Today is my eighth wedding anniversary! I joke that ‘I haven’t killed him yet’ but he knows that’s a joke. Love you, sweetie!
Hi there all you lovely people!
I rarely do this. But tomorrow is my dearest’s 40th, and tonight is his last Internet radio show as a 30-something! Please come and listen? High listener rates will thrill him to bits, and who wouldn’t want to be thrilled to bits?
If you’re on Facebook you can follow his show “Soul Shenanigans“. That’s good fun as he makes a new poster every week! Look at this week’s:
That’s him, cute and blonde even then.
He’ll be on Channel A, in just about an hour. He’s interactive, too, so you can send him a happy birthday message or tell him he’s an old, out-of-touch fart and to get off your digital airwaves, if you like.
I’m hoping for the former!
EDIT: show is over but available via podcast!
Amongst his other lovely habits, Spot likes to drink water out of cups. We humans also like to drink out of cups, and we both have a glass by the bedside for quenching our middle-of-the-night thirsties. These used to be just a regular kinda glass, until I discovered at 3am that my glass not only contained water, but a skin of cat fur and a chunk of cat litter marinating at the bottom. After I was done gagging, I changed our water containers to ones with lids.
These were plastic Rubbermaid containers that I had brought over from the States, and they just couldn’t keep up with years of nightly use. They have died, one by one, over the last eight years. The most recent and final death was my cup, dammit.
And we had nothing to replace it. I couldn’t find anything suitable for sale around here, either. You see, essential to my 3am thirsties is being able to open the container without waking up fully. Screw tops are too hard for me. If I think that have to wake up that much, I’ll choose to go back to sleep. No matter how parched I am.
For a while I had a regular glass with a post-it sitting on top as a Spot-blocker. But I got lazy about putting the paper back on, and Spot found it, and I ended up drinking cat hair again. Nothing extra, thankfully.
iDJ knew well of my tribulations. He also does all the grocery-shopping. Without making an announcement, he had been looking for a replacement water-glass for me! That alone is pretty impressive (the no-announcement bit).
He brought me home this.
Actually, as he explained to my bemused face as I unpacked the shopping bag, he spent a lot of mental effort on picking out my sippy-cup. He wanted to get me the one with cats on it, but the cat one was meant for babies below 18 months. He had to at least get my age range right, even if it meant no kitties. This one is robots, which he knows are also acceptable to me. Better, it’s no-spill, so I won’t have a recurrence of the time I spilled water all over myself, my pillow, my side of the bed, and – of course – Spottie. I can drink from this thing while flat on my back! Even better than that, it’s insulated so my water might still be cold by the unreasonable time I want some. That’s a massive plus in my book, I hate water. I hate warm water even more.
I don’t think I have ever owned a sippy-cup. Pretty sure these didn’t exist in any form back in the early 70′s. Prove me wrong if I’m wrong, I’m kinda interested to know for sure.
I haven’t quite figured out the mechanics of the thing; it seems you have to bite it to get the water flowing, and there’s a vacuum problem that prevents a really good draught. But if an 18-month-old can figure it out, I might have a chance.
I can’t do the dishes unless iDJ is home, too. This is because when I would get home first I would immediately try to do some cleaning up. The sound of rattling silverware became a cue that ‘daddy’ would be home soon, and Spot would start in with the caterwauling. So I wait, now, to save me from murdering his little furry ass.
He finds other things to get over-excited about, however. The church is close enough to us that the 6pm Angelus bells are very audible. ‘Daddy’ also gets out of work at 6. Both Spot and Neko get a bit crazy and a lot annoying when the bells start to chime; they know when the bells are about to play, too, and get wound up in anticipation. I hate hate hate this behaviour.
But I’m helpless. No matter what I say and how many times I repeat it, I have never been able to convince hubby that this excitement is bad. Bad for me, bad for him, and bad for the furry kids. I’m totally ignored: every day when he comes home he greets Spot and Neko at the door and gives them tons of attention, and then feeds the cats their special wet food after giving them massive love and affection – as they SCREAM THEIR HEADS OFF for both. And the dog bounces around the house, and drools, and whines, and brings innumerable toys to him, and then also gets a food treat.
Makes me want to vomit.
Nevertheless, I think at least some of my long experience and expertise with animals (that has now become constant bitching) has rubbed off on himself. He noticed tonight that Spot is trying to train him to do a new trick.
