To all those who said that couch would never fit into my room: fuck you. It's in. It's big, leathery, soft, and fit for a nice nap right now.
To all those who chipped in with hacksaw, hammer, kitchen knife, and roundhouse kicks: thanks, folks. I could never have done it without you.
Sunday began with this, which involved hundreds of lovely people from the internet converging and having great fun with play structures, dream girls, and trebuchets. By the end of the day I found myself walking home through the streets of Somerville with six (slightly tipsy) other people, only two of whom I'd met before that day, carrying a leather couch on our shoulders. There was Randall (my cousin and housemate), Dan-from-the-internet (deceptively named, seeing as he's actually from Somerville), relsqui and her fiance root (from California/IRC), and Tiffany and Sarah(?) (from Kansas). Of course, the day didn't really end until after Derek came home and found a leather couch (can you hear his sniff of disdain from there?) lodged vertically in the hall of his apartment. Since it couldn't go into any of the rooms, and we sure as hell weren't going to wrestle it out of the apartment again, Derek took out a tiny hacksaw and made like a circus act, with all that glee he takes in destruction of property. We had only the smallest and most impromptu tool set on hand -- Dan would have lent us his tools, but he'd just divorced, and his ex-wife got them in the divorce settlement. Unfortunately, it turns out two things impossible to obtain in Massachusetts on a Sunday night are booze and powertools... Long story short, by this morning I had me some comfy couch halves, a pair of sore arms, and some very interesting memories. For example, a memory of this:
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