Duh. It's Tuesday...

Please forgive me. I'm a little off - - the flu has rocked my world something ferocious, and while I'm better, I'm still getting my bearings in this whole "feeling okay" thing.

Besides dancing for his nightly exercise, Didgeridoo Boy has been calm. My perception of this could be due to the fact that I've been bundled up in bed and that he's given me a very wide berth due to my ickiness, but the man has been very, very calm.

Actually, I take that back. He did this last night. Posted this right on my Facebook wall as soon as I went back to to the flu-soothing comfort of bed after dinner:

Yes. I think that would be enough.

Just about a month ago today...

I was getting ready to go to Hawaii, and had been missing my bangs. Missing them hard.

So I walked into the kitchen and told Didgeridoo Boy I was thinking about cutting them back and that I did not need his permission to do so. And then, I walked right up to my bathroom and effed myself up:

Yes, indeed, effed myself up big time. This is five minutes after I lined everything up, grabbed, and went to town a little too soon, too fast. This is the face I get when I am pissed right the hell off and have thrown my tiara to the floor and stomped it, getting mad about that, too. Why I decided to snap a picture I don't know, but I'm glad I did. Nothing like keeping it real, right?

Luckily, my hair grows really fast, and they're actually straightened out now and in need of a trim.

That's what I'm trying to work up the nerve to do - trim my bangs.

Think of me. I'll report back to you on Monday.

I hope this stays...

The adorable home that served as the den of the Jackass Neighbors is now spiffied up, clean, and looking *really* good. It's been so long since I've seen it this way. A nice man came this morning and finished up the yard work, and even tidied up the edge of our driveway. I smiled when I saw this, and considered the impact of his random act of kindness on my day.

I'm just in from walking Totsi the Dog, and I took a good, long look at the place again while reflecting even further on how nice it was for him to do that. And that's not sarcasm - I really appreciate that he did that. I was even able to feel a little good will towards the property owners who never mind never mind never mind. What had deteriorated has been fixed, mostly. The hole is still in the path I've talked so much about, but maybe they're not finished. It's all nice now. What's done is done. Let's stay in the present.

Care for some truth about the present?

My truth in this present is that I don't want them to rent that damned place. I hope it doesn't rent. I hope it smells like rotten eggs and turtle guts and every bad thing I can think of inside, and that there is a poltergeist who flings vinegar-soaked Nerf balls at whoever goes in. I hope there is a voice like this one:

I hope it sits there, beautiful and unrented, for a long time. As long as the property owners are trying to rent it, it stays clean and well-maintained. It's when they rent it that we are greeted with the potential for it going back to shit, and I have had quite the bloody damned hell enough of living next to something that looks like it just might be a teensy tad shy of being condemned.

I love the empty, clean, pretty house next door so much and want to keep it forever and ever. Is that so bad?

Victory.

So Jupiter Jones was neutered last week, right?

I really wish I could give you an exciting update about how he tripped the balls he no longer has while the anesthesia wore off or how Didgeridoo Boy had exciting times contending with his hormonal adjustments while I was away at teacher training - - but I can't. Nothing happened.

But there, my friends, is the beauty of the whole shebang. Nothing happened. Nothing. When I called home to check in over the weekend, Didge simply said, "Jupiter hasn't peed." And for a second I was a little concerned. Might the procedure have resulted in swelling that caused a blockage of some kind? But then it dawned on me:

Jupiter has not peed, as in, Jupiter has not peed on anything - people included. He's kept it to the litterbox. No chirping, no whirring, no settling in while purring to douse a person, place, or thing. Jupiter hasn't peed. Isn't that great?

Now think about it this way: Look at what we had to have done to him to get it to stop.

Bless Thursday...

Jupiter Jones, the vegetable-sitting, tree-destroying, pee-on-everything kitten is going to the vee ee tee tomorrow to get "tutored". And between now and then, I have a ton of stuff to take care of in preparation for his homecoming and my second weekend of yoga teacher training.

Right now, I'm hiding from all of that stuff I have to do. I set aside three hours to get how to teach a sequence into my head, and breezed right through it on the first try as though I had been teaching it all my natural life. Okay, so my brain freeze seems to have lifted - that's good, but I rather liked the idea of three quiet hours. Damn it. So I'm pretending to study every time Didgeridoo Boy peeks his head into the bedroom.

I'm off to do housework, laundry, and prep a little safe zone for post-"tutoring" Jupiter.

Squashed...

