Alright. Let's all stand up....

So - - let's all try something together. This will be fun, I promise, and only as challenging as you make it.

Are you wearing shoes? Take them off, please. And socks. No socks allowed - this is part of the fun. Does your hair look good? Do something to make it the opposite of good, it can be something subtle, but give yourself a bad hair moment just for now. Just for this moment. I promise I won't keep you here forever.

Alright, so, you're barefoot, standing up, and you have bad hair? Right on. Let's go.

Pretend you have an acorn trying to embed itself in your right foot. Are you there? Okay, now stand on your tiptoes, bend your knees. Walk. You might find that raising your arms up and slightly out to the sides like you're pretending to be the Abominable Snowman helps. Sticking your backside out might help you maintain your balance as well, but just walk like this. Actually, just go ahead and do the arm and butt thing. Oh - - limp thanks to the acorn in your right foot, and if you want to get fancy, add a hop. I know you're going to rock this.

Isn't it fun?

Welcome to my walk back from the mailbox yesterday. Please do not ask why I was barefoot.

Of that which didn't quite make it...

We've made it into the post-holiday zone, y'all! Every resident of Casa Didgeridoo is unscathed (if a little bit sick of sweets) and in spite of a frantic December, Christmas wound up rocking socks. Well - with one glaring exception: My white Christmas tree. (Oh, yeah....)

Jupiter Jones got to the tree in the bedroom, pretty much completely effing destroying the right side. Taking the tree down in this state would be a challenge on many levels, as he managed to reach a new height of entanglement in the lights. Apparently. Hell, I don't know, but the thing's toast and I've got to untoast it before I can get it back into its box. As I write, I am looking at a top branch that found its way to the middle, where it was wound up tighter than anyone's most private business in the lights. Those lights are a combination of the ones from the layer upon which this branch has landed and all the others from above, and they've been braided into something resembling the most intricate French braid ever. I don't know how he did it, I do not want to know how he did it, nor do I care how he did it. I only know that next year I am duck taping every last element of this mofo into place or simply putting up a cardboard cutout of an adorably decorated white tree.

The real kicker is that Jupiter laid such epic waste to the side I can see from my favorite spot on the bed, the one where I read, write, study, and had taken a rather strong liking to enjoying the sight of the tree. It's like he did it to taunt me. Paranoid? Me? No, darlings, I'm honest. Call me crazy, but this is uncanny.

I'll be setting it back up today and rigging up a system of barricades, booby traps, and hurdles all down the way to the bedroom to ensure a possibility of getting to bask in the glory of the tree a little bit more before New Year's Day. Taping sheets of aluminum foil to the floor is nowhere near being out of the question. Kitty cat repelling suggestions are most welcome!

Gobsmacked...

Thank goodness for tall, lighted curio cabinets:

Look how relieved Totsi the Dog is! No more Christmas tree drama. We have a tree that Jupiter Jones can't destroy, featuring breakables secured behind glass, and all it took to get to this place was for me to lose my mind a little bit and reach a beautiful point of desperation. "What can he not scale? What do I have that's tall enough? How can I win?"

Booyah! Behold, the Christmas Curio and one very bewildered Jupiter. That is the look of a cat who has just been, ahem, pwned.

I'm still gloating.

Tree'd...

(Pardon the cheesey photo edit - I couldn't resist.)

So I've told you all about young master Jupiter Jones and his fascination with the Christmas tree, right? You know all about this, yes? Like Didgeridoo Boy, a lot of you might have asked, "Oh, you didn't actually catch the cat in the act, so how do you know he did that? How do you know he jumped from the back of a chair into the tree and went down through all the branches?"

I'll tell you how I know. Friday, as I was just about to head out the door to leave for my first weekend of yoga teacher training, I realized the bedroom door was open. When I went to close it, who should be struggling to keep himself nestled in the branches about one tier down from the top of the tree? Why, it was precious little Jupiter Jones. I'm guessing he jumped up there from the bed.

I don't remember much about my reaction other than it was loud and smattered with the "F word". Beloved little Jupiter super-ejected/teleported out from the tree and went directly under the bed. Do I feel a little bit bad about scaring him out of not only the tree, but his wits as a bonus? Maybe. Actually, yes, I do feel a little guilty - - but just a little. Getting him out from under the bed took a little bit of doing, and he was still oh-shit goggle-eyed when I left. But, you know, we have to discipline our children and sometimes that might mean scaring the ever living bejeezus out of them. Perhaps I overdid it a little bit by marching in place so hard I shook the house before I started trying to get darling, blessed Jupiter out from under the bed, but - you know, we live in the moment, and in that moment I was *pissed*.

Adorable, sweet, blessed little Jupiter Jones (bless him) is now on a hard core mission to get into the bedroom and back into the tree. Right now, he has draped himself rather dramatically across the floor in front of the bedroom door with one paw reaching toward where it will open - if only, if only it would open. He resorted to this after a boisterous round of lamentations which even included something that sounded like a yodeling rooster might. I have to hand it to him - he's good. But he's not good enough to convince me that he needs to be near the Christmas tree.

Today I'll be putting up a small tree out of his reach in the living room, which should prove immensely entertaining for us all. He won't be able to get to this one unless he jumps down on top of it from the balcony. Should he decide to try that, the surface the tree will be perched upon won't leave him much room for a landing - something he'll be able to spot. So this *should* work. And as for presents? Behind glass, baby, behind glass. Oh, yeah.

I'll show it all off tomorrow.

I thought I would have time...

I thought I would have time to sit down and actually write a nice post today. Came home from Hawaii Sunday, bounced up Monday morning and caught up on errands. One of those errands included procuring a beautiful white Christmas tree:

This was yesterday, when I had *just* finished putting it all together. Decorated entirely in bagged, old-school bows and leftover gift ribbon, I thought I had a reasonably kitten-proof tree. I even knocked it over before I decorated it to determine its capabilities to bounce back, and was very, very impressed.

This morning, however, I was not impressed. I was effing livid. So livid I did not take a picture, in fact. I moved the remains of the tree into the bedroom, where it now sits awaiting repairs and redecoration. The bottom branches were bent down all the way around. There was a hole from near the top all the way down to the bottom. Bows? Everywhere. Lights? Sagging in the same pattern as the hole. Jupiter? Running around meowing as if something was wrong.

All evidence points to something he almost tried last night. He stood on the back of a chair and *acted like* he might jump into the tree, and was chased away. Repeatedly. We think he pulled the long-awaited stunt as soon as Didgeridoo Boy and I retired. It was clearly evident he plummeted all the way down through the branches to the bottom of the tree.

And that's all I have to say about the matter. Off to work on Tree 2.0.

Ants in the sink...

Didgeridoo Boy is in charge of the house, Totsi the Dog is trying to take charge of his futon, and Jupiter Jones is peeing. There were ants in the sink. Jupiter Jones got in the sink and began eating said ants. When Didge chased him out of the sink, young master Jupiter trotted straight to Totsi's bed and peed upon it. I had to instruct Didge as to the finer points of laundering the smell of kitty widdle out of whatever it has landed upon.

But it's cool, all good, and everything in between.

I'm finally back in Hawaii.

Most bizarre alarm clock...

I'm not sure where to begin writing this. Seven o'clock this morning, or somewhere thereabout, I was deep in a highly abstract dream that involved a bear, Crispin Gray, and a search for some obscure Depeche Mode track that I hadn't heard since 1983 or so (I couldn't possibly make that up). I became aware of the sound of the bedroom door opening, and Didgeridoo Boy saying, "Hey."

I thought that was in the dream, and it was playing in for a bit in a really interesting fashion. I wanted to stay. Then he said, "Hey. Wake up. I need Totsi. HEY." I woke up and asked why he would need Totsi, and he said:

"There's a female cat in heat on the deck and Jupiter's about to kill himself."

I think I managed to go, "Huh?"

