Happy Solstice!

And holy hell, it's winter!

I'm diving into the holiday madness bright and early tomorrow morning to finish most of my Christmas shopping, and then have to head back out with Didge later in the day to grab a few more things. Wednesday I'll probably be cooking (and I really need to wash my car...), and Thursday I'm planning to do nothing but wrap presents.

Yes, it *will* take an entire day to do the presents. I am a gift wrap fiend. My whole "thing" is that the word "from" really shouldn't have to be on the gift tag. Recipients should just know the gift is from me. And there will be paper cranes involved this year, so Thursday could turn out to be something else. On the flip side of that, it might turn out to only take a couple of hours and then I'll have the whole day to torture Didge with a jingle bell.

It's looking like Didge and I are non-planning an eighties kind of Christmas Eve, meaning that's what the evening is evolving into all on its own. He's just bought a slew of 80's flicks and I'm giving him an Atari 2600 system (with games!). So there'll be Pac Man, Defender, and "Beverly Hills Cop". What kind of food fits in with that whole "thing"?

(Note to self: Chex Mix. Don't forget to do Chex Mix.)

Pop star...

Didgeridoo Boy loves himself some popcorn. He will, on any given night, plow through a huge bowl all on his own; in fact, our house is developing a lingering popcorn smell from the amount of popcorn he will prepare.

And we're old school about it. None of that microwave nonsense for us, no, sir. We get our popcorn on via the stovetop. In a wok, even, which is by far the best way to pop popcorn on top of a stove. If you follow a very simple little method and apply vigilance as to when you take the wok off the heat, it's pretty much foolproof. Pretty much. Here's the method:

1. Pour about 1/8 cup oil in the wok.
2. Drop in a few kernels - keep track of how many. I like four.
3. Put on the lid.
4. Turn heat to medium-high.
5. Wait. Listen. When you hear a number of pops that corresponds to the number of kernels you put in the oil, remove the lid, and put in the rest of the popcorn - about 3/4 cup. Just leave the popped kernels in there.
6. Quickly, using a spatula, stir the kernels so they're all coated in oil.
7. Put the lid back on.
8. Wait for the pops. It'll happen.
9. When the popping slows down, move the wok off the heat. Let the popping stop.
10. Season to taste. Dump it all into a bowl, if you'd like. Nosh.

Didge has been having issues with this, but a few mornings ago I walked into the kitchen and found telltale signs he'd finally had success. That night, he decided to have another go - off to the kitchen he went, and set about honing his popcorn skills. I watched in awe. I even went into the kitchen to check out what he was doing - peering into the wok to see his test kernels (more than I would use, but whatever) beginning to sizzle. This alarmed him. "Foo! What are you doing putting your face over that hot oil? Once of those things might pop you in the eye!" He was right. That was foolish of me. I was very tired and didn't even consider the hazard.

Okay, darlings. Think with me for a moment. What was missing? It's okay if it takes you a second, I didn't realize it at the time, either. Like I said, I was tired. Exhausted, really. In fact, I was checking on the laundry when I was startled into realizing what I failed to realize that led Didge to chastise me. I heard a couple of loud POPs, followed by Didge shouting, "hooOWWWWW!", and turned to the sign of him rubbing his arm, hop/spinning through the kitchen. As he hopped/spun and hollered, another loud POP sent a piece of popcorn almost to the ceiling. We both swore a bit, and I collapsed into a giggle fit after making sure he was okay. Yes, I really did make sure he was okay first. He dumped in the rest of the popcorn, hurriedly put the lid on, and continued.

Are you with me yet? As he was salting the finished product and dumping it into his popcorn bowl (a dollar store find of which he is most fond), he said, "You know, I think doing it this way might actually be dangerous." And I agree, it is actually a little bit dangerous....

....if you forget step three.

Trust me on this - it's all about step three, baby.

Dang, I've slipped...

At the beginning of the summer, I severely sprained my ankle jumping out of a swing. (Went for height, not distance. Peach margaritas involved. Extraordinarily unpleasant.) Just as I had recovered from that, my ex boyfriend's motorcycle took a topple, which resulted in a shoulder *and* hip injury. Then I got sick, as in SICK. And what happened as a result?

I've taken to snacking. Bad habits from about six years ago are creeping back in. I'm totally out of the habit of working out. Little Miss Cardio, Pilates, and Kundalini Yoga has turned into Little Miss Couch Potato With a Side of Goldfish Crackers, and Two Cups of Hot Chocolate a Day. I feel like *shit*. I look a tad puffy. My clothes all still fit, but not as comfortably as they once did.

Oh, it gets better. I've been convincing myself that I need to "ease back into" my old pattern. Meaning "ease back into while sitting on the couch all the time". I'm not easing back into a thing, I'm sitting on my butt - which is likely to expand from all this slackery. NOT acceptable.

Oh, hell. This just hit me:

How ironic is it that I am sitting on the couch blogging about it?

Should be...

I should be up and finishing whipping the house into shape for the holidays, but instead, I'm camped out on the couch trying to stir up blog entries. And I just saw something in an advert on a website that blew my mind a little, so naturally, I *have* to procrastinate further so I can write.

