6 degrees and frozen birdpoop

It is scathingly cold outside! The Michelin man had nothing on me this morning as I took my frozen ass off to teach a bunch of students as crazy as me for wanting to cavort around in tights, albeit indoors, but in this weather! I say: Why not just live in Toronto? If it is going to be this cold. Certainly the public transport would be better. Better beer...but wait, ah, I don't drink. And I'm a traitor to the Clydesdales. No matter. Auggie has nothing on Belle Guel if I remember the taste correctly. But I digress. A trademark of mine. Digressions.

Here's another one: Those damn birds pooped on my car whilst I nipped in to Einstein's for a bagel. Finger pinchin' bastards. How did that happen in 6 degree weather? They missed Winter's curtain call.

Back to the task at hand. Warm-ups this evening came after a long and tragically delerious nap, with magically delicious Golden Milk après. Oh my God! My smartass self from more than a decade ago, prior to my 'dating Jim Jones phase' is back! All attempts at having a cynically dry sense of humor aside, I thoroughly enjoyed doing my warm-ups to Plant's "Big Log" ( no jokes please), "Ship of Fools", and "In the Mood". I appear to be in my 'Robert Plant period'.

Now for Bound: Today's very special posture is a bit spicy and piquant. Ah! Irreverance and sarcasm are so much more amusing than outright bludgeoning anger. And as a result of the reflection that tends to ensue while I lie practically hog-tied on the floor, a 'very special person' who hasn't gotten the message that I don't want to yak on the phone every single dang day is about to get a tiny taste of some spicy, piquant sarcasm with a dash of hot sauce. Pepe le Peu needs to get a clue. And if he doesn't back off, there might be a whole habanero in that sauciness. Don't twist the Kali devotee's arm. She doesn't like it. And she would be me.