Didge continued, "Y'all hurry the f*** up. She's out there yowling her ass off. He's yowling and hurling himself against the windows and the door and I can't get the female cat to move. He almost ripped the blinds down." I asked him what time it was. He said, "It's like seven something. Hurry up! Seriously, Jupiter's about to break something." Sure enough, I heard something in the vicinity of the back door make a thud.

The three of us, Didge, Totsi, and I rushed down the hall with Didge saying, "Go get the kitty, Totsi! Go get the kitty!" I waited in the kitchen while Didge somehow caught Jupiter, shut him in the living room, and let Totsi out. A flurry of scampering on the deck was followed with, "GOOD GIRL!", and a couple of minutes later Totsi pranced in looking very, very proud.

And it was over.

Quick question, before I get back to the mad pile of stuff I have to do today: Does this mean our kitten has hit puberty?

If I'm scarce...

If posting seems to thin out over the next few weeks, it's not due to me losing interest in writing. It's because I've just now realized how much of a freakout December might very well be. Let's start with this week:

Today - I'll be cleaning. I'll be cleaning a lot, actually, because I decided to take a Thanksgiving weekend break from tackling just about anything domestic. It is bad, folks, and driving me up a freaking tree.

Speaking of trees, tomorrow I'll be dragging out the Christmas decorations. There will be as kitty-proof a tree in the living room as I can muster, with the pink and black "His and Hers" trees residing in the bedroom. I also have to run lots and lots of errands, because Didgeridoo Boy is going to need food and a fueled-up car next week.

I'm jumping ahead. Let's talk Wednesday. Wednesday, after a quick jot to the dentist to see how this whole whitening thing is going, I will be packing, unpacking, packing, unpacking, and packing again. Why over and over? Because, even though I have planned it out very well, packing for Hawaii is always a big deal.

Thursday, I head to Atlanta with Mom. We'll be staying overnight, since Friday morning...

...Mom and I leave for Hawaii. Hold on while I run around and scream. I haven't been since 2008, and the withdrawals have been fierce. I need a Melona bar, any flavor, stat.

All next week, I'll be in Hawaii. Hold on while I run around and scream some more. But I'll have my computer with me so I can show off - - I mean share the trip with you all.

After I come home (on the 11th), I'll have a few days to do some pre-holiday prep work. But just a few, because...

...on 16 December I start yoga teacher training at Dancing Dogs Yoga in Beaufort, SC. (I finish at the end of May - it's safe to say I'm going to have a fair amount of travel for the first half of 2012.)

I feel like I'm first in line for the front car of a great, big roller coaster.

Glue...

This will be brief, because I am exhausted.

So - - like - - I'm having to do a little rearranging from the rearranging. My left arm is bruised because I moved a vintage cabinet sewing machine from one side of the living room to the other in little one-two-three steps. "One, two - THREE! HEAVY! One, two - - THREEEEEEE! GAAAAAAAAH! HEAVY! One, two....", and so on. Yes, it is an all-metal sewing machine, because they made 'em like that in the 1950's. Yes, it weighs a ton and its cabinet makes it a little awkward. Yes, I moved it by myself. Yes, I am impatient.

Once this furniture is where I want it? After Christmas? After I undo what I am having to do for now because the chairs can't go where the Christmas tree is going to go? I will glue this shit to the floor, baby. And hard, too.

Maybe.

Enjoy your weekend!

A few Thanksgiving words from Totsi...

Good morning. For those of you who do not know me, I am Totsi, resident canine of Casa Didgeridoo and all-around seer of most things good. I am filling in for Mommy today because she is busy. Oh, Mommy is busy. Even when she's sitting down, Mommy is busy because she has a big trip to Hawaii coming up at the end of next week and then she's off to start the yoga teacher training I am still not allowed to go to (which is why I am on strike with regards to my own blog) and she has oh so many things to write down over and over. And later in the day, she will be even more busy because she has to prepare our Casa Didgeridoo Thanksgiving tradition: The Snack Buffet.

Daddy hates Thanksgiving food and sit-down meals, and also finds it impossible to rise prior to about three o'clock in the afternoon (and that's on his early days - Daddy is nocturnal), and some times ago professed to Mommy that he absolutely despised Thanksgiving. And when he listed out his reasons why, you know I became a little depressed from simply hearing them. So Mommy had what she called a "daring thought": What if we created our own tradition? What if the holidays could be something Daddy enjoyed? What would that take?

And the idea of the Snack Buffet was born. Last year, Mommy presented an array of our favorite foods, to be nibbled upon and grazed over the course of an evening of movies and video games. And do you know my daddy was actually happy? He said it was the first Thanksgiving he had ever enjoyed. He's been even more excited than I have been this year - all Mommy has to do is say, "Snack Buffet!", and I am a wiggling mess. But Daddy? He wiggles even more than I do. We were so excited this year that it looked like we were having a dance contest when Mommy started cooking last night.

And what was she cooking? Chex Mix! Today, she will be preparing other things. Here is our menu:

• Chex Mix (the true glory of the Snack Buffet)
• Potato chips and dip
• Pita chips and hummus
• Puff pastry sesame sticks (Daddy and I will turn backflips for these!)
• Sausages and cheeses with crackers
• French bread pizzas - one with the pepperonis to make Daddy happy, and a "white" one with the spinaches to make Mommy happy
• Crudite with this yummy dip Mommy makes that has fresh chives and sour cream (Mommy even remembered to get fennel and red bell pepper!)
• Cookie plate

Daddy has Mt. Dew to drink, his favorite, and Mommy has cranberry lime seltzer. And we are all going to gather in Daddy's new cave and dine while we watch all sorts of movies and laugh at Mommy driving around and hitting things in Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. Mommy was going to make some cornbread dressing to cut into little squares, but I told her not to worry about it when I realized she would spend three hours cooking the Chex Mix and when she told me there would be little slices of French bread pizza. Oh, I am so excited, because it is all so tasty. There is the food that Mommy likes, and the food that Daddy likes, and in the middle there is the Chex Mix that brings us all together.

I truly hope you and yours will enjoy your Thanksgiving as much as we enjoy ours, if you celebrate it. Right now I am going to try to take a nap to make the time pass a little faster until Mommy whips out all of this wonderful goodness. Take a moment today, if you will, to be thankful for just one little thing, maybe, and do do a dance of gratitude for it. For me, that is the most magical way of expressing that I appreciate a thing.

Enjoy your day, and dance some.

Totsi Tatertot Didgeridoo

Hey! Have you seen the cat?

Today, movers came to help us rearrange the furniture.

Jupiter Jones wasn't pleased. Thank goodness for bags of clothes waiting to go to Goodwill.

And, yes, he retaliated - but I'm not ready to talk about that.

Holy flipping furniture...

What do you do when you have an entertainment wall, a mid-century modern dining room set, and a piano to move? You call movers to help you do it. And what do you do when you call the movers? You get everything ready so they can do their work in the time you prepaid them for so they will not go over in pro-rated fifteen minute chunks. And what do you not do when you have to get ready for such a thing?

You do not sit down to post a blog entry. (Plus, Didgeridoo Boy is impatiently awaiting the return of my computer. )

Hopefully I'll have a lively update tomorrow. After the furniture moving, I'm off to gather supplies for our Thanksgiving Snack Buffet.

And tantrum in three...two....

Meet yesterday evening. I felt downright icky all day long, then had to dash off to the dentist to pick up whitening stuff, then come home to grab Didgeridoo Boy and go to the grocery store. He likes to go to the grocery store, too, and who am I to deprive him of a simple pleasure? Well, he wasn't ready, and he was knee deep in a political discussion on the phone. Recognizing that this meant I would have to wait a while, I decided to make a video of my own impatience. The intent was to see if I could catch a classic GoKittenGo rolleye moment, something I could pop in here as a bit of photo reaction fun. Instead, I wound up with a kind of photo essay of stills:

He was pacing, which never offers any hope of reduced wait time. And it's possible to see the knowledge of this registering. Every time, I hope it will be different. And every time, I hit this wall of, "Oh, hell. He's pacing."

