Barely Contained

In Defense of Paula Deen...Sort Of...

2012-01-18T13:41:00.003-06:00

I'll just jump right in and say it because I feel it needs to be said:

America, Paula Deen did not make you fat.

Sorry, but, she didn't.

She also didn't give anyone diabetes (except herself, apparently…)

Paula Deen did not (that I know of…) prevent anyone from exercising, did not force anyone (that I know of…) to eat fried butter and did not keep anyone (that I know of…) from attending regular doctor visits in which someone whose job it is to help a person make healthy decisions can give them advice about eating and exercising.

And now that we've got that out of the way...

Anthony Bourdain, I love you. I truly do. I just don't think that the guy who smoked cigarettes on television on so many occasions is really the one to comment about anyone poisoning America. The leg breaker comment, though, was f*cking brilliant—more on that, later.

As a grown up, I just don't get it. I don't get the whole "Paula Deen Is The Devil" business. I've been making my own decisions for an awfully long time now and I must tell you, neither Paula's cooking nor Tony's smoking has ever inspired me to do anything I didn't want to do. I may be a sucker to some of the more subtle advertising messages that I see in the media, but with the giant, overt "isn't this yummy?" stuff, I've managed to maintain some level of control. I like to think of myself as typical. Don't we all? And I don't think you'd find too many people in this country who would say that they do only what they see people do on television. When we do find those people (there are a few out there…) we call them what they are: Idiots.

If I want to eat fattening food and spend sickening amounts of time on the couch, guess what? That's my doing. Am I stupid to do that? Duh.

Just like I was stupid to smoke cigarettes, which I also did and somehow managed to not blame Anthony Bourdain…

The notion that we don't have enough healthy role models in this country is ridiculous. Anybody check their email around the New Year? I personally had Eleventy Billion businesses offering to help me get healthy and lose weight. Every grocery store in town had their "healthy diet" stuff on sale, and every Walmart/Kmart/QuickyMart had closeouts on exercise equipment. I got so many emails from Jillian Michaels, I figured her next step to get me to sign up for her web site would be to reach through the computer and drag me in--and she was just one of dozens of such people touting fitness. We have so many people telling us how to be healthy, we actually have to devote additional hours of television and other media to helping people sort which of the healthy information is the most healthful for their personal needs. We're choking on information about healthy lifestyles. For that reason I say, if you can't find healthy lifestyle role models in the United States of America, then you're not looking.

And what I'm ultimately saying is, we're not fat because of Paula Deen. We're fat because we choose to eat poorly and not exercise, even though we know better.

Does that make us stupid? Duh. Now stop pointing at "bad guys" and look in a mirror, fatty.

Now then….about the leg breaker. In what can only be described as an incredibly bad PR move, Paula Deen has chosen to become the spokes person for a line of pharmaceuticals geared toward diabetics. Yep, along with her many other products, the woman is out there shilling insulin. In response to this announcement, Mr. Bourdain tweeted: "Thinking of getting into the leg-breaking business, so I can profitably sell crutches later."

Which is funny as hell…

I don't subscribe to the "we have a pill for that" attitude in this country—never have. It used to drive my doctor crazy—I'd tell him if he diagnosed me with some random crap for which there was a convenient, accompanying pill, I'd fire him. We came perilously close to a fibromyalgia diagnosis in the early days of the Chiari saga, but I put my foot down. Whatever we could do that didn't involve a pill, we'd do that first—that included, among other things, traction (Woo!), quitting smoking (Didn't work! Go figure!), neck braces and a host of "at least it's not a pill" methods. Eventually, it was a combination of things, all of which involved changing my life, that brought me to a level of relief that was tolerable. Also worth mentioning? It took years to figure all this out, and figure out what kind of Chiari patient I would be.

If I had chosen the pill route, this post would probably have been written (or more likely not written…) by someone addicted to narcotic pain relievers, because that's about the only "cure" for Chiari malformation that the medical community has up their sleeve--except for surgery, which is not a guarantee of pain relief.

I see Paula making baby steps toward "lighter" meals and the possibility of maybe admitting to a thing or two about the food. She appears next to her son on his show "Not My Mama's Meals" while he dissects her fatty recipes, makes lighter versions of them and gives her a grief about it, right there on TV, in front of everybody. Baby steps. She's no different from any other woman that age, including my mother, who was diagnosed pre-diabetic and faced a change in her life, too. It's hard. It sucks. No other way to say it—having to change what you've known your whole life, sucks.

The best PR move for Paula would have been to take the three years she's been on TV not talking about diabetes and use that time to slowly lighten up—people would have hardly noticed you were serving steamed veggies after a 36 month lead-in. Unfortunately, she didn't go that route, but again, she's not so very different from any other woman receiving that same diagnosis—how would you have reacted? How long would it take you to change everything?

While her missed opportunity is a bummer, and it's a little boneheaded from a business standpoint, it certainly doesn't make her a bad person—nobody's forcing you to eat bacon, so lighten up, America. We're all responsible for our own choices—we always have been.

Neither Bored Nor Wealthy....Damnit.

2012-01-17T11:07:00.001-06:00

I hate yarn stores.

I mean, I don't "hate" them, I just....*sigh*....I.....well.....I sort of do hate them.

I don't hate people who have yarn stores--what's not to like about a person who sells yarn? Honestly, I think I'm a little nuts not to like yarn stores but hear me out--there are a couple of things that yarn stores tend to do that you don't see in every retail establishment and those things are huge consumer turn-offs. I'd dislike any place that lapses into bad habits, no matter what they were selling.

Number one is....you have to put prices on things. Yes, I know, I know...you're a small and friendly shop and gosh, if people want to know how much something costs, they can ask you because you're a nice person and have no problem talking about yarn because you love it so much and you love helping people and you can't imagine why such a little thing would ever be a problem.

It's a problem.

While I am certain that you are a lovely and helpful person, the truth is, I walk into your shop with a dollar amount in mind--that dollar amount is virtually always under $50, and sometimes it's under $30. I'm not in the position to come in and clean you out of all of the chunky alpaca you have on the shelves, not that I don't want to.....trust me, I want to. If I see something beautiful and perfect and I want it and I know that I will need three of them and I don't see a price tag so I ask, and you tell me that they are $21.95 each and I was hoping for something more in the $10-$12 range, I'm going to be disappointed. Do you take some delight in disappointing me?

I say, if you're going to have a "If you have to ask, you can't afford it" yarn shop, please post a sign on the door so I can skip you entirely and go back to the internet to buy stuff.

Number two, and, I know that this is highly subjective, but I'm just going to say it: I can't tell, walking into a yarn store, if the people who work there assume that I don't know what I'm doing or if they are afraid that I know more than they do. I tend to assume it's the former, and I realize that might be a personal problem.

I'm a person who goes with their gut on most things. I don't invest heavily in the outcome because I enjoy the journey. This is especially true in my knitting. Sure, maybe I thought I would make an X in a specific way, but as I designed it and solved the various problems that occurred along the way, my X turned into a Z. So what? I'm OK with that. I still made a really spectacular Z, but more importantly, I learned HOW to make a Z, all by myself. That experience is immensely satisfying to me. It's more satisfying for me to make something that is uniquely mine than it is to be able to exactly follow a pattern. So when I say that I'm going to make a thing, and that I'll need around 600 yards of "something chunky, I'll know it when I see and touch it", you don't have to ask how many stitches per inch or what kind of needles I'll be using, then cluck when I say that don't really know and I'm not worried about it.

I know you're trying to help. I get that.

I also know that I have dozens of pairs of needles—full sets in every style—and if the 15's don't work on the swatch, I'll try something else. I know that I am ridiculously stubborn, too. As such, I'll just keep working with that yarn until it turns into something cool.

So relax, would ya? I got this. I'm old…been doing this forever.