The ad, for a reality show, promotes "drama you can't believe". Which leaves me wondering what the hell is up with the obsession with drama, anyway? I used to dive into the concept, to be honest, but one day it struck me that it's all so - - - asinine. There, that's the word. Why focus on people bitching, whining, and screaming? Why add fuel to the fire? How are we learning to behave (or not) by desensitizing ourselves to such frankly declasse antics?

I don't know. Maybe I'm just stressed and subsequently grumpy from house redux/wedding planning/holiday stuff, and perhaps I'm remaining right smack, dab in the middle of it by even writing this entry. But - do you know how good it feels to stretch the morning after the best sleep of your life? That's how it feels to roll my eyes at drama becoming a viable product.

Whoo...

Liquor Store.

Kroger.

Waffle House.

Jager.

PBR Chaser.

Sleep.

Why is the house so cold?

Christmas tree toppled - by dog and cat? By Didgeridoo Boy?

Back door left open a little bit on a very cold night.

Somebody kept misplacing a beer and getting another.

Why is the floor by the chairs damp?

Holy hell, the cat could have gotten out because the screen was unlatched.

Robbers! We might have had a robber get *in*!

Where did the shot glass go?

The tree is smooshed in a very strange way.

Kind of thinking the dog and cat had nothing to do with knocking the tree over.

Trees...parades....pizza

You will likely be peeved at just how boring this entry will be, but there's no hope for my writing skills at present.

Didge and I took a break from the recent swirl of stress and headed out to the Evans, GA Christmas parade today. We were there, primarily, to see Drew Exposition's entry - it wound up near the very beginning, and turned out to be the Seattle Wheel (all folded up on its trailer, of course). After that, we went to the Pizza Joint, made a quick stop at Lowes to see if the rumored carnival ride models were really, truly there (they weren't) and then headed home. Right now, we're pondering our main Christmas tree, which is in severe need of a lot of finishing work.

I indulged in a little retail therapy yesterday - black boots (flat, kind of slouchy), lip gloss, and a bag. Oh, and an eyeliner pencil. Every little bit helps.

And - - that's it. OH! Didge has been on a quest to find out where he can obtain Hostess Fruit Pies. He's finally found them, which means we can all rest soundly now.

Where?

We're rearranging the house.

We're also decorating for the holidays.

The chaos has clogged my little brains.

Why I oughtta.....

So here's the deal with yesterday:

Didge slept. Boy, did Didge ever sleep. He had the day off, and said he'd head to Mom's with me since I had work to do there, and then? We were going to run some errands. As I started to get ready yesterday morning, he said he was going to catch a power nap. I called Mom and pushed things back a bit, deciding on 1pm.

At six minutes till one, I tried to wake Didge for about the tenth time. No go. Nuh-uh, not having it, not budging. He was becoming frustrated, and would hurl himself into a flip to face either the back or the front of the couch with every "are you going to wake up" query. After the flip, he would sniffle and jerk hell out of the blanket. I finally asked if he was coming, and somehow, he managed a *smartass* tone to his negative grunt. I said, "Fine. I'm going without you. See if I take YOU anywhere." A few steps down the hall, I added, "D@ckhead!"

I came home about an hour later to a still-sleeping Didge. Told him what time it was, and that I'd like to get the errands run so I could clean the yard. "Gimme a minute!" was all I got from him. He performed another flip, moaned, sniffled, jerked his blanket, and went back to sleep. I informed the dog and cat that Daddy was some description of very unsavory life form.

Another hour. I told him it was three o'clock. No response. I decided to curl up next to him on the couch and snuggle him awake, which resulted in Didge becoming somewhat hysterical. "What the hell are you doing???? You almost flipped me off the couch!" I asked what I'd done. He said, "I'm in a bad mood. Can't I get into a bad mood? You get in bad moods, now I'm in one." Then, in keeping with his pattern, he flipped, sniffled, and jerked his blanket - only this time with a little more force. He *meant it*. I marched off to clean the yard. I also cleaned out my car. Rang the doorbell to annoy him while I was at it.

After taking out the trash, I decided to give poor Totsi the Dog a bath - my frustration had me ticking things off my to-do list in grand fashion by that point. Sleeping Beauty woke up in the middle of that, and came into the bathroom to watch me finish dousing the poor precious, grinning. For whatever reason, he couldn't understand why I was shooting him stiff glances. He also didn't understand why I didn't try harder to wake him up. When I explained things, he was a little surprised: "I WHAT??" He apologized profusely, explained that he had a bad headache, and offered maybe that was why he was being so difficult. I accepted all of that because he *is* devastatingly cute, and he *did* apologize over and over again.

He made up for it by being very tolerant while shopping, only becoming mildly impatient while I was trying to decide on the right nude lipstick. (And a total aside: Have you ever tried explaining that concept to a man?)

I am going to say it...

Livid.

I am livid.

I am so damned livid.

There, I said it. I don't necessarily feel better, but I said it.

Decorundo Boy...

I love Didgeridoo Boy, I do. But I had planned where to put the bed, and had a *thing* planned and it was going to be good.

