From Kelley... who knew me when.
Showing posts with label Kelley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kelley. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Drive-By
Just so's you know my head hasn't exploded yet, here I am.
One of these days I'm going to load the last month's worth of pictures in one giant *blurgh* of photojournalism,† but for now, let me tell you a little story and share a link.
Sunday was the Broncos home opener.‡ I don't have a parking pass, but the boss's FIL has vintage season tickets and VIP parking. The boss took his son, but they live right on the very spiffy light rail line to the stadium, so they decided to go the public trasportation route.
Thus, I got the VIP parking pass.
We got to the lot I parked near the entrance, which makes for a longer walk, but a much quicker getaway when the game is over. This was really good thinking, only I forgot one key element: I pulled into the space head-in.
When we got back to the car after the game, I realised my error. Not only was I going to have to rely on the kindness of strangers to back all the way into the traffic lane, I was going to have to back to my right with an empty space on my right and a giant truck on my left... exactly the wrong configuration for my needs.
AND... it turns out that when you are flanked by two giant trucks -- even if one of them is a full parking space removed from you -- and your head is sunk deep in truck territory, it' really hard to see oncoming traffic anyway.
After a moment, I realised I drive a Mini Cooper.§
I backed all the way to the end of the parking space, turned the wheel hard right and proceeded to execute a perfect seven-point turn.¶ When I had completed this feat, Kelley poked me and pointed at the small crowd that had gathered to watch the magic of the Cutest Little Car in the Whole Wide World.
Amazement, applause and quite possibly the best object lesson in why a tiny little car is one of the best accessories a sports fan can have.
*************
An email exchange:
From: eBeth
To: Marin
Subject: Now here's a textile for you!#
http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2009/09/spider-silk/
From: Marin
To: eBeth
Subject: Re: Now here's a textile for you!
Holy cats. It's like my best dream spun out of my worst nightmare.
Plus... bulletproof shawl!
From: eBeth
To: Marin
Subject: Now here's a textile for you!
Surely there's a pithy maxim buried in there somewhere. If life gives you spiders, make a shawl....
*************
I don't know about all y'all, but this makes way more sense than that lemon thing.††
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Y'know... a pod of whales, an oodle of cupcakes, a *blurgh* of photojournalism.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): You may have noticed.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Two points for effort, Captain Obvious!
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): If you think there's no such thing as a perfect seven-point turn, well... you really need to see me in action.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): *WARNING!* Giant spider alert! Sarah should proceed with caution!
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I don't believe life has ever handed me lemons, but it's handed me innumerable spiders. Lemons would, in fact, be a nice change, and would require no sugar-coating (heheheh) to be a big step up.
One of these days I'm going to load the last month's worth of pictures in one giant *blurgh* of photojournalism,† but for now, let me tell you a little story and share a link.
Sunday was the Broncos home opener.‡ I don't have a parking pass, but the boss's FIL has vintage season tickets and VIP parking. The boss took his son, but they live right on the very spiffy light rail line to the stadium, so they decided to go the public trasportation route.
Thus, I got the VIP parking pass.
We got to the lot I parked near the entrance, which makes for a longer walk, but a much quicker getaway when the game is over. This was really good thinking, only I forgot one key element: I pulled into the space head-in.
When we got back to the car after the game, I realised my error. Not only was I going to have to rely on the kindness of strangers to back all the way into the traffic lane, I was going to have to back to my right with an empty space on my right and a giant truck on my left... exactly the wrong configuration for my needs.
AND... it turns out that when you are flanked by two giant trucks -- even if one of them is a full parking space removed from you -- and your head is sunk deep in truck territory, it' really hard to see oncoming traffic anyway.
After a moment, I realised I drive a Mini Cooper.§
I backed all the way to the end of the parking space, turned the wheel hard right and proceeded to execute a perfect seven-point turn.¶ When I had completed this feat, Kelley poked me and pointed at the small crowd that had gathered to watch the magic of the Cutest Little Car in the Whole Wide World.
Amazement, applause and quite possibly the best object lesson in why a tiny little car is one of the best accessories a sports fan can have.
*************
An email exchange:
From: eBeth
To: Marin
Subject: Now here's a textile for you!#
http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2009/09/spider-silk/
From: Marin
To: eBeth
Subject: Re: Now here's a textile for you!
Holy cats. It's like my best dream spun out of my worst nightmare.
Plus... bulletproof shawl!
From: eBeth
To: Marin
Subject: Now here's a textile for you!
Surely there's a pithy maxim buried in there somewhere. If life gives you spiders, make a shawl....
*************
I don't know about all y'all, but this makes way more sense than that lemon thing.††
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Y'know... a pod of whales, an oodle of cupcakes, a *blurgh* of photojournalism.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): You may have noticed.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Two points for effort, Captain Obvious!
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): If you think there's no such thing as a perfect seven-point turn, well... you really need to see me in action.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): *WARNING!* Giant spider alert! Sarah should proceed with caution!
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I don't believe life has ever handed me lemons, but it's handed me innumerable spiders. Lemons would, in fact, be a nice change, and would require no sugar-coating (heheheh) to be a big step up.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Wielding a Comedy Club
Kelley and I went to see Mitch Fatel† at the Denver Improv last night.
Gary Cannon was the feature act. He pissed me off early.
Yeah, it surprised me as much as it surprises you.
I would assume that if a comedian picked on me, I'd go along good-naturedly, maybe even get a line or two in myself, but the first thing he did was call us stupid.
[SUMMARY: DON'T call me stupid.]
Then he called us lesbians.
I have enough trouble getting dates without being billed as a lesbian in front of 400 people.
[SUMMARY: "Lesbian" is at least more interesting than "stupid."]
So I refused to laugh at his jokes.‡ And every joke, he'd look over and say, "Nothing?" and I'd shrug.
"We're going to be kissing by the end of this set. I swear, tongue and everything. We are going to be making out right here on this stage."
*shrug*
He's an insult comedian. Most of his act consists of devising unflattering nicknames for people in the audience.
A guy sitting right in front of the mic had sunglasses pushed up on his head.
"Sunglasses on the head. Welcome to the 80s, dude. Oh, hey, wait... let me see those for a sec." He put them on his head and turned to me. "Anything?"
"Oh, I've never wanted you more than I want you right now," I said in a flat, monotone voice, reminiscent of eBeth when Brother kept hounding her to tell him how sexy he was when he was knitting.
"You want me now? Come on up and give me a kiss." And he had the audience cheer me on, so I trotted up, laid one on his cheek and sat down.
Later, as he left the stage, he said, "Thanks, guys. You were good sports."
"That's OK," I said, "I picked your pocket."§
[SUMMARY: I still think I'm funny.]
*************
So I'm heartily sick of the sound of my own voice when it comes to this perfume stuff. I never intended to change this to an all scent, all the time show. Just snappy little reviews. Short, sweet. Adjunct to -- not the purpose of -- the daily blather.
Here's the new and improved perfume review:
ETA: Oh, duh. I forgot to give you the name of the perfume. Thank goodness I had The Perfume Spot to save me or y'all would think I was senile. Er. Seniler.
Thierry Mugler - Innocent
Marin says: This is another of my favourites, one of those I've purchased more than once. To me, it smells of cocoa (not chocolate -- not quite that sweet or milky -- but cocoa) and grapefruit, with a little lilac or jasmine somewhere underneath. Also? Boys tend to tell me how much they like it and, y'know, I like when boys like it.
The Perfume Spot¶ says: "Created by the design house of Thierry Mugler in 1999, Angel Innocent is classified as a refreshing, flowery fragrance. This feminine scent possesses a blend of pure mandarin,# honey, fresh almond and other exotic fruits.†† Accompanied by rich musk and amber."
Thierry Mugler says: "Its mischeivous, sparkling notes invite you to the joy of play, the pleasure of whimsy and the desire to be unforgettable."
Hans says: Oh, I like that one! Subtle, yet... um... I don't know. I don't have a word for it. Springtime-ish." And, as he wandered off down the hall, "I like springtime."
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I find Mitch Fatel very funny (duh), though I imagine I like the sweet character of his act better than the asshole he may be, given the mien of his blog.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Boy, did I show him!
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And seeing him surreptitiously check for his wallet was just icing on the cake.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Because Thierry Mugler went all faeries-and-rainbows on me, giving me nothing concrete about what I may be smelling.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Like grapefruit! Ha! Got one!
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): "...other exotic fruits." Exotic fruits like almonds? Maybe I shoulda just stuck with the Thierry Mugler rhetoric.
Gary Cannon was the feature act. He pissed me off early.
Yeah, it surprised me as much as it surprises you.
I would assume that if a comedian picked on me, I'd go along good-naturedly, maybe even get a line or two in myself, but the first thing he did was call us stupid.
[SUMMARY: DON'T call me stupid.]
Then he called us lesbians.
I have enough trouble getting dates without being billed as a lesbian in front of 400 people.
[SUMMARY: "Lesbian" is at least more interesting than "stupid."]
So I refused to laugh at his jokes.‡ And every joke, he'd look over and say, "Nothing?" and I'd shrug.
"We're going to be kissing by the end of this set. I swear, tongue and everything. We are going to be making out right here on this stage."
*shrug*
He's an insult comedian. Most of his act consists of devising unflattering nicknames for people in the audience.
