I married her.

Ladybug and I are back at home in Dear Dirty Durham, after a brief vacation in Colorado.

Since we are geographically dispersed, my family has traditionally celebrated Christmas over Thanksgiving weekend.  However, this year, with the exorbitant cost of plane fare (particularly when we booked the tickets in July), we decided to opt for a cheaper weekend, which resulted in HalloThanksMas.  (By the end of the weekend, we joked that we might as well include Easter and Arbor Day in there.)

My sister was a cat for Halloween.  We went to her office in downtown Denver, where many of her co-workers were also in costume.

The highlight of the trip was several hikes up to the top of Table Mountain (though I’m not sure if it was North Table Mountain or South Table Mountain… heck, we might not actually have been on either of the Table Mountains) early in the mornings.  We took my parents’ new dog Ranger up each morning; we got to watch the sunrise on Saturday but went up a little later on Sunday.  Lots of deer on the mountain and beautiful views.  I took some pictures on Ladybug’s camera but haven’t gotten them up to Flickr yet– I’ll post them when I do.

The lowlight of the trip was Friday night.  I awoke with a start around 5 AM, having had the distinct sensation that I felt something in the bed.  Of course, whenever you wake with a start like that, you freak out for a second before you realize that it was just a dream and you head back to sleep.  I got up and opened the door so the cat could come in. I lay my head down when my heart stopped racing.  But I could not fall asleep.  I kept feeling like something wasn’t right, and realized after a couple minutes that I was hearing something that wasn’t just normal nighttime noise and wasn’t the cat rummaging through the room.  I sat up in bed again and turned on the lamp.  Ladybug stirred and I told her something wasn’t quite right.  I picked up the pillow at the head of the bed to adjust it, and there was a mouse in the bed!

My natural instincts kicked in: I swatted it out of bed with the pillow and yelled “What the fuck?” simultaneously.  Ladybug opened her eyes and said, “What?”  I told her there was a mouse in the bed, to which she replied, “Don’t let it get in my hair,” and promptly went back to sleep.  I was wide awake at that point, so went into the living room and read The Story of Edgar Sawtelle for a while.  My sister came out into the living room around 5:45, talked to me for a while, then fell asleep in one of the living room chairs until her husband fetched her around 6:45.

The moral of the story?

If you see this cat, do not trust her to keep your house rodent-free!  Bad kitty!

Not now.  Not ever.

This is Bixby.  He is John and Jennifer’s dog.

This is Kirk. He is my cat. He thinks I am his cat.

Neither Bixby nor Kirk have anything to do with the Breeders.

I’m lying in bed, surfing the web.  Ladybug is talking to a Chinese friend in Canada, using that enunciation that she reserves for non-native English speakers.  I’m listening to her, thinking that voice recognition would serve her well.  She has a good voice for poems, though she would not be caught dead reading a poem aloud.  I should make her read what I write so I can hear it aloud.  I would be mortified to hear her read my poems aloud.  She is talking to a friend who speaks Chinglish.  She would not read in Chinglish.

It doesn’t seem to matter what else you do for her birthday; as long as you take her to karaoke and sing James Blunt’s “You’re Beautiful” in the voice of James Blunt, she’s going to be happy.

Ladybug and I ended up taking an impromptu road trip before through northern Durham and Orange counties, driving some roads we’d never driven before. It seems irresponsible to take a drive just for the sake of taking a drive, but that was something I loved doing as a kid. My parents got divorced when I was twelve and my father moved into an efficiency about a mile and a half away. That wasn’t very far, but it sure seemed like a million light years away at the time.

I didn’t see much of him during the week, which in retrospect doesn’t make a great deal of sense, since he was so close. But every Saturday, we got to hang out. We’d usually start with a trip to the comic book store, then lunch at Houston’s, where my father would draw cartoons of a suicidal dog named Chuck on the cocktail napkins. Maybe we’d wander over to Egghead Software, but more often than not, we’d hop in the car and set out. He was usually pretty cool about letting me choose the music, so I spent more than my fair share of Saturdays buckled into the passenger seat, listening to REM or They Might Be Giants.

