A slightly incredulous smile gave way to a big grin, clearly for someone behind me.
A whip-thin boy with dark hair, a labret piercing and a black t-shirt commemorating some death/thrash/goth/industrial band I've never heard of walked up to our table.
"Joey C!" said The Spelling Bee Champ. They indulged in that urban handshake ritual that may never end: the clasp, the twist, the link, the pound... what if someone forgot and added an angel wing?
Anyway...
Introductions were made and Joey C and The Champ talked music for a moment. Then Joey C excused himself to another flurry of hand spasms.
I looked at The Champ, one eyebrow cocked.
AntiM: Look at you! You say you don't know street, but then you're all with the urban handshake.
The Spelling Bee Champ: That's how I roll.
AM: It's pretty hot.
SBC: Not as hot as knitting.
Showing posts with label The Spelling Bee Champ. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Spelling Bee Champ. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
I'm Twelve
TTHFCIF
No, really.
Ever since I found out I have a date on Saturday, I've been cropping new zits with alarming and redoubling frequency.
That's *so* twelve.
Know what? It's not Murphy's Law. It's not stress. It's the fact that I've been scrubbing and buffing and exfoliating and masquing and moisturising and night-creaming and... my face is in rebellion.
I imagine it saying, "Bleagh!" and spitting out another screaming zit† every time I come near it with a washcloth.
[SUMMARY: I'm twelve and I have a talking zit.]
I've also had a lot of health food in my life this week... and no caffeine. And no sweets. And no soda of any kind.
Only *one* Bobmas beer.
People who push detox diets or juice fasts or the like often say your skin may break out and you may have horrible digestive issues for a few days.
"That's the toxins escaping!"% they say, cheerfully.
Know what? All this attention to detail, all this unseemly purity, all aimed at the flattest stomach possible@ and I woke up this morning with serious premenstrual bloat.
I feel like someone inflated a raft in my pants. And not in a good way.
[SUMMARY: God is an iron.]
I redded my hair.
Oh, it's reddish all on its own,‡ but every year around the end of March, I look up and the stuff right by my head is the dull, darkish brown of winter, while the ends are the glittery, damaged gold of late summer.§
So I decide to indulge in a little semi-permanent dalliance with the middle ground, my natural colour. It brightens the winter and enrichens the summer and I feel like my old hair again.
I did this about a week ago.
Then with the impending date, I decided it wasn't enough. I thought to myself, "Self, if Spiced Tea, the light auburn you believe youself to be, is too light, perhaps you should try Cinaberry, the medium auburn brown."
So I did.
And when I look in the mirror, I see the flat charm of a redwood picnic bench. It's too dark. It's too red. It's too... one colour.
I tried so hard for just a little boost!
I striped a little around the roots and let it sit for a couple of minutes. Then I combed those puny little stripes down into the mangled meadow of the ends. Yet, I ended up with a solid, blocky red.
OK, nobody in the office has noticed.¶
None of the knitters noticed.#
But it's making me neurotic.††
If anybody sees me at Walgreens in the Clairol Natural Instincts aisle, knock me over the head and drag me out.
You don't want the responsibility of colour-on-colour-on-colour on your head.
Or mine.
[SUMMARY: I can't remember the last time I thought this much about my hair.]
AND... I'm in full-on "what will I wear?" mode.
Only it's a lot more panicky.
Like this: "WHAT will I *wear*?!!?!?"
I never realised lunch was a much harder date to dress for than dinner.
How much cleavage can you show before 4:00?
Two words that strike fear in the lumpy and bumpy: Day. Light.
I did get a sort of cute top last weekend‡‡:
But is it date-cute or wine-with-my-friends-cute?+
[SUMMARY: I'm not weird. This is a totally classic female dilemna.§§]
I shaved my legs Wednesday. For the first time in...
Yeti.
And I've been slathering my body in lotion every morning and vaseline every night. I am *soft*.
I have madly prepped, pre-boudoir.$
Yet, I may like this guy -- I *think* I like this guy -- well enough *not* to sleep with him.
I'm sure he'd be thrilled to know that.
Which brings me to the philosophic musing that should balance all the angst and whining:
A wise woman I know -- and to whom I attribute preternatural powers of reason -- had a date. She said they decided they liked each other enough to take it slow. I nodded emphatically at the screen,^ then thought, "Huh?"
In my callow age,¶¶ I held to the principle that I know within five minutes whether I *would* sleep with a guy, and within about a half-hour if I *should* sleep with a guy,## so why play all the games?
As I've matured, I've relegated my immediate and rampant sexuality to guys I don't see any future with.
Not even next week.
Not even breakfast tomorrow.
Oh, I won't sleep with anyone I don't like, or who doesn't make me laugh, but there's boyfriend material and there's guiltless romp material. And never the twain shall meet.
A guy I respect has to wait long enough to give us a chance to find we may never sleep together. Because if we sleep together too soon, we may not get a chance to find what we could have emotionally.
It's a weird little web of romance and sex that is so interdependent it becomes fragile. One little snap of one silken thread can set the whole thing to unravelling.
I guess that's what makes it so amazing if it stays together. And why we indulge in this reverse logic when it comes to dating and mating. And why we frantically spit-splice when it starts to come apart.†††
[SUMMARY: How deep, Mr. Wizard.]
Oh, hell. Now I have to decide whether to shave my legs again or not.
Holy fucking cats... when did I become such a girl?
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Which reminds me of a story: I was once telling my mother of a zit -- one of those deep, sore, rock-hard things that make you feel like you may have the mumps -- and she looked at it and said, "Ooooh... that looks angry."
"It's more than angry, Mom. It's downright pissed off."
%FOOTNOTE (percented): I'd like to point out all the handy exit routes to the toxins: you DON'T have to take my skin with you. Feel free to leave by my nose, quietly, as I sleep.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): I am shallow. I admit it. Did I mention date on Saturday afternoon?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I insist the DMV puts "light auburn" on my driver's license.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): It's possible I should get my hair cut more often, but that opens a whole can of worms I'll save for my next bad haircut.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): OK, it's mostly Hans, and... y'know... Hans boy, boy no notice hair, but other than that, it's mostly women.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Of course, it was kinda dark.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Stop laughing. I know I can't blame my hair.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Keeping in mind that I have more boobs and less collarbones than the model in the picture.
+FOOTNOTE (plussed. non-plussed. possibly pissed.): I would totally wear this with dark wash or black jeans. By the way.
§§FOOTNOTE (at least my hair is still curly...): Damnit! Dilemma. Maybe I can just charm him with bad spelling all day and he won't even notice my lack of fashion sense and patio furniture hair.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Oh, yes I did!
^FOOTNOTE (careted): This was an email. I don't want you to think we were chatting over tea and I was nodding at the TiVi.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (now I'm seeing tears flowing from black eyes. Footnote symbology as Rorschach test): Up 'til last Tuesday.
##FOOTNOTE (pounding like the heart of an insecure woman): Though I've never, apparently, figured out how to tell if a guy is gay before I sleep with him. But that's another story for another day.
†††FOOTNOTE (left? no, right? no... left. no...): Lookie! Knitting reference! Still a knitblog!
No, really.
Ever since I found out I have a date on Saturday, I've been cropping new zits with alarming and redoubling frequency.
That's *so* twelve.
Know what? It's not Murphy's Law. It's not stress. It's the fact that I've been scrubbing and buffing and exfoliating and masquing and moisturising and night-creaming and... my face is in rebellion.
I imagine it saying, "Bleagh!" and spitting out another screaming zit† every time I come near it with a washcloth.
[SUMMARY: I'm twelve and I have a talking zit.]
I've also had a lot of health food in my life this week... and no caffeine. And no sweets. And no soda of any kind.
Only *one* Bobmas beer.
People who push detox diets or juice fasts or the like often say your skin may break out and you may have horrible digestive issues for a few days.
"That's the toxins escaping!"% they say, cheerfully.
Know what? All this attention to detail, all this unseemly purity, all aimed at the flattest stomach possible@ and I woke up this morning with serious premenstrual bloat.
I feel like someone inflated a raft in my pants. And not in a good way.
[SUMMARY: God is an iron.]
I redded my hair.
Oh, it's reddish all on its own,‡ but every year around the end of March, I look up and the stuff right by my head is the dull, darkish brown of winter, while the ends are the glittery, damaged gold of late summer.§
So I decide to indulge in a little semi-permanent dalliance with the middle ground, my natural colour. It brightens the winter and enrichens the summer and I feel like my old hair again.
I did this about a week ago.
Then with the impending date, I decided it wasn't enough. I thought to myself, "Self, if Spiced Tea, the light auburn you believe youself to be, is too light, perhaps you should try Cinaberry, the medium auburn brown."
So I did.
And when I look in the mirror, I see the flat charm of a redwood picnic bench. It's too dark. It's too red. It's too... one colour.
I tried so hard for just a little boost!
I striped a little around the roots and let it sit for a couple of minutes. Then I combed those puny little stripes down into the mangled meadow of the ends. Yet, I ended up with a solid, blocky red.
OK, nobody in the office has noticed.¶
None of the knitters noticed.#
But it's making me neurotic.††
If anybody sees me at Walgreens in the Clairol Natural Instincts aisle, knock me over the head and drag me out.
You don't want the responsibility of colour-on-colour-on-colour on your head.
Or mine.
[SUMMARY: I can't remember the last time I thought this much about my hair.]
AND... I'm in full-on "what will I wear?" mode.