He did not like where I wanted the bed. I have to regroup.

Hence his new name.

That's not saying his overall instincts and ideas aren't good. It's just that I had a *thing*, and that thing was not to his liking. So the bed's sideways along the wall. So there's open air over his sleeping head. Human beings didn't always sleep with walls behind their heads, so I kind of think he could get over it. But he can't sleep that way, so I moved to his idea of putting the bed in the corner.

Admittedly, it looks better there. I've done that before. I liked it. A lot. But this was going to be something new, and the room was going to be so pretty.

And, yes, I realize the pillows tumbled off the end of the bed. I know this. And it *is* frustrating when that happens. Plus, I fully get that having the bed in the corner means making the bed is much easier. Just chuck on the duvet and all the pillows and cushions, and you're done. No top sheet needed.

I know this is better.

Okay, I've just written myself into a corner - no pun intended.

How is this supposed to work?

Didge and I are supposed to clean house today - go out to grab a round of cleaning supplies (we're out of everything at once), and get down and dirty in preparation for moving furniture tomorrow.

How in blazes is that supposed to work when he stays up 'till 7am and sleeps into the afternoon? Can someone explain this to me?

Abject rebellion...

I know, I know, the only reason Didge wanted me to settle down for a week is because I am totally overtaxed and honestly needed to simmer down and get my chill on for a few days. But now it is bothering me. The house is a total wreck. He had good intentions, he really did, but Didge has had an article to work on, and then his computer fouled up (requiring marathon troubleshooting sessions), and then? Well, he discovered some new games and found episodes of the animated "Planet of the Apes" series. So for all his good intentions, the housework he said he would do hasn't been done. He's simply not domestic. Adorable, but not domestic. And that's likely not going to change, so I'm not going to sweat it.

Point blank: I am over the house being the way the house is being. I am going to do something about it. I cannot relax in a war zone. Something in the refrigerator shouted at me a moment ago, for heaven's sake. It scared me.

I will maintain my side of the agreement to not work on anything pertaining to the wedding until Monday. However, I need a clean space in order to generate a good, steady flow of creativity for said event, so in a way, today's cleaning frenzy is kind of about that.

Snuff it. I'm going in.

Whoa, lordies...

I have no earthly idea what I am doing. Didge has informed me that I am to relax this week - no wedding planning, no fretting over the fact that the house isn't finished, no plotting and scheming for how to fix up the yard, nada. Nothing. Maybe I could read a book, he suggested. I have let my yoga practice fall by the wayside again, I realized. So, okay. I agreed to try this.

I have no idea what I am doing, other than nothing, even mentally. No scouring or researching, just....nothing, other than light housework and keeping my usually zippy mind unusually uncluttered.

It's disconcerting as hell, but nice.

Greatly exhausted...

Yesterday was great, I got a lot of great photos, had a lot of great food, and got to be smooshed up against Didge on rides which was also great.

Are you sensing a trend? I am so exhausted that I can't think of anything to say beyond "great", so I'm just going to chill and not write about it until later.

But it really was great.

Fairly...

Didgeridoo Boy and I are off to the fair today - yes, again, although this time there will be no Zipper for him to convince me to "ride". (One does not ride The Zipper. One gets half killed by it.) We have to be there when it opens, and apparently I'm to take as many photos of some particular rides as possible. Can do - although this makes me wish I'd gone ahead and gotten my LOMO stuff back in ....when was that..... when I had the LOMO/Bento idea. July? June? Whenever. My phone will have to suffice - luckily, it's got a great camera.

I'm too excited - Didge is strangely in his element around carnival rides, so it'll be a whole day of messed up hair, "bad" food, and not being able to get enough of being around him. (With image upon image upon image to capture.)



(Didgeridoo Boy in a blurry, on-the-sly shot that gives me butterflies.)

Freedom...

Ramble warning light: On. I'm not planning to do a lot of editing. This might get a bit too serious for some people's tastes - but when I woke up today and realized that I marry Didge in exactly three months, I knew I had to write this.

I need to say this, and then I will never mention it (or him) in this blog again: My ex husband is an emotionally abusive internet predator who charms women into a very sticky web of deceit so that he can use them to secure a place to live and the utilities to keep it comfortable. You see, when you have a completely decimated credit rating due to perpetually scooty habits and child support evasion, you can't get these things for yourself. Although happily free and clear of this monster, he did forge my name on his tax returns (in spite of a court order not to do so), making me accountable for said back child support debt should something happen to him. Contempt actions? Of no use, he simply skipped state again. How this sorry sack of sh@t continues to win, time and time again, and manages to get away with what he repeatedly does to people (abandoned kids, lies, singles profiles while married, more lies...) is beyond me. In the end, because he's such a successfully evasive soul (practice makes perfect), I've had to give up money I am owed and having my name removed from his tax documents - luckily, this matter will be resolved automatically once he files again. *If* he files again, I should say. I would put nothing past him. (Actually, things are now in place to make sure the system is alerted to this matter, so should he do his norm and dash off, a quick check of some things that have been filed would free me from what he's so obviously trying to do. But I would have to endure a couple of weeks of headaches while they check everything.)

