Yay, sleep! That's where I'm a pirate!
What prompted this, you might ask? Well, until I googled that quote, I thought it was "that's where I'm a viking." Which would have been quite apt. You see, much like Leif Erikson reaching the shores of North America, I thought I would be going someplace dependably warm when I moved to San Diego from New York. OK, so that's probably not at all what he expected, but then he didn't have much say in the matter--such was the life of a viking. I, on the other hand, was by no means forced to come here. This is a terrible comparison. I guess my only point is that, like someone in Greenland (and here again the analogy breaks down, since he was forced to leave Greenland, not go there--unlike his father Eric the Red, etc., etc.), I am freezing my nuts off.
Granted, it may be only 40 out, which admittedly isn't that cold in the scheme of things, but my appartment (evidentally like many others here) has no fucking insulation or heating. Seriously. There's a huge sliding glass door to the outside in my bedroom, single-paned, and it's not weather sealed in the slightest. Did I mention there's no heater in the building? No radiator, no central heating, nothing. The fireplace is on the patio, where it does me, as you can well imagine, a pigeon shit load of good.
New York may have gotten down to 4 with wind chill, but at least it was around 65 in the appartment (actually, usually it was around 95, but that's another discussion). Here, it is 40 outside and about 2 degrees higher inside.
Fuck this shit. I don't want to have to sleep wearing my pumpkin-colored Michelin Man parka. I haven't even unpacked the damn thing.
[Edited, because it got even fucking colder.]
What prompted this, you might ask? Well, until I googled that quote, I thought it was "that's where I'm a viking." Which would have been quite apt. You see, much like Leif Erikson reaching the shores of North America, I thought I would be going someplace dependably warm when I moved to San Diego from New York. OK, so that's probably not at all what he expected, but then he didn't have much say in the matter--such was the life of a viking. I, on the other hand, was by no means forced to come here. This is a terrible comparison. I guess my only point is that, like someone in Greenland (and here again the analogy breaks down, since he was forced to leave Greenland, not go there--unlike his father Eric the Red, etc., etc.), I am freezing my nuts off.
Granted, it may be only 40 out, which admittedly isn't that cold in the scheme of things, but my appartment (evidentally like many others here) has no fucking insulation or heating. Seriously. There's a huge sliding glass door to the outside in my bedroom, single-paned, and it's not weather sealed in the slightest. Did I mention there's no heater in the building? No radiator, no central heating, nothing. The fireplace is on the patio, where it does me, as you can well imagine, a pigeon shit load of good.
New York may have gotten down to 4 with wind chill, but at least it was around 65 in the appartment (actually, usually it was around 95, but that's another discussion). Here, it is 40 outside and about 2 degrees higher inside.
Fuck this shit. I don't want to have to sleep wearing my pumpkin-colored Michelin Man parka. I haven't even unpacked the damn thing.
[Edited, because it got even fucking colder.]