Friday, November 30, 2007
The Prayers of Heathens
TTHFCIF
I've told y'all the story of how I couldn't knit after my mom died. I couldn't even knit when she was in the process of dying. For, oh, nine months or so, I'd pick something† up, knit a couple of stitches, go "meh," and put it down.
[SUMMARY: When good therapy goes bad...]
When I heard a childhood friend was fighting cancer, I decided it was excellent motivation to knit something and finish it. A prayer shawl seemed an appropriate choice, so I purchased some fuzzy suri alpaca from Knit Picks in a cheery blueberry shade and set to work on a simple garter stitch lap blanket on great big needles.
My hands had grown unused to the motions, but I quickly fell into the groove. As its lacy, haloed drape grew, I slipped into the meditative state that can come from gentle repetition.
[SUMMARY: It's the new yoga! *ducking*]
Nancy's condition worsened and I stepped up my efforts.
I finished the prayer shawl. The next day, I got the email she'd died.
[SUMMARY: Timing is everything.%]
The sense of failure was... immense.
Then came the news that Annie's husband's‡ mother had been diagnosed with a cancer of the immune system and she would be starting treatment soon. I felt a little surge of joy§ and sent the prayer shawl to her.
I got a very nice thank you note.
Isn't it funny how one can assume no news is good news?
[SUMMARY: "Never make an assumption. It makes an ass out of you and umption."¶]
I didn't hear anything more until this Wednesday at Book Club. Annie tells me Hector's mom is deteriorating.#
I'm sad to hear this. I believe I only met her once, but I have a soft spot for sick mothers and I certainly feel for Hector.
But I also have a wildly inappropriate desire to giggle over the Prayer Shawl of Doom. It's pretty clear to me my knitting kills people. I monologued a short play for Dad last night:
"Charles Manson, for crimes against the state and your fellow man, I hereby sentence you to be swaddled by the Prayer Shawl of Doom until dead. May God have mercy on your soul."
[SUMMARY: Oh, why did I choose to use my power of knitting for evil instead of good?]
The moral of this story: never let a heathen pray for you. It confuses the heathen and angers the gods.
Off to San Diego tomorrow, back on Monday, Houston on Tuesday, back on Sunday. Pray for me.††
If you're not a heathen, I mean.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Dad's rainbow socks. It took more than a year to finish the rainbow socks. Then some bimbo he met off Match.com looked at his feet one day and snarked, "Do you have another pair just like them at home?" He explained they were lovingly hand-knit by his daughter, she expressed the sentiment to him that she couldn't believe he'd go out dressed like that and he subsequently expressed the sentiment to me, "I believe that's about over."
Bless the man who puts hand-knit socks above sartorial splendour.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Speaking of timing... did I mention only 24 knitting days left until Christmas?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Hector. Not his real name. Not because I'm trying to protect his anonymity, but because I've lost track of what they call him at home. He's a man of many names.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Not because she was in medical straits, you ghouls, but because the prayer shawl could go to some use.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Jeff Berry, 2007. Jeff and I may be the only two people in the world who actually think that's funny.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Annie also tells me she loves the blanket/shawl and wears it all the time. In all seriousness, that warms my heart beyond the telling of it. How much greater glory can simple craft achieve?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And maybe throw in a kind word for Hector's mom while you're at it. Heck, if you only have time for one prayer, make it Hector's mom.
I've told y'all the story of how I couldn't knit after my mom died. I couldn't even knit when she was in the process of dying. For, oh, nine months or so, I'd pick something† up, knit a couple of stitches, go "meh," and put it down.
[SUMMARY: When good therapy goes bad...]
When I heard a childhood friend was fighting cancer, I decided it was excellent motivation to knit something and finish it. A prayer shawl seemed an appropriate choice, so I purchased some fuzzy suri alpaca from Knit Picks in a cheery blueberry shade and set to work on a simple garter stitch lap blanket on great big needles.
My hands had grown unused to the motions, but I quickly fell into the groove. As its lacy, haloed drape grew, I slipped into the meditative state that can come from gentle repetition.
[SUMMARY: It's the new yoga! *ducking*]
Nancy's condition worsened and I stepped up my efforts.
I finished the prayer shawl. The next day, I got the email she'd died.
[SUMMARY: Timing is everything.%]
The sense of failure was... immense.
Then came the news that Annie's husband's‡ mother had been diagnosed with a cancer of the immune system and she would be starting treatment soon. I felt a little surge of joy§ and sent the prayer shawl to her.
I got a very nice thank you note.
Isn't it funny how one can assume no news is good news?
[SUMMARY: "Never make an assumption. It makes an ass out of you and umption."¶]
I didn't hear anything more until this Wednesday at Book Club. Annie tells me Hector's mom is deteriorating.#
I'm sad to hear this. I believe I only met her once, but I have a soft spot for sick mothers and I certainly feel for Hector.
But I also have a wildly inappropriate desire to giggle over the Prayer Shawl of Doom. It's pretty clear to me my knitting kills people. I monologued a short play for Dad last night:
"Charles Manson, for crimes against the state and your fellow man, I hereby sentence you to be swaddled by the Prayer Shawl of Doom until dead. May God have mercy on your soul."
[SUMMARY: Oh, why did I choose to use my power of knitting for evil instead of good?]
The moral of this story: never let a heathen pray for you. It confuses the heathen and angers the gods.
Off to San Diego tomorrow, back on Monday, Houston on Tuesday, back on Sunday. Pray for me.††
If you're not a heathen, I mean.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Dad's rainbow socks. It took more than a year to finish the rainbow socks. Then some bimbo he met off Match.com looked at his feet one day and snarked, "Do you have another pair just like them at home?" He explained they were lovingly hand-knit by his daughter, she expressed the sentiment to him that she couldn't believe he'd go out dressed like that and he subsequently expressed the sentiment to me, "I believe that's about over."
Bless the man who puts hand-knit socks above sartorial splendour.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Speaking of timing... did I mention only 24 knitting days left until Christmas?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Hector. Not his real name. Not because I'm trying to protect his anonymity, but because I've lost track of what they call him at home. He's a man of many names.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Not because she was in medical straits, you ghouls, but because the prayer shawl could go to some use.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Jeff Berry, 2007. Jeff and I may be the only two people in the world who actually think that's funny.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Annie also tells me she loves the blanket/shawl and wears it all the time. In all seriousness, that warms my heart beyond the telling of it. How much greater glory can simple craft achieve?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And maybe throw in a kind word for Hector's mom while you're at it. Heck, if you only have time for one prayer, make it Hector's mom.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Lunch:
The Book Club that Changed the World† has book showers for mothers-to-be.‡ We are feting our second adoptive child tonight. A trip to Barnes & Noble at lunch was... inevitable.
And, for once, totally justifiable. Even to, say, Brother.
Of course, Brother might not be quite so behind my auxilliary purchase, but y'all can back me up.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Yes, that's the name. From one of the most reviled books in our book club history, The Map That Changed the World. I chose it, I liked it, but it did lead to the "no geology books" rule, which we've managed to stick to far better than the "no Oprah books" rule.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): A brilliant idea, elegant in its simplicity, dreamt up by my late, great mother.
And, for once, totally justifiable. Even to, say, Brother.
Of course, Brother might not be quite so behind my auxilliary purchase, but y'all can back me up.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Yes, that's the name. From one of the most reviled books in our book club history, The Map That Changed the World. I chose it, I liked it, but it did lead to the "no geology books" rule, which we've managed to stick to far better than the "no Oprah books" rule.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): A brilliant idea, elegant in its simplicity, dreamt up by my late, great mother.
Taking the Time
No, seriously. That's what Lizard Ridge is doing to for me: taking my time.
I still love it. It's still utterly fascinating to watch the colours mix and blend and emerge from each other.†
I still get a little tingle of pride every time I successfully count to eight.‡
[SUMMARY: Lizard Ridge: helping knitters help themselves.]
Blocking kinda sucks,§ though it's magic, so worth the suckitude.
Blocking wires, which I thought would be a miracle cure for all my blocking woes, still require an assload of T pins. Fortunately, I am now the proud owner of an assload of T pins.
The cat wants to eat my entire assload of T pins, so a certain amount of camouflage¶ is needed.
[SUMMARY: There's a reason Brother calls him "dummy."]
ETA: I have finished three out of four strips, and 4.125 out of six blocks on the last strip. For those of you looking for statistics, that's 92.1875%* done. Close... so close.
I have for you a Ravelry love story, in the key of small world.%
On the Downtown Denver Stitch 'n' Bitch group, I "met" Angelique, who, having read I live mere blocks from Posh, a Yarn Boutique,^ said, "You must live pretty close to me. I live in the old Elitch's."
"Why... I live in the old Elitch's! You should come to Drunk Knitting night on Tuesday!"
And she did. So I met her without quotation marks.
We also found she's met my cousin, Tani, as they were the first two to move into their phase of the row homes as the little development was being built.
She's very funny and bright and didn't seem at all put out with the raucous and irreverent nature of our little clan.
Plus, she's a roadie for bands, so it really helps my Six Degrees of Separation quotient.
[SUMMARY: I'm coming for you, Kevin Bacon.]
In other news, I have entered# the Dolores Look-Alike Contest over at The Panopticon. Hey, there's ELEVEN skeins of Lorna's Laces, some Blue Bunny and Rabbitch fibres and all that glory and prestige on the line.
Besides, being a hopelessly straight girl, the closest I may ever come to the nervy, nauseating elation of coming out to one's family was answering -- when asked what happened to my hair -- "Dad, I just need to look as much like a cartoon sheep as possible."
Ah, if only Dad could see me in my faux sheepskin robe,†† lipstick-encrusted martini glass in hand, weaving the mesmerising Dolores fairy tale of Henry Kissinger backstage at the Met.
[SUMMARY: Welcome to my world. You may want to hold your breath and close your eyes.]
Never have so many chins given so much to a single cause.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And I'd probably be done right now if I didn't spend a half-hour every single night tripping on all the pretty colours.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): That's four... times TWO!
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Nearly two hours for the first strip, and it was totally wonky and had to be redone. Mostly because that was before I discovered the Assload of T Pins Solution. Patent pending.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I threw a sheet over it. Hey, when your brain's the size of a walnut, camouflage is kinda relative.
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Oh, yes I did. That's 1/8 (.125) of a block plus four blocks out of six blocks out of 1/4 of the whole... let's see... ought plus ought, carry the ought... yep. 92.1875%. Not bad for someone who can't count to four, can I get a whut-whut!
