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I’d barely backed Little Miss Teeny Tiny into the driveway and opened her Teeny Tiny door when Cutter and Tug came barreling across the lawn and flung themselves at me.

Cutter was excitedly wagging and wriggling and impatiently licking my face and Tug was wriggling and wagging and worriedly waiting his turn.

Thank GOD you’re finally home, Cutter exclaimed between sloppy lick kisses.

He stopped briefly and looked over his shoulder. Tug whimpered and wriggled.

It’s been awful since you were gone, Cutter said, licking my face again. Awful, he said.

Tug wriggled and whimpered and looked worried some more.

Guys, I said, pushing Cutter away, giving Tug an opening to pounce. Stop, I said.

What was so bad?, I said.

Both dogs backed down and sat a few feet away, quivering.

You wouldn’t believe it, Cutter started. It was like we weren’t even there, he said.

Yeah, Tug said.

I’d bring the ball or the tug-rope to them and they’d just keep watching the big blank thing on the wall, Cutter said.

Awful, Tug said, terrrrrible.

So then, I’d sit in front of them and try to talk to them and they acted like I wasn’t even THERE, Cutter exclaimed.

Tug shook his head back and forth sorrowfully.

Cutter scratched behind his ear briefly, his rear leg pistoning, and then said, I’m just glad you’re home.

Tug nodded and panted.

Dudes, I said.

I’ve only been gone an hour, I said, I just had to run to Food Lion for dinner, I said, getting out of the car.

Hmmmph, Cutter said.

Hmmmph, Tug said.

Just then, my little brother came gliding out of the house to see if he could help me with anything. What’s going on? he asked.

Nothing, I said laughing, but it sounds like you’re a dickhead.

What a day.

I’m trying to think of reasons not to kill my driver ’cause the truck needs something else again.

Miss Carol comes home in a foul mood.

My little brother and his little cupcake stand in the driveway working out familial problems via iPhone conference call.

But.

The music washes quietly over everything, gently trying to assuage, to push back the roiling dark blackness. The music tries. But the black seeps into the evening roiling up against us and Tug and Cutter sit staring and wondering.

Miss Carol shrieks and storms.

And I bite down on fuck you, because fuck you leads down roads irretrievable.

So I try- fuck this.

And it seems to maybe work.

Old tile guys prolly would’a rocked back on their thinset smeared kneepads, pushed back their sweat-stained hats on their collective heads and said, boy-you are WAY over-thinking this.

And I was. Mostly ’cause I’m not a thinset smeared old tile guy so I gotta think things through. And through.

Tile, mostly because of it’s permanence is daunting to me. I lay it out, I re-measure and re-lay it out, I look at it from all available angles in all available lighting thinking about how long I’m gonna have to stare at it.

And then I re-lay it all out again.

This weekend my little brother and I poured the shower floors and then, on Sunday, Miss Carol and me laid out the kitchen counter tops. The tiles Miss Carol decided were her heart-throb must-haves are 12×24 big ‘ole homers so layout was even more crucial. As if.

We did it one way. Then we did it another. Then we stared at it and tried it another way.

Then we got dressed and looked at the tile.

Kidding.

Anyway. Long story short we finally got the countertop tiles laid out in a direction and combination that is both pleasing and prolly something we’ll be able to stare at for the rest of our lives.

My little brother and his little cupcake moved in with us a coupla months ago and honestly? things couldn’t be going better. We all get along, I don’t want to kill him and he doesn’t seem to want to kill me.  No rancor and lots of sharing.

It’s been fun. I think we’re actually gonna miss one another when we part ways again.

So it was funny to watch something develop the other night.

Of all of us, what with our differing schedules, Miss Carol always seems to be the one getting home last and latest. Cutter and Tug kinda, sorta, like me. But they loves, lurrrves, Miss Carol. They sit on the couch, staring out the window, impatiently waiting for Miss Carol’s car to round the corner. And when she does, they go wild.

So. Me and my little brother and his cupcake were having cocktails and waiting for Miss Carol when cupcake said, Watch this.

She turned slightly and whispered, is that Miss Carol?

Cutter and Tug went berserk, searching for her and her car. My little brother and his cupcake laughed and I thought, oh shit.

Some time and another cocktail passed and cupcake says softly- is that Miss Carol?

And the boys bolted into action again.

But this time when they came back in Cutter looked at cupcake and goes pfffffttttt. Tug lays down and glares at us.

Uh-oh.

Later on, after dinner, my little brother and his cupcake decide to go for a walk on the beach. She goes out to the florida room to put on her sandals and squeals- why are these wet?

They leave.

Dudes, I say.

Cutter goes pffffttt and Tug nuzzles him.

It was 115 degrees outside when it was time to walk the boys and they started up almost as soon as they got outside.

JESUS, MARY, AND JOSEPH, it’s motherfucking HOT out here, Cutter said.

Whew, Tug said.

A coupla tourons passing by on their way to more vacation fun glared at me like I was the one cussin’. I pointed at Cutter and Tug and they scowled at me.

It must be 200 degrees out here, Cutter said and Tug murmured, maybe 300.

It’s not that hot, I said.

Remind me why you do this to us every day? Cutter said sternly, looking back over his shoulder at me.

Tug just plodded along, looking forlorn.

‘Cause you guys have to poop and I can’t get you to poop in the toilet, I said.

Hmmm. What’s a toilet? Cutter said, panting theatrically.

Already anticipating it, waiting for it, I said, the big white thing you drink out of.

Cutter stopped dead in his tracks. Oh, for god’s sake, you want me to poop in my water dish?? he exclaimed. That’s just sick, he said. Isn’t there somebody I can call and report this to?