Only it's a lot more panicky.
Like this: "WHAT will I *wear*?!!?!?"
I never realised lunch was a much harder date to dress for than dinner.
How much cleavage can you show before 4:00?
Two words that strike fear in the lumpy and bumpy: Day. Light.
I did get a sort of cute top last weekend‡‡:
But is it date-cute or wine-with-my-friends-cute?+
[SUMMARY: I'm not weird. This is a totally classic female dilemna.§§]
I shaved my legs Wednesday. For the first time in...
Yeti.
And I've been slathering my body in lotion every morning and vaseline every night. I am *soft*.
I have madly prepped, pre-boudoir.$
Yet, I may like this guy -- I *think* I like this guy -- well enough *not* to sleep with him.
I'm sure he'd be thrilled to know that.
Which brings me to the philosophic musing that should balance all the angst and whining:
A wise woman I know -- and to whom I attribute preternatural powers of reason -- had a date. She said they decided they liked each other enough to take it slow. I nodded emphatically at the screen,^ then thought, "Huh?"
In my callow age,¶¶ I held to the principle that I know within five minutes whether I *would* sleep with a guy, and within about a half-hour if I *should* sleep with a guy,## so why play all the games?
As I've matured, I've relegated my immediate and rampant sexuality to guys I don't see any future with.
Not even next week.
Not even breakfast tomorrow.
Oh, I won't sleep with anyone I don't like, or who doesn't make me laugh, but there's boyfriend material and there's guiltless romp material. And never the twain shall meet.
A guy I respect has to wait long enough to give us a chance to find we may never sleep together. Because if we sleep together too soon, we may not get a chance to find what we could have emotionally.
It's a weird little web of romance and sex that is so interdependent it becomes fragile. One little snap of one silken thread can set the whole thing to unravelling.
I guess that's what makes it so amazing if it stays together. And why we indulge in this reverse logic when it comes to dating and mating. And why we frantically spit-splice when it starts to come apart.†††
[SUMMARY: How deep, Mr. Wizard.]
Oh, hell. Now I have to decide whether to shave my legs again or not.
Holy fucking cats... when did I become such a girl?
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Which reminds me of a story: I was once telling my mother of a zit -- one of those deep, sore, rock-hard things that make you feel like you may have the mumps -- and she looked at it and said, "Ooooh... that looks angry."
"It's more than angry, Mom. It's downright pissed off."
%FOOTNOTE (percented): I'd like to point out all the handy exit routes to the toxins: you DON'T have to take my skin with you. Feel free to leave by my nose, quietly, as I sleep.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): I am shallow. I admit it. Did I mention date on Saturday afternoon?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I insist the DMV puts "light auburn" on my driver's license.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): It's possible I should get my hair cut more often, but that opens a whole can of worms I'll save for my next bad haircut.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): OK, it's mostly Hans, and... y'know... Hans boy, boy no notice hair, but other than that, it's mostly women.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Of course, it was kinda dark.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Stop laughing. I know I can't blame my hair.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Keeping in mind that I have more boobs and less collarbones than the model in the picture.
+FOOTNOTE (plussed. non-plussed. possibly pissed.): I would totally wear this with dark wash or black jeans. By the way.
§§FOOTNOTE (at least my hair is still curly...): Damnit! Dilemma. Maybe I can just charm him with bad spelling all day and he won't even notice my lack of fashion sense and patio furniture hair.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Oh, yes I did!
^FOOTNOTE (careted): This was an email. I don't want you to think we were chatting over tea and I was nodding at the TiVi.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (now I'm seeing tears flowing from black eyes. Footnote symbology as Rorschach test): Up 'til last Tuesday.
##FOOTNOTE (pounding like the heart of an insecure woman): Though I've never, apparently, figured out how to tell if a guy is gay before I sleep with him. But that's another story for another day.
†††FOOTNOTE (left? no, right? no... left. no...): Lookie! Knitting reference! Still a knitblog!
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
The World is Listening
From: "Michael Malice" michaelmalice@gmail.com
To: Marin
Subject: your email
Date: Wed, 9 Apr 2008 13:36:12 +0000
Hey Marin--That email you posted was totally cute, so I ran it on my funny emails site. If you've got other stuff, please fwd it my way.
Thanks!
Michael Malice
Editor, WorstEmailEver.com
*************
Huh.
Not sure how to take this.
Do you suppose the highlighted portions have been deemed grammatically incorrect?
Maybe Michael Malice heard about my elementary reading level rating...
ETA:
From: "Michael Malice" michaelmalice@gmail.com
To: Marin
Subject: comment
Date: Wed, 9 Apr 2008 15:32:27 +0000
Hey--Not making fun of you--the highlighted lines are just things I find noteworthy. In this case, they were cute! (with other emails, it's more of a judgment) ;-)
--
Michael Malice
Editor, WorstEmailEver.com
*************
My co-workers will be so glad. They were getting tired of me coming into their offices and saying, "Look at this. I used 'different' right, right? It's not an adverb... I know what I'm doing, right?"
To: Marin
Subject: your email
Date: Wed, 9 Apr 2008 13:36:12 +0000
Hey Marin--That email you posted was totally cute, so I ran it on my funny emails site. If you've got other stuff, please fwd it my way.
Thanks!
Michael Malice
Editor, WorstEmailEver.com
*************
Huh.
Not sure how to take this.
Do you suppose the highlighted portions have been deemed grammatically incorrect?
Maybe Michael Malice heard about my elementary reading level rating...
ETA:
From: "Michael Malice" michaelmalice@gmail.com
To: Marin
Subject: comment
Date: Wed, 9 Apr 2008 15:32:27 +0000
Hey--Not making fun of you--the highlighted lines are just things I find noteworthy. In this case, they were cute! (with other emails, it's more of a judgment) ;-)
--
Michael Malice
Editor, WorstEmailEver.com
*************
My co-workers will be so glad. They were getting tired of me coming into their offices and saying, "Look at this. I used 'different' right, right? It's not an adverb... I know what I'm doing, right?"
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
The Score
Y'know what? Sometimes you check and it turns out there *isn't* a dial tone% and it's not just him blowing you off.
Imagine.
The first thing The Spelling Bee Champ said to me when he called last night† was, "How's your spelling today?"‡ [8] five for calling, three for teasing.
He thanked me for my email.§ [5] two for polite, three for sincere.
He explained he wanted to call me the next day¶ but couldn't find my card. [2] one for taking the time to explain, one for worrying about me.
At one point he said, "Is this an awkward pause? It's not, right? Just a normal pause," which was contextually charming. [2] one for candid, one for charming
He told me he mentioned to Sarah -- before I even got 'hold of Sue -- he wanted to get 'hold of me. [2] one for thinking of me at all in the interim, one for at least trying to find me.
He thinks bar spelling bees would be an excellent pastime, and thinks we should form teams. Those who couldn't spell could still enjoy the fun by forming Fantasy Spelling Bee Leagues. [5] funny, funny, funny
He seemed refreshingly... candid. [1] refreshing!
He allowed me to teach him a little street slang,# and is now all over "hot mess."†† [2] nearly as white and goofy as me.
He was happy to keep telling me knitting is hot, and has been heard to elaborate by saying, "so hot" and using the phrase, "hot knitter." This became a sort of running joke. [6] three for sucking up to the primary hobby, one for continued use of the word "hot" in my presence and about my person, two for ongoing hilarity.
He wants to see me, spend time with me, and made a date with me for lunch on Saturday. [5] instant gratification! immediate ego boost! that's worth five points!
He told me I have nice skin, but allowed that it was dark, so... [3] two for the compliment, one for the tease.
He has at least one step-sister and many female cousins. [2] training.
He said he remembered kissing my ear. I said, "Neck too." "I kissed your neck?" "Oh, yeah." "That's hot." "Yes, it was." [1] hot... again
I said something racy and told him I was just trying to make him blush. He said he was. [2] sucking up
He is dog-sitting for friends for a week. [4] loyalty, kindness
The dogs arrived while I was on the phone with him. He said he'd call back. He did. [5] follow-through
He lives in the neighbourhood. [4] proximity
He noted my British orthography,^ heard the tale and correctly identified it as "pretentious." [3] one for noticing, one for teasing and one for just getting it.
Did I mention the kissing? [8] kissing!
He's very, very easy to talk to and he does it well, using good words and grammar. [12] two for low maintenance, two for ease of use, five for intelligence, three for articulation
He asked a lot of good questions, remembered a lot of key things and also just talked, like a conversation rather than just an interview/rake-over-the-coals. [6] four for attentiveness, two for versatility
He's an insomniac. [2] one for consanguinity,‡‡ one for potential for late night activity
He was the perfect mix of gentelman and pervert. [8] how often do you find that?
Now, he doesn't know who Mike Krzyzewski is, which means he's not a sports guy, which is unfortunate, but not a deal-breaker. And since I'm currently a card-carrying member of The Spelling Bee Champ Fan Club,§§ I'm not going to dock him any points.
Seriously? One thing I'm enjoying immensely is that I'm not all spun on this, but I am rather delighted. I think giddy, dizzy Marin isn't necessarily the best thing, the best omen, but I'm delighted to be delighted.
[SUMMARY: By my reckoning, The Champ has 98 points and is well on his way to cashing in for a lovely toaster, or any of hundreds of other prizes in the Rickety Blog Kharmic Green Stamp program.]
Thank you to the voters... all three of you. Yes, I realise there may have been more if I'd *told* you there was a poll in the sidebar.