He is a skilled cover-up artist. I have never met such a master craftsman of falsehoods, and I have never encountered anyone who refuses to accept blame or fault to the point of seeming naive. He is not bumbling and cute - he is skilled, cold, and calculating. I have seen him do something, and then refuse to admit he's done it seconds later. He will say something, and days later completely change his story - you must have heard him wrong, he will say. It's all about his very twisted truth, there is nothing beyond his version. In his mind, there simply cannot be - it's complicated, but very simplistic. (Look up "narcissist".)

When the lies begin to uncover themselves, he will launch a series of abusive tactics meant to undermine his partner's self esteem and isolate them from anything and everything they took comfort in. He went so far as to take my favorite pillow and blanket. (Everything is his. He simply appropriates.) The insidious controls start to go into place, too - over time, I had to make sure the knobs in the bathtub were turned to just the right position every night before going to bed, for example, because he could not think to turn them from any other position so early in the morning. (His is a subtle process, so by the time it got to that point I simply complied - you learn to swallow your anger in order to win approval again.)

It took months for me to recover. In the beginning, I would literally argue with myself over simple things like purchasing the brand of tea or soap I prefer. I walked around my own, empty, house on tiptoe, because he always said I walked like an ox. I kept myself shut in the bedroom so my keying would not disturb anyone - again, when I was at home alone. My mindset went to one of having no self worth OTHER than cleaning up after someone. None of my decisions were ever right - even about which day I would do my laundry. Once out and over the initial pain inflicted by that situation, I realized that I questioned everyone's motives - even the cashier at Kroger certainly didn't really mean it when she told me to have a nice day, for instance. She had to have been thinking I was a loser or a freak as she said it, right? (Chances are, that was never the case - and if it was, who gives a crap?) This list could easily continue into a one hundred page blog entry. Recovery took time, and I will likely harbor anger towards this individual until the day I die. The important thing to remember through that anger, though, is that I'm free of that situation and have recovered from the psychological effects of the deceit and abuse he doled out in such a cavalier fashion.

So why am I putting all of this out here? A few reasons. It's the last stone in the wall I've built between myself and that nightmare - this finishes it, gives me closure. Yes, I do hope he reads it - like I said, I'm ticked, and while I know it won't affect him at all due to his lack of conscience, this is like me giving him the finger. Quite frankly, if feels good to finally do this. Primarily, though, my hope is should someone in a similar situation read this rambling mess, she (or he) will realize there is a way out, getting away from such a person is possible, and that the world will not end if that happens. (Here's a link to some good general info. I read this, dug further into Biderman's Chart of Coercion, and began digging myself out.)


And tied to that primary reason for writing this: Good, honest people are out there - seriously, they really do exist. Recovery, and the ability to let those people in, is completely possible. When I first began realizing what was happening to me, I would have never believed that I would say what I just said, but it's an amazing truth. Your life can be picked up and shaped into what you want, and finding someone to share that life with in a constructive, supportive, absolutely magical fashion is entirely possible. *Really*.

There. Finished. Done. Except for one, completely, utterly puerile touch that it will give me cartwheels to finally say:

"Rumor"? "F" you. Don't let the traffic cameras scare you too much, and don't take red lights so personally. And nobody gets worms that way.


DAMN, that felt good.

If you're in Columbia...

...and you want mind-blowingly awesome food, go to Zorba's. I had completely forgotten how great the place is; not surprising, given I hadn't been there since I was about fourteen. But, yeah, *go*. And save room for dessert.

Didge and I went up to Columbia, SC to have lunch with my aunt; being down with the monster cold for so long had us both reeling from cabin fever, so you could say the trip was necessary in order for us to survive. But our day trip escape wound up being something of a revelation: I realized my life is now linked to another one of *those* people. You know, the ones who know someone every single place they go. Mom's like that. We once made it through an entire trip to California when I was eleven with the miracle of seeing no one Mom knew, only to encounter a colleague on the same plane leaving San Francisco. Seated quite close to us, in fact.

But anyway, back to Didge. In the middle of a book store, we were approached by someone he knew. I can't remember the exact connection (suffering from bridal brain), but it was someone he hadn't seen in ages. On our way to meet my aunt for lunch, we talked about how random the encounter was, and he said it never failed - he would always see someone he knew anywhere he went, practically.

My aunt suggested we go to Zorba's. As I mentioned previously, it's a place I loved going "back in the day", and I was really excited about taking Didge to one of my COLA faves. I think the three of us were in the middle of a light political discussion (very bound to happen) when I noticed one of the staff approaching the table cautiously. He looked at Didge, and asked, "Hey, man, are you from Augusta?"

Didge used to do the BMX thing with his older brother. He went back to work, and then came back a few minutes later - turns out, he's very good friends with someone I've known for freakin' ever (well, since the mid-eighties) and someone I'm acquainted with from my stint in Savannah. Need to mention - my aunt is such a regular at Zorba's that *she and the guy* are very well acquainted, so it was beyond a small world moment - it was one in which small worlds collide. Add to this the fact that she's met one of the mutual friends several times.....bit of a mind blow, right?