A guy sitting right in front of the mic had sunglasses pushed up on his head.
"Sunglasses on the head. Welcome to the 80s, dude. Oh, hey, wait... let me see those for a sec." He put them on his head and turned to me. "Anything?"
"Oh, I've never wanted you more than I want you right now," I said in a flat, monotone voice, reminiscent of eBeth when Brother kept hounding her to tell him how sexy he was when he was knitting.
"You want me now? Come on up and give me a kiss." And he had the audience cheer me on, so I trotted up, laid one on his cheek and sat down.
Later, as he left the stage, he said, "Thanks, guys. You were good sports."
"That's OK," I said, "I picked your pocket."§
[SUMMARY: I still think I'm funny.]
*************
So I'm heartily sick of the sound of my own voice when it comes to this perfume stuff. I never intended to change this to an all scent, all the time show. Just snappy little reviews. Short, sweet. Adjunct to -- not the purpose of -- the daily blather.
Here's the new and improved perfume review:
ETA: Oh, duh. I forgot to give you the name of the perfume. Thank goodness I had The Perfume Spot to save me or y'all would think I was senile. Er. Seniler.
Thierry Mugler - Innocent
Marin says: This is another of my favourites, one of those I've purchased more than once. To me, it smells of cocoa (not chocolate -- not quite that sweet or milky -- but cocoa) and grapefruit, with a little lilac or jasmine somewhere underneath. Also? Boys tend to tell me how much they like it and, y'know, I like when boys like it.
The Perfume Spot¶ says: "Created by the design house of Thierry Mugler in 1999, Angel Innocent is classified as a refreshing, flowery fragrance. This feminine scent possesses a blend of pure mandarin,# honey, fresh almond and other exotic fruits.†† Accompanied by rich musk and amber."
Thierry Mugler says: "Its mischeivous, sparkling notes invite you to the joy of play, the pleasure of whimsy and the desire to be unforgettable."
Hans says: Oh, I like that one! Subtle, yet... um... I don't know. I don't have a word for it. Springtime-ish." And, as he wandered off down the hall, "I like springtime."
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I find Mitch Fatel very funny (duh), though I imagine I like the sweet character of his act better than the asshole he may be, given the mien of his blog.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Boy, did I show him!
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And seeing him surreptitiously check for his wallet was just icing on the cake.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Because Thierry Mugler went all faeries-and-rainbows on me, giving me nothing concrete about what I may be smelling.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Like grapefruit! Ha! Got one!
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): "...other exotic fruits." Exotic fruits like almonds? Maybe I shoulda just stuck with the Thierry Mugler rhetoric.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Famine to Feast
Ain't that just the way it goes?
Nothing to say,† no wisdom to impart,‡ no pictures to share, no good news, no nothing... then *BAM! *
Something!
And on a short week! When I spent the first blogday§ in Wisconsin! Eating Swedish meatballs!¶ When I should have been catching up! It's not even news anymore, people!
[SUMMARY: I'm late, I'm late for a very important date...]
So I'm putting myself on a very strict schedule:
...then I won't be too far behind†† going into the holiday weekend and Lake Week. And then I won't have to sweat and panic and worry about protocol and how do I do this and can I combine and is this boring or important or funny or think of the children and...
[SUMMARY: This is what the inside of my head looks like every night when I try to go to sleep.]
Most birthdays are disappointing in some lingering way.
It seems there's always something I really wanted I didn't get or someone who cancelled on my party at the last minute or I don't even get a birthday cake or a bad day at work.‡‡
Etcetera.
Despite my lifelong commitment to "please don't fuss," I do like acknowledgment.
You know Dante's constant refrain in Clerks? Well, there have been a lot of birthdays where I really wanted to whine a birthday version of, "I'm not even supposed to be here today!"
For many of my childhood birthdays, none of my friends were in town, so a birthday party was impossible.
When I turned eight, I'd lost a bunch of school library books and Mom told me I could either find a way to pay for them myself or forego a birthday party that year and have her pay my piper.§§
When I turned fourteen,¶¶ Mom made me pick strawberries in the backyard for dinner.
For one, I absolutely hated picking strawberries: dirt, hot, spiders... hated.
For two, I never heard her stick her head through the back door to say, "Your brother and I are going to run some errands. We'll be back in a little while."
So when I got finished with my horrible drudge strawberry duties, I went inside to find I'd been abandoned.
Abandoned.
On. My. Birthday.
[SUMMARY: I'm not even supposed to be here today!]
I was grounded for my sixteenth birthday, in serious Mom-not-speaking-to-me trouble for my 21st, cancelled upon in a most last-minute of ways by my stupid boyfriend for my 24th, nursing broken ribs and a nasty black eye by the hand of my roommate for my 25th, too hot to bake a cake for my 40th... and after Mom died, nobody called at midnight anymore to sing me happy birthday.
[SUMMARY: see, "‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed)," below.]
This birthday was as close to perfect as we're likely to see in our collective lifetime.&
I got Secret Pal's package.
I got acknowledgment-without-fuss at work.
I got Kim's cranes.
I got the lovely comments right here from all y'all.
On the way home, I listened to Secret Pal's CD. Holy cow, can that girl sing. And she did... she sang me a Marin birthday song with my name and angels and everything. It ranks up there with the coolest birthday gifts EVER.%
*************
NOTE TO SECRET PAL: Yes, you pronounce my name correctly. I love the disc and as I got deeper into it, I thought, "I'll have to tell Secret Pal about The Duhks.## I bet she'd like The Duhks."
And then there were Duhks.
*************
When I got home, my dad had called mid-morning to sing Happy Birthday to me on my voice mail.^
I met Bag Lady Kathryn at the Coral Room for dinner and wine, which was lovely all by itself. She brought me flowers and a card.†††
And they'd had a wine tasting dinner on Tuesday that hadn't been as popular as they'd hoped, so they did a mini version Friday -- three courses, each with wine. That's what I had.
And I got a birthday card from the Coral Room signed by all the waiters and bartenders and dishwashers and all the people I know and love at my favourite bar.
And Brother showed up and had a couple of glasses of wine with us. I told him we'd be there and to drop by, but I figured being sans wife as he was, he probably had all sorts of bacheloresque activities with his single friends planned and I never, ever would have bet a single dollar he'd show up. But he did. And he was charming.
And Kelley came and we had some drinks. There were shots.
And my pheremonally-charged‡‡‡ vampire§§§ of an ex-boyfriend¶¶¶ took me home and I got laid on my birthday for the first time ever.###
[SUMMARY: Ringing in my own personal new year right.]
When I got home Saturday morning, an orchid I was sure I'd maimed for life and would eventually have to throw out had budded. I'm pretty sure overnight.
It's going to bloom again.
[SUMMARY: *WHAM!* Don't let the symbolism catch you upside the head.*]
When I got to the Coral Room for Saturday brunch, I had SuzyQ all to myself for awhile and there were special cocktails and free food and... it just wrapped everything up so nicely.
[SUMMARY: Birthdays need not be constrained to a single day. I like Birthday Season.]
I'm still all glowy and content -- like those Buddha statues@ people put in their Feng Shui decor. I feel just how they look.
If you can swing it,$ I highly recommend getting laid on your birthday.
Double points if he smells like burnt sugar and almonds and will rub your feet while you watch War Games.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Not that that stopped me from babbling on.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I'm not necessarily including the extensive Rush slurp in the "wisdom" thing, though I clearly think it counts.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): That would be Monday, for those of you who haven't caught on to how little commune I have with a computer on weekends.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Entire menu: Baked chicken (skin on) with festive parsley flakes, Swedish meatballs, mashed potatoes, corn, white rolls... a tiny bowl of pasta salad with bits of peppers and onions amid the pepperoni (a Wisconsin nod to 5 a Day)... dessert bars... a choice of coffee, water or whole milk (it *is* America's dairy land, after all). Thank goodness for my new Door-to-Door Organic delivery service. I need food that's not white.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because I am. And this still is.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): So much for
If you're obligated to yourself, is that OK?
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I know, I know, there are starving children in Third World countries who don't even have birthdays.
§§FOOTNOTE (so hard to make a decision!): At twenty-five cents a week allowance, me paying my own bills was a pipe dream... you'd think I'd have more sympathy for the working poor now. However, you can also see where the beginnings of my loathing of libraries began. This was apparently a weird bookmark in my psychological makeup.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (beat the drums slowly): I think. Coulda been fifteen. Coulda been twelve. Twelve might explain my devotion to Brainless Twelvehood. As shallow and whiny as this post is, it might be a great treatise on the psychology that is Marin. Apparently, my whole life has been dictated by birthdays.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Not that I'd discourage you to keep from trying to make next year's birthday even better. Just sayin'.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Like with the Great Ticket Birthday and the Dovetail skull mug.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like the spankéd ass of an elderly birthday girl): For those of you not Secret Pal or myself... as in Daffy and Donald. Quack.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): I do love it when someone will sing to me. With all the musicians I've dated, you'd think it would have happened more often.
†††FOOTNOTE (are we heading into triple-doubles?): Which said I was the queen for the day, but she got to be Vice Queen. VQ for short. Which I think is very, very funny.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (the primrose path of dalliance): That boy always smells like burnt sugar and almonds and if I nuzzle the back of his neck I get just a little high. The Universe clearly wants us to reproduce, so why couldn't it give him the ability to keep a date?
