My office had no internet access until three friggen o'clock this afternoon. Do you know how wrong that is? Expecting me to work, without e-mail and porn breaks? I mean, dudes, I need to be on top of the NFL, there is a football pool to win. I don't have time for this no-internet shite. This internetlessness, it is inhumane I tell you. In. Hu. Mane. I might just might sue.
In other news, I was perusing my calendar last night when one thing lead to another and I realized that I have one week less that I thought I had to finish my PT socks. This is not heart stopping, as I hope to have them done real-quick-like, and in plenty o' time, but still, I feel gypped, I lost a week. I did get another Monkey repeat in, and worked on my other toe, so I'm going to be fine. Really. No need to panic.
Speaking of panic, I believe the dog and cat are planning my untimely death. Should this be my last birthday, you'll know who to look to. THERE ARE NO NATURAL CAUSES! Don't let the big brown eyes fool you. Last night I woke to the cat plastered across my lower legs and feet and the dog standing on the bed, looming over me, smelling my nose and licking her lips. Dogbert was all, "What? Nothing to see here. Just wanted to check you out. Had a midnight snack, it was delish." But I'm not fooled. This, I believe, was a practice run. If Boo doesn't return toute suite, Cat is going to hold me down while Dogbert ... kills me with her kibble breath? Drowns me with slobber? I dunno, but it can't be good. I reminded them that Daddy would be home tomorrow. That he was not dead, rolled up in carpet that (classily) is sitting on the side of the house. But I'm not sure they believe me. I may have to rent a hotel room tonight just to be safe.