WEEKEND ROUND-UP.
Haven't done one of these in quite a while. It should be good writing practice for me, especially as it was quite the busy weekend.
Friday night was the annual SPN finale party. Amanda and lucifrix came down and we went to dinner at Longhorn Steakhouse before heading back to my house to dig through each other's giveaway clothes. Amanda and I have been doing this for years . . . before we donate anything to Goodwill, we each take a crack at each other's stuff. The first year we did it, I'd gone up a size and she'd gone down, so we basically just traded wardrobes-- well, except for trousers, because she's five-seven and I'm . . . totally not. The following year, we ended up trading back again.
I think there's one top in particular that has migrated between us about six times already.
Anyway, since Diane is tall too, Amanda finally has someone to whom she can pass on all her jeans and pants. Diane loves it because it means not actually having to set foot in a store and shopping ( the horror! ), and also . . . nothing free is ever bad. I think it's awesome not least because it means less packing and hauling of bags, and also because I've always loved hand-me-downs. There's something about knowing that my stuff is going to a good home-- and more than that, knowing the home to which it goes-- that I really enjoy. I love seeing Amanda or Diane in something that's come out of my closet and knowing for a fact that they're enjoying it, instead of passing it off to a thrift store and just hoping for the best.
We were very close to just bagging the whole idea of watching SPN afterwards, since it was one in the morning and we were all exhausted, but hey! What was another hour at that point?
It was weird, though . . . when the episode ended, we all looked at each other and asked, "What just happened?"
I can't put my finger on anything in particular, it's just a general feeling of lack of cohesion, lack of resolution. I suspect that the writers were all locked in a room for seventy-two hours straight, mainlining coffee and screeching, "Whaddya mean, IT'S NOT THE END OF THE SERIES?!?!?!?"
Like they were grasping at straws, trying to figure out how to prep for a last-minute decision to create a Season 8.
Granted, I'm behind by a couple of episodes, so that certainly may have had something to do with the feeling of disconnection, but I guess we'll see once I've caught up on the season.
Amanda texted me at quarter to three to let me know she made it home, and I turned out my light and settled down in bed . . . only to hear, five minutes later, the distinctive sounds of Stoli retching in a corner.
I turned on the light, sighed, and got up to deal with the mess, thinking as I did so, "How is this my life?"
Seriously.
I remember when being up at 3am meant a hot date or an awesome party, not CLEANING UP DOG PUKE.
Saturday morning, I got up at a disgustingly early hour to meet with the landscapers-- oh, and that's a WHOLE 'NOTHER STORY OF JOY AND PAIN-- and then took my car to be detailed, because, yeah, Stoli puked in it earlier in the week. UGH. Anybody who tells you that dogs are less work than kids obviously doesn't have dogs. Or, possibly, kids. Anyway, that didn't take as long as I thought, thankfully, and I was back home running laundry and happily watching more tennis in fairly short order.
My TV tennis boyfriend, Novak Djokovic, rather handily dispatched Roger Federer, which made me very happy in all kinds of ways . . . and yes, I know, he's almost twenty years my junior. I feel guilty enough for perving on him, DO NOT JUDGE ME, THANKS.
Saturday night, Diane and I went to see The Avengers, which was quite enjoyable, if rather confusing. I never read the comics, so I knew very little about the characters or their history. And seeing Thor last summer didn't really give me much to go on.
But! I did leave the movie with a new and truly great appreciation for Jeremy Renner's arms. Whomever designed the costuming for Hawkeye-- sir, I salute you.
And I kinda have the hots for Loki, now. Something about the snark, I suspect. And the power . . . I like all that magic he's got at his fingertips. Not a half-bad fighter, either, though it's clearly not his strong suit. I desperately want to read more of astolat's Thor/Loki fic, now.
The second movie at the drive-in was Dark Shadows, about which the less said, the better. We got back to my house around two-ish, and so that was another late night.
Sunday morning, my alarm went off at nine, but I couldn't make myself crawl out of bed until almost ten. Around eleven, Diane and I headed out to our favorite brunch place, and I dropped her off at the bus station afterwards. I got home with just enough time to settle in with my computer to watch the men's final of the ATP Rome-- well, more accurately, the Internazionali BNL d'Italia. And that would be why the stops on the ATP tour are mostly referred to by city name.
At any rate, the match was postponed for rain in Rome, which pissed me off immensely, especially when Djokovic lost the rescheduled match yesterday morning. I'll have to make a separate post about that, because otherwise I'll be here all night, and this round-up has already taken me two days to create.
You'd think I'd catch up on TV shows, but no, I just watched HGTV and hockey until my head exploded, and then I finished the laundry and crawled to bed around midnight. Blech.
