I've been on the phone with Mama T throughout the day (she's flying in from CA, I'm her designated picker-upper) and she's been empathizing with me throughout this icy, icy mess.
Her advice was to turn on the heat. I did. But heat there was not.My radiators look like this. I, though, do not.
I live in a house that is over 100 years old. Usually I love that aspect of my living situation, because with minimal effort the place looks like an Anthropologie catalog. When it comes to waiting for my radiator heat to kick on after lying unused since March, I long for new construction. Or at least the will to haul ass over to the coffeehouse where there are many types of warmness awaiting me. Alas, I am lazy.
Mama T warned me that it could take awhile for the heat to sufficiently toast my tootsies, so I crawled back under the covers and waited. And waited. And waited.
Finally I did a little investigating, called my dad, got even colder because I was no longer in my fort of blankets that contained my (dwindling) body heat, and got the motherfucking heat to kick on.
This entire process took five hours. In those five hours I'm pretty sure I got frostbite on at least three toes and a yeti moved into the basement.