§§§FOOTNOTE (oh, my curly head!): Throat, chest, belly, arms, neck... I am a marked woman. Sorry, Brother.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (golf clubs, seal clubs... that was an inside joke only two people in the world would get): The Boy, for those of you scoring at home.
###FOOTNOTE (man, did that spankéd ass take a pounding. Sorry, Brother): This is NOT little brother approved.
*FOOTNOTE (staid, conventional asterisk): I'm not talking about The Boy. I'm just talkin' about me. I figure some of you may be worried about that.
@FOOTNOTE (I just can't bring myself to go to four): And did I mention that's where the resemblance between me and those statues ends? I believe my post-surgery water blob has dispersed. I got into my normal-sized pants for my birthday. Can I get a w00t-w00t!?
$FOOTNOTE (money shot!): Pun!
Nothing to say,† no wisdom to impart,‡ no pictures to share, no good news, no nothing... then *BAM! *
Something!
And on a short week! When I spent the first blogday§ in Wisconsin! Eating Swedish meatballs!¶ When I should have been catching up! It's not even news anymore, people!
[SUMMARY: I'm late, I'm late for a very important date...]
So I'm putting myself on a very strict schedule:
- Tuesday: brief mention of Wisconsin, birthday recap
- Wednesday: Nintendo party (with pictures!)
- Thursday: knitting#
...then I won't be too far behind†† going into the holiday weekend and Lake Week. And then I won't have to sweat and panic and worry about protocol and how do I do this and can I combine and is this boring or important or funny or think of the children and...
[SUMMARY: This is what the inside of my head looks like every night when I try to go to sleep.]
Most birthdays are disappointing in some lingering way.
It seems there's always something I really wanted I didn't get or someone who cancelled on my party at the last minute or I don't even get a birthday cake or a bad day at work.‡‡
Etcetera.
Despite my lifelong commitment to "please don't fuss," I do like acknowledgment.
You know Dante's constant refrain in Clerks? Well, there have been a lot of birthdays where I really wanted to whine a birthday version of, "I'm not even supposed to be here today!"
For many of my childhood birthdays, none of my friends were in town, so a birthday party was impossible.
When I turned eight, I'd lost a bunch of school library books and Mom told me I could either find a way to pay for them myself or forego a birthday party that year and have her pay my piper.§§
When I turned fourteen,¶¶ Mom made me pick strawberries in the backyard for dinner.
For one, I absolutely hated picking strawberries: dirt, hot, spiders... hated.
For two, I never heard her stick her head through the back door to say, "Your brother and I are going to run some errands. We'll be back in a little while."
So when I got finished with my horrible drudge strawberry duties, I went inside to find I'd been abandoned.
Abandoned.
On. My. Birthday.
[SUMMARY: I'm not even supposed to be here today!]
I was grounded for my sixteenth birthday, in serious Mom-not-speaking-to-me trouble for my 21st, cancelled upon in a most last-minute of ways by my stupid boyfriend for my 24th, nursing broken ribs and a nasty black eye by the hand of my roommate for my 25th, too hot to bake a cake for my 40th... and after Mom died, nobody called at midnight anymore to sing me happy birthday.
[SUMMARY: see, "‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed)," below.]
This birthday was as close to perfect as we're likely to see in our collective lifetime.&
I got Secret Pal's package.
I got acknowledgment-without-fuss at work.
I got Kim's cranes.
I got the lovely comments right here from all y'all.
On the way home, I listened to Secret Pal's CD. Holy cow, can that girl sing. And she did... she sang me a Marin birthday song with my name and angels and everything. It ranks up there with the coolest birthday gifts EVER.%
*************
NOTE TO SECRET PAL: Yes, you pronounce my name correctly. I love the disc and as I got deeper into it, I thought, "I'll have to tell Secret Pal about The Duhks.## I bet she'd like The Duhks."
And then there were Duhks.
*************
When I got home, my dad had called mid-morning to sing Happy Birthday to me on my voice mail.^
I met Bag Lady Kathryn at the Coral Room for dinner and wine, which was lovely all by itself. She brought me flowers and a card.†††
And they'd had a wine tasting dinner on Tuesday that hadn't been as popular as they'd hoped, so they did a mini version Friday -- three courses, each with wine. That's what I had.
And I got a birthday card from the Coral Room signed by all the waiters and bartenders and dishwashers and all the people I know and love at my favourite bar.
And Brother showed up and had a couple of glasses of wine with us. I told him we'd be there and to drop by, but I figured being sans wife as he was, he probably had all sorts of bacheloresque activities with his single friends planned and I never, ever would have bet a single dollar he'd show up. But he did. And he was charming.
And Kelley came and we had some drinks. There were shots.
And my pheremonally-charged‡‡‡ vampire§§§ of an ex-boyfriend¶¶¶ took me home and I got laid on my birthday for the first time ever.###
[SUMMARY: Ringing in my own personal new year right.]
When I got home Saturday morning, an orchid I was sure I'd maimed for life and would eventually have to throw out had budded. I'm pretty sure overnight.
It's going to bloom again.
[SUMMARY: *WHAM!* Don't let the symbolism catch you upside the head.*]
When I got to the Coral Room for Saturday brunch, I had SuzyQ all to myself for awhile and there were special cocktails and free food and... it just wrapped everything up so nicely.
[SUMMARY: Birthdays need not be constrained to a single day. I like Birthday Season.]
I'm still all glowy and content -- like those Buddha statues@ people put in their Feng Shui decor. I feel just how they look.
If you can swing it,$ I highly recommend getting laid on your birthday.
Double points if he smells like burnt sugar and almonds and will rub your feet while you watch War Games.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Not that that stopped me from babbling on.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I'm not necessarily including the extensive Rush slurp in the "wisdom" thing, though I clearly think it counts.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): That would be Monday, for those of you who haven't caught on to how little commune I have with a computer on weekends.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Entire menu: Baked chicken (skin on) with festive parsley flakes, Swedish meatballs, mashed potatoes, corn, white rolls... a tiny bowl of pasta salad with bits of peppers and onions amid the pepperoni (a Wisconsin nod to 5 a Day)... dessert bars... a choice of coffee, water or whole milk (it *is* America's dairy land, after all). Thank goodness for my new Door-to-Door Organic delivery service. I need food that's not white.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because I am. And this still is.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): So much for
If you're obligated to yourself, is that OK?
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I know, I know, there are starving children in Third World countries who don't even have birthdays.
§§FOOTNOTE (so hard to make a decision!): At twenty-five cents a week allowance, me paying my own bills was a pipe dream... you'd think I'd have more sympathy for the working poor now. However, you can also see where the beginnings of my loathing of libraries began. This was apparently a weird bookmark in my psychological makeup.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (beat the drums slowly): I think. Coulda been fifteen. Coulda been twelve. Twelve might explain my devotion to Brainless Twelvehood. As shallow and whiny as this post is, it might be a great treatise on the psychology that is Marin. Apparently, my whole life has been dictated by birthdays.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Not that I'd discourage you to keep from trying to make next year's birthday even better. Just sayin'.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Like with the Great Ticket Birthday and the Dovetail skull mug.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like the spankéd ass of an elderly birthday girl): For those of you not Secret Pal or myself... as in Daffy and Donald. Quack.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): I do love it when someone will sing to me. With all the musicians I've dated, you'd think it would have happened more often.
†††FOOTNOTE (are we heading into triple-doubles?): Which said I was the queen for the day, but she got to be Vice Queen. VQ for short. Which I think is very, very funny.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (the primrose path of dalliance): That boy always smells like burnt sugar and almonds and if I nuzzle the back of his neck I get just a little high. The Universe clearly wants us to reproduce, so why couldn't it give him the ability to keep a date?
§§§FOOTNOTE (oh, my curly head!): Throat, chest, belly, arms, neck... I am a marked woman. Sorry, Brother.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (golf clubs, seal clubs... that was an inside joke only two people in the world would get): The Boy, for those of you scoring at home.
###FOOTNOTE (man, did that spankéd ass take a pounding. Sorry, Brother): This is NOT little brother approved.
*FOOTNOTE (staid, conventional asterisk): I'm not talking about The Boy. I'm just talkin' about me. I figure some of you may be worried about that.
@FOOTNOTE (I just can't bring myself to go to four): And did I mention that's where the resemblance between me and those statues ends? I believe my post-surgery water blob has dispersed. I got into my normal-sized pants for my birthday. Can I get a w00t-w00t!?
$FOOTNOTE (money shot!): Pun!
Monday, June 2, 2008
Sex in the City!
And I didn't even see the movie this weekend.
Kelley's birthday† was the 30th, so we inhabited the Coral Room Friday night. Guess who came?‡
The Boy, of course.
And that Hot Tamale Jason.
And The Waiter.
And one of the married men from Dave's birthday who brought me to the term "flirtopause."
So I had stuff to do.§
[SUMMARY: I need my stuff to spread out more. Stop laughing.]
Let's see... long story short¶:
I was travelling light, just my skully wristlet with my keys, cards and cash. Kelley got very worried about my stuff just being out there, so she put it in her purse for safekeeping.%
Jason, The Boy and Kelley met when they worked at KMart, like, 15 years ago. Friday night, The Boy called Joel, also a former co-worker# and Joel actually showed up.††
Now, Jason had just wandered outside to sit by himself and I was going to casually wander to him‡‡ when The Waiter caught me and wanted to talk about how we never see each other anymore. And then Mr. Flirtopause wanted to chat. Then Jason came in to get another beer and I latched onto him with a coy little, "Hey, I was just going to come out and see if you wanted company."
