Lake 2009

If you're a weather dork or you live in Denverish, you know that last night brought a storm of legendary proportion.

I drove through a nasty bit of that storm last night and I'm tired. I think I may have been struck by lightning, my head's so fuzzy.†

So I'm not going to be clever, not going to do a lot of footnotes.‡

Let's just let The Lake speak (mostly) for itself, shall we?

The ranger station says these fish are in Lake McConaughy


The ranger station also wants you to know how heavy record fish are, so they provide conveniently weighted examples for your educational entertainment.


Matt purchased this sombrero at the dollar store especially for the trip. He told his 13-year-old daughter he would be wearing the sombrero and nothing else at some point during their vacation. This led to many frantic hatnappings. Also? The hat bled pink all over Matt's nice Bronco shirt. His daughter things it served him right.


Inflatable Items was a big theme this year.


Matt, deflating at the end of the day, looked like Godzilla over a floatie Tokyo. That's what Shannon said, in any case, and it drove the rest of us to sing Blue Oyster Cult's "Godzilla" all afternoon.


The kids, of course had a marvelous time. With much threatening and cajoling, they were grouped for a nice group picture.


And a goofy group picture.


Braden and Chris, plotting the demise of their sisters.


Mary, my little datesake


It takes a floating village...


Or a floating train...


Braden discovers the projectile capabilities of a water noodle.


Curtis rides the shark, which is not at ALL like jumping the shark.


Erin


Curtis and his harem


A bad day to be a frog


Saturday was windy. The lake was choppy.


The boats danced


As did the porta-potty


And the people. The people danced. I so wish you could've seen it.


Shanny rescued Mary


And we went for the traditional farewell dinner. Peanuts on the floor, country music on the TV and over the speakers...


On the way home? Never seen the Colorado plains so green. Plus... cows!



†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Literally AND figuratively.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Just that last one. And this one.

Thank Me Later

Tommy. Oh, there was a street fair and a BBQ, blah blah blah, but I know what y'all want out of these occasions. And what you want is Tommy.

Here, he posed:




And here is a candid shot:




Now why don't you go off and speculate exactly what measurement Tommy might be indicating in this shot.

Happy Friday!

Easy Like Sunday Morning...

...and on into the night.^

Since we all but stopped celebrating Halloween and New Year's Eve,† the Super Bowl is the Grand Poobah of all parties, the laissez le bon temps roulette‡ of the social season.

That's Brother and Eric, laissezing le bon temps roulette



To refresh your memory, we have been doing this at Matt's house since before he was married.% Next year will be our 20th anniversary.§ It's a wonder we all lived through past Super Bowl parties to reach this milestone.¶

[SUMMARY: C'est la guerre... and it has been a hell of a guerre.]

We have traditions.

We have the National Anthem Chug.# We have jello shots.†† We have cigars.‡‡ We have the Lonely Guy Hour.§§ And we have Matt wearing alternative headgear.¶¶

Matt and Shanny - two of my favourite guys in the world


Matt and Bill##


Matt and Connie



[SUMMARY: Fiddler on the Roof got nothin' on us.]

I may never have mentioned it, but as an oil brat,††† we moved like the military when I was a kid. At least every three years, whether we needed it or not. Brother went from first grade through high school with the same kids. I went to seven different elementary schools.‡‡‡

The people you see in the pictures above have been my friends for nearly 30 years.§§§ To me, that's really something.

[SUMMARY: Awwwww...]

And the fact that we're all still alive I think proves miracles happen.¶¶¶

Saint points?###


^FOOTNOTE (careted): I am NOT easy. Anymore.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Damned kids.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): A reminder: Lent is just around the corner!

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Long live the Elks: Beer, Babes and Brotherhood.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I will be preparing my special Chex Mix with M&Ms, as always, only I will be using personalised M&Ms with pictures and beer references on them.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Cornflakes in beer for Sunday breakfast, 24-hour Shot Clock (one shot every hour until kick-off), 15-minute war (full contact, drunken football at halftime)...

