Pioneering...

Holy hell. I got him. I actually rendered Didgeridoo Boy a bit retortless over the weekend. Not speechless, mind you, that's impossible. But for a moment I honestly had him scrambling for a response.

Saturday morning, I was doing housework - running the vacuum, clearing Didge's snack remnants, and so forth. He was in the dining room for a bit, tippity tappitying away at what seemed a heated reply on Facebook, and then wandered back to the bedroom as I began vacuuming the living room. I started the dishwasher. Given that I tend to load the thing up very quickly, and with only enough care to keep things from shattering mid-cycle, clinks and clangs aren't foreign noises. They were especially loud Saturday, and could be heard very clearly over the vacuum.

Didge appeared. "What the hell is that noise?" I told him it was the dishwasher, and he expressed a strong desire that I do something about it. "It's not hurting anything", I said, "it'll be done soon." I went back to running the vacuum. The idea of the noise continuing was not to Didge's liking. I turned off the vacuum and said:

"Listen to it, though. Just listen. It's kind of rhythmic. Doesn't it make you feel like a pioneer in a covered wagon, traveling along with all the pots and pans clanging?" I swished the skirt of my black maxi dress around. "See? I'm even wearing a long skirt. I'm kind of in the mood to play pioneer this morning."

One of his eyebrows went up, and his mouth fell open. There he stood. He put one hand on his hip, and began bouncing one knee, acting like he was about to shake his finger at me.

"You don't like it? It doesn't make you feel like you're in a covered wagon?"

The other eyebrow went to meet the one that was still up. We stood there, me swishing my skirt for a little more dramatic effect, Didge bouncing a bit, looking like he wanted to shake his head very hard and very fast. Finally, he said:

"I'll tell you what will make you feel like you're in a covered wagon." I inquired as to what that might be. "A sore ass from having my foot up it." (Yes, that's all he could come up with. I'm as shocked as you are.) He looked around, finally took his hand off his hip, and walked back to the bedroom.

Since his arrival in September of 2009, I have never, ever seen him so completely at a loss for a response. I felt sorry enough for him to stop the clanging noise in the dishwasher.

Reality...

Since I've already put it up all over the world via Foursquare, and since I've written about what it's like to be on an errands run with Didgeridoo Boy when he's behaving as he is prone to behave, I thought today would be a great time to tell you what it's like to just *be* there. No opinions or reactions from me, just a factual presentation of our typical husband/wife discount hellcenter and supermarket run when Didge is actually calm. Apologies in advance if this bores you to madness.

First stop: Walmart Supercenter. As we're going in, I mention that we need a basket. Didge says to go get one, and asks if I don't actually need a cart. I say I do, actually, need a cart. He says to go get one. I stand there. He says to go get one. I stand there. He goes to get one, and pulls it (yes, pulls) straight through the middle of the store with me following, mentioning a couple of times that we need to go "over there". The cart is careening a bit, and I ask why he pulls it. He says it's perfectly safe and that only a clumsy fool would trip over it, and that he is not a clumsy fool. I almost trip over it. Didge purposefully meanders right to the electronics department, where he stops in front of the DVD display. He wiggles in place, and sticks out his tongue. I tell him I will meet him back there once I've gathered everything we need.

I gather everything we need, and make my way back to where I left Didge. He's not there. I carefully comb electronics, and finally notice him zipping around the end of an aisle in the toy department. He stops. I say his name. He darts down an adjacent aisle without looking at me. I make it to him and ask if he is having a good time. He stands. I ask if he is ready to go. He wiggles in place a little, but says that he is. He goes to another aisle. I park the cart. He looks at me, and I ask again if he is finished. He says he is and takes off to the front of the store, quickly. I catch up with him, and he slows down. He has remembered a magazine he wants, he says, and goes off to get it. I park the cart. He comes back. We get into line, he dashes off to find a Slim Jim, comes back, we check out, and leave.

In the parking lot, he begins spouting out names like Dunce and Fool until I finally ask him if he is saying those things to me. He says he is. I ask him why. He says he's in the mood to do so. I tell him it might be a good idea for him to quit it. Once we've gotten to the car, he wiggles in place again.

