choco_frosh: (Default)
Meantime, just to make life still MORE fun: on the way back from practice on Wednesday, I got a voicemail from my landlady. The driveway was being repaved the next day: I'd have to move my car.

Well, that's annoying, but not a MAJOR problem. Since we have a driveway, I've never gotten a parking permit for my car, but we have a 2-day visitor pass. I moved it (in the rain), and stuck the parking pass in the window.

Yesterday, I got ANOTHER voicemail. The driveway's done, but it can't be parked on until the asphalt hardens. Which will take a week.
1) WTF?
2) That's...a lot longer than two days.*

%$^&*(. I guess the best solution--and it's not a GOOD solution, but I think it'll work--is just to hope that the parking inspectors don't notice over the weekend. Then next week, I'll drive to work every day. (Groan.)** That'll mean I leave at 7:30 AM, and get back around 6:30 PM: Presumably parking inspectors don't work at night.
$£%*&^(.

Hell with it. I should go to bed. Have some amusing British tweets to cheer you up.


* But not NEARLY as long as it takes to get a Resident parking pass!
I've ordered one, but that's a two-week process, IF they even accept my iPhone photo of my RCN bill as proof of residency.

** Oh ^%$(*&, Wednesday. Choir practice.
It says something about Boston that there is no WAY that I can get there in time by car, although it's relatively simple by public transit.
Welp, I'll see if I can leave it somewhere at Brandeis overnight. Or maybe in Waltham? Failing that, pay for overnight parking at the Brandeis railroad station.

Meantime, my roommates are watching Star Trek: Enterprise. Why does Data want to have sex with the Borg chick. That doesn't seem remotely psychologically plausible.
choco_frosh: (Default)
Bloody neighbours left their car blocking the driveway, and then inexplicably disappeared.

(This wouldn't be my issue, exc. there's a - unnecessary, as it turned out - parking ban for this evening...)
choco_frosh: (Default)
Silly's is a Portland institution. Founded in the eighties, it is implicitly a hippy joint. Perhaps "restaurant for hippies and their families" would be more precise: it's smoke free and aggressively kid-friendly. But it's also open super late, serves enormous portions, has vegetarian/vegan/gluten-free options on everything, will put anything you request in a milkshake (or, probably, a burrito wrap), and thus seems designed by nature for catering to the late-night munchies. So while the atmosphere is not actually filled with wreaths of marijauna smoke, that seems like a simple oversight.
[Also, a very dangerous place if you live within six blocks--as my brother did after graduation, or as I do now--and are trying to keep either your waistline or budget under control. Otherwise, you could easily wind up there for fried pickles and mead milkshakes every other night.]

Anyway.
Story #1: Capture the Flag. Somebody has apparently just formed a capture-the-flag Meetup group, so my own Geek Club decided to take them on at their first meetup this past Sunday. Which would have been a great idea, had we actually had their contact info.
As it was, we failed to find them. And apparently wound up playing SEPARATE games of CtF, at opposite ends of the park, each group thinking the other was a bunch of losers. (Oh well, we had fun, even with lightning three-on-three games. Even with several of us complaingin of strained hamstrings when we next saw each other.)
Among our number was an 18-yo n00b, both to Portland and to meetup schtuff, so after all this strenuous exercise we felt it incumbant upon us to introduce him to Silly's. But having hiked over there, we found out that it was, in fact, closed for ten days. To say we were bummed was an understatement. Ah well, there will be other opportunities.

Story #2: Involving Peter. In my case, opportunity called yesterday, since I was picking up Peter for the weekend and didn't feel like cooking. First, though, I had to survive so long.
See, I'd been out late the previous night...and the night before...and whether or not this was related, I was nodding off at the wheel as I approached the New Hampshire border. Actually drifted off for a second on the far side of Kezar Falls, to discover I was skidding off the road. By the grace of GOD I managed not to go into a ditch or cause a multi-car pileup, but somewhere in the course of that dreadful minute I seem to have done something to the car--whether the relevant wheel, the clutch, the brakes or all three I know not; all I know is that it started to make a horrible grinding noise--which Peter likened to a train starting up--at low speeds. So while Khusrau is still running fine, and I was able to get Peter, my bike and a trunkful of boxes back to Portland without incident, I have been trying like hell to avoid driving since, and we'll be paying another visit to my mechanic on Monday.
We'd probably have walked to Silly's anyway. It's not very far.
It was only as we were preparing to head out the door that it occured to me that I didn't know whether they'd reopened yet. I was intensely relieved to see the Open sign when I got there; but it was clear that most of the rest of Portland had been jonesin' in the interim as well.
"Cut them some slack," I advised an irate fellow-customer whose ticket had been mislaid, as the waitstaff got in traffic jams around the newly redesigned kitchen. "They only reopened yesterday."
"Actually we only reopened two hours ago," interjected a haggard-looking waitress. She had reason to be haggard: on a Friday night, after a ten-day hiatus, and what with the vastly expanded space next door and out back, I think I overheard that they'd fed six hundred people in those two hours.
Under these circumstances, I started to wonder whether we would get served before midnight: other people in the same circumstances were splitting, and the management was (very politely and diplomatically) pleased to see them go, even with the risk of losing a customer and the certainty of already half-prepared meals that would be neither eaten nor paid-for. Again thank God: a quick inquiry determined that my Diesel wrap would be ready in less than ten minutes, and that in fact Peter's chicken and fries was ready now: would we like it? An almightily Silly question: but I love them too much to fault them for it.
(Other people I can't fault? Peter, for coping with delayed dinner with [reasonable] patience; the waitress who found him "a few" crayons [read: a couple of dozen. See above under aggressively kid-friendly.])

Uh. There's more I should post about: medications, who I may be quitting the cathedral, and my apartment and neighborhood. ANd there's probably something productive I should be doing re: classes next week, or even for looking for other work/money stuff. But I'm braindead and Peter is probably going to demand to get up at dawn again, so I think I'm going to cut my losses and head for bed...

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