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.