And off we go to the grocery store, where I damned well lost him. This is ironic, because it's only one tenth the size of Walmart, where I had no trouble finding him whatsoever. Sorry, I said no opinions - just facts, right? Onward. I lost him. As I was coming out of the produce section, he appeared with a box of microwave popcorn, holding it up like it was a sign. I told him I'd get it. He put it into the basket and walked off, where he stayed. I finished shopping and went to find him. I went to find him some more. For a brief moment, I saw him in front of the magazines from the other end of the aisle. Called him. He went in the other direction. I took off in a jog down the aisle, and stopped at the end, where I saw he was headed back to the produce section looking all the world like he was lost. I called him. He kept going. I ran up to him and said his name. He stopped, and said, "Oh!" He wiggled in place, then followed me to the checkout. We checked out, and came home.

So there you have it - a calm, normal errands run. That's as basic as it gets, y'all.

Are you still awake?

I earned it, by gods...

Yesterday, I became Mayor of Casa Didgeridoo on Foursquare. I know, I know - - it's our house, big whoop. And it's even more big whoop than I'm sure you're thinking, because Didgeridoo Boy refuses to have a cell phone. But, nevertheless, I made it, I did it, and I'm proud. When I say I earned it, I mean it; this is about far more than clicking to check in on a phone, people.

We still don't know what made water go bubbling up into Didgeridoo Boy's bathroom sink yesterday when he flushed. Not only was that my wake up call, I had to figure out what to do about it. Frankly, I did what most people would do: I dumped an insane amount of something I am sure is horrible for the environment into the sink of stagnant water, turned the bathroom fan on to clear the chemical fumes, closed the door, and told Didge to stay out of there for a while. Boiling water, Borax, and a good, old-fashioned snake contraption wasn't going to work. Plunging? Not going to happen. Who the hell knew what might come up and out? I'm so inept at home repairs that I actually worried the pipes might explode from what I dumped into the sink.

But they didn't, and everything's working as it ought to now. GoKittenGo to the rescue.

Granted, I've had my moments. I freaked out when we dropped the mattress down the stairs, but Didge thought there was about to be a fire, too, based upon how the sheet that was caught on the bannister sounded while it was ripping. And just like Didge, I didn't notice that the lid wasn't on the wok that one time he made his own popcorn until it had popped all over the kitchen and burned his arm. I once put soapy water in the microwave in a misguided effort to clean it, resulting in a small explosion and horrifically clean cabinets over one end of the kitchen. Poor Didge almost fainted that time - he actually had to go outside and steady his nerves.

But I did manage to somewhat save the day when Didge made the grill produce water and put its own self out - coals need air, not lids. When he spills something on the carpet, I'm the one who dives in and cleans it up - even though he did completely foil my plan to give him his own drop cloth. But the biggest thing of them all?

The day he intentionally spray-painted (and I do mean with Krylon) a section of my hair raspberry pink, I did not kill him. As he danced and laughed, and once I finished screaming at the top of my lungs, I hit Google and found that simple mayonnaise will get spray paint out of one's hair.

So - I'm the mayor. I am damned well the mayor. Any questions?

Can I get a reboot?

Let's flash back to last night. I was enjoying a highly relaxing evening of online shoe shopping and finding a guri guri recipe, when I was smacked with an epic round of allergies. My eyes got scratchy and puffed, I started to sneeze, my throat decided to itch so much that all I could do was make faces, and the most intelligible thing I could say was, "Urguhh." It *sucked*.

So I broke out what I call the Big Guns - one half a dose of Alka Seltzer Plus Cold Medicine. (I have no tolerance at all for allergy and cold meds, so just a little dab will do me.) Took in a documentary on Netflix and passed out cold into a medicine coma filled with very, very strange dreams. Didgeridoo Boy and I were trying to avoid getting caught talking about something highly secretive on Facebook while I was researching how to efficiently launder a basket full of bras. I couldn't figure out how to wrangle a stash of vintage formals with very pouffy sleeves and skirts into a linen closet. Somehow, our grill shrunk to the size of a softball, and the front walk had been paved in sponges. I think there might have been pale blue smoke.

Then I saw Didgeridoo Boy standing over the bed, grinning. He kissed me on the forehead, giggled, and said, "I just flushed the toilet in my bathroom, and water came bubbling up into the sink."

Good morning, Wednesday, it's nice to meet you.

