I'm being fried up crisp from the inside.

Never have I been more happy to go to work than today. Because here, at work, the air conditioner is working and running. At home, I wouldn't know if it's working because *someone* (Ross) doesn't want it turned on because *someone* (still Ross) seems to think that he shows more moral worth by either freezing in the summer or cooking in the winter. I imagine that it's not good to scream out, "Oh sweet Lord!" everytime you walk upstairs. I'm convince that I am going to spontaneously combust at any moment I'm there. Meanwhile, the dogs are looking at me with pleading eyes, begging me to shave them. Or kill them, I'm not sure.