My hand has been hurting a bit since loading furniture on Saturday (more on that later), and I got up early, so I thought a nap was in order. I remembered that my occupational therapist said that vibrations were not good for my hands, but I vibrated off anyway. When I woke up, my hand, if not worse, was not doing any better, so naturally I thought up a really nasty fantasy and did it again just to be sure.

I was in that haze of post-orgasm ... haziness ... the part I really like to savor, like when you wake up 10 minutes before the alarm goes off and you can just drift around in your half-dream state like you're in a sun-warmed pool in the back yard, waiting for the cabana boy to bring you a margarita.

Then I heard the unmistakable sound of a cat getting ready to hork out a hairball at the foot of the bed. Instant alertness. Kick cat off bed. Forced to listen to it finish horking the h-ball. Mood totally shot to hell. Put on shorts. Clean up cat spew. Clean up more cat gag in the kitchen. Find two huge baskets of crap on the dining room table that I know Deb wants me to sort through. This is crap that has been stored just fine in the attic for two years. This is Deb, who, just before I took my nap, said she was going to spend all day taking it easy and reading. Now she's organizing the attic.

She comes down stairs and starts telling me what I have to do with the crap in the baskets. I say, calmly, "COULD I PLEASE HAVE SOME TIME TO WAKE UP?!" And when I say calmly, I mean in a yelling, snippy, barking kind of way.

I'm better now. It was a nice masturbation nap while it lasted.

So Friday after work we took Terry out to a bar and said the official office goodbye. He's having a bon voyage party tonight, and some or all of us are going to that, too.

Then Friday night we went to an Atlanta Symphony Orchestra concert at a park here in town. I got dozens of pictures. Lots of folks I've mentioned here before.

For instance, L. and M., the flight attendents around the corner. I'm going to call them Luke and Mason now, because along with Ricky, they are my new heroes for helping muscle the big, ugly, dry-rotted fold out couch from the reading room onto the street. Heavy motherfucker�Deb and I tried for about 10 seconds to do it ourselves weeks ago and gave up. And Luke and Mason sound like romance novel hero names.

Mason, on the right, has the dreamiest eyes. I just want to lick his pretty head. For reference to my previous mention of them, you can go back to my second entry on January 31, 2001, when Deb had an impromptu neighborhood wine tasting.

And I got great pics of Ricky (also an evil couch conquering hero, with a hangover no less) and Lucy.

And Liz, our code enforcement officer, never sans walkie talkie. The one who comes to your house and warns you if your grass is taller than six inches, pointing at the offending silage with said radio's antenna.

She also runs the volunteer organization that helps keep neighborhoods clean (i.e. picking up trashy spots).

I got a picture of the Harvard Law grad and neighborhood renovation group member who Jake has such a crush on. She attended a different front porch wine tasting. Hubba.

It was a bunch of fun. The symphony was great. The "fellowship", as Stella kept referring to it, was wonderful.

Then Jake, Sara, Ricky, Lucy, Luke, Mason, and I (Deb stayed at home and went to bed�had to get up early on Sat.) crashed a neighborhood party. Most everybody there was pretty trashed, so no one good to talk to except each other. We left Luke and Mason there and came home, but then Ricky took Sara and Jake on a tour around the neighborhood with them sitting in the king and queen lawn chairs in the back of the pickup truck. They loved it.

I got to flirt with Lucy a LOT that evening, and every time I did, Jake would furrow her brows and meaningfully tell me, "Dammit, Badsnake, you can't have EVERY woman on the block!" Rick and Luce did not pick up on it. But they did, through conversation over pizza between the concert and the party, find out that Sara used to be a phone sex operator. They were amazed.

Saturday morning I went to Terry's "mother of all yard sales". He's selling most of his stuff in preparation for the move down to Florida. I think he may be moving somewhere near Anenigma. I'll have to ask her. The two of them in near proximity would be well worth the visit.

Anyway, I promised myself I would get Direct TV for my birthday, and if I did that, I couldn't very well stick with the 15" TV I currently own. Terry was selling his 21" TV for $75. I had told him I wanted it on Friday. Turns out, it is a 27" TV. It's eight or nine years old, but it was top-of-the-line when he bought it, so it's still a really good one. So I went to the yard sale to get the TV and wound up buying the Storehouse cabinet shelves it sat on and T.'s humongous soft chair with those big wide arms that you can throw your legs over. The perfect reading chair.

That's why I needed the boys to muscle the couch out of the house. There wouldn't have been any room for the chair if they hadn't. Ricky helped with the couch, the chair, the TV, and the cabinet. It was all done by 1 p.m. on Saturday. I was very proud.

Deb looks at the TV as if I'd taken a rather large heap of dog poop, sat it on a pedistal, and put it in her living room. She says it dominates the house, but she's slowly learning to deal with it. Now we have one out-of-place table that used to sit where the TV cabinet (about 7 feet tall and 3 feet square) is now. It does make a BIG addition to the room. The girls may take the table, but I'm not up to any more furniture moving. And Deb likes the chair. Which I bought to make up for the TV. I knew she would forgive me anything if I got that damned fold-out couch out of the reading room.

I left the remote and the antenna at Terry's, so I have to remember to get those at the party tonight.

Sara cooked family breakfast this morning�lesbian french toast. We were all milling about in their kitchen, and somehow Jake got the idea that Sara and I had been talking about finding time to have sex this morning (Sara had to go to work at 11 a.m.). We had actually been talking about a tentatively planned date on Tuesday night and the fact that Sara had just started her period, so we'll probably have to postpone. The resulting conversation was classic.

Jake: When the hell do you two think you're going to have time for that this morning?
Sara: We weren't talking about this morning.
Badsnake: We were talking about Tuesday.
Sara: Damn, baby! We're not animals.
Badsnake (to Sara): Do you think we could sneak off and go make out before the bacon is ready?
Sara (to Badsnake): I'm not bleeding that much yet.
Jake: *rolls eyes*

I love Sunday breakfast.