Jupiter Jones, the precious, precocious orange blessed thing who came into our lives back in May and who I dearly love and cherish and would never zing a harmful thought toward (ahem), really pushed his limits and my buttons this weekend. He's entered his explorer phase, which I understand to be normal for cats his age, but since Jupiter isn't really what anyone would consider normal (he pees on people while he chirps and purrs, y'all, so normal has gone outside to sit) - I'm sorry, what was I saying? To heck with it. Here's what happened.

Saturday, I wanted comfort food - or what is comfort food for me. I decided to have skillet spaghetti made with spaghetti squash. It's on oldie-but-goodie that I've loved since my teeny-tiny apartment dwelling days, and always helps me conjure the feeling of relief I would get at being in my teeny-tiny little apartment after an infuriating day dealing with the world's worst boss at an industrial automation supplier. Translation - it is MAJOR comfort food. One of my favorite things, really. And I'm rambling because I'm still trying to sort out just why the hell Jupiter did what the hell he did - which I swear I am getting to.

So what did he do? He sat in the shit. I had thawed a frozen portion of spaghetti squash, my last one, and had it in a colander in the sink to drain. Jupiter Jones sat in it, like, full-on cat-butt-in-my-dinner sat in it. He got in the sink, and he sat in the shit. And that is what he did. So I put it down the disposal, as one would be prone to do when one's dinner has just had a cat's ass all over it.

Now - is there anyone still out there who questions my insistence as to the abnormality of this cat's mental workings? I love him, but *damn*.

So long, farewell (Jackass Neighbors)...

They really are gone this time.

And the place next door is practically being rebuilt - even the deck.

I'm super busy today catching up on laundry and getting ready for practice teaching, but I just had to come in and FINALLY get to use that picture. Yeah, that's kind of small and sad of me, but I've been waiting so long for the time to be right for it - the last time was a false alarm. This time, they're really gone. It's over. They've moved. Hold on, I have to sit still and absorb this.

(I'm sitting and absorbing, I swear.)

It's been a long, interesting ride with the Jackass Neighbors, and I am sincerely hoping we're not in for a repeat performance from whoever comes next. Enjoy your weekend! And have some music - that has nothing to do with anything, I promise. We're totally NOT getting a big lizard to keep the next round of neighbors at bay.

The Great Didgeridoo Smokeout continues...

Didgeridoo Boy is killin' it. I am serious. He is a bubblegum-chewing, intermittently-sleeping, quitting-smoking machine. His biggest enemy seems to be boredom; yesterday, I was told to be ready at 10.00am because he needed to get out of the house before he went berserk. We went on a field trip to a kind of place I have never, ever, EVER been before: Didgeridoo Boy, after baiting me with a visit to one of my favorite places to score cool used cookbooks (and where I scored three), took me right to a part of town I never visit to scour...

...pawn shops.

I had never been to a pawn shop. Thrift stores, sure. Love 'em. But a pawn shop? Call me sheltered (really, because if anyone was, I was), but I had never set foot in one. Something tells me it showed, and that I looked as out of place as a duck wearing snow shoes in the desert. At one stop, as we were parking the car in front of a place in a small shopping center that featured bars across all windows, Didge asked me, "What do you think of me bringing you to the 'hood?" I didn't have time to tell him what I thought, because he then said, "Hurry up and get inside. This isn't the kind of place where you want to drag your feet."

My jaw was still hanging open as we walked with great purpose into the door of the establishment, but I managed to realize that by the time we left, thank goodness. And we pulled out just in time to see two patrol cars park a little willy nilly in front of the convenience store at the other end of the small shopping center, and two officers stroll inside with even greater purpose in their walks than Didge and I had displayed a few minutes earlier.

So....that, really. That was that. And that was what happened and I don't want it to happen the hell again ever ever ever. Just....that. And, no. No. It is gone, gone, all the way gone into yesterday.

But, like I said, he's kicking butt at kicking the butts. I made him a big batch of Chex Mix as a reward for his efforts thus far, which he's keeping in the biggest container he could get his hands on. Right now, he's in one of his power naps - he's not sleeping a lot, but when nap time hits, it hits with a vengeance. And as much as I'm staying quiet and out of his way, I have to admit I'm struck with how much better he's doing than I think I would. I know we're only three days in, but that's a long time in quitting smoking terms.

Have a fantabulous day! I'm off to continue studying and practicing my teaching voice (upstairs, behind a closed door to avoid waking Didge), and to make sure he has enough Emergen-C and bubblegum. Here's hoping this ride continues to be as smooth as it has thus far.

The operator...

Guess what? Didgeridoo Boy is quitting smoking. Guess what else? This has him wound up tighter than the tightest pair of Gloria Vanderbilt jeans circa 1980. Armed with snacks, two new video games, and (I swear) a bucket of bubblegum, he's camping out in his man cave intending to ride it out.