The other, really important thing that I know is that it is my money that I'm spending, and while advice is welcome, judgment can go f*ck itself. Ultimately, it's none of your business what I do with that 400 yards of OH-MY-GOD-THAT-STUFF-IS-SO-SOFT-I-IMUST-HAVE-IT! If I'm going to go home screw up my design and project because of my poor planning and/or thought process, what's it to you?

There. I feel better. I've wanted to say those things for a while now, I just happened to have been in a few yarn shops over the weekend and was reminded of why I "hate" yarn shops, so there you go. If you are a yarn shop owner, please know that I say these things with love. I want very much to love your store, I'm just too much of a starving artist to shop at a place that seems to be geared toward bored, rich hobbyists. Clearly, that type of shopper is much better for your bottom line than I am, so I don't blame you one bit--it just isn't me. Damnit.

Compulsively Knitting Hats

2012-01-05T22:23:00.000-06:00

Brown and blue, I love.

Loooove the blue and brown.

I'm sure it'll be out of style soon.

It probably already is.

Don't care.

I am going to have to buy a new coat to go with the hat. And I'll have to make a cowl to match.

Loooove the blue and brown.

Tam-A-Lam-A-Ding-Dong

2011-12-27T11:38:00.001-06:00

While I loved the idea of this hat very much, I ended up not liking the finished item.

As we had previously established, I have a huge head. I tried this hat on a good 6-8 times in the process of knitting it and felt confident that it would fit my over-sized noggin. I was happy.

And then, I finished it.

This hat is huge. Freaky huge. Huge like if I had a fat head AND a massive pile of dreads, it might be good for me. They say you should block a tam using a dinner plate. Well, this thing fits loosely over a serving platter. Ouch.

Question is, what person who has a massive pile of dreads would also enjoy a traditional tam? Can the two coexist? Hmmmm...

Before I do anything rash, I'm going to try (gasp!) shrinking it. Don't worry, it's not wool--I probably won't kill it...

Embellished

2011-12-16T19:37:00.001-06:00

I finished the hat, my child put it on her head and I immediately thought two things:

1) Wow, my kid looks cute in that, and...

2) What that hat needs is a giant, cream-colored rosette on the side.

I'd show you the actual cuteness of the kid in the hat if I thought I could get away with it--she's anti-photo. Oh well...the hat will have to carry it .

Lucky You!

2011-12-14T13:59:00.004-06:00

Since I'm hanging in bloggy land today, I thought I would re-share this one from a year ago...it's not like I'm sharing Thanksgiving leftovers or anything....think of it more like putting on your winter coat on the first cold day and finding out you left a $20 bill in the pocket. Oh yeah! I forgot about that! Awesome! Now I can buy a latte!" See? So much better.

Here's Looking At Me, Kid

Saturday, October 9, 2010

While looking at my blog stats, I noticed that someone visited the blog after finding it by doing a Google search for the word "Shelly".

Please allow me to introduce you to the odds of finding a blog with low readership and virtually no advertising by searching the un-famous author's not-entirely-unique first name.

Because I'm here for you, I did the research.

Of the 17 million results, the bulk of the first several pages consisted of web sites for a bunch of people most of us have never heard of, with verbiage stating that "This is the OFFICIAL Shelly _(last name)_ web site!" like it means something. There were the "Shelly, Inc," sites and the Shellys who are actors/TV hosts/authors, and the Shellys who are wacky stay at home moms with "crazy" lives (Tip: if you own a mini-van, your activities are immediately excluded from being considered "crazy". Driving your kids around and making it home just in time to make dinner is not "crazy"--that's just a Tuesday), and that's all very entertaining reading for a bitch like me, BUT...

I think my personal favorite was the description under shelly.com, which states "Sorry, but you are looking for something that isn't here."

I would like to apply that last statement to all of the self-important Shellys on the web, myself included. I would especially like to say that very thing to the Shellys I found who spoke about themselves in the third person, or peppered their pages with performance reviews declaring them to be the only Shellys we should care about, or those Shellys who appear to be taking themselves too seriously (talking to you, Lowenkopf--you're lucky you're a man, is all I can say. Wait--I would also like to say, Mars, you're cool, so just ignore all that negative shit I just said about all those other Shellys).

There are a lot of singer Shellys, photographer and writer Shellys and, oddly, realtor Shellys on the web. I'm sure they are all lovely people. Then again, if they are anything like me, maybe not.

I found a web site for the 2008 Shelly Awards, OK? The friggin' Shelly AWARDS.

Anyway...my point is that I never did find this blog while searching for Shelly. I didn't even find anyone named Shelly Payne in the first 30 or 40 pages, so, wow, and also, I didn't know Zac Brown's wife was named Shelly! Cool!

OK, forget that last part. My real point is...we all get so wrapped up in our little "thing" that we forget that there are hundreds of other Shellys out there, waiting to be found.

Except for Zac Brown's wife--clearly, she has already been located.

Many are, like me, in various stages of desperation, depending on what day of the week it is, and whether or not anybody said anything nice about them that day. Because you've never heard of most of them, you might be safe in assuming that they have more love than "talent" or "luck"--those two wildly subjective things that determine whether or not people take you seriously enough to throw piles of money at you and adore and/or loathe everything you do, regardless of whether you think they should.

But they keep trying, those Shellys...I like that. I like the fact that there are a bunch of schmo's like me, getting up every day and doing something, and feeling good enough about it to share. Even better? There's somebody willing to power through hundreds of pages of search results to find even the most obscure of them.

Forest Green...So Ten Years Ago

2011-12-14T13:32:00.004-06:00

I have been carrying this Lana Grossa Ultra with me through life for a while now. At least ten years if not more.

I'm sure I liked the idea of this yarn more than I actually liked the yarn. Italian "Virgin Wool" sounds exciting enough, right? Ooo! Italian! Ooo! Virgin!

Yeah.

Anyway...while cruising through Knitty.com the other day, I found the Alexandra Tinsley design called "Mandelbrot" in which a series of knit and purl stitches was used to make a bumpy wide hat brim and I thought, "wait a minute...I have some pre-made bumpy in that box right over there..."

So I put 15 stitches on a size 9 needle and knit until it went all the way around my fat head, which, I might add, took more than a whole skein of Lana Grossa Ultra.

Massive melon. Just sayin'.

Hopefully the six million decisions involved with knitting the crown of the hat will be as easy as the one to make this cool-looking brim.

PS: If you wander over to Knitty, I do recommend trying the Mandelbrot--it's gorgeous, easy, and most importantly, it's not forest green.

In Which, Even In A Fit Of Despair, I Dispense More Priceless Advice

2011-11-29T19:18:00.000-06:00

Not just one useful suggestion, but two! Stay tuned til the end...

I am definitely having a "why bother?" sort of day, and "why bother?" is not what I'm all about.

My job, honestly, I find quite rewarding. I truly enjoy helping people and solving problems.

You would think that a person who embraces these personality traits would be celebrated in a work place, wouldn't you?

I thought so too.

Until recently, of course.

And I was celebrated!

Until recently, of course.

Here's a thought...how about, instead of punishing me for asking "What if?" or "Why not?" or hell, even just "Why?" how about you think in terms of possibilities instead of only in terms of how to keep me from ever achieving anything that matters?

How about, instead of seeing how much you can get away with NOT doing while simultaneously bullying me into not talking about you never do anything, that you just DO SOMETHING, or hell, why not ask me to do something, since I'm the one always flapping my jaw about wishing the fuck you'd just DO SOMETHING?

(Ancient managerial secret...when somebody comes to you saying, "Why can't you ______?" you make _____ THEIR RESPONSIBILITY! Then, unless they're serious, they'll stop asking you for stuff. See how that works?)

See how I did that? Did you see that useful information tucked in there, among the complaints? Neat, huh?

Anyway...