We’d drive just to drive. There’s not much highway in Maryland that we didn’t cover, and a fair bit in Northern Virginia. I know a couple of Saturdays, we turned around when we hit a state line, and on rare occasion, we’d head on past them, venturing into Delaware or West Virginia. I always wondered if we drove so far because we didn’t really have anywhere else to go, really. We’d usually end up back in his efficiency around 6 PM, in time for microwaved hot dogs and Star Trek, and I’d read comics for a while before we’d go to bed. There was no pressing urgency to get back from driving, and I don’t remember my father ever saying, “Let’s go home.” It was always, “Let’s go back.” I wonder sometimes what would have happened if I’d said, “We should keep driving”– how far we would have gone, where we would have run out of gas, what reasons we would have found to go back if we got far enough away.

I spent the day in a training for a product that the Community College system is evaluating, and as awesome as it is, I am not sure I can tell you anything more, because I signed an non-disclosure form. I had never signed a NDA before. I feel now like I have a great secret– though, to be honest, the secret would only have been fair-to-middling if it hadn’t been for the imposing NDA.

November is month 2 of poem-a-day grind, with mildly relaxed rules. Three U of M poets, three from Warren Wilson. Not everyone knows each other. I like it.

Seriously, if I don’t get on the stick and put up a profile for Kirk on Catster tomorrow night, I’m gonna be embarrassed. That cat has needed a profile since Monday.

The stereo has been on constantly, but there has been a pronounced lack of music in my life of late. Maybe this will change when Ladybug gets back from Italy tonight.

The final results are in: I’m growing a beard, and by a margin of one vote to none, Ladybug will be growing a soul patch. She revealed last night that she began years ago. I can hardly see it, but I’ll trust her.

She heads to Italy today for work. Yuck. At least there are kitties in the house.

I’m engaged in another poem-a-day month, the first one I have done where I haven’t posted the poems somewhere public. I have three co-conspirators this time, including the lovely Ruba Ahmed, who did this with me in June. So far, everyone’s phoned it in at least once, but everybody has also nailed it right on the head at least once.

I’ve used the month as an excuse to give myself some formal challenges– rhyming, imitation, blank verse. I’ll probably attempt others, though likely on the weekends when I have time to write. Working a full day makes it hard to concentrate on one of these as long as I would like.

Deborah Ager did something in April that I thought was cool– she didn’t post the poems, but did post the titles. So, here are mine thus far:

Oct 1 – House With Chimaeras
Oct 2 – Expert Advice for Your Flight from Dallas/Fort Worth to Chicago-Midway
Oct 3 – Expert Advice for Your Televangelism Ministry
Oct 4 – While Jobless, I Eat Snack Foods With Famous People
Oct 5 – Bayside
Oct 6 – Shit-Town
Oct 7 – Actaeon
Oct 8 – Box and Whisker Plot

Also, I haven’t been shaving since I left for vacation… I’m considering doing the beard thing again for a while. It’s generally pretty weak, but it beats shaving.

What do you think? Your vote would be welcome in the comments, though Ladybug’s vote will be worth like 150 of yours.

Also taking votes as to whether Ladybug should grow a beard.

I’m in Denver, visiting with my mom and stepfather for a day before I fly home after a business thing. I came out here to talk about professional learning communities with some real hotshots in the field. (I am wondering now how I even got invited… some of these people really knew their stuff.)

We spent the afternoon at the Colorado Rail Museum, which was terrific. To continue a theme, I think Mary, Scott, and I are going to go to Union Station to see the Denver Model Train Club run their trains. I’ve heard that’s a pretty massive setup for model trains… if so, I’ll be thoroughly impressed, because the setup at the Rail Museum was impressive.