Tomorrow: Blue Dye
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Figuratively speaking, I mean. At least in this case.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Note how subtly I slipped that in. Yes! He called!
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Dontcha love a guy who knows the fine art of dishing shit? It's so much friendlier when nobody's too delicate for a little joshing.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Like, sincerely. More than once.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Woke up hung over and thought he needed to call and maybe apologise because he was too forward. Dug in his pocket to find a business card from a psychologist at CU. Thought, "I must have been a real dick last night. She thinks I need help," and then, "either that or I'm going to end up being the dick who doesn't call her."
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Yeah, that's twice as funny as it sounds. The pasty leading the white.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): How proud are you right now, Stacey?
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Take that, elementary readers!
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I can spell "consanguinity," and also use it properly in a sentence.
§§FOOTNOTE (turn, turn, turn): He also gets a pass since, y'know, Duke lost three months ago. Let us not speak of it again.
Imagine.
The first thing The Spelling Bee Champ said to me when he called last night† was, "How's your spelling today?"‡ [8] five for calling, three for teasing.
He thanked me for my email.§ [5] two for polite, three for sincere.
He explained he wanted to call me the next day¶ but couldn't find my card. [2] one for taking the time to explain, one for worrying about me.
At one point he said, "Is this an awkward pause? It's not, right? Just a normal pause," which was contextually charming. [2] one for candid, one for charming
He told me he mentioned to Sarah -- before I even got 'hold of Sue -- he wanted to get 'hold of me. [2] one for thinking of me at all in the interim, one for at least trying to find me.
He thinks bar spelling bees would be an excellent pastime, and thinks we should form teams. Those who couldn't spell could still enjoy the fun by forming Fantasy Spelling Bee Leagues. [5] funny, funny, funny
He seemed refreshingly... candid. [1] refreshing!
He allowed me to teach him a little street slang,# and is now all over "hot mess."†† [2] nearly as white and goofy as me.
He was happy to keep telling me knitting is hot, and has been heard to elaborate by saying, "so hot" and using the phrase, "hot knitter." This became a sort of running joke. [6] three for sucking up to the primary hobby, one for continued use of the word "hot" in my presence and about my person, two for ongoing hilarity.
He wants to see me, spend time with me, and made a date with me for lunch on Saturday. [5] instant gratification! immediate ego boost! that's worth five points!
He told me I have nice skin, but allowed that it was dark, so... [3] two for the compliment, one for the tease.
He has at least one step-sister and many female cousins. [2] training.
He said he remembered kissing my ear. I said, "Neck too." "I kissed your neck?" "Oh, yeah." "That's hot." "Yes, it was." [1] hot... again
I said something racy and told him I was just trying to make him blush. He said he was. [2] sucking up
He is dog-sitting for friends for a week. [4] loyalty, kindness
The dogs arrived while I was on the phone with him. He said he'd call back. He did. [5] follow-through
He lives in the neighbourhood. [4] proximity
He noted my British orthography,^ heard the tale and correctly identified it as "pretentious." [3] one for noticing, one for teasing and one for just getting it.
Did I mention the kissing? [8] kissing!
He's very, very easy to talk to and he does it well, using good words and grammar. [12] two for low maintenance, two for ease of use, five for intelligence, three for articulation
He asked a lot of good questions, remembered a lot of key things and also just talked, like a conversation rather than just an interview/rake-over-the-coals. [6] four for attentiveness, two for versatility
He's an insomniac. [2] one for consanguinity,‡‡ one for potential for late night activity
He was the perfect mix of gentelman and pervert. [8] how often do you find that?
Now, he doesn't know who Mike Krzyzewski is, which means he's not a sports guy, which is unfortunate, but not a deal-breaker. And since I'm currently a card-carrying member of The Spelling Bee Champ Fan Club,§§ I'm not going to dock him any points.
Seriously? One thing I'm enjoying immensely is that I'm not all spun on this, but I am rather delighted. I think giddy, dizzy Marin isn't necessarily the best thing, the best omen, but I'm delighted to be delighted.
[SUMMARY: By my reckoning, The Champ has 98 points and is well on his way to cashing in for a lovely toaster, or any of hundreds of other prizes in the Rickety Blog Kharmic Green Stamp program.]
Thank you to the voters... all three of you. Yes, I realise there may have been more if I'd *told* you there was a poll in the sidebar.
Tomorrow: Blue Dye
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Figuratively speaking, I mean. At least in this case.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Note how subtly I slipped that in. Yes! He called!
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Dontcha love a guy who knows the fine art of dishing shit? It's so much friendlier when nobody's too delicate for a little joshing.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Like, sincerely. More than once.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Woke up hung over and thought he needed to call and maybe apologise because he was too forward. Dug in his pocket to find a business card from a psychologist at CU. Thought, "I must have been a real dick last night. She thinks I need help," and then, "either that or I'm going to end up being the dick who doesn't call her."
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Yeah, that's twice as funny as it sounds. The pasty leading the white.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): How proud are you right now, Stacey?
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Take that, elementary readers!
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I can spell "consanguinity," and also use it properly in a sentence.
§§FOOTNOTE (turn, turn, turn): He also gets a pass since, y'know, Duke lost three months ago. Let us not speak of it again.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Whaddya Want?
I have two blogposts in the pipe for tomorrow.
One is about dyeing a batch of yarn, complete with pictures.
The other is about The Spelling Bee Champ.
I'll check after lunch on Tuesday and see which one I'll spiff up and post today. The other will be posted tomorrow, so don't feel you're making some blog version of Sophie's choice.
One is about dyeing a batch of yarn, complete with pictures.
The other is about The Spelling Bee Champ.
I'll check after lunch on Tuesday and see which one I'll spiff up and post today. The other will be posted tomorrow, so don't feel you're making some blog version of Sophie's choice.
Like Getting My Yarbles Slammed in a Car Door
From: Marin
To: The Spelling Bee Champ
Subject: Hey, Spelling Bee Champ
Date: Tue, 08 Apr 2008 00:02:39 +0000
Hi, Champ!
It's me, Marin!
Perhaps I should misspell something so I can be sure you know who I am.
Ever since I got your email address from Sarah, I've been rolling a bunch of cute and coy stuff around in my head with an eye to enticing you to get in touch with me.
Oh! And clever -- can't believe I forgot clever. I do clever pretty well.
Anyway, after a few weird attempts, I've decided on straight and (relatively) to the point:
I really enjoyed your company spelling bee night. I think you're cute, smart, funny -- y'know, all those sweet things the Playboy centrefolds are always looking for in a guy. You also laid some memorable kisses on me and... wow.
I'd like to spend more time with you and see if the chemistry bears out (and maybe get another kiss or twelve if it seems the right thing to do). You may feel the same. Then again, you may have been drunk on Jager shots or the giddy triumph of your spelling bee win and felt different in the sober light of day.
Either way, thanks for the good company and the great kisses.
You have my email address. My home phone is [some seven-digit number]. If you'd like to make a date, please do get in touch. If not, could you please take a minute to tell me "no" so I don't waste any time checking to see if my phone has a dial tone?
Yours in spelling accuracy (so long as it's not French),
Marin
To: The Spelling Bee Champ
Subject: Hey, Spelling Bee Champ
Date: Tue, 08 Apr 2008 00:02:39 +0000
Hi, Champ!
It's me, Marin!
Perhaps I should misspell something so I can be sure you know who I am.
Ever since I got your email address from Sarah, I've been rolling a bunch of cute and coy stuff around in my head with an eye to enticing you to get in touch with me.
Oh! And clever -- can't believe I forgot clever. I do clever pretty well.
Anyway, after a few weird attempts, I've decided on straight and (relatively) to the point:
I really enjoyed your company spelling bee night. I think you're cute, smart, funny -- y'know, all those sweet things the Playboy centrefolds are always looking for in a guy. You also laid some memorable kisses on me and... wow.
I'd like to spend more time with you and see if the chemistry bears out (and maybe get another kiss or twelve if it seems the right thing to do). You may feel the same. Then again, you may have been drunk on Jager shots or the giddy triumph of your spelling bee win and felt different in the sober light of day.
Either way, thanks for the good company and the great kisses.
You have my email address. My home phone is [some seven-digit number]. If you'd like to make a date, please do get in touch. If not, could you please take a minute to tell me "no" so I don't waste any time checking to see if my phone has a dial tone?
Yours in spelling accuracy (so long as it's not French),
Marin
ACKNOWLEDGE MY PROPOSAL!!!
That's the subject line of a spammail on my Yahoo account. It made me laugh, but I'm thinking it might be a good subject line for my email to The Spelling Bee Champ.
But Does He Like-Like Me?
From: Marin
To: Sue
Subject: Sue! It's Marin!
Date: Thu, 3 Apr 2008 18:38:12 +0000
OK... first, Friday night, just touching base and saying, "Yeah, I'm still there." I'll hit the Coral around 9:30 and we'll go when you're ready.
Second, totally junior high shit: Spelling-Champ-who-kissed-me (and beat me in the spelling bee, but that's not NEARLY as important)... well, I thought he kinda was into me, but the phone never rang. I'm probably delusional, but we had an odd moment at the end of the night that may have been a miscommunication. SO... if it's appropriate, could you just get Sarah to nudge him? Of course, he may be very deliberately not calling, but I'd hate to think he thought I said something vaguely mean and that's why he didn't call. I really enjoyed his company and would like more of it if he's interested.