In the last 12 months, I have made a concentrated effort to NOT say anything, to NOT complain, to NOT act generally or genuinely dis-satisfied, and I worked very hard to NOT take any part in making my boss look like an asshole. I mean, I was ZIPPED. Every single time I felt like saying, "You sir, are an asshole," I stopped myself, picked up whatever I was knitting at the time, and did that instead, just so that if/when he was going to hear it, it wouldn't be from me.

What has happened during that time is that other people besides me have come out and said their own variation of "You sir, are an asshole." I'm sure the powers that be thought it was my idea to send those other people in to do the bitching--nothing could be further from the truth, but I do applaud them because I know how my boss brutalizes people who bitch about things. Has anything changed? No. Oh well, thought I...at least I wasn't the one being brutalized.

Then, today happened. Stupid, stupid today happened. All my hard work, all my "Shut the fuck up, Shelly," went out the window. Today, I expressed disappointment (I used that exact word) about a managerial decision.

And how did that go for me? Guess.

It's like an immediate trip to purgatory to question my boss. Seriously. And what a shame. I mean, even though I truly do think he's a worthless do nothing, it's not a personal thing--hey, this is just business, OK? He and I were actually having pleasant conversations toward the end, there. One time, he even ended a phone call by saying "It's good talking to you". My boss said it was GOOD talking to me! My boss who hates my fucking guts said that! Friendly, right?

Yeah...not so much. How quickly it all disappears. And that is why I ask, why bother? All that work I put into showing him that I was no threat to him, that I just have ideas, that's all--all of that work, POOF.

It'll take me another YEAR to get back to "It's good talking to you". Do I even want to?

Here's a suggestion, Corporate America...(I told you there would be two...) When interviewing people for management jobs, ask this one question and ask it often: "Do you find yourself easily wounded by words, or do you perceive threat when there is none, then lash out like a cornered animal?" And if their answer is anything but a vehement "No!" tell them you're sorry, but you've decided to go with another candidate. I promise, we'll thank you later.

I Feel We Should Talk About This Photo

2011-11-21T21:22:00.005-06:00

Why, Mommy?

Cats in clothes.

Cats...in clothes.

Its awful, right? A person shouldn't ever dress a cat...right?

I dont know about that. My kids dress cats all all the time, and I think its damned funny.

I mean...every time cat clothing is suggested I pretend I don't want them to do it. I may say, out loud, "you don't need to put clothes on these cats--they are cute enough without little mini sweaters or t-shirts." I say these things. I mean them when I say them.

And then I see them in some hilarious outfit and I gush over the hilarity of it.

The cat stays dressed long enough for photos to be taken, or, as is the case in the photo above, long enough to step outside to witness the first snow fall of the year. We have our little laugh, then relieve them of their clothes and everyone goes on about their day.

The cats are used to wearing clothes, much the way they are used to being constantly picked up and hugged. It's a part of living with hilarious teenagers who love them to pieces--how bad could it be?

Five Minutes Ago Dot Com

2011-11-17T12:38:00.001-06:00

If I ask for something, it's because I wanted it five minutes ago and couldn't do it myself.

Personality quirk. Sorry.

But, seriously. I don't ask for things unless I feel that they are needed. And by needed, I mean, we've been doing without, and having it will make things better, so, the best time to have that thing that I'm asking for would have been five minutes ago, because the sooner things can be better, the better..

To me, a delay is the same as a "no". If I ask for something and you don't say "no" but also don't say "yes"? That means you're trying to think of a good excuse to say "no", and just haven't thought of one, yet.

Or, maybe you're a passive aggressive piece of crap.

Either/Or.

So when I make a proposal at work, and it's November, and the person I'm proposing it to says that they can set up a meeting some time in January to talk about maybe doing it, guess what? I've already labeled them a slow-moving do-nothing zero and moved on. I'm looking elsewhere for my yes, because that person clearly sucks.

Here's the thing....I work for a massive corporation, and part of the reason this corporation is, in fact, massive, is that the culture of the organization is the very opposite of "slow-moving do-nothing". You succeed, achieve, change and grow by being quick on your feet. Our executive leadership is yammering on about it all the time: Innovation! Change! Forward Movement! Bring us your ideas! Go! Go! Go!

All of this begs the question....how do slow-moving do-nothing zeros even have jobs here?

How do they have jobs anywhere?

But most importantly....why do they have jobs that suck the life out of other people's jobs?

Dunzo

2011-11-14T12:03:00.001-06:00

I don't know if I would go so far as to call this the official portrait--the mitten on the right hasn't been blocked, yet, so it's like the other one's slow cousin, or something.

Anyway...That is Knit Picks Woodland Winter Mittens "October". They are a gift for a friend who has promised large quantities of chocolate in exchange--how could I say no?

Regardless of future chocolate offers, I will be taking a pass on all Woodland Winter Mittens requests for a while, though. They are all very pretty, of course, and interesting to knit, as well. I've just been making these for a loooooong time. I want to do a thing or two in (mostly) solid colors for a while. I also inherited a large box of yarn from a friend of my mother's, and most of it is slated to become charity items--hats, blankets, and yes, more mittens. I have a stack of animal print charts that I have been itching to try (thank you Debbie Bliss!) and what could be more fun than tiger mittens?

You don't have to answer that.

Forget That Other Wrinkle-y Looking Shot You Might Have Seen Elsewhere

2011-11-03T16:52:00.000-05:00

What possessed me to snap a picture without bothering to get up from my desk, walk over to the water source, get the stupid thing wet and block it, I do not know.

This is sooo much better than the Facebook pic I posted, so if you're a friend of FB, please feel free to disregard that wrinkled nastiness. Blech.

Behold, the smooth and....leafy.

OK...truth be told I was on a phone meeting when I snapped that other picture and if I had walked away from the phone, the other people on the call might have gotten the impression that I wasn't paying attention, and, well...we don't want them getting that impression, even though it may be accurate.

This is Woodland Winter Mitten, "October"(right hand), knit up in Palette. Pattern and yarn from our friends at Knit Picks....DOT COM!*

*Yeah, I always say "DOT COM!" like it's an Expedia commercial. Double points if you picked up on that obscure pop reference. Carry on.

Like Pulling Teeth

2011-10-17T15:52:00.000-05:00

Finishing the last six rows of these mittens...it was torture. I had no problem starting the second one, no problem getting almost entirely done, just...

Gah!

And I am sick of mittens. Truly. And perhaps because I am so dreadfully sick of them, a friend has asked for the going rate on a pair. She is a lovely person, so, whatareyougonnado, right?

I told her to pay me in chocolate.

The next pair--her pair--will be the Woodland Winter Mittens "October" pattern, which is my personal favorite and the one I've been wanting to make this entire time, while everybody asked me for everything but October. All I wanted to do was get done with all the others so I could make a pair of October! And now I'm making October, but they're not for me.

*Le sigh*

So October will be coming some time in November.

Hey, I just finished January, don't rush me.

Gee....Thanks.

2011-10-10T14:49:00.001-05:00

Weird doings over the weekend. One of my high school classmates that I don't see regularly (haven't seen for years), but talk to sometimes on Facebook, told me (via internet chat) that he had feelings for me, that he has had dreams about me (he didn't describe the dreams but hinted they were of illicit nature...) and that he has pictured us together.

I started off with "It's never gonna happen," figuring that would be enough. I mean, in a normal situation, you would think a firm, "no thanks" would do, right?

Oh, gosh no...he kept going.

After a couple of "I don't feel that way about you" style comments from me, and a final, "hey, don't worry about it, just, please for the love of all that is right and holy, stop talking," he finally stopped.

And he was mortified. Said he wished he had never told me, etc.

So....my weekend was super uncomfortable. You?

