Honestly...

Oh. My. God.

Okay, folks, I have to do it. I have to. This is driving me fucking batshit crazy. I like my little retreat, I do, but for three days I haven't been able to properly clean the kitchen. I need to do laundry - can't. Noise. Yes, the relaxation is nice, but I've wanted to do these things and it's suddenly occurred to me that I'm borderline bugging out over not being able to do them. Denial is nice, but she left and went to the mall to get some things for a weekend out of town.

This morning, Didge did a plie squat dance all over the damned living room while talking incessantly. When he wasn't doing that, he was looking for food. Hushpuppies. He wanted hushpuppies. Deep fried goodness for breakfast, darlings, and no digging through the refrigerator, freezer, or pantry was going to yield what we did not have. So, just after my morning coffee that had no time to kick in, with no shower or makeup, I had to take him to buy one box of House Autry hushpuppy mix and a bottle of cooking oil for the deep fryer. While we were in the grocery store, he looked dead at me and said, "You look tired." No shit, Sherlock!

When we came home, Comcast had become an issue, and I had to phone customer service about our vanishing OnDemand while he gave me instructions as to what to say. Do not do that to me. I do not do well when that is done to me. I will throw shoes at your head if you do that to me. (breathing)

He seems to be calming down now that he's had some caffeine. His goal is to stay awake all day long. If he sleeps, I am to wake him. I am relishing each and opportunity this will provide me for previously not thought of levels of devious tomfoolery.

Revenge, baby. It's where it's at.

Shopping list retreat with tippy toes...

I need these adorable creepers from TUK, and these, also from TUK. Holy hell, too many cute shoes. I'm also eyeballing the pink creepers with black hearts. And the white kitty cat mary janes - I have, and adore, the black version.

I'm still on retreat in the bedroom. Didge is still working through quitting smoking; it's my understanding that all the nicotine will leave his system in 76 hours, and that's when the going gets REALLY fun. For now, though, he seems fine - I woke up this morning to him putting the finishing touches on a LEGO model of Boba Fett's ship that will even fire a little rocket. We played with that for a while, and then he was back to scouring for food. He did a little dance of pure ecstasy upon learning that there were three Zero candy bars left in the pantry, and had one for his breakfast. And, I have to say - his mood's much better than it was yesterday. But I still wouldn't jab at him too much just yet. Tippy toes, everyone! Tippy toes!

In other news, a good friend sent me the coolest Hello Kitty t-shirt - she made it herself, and it absolutely rules. I can't wait to wear it! And my hamburger-shaped bento box arrived, too. The postman sat in his little truck and shook the package, shook it, turned it over, shook it, stared at the Hong Kong mailing labels, and shook it a little more. I can only imagine what his expression would have been had he seen the contents of that little parcel.

And, finally, where has Zoro been all my life? They've made my overly-discussed in-house retreat so much more fun:

Didgeridoo Carbfest Overhaul...stuff?

Well, at least I'm completely relaxed. My little in-house retreat to stay out of the way of Didge's nicotine withdrawals turned out to be just what I've been needing. I've come to so many conclusions that reek of self-help article rhetoric that I'm not even going to embarrass you by posting them. Suffice to say it's been fantastic. I had another beauty day today just for the hell of it. I'm about to start working on a (gasp) budget for us. I've had long conversations with Mom that weren't about what we have to get done by such and such a date, and was actually unbusy enough to finally catch an old friend when he tried to call. Rediscovered cardio followed by Pilates, and honestly feel like I have my feet back under me. Feet that have just had a pedicure, even!

And now for Didgeridoo Boy. Well - he's eating. He's eating a lot. This morning, I went down for coffee and breakfast and found a bowl of candy wrappers on the kitchen counter. A larger bowl, empty, was on the breakfast bar. I let Totsi the Dog out for her morning TCB trip to the back yard, dodged the rampant Foot Foot Kitty, and asked him how he was feeling. "Man, I am hungrier than a mother fucker!", he laughed. "Are you going to cook some rice?" I put the rice on, and he changed his mind, as he confessed to just how much he'd eaten the night before. His carbohydrate cravings are truly insane - the huge bowl on the breakfast bar had contained popcorn, and another half a loaf of bread went missing between the time I went to bed and came back downstairs. He's concerned he'll gain ten pounds before all of this is over. I'm concerned what he might do if he eats everything in the kitchen in the middle of the night. I like the trees that shade our home. Wood might seem a nice source of starchy goodness if he can't find something inside.