This is Spot, sitting in the sink after I’ve finally managed to do the damn dishes. Or as many as I can because the damn dish drainer fills up before I’m done – hence all the crap still sitting around my sink. Anyhoo, Spot did this for the first time ever last night. I was not in the room. I got to hear about it in detail, however, as iDJ narrates everything. Everything.
“Hey, Spottie, whatcha doing? Whatcha doing in the sink? Hey, hon, guess where Spotty is? He’s sitting in the sink! Awww, how cute is that? Hey Spottie! What do you want, buddy? You want me to turn the water on for ya? Do you want a drink? Here you go, Spottie-Pants! Now, I need to put my headphones back on, so I won’t hear you when you’re done… Hon, he’s drinking from the tap! Awwww, how cute is that? I love it when he drinks from the tap!” (giggling sounds more suited to a 4-year-old)
Tonight, Spot got in the sink again. And right away hubby realised he was being trained! And told me so in great detail. Of course.
As he turned the tap on.
We have our tree! Bought last Sunday and left to drip water, needles and dirt on the floor for two days. Oh lawsy it was filthy! Looked great when propped sideways in the pile of lesser trees, in the pitch-black gas-station parking lot where we bought it. Not so lovely when it left smears of dirt on the door frames and walls as we dragged it inside.
After it dried off, we wanted to put the lights on first, as you do.
When it was time to do the lights, I sort of “forgot” that putting the lights on the tree is my job. Ok, I tried to pretend that I forgot. iDJ is always so happy and, um, proactive, about putting the lights in our windows. I pretty much attempted to make him think that all of the lights are his job. He copped on right away but decided he would still give it a try. Win! Sort of.
I was in the room when he started. For moral support. Because when he does anything new, he requires an audience, and everything he does must be narrated. As you do. Of course, I got to hear a few complaints/comments on how I wrapped up the lights for storage the year before (well, yah, I wrapped them up in a way that made sense to me. I do the damn lights, after all). And I had to give tips on where to start (leave a bit extra so you can poke it up into the tree-topper, don’t forget). Par for the course – I’m used to his foibles by now. And I had beer. Nothing could perturb me.
A little bit of back story now. Just to set the scene, and give you an idea of how very brave iDJ was in offering to put the lights on the tree.
For the last two years we’ve bought a short-needled tree, of a totally unknown genus, because I don’t like the long-needled pines they have here. They are too soft and droopy for all my heavy ‘Merican ornaments, and, well, I just prefer a tree with shorter needles. For me a Christmas tree is not any variety of pine. It took me five years to convince my hubby that a short-needle tree wouldn’t kill him.
You see, he has told me that about ten years ago, a tree did try to kill him. He was putting lights on a tree at his workplace and got poked by the needles. Apparently he had a very bad reaction to this. I’m a very unsympathetic person and while I remember the story, I didn’t take it seriously at all.
However, when he started to put the lights up, he only got this far:
Yeah, it’s hard to see. It’s my only photographic evidence, however. He wrapped a tiny bit of the string of lights around the very top of the tree and then he had to stop. Immediately, and quite vocally.
Because he got poked in the dick.
He got pricked in the prick. Lanced in the langer. Skewered in the sausage. Needled in the…well, I’ll stop with the comparisons there, I think.
Needless to say, that was the end of him putting lights on our tree that evening.
Being the unsympathetic person that I am, I said that it was no problem, I would finish the job the next day. And then I bit my lip until Oirish Tirsday when I could giggle over the story with Socks.
Socks got to laughing so hard over the idea of iDJ wussing out and running away from a tree that it became contagious and I forgot to be grumpy and realised there was indeed something funny in my life after all.
But it gets better. Socks loved this story so much that she told her hubby, Bear. Today, I got this photo in my inbox (face changed to protect the sarcastic):
And yes, when putting the ornaments on the tree tonight, iDJ got poked in the dick again. Sigh.
Hooray! I worked today, a Saturday!
Why is that something to ‘hooray’ over, when my weekends are so very damn precious to me?
Because, while I didn’t get to play with our new software (the only reason I said I would come in), I did get to have a chat with the manager of our department about “My Future In The Company.”
Usually, that would be a conversation that would cause trepidation. But not on a Saturday in our comfy clothes, and not when bonding over a mutual love of hard rock! Whew.
