothes. I could show up like a "normal" person in fewer clothing articles. Though anyone wearing only one layer of clothing in this chilly weather is clearly not to be trusted and likely a follower of the Devil.

Game plan hasn't completely been constructed, but will leave and take notes on who of Beer Club's key members are devil worshipers. Will post names, photos, personal phone numbers, and addresses to make the town rally more efficient in organizing their exile from society.