Surprise, surprise

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If you're reading this, it means that I have successfully kidnapped my husband for the weekend. His birthday is on Sunday, and I have no present. You see, when you move, you suddenly realize how much stuff you have. And if anyone asks you, "What would you like for {insert random happy occasion}?" you reply, "NOTHING!! Not anything. Not now. Not ever. I never want another thing." (unless you are me, then you still want yarn, linen, overdyed threads and the like...) So, since we have been knocking ourselves out every weekend for the past large interval of time, I thought we deserved a break. And the only way to take a break from a place that's got stuff all over it that needs to be put away, assembled, or generally organized is to leave it. It's still possible (at the time I'm writing this Friday afternoon) that when I show up to pick up DH, he decides that he just wants to veg at home. And that's OK, too. After all, I've only invested one day planning....

My initial plan was to spend yesterday surfing, making reservations and finding cool things to do. Friday I was going to pack, meet with a realtor, clean up and head up to DH's office. This is before UPS decided that if you call "after the cutoff time" on Monday to reschedule package delivery Thursday, they do not, in fact, do the sane thing and process the request on Tuesday, leaving the local center two perfectly good days to kick the request around and figure out the logistical extravaganza of getting one more package on the truck for Thursday. NO, good readers. Instead, they immediately put the package in will call. Schwunh?? So, after calling all day Thursday and having the system tell me, "We are in the process of arranging to have your package delivered today," I finally demanded the automated system let me talk to a real person. (And, yes, that really is the verbiage they used.) When the representative told me that the package wasn't coming, and wouldn't be coming Friday, either, I burst into tears. Not sniffy, weepy tears, either. Full-out, sobbing, stuttering, scary crying. Poor agent. Entirely not her fault; it was the fault of the idiot I talked to Monday. I apologized to her. The happy ending is that the pickup center is not too far from here, and is open until 9pm, so when DH arrived home from work at 7:30 (and saw the look on my face), we went to pick up the modem. So today, I had to do the whole thing. And that's my excuse for still not having pictures, when I have a perfectly wonderful DSL modem that trucks along at 6Mbps (I checked at www.speedtest.net).

JiffNotes
Heather has left the building...er, state.