Boxed In - another rant from Foot Foot Kittycat

I wish someone would get his or her head screwed on straight. These people and their dancing, prancing fool of a canine stay on my nerves. I try acting sweet so I won't activate their paranoia and wind up getting soaked with that damned water bottle with that damned Hello Kitty on it the woman who thinks she is queen of this house tends to break out whenever I assert myself. I try to seem quiet and innocent so I can keep the silly man under my toe. But it's so hard. Living here is full of challenges that only make me even more mad.

And just let me tell you about some of it. I like a good game of chase with a string. If it is a string, it is my universal right as a cat to chase it. It's what I damned well do. And I had that woman trained to where she would hop up and get this thing she called the string beast and run around like an idiot if I stared at her and made a silent mew. Chasing strings and watching a human make an ass of herself, that's what I call fine entertainment. Well, the silly man noticed that I had started taking an interest in power cords. I'm not stupid. I am daring, damn it, and I knew all along what the hell I was doing. But, no, the decision was made to assume that I would mistake one for the other. So no more string beast game. Silly man was scared I'd wind up like that cat in some silly movie.

Silly man made another decision that I am unhappy with. He feels my dish is to be empty before I am fed, and he says this is due to the fact that I need to learn my place and stop thinking I am the boss of things. That bastard better hide his boots. He better. Try as I might, that woman will not feed me when I ask if there is food already in my bowl - - when did she start obeying him? I've noticed she has been hiding every shoe and bag she owns. She knows, and I know she knows, and she knows I know she knows. Mark my word, I will damned well pee in something before this week is out. I already threw up in the silly man's chair in an effort to make my point.

And that is all I care to say. I still refuse to tell anyone to have a good day or enjoy anything, because I don't care whether you do or not. I don't have to.

Aim for the jugular, brethren.

Foot Foot Kittycat

What Didgeridoo Boy does...

In my heart, I know Didgeridoo Boy loves me and is essentially a good person. Really. When we're in public, though, there are times when I know just as deeply that he lives to watch me go from being cute and somewhat serious to embodying the epitome of a hellish, screaming shrew. And he doesn't really *do* anything to get me to that place - - but he does. How the hell am I to explain this?

Okay. Here's an example: Let's say he and I are at the drugstore. I ask him where something is, let's say Carmex, as I manage to catch him mid zippy-pass. (Didge is prone to roaming.) He says, "I don't know." But there is something in the way he says it, and there is something about the way his eyebrow cocks up and the smartass gleam in his eyes that gets me. No one will be around when this happens. And then he won't help look for the elusive item, but will instead scoot off in another direction with one of *those* glances over his shoulder. As I look, he will trail me, while sometimes approaching in such a way that seems to let me know I am about to be tripped. Not one person sees any of this, either. He says I am being paranoid, and I realize it may sound as though I am. But I'm not. This is a man who has managed to fine tune the art of teasing to a point at which only his target realizes it is happening. To everyone else, he is the cute man who likes to play, only going about his innocent business. That, darlings, is a complete and utter crock of pure crap. His whole thing is to get someone else to go over the edge in front of strangers. It's what he's about.

I really do sound paranoid. What the hell ever. He does it, and I know he does it. The fact that no one else seems to see him do it is irrelevant. What winds up happening without fail is I wind up making an ass of myself because this adorable genius of tomfoolery knows exactly which buttons to push and when. Over the weekend, I walked out of a Walgreens fully intending to leave him there. Said bye to him over my shoulder, saw both cashiers look at me like I was the meanest girl on the planet (who could treat such a precious guy like that?), walked to my car, got in, and was on my way out of the parking lot when I realized I was about to make a grave mistake. I knew Didge had already won and that what I was about to do would be pointless, but what really stopped me was the thought of what he might do when he made it back home - - and for several months afterward.

And I still sound crazed and paranoid. I know I am making no sense whatsoever. How the hell am I supposed to? As I am trying to finish this blog entry, he is playing horrific eighties hits by Roxette and Stevie Wonder while smacking loudly on Slim Jims and asking where the dog is. You cannot tell me he does not *know*. I have locked myself in the bedroom to get this simple thing done.

To hell with trying to explain it.

I AM THE SANE ONE, PEOPLE! ME! I AM! FOR REAL!

I need to go stretch out on the floor and breathe deeply again.

Spring fever...

You know, I can't write today. At all. It's not happening. Why? It's 75 degrees out, that's why, and even though I've ransack cleaned the front and back yard I *still* want to be outside. Part of me wants to skip.