And so that, dear friends, was my weekend. More or less.
Friday night was the annual SPN finale party. Amanda and lucifrix came down and we went to dinner at Longhorn Steakhouse before heading back to my house to dig through each other's giveaway clothes. Amanda and I have been doing this for years . . . before we donate anything to Goodwill, we each take a crack at each other's stuff. The first year we did it, I'd gone up a size and she'd gone down, so we basically just traded wardrobes-- well, except for trousers, because she's five-seven and I'm . . . totally not. The following year, we ended up trading back again.
I think there's one top in particular that has migrated between us about six times already.
Anyway, since Diane is tall too, Amanda finally has someone to whom she can pass on all her jeans and pants. Diane loves it because it means not actually having to set foot in a store and shopping ( the horror! ), and also . . . nothing free is ever bad. I think it's awesome not least because it means less packing and hauling of bags, and also because I've always loved hand-me-downs. There's something about knowing that my stuff is going to a good home-- and more than that, knowing the home to which it goes-- that I really enjoy. I love seeing Amanda or Diane in something that's come out of my closet and knowing for a fact that they're enjoying it, instead of passing it off to a thrift store and just hoping for the best.
We were very close to just bagging the whole idea of watching SPN afterwards, since it was one in the morning and we were all exhausted, but hey! What was another hour at that point?
It was weird, though . . . when the episode ended, we all looked at each other and asked, "What just happened?"
I can't put my finger on anything in particular, it's just a general feeling of lack of cohesion, lack of resolution. I suspect that the writers were all locked in a room for seventy-two hours straight, mainlining coffee and screeching, "Whaddya mean, IT'S NOT THE END OF THE SERIES?!?!?!?"
Like they were grasping at straws, trying to figure out how to prep for a last-minute decision to create a Season 8.
Granted, I'm behind by a couple of episodes, so that certainly may have had something to do with the feeling of disconnection, but I guess we'll see once I've caught up on the season.
Amanda texted me at quarter to three to let me know she made it home, and I turned out my light and settled down in bed . . . only to hear, five minutes later, the distinctive sounds of Stoli retching in a corner.
I turned on the light, sighed, and got up to deal with the mess, thinking as I did so, "How is this my life?"
Seriously.
I remember when being up at 3am meant a hot date or an awesome party, not CLEANING UP DOG PUKE.
Saturday morning, I got up at a disgustingly early hour to meet with the landscapers-- oh, and that's a WHOLE 'NOTHER STORY OF JOY AND PAIN-- and then took my car to be detailed, because, yeah, Stoli puked in it earlier in the week. UGH. Anybody who tells you that dogs are less work than kids obviously doesn't have dogs. Or, possibly, kids. Anyway, that didn't take as long as I thought, thankfully, and I was back home running laundry and happily watching more tennis in fairly short order.
My TV tennis boyfriend, Novak Djokovic, rather handily dispatched Roger Federer, which made me very happy in all kinds of ways . . . and yes, I know, he's almost twenty years my junior. I feel guilty enough for perving on him, DO NOT JUDGE ME, THANKS.
Saturday night, Diane and I went to see The Avengers, which was quite enjoyable, if rather confusing. I never read the comics, so I knew very little about the characters or their history. And seeing Thor last summer didn't really give me much to go on.
But! I did leave the movie with a new and truly great appreciation for Jeremy Renner's arms. Whomever designed the costuming for Hawkeye-- sir, I salute you.
And I kinda have the hots for Loki, now. Something about the snark, I suspect. And the power . . . I like all that magic he's got at his fingertips. Not a half-bad fighter, either, though it's clearly not his strong suit. I desperately want to read more of astolat's Thor/Loki fic, now.
The second movie at the drive-in was Dark Shadows, about which the less said, the better. We got back to my house around two-ish, and so that was another late night.
Sunday morning, my alarm went off at nine, but I couldn't make myself crawl out of bed until almost ten. Around eleven, Diane and I headed out to our favorite brunch place, and I dropped her off at the bus station afterwards. I got home with just enough time to settle in with my computer to watch the men's final of the ATP Rome-- well, more accurately, the Internazionali BNL d'Italia. And that would be why the stops on the ATP tour are mostly referred to by city name.
At any rate, the match was postponed for rain in Rome, which pissed me off immensely, especially when Djokovic lost the rescheduled match yesterday morning. I'll have to make a separate post about that, because otherwise I'll be here all night, and this round-up has already taken me two days to create.
You'd think I'd catch up on TV shows, but no, I just watched HGTV and hockey until my head exploded, and then I finished the laundry and crawled to bed around midnight. Blech.
And so that, dear friends, was my weekend. More or less.