(do you like me? check yes or no)
Enough girly stupidity.
See you soon,
XOXO
M
*************
From: Sarah
To: Marin
Subject: Re: Sue! It's Marin!
Date: Mon, 7 Apr 2008 18:01:54 +0000
hey marin,
i had noticed some sparks flying around you and the champ (you geeks with your big spelling skills!) and asked him what was up recently... he said he thought he'd gotten your phone number but couldn't find it the next morning. and i believe that's actually the case :-)
i could give him your # again if you like, or you could email him.
good luck!!
sarah
*************
So, um... off to compose a witty, sweet, slightly sexy email to The Spelling Bee Champ to remind him why he kissed me in the first place.
Maybe I should just reiterate how I can't spell "boudoir."
To: Sue
Subject: Sue! It's Marin!
Date: Thu, 3 Apr 2008 18:38:12 +0000
OK... first, Friday night, just touching base and saying, "Yeah, I'm still there." I'll hit the Coral around 9:30 and we'll go when you're ready.
Second, totally junior high shit: Spelling-Champ-who-kissed-me (and beat me in the spelling bee, but that's not NEARLY as important)... well, I thought he kinda was into me, but the phone never rang. I'm probably delusional, but we had an odd moment at the end of the night that may have been a miscommunication. SO... if it's appropriate, could you just get Sarah to nudge him? Of course, he may be very deliberately not calling, but I'd hate to think he thought I said something vaguely mean and that's why he didn't call. I really enjoyed his company and would like more of it if he's interested.
(do you like me? check yes or no)
Enough girly stupidity.
See you soon,
XOXO
M
*************
From: Sarah
To: Marin
Subject: Re: Sue! It's Marin!
Date: Mon, 7 Apr 2008 18:01:54 +0000
hey marin,
i had noticed some sparks flying around you and the champ (you geeks with your big spelling skills!) and asked him what was up recently... he said he thought he'd gotten your phone number but couldn't find it the next morning. and i believe that's actually the case :-)
i could give him your # again if you like, or you could email him.
good luck!!
sarah
*************
So, um... off to compose a witty, sweet, slightly sexy email to The Spelling Bee Champ to remind him why he kissed me in the first place.
Maybe I should just reiterate how I can't spell "boudoir."
Friday, March 28, 2008
Denver Dumb Men's League
TTHFCIF
First and foremost, I promised updates on the keychain situation as circumstances warranted.
*warrantwarrantwarrant*†
First, Angel-eek found the entire push-button animal keychain line here,% where they have many, many cool things and I really want the duck mirror. I don't even look in mirrors‡ and I want the one with the duck feet.
Then Lyda, bemoaning the lack of zombie keychains, tracked these down. Despite her misgivings they may be too cute, I am madly in love with them. I used to have nightmares when I was six that looked a lot like those keychains.
Well, those and the hideous Frankentoys from "Toy Story."
For the record? Nothing to do with keychains, but Lyda also found this collection. I think a Zombie Knitter thong would be an excellent test for a man's dedication to the pursuit of a little trim.
Which brings us to our real topic of the day: men. And the dedication aforementioned.
[SUMMARY: Segueways are my speciality.§]
So let's talk about boys.
Oh, how I love boys. And men. And guys... 'specially guys.
I love their chronic simplicity. I love their straightforward communication style. I love taking their money at the poker table and how good natured they can be about it. I love watching football with them.
The more astute among you may recognise I'm talking about guy *friends*. If there's a hint of love or lust in the air, all that goes out the window.
Then they become the stereotype of a thousand predictable sitcoms. Every bad, mad comedienne shilling for two drink minimum shifts from shrew to incisive sociologist solely because she's so RIGHT. And even we reasonable and sane women¶ suffer from bouts of why-can't-he-call-when-he-says-he's-going-to-call misandry.
[SUMMARY: Poetic wax: apply liberally, buff to a purple shine.]
See, I met this nice guy last weekend.#
He beat me in a spelling bee, but graciously†† conceded that our spelling aptitude was at least comparable, amid mild bouts of giving me shit for misspelling "boudoir."
And he chatted me up.
And I gave him one of my MOO cards.
And he kissed me. Several times.
And when I told him I'd knitted Sue's rainbow scarf, he said, "Huh. That's kinda... hot."
Wait... let's go back to the kissing.
Top four kisses, all time (in order):
I was speculating with Ange and Bag Lady Kathryn that he may have misunderstood something I said.
See, after a few of these lovely kisses, I told him he was very good at it. He paused for a moment and said, "Well, I guess there's always room for improvement."
At the time, I thought it was a little odd, but it sounded like the sort of thing I say when I'm caught wrong-footed,## so I shrugged, smiled and said, "Could be."
We had been in the midst of saying our good-byes, but I turned around to say something to Kelley and he just disappeared. Again, I didn't think a whole lot of it, but...
Now he hasn't called.
And now that I'm in the check-the-phone-for-a-dial-tone phase, I'm wondering if he thought I told him he *wasn't* very good at kissing. And he was crushed. And he's somewhere, nursing his wounds, dreaming of the young††† woman who so fascinated him and so defeated him.
Perhaps he cries in his pillow every night.
[SUMMARY: Leave me to my fantasies. Did you not hear he hasn't called?]
On the other hand, there's Soldier Boy, who calls every couple of weeks and either 1) says, "Hey, what are you doing tomorrow night? We should get a beer or something," then never calls, or 2) calls at 9:30 on Sunday night to say, "I'm in your neck of the woods, I was hanging out with a buddy and I thought maybe we could get a beer or something. Right now. Run."
OK, he doesn't really say, "run," but you get the idea.
I called him after I got home Wednesday night, a couple of glasses of wine making me brave, and said, "You do know I'm a girl, right? And you have to give me at least a few hours of lead time so I can shave my legs and put on the war paint."
"Honey, you know I'm not a planning kind of guy..."
"Oh, I know. But... legs. Shaving. Girly stuff. I'm not asking for much. Three or four hours warning."
"What are you doing August 8?"
"Smart ass."
At least we're both very aware of our needs and our shortcomings. I don't know The Spelling Bee Champ well enough to know what the hell he's thinking. If he's thinking at all.^
There I was crying in my beer, making Ange and Kathryn listen to my junior high rantings.‡‡‡ They were being very supportive, and Ange chimed in with, "They should have a Denver Dumb Men's League."§§§
Ange introduced me to the Denver Dumb Friends League KittenCam, which can be equal parts disappointing and addicting. We had been talking about that and DDML just popped right into place.
[SUMMARY: That, my elementary school-level readers, is a clear example of serendipity.]
Now, I got my cats at the DDFL ten years ago. My hedgehog had waddled off the mortal coil almost a year before and Brother offered to adopt me a cat for my birthday.
"But I don't like cats," I said.
"You only don't like cats because you've never had a cat," he replied.
So we went to a couple of different DDFL shelters a couple of times each. I watched the cats. I read their names and what history the DDFL had on them. I learned of their medical and emotional issues.
In the very room you see on KittenCam, I fell in love with my Quill and Lucy.¶¶¶ I watched them climb and hide and rub noses and I knew this was the pair I was seeking. The DDFL rep brought them into a room with me so I could get a little one-on-one and we all three were hooked.###
I had to fill out paperwork promising to take care of them and allowing that the DDFL could inspect my home for cat suitability and repossess the cats in the event any allegations of abuse or neglect were substantiated.
Then there is a two- or three-day cooling off period (you can't take them home the second you find them).
Because I was renting, they also had to get the OK from my landlord for me to have pets.
Then they micro-chipped them and sent them home with me.
My friends came over a couple of nights later to meet and greet and bring kitty treats.
[SUMMARY: A well-conceived process.]
How difficult a transition is it to make to a DDML?††††
Think about it:
-A place where you can watch the men in their habitat for a few days before seeing them in person.
-A place where you can visit them and get a feel for them before you actually mingle with them.
-A place where they have their medical history, emotional state and family history all typed up on a card.
-A place where there are always options for adoption.
-A place where they are electronically marked so you can find them if they stray.
-A place that makes sure you have thought it through and your home is open to the adoption.
Then a forum to meet friends and family all in one fell swoop?
It may be ideal. If only we could get the men into those little cages...
[SUMMARY: I think I'm funny. Don't send Glenn Sacks after me!]
How much would you love to be looking at the DDML SmittenCam right now?
And do you think I should ask Sue to ask Sarah to ask The Spelling Bee Champ to check whether he likes me, yes or no?‡‡‡‡
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): That's much funnier in person. Out loud. Really.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Ange also got a post-grad collegiate rating on her reading level, but it in no way makes me want to stick DPNs up her nose. I'm happy for her continued success and wish her all the best.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): As is evidenced by my classic Nick-Nolte-in-lockup hairdo.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): If you say this with a posh British pronunciation (spěsh'ē-āl'ĭ-tē), I'm pretty sure it will boost my reading level.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Shut up. If you want to stay on the "reasonable and sane" train with me, you have to stop laughing.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Oh, yeah. This may look a little like social commentary, but it's all about me.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And -- it seemed -- sincerely...
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): For easier viewing!
§§FOOTNOTE (dizzy, head-spinning smooches): No, you've never heard of them. Just detail for the sake of authenticity.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (like tuning pegs on a guitar): Not an oxymoron.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like an object lesson into your brain): Like the time I was staring at The Boy, daydreaming, largely unaware he was even there, when he said, "What?" in that sorta sexy way that invites a love-nibble of a reply. "Did anyone ever tell you you have really nice teeth?" I said. Wrong-footed. Like that.