All in all, it made for one of the most excellent lunches ever. I love it when such cosmic, out-there coolness happens.

Color of a busted gnome...

Wow. An entry! And one that's not related to wedding planning, even!

Friday morning: Doorbell. Gnomes (contractors, in case you're new or have forgotten my name for them). I say, "I didn't know you were coming today." Gnome-in-charge says, "I know that. We need to get in to install that fan in the upstairs bath." He had tried to call my mother. My mother, I explained, was in the hospital recovering from surgery (something she left in voice mails as we tried to contact him to tell him to hold off....getting angry....stopping....)

Now, mind you, it's been a while since the "next week" they were supposed to have returned. I'm sick of this. So sick, in fact, that I have come to fully appreciate the concept of releasing my princess status and learning to do some of this stuff myself. Spackle? Imagine that taking less than a week. No damage to irreplaceable vintage furniture? IMAGINE THAT! No stains on the carpet from a pressure washer being *dragged through the house*....I'll stop.

(Breathing.)

Okay. I started coughing a little more than I actually was, if you get my drift. Fearing H1N1, he and his assistant *donned masks* and came in to take a quick measurement. Then, El Capitan Gnome said he needed my phone number.

He had my phone number. My mother had given him my phone number so he could *let me know* when he would be coming and going.

Showing up unannounced isn't cool - the key he's been given was handed over with the understanding that I would know when he would be showing up. I'm going to set the danged alarm to teach him a lesson when I leave to run errands today - if you are working on something in *my* home, I need to know when I can expect you.


I'm going to stop before I chuck my coffee cup across the room.

Getting the wedding ball rolling....

So, yeah, that's where I've been. Didge and I also managed to contract another cold, AND my mom went into the hospital yesterday for surgery, so things have been somewhat hectic.

I promise, I'm going to try to keep a lot of overlap from happening between this and our wedding blog, but sometimes it's going to be inevitable. If I'm learning anything about taking a DIY approach to a wedding, it's that you can very well expect to have most of your attention consumed with planning and projects from the words "will you marry me?" and "yes". The initial bout of calendar and to-do fun took up about a day, and then there was the slew of rough draft ideas combined with researching options, and...and...and. You with me? Even on the small scale Didge and I are planning, it's a large undertaking.

Didge hasn't even really been up to any of his antics, we've been that sniffly and busy. He did dance around with the dog for a while yesterday, which they both enjoyed, and they both caught a happy as I was assembling last night's pizza, trotting over to the counter in unison for samples of the toppings. (You want to talk about surreal?) But that's all. At least that's all I can think about right now - because floating in the back of my head is the issue of invitation wording.

See? It all goes back to the wedding, almost every time.

Bizzeee.....

I've been working on our wedding blog and wedding Twitter, and then got to work knocking out our invitations. To make up for the lack of writing, here's a blast from the past that just popped into my head at random....



Air bed's on the living room floor with lots of blankets, Ghost Hunters is on the tube, Didge is working on a model, Totsi the Dog is asleep, and I am going to chill the devil out.

Calgon!

I'll take the coat, the boots, and the private jet, thanks!

Exhausted, and recovering from allergies gone wild - - STILL. Sigh.

Letting things come together....

I'll admit, I have a touch of the control freak within me. I'm diplomatic, yet very attached to my ideas, and become afraid that someone might mess them up should I allow anyone else access. When planning a wedding, especially a DIY affair like Didge and I are embarking upon, that can be a bad, bad, BAD thing.

It's especially bad because I sweat things to a beyond the beyonds degree, to the point of making myself think it all has to be done right the hell now, and that if it's not the entire world is going to cave in and he and I will get hitched in a house that looks like one of those featured on reality shows dealing with horrible clutter, bird doody, and water-damaged boxes. But while helping my brain implode trying to gather and organize ideas in a way that will give me time to put the D in my DIY, I realized that opening up and letting other ideas come into the picture is a *good* thing. Jason isn't going to run through the house in his mask wielding a wedding axe if I (gulp) release total control.

The first moment came when Didge said he would be in charge of music - the huge wedding playlist and putting together the soundtrack cd would be his project. It was actually a relief; and I fully realized how lucky I am to have a groom who *wants* to be involved. But then the invitation thing happened. I had an idea that I considered sheer brilliance, one I was patting myself on the back over. He came up with another.

His was better.

And that's why I resisted a little at first, I'll admit. But realizing how cool his idea would be and deciding to go with that brought the whole concept of the wedding together - the next day, I had the decor figured out - and in a way that not only incorporated his ideas for it, but in such a way that lets our ideas enhance each others'. So the event won't just be about, "Oh, look at the cool little housewarming wedding with the pink and black and 80's", it'll be more along the lines of, "This is so Trey and Annalisa's wedding!"

Which is precisely what I was going for by being a control freak, contradictorily enough.

And on and on and on...

Since Didge is handling the tech stuff and prefers Wordpress, we secured a little chunk of their space for our wedsite today. No deets to offer just yet - it's all basic now, without even the first entry. But as soon as it's shiny and ready to go, I'll pop the link up so you can share all of our pre-wedding holy hells and fantastics. Since we're taking such a DIY approach, I have a feeling there will be lots of both.