I've been on the other side of that coin--I've confessed feelings for someone who didn't feel the same. Do I regret it? Absolutely not. It was actually one of the best things I've ever done. It needed to be done--you MUST do these things, because your life gets all mucked up and stalled in those areas if you have that roadblock of feelings just sitting there, not being received by anyone. You need to put that energy to work on something good, not just save it up for the day when that person might start to care.

What is truly weird, to me, anyway, is knowing as I do that this person's values are so dramatically different from mine--I mean I know where he's from, I know what it's like there, and I know he's never left there--If I had pretended to want to give it a go and asked who he voted for in the last election, or how he feels about gay people, or when's the last time he used the N word, instead of just saying I wasn't interested, probably the conversation would have ended with him thinking I'm a hideous liberal pinko commie and WOW did he just dodge a bullet or what?

Instead, he was embarrassed.

Which is better? Neither.

But the whole thing made me wonder: How could anyone know me, or claim to know me even a little, or claim to be attracted to me, and not take my core values into consideration? Do I hide them so well that he just didn't notice? I mean, I've posted plenty of "M*chele B*chmann is a dipshit" links on FB--it should be fairly obvious to anyone with whom I've reconnected there. I am a long time supporter of gay marriage and have made no attempt to hide that fact. Do people just choose to ignore that and assume that my being nice to them is the same as my agreeing with them?

Well....it isn't.

I'm just nice because I'm nice, that's all. I'm nice and I'm also very serious about people being treated fairly in this country. Why can't I be both? I mean was that just some wildly sexist thing that just happened, where this person, who is a conservative, could see my values pasted on the internet for all to see and think, "oh, she's just being a silly girl who doesn't know any better..." and hit on me like I should drop everything and move back to the small town? Was THAT what that was?

Weird...

As much as might I think, wow, I should be flattered that someone thinks of me and wants to be with me, I see now that it's not so flattering after all. Not always. Certainly not in this case, anyway. It wasn't me he was dreaming about, anyway.

Yay Me!

2011-10-07T13:08:00.001-05:00

I feel so ahead of the game finishing mittens in early October.

Who are you, strange woman? And where the hell is Shelly?

It Only Looks Painful

2011-10-05T16:23:00.001-05:00

If someone had walked in on me trying on the half finished mitten of doom, all those pointy sticks might look a little freaky, I guess...

Let's Talk About Me For A Minute

2011-09-29T11:51:00.003-05:00

Only now that I'm so sure that "nobody" reads this blog anymore, will I discuss the Dreaded D.

Not death, but something like it.

Back in May, I started a whole new project, that, unlike most of my artsy things, will not be posted with progress shots, and will ultimately never be finished. For me, the "Tah-DAH!" person, few things could be more annoying that doing something which has no hope of ever being completed. I'm a resolution girl, a results person. I've spent the better part of the last, oh, 30 years or so, unveiling things:

Look! While you were gone, I stripped and sanded and re-stained the bedroom staircase!

While you were busy watching TV, I made this massive, 6 course Thanksgiving dinner!

I took the liberty of knitting you this hat/sweater/pair of mittens. I hope you like them!

And the little voice of the little girl in my head squeaks, "ta-dah!"

I didn't just up and decide to lose weight all of a sudden. I saw the need coming on, slowly. Considering that's how the weight has been coming off--slowly--I guess that make sense.

Funny thing....for the last 12-15 months or so, I have seen the erosion of my own optimism. That in itself was not a funny thing, but it did, in a funny way, help me arrive at a sane approach to losing weight. Yes, I've seen, and tried, some awful diets in the past, and while I was never one to dive into eating plans that were obvious fads, I've done a few of the more mainstream sillies.

And what did I learn?

Nothing. I learned nothing. I just kept on, thinking, "I'm not some fat girl" and by the standards of many, I suppose you could look at me and agree with that assessment. The truth was, even at my height, the 200 pounds I was eventually walking around in, though I wore it fairly well, was fat. And it was also 50 pounds beyond where I could have ever dreamed I'd be living. In fact, I think that I just blanked out any number on the scale that was above 150, just because I felt like I could get away with 150. When I weighed 150, that was the last time that I revealed my weight to anyone and they said, "No way--you don't look like you weigh even close to that," so in my mind, 150 was not a bad place.

Looking at myself right now, I think I'd be just skin hanging on a skeleton at a hundred and fifty! So that became the goal. Not the skeleton/skin combo, but, you know...

My approach was dreadfully simply and devoid of gimmick: 1500 calories a day, and work out no less than 4 times a week. Build muscle by (gasp!) lifting weights, do some cardio and the rest will follow. There is no carb restriction or severe fat restriction, just, a balance of calories very heavy in fresh veggies, but I still get to eat a friggin' steak when I want it, or have a beer.

I knew that it would be slow, but hey, I've got nothing else going on, so who cares?

And let's talk about that, shall we? How I've got nothing going on? Career stuck in the mud, zero romantic interests...if you're in that rut long enough, eventually you'll get to that little voice inside who reminds you that being awesome is the very best revenge. Eventually, you'll notice that with no one looking at you, it's the perfect time to create yet another "ta-dah". So I'd like to take this moment right now and thank my boss for stalling my career and also thank all those guys who don't date fat chicks. Yes, they are all assholes and I privately hope Karma shits on their heads. I would not date, and don't want to work for, any of them. The only thing that they are good for, in fact, is giving me yet another reason to want to kick ass, in the hopes that one day, when I am successful in spite of them, I'll be in a position to tell them to go fuck themselves, should they ever ask me for anything.

Very grown up of me, I know.

And so, the stats: Weight, down 15-20 pounds, depending on what scale you believe. My doctor's scale, one afternoon at the very beginning, when I was fully dressed, clocked me at 210. I, of course, denied that number, and went with the more friendly 200-203 that I was getting at home. This morning, 185.

The real story is the waist-line, though...I mean I don't care much about the weight, to be honest, I just want to look like I give a shit. From 39 inches to 32. That's a huge change.

Crunches. That's all I can say about that.

OK, actually it was crunches done while simultaneously chest pressing dumbbells--that move, stolen from Jillian Michaels, is gold, my friends. Just keep upping the dumbbell weight, and you can do this at any level.

Hips, down 4 inches, thighs down 3.5 inches, and Pauline Nordin gets full credit for any changes that took place in my body below the waist. She's bad-ass.

My arms basically stayed the same size due to the increase in muscle there. I have biceps now. Granted, biceps are easy and anyone can get them, but just being less blobby there a wonderful thing for one's mental health. Triceps--those are the tricky ones.

There is nothing about my so-called diet that I would like to try to sell you, other than advising you to take half of the food you eat right now--assuming you're eating like a typical American--and change it out for raw or steamed vegetables. If you do this, you'll be halfway there. Then, as you lose weight, add that same amount of weight back into your exercise, to remind yourself of how hard it is on your body to carry around all that extra weight. I did one-legged squats with 20 pounds sitting on my shoulders yesterday, and I'm here to tell you, that's no joke. Ouch. You'll wonder how you could even walk, before.

So that's my dumb diet blog post. I have no plans to become a bikini-ready hard body, or run any marathons. I don't even want to show off for anyone who thought less of me, before--those people are not worth a ta-dah. At this time, it's really a positive thing on which to focus while things aren't so positive in other areas, and that's important.

Ta-Dah!

As Anyone's Mother Might Say, I'd Forget My Head If It Wasn't Attached

2011-09-27T16:30:00.001-05:00

Finished these. Forgot to post them.

It might have been sort of on purpose that I forgot, because I was mad at the left hand mitten most of the way through it--my fault. My tension was a bit too much and you can see the pulls there, on the larger color patches near the thumb.

Oh, stranded color work, you picky, picky thing, you...

Teenage recipient didn't notice, so we are going to pretend it didn't happen.