Me? I am staying the blazes out of his way, for the most part. Between offering up the occasional glass of Emergen-C (I've heard vitamin C helps with nicotine withdrawals), I'm leaving Didge to himself and focusing on studying for my next teacher training weekend. I feed him and make sure he's comfortable, but then casually dash back to the bedroom or up to practice yoga. I've been afraid his mood would take a sharp turn south.

Overall, though, his mood has been like this:

It's okay. I don't know, either. We can all be lost together.

I got to hear Kraftwerk a lot yesterday. A lot, a lot. You know what?

It's been a while since I shared some music with you. You're welcome.

All complaints about hearing that over and over aside, if it means a smoke-free Didgeridoo Boy, it's worth it. The man cave smells like bubble gum and he's been up for the better part of thirty six hours, but this song makes him happy. In our world, that song is on its way to deification.

Enjoy your Monday, and wish Didge luck!

Happy Anniversary, Didgeridoo Boy!

Two years ago today Didgeridoo Boy and I hauled off and got married. In a courthouse, even. And without letting hardly anyone know what we were up to. So, yes, I suppose you could say we eloped - - but the courthouse is just five minutes from our house. I suppose that makes it a stay-lopement, no? (Actually, I kind of like that.)

His sister was our only guest, and snapped the only pictures of the fateful event:

We were about to fall over - and to be honest, I kind of wish we had.

There was to have been a bigger wedding, and there were talks of having a great big "wedding wedding" with invitations and a dress and cake and all that well after the actual hitching, but we haven't gotten around to it. Who knows if we ever will? I kind of want to. But then again, I know what he might do amongst people, and that makes me nervous. Not scared, just nervous. Didge with an audience is something I've not seen in twenty years, but I KNOW what the man will do. But back to that day - his sister took us out to dinner, and then we came home and had eclairs and pink champagne. The next evening, my parents had a tiny, quiet reception, their entire yard still lit up with enough Christmas lights to be seen clearly from the International Space Station. We had a chocolate cake with a Lego "Frankenstein" couple on top - - of which no pictures turned out.

Would I have done anything differently? Yes. I would make sure we fell during that kiss. And I really wish I would have thought to grab one of those huge packs of fireworks that come out for the New Year festivities. Bottle rockets would have been awesome.

The mention of bottle rockets has me wanting to plan a "wedding wedding" again.

And that said, enjoy your weekend!

Streams of consciousness...

I'm trying to write an entry, I promise. One with substance, something it'll be possible to actually sit down and *read*, a good chunk of life at Casa Didgeridoo with a couple of extras - - a value meal of an entry, if you will. But I can't. Every time I sit down and get the writing machine going, Didgeridoo Boy pops in and begins talking.

"I didn't see any meteors."

So - - yes, I know there was a meteor shower last night. Anyway, he is excited because we are going to get his new computer today. On zero sleep and a gallon of caffeinated beverages....

"What the hell? Jupiter just yakked. Oh. Stupid cat! You okay boy? He ate plastic. Pink plastic."

(Yes, I'm jotting these up as soon as he says them. Yes, Jupiter Jones just threw up in the foyer.)

Anyway, he's had a lot of caffeine and he's very excited. I don't blame him. There is *something* about a new computer, and frankly, I'm excited about this one, too. He's been using my Macbook since his old computer took its fatal tumble, and nine times out of ten, I've had to pitch fits to get it away from him. But that isn't what this is about.

"Ske-douche."

And I don't know what THAT is about, but he just said it. Trying to write. Trying. AND NOW HE IS STARING.

"I can count to potato."

Well, there went what I was about to tell you.

"It's a meme, you haven't seen it yet?"

OH HOLY HELL.

"Divide by cantaloupe. And honking on bobo."

You know what? I give the hell up. Totally. See, I know what he is doing. He's after my Macbook so he can continue comparison shopping....

"Do you even know what honking on bobo is?"

I quit. See you all Friday, when Didge will once again have his very own computer.

Booted...

This morning marks an event similar to discovering I really can't type while standing up. I am having great difficulty generating an entry off the cuff while sitting on the couch.

Why am I on the couch? Didgeridoo Boy is sleeping in, way in. Like since 10am yesterday morning after a really bad night, which might seem excessive until the matter of his tooth is taken into consideration. And what's with his tooth? It's cracked, and this is making his whole face hurt. The mere thought makes me wince to the point of needing a facelift afterward. I can't get him to take Advil or put anything on his gum. He says those things don't work - - from my customary writing spot.

This feels like practicing yoga on the dining room table.