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Not the Disney ride. Some people are scared of clowns (see yesterday's post). I find the insipid cultural diversity kids creepy.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): a/k/a Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I had to break off right there to go actually send the picture so's I wouldn't be lying. Truth in journalism and all that.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): With leopard-print lapels!
I still love it. It's still utterly fascinating to watch the colours mix and blend and emerge from each other.†
I still get a little tingle of pride every time I successfully count to eight.‡
[SUMMARY: Lizard Ridge: helping knitters help themselves.]
Blocking kinda sucks,§ though it's magic, so worth the suckitude.
Blocking wires, which I thought would be a miracle cure for all my blocking woes, still require an assload of T pins. Fortunately, I am now the proud owner of an assload of T pins.
The cat wants to eat my entire assload of T pins, so a certain amount of camouflage¶ is needed.
[SUMMARY: There's a reason Brother calls him "dummy."]
ETA: I have finished three out of four strips, and 4.125 out of six blocks on the last strip. For those of you looking for statistics, that's 92.1875%* done. Close... so close.
I have for you a Ravelry love story, in the key of small world.%
On the Downtown Denver Stitch 'n' Bitch group, I "met" Angelique, who, having read I live mere blocks from Posh, a Yarn Boutique,^ said, "You must live pretty close to me. I live in the old Elitch's."
"Why... I live in the old Elitch's! You should come to Drunk Knitting night on Tuesday!"
And she did. So I met her without quotation marks.
We also found she's met my cousin, Tani, as they were the first two to move into their phase of the row homes as the little development was being built.
She's very funny and bright and didn't seem at all put out with the raucous and irreverent nature of our little clan.
Plus, she's a roadie for bands, so it really helps my Six Degrees of Separation quotient.
[SUMMARY: I'm coming for you, Kevin Bacon.]
In other news, I have entered# the Dolores Look-Alike Contest over at The Panopticon. Hey, there's ELEVEN skeins of Lorna's Laces, some Blue Bunny and Rabbitch fibres and all that glory and prestige on the line.
Besides, being a hopelessly straight girl, the closest I may ever come to the nervy, nauseating elation of coming out to one's family was answering -- when asked what happened to my hair -- "Dad, I just need to look as much like a cartoon sheep as possible."
Ah, if only Dad could see me in my faux sheepskin robe,†† lipstick-encrusted martini glass in hand, weaving the mesmerising Dolores fairy tale of Henry Kissinger backstage at the Met.
[SUMMARY: Welcome to my world. You may want to hold your breath and close your eyes.]
Never have so many chins given so much to a single cause.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And I'd probably be done right now if I didn't spend a half-hour every single night tripping on all the pretty colours.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): That's four... times TWO!
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Nearly two hours for the first strip, and it was totally wonky and had to be redone. Mostly because that was before I discovered the Assload of T Pins Solution. Patent pending.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I threw a sheet over it. Hey, when your brain's the size of a walnut, camouflage is kinda relative.
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Oh, yes I did. That's 1/8 (.125) of a block plus four blocks out of six blocks out of 1/4 of the whole... let's see... ought plus ought, carry the ought... yep. 92.1875%. Not bad for someone who can't count to four, can I get a whut-whut!
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Not the Disney ride. Some people are scared of clowns (see yesterday's post). I find the insipid cultural diversity kids creepy.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): a/k/a Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I had to break off right there to go actually send the picture so's I wouldn't be lying. Truth in journalism and all that.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): With leopard-print lapels!
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
MNF Postgame
(paraphrasing)
Sal Paolantonio: ...he had great stick to his balls...
Steve Young: ...and great pocket play...
I am not making this up.
Sal Paolantonio: ...he had great stick to his balls...
Steve Young: ...and great pocket play...
I am not making this up.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Sure, I'll Play
So I came back from the mostly blogless (blog free?) holiday weekend to find I'd been complimented mightily over at Kim's Place. (Thanks, Kim! And not just for the pictures of Hugh Laurie!)
I am now passing it on, keeping in mind that a few people who really do make me smile either don't have blogs (Bag Lady Kathryn, Genius Sarah, et al), don't seem inclined to play reindeer games (Enchanting Juno, Grumperina, et al) or, like Anthony Trujillo in the fifth grade, don't know I'm alive (Yarn Harlot, Crazy Aunt Purl, et many al).
So my five people who make me smile and have at least passing AntiM knowledge, are:
First Among Imaginary Kellys -- for humour, big heart and a daughter named Maren.
The Pollyannas -- for faith, viewpoint and comforting devotion to Terry Pratchett.
Sarah -- whose blogquotes and dogs make me as happy as her charming self.
Ally -- who makes me laugh, makes me jealous, never lets me off the hook and I believe secretly likes me (and not just in hopes of getting a cashmere vibrator cosy).
Pam -- who writes great letters and has WAY more yarn than I do, which I totally respect.
Now you five are supposed to share the love with five of your closest blog buddies.
p.s. -- The rest of y'all make me smile, too. Anyone over there in the sidebar wouldn't be there if you didn't make me smile.
p.p.s. -- did anybody see The Hogfather movie on the religious channel last night?
I am now passing it on, keeping in mind that a few people who really do make me smile either don't have blogs (Bag Lady Kathryn, Genius Sarah, et al), don't seem inclined to play reindeer games (Enchanting Juno, Grumperina, et al) or, like Anthony Trujillo in the fifth grade, don't know I'm alive (Yarn Harlot, Crazy Aunt Purl, et many al).
So my five people who make me smile and have at least passing AntiM knowledge, are:
First Among Imaginary Kellys -- for humour, big heart and a daughter named Maren.
The Pollyannas -- for faith, viewpoint and comforting devotion to Terry Pratchett.
Sarah -- whose blogquotes and dogs make me as happy as her charming self.
Ally -- who makes me laugh, makes me jealous, never lets me off the hook and I believe secretly likes me (and not just in hopes of getting a cashmere vibrator cosy).
Pam -- who writes great letters and has WAY more yarn than I do, which I totally respect.
Now you five are supposed to share the love with five of your closest blog buddies.
p.s. -- The rest of y'all make me smile, too. Anyone over there in the sidebar wouldn't be there if you didn't make me smile.
p.p.s. -- did anybody see The Hogfather movie on the religious channel last night?
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Thanksgiving
Mom and Dad were married on Thanksgiving.
Dad was delighted because he knew he'd never be one of those husbands who forgot the anniversary. After all, they were married on a major holiday.
Let it sink in.
It'll get funny.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Speaking of Holiduhs...
...it's back.
The Big Duh Holiday Sales Event.
Sit back and enjoy the music.
Oh! What's that? Look closely... you can get RINGTONES!
How duh is that?
The Big Duh Holiday Sales Event.
Sit back and enjoy the music.
Oh! What's that? Look closely... you can get RINGTONES!
How duh is that?
Putting the Duh Back in Holiduhs
For the last week or so, I feel like people are correcting me every time I open my mouth.†
Now, I'm not a particularly competitive person. And I'm too big a dork to evince a big ego. But after the 27th correction,‡ I start to become defensive. I usually won't actually defend myself, but I get irritated.
And I get competitive, as in I try to stump the corrector with frequently unrelated knowledge just to get back the points I lost in the correction.
And paranoid: what fresh correction will be around the next corner? Will I be able to keep from throttling the next person who tells me something like, "You do your shoes wrong. If you laced your shoes OVER the grommets, you'll be so much healthier and happier and also money will come to you within three weeks."?
So with all the nice people out for my own good of late, why didn't anyone tell me not to drink that last glass§ of champagne Sunday?
Y'all just wanted to watch the funny Marin circus, didn't you?
[SUMMARY: Vultures!]
OK. I get that. I'd probably have done the sameto for you.
Before we get too deep into the holiday season, let me take this moment for a public service announcement:
Champagne on an empty stomach can be brutal.
You're welcome.
The 20th Annual Champagne Cascade at the Brown Palace was a benefit for the Colorado Ballet.
I tried to snap a picture of the wandering dance-urchins as they flitted amidst the crowd, but missed. They got down to the end of the balcony, had a little urchin conference and decided to come back to me.
"Hello, miss,¶ we're from the Colorado Ballet's production of The Nutcracker." And they *curtsied*.
So I asked if I could take a proper picture and they complied. That girl in the front left was very outgoing. She's eleven and she's been dancing since she was four.
They were so cute and sweet they made my ovaries ache.
Here is the tower of glasses, ready for the pouring.
Champagne and flowers on the dais.
The chandelier, unlit.
I took a movie of Marcel Pitton% pouring the champagne. It wouldn't load. Also, it was disappointing. He just poured a ceremonial splash of champagne so it cascaded from the first glass to the second level of glasses and stopped.
The disembodied voice from the loudspeaker told us if he'd poured the whole cascade, we'd be there until Thanksgiving. Most of us would have been willing to hang in for that.
Look closely. There's champagne in one of them thar glasses.
Artsy flash version.
After the "cascade," the chandelier was lit.
And a couple of scenes of The Nutcracker were performed.
We made some new friends, who only encouraged us in the drinking of champagne.
Toby and Jonathan
...with Toby's sister, Janet#
And Janetice's boyfriend, Dari (blue and white shirt -- I don't know if I'm spelling that right. Sorry, Dari!) and Isaac (suit and tie), a champagne waiter Toby and Jonathan know. And, y'know... Kelley and Marin.
[SUMMARY: Friends good. Friends with champagne, better.]
A little side note: I generally get out of the shower, put some petroleum product in my hair, then leave it as much the heck alone as I can. The less I mess with it, the less the fuzzy. Consequently, I find myself at 3:00 some afternoons, washing my hands in the bathroom, looking up to realise... I haven't looked in a mirror all day.
This was one of those days.
If ever you see me out with my hair like this, would you please take me aside and gently push me in the direction of a mirror?
There's photographic evidence here, people. Anthropologists of the future may take my hair as a symptom of our society and you don't want that.
Ooooh... do you think I'll get a name? Like Lucy?
[SUMMARY: I put way too much stock in the power of hair.]
Anyway...
Kelley called The Boy when we got to the Coral.
Shiny, happy people
And an hour later, I was lying in the middle of my living room floor saying, "I just want to be NORMAL..."
And now you're all caught up on Sunday.
You're welcome.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): We are NOT back to the spit or swallow thing. My brother will thank me.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Some warranted, some not so much, some just plain wrong.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Maybe last glasses. Maybe the last three. Or four. I lost count anyway.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Seriously.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): You remember Marcel. From the spa anniversary?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Or maybe Janice.