I really should work on how obvious my facial expressions are. Just like I should never decide to embark upon such a project under harsh lighting ever again.

This would be the point at which I begin to mentally mock what he is saying. Naturally, it immediately registered on my face.

One of the worst pictures of me, ever. But I'm putting it here to show you just how hard I cannot rock neutral.

I do try, though.

The more emphatic he becomes, the more he paces. The more he paces, the greater my struggle.

And so I threw a little tantrum, turned off the video, and pouted. He was ready about thirty minutes later.

And for you enjoyment, and to make up for the fact that this entry pretty much blows, here's the video in its entirety. Two and a half minutes of thoroughly cheesed-off me, culminating in a hissy fit. You might want to be careful with the volume - we both use naughty words in this, including "the big one".

Enjoy your weekend!

Oh, my word...

Didgeridoo Boy has been awake today - intensely, very awake. By nature nocturnal, he's seizing an opportunity to reset his sleep schedule after being rudely awakened by the rousing sounds of a trio of leaf blowers going full throttle at six o'clock this morning. A construction crew joined in the chorus - someone's getting a new deck, roof, something. At six o'clock this morning. He went outside and shouted at them, so great was his frustration. I don't know if they stopped or not - I woke up for a second, and went back to sleep. It was disconcerting, though.

Have you ever been awakened by sounds that make you think you are dreaming you are in a blender? It was as if the ghosts of daiquiris past came back to raise a little hell. The racket came to a stunning crescendo when, I swear it, somebody evidently chucked lumber all up and down the street. Just before nine o'clock, they stopped.

Nothing like getting off work early, right, boys? Like, before the time I believe the noise ordinance says you can even get started? One really must admire such motivation and proactivity.

Efficiency...

Here's today so far:

Got up, had my coffee, decided to push my big yoga practice out until this evening thanks to a whopping sinus headache, and realized that since I started work on my room on Friday, the rest of the house has become intolerable. So I decided to skip work on my room today and tidy up everything else. After a quick run to gas up the car and grab some things from the drug store, that is. As I was walking to the car, I realized that I was losing the battle with Didgeridoo Boy over the leaves that had started to cover the stoop, walkway, driveway, and postage stamp of a front yard.

Fueled up my car, dashed through the drug store, and came home. In a cute outfit, full jewelry, and ballet flats, I raked the stoop, walkway, driveway, and postage stamp of a front yard. Then I stationed the rake by the front door, ready for Didge to bag up the two neat piles of leaves I created for him. After that, I cleaned off the back deck and started the housework. I'm taking a break right now, celebrating how much I've been able to get done in so little time, and likewise celebrating the remarkable oomph social media has brought to domestic efficiency.

I've been known to do the same thing with a picture of a large, rolling trash can. Why labor over a honey-do list or look for the sticky notes and a pen that actually writes? Multitask! It'll make you feel that much more productive while you're Facebooking when you really might ought to be putting that slipcover back on the couch and finally running the vacuum.

Saturday night with Jupiter Jones...

I've been really busy this weekend, and I am saying that in a way that means I am fully realizing just *how* busy I have been. The room I can never quite properly name, the girly haven where I have my clothes and yoga practice, sucked me in and demanded I make sense of it. So I've been moving furniture and stashing clothes, figuring out where things work and don't, and pretty much making myself completely crazy. Saturday night, our precious little darling Jupiter Jones decided to help me with that last bit.

One of my greatest comforts is bundling up on on the sofa with my favorite duvet and a lot of cushions and vegging out on cooking and fashion sites. I was prepared to do that very thing, and had just settled in really well - - you know that point when you manage a custom fit of everything and you think you've never been more satisfied with your level of calm, secure satisfaction? Well, that's where I was.

And that is when Jupiter decided to join me. He chirped and whirred, and walked along the back of the couch, purring. And then he went to precisely the spot where my right foot was bundled up under the perfect bunching of duvet, positioned himself just so, and became very still. I felt something very, very warm on my foot.

Oh, yes. He did.

He chicked me!

I will admit - it is in me to create a little brou-ha-ha and then say, "Oh. Nevermind." I get fussy. Once a princess, always a princess, and old habits die hard. Perhaps it's genetically wired into me somehow - I take an hour to get ready to go to Publix, have been known to run back inside from the car if I forgot to put on perfume, and if I say, "Whatever...", it's time to move on back slowly, in a way that will not startle me. I'm much better than I used to be, and insanely more chilled out than I was even ten years ago, but I still "chick" Didgeridoo Boy - meaning I'll go a little ballistic and then drop the whole thing once I've brought the whole wide world to a fizzy crescendo. Didge says this drives him "bats".

Did you notice what I called him? Do you remember that today was supposed to be the debut of his new name? I hemmed, I hawed, I brainstormed. I observed him more closely than I ever have, and learned I've missed nothing. Finally, around dinnertime yesterday, I asked him what he thought his new name should be. He didn't know. And I said, "Well, tomorrow's the debut of it. You wanted a new name and I can't think of one, so a little input would be great." He replied, again, that he didn't know. After giving it a little thought, he asked (now, I want you to absorb this)...

"Why don't you just leave it?"

Why, yes, I did just get my own routine handed to me on a nice little platter. Chalking this one up to karma.

Enjoy your weekend!

First thing in the morning, no less...

Every day should have a highlight, I think. I like something special to happen that puts an exclamation point on the whole experience of a twenty four hour stretch, something that will render it memorable, that I can look back upon and ask myself, "Do I remember the time (highlight) happened?" It doesn't always happen, but when it does, it's gratifying. Usually.

It's 5.53pm. I am still cleaning up little dibs and dabs of today's highlight. While walking back into the bedroom to have my morning coffee (Pumkin Pie Spice from Fresh Market, brewed just so), thinking I was the cutest thing alive in my leopard-print pajama pants and black top, and reflecting on just how cool those pants looked with my shiny black pedicure, I somehow caught my left big toe in the hem of my right pants leg and launched a distance of about two feet into the air. Kept the coffee cup upright, which naturally means I kept myself upright. I don't know how. So the tripping wasn't what made the coffee make a little Pumpkin Pie Spice coffee tidal wave of itself.

Oh, no. That, darlings, would have been the landing. It went all over everything it could find. I began cleanup by scrubbing it off a stack of Moleskine journals and a book I'm studying in preparation for yoga teacher training. (Okay. Maybe the yoga is how I maintained such freakish, fountain figure poise when I flew straight up into the air after tripping.) It splashed under the bed, but not on the dust ruffle, and all over my stack of Vogues and W's. Baseboards. Covered. The largest blat went right on the carpet, and I promptly stepped in it.

Back to the cleanup, after a nice wringing out on my yoga mat and digging out some fresh cleaning rags.

My bedroom smells like Starbucks.

Frightening in its simplicity...

I've just finished a brisk jog of housework, during which I had a series of epiphanies. Actually, perhaps it's just one epiphany that came in three parts, but it's real and of such searing simplicity that I had to sit down. I'm still digesting this knowledge as I share it with you.

Didgeridoo Boy, For Now (ahem) loves to run interference - just kind of in general. Life is never dull, and stuff can take a while. So, without even realizing I had realized the need to do this, I began taking the measure that I only just now realized I had taken up, and catching myself doing it was what led to the epiphany.

That thing that I do so I can get sh@t done, darlings, is this:

I park him with a source of entertainment, and give him something tasty to put in his mouth.

It's not always about housework, though. Yoga practice can be a supremely challenging time - I have had whoopie cushions and cap guns go off when I am really not in a place of caring to be startled. So what did I start doing so I could accomplish things like yoga, manicures, pedicures, and other vital indulgences?

I park my precious Puck of a husband with an engrossing source of entertainment, and give him something tasty (usually crunchy) to put in his mouth.