"You can come out and keep me company."
"You looked kinda solitary sitting out there."
"I can be pretty solitary."
[light bulb]
"If you want to just be solitary, I'll let you be solitary."
"Relax. Come sit."
I started to sit opposite him at the table and he said, "No, not so far. Come sit next to me."
We sat for all of two minutes when Joel bounced outside to visit the old days with Jason. After a few minutes, everybody else followed. Because all I could do was sit there and nod and pretend to be amused when someone tossed out the seventh version of, "Remember that time Big Brandon caught that chick in the garden department...?"§§
So I went in and talked to The Waiter. And Mr. Flirtopause. And looked up just in time to see Kelley roaring out of the parking lot with Ed¶¶ in her car.
"She's coming back, right? She just went to take Ed home?"
"I don't think so. She didn't say anything. She just left."
"SHE HAS MY KEYS!"
[SUMMARY: I missed the boat on "long story short" about 200 words ago.]
So The Boy's sister## offered to take me to Kelley's place††† to wait for my keys, after which she'd bring me back to my car. But we beat Kelley home. And she didn't show up and didn't show up and then Joel showed up with a couple of his friends and we took the party indoors for noise control only they went out for a smoke and Kelley's car was there and The Boy pounded on her front door and I pounded on her back door‡‡‡ but she didn't answer and meanwhile The Boy's sister was calling her and she didn't answer and Joel and his friends were getting stoned and drunker and I was getting tired and The Boy said, "You can just crash here and get your keys in the morning" and was that enough foreshadowing for you? and The Boy's sister whispered something to him and he said, "No, Marin's all about Jason," and then he looked at me and said, "You're all about Jason," and I couldn't disagree and I called the Coral Room to promise I would come in and pay my tab as soon as I had money again and at 2:30 I couldn't stay up any more so I crashed in The Boy's bed and told him I'd go to the couch when he came to bed only when he came to bed at 4:00 Joel was passed out on the couch so I couldn't go sleep on the couch.
[SUMMARY: How old are we?]
Now I'm going to slow down, 'cause this is the good part.
He climbed in bed an just laid§§§ down for awhile, then spooned up on me and put an arm around me.
"How come we don't do this more often?"
I flipped. Literally. All the way over and looked him straight in the eye and said, "WHAT?!?"
"How come we don't do this more often?"
"Seriously?"
"Yeah."
"No... seriously? After you broke up with me? OK, OK... the answer to your question: we don't do this more often because you don't want to."
And then there was a little fooling around. And then there was more spooning.
[SUMMARY: I'm only campaigning for saint... I'm not there yet.]
And then we picked the conversation up where we left off:
"But I like this. You next to me feels good. We should do this more often."
"We'll talk about it later. Get some sleep."
And Kelley brought my keys and stuff around 8:00 and took me to my car and I spent Saturday with my favourite cousin.
Then Sunday I broke up with the poor little date¶¶¶ and celebrated Brother's and Father's birthdays### The Boy is going to see Rush at Red Rocks with me Thursday and you can just call me Carrie Bradshaw.
[SUMMARY: Not the body or the cachet, but the Big and Aidan and Burger and all.]
With less fabulous shoes.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): 40th
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Not like that. Well, yes like that, but later. Guess who showed up at the Coral Room?
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I can hear you giggling out there...
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): -er. Shorter.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Ooooh... how clumsy is my foreshadowing?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And a guy with no filters, no tact and no social grace at all.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Much to everyone's surprise.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Smooth as cactus.
§§FOOTNOTE (circular logic): Followed by peals of laughter and objectless sentence fragments:
"With the..."
"And then she..."
"And the SEAHORSE!!!"
*wild laughter*
¶¶FOOTNOTE (double-fisting those long necks): Ed was h a m m e r e d.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a two-door apartment): I finally met the sister. I know that sounds weird when I'm talking about a guy I've technically been separated from (if you can call the passive termination of a two month thing "separated") for two years... but it seems to be a point of curiosity for a lot of people who know us that I never met his sister.
†††FOOTNOTE (my cross to bear... or have I already done that one?): Also The Boy's place and Ed's place. Wait... was that more bumbling foreshadowing?
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (sidetracked): Quit it. We stopped being dirty two paragraphs ago. Besides, now you're talking three-way and I'm just not sure I'm cut out for that.
§§§FOOTNOTE (too confusing for words. Let me do this interpretive dance...): What a great choice of words. But, really... lay is transitive, but what's the past tense of lie? The dictionary shows lay, lain, lying... grammar is not my friend this morning.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (like clubbing baby seals): 1) The hook-up and the break-up had nothing to do with each other; I was going to cut the poor little date free Sunday before I ever saw The Boy this weekend, and 2) this was the first time I've *ever* broken up with someone that didn't involve a fight. Oh, guys have broken up with me before, but I've never been the one to call that shot. It was weird and uncomfortable and I'd rather not do it again if I can help it.
###FOOTNOTE (oh, the pounding we're taking here in the footnotes today): Flip-flops with bottle openers in the bottom may be the coolest invention *ever*.
Kelley's birthday† was the 30th, so we inhabited the Coral Room Friday night. Guess who came?‡
The Boy, of course.
And that Hot Tamale Jason.
And The Waiter.
And one of the married men from Dave's birthday who brought me to the term "flirtopause."
So I had stuff to do.§
[SUMMARY: I need my stuff to spread out more. Stop laughing.]
Let's see... long story short¶:
I was travelling light, just my skully wristlet with my keys, cards and cash. Kelley got very worried about my stuff just being out there, so she put it in her purse for safekeeping.%
Jason, The Boy and Kelley met when they worked at KMart, like, 15 years ago. Friday night, The Boy called Joel, also a former co-worker# and Joel actually showed up.††
Now, Jason had just wandered outside to sit by himself and I was going to casually wander to him‡‡ when The Waiter caught me and wanted to talk about how we never see each other anymore. And then Mr. Flirtopause wanted to chat. Then Jason came in to get another beer and I latched onto him with a coy little, "Hey, I was just going to come out and see if you wanted company."
"You can come out and keep me company."
"You looked kinda solitary sitting out there."
"I can be pretty solitary."
[light bulb]
"If you want to just be solitary, I'll let you be solitary."
"Relax. Come sit."
I started to sit opposite him at the table and he said, "No, not so far. Come sit next to me."
We sat for all of two minutes when Joel bounced outside to visit the old days with Jason. After a few minutes, everybody else followed. Because all I could do was sit there and nod and pretend to be amused when someone tossed out the seventh version of, "Remember that time Big Brandon caught that chick in the garden department...?"§§
So I went in and talked to The Waiter. And Mr. Flirtopause. And looked up just in time to see Kelley roaring out of the parking lot with Ed¶¶ in her car.
"She's coming back, right? She just went to take Ed home?"
"I don't think so. She didn't say anything. She just left."
"SHE HAS MY KEYS!"
[SUMMARY: I missed the boat on "long story short" about 200 words ago.]
So The Boy's sister## offered to take me to Kelley's place††† to wait for my keys, after which she'd bring me back to my car. But we beat Kelley home. And she didn't show up and didn't show up and then Joel showed up with a couple of his friends and we took the party indoors for noise control only they went out for a smoke and Kelley's car was there and The Boy pounded on her front door and I pounded on her back door‡‡‡ but she didn't answer and meanwhile The Boy's sister was calling her and she didn't answer and Joel and his friends were getting stoned and drunker and I was getting tired and The Boy said, "You can just crash here and get your keys in the morning" and was that enough foreshadowing for you? and The Boy's sister whispered something to him and he said, "No, Marin's all about Jason," and then he looked at me and said, "You're all about Jason," and I couldn't disagree and I called the Coral Room to promise I would come in and pay my tab as soon as I had money again and at 2:30 I couldn't stay up any more so I crashed in The Boy's bed and told him I'd go to the couch when he came to bed only when he came to bed at 4:00 Joel was passed out on the couch so I couldn't go sleep on the couch.
[SUMMARY: How old are we?]
Now I'm going to slow down, 'cause this is the good part.
He climbed in bed an just laid§§§ down for awhile, then spooned up on me and put an arm around me.
"How come we don't do this more often?"
I flipped. Literally. All the way over and looked him straight in the eye and said, "WHAT?!?"
"How come we don't do this more often?"
"Seriously?"
"Yeah."
"No... seriously? After you broke up with me? OK, OK... the answer to your question: we don't do this more often because you don't want to."
And then there was a little fooling around. And then there was more spooning.
[SUMMARY: I'm only campaigning for saint... I'm not there yet.]
And then we picked the conversation up where we left off:
"But I like this. You next to me feels good. We should do this more often."
"We'll talk about it later. Get some sleep."
And Kelley brought my keys and stuff around 8:00 and took me to my car and I spent Saturday with my favourite cousin.
Then Sunday I broke up with the poor little date¶¶¶ and celebrated Brother's and Father's birthdays### The Boy is going to see Rush at Red Rocks with me Thursday and you can just call me Carrie Bradshaw.
[SUMMARY: Not the body or the cachet, but the Big and Aidan and Burger and all.]
