pixel39 | Gah. Just gah.

On a positive note, there seems to be a dearth of people driving about on the roof with golf carts towing vats of hot tar, or at least if they are doing so, they are doing so on a different part of the building.

I have to do more price-checking this weekend for Twelfth Night, and figure out about how much dead animal flesh I will need, so I have something to tell the meat counters when I ask for price quotes. And I must buy pans. Many pans. Pie pans and roasting pans, but mostly pie pans. And cat-safe antifreeze. And pounds and pounds of butter. And plastic wrap. And freezer bags. And a pony. Which means I should probably take the truck, instead of the Pontiac, because there's a roaster living in Aleister's trunk and there's no way a pony could squeeze in there as well.