Do you guys have freeways out there?

Yes. At least one. And mailboxes. A veritable cornucopia of modern existence, and, you know, bears. I didn't get to see the bear, but Steph did get to see his back end (insert bear butt joke here).

Freeways, mailboxes, and bears. Oh my.

I like our apartment. It has character, like sloped ceilings that, by way of long lost craftsmanship, manage to escape notice. Until you smack your head on them, that is, then you notice them. See? Character. All the lights go dim in the kitchen when you run the microwave and stove simultaneously, and one of the most precious resources in the apartment is 3 prong converters, as nothing here is set up with a ground wire. Upon reflection, that seems like an oversight in an apartment with wood floors, but I digress. Character. And mice. Steph likes mice quite a lot. I can tell because she screams like those girls at the Beatles concerts they show on TV when they want you to buy a CD whenever she sees one, or thinks she might see one, or hears one, or thinks she hears one. As a point of irony, she just looked mildly annoyed when she discovered one of them had left a present in a measuring cup.

Really though, I like the apartment. I've just been having this mood where I complain about things I like. If you were to ask my mom, she would tell you this has been going on for 30 years, but I'm fairly certain I didn't start complaining until I was 7. 7 was a rough year.

Still studying for my CompTIA A+ certification. Turns out going through 1100+ pages for a 200 question exam takes a long time. Who knew? It's also, apparently, important that I understand stuff like what kind of file system goes on a CD, because you can change it and manipulate it if you know what it is. Only you can't. It's like knowing that a pregnant goldfish is called a dork, it's just going to lay there gathering brain dust. Brain Dust would be a good band name, feel free to use it and to give me lots of royalties if you manage to get signed to a major label.

That's all for now. Maybe next time I'll actually have something to write about. Don't count on it, though.

Oh yeah, we're going to Ben and Jerry's in a few minutes for the factory tour. Your jealousy is appreciated.

Phil