Guess what I do when we go out to get him to behave?

I see to it that he is aimed at something that will occupy and entertain him, and bribe him with all manner of tasty, unhealthy delights to put in his mouth.

The epiphany? The route to something that resembles peace and quiet and things getting done? It's as simple as occupy and feed. Occupy him and feed him. Wash, rinse, repeat. Occupy. Feed.

And it's taken me two years to figure this out.

The artist formerly known as Didgeridoo Boy...

Didgeridoo Boy does not like the name "Didgeridoo Boy". People don't get it, he says. People have emailed him asking what's up with it. He doesn't play a didgeridoo, he's not from Australia, and he just generally dislikes it with enough of an intensity that it brings his whole day down. Here's the conversation:

Didge, For Now: "We need to talk about that name. I don't like it. I've even gotten messages from people asking why the hell you chose that."

GKG: "You can mimic the sound. With or without a cardboard tube to make the sound through, you can mimic the sound perfectly. It's just a funny nickname, no meaning. Was it like when that person commented to you I can't write intelligently, or was it more along the lines of something real?"

Didge, For Now: "It was funny two years ago when you called me that because I did that, and I only did it once! I don't like it. No one gets it. Like, really, they don't get it."

GKG: "Okay. Fine. Whatever. I'll think of something else." (Yes, I popped into princess mode. "Whatever" even involved the associated smartypants head wobble.)

Didge, For Now: "Alright. Good. Because we need to. You need to come up with something else. Seriously, people are asking me about it."

GKG: "Okay, I'll come up with something else."

And with that, Didge (for now) stared at me with great intensity and left the room.

Okay, so, he's serious. And if he called me something like "Toontzy Woontzy the Wonder Seal" in a blog, which likewise makes no sense, I would pitch a fit. (No probably about it, that would be one hell of a showdown.) So my goal for this week is to come up with a brand new moniker for him - - which is hard, because there are so many things that define him. I suggested "That Guy", and he stared at me and left the room again for which I totally do not blame him. "Hubbins" would lend a homey, cozy touch, but loaded with enough saccharine sweetness that I would never be able to look at my own reflection again. Ever. GoHusbandGo? No. Just - no.

What nickname fits a guy who is into (among other things) glam metal, science fiction, Alien, Jaws, hot dogs, snack foods, Mt. Dew and energy drinks, who is in perpetual motion until he crashes into sleep and exercises to (I swear to the gods) Looney Tunes music? He is scathingly intelligent, profoundly playful, prone to antics of epic proportions, and loves carnival rides possibly more than he loves me. Somewhere in all of this, there is a name. I can sense it, but I can't see it yet.

So I'm a little bit stuck, but have set a deadline of Friday. It has to be good.

That said, this might prove inspiring. Or maybe not.

Our own little Butch and Sundance, kind of...

Yesterday was *busy*. I decided to take on an SUV level of errands in a VW, telling myself it would be best to just get them all done, and employing the help of not just one list, but a set of lists. I also had a route. Seriously - this was plotted out on the same level as holiday shopping; I had a lot to do, and I was damned well determined to take an organized approach. Since it was getting dark when we finished up (like I said, lots to do), Didgeridoo Boy and I decided to grab takeout pizza on the way home. As we were carrying dinner to the car, Didge asked me what I thought Totsi the Dog and Jupiter Jones would do.

I said they would be happy. Darlings, I had no effing idea. Usually, they know when we're going to have pizza. Totsi recognizes the word, and launches into patrol mode until we bring it in the door or the delivery person rings the doorbell. So normally they have time to prepare - there's excitement, but the kind of excitement one gets from knowing something is coming. It's good, but it's nothing compared to a surprise.

And they were surprised, alright. Totsi did the nose-in-air fancy prance all the way down the hall after Didge as he brought dinner in the house, turning circles a couple of times with a manic puppy grin plastered to her face. Jupiter hopped on to the back of the couch and sat, *staring*. While we were eating, both were pawing our legs, with Totsi going far above and beyond her average level of chortlehoo'ing and presence-announcing stomps.

We remarked that they were more excited than normal, and it was just after we said this that Jupiter launched himself up and into Didge's side, where he hung. Things got lively for a few minutes after that - very lively. Loud, too, especially once Didge noticed that whelps were developing. The begging antics reduced sharply after this - with Jupiter trotting off to wait things out, and Totsi positioning herself into just the right place and position to have her eyes burn a hole in the back of my shoulder. It seemed they were over acting out.

They weren't. They were plotting. And I would be very proud of them if only I hadn't failed to put carpet cleaner on my shopping list. Didge courts his food, typically lingering over a meal for the course of an evening, visiting his plate for bites before heading back off to whatever has his attention that fifteen minutes. He had a slice of pizza on a plate on the breakfast bar, which had been sitting there for a while. Jupiter and Totsi napped. When they woke, Jupiter walked around the room and Totsi went to the water dish - - which is stationed right at the end of the breakfast bar. After her drink, she stationed herself very near the plate. Jupiter hopped on to the breakfast bar, went to Didge's plate, got the pizza slice, and dropped it.

And then they both ate it.

You can't tell me this wasn't planned. I was reading, but had just decided to take a break when I noticed they were mobile, and Didge was completely wrapped up in Grand Theft Auto. The nonchalance with which Jupiter strolled around the room, the fact that Totsi sat in front of the bar and waited - it all adds up. They knew what they were doing. There was no element of it being a rush job, both were cool and easy about it. Jupiter walked, Totsi went to the water dish and moved in front of the plate, Jupiter hopped on the bar and got the goods, which he dropped directly to Totsi and hopped down to share with her. And I sat there and watched the whole damned thing because I never dreamed they would coordinate to that degree. I had just looked back down when, peripherally, I caught something dropping - that was the pizza slice.

Have to admit - it's fascinating that they've started working together this way. I do wonder what this will bring to pass later, but hope it continues so I can try to get video of them in action. I'm going back out today to buy a stash of carpet cleaner. Enjoy your weekend!

Stuck to their guns...

Our Halloween decorations held true to providing almost uncanny imitations of us to the very end. What began with Didgeridoostein's arm coming loose and GoKittenWitch sitting down, seemingly in frustration, amidst a super fun time (ahem) of triggering the door open chime for our alarm peaked with an idea flash to incorporate Didge's beverage of choice and a bottle of aspirin. Today I set about taking all the decorations down, starting with our little friends on the storm door.

Didgeridoostein did not want to come down. I wound up with one of his legs giving a good go towards choking me, and then one of his arms popped off. NOT, however, the arm that had its hand resting on the can of Monster. Oh, no. That one stuck hard and fast, and nothing would persuade it to let go. In trying to get that one loose, I managed to get tangled up in the remnants of the arm that had popped off and his legs. I finally just ripped him down, releasing my intention of keeping Didgeridoostein for another year.

GoKittenWitch fell apart. I undid a couple of pieces of tape, and her arms dropped, giving not one single damn about her bottle of aspirin. I guess it didn't do her any good. Her head came loose from her body, which sort of fainted back on to me. I stared at her head, still taped to the door, for a second and said, "This is just TOO good." Then I ripped her head and bottle of aspirin down, crumpled her up with Didgeridoostein, and put them to rest.

Freakish, isn't it? I'm sticking to jack-o-lanterns and the like next year. Getting tangled up in Didgeridoostein, who wouldn't release his grip on his energy drink, was bad enough - but GoKittenWitch blowing her top and falling to shambles was a little too real. I think I need therapy having seen that.

And so, the day after...

Ugh.

Not meaning to be negative or anything, but too much chocolate and hot chocolate is a tasty, but decidedly NOT winning combination. I have a stomachache, a headache, and do not want to move. And I'm trying to write this entry with Didgeridoo Boy staring me down, wanting his time on the computer so he can "check his stuff".

