L:et’s have at it, then - shall we?

Sometimes nothing is going on and it’s rather boring here at Chez Cat.

Other times, there’s about forty ‘leven things I have to tend to.

It’s been one of those weeks.

Let’s dig in.

This is a day of the dead bride and groom that I picked up for the dude and me while I was in New Orleans.  I imagine we will use it on our wedding pie… because we will not have a wedding cake.  So go ahead and let that one sink in.  No cake at the Dude-Cat nuptials.  There might be pie… or… there might be cannoli.  Yeah… cannoli… from that place in Boston that I could not remember the name of when the dude asked me sweetly while gazing into my eyes “Cat… what is the name of that one bakery in the North End that you and Bea go to and have a single cannoli and then sit and relish the full body orgasm that it gives to you?” And I was all like - I have NO IDEA.. OMG!  What IS the name of that place? 

Well it’s Mike’s Pastry - and Bea if you read this, then it’s perfectly acceptable for you to have some shipped to me, because I can wake up in the middle of the night and be craving those damn things.

I show the picture of the bride and groom because I have FINALLY told my parents that the dude and I are getting married - and I don’t know why I waited… I guess because I knew that the information of the pending nuptials would start the dominos into motion and I just really didn’t want to deal with it. 

It was a matter of self-preservation people.  And if you knew my mother then you would know of what I speak.

And they took it better than I thought.  My dad was all like - well Congrats, and I wish I had met him before now and I was all like, well he’s coming for Thanksgiving so now is your chance.

And my mom got in her usual snide comments.  When I told her I was engaged, she responded with “To whom?” (To the guy I’ve been dating for the past two and a half years mom...) And later “Well, I don’t think you’ll be happy up there… I mean you’ll be away from your family.  I just don’t think you’ll be happy.” (Dear sweet lord Jesus, please tell me that I earned extra credit bonus points for walking away from that one).  And lastly, “Well Turtle can live with us, and you can come visit him.” (umm… No… I think he’s going to come live with his mother).

So before now, the dude’s problem has always been that my family didn’t want to know anything about him - and now, they are going to want to know ALL about him.  Fear not, sweet dude, I will not let you sit alone through a Mama D interrogation, though mind you, if you step out of line during this visit, then your little safety blanket is gone and I’ll let the wolves at you. 

All right so there’s that… And also Turtle has been sick with bronchitis.  Which means that I’ve been holed up watching Drake and Josh marathons.  And knitting…

And I’ll have a separate post about that and the different yarns I’ve been experimenting with.

I’ve also been cooking.

Tonight I roasted some pistachios to make this and I have to tell you - it’s very good.  I’ve also added a few other recipes to that part of the blog, so you may want to check it out.

Remember this guy:

My cubicle mate at l’office de dude.  I haven’t wanted to really talk about what’s going on with him because I’m superstitious like that and just when I think it’s safe to talk about it something else happens and I’m holding my breath again.  I’ve been pretty strong for the dude over the past week, but one night I just broke down.  I can’t imagine life without that old guy.

Ouzo has played into every future plan that we’ve made.  We’ll have to do this and that in the basement when we renovate so that Ouzo will have a space.  The girls will be spending time outside, but Ouzo will not have to.  Ouzo will be allowed on the leather sofa, but the girls will not be.  (You can tell that he gets preferential treatment).

And I have to be honest - It makes me all warm inside to think about how our new little family unit is going to make Ouzo’s golden years… well… golden.  He’s going to have someone at the house with him most days so he won’t have to be locked up.  He’s going to have a dog that has no problem assuming the alpha mode and saying ‘hey you over there, get behind me.’ (I realize most dogs might not like this but trust me, Ouzo did not apply and DOES NOT want the boss dog job of the house).  He’s also going to experience life with a little boy - and that right there just makes me so giggly happy that I can’t even begin to describe it. 

So please send him warm fuzzies and prayers.  He’s going to be okay… but dammit, I just want to hurry up and get the phone call from the dude telling me just that. 

The renovation blues

Here’s the deal:

The dude and I are trying to decide what to do with his house.

