Realization...

I was in the middle of making my morning straightening-up rounds when this thought struck me:

I never have to sweat what I will write about on any given day.

Really. There will always be something. And I'm not saying that from a place of exasperation - although I do reach that point a few times a week. Not one whit of sarcasm exists in that statement. Honestly, the simple day-in, day-out routine of Casa Didgeridoo will eventually give me something.

Let me give you an example. Right now, I am sitting on the bed - for the time being, it's where I like to write. Anyway, I'm on the bed. I am going to get up and walk around the house, then come back and tell you exactly what I see.

Play this for intermission music, if you like:

Alright. I saw a kitten firmly setting about his mission of nursing from a dog, who fled and followed me back into the bedroom. A security gate is set atop a papasan chair to keep said kitten from soiling it again. Didgeridoo Boy has decided that the security gate is yet another handy crap stand. You already know about the fireplace being covered in paper and tape to keep the kitten from playing chimney sweep, but did I tell you about having to begin the process of suspending anything remotely resembling a cord out of his reach? They look kind of like philodendrons gone wild. Ah - the dog just grabbed her favorite blue teddy bear and asked to be let back out with the kitten, who she shares this teddy bear with. By the breakfast bar, in spite of my having just run the vacuum, I saw a dried green pea on the floor. Where might that have come from? Don't know. Don't want to know, for that matter. Didge had fried rice over a week ago and that was the last instance of peas being served, but how that thing's only now just appearing - - like I said, I don't know. I don't want to think about or address how a dried up green pea has mysteriously appeared right by where Didge sits to eat. Foot Foot Kittycat continued to sit very still, glaring into space. I don't think she blinked once.

(Maybe I should ask her about the pea...)

Do you see where I'm coming from? Frankly, I could carry on for hours just about that pea I'm not mentioning, but there are a whole host of other goodies in there for me to latch onto and play with for at least a week's worth of entries. And as soon as I wrote the words, "worth of entires", the cherry appeared on top of the writing sundae when the whole house just shook from a blast at a nearby rock quarry.

I think I'm going to go vacuum up that pea, which we will never speak of again.

So, yeah. Right. And...

Happy Memorial Day! Didge and I aren't really celebrating this year - he's working, and I've buried myself in a project.

The project? Casa Didgeridoo. Casa Didgeridoo is a mess. It is a very big mess, in fact, and I have set about giving it a good, deep cleaning over today and tomorrow. Why is it such a big mess? Didge and I might be a tad domestically challenged, but we're far from slobs. The reason behind the mess is sweet little Jupiter Jones, Totsi the Dog's kitten.

Didge and I are good furchild parents, and we are trying to help Totsi wean Jupiter. However, we can't bear to hear him cry when we take his canine mommy away into the bedroom - so Didge has taken to sleeping out in the living room with the kitten, while Totsi and I sleep in the bedroom. How would this result in our having a messy house, beyond Didge liking to sleep when I like to work?

(Thinking....)

Not one damned good way, frankly. I could have worked around him. So having shot my own excuse square in the pinkie toe and rendered it even more lame, I'm going to get back to work.

"Sitcom" - get it? *Sit* com...

Imagine my surprise (ha) when this message from Didgeridoo Boy popped up on my Facebook wall last night:

It's 97.86453% jest, I think. So was my reply, I think:

Enjoy your weekend, and don't overload those crap stands.

Totsi the Dog talks about her kitten...

And now, a few words from Totsi the Dog.

Hello. If you do not know me, I am Totsi the Dog, resident canine of Casa Didgeridoo and all-around seer of most things good. It is my habit to write a monthly column offering my thoughts on things for this blog, however, this month Daddy presented me with a kitten and he takes up almost every single one of my waking moments.

At first, I thought I was just supposed to watch him. And I kept a good eye on him, following him everywhere he went, even observing while he slept. But then he started to think I am his mother, and since I take my jobs very seriously and had taken it upon myself to protect him, I allowed him to think this. I might not have ought to have done that as I am now having to wean him and he is not taking to that very well.

On the first day, he soiled my bed in two of the three ways in which he is capable. His litter box was only a couple of feet away, so no one understood why he did what he did. But he did, and he did it well, and thoroughly. And he did so again every day thereafter, until Mommy made the decision to not let him in the bedroom.