Now, I'm not a particularly competitive person. And I'm too big a dork to evince a big ego. But after the 27th correction,‡ I start to become defensive. I usually won't actually defend myself, but I get irritated.
And I get competitive, as in I try to stump the corrector with frequently unrelated knowledge just to get back the points I lost in the correction.
And paranoid: what fresh correction will be around the next corner? Will I be able to keep from throttling the next person who tells me something like, "You do your shoes wrong. If you laced your shoes OVER the grommets, you'll be so much healthier and happier and also money will come to you within three weeks."?
So with all the nice people out for my own good of late, why didn't anyone tell me not to drink that last glass§ of champagne Sunday?
Y'all just wanted to watch the funny Marin circus, didn't you?
[SUMMARY: Vultures!]
OK. I get that. I'd probably have done the same
Before we get too deep into the holiday season, let me take this moment for a public service announcement:
Champagne on an empty stomach can be brutal.
You're welcome.
The 20th Annual Champagne Cascade at the Brown Palace was a benefit for the Colorado Ballet.
I tried to snap a picture of the wandering dance-urchins as they flitted amidst the crowd, but missed. They got down to the end of the balcony, had a little urchin conference and decided to come back to me.
"Hello, miss,¶ we're from the Colorado Ballet's production of The Nutcracker." And they *curtsied*.
So I asked if I could take a proper picture and they complied. That girl in the front left was very outgoing. She's eleven and she's been dancing since she was four.
They were so cute and sweet they made my ovaries ache.
Here is the tower of glasses, ready for the pouring.
Champagne and flowers on the dais.
The chandelier, unlit.
I took a movie of Marcel Pitton% pouring the champagne. It wouldn't load. Also, it was disappointing. He just poured a ceremonial splash of champagne so it cascaded from the first glass to the second level of glasses and stopped.
The disembodied voice from the loudspeaker told us if he'd poured the whole cascade, we'd be there until Thanksgiving. Most of us would have been willing to hang in for that.
Look closely. There's champagne in one of them thar glasses.
Artsy flash version.
After the "cascade," the chandelier was lit.
And a couple of scenes of The Nutcracker were performed.
We made some new friends, who only encouraged us in the drinking of champagne.
Toby and Jonathan
...with Toby's sister, Janet#
And Janetice's boyfriend, Dari (blue and white shirt -- I don't know if I'm spelling that right. Sorry, Dari!) and Isaac (suit and tie), a champagne waiter Toby and Jonathan know. And, y'know... Kelley and Marin.
[SUMMARY: Friends good. Friends with champagne, better.]
A little side note: I generally get out of the shower, put some petroleum product in my hair, then leave it as much the heck alone as I can. The less I mess with it, the less the fuzzy. Consequently, I find myself at 3:00 some afternoons, washing my hands in the bathroom, looking up to realise... I haven't looked in a mirror all day.
This was one of those days.
If ever you see me out with my hair like this, would you please take me aside and gently push me in the direction of a mirror?
There's photographic evidence here, people. Anthropologists of the future may take my hair as a symptom of our society and you don't want that.
Ooooh... do you think I'll get a name? Like Lucy?
[SUMMARY: I put way too much stock in the power of hair.]
Anyway...
Kelley called The Boy when we got to the Coral.
Shiny, happy people
And an hour later, I was lying in the middle of my living room floor saying, "I just want to be NORMAL..."
And now you're all caught up on Sunday.
You're welcome.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): We are NOT back to the spit or swallow thing. My brother will thank me.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Some warranted, some not so much, some just plain wrong.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Maybe last glasses. Maybe the last three. Or four. I lost count anyway.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Seriously.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): You remember Marcel. From the spa anniversary?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Or maybe Janice.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Celestial Seasonings...
...Cinnamon Apple Spice Herb Tea tastes like tequila. Watery tequila, but tequila nonetheless.
Heh.
Teaquila.
Heh.
Teaquila.
Genius Sarah...
...she knits, she drinks.
OK, she makes a hell of a pumpkin bread too, but for our purposes here today, she knits, she drinks.
Sarah looks at a lace pattern and says, "I don't think Row 17 is right. Here, look at this. What do you think?"†
Sarah executed the most spectacular graft on a lace shrug... it was invisible. A thing of surpassing beauty.
I did once see Sarah turn a heel, try the sock on and find the heel was sticking out of her ankle, but it only served to humanise her.
Anyway, it was Sarah's influence and connection% that led us to mingle with the pretty people in a trendy, trendy gallery, tasting pinot noir under the auspices of The Bacchanalian Society of Denver and charity work.^
We tasted so much pinot noir for so long... well, we *started* with good technique and thoughtful commentary:
"Good legs, the colour is excellent. The bouquet... grass? Definitely fresh and green."
*swish* *sip*‡
"You can taste the grass in the finish. It starts with banana, but it's a little smoky."
After an hour, our most elegant thought was, "Bad bad bad bad bad. Just just just bad. Give it a zero... no! Bad! It's bad! Give it a negative one! Was that number 68 or 86?"
[SUMMARY: In vino devistatus.]
Our team... Kate and Genius Sarah
Did I mention it was a competition?
Each team brought three bottles (all the same) of a pinot noir. Two bottles from each team were brown-bagged, assigned a number and placed on tables. We had sheets with numbered spaces to write down our impression of each wine we tasted and rate it on a scale of one to five.§
At the end of the night, we were to put our favourite and least favourite on a card. The team with the best wine, as voted by the somewhat inebriated constituents, would take all those third bottles home.
Except the worst wine. The team with the most votes for least favourite¶ was to take their own bad bottle home.
We got there and signed in and partook of the "starter wines" at the buffet table. There was bread and cheese and veggies and such.
Perhaps we should have partook of more bread and cheese and less starter wine.
[SUMMARY: Hindsight.]
Anyway, at 6:30-ish, they started the speeches. Seven of them. One guy spoke twice.
One thing I might tell the committee is that seven speeches is too many.
Also, that they could have done the speeches during the mingle hour and just let us taste the damned wine at the appointed damned wine tasting time.
Also, that starter wines might not be a good idea if you're going to give people an hour's head start.
[SUMMARY: Monday morning quarterback. Speaking of,# you can't Monday morning quarterback Jay Cutler this week. He was just too good last night. But I digress...]
Pretty people with starter wines
I'm pretty sure this was a networking exercise for most of these folks
Anyway...
There were seven or eight tables and each table had two bottles each of ten or twelve wines.
Don't try the math. It will make your eyes bleed.
Now, if I were to tell the committee something else, it would be that palate cleansers, for both the mouth and nose, should be on every table.
Also, there should be water available for rinsing glasses.
And drinking.
[SUMMARY: Oops, I did it again.]
Dave
You may wonder why I have a picture of Dave here. Dave is a regular for brunch at the Coral. It was kind of odd to see him out of context. We smiled, nodded, said hello... and a little while later, Dave said, "Hey, every time I see you, you have a glass in your hand. Do you have a drinking problem?"
"Dave, I have no problem whatsoever drinking."
Oh, how we laughed.
Anyway...
After umpteen sips of wine with thoughtful commentary, we started to devolve to "Wine bad. Lights pretty."
If I were going to tell the committee one more thing, it would be that 80 wines to taste is simply too many. Both from a quality-of-tasting standpoint and a drunk-off-my-ass-one-sip-at-a-time standpoint.
[SUMMARY: I have no solutions, only problems.]
See? One sip at a time...
Anyway...
Adam joined us and asked which wines we liked and didn't like. Funny story, that.
"Fifty!" we shouted, in chorus. "Fifty is AWFUL!"
I showed him the sheet where we'd†† written "Bad bad bad bad bad!" and given wine number 50 a negative one.
"Really?" he said. "That bad?"
"Oh, yeah. Awful. Swill. Gross. Bad bad bad bad bad," I pointed at our cheat sheet to punctuate the horror that was wine number 50.
We left shortly thereafter, off to The Hornet for to soak up some wine. On our way out, Adam said, "Do you guys know which bottle was yours?"
"56?"
"Close."‡‡
Oh, yeah. We brought the swill.
[SUMMARY: Justice is blind. So is an amateur sommelier.§§]
Adam laughed at us because we all rated our wine the worst.
Funny thing,¶¶ I just looked at the results, and our wine got six votes for favourite. Guess how many for least favourite?
Yep.
Three.
[SUMMARY: Three is a number I can count to.]
Tomorrow, the Brown Palace Champagne Cascade. Many pictures. Stay tuned!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And I, who can't count to four, look at the pattern and go, "Huh." I know I'm slurping Sarah pretty hard here, but it's a good opportunity to pay homage to the genius that is Sarah and also say nice things about the person who sat next to me for just about every game of the baseball postseason.
Let us not talk of the baseball postseason again.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Most specifically her brother, Adam, who is very cute and very personable and I can't believe I didn't get a picture of him. He might have popped up after pinot number 38 when I was waving the camera in the air hoping to catch good pictures like flies in a spider web.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Please... drinking for charity? This is a concept I can so get behind. If anybody hears about a Boinking Without Borders event, let me know.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): They had the owner of a chi-chi wine store (Paul, nice guy, asked my opinion, Paul is my new best friend) go over the proper protocol for wine tasting, being the four S's, which I think were see, swirl, smell and sip. Can you see where this is going?
I turned to Sarah and said, "They forgot the most important S."
"What?"
"Spit or swallow."
Oh, how we laughed.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): It should perhaps be noted that at one point, I was deemed the responsible secretary of the group, as both Sarah and Kate had lost their sheets. It should also be noted I used a one to ten scale. With decimals. Pretty fancy for someone who can't count to four, huh?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): "...most votes... least favourite..." Did anybody else just get dizzy?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And, Allie, I love your boy Emmett, but last night he told Steve Young and Stuart Scott not to count out the Houstan Texans, as they are still a "fordable" team. I rewound it three times to be sure. I know he meant "formidable," but I'm pretty sure he ended up saying they're shallow and easy to get around.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And by "we," I mean "I."
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): You could play the theme from Jaws here. It would not be inappropriate.
§§FOOTNOTE (sssssssssssssss): Let's say, for my sake, that was clever. Yeah, I don't know what it means either. Apparently is better to sound good than to make sense, darling.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (pppppppppppp): That's a lot of funny things, isn't it? It's a funny ol' world.
OK, she makes a hell of a pumpkin bread too, but for our purposes here today, she knits, she drinks.
