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.