So he began to wet Daddy's chair. We all thought he was so cute when he climbed it since he is a little clumsy, but then he got down in it and sat in that particular way he does that means a puddle, and Mommy and Daddy shouted, and Daddy said some very dirty things while Mommy ran to get a bottle of vinegar and start some laundry. He did it two times in one day, and has done it almost every day since then.

He has also decided to start to biting me, which I do not like. Sometimes, when I have given him his bath and am expecting and hoping for him to be ready to take a nap, he jumps up and bites me. Other times, he will pop me right across the face. I have tried to set an example by going ahead and taking a nap without him, but he climbs me and bites my ears. Mommy stops him, but Daddy just sits and laughs.

A couple of days ago I made the decision to hide in the bedroom a fair amount so I could get some rest. When I go out, I play with my kitten and give him his bath, and he eats dinner at my dish with me before we play a little more. In the evening, when we all have den time, he and I curl up on one end of the couch and I try to get him to settle down for the night, but when I leave the room with Mommy at the end of the evening, he goes wild. My poor daddy is going to have scars. Last night when Mommy and I got ready to turn in, he attacked Daddy so that Mommy had to help Daddy get loose. Seeing Daddy positioning himself in so many interesting ways was surely funny, but he sounded like he was in a good bit of pain.

All of these minor, and I hope temporary, annoyances aside, he is a very cute kitten and so much fun to play with. It is my hope that he grows up to be well-behaved, and I will do my best to help Mommy provide him with the guidance he so obviously needs. I will admit that I do wish Daddy would take up some of the parenting duties, but I realize he is busy with his disco dancing aspirations.

I do hope I will be able to write a proper column next month, since there are many things I feel I would like to give my thoughts on, but I will need to get some rest before I can offer anything of any real quality.

Enjoy your day, and dance some.

Totsi Tatertot Didgeridoo

Oh...

Oops! Our bad!

(The Jackass Neighbors' grill is still here. This is America. Nobody leaves the grill.)

Na na na na, na na na na, hey hey...

Dare I say it? Could this even be true? We saw the U-Haul. Mind you, we saw another rental truck back a few months ago, but - - this time we saw a U-Haul, and everyone knows U-Hauls mean serious business, right? Right? (Humor me and agree, please.)

(Why are we "the stupid honkies"?)

So, it would seem the Jackass Neighbors are gone. I'm pretty much speechless, and I think I need a cookie.

The flue...

So, we're all still here? Good. Let's talk about the fireplace again:

How do you like the new look? That's white wrapping paper with black duct tape and some beigey packing tape from the last time I moved. It's there for the same reason as the fireplace barricade I mentioned, but has nothing to do with the godawful calamity that resulted when Jupiter Jones knocked the box over. And it's not to do with a burst of abstract creativity, either.

The kitten got up the fireplace. I don't know how. As we all know, the old barricade was designed to deter him should he attempt such a thing, but I suppose its last failure was enough to fuel his determination all the more. So he tried, had great success, and got stuck in the flue. At least that's what Didgeridoo Boy said. I was locked in the bedroom (defensive measure) and heard Didge yelling for me (usually a defensive measure against that very thing), and could tell by his tone that something much more serious than a stereo issue was afoot.

I made it to the living room in time to see Didge in the fireplace retrieving a very wild-eyed kitten, with Totsi the Dog trotting purposefully in circles. "He was hanging there! From the flue! He got in there somehow and got stuck! Help me see if he's hurt." The kitten was not hurt.

He was, however, furious when the paper and tape started going up. So furious, in fact, that he sat up on his haunches and flailed his paws at me in an attempt to get me away from what he evidently sees as his magic ladder to kitten wonderland. He actually managed to get back in before it was all sealed up, and was well on his way up again before Didge pulled him back out. "He's going to get through that paper", Didge said. "Like ____ing hell", I said, and proceeded to use up every bit of tape I could find. Yes, the kitten interfered with that process as well, trying to swat my hands and weasel his nose into any and every opening. Once there were none left, he popped the dog on the nose and sulked.

He's still sulking, occasionally strutting over and popping the paper, which means it's staying for the foreseeable future. Should I just give up, declare it art, name it, and apply a little gallery tag?

Bothersomely peaceful...