I've been knocked all but flat on my back by some sinus/allergy nonsense - sipping hot water with lemon right now to soothe my throat, and wishing I felt like making my way to my yoga mat to stretch out all the kinks resulting from sleeping crunched up in a tiny ball. Ouch! Didge has a touch of it, too - we were both taking desperate shots of Triaminic in the parking lot of CVS yesterday trying to make...it...stop. We must have looked like two fools jonesing for a Robo hit.

I'm going to bumble to the kitchen and whip up another cup of this lemon stuff and ask Didge to go up to the linen closet to retrieve my favorite blanket in a bit. (He will. He's cool like that.)

Dashing in to show you something...

My friend, Eric, posted this on Facebook. Best. Dancing. Parrot. Ever.


Seriously.

All I need...

Allergies. I have them.

Consider me floored - took Thera Flu last night out of desperation, and that gave me a whopper of a hangover while the allergies continued. Ugh! So I hit CVS for some Triaminic - and why am I telling you this?

There is no good reason for me to fill you in on all the details of my sniffly state.

Make it stop.

Back to the planning...

I'm devoting a fair amount of time today to what will constitute the bulk of our decor - I know what I would like to do overall, and I know some things I would like to incorporate, but a clear plan has yet to gel. Since that's going to be a big undertaking, I've shelved working on our invites until I get this neatly labeled and stowed away for future reference.

So - gather the ideas, decide what goes where, work up a timeline, get the stuff together, and go. I should probably add to that to pace myself in order to avoid 'Zilla moments.

I am not a Zipper chick...

Rode this yesterday:



Freaked me the ever loving flip out (no pun intended). Didgeridoo Boy *loves* that ride, and I promised him I would try it, but as soon as I stepped out of that infernal somersaulting, tumbling, plummeting (backwards upside damned down plummeting, no less) hell trap I looked him dead in the eye (all six of them - he had six eyes for some reason...) and said, "I love you, but I am never doing that with you again."

Let me put it this way: You know you are royally screwed when the guy working the ride closes the cage, looks you dead in the eye and in a VERY serious (like, *dire*) tone says, "Hold on TIGHT to those bars."

Other than that (and the Zipper was the first thing we rode), I had the best time I have ever had at the fair - ate "bad" food (it's all relative), fell in love with The Scrambler all over again, played around with gravity, tilted, whirled, flying bobbed backwards, and came home exhausted and more blissed out than I ever thought possible. Can't wait to do it again.

Fair trade...

No heavy planning today. No lists (other than jotting down ideas if they hit), no calendars, no working on invitations, none of that.

We're going to the fair, by gods.

Back to it tomorrow!

No cannot not now that...

My very brain!

I cannot
list
another
thing
not
even
in
glittery
ink
in
my
beloved
Hello
Kittyfied
PlannerPad.
If I do
I will
scream
and
scare
the
neighbors,
then
the
cops
might
come
and
that
would
suck.
But
I have
to
catch
up.
Three
months!
Who
needs
six?

The countdown is on. 6 February 2010, 8pm.

Great gods...

Didgeridoo Boy and I were to have gone downtown to watch a carnival train unload today, but then the rains came, and came, and came and came andcameandcame...and CAME. Great day, it rained. Even when it stopped, it rained.

So what to do? Well, I dove into the wedding planning I calendared last night - an epic feat in itself, which I've totally coordinated between my iCal and PlannerPad and won't bore you with any further. Today, I researched cakes, cake toppers, tech stuff, non-floral bouquets, cool guest book ideas, and decor ideas. I also completely changed my mind about what kind of event seemed the most appealing - which means it's getting a little more "weddingy", but in a totally un-white-taffeta way. Didge and I put our heads together and figured out what we'll be giving out as favors (his gig!), what to do about our wedsite (ditto!), and what's going to be running as cool background imagery (tritto!), as well as assigning him yet another task as iPod mix master.

I'm in the process of compiling a "D.I.Y / B.U.Y" list....

...and I'm so tired I totally lost my train of thought. Sorry, darlings.

Before I crash, though, I do need to HIGHLY recommend Offbeat Bride - the site, the book, and the tribe (if joining online communities is your thing). If you're planning even slightly less-than-traditional nuptials and are interested in jotting happily away from the wedding machine, go there. I'm betting you'll be as happy a camper as I am.

So, other than weddingses...

Didgeridoo Boy and I went to see Zombieland last week, and *loved* it. If you're a fan of Woody Harrelson, it's a must-see - and if you're not, it could very likely turn you into one. I could carry on and on about the Woody-love associated with just that flick, but that's not what I'm jotting in to tell you about.

I had never been to a movie with Didgeridoo Boy, not even on a group outing twenty years ago, when he and I first became acquainted. You've seen what he does here through the pictures and videos I've been posting - - imagine that in public. Yes, it does happen, although he's a little more restrained - a very little. I was honestly worried about what he might do, but he was actually on his best behavior and the evening went off without us getting chucked out of the theater for a case of the sillies. There was an issue, though...

