Since y'all are commenting, I assume you can see yesterday's post. Perhaps you can even see yesterday's post with the proper spacing, since I tried so hard to fix it and maybe I did but how would I know because Blogger is (once again) playing peek-a-boo with my posts.
Sometimes I can see yesterday's Feelings post, sometimes not. I still have never seen my little note to the DK Nation, so I have no idea if it's floating around there in the unseeable ether, or if it's firmly anchored to every version of the Innernets but mine.
It makes me cranky, not seeing what you're seeing.
And just a little jealous.
[SUMMARY: Blogger... it sucks you in and spits you out.]
I bought a bazillions dollars' worth of patio stuff for the big shindig Saturday. A ten-piece patio furniture set (plus umbrella!‡) and a big ol' fancy gas grill. I know I'm going to get a lot of use out of this stuff, but spending upwards of $500 at my GROCERY STORE is a little weird.
Dad brought his big, black truck to move stuff. The patio furniture (some assembly required!) was mostly packed in one, brick-like, 200-lb box. We began rolling it, step by step, to my front door,§ when a very nice young man (New best friend Vincent, you rock! Katie, take him home to meet your parents!) offered to help. Moments later, Dad hurt his back.
Oh, the daughterly guilt.
And Dad says, "It was in no way your fault."
"Well, except for the needing patio furniture and asking you to carry it."
Then we went for Thai food and ice cream and it was better. And by that, I mean, "Certainly better than pushing giant, heavy boxes up stairs."
I hope Dad's back heals right up. I don't like it when my last remaining parent show signs of being out of warranty, y'know?
Despite all this drama, I will give major points to the manufacturer. The instructions for assembling the chairs were written for English speakers, by English speakers. The illustrations are clear. Best of all, all the hardware required for each individual chair is blister-packed together with its own allen wrench, so there's no counting out 24 of the cross-bar bolts and 12 of the back bolts and keeping them separate and all... just open each little package as you build the chair and when all the pieces are gone... voilá! Done!
[SUMMARY: I still get excited by little things.]
This weekend? Oh, yeah...
Friday: drinks with Kelley and The Boy,¶ knit on Green Gables at Favourite Bar, met a boy, got a hickey, lost my cell phone.
Saturday: thespian reunion,# bought a new cell phone, dinner with Dad (and Grandma and Aunt Teri), forgot how to do the magic cast-on (so didn't knit), cell phone found by kindly neighbour (New best friend Jim, you rock! You and Vincent should start a band!), new boy called (said he was bringing a bottle of wine, brought vodka and KOOL-AID, got terribly drunk, expressed several sexual ideas WAYYYYY out of my purview††)
Sunday: brunch with Kelley and The Boy Sunday, golf, beer, collapsed into bed, filthy and exhausted.
[SUMMARY: Whirlwind! Shitstorm!]
I didn't get my laundry done this weekend.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Which brings me to a funny "here, now, the news": A court in Sweden has determined it is a convicted rapist's right to read porn in prison. RIGHT. And I'm using that both as a very baffled "a just claim?!??" and a very sarcastic "yeah, sure." In any case, it gives new meaning to the phrase, "for fuck's sake."
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Plus umbrella stand! Which is separate! For why?
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): There are a LOT of stairs in my home life. The living room is a storey off the street. Everything that comes in the house has to be carried up a full flight of stairs. At least. In retrospect, rigging some sort of pulley system to the deck might have been worth the effort.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Yeah, I know.
Kelley went to the bathroom and The Boy leaned over and said, "So you and Kel OK?"
I said, "I guess."
He said, "She does this all the time. Sometimes I'll call and she won't call me back or she'll get pissy and I just leave her alone for a couple of days, then we go grab a beer and it's like nothing happened."
I said, "Good to know. And if you think of anything else that would save me some grief, you just pass it right along, OK?"
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I highly recommend this form of reunion. As my high school drama teacher/director said about class reunions vs. the thespian reunion, "Yeah, those guys are just your classmates. This is family."
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): You didn't know that was possible, did you? Forgive the crudity, but any boy who says, "I'm going to Atlanta on Thursday. Are you going to fuck anyone else while I'm gone? Doesn't matter... I'm going to have to fuck the shit out of you Wednesday night," and, "You like ass-play, right? I brought anal beads," loses me quickly and completely. He was honestly bewildered when I told him it was time for him to leave. And he left his beads behind -- no pun intended.