Sarah looks at a lace pattern and says, "I don't think Row 17 is right. Here, look at this. What do you think?"†
Sarah executed the most spectacular graft on a lace shrug... it was invisible. A thing of surpassing beauty.
I did once see Sarah turn a heel, try the sock on and find the heel was sticking out of her ankle, but it only served to humanise her.
Anyway, it was Sarah's influence and connection% that led us to mingle with the pretty people in a trendy, trendy gallery, tasting pinot noir under the auspices of The Bacchanalian Society of Denver and charity work.^
We tasted so much pinot noir for so long... well, we *started* with good technique and thoughtful commentary:
"Good legs, the colour is excellent. The bouquet... grass? Definitely fresh and green."
*swish* *sip*‡
"You can taste the grass in the finish. It starts with banana, but it's a little smoky."
After an hour, our most elegant thought was, "Bad bad bad bad bad. Just just just bad. Give it a zero... no! Bad! It's bad! Give it a negative one! Was that number 68 or 86?"
[SUMMARY: In vino devistatus.]
Our team... Kate and Genius Sarah
Did I mention it was a competition?
Each team brought three bottles (all the same) of a pinot noir. Two bottles from each team were brown-bagged, assigned a number and placed on tables. We had sheets with numbered spaces to write down our impression of each wine we tasted and rate it on a scale of one to five.§
At the end of the night, we were to put our favourite and least favourite on a card. The team with the best wine, as voted by the somewhat inebriated constituents, would take all those third bottles home.
Except the worst wine. The team with the most votes for least favourite¶ was to take their own bad bottle home.
We got there and signed in and partook of the "starter wines" at the buffet table. There was bread and cheese and veggies and such.
Perhaps we should have partook of more bread and cheese and less starter wine.
[SUMMARY: Hindsight.]
Anyway, at 6:30-ish, they started the speeches. Seven of them. One guy spoke twice.
One thing I might tell the committee is that seven speeches is too many.
Also, that they could have done the speeches during the mingle hour and just let us taste the damned wine at the appointed damned wine tasting time.
Also, that starter wines might not be a good idea if you're going to give people an hour's head start.
[SUMMARY: Monday morning quarterback. Speaking of,# you can't Monday morning quarterback Jay Cutler this week. He was just too good last night. But I digress...]
Pretty people with starter wines
I'm pretty sure this was a networking exercise for most of these folks
Anyway...
There were seven or eight tables and each table had two bottles each of ten or twelve wines.
Don't try the math. It will make your eyes bleed.
Now, if I were to tell the committee something else, it would be that palate cleansers, for both the mouth and nose, should be on every table.
Also, there should be water available for rinsing glasses.
And drinking.
[SUMMARY: Oops, I did it again.]
Dave
You may wonder why I have a picture of Dave here. Dave is a regular for brunch at the Coral. It was kind of odd to see him out of context. We smiled, nodded, said hello... and a little while later, Dave said, "Hey, every time I see you, you have a glass in your hand. Do you have a drinking problem?"
"Dave, I have no problem whatsoever drinking."
Oh, how we laughed.
Anyway...
After umpteen sips of wine with thoughtful commentary, we started to devolve to "Wine bad. Lights pretty."
If I were going to tell the committee one more thing, it would be that 80 wines to taste is simply too many. Both from a quality-of-tasting standpoint and a drunk-off-my-ass-one-sip-at-a-time standpoint.
[SUMMARY: I have no solutions, only problems.]
See? One sip at a time...
Anyway...
Adam joined us and asked which wines we liked and didn't like. Funny story, that.
"Fifty!" we shouted, in chorus. "Fifty is AWFUL!"
I showed him the sheet where we'd†† written "Bad bad bad bad bad!" and given wine number 50 a negative one.
"Really?" he said. "That bad?"
"Oh, yeah. Awful. Swill. Gross. Bad bad bad bad bad," I pointed at our cheat sheet to punctuate the horror that was wine number 50.
We left shortly thereafter, off to The Hornet for to soak up some wine. On our way out, Adam said, "Do you guys know which bottle was yours?"
"56?"
"Close."‡‡
Oh, yeah. We brought the swill.
[SUMMARY: Justice is blind. So is an amateur sommelier.§§]
Adam laughed at us because we all rated our wine the worst.
Funny thing,¶¶ I just looked at the results, and our wine got six votes for favourite. Guess how many for least favourite?
Yep.
Three.
[SUMMARY: Three is a number I can count to.]
Tomorrow, the Brown Palace Champagne Cascade. Many pictures. Stay tuned!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And I, who can't count to four, look at the pattern and go, "Huh." I know I'm slurping Sarah pretty hard here, but it's a good opportunity to pay homage to the genius that is Sarah and also say nice things about the person who sat next to me for just about every game of the baseball postseason.
Let us not talk of the baseball postseason again.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Most specifically her brother, Adam, who is very cute and very personable and I can't believe I didn't get a picture of him. He might have popped up after pinot number 38 when I was waving the camera in the air hoping to catch good pictures like flies in a spider web.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Please... drinking for charity? This is a concept I can so get behind. If anybody hears about a Boinking Without Borders event, let me know.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): They had the owner of a chi-chi wine store (Paul, nice guy, asked my opinion, Paul is my new best friend) go over the proper protocol for wine tasting, being the four S's, which I think were see, swirl, smell and sip. Can you see where this is going?
I turned to Sarah and said, "They forgot the most important S."
"What?"
"Spit or swallow."
Oh, how we laughed.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): It should perhaps be noted that at one point, I was deemed the responsible secretary of the group, as both Sarah and Kate had lost their sheets. It should also be noted I used a one to ten scale. With decimals. Pretty fancy for someone who can't count to four, huh?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): "...most votes... least favourite..." Did anybody else just get dizzy?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And, Allie, I love your boy Emmett, but last night he told Steve Young and Stuart Scott not to count out the Houstan Texans, as they are still a "fordable" team. I rewound it three times to be sure. I know he meant "formidable," but I'm pretty sure he ended up saying they're shallow and easy to get around.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And by "we," I mean "I."
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): You could play the theme from Jaws here. It would not be inappropriate.
§§FOOTNOTE (sssssssssssssss): Let's say, for my sake, that was clever. Yeah, I don't know what it means either. Apparently is better to sound good than to make sense, darling.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (pppppppppppp): That's a lot of funny things, isn't it? It's a funny ol' world.
Monday, November 19, 2007
I Get a Kick from Champagne
Kinda like being kneed in the nuts† by a Care Bear.
Yesterday Kelley and I went to the annual Champagne Cascade (VIP-style) to kick off the holiday season at the Brown Palace Hotel.
[SUMMARY: Rock star!]
I have pictures.‡
I have movies.
I don't, somehow, have a headache.
Around the third glass of the bubbly, Kelley said, "I'm getting a nice little buzz."
"Me too!" I gushed, "And I just love the champagne buzz. It's all bubbly and happy and shiny."
[SUMMARY: "Look at me!" said the star, "I'm shining so brightly!" Then it went supernova. The moral of this story is obvious.@]
A few hours later, I was lying in the middle of my living room floor wondering why I had no bread in the house and if I was ever going to be sober again.
I called my brother on his underground secret office line% because... well, because we were having family dinner relatively soon and I wasn't sure it was a good idea for me to be all dribbly and fuzzy around my nephews.§
I tried like hell to avoid letting my sister-in-law know of my disgraceful condition, but I finally gave in and called the home line and asked for Brother. He was... doing something. Or eating something. Or fixing something.$ Whatever it was, he couldn't come to the phone. So I told eBeth I'd see her in a little while and went back to wondering how to get sober.
I was just contemplating heating up a Lean Cuisine and ruining my dinner¶ when Brother called.
"Hey," he said in his solicitous voice, "I saw you called. How are you?"
"Drunk."
He burst out laughing. Apparently, my mild incoherence coupled with the sniffly cold I've had for days led the SIL to believe I was, perhaps, crying.
It's nice to be loved. But the payback on something like that is never-ending.
Brother offered to come pick me up for family dinner.^ He lovingly carted me door-to-door and back at the end of the night. He brought me cookies and water and something for the impending headache.
And called me Lush at every turn.
And frequently pointed out I was drunk,# even after I'd stopped being drunk.
If there's one thing I'd say I provide my brother, it's entertainment value and a frequent illusion of superiourity.
[SUMMARY: Every person has a purpose.]
Dad showed up just as the giant glass of water and Aleve showed up.
"Got a hangover?" Dad asked.
"Still drunk," I replied.
Oh, the fun we had.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): These are metaphorical nuts. Mostly. I know you know that, but I just wanted the chance to say, "metaphorical nuts." Wouldn't that be an excellent name for a band?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Safely locked in the camera, of course.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): from"The Silver Metal Lover" by Tanith Lee
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Not really, but he's the only one who answers that phone.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Who actually may not even recognise dribbly and fuzzy as out of sorts for me.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): That's not SIL being cagey. That's me not remembering.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): But hopefully saving everybody else's.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): It's all of six blocks. If I had walked in my condition, I would have ended up in Kansas.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Thus: "How would you know? You're drunk." and "Pass the salad... drunk." "Hey, did you drop your napkin?... drunk."
Yesterday Kelley and I went to the annual Champagne Cascade (VIP-style) to kick off the holiday season at the Brown Palace Hotel.
[SUMMARY: Rock star!]
I have pictures.‡
I have movies.
I don't, somehow, have a headache.
Around the third glass of the bubbly, Kelley said, "I'm getting a nice little buzz."
"Me too!" I gushed, "And I just love the champagne buzz. It's all bubbly and happy and shiny."
[SUMMARY: "Look at me!" said the star, "I'm shining so brightly!" Then it went supernova. The moral of this story is obvious.@]
A few hours later, I was lying in the middle of my living room floor wondering why I had no bread in the house and if I was ever going to be sober again.
I called my brother on his underground secret office line% because... well, because we were having family dinner relatively soon and I wasn't sure it was a good idea for me to be all dribbly and fuzzy around my nephews.§
I tried like hell to avoid letting my sister-in-law know of my disgraceful condition, but I finally gave in and called the home line and asked for Brother. He was... doing something. Or eating something. Or fixing something.$ Whatever it was, he couldn't come to the phone. So I told eBeth I'd see her in a little while and went back to wondering how to get sober.
I was just contemplating heating up a Lean Cuisine and ruining my dinner¶ when Brother called.
"Hey," he said in his solicitous voice, "I saw you called. How are you?"