With less fabulous shoes.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): 40th
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Not like that. Well, yes like that, but later. Guess who showed up at the Coral Room?
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I can hear you giggling out there...
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): -er. Shorter.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Ooooh... how clumsy is my foreshadowing?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And a guy with no filters, no tact and no social grace at all.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Much to everyone's surprise.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Smooth as cactus.
§§FOOTNOTE (circular logic): Followed by peals of laughter and objectless sentence fragments:
"With the..."
"And then she..."
"And the SEAHORSE!!!"
*wild laughter*
¶¶FOOTNOTE (double-fisting those long necks): Ed was h a m m e r e d.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a two-door apartment): I finally met the sister. I know that sounds weird when I'm talking about a guy I've technically been separated from (if you can call the passive termination of a two month thing "separated") for two years... but it seems to be a point of curiosity for a lot of people who know us that I never met his sister.
†††FOOTNOTE (my cross to bear... or have I already done that one?): Also The Boy's place and Ed's place. Wait... was that more bumbling foreshadowing?
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (sidetracked): Quit it. We stopped being dirty two paragraphs ago. Besides, now you're talking three-way and I'm just not sure I'm cut out for that.
§§§FOOTNOTE (too confusing for words. Let me do this interpretive dance...): What a great choice of words. But, really... lay is transitive, but what's the past tense of lie? The dictionary shows lay, lain, lying... grammar is not my friend this morning.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (like clubbing baby seals): 1) The hook-up and the break-up had nothing to do with each other; I was going to cut the poor little date free Sunday before I ever saw The Boy this weekend, and 2) this was the first time I've *ever* broken up with someone that didn't involve a fight. Oh, guys have broken up with me before, but I've never been the one to call that shot. It was weird and uncomfortable and I'd rather not do it again if I can help it.
###FOOTNOTE (oh, the pounding we're taking here in the footnotes today): Flip-flops with bottle openers in the bottom may be the coolest invention *ever*.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Silver Lining
Literally.
You may remember last year's Fashion Denver, um... palooza... at the Oriental Theatre.†
You may remember my little slurp of the Vamp girls.‡
Well, I didn't slurp nearly hard enough.
I completely failed to mention how their totally sweet purses are eco-friendly,§ how the company is owned and operated by women,¶ how they're all handmade right here in Colorado,% how Deanna and Tara are warm and friendly and fabulous and they believe in cocktails.#
[SUMMARY: *slurp!*]
And now I can add that they fed my knee-jerk love of all things exclusive and limited this weekend.
Fashion Denver 2008 was May 10.
I got this:
Meet Vickie.††
Note Vickie's lush curves^...
...sleek rings and grommets@...
...and her optimistic‡‡ silver lining.
[SUMMARY: There's something about Vickie...]
You may wish to find your own Vickie, a Vickie you can bring home with you.
You can't have your own Vickie.
[SUMMARY: Nya-nya-ny-nya-nyah§§]
Not yet, anyway.
If you go to the Vamp Bags site and look at their bags, you will note not a Vickie in sight.¶¶
See, Vickie's part of the new line. Vickie was available for pre-ordering. When I went to pre-order my very own Vickie, it turned out they had one extra sample.
And they sold it to me.
So I currently have the only Vickie (2008) in the wild.
Vamp Bags are showing up on the red carpet, on Joan Rivers,+ generally on the fashionista radar. My complete Vickie collection could be big some day. Sotheby's will court me, my retirement will be secure, I will finally be acknowledged as the advance troop& on the leading edge of fashion.$
[SUMMARY: Sucker for elitism, active fantasy life.]
Some day, I will tell my grandchildren about this.##
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And if you don't remember, I'm happy to get all self-referential on your ass.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): ibid.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I didn't mention this even though I know how it warms the cockles of your liberal little hearts.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): ibid.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Y'know... think globally, shop locally.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Oh, clap your hands, children! Clap with all your might and say, "I do! I do believe in cocktails!"
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Funny little side story: the Vamp bag I bought last year was also Vickie. Vickie the First. Vickie I looks like this:
Only mine is green. Apparently, I have more of a thing for rings than I thought. Some day I'll tell you the "I don't like diamonds and I swallow" story and you'll understand what a revelation this is for me.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): I like to pretend Vickie and I have a lot in common.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): ibid.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): OK, OK... so I'm pushing the metaphor. I *like* the metaphor. But it's also practical. I love purses with light-coloured linings so I can see my stuff when I open them.
§§FOOTNOTE (ring around the Vickie): sp?
¶¶FOOTNOTE (one foot in front of the other): Keeping in mind that if you're reading this in 2012, there may be a hundred Vickies at the Vamp site. But rest assured, on May 12, 2008, there was just my Vickie and a sample. Nya.
+FOOTNOTE (plussed): To-may-to, to-mah-to.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): One. One troop.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like the point... I'm driving that point right home): Well, I'll tell *your* grandchildren. I won't have any grandchildren. But won't that be fun? "I dare you to knock on door of the old AntiM house. Legend says she comes to the door all dressed in black and makes the little children listen to stories of purses and cocktails..."
You may remember last year's Fashion Denver, um... palooza... at the Oriental Theatre.†
You may remember my little slurp of the Vamp girls.‡
Well, I didn't slurp nearly hard enough.
I completely failed to mention how their totally sweet purses are eco-friendly,§ how the company is owned and operated by women,¶ how they're all handmade right here in Colorado,% how Deanna and Tara are warm and friendly and fabulous and they believe in cocktails.#
[SUMMARY: *slurp!*]
And now I can add that they fed my knee-jerk love of all things exclusive and limited this weekend.
Fashion Denver 2008 was May 10.
I got this:
Meet Vickie.††
Note Vickie's lush curves^...
...sleek rings and grommets@...
...and her optimistic‡‡ silver lining.
[SUMMARY: There's something about Vickie...]
You may wish to find your own Vickie, a Vickie you can bring home with you.
You can't have your own Vickie.
[SUMMARY: Nya-nya-ny-nya-nyah§§]
Not yet, anyway.
If you go to the Vamp Bags site and look at their bags, you will note not a Vickie in sight.¶¶
See, Vickie's part of the new line. Vickie was available for pre-ordering. When I went to pre-order my very own Vickie, it turned out they had one extra sample.
And they sold it to me.
So I currently have the only Vickie (2008) in the wild.
Vamp Bags are showing up on the red carpet, on Joan Rivers,+ generally on the fashionista radar. My complete Vickie collection could be big some day. Sotheby's will court me, my retirement will be secure, I will finally be acknowledged as the advance troop& on the leading edge of fashion.$
[SUMMARY: Sucker for elitism, active fantasy life.]
Some day, I will tell my grandchildren about this.##
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And if you don't remember, I'm happy to get all self-referential on your ass.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): ibid.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I didn't mention this even though I know how it warms the cockles of your liberal little hearts.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): ibid.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Y'know... think globally, shop locally.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Oh, clap your hands, children! Clap with all your might and say, "I do! I do believe in cocktails!"
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Funny little side story: the Vamp bag I bought last year was also Vickie. Vickie the First. Vickie I looks like this:
Only mine is green. Apparently, I have more of a thing for rings than I thought. Some day I'll tell you the "I don't like diamonds and I swallow" story and you'll understand what a revelation this is for me.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): I like to pretend Vickie and I have a lot in common.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): ibid.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): OK, OK... so I'm pushing the metaphor. I *like* the metaphor. But it's also practical. I love purses with light-coloured linings so I can see my stuff when I open them.
§§FOOTNOTE (ring around the Vickie): sp?
¶¶FOOTNOTE (one foot in front of the other): Keeping in mind that if you're reading this in 2012, there may be a hundred Vickies at the Vamp site. But rest assured, on May 12, 2008, there was just my Vickie and a sample. Nya.
+FOOTNOTE (plussed): To-may-to, to-mah-to.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): One. One troop.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like the point... I'm driving that point right home): Well, I'll tell *your* grandchildren. I won't have any grandchildren. But won't that be fun? "I dare you to knock on door of the old AntiM house. Legend says she comes to the door all dressed in black and makes the little children listen to stories of purses and cocktails..."
Monday, March 10, 2008
A Little Madness in the Spring...
...is wholesome even for the King.
-Emily Dickinson
It is March, you know; madness abounds.†
First, let us speak of Daylight Savings Time.
I'm pretty sure I can't say anything in general that every comedian and pundit on the planet hasn't already said, but I can hip you to a little Marin weirdity that will allow you to laugh at me on this fine Monday.
I have trouble getting all my clocks in the same time zone after a Daylight clock change. I know this isn't unusual, but team it up with the fact that some of my clocks don't get reset for years‡ and also I have a tendency to set my clocks randomly fast,§ and the first week after any time change is fraught with hilarity and hijinks.
Like last night, home from a chill evening¶ at the Coral Room, trying to remember which clocks were set to last year's Daylight Savings Time and never reset and which were set to Standard Time, only haphazardly foreward, and going to bed much later than I intended.
Or this morning when I got in the car, automatically subtracted an hour and added six minutes,# then realised -- halfway to work -- that I wasn't getting in at 6:45, but 7:45, which isn't all that early.
My daily dose of self-righteous dwindled away.
[SUMMARY: Madness! Madness, I tell you!]