It took coming back into contact with each other for me to realize just how freakin' tall this guy is. I don't know how I'd missed it before - and I was a full three inches shorter when I first knew him. Didge is 6'3 - perhaps that got by me because he does have a tendency to coil himself up deceptively. And he was doing a lot of coiling, uncoiling, and recoiling in his theater chair. I remember looking over at one point and marveling at just how little space such a tall man could comfortably occupy. (He's walking around the house now - - towering in action...)

Anyway - at the end of the movie, Didge had to unfurl. Up he stood, turned to his left, and staggered like a drunk down between the chairs and over to the aisle, where he sat down, snickering, curling back up and rocking back and forth. He would stretch his legs out, and then curl them back up, and finally rolled to his side (laughing) and back up again. He plopped his legs out straight. I was all the way down by our seats, having stopped stock still in my state of wondering just what the hell had gone wrong with his ambulatory skills. It's not every day that your beloved staggers to a drop and roll in the cinema, now, is it?

He said, "My legs.....(laughter)...my legs are asleep. I can't walk." I started to walk towards him to help him up, and he rolled a little bit again. "It's because of how I was sitting....." I asked if he needed help, and he said he didn't know. A couple waiting to go down into the theater were finding it as amusing as Didge, who finally rolled and kicked his way up to standing and sauntered over, saying, "You ready to go, foo?" The perils of being tall....

(Oh, dear, he's fueling himself up with chocolate and Mountain Dew....)


As an aside, he was delighted with the size of the bucket that contained our popcorn, and announced his intention to keep it as a "prop". The wheels began turning well before it was empty, and when we got home, he made this of it:



All Disgruntled Tooth Fairies need crash helmets. I'll leave the image in reverse and let you figure out what he wrote on the brim.

Yesterday's news...

Since I dropped such a big, and slightly obvious, hint yesterday, I'll get the news out of the way: Didgeridoo Boy asked me to marry him yesterday morning, and I accepted. When it's right, it's right, and when you know, you know - this is the best thing ever. At this point, all we know is something small followed by a stop at the Sno Cap Drive In in North Augusta, SC. I've managed to get my head around an idea for announcements and thank you notes, and at some point I have to wrestle Didge into place to pick out rings.

Keep him in your thoughts, I'll be sure to be gentle.

And sometimes, life zings you nice surprises.

However, it is a surprise that I can't really talk about just yet. Just know that it's good, I'm happy, and I have never been more excited about swinging by the Sno Cap Drive In in North Augusta, South Carolina for lunch.

I would never have the nerve, but....

...this is just too damned cool:

Friday night at home...

Didgeridoo Boy and I are having a quiet night in, waiting up to listen to Coast to Coast AM. Why? Well, the moon thing - - it promises to render tonight's live call-in show all kinds of interesting. I've had some yerba mate to help me stay the course - cleaned, cleaned, and cleaned a little more today in an effort to de-gnome-ify my house. Frankly, I'm too damned tired to write, having done everything from scrub out a shower to clean out a grill and spruce up the deck. Something about Swiffers and trash bags....they numb my little brains.

In other news, Didgeridoo Boy decided he would like to be a pimp a couple of nights ago:




You set your goals, you dig your holes. It's so important to have clear-cut objectives.

Nighty night! I'm off to finish watching "Animal House" with Didge and Totsi.

Didgeridoo Boy busts a move...

That is all.

Having a wee bit of a stresser yesterday and today, but things are getting better. I'll be back with proper updates tomorrow.

More "monstrosity"....

No time to write a proper entry today, but here's another clip from the night Didgeridoo Boy consumed a 32-ounce Monster energy drink:



And there you go.

Monday...

Will they or won't they, that's the big question today. Will the gnomes come? Will they work? The gnomes, darlings, are the contractors - I've redubbed them because there's never any telling when they'll arrive or what they'll do when they get here.

Didgeridoo Boy and I didn't have the most terribly exciting weekend. The alarm clock on my mobile phone jarred him from sleep and scared him senseless on Friday morning, resulting in one of the most amusing Didge episodes to date, but shortly after he sprung out of bed, stalked down the hall, plopped my phone in front of me, and stood off in the distance looking completely frazzled, I realized just how sick he was. Poor Didge has bronchitis, which has settled in good and proper. I rounded up some cold meds for him on Saturday, which have had him knocked out ever since. I'm hoping he's on the mend finally, though, as we have passes to see Zombieland and he's rearing to get to the theater. (I think it's driving him bananas that so many friends have seen it and he has yet to.)

So - no fun, exciting videos or pics from the weekend, other than the two I posted from Friday night.

Zing some get-well thoughts (and good job hunting vibes) Didge's way, if you don't mind!

Two for one...

We both have a cold. Didgeridoo Boy is a day behind me with it, so today probably won't be one of his better days. If he does manage to feel better, though, we're planning on hitting a favorite Chinese restaurant for dinner and possibly going to an 80's night. And, of course, tomorrow or Sunday we're planning to take in "Zombieland" - he's been anticipating the release of that flick for aeons.