Somewhere, there is Pepto and Advil, and if I don't find it I might expire. But I'm going to sit here and pretend to write for a few minutes more because it winds Didge up so.

A Very (Subdued) Didgeridoo Halloween....

Happy Halloween! We're doing nothing, but I did decorate the yard and front door:

(Ignore the tape, which you might not have noticed if I'd kept my mouth shut.)

(A little bite of reality.)

The Didgeridoo Four-Leggers have holiday attire, natch. Here's Totsi the Dog sporting hers:

Jupiter Jones? Well, Didgeridoo Boy is trying...

It's Foot Foot's old rain slicker, but a glorious pop of inspiration brought me to the understanding of how it could transform Jupiter into none other than the Gorton's Fisherman.

Here. He's not in it, but you get the idea, right? He's near it. That counts for something in my book.

I'm off to have candy and hot chocolate, and there's talk of a living room campout complete with a tent and ghost stories this evening. Enjoy your holiday!

Goooooooood....whoa!

Casa Didgeridoo Morning Routine:

Totsi the Dog wakes. She wakes me, usually by knocking the covers off me with her nose, sitting or laying down upon me, and grunting repeatedly. We get up and leave the bedroom, where we find Jupiter Jones waiting outside the door. Totsi runs down the hall with Jupiter following. Totsi asks to go into the back yard for a bit, and while she's there I refill the food and water dishes and dole out the morning treats. (Totsi always has her morning treat waiting for her when she comes in. It's what we do.) Totsi and Jupiter play while I am making my coffee.

(Didgeridoo Boy always sleeps through this.)

This morning, the routine was amended:

Totsi the Dog did her usual. We left the bedroom as usual. Jupiter Jones chased her down the hall as usual. Totsi went to the back yard, and food and treats were distributed. Yep, per the norm. Totsi and Jupiter began playing while I was making my coffee - - yatta yatta yatta. I walked upstairs to get some ibuprofen to rid myself of the reminders of yesterday's dental work. Heard very loud thunder. Odd, that, considering the sun. Started walking back downstairs, and glanced down into the foyer just in time to see a ball of dog surrounding another ball of hissing, poufy-tailed cat roll end-over-end into the foyer and slide across the parquet floor, hit the little rug in front of said door, and slide sideways from there almost into a hope chest. They both got up and trotted off as if nothing had happened. I made my coffee.

(And all while Didgeridoo Boy slept.)

(Enjoy your weekend!)

Crowned...

So - I needed the dental variety of crown. Got to start the work on that today, and it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I've been through a root canal, so this? This was a plate of cookies. Sure, I was nervous about the shot, but luckily my dentist is very generous with the pre-numbing gel. So it was okay. Learned a couple of things, though:

First, don't open your eyes during drilling. I got a piece of tooth in my eye. They offered me, and I am not making this up, safety glasses after I got it out.

Second, don't try to be all cute and put on lip gloss right after your dental visit, while you're sitting in your car selecting music for the ride home. You might think you can rock lip gloss application without a mirror when your face is numb, but you might wind up with it all over your chin.

Ah - there's a third thing! You might absorb the second lesson by realizing the lip gloss is all over your chin after you've driven all the way home.

Enjoy your afternoon. I'm off to run some unexpected errands and treat myself to ice cream.

The day that went missing...

What the hell happened to today? Where did it go? Granted, Didgeridoo Boy woke me up at about 3.30am with another Jupiter-Jones-fueled laundry crisis that then went even more haywire, and then I overslept, but - still. I had a day here, people, and it's gone.

Highlight so far: Bought Didge a NOS energy drink because he asked so nicely, and walked into the living room to find him getting down to the techno soundtrack of a carnival ride video. Since we're a single-computer household at the moment due to Didge's computer whoopsie (laptops don't like being dropped), and I'm very protective of my Mac, hearing its speakers blaring that loud did freak me out a tad. But then the dancing....

Oh, my head. THEN Jupiter Jones nearly knocked Didge's beverages over onto the keyboard. (Folks, don't leave beverages near a computer, especially when you have an adolescent cat going through his explorer phase.) Didge had left the computer to take a phone call. Just let me tell you the extent to which I would have died had that mega-cup of Mountain Dew or can of energy drink wound up soaking my computer. I've taken it back. My nerves can't handle any more. I swear they're sizzling - much as my computer might have been had...I'm stopping. I am not thinking of it anymore.

So now I'm holed up in the bedroom, getting ready to tackle some pre-studying for yoga teacher training. I hope.

Offroading with Mom...

Apologies for not posting at all yesterday - after a weekend of house rescue/fall cleaning, a full day of errands with Mom, and an epic fit of wheezing sneezies I was beyond out of it. Plus, until yesterday afternoon, all that had been going on was the aforementioned house rescue - I'm kind of enjoying it, but who wants to read about me reorganizing the kitchen drawers and our laundry closet? I was actually out of material.

But then yesterday afternoon's errands happened, when Mom became a trailblazer. No joke - we were pulling out of a drugstore parking lot and she jumped the curb and went with it. Mom's car is *huge*, so I suppose backing it down and off the curb would have been a nightmare (I certainly wouldn't have tried it), and the patch of road we were trying to get to was only a few feet away. And, you know, in this economy we can't be wasting fuel. So forward we went, across the land like that was what she had intended all along, right down a little incline that was just steep enough to make her huge car lurch about in amazing ways. We looked like regal bobbleheads - Mom's a champ at maintaining poise under pressure, and I do my best to imitate her. (In hindsight, I wish I had put my hands up like I was on a roller coaster and mimed dramatic screaming.)

The fun didn't stop once we made it to the pavement, oh, no. The car lurched and then, I swear it, rocked from side to side like it was doing a victory dance. Mom waited it out with perfect aplomb, pulled right into the lane she needed to be in, and got an Altoid. I lost all sense of how a lady behaves in public, laughing so hard I brayed like a donkey while somehow turning myself upside down in the passenger seat. That I was told to sit up right didn't help matters, and neither did the fact that I remembered turning upside down in my seat laughing at a movie my parents took me to see when I was nine years old: "Smokey and the Bandit". (PLEASE tell me you get it, too.) By the time I recovered, my mascara had run, I'd gone wheezy, and dizziness had set in. The incident itself was amusing enough, but I almost passed out when I made that connection. "Eastbound and Down" has been stuck in my head ever since, doing a fine job of not helping matters.

Six hours later I was still laughing so much that that getting to sleep was difficult. I'm giggling about it now, enough to where writing this has been a challenge and I need to regroup before diving back into today's domestic hijinks. It'll be a long time before I can hear this song and not collapse.

The irony of spelling it like you say it...

Canopy, when spelled like you say it: CAN OH PEE. Or even, CAN....OH! PEE!

I have just taken a shower of such strength and velocity that it could have decontaminated me of radiation picked up since birth. Jupiter Jones, our precious little orange and white hellion of a white-mittened kitten, found something he thought made a fine toilet. BUT - I don't know how this thing got to where it was.

The black canopy that used to be in the bedroom (taken down because I want a white one and plan to use the black one in my office/closet/yoga room that I've yet to officially name) was in a plastic trash bag. Said bag had been secured, and the whole lot of it had been stashed out of the way in the storage room. I don't know how the canopy, in its secured bag, got on the floor in there. Didgeridoo Boy and I have both looked for things, but it's not even like Didge to leave something like that in the middle of the floor where it could be stepped on - or worse. Worse happened.

Jupiter Jones peed all over that bag, and then clawed it to bury what he had done. This made holes, allowing what he had done to seep all down into and through the canopy. Why I decided to wash it in the bathtub, I don't know. It can be done in a washing machine. It's hanging to dry now, free of the godawful smell that (here's what led to my Friday afternoon decontamination) - - got all over me. In my ticked off frenzy, I didn't think of that possibility. Excuse me while I go run around and roll in a bed of salt and potpourri (that seems less harsh than diving into a vat of bleach).