We ran into Rizzo and his girlfriend Emily at Vita last night (I know I said Coral Room up there, but all will be made clear when you read the footnotes).
Emily recounted a story in which her roommate spotted a guy in an alley a couple of blocks from their place. Emily described said guy as a, "Fully-nude, crouching masturbator."
"That sounds like birdwatching," I said. Then I started to giggle. "Isn't that the first sign of spring? First the Fully-Nude, Crouching Masturbator then the robin?"
[SUMMARY: I think I'm funny. Again.]
As an update to our continuing series, Out My Window, the odd arms on the top of the 1999 building are gone this morning. We never saw anybody doing anything with them or anything depending from them or anything. They just moved from the north side of the roof to the south side of the roof then disappeared.
[SUMMARY: Aliens!]
Also? They changed the billboard on Thursday to advertise apartments on or near the Auraria Campus. Hans and I spent some quality time critiquing and dissecting the new billboard, with Hans coming to the conclusion they'd posted it in the wrong place, as our little corner of Denver is not necessarily a high-traffic area for Auraria students.
Sure enough, we got in this morning and there's a whole new billboard. Glenwood Springs. So much more appropriate that Hans even visited the website.††
[SUMMARY: The power of advertising!]
And, of course, the real Madness in March,% the Selection Show is this Sunday. Pop your popcorn, chill your beer.
And remember: when someone offers you a place in the pool, just do it. You're just as likely to win picking cutest mascot or best team colours as sports knowledge and win/loss record.
That drives sportsdorks crazy.
[SUMMARY: Crazy! Crazy, I tell you!]
Saturday night? Kathryn and Angel-eek and Ange's friend, Morgan, came for dinner, knitting and a movie. Only we ate pasta and pie and drank three bottles of wine and never got to the knitting and movie portion of the evening.
Ah, well. The living room is clean, even if we didn't use it. That can't be a bad thing.
The yarn room is insane because I took all the yarn from the living room up and dumped it in the middle of the room.
It's kinda like squeezing a tube of toothpaste: you move the little bits out of the space at the bottom to the top until it builds up and explodes out the end. I fear this will happen to the yarn room.
[SUMMARY: Basic physics.]
Back to the living room being clean: I'm very excited because I bought an extra-special steam cleaner^ two weeks ago and I never had enough carpet available‡‡ to make it worth the assembly it somehow required.
Tonight I plan to steam clean the living room. I'll take before and after pictures.
[SUMMARY: Spring cleaning!]
You're *so* excited.
You wish you had my steam cleaner.
You wish you were me.
[SUMMARY: I am so delusional.]
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And rebounds. And squeaks its $220 endorsement shoes. Or am I the only one who notices the shoes squeaking at a basketball game?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Some are a pain in the neck and some I just don't know how, so they sit all through the winter, an hour fast. Sometimes, if I'm distracted enough or tired enough or spacy enough, I forget it's an hour fast and I get where I'm going an hour and fifteen minutes early. 'Cause even without the hour thing, I'm fifteen minutes early for everything.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): F'rinstance, I'll see it's 9:31 on the Comcast clock and run upstairs to set my alarm clock. I'll set it for, say, 9:37 to allow for the time it took to get upstairs and get in position, then I'll close my eyes and randomly set it forward a double-secret set of minutes. I go back downstairs and knit or watch TiVi. Until I get an immediate telling of the time in the same room with my alarm clock, I don't know how far ahead I am and it keeps me running early in the mornings. Madness, I tell you.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which wasn't so chill. They were doing a Lance Armstrong Team OceanGirl fundraiser with guest bartenders and a whole passel of people we didn't know, so we went to Vita instead. Then went back to the Coral. And Benny bought us a couple or four shots. And why would anyone do that on a Sunday night? I dreamed of werewolves and exploding buildings. In retrospect, it makes Monday at work a little easier to stomach when there are no werewolves in the basement or Slavic looking men putting high-tech explosives on the elevators.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because I got the car during Daylight Savings and have never changed the clock, but it's lost six minutes in two years. You're welcome.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): skiswimstay.com, if you must know. And he was dismayed by their book-with-and-save, which only gave $13 off a hotel stay/lift tickets/hot springs pool. We figure the pool pass (being the cheapest component, though more than $13) should end up being free or it's not really worth the discount.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): What's madder about March than that part of March Madness is in April?
^FOOTNOTE (careted): It does carpet and hard floors and furniture. Oh, my.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Read: visible.
-Emily Dickinson
It is March, you know; madness abounds.†
First, let us speak of Daylight Savings Time.
I'm pretty sure I can't say anything in general that every comedian and pundit on the planet hasn't already said, but I can hip you to a little Marin weirdity that will allow you to laugh at me on this fine Monday.
I have trouble getting all my clocks in the same time zone after a Daylight clock change. I know this isn't unusual, but team it up with the fact that some of my clocks don't get reset for years‡ and also I have a tendency to set my clocks randomly fast,§ and the first week after any time change is fraught with hilarity and hijinks.
Like last night, home from a chill evening¶ at the Coral Room, trying to remember which clocks were set to last year's Daylight Savings Time and never reset and which were set to Standard Time, only haphazardly foreward, and going to bed much later than I intended.
Or this morning when I got in the car, automatically subtracted an hour and added six minutes,# then realised -- halfway to work -- that I wasn't getting in at 6:45, but 7:45, which isn't all that early.
My daily dose of self-righteous dwindled away.
[SUMMARY: Madness! Madness, I tell you!]
We ran into Rizzo and his girlfriend Emily at Vita last night (I know I said Coral Room up there, but all will be made clear when you read the footnotes).
Emily recounted a story in which her roommate spotted a guy in an alley a couple of blocks from their place. Emily described said guy as a, "Fully-nude, crouching masturbator."
"That sounds like birdwatching," I said. Then I started to giggle. "Isn't that the first sign of spring? First the Fully-Nude, Crouching Masturbator then the robin?"
[SUMMARY: I think I'm funny. Again.]
As an update to our continuing series, Out My Window, the odd arms on the top of the 1999 building are gone this morning. We never saw anybody doing anything with them or anything depending from them or anything. They just moved from the north side of the roof to the south side of the roof then disappeared.
[SUMMARY: Aliens!]
Also? They changed the billboard on Thursday to advertise apartments on or near the Auraria Campus. Hans and I spent some quality time critiquing and dissecting the new billboard, with Hans coming to the conclusion they'd posted it in the wrong place, as our little corner of Denver is not necessarily a high-traffic area for Auraria students.
Sure enough, we got in this morning and there's a whole new billboard. Glenwood Springs. So much more appropriate that Hans even visited the website.††
[SUMMARY: The power of advertising!]
And, of course, the real Madness in March,% the Selection Show is this Sunday. Pop your popcorn, chill your beer.
And remember: when someone offers you a place in the pool, just do it. You're just as likely to win picking cutest mascot or best team colours as sports knowledge and win/loss record.
That drives sportsdorks crazy.
[SUMMARY: Crazy! Crazy, I tell you!]
Saturday night? Kathryn and Angel-eek and Ange's friend, Morgan, came for dinner, knitting and a movie. Only we ate pasta and pie and drank three bottles of wine and never got to the knitting and movie portion of the evening.
Ah, well. The living room is clean, even if we didn't use it. That can't be a bad thing.
The yarn room is insane because I took all the yarn from the living room up and dumped it in the middle of the room.
It's kinda like squeezing a tube of toothpaste: you move the little bits out of the space at the bottom to the top until it builds up and explodes out the end. I fear this will happen to the yarn room.
[SUMMARY: Basic physics.]
Back to the living room being clean: I'm very excited because I bought an extra-special steam cleaner^ two weeks ago and I never had enough carpet available‡‡ to make it worth the assembly it somehow required.
Tonight I plan to steam clean the living room. I'll take before and after pictures.
[SUMMARY: Spring cleaning!]
You're *so* excited.
You wish you had my steam cleaner.
You wish you were me.
[SUMMARY: I am so delusional.]
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And rebounds. And squeaks its $220 endorsement shoes. Or am I the only one who notices the shoes squeaking at a basketball game?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Some are a pain in the neck and some I just don't know how, so they sit all through the winter, an hour fast. Sometimes, if I'm distracted enough or tired enough or spacy enough, I forget it's an hour fast and I get where I'm going an hour and fifteen minutes early. 'Cause even without the hour thing, I'm fifteen minutes early for everything.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): F'rinstance, I'll see it's 9:31 on the Comcast clock and run upstairs to set my alarm clock. I'll set it for, say, 9:37 to allow for the time it took to get upstairs and get in position, then I'll close my eyes and randomly set it forward a double-secret set of minutes. I go back downstairs and knit or watch TiVi. Until I get an immediate telling of the time in the same room with my alarm clock, I don't know how far ahead I am and it keeps me running early in the mornings. Madness, I tell you.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which wasn't so chill. They were doing a Lance Armstrong Team OceanGirl fundraiser with guest bartenders and a whole passel of people we didn't know, so we went to Vita instead. Then went back to the Coral. And Benny bought us a couple or four shots. And why would anyone do that on a Sunday night? I dreamed of werewolves and exploding buildings. In retrospect, it makes Monday at work a little easier to stomach when there are no werewolves in the basement or Slavic looking men putting high-tech explosives on the elevators.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because I got the car during Daylight Savings and have never changed the clock, but it's lost six minutes in two years. You're welcome.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): skiswimstay.com, if you must know. And he was dismayed by their book-with-and-save, which only gave $13 off a hotel stay/lift tickets/hot springs pool. We figure the pool pass (being the cheapest component, though more than $13) should end up being free or it's not really worth the discount.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): What's madder about March than that part of March Madness is in April?