As if you haven't been able to tell from the pictures and videos I've uploaded thus far, we've been spending a heck of a lot of time hiding out in my house, which is in the process of being redone. We're not on the proverbial DL for any bad reason, we've just been in simultaneous retreat mode due to veritable fun bags of "real life" stuff that took a little time to digest. Since neither of us can sit still very long, and Didgeridoo's proclivity to silliness is downright epic, things like this are bound to happen:



I've never had so much fun on boring nights at home. And, yes, things like this (sans get-ups, natch) *do* happen now that we're beginning to explore the outside world again.

Enjoy your weekend - and zing us some sniffle-free thoughts if you can spare them.

And so it continues...

Operation Casa GKG is still in full swing, with the painters arriving earlier than I expected this morning. It's all good - the main guy is a close family friend, so seeing me stagger out of my bedroom due to a cold and the subsequent medicine is fine. I look like death, but I don't have to care.

I'm still settling on colors for the house. Since the decor is going to be so eclectic, it occurred to me that the colors are ten times as important - I don't want the decor to get lost in "OH MY! Your bedroom certainly is HOT pink!!", nor do I want the walls to seem like a mere backdrop. When my uncle gave me a yellow formica dinette from the late 1950's (it actually belonged to my parents up until about 1970), and I decided to set up a breakfast area with that at one end of the great room, I started rethinking some color choices. That table is screaming for a turquoise kitchen. It won't go with the red I'd originally intended, and the pink I chose later would result in a really startling Easter basket effect. But that means the downstairs bath can't be turquoise, right? You following me? And what if Didgeridoo Boy wound up here full time? I need to be able to work in the odd KISS mural and so forth. (Never, EVER plan your house in a way that results in your being a spinster. I'm very superstitious that way.)

Speaking of Didgeridoo Boy, here we are at Starbucks on Sunday afternoon:



And here's a short video from last night, when I popped into record mode again. I wish he would start carrying on when I actually look good:



And, frankly, I can't come up with anything to say in closing after that one. Off to dodge paint supplies and locate another cup of coffee...

Dramarama, babies...

I'm not going to say anything about our personal life, however, just know that Didgeridoo Boy and I had a rather dramatic twelve hours. It began with a tense series of messages from my ex boyfriend (understandable, breaking up is, well, hard to do), and ended with someone coming back from the dead. Yes, you read that last part correctly, I said someone came back from the dead. Actually, the person was never dead, everyone just thought she was - - and never darned well mind.

Drama aside, Didgeridoo Boy and I are extremely happy and want nothing more than to be together and laugh. Being inseparable has never been so nice, and yesterday's drama was the kind that brings calm on the flip side. With all of that behind us, I'm really looking forward to having my house back in order and settling into some kind of normal with DB - as normal as he and I can muster.

Happy Monday...

As you can see from the Twitpics in the sidebar, Didgeridoo Boy got a little wound up last night. He'd consumed a 32-ounce Monster energy drink, followed by a Coca Cola, and *then* had a beer to try to calm himself down. Never in my life did I imagine I would be with someone who would put pantyhose and tennis balls on his head to highlight his rave dancing performance, but he did, and there's video. Actually, there are a few videos - I've found that a camera only seems to fuel greater antics. For that matter, why don't I test embedding the test post I've made at Twiddeo?



Give a very hyper man a piano, and he will simply have to play it. Give his girlfriend a MacBook, and she'll make a video, which he doesn't necessarily have to know is being made.

He's actually at his place this morning, and I'm waiting for the painters to arrive - it's odd for him to not be here, and it's odd for me to admit that, but there you go.

Speaking of makeovers...

I'm writing from bed, with Digideroo Boy and Totsi the Dog snoozing away while painters cover my living room in drop cloths. They've been at work "mudding" and sanding for the past two days, and today's the first day of actual color-to-wall goodness. Since they're doing the living room, hallways, and stairwell, the bedroom is pretty much base camp for the next several days.

So - who's Digideroo Boy, and how'd he get his name? Digideroo Boy is the aforementioned adorable new boyfriend, and he got his name by displaying a remarkable ability to mimic a digideroo. (Seriously - it's darned impressive.) We first became acquainted about twenty years ago, and were sort of pitched together again by some dramatic events and Facebook. Today makes it two weeks since we became joined at the hip, and we rather like it that way.

I would tell you in great detail what happened with the guy with the bike I had been seeing, but recounting the summer gives me a banger of a headache and multiple anxiety attacks. Our particular brands of crazy (come on, we've all got a brand of crazy) just flat did not compute. End of story.

But enough about that. Life's taken a turn for the better, and I'd much rather focus on that than creeping myself out further by mulling over the past. Besides, if I keep that up, I might miss a moment of Digideroo Boy's antics, and that's totally unacceptable.

Makeover....

I keep doing this, I know - I'm really not entirely satisfied with what I'm doing or not doing with this blog, but I *do* finally have some cool ideas swirling that promise to make it much more entertaining. This might be due to having an adorable new boyfriend who's made life infinitely more interesting.

In the meantime, I'm still twittering....