And it's not just me - - the whole household is chomping at the bit. Didgeridoo Boy is having a more difficult time staying still, and keeps wandering out to the deck. Foot Foot Kitty is about to drive us ballistic with demanding that we open the door. And Totsi the Dog, in her grumblingly patient way, manages to remain facing a window at all times.

Speaking of Totsi, Didge has come up with what he thinks is a great theme song for her, given that she tends to want a bite of whatever anyone happens to be eating. Beggart she is not, regardless of what Didge says, but she does tend to ask repeatedly in many interesting and entertaining ways. But I'll write about those later, as I'm on my way back outside.

Oh. The song:

Capped and stunned...

Didgeridoo Boy is adorable. He's sweet, funny, unpredictable, and kind-hearted. He needs love, affection, salty snacks, energy drinks, and an ample amount of attention.

Let me tell you what the little son of a biscuit eater does not need:

A cap gun.

Never, ever in my life have I been more over one single thing than I am over this stinking cap gun. He "capped" me while I was in the bathroom. I punted a full wicker hamper from one end of the bathroom to the other, putting a hole in the side of it. I then attempted to kick it through the bathroom door while he jogged in place and giggled like a merry little sprite gone mad.

When I recovered from that, I set up camp in the bedroom since he'd decided to have Journey Day and I was officially not in the mood for music after having eight years taken off my life in addition to a sore foot. Totsi the Dog joined me. Didgeridoo Boy appeared in the doorway, got a very deliberate look on his face, and then whipped out the damned cap gun again. He fired it into the air about six times, and did a dance.

I wrote on his Facebook wall that he is to take his cap gun and stick it up his butt. For a moment, I considered putting it there for him.

He's assured me the thing won't be coming back out today. I've assured him that if it does, it is going directly into the trash compactor.

A message from Didge...

Being free of the Edsel (KIN) phone is interesting. Last night, I discovered a slew of voicemails that thing never let me know existed. Among them was this one, which initially caught my attention because it's from our home phone. Okay, so I know that meant it would be from Didgeridoo Boy. Just one question:

What had he done, or what was he about to do, that had him laughing that hard?

Reaching...

Warning: This entry is pretty much pointless.

I woke this morning intending to check on repairs for Didgeridoo Boy's computer and making a run for lawn bags so I can start cleaning our yards in preparation for spring's fun and games. Had coffee. Got semi-ready: Jeans, tank, hoodie, leopard sneakers, minimal makeup, hair in braided ponytail. Didgeridoo Boy grabbed a stack of X-Box 360 games on our way out. Game Stop, he said. We had to go to Game Stop so he could trade them in, as he wanted the "big Halo Reach set".

We checked on the computer thing. Then it was off to the closest Game Stop, which was sold out of what Didge was after, but they found one in stock at a location half an hour or so away. Came home, dropped off his computer, and away we went. Less than an hour later, we had it.

And then the drive home happened. We should have turned left out of the shopping center, but that seemed too difficult. Turning right resulted in a highly scenic 90-minute journey that took us past more churches than I ever knew could exist in one place, a really cool sculpture of a giraffe that I didn't manage to get a picture of (drat), and up to one of the gates to the Savannah River Site, known locally as, "The Bumb Plant". I should have taken a picture of that, too, but I was too involved with trying to see if I could check in there on Foursquare for the novelty factor. I didn't get a picture of the sign for "Sparky's Trailer Park" that's outside the gates, either. Damn, I suck today.

Anyway, we wound up going down, down, and down a country road for a good bit, and finally wound up coming back into Augusta through the ghetto. Stopped for lunch, where we decided to hell with making the lawn bag run and put off the yard work until Thursday. We did, however, manage a grocery stop, where Didge surprised me with a big box of chocolates for hauling me into the hithers of yon.

I'm scribbling into my calendar to go way the hell back out that way just to take tourist photos as Didge prepares to teach me to play Halo Reach. Evidently, I am to join him on a "campaign". Perhaps I should have stuck to yard work. You have NO idea how hard I can flat-out suck at dealing with a game controller.

You have got to be bleeping me....

I said I wasn't going to talk about them anymore, but our Jackass Neighbors are a strong, strong part of our suburban experience. Therefore it's important that I document all of the happenings and random bags of situational crap that take place, right? Sure.