"Drunk."
He burst out laughing. Apparently, my mild incoherence coupled with the sniffly cold I've had for days led the SIL to believe I was, perhaps, crying.
It's nice to be loved. But the payback on something like that is never-ending.
Brother offered to come pick me up for family dinner.^ He lovingly carted me door-to-door and back at the end of the night. He brought me cookies and water and something for the impending headache.
And called me Lush at every turn.
And frequently pointed out I was drunk,# even after I'd stopped being drunk.
If there's one thing I'd say I provide my brother, it's entertainment value and a frequent illusion of superiourity.
[SUMMARY: Every person has a purpose.]
Dad showed up just as the giant glass of water and Aleve showed up.
"Got a hangover?" Dad asked.
"Still drunk," I replied.
Oh, the fun we had.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): These are metaphorical nuts. Mostly. I know you know that, but I just wanted the chance to say, "metaphorical nuts." Wouldn't that be an excellent name for a band?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Safely locked in the camera, of course.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): from"The Silver Metal Lover" by Tanith Lee
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Not really, but he's the only one who answers that phone.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Who actually may not even recognise dribbly and fuzzy as out of sorts for me.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): That's not SIL being cagey. That's me not remembering.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): But hopefully saving everybody else's.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): It's all of six blocks. If I had walked in my condition, I would have ended up in Kansas.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Thus: "How would you know? You're drunk." and "Pass the salad... drunk." "Hey, did you drop your napkin?... drunk."
Friday, November 16, 2007
Lunch:
Crackberry Sandwich.
I now have a crackberry trail from my neckline to my bottom line, thanks to some creative eating habits.
Further updates as the situation warrants.
I now have a crackberry trail from my neckline to my bottom line, thanks to some creative eating habits.
Further updates as the situation warrants.
Coming Soon to a Blog Near You
THHFCIF
- A funny story involving bad wine
- The Lost Scrolls of the Lizard Ridge
- Pictures of hip, pretty people in their natural habitat
- Muppet scarf
- A movie of Genius Sarah hiccupping
- More whinging about werk
- Pretty new sock kit
- An interesting story involving a wine tasting
- Almost undoubtedly cranes
- Rainbow scarf
- Possible medical whinging
- Needle felting class
- VIP Champagne Cascade at the Brown Palace
- More pig-licking than you can shake a pointy stick at
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Nizards to the Left of You...
Nizards to the right.
Nizards gonna gets you,
Cuz nizards likes to fight.
-from the Lobotomy Club Hymal†
Look! Camera and computer, together again!
Which is nice 'cause then I get credit for a thousand words per picture‡ and it's like I baked it all from scratch.
First, I have for you pictures of a vast raft of rampant consumerism. OK, you've seen worse.§ You've seen worse from me. But it's basically stuff I bought that came in the mail.
And first among mass consumerism is something I didn't actually buy, but in fact WON, which makes at least ten times cooler than if I'd bought it.¶ It's a SplitYarn case from Caro Sheridan, my reward for carrying the I'm a Square Rhinebeck Bingo bag all over the Dutchess County Fairgrounds.
I do have one a lot like this, only a slightly different size and red and pink. I love these colours.
[SUMMARY: I'm a winner!]
I also got my limited edition Ravelry shirt# and my limited edition Skull-a-Day shirt.††
Note the ongoing "limited edition" theme.
[SUMMARY: Sucker!]
I also got my Moo cards, which I dearly love. See, I have business cards, but there are some situations‡‡ under which I don't want to give my address or even my last name to someone.
I'm making this sound all logical and stuff, but really they're just cuter than Disney.
All of them have my phone number and email addy on the back, and most of them just say "Marin" on the front. If you look closely, though, you may be able to see such provocative covers as "don't lose this number," "for a good time," and the wildly saucy "you + me?"
Oh, yes... so practical.
[SUMMARY: Justifi-CA-tion!]
The Moo people got me for life, though, with this receipt:
And now, fellow fibre freeks, the Lizard Ridge update that prompted the ritual singing of the Nizard song at the top of this post:
7 & 8
9 & 10
16 & 16.5
[SUMMARY: Pretty Nizard... and I'm sure there's a Chameleon joke in here somewhere too, for those of you playing along in the comments.]
For your knitting entertainment, Brother joined us at Drunken Knitting night. The emotions ranged from
to 
If you think those are disturbing, you should see the look I got right after the flash went off.
[SUMMARY: He can't hit a girl.]
And they were hanging Christmas lights downtown. Christmas light-hanging guys don't use cranes, but they do have colourful ladders.
And apparently some of them are hams.§§
[SUMMARY: And the gods bless us, everyone!]
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): That's not a misspelling. Not anymore.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Let's see... nineteen pictures at one thousand words per picture... ought plus ought, carry the ought... ow! my brain! three... four... many... an assload...
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Oh, American guilt.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The fact that I actually have purchased one of Caro's cases at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack should in no way influence the cool factor of also having won one.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Where My Stitches At?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Mostly involving alcohol or dim lighting.
§§FOOTNOTE (two hurricanes fighting under a blanket): Note the guy in the navy blue sweatshirt taking a break from untangling strings of lights to get his picture took.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (three wood, five wood?): No, seriously, I would have taken him anyway. In fact, the appointment was originally at 8:00 in the morning and there was no lunch involved. I'm just a good daughter. But he's still going to feed me.
Nizards gonna gets you,
Cuz nizards likes to fight.
-from the Lobotomy Club Hymal†
Look! Camera and computer, together again!
Which is nice 'cause then I get credit for a thousand words per picture‡ and it's like I baked it all from scratch.
First, I have for you pictures of a vast raft of rampant consumerism. OK, you've seen worse.§ You've seen worse from me. But it's basically stuff I bought that came in the mail.
And first among mass consumerism is something I didn't actually buy, but in fact WON, which makes at least ten times cooler than if I'd bought it.¶ It's a SplitYarn case from Caro Sheridan, my reward for carrying the I'm a Square Rhinebeck Bingo bag all over the Dutchess County Fairgrounds.
I do have one a lot like this, only a slightly different size and red and pink. I love these colours.
[SUMMARY: I'm a winner!]
I also got my limited edition Ravelry shirt# and my limited edition Skull-a-Day shirt.††
Note the ongoing "limited edition" theme.
[SUMMARY: Sucker!]
I also got my Moo cards, which I dearly love. See, I have business cards, but there are some situations‡‡ under which I don't want to give my address or even my last name to someone.
I'm making this sound all logical and stuff, but really they're just cuter than Disney.
All of them have my phone number and email addy on the back, and most of them just say "Marin" on the front. If you look closely, though, you may be able to see such provocative covers as "don't lose this number," "for a good time," and the wildly saucy "you + me?"
Oh, yes... so practical.
[SUMMARY: Justifi-CA-tion!]
The Moo people got me for life, though, with this receipt:
And now, fellow fibre freeks, the Lizard Ridge update that prompted the ritual singing of the Nizard song at the top of this post:
7 & 8
9 & 10
11 & 12
Huh. Where did my pretty picture of Strip 2 go? Would y'all check under the bed and behind the fridge and let me know if you see it?
Anyway...
Strip 3
13 & 14 & 15
13 & 14 & 15
16 & 16.5
[SUMMARY: Pretty Nizard... and I'm sure there's a Chameleon joke in here somewhere too, for those of you playing along in the comments.]
For your knitting entertainment, Brother joined us at Drunken Knitting night. The emotions ranged from
to 
If you think those are disturbing, you should see the look I got right after the flash went off.
[SUMMARY: He can't hit a girl.]
And they were hanging Christmas lights downtown. Christmas light-hanging guys don't use cranes, but they do have colourful ladders.
And apparently some of them are hams.§§
[SUMMARY: And the gods bless us, everyone!]
Leaving to take Dad to the eye doctor. He promised to feed me, so I gotta do it.¶¶
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): That's not a misspelling. Not anymore.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Let's see... nineteen pictures at one thousand words per picture... ought plus ought, carry the ought... ow! my brain! three... four... many... an assload...
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Oh, American guilt.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The fact that I actually have purchased one of Caro's cases at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack should in no way influence the cool factor of also having won one.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Where My Stitches At?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door.
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Mostly involving alcohol or dim lighting.
§§FOOTNOTE (two hurricanes fighting under a blanket): Note the guy in the navy blue sweatshirt taking a break from untangling strings of lights to get his picture took.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (three wood, five wood?): No, seriously, I would have taken him anyway. In fact, the appointment was originally at 8:00 in the morning and there was no lunch involved. I'm just a good daughter. But he's still going to feed me.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Just a Lickle...
How many times can one† lick the pig in a single week before one's loyal friends and readers openly revolt?
Apparently, I'm going to push that envelope. The pictures are trapped in the camera, the news of the weird is thin on the ground.
Welcome to Wednesday. Lick that pig.
*************
So I found this cool sock pattern% on Ravelry, free to download, but I had to join a Yahoo group to get it.
A German Yahoo group.
Oh, how you would have laughed at me trying to translate "Go stickensie fingeren en ein lightenschoketen und smokensie fuzzikopf" to figure out what to put in some of the vaguer blanks.
Part of me hopes I didn't out myself as a French-Canadian lesbian bioterrorist with oddly Marxist leanings.‡
Another part of me says, "Eh, I got the sock pattern. Who cares?"
[SUMMARY: Sometimes ya gotta take the bottom line.]
*************
My dad sent me this link to a nearly real-time§ map of disasters around the world.¶ I have *seriously* mixed emotions about it.
On the one hand, there's a dorky ludicrous side to it that I'm almost ashamed to laugh at.
On the other hand, it's kind of interesting.
On the other hand,# it may feed unnecessarily into some peoples' sense of doom.
I still haven't figured out what all the little icons mean, though they do have one specifically for bus tragedies. And they're going to have a gang activity map soon. And they have an illegal alien activity map†† I haven't fully explored.
Someone has too much time on his hands and too many worries.
[SUMMARY: Now that I put it that way, I'm not ashamed to laugh at this anymore.]
*************
I forgot to mention that Bag Lady Kathryn and I went to the Coral Monday night‡‡ because they have half-price bottles of wine and a couple of appetisers make a really nice meal.
Kelley and The Boy showed up and The Boy was very nice.
[SUMMARY: Wonders on top of wonders.]
*************
And I haven't heard from Soldier Boy.
[SUMMARY: Pbthththththth!]
*************
For those who are interested, Chameleon Colorworks has just changed hands.