^FOOTNOTE (careted): It does carpet and hard floors and furniture. Oh, my.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Read: visible.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Things I Learned in 2007
- It's not "rock seals and planes," it's "rocks, hills and plains."
- Page views go up every time Tommy makes an appearance.
- Never knit a baby blanket in linen stitch.
- Expired license plates are serious business.
- Estrogen is my friend. Sometimes friends abandon.
- Judy's Magic Cast On is... magic.
- Smile for the camera.
- Life is too short for bad friends, bad yarn or bad wine. Bad boys are another issue entirely.
- There is a fine-line difference between rap and hip hop, but I have to be in a room with you to explain it to you because there are hand gestures.
- You can never have too many T-pins.
- There is a Law of Conservation of Patience in my realm: patience can neither be created nor destroyed, only transferred. Thus, all the patience I may have exhibited in teaching Brother and Father to knit was eventually counter-balanced by an irrational blow-up at a customer service agent.
- No matter how much I pare back the nephews' gift list, I always end up getting them too much.
- Champagne can be a harsh mistress.
- Nothing bad ever happens to clean people (OK, I've known this one for years, thanks to my friend who works for DPD, but it bears repeating).
- Cars are cuter when they're clean.
- No matter how much you pay for kitty toys, they always play with the boxes. Figuratively speaking.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
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.
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."
Monday, November 12, 2007
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!
Friday, November 9, 2007
If You Don't Teach Them at Home...
...they'll only get it on the streets of Ravelry.
TTHFCIF
I've been playing medical chairs with Kaiser Permanente for the last week. I had an appointment yesterday.
The good news: I lost 60 lbs in about a year.
The bad news: I gained 10 back in the last three months.†
The good news: I lost 5 in the last week.
[SUMMARY: I deserve a cookie.]
The good news: I got paid yesterday.
The bad news: They towed my fucking car% *again* and I'm going to have to shell about 400 bones to free it.‡
The good news: I have a ride to the impound lot.§
[SUMMARY: I need a cookie.]
The good news: It's Friday.
The bad news: Seriously, I can't think of anything bad that it's Friday.
The good news: It's Friday!
[SUMMARY: Gimme a cookie!]
Meanwhile, back at Ravelry...¶
I was actually starting to get... well, not bored, so much, as... um, I was starting to take it for granted. I'd explored, stashed, queued, posted, made friends, joined groups... old hat.#
[SUMMARY: Like knitting your seventh pair of plain ribbed socks.]
Then I realised just how much is there I didn't notice before.
A discussion on huge queues brought me to the "friend activity" tab,†† which shows you what people you've deemed your friends‡‡ have queued and stashed and such.
[SUMMARY: Like your eighth pair of socks being two-at-once on two circs.]
And "friends' blogs" which is a handy place to click over to... friends' blogs.§§
[SUMMARY: Like your ninth pair of socks being Cookie A socks.]
And exploring OTHER PEOPLE'S queues and favourites and such.
[SUMMARY: Like your tenth pair of socks being from New Pathways for Sock Knitters.]
And discovering Stephanie Van der Linden via Moxie Knits' queue...
[SUMMARY: Like your eleventh pair of socks being Stephanie Van der Linden socks.]
Aaaaaaaaand we're back.
As Kelley says, I may have to touch myself.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): The discovery of Brother's BBQ has done me no favours.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): This is so very not the car's fault. I'm an idiot and a dolt and an unmotivated fool. That blue Saturn was my first new car. It served me well and remains one of the best used cars on the market, meaning I actually have decent resale prospects. But I had to throw the word "fuck" in there just so you'd know the depth of my disgust on this. I have only myself to blame. Fucking me.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): While I'm tempted to just let the City and County of Denver keep the damned thing, I seem to remember my knit-charting software is in the back seat.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I know it seems I'm reaching, but at least I don't have to ask my dad again.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Yes, we were.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): New hat! Red hat! Blue hat!
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Also a greater understanding of the use of queues and favourites. Also the term QUIBBLE (queue under infinity but beyond life expectancy)... and a big shout to Doctroid for that elegant acronym.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): ♪Living in a stalker's paradise.♪
§§FOOTNOTE (coreolis!): Big Duh.
TTHFCIF
I've been playing medical chairs with Kaiser Permanente for the last week. I had an appointment yesterday.
The good news: I lost 60 lbs in about a year.
The bad news: I gained 10 back in the last three months.†
The good news: I lost 5 in the last week.
[SUMMARY: I deserve a cookie.]
The good news: I got paid yesterday.
The bad news: They towed my fucking car% *again* and I'm going to have to shell about 400 bones to free it.‡
The good news: I have a ride to the impound lot.§
[SUMMARY: I need a cookie.]
The good news: It's Friday.
The bad news: Seriously, I can't think of anything bad that it's Friday.
The good news: It's Friday!
[SUMMARY: Gimme a cookie!]
Meanwhile, back at Ravelry...¶
I was actually starting to get... well, not bored, so much, as... um, I was starting to take it for granted. I'd explored, stashed, queued, posted, made friends, joined groups... old hat.#
[SUMMARY: Like knitting your seventh pair of plain ribbed socks.]
Then I realised just how much is there I didn't notice before.
A discussion on huge queues brought me to the "friend activity" tab,†† which shows you what people you've deemed your friends‡‡ have queued and stashed and such.
[SUMMARY: Like your eighth pair of socks being two-at-once on two circs.]
And "friends' blogs" which is a handy place to click over to... friends' blogs.§§
[SUMMARY: Like your ninth pair of socks being Cookie A socks.]
And exploring OTHER PEOPLE'S queues and favourites and such.
[SUMMARY: Like your tenth pair of socks being from New Pathways for Sock Knitters.]
And discovering Stephanie Van der Linden via Moxie Knits' queue...
[SUMMARY: Like your eleventh pair of socks being Stephanie Van der Linden socks.]
Aaaaaaaaand we're back.
As Kelley says, I may have to touch myself.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): The discovery of Brother's BBQ has done me no favours.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): This is so very not the car's fault. I'm an idiot and a dolt and an unmotivated fool. That blue Saturn was my first new car. It served me well and remains one of the best used cars on the market, meaning I actually have decent resale prospects. But I had to throw the word "fuck" in there just so you'd know the depth of my disgust on this. I have only myself to blame. Fucking me.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): While I'm tempted to just let the City and County of Denver keep the damned thing, I seem to remember my knit-charting software is in the back seat.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I know it seems I'm reaching, but at least I don't have to ask my dad again.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Yes, we were.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): New hat! Red hat! Blue hat!
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Also a greater understanding of the use of queues and favourites. Also the term QUIBBLE (queue under infinity but beyond life expectancy)... and a big shout to Doctroid for that elegant acronym.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): ♪Living in a stalker's paradise.♪
§§FOOTNOTE (coreolis!): Big Duh.
Friday, October 5, 2007
This is My Brain on Zamboni
TTHFCIF
Any Philly's fans out there?
So yesterday I was nowhere near a computer I could use all day. Then I went home and TiVi'd and knitted until bedtime.
It was lovely not going anywhere or doing anything.†
I intend to maybe do a little more of the same tonight.
[SUMMARY: Lazy and loving it.]
I'm rapidly approaching the heel on the last Sparkle Sock and I cast on Yorick last night and got the first skull and two or six or ten inches% of the scarf part done.
I may finish those up before New York after all.
[SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!]
I can't get all wild-hairy tonight anyway. I accidentally^ blew off my grandmother two weekends running and I *must* go see her tomorrow. Otherwise they will revoke my granddaughter card and my cousin Tani will take over Most Favoured Granchild status solely on the basis of having the most recent baby.
We can't be having that.
[SUMMARY: Family politics.]
Besides,‡ I do love my grandmother and it makes her really happy when I come to visit. And if we get the conversation steered the right way, I learn really cool things about Dad that I can use as leverage should I need it. Or just for fun table talk at family dinners.
[SUMMARY: And the family politics just keep coming.]
It's going to be a busy, busy weekend. Before I talk futures, let's visit Wednesday night's hockey opener.$
I love mechanical things, toys. From C-batteries to supercharged cars to jet engines, I love them all. Perhaps the Zamboni most of all.§
And look at this one:
Feng-schwogie!
Huh. It just occurred to me that I may have sub-consciously bought the Mini Cooper because it is the car that most closely resembles the Zamboni.&
Anyway...
The preamble for a game has all the subtlety of a drag queen.
The ice goes red...
...the ice goes blue...
...the ice spins and dapples and goes red and blue and flashy from all sides and there's stuff that looks like leopard spots or maybe ripples in a pond and spotlights swing in mad circles and...
...and then they bring the players on. Loudly.
Look!
One hockey player... two hockey players... three hockey players... four, four beautiful hockey players!¶
That's it, I'm out.
[SUMMARY: Can't count past four.#]
Then skate-around...
...then face-off...
...then a hat trick by Stastny. I do have a picture of hats on the ice and little maintenance people shuffling around with garbage cans, picking up the hats off the ice. But it's at home. In my other computer.