Let me give you a tiny rundown - as tiny as possible:

They trashed the yard of the place next to us, which our HOA had crowned Yard of the Month upon their arrival, by out and out neglect over the course of their first summer here. They grew the much lamented jungle path to such epic proportions that Didge and I couldn't get our trash out. The (cough) nice lady who who lives there flung our trash can into the back of Didge's car TWICE when we were told by the powers that be that we needed to put it to the side of their unit until they had taken care of the weed problem (we are in townhouses, ours is in the middle, yatta, yatta) - - and then she told her landlord that she was afraid we would put something illegal in our trash can and that she would be arrested for it. Then the glaring started. She honestly spooked me one day while I was sweeping our driveway. Later that same week, she went completely mental when Didgeridoo Boy came home from work, turning on all of the lights and peeking out the windows in a very aggressive fashion. Oh, how we love her. Love, love, love. And she returned that love by yelling at us that we were stupid honkies who needed to shut the hell up out her front door at about 10.30pm one fine Saturday night - all we were doing was standing on the front porch, trying to find our keys after a party. Well we DID sit a bag of groceries down. Maybe that was what riled her.

Let's go back to the yard. It got UGLY. The owners of the property finally came over and cleared the weeds out of the way of our gate. Someone came to cut the grass. But the network of weedy vines that had grown over all the shrubbery, and the really tall weeds that were peeking over the top of said shrubbery? Stayed. The Japanese maple, dead of not being watered, was cut down. And then one day about two weeks ago, a truck load of men with a trailer full of equipment showed up and set to work.

They pulled so much dead muck out of there that they were shaking their heads. They planted a new tree. It took all morning. By the time this took place, it had been just over a year and a half since any real care had been taken of the place.

Alright, alright. Why am I carrying on about it?

I'll tell you why. Because after all that, after not giving a whit about all of the complaints, and after being thoroughly lazy and downright aggressive....

....they got Yard of the Month as soon as someone cleaned it all up for them. And the woman who flung trash cans and shouted? She's been a bit gloaty.

Isn't that lovely?

The Mayor of Casa Didgeridoo...

That would be me. Or, rather, it will be me. I have a new Droid phone (buh-bye, Edsel/KIN), which means I have gone a little application crazy. Yes, darlings, that means Foursquare. Yes, darlings, that means I actually am considering checking into my home every day so I can be the mayor. (If you're not familiar with the concept of Foursquare mayors, all it means is that you have checked into a particular location more than anyone else in a given period of time.)

I like the feeling this gives me. GoKittenGo, Mayor of Casa Didgeridoo. It's a small thing, but a good thing. I've written about how little control I have over anything that happens here, and how my plans tend to be thwarted in favor of other things, often without my realizing it until everything is said and done. "One" will not be able to do that to the Mayor, will "One"? And since Didgeridoo Boy has no mobile phone and no plans to obtain one for a while, it might be a good stretch until he's able to "overthrow" me. But I'd get my crown back. I'd see to it.

I want to take it further, though. I would like it if Foursquare would add something extra - - if, say, you've been Mayor of a personal location for some time, I think you should have the capability to become "Supreme Deity" or "Happy Victorious Tyrant". And I fully realize this would give me no actual authority - it would just get Didgeridoo Boy's goat a wee bit. "You might insist on putting that ugly thing in the living room, Sweetie, but I am the Happy Victorious Tyrant and nothing will change that. So there."

Ambitions are good, no? And I think I'll take a cape, tiara, and scepter with my title, thanks. Every little bit helps.

Oh, yuck....

Let's try a new game! It's called "Admitting We're Not Twenty". Yummy, rich dinners washed down with cold beer can hurt. Bad.

Really bad.

I feel like death on an old hot plate.

Back tomorrow. The couch, a pot of tea, and my favorite blanket are calling.

Curses...

Driven crazy by this thing to Yoda speak I have been.

I took it yesterday, and hid it. Didgeridoo Boy was distressed. Where could his precious be? What became of the precious? I told him he could have it back on one condition:

He had to act like a normal person at the grocery store.

Did I think he'd do it? No. I didn't think he could muster that in a million years. The entire time he and I have been together, I have never, ever left a supermarket with him without being psychologically traumatized. He is maniacally silly, and prone to doing everything within his power to humiliate me *or* get me to hurry so he can get back to whatever the bloody hell it was he wanted to do. (Usually go to a game store or Walmart.) He speaks in tongues, wanders off, indulges in unmentionable bodily functions, hits me with the cart, trips me, and otherwise fully prepares me for violent outbursts every.....single.....time. Without mother fryin' fail. I'm getting hacked off just thinking about it.