But, I swear, he *looks* better, even though he swears he looks haggard. He looks as though something's breathing the life back into him. So maybe my prediction that we'll be svelte and glowing in a few weeks wasn't just wishful thinking.

Maybe I should convince him to have a beauty day.

Keepin' on smokin' out...

Didge didn't get to sleep until 3.30pm, and feels very dizzy and weak. He was ravenous for a good while - made a 1.00am trip to McDonald's, and wanted me to make him a huge breakfast first thing this morning. He's doing everything he can to keep himself occupied when he's awake, and says the whole thing really isn't so bad. So - thus far, The Great Didgeridoo Smokeout is a success.

Me? Well, I'm still on retreat in the bedroom. Colored my hair and had a nice little beauty day after errands, and devoted a substantial chunk of time pondering an overhaul. It was something I did about six years ago when I'd slipped into a rut - I devoted six weeks to refocusing and setting some new habits with great success. Now feels like a good time to do it again. Right now I've got my "portable office" set up on the bed, mapping all of this out.

Listening to visual kei radio on LastFM and going bananas with glitter pens and markers in my PlannerPad.

The great Didgeridoo smokeout...

We're at opposite ends of the house. I've declared myself on retreat, and am camping out in the bedroom while Didge goes through the first few days of quitting smoking. He was up all night, trying to tire himself out so he could sleep through what he thinks will be the worst of it. At around 1pm he collapsed in a sleepy heap and has been out cold ever since. Fine by me! I left him with a couple of bags of candy, grabbed my computer and reading material, and ran away. I've really liked being in the bedroom, reading, and watching a thunderstorm slowly brew through the window. Totsi the dog is camped out here with me. The house is totally quiet. This is the first completely quiet, settled day I've had in....

....

....about six months?

Sleep, Didgeridoo Boy, sleep. I might be able to get a beauty day out of this tomorrow!

Hm. Ideas.

So, Didge and I have decided that the blog needs pepping up a bit, and that the best way to have that happen is to amp up the reality show factor a bit. We don't put up nearly as many videos of our daily insanities as we should. No pictures, either. And that photo of us? It's old. I no longer have bangs. Both of us are about to amend our hair a bit - his lighter, mine with some streaks. We had this moment of, well, if we're going to put little stories out there, why not damned well put it out there?

And, NO! NOT THAT! Dirty, dirty minded people, I'll tell you what...

In short, this whole production could be so much better, so much more representative of what actually goes on here and what we get into. So expect a few changes, and to see a little more of us.

And, again, NOT THAT! Seriously!

Sneakeridoo Boy...

He is a crafty one, that Didge. Last night he informed me that for the past several weeks he's been in direct violation of the no-smoking-in-the-house rule. "Why do you think I've been so impatient for you to go to bed?", he asked, grinning and wiggling around in his chair like a deceptive 6'3 elf. "How the hell have you been getting away with this?", I asked. "Easy. I just fumigate the place and air it all out before I come to bed!", he bubbled, grinning and wiggling some more. I love his boyish good looks. Hell, I love everything about the man, for the most part. Seriously. I have one of the most adorable husbands on the planet, and I know this. But he is also one of the most devious beings I've yet to take on, a master at getting around any household rule, and one of the most stubborn men who has ever wiggled and giggled across the face of this planet.

Imagine Peter Pan with devil horns listening to Motley Crue. There. That's Didgeridoo Boy.

But I have to admit - until he told me, I had no idea. And, strangely enough, I can't be mad at him.

How do we do this?

And understand I'm not just talking about one room, people, I'm referring to every room we live in - which is all but two of a three-bedroom house. How do we mess up every single one in the course of a day? Admittedly, Didgeridoo Boy and I are both a little challenged in the attention span department, so maybe we just forget about what we've taken out. Ha. We crave cool space. We live for the idea of having a cool space. But damned if we don't create tornado aftermath out of budding cool space (as in, just cleaned up) in the course of about eighteen hours.

I know, I know, it's not going to stay perfect. Things happen. We're both animated and a little clumsy, and we have two cats and a dog. Shit's going to fall over. But I swear some of this is happening all on its own - I think we have a poltergeist, hell bent on running me domestically insane. Either that, or Didge and I are simply dissociating for hours at a stretch, throwing things all about while in that state while leaping like mountain goats across the tops of the furniture. It's not that we don't put things away when we're finished, like all good children do. We do. Well, most of the time.