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Wherein all contestants chug cheap beer (hence the empty Hamm's case prominently displayed in the Matt in the Hat gallery). The idea is ostensibly to start when the anthem starts and finish with the Home of the Brave, only by "by the dawn's early light," it's become a race. When we're done, we throw our cans with mighty force against the nearest available wall.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Amy is now in charge of making Jello shots, which are downed with each score. Or when we want. Now that 'most everybody has kids, we've had to educate them in good Jello and bad Jello (conversation with Dr. Doom: "AntiM, where's the Jello?" "You know you can't have any of that stuff, right?" "Yes, but I just want to SEE it."). The Jello shots were so stout this year, I suggested that if any of the kids scraped a knee, we could slap a Jello shot on the wound, which would both seal it and disinfect it.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Now, now... sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

§§FOOTNOTE (whip that bottle 'round, pass 'er 'round again): Which started as a melodramatic bonding experience amongst the lonely guys (duh). Now the only vestige of the original Lonely Guy Hour is the passing of many, many bottles of many, many colours of Boone's Farm "wine."

¶¶FOOTNOTE (stick men with hats, how appropriate): I feel compelled, since Matt is a school board president, to point out that 1) he did not put the Hamm's hat on his head; someone did that for him, and 2) that is a big ol' cup of water he's drinking in that last photo.

##FOOTNOTE (what IS this number?): Bill's last name is Prince. I put he and Amy in my phone as Prince, which meant I had a weird little interlude months later where I tried to remember why I had Prince's number in my phone -- or why I thought I had Prince's number.

†††FOOTNOTE (three landmen, all in a row): It's not just me. It's congenital. Dad, Brother and I all landman.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (a little off track): When I was five, public schools in our city (Midland, Texas) didn't offer kindergarten, so everbody went to private kindergartens. That "seven" doesn't include either the Catholic kindergarten I ended up at (we are not Catholic) nor the kindergarten I got kicked out of.

§§§FOOTNOTE (to everything turn, turn turn): And someone still has the negatives, so I have to be nice.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (riot police): Someday I'll tell you about the malatov cocktails and the SWAT team.

###FOOTNOTE (in for a penny, in for three pounds): I graduated from college with 224 credit hours not because I stayed in school for ten years, not because I took classes year-round... no, I graduated with 224 credit hours because I negotiated credit hours for every single thing I did in the four years I was in college -- all my summer jobs, working at the radio station, writing for the newspaper, living behind a laundromat... If anybody's going to weasel out a few extra saint points, it's me.

FOOTNOTES: 609 words
ACTUAL POST: 229 words

Midsummer at the Lake of Good and Evil

You know how they say you can tell how happy a biker is by the bugs in his teeth?




Actually, if Cutest Little Car was that happy, it was because of all the attention she got by throwing temper tantrums† on the way to the lake.

But once we got the tire patched and spent a lot of quality time with various tire shops along I-76 not remotely prepared to provide low-low profile run-flat tires,‡ we had a great drive.

[SUMMARY: Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the show?]

It was a subdued@ year at the lake. Connie couldn't come because her brother died Monday and Jenny and I both promised her Mary, her daughter, would make it home safe and sound.

I said I'd try to get Shannon, her husband, home safe too, but I wasn't making any guarantees on that one.

I took a much smaller cabin this year. The 2BR/2B suite just seemed like overkill for one little ol' me, so I ended up on the other side, facing the lake.§




There was a big spider in the bathroom.

[SUMMARY: What I Killed on my Summer Vacation.]

The doom and gloom continues.

Remember Junie Mae's?




Home of the best biscuits and gravy in the world, homemade jam and migas to die for?




I think we all shed a little tear when we saw that Friday morning.

And I forgot my vegetables.

And my special pillow.

And my books.

Also? The Blue Period Scarf and its attached ball of silk went into the water.^

[SUMMARY: This was a vacation?]

On the brighter side,¶ there's Burnout for the Cure.$




Matt and Laurie, of Suburban Sedation Crew fame, uncle and aunt of Tommy,# brought their family this year, which was splendid.

Mary had kids to play with, which made the "keeping her safe to get her home to her mother" thing so much easier.

But you always have to keep a close eye on kids.

One minute they're here...




...the next they're gone.




I wish y'all could meet Shanny.% No, no... I wish y'all could TRAVEL with Shanny. The inside joke is, "garlic press," because one year, in an effort to think of some smartass, farfetched item Shanny wouldn't have, they asked him for a garlic press.