I can't seem to get the writing wheels turning this morning, and I've just figured out why: It's too damned quiet. Too much quiet at Casa Didgeridoo isn't something to be trusted. Quiet is fine, but complete silence? That usually means something fairly explosive is on the horizon that will result in my having a headache, chest pains, hives, or a combination thereof. I have learned to never fully settle, for then I am not so deeply rattled when things return to normal after the household's batteries have recharged.

It was almost this deathly quiet yesterday when Jupiter Jones, the much-mentioned kitten, pulled the box portion of the fireplace barricade down upon himself. He and Totsi the Dog were having their morning leaps and bounds, Didge was snoozing on the couch, Foot Foot was in her cave, and I was actually stupid enough to think I might settle down for a peaceful cup of coffee and some writing time. I thought about browsing an issue of "W" and pondered going back to a black manicure and pedicure while listening to the dog and kitten run, run, and run a little more. For a while, they were in the foyer, and I found the tippity tapping of Totsi's toenails (ye gods, the alliteration) on the parquet floor most amusing. They then zipped back down to the living room, and I could tell by the jingling of tags that Totsi was probably spinning the whole way. And then I heard a hollow, rattling thump followed by what must have been the loudest instance of "cat holler" and hissing on record.

How can anything as small as a kitten make that degree of noise? You're familiar with "Burger and Fries", the frankly disturbing video of the highly scared/infuriated cat, right? The noise he is making? Nothing. I mean it. The two or three pounds of orange and white fur that is Jupiter Jones outdid that by a long shot. Once I could see and breathe again, I dashed into the living room to find Totsi trying to protect the highly agitated kitten from an empty box monster, and a highly agitated kitten hiding under the papasan chair staring goggle-eyed at an empty box monster that had somehow made its way two feet away from the fireplace. The highly agitated kitten then ran at Totsi, popped her on the nose, and high-tailed it under the couch. Totsi ran to the bedroom to hide, and I put everything back where it had been.

Every cell of my being now knows the meaning of the word, "caterwauling". As of this morning, Jupiter Jones is still giving the fireplace a wide berth, and Totsi's still a little edgy when he runs at her when playing - she ran back to the bedroom and hid when he got too enthusiastic for her taste a while ago. Foot Foot has moved a little deeper into her cave, and ever since then has looked profoundly confused. And Didgeridoo Boy? Unfazed. Why? Because he slept through it, that's why.

Enjoy your weekend, and have some music.

Totsi and her kitten...

Busy to the proverbial gills today, but wanted to show you this picture of Totsi and her kitten. Note his soaking wet head - she'd just given him a bath. Her paws are still in the "be still, precious kitten" position, and he was still occasionally squawking in protest.

(And can I just say I kind of sort of hate what the redeye reducer did to Totsi's brown eye? It's freaky. I feel like it's following my every move.)

Days...

So, remember when I told you that Totsi the Dog had taken the kitten as her own, and was serving as his surrogate mommy/bodyguard/playmate? Their days revolve around mad dashes up and down the hall, around the living room, and back again. They'll play couch-based games of peek-a-boo for hours, and then retreat to their dishes in the early evening for their respective suppers, after which Totsi gives Jupiter a bath. (He smells a bit like dog food now, oddly enough.) When they're good and tuckered out, they have a nap curled up together - the kitten has actually used Totsi's tail as a pillow. We are having one small area of difficulty, though...

He's been trying to nurse from her. And true to form, Totsi proved a model of somewhat confused but highly tolerant patience, almost like she thought he would eventually figure out that what he was trying simply wasn't going to work. But that wasn't to be. Didgeridoo Boy said we should let nature take its course - sure enough, yesterday morning our dog began weaning her kitten in earnest. (Did you hear that strange pop? The lid just completely blew off our surreality meter.)

I can't come up with a graceful lead-in to describing his reaction, which has not been at all pretty. Jupiter Jones is *peeved*, and let Totsi know when she first refused his attempts by peeing all over her bed. Later in the day, after another thwarted attempt, he soiled it again - - but did so the other way. While they played together as well as always last night, once it came time for him to try to nurse and Totsi refused, he walked right up to her and slapped her right across the face. She turned her back, and he found a way to bite one of her front paws, and then took to gnawing on her tail. He clamped down on her ear so hard at one point that she jumped, and then tried to take a bite out of one of her back paws. Then, for good measure, he hauled off and slapped her in the face again. Totsi curled up very, very tightly to me (so much she started putting my arm to sleep), and for the most part hasn't left my side since.