And now for the very good news: This pattern is back! Knit Picks sold the Woodland Winter Mittens kits for a while, then stopped, to the disappointment of many. Well, I just got my Knit Picks catalog in the mail today and I'm happy to report that the Woodland Winter Mittens kits are on Page TWO. Plus they have added a new "Bright" color option, and they look great as well.

So go nuts! Try these--they are a huge hit with everyone, trust me. I have people lined up, asking me to make them a pair. I'll be busy for a while....

Denial Isn't Just A River In Egypt

2011-09-10T10:12:00.001-05:00

My daughter turned 18 on Monday.

Eighteen.

*sigh*

A couple of things come to mind upon repeating this, the first being how incredibly stupid I was, those 18 years and 9 months ago. Yes, I got to meet this fabulous kid as a result, but seriously, I was out there 18-odd years ago, doing the stuff that I am now utterly horrified about my own children doing. It is "do as I say, not as I did" in every sense of the expression. I should also add that I was aged 27 at the time my Brand New Adult was born. 27 should be plenty old, and for most people I suppose it is. I think maybe I was just stupider (yeah, I'm using "stupider") than a lot of other 27 year olds. Oh well....the past is the past, and all that.

The other thing that comes to mind, the thing that your mother fails to tell you is that nothing, and I do mean nothing erases "stupider" faster than, yes, raising a child. With apologies to both of my daughters, yes, I'm a lot smarter than the both of you, combined--I've been in school for ages. Soon I will graduate, and unlike you, will get a new car for a commencement gift.

If you care at all, and apply the same work ethic you would if it was a paid gig, being a parent allows you to develop executive-level organization/delegation and negotiation/diplomacy skills.

Of course, you don't get to put that on your resume.

Terribly unfair, I think.

Having a grown child hasn't made me feel old--I have yet to meet the life event that could do that. Michael Jackson once stated that he didn't "feel any age". He said that during an interview he gave when I was a child, and he was at least 20 years younger than I am right now. I wonder if he ever felt any age? Or did he, as I expect, decide for himself what 30, or 40 felt like?

I don't feel any age, either, MJ.

The only place I have felt the slightest bit of my own mortality is in my career, but that's not me, that's just other people having their own limiting ideas of the value of a 45 year old woman. Yes, right around the age when men are starting to run the company, women begin to be harshly judged by the age stick. In case anyone ever wonders why my bathroom cupboard is full of concoctions, that's why. In case anyone wonders why I'm lifting weights and working out and hoping to give the outward appearance of a somewhat hot chick, that's why--to compete with the actual hot chicks. Does this make sense, considering that most or all of those hot chicks are at the level of "stupider" that I abandoned for an executive level education? Of course not. Men are idiots.

Unfortunately, then run everything.

Having a child turn 18 on the same year that I reach an age that can be divided by 5 might be a crushing blow to a lesser person, but I've never been a lesser person, so I'm not going to worry about it. In the idiot-fee zone I'm continuously working to create for myself, there is no room to think less of yourself or anyone else just because of the number of years their body has been on the planet.

Now, if they get to be this age and they're still "stupider", then yes, by all means, judge...

Archive Dive

2011-08-30T17:45:00.000-05:00

Originally posted in November, 2009, it was called "Growing Up To Be A Girl"

You know how this happens, right? When I look at blog stats and see someone had been archive diving, and I have to review the materials to make sure I'm not about to get sued/fired/etc., I occasionally find some writing that I genuinely enjoyed.

This was inspired by a historical book about Mexican immigrants living in the Midwest, and it showed a very civilized slice of life for which I instantly became nostalgic. I was not alive in the 40's or 50's, but suddenly I wished I had been, when things were supposedly simpler for a girl--as much as it sucked that we were expected to know our place back then, it sure seemed a lot nicer than having to go it alone today, and definitely seemed easier than having to go it alone, despite the fact that you have people in your life. I guess the most important lesson is to make sure that the people in your life are the right people. Not only should they be near you, but, they should also be with you, and you with them. If you need them, they are there, and if they need you, you are there. Those people are the real deal, and the only ones worth keeping. So here it is....

I know that you are used to deep, insight-filled posts about important things like, How can there possibly be toilet paper all over the bathroom floor in the office? What person with a job is that lazy that they can't hit either a garbage can or the toilet? (and it's not used toilet paper, just...random strips of TP all over the floor. What the hell is that all about?)

But today, we're going to talk about something entirely different.

I was looking at a book of historical photos about families coming to the Midwest and was struck by a particular photo of three sisters walking together, on their way to an afternoon of shopping or a movie or whatever. The picture was from the 1940's or 50's, and these were grown, married women, all dressed in nice skirts and shoes, nylons, hair done, etc. Then there was a picture, taken 50-odd years later, same three sisters, now in their 70's or 80's, in which they are all wearing T-Shirts and casual pants, comfortable shoes.

Got me to thinking...

When I was a younger person, right after high school (and, obviously this was in the 80's and not the 40's), I stuck to jeans, T-shirts, sweatshirts, and any variety of "There's not really a girl under here" wear that I could find. I wore baseball caps. A lot. If I wasn't at work, and, sometimes when I was at work, I threw my hair under a cap. Working nights in radio was a beautiful thing--oh, I was supposed to get there before 5PM, but I rarely did, because that would mean that I would have to dress in "office casual", and I was having no part of that. I even had a weekend shift "uniform" that consisted of jeans, T-shirt under a hoodie, and favored cap d'jour. I delighted in the opportunity to wear that stuff into the office while the sun was still shining. Shortly after I met my husband, who worked in the same office as me, he admitted to me that he hadn't been sure if I was a woman, just based on the clothes.

Yes, I was hiding out. Duh.

When I was younger, lot of...being female...also meant, to me, anyway, being a victim. Sometimes it meant that in a literal sense, as some things were wrought upon me that would have never happened if I was male, but largely, it was just the time, and the family dynamic--four brothers pretty much had a lock on the place, not that my mother let them do whatever they wanted, but I don't recall them ever doing the dishes...that was for my sister and me. To my mind, the boys got away with more, without falling out of the good graces of my mom. I remember my brother coming home from a friend's house one Christmas Eve, completely stoned out of his mind, and my mother laughing and saying that there probably weren't any munchies in any of his gifts. That same woman literally kicked me in the butt one time when I was 24 years old and was smoking a cigarette in her presence. Hmmm....so...if I smoke this stuff, it's better than if I smoke this other stuff? Huh...who knew? And my brother (same brother) also drank himself a lot of booze (still does) and got maybe an eye roll or two from mom for that, but I get picked up on a minor with a bunch of friends on graduation night? I got the silence thing for about a month. I realize that my mother was probably very concerned about the fact that (insert Elayne Boosler joke) I had a vagina with me and could potentially get into all kinds of trouble--of course, that didn't mean she would ever speak to me about that sort of thing. No, no...my dirty whore-ness was only strongly implied--never spoken aloud. Awesome.

Not that growing up was any uglier for me than it was for a lot of other people, but, something about all of those implications made me uncomfortable with girlness, like it was a bad thing, hence the tom-boy-ness. All of that not-so-girly stuff oozed into my radio career, as well, because I tended to take the same stance on things as the men and was just as aggressive when driving toward the punch line. Most of the men in the business would tell me "I hate female announcers--except for you. You don't sound like any girl I've ever heard." Good. That's what I wanted to hear. There was a reason why none of them liked women announcers: Women announcers sucked. A lot of them still do.

Anyway...as I said...it got me to thinking. There were the three sisters, in their dresses and hats and shiny shoes--what I would consider a uniform of vulnerability--doing some girly thing, like, getting their hair done. Yes, it was a different time, but I didn't get the impression that these women were as un-nerved about being female as I was. They seemed very strong, and, quite confident, walking along. They had each other, and, probably a husband or family member who would step in and makes things very, very clear, were there any questions about their honor.