I am going to FlyLady Crisis Clean this place again today, while Didge continues to sleep through trying to quit smoking (hey, whatever works). I need bait of some kind, though, something to serve as motivation beyond the calm created by walking into a room that doesn't look like someone picked up the house and shook it. Hm. Got it:

I will not pack another bento until this house is flip-ready, with organized cabinets, completely finished laundry, and no more scary refrigerator. Actually, scrap that. I will not pack a bento in my new, hamburger-shaped bento box until...yatta yatta yatta. As soon as all of this is done and I've called Goodwill to pick up the monster shelf that we can't lift to get out the door, I can use that cute little bento box.

So. There. I've said it. I guess that means I should get to work - before I change my mind and Didge comes to and decides to build something.

Lastalker...

You remember Foster, right? The black and white cat who rode a potholder down the counter and slapped herself into the side of the refrigerator?

Didge has warned me, time and time again, about this cat's sneaky nature with regards to thieving her favorite eats. This cat has dragged a whole pizza, in the box, off the kitchen counter trying to make off with it. She opened a microwave to get to sausage Didge had stashed for later (we have to lock things up). But today, I made lasagna. And today, I learned how much of a full-on sneaking stalker this cat is.

I swear to God she recognized the word "lasagna". I have never seen a cat get so stock-still-animated (if you have cats, you know what I mean) over preparations to chop an onion. The smell of sauce perked her right up; she didn't so much as blink until the pan went into the oven. I thought the cat would black out from excitement waiting for it to be done. And when it came out? I had to surround it with things. She tried every angle conceivable to get to that pan, which I'd covered ever, ever so tightly in foil. Water bottle be damned, if that cat could have levitated beside that pan, she would have. And even once I thought it was safe, Didge shouted from the living room that I needed to watch out. She was about to jump on top of the pan from the top of the refrigerator, an approach that would handily get around the pesky barricade I'd built. And until we left with that infernal pan of pasta (it was a meal for my in-laws), she sat and *stared*. And *stared*. And *stared*. She watched it being carried down the hall and out the door. Right now, she's back on top of the refrigerator, staring at where it had been. She is primed and ready, on the brink of a food-snatching pounce.

I bet all hell will really break loose when Didge goes to make a sandwich.

D(idge) Day!

Today is Didgeridoo Boy's birthday! We've been celebrating since last week, and are trying to decide what to do tonight - this is the last shebang. This, as the departed MJ said, is it. Tomorrow?

No more smoking. Which means adult beverages are also gone for the foreseeable future, as those tend to trigger more of this nasty behavior.

I'm not going to lie, this is a worry as much as it is a relief. I have my own struggles with those little packs of evil - drinks or high stress make me run for them. And since taking up with Didge, I've gotten worse. It's not his fault - I chose to follow his example. But, ever since we first set off together, he's said he would quit after celebrating his 40th. That is today. His last is my last. While I'm looking forward to being free of this element, I'm apprehensive about what the next few days are going to be like. Didge isn't pleasant when in the throes of a "nic fit". Me? I can go for weeks, but what happens when I get zizzed out or have a margarita?

So what's the plan? I am going to camp out in the bedroom and leave him the hell alone. Have computer, can hide. If I need him? I can either call him from my mobile on the land line downstairs, or message him via Facebook. There is no need for me to cross his sure-to-be-nasty path. Totsi the Dog can stay with me, and we can go for walks out the front door. When he is ready to be around people again, I will come out of hiding, but not before. I'm thinking of it as a kind of retreat.

Yeah, right. People, this is going to *suck*. The next few days could very well be *bad*. But as sketched out as I am over the potential for emotional trauma over the next few days, I know this will be worth it.

What's next? "Sweatin' to the Oldies" after dinner?

off and falling down

It must be in my cards to be sick this week. I can feel it. Certain things have shaped up to make me sick this week, it will simply have to be. Fine. I give in.

Color me sick.

Something that is helping this sick state is the endless planning Didge and I are doing with regards to our house. The closer we get to completing the protracted process of purging (one things leads to another), the more ideas we get. The latest is a backyard oasis, Didge's concept, that's promising to be very cool. There will be seating, lighting, and pink flamingos.