†††FOOTNOTE (Calgary? Cavalry? Calvary?): Damnit, stop laughing. Hey, one other point in his favour was that I thought he was about 30 and when he asked, "Do you mind if I ask how old you are?" and I confessed to 40 (thinking I might just be relegating myself to the role of mother figure), he was so visibly relieved because he thought I might be in my 20s and he's 38 and just doesn't have a lot of truck with youngsters. It could happen. I was wearing pigtails.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Perish the thought! He hasn't stopped thinking of me since that night. He's haunted by my wit, my beauty, my curly hair... his work suffers and he loses sleep. Or maybe I'm projecting.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (how many ways can I say "train tracks"?): "Maybe I should ask Sue to ask Sarah if he likes me. Or maybe I should tell Sue to tell Sarah to tell him I thought he was a really good kisser, just in case he thinks I said he was a bad kisser. I really like him. Where's Sue? Do you think I should talk to Sue?"
§§§FOOTNOTE (spinning right out of orbit): Ange regularly and frequently says the funniest, smartest things I hear in any given week. She claims, "...my contribution was the name. I'm just the idea person, I'm not so-much about action or follow-through." Bless you, Angel-eek for letting me steal your idea and provide my own wonky follow-through.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (clubby!): Quill and Lucy were littermates, actual brother and sister, given up by a guy who moved to a rental where he couldn't have both cats and his dog. He chose the dog. He also named the cats "Garth" and "Axl," so his whole mental state may be suspect, but they were well-loved and well-trained kitties, so I bless him a little every time Cat for Scale purrs at me.
###FOOTNOTE (we are taking such a pounding): I don't think Brother was immune, so let's say "all four of us." He started volunteering at the shelter not too long after that.
††††FOOTNOTE (have I ever been this crossed?): None. None difficult transition.
‡‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (we're nearing the Golden Spike): Wasn't this fun? Hasn't it been a long time since I've shared my stupid girl neuroses about boys with you? Don't you wish we could do this more often?
Wow. It's really unfortunate Blogger won't let me put "Dork" in the labels more than once.
First and foremost, I promised updates on the keychain situation as circumstances warranted.
*warrantwarrantwarrant*†
First, Angel-eek found the entire push-button animal keychain line here,% where they have many, many cool things and I really want the duck mirror. I don't even look in mirrors‡ and I want the one with the duck feet.
Then Lyda, bemoaning the lack of zombie keychains, tracked these down. Despite her misgivings they may be too cute, I am madly in love with them. I used to have nightmares when I was six that looked a lot like those keychains.
Well, those and the hideous Frankentoys from "Toy Story."
For the record? Nothing to do with keychains, but Lyda also found this collection. I think a Zombie Knitter thong would be an excellent test for a man's dedication to the pursuit of a little trim.
Which brings us to our real topic of the day: men. And the dedication aforementioned.
[SUMMARY: Segueways are my speciality.§]
So let's talk about boys.
Oh, how I love boys. And men. And guys... 'specially guys.
I love their chronic simplicity. I love their straightforward communication style. I love taking their money at the poker table and how good natured they can be about it. I love watching football with them.
The more astute among you may recognise I'm talking about guy *friends*. If there's a hint of love or lust in the air, all that goes out the window.
Then they become the stereotype of a thousand predictable sitcoms. Every bad, mad comedienne shilling for two drink minimum shifts from shrew to incisive sociologist solely because she's so RIGHT. And even we reasonable and sane women¶ suffer from bouts of why-can't-he-call-when-he-says-he's-going-to-call misandry.
[SUMMARY: Poetic wax: apply liberally, buff to a purple shine.]
See, I met this nice guy last weekend.#
He beat me in a spelling bee, but graciously†† conceded that our spelling aptitude was at least comparable, amid mild bouts of giving me shit for misspelling "boudoir."
And he chatted me up.
And I gave him one of my MOO cards.
And he kissed me. Several times.
And when I told him I'd knitted Sue's rainbow scarf, he said, "Huh. That's kinda... hot."
Wait... let's go back to the kissing.
Top four kisses, all time (in order):
- Mark, the coffin kiss, 1982: Our high school drama department was working the Denver Jaycees' haunted house. I was out of our cauldron and down the graveyard path at the BBYO cemetery, hanging out in a stand-up coffin, playing dead, getting a little rest from all the cackling and stirring. Mark walked up, pulled the split-lid‡‡ over us a little, leaned in and laid his lips on mine, absolutely parallel, and ran the very tip of his tongue across my top lip and then blew on it gently. I don't know if it was the coffin, the hot guy or my lack of experience, but I may have come just a little at that moment.
- Different Mark, the stair kiss, 1986: I was hanging out with The Denny Lake Band§§ at the ABC Motel in Gunnison after their gig during Western State College homecoming festivities. The very cute, very smart guitarist¶¶ spent the night in the corner talking to me about important stuff while the other musicians drank, diddled their egos and tried to get into Stesha's pants. He asked for my phone number when Stesh and I were leaving. I was behind him going down the outside stairs from their door. Halfway down, he turned and I thought he was going to say something, but he laid a liplock on me that literally made my knees go weak. Good thing he had his arm locked around my waist or I would have collapsed. It was a quality kiss, but it was the spontaneity of it that put it over the top. And the aesthetic -- very Le Baiser de l'Hotel de Ville.
- Currently a tie: The Boy, the bottom of my stairs, 8/15/06: I believe he was jealous of Marco during the Def Leppard concert at Red Rocks. Marco and I were having a good time, singing along, joking... and on the way home, Marco and The Boy made friends and agreed to take Mary, Marco's girlfriend, and me golfing the following weekend. Feathers soothed a little, The Boy laid a relieved, slightly possessive kiss on me before saying goodnight that made me go, "Oh!" TIED WITH: The Spelling Bee Champ, by the watering station at the Coral Room, the wee hours of 3/23/08: Just a spectacular kiss. Firm, warm, mobile (but not too), wet (but not too), sexy, judicious use of the tongue, good suction... just a really good kiss. And it didn't hurt that it was followed by a half-dozen more of the same. And a declaration of knitting as "hot."
I was speculating with Ange and Bag Lady Kathryn that he may have misunderstood something I said.
See, after a few of these lovely kisses, I told him he was very good at it. He paused for a moment and said, "Well, I guess there's always room for improvement."
At the time, I thought it was a little odd, but it sounded like the sort of thing I say when I'm caught wrong-footed,## so I shrugged, smiled and said, "Could be."
We had been in the midst of saying our good-byes, but I turned around to say something to Kelley and he just disappeared. Again, I didn't think a whole lot of it, but...
Now he hasn't called.
And now that I'm in the check-the-phone-for-a-dial-tone phase, I'm wondering if he thought I told him he *wasn't* very good at kissing. And he was crushed. And he's somewhere, nursing his wounds, dreaming of the young††† woman who so fascinated him and so defeated him.
Perhaps he cries in his pillow every night.
[SUMMARY: Leave me to my fantasies. Did you not hear he hasn't called?]
On the other hand, there's Soldier Boy, who calls every couple of weeks and either 1) says, "Hey, what are you doing tomorrow night? We should get a beer or something," then never calls, or 2) calls at 9:30 on Sunday night to say, "I'm in your neck of the woods, I was hanging out with a buddy and I thought maybe we could get a beer or something. Right now. Run."
OK, he doesn't really say, "run," but you get the idea.
I called him after I got home Wednesday night, a couple of glasses of wine making me brave, and said, "You do know I'm a girl, right? And you have to give me at least a few hours of lead time so I can shave my legs and put on the war paint."
"Honey, you know I'm not a planning kind of guy..."
"Oh, I know. But... legs. Shaving. Girly stuff. I'm not asking for much. Three or four hours warning."
"What are you doing August 8?"
"Smart ass."
At least we're both very aware of our needs and our shortcomings. I don't know The Spelling Bee Champ well enough to know what the hell he's thinking. If he's thinking at all.^
There I was crying in my beer, making Ange and Kathryn listen to my junior high rantings.‡‡‡ They were being very supportive, and Ange chimed in with, "They should have a Denver Dumb Men's League."§§§
Ange introduced me to the Denver Dumb Friends League KittenCam, which can be equal parts disappointing and addicting. We had been talking about that and DDML just popped right into place.
[SUMMARY: That, my elementary school-level readers, is a clear example of serendipity.]
Now, I got my cats at the DDFL ten years ago. My hedgehog had waddled off the mortal coil almost a year before and Brother offered to adopt me a cat for my birthday.
"But I don't like cats," I said.
"You only don't like cats because you've never had a cat," he replied.
So we went to a couple of different DDFL shelters a couple of times each. I watched the cats. I read their names and what history the DDFL had on them. I learned of their medical and emotional issues.
In the very room you see on KittenCam, I fell in love with my Quill and Lucy.¶¶¶ I watched them climb and hide and rub noses and I knew this was the pair I was seeking. The DDFL rep brought them into a room with me so I could get a little one-on-one and we all three were hooked.###
I had to fill out paperwork promising to take care of them and allowing that the DDFL could inspect my home for cat suitability and repossess the cats in the event any allegations of abuse or neglect were substantiated.
Then there is a two- or three-day cooling off period (you can't take them home the second you find them).
Because I was renting, they also had to get the OK from my landlord for me to have pets.
Then they micro-chipped them and sent them home with me.