Which he produced.

Shanny uses his big white truck the way a lot of women use their purses: a way to never, ever be without something you may need.††




[SUMMARY: Everybody need a little Shanny in their life.]

On the list of other good things from the lake, nightly fire pits and s'mores.‡‡

Matt and Jenny supervise Carl's fire pit skills.





S'mores almost always comes with kid cuddling. Never a bad thing.

Braden and Matt, Mary and Shannon



And the weather? Under the ongoing heading, "global warming, my ass," it was 94 on Friday and 86 on Saturday. The coolest it's been any other time I've gone to the lake is 104. I'm not exaggerating.

We had vodka for breakfast Friday.

We had cupcakes for breakfast Sunday.

[SUMMARY: Good things come to those with no sense of propriety.]

You know what bugs me, though?§§




[SUMMARY: I think I'm funny.]

Despite the grousing, it's still the most relaxing thing I do all year. Even with spiders in the bathroom and beetles in the chocolate.

Bye-bye lake. See you next year.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): In the form of a flat tire. From a nail or something. I guess not her fault, but still...

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): The nice tire patcher in Keenesburg offered to trade tires with the guys who brought their Ford F350s in while he was working on mine. "You'll never feel closer to the land," I said, by way of helping.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): As opposed to subdude, who is the dude under the dude. Yeah, I still think I'm funny.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The view was nice, but everybody else was facing north, and I kept having to come out of my cabin, around the corner and into the big flat area they all shared to see if people were up and about in the mornings. I think next year, I'll ask for Cabin 11, the small unit facing north, so I can share with my lake peeps.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): And smells like a lagoon. Let's just call it pre-blocking, shall we?

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): About damn time.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): I had to take a picture, 'cause you might not have believed me otherwise.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded):




%FOOTNOTE (percented): Also? One of the funniest people I know. Oh, I try to stay cool, but really... last year, while we were at the Spur waiting for our pre-dinner drinks to come from the bar, Jim Croce somehow came up and Shanny sang, "If I could shave mimes in a brothel..." (to the tune of "Time in a Bottle," in case you didn't get that). He reminded me of that during this year's Spur trip and I giggled helplessly and randomly all night.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Like a hair dryer, a banana or a labelmaker. Y'know, that "if Monty Hall asks, I've got it" thing.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Gourmet s'mores one night. I brought Hershey's Symphony bars with almonds and toffee chips. It seemed like a good idea, but mostly it gave the impression of having pebbles or maybe beetles in the mix. When you eat outside, "Is this a... special... candy bar?" is a vital question.

§§FOOTNOTE (swirling smoke off toased marshmallows): I can see myself!

Ass

TTHFCIF

Ha! Made you look!†

I did laundry Monday night.‡ While folding my favourite pair of jeans, I noticed they were getting a little worn, a little thin, a little fragile. Right at the point of my butt.§ Right where the pocket gets pulled every time it's used.

[SUMMARY: This is the set-up.]

Last night, I went to "see a movie"¶ with Laurie,# and when we parted, I decided to run over to Old Navy and get a back-up pair against the inevitable demise of said favourite jeans.

[SUMMARY: This is the suspense.]

I got home and flicked on the TiVi to see the Grey's Anatomy season finale.

[SUMMARY: This is the lull before the storm.]

I was thinking about my new jeans, thinking about my old jeans... when I decided to feel my butt and find out exactly where that worn spot was.††

[SUMMARY: This is where the music swells.]

There was a hole. All the way down the side of the pocket closest to my ass crack. I wasn't feeling flannel-soft worn denim, I was feeling naked ass.‡‡

[SUMMARY: Crash! Freeze! Close-up!]

I spent a certain amount of time trying to determine if I could feel the air on my naked ass,§§ hanging out there, to figure if the jeans had *just* ripped,¶¶ but I never could make an educated guess.%

Hans swears he would be nice enough to tell me if I had a big ol' ass rip in my jeans.

I maintain he may not have noticed.##

[SUMMARY: My denial is comforting to me.]

So this brings about the age-old philosophical question: If jeans rip in an office and nobody notices, do I still make an ass of myself?