So - yeah. I'm finding that spelling-as-said thing REALLY ironic right now. Have some music, enjoy your weekend, and send me strong wishes that my nose forgets this freakin' horrible smell.

He's getting to me. I swear...

Right now, I'm trying to write an entry, and Didgeridoo Boy is sitting right beside me saying that he for certain saw Totsi the Dog in news videos today carrying an AK-47 and wearing a scarf across her face. "She had a clipboard with some maps on it and sh*t, pointin'." "She was placing her RPG teams on the ridge." Naturally, I can't remember what I was going to write - it had something to do with the fact that part two of the Halloween door entry will be tomorrow, but beyond that, it's just *gone*.

But at least Didge sitting beside me and spinning such a derailing tale helped me realize where a completely effed up, out of nowhere thought might have had its beginnings. We were just at the grocery store, and I as I was turning to go down an aisle my eyes landed on something that tickled me: A can of corn big enough for me to use as a step stool.

The idea of standing on it isn't what I'm referring to - actually, that's kind of a good idea, now that I think about it. The next time I'm shopping and and can't reach something, I'll go grab one of these. What I am referring to is what entered my head out of stone, cold nowhere, just after I looked up. "I could bowl with that." Do what now? When the hell did I start thinking of bowling with giant cans of corn? And along with that, there was the crystal clear image of the giant can of corn rolling right smack into a rolling display rack that contained little boxes and packets of seasoning stuff. The can, rolling, would push it. It would roll right down into the next one. What might happen if I bowled that giant can of corn? I actually stopped in my tracks.

You know how a thing that is about to malfunction will begin to sputter and cough? That is what my mind is doing, I think. I've shut myself in the bedroom to regroup. Didge? He's out in the living room saying, "Papakimaroo? Papakimaroo.", cranking the volume on the television to try to bait me back out of hiding.

I need some description of pill.

Alarming decorations...

For less than twenty four hours, the entrance to Casa Didgeridoo looked like this. Meet Didgeridoostein and GoKittenWitch:

Didgeridoo Boy added himself to the decorations at one point, hell bent on making it into a picture:

But that's not what makes them alarming. Oh, no. That credit goes to the decorations themselves, as they began curling up and moving around once steady rain and wind kicked in last night. Our alarm kept chiming as though a door was opening; over and over it chimed, with Didge and me running around trying to figure out what was making it do so. Didge thought the back door was popping open, and since I had noticed the code being displayed was the one assigned to the front door, we thought something was very wrong. So I took to entering the alarm code over and over, trying to reset the system or turn the stupid chime feature off.

Nothing worked. It simply would...not...do. So I made an executive decision (ahem) to call ADT and get some technical help. The nice gentleman I spoke to had me enter my code a couple of times, and then asked if that was the one I had been using. I told him yes, and he said that was not the code. Have you ever felt like a bucket of DUH has been dumped over your head? I said, "Ohhhh, my word, I've been using my ATM PIN!" And then, miraculously, the correct code vanished from my memory. That did it. The ATM rep and I spent a little while giggling, and I called Mom for the code. Entered it, and solved the problem.

I forgot to turn off the chime, however, and some time around dark thirty this morning it started going off again. It was as I was turning it off that I realized: Cardboard curls, paper streamers move, and I've got those very things taped up all over the inside of the storm door. BINGO! Problem solved.

Didgeridoostein and GoKittenWitch are laid out on the bedroom floor right now, waiting for me to decide what to do with them. When I went to take them down, I discovered that one of his arms had come loose, and that she had come completely undone and basically sat down. So, yes, it looked very much like he had been picking on her and she declared an eff-it moment. I meant for them to "be" us, but damn! He's completely unfazed, and she's looking rather worse for wear (I couldn't possibly make this up), so I don't think they'll be going back where I had them.

And the moment something is said is the moment the greatest idea this side of the Wizard of Oz hits. Oh, hell YES, darlings. Consider this one a "to be continued....". See you tomorrow!

And as he slept...

Let's flash back, shall we? Go here. What we were scrying for is happening. I'm hopping around ticking off to-do's while listening to an album that still gives me chills in its entirety over and over. Other than that, today seems dedicated to building itself up into a normality crescendo - it's strangely too calm, y'all. And the fact that a Stone Roses reunion has been announced at the same time Casa Didgeridoo has drifted into one of these strangely too calm periods does not bode well for normality lasting out the day.

Why do I say that? Well - Didigeridoo Boy has an earache, noseache, and throatache. He is not a happy camper, and has made a burrito of himself in his favorite blanket in highly indignant protest. Totsi the Dog and I are staying out of the way while Jupiter Jones sits over Didge, staring at the spot where an ear might be under the mass of snuffling pillows and zebra-striped blanket that is his daddy. I would take a picture and post it, but Didge is good at retaliation - winding up online looking an absolute eyesore isn't my idea of cool. When the kitten isn't sitting and staring at where Didge's ear might be, he's crouching and hiding in the foyer.

And it's happening when The Stone Roses announce a reunion. This is too almighty a convergence to not have some significance.

I'm sitting, waiting, with the video camera ready to go.

Roll out the barrel...

Didgeridoo Boy and I went to the fair yesterday.

At the fair, there was a funhouse.

Didgeridoo Boy does love a funhouse.

In the funhouse, there were many things to play on.

Didgeridoo Boy does love to play.

One of the many things to play with was a rolling barrel thingamajig at the end of the funhouse.

Didgeridoo Boy has a special place in his heart for the rolling barrel thingamajig at the end of the funhouse.

Directly at the end of the rolling barrel thingamajig was a sign.

Didgeridoo Boy, caught up in the mirth of the moment, did not see this sign.

The sign said, "NO HANDSTANDS IN BARREL!"

(My a-ha moment of the day: "Oh! It's just called a barrel!")

Didgeridoo Boy dropped to floor of the barrel, scrambled about like a lanky crab, and executed a nearly perfect cartwheeling handstand.

I performed an excited hopping dance and told him he wasn't to do that.

He did it again.

I told him again.

He did it again.

And then the man operating the funhouse came over and told him what I had been telling him.

He didn't do it again.

Whoopsie...

Didgeridoo Boy dropped his laptop, knocking out the display. If the mood strikes, however, he can hook it to a television to view Facebook at a glorious 42 inches. OoooOOOOOOOoooooooo! Anyway, we're waiting to find out if the computer will be replaced *or* if we'll need to get a new display for this one.

In the meantime he's found "Survivors", a BBC series, to occupy himself. Starting Wednesday night, he watched every last episode - - and just started it all over again. He's upset about the lack of plans for a third season, but is *happy*. I haven't seen Didgeridoo Boy this stress-free in an age.

He smiled when he woke up this morning. Didge smiling when he wakes? Do what now? After checking his messages quickly on my computer, he settled back down and began planning out the sound system for the home theater/Hall of Obsolete Technology, calm and happy.

Last night, he walked over to his wounded computer and looked at it, at which point I said, "I know you're bummed -- we'll know something soon, and a new display isn't expensive at all." This part is where I need you to sit down and take a deep, cleansing, calming breath. He said he did not miss it at all.

(I know! I know!)

Enjoy your weekend! I'm going to enjoy having my happy, stress-free husband back.

Precious Jupiter...

Oh, Jupiter Jones. Cute, sweet, precious little tween of a cat. Darling little thing. Runs to me like a dog would, chirping and whirring in his peculiar little way. Puts his toys in his food dish. Displays a downright human range of facial expressions. Oh, he's so cute. So, so cute.

Last night he lost it. Didgeridoo Boy, Totsi the Dog, and I were sitting on the futon cushion on the living room floor in front of the television. We heard a thud and a chirp, and there on the balcony was Jupiter, staring down like a little orange and white gargoyle. He whirred. Didge said hello. He leaned down and prepared to jump. Didge and I had a collective coronary, and I ran to base of the stairs to call him down. He ran to me like a dog, and frolicked into the living room.