Right now, Totsi and I are camped out in the bedroom with the door closed. Occasionally, she will go out into the rest of the house to play with Jupiter, but then she wants to come back here - and fast. Didge just popped into the room to try to get her to come back out, and she cocked her head to the side in that way that dogs do when they're telling you that you're crazy and need to consider other options. Jupiter Jones was on Didge's shoulder, and when informed he could not go to nurse on Totsi, attempted to jump into the (running) ceiling fan and bit Didge's thumb.

Is there any question as to why this has been on my mind all morning?

Matching set...

What is it with kittens and fireplaces?

And he is STILL trying to get into it. Nothing will deter Jupiter Jones from getting into what he thinks is Kittycat Valhalla. He is absolutely, positively determined that something is in there, something wondrous and magical, maybe even a variety of things that all kittens dream of finding over the course of their lives all in one glorious batch. I have never seen any animal more determined to get into a single location.

Does our barricade look familiar? Why, yes, it is a reasonable facsimile of the one we put at the base of the stairs. Barstool boxes are our new best friends. Thank goodness we bought two barstools, yes? And actually, the barricade that was supposed to help initiate an alarm sequence by making Foot Foot Kittycat jump, thereby jingling the bell on her collar, is now there to keep Jupiter Jones from going up the stairs and creating any more mayhem. We don't have to worry about Foot Foot anymore, because she is now afraid of him.

And he's still a little kitten.

A thank you note to our lovely neighbors...

Dear Mr. Jackass Neighbor Man,

Thank you for waking me up early Sunday morning. I meant to sleep in a bit, especially since figuring out the mystery of whatever you were doing over in your place kept me awake until about 3.00am. Are you building a rock garden in your dining room? Do you bowl down your hall? Basketball! Is it basketball you're playing in the room adjacent to our bedroom? Jai alai? Do tell! And what is it you always have to run out to your car for between 12.30am and 1.ooam, that thing that's so important it requires you to test the alarm for your car over and over again? I kind of think that making the car horn toot like that is part of your game, that maybe you're signaling your own intermission, but I don't know. This not knowing keeps me awake every bit as much as the noise you insist upon making.

But it's okay, really. I bought this house intending to live in a quiet suburban neighborhood, because I thought that was what I wanted. But you've shown me that what I really want is to live in a boisterous, urban setting again. I didn't know that I wanted that, so thank you so much for helping me come to this realization. It's like having the best of both worlds, and the constant smatterings of mystery as to just whether or not you are throwing marbles down your stairs at 2.47am are such a nice bonus. They are the candy sprinkles on the cupcake of joy I have found in living next door to you.

I've been thinking I need a really great way to thank you, though, a significant gesture that will be sure to cement my message of gratitude into your psyche. Perhaps I will arrange to have the police deliver my next thank you note. It's my understanding that when one is wanting to thank someone for making a racket, that the police are always willing to help deliver that message. Your landlord has suggested this, actually, and while I am not one who likes to make too much of a fuss, I think I might do this. Yes, it seems a bit over the top, but let's live a little!

Hugs and sunshine,

Mrs. Stupid Honkies

Awake...

Say what about Blogger being down for a while?

(Let's let her sleep. She's been so busy taking care of the kitten.)

Pancake Salad...

Have you ever found yourself in a situation that could be summed up by this? Not literally, mind you, just enmeshed in what it invokes?

I'm not sure about yesterday. Sometimes the rhythms and ebbs and tides of the Universe collide, I think, resulting in cosmic whirlpools that give us "What the hell?" days - but yesterday went above and beyond. Even before the arrival of Didgeridoo Boy, I used to say that my life was a cartoon, and I meant it. I attract strange things. But this?

I happened to look out the bedroom windows after my yoga practice, and saw ivy trimmings, clumps of dirt, and lilies on the hoods of our cars. Someone pulled two lilies out of our front flowerbed and chucked them on the hoods of our cars, and then got a little crazy with ivy from the patch alongside the driveway. What makes someone think, "I'm going to pull up these lilies and put them on the hoods of these cars, and then I'm going to tear up some of this ivy here and throw in around like.....SALAD! Let's make salad! On a car!!"? They even thought to scatter some about on the driveway for good measure.

