Sigh...

This weekend was just one of those weekends that just never got on it's feet in a good way.

1.) I decided to visit my parents for the weekend to drop of some of my things in preparation for the big move at the end of August.

• But first I needed to clean the house because our land-lady started showing the house for potential future renters.
• But MORE first, Katherine and Peter left on Wednesday morning (5 a.m.) and didn't wind up cleaning before they left... so I cleaned the whole house.
• I left on Thursday night so that meant I cleaned all morning Wednesday before and between work and then again on Thursday morning before hopping on my bike to catch the bus at 9:10 a.m.

2.) I get all that done, pack up everything I'm going to take home and stack it neatly in the garage so that I can load it up easily and quickly (I even line up all the plants by the back door so that I can put them in and go).

3.) I remember the plants, Tic Tac, Monty, my giant thing of hot cocoa mix... even Peter's Wii which I totally "borrowed" for the weekend, but conveniently forgot everything I had stacked in the garage. Essentially, I made that whole trip for nothing (if my purpose is still to bring things home before the end of the month).

4.) I only realize this when I pull up and Mom says "Oh... is that it? Huh..."

5.) and I think "Damn... "

6.) We do things all weekend. Made a pie, at some pie, saw my grandparents, left TicTac, got a "you really should water plants, honey" talk and then watched some scary/beautiful/insane Olympic Opening Ceremony and loafed around the house.

7.) I packed up everything to leave today, did some homework (some being the operative word here) and then drove all the way back home after getting gas.

8.) Why is she continuing this list if she's just getting gas and going home? Well, I started driving and realized about 115 miles afterwards that I had forgotten all of the games for Peter's Wii at home. I KNEW that was going to happen. The very fact that I even THOUGHT about bringing the game system home guaranteed that I would leave something. And I did.

9.) Double damn.

10.) Now I'm entering into negotiations with my parents to send the games back up here via mail instead of having them wait until they come to help me move. Oh please?! Oh pretty pretty PLEASE?

The Place: My Room at 10:00 PM

I'm tired. Lastnight Jessie and I didn't get to sleep until about 3 (after a crraaazzyyy time at U-dorm... that's another story that isn't going to wind up on here) and then we woke up at 7-ish so that Jessie's rat Choxie could go in and get her new tumor removed. I walked home from the transit center before I was properly awake (I still had pillow marks on my face) and before I had foods. But then I got home and remedied that situation; I took a shower, got back on the bus, went to the Farmers Market, bought a hens-n-chicks plant and then came back to do some felting and quiet time with the windows open. It was quite lovely.

Then I watched My Neighbor Totoro. I watched it when I was little little, but I didn't remember an ounce of it. It's a great movie. At this point my eyes are glazed, and I'm tempted to sleep on the couch because my room seems so very far away. But I decide to let Monty out for a last minute romp while I get ready for bed. I had some clothes on my bed from sleeping over at Jessie's last night so I just pulled the jammy pants from the top of the pile and put them on. I start picking things up off the floor when I realized that the knee and hip of my pants are wet. That's odd. And then I thought, slower this time

"The knee of my pants IS WET!

NOOOOOOOOOO!"

It's dawned on me, and I wish it hadn't. I sweep the medley of clothes off my bed in horror. Monty, at some point, has seen fit to pee on my bed again. I rip off the blanket I had on top of everything: wet. The comforter lands in a heap in my doorway: wet. My top sheet: wet. My fitted sheet: wet. My mattress protector: wet. The cover on my down mattress pad: damp, but the down is fine.

Down Monty goes, straight back into his cage with no treats. I rip off my pants and throw them in the enormous pile of bedding in the hall. My summer sheets are out early, I have no comforter so I've hunted up all the blankets in the house and piled them on my bed. At least he missed the pillows. I still can't believe that after a good streak, he chooses tonight to do that. Plus I'm pretty sure it's been there since I made dinner when I had to go check my burbling soup, leaving him to his own devices for FIVE MINUTES.

Naughty bunny.

Oh Monty....

We were so peaceful, you an I. I was scratching your tummy, my paint-by-number on my lap listening to NPR's podcast of the SXSW preview. You were happily grunting to yourself until, that is, you decided to get up and wreak havoc on my room.

The calm before the storm.
The aftermath.

I had carefully set my film canister lid full of paint, carefully mixed from the different containers in precise ratios, on my floor. You then decided to walk right through it. I didn't realize what had happened until I notice your attractively pink trail, wandering through my room. In a blind panic I grabbed for you.

But no, you sir are to quick for me.

With a great THUMP you launch yourself away from me by slamming your paint-laden feet into my stomach. My eyes bulge as I watch you sail through the air, free with your pink toes. With blinding speed a shoot after you and catch you in mid-air. It's true, you may be a ninja-bunny, but I'm the master. You scrabble at my arms, leaving behind sweeping pink smears up my sleeves.

Now you sit in your cage, convinced that I'm after you for no good reason, unaware that your feet contain damning pink paint that now decorates my oatmeal colored carpet. My hands are pink, my shirt, I think, is irrevocably Montied and somehow my left eyebrow is also pink and all I can do is sit here and laugh every time I look at my carpet.

The stain remover has taken care of the mess, but the look on your face as I suddenly tackled you is imprinted in my memory forever.