A little while later, we heard another thud and, yes, another chirp. Lo and behold, there was Jupiter on the balcony. All three of us stared up, and Jupiter stared back. He prepared to jump down again, and I ran back to the base of the stairs to call him. He ran to me like a dog, again. And, just as before, he frolicked into the living room.

Only this time, he shook things up a bit. Didgeridoo Boy has his futon cushion sitting in the living room floor - I should probably mention that we can't assemble his futon until we've finished moving some things out into his Hall of Obsolete Technology. (I think that's what he's calling it.) We had blankets and pillows piled up on it, because we do love a living room campout, and Jupiter walked to a particularly snuggly spot.

He sat down right beside Didge, where he looked so precious I thought about taking a picture. But then Didge exclaimed in a way that indicated distress and confusion, saying, "Hnahhhhhhh!". I asked what was wrong, and he shouted, "HE'S PEEING!" And, yes, he was. And he peed for quite a while, with us bearing agape witness and Didge actually saying that he was going for a very long time. (What the hell is it with us and peeing cats?) That pretty much cleared the room - Didge went to the couch, I put the blankets in the washing machine and cleaned the futon cushion, then Totsi and I went to the bedroom. Jupiter? I don't know. I wasn't able to look at him at that time.

He's just so darned cute.

Pride...

Isn't he a marvel?

Just look at him beam, would you? Look at him. Didgeridoo Boy does love the makings of a sandwich. Two days' worth, even!

He also loves to do things like this.

Those two things are as disconnected as my brain is today. I need some quality time with my yoga mat - *now*.

Woooo, boy...

Note: I haven't proofread this, and I don't think it comes across as finished - - but our internet service keeps passing out for reasons unknown, and I'm jotting it up while I have a chance.

It's that time, folks. We are edging up on the middle of October, which means big things are about to happen. Big things that swoop, turn upside down, flash lights, and occasionally turn Didgeridoo Boy into a madman:

It's fair season.

We get a few in a row, starting with Oktoberfest at Fort Gordon, then one in downtown Augusta, GA, moving on to one in Aiken, SC, and finally one conveniently close to our home in Evans, GA. We go, I take pictures and ride old favorites, and Didge? Didge roams constantly, refusing to sit while consuming gallons of energy drinks and ragging me about the fact that I really just don't like flying around upside down anymore. (Maybe it's age, but I don't want to throw up on my shoes in front of total strangers.) He goes absolutely maniacally serious, walks in six-foot strides, adhering to a plan no one knows and that he won't share. Me? I jog. I jog along behind him and take snapshots, and am granted occasional breaks to ride my old favorites. Sometimes I get to sit down. In the end, it's great fun, but after last year I am approaching it all with sincere trepidation.

I won't go into detail as I don't want a migraine, but a friend saw us (Didge storming, me jogging along behind) and told us later he started to say hello, but that Didge looked like he was on a mission. He was, but I don't know what it was, since he just circled...and circled...and circled. He reminded me of Jaws. That day was potently *bad* until the crowd thinned out, with Didge caffeinated to the gills and grouchy from extreme overwork (he was coming off a week of back-to-back doubles), and five billionty unruly tweens on dedicated missions to barrel into us and push us out of lines. I nearly suffered a breakdown standing in line for vinegar fries, but, hey - I got to eat as many of them as I wanted due to all the jogging, right? I'm all about a silver lining.

I have to note: We went back for a second go a couple of evenings later, and had one of the best times we've ever had. Didge apologized profusely time and time again and bought me all kinds of yummy treats. That evening is what I'll be using as my "happy place" when the going gets tough this year. I'll just close my eyes and go there, and everything will be alright.

Between now and our first foray, I have to make a take-with list that includes Ace bandages for Didge's shoulders (he's trying to break a personal record for riding the Top Spin). We're scoping out the arrival of a train bringing stuff for the downtown event, and planning to head to the one at Fort Gordon on Thursday. Here's hoping Didge carries himself calmly, but that he roams enough to make me jog off all the funnel cakes and vinegar fries.

Common sickness...

So - what was accomplished Friday? Everything but decorating the front yard. I learned that the foundation under the front stoop of Casa Didgeridoo far outweighs our woes pertaining to the bay window (do not ask), Didgeridoo Boy and I fought a mighty battle with a futon and got it in the house, and all the ditdats and streaks of deep garnet paint on white were taken care of. I also got sick.

No, really. I got sick. My first indication of being that way was a slightly woozy, tired feeling that I attributed to not having had enough coffee after hitting the ground running. Then the headache set in, which I attributed to allergies. Everything Didge did started to cheese me right the hell off - which, frankly, is kind of par for the course. He lives for my reactions because he thinks I'm funny when I get mad, but I had a stellar reaction on Friday that surprised even me. We went out to pick up lunch, and as we were within sight of our neighborhood Ton Loc's "Wild Thing" came on the radio. Didge cranked the volume as we pulled in to our street, and drove around the block very slowly with the windows rolled down. I had food in my lap, so I couldn't hop out of the car and storm off (never mind that I started to). Instead, I had to sit and suffer in a state of supreme, exalted indignation. Once I found words, I spat out that such behavior was (get this, now - you'll love it): Common.

"This is just common. Let me out of this car. Stop. This. Is. COMMON."

Didge got quite a kick out of that. Once we were finally back in the driveway, I stomped inside, got my cape, tiara, and scepter, stepped out back to wave in the general direction of the serfs, and then had my lunch. Not really. I did have my lunch, but broke out in a cold sweat and felt my legs go shaky instead of parading about in queenly fashion. Then I got cold. Asked Didge to help Mom with the painting since I was really getting sick, and he plugged into a video game after giving me a smartass look. So I helped with the painting, and as soon as we were finished looked right at my mother and just *sat* *down* on the floor, making my way to a nice, comfy wall to lean against, saying, "Oh, man, this feels so good." I stayed there for a while. Mom ordered me to bed just before she left and told Didge to run the vacuum for me. (There was a trail of stuff from having dragged the futon cushion in.)

Mom and I were to have gone antiquing and to the Greek festival this weekend. Instead, I sat right smack in the bed sipping ginger ale and eating soup, blowing up Pinterest while staring woefully at a stack of magazines I couldn't be bothered to try to reach. Totsi the Dog would not leave me, and did alright until last night, when the boredom finally got to her and she shredded a free weekly after knocking all of her toys off the bed. Didgeridoo Boy stayed in the living room, having set up camp on his futon cushion, and actually let me be still and quiet. (I think he has a touch of this as well, because he has sneezed about fifty times since I started writing.)

Today? I've taken note that it's raining, which makes me wonder where the heck my beloved vintage trench is, and I keep reminding myself that I have a small list of things to accomplish before plopping right back down into bed to shop Chanel lipsticks. Yes, I am slightly drunk from cold medicine. Have a fabulous day, and here's to being a little more with it tomorrow!

Dad gum! Friday?

It's Friday already? Like, right now? It's the day we go pick up Didgeridoo Boy's futon for his man cage (cave - - that's CAVE, GKG...), that Mom and I try to figure out how to paint over the deep, beautiful garnet that somehow got on the snowy white trim in said cage (CAVE!), and that the nice men are coming to figure out whether or not the bay window at the front of the house can be (now, get this) jacked back up. The alternative? It gets ripped down and rebuilt. Fingers crossed for jacking!

I would *like* to decorate the front door and front yard for Halloween, having purchased a load of cute seasonal cliches for doing so, but I can't for the life of me figure out where the hacksaw is. The (cough) headstones I purchased need to be trimmed so they don't stand up straight. Anybody can stand them up straight, therefore, mine have to be crooked. I am also in dire need of a large, but ratty-looking, stick and some duct tape. (Caution tape. I forgot the caution tape. Drat.)

