Son of a...

What the hell, people. I broke my blog somehow. I'm not sure. I mean, I usually know when I break something. Like, if I'm trying to work on it or fix it, I usually hear a snap and a tinkle as some piece falls irretrievably to the bottom of whatever I'm tinkering with. That usually involves me saying bad words and hitting something. Which is a perfect segue into the second way I know I've broken something, when I smash it out of anger and lots of little pieces fly everywhere and/or there's a dent in the wall. And then there's the third type of "I've broken something" that happens at work, and usually that involves a lot of gas being generated, possibly a gout of yellow liquid spraying everywhere, and me whistling innocently as I casually, yet in a hurried fashion, make for the exit to "go to lunch".

But, my blog, she's a broken, and I don't know to fix her.

I noticed yesterday that things weren't loading quite right on my work computer, but when I got home, everything on my home computer was fine. Now, even at home, things are eff to the you to the sea to the kay fucked.

I mean, I could go and find the layout--again--and then reinstall everything, and then I'd have to go around and find all the wonderful blogs I read and put those back in here and...fuck. That's a lot of shit. And, inevitably, I'd forget someone, and then they'd be all pissy and smearing my name in YOUR comments section, and I just can't have that. The only person who gets to smear my name is ME.

Plus, I've got a lot of writing to avoid--I mean, to do. Yes, a lot of writing to do. *shifty-eyed*

Anyway, did you guys hear that it's been cold? I've heard that some places got down to -50 something wind chills. That's enough to make your nipples stand up. Here in North By God Carolina, it's been pretty chilly, too. In fact, it came to the point where I had to bust out my coat that I wore when I was still at Notre Dame. I don't usually get that out unless it's 25 degrees or colder. I learned my lesson the first year I was married and we came down to Charlotte to visit her parents around Christmas time, and I about died of heat exhaustion wearing my heavy coat. Sweating outside in January is something you should only do if you're playing football, and while South Park Mall is a battle zone sometimes, it's not exactly the grid iron.

But, I don't mind the cold. Once I've acclimated, I'm okay with it. What, it's chilly? Oh darn, I guess I'll have to brew some coffee and lay around under my favorite afghans while watching Dirty Jobs. What a terrible fate. Oh, do cry for me, Argentina. In short, I'm a fan of the cold.

You know who's not a fan of the cold? My toes. This is rather unfortunate because my toes, apparently, take the brunt of the cold air. Seriously, my right foot has felt cold for about six weeks straight. Sure, some of that might be do to my, ahem, avoirdupois causing some poor circulation, but I think the bigger part is that I've worn my socks down to what can, at best, be described as "threadbare".

So, I've had to take desperate measures. That's right, I'm doubling up my socks, folks. Now, instead of the standard one pair, I'm soiling two pairs a day. And still, I'm feeling a bit chilly down in the wine cellar of my soul. I've even got on my slippers--ah, wait, I'm sorry. My house shoes. I am in the South, after all.

Still, while I'm looking at this weekend's forecast and thinking "highs in the 50s? Fuck a duck", I've got ten little piddies who are practically jumping for joy. Oh look, right now, they're dancing! Oh, how happy they must be for warmer temperatures.

It's either that, or they've been exposed to some kind of neurotoxin in the lab.