My cat is purring, it scratches my skin

The Sopranos ended with a bang and a whimper. A bang because the tension in the last scene was as thick as it ever had been in the show, and a whimper because the tension, it seems, wasn't warranted. Or was it? Anyhow, you don't need to get your Sopranos dirt from me, considering everyone with a pulse has, in some capacity, discussed the show today. I have my theories, but will save them for Michelle and whoever else is into the show.

This past weekend was eventful. A group of us got together together Saturday night and had some drinks at The Burren in Davis Sq. My friend Blake had just moved to Somerville that day with the help of Mike and Blake's friend Jeff (I hope that's his name), so Luke Warm, Kreg, and I, after dinner at Christopher's, met up with them. It was good to see everyone and I needed the night out. After the Burren, the group splintered and Kreg, Luke Warm, and I went back to Luke's place. I hung out for a while before heading home. I found out today that Luke had some vomit issues the following morning. It happens.

Yesterday, I went to my parent's house for my mother's birthday party. My grandmother was there and I have to admit, I never know what to say to her anymore. It was a good day, even still. At one point, my dad was heading out to get some pizza and noticed his car was blocked in the driveway, so he told my mom that I'd drive him to the pizza place. She didn't see the significance of the gesture and told him I could go by myself while he watched his grandchildren. He disregarded her advice and came with me anyway. I think I'll always remember that short drive to Parmount Plaza. It meant a lot.

I met up with Spira later on and put her air conditioner in her bedroom window for her. She made me some dinner, we caught up on things, and then I went home to watch the Sopranos.

Today, I stopped by work to get my check and Karen told me to call the police immediately if one of our customers came in when I was working because, as she put it, "he's armed and dangerous". She was referring to this guy named Sam who sounds like Chico Marx and runs a crew of painters. I met him a month ago when he came in to rent a pressure washer. He was a little, middle aged, guy who wouldn't shut up. He was really affable, though, so his jabbering didn't bother me much.

Sam never returned the pressure washer and, as a result, he was charged over a thousand dollars. When he saw the charge on his credit card statement, he called me up talking at a faster clip than usual about how unfair this charge was. That was on Friday. I talked to him several times that day for about twenty minutes each time. He was more pissed at one of his workers who, as it turned out, never returned the pressure washer, though he told Sam otherwise. We told Sam that as soon as brought back the machine, we'd take the hefty charge off his credit card. He said that was fine but he was going to go "handle" the guy Luciano who still had the pressure washer. I could be wrong, but I don't think that meant he'd give the guy a cookie or a Swedish massage.

I didn't get too much out of Karen about how she found out Sam is armed and dangerous because she was on the phone when I left. I'd sure like to know, though, especially considering I may have to deal with him face to face. I'm not too concerned; he told me several times on the phone that he liked me, that I was his friend. I don't think he said the same to poor Luciano.
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I talked to her this weekend for a little bit. It had been a couple of weeks. Before the call, I had found myself thinking of her more than usual. Believe me, I'm not obsessively daydreaming about her---I'm often too busy busy to be afforded that luxury---but for whatever reason, thoughts of her abound. God help me.
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I'm off to do some recording. It's getting humid up here in my room, so I don't know how much energy I'll be able to summon for this project, but I'm going to give it some kind of shot.