In a few days, my six-month contract runs out. Being as no one has actually said that I’m to be hired on permanently, I was a bit worried. Not anymore! And in a few weeks my job as it is now will become pretty much obsolete. I’ve been concerned with just what I might be doing when those few weeks are up. Today I heard what they have planned for me, and amongst other duties, I get to do a job that I actually want to do! Not the other stuff I that I have to do because I need a job. This is something I’ve seen a need for, a job for someone geeky and anal-retentive, a job made for someone like me!
And, just a quick note about Socks and Button: they are both doing great, both 100% healthy and at least one of them is over-the-moon happy. Hard to tell if a baby, who is just a week old, is happy! Wow, just a week? My time sense, never ever approaching accuracy, is really out of whack.
Lastly, we are going Out in a little while. iDJ has been asked to do a short gig in our favourite pub in honour of a friend who is moving to Australia, permanently. Sad to lose another one – this fellow was trying to make it here with a small farm, chickens, ducks, and his music. There’s a term that exists only in Ireland – an American Wake. It is a celebration of someone’s life when you probably won’t ever see them again because they have been forced to emigrate, usually to the States. This time it’s to Oz, but the sentiment’s the same. Nevertheless, it should be a good night. I even washed my hair!
Okay I don’t do this often: that is, promote my hubby’s DJ career. But tonight he’s got another special show that I think at least one of you might be interested in.
Tonight, in about an hour and a half, iDJ will be playing live on the Internet his Beastie Boys special in honour of MCA. Ever wonder where they got all those samples? DJ dcass knows and is sharing tonight. It won’t be all rap and hip hop, or whatever category the Boys fell into (I can’t even say for sure, not being the expert), I promise. It could be very interesting and even open your eyes to the wealth and range of music that the Beastie Boys appreciated and loved enough to use to create new music.
So here’s the info:
s o u l s h e n a n i g a n s
DJ set live on:
this 10th May 2012
PST: 12-2pm EST: 3-5pm GMT: 8-10pm
This week: Nothing but Beastie Boys Samples in honor of MCA
If you visit, feel free to send him a message and tell him who sent ya! Thanks.
Hubby is in his own little world at the moment. One of his idols, MCA from the Beastie Boys, has died of cancer at just 47. The Beastie Boys are one of iDJ’s all-time favourites, and he’s understandably upset.
I can’t really speak for how much BB has meant to hubby over the years, but I do know that whenever he is getting ready to go out and is getting ‘psyched up’ while dressing, he loves him some Beastie as it makes him so very happy. I can always tell what kind of mood he is in by what he chooses to play while picking just the right pair of sneakers.
I remember when ‘Fight for Your Right (to Party)’ made it on to MTV. I didn’t like it. I resented the idea that rap and metal could be liked by the same person. Then Anthrax jumped on the rap/metal bandwagon and really, really annoyed me. I’ve always associated The Beastie Boys with the early 80′s and the first change in current music that I didn’t care for.
According to iDJ, The BB’s hate ‘Fight…’ and refuse – I guess now that is refused – to play it. “It was a piss-take,” he said to me just this week. “They hated that it was that song that made them popular.”
After iDJ and I met (online) and I learned of his love for The Boys, I tried to like them on his behalf. I know that at least twice I was driving and ‘Savatage’ came on the radio. I cranked it up instead of changing the station, and it was fun when loud and of course reminded me of my crazy Irishman who was even whiter than the Beastie Boys but loved rap.
Hubby sounded so sad when he said, ‘So, no more of that, then.’ I can’t imagine how that must feel – like me losing Tori Amos, maybe.
So, my evening will be soundtracked by The Beastie Boys, at high volume. Just this once, I won’t complain.
I thought I’d post a quick one, of the flowers my hubby brought me on Saturday, for our seventh wedding anniversary on Sunday.
Anyone know what the big daisy-like ones are? I haven’t bothered to Google them yet, but am tending toward Gerber Daisies, without having any idea of what those really are… they are our favourites out of the bouquet.
They still look and smell good nearly a week later!
Please note I cut the stamens out of my lilies so they won’t drip pollen on the cats The flowers themselves are well out of reach of Bad Cats.
I am a terrible wife. Last night I (finally) spotted an envelope on our fireplace mantle, addressed to the both of us.
‘What’s that for?’ I ask.
‘What date is it?’ hubby replies, smugly. Well, smirkingly.
Oh yes, it’s about to be our seventh wedding anniversary! And I even got the number of years wrong on my first try.
At least one of us is a romantic (and I’m sure he gets it from his mum, who gave us the card!)
Love ya, babe – every year seems just like the last, and that’s a GOOD THING. I promise