And that's what it is. Or was. Whatever. The lilies are now in a vase, and they're very pretty.

Care for pancakes?

Makes noise now...

Repeat after me, please:

"I'll be damned."

Thanks.

Loud bell, schmoud bell, Foot Foot went for Jupiter yesterday after managing to take the stairs, come down the hall, and parade through the kitchen without making one single solitary noise. Not the first jingle. I should probably let you in on something: She learned how to move without her first collar, the quieter one, making a sound. But this one? It's like Christmas, people, that's how jingly this collar is. Foot Foot outwitting that bell should not have happened, but it has.

However, should she jump over something, say a barricade at the base of the stairs...

...she still makes a noise.

About that configuration - the box against the gate isn't there to support the gate as much as it is to keep the gate from crashing all the way to the floor. If the gate goes over (which it already has during Foot Foot's dash back up into hiding after going for the kitten), it only pushes the box over into the side of the hope chest, which you can see to the right of the picture. It is as ugly and rigged as the devil's tail is long, but it works. No kittens with gates slammed down upon them (close call was scary enough), no evil cats caught and pulled all the way to the floor (not pretty), no dogs bopped on the head (ditto), and no additional loud noises in highly chaotic moments (thank the gods).

So check mate, you calico demoness, with some gotcha on the side. Who's training who now?

Pavlov...

Yesterday was fun. Foot Foot continued to be a nut case, delving the depths of her stalking techniques files for new and interesting ways to try to get around Didgeridoo Boy, Totsi the Dog, and me. Circling the living room and parading around the breakfast bar while growling having failed, she took to attempts at high stealth mode. Seeing a somewhat chubby calico cat try to look fierce while thinking she is moving without making a sound is amusing, but after about seventy two instances of her stalking past the same place, we got tired of it. We decided the situation called for this:

"The Safety Collar" - you get what I'm getting, right?

And that, darlings, is the loudest collar I have ever laid eyes or ears upon. While at the grocery store, the idea struck me that Foot Foot's old collar wasn't at all what we needed. Sure, it has a bell, but it's a wimpy little bell that tinkles gently as precious princess pads and minces all about the house like the bastion of ideal kitty behavior she is. Foot Foot is precious, I'll give her that, but she's not doing much padding or mincing in a princess fashion of late, and she's sure as hell not living up to anything even remotely resembling said bastion of ideal kitty behavior. What we needed, I realized, was an alarm so we know when Foot Foot is in motion and how far away she is. If she so much as takes one step, she jingles, and audibly. If she is to be a psychopath, she will be a musical psychopath.

The collar didn't go down well at first. Once Didge put it on her, she dashed out to the dining room (jingling fit to bust), hopped on one of the chairs in the seating area, and began to quite deliberately claw it while looking at me. I told her to stop, she didn't. I clapped my hands at her, she did it harder. I finally raised my hands like claws and hissed, pulling what must have looked a deadly imitation of *the* alien, and that did it. Down she hopped, and off she went through the living room and down the hall, scooting and making merry music right up the stairs. Didgeridoo Boy told me there is something wrong with me mentally. (Sometimes effectively disciplining cats takes acting crazy.) After festively pacing around on few attempted patrols, she konked out on her favorite cushion and slept all the way through this morning.

As I'm writing, she's upstairs, hiding after having been told hunting for Jupiter Jones is not in her cards again, just like yesterday morning. Foot Foot is one who fully dedicates herself to her missions, so I'm by no means naive enough to think a loud bell on her collar will serve as a deterrent. Like I said - it's an alarm; the second she jingles, Totsi the Dog trots to a strategic position, Didge stops what he's doing and follows the dog, and I go for the Evil Kitty spray bottle. Every single time, without fail, and almost before we've actually heard it - if we hear it, we will go. Holy hell.

Who's training who in this house? I love a good realization with my coffee.

Jupitered...