Next week: conducting the all-important Schroedinger's Ass experiment.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): The weekly meeting of the Brainless Twelvehood Club will now come to odor.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I knat all day Sunday and usually I do laundry while I'm knitting so I can pretend I'm doing chores. Apparently, I was too lazy to knit and let the washer run at the same time on Sunday.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): OK, yeah, my butt doesn't really have that many points, but you know what I mean.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): After skipping the movie in favour of happy hour, we have decided that "see a movie" is now code for "cheap drinks."

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Of Suburban Sedation Crew fame. Oh, come on... you remember the Suburban Sedation Crew. How 'bout this? Tommy's Aunt Laurie.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I was in the privacy of my own home. I've done worse in the privacy of my own home.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Thong.

§§FOOTNOTE (dangerous curves!): And got so distracted I had to rewind Grey's Anatomy. Twice.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (cheek to cheek): Probably due to some world-class La-Z-Boy wallowing.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Though I'm sure Cat for Scale was wildly entertained watching me pacing the living room, sitting, standing, waving my butt around, muttering, "Yeah. Yeah, I'd notice that. Wouldn't I? Wait... no. Maybe not. How cold was my office today?"

##FOOTNOTE (two pounds of ass in a one-pound bag): Hans is 6'4". He spends most of his time in front of me. And I wouldn't be at all hurt (*sniff*) if nobody even looked at my ass to notice if it was hanging out of my jeans.

Speechless

TTHFCIF

I really have nothing to say.

This doesn't mean I don't wish you well and want you to be happy. So go look at Tommy.

Here's another one.

Shameless

Every time Tommy goes up on the blog, the hit counter whirls around like the dollars on display at the pump on a tank of premium gas for an 18-wheeler.

Note the topicality.

Skate On With Your Bad Self

When was the last time you went skating at Skate City?†

It's just exactly like you remember it, only they're playing more Green Day and less Heart.

Not surprisingly, they're playing the exact same amount of Michael Jackson.‡

I don't know if I've mentioned this, but back in January, I decided to do a 40 days and 40 nights celebration for my birthday, seeing as I'm turning 40. It started May 20 and is culminating in the big birthday thing at my house on June 30.@

I put it out there to my friends and, well, they've come through, some in bigger and/or weirder ways than others.

[SUMMARY: Follow your dreams. You can achieve your goals; I'm living proof.]

Matt (Laurie, of Suburban Sedation Crew fame, her husband%) set up a big Skate City bash for the EIGHT June birthdays^ (including yours truly and his wife and both of his kids.) out of my school crew.

So anyway, there I was at Skate City, all deer-in-headlights with clonky brown-and-orange skates,§ stuttering and stumbling my way around the rink (the flashing lights and gobos, while festive in a Donna Summer kinda way, DON'T help). However, I got many compliments on my ongoing weight loss (Jen is my new best friend!), which I attribute primarily to the illusion created by the super-model height lent me by the skates.

For the record, I went around the rink a grand total of 3.1 times.& My hips were still sore last night. It's a hell of a workout, skating. Remember when you used to fly around the rink for two hours and be all disappointed and shit when they told you to exit the floor and turn in your skates? Good times, good times...

[SUMMARY: Skating: not for the faint of hip.]

Most of my pictures from Skate City suck¶ but I did get this utterly adorable picture of Dance Machine C (Jack's son -- you may remember Jack from poker night). Kid's got rhythm. I suspect he got it from his mother.

Dancing to Michael Jackson. Seriously.


I have long been fascinated with the carpets in casinos and movie theatres.# I was unaware (or perhaps had blocked it out) that Skate City gets their carpet from the same colour-blind clip-art dizzy junkies who make casino carpet.

My next remodel will look like this.


[SUMMARY: Skate City: still cheesy after all these years.]

After Skate City, we headed to Legends (of Aurora!) for beer and wings and stuff and I dragged out my knitting.

[SUMMARY: This is still sort of a knitblog, right?]

Of course, y'all know I'm never averse to knitting in public or even knitting in bars (perhaps *especially* knitting in bars), but I was among non-knitters and did get a little dose of grief. Jen, who was so kind to tell me how skinny I was, kept poking at me about my knitting.

