The weekend seemed kind of beautifully endless and the weather was gorgeous and...dang. I think I'm in mourning for my long holiday weekend. We didn't really do much, actually, but that was kind of nice. Very few plans overall. We did do some mountain biking, some drinking with friends, some grilling out, some napping, that kind of thing. We also helped my mother move The World's Heaviest Metal Table back upstairs and down The World's Narrowest Hallway, because her sculpture exhibit closed. I hate that table so very much, a fact that seemed to hurt my mother's feelings. She might feel differently if she had to lift that fucking thing over the banister. I'm just saying. (Note to Noah and Mim: THIS IS ALL CHUCK'S FAULT).
Anyway, I'm sort of drowsy and brain-stunted today because I do not understand work after a weekend of sloth and I sort of got drunk last night. I forget how. Something about "a glass of wine or two" while cooking dinner. It ended with us watched a movie and me, a little surprised to find myself drunk, possessively hugging a bottle of Guinness Stout to my bosom and call it "my precious" in a croaky voice. Then I spilled some of it down my front and laughed like a hyena while my husband looked on quietly with a, "Jesus, I'm married to her" look on his face. Oh, the shame. (But really, if you can't get drunk in your own house, where can you?) It was funny to me, anyway.
This is seriously our back yard. It's sweet.
This is the other half of our gigantic back yard.
Kenny is manly with the grill.
Zephyr dares you to pet her stripes.
Fuzz is a cat of leisure.
Stella is unamused.
I am in for the ass kicking of my life.
We are so beneath her.