Dilemas, dilemas

I'm heading down to Santa Barbara for Escapade in the middle of February. The very next weekend, Meg's having her birthday bash in Las Vegas. So I'm trying to figure out how to fly down to Santa Barbara and fly home from Vegas, and figure out what I'm going to be doing from Monday to Thursday and where I'll be doing it, and with whom. I'm resisting renting a car.

Ah! Suggestions?

Friends help you park

I *heart* my roommates. I am filled with overflowing helpless mirth around them - they're all so wonderful and sarcastic and funny. And they helped me unpark.

We had to take two cars to go to dinner, because Lori's Car of Holding (aka Mr. Bass) is out of commission, and Juno will only seat five if you're really skinny and really friendly. We likes our comforts, we do, my precious. The TGIFriday's on Lake Union has this parking lot. It's. The compact spaces are sized for Festivas, and then the Broncos and the Expeditions try to fit in.

I managed, by some stint of divine intervention, to wedge my little Saturn into the parking space. Plenty of room on my side... and on the right hand side, my side mirror is in front of, and overlapping, the other car's mirror. I back out strait, and I take one of them off. It's me or them, baby.

We needed a picture of this. Seattle parking at its finest.

But they all stood around on all four corners and talked me out of the parking space. Six inches from the car on my side, and we just breezed me out of there. (After, of course, attempting to pick up the back end of the car and scootching it over. That... Let's just say Saturns don't scootch well.)

Friends help you park. Good friends help you park in Seattle.