If my week continues as it has begun, I’ll be able to start scheduling time for the work tasks that I labeled “low priority” back in June. I have been trying to accept very little new work until I could get to these things, because while they weren’t high priority at the time, they’ve accumulated, and their presence in my list of stuff to do has begun to make me feel mad anxious. One of them is technically about a year old. It’s time for it to happen.

Ladybug and I went to a live Clue party Saturday night, dressed up and mildly in character. This confirmed for me that I will never write mysteries, and made me think about being straightforward in poems as opposed to withholding information until it’s needed. It’s not hard to withhold in a poem, only to find when you release the information that the poem had telegraphed the revelation, announced the absence of meaning, and already veered towards gimmickry. Most of the best poems lay out the emotional stakes quickly and work within the parameters they’ve set forth. It’s not that they don’t surprise, it’s just that the surprise is warranted and earned.

One outcome of the party is that I’ve been thinking really seriously about organizing a big scavenger hunt. It’s way more fun to be on a team, but hey, we could put one together.

Someone broke into Ladybug’s car last night. Well, not broke in so much as went in, since she left it unlocked. They opened the glove box and tossed some stuff around, and then opened the trunk. But they didn’t take anything, since there wasn’t much of value. It’s hard to whine when nothing’s missing and nothing’s damaged, but it’s just never fun to wake up to a reminder that your world just isn’t as safe as you would like to believe.

Oddly enough, I had terrible trouble going to sleep last night; I kept hearing the cats rumble about and thinking that someone was in the house. I would wake up every couple minutes before I drifted off for good, convinced that when I opened my eyes, I was going to see a human form in the doorway. I am not sure what a panic attack feels like, but I’m guessing that’s pretty close. (My pulse has been well above normal for about two weeks straight, I think due to stress.) I had nightmares most of the night that were based on that initial paranoia…

After Ladybug roused me in the morning and I drifted back to sleep, I continued to have nightmares, but these were actually based on the lowest form of po-gossip. It was still sort of terrifying… people were physically threatening me about keeping their secrets and giving up others. And it was all the juvenile who-kissed-who kind of stuff that makes for interesting conversation but isn’t useful or important in any way. I woke up fairly convinced that I don’t want to know anything about anyone ever again.

Still, it’s nice to go from night terrors to po-terrors, the latter of which is the lesser. I did feel like my mental load was lighter for much of the day. Whatever was bothering me, I think (I hope) it worked itself out of my system.

DHL tried to deliver a package today. I’m guessing it was a packet. So, I’ve signed. Maybe it will be waiting when I come home tomorrow.

Tonight, I have treated myself to luxurious sloth, downloading some songs from music blogs (to give you an idea of the quality, the best was Kix’s “Don’t Close Your Eyes”… for serious) and shredding months worth of bills and bank statements and stuff.I had the shredder on for a good half-hour solid.

One Story arrived today and I still hadn’t read the last one. I’ll remedy that before the end of the night.

Two annotations down, one to go. I spent the better part of the day with Donald Justice, and feel like I have a pretty good handle on how he’s using repetition for both stasis and motion in “Psalm and Lament.” I have Tuesday off from work, so Weldon Kees is up next. I won’t be working on the essay at all tomorrow, because I’ll be in South Carolina for Granny’s 90th birthday. But, just in case, I’ll have Poetic Closure in the car with me. Just in case.

Have a wonderful day, Internet friends. I’ll see you on the flipside.

Ladybug and I have returned from Dillard’s BBQ, which I am now ready to label the best barbq in Durham. We’ve lived about a mile and a quarter from Dillard’s for six years and only just figured out where it is. Is that ridiculous? Yes. I’m going to tell myself that during that time, they must have suffered some odd decline in quality and the fates just kept us away from there so that when they recovered, the winds would usher us that way. The carrot souffle was the best dessert I have ever tasted. There’s no hyperbole here; I am known for not liking desserts. But this one is amazing.

Of course, now I am at home, bulbous in front of the keyboard, aching with food, though not at all regretful. It’s just that a meal like that keeps you from doing much else for the rest of the night, and I’d hoped to accomplish something more than “not much else.”

I have found someone who is willing to swap an extra copy of Ivy Alvarez’s tinyside for some Bull City Press swag.

Come to me, my precious.

Belinda was kind enough to provide me with a fine topical steroid for my poison ivy.  I feel that the steroids are working just fine, though Ladybug said that perhaps I have used too much of this creme.  I didn’t know what she was talking about, so I punched her in the face and tore her car in half with my hands.

Does anyone want to come over and pop the annoying zits on my back?  These things are HUGE.

We’re spending the day watching Six Feet Under, season five. We’re watching at a furious rate– furious! We could be done tomorrow. That’s a lot of Six Feet Under. To make myself feel just a wee bit productive, I made some black bean chili, ZoneAlarm, made a new banner for the site, and read PCWorld. OK, so I know that’s not terrible productive. I have the rest of the weekend to produce.

During a break in the DVD action, Miss ladybug slipped on some sandlas and we went out back to throw a baseball. God, that felt great. I hadn’t thrown a baseball in a long time. I was having great fun, and Ladybug even seemed to think that it wasn’t so bad. That is, until I threw one low and nailed her on the foot. Within seconds, the blood vessel was all puffed up and the foot looked like it was gonna have the worst bruise EVER. Got some ice on it, though, and she may keep the foot.

Speaking of baseball, Jeff Francoeur seems to be breaking out. Two homers last night, another one tonight. Hells yeah. I’m just bummed that I benched him in fantasy baseball two days ago.

Weekend with family! JOhn’s 70th birthday celebration continued with phamily photos aplenty Saturday night. To ensure maximum cultishness, we all had to wear white shirts. Then, dinner at Spice Street, in the vaguely removed wine room, where we snacked on bready sweets and tiny bits of chicken. Then we hung around and told funny John stories, which morphed into funny Chris Pearson stories.

Foolishly, I didn’t take a camera, but I did snap a couple with the camera phone this morning. They’re on flickr if you want to take a look at all of them, Here’s a couple:

Here’s my Ladybug by the fireplace, and my uncle Doug hanging out.

My aunt Judy, and Frank and Anne. You can’t see Nicki and Ian’s daughter Charlotte in Anne’s lap, but she’s there.

Kirk is heading for my lap, which means he’ll soon have paws all over the keyboard. Goodbye.

As a cat person, I have several times vacuumed the house and had a whole new cat by the end– Miss Kitty particularly could shed her weight in fur about every 36 hours. I really did have 5 pounds of cat hair after steam-cleaning the carpets in the old house when Chris moved out.

So, I expect to see a lot of fur when vacuuming. However, while vacuuming the bedroom today, the vacuum sputtered a little bit and began to smell like burning ass. Alarmed, I switched it off and turned it over to see what could possibly be stuck in there. And sure enough, there was a massive clump of hair preventing the vacuum from spinning. But as I pulled and tugged, it turned out to be human hair. It turns out that over time, my wife sheds her weight in hair, as well! And it’s long enough and strong enough to mangle a Bissell!

Kirk and Boomer stayed up all night playing a new game that they have invented, which is a mix between “Tag” and “Wake the Humans.” Finally, at 5 AM, I plucked Kirk from the middle of a bite/lick/grapple-fest and took him downstairs with me, locking him in the guest room where I tried to sleep over his incessant begging to be returned to this wonder-game. This effectively separated the house along gender lines, with the ladies in the master bedroom upstairs (where I am told Boomer immediately got in the bed and went to sleep), and the boys in the guest bedroom downstairs. That’s how we roll at the White House: along gender lines. This makes it very difficult when an important vote comes up about women’s rights– we almost always tie, and sometimes they win when Kirk realizes who does the feeding. I’m all for women’s rights in general, but in the White House, “women’s rights” almost always means Ladybug has the right to make me vacuum or take out the trash and I have no right to protest.

Thus, I was tired and grumpy this morning, and if one can be said to be having a bad day before 8:05 AM, I would feel strongly that I qualify.