Yep, I felt that.

I will worship whatever god or gods I need to, I will even sacrifice a goat on the tarmac if need be, but I really hope that what’s been happening in Indonesia over the last few days doesn’t happen in L.A. while I’m still alive to have it scare the shit out of me.

Reading the list of Ricther scale measurements is like looking at a gymnastics score: 8.4, 7.8, 8.1, 6.2… TEN aftershocks between 5 and 6 on top of all that.

Seriously, yikes.

I felt my first earthquake last night.

I will say, I didn’t really realize it was a quake at the time. There was a big jolt and then a little residual shaking, and I figured someone had just dropped something heavy on the stairs.

This is partly because the last time I felt my bed shaking in the middle of the night and thought it was a quake, I looked up I saw Chaplin vigorously licking his own ass on the other end of the bed. So I figured this was some similarly silly explanation.

There was also very little knocked over. The only thing that I recall being out of place this morning was a shower squeegee that fell from its perch into the shower.

But when I came in, everyone was talking about how they felt the quake in the middle of the night (member of the accounting team: “I thought, ah hell, am I going to have to get out of bed?”).

I’m just glad the first quake I felt wasn’t some huge Northridge-level quake, but a relatively lame one. Although I’m sure I’ll now be shouting “QUAKE!” and sprinting to the nearest doorframe every time a big truck drives by for the next couple of weeks.