7/30-8/2: Matt's, Helping Trevor Move, 500 Days of Summer, Hobbling about
I forgot to mention--on the way home from the NJ Bar, we stopped at Matt’s Red Rooster Grill to celebrate. Never mind being so unbelievably tired. A stop at Matt’s was in order. To Great Victory! We got a patio table and they set Styx up with his own plate and water.
Yes that is a rainbow leash. My doggy supports gay rights!
Maybe it was because my brain was tired. Or maybe it was because I had been eating nothing but PBJ sandwiches for a week. But the meal was fantastic, one of the best I’ve had. The wood-fired romaine hearts (naturally) were smokier than normal. (Virtue of being the first for dinner?) I had the grilled pork chop with a peach sauce. And (blackberry currant) sorbet as the topper offer.
This is my doggy sleeping soundly at Matt's. He was tired from taking the Bar too.
OK, back to the post at hand.
I did not sleep away the day after the Bar. I woke up the next afternoon to help Trevor move. Ryan was coming back from WA (and is now back--yay--told you so dance!) and Trevor had to move to a bigger place. Helping Trevor move sucked, namely because he wasn’t fully packed, we had one night, and Trevor lived in a 4th floor walkup of an old Victorian townhouse (i.e. super-tall stairs and abnormally tall floors). (I live in a 4th floor walkup right now but it would only come up to about 2/3 the height of Trevor’s old building).
I’m pretty handy in a move because I’ve got a lot of experience (a dozen times in ten years!), I’m good at packing, and I can always get stuff to fit (safely). What I’m not however, is a good mover because I lack the big and burly. Unfortunately, what Trevor really needed that night was a good mover, but it was just him and me.
Determined to be just as good a helpmate to Trevor as he had been to me during the Bar, I attempted to compensate for my lack of the big and burly by making extra trips. True, I could not carry the big boxes, but I could carry a lot of medium sized boxes many times. And so I did, up and down four flights, for the next 12 hours, till about 8 the next morning.
That was not too bad I thought, when I collapsed into bed at 9. The real problem started when I woke up around 5 and I physically could not remove myself from the bed. Lying down was all right but any lifting movement = shooting pain. I gave up after a few minutes and just went back to sleep. Trevor came home about 7 and since he has the big and burly, he just picked me up out of the bed. Once on my feet, I could shift from side to side, like a sumo wrestler, in order to move. It was still painful but not as much as trying to lift myself out of bed. Different muscles I guess.
We went-Trevor went, I leaned on Trevor and hobbled-to Johnny Rockets for dinner and then saw 500 Days of Summer. Very simple premise. Disillusioned with love Girl, disillusions the not-yet-disillusioned with love Boy. But Boy should've seen it coming. The guy lead was very cute, remarkably Rob-like. This is exactly the kind of guy I fall for but shouldn't because I need someone meaner and leaner, a total ice creamer. You can quote me on that.
Cute lines abounded. Anybody need anything?" "I think you know what I need!" Silence. "Uhh, toner please." I was impressed by the chalkboard wall. And I really liked the "Holy Shit" moment when Boy finds that Girl also loves The Smiths and he's instantly smitten. (That's exactly how I fall for people! Some unexpected trait and WHAM, I'm a goner.) All in all, a sweet non-waste of my time. B.
Hobbling out of the theater, my dignity suffered a blow when a 90 yr old granny overtook me. In a walker. Handily.
The next day was no better. I went to the post office with Styx, hooked his leash to a pole outside, and hobbled in to mail a letter. The nice lady then informed me that I didn't need to leave my service dog outside. Yay proactive ADA compliance! Boo shooting pain in my body!