Hello, Monday! And what a gloriously frazzled, non-rejuvenated Monday it is! Isn't it wonderful? As I mentioned Friday, Didgeridoo Boy found a kitten Thursday evening, and since neither of us are hip to the idea of leaving a tiny little creature to roam and be killed on a busy downtown street, we brought him home and dubbed him Jupiter Jones.

He spent Friday getting himself acclimated to his new digs. Most of his day was spent under the coffee table, only coming out when I would begin to write. He developed a fascination with hands on laptop keyboards, and would emerge to pounce every time he heard clicking. By Saturday afternoon he'd expanded his horizons to include his reflection in the chrome bases of our barstools, his shadow, and power cords, and Saturday evening found him scrambling up everything scaleable while exploring the myriad tones of his own tiny voice. Yesterday morning had him discovering Totsi the Dog's tail and ears. Within just three days, we are trying to find creative, yet encouraging and gentle, ways to contain him so we can relax. Luckily we have a sitter:

Totsi has taken the kitten as her own, and serves as his bodyguard. Having never seen her maternal side in action with anything other than plush toys, I'm actually more fascinated by her than I am the kitten. She will not be in a separate room from him, walks behind or hovers over him constantly, and has even tried to pick him up to carry him as she would a puppy on two occasions. Those were not good moments, those toting attempts. Not good moments at all. Jupiter squalled, Didge and I freaked, and Totsi was scolded, then the whole household retreated to their own little safe places to calm the hell down for a few minutes. She sits with him while he eats to make sure Foot Foot doesn't do what Foot Foot is prone to do, and even broke up a moment when Foot Foot had the kitten cornered on the stairs. As for Jupiter, he has completely accepted Totsi's offer to have his back.

So exactly how is Foot Foot Kittycat responding to all of this? Not well. For the first twenty four hours or so she hid, exhibiting symptoms of a major depressive episode and only coming out occasionally to mew pitifully or growl like some description of demon. She began sitting and glaring from an uncomfortable distance (i.e., close) Saturday afternoon, and by Saturday night had just given up any semblance of sanity and resorted to stalking. If she is awake she's skulking about, waiting for the opportunity to do gods only know what. At all waking moments, Didge, Totsi, and I are on high alert for Foot Foot. Last night, she got herself good and busted when deciding to hide under our bed for an ambush - she fell asleep, and started snoring. This morning she's back to stalking around and yowling, clawing the door to the room we have the kitten in. Wash, rinse, repeat.

I can't get a snapshot of Foot Foot in action, as it is impossible to photograph her or see her reflection when she enters this place of being, so that picture of her nemesis will have to do.

So there's our weekend. I'm off to take advantage of the calm that's settled over Casa Didgeridoo since everyone else is still asleep, and undo the domestic havoc this weekend created. Kitten-proofing everything conceivable is on the agenda as well, as Jupiter's boundaries are expanding at an exponential rate. Last, but not least, I need to find my stash of backup spray bottles. Enjoy your Monday!

Meet our latest addition...

This would be Jupiter Jones:

He is the kitten Didgeridoo Boy found. He is also the kitten who has driven Foot Foot Kittycat even more out of her mind and into hiding, who the highly maternal Totsi the Dog is doing her full-on damnedest to protect, and who is bound and determined he will jump on my computer any time I start trying to write this entry.

Seriously - I cannot write. He's full-on stalking my hands and is preparing to pounce, like, *now*.

So enjoy your weekend. I am going to save my hands.

A revealing dance...

I know it's only 9.00am. And I know that Didgeridoo Boy and I don't need to be at his sister's house for her birthday party until 5.15pm, but the urge to knock off today's to-do's and start getting ready is strong. Early starts are necessary, as Didgeridoo Boy is prone to whims, during which he fancies wreaking havoc and laying waste to any plan I have made or have considered making. There's nothing I can do to help him abandon this pattern of behavior. (How's that for diplomatic?)

However, I have noticed something that I'm hesitant to mention in here, as he reads this blog and this realization could prove quite the addition to my arsenal. If he stops this, I'm lost again. But I have to tell it. It's quintessential Didgeridoo Boy, a behavior I have seen countless times, but who's significance I have only recently grasped.

