A few days ago the Rotten One's super duper enormous crate arrived on my front porch and I had a moment of realization that there was absolutely NO possible way that I'd be able to fit it, fully put together, in the back of my SUV. This crate looks like most dog crates, except on steroids. My SUV is a large crossover, and big enough to carry the crate when the top and bottom are nested inside each other, but not when it's put together...so how on earth was I going to get it to Houston Intercontinental airport?
Plus, none of the crates that are that size (extra ridiculously large and heavy) are vented on all four sides, meaning I'd need to drill holes in the back per Continental's requirement. Sure, I can drill (and I'm pretty handy with power tools if I do say so myself) but that would mean I'd need to take everything apart, drill, and put it back together. While that seems simplistic it's really not considering how heavy and bulky it is - plus, who knows if I could actually find our drill in the chaos?
So, I went into problem-solving mode. I needed: a person, living in Houston, with a large truck, with access to power tools, who loves me enough to help me assemble the crate, drill holes in it and drive me and the dog to IAH, on their Memorial day holiday, wait around while I get her paperwork completed and drive me back. Enter: the high-school ex-boyfriend.
A and I dated on and off in highschool and he took me on my first official date ever (I wasn't allowed to date until I was 16 so on my 16th birthday, A and I went to Birraporettis Italian Restaurant.) We've remained friends through high school and college and over the years I've met most of his girlfriends and also finally the one whom he married shortly after I met the Canadian. In fact, A's wedding was the first one the Canadian and I attended together and it was in Las Vegas (Bonus: I love traveling to weddings!!)
As an aside, the Canadian was actually in Las Vegas that weekend attending a bachelor party so he showed up to A's wedding hung over and bleary-eyed, but he was a total trooper in spite of his gin-soaked liver.
A and his wife now have two precocious and adorable kids (the oldest of which cracks me up with her impressive observations and the fact that she introduced me to a complete stranger as "My friend Sarah". How awesome is that?) So, I called A on short notice and asked if he would mind doing all of the above...and of course he said yes, because he's just that kind of guy. Most of Monday afternoon A and I were dealing with assembling the crate, transporting the Rotten One across Houston and getting her set to get on a plane...gratitude seems insignificant to say the least. I could not have done it without his help.
After I left A's house I called my other friend, K, who had invited me over for a tiny Memorial Day get together (more on this friendship later as it requires an entirely separate post)... and I told her I was on her way to her house. (Her boyfriend M is a gourmet chef of epic proportions).
When I arrived at K's, she poured me a giant fizzy drink with two shots of vodka and some elderflower liqueur and lime juice as I proceeded to tell her about the unbelievably crazy weekend I'd had (there was some other weirdness going on at MomT's house that isn't really worth writing about but it added a lot of stress to an already exhausting few days). M cooked an incredible meal (which I inhaled), and we laughed and chatted and listened to some great music (Steely Dan, Steve Miller Band, the Beatles, Simon and Garfunkle...). I so desperately needed good food, good friends, good conversation and a few drinks.
As I write this, this morning, the only reason my sanity is intact is because of my friends...and the only way I get by is with a little help from my friends.