This cat seems to think I exist only to feed him (apparently I do).
I was going to squeeze grapefruit juice and do my nails this evening; I ended up writing a review for Dave Insley's newest album, West Texas Wine (release date March 11, buy it, enjoy it, it's his very best yet) and making a frozen pizza into a real pizza for dinner, and now I'm dicking around watching My Fair Lady on TMC and drinking wine (I haven't had a drink in a while, and it's going straight to my head), I haven't squeezed a single grapefruit, nor have I touched my fingernails.
I also haven't watched anything I've collected on Tivo, other than the February 29 episode of Ellen - where she actually remembered she's sort of like the Spokeswoman for Lesbians and spoke out against gay hatred, which was lovely and made the audience there give her a standing ovation (apparently, and I hadn't heard this, which speaks of the conditions of National Television News, an openly gay 8th-grade boy named Larry was murdered by another 8th-grade boy he wanted "for his valentine" - Ellen spoke clearly and succinctly about how none of us should be a second-class citizen, and no boy should ever think it's so horrible to be gay that he is compelled to murder a classmate).
And now there is Torchwood to watch. That is of the good.