We’re going to add a second story, knock down some walls, maybe add 15 ft or so to the back, and redo the basement.

And we need to decide what to do with Turtle.

We had thought about leaving him on the first floor and redoing what is now currently, the dude’s bedroom.  The dude and I would move upstairs where we would have the master bedroom and a master bath and maybe an office or a guest room.

But then people started saying, well what if someone breaks into the house (which, hello - with the three dogs we have, I just don’t see it happening, at least not while we are there).  Do you want Turtle to be the first in the line of fire?  What about when he gets older - he could easily sneak out of the house and you wouldn’t know. 

So now the dude is all like, Turtle needs to be upstairs with us.

And at the risk of sounding like a bad mother (and according to my mother, I am), I don’t want to be in that close proximity to Turtle as he gets older.

In a few years, he’ll hit puberty and his body will start to morph - and frankly, there are some days when he all ready has that gross boy smell.  I don’t want those weird puberty things being in my face when he’s going through them.  I want my space - and Turtle will want his space, far far far away from his mother.

I also don’t want to walk in on him - doing weird stuff.  Or find gross things… When he has friends over, I don’t want to listen to what they are talking about…

And I hear ya, I do… about the whole sneaking out thing.  But I just don’t think he would do it and even if he did, I’d kick his ass once he got home.  So there… problem solved.

Don’t get me wrong - if Turtle was messing around with things he shouldn’t be, then I want to know.  But for all the fairly common, teenager boy things - the raging hormones, the farts and the fart jokes (which we all ready have plenty of thankyouverymuch), the girls, etc etc - I don’t want that stuff near me. 

I keep thinking we should revisit making the man-cave in the basement, Turtle’s domain - but the dude thinks that that is mean.  Like, you know, I’m sending him down into the basement like some ogre or something.  Not the case - I’m really just thinking ahead to the days of TeenTurtle *shudder*.

Kel says she’s pretty sure that she’s dated this guy…

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Spices, changes, and a sick doggie

I woke up this morning and began to take inventory of my arsenal of spices for the upcoming holidays.  Thanksgiving - in case you didn’t know - is just under three weeks away and I’ve got cooking and cleaning to do.

I hate cleaning this house.  Truth be told it takes all of thirty minutes to clean it weekly top to bottom.  The turtle and I aren’t pigs.  A little dusting, a little sweeping, emptying the trash cans, and changing the bed sheets are about all we have to do. I think I spend more time griping about it than doing it.

Yesterday, I realized that as soon as the holidays are over, I’ll only have five to six months before the move and I have so much to do before then. 

Are people blogging anymore?  I just read back over this post and realize how completely dull I sound.  Cooking, cleaning, meh.  I don’t even know what to write about it any more.  I find I keep more of it to myself these days - not really on purpose.  It’s just been hard to verbalize the roller coaster of emotions.

That and maybe I’m settling down some… God, that’s a scary statement to type.  For kicks, I went back and read some old posts from theotherblogdotcom - Man… I was a mess.  Those of you that read must have tuned in just to see when I would self-destruct.  So I’ve gone from typing razor filled essays about the latest freak-show that had wondered into my life to giving you my crockpot recipe for rotisserie chicken. 

I’m not sure how I feel about that this morning - am I losing my edge?  I can still throwdown and pop off at the mouth, but I haven’t really felt like it.  I’ve traded late night escapades with Kel for house renovation plans and school tours.  But you know… I’m not complaining. 

I’m entering into a new stage - one where routine and processes will have to take priority as two households collide.  My temper will have to take a backseat as a cooler head steps in to make the transition as easy as possible on myself and on the two other men in my life.

That’s all I got this morning - I guess the falling leaves and the cooler temperatures got me thinking.

One other thing though - send chicken noodle thoughts to the Mags.  She’s down with kennel cough (despite having the bordetello shot) and is on meds.  That dry, retching cough has eased up though and she seems to be on the mend.  Poor girl. 

And we will call him Sparkles…

I was telling the dude about this South Park episode last night and how I was on my sofa crying from laughing so hard.