So imagine my shock yesterday when he behaved, even in the produce section (he gets especially antsy around fruits and vegetables). He was *patient* - or as patient as Didgeridoo Boy can be. He was *nice*. Even his facial expression, usually twisted into a demonic grin that clearly indicates several injurious plots brewing at once, was downright peaceful.

Hence Didge's restored possession of his whoopee cushion.

I don't want to talk about it anymore.

Whoopie...

Didgeridoo Boy has a whoopie cushion that's recently resurfaced after about eight months of being lost in the box in which he swears it was hidden. (I know nothing.) We had the occasion to sift through that box Sunday night.

I should have left the thing there. I should have noted its location, re-buried it under some stuff, and left it the hell alone. Instead, I decided to be a nice little wife and say, "Oh! Here's the whoopie cushion." Didge replied, "Ooooooo. You done f***** up now!", and did the little skippy walk he does when he's decided to have a go at shredding the last remaining vestige of my sanity a little further. I know that walk. And I know what's coming because of that walk - I just don't know when or where these things will come.

And just as I should have left the whoopie cushion in the box, I should have known he would pounce when I did him the great injustice of leaving him by himself for an hour so I could have my evening yoga practice. I was deep, deep into a soothing round of pranayama when an explosion of horrible noise came from the door to the room in which I lock myself for obvious reasons. This drives him bananas. "One" must be entertained and kept company. And his method of expressing this last night was to inflate his whoopie cushion, fit the nozzle under the door of the room, and deflate it with all his might.

I screamed bloody murder. And since he then decided to jack up the volume of his surround sound system to "seriously irritating", I gave the hell up. I'd had my morning practice, anyway. I grabbed the whoopie cushion and prepared to chuck it out into the front yard. Why I decided against that I will never know. (Coulda, shoulda, woulda....damn it.)

We're having a new storm door installed today, and the confirmation call for the appointment came last night. I wandered back into the bedroom so I could hear, and to get away from Didge, who had started his evening dancing a couple of feet away and was about to do God-knows-what. He tippy-toe-jogged right straight into the bedroom and blasted off the whoopie cushion right beside my head. Giggled, and ran out. I screamed, and explained to the nice gentleman I was talking to that I was about to kill my husband and destroy his whoopie cushion.

While I was in post-dinner anxiety collapse on the couch with Totsi the Dog, he walked up and set the damned thing off right over my head. I jumped. The dog jumped. And the cat - the cat jumped, too, and I saw the little light of, "Ohhhhhhhhh!" in Didge's eyes. He had an idea.

He scared the cat with the whoopie cushion, who was relaxing in her new favorite spot on the shelf under the coffee table. I've made a nice bed there for her out of a towel, and she loves it. That's where she hangs out in the evenings, and is the point from which she launched using only the muscles of her belly, her eyes bulging in a disturbing fashion, and with her feet still tucked almost all the way underneath her, but with her claws fully extended out to the sides. She was flying at the side of the couch. The dog ran, I screamed, and Didge?

Didgeridoo Boy danced. Again.

Later in the evening, after he'd put a pair of his boxers around the dog's neck and the cat had come out of hiding, he finally seemed to sense that I was a little bit peeved. He snickered and said, "You married me. You thought that would be a great idea, and now you are a stuck ass." I got up to make a nice, soothing cup of hot chocolate. "Yeah", he said. "And now you KNOW."

And then he danced yet again.

But he was damned right that I know. Oh, yes. I know. Silly Didge left his whoopie cushion sitting on the coffee table, and I know I am probably going to bury it in the back yard before this day is out.

Bananas...

Didgeridoo Boy's reaction to my dressing up his Alien model wasn't exactly what one would call positive. Positively exasperated, yes, but Didge didn't think my selection was in keeping with the Alien's manly persona. Maybe the Hello Kitty wand *was* a bit much. So it's due to my guilt over his adverse reaction to his prized Alien being made a fool of that I've decided to cave in and do a post on a subject I have never approached. Apologies in advance to my mom for this supreme breach of manners.

Wednesday afternoon, I had to give Totsi the Dog her bath. While she's not fond of this activity, she will get into the bathtub all on her own, and shake patiently while being tragically still throughout the obviously hellish event. Naturally, I'm compelled to reward her endurance, and Wednesday's reward was one hot dog with a little bit of mustard. It's one of her favorite treats, and she was so tolerant of being sudsed and doused that I felt she deserved something nice. And she appreciated it, performing an adorable wiggly dance with happy grunts upon receiving it.