My friends came over a couple of nights later to meet and greet and bring kitty treats.
[SUMMARY: A well-conceived process.]
How difficult a transition is it to make to a DDML?††††
Think about it:
-A place where you can watch the men in their habitat for a few days before seeing them in person.
-A place where you can visit them and get a feel for them before you actually mingle with them.
-A place where they have their medical history, emotional state and family history all typed up on a card.
-A place where there are always options for adoption.
-A place where they are electronically marked so you can find them if they stray.
-A place that makes sure you have thought it through and your home is open to the adoption.
Then a forum to meet friends and family all in one fell swoop?
It may be ideal. If only we could get the men into those little cages...
[SUMMARY: I think I'm funny. Don't send Glenn Sacks after me!]
How much would you love to be looking at the DDML SmittenCam right now?
And do you think I should ask Sue to ask Sarah to ask The Spelling Bee Champ to check whether he likes me, yes or no?‡‡‡‡
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): That's much funnier in person. Out loud. Really.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Ange also got a post-grad collegiate rating on her reading level, but it in no way makes me want to stick DPNs up her nose. I'm happy for her continued success and wish her all the best.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): As is evidenced by my classic Nick-Nolte-in-lockup hairdo.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): If you say this with a posh British pronunciation (spěsh'ē-āl'ĭ-tē), I'm pretty sure it will boost my reading level.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Shut up. If you want to stay on the "reasonable and sane" train with me, you have to stop laughing.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Oh, yeah. This may look a little like social commentary, but it's all about me.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And -- it seemed -- sincerely...
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): For easier viewing!
§§FOOTNOTE (dizzy, head-spinning smooches): No, you've never heard of them. Just detail for the sake of authenticity.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (like tuning pegs on a guitar): Not an oxymoron.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like an object lesson into your brain): Like the time I was staring at The Boy, daydreaming, largely unaware he was even there, when he said, "What?" in that sorta sexy way that invites a love-nibble of a reply. "Did anyone ever tell you you have really nice teeth?" I said. Wrong-footed. Like that.
†††FOOTNOTE (Calgary? Cavalry? Calvary?): Damnit, stop laughing. Hey, one other point in his favour was that I thought he was about 30 and when he asked, "Do you mind if I ask how old you are?" and I confessed to 40 (thinking I might just be relegating myself to the role of mother figure), he was so visibly relieved because he thought I might be in my 20s and he's 38 and just doesn't have a lot of truck with youngsters. It could happen. I was wearing pigtails.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Perish the thought! He hasn't stopped thinking of me since that night. He's haunted by my wit, my beauty, my curly hair... his work suffers and he loses sleep. Or maybe I'm projecting.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (how many ways can I say "train tracks"?): "Maybe I should ask Sue to ask Sarah if he likes me. Or maybe I should tell Sue to tell Sarah to tell him I thought he was a really good kisser, just in case he thinks I said he was a bad kisser. I really like him. Where's Sue? Do you think I should talk to Sue?"
§§§FOOTNOTE (spinning right out of orbit): Ange regularly and frequently says the funniest, smartest things I hear in any given week. She claims, "...my contribution was the name. I'm just the idea person, I'm not so-much about action or follow-through." Bless you, Angel-eek for letting me steal your idea and provide my own wonky follow-through.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (clubby!): Quill and Lucy were littermates, actual brother and sister, given up by a guy who moved to a rental where he couldn't have both cats and his dog. He chose the dog. He also named the cats "Garth" and "Axl," so his whole mental state may be suspect, but they were well-loved and well-trained kitties, so I bless him a little every time Cat for Scale purrs at me.
###FOOTNOTE (we are taking such a pounding): I don't think Brother was immune, so let's say "all four of us." He started volunteering at the shelter not too long after that.
††††FOOTNOTE (have I ever been this crossed?): None. None difficult transition.
‡‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (we're nearing the Golden Spike): Wasn't this fun? Hasn't it been a long time since I've shared my stupid girl neuroses about boys with you? Don't you wish we could do this more often?
Wow. It's really unfortunate Blogger won't let me put "Dork" in the labels more than once.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Four Feet Two
First in knitting news, I had quite a lovely surprise when I made my weekly trip to the mailbox yesterday.
It seems A Knitted Peace determined I had spent $500 in their store in 2007 and am eligible for their customer appreciation program.† I got a $50 gift certificate.‡
Why do you suppose it's so much harder to spend a gift certificate than cash? I'm paralysed by my options. There's a good chance I'll sit on this for ages.
Probably until I lose the gift certificate.
[SUMMARY: I'm a financial wizard.]
But I didn't bring you here to talk about my "windfall." No, I brought you here to talk about my knitting.
I finished the Jellyfish a week ago, but couldn't deliver it§ until I could take pictures.¶
In the end, it was 33" across. It took three skeins (less three yards) of Lion Brand Wool Ease Thick & Quick in Sky Blue. It's very, very thick and may make a better dragging blankie than covering blankie.
[SUMMARY: Know your audience.]
Speaking of audience...
Nice segueway, huh? But I just thought of this. And it's sort of knitting related. And it goes with the footnote on baby blankets, specifically the one for Jeron, Christa's son.
Christa was supposed to be at the baby shower, but her mother was in the hospital or some such, so I left the long-finished blanket with Tani, who I felt sure would see Christa before I would.
Tani reported that Christa loved the blanket and...
(wait for it)
...is going to frame it.
I almost cried. I almost yelled. I almost argued.# Then I caught myself and thought and said, "I guess she can frame it if she wants to. I made it for her, so it's her blankie."
But, really.
I envision the blankies I give to the babies being loved and mussed and dragged around until they're frayed and stained. I want the blankies to be loved. Not preserved.
But, again... not my call. Blankies are like children: you do your best with them, then release them to the world and trust they'll reach their best potential.
But, really.
[SUMMARY: There's a lot of philosophy in a baby blanket.]
OK, I'm back. We were talking knitting.
Real knitting. Not philosophical knitting.
So here's the scarf you've never heard of before that I knitted for the raffle on Saturday. I used Misti chunky alpaca†† and it was lovely. Soft as alpaca is soft and quick and comfortable...
And look at the colour! It's called "Marina Melange" and it has wisps of green and deep purplish-blue in among the tealish colour. I could have stared at it for hours,‡‡ just wrapping my eyes around the depth of the shades.
See?
In a quick field trip to some of the fluffly little shops across from the Coral Room, I found the perfect card on which to write content and washing instructions:
Perfect for me, I mean. And the fact that it came with 11 other cards just like it? Bonus!
[SUMMARY: I'm a total package kind of girl.]
Finally, I finished the four-at-once socks.
As anticipated, the difference in sizes caused most of the headaches, but they were very small headaches. Not even headaches so much as exercises in brow furrowing. They hardly hurt a bit.
I think I'll do six at once next. In lace. Different laces for each pair. Then I can tell if it's difference period or just difference in size that makes the... difference.
Sort of like a double-blind study.§§
[SUMMARY: I have superpowers!]
Happy story:
The orange yarn is Hobby Kids from Schoeller + Stahl, left over from a pair I knit for Brother. I figured I wouldn't have quite enough for all four socks. When I went to look for more, I found the yarn has been discontinued.
Paradise Fibers showed they had ten balls of Hobby Kids in red, so I ordered one. They called me that night to say, "Oops! There was an error on our website. Can we send you [some other yarn] instead? Please leave us a message."
I told them I needed the same gauge, same basic tweedy colour scheme and fully machine washable and dryable.
Nobody at Paradise Fibers ever checks their messages. I got about four phone calls and three emails the next day, all from different people.% When I got the yarn, it's 83% wool and wholly unsuitable.
I had to be down in Littleton for random work reasons, so I stopped by A Knitted Peace. That's where I got the original orange yarn. I had no illusions that they would have more of the Hobby Kids, but I thought maybe they'd have SOMETHING.
Guess what?
They happened to have two balls of green^ Hobby Kids in the back. They collect yarn for the women's correctional facility to use in making charity knitting projects, and someone had donated it. So they didn't charge me.@
Oh, happy!
[SUMMARY: Good things come to those who wait 'til the last minute.]
Funny story:
I dropped by the Household du Brother Monday to drop off the socks.¶¶ Dr. Doom ran into the living room in his underpants, excited to get his socks.## Tallest, Hairiest Nephew also came in to see what the fuss was about, although he apparently forgot his underpants. And all other clothing.
Upon seeing the aunt and the open door, he covered his privates and fell to the ground. As he crawled to the pile of clothing on the coffee table,††† eBeth said, "Remember when I told you to put underwear on? Wouldn't that have been a good idea?"‡‡‡
So they both put on socks and wandered around in their underwear making appreciative noises.§§§ Just as I was leaving, Dr. Doom whipped off his underwear and went puttering around in nothing but his new socks.
[SUMMARY: Naked is the new black.]
I'm mildly disturbed that it's so easy for me to get my nephews out of their pants.
Then again, I haven't tried... do you think handing a pair of socks to The Spelling Bee Champ would entice him to remove his?
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Honestly, I don't know if I ever knew there was such a thing. And it's a little scary to think I spent that much last year at my SECONDARY LYS, but look! Customer appreciation!