I'm pretty sure that, in looking at the 27,000 pictures I took to get this one...
...I didn't realise one of them was the hat trick and forgot to upload it so I could share.
Things you might want to know:
That shot that I am claiming is the best of 27,000 is because of the reflected skaters in the glass around the ice.
Kelley drove and picked a parking lot+ under not one, but TWO cranes.
[SUMMARY: Always the cranes...]
So this weekend... ah, this weekend.
Tomorrow morning, I go see Grandma. Tomorrow night, I go see Genesis.
Sunday morning, breakfast with Bag Lady Kathryn (not too early, I admonished, Marin will be shutting down a bar Saturday night).
Possible snow.
Broncos.
Family dinner.¶¶
Avs.##
Possible Rockies.†††
Drinking with Kelley.‡‡‡
[SUMMARY: Is there such thing as too much fun?]
And late to work on Monday.
Happy Friday, ev'ry-bahdy!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I say that like that isn't exactly what I did all weekend last weekend. Well, except for the part where I helped Bag Lady Kathryn paint her dining room. Well, I be. I guess I was useful last weekend. Yea, me!
%FOOTNOTE (percented): How am I supposed to gauge this? The boys keep telling me ten inches looks like *this*, but then the sweaters never fit.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Yes, it's possible. No, I won't teach you how.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): This is not the afterthought it seems. I'm nicer than that. Shut up.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Mostly because I'm in love with how well my camera handled hockey.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Yes, even more than the variable-speed, purple, g-spot vibrator. That's a *lot* of Zamboni love.
And that sounds ten more kinds of dirty. What is wrong with me today?
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): So much Freud, so little time.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And I do mean beautiful. Hockey players are hot. So hot. Oh, my C-batteries! Seriously, other than Scotty Bowman, who is the exceptional toad that proves the rule, hockey players have a minimum level of hotness that rivals the upper echelons of real-world male hotness.
Does the ice keep their skin pretty or something?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Some of you may recognise the amazing improvement this represents, since I couldn't count *to* four earlier this year. Knitting has helped me grow, and I'm a better person for it. Or at least less likely to blindly accept the wrong change at Starbucks.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): No, AntiM! Say it ain't so!
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): The pick-up kind that comes with a red ball that you got when you were a kid.
§§FOOTNOTE (curvalicious): Sometimes smacking the guy in front of me in the head with my camera as I did. It's OK -- he was cheering for the other team.
+FOOTNOTE (plussed -- the opposite of non-plussed?): I just want to be sure you understand that I didn't park us somewhere just to get under the cranes (dirty!). It was Kelley's choice, all her own free will and everything.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (all the pretty paragraphs): For which I will bake the first cherry pie of safe-to-turn-the-oven-on season.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a beer at last call): Who moved gametime Sunday to allow for a possible Rox game.
†††FOOTNOTE (tres... tres cruces bonitos!): Y'know... if they don't put the Phillies away Saturday. Also, if you're in Denverish on Sunday, don't be. At least not downtown. Sportsfest, Oktoberfest, 12,000 women in pink hats (Race for the Cure, in case I out-clevered myself on the reference), free parking... it'll be a madhouse.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (railroad tracks!): Who works for a credit union and has Monday off for Columbus Day. Hey, I can't let my girl drink alone.
Any Philly's fans out there?
So yesterday I was nowhere near a computer I could use all day. Then I went home and TiVi'd and knitted until bedtime.
It was lovely not going anywhere or doing anything.†
I intend to maybe do a little more of the same tonight.
[SUMMARY: Lazy and loving it.]
I'm rapidly approaching the heel on the last Sparkle Sock and I cast on Yorick last night and got the first skull and two or six or ten inches% of the scarf part done.
I may finish those up before New York after all.
[SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!]
I can't get all wild-hairy tonight anyway. I accidentally^ blew off my grandmother two weekends running and I *must* go see her tomorrow. Otherwise they will revoke my granddaughter card and my cousin Tani will take over Most Favoured Granchild status solely on the basis of having the most recent baby.
We can't be having that.
[SUMMARY: Family politics.]
Besides,‡ I do love my grandmother and it makes her really happy when I come to visit. And if we get the conversation steered the right way, I learn really cool things about Dad that I can use as leverage should I need it. Or just for fun table talk at family dinners.
[SUMMARY: And the family politics just keep coming.]
It's going to be a busy, busy weekend. Before I talk futures, let's visit Wednesday night's hockey opener.$
I love mechanical things, toys. From C-batteries to supercharged cars to jet engines, I love them all. Perhaps the Zamboni most of all.§
And look at this one:
Feng-schwogie!
Huh. It just occurred to me that I may have sub-consciously bought the Mini Cooper because it is the car that most closely resembles the Zamboni.&
Anyway...
The preamble for a game has all the subtlety of a drag queen.
The ice goes red...
...the ice goes blue...
...the ice spins and dapples and goes red and blue and flashy from all sides and there's stuff that looks like leopard spots or maybe ripples in a pond and spotlights swing in mad circles and...
...and then they bring the players on. Loudly.
Look!
One hockey player... two hockey players... three hockey players... four, four beautiful hockey players!¶
That's it, I'm out.
[SUMMARY: Can't count past four.#]
Then skate-around...
...then face-off...
...then a hat trick by Stastny. I do have a picture of hats on the ice and little maintenance people shuffling around with garbage cans, picking up the hats off the ice. But it's at home. In my other computer.
I'm pretty sure that, in looking at the 27,000 pictures I took to get this one...
...I didn't realise one of them was the hat trick and forgot to upload it so I could share.
Things you might want to know:
That shot that I am claiming is the best of 27,000 is because of the reflected skaters in the glass around the ice.
See, I have a strong shiny-object lobe in my brain.†† It finds objects and fixates on them and won't let go until some loud noise or person next to me waving their hands in front of my eyes snaps me out of it.
When I watch basketball, if I hear a shoe squeak -- just once -- I can no longer focus on the game because I can hear *all* the shoes squeaking. With football, it's night games where the lights turn the players and their shadows into highly mobile jacks.‡‡
Wednesday night, for the first time, I noticed how cool the reflections are when skaters go by the panels of glass in the corners. This may be what passes for artsy in hockey.
Despite all that distraction, I do know the Avs won. I cheered every goal.§§
[SUMMARY: Hockey hockey hockey hockey hockey hockey hockey]
Kelley drove and picked a parking lot+ under not one, but TWO cranes.
[SUMMARY: Always the cranes...]
So this weekend... ah, this weekend.
Tomorrow morning, I go see Grandma. Tomorrow night, I go see Genesis.
Sunday morning, breakfast with Bag Lady Kathryn (not too early, I admonished, Marin will be shutting down a bar Saturday night).
Possible snow.
Broncos.
Family dinner.¶¶
Avs.##
Possible Rockies.†††
Drinking with Kelley.‡‡‡
[SUMMARY: Is there such thing as too much fun?]
And late to work on Monday.
Happy Friday, ev'ry-bahdy!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I say that like that isn't exactly what I did all weekend last weekend. Well, except for the part where I helped Bag Lady Kathryn paint her dining room. Well, I be. I guess I was useful last weekend. Yea, me!
%FOOTNOTE (percented): How am I supposed to gauge this? The boys keep telling me ten inches looks like *this*, but then the sweaters never fit.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Yes, it's possible. No, I won't teach you how.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): This is not the afterthought it seems. I'm nicer than that. Shut up.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Mostly because I'm in love with how well my camera handled hockey.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Yes, even more than the variable-speed, purple, g-spot vibrator. That's a *lot* of Zamboni love.
And that sounds ten more kinds of dirty. What is wrong with me today?
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): So much Freud, so little time.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And I do mean beautiful. Hockey players are hot. So hot. Oh, my C-batteries! Seriously, other than Scotty Bowman, who is the exceptional toad that proves the rule, hockey players have a minimum level of hotness that rivals the upper echelons of real-world male hotness.
Does the ice keep their skin pretty or something?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Some of you may recognise the amazing improvement this represents, since I couldn't count *to* four earlier this year. Knitting has helped me grow, and I'm a better person for it. Or at least less likely to blindly accept the wrong change at Starbucks.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): No, AntiM! Say it ain't so!
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): The pick-up kind that comes with a red ball that you got when you were a kid.
§§FOOTNOTE (curvalicious): Sometimes smacking the guy in front of me in the head with my camera as I did. It's OK -- he was cheering for the other team.
+FOOTNOTE (plussed -- the opposite of non-plussed?): I just want to be sure you understand that I didn't park us somewhere just to get under the cranes (dirty!). It was Kelley's choice, all her own free will and everything.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (all the pretty paragraphs): For which I will bake the first cherry pie of safe-to-turn-the-oven-on season.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a beer at last call): Who moved gametime Sunday to allow for a possible Rox game.
†††FOOTNOTE (tres... tres cruces bonitos!): Y'know... if they don't put the Phillies away Saturday. Also, if you're in Denverish on Sunday, don't be. At least not downtown. Sportsfest, Oktoberfest, 12,000 women in pink hats (Race for the Cure, in case I out-clevered myself on the reference), free parking... it'll be a madhouse.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (railroad tracks!): Who works for a credit union and has Monday off for Columbus Day. Hey, I can't let my girl drink alone.
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