It kinda hosed up an order I placed with them two weeks ago.
That order is on the way, however, which means there will be one more photo you want to see that I'm not going to show you for days while I try to get my computer and my camera in the same room together.
Did we like Chameleon for their colour or more because their yarn is soft?
It'll be interesting to see what a new dyer does.
Cider Moon is still in the legal ether. Just thought I'd throw that out. This seems like the place for it.
[SUMMARY: Turn and face the strange changes...]
*************
Last night, Brother asked if I had a Christmas present for him yet.§§
"Nope."
"No present. Don't get me anything. The time has come."
Honestly? I thought he'd finally gone off the deep end and decided we weren't going to exchange presents anymore... sort of like my gynecologist¶¶: "You're 40 now. It's time to put childish dreams behind and face the grim realities of your advanced age."
But, no... my brother is kinder than my gynecologist and simply reminded me that, oh, 16 years ago when I got my first tattoo, I'd given him a standing offer to pay for his first tattoo. And probably buy him a beer or something too.
He's been going to the gym a lot and has ink envy. He's the only guy over 5'5" who doesn't have a tattoo. That's hard on a man.
The moral of this story: Sometimes good tidings come back to you and you can knit one less thing at Christmastime.
[SUMMARY: It's all about the knitting.]
*************
{nasty werk deadline 11/20}
Thanksgiving.
{nasty werk deadline 11/30}
San Diego 12/1-12/3.
Houston 12/4-12/9.
{werk all weekend in Houston to make up for not going for two weeks like the client would like, only see other nasty werk deadlines, above/below}
Family Christmas 12/15.
Christmas.
{nasty werk deadline 12/31}
New Year.
[SUMMARY: Send vodka.]
Why are we still here? I must go werk!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And by "one," I mean "I."
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Actually, it was several cool sock patterns and it's that Stephanie van der Linden I told you about the other day.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Dear FBI, if you are reading this, I'm only kidding. I think I'm funny, and I think that fact has been well-documented. I know there is nothing funny about French-Canadian lesbian bioterrorism in your world. And by "Marx," I mean "Groucho." Please don't put me on the list.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): "Updated every 300 seconds... 24/7." Um, Einstein... you can just say "every five minutes." In fact, it sounds better. Cleaner. And no longer.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which should be a Franklin Mint collectors' plate series.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): With three hands, you'd think I'd be better able to count to four, wouldn't you?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): "SAN DIEGO - illegal alien arrested for drugs and rooster fighting." I am not making this up.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Text message from Kathryn: I can't believe I am suggesting this but how does the Coral Room at 5 for appetizers sound?
§§FOOTNOTE (do those look like those 45-rpm adapters we used to have?): I had a knitting project, of course. There's always a knitting project on deck.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (lop-eared bunny!): Not that my gynecologist and I exchange gifts, mind you, that definitely sounds like something she would say.
Apparently, I'm going to push that envelope. The pictures are trapped in the camera, the news of the weird is thin on the ground.
Welcome to Wednesday. Lick that pig.
*************
So I found this cool sock pattern% on Ravelry, free to download, but I had to join a Yahoo group to get it.
A German Yahoo group.
Oh, how you would have laughed at me trying to translate "Go stickensie fingeren en ein lightenschoketen und smokensie fuzzikopf" to figure out what to put in some of the vaguer blanks.
Part of me hopes I didn't out myself as a French-Canadian lesbian bioterrorist with oddly Marxist leanings.‡
Another part of me says, "Eh, I got the sock pattern. Who cares?"
[SUMMARY: Sometimes ya gotta take the bottom line.]
*************
My dad sent me this link to a nearly real-time§ map of disasters around the world.¶ I have *seriously* mixed emotions about it.
On the one hand, there's a dorky ludicrous side to it that I'm almost ashamed to laugh at.
On the other hand, it's kind of interesting.
On the other hand,# it may feed unnecessarily into some peoples' sense of doom.
I still haven't figured out what all the little icons mean, though they do have one specifically for bus tragedies. And they're going to have a gang activity map soon. And they have an illegal alien activity map†† I haven't fully explored.
Someone has too much time on his hands and too many worries.
[SUMMARY: Now that I put it that way, I'm not ashamed to laugh at this anymore.]
*************
I forgot to mention that Bag Lady Kathryn and I went to the Coral Monday night‡‡ because they have half-price bottles of wine and a couple of appetisers make a really nice meal.
Kelley and The Boy showed up and The Boy was very nice.
[SUMMARY: Wonders on top of wonders.]
*************
And I haven't heard from Soldier Boy.
[SUMMARY: Pbthththththth!]
*************
For those who are interested, Chameleon Colorworks has just changed hands.
It kinda hosed up an order I placed with them two weeks ago.
That order is on the way, however, which means there will be one more photo you want to see that I'm not going to show you for days while I try to get my computer and my camera in the same room together.
Did we like Chameleon for their colour or more because their yarn is soft?
It'll be interesting to see what a new dyer does.
Cider Moon is still in the legal ether. Just thought I'd throw that out. This seems like the place for it.
[SUMMARY: Turn and face the strange changes...]
*************
Last night, Brother asked if I had a Christmas present for him yet.§§
"Nope."
"No present. Don't get me anything. The time has come."
Honestly? I thought he'd finally gone off the deep end and decided we weren't going to exchange presents anymore... sort of like my gynecologist¶¶: "You're 40 now. It's time to put childish dreams behind and face the grim realities of your advanced age."
But, no... my brother is kinder than my gynecologist and simply reminded me that, oh, 16 years ago when I got my first tattoo, I'd given him a standing offer to pay for his first tattoo. And probably buy him a beer or something too.
He's been going to the gym a lot and has ink envy. He's the only guy over 5'5" who doesn't have a tattoo. That's hard on a man.
The moral of this story: Sometimes good tidings come back to you and you can knit one less thing at Christmastime.
[SUMMARY: It's all about the knitting.]
*************
{nasty werk deadline 11/20}
Thanksgiving.
{nasty werk deadline 11/30}
San Diego 12/1-12/3.
Houston 12/4-12/9.
{werk all weekend in Houston to make up for not going for two weeks like the client would like, only see other nasty werk deadlines, above/below}
Family Christmas 12/15.
Christmas.
{nasty werk deadline 12/31}
New Year.
[SUMMARY: Send vodka.]
Why are we still here? I must go werk!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And by "one," I mean "I."
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Actually, it was several cool sock patterns and it's that Stephanie van der Linden I told you about the other day.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Dear FBI, if you are reading this, I'm only kidding. I think I'm funny, and I think that fact has been well-documented. I know there is nothing funny about French-Canadian lesbian bioterrorism in your world. And by "Marx," I mean "Groucho." Please don't put me on the list.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): "Updated every 300 seconds... 24/7." Um, Einstein... you can just say "every five minutes." In fact, it sounds better. Cleaner. And no longer.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which should be a Franklin Mint collectors' plate series.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): With three hands, you'd think I'd be better able to count to four, wouldn't you?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): "SAN DIEGO - illegal alien arrested for drugs and rooster fighting." I am not making this up.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Text message from Kathryn: I can't believe I am suggesting this but how does the Coral Room at 5 for appetizers sound?
§§FOOTNOTE (do those look like those 45-rpm adapters we used to have?): I had a knitting project, of course. There's always a knitting project on deck.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (lop-eared bunny!): Not that my gynecologist and I exchange gifts, mind you, that definitely sounds like something she would say.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Further Evidence...
...nobody wants to go to Houston.
I'm going the first week in December and the plane tix are $145.
Round trip.
Non-stop.
I'm going the first week in December and the plane tix are $145.
Round trip.
Non-stop.
Old. Feeble.
You know how you're sitting at your desk and you decide, "Hey, I think I'll take a little detour on my way home tonight and [go by Michael's and see if they have some Sugar 'n' Cream in a colour I like so I can knit a Hello Kitty washcloth for Kelley for Christmas]†"?
And you know how you get in your car and flip on the radio and you're humming to yourself and making frowny faces at the news and noticing how quickly that new McDonald's is going up and why couldn't the contractors who did your kitchen work that quickly and they really should repair that pothole, somebody's going to lose a Mini Cooper and the next thing you know you're in your garage and you're halfway to the living room to park your ass for the night before you realise you just auto-piloted yourself out of a trip to the craft store?
[SUMMARY: And by "you," I mean, "me." Hey, that's not a summary!]
So today at lunch I was headed to The Corner Bakery to get the Turkey Harvest sandwich‡ and I looked up and I was halfway to the New Paperbacks section§ in Barnes and Noble.
I don't need books. I have books. The way I'm reading books these days, I won't get through the ones I have before it's time for me to get bifocals.
[SUMMARY: Book. Problem.]
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go count the skulls in the new knitting book.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): [Insert detour fantasy of your choice here.]
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Which is a little holiday orgasm for my mouth and I can't stop thinking about it. I would swear there is crack in with the horseradish-cranberry chutney.
ETA: Hans has coined the phrase, "crackberry chutney."
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Which requires a trip down a half-flight of stairs, then up an escalator. I just want you to know the depths of my devotion to dorkitude.
And you know how you get in your car and flip on the radio and you're humming to yourself and making frowny faces at the news and noticing how quickly that new McDonald's is going up and why couldn't the contractors who did your kitchen work that quickly and they really should repair that pothole, somebody's going to lose a Mini Cooper and the next thing you know you're in your garage and you're halfway to the living room to park your ass for the night before you realise you just auto-piloted yourself out of a trip to the craft store?
[SUMMARY: And by "you," I mean, "me." Hey, that's not a summary!]
So today at lunch I was headed to The Corner Bakery to get the Turkey Harvest sandwich‡ and I looked up and I was halfway to the New Paperbacks section§ in Barnes and Noble.
I don't need books. I have books. The way I'm reading books these days, I won't get through the ones I have before it's time for me to get bifocals.
[SUMMARY: Book. Problem.]
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go count the skulls in the new knitting book.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): [Insert detour fantasy of your choice here.]
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Which is a little holiday orgasm for my mouth and I can't stop thinking about it. I would swear there is crack in with the horseradish-cranberry chutney.
ETA: Hans has coined the phrase, "crackberry chutney."
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Which requires a trip down a half-flight of stairs, then up an escalator. I just want you to know the depths of my devotion to dorkitude.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Dear Men,
One day, when a seamstress was sewing while sitting close to a river, her thimble fell into the river.
