Halloween, Snow, and a PSA

Happy Halloween, my American friends.  I hear it's snowing in New Jersey and people are without power and being buried alive by avalanches!  Guess what the temperature was here!  SEVENTY DEGREES.

No, I'm not at all bitter that you guys had a hot summer while I was dying wearing two hoodies.  Or that we had to turn the central heating on in July.  Of course I feel terrible for you.  What gave you the idea that I didn't?

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ISN'T THE COLD JUST FABULOUS?

In other news, this week has consisted of very little, other than recovering from Sweden and laryngitis.  Yesterday I went to a bar with Other American and some of her friends, but I died before we hit the club and had to come home at midnight like the star of the Lisbon Theater Company's version of Cinderella.  Except in this version of the story, Cinderella sounds like a man-eater who accepts money from Prince Charming for quickies in the bell-tower.

Host Mom's parents and grandmother came over for a visit today.  They brought a crap ton of food, and Host Mom baked a cake with orange Fanta and mandarins, and it was possibly the best thing ever.

As a quick public service announcement, I would just like to remind anyone and everyone who texts me on my American phone that I am six hours ahead of you.  This means that when you text me at midnight your time, I get the text at six AM.  And since my American phone is my alarm clock, it sits right by my head, wakes me up, and then I go back to sleep fantasizing about procuring a giant pit of quicksand and throwing you in it kicking and screaming.  By the time I wake up the next morning, I've usually decided our friendship should not be fed to the death sand, but it's always close.  My sister did this to me last night, but it's happened two dozen times since I've been here.  I love you all, but stop texting me at ungodly hours.

Here's my new favorite song.  I like this version much better than the original, because it's so much happier and more up-beat, I keep doing stupid dances in my chair.  Then I realize I'm dancing to a song about school shootings, decide this is probably an indication that I'm hell-bound, and decide to be sober and serious.  But then I start bouncing again.