"What, are you on a deadline or something?"

Well, yes, I was on a deadline, but I made sure Jen knew I would probably have been knitting anyway. Just to uphold the KIP/KIB tradition. Y'all know.

[SUMMARY: Jen, no longer my best friend. How quickly the fickle winds blow wonky...]

After Legends (of Aurora!), we headed to Laurie's and Matt's for drinks and, apparently, bathrooms. Several people had apparently expressed a need to pee, so Laurie said, "My house has three bathrooms!"

Off we went.

Unfortunately, Matt had Laurie's keys, so when we got to the house, with several adults (kids have no problem peeing at Skate City or in bar bathrooms) doing the pee-pee dance on the front lawn, we couldn't get in.

And Matt wasn't showing up.

And there were reports from reliable sources that Matt hadn't even made the turn to come home.$

I said, "Does Matt have his phone?" and Laurie dug in her purse, only to find, "Matt has MY phone!" Laurie didn't know Matt's phone number, so I called her phone and Matt answered, "I have Laurie's keys!"

Meanwhile, it had been determined that with... well, with a certain amount of effort, a small child could break into the house and let everyone in.

Plan B


Austin got through the window just before Matt showed up with the keys.

B&E


Once Austin went through, all the kids wanted to do it. Some even got back in line to ride again. So when Matt pulled up, all the moms were inside peeing and the kids were streaming up the ladder and into the window like ants to a jelly spill.

[SUMMARY: In the suburbs, they make their own fun.]

I gotta say, those suburban family folks know how to set up a birthday. I got three bottles of vodka and a bottle of wine (not to mention the cookie mix, which is, you know, separate from the alcohol thing, but at least as exciting).

And the sky was really pretty.

[SUMMARY: I'm a lucky, lucky girl. Just keep telling yourself that, Marin... I'm a lucky, lucky girl.]

Guess what I have on deck for you tomorrow? KNITTING PICTURES! Well, one knitting picture, but a whole array of Yarn P0rn and some very funny Boys-with-Fibre stuff.

Stay tuned!

[SUMMARY: AntiM: Still trying to suck you in with the cliffhanger.]

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Or whatever it is in your neck of the woods. If it's less than 10 years, you're either too young to be reading this blog (go ask your mom what "holy fucking cats" means), you have small children or there's something suspect about your hobby scheme.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): One song. "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough"

@FOOTNOTE (atted): The fact that a 40-year-old is far too old to party for 40 days and 40 nights is no longer lost on me. It's a good thing I have a vacation coming up after this debauchery.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): It's funny to put it that way, since I've known Matt for 25 years and I've known Lauries since she started dating Matt. But, anyway, Laurie's husband Matt...

^FOOTNOTE (careted): I'm telling you, September is the sexiest month.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Yes, they still have the same skates. Probably the *exact* same skates.

&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): The point-one was when I agreed to head out with Laurie and darlin' Mary, datesake of my heart, and the lights came up roughly point-one into that round and they announced they were going to play "Red Light Go, Green Light Stop" and I beelined for the exit, knowing anything that required me to start or stop at will was a losing proposition and mostly an opportunity for mass hilarity on the part of the spectators.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Don't be mean. I *know* you want to say all my pictures suck. This time it's because of the wonky lighting, not because of my anti-mad* photog skillz.

*FOOTNOTE (inside a footnote): No, AntiM isn't short for "anti-mad," no matter what my brother may tell you.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): The world is my kitty toy.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Matt, a good father, had headed to Walgreen's to get sunburn spray for his hurting son, unaware he was the linchpin on which Operation Adult Pee hinged.

Big FO... oh, and the weekend too

I'm too sexy for this yard.

First, CLCWWW† went to the MiniDoctor last week (as y'all know if you've been paying attention) and got a clean bill of health. And a bath. Look how pretty!

I know it's not really news, but it does give me a chance to post another glamour shot of my babycar.

[SUMMARY: Yeah, yeah, we know you have a Mini Cooper, Marin...]