When she cried out, the Lord appeared and asked, "My dear child, why are you crying?" The seamstress replied that her thimble had fallen into the water and that she needed it to help her husband in making a living for their family. The Lord dipped His hand into the water and pulled up a golden thimble set with sapphires.
"Is this your thimble?" the Lord asked The seamstress replied, "No." The Lord again dipped into the river. He held out a golden thimble studded with rubies.
"Is this your thimble?" the Lord asked. Again, the seamstress replied, "No." The Lord reached down again and came up with a leather thimble.
"Is this your thimble ?" the Lord asked. The seamstress replied, "Yes." The Lord was pleased with the woman's honesty and gave her all three thimbles to keep, and the seamstress went home happy.
Some years later, the seamstress was walking with her husband along the riverbank, and her husband fell into the river and disappeared under the water. When she cried out, the Lord again appeared and asked her, "Why are you crying?" "Oh Lord, my husband has fallen into the river!"
The Lord went down into the water and came up with George Clooney. "Is this your husband?" the Lord asked.
"Yes," cried the seamstress. The Lord was furious.
"You lied! That is an untruth!"
The seamstress replied, "Oh, forgive me, my Lord. It is a misunderstanding. You see, if I had said 'no' to George Clooney, you would have come up with Brad Pitt. Then if I said 'no' to him, you would have come up with my husband. Had I then said 'yes,' you would have given me all three. Lord, I'm not in the best of health and would not be able to take care of all three husbands, so THAT'S why I said 'yes' to George Clooney.
And so the Lord let her keep him.
The moral of this story is: Whenever a woman lies, it's for a good and honorable reason, and in the best interest of others.
That's our story, and we're sticking to it.
XOXO
All Us Women
When she cried out, the Lord appeared and asked, "My dear child, why are you crying?" The seamstress replied that her thimble had fallen into the water and that she needed it to help her husband in making a living for their family. The Lord dipped His hand into the water and pulled up a golden thimble set with sapphires.
"Is this your thimble?" the Lord asked The seamstress replied, "No." The Lord again dipped into the river. He held out a golden thimble studded with rubies.
"Is this your thimble?" the Lord asked. Again, the seamstress replied, "No." The Lord reached down again and came up with a leather thimble.
"Is this your thimble ?" the Lord asked. The seamstress replied, "Yes." The Lord was pleased with the woman's honesty and gave her all three thimbles to keep, and the seamstress went home happy.
Some years later, the seamstress was walking with her husband along the riverbank, and her husband fell into the river and disappeared under the water. When she cried out, the Lord again appeared and asked her, "Why are you crying?" "Oh Lord, my husband has fallen into the river!"
The Lord went down into the water and came up with George Clooney. "Is this your husband?" the Lord asked.
"Yes," cried the seamstress. The Lord was furious.
"You lied! That is an untruth!"
The seamstress replied, "Oh, forgive me, my Lord. It is a misunderstanding. You see, if I had said 'no' to George Clooney, you would have come up with Brad Pitt. Then if I said 'no' to him, you would have come up with my husband. Had I then said 'yes,' you would have given me all three. Lord, I'm not in the best of health and would not be able to take care of all three husbands, so THAT'S why I said 'yes' to George Clooney.
And so the Lord let her keep him.
The moral of this story is: Whenever a woman lies, it's for a good and honorable reason, and in the best interest of others.
That's our story, and we're sticking to it.
XOXO
All Us Women
Wonderlick*
I finally got the camera together with the computer.† While there are still no knitting pictures, I find the meeting of the electronics a good thing. If nothing else, it means I am not a complete technoloser for the twelfth day running.
[SUMMARY: I have a camera and I know how to use it.]
I learned last week there is more than one way to skin a cat,‡ billboard-wise.§
Just across the street, west of the last billboard lesson, we saw this:
See, sometimes you just have to pop the old billboard off en toto, then snap the new one in its place.
You must always use a crane.
[SUMMARY: Continuing education.]
Last week, they also started putting up holiday lights downtown at the Pavilions. This guy is on a little crane. I kinda want him.
[SUMMARY: Everything is well-hung with a crane.]
Saturday, Kelley and I had an extravaganza of extravigant proportions.
We had brunch at the Coral Room, shopped 32nd Street, headed to Cherry Creek, where I took this picture from the top of the parking garage, which is where we had to park because the mall was for some unknown reason busier than Christmastime:
We visited Nordstrom and Urban Outfitter, then down South Broadway to look at cute, cheap shoes and sex toys.
Sex toys wasn't on our original list of things to do, but we were so close to The Crypt, we figured we'd better pop in and see what's the ups in fine leather accoutrement.
I hipped Kelley to pony play.¶ She's so happy to have me as a friend.
[SUMMARY: The more you know! {stars and rainbows}%]
We headed home for a little nap break before her friends Aaron and Stacy picked us up to go to Central City to lose some money.
I'm not much of a gambler. I find it boring, mostly because I've had the good fortune to never win. See, people who win are likely to get hooked looking for that *next* win. I just plugged a twenty in the video poker machine and played it for a couple of hours, lost it and quit.
But that's not the fun part. The fun part is that Aaron particularly wanted Kelley to bring a friend because he's trying to hook up with Stacy# and he wanted Kelley to be able to make herself scarce without making it too obvious that was what she was doing.††
[SUMMARY: We're in high school.]
Stacy turned Aaron down flat, so he decided to blaze up on our way out.@
"You guys mind if I smoke?"
Being not morally opposed to pot, and knowing many fully functional stoners,‡‡ I told him to go right ahead. I figured he'd take a couple of hits for the road and mellow out.
He smoked all. the. way. home. An hour-and-a-half in traffic.
I don't mind if people suck on the herb, but the smell nauseates me. And Aaron, in his role as my driver, was starting to worry me vis-a-vis his impairment level.
It was a long ride down the mountain.
[SUMMARY: OK, not in high school. Old and un-cool.]
When we got home, Kel and I went to the Coral Room to see Favourite Bartender.
"Just one drink," we said.
Two drinks and three shots§§ later, we moseyed home.
[SUMMARY: Debauchery!]
Sunday, we met for brunch again, as it was Miss Kris's last day (we didn't know that until Saturday) and we had to say goodbye.
Then Bag Lady Kathryn and I went to Old Navy, where I bought a whole new wardrobe and did some Christmas shopping and took care of a baby shower gift. I really would have liked to have knitted something for the tot, but I don't think I have time. Maybe a hat.
[SUMMARY: Knitting! I talked about knitting!]
Now let me tell you about the boys of my weekend.
Saturday, The Boy¶¶ showed up at brunch. He tapped me on the shoulder, gave me a friendly little rub on the back, then sat down next to me. I have a firm policy of giving back to people pretty much what they give me, so I was pleasant.
When we left, Kel said, "I don't know what that was all about. I didn't invite him or anything."^
Later, I turned to Kelley and said, "Hey, The Boy sat next to me. He always sits next to you. Even when we were together, he sat next to you instead of me."
"I know!"
[SUMMARY: Will wonders never cease?]
At the Coral## that night, The Waiter came in. Now, I don't know if I told y'all about The Waiter, but one night after a girls' night out, we hooked up.& We hooked up a couple of times, but with his schedule, he was wont to call at 3:00 on Wednesday morning, so it just kind of faded out.
He showed up right at bar close Saturday night when Kelley and I were the only people in with Favourite Bartender. He grabbed a beer and kissed my hand††† and sat and talked with us for awhile. At one point, Favourite Bartender asked, "How's your wife?"
And when we all left, Favourite Bartender said, "Tell the wife I said hi."
And when I got home, I called Kel, "How long has The Waiter been married?"
"He's MARRIED?!?!"
"So it seems."
"Didn't you and he..."
"So it seems."
"Holy..."
"So it seems."
I shake my head.$
[SUMMARY: Gaack!]
The Boy came to brunch on Sunday and was nice.
[SUMMARY: Nope! Wonders don't cease! The wonders just keep coming!]
I haven't heard from Soldier Boy since last Tuesday.
There. Now you know as much about my love life as I do.
[SUMMARY: You're welcome.]
I didn't get very good photos, but I was cleaning the pile of books‡‡‡ from beside my bed.§§§ I was on my hands and knees,¶¶¶ pulling some escapees from under the dust ruffle, when I heard mad scrambling from over my head. I popped up to find the cat had found the best kitty toy EVER.
He tossed it and chased it and batted it and chewed it...
Look close.
[SUMMARY: Best. Kitty. Toy. EVER.]
After visiting The Crypt Saturday, we popped into the Hornet so I could pee and I saw this in the bathroom stall. It was so poetical-artsy I had to take a picture of it to share:
[SUMMARY: She took pictures in a public bathroom stall?]
You're welcome.
Happy Monday!
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked. I'm getting soft in my old age): For those who don't know, this is kinda funny. The Wonderlic is an intelligence test made famous by the NFL. Well, famous to those who indulge in a little ESPN during recruiting time. The college guys coming out for the draft go to the combine. They are run through paces that look a little like fourth grade field day (remember field day? Good times.) and they take the Wonderlic test. Every year, some guy scores a two and everybody talks about how a cactus might be a better choice for the D-line, providing the cactus was big enough to block effectively, 'cause it's sure going to block smarter.
You can take a sample version of the test here. Just to see if you're smarter than a football player.
I envision the Wonderlick (my own creation, patent pending... well, pending application, approval and usage) being a test of humour. Which Wonderlick-the-pig items do you laugh at? Will you score a twenty-five (Jon Stewart)? A ten (Newt Gingrich)? A two (Jamar al-Fadl)? A one (Jimmy Fallon)?
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Do you camera, take the computer...
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): No wonder cats are so high strung. We're always looking for new ways to skin them.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Was that one of the hobbits from "Return of the King"? Bill Boardwise?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): If you don't know what that is, it's exactly what you *think* it is, given the context. I wouldn't Google it at work if I were you.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): If you can read this, thank a teacher. If you laughed at that, thank Sarah.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Yes, much in the way I hooked the camera up with the computer. In fact, the deeper you delve into that metaphor, the more interesting and apt it becomes.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Apparently Aaron's never heard of the women's bathroom.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Both to ease his pain and because he was previously on his best behaviour to impress Stacy.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Of which I could never be one. Pot makes me utterly stoopid. I can't talk. One New Year's, some friends of mine and I got stoned and watched a Beavis & Butthead marathon, culminating in the Beavis & Butthead movie. At some point, I realised we were watching Space Ghost. I turned to my friends and tried to say, "When did Beavis & Butthead end?" but what I actually said to them was, "Duhhhhhh." And because they were stoned, they laughed like loons. And because I was stoned, I tried to laugh, but mostly what I did was go, "Duhhhhhh."