Of course, there is a trickster deep within Didgeridoo Boy, and for a good hour on Friday he had me convinced that idea had been scrapped in favor of (now, get this) a small-scale landscape for the collection of motorized WWII models he's planning to build. I've agreed to the pirate ship games on the deck, as those would only involve temporary props and costumes for Didge and Totsi the Dog, but that? No. I want a backyard oasis. I do not want bunkers, trenches, and little toy tanks going POP when their little guns go little off. My nerves. They still hurt.

He finally told me he was kidding, which I hope he was serious about. His frowny response to my counter-offer of a sandbox indicated, I think, that he was somewhat serious about this, i.e. he was fibbing about having been kidding. Toys in the dining room I can handle. Vintage string art? I'm down. Framing the Pin the Tail on the Donkey poster we picked up at the dollar store? Sure thing. Miniature living history where I want a nice canopy, some chairs, and some retro patio lights so I can sip sangria and pretend I'm all swanky? No, sir.

My day with our children...

Four-legged. Four-legged children, darlings, I have no biological clock and am not into the idea of producing another GKG or Didge. That title is in reference to our animals.

Didge woke me up at eight this morning having a dream about something that must have involved swimming, so I decided to get up and have coffee. I've just spent my Sunday morning doing housework, perusing digital cameras, looking for GIMP tutorials, planning my week and Didge's party this Saturday, and catching up on laundry. Basic, but comforting. I've just finished lunch, topped off with chocolate cake, and am going to make up for said cake with a nice round of cardio - which my iPod is charging up for. That really doesn't sound like a lot for four hours, does it?

I was puzzled by that as well. But coffee means I have to take care of Totsi the Dog, and the cats, Foster and Foot Foot. Totsi's dishes are in the kitchen, on the floor, and Foster's dining area is on top of the refrigerator. Foot Foot's dishes are, for safety purposes, upstairs. Totsi has to be let out into the back yard for her morning constitutional, and Foster has come to expect her own treat when Totsi comes in looking for her traditional morning went-potty reward. By this point, Foot Foot will be on the balcony, *staring*, because her dish is not full. She never gives me time to make it up that way - usually, in the middle of me taking care of the other two, she begins to stalk Foster. This sends Totsi into patrol mode, the cats usually wind up in a stare-down that sometimes escalates into a fight. It takes a good half hour, at least, to get everyone settled back down.

Once they've all eaten, they have naps. I use their down time to work on whatever it is I'm needing to work on.

Lunch. Chaos. Foster will appear from wherever and pull what Didge calls "The Vulture" on top of the refrigerator. Foot Foot will begin circling - she goes around, and around, and around the living room, hiding under things, stalking Foster, with Totsi eventually catch on and going back into patrol mode. However, as morning naps have a particularly revivifying effect, things tend to go into very high speed. There's usually a lot of dashing, with several runs up and down the stairs by Foot Foot who finally returns to the balcony to *stare*. Once she's had her lunch, Foster will hop into the papasan - she will begin to *stare* back up to Foot Foot. Totsi will station herself between them both, *staring* back and forth, and making Foster very nervous. Foster will scratch hell out of what makes her nervous, so I have to stay on top of this. This level of attention brings Foot Foot back downstairs out of jealousy, and she stalks a little more. Finally, all three settle down to afternoon naps. Post-lunchtime peace takes about an hour to establish.

Dinner. Don't get me started. Unless Didge puts Foster in a room and shuts the door, I have to be armed with a water bottle to cook. Foot Foot remains hidden until she hears Foster come back out. Totsi stays right with me, until going to her dish to eat along with Didge and me. Didge brings Foster out, and both cats begin to compete for who will get in his lap. Totsi must make sure nothing bad happens, so she goes into patrol mode again. And finally?

Bedtime! All three turn in for the night. And by then, I am too tired to enjoy the peace and quiet.

So you tell me - are animals children, or not?

Surreality

Confession:

If I freaked out a bit over realizing I married Didgeridoo Boy, the pretty boy from twenty years ago who used to act like Marvin the Martian at my parties, I freaked out even harder about taking him to the Masters yesterday. (Yes, I could have gone back then. I've grown up with access to the tournament. I was too cool to do so, however, back then.) Mohawk Girl took Pretty Boy to the Masters. The freaking Masters, that old-school epic golf thing, a bastion of conservative things and uber-tradition.