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): That's a 10% ROI. I couldn't have done any better with a Certificate of Deposit.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Speaking of delivery, the baby was born Monday. That makes this blanket a personal record for me, being both finished and presented (OK, OK... but I'm taking it tonight or tomorrow morning) within days of birth. My brother assured me long ago that hand-knit baby blankets don't have to be finished by the time the baby arrives. In fact, he tells me, they don't even have to be finished that soon after the baby arrives. Good thing, too. Christa just got Jeron's baby blanket and he's nine months old. In my defense, it didn't take me that long to knit it, just that long to get it to her.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Perhaps my hand-knit gifts should come with a warning that they will not be distributed until the proper photography and cataloguing (I can spell "cataloguing") has taken place.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Which, y'know... lots of good. Yelling at Tani for Christa's actions. Very productive.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): 100% baby alpaca, which sounds really cruel when you say it out loud to someone.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): OK, I *did* stare at it for hours.
§§FOOTNOTE (two pairs, two circs): Almost nothing like a double-blind study. Mostly the cheerful, blind flailing of the blissfully experimental.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): As you may recognise, this is a mini customer service indictment of Paradise Fibers. They are VERY nice and VERY prompt, but not particularly well organised and they don't appear to ever talk to each other. Or check their messages.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Which I suspect looks better than the red would have.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): I know, I know... I felt a little wriggly taking charity yarn and told them I'd gladly replace it with two balls of something, but they said they have way more than enough and they'd never miss it. Perhaps it's my Kharmic payout for the raffle scarf.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (little stocking feet): Did I mention it took me until nearly 2:00 in the morning to finish them?
##FOOTNOTE (pounding like the last round of knitting at 2:00 am): It's spring break and they were getting ready to leave for South Dakota. He deemed the socks, "perfect trip socks."
†††FOOTNOTE (are we back to Calgary? It was Easter, after all): Packing, remember. Not a housekeeping issue.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (Frankenblog!): The things you get to say when you're a parent. Apparently. Heh.
§§§FOOTNOTE (OK, now I'm dizzy): Have I mentioned recently how marvelous it is that so many people in my life -- particularly everybody I'd ever be inspired to knit for -- is so appreciative? I hear stories from knitter friends all the time about people who aren't thrilled or impressed or... appreciative at all. I may be the luckiest knitter in the world. Even the four-year-old thinks hand-knits are cool.
It seems A Knitted Peace determined I had spent $500 in their store in 2007 and am eligible for their customer appreciation program.† I got a $50 gift certificate.‡
Why do you suppose it's so much harder to spend a gift certificate than cash? I'm paralysed by my options. There's a good chance I'll sit on this for ages.
Probably until I lose the gift certificate.
[SUMMARY: I'm a financial wizard.]
But I didn't bring you here to talk about my "windfall." No, I brought you here to talk about my knitting.
I finished the Jellyfish a week ago, but couldn't deliver it§ until I could take pictures.¶
In the end, it was 33" across. It took three skeins (less three yards) of Lion Brand Wool Ease Thick & Quick in Sky Blue. It's very, very thick and may make a better dragging blankie than covering blankie.
[SUMMARY: Know your audience.]
Speaking of audience...
Nice segueway, huh? But I just thought of this. And it's sort of knitting related. And it goes with the footnote on baby blankets, specifically the one for Jeron, Christa's son.
Christa was supposed to be at the baby shower, but her mother was in the hospital or some such, so I left the long-finished blanket with Tani, who I felt sure would see Christa before I would.
Tani reported that Christa loved the blanket and...
(wait for it)
...is going to frame it.
I almost cried. I almost yelled. I almost argued.# Then I caught myself and thought and said, "I guess she can frame it if she wants to. I made it for her, so it's her blankie."
But, really.
I envision the blankies I give to the babies being loved and mussed and dragged around until they're frayed and stained. I want the blankies to be loved. Not preserved.
But, again... not my call. Blankies are like children: you do your best with them, then release them to the world and trust they'll reach their best potential.
But, really.
[SUMMARY: There's a lot of philosophy in a baby blanket.]
OK, I'm back. We were talking knitting.
Real knitting. Not philosophical knitting.
So here's the scarf you've never heard of before that I knitted for the raffle on Saturday. I used Misti chunky alpaca†† and it was lovely. Soft as alpaca is soft and quick and comfortable...
And look at the colour! It's called "Marina Melange" and it has wisps of green and deep purplish-blue in among the tealish colour. I could have stared at it for hours,‡‡ just wrapping my eyes around the depth of the shades.
See?
In a quick field trip to some of the fluffly little shops across from the Coral Room, I found the perfect card on which to write content and washing instructions:
Perfect for me, I mean. And the fact that it came with 11 other cards just like it? Bonus!
[SUMMARY: I'm a total package kind of girl.]
Finally, I finished the four-at-once socks.
As anticipated, the difference in sizes caused most of the headaches, but they were very small headaches. Not even headaches so much as exercises in brow furrowing. They hardly hurt a bit.
I think I'll do six at once next. In lace. Different laces for each pair. Then I can tell if it's difference period or just difference in size that makes the... difference.
Sort of like a double-blind study.§§
[SUMMARY: I have superpowers!]
Happy story:
The orange yarn is Hobby Kids from Schoeller + Stahl, left over from a pair I knit for Brother. I figured I wouldn't have quite enough for all four socks. When I went to look for more, I found the yarn has been discontinued.
Paradise Fibers showed they had ten balls of Hobby Kids in red, so I ordered one. They called me that night to say, "Oops! There was an error on our website. Can we send you [some other yarn] instead? Please leave us a message."
I told them I needed the same gauge, same basic tweedy colour scheme and fully machine washable and dryable.
Nobody at Paradise Fibers ever checks their messages. I got about four phone calls and three emails the next day, all from different people.% When I got the yarn, it's 83% wool and wholly unsuitable.
I had to be down in Littleton for random work reasons, so I stopped by A Knitted Peace. That's where I got the original orange yarn. I had no illusions that they would have more of the Hobby Kids, but I thought maybe they'd have SOMETHING.
Guess what?
They happened to have two balls of green^ Hobby Kids in the back. They collect yarn for the women's correctional facility to use in making charity knitting projects, and someone had donated it. So they didn't charge me.@
Oh, happy!
[SUMMARY: Good things come to those who wait 'til the last minute.]
Funny story:
I dropped by the Household du Brother Monday to drop off the socks.¶¶ Dr. Doom ran into the living room in his underpants, excited to get his socks.## Tallest, Hairiest Nephew also came in to see what the fuss was about, although he apparently forgot his underpants. And all other clothing.
Upon seeing the aunt and the open door, he covered his privates and fell to the ground. As he crawled to the pile of clothing on the coffee table,††† eBeth said, "Remember when I told you to put underwear on? Wouldn't that have been a good idea?"‡‡‡
So they both put on socks and wandered around in their underwear making appreciative noises.§§§ Just as I was leaving, Dr. Doom whipped off his underwear and went puttering around in nothing but his new socks.
[SUMMARY: Naked is the new black.]
I'm mildly disturbed that it's so easy for me to get my nephews out of their pants.
Then again, I haven't tried... do you think handing a pair of socks to The Spelling Bee Champ would entice him to remove his?
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Honestly, I don't know if I ever knew there was such a thing. And it's a little scary to think I spent that much last year at my SECONDARY LYS, but look! Customer appreciation!
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): That's a 10% ROI. I couldn't have done any better with a Certificate of Deposit.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Speaking of delivery, the baby was born Monday. That makes this blanket a personal record for me, being both finished and presented (OK, OK... but I'm taking it tonight or tomorrow morning) within days of birth. My brother assured me long ago that hand-knit baby blankets don't have to be finished by the time the baby arrives. In fact, he tells me, they don't even have to be finished that soon after the baby arrives. Good thing, too. Christa just got Jeron's baby blanket and he's nine months old. In my defense, it didn't take me that long to knit it, just that long to get it to her.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Perhaps my hand-knit gifts should come with a warning that they will not be distributed until the proper photography and cataloguing (I can spell "cataloguing") has taken place.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Which, y'know... lots of good. Yelling at Tani for Christa's actions. Very productive.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): 100% baby alpaca, which sounds really cruel when you say it out loud to someone.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): OK, I *did* stare at it for hours.
§§FOOTNOTE (two pairs, two circs): Almost nothing like a double-blind study. Mostly the cheerful, blind flailing of the blissfully experimental.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): As you may recognise, this is a mini customer service indictment of Paradise Fibers. They are VERY nice and VERY prompt, but not particularly well organised and they don't appear to ever talk to each other. Or check their messages.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Which I suspect looks better than the red would have.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): I know, I know... I felt a little wriggly taking charity yarn and told them I'd gladly replace it with two balls of something, but they said they have way more than enough and they'd never miss it. Perhaps it's my Kharmic payout for the raffle scarf.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (little stocking feet): Did I mention it took me until nearly 2:00 in the morning to finish them?
##FOOTNOTE (pounding like the last round of knitting at 2:00 am): It's spring break and they were getting ready to leave for South Dakota. He deemed the socks, "perfect trip socks."
†††FOOTNOTE (are we back to Calgary? It was Easter, after all): Packing, remember. Not a housekeeping issue.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (Frankenblog!): The things you get to say when you're a parent. Apparently. Heh.
§§§FOOTNOTE (OK, now I'm dizzy): Have I mentioned recently how marvelous it is that so many people in my life -- particularly everybody I'd ever be inspired to knit for -- is so appreciative? I hear stories from knitter friends all the time about people who aren't thrilled or impressed or... appreciative at all. I may be the luckiest knitter in the world. Even the four-year-old thinks hand-knits are cool.
I'm Number Two!
