Is that light I see there at the end of the tunnel?

I would like to report that my jalopy of a dumpster was pulled out of my damned yard today, and I flicked it off as it drove away. I considered going outside and stomping naked on the beaten dead grass, but I decided to keep it rated PG since my neighbors across the street are highly retired and highly nosy. But anyhow, the stupid dumpster is gone. Which means the roof is done. Well, except for one little patch of rolled roofing over a bay window that will be completed today, per the statement signed in blood on my driveway (which is probably subject to change).

Anyhow, yes, my yard is now preening itself (with my help) for all passersby to see. The gardens are planted. (I finished the last one in a thunderstorm two evenings ago; that is the depth of my desperation here, people.) Things have germinated. Now, my entire population of birds that I've been fattening for 3.5 years moved to less toxic pastures weeks ago, but if they ever want to return, the feeders are full. I am well pleased.

Also, Brother K is moving out on Friday, going to Texas to be with his lady. We will miss him as a Wisconsinite but probably not so much as a roomie. I think the Boarding House K is going to be nailing up its windows and the like. Big K, Phook, and I need to return to our uncluttered unit. There will also be less dishes. And less towels. And less First Person Shooter video games.

We are leaving on Friday for vacation to hang with Best Friend of Big W and her husband, who we will call Sheepish Pharmacist Hottie. (I luv ya, JC.) Anyhow, they live in the great state of North Carolina, and we are road trippin' Phook down there in the van on Friday to hang for some days. We are then going to South Carolina for a few days of family beach fun. We are going to eat roadkill the whole time, but at least I won't be here crazily pacing and worrying about things like how much tonnage was in that dumpster that just drove away and what it's going to cost me. So we are wicked excited about that. Of course we are nervous about restraining Captain Mobility (that's Phook) for 14 hours of driving, but I'm prepared to make pig snorts and cow moos for the length of an entire business day or two being that I am secure in the knowledge that eventually I'm gonna be dipping my chubby toes in that most wondrous of earth's gifts...an ocean. Phook does have a bit of a cold, but I am actively willing it away, so I'm sure she will be fine.

Can I just say that packing for an 18-pound hamsteak who wears audacious bikinis and sunhats is kind of like packing for an entire contingent of the armed forces? Seriously. I mean, I'm no good at packing light, but I am seriously trying here, people. And no matter how you slice it, babies need equipment. Man. Sure am glad we have our sweet ride.

In other news, kid rock is still firmly ensconced in my urinary tract. I see a urologist tomorrow morning and a part of me is a bit concerned they're gonna throw me in a cage and not let me out until I magically produce this nugget the whole world is anxiously awaiting. (Kind of like having my labor with Phookie induced twice...) So say a little prayer to the ureter gods that the urolochick lets me leave the state. If she advises otherwise, I'll probably just act like that TB guy and take my noxious stone with me against medical advice anyhow.

So that is it for now. I have been metablogging a few posts that are gonna have to wait. I for some reason feel the need to recreate my sweetass hummus and take it with on vacation, so I must be going now. Perhaps you will get an update from the road...