I, on the other hand, grew up with a group of people that would more likely side with the questioner, believing me capable of just about anything. My response to that was...to become capable of just about anything.

Oh, I HAD honor, very much so, but I was also juuuuust off-kilter enough so that it wouldn't take much to convince anyone that I was up to no good.

If I only had a dollar for all of the strange, strange, untrue things that have been said about me...Funny, how, in my quest to not be a victim, I actually became one, many times over, because my own unconventional behavior laid the groundwork for a lot of character assassinations. Co-workers, step-children, etc, all had very receptive audiences when the topic was me and their made-up stories of my "bad" behavior. Might as well have tattooed the words "Easy Target" right across my forehead.

Which brings us to today. One of the reasons why I ended up leaving my husband was simply that he didn't have my back. To be fair, it's not something I ever asked of him for the first five years of us being together--I mean, send a man in to defend me? Not a chance in hell I would ever do that--I would put up my own dukes and take all the punches myself before I would ever ask anyone to fight my battles for me. Then, something changed. At some point, I noticed that, well, he didn't stand up for me, and at some point, it started to bother me. Other girls have guys who stand up for them and defend their honor. I have honor. Why can't I get some honor defending over here? Sure, it's possible that I had him fairly well trained not to, but what I was seeing was that he didn't even want to. The end came when I asked him to, and he wouldn't. I mean...he actually refused, even though helping me meant zero physical or economic danger to him.

Really? Refusing to defend a GIRL? A girl who is asking her man for help? Isn't NOT defending me, especially when I ask you to, the same things as agreeing with all the bad things being said?

That was when things fell completely and hopeless to pieces. I left.

For all intents and purposes, that was also when I grew up to become a girl.

Most women, the three sisters included, as they get older, they push a lot of girlish things to the side. They dress in comfortable shoes instead of high-heeled shiny ones. Or maybe they don't wear earrings anymore, or they don't pretty themselves up or wear a skirt to go shopping. I've gone a bit of the opposite direction. I look at my pre-break-up wardrobe and wonder what the hell I was even thinking. Huge, huge, huge clothes, chosen for my ability to disappear in them. 57 million sweatshirts (my gawd, I loved sweatshirts). An entire dresser-full of t-shirts, which are now an entire dresser of not terribly attractive pajama shirts. Yes, I might occasionally still leave the house in a baseball cap and hoodie--did it just this morning, as a matter of fact, to drive my kid to school--but it's pretty rare for me to want to hide anymore. My shoes are less comfortable and more shiny, and not only do my clothes fit, but most of them imply "female" without even hinting at the "easy" thing my mom was so afraid of.

Kind of a miracle.

It took me this long to be OK with my ability to walk around looking, well, like a girl, with my hair and make-up done most of the time, and curve hugging clothes on, and not think of it as inviting trouble. It is truly incredible what a parent, or anyone else, can do to your head if you let them, but much more incredible are the ways the the universe shows you how much bullshit all that negativity is. All of those unexpected lessons about things to which you were barely conscious, but they ended up meaning so much. I'm truly thankful, every day.

The Touch, The Feel of Random

2011-08-21T11:33:00.000-05:00

This is cute. I mean, oh, so totally cute. And since I've been all but stockpiling "Palette", I could make about a billion wee little chicks. And don't tempt me, or I will. Don't want to click the link? Here's a pic.

I heard this week that Sam Llanas has officially left BoDeans. Ask me if I predicted this a year ago. Go ahead, ask me! OK, don't ask, you know the answer already. That's OK, I kinda sorta "left" them a year ago, too. Having said that, I do think that Kurt Neumann is a monstrously talented guitarist, singer and songwriter who can unquestionably carry a show by himself--just tricky waters to navigate, I'm sure. I have a feeling he'd do better as "Kurt" than as the leader of an ongoing BoDeans, but that's just my 2 cents.
My life of eating continues into it's 4th month. I don't know how people get sick of "dieting"--personally, I LOVE fresh food so much, and having an excuse to eat it all day every day is not a bad thing. I have worked up a recipe for the perfect 450 calorie vegetarian taco salad and I could, quite literally, eat that every single day til I die. Switch out the pinto beans for seasoned chicken breast meat, still under 500 calories, and it's a massive amount of food. We went to Osaka yesterday for lunch, and the $3.00 garden salad there is not only quite large, but also, it's like a flavor orgasm, for real. Follow that up with a Lobster-Avocado roll? Oh hell yes....and also still under 500 calories for a ton of food. Spinach Salad from Pizza Luce? Same thing. Huge, food, low price, low calories. If it doesn't get any more difficult than this, then what's the big deal? I haven't missed french fries, even a little.
My daughter's boyfriend, intrepid world traveler, joined us at Osaka and lamented how he "had to" spend the night in Japan on his way to an island vacation with his family, in celebration of his 16th birthday. My daughter, on the other hand, got a Sponge Bob Square Pants cake and a Wii Just Dance game for her 16th birthday. Huh. Also worth mentioning that for his birthday, my daughter joined forces with my mother and made her boyfriend a handmade quilt. He got her....nothing. Again....huh.
I have finished the tank top. This tank top.

And as much as I love the depicted tank top that you see here, from Berrocco.com , and as much as I love the colors I chose for my version of it, I seriously do NOT like the way this tank top looks on me. See me after another 4 months of eating and lifting weights and trying to keep up with Kendall Hogan. Or, in a fit of creative insanity, I may tear out the neckline and replace it with spaghetti straps, because the bottom of it is perfectly cute!

The better news about my completing the tank is that now I can work on something else. Two projects loom. One, is this amazing knitted bag, from KnitPicks.com . It. Is. Gorgeous. And we spent some quality time in the Badlands this summer, since my family is from the area, so the purchase seemed a natural. I just feel as if I should make this as a gift, which means I want to get it done before Christmas. However! I have to get another pair of mittens done, and that is the other awaiting project, which is also full of crazy-intricate color work. The mittens in question are here, and are (were) also a great Knit Picks kit--unfortunately they no longer sell the kit. I have made one pair already. The only question is....do I start with the bag and hope to have it done relatively soon so I can get the mittens done before they are needed this winter? Or do I do the mittens first and pray that I can finish the bag on time? Hmmm....
Brats....total brats. My daughters have started to indulge my indoor cats with occasional, fully harnassed, trips out to the yard so they can chew on a piece of grass, which they later regurgitate on my clean sheets. In doing so, they have created two monsters. Now all the cats do all day is hang out and howl about going outside. I have turned this truly annoying activity in my favor however, and have started sending the cats into the girls' room so they can make their unnatural noises in the presence of teenagers who are sleeping WAY too late in the day for my taste.
Gee, there are only 6 links in this post...maybe we need just one more...how about this one? The photo was taken shortly before the subject reached out and killed everyone involved.

Aaah! Open Windows and Air and Stuff

2011-08-15T19:10:00.001-05:00

That air conditioning was running for a long time. It's one thing going to an air-conditioned office five days a week for your 40 hours, and quite another not being able to breathe normally without it, in your own room.

Blech.

I was as happy to throw open the windows as the boys were to return to the windowsills.

But they are much cuter.

POW! Orange!

2011-07-10T17:18:00.000-05:00

I don't know why I don't do more stripey stuff, especially since there are so many great color combos just floating around out there, waiting to be joined.

Since it's Summer and arms are being bared, and since I've spent the last several weeks making my arms bare-able, why not?

Hey, at least I have better arms than that mannequin...

The pattern is "Layout Tank" from Berroco.com, and the yarn is Knit Picks Shine Puma cotton blend in various ka-pow colors.

Seriously, Universe?

2011-06-27T11:06:00.001-05:00

I pride myself in being someone who never asks anyone for anything--I'm not a leech or a hanger-on or any of that. I make my own money and pay my own bills and probably if I keep talking about my singular awesomeness much longer I'll start singing Beyonce and/or Destiny's Child songs and I think we all know how quickly that will clear the room.