Anyway, there you have my Friday in highly caffeinated form. If you hear screams of frustration off in the distance, it might just be me trying to finagle headstones into being crooked or finding out that the front of my house can't be jacked up. Or it could be that Didge is still chasing me around with his computer playing a certain song about how tonight is, in fact, going to be a good night. Now that it's probably on your mind, too, here's something to counteract it:

Enjoy your weekend!

Thank you...

“Almost everything–all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure–these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.”

Steve Jobs

(Source)

Yep...

Yes, indeed. I certainly did. Burned that bad boy up in the dishwasher.

Didge is the man...

He never fails me. Not ever.

About thirty minutes ago, I was getting ready for another afternoon of work on Casa Didgeridoo with mom. The whole house was *quiet*, so quiet it was eerie, but there was a very good reason for that in spite of the fact that Didgeridoo Boy was wide awake: he was plugged into Spotify with a set of earbuds.

I had only just gotten used to the silence when I heard, "MEH! MEH! muh muh muh........MAY!" Okay, whatever. Sometimes we don't hear things clearly when we're on the second floor of a house behind a locked door, and I need to learn not to panic immediately when I hear Didge exclaiming. "FUH! NAY! pwwww pwwwww pwwwwwwww....." Perhaps, I thought, Jupiter Jones was terrorizing him again. That was the first explanation that came to mind and I was really enjoying being behind a locked door. I heard something beating on the counter in a fashion not-at-all rhythmic. And then, "DAMN!" I had never heard Didge shout that word so loud, so I dashed to check on what was happening. As I walked over to the balcony to peek over, I heard forcefully whispered, "Ruhhhhhh rah rah rah.........".

Didge was still seated at the breakfast bar, still plugged into Spotify with his earbuds. He waved his arms around over his head before I got his attention; at which point he grinned and took out the earbuds. I asked why he had been yelling, and he said he hadn't.

We stood looking at each other for a couple of seconds. I asked if he had been singing, and he said yes. Then I told him it really sounded like something had been wrong, especially when he yelled DAMN at the top of his lungs. He said, "Oh. That's when I was listening to 'I'm the Man'."

So, here. Have some music, which features LOTS of grown-up language. Had to give you fair warning.

A moment of silence...

Please be silent for a moment. It's for our Atari 2600.

(Pause.)

I'm having a super busy day, but decided that I would like a break, a break that featured a mentally revivifying round of my favorite Atari game: Demon Attack.

(You are still pausing, aren't you?)

(Good.)

I played a little Pac-Man to warm up, then hopped right to the piece de resistance. And I was excited, too; Demon Attack and I had been apart for a while. It was going to be Demon Attack, some Spanish hot chocolate, and a little more Demon Attack before getting back into the swing of things. What better mid-afternoon reboot is there, really, than Atari and Spanish hot chocolate? Right now, I can't think of one.

(Sit still. Pause, damn it.)

And it is one I cannot have, because right when I was getting into my groove, there was a FSSSSS sound followed by the television displaying this: NO SIGNAL.

(Be. Still. Show the Atari the respect it deserves.)

So - - NOW what do I do? This is like wanting chocolate and finding out that the world's supply is all gone. I know it's a little thing, but....well, I'm a type "A" personality spoiled brat. So there.

I'm going to watch that commercial just to hear the sounds.

(You can move now. Thank you.)

The boss...

I have tried, tried, and tried some more to get a picture of a particular hummingbird I've taken to calling Boss Hummingbird. He's more than earned his title - a couple of weeks ago, I noticed that a rather stout, bright green hummingbird was chasing any and all others away from the feeder. Then he got after Totsi the Dog. Shortly thereafter, he flew around me to make sure I wasn't after a single drop of what is, by gods, HIS nectar.

Should you set foot on our deck, he's there. Should you stand at the back door, he'll be there shortly. He damned well wants you to know he's around, and once he's finished flying about and scoping you out, he will perch in a tree and *watch*.

He patrols the area around the feeder, flying from vantage point to vantage point all the live long day. If it is empty, he leaves for a bit - but comes back and continues patrolling. Somehow, he knows when the feeder is being refilled - - I've never been buzzed while doing that. He is a complete badass, and he rules. I kind of like that Casa Didgeridoo has acquired a watch hummingbird.

Today he zipped up and pecked Didgeridoo Boy on the back of the head. I don't know what Didge did other than stand too close to the feeder for Boss Hummingbird's liking, but he came running in from the deck, shouting things about being hit on the head by a little f***ing bird. I asked if it was a hummingbird, and he said, "Yes. It's that same damned one that's always out there. That HURT! Am I bleeding? Look. Am I??" He rubbed the back of his head furiously and checked his hand, then stomped off to the kitchen. "I'm gonna hit him with a BOOK. Where's the damned spray paint? I'm going to get that little f***er."

I assured him he would leave Boss Hummingbird alone. "You were on his turf.", I explained. "That's his feeder on his territory." Didge disagreed: "That's MY smoking area! F*** that damned bird! I'm going to deep fry his ass. Where's Jupiter? Uh-huh. Jupiter's going to get a snack!" We had a bit of a shouting match for a bit while I convinced Didge that he is, under no circumstances, to kill that bird.

So right now, we're in standoff mode on two fronts. The first is between Didge and me over whether or not he is going to launch any kind of retaliation (he's not), and the second between two highly territorial males over who controls a patch of the deck. It really doesn't get any better than this, does it?

Enjoy your weekend, and have a little music.

Happenings and spottings...

It would figure that at no point did I have my camera ready. Here's my morning:

Just after I'd finished my coffee, young Jupiter Jones made a leap to get on the end of the counter - - directly over Totsi the Dog's food and water dishes. He missed, landed standing on his hind legs in the water dish, jumped straight up and out of the water dish - knocking it flying, flailed his back legs about in such a way on the ascent that he became a little kitty cat sprinkler, and hauled tail out of the room. He ran upstairs and knocked over few things to alleviate his embarrassment - - among them a guitar and an occasional table. The whole show lasted less than ninety seconds.

A couple of hours later, when Totsi and I were on our way to our favorite park for a nice, long walk, I saw a truck going to a construction site with this written over the top of the windshield: "GOT SILT?" I loved it, and have been inspired to create something similar for Didgeridoo Boy's car.

While at the park, which is situated along the Savannah River, Totsi and I were enjoying the dickens out of our walk when I decided to stop and look out over the rapids. There, down a steep embankment, very near the water, were two black turtles nestled side by side. Having never seen solid black turtles before, I leaned over a bit more to get a better look, and learned I was not seeing a pair of black turtles. I was seeing a bra.

Lesson learned. I'm keeping my camera ready for the rest of the day.

Marital dynamics, compliments of Facebook...

He did it.

Back to painting...

The fun starts again today! We're almost finished painting (heh!) Theatre de Didgeridoo. It's just a matter of doing the lower part of the walls and touching up all the lovely little spots where the yellow is *still* showing through the deep, deep burgundy. And then furniture, of course, which I'm not thinking about right now because the thought of that phase makes me twitch uncontrollably for some reason.

And then? The bedroom. Please, gods, let this one go easy.

You'll probably find it amusing to learn that after enduring cleaning Didge's car out, my car was ready yesterday afternoon. I didn't have to ride in The Stankmobile after all, but my beloved greatly appreciated the favor. He maintains that his car has always smelled like that, and encouraged me to analyze the scent further - it's stale cigars and coffee, says Didge. (Actually, now it smells like two kinds of Febreze, since I hosed that bad boy *down* in a show the neighbors surely enjoyed.) And what does this have to do with painting the bedroom?

A lot. It has a lot to do with painting the bedroom, actually - because there is the matter of an unsightly television set that is to leave before painting takes place, and the fact that I cleaned out The Stankmobile lends more than sufficient leverage to my argument that its departure needs to happen some time in the vicinity of now.

Let the nonsense commence! (I just felt like saying that.)

And have some music, just because this song has been running through my head all morning: