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I just really, really, really like saying "my godson." I am astonished at how many times I’ve already talked about how proud I am of my godson, how perfect he is, how he, at three days old, looks like he’s thinking at at LEAST a seven-day-old level.

I mean, really. With a fiddle-accordian-playing song-writing sailor for a mother, and godmothers like us, he’ll get his first tattoo by twelve. And it’ll be a GOOD one, too. We did offer to try some designs out last night with a Sharpie, but Joni just shook her head in what was probably exhaustion, but what we took as mild encouragement.

And at the risk of sending our mothers into joint tailspins of grandmotherly dreams, I have to share this picture of my godson and my girl.

Whoreshoe Joni has been very, very pregnant for a very, very long time. She’s been cute as hell and sexy as anything, too. She always has this hot stage presence that drives all the boys CRAZY, and that isn’t diminished by pregnancy. She kicks her boots, and her shirt doesn’t cover her belly, and the boys go crazier. I made her that sweater because she was pregnant and living on a boat, seen here (the sweater, not the boat):

I made her a wee matchy one for the baby, and she tried it on her belly for size the other night. It seemed to fit. (Made it up as I went along, sorry no notes — I tried to make it so that it would fit an 8 month old, so he can wear it this next winter…..)

    Horseshoe cable for the son of a whoreshoe.

    Anchor buttons for the son of a sailor

And the big news is that the baby is here! Dylan Allan. Hello, Dylan Allan! You’re very welcome. Lala went over to Joni’s house yesterday for hours and hours and hours and she was there for the birth! Can you imagine? She was one of the very first people to see him, ever. That’s cool. And guess what? We’re going to be godmothers! Fairy godmother Rachael. I like the sound of that.

In other news, unpacking continues. I lost Lala two days ago when she accidentally barricaded herself into her room while unpacking. I had to get in to help her move her couch and I had climb OVER that stuff in the door. I felt rather limber, doing it. I didn’t break anything, so that was good.

The animals are adjusting just fine.

Pardon the poor colors — the wall is green tea, not horrible teal-whatever-that-is, but the point is: The yarn room is unpacked! I have a writing space! I have a place where I can start addressing the wedding invites that should have gone out two weeks ago. Yipes. I have a floor again!

Home.

And THAT’S how I feel about THAT.

Good god. It’s March 1st, and I promised I wouldn’t worry about planning the wedding in great detail until today, giving myself a month to pull together both the wedding here, and the actual marriage in Vancouver. (Please, please don’t ask about the dress. Just don’t. Please. Must get that back out SOON.)

So now I need help. Anyone know anything about doing Vancouver on the cheap? We need a nice(ish) place to stay that’s not expensive.

Also, anyone been married there? I’m working on the wedding commissioner and witnesses now, but I’m still stumped over where people have the ceremony. Outside? In April? Hijack a park? Or does one go to City Hall? Anyone? Ask your gay Vancouverite friends, wouldja?

(This is such a specific question, and I just know that I’m going to be astonished by the answer. I know I’ve said it before, but having this blog is like having access to this vast pool of knowledge. Truly amazing.

I have many things to say, and I’m not sure that my brain cells will last long enough to get them all down. They’re running on reserve battery, and I know you feel me. Moving has a half-life of about forever. Every time you make that last trip, there’s still one more carload left behind. I helped Lala with her apartment tonight, and I feel badly that I was too tired to make more than one trip, but it just wasn’t safe for me to drive in this weather any more than that. My brain, after firing at high speed for twelve hours without a break (sat on the busy radio board at work today, and oh, my god, they worked me over), really feels like a sponge. I understand spongey brain matter. Squish. I think I can hear it.

And I have a couple of things to say about traffic and tailgaters (don’t I always?).

To the tailgaters of this world:

You are morons. All of you. What you don’t understand is that the more sensible of us drivers will actually increase the space between our cars and the car in front of us if you are on our ass. That way, and I know you’ve never thought of this, when you hit us at high speed because you WON’T BE ABLE TO STOP if you’re right behind us, at least we only get rear end damage because we’ve left enough damn space in front! Doesn’t that piss you off? Know what? We know it pisses you off. And the more you flash your brights at us for leaving space in front of us (still going at the exact same speed as the car in front of us, mind), we revel in your ridiculous fury.

And know what else? You know how you always feel like you just can’t pass, and that the whole world is against you? You know how you feel like the car in front of you and the car next to it JUST WON’T MOVE OVER, and you can’t get around, and it must be a conspiracy? It might be. We sensible drivers DO pace each other to block morons like you and piss you off more, from time to time. Yep. It’s fun, too. Back off, and we’ll be nice.

This is true in many things.

In other, happier news, the house is coming along. Lala is being a saint in accommodating my anal need for order in common areas, and I just adore her for it.

But. Heh. Ahem.

I have to tell you about this. We were driving down this hill, and saw a guy selling things on the sidewalk. You know us, we lurve sidewalk things, so we stopped. A nice guy named Fred was selling interesting antiques, and giving good prices to the locals. I found the strangest little silent butler, seen here:

It’s an ashtray. Three bucks. Yep. Your servant would hold this out to you to collect your ash, and it has a spinning wheel on it. Coolest thing ever, only why?

Then, we saw it. It was one of those "look at THAT" moments. I realized, in a matter of moments, that we were saying that phrase VERY differently.

Lala, reverentially, "Look at THAT…." Almost whispered.
Me, loudly and crudely, "Look at THAT!!!" Holy crap! WTF!?

She had to have it. I thought it would look quite fine in her room. But her room has no room, so it ended up here:

Wouldja look at that.

Somehow, I grew fond of it within the first two hours. It’s like if Lala owned the ugliest dog in the world (which she doesn’t, her dogs are gerjess). I would love it, because she loved it. But wow. (Aside: That dog? Sam? I love that dog. Somehow, I’m obssessed with him. I know he’s no longer with us, and that’s sad. He’s frikken cool.)

Also, we got the side table it’s resting on and the coffee table seen below for $20.

Camellias ours. From the front yard. Dude. We have lemons in the back. It’s good.

No internet yet at home, and I have only minutes left on my laptop here at the cafe but I had to drop in to tell you WE LOVE IT.

Also, living with Lala is cool. Yep. Good stuff.

Quick pics:

Strong Young Movers. Both Lala and I want to marry Josue, the head guy. Hot, handsome, nice, and funny — he’s the total package. And he carries them, too. Bless him and his crew.

Three animals in one place! We are surviving well with all the animals, only because darlings Kris and Jodi gave us that wonderful cat pheremone plug-in thing called Feliway — makes Digit almost mellow around the dogs. Amazing.

Home. Ahhhh.

New bed! Good sleep!

That tangerine wall suits us.

My old table, given to me by a friend a few years ago, looks perfect here. And swing! Outside!

Scarlet!

Thank you, for all your comments and love and kindnesses. (Dani, the bagels you sent us (from New York! The real thing!) have sustained us for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Literally.)

Internet soon! I hope!

Exhausted. Whew.

Okay! We’re moving tomorrow! It’s 10:18pm, and we painted all yesterday afternoon/evening (four rooms in six hours, whoo-hoo!) and Won-ju and I cleaned the house today, and I’ve been packing frantically all night, and the movers come at 9:30 tomorrow.

I hate moving. Have I mentioned that? Lala just pointed out that while she also hates moving (who doesn’t?), for her it’s just a pain in the ass. For me, it’s physically and emotionally upsetting. I hate it. I hate this feeling of things not being in their places. Completely stressed out. Bleah. It’s for the BEST reason in the world, and I can’t wait to move, and I’m overjoyed to have the chance, but I’m quite overwhelmed tonight.

Also, DSL will be off for a week, starting tomorrow, so I really will be MIA for at least a week. I’m packing the computer up now, and hopefully in the week that it’s put away, the discoloration on the screen from the glass of wine I spilled on it will go away. Sigh. (But it works just fine; god bless Apple.)

So here are a couple of pics to tide us over till then, eh?

The painting party. We went with yellow for the walls in the living room and two walls in the dining room (my choice) and one tangerine wall in the back of the dining room (Lala’s). It’s awesome. It was a little (read: a lot) alarming when I cracked the paint can, but I love it. Thank you Jodi and Kris, for the cake and the crack painting, Jenn, for the mammoth gift of the table, Geena, for the use of your truck, and Christy and Beth for hooting in the bathroom while you painted it scarlet. Many hands really DO make light work.

And thank you, Won-ju, for keeping me sane during the cleaning today.

Ta-da! The fabulous table and chairs were free, from a house that my realtor is selling for someone else, and my friend Jenn somehow got that enormously heavy table into the back of the truck by herself to bring it to me. Life is good.

And now I have to pack the bathroom. The kitchen is done, at least. I HATE packing the kitchen. I can’t wait to sleep. And I really can’t wait to sleep in our new house tomorrow.

MWAH!