When the time comes where I do have to ask for something from a person, I make sure that it's a small something and I make sure that I do all the leg work and that the person I'm asking just needs to do one small part of it that I can't personally do--for example, if I'm applying for a job and need someone other than me to put in a good word about me. As much as I would love to be able to do that myself, I really can't. And I do try to make it worth their while. Shooting for a win-win, always.

You should know that at this very moment I am thinking of ways to disguise my voice and be my own reference...I would do that for me, because I freaking LOVE me. I'm my guy. I'll do whatever I ask, no problem. This I say after my boss was supposedly going to put in a good word for me, once, and ended up convincing a hiring manager that I wasn't qualified for the job I was applying for.

Although, come to think of it, I don't think I have nearly enough insincerity in my voice to pass for my boss, but if it came right down to it, for me, I'd do it.

Anyway...

The girls and I are taking a short trip out of town for a family reunion. We have two cats, and I didn't want to leave them entirely to fend for themselves for the duration of the trip, so I thought I would see if someone would check in on them, as in, maybe someone could come over, check their food and water levels, refill as needed, love up the kittehs, make sure the house hasn't blown over and/or been robbed, and then leave again. No big deal. I figured all of 15 minutes each visit, two visits, tops. Lest anyone should think, "yeah, but pet sitting is still a hassle," please know that I was also planning to pay for this 30 minutes of work, and pay what would amount to a pretty hefty hourly wage to the person who stepped up.

And...NOBODY stepped up.

For real.

I mean, people with other plans, I get that, and I wouldn't fault anyone who was on the way to the lake cabin or whatever, but...not taking what amounts to free money because you'd rather sit on your couch? Seriously?

I had one person who led me to believe that she would do it but when I texted her yesterday to ask when I could get her the keys, she gave me one of those, "Yeah, I meant to tell you..." lines and proceeded to tell me how it would be "too difficult" for her, even though she is an able bodied grown up with two functioning automobiles who has no other plans during that time, who's workplace is within 5 blocks of my house.

And to think I had asked her specifically because I know she's hurting for cash right now and I thought that would be an easy and dignified way for me to help HER.

Dumb.

I guess we know why she's hurting for cash right now, huh?

So that's my Monday Grumble...my "Why?" of the day. Why would you not say "yes" to a simple thing in which all the legwork has been done, and everybody benefits? Is it so hard? When I say that I guess we know why she's hurting for cash right now, it's because I believe that there is a direct connection between your willingness and your results. Are you willing to get up and do something? If so, great! Here's your reward. It really is just that simple, and it applies to literally everything in life.

I expect that somewhere in the middle of my trip, when it's too late for her to do anything about it, my financially challenged friend will text me to ask if I found someone to watch the boys while we're gone. I've been rehearsing my responses, which currently vary from Straight Up Guilt Trip all the way to the Big "Screw You". Some of the responses are wordy and some are just "whatever...". I guess when you are disappointed, you want the people who caused the disappointment to feel bad, too. That's normal.

Rest assured, no matter what I tell her, I'll leave out the part about how my other friends, who live way far away from me and don't need the money, agreed to stop by in exchange for me picking up a bar tab, which, remarkably, is a lot cheaper than what I was going to pay her. That's what you call a win-win-win-win. My cats get a babysitter, I get to leave without worry, I get to guilt the hell out of someone and we all end up at Happy Hour. Wooo!

This Shrug Is Impossible To Photograph

2011-06-26T13:06:00.002-05:00

But hopefully you get the gist:

Large folded-over rectangle with a few stitches to hold the sides together and something resembling cuffs added as an afterthought.

The yarn is Bernat Soft Boucle in a color called "Natural" which took forever to pick out. I don't really own any white clothing, and didn't want this to be white, either. Do you know how many shades of "not quite white" boucle yarn there are in just the Edina Jo-Ann store alone? Lots. And lets not forget all the other places I went looking.

Of course on the day I finished it, the sun came out and the temperature rose, thus creating a situation in which a shrug was no longer needed. Not to worry...this is Minnesota after all.

Another Cab Ride

2011-06-12T10:42:00.001-05:00

At the tender age of One Hundred Seventeen, I'm not so much for standing through 4-5 hours of entertainment, but, if nothing else, I am a trooper. The fact that you are reading this right now means that I survived the standing! Woo! It also means that I missed the tweet from @firstavenue offering up a table seat to anyone would could answer the name of Panic! At The Disco's latest album. DOH!

I went to First Avenue to see Panic! At The Disco last night because I am a fan of theirs. Conveniently, my 17-year-old is also a fan of theirs, so I had an automatic date. This worked out perfectly because all night long people were confusing me for a parent who got hooked into taking their kid to a concert. The truth was, she was a kid who got hooked into going through her parent's treachery. Don't tell.

I'm just going to come right out and say it: She's not a fun date, my daughter. I mean I'm sure she's a fun date for people her own age, and I know that she's a fun person in general, but for me? Meh...there was nobody with me to make, or listen to, commentary about other audience members, or have a drink, or, if enough drinks were had, sneak a cigarette break. My kids are not the biggest fans of my humor (remember?) and would throw me down and step on my head for smoking. Freaking buzz kills.

The evening started a little like last year's June 11th concert (Justin Currie) with my companion having mixed feelings about taking a taxi to the venue. Last year, my best friend's girlfriend almost didn't let her go because of it! To no one's surprise, the cab ride was uneventful, then. This year, my daughter told me a story about how a friend of hers was driven to a secluded area and mugged by a taxi driver...in India.

*sigh*

Not interested in driving downtown or attempting to find parking on a game night, I said if it bothers you that much, as soon as you get into the cab, text the name of the cab company and the guy's license number to everyone in your phone book so they'll know who to go after if you don't show up where and when you're supposed to.

"Oh, mother..."

Needless to say, the transportation was uneventful. Again.

We arrived to the longest line I have ever seen outside of First Avenue, and, it was not just one line, but two--one going down 1st Avenue and the other doing down 7th Street. Was I glad I bought tickets on the day they went on sale? Yes.

And...for those of you just joining me who have never read one of my concert "reviews" before, I should disclose at this time that I don't actually write concert reviews. I can tell you about the uber gross couple that was hanging out in our general area, doing their best to breathe only each other's exhales, with their faces never more than an inch away from each other. I can tell you a lot about them. But I don't remember what anybody on stage was wearing or if they hit an off note or anything like that. It was a very good show. Sorry. When I go to see professional musicians, I expect them to be...well...professional. And they were. And I don't know it that's wildly newsworthy.

Now more about the uber gross couple. Seriously? Ew. I'd say that they were between the ages of 16 and 20, and I'm not kidding--their faces were never more than an inch apart. He kept sniffing her hair around her ear and lilting up his nose like he was sniffing some other dog's ass and she kept one leg wrapped around him the entire time. I'm sure the after-show sex was awesome for them, but everyone in their vicinity suffered for it during the four hours of foreplay--and now that I mention it, four hours of foreplay can only really lead to some anti-climactic sex, not matter how, er, climactic, it was. I kept telling myself that one day, they would be grown up enough to exercise a little decorum, but then I'd catch sight of them out of the corner of my eye and think, no, they're just revolting, and at their age it's too late to smack it out of them. A future tragic love story in the making.

But enough about them...

At one point in the evening, my daughter asked me what the venue was used for when not holding concerts. I drew a bit of a blank.

"I....I mean...what? You're asking me what First Avenue is used for?"

I opted out of the history lesson. "Music," I replied. "That's all that happens here."

Because of the venue's history, I half expected somebody in one of the bands to bust out a Prince song last night, since it wouldn't be too much of a musical stretch for any of them. The cover that Panic! opted for instead was completely, and awesomely, unexpected: Carry On My Wayward Son. Yeah, yeah....sorta lame that it was dedicated to the parents, cuz it's an old song, but that song is way the hell older than me, darling, so you can keep your dedication. A damn good cover, nonetheless.