Just wait 'til you see all the knitting what took place this weekend! There's engineering! Peeps! Drama! Math! Ribs! 100% baby alpaca!
They should have made a reality TiVi series out of my weekend! And my weekend started really early because I had Good Friday off† and they closed the office at 3:00 on Thursday!‡
[SUMMARY: She exclaimed!]
Of course, the pictures are stuck in the camera for the moment,§ so you'll have to wait to share in most of the festivities. Damn it,¶ *I'll* have to wait. And I'm off-my-rocker excited to show you my knitting pictures from this weekend.#
But since there are no pictures in Olympus Limbo for the Saturday night spelling bee, I can recount that particular tale.
[SUMMARY: A spelling bee story? With no pictures? REALLY?!]
The Coral Room hosted a benefit Saturday night for Kristen, who is undergoing cancer treatment, much to the detriment of her modest cash flow.††
There was a big raffle, for which I knit a lovely alpaca scarf and bought my fair share of tickets.
There were drink specials, for which I strayed from my usual glass of Evolution in favour of a chardonnay.
There was the guy who wanted to buy Kelley and I drinks for letting he and his wife sit in our seats to eat, but we asked him to put the cash in the Kristen Kitty instead.
The Platte River Killers played an acoustic set.‡‡
And there was the spelling bee.
[SUMMARY: Cancer takes a lot of effort.]
My first word? Fellatio.§§
There were about 25 people signed up. Most made it through the first round. Most didn't make it through the second round.
I made it to the fourth and final round, and somehow decided the U in boudoir was one vowel too many and lost to he-who-shall-be-known-as-Spelling-Champ, who spelled "aborigine."
I can spell aborigine.
Apparently, my French is a little rusty.
And I could've spelled it right if I'd written in out.
And I'm pretty sure I spelled "idiosyncrasy" correctly in the round before, even though the MC said I was wrong.
And the sun was in my eyes.
*ahem*
I did get some nice parting gifts, including a dictionary, a crossword puzzle book, a $35 gift certificate to the Coral Room¶¶ and some very accomplished kisses from The Spelling Bee Champ, who also got my phone number.##
[SUMMARY: What ego was damaged in the spelling be was totally spackled over in the aftermath.]
So all in all, a good night, though not the win I anticipated.†††
As a funny aside, the final gift in the prize bag was a "green"% light bulb from Wal-Mart.^ When I got home, I flipped on the torchiere (I can spell "torchiere") lamp that I favour over the blasting overhead light and it promptly blew.
I reached into my little bag, pulled out my little light bulb, shed a little light on the subject and went on my merry little way.
[SUMMARY: I fear I used my Kharmic Green Stamps on light and The Spelling Bee Champ will lose my phone number.]
*************
I am studiously avoiding saying anything about my tournament brackets. Once again, I picked Duke to win it all. In fact, I filled out seven brackets for seven different pools and put all my basketball eggs in the Duke basket.
Unless the Kansas plane collides midair with the Memphis plane, with both falling to crush the UNC bus, the resulting firestorm taking out Tennessee, let us not speak of this again.
[SUMMARY: Krzyzewski is French for goddamnit.]
Shit. They should have given me Krzyzewski in the spelling bee. I can spell Krzyzewski.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Any Friday when I can knit for six hours and still start drinking by 3:30 is a good Friday in my book.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Note the clever (over)use of exclamation points to indicate I don't actually have the pictures to prove it yet, but I want you to be really excited.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Why? Because I was up until 1:30 this morning knitting, that's why.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): See: excited!
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Y'all have known me awhile now. I hope you are keeping this all in perspective (I can spell "perspective") and knowing deep in your hearts that this may be wayyyyy more exciting for me than for you.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): As in, "Despite having health insurance, this is costing her more than $1000 a month out-of-pocket."
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Kind of a departure. They're a metal band, complete with thrashy guitars and muppet voice.
§§FOOTNOTE (y'know... like when you swirl your tongue): To which I said, "If you can't spell it, you probably shouldn't do it." A lesbian (I can spell "lesbian") asked me to sign her autograph book with that quote.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (one Ps... no, wait! Two Ps! Could you use it in a sentence?): The winning prize package was exactly the same, only it was dinner for two at the Coral Room.
##FOOTNOTE (right in the kisser): Of course I did. I don't have so many knee-buckling kisses that I feel I can afford to snub the kisser. Or busser. 'Cause I can spell "busser."
†††FOOTNOTE (triple threat! Beauty, Brains and... uh... Boobs!): Ah, hubris (I can spell "hubris"). Hey, when my church gets off the ground, there will be a lot more saints and a lot less random smiting.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which I put in convenient quotes so you'll know I don't mean it was kelly green or moss green, but enviroweenily friendly.
^FOOTNOTE (careted -- see? I can spell "caret"): I know, I know, but they donated. And they donated green, so it could be worse.
They should have made a reality TiVi series out of my weekend! And my weekend started really early because I had Good Friday off† and they closed the office at 3:00 on Thursday!‡
[SUMMARY: She exclaimed!]
Of course, the pictures are stuck in the camera for the moment,§ so you'll have to wait to share in most of the festivities. Damn it,¶ *I'll* have to wait. And I'm off-my-rocker excited to show you my knitting pictures from this weekend.#
But since there are no pictures in Olympus Limbo for the Saturday night spelling bee, I can recount that particular tale.
[SUMMARY: A spelling bee story? With no pictures? REALLY?!]
The Coral Room hosted a benefit Saturday night for Kristen, who is undergoing cancer treatment, much to the detriment of her modest cash flow.††
There was a big raffle, for which I knit a lovely alpaca scarf and bought my fair share of tickets.
There were drink specials, for which I strayed from my usual glass of Evolution in favour of a chardonnay.
There was the guy who wanted to buy Kelley and I drinks for letting he and his wife sit in our seats to eat, but we asked him to put the cash in the Kristen Kitty instead.
The Platte River Killers played an acoustic set.‡‡
And there was the spelling bee.
[SUMMARY: Cancer takes a lot of effort.]
My first word? Fellatio.§§
There were about 25 people signed up. Most made it through the first round. Most didn't make it through the second round.
I made it to the fourth and final round, and somehow decided the U in boudoir was one vowel too many and lost to he-who-shall-be-known-as-Spelling-Champ, who spelled "aborigine."
I can spell aborigine.
Apparently, my French is a little rusty.
And I could've spelled it right if I'd written in out.
And I'm pretty sure I spelled "idiosyncrasy" correctly in the round before, even though the MC said I was wrong.
And the sun was in my eyes.
*ahem*
I did get some nice parting gifts, including a dictionary, a crossword puzzle book, a $35 gift certificate to the Coral Room¶¶ and some very accomplished kisses from The Spelling Bee Champ, who also got my phone number.##
[SUMMARY: What ego was damaged in the spelling be was totally spackled over in the aftermath.]
So all in all, a good night, though not the win I anticipated.†††
As a funny aside, the final gift in the prize bag was a "green"% light bulb from Wal-Mart.^ When I got home, I flipped on the torchiere (I can spell "torchiere") lamp that I favour over the blasting overhead light and it promptly blew.
I reached into my little bag, pulled out my little light bulb, shed a little light on the subject and went on my merry little way.
[SUMMARY: I fear I used my Kharmic Green Stamps on light and The Spelling Bee Champ will lose my phone number.]
*************
I am studiously avoiding saying anything about my tournament brackets. Once again, I picked Duke to win it all. In fact, I filled out seven brackets for seven different pools and put all my basketball eggs in the Duke basket.
Unless the Kansas plane collides midair with the Memphis plane, with both falling to crush the UNC bus, the resulting firestorm taking out Tennessee, let us not speak of this again.
[SUMMARY: Krzyzewski is French for goddamnit.]
Shit. They should have given me Krzyzewski in the spelling bee. I can spell Krzyzewski.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Any Friday when I can knit for six hours and still start drinking by 3:30 is a good Friday in my book.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Note the clever (over)use of exclamation points to indicate I don't actually have the pictures to prove it yet, but I want you to be really excited.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Why? Because I was up until 1:30 this morning knitting, that's why.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): See: excited!
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Y'all have known me awhile now. I hope you are keeping this all in perspective (I can spell "perspective") and knowing deep in your hearts that this may be wayyyyy more exciting for me than for you.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): As in, "Despite having health insurance, this is costing her more than $1000 a month out-of-pocket."
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Kind of a departure. They're a metal band, complete with thrashy guitars and muppet voice.
§§FOOTNOTE (y'know... like when you swirl your tongue): To which I said, "If you can't spell it, you probably shouldn't do it." A lesbian (I can spell "lesbian") asked me to sign her autograph book with that quote.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (one Ps... no, wait! Two Ps! Could you use it in a sentence?): The winning prize package was exactly the same, only it was dinner for two at the Coral Room.
##FOOTNOTE (right in the kisser): Of course I did. I don't have so many knee-buckling kisses that I feel I can afford to snub the kisser. Or busser. 'Cause I can spell "busser."
†††FOOTNOTE (triple threat! Beauty, Brains and... uh... Boobs!): Ah, hubris (I can spell "hubris"). Hey, when my church gets off the ground, there will be a lot more saints and a lot less random smiting.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which I put in convenient quotes so you'll know I don't mean it was kelly green or moss green, but enviroweenily friendly.
^FOOTNOTE (careted -- see? I can spell "caret"): I know, I know, but they donated. And they donated green, so it could be worse.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)