Friday night was mild mayhem, starting with lunch‡ with Kelley, drinks with Kelley, more drinks with Kelley, pedicure and drink§ with Annie, drinks with Annie and a stupid, stupid round of waiting for a boy at Favourite Bar.¶

Saturday was perhaps a little more sensible, at least on the outset, as the Drunken Knitters (DK Nation represennnnnt!) took off for a field trip to the Bucksnort Saloon in scenic Sphinx Park, Colorado (yeah, none of us had ever heard of it# either and some of us have lived here for 30 years.)

You can see a picture of the four of us at Red's blog.^ A nice man was taking the group pictures for us and I didn't see a lot of point in making him spend his whole afternoon with our cameras. So I'll just crib off Red for the group shot, and this is what I got:

The menu

It was Worldwide Knit in Public Day, which, as Drunken Knitters, we pretty much call "Saturday." Anyway, gorgeous drive,†† OUTSTANDING (yes, I'm shouting. Trust Marin.) burgers, great bar, making bikers with braided beards stare at us.

Red with the menu

Sarah, Genius Knitter with funny part of the menu

Kathryn, camera shy Bag Lady, is off to my left. The Bucksnort was her idea. It was a good one. We're going back.

[SUMMARY: KIP, KIB. Check.]

After that, I had a family birthday party in Aurora. Oh, not my family, per se. Sometimes it's nice to be family with a family not your family.

Mick (you may remember Mick from poker night) and Tommy, his nephew

Laurie, ringleader of the Suburban Sedation Crew and Liam

Matt and Liam

Carrie and Liam

I imagine you're sensing a Liam theme right about now. Not only is he a frightfully cute little chunk of baby goodness, but he spent all day going from adoring adult to adoring adult. It was hard to get a picture *without* Liam.

*ahem*

Unless, of course, it had Tommy.

Now, I've known Tommy all but his whole life, so I'm not allowed to think of him this way, but there's no reason you shouldn't:

Smart Firefighter Hockey Player. With ink.

Wipe the drool, change your panties and let's talk knitting.

[SUMMARY: *gurgle*]

Guess what I finished? Yep, it's the FO to conquer all the freakin' FOs.

Stupid Blanket is DONE.

Stupid Blanket it stunning. It's lovely and once I washed it, it went all soft and drapey and... *sigh*

I'm going to miss fondling Stupid Blanket.

Damn. I forgot the wine bottle for scale.

Stupid Blanket:

Pattern: linen stitch... 40 acres of linen stitch (body) and Two Leaves from Nicki Epstein's Knitting On the Edge (border)

Yarn: Plymouth Encore Worsted (75% acrylic, 25% wool), Marls #9625

Needles: Addi Turbo, US9

Assisted by: Seth, Red, Sarah and the New Belgium Brewing Company

And here are some close-ups for the knit geeks who like this sort of thing:

40 acres of linen stitch, redux
Back of linen stitch
Edge

[SUMMARY: na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na, hey hey hey, goodbye...]

Ah, just in time to start Stupid Blanket II, the Sequel.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Cutest Little Car in the Whole Wide World

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I'm using the term "night" a little loosely here.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): At the Brown Palace. You remember the Brown Palace, don't you? The nice pedicurists asked if we wanted a cocktail and, of course, we did, so we ordered cosmos and a man in a tuxedo with a snowy white napkin draped over his arm brought them [new best friend!] on a silver tray with a rose in a bud vase in between them. He set the drinks down on the arms of our massaging pedicure chairs, then placed the rose between us and left. His shoes were *really* shiny.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Not The Boy, just another boy, one who called me at 1:00 in the morning Wednesday for a booty call. Unfortunately, I'm not too sharp when you wake me, so I didn't even realise that's what it was until about five minutes after we hung up the phone. Then I was all hot and bothered and couldn't sleep for awhile. He said he'd look for me Friday night at Favourite Bar. He didn't find me. Sometimes there just aren't enough C batteries in the world.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Sphinx Park, I mean. Everybody's heard of The Bucksnort.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): It should be noted, particularly since Red just called so I wouldn't have to wait all day to envy to the ends of the earth her new DPN case, that my Green Gables is SOOOOO much farther along than hers.

††FOOTNOTE (doublee-crossedd): Did I mention green?

Does anybody know why Blogger does this weird-ass thing with photos that makes the spacing on my posts (probably everybody else's too) all wonky? Is there any way to avoid it?