At first I thought I was imagining the connection between his tendency to turn himself to the side and jiggle his leg while addressing me as he's about to spring something on me that is sure to send things haywire. Then yesterday morning happened. I had planned to, in this order, make the bed, catch up on the housework, start the laundry, color my hair, and do my nails. I did not look cute, and it was highly evident that I had no intention of making myself look cute until these things had been accomplished. As I was making the bed, Didge came into the bedroom, and said, "Hey."

(That's another sign.)

He came into the bedroom and paced a little at the foot of the bed. "Can you loan me forty bucks until I get paid?" I told him I could. He said, "Thanks. I've just found a receiver - - the guy was asking a lot of money for it, but I offered him forty bucks and he said, 'It's yours'." I looked up, and he stopped pacing. "When do you need to pick it up?", I asked. And right at that very second, he pivoted in such a way that his left side was facing me, his right was away, and he started to jiggle his right leg.

He said, "We need to meet him in an hour."

He followed up with, "I can't help it! I have to go by his schedule! Somebody else might get it! You don't have to go anywhere, why are you upset?" I was stomping around a bit, I'll admit. Swearing, too. "I have to go to get the cash for you, sweetie", I said, "which means that I have to get ready to go do that right this very second." He was giggling, and this drove me into sainted martyr mode, unfortunately. I stood on the balcony, no less, and asked, "Can I not have one day? Just one? One damned day?" He giggled some more. I made myself look (somewhat) cute and hurried out to get his cash.

Granted, he was very appreciative. And the receiver has solved the humming buzz issue that led to such a bad scene over the weekend. Didge just popped into the bedroom, where I am writing, to talk about needing to find a new volume knob for it and talk about how pleased he is with his purchase. He can hook up to eight speakers into it, he said, and while he's not completely happy with the bass response, he has plans to attend to that issue. I am not asking what this will entail. I don't have to. Why?

Because he turned to the side and jiggled his leg while he said it. That is all I need to know.

And then I found...

Yesterday, Didgeridoo Boy and I decided to hit a round of secondhand stores for a much-needed field trip. I scored a set of stacking dolls, an adorable heart-shaped box, a glass butterfly dish, a leopard lucite bracelet, a really cute platter, four fantabulous cookbooks, a nifty little metal container, and a full-on creeped-out-to-the-super-duper-max moment:

Turned a corner to go down an aisle, and there it was, just laying on the shelf.

Didgeridoo Boy nabbed a Motley Crue folder.

Tuesday...

And before you ask - yes, I had one. More than one, actually, because Barbie? She couldn't rock anything like this. It's all in the hair, darlings.

Grounded...

I don't even know where to go with this one, so I'll just put the facts out there and let it be.

There's a hum coming from the stereo speakers, and Didgeridoo Boy set about trying to ground the receiver Saturday night. In my infinite wisdom (ha), I decided I would record the happenings for blog fodder. I have about thirty minutes of video of the back of our couch set to the soundtrack of one devil of a fuss, which begins with Digeridoo Boy shouting for me to call the GD'd dog. Totsi is a helpful dog, and was trying her level best to give Didge all the assistance she thought he needed.

(Yes, there *was* a video link here at one point. Didge's language was far worse than I realized, so I've taken it out and deleted it from Yfrog.)

It went downhill from that point. Moments later, I found myself crawling through a shelf section of our entertainment center to try to catch a wire Didge was dangling and access an awkwardly-placed outlet, as I am the member of the household small enough to fit through the thing. My mission was to unscrew the plate on the outlet, attach a wire to the screw that was connected to the receiver, and screw it all back in place. There was no "good" language - from the moment I left the couch, I was swearing like a sailor. At the end, I glared and said (between expletives) that Didge is never, ever to ask me to do anything for him again. Ever.

Here's a still of that precious moment:

Didge was even more ticked off than I was. Finally, it seemed to work - but then the buzz came back. And that's when Didge said, "I think I know what it is. Damn. It's the wireless router. The router and receiver are interfering with each other." I replied, "I'm not moving."

Sunday morning, I woke to discover that we had no wireless internet access, and spent the day tethered to the router that said it was working, but was clearly fibbing, by a mile-long stretch of ethernet cable while I waited for Didge to fix it. We have no idea what happened; our network simply went away, requiring us to establish a brand new one. All we can figure is that something somehow reset our router back to the factory defaults. Satisfied with that knowledge, we've dropped the subject altogether.

And the speakers? Still buzzing fit to bust.