"...I don't know what 97F translates into Celsius, other than freakin' HOT."
Ugh. It is officially a sweatbox in my apartment. Gateway t'Hell, folks, right this way.

Gatts is curled up on top of my fridge. Not sure what that's about. I even placed my hand on the top of the fridge to see what the appeal was. Wanna know what I felt? Warmth. *shudder*

So. I have the ceiling fan going, this giant "suck your will to live" fan sitting in my window, and a little fan in my bedroom. Guess what? It's still effing hot. Wonderful. Lucky for me, things are going to be cooling down in the next couple of days. Good thing, too. I had all these activities planned today to get ready for this trip, but there's no way I'm hauling Gatts around in a pet taxi when it's eight million degrees. What am I to do? Apologize to Gatts for the black fur coat she unfortunately can't take off? Riiiiiight.

For now, I'm sweating, killing time, and sweating some more. At 3pm, some friends and I are meeting at Stanfords for some drinks at buck ninety-five appetizers. Can't beat that. But the best part? THEY HAVE AC! :-D Hooray for cold air!

Ta!