In the wee hours of Thursday morning, I became aware of someone's stomach making noises. Assumed it was Didge's. A few hours later, around seven o'clock, that same stomach made a sound that I swear was exactly like a canned voice saying, "Bananas!" But it wasn't Didge's - - it was Totsi's. She was at the end of the bed, between our feet, and upon noticing I was awake went completely frantic. Totsi made it quite clear that I was to immediately get out of bed and take her to attend to something.

So that's what I did. After attending to this particular thing, it's the norm for Totsi to get a treat - but she refused it. She curled up on the couch for a little while, looking very concerned over her stomach's continued broadcast. She then went to the other end of the living room, stretched out, and looked downright worried. That's when loud noises began to happen that were not coming from her stomach, at least not technically.

(You will not persuade me to say it, because I know you know damned well what I am talking about.)

I looked up from Googling remedies for her ailment to see that she was staring at me with a very clear, "WHAT THE HELL???" expression. Yes, it was still happening. For about ten minutes she stared, round-eyed, at me without blinking. The problem was decidedly not hip to the idea of abating. I found that the best remedy was to let it pass. (Shut up.) As she was having no trouble in that department and seemed more astonished than distressed, I left her alone. After a while, she asked to go back into the bedroom with Didge. I obliged her.

That evening found her still recovering, but the noise had died down. She stuck very, very close to Didge (chalking this up to karma), only leaving his side once she was quite certain she felt better. He didn't find this the least bit touching, but I took it as a sign she's truly accepted him as a parent. Didge's sanity aside, the only casualty of the night was a can of air freshener, which he walked around spraying every five minutes (ironic, this). The next morning, Totsi was back to her old self - happy, wiggly, and prone to contented grunts; her "talky tum tum" was all gone, and she'd earned a new nickname: "Bananas".

So, there. I've told you. Didge and I are even now, and I'm going to pray to the goddesses of good taste for forgiveness. Hopefully my penance won't be too severe.

Of running errands and not...

Yesterday was to have been a big, bad errands day. I had it planned to the ever-living gills. It was mapped, plotted, checklisted, and strategized in the most type A fashion imaginable. Different colored inks were involved, and had I not stopped myself I'm sure I would have worked my way into a flowcharting frenzy.

Didgeridoo Boy wanted to go along, though. As we were getting in the car, I told him everywhere I had planned to go. First on the list after picking up a can of Monster Energy Drink for him was the Verizon store to trade up the Edsel (aka "KIN"). That was nixed - - best to wait until the Verizon store would not be so busy. I needed printer ink, and wanted to go to Office Depot. He said this was convenient for him, as he'd planned to go somewhere near there: Best Buy. Off we went to Best Buy, and we were there for a while.

As he lingered, I reminded him that there were a lot of things I had wanted to get done. Having gotten a late start to the day already (my fault - - makeup fiasco), I *really* wanted to get the grocery experience behind me before the late afternoon rush. Off the list went Office Depot, and off we went to......

Game Stop. After Game Stop, I reminded him I really needed to go to the Asian grocery for a few things. We got to it and discovered it had already closed for the day. Okay, so, I still needed to go to Sally Beauty. Went there. He asked where next, and I told him Walgreens, Publix, and Earth Fare. He looked right at me and said, "Well, I'm wanting to go somewhere that's kind of on the way to those, so lets hit out there first and track back." I pitched a fit.

We went to another Game Stop location, one that's dangerously close to a Walmart. Came out of there right at five o'clock. I pitched another fit. Didge giggled, but to his credit did not aim for where I thought he was about to head. I scrapped Publix and Earth Fare, settling for Walgreens. Yogurt be damned, I would not be returning to the house without my mascara. When we got home, he checked the weather, gave me a look, and said, "Damn. It's going to rain all the way through Saturday."

So you can see why I'm needing to indulge in a hit of narcissism this morning, right? Here. Enjoy one of my favorite songs while I schlep out grocery shopping in the rain.

An experiment...

What on earth is it?

Look again.

Well, I'll be! It's *the* Alien, one of Didgeridoo Boy's models, in a festive tutu! I made it especially for him in celebration of the early spring predicted by all the groundhogs yesterday.