§§FOOTNOTE (dangerous curves... I've already used that one, haven't I?): And twelve dollars. Not each, mind you, twelve dollars TOTAL. It's good to be queen.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (drumsticks!): You may remember he is Kelley's best friend. We were getting friendly, largely for Kelley's sake, when he had a little set-back and started being increasingly assish. I haven't even seen him for two months or more, possibly because I chewed him a new asshole the last time he pissed me off.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): I get the feeling she might have, actually.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a free shot): Pronounced "corral" if you're in the in crowd. I'm not in the in crowd, but I play one on TiVi.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Read: fucked like bunnies.
†††FOOTNOTE (very cross): A move my brother can attest still plays in the 'burbs. And I gotta say, The Waiter has marvelous technique and I got a little fluttery and giggly until I found out his dirty little secret.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Here's the thing: I don't mess with other girls' boys. I did it once accidentally (Hi, Jeanne!) when I was a sophomore in high school and I hated the feeling of watching another girl cry because I was an inadvertant bitch. Girls who screw with other girls' boys are termed "barracuda" in my book. On the other totally hypocritical hand, I have a fantasy about sleeping with a married man... not one I'd ever act on. Except I did. Unwittingly. And maybe that's what really pisses me off in this scenario... I got one of my low-level fantasies and I didn't even get to enjoy it as such.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (staples!): Mostly knitting books... just so you know we're still highly involved in knitting.
§§§FOOTNOTE (wound like a spring): Y'all know... preparation. Just in case. In anticipation.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (Ionic shafts! I said "shafts." heh.): Stop it! You have a dirty mind!
[SUMMARY: I have a camera and I know how to use it.]
I learned last week there is more than one way to skin a cat,‡ billboard-wise.§
Just across the street, west of the last billboard lesson, we saw this:
See, sometimes you just have to pop the old billboard off en toto, then snap the new one in its place.
You must always use a crane.
[SUMMARY: Continuing education.]
Last week, they also started putting up holiday lights downtown at the Pavilions. This guy is on a little crane. I kinda want him.
[SUMMARY: Everything is well-hung with a crane.]
Saturday, Kelley and I had an extravaganza of extravigant proportions.
We had brunch at the Coral Room, shopped 32nd Street, headed to Cherry Creek, where I took this picture from the top of the parking garage, which is where we had to park because the mall was for some unknown reason busier than Christmastime:
We visited Nordstrom and Urban Outfitter, then down South Broadway to look at cute, cheap shoes and sex toys.
Sex toys wasn't on our original list of things to do, but we were so close to The Crypt, we figured we'd better pop in and see what's the ups in fine leather accoutrement.
I hipped Kelley to pony play.¶ She's so happy to have me as a friend.
[SUMMARY: The more you know! {stars and rainbows}%]
We headed home for a little nap break before her friends Aaron and Stacy picked us up to go to Central City to lose some money.
I'm not much of a gambler. I find it boring, mostly because I've had the good fortune to never win. See, people who win are likely to get hooked looking for that *next* win. I just plugged a twenty in the video poker machine and played it for a couple of hours, lost it and quit.
But that's not the fun part. The fun part is that Aaron particularly wanted Kelley to bring a friend because he's trying to hook up with Stacy# and he wanted Kelley to be able to make herself scarce without making it too obvious that was what she was doing.††
[SUMMARY: We're in high school.]
Stacy turned Aaron down flat, so he decided to blaze up on our way out.@
"You guys mind if I smoke?"
Being not morally opposed to pot, and knowing many fully functional stoners,‡‡ I told him to go right ahead. I figured he'd take a couple of hits for the road and mellow out.
He smoked all. the. way. home. An hour-and-a-half in traffic.
I don't mind if people suck on the herb, but the smell nauseates me. And Aaron, in his role as my driver, was starting to worry me vis-a-vis his impairment level.
It was a long ride down the mountain.
[SUMMARY: OK, not in high school. Old and un-cool.]
When we got home, Kel and I went to the Coral Room to see Favourite Bartender.
"Just one drink," we said.
Two drinks and three shots§§ later, we moseyed home.
[SUMMARY: Debauchery!]
Sunday, we met for brunch again, as it was Miss Kris's last day (we didn't know that until Saturday) and we had to say goodbye.
Then Bag Lady Kathryn and I went to Old Navy, where I bought a whole new wardrobe and did some Christmas shopping and took care of a baby shower gift. I really would have liked to have knitted something for the tot, but I don't think I have time. Maybe a hat.
[SUMMARY: Knitting! I talked about knitting!]
Now let me tell you about the boys of my weekend.
Saturday, The Boy¶¶ showed up at brunch. He tapped me on the shoulder, gave me a friendly little rub on the back, then sat down next to me. I have a firm policy of giving back to people pretty much what they give me, so I was pleasant.
When we left, Kel said, "I don't know what that was all about. I didn't invite him or anything."^
Later, I turned to Kelley and said, "Hey, The Boy sat next to me. He always sits next to you. Even when we were together, he sat next to you instead of me."
"I know!"
[SUMMARY: Will wonders never cease?]
At the Coral## that night, The Waiter came in. Now, I don't know if I told y'all about The Waiter, but one night after a girls' night out, we hooked up.& We hooked up a couple of times, but with his schedule, he was wont to call at 3:00 on Wednesday morning, so it just kind of faded out.
He showed up right at bar close Saturday night when Kelley and I were the only people in with Favourite Bartender. He grabbed a beer and kissed my hand††† and sat and talked with us for awhile. At one point, Favourite Bartender asked, "How's your wife?"
And when we all left, Favourite Bartender said, "Tell the wife I said hi."
And when I got home, I called Kel, "How long has The Waiter been married?"
"He's MARRIED?!?!"
"So it seems."
"Didn't you and he..."
"So it seems."
"Holy..."
"So it seems."
I shake my head.$
[SUMMARY: Gaack!]
The Boy came to brunch on Sunday and was nice.
[SUMMARY: Nope! Wonders don't cease! The wonders just keep coming!]
I haven't heard from Soldier Boy since last Tuesday.
There. Now you know as much about my love life as I do.
[SUMMARY: You're welcome.]
I didn't get very good photos, but I was cleaning the pile of books‡‡‡ from beside my bed.§§§ I was on my hands and knees,¶¶¶ pulling some escapees from under the dust ruffle, when I heard mad scrambling from over my head. I popped up to find the cat had found the best kitty toy EVER.
He tossed it and chased it and batted it and chewed it...
Look close.
[SUMMARY: Best. Kitty. Toy. EVER.]
After visiting The Crypt Saturday, we popped into the Hornet so I could pee and I saw this in the bathroom stall. It was so poetical-artsy I had to take a picture of it to share:
[SUMMARY: She took pictures in a public bathroom stall?]
You're welcome.
Happy Monday!
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked. I'm getting soft in my old age): For those who don't know, this is kinda funny. The Wonderlic is an intelligence test made famous by the NFL. Well, famous to those who indulge in a little ESPN during recruiting time. The college guys coming out for the draft go to the combine. They are run through paces that look a little like fourth grade field day (remember field day? Good times.) and they take the Wonderlic test. Every year, some guy scores a two and everybody talks about how a cactus might be a better choice for the D-line, providing the cactus was big enough to block effectively, 'cause it's sure going to block smarter.
You can take a sample version of the test here. Just to see if you're smarter than a football player.
I envision the Wonderlick (my own creation, patent pending... well, pending application, approval and usage) being a test of humour. Which Wonderlick-the-pig items do you laugh at? Will you score a twenty-five (Jon Stewart)? A ten (Newt Gingrich)? A two (Jamar al-Fadl)? A one (Jimmy Fallon)?
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Do you camera, take the computer...
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): No wonder cats are so high strung. We're always looking for new ways to skin them.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Was that one of the hobbits from "Return of the King"? Bill Boardwise?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): If you don't know what that is, it's exactly what you *think* it is, given the context. I wouldn't Google it at work if I were you.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): If you can read this, thank a teacher. If you laughed at that, thank Sarah.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Yes, much in the way I hooked the camera up with the computer. In fact, the deeper you delve into that metaphor, the more interesting and apt it becomes.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Apparently Aaron's never heard of the women's bathroom.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Both to ease his pain and because he was previously on his best behaviour to impress Stacy.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Of which I could never be one. Pot makes me utterly stoopid. I can't talk. One New Year's, some friends of mine and I got stoned and watched a Beavis & Butthead marathon, culminating in the Beavis & Butthead movie. At some point, I realised we were watching Space Ghost. I turned to my friends and tried to say, "When did Beavis & Butthead end?" but what I actually said to them was, "Duhhhhhh." And because they were stoned, they laughed like loons. And because I was stoned, I tried to laugh, but mostly what I did was go, "Duhhhhhh."
§§FOOTNOTE (dangerous curves... I've already used that one, haven't I?): And twelve dollars. Not each, mind you, twelve dollars TOTAL. It's good to be queen.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (drumsticks!): You may remember he is Kelley's best friend. We were getting friendly, largely for Kelley's sake, when he had a little set-back and started being increasingly assish. I haven't even seen him for two months or more, possibly because I chewed him a new asshole the last time he pissed me off.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): I get the feeling she might have, actually.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a free shot): Pronounced "corral" if you're in the in crowd. I'm not in the in crowd, but I play one on TiVi.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Read: fucked like bunnies.
†††FOOTNOTE (very cross): A move my brother can attest still plays in the 'burbs. And I gotta say, The Waiter has marvelous technique and I got a little fluttery and giggly until I found out his dirty little secret.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Here's the thing: I don't mess with other girls' boys. I did it once accidentally (Hi, Jeanne!) when I was a sophomore in high school and I hated the feeling of watching another girl cry because I was an inadvertant bitch. Girls who screw with other girls' boys are termed "barracuda" in my book. On the other totally hypocritical hand, I have a fantasy about sleeping with a married man... not one I'd ever act on. Except I did. Unwittingly. And maybe that's what really pisses me off in this scenario... I got one of my low-level fantasies and I didn't even get to enjoy it as such.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (staples!): Mostly knitting books... just so you know we're still highly involved in knitting.
§§§FOOTNOTE (wound like a spring): Y'all know... preparation. Just in case. In anticipation.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (Ionic shafts! I said "shafts." heh.): Stop it! You have a dirty mind!
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