My apartment... She smells!

It may be time to move. Loathe as I am to utter such a soul-crushing, heart-wrenching statement, I am starting to think a move would be easier than dealing with the utterly indescribable smell the lobby has achieved since "The Great Flood" occurred on Thursday night. It's... kinda... like... if you took a wet dog. And soaked it in mold. And poured urine over it. And there's kinda this chokey, gaggy sensation you get while you're sprinting through this, like when you've just inhaled drywall dust and it hurts to breathe. Ah, well. It was good while it lasted. And home can be re-created (with variable results) anywhere, right?

On another note, it is currently Stampede time in mine own faire city. For those lads out there, I hate to disappoint, but hooting and hollering at young ladies (me) who happen to be minding their own business is not the proper way to make friends at this time of year. (Because normally this would send me into fits of writhing ecstasy and make me want to spring, Tawny Kitaen-like, on the hood of their (pimped-out) automobile. Yeeeah. I don't really see it happening.) All in all, apartment issues aside, I had a lovely weekend. Saw the lovely and talented Neuba, hung out with "mah boyz", saw my mum... It was good. Oh, and got some more art supplies. Got me a bendy man. I have named him Gregoire, and he shall help me realize the potential of my new sepia pencils. Good luck with the Mondays, all. I must to sleep.

"That's where I'm a viking!" - Ralph Wiggum