Yes, that's me you can see reflected in those shiny tickets. Wearing a GOLF SHIRT - a Masters golf shirt from their "Magnolia Lane" line. I also had on shorts and cute sandals. Why so preppy? It's a preppy kind of place. It's like playing dress up for me - I will rock that shit *hard* at the Masters, doing so is part of the whole "thing" for me. My attire made put the exclamation point on the surreal factor. (Wish I would have worn my golf shoes!)

Never mind that had anyone told me I'd be married to this guy someday back when we were twenty, I would have called MAJOR bullshit, had anyone told me I'd be taking him to the Masters? Whoa.

Bee-bee dance

Didge and I took Totsi the Dog to Lake Strom Thurmond for a lovely cookout lunch today. We had a blast - went exploring, threw rocks in the water, and came home tired, a little sunburned, and happy. Totsi the Dog is curled up in the papasan chair asleep, Didge is crashed on the couch, and I'm on a lounge chair - preparing to do it all over again tomorrow, we enjoyed it so much.

The day wasn't without a bit of drama. Didge is doing the SunIn thing to his hair, and evidently bees like that stuff. We'd just settled down to eat when a bee got all up in Didge's business - around his head, in his face, buzzing his hand. He sprayed the bee with the SunIn in a fit of desperation (don't know that he hit it - it was a general direction kind of thing), and it flew away from our table for a minute. It came back, and went for Didge's head again. Finally, it gave up and moved on.

But then, someone at a table down from ours started screaming, running around, and doing what I've come to call the "bee-bee dance". It's what one does when attacked by a bee - run about, arms flailing, shouting, "BEE! BEEEEEE!" His performance was far more dramatic than Didge's - and the more he hopped around, the more interested the bee became in his condition. Eventually, he had to have assistance in chasing the bee away.

Tomorrow, we're remembering to take our insect repellent!

Alarming...

Didge and I have been crashed in the living room while getting our bedroom ready to move from upstairs to down, and our living room is right by our kitchen. (We have a townhouse with a fairly open floorplan.) This morning I received great encouragement to finish this process so I can sleep in a room with a closed door again; television, video games, radio, all that I can sleep through. Hell, I can sleep through phone calls, alarm clocks, epic thunderstorms, and all kinds of lawn equipment. What I cannot sleep through, however, is the results of what happens when two cats who hate each other try to occupy the same space at the same time.

Six damned thirty a-damned-m, people. It was still dark out. In an explosion of mowling, hissing fury, Foot Foot and Foster decided to rumble in the kitchen - about seven feet away from my slumbering head. Mid borderline heart attack, I bunched down under my covers and pulled my pillow down to protect my head - it sounded as though they were right beside me. Totsi went into protecto-mode, and Didge? Didge sat bolt upright and shouted, "GOD DAMN IT!" at the top of his lungs. I made my way out of bed, grabbed the water bottle, and chased Foot Foot up the stairs (where I then fed her to make sure she stayed put) - Foster was on top of the refrigerator, looking completely freaked out. She stayed up there for about two hours.

And Foot Foot? Oh, Foot Foot didn't stay put. In fact, she's had quite the series of spray bottle baths since then. She's been making passes through the living room, and has blatantly tried to get into the papasan with Foster, who finally decided she felt safe enough to come down, repeatedly. I have a pain in my hand from working the spray bottle, I swear.

So, good morning, Square One. It's so nice to see you - - again.

Thank goodness...

We made it through our first April Fools Day uninjured. Didge behaved himself, for the most part, save one little episode that resulted in me chasing him through the living room, the dining room, and out onto the deck while he ran all the way down into the yard. I won't say what he did, but it involved backing up to me and making a noise - while I was on the phone with my mother. Bless him.

We are still trying to work out new rates for our new business. Nutshell: It occurred to us that going and picking up a computer, then doing a diagnostic check, then taking the computer back if nothing is wrong the with thing is still *work*. And currently, it's work for which we're earning zip. So we're finalizing a few things before going into hard core launch mode next week. (Maybe. We're still debating whether or not that will be good to do during Masters Week.)

Today is momentous: We are moving the two dead entertainment centers the hell out of our own little Dodge. One even belonged to my ex husband. Yuck. Off, off to Goodwill they go, making space for the dreaded and much procrastinated task of flipping the house. And then having the carpets cleaned. And then painting. And I'm now doing that thing that I do and shorting myself out over breakfast.

Which is my cue to stop dilly dallying and get the hell up so all of this can go down.