You don’t have fingers, I reminded him.

Fuck. It really sucks being a dog, he said.

Tug stopped suddenly and hunched and pushed.

Whew, he said, can we go home now?

We live at the beach and as such have a problem with parking. Mostly with people parking in our yard.

It happened again today, and before I could catch the whomever, Miss Carol and me were once again stuck with a stranger’s car in our yard. This happens a lot and I’d finally had enough so I called the police to have them ticket the stupid motherfucker.

But while I was talking to the dispatcher he told me that I could have the car towed and I started having a bad feeling about the whole thing.

I don’t like people parking in my yard, but I don’t want to ruin their whole day. Ya’ know?

So anyway.

A police officer on an ATV showed up and I walked out and met him and we talked and he agreed I could either have him ticket the vehicle, have the vehicle towed, or he could just write a warning.

He told me it was my choice so I opted for the warning ’cause I’m a turd.

Then while we were talking and comparing histories a sweat fly started buzzing his head.

If you don’t have these little fuckers say a thankeeverymuch. They’re extremely annoying, constantly buzzing your head, until they land and bite.

But they’re slow.

So while we were talking and while this annoyingly buzzy little fucker was buzzing around the police officer’s head, it landed.

I said, it’s on your head, do you want me to kill it?

And he said, please.

So I slapped a cop upside the head maybe a little harder than I meant to or maybe wanted to, and we both watched as the the little dead bug fluttered to the ground between us.

We looked up at each other and he grinned behind his RayBans and said,

I won’t call that assault.

Tug walked into my Me Only Room the other night and sat and sighed and said, I don’t feel so good, Boss.

And then he threw up on my foot.

Sorry, he said.

Dude, I said, squishing my toes around. Tug looked anywhere but at me.

I hopped out to the kitchen to get paper towels and clean it up and while I was doing that, Tug trundled out, spewing all over the living room carpet.

DUDE, I said, maybe a little more forcibly. I mean, c’mon, half our house is tile and he has to throw up on the carpet?

So I followed him around, cleaning up his dog vomit wondering how much dog vomit can one dog have?

When Miss Carol got home she went into hyper-mommy mode, wanting to know if he’d eaten (no), or pooped (uh,no) and then she stared at me with her oh-okay-I-get-it-you’re-one-of-THOSE-guys eyes and went to call the vet.

The vet agreed to see Tug so we went speeding through the streets to the vet with Tug laying in the back of Miss Carol’s Jeep and Cutter standing between us on high alert.

What a princess, Cutter muttered to me.

The vet looked at Tug and x-rayed him and poked and prodded and decided that Tug had a stomach virus and gave him a shot to stop his vomiting and told Miss Carol and me how to care for him for the next 48 hours.

And he’s fine. He came around and he’s eating again and humping Cutter.

So last night Miss Carol and me are sitting sipping a cocktail, just glad it’s over, relishing the moment, when Cutter came and sat down between us.

Ahem, um, I don’t feel so good, he said.

And threw up on the carpet.

I loves my music.

I listen to anything and everything and if it strikes a chord (see what I did there?) with me I’ll listen to it over and over and over again. I listen to music more than I listen to Miss Carol and that’s sayin’ something.

I loves my music.

So you can imagine my surprise and elation when I went out to the mailbox yesterday and found the Rolling Stone BIG issue nestling within. One of the BIG things my magazine cover promised was THE 10 NEW BANDS THAT WILL ROCK YOU IN 2012.

My hands shook with pre-coital excitement.

I cradled my Rolling Stone and took her inside. After a couple of cocktails, some quiet get-to-know-you conversation, and a candle-lit dinner with my little Rolling Stone, I took her into my Me Only Room to check her out and listen to her BIG 10.

Here’s what I found-

SLEIGH BELLS- I love the name. I really do. But even though I downloaded two songs-DOA and Road to Hell, I didn’t really like most of what I heard. Most of the songs sounded like variations of themselves. Hmmm. That, and he wears really dorky sunglasses and her nose is too pointy.

ALABAMA SHAKES- I was so glad to see them on Rolling Stones BIG list. I first heard them about a month ago and downloaded the entire album. (why are we still calling these bits and bytes albums?) They fucking rock. Grab a listen.

FUN.- Nope. Don’t get it. I like hip hop and rap but this is confused and trying too hard.

GRIMES- A tatted-up ex-ballerina is a little difficult to look at. She’s eerie. iTunes review says “she pushes the margin of this electronic subgenre”. I probably don’t know what that means, ’cause her music makes my teeth itch.

GOTYE- Can you make a career of remixes of one song? I don’t know. But it seems like Gotye is trying. I like Somebody That I Used To Know well enough, not well enough to choose which remix to download, but well enough.

DANNY BROWN- Sounds to me like just another punk ass rapper. He’s being hyped online for his hyper extremist shock rap, but honestly? It’s the same shit, different day. Listen to Snoop Dog or Cypress Hill or Rage Against the Machine instead.

CLOUD NOTHINGS- Are not too bad. They sound kinda like a really weak, gay, Green Day.

BEACH HOUSE- I kinda like this. Not enough yet to download anything yet, but I kinda like it. The music is the type that I imagine chicks listen to after they’ve been dumped. But it grows on you, or maybe clings to you. Give it a listen.

SHARON VAN ETTEN- Oh wait. Maybe this is what chicks listen to after they’ve been dumped.

WHITE RABBITS- Music for metrosexuals to floss and gloss by. Flippin’ awful unless you need music to floss and gloss by.

It’s an interesting mix that my Rolling Stone believes will rock me in 2012. She knows waaaay more than me but, honestly?, I wasn’t too crazy about the list.

At least Metallica was on the cover.