And what's that in his hand?

It's a Hello Kitty wand! Because no celebratory ensemble is complete without a Hello Kitty wand. Isn't he festive?

Let's see if Didgeridoo Boy notices without reading this entry.

Totsi the Dog's Thoughts on Things

She's back.

Hello. I am Totsi, and I would like to say something that might improve the overall quality of your life:

Every family needs togetherness.

I feel it is my duty as the family dog to enforce this. What do I mean? I will gladly give you an example. My mommy taught me that togetherness is important by allowing me to sleep in her bed from the day she brought me home. I only weighed about five pounds then, was just the size my head is now, and raised all sorts of fusses any time I was not near my mommy, so she just put me in the bed with her and there I slept.

That is where I sleep to this day. My mommy calls me her fifty pound stuffed animal. However, Mommy decided to let Daddy come to live with us, and he started sleeping in our bed. This took up a lot of our space, and he has tried to get me to stop sleeping there, but I have found ways to communicate to him that togetherness is something I believe in, and that it's something our little family should embrace in order to be complete.

It takes a little doing. As soon as Daddy is in bed, I stretch myself out in a straight line between him and Mommy, putting my head on her pillow. Sometimes, I wrap my head over my mommy's if I am feeling a particularly strong need to express this concept. As soon as I am sure he has noticed, usually when he's just about to go to sleep, I stand up, turn the other way, move to the other end of the bed, turn around in a few circles, and plop right down between their feet in a forceful fashion. I want them to know I am still there, that I am in place, and that we are all together. And then I stretch out a little and suck on my blanket, because that is something I find soothing once I know everyone is together and in place.

On the times that Daddy does manage to win, I have ways of letting him know that I believe in the togetherness of our little family come hell, high water, or another visit from Stanley Steamer. I also make very certain to maintain my spot on the bed, because I want my Daddy to know how strongly I believe in what I am communicating to him. I have a particular pink stuffed doll that I use as a marker. And if Mommy is not in there sleeping with Daddy, I am. I am in my spot, the spot that is mine, the spot that belongs to me and lets everyone know that we should all be together.

So that is how I handle this situation in my home. I hope you find some of this information useful, and are able to put it to work in your own life in a way that is pleasing to you and your family.

Enjoy the rest of your day, and dance some.

Totsi Tatertot Didgeridoo

Me and my KIN...

Damn. It's over already? No more Verizon KIN? Allow me to be brutally honest.

Yes, I did. I bought one of the things, and for the first thirty days it was pretty cool. Once the trial period ended, it dawned on me that I was stuck with an Edsel. Sure, it'd be cool for collector's value down the road about forty years, but the there and then saw me lamenting my decision. I tried to comfort myself by saying the camera was okay, but had issues holding the thing steady unless it was flipped open to reveal the keypad. "The Spot" was a cool idea, but connectivity was usually an issue. Coffee cups have almost been hurled over trying to upload pictures. Yes, it was possible to do the same from the handy website KIN users were presented with....

.....when it worked.

So imagine my delight at receiving word that the KIN was going away, and that I had until 31 January to get my pictures, videos, and contacts. That was two weeks ago. I was JUST able to get my stuff over the weekend, and doing so all but involved ritual robes, chanting, and the burning of a goat in effigy.

Never, ever have I been so glad to be somewhat inconvenienced. This isn't a total schmuck move on the part of Verizon - I have until 31 March to jot in and pick out a free 3G smart phone to replace the dumb one I regrettably chose. The headache of having to deal with the clunky KIN website those last few times completely negates the humiliation of going to turn in the KIN phone. I can hear it now:

"Hi, I have a KIN and I need to get my replacement."

- - laughter - -

"No, really. Here it is."

- - laughter, which stops the moment I present the thing - -

- - curious stares, as a crowd gathers to see the phone and the person who actually got one - -

- - more laughter - -

"Can I just get my new phone and go? Please? If you don't stop all this I'll turn my fun-loving husband loose and he's tanked up on Monster drinks and Taco Bell."

- - cooperation as crowd hastily clears - -

(You should have known I would plan ahead, baby!)

So, yes, I'm prepared for what I might have to endure, but the final round of dealing with the bogged-downedness of KIN experience has me not minding it at all. It'll be over and done with. I'll have a better phone. It will be over before I know it.

I have a feeling getting rid of this phone is going to be kind of like getting my braces off when I was thirteen.