Not far from me, a dad who ate that Kansas dedication right up, kept snapping pictures and video of his kids enjoying the concert in between taping and photographing most of the show and marveling, yes marveling at the fact that large groups of people knew all the words to the songs by one of the openers, Fun. I'll admit to never having seen or heard them before last night. I'll admit that here. However, I would have never have shown any astonishment that other people have heard of them while everyone around me was belting out all of their songs at the top of their lungs. That's just nerdy, and not the good kind of nerdy.

We wrapped up the evening with the obligatory stop at the merch table, and, t-shirt procured, spilled out onto the street, grabbed the first cab with an empty back seat and were home before 10:30. Wow, kid concerts end early! Crazy.

Oh, and I lied. I will mention a thing or two about what actually happened on stage. Fun (The band, I mean...) is truly excellent. Truly. I mean it. I don't care if you're 14 or 44 like me. Well worth the price of admission if you get a chance. I kept thinking how I would describe them to my best friend who wasn't there with me, and all I could think was a cool, modern, Queen, but that doesn't necessarily do them any justice, so forgive my limited reference. I thought Scissor Sisters, a little, too, but that's not really it, either. They're just...Fun. Duh.

Lastly, regarding the (noticeable, by me anyway) lack of material from PATD's previous album in the set...I get it, I get it. It was a slight bummer that it was like they went from their first album straight to their third and Pretty.Odd almost never happened, but honestly that album was fairly different from the other two and not a lot of those things would have fit so neatly into the set we saw. Not one bad song was played. I'm not going to lie--the first time I heard the new album, I was worried, because I loved Pretty. Odd soooooo much and thought, what have they done? That sound is gone! But hearing songs from albums 1 and 3 snuggled up together really illustrated a continuation of a Panic! At The Disco sound, and I'm not about to begrudge them that.

And now, I'm off to do the 2 hours of yoga and hot bath soaking that it will take to erase the pain that 4 hours of concrete floor standing causes to an ancient body. Maybe next June 11th I will have recovered enough to take another cab ride downtown.

It's A Picture Of...Probably The Most Boring Thing Ever, At Least Til The Sock Hop.

2011-06-09T14:06:00.001-05:00

White. Plain. A bit fuzzy.

It's a shrug that I'm trying to power through, and the more I look at the white and fuzziness of it, the more I think I need a poodle skirt to wear with it...

Bloom

2011-06-04T13:13:00.000-05:00

I do love digging and plunking stuff in the little holes and then seeing what beautiful things happen.

I planted Orientals because the smell is intoxicating, but this Asiatic won the First Bloom prize this season.

I live in an old brownstone with neglected gardens that, until this year, I neglected, too. The quiet joy one gets in hanging with plants and making them do things, sometimes against their will, is very satisfying. I can't believe I put it off so long. Happy Summer, y'all.

Nothing To See Here...

2011-06-02T14:29:00.002-05:00

It is quite true that after knitting for the entire month of May I have nothing to show for it except a pair of acrylic slippers (though the colors are lovely), one garter stich scarf (65 inches of the softest and most luxurious garter stitch, ever), and this semi-sad lace headband made with leftover sock yarn.

It's like back to beginning knitting school around here.

But I would like to take this opportunity to say, "Thank you, knitting. Thank you." Thank you for pulling my mind away from those things in my life that cause me pain and hurt that I cannot change, and allowing me to focus on creating a thing that is useful, and hopefully beautiful, from that energy. I could not have made it through this past year without you.

Snark Is Always On The Calendar

2011-06-01T12:16:00.001-05:00

Do you know what I did yesterday that was good?

I mailed my Netflix movies back.

I know that doesn't sound like such a big deal, and maybe to some people it isn't.

Me?

(insert moaning, aching, oh-my-gawd-the-drama sound)

Mailing movies back has become the biggest of the big deals, ever. I blame myself. We get a couple movies, maybe watch one right away, but not everybody is home, so they ask to hang on to it for a bit longer so they can watch it sometime on the weekend, then the next thing you know, 6 weekends have gone by and we've had the movies so long we forgot all about them until I notice them while dusting** and declare THESE WILL BE MAILED BY TOMORROW, SO WATCH THEM NOW OR FOREVER HOLD YOUR PEACE!

7 times out of 10, I end up watching them alone because the children are just not in the mood to watch movies at the same time I'm in the mood to purge myself of month old rentals, and may I just say right now that I am so glad that they were not in the mood to watch Love And Other Drugs last night, because holy shit there's a lot of ass in that movie. Not that I mind my almost-grown teenagers seeing adultish situations in movies, but I'm sure we would have all been squirming at the sheer level of OH-MY-GOD-THERE'S-HIS/HER-ASS/TITS-AGAIN.

(Movie advertising is funny, isn't it? That one gave all the signs of being a semi-light-hearted love story, which I think it was in the end, but everything leading up to the last 20 minutes was fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck...)

Anyway....

I once again made a big show of walking to the corner mail box at 9PM to deposit two movies (the other was Inception, which did not produce any squirming at all...) that I'd been sitting on for a month and a half. Will I do any better with the next two that are coming in the mail this week? Hell, I don't know...

My ex used to say that if it's not in the day-timer, it isn't happening, and, this is what it's come to. My entertainment is now on a calendar. How very spontaneous of me. I have to set a reminder on my phone to watch movies before I stop being excited about them being in the house. Enter Lamesville.

I'll put the "Enjoy your Netflix movies!" notation right next to the "Take out the recycling, stupid!" reminder on my calendar. Perhaps I can find a special ring-tone for that alarm-the 20th Century Fox fanfare comes to mind. I'm sure I'll have better luck getting the children to participate in movie night than I do getting them to help with the recycling.

**HA! That's a funny. Did you catch that? For dramatic purposes, I pretended that I actually dust.

An Honest Living

2011-05-30T09:26:00.001-05:00

My brother posted pictures of himself and some co-workers on Facebook. The pictures were just like any other pictures of office hi-jinx except that he and his co-workers were all dressed in camo and carrying very large, scary-looking rifles in virtually every shot.

For the better part of the last 23 years, my brother has been in the Army. In those 23 years, he's gone to virtually every country that was dangerous for an American to go to, and through luck and good training, has returned unscathed. By the virtue of longevity, he has now assumed the role of helping younger soldiers stay alive out there--he's currently instructing them in how to dismantle/disable IED's.

You would think that by now, he'd be doing something that would keep him out of harm's way, but I guess that's not his style. Besides, if not him, then who?

I guess that's what it all boils down to now, isn't it? If not him, then who?

When I complain about how I think my boss is a scary narcissist, I blissfully forget that at least he's not a scary narcissist with no qualms about shooting me in the head for no other reason than they don't like the geographical region where fate landed me. Those are the kinds of evil people who's actions garner the response of the United States military. That's who we're up against. That's who we're always up against. Would you assume that role? Would you take on a bully in a truly dangerous situation?

Soldiers are to be admired not just for their courage, but for the strong sense of right and wrong that compels them to stand up to the scary people. I've been around that aspect of military mentality my entire life and I can tell you that it is almost completely the same from one soldier to the next. They may complain about the pay from time to time, or about how a particular officer acts like a jerk, but those honest soldiers who lay it on the line every day, would do it anyway, because it needs to be done.

My father and all four brothers are/were military. Growing up, and still today, we hardly give it a thought--of course you serve. Of course you do. And that sense of service remains past the time that they are wearing the uniform. It is in all areas of their lives. Bottom line: Soldiers are good people.

It's hard to put a price on that kind of employee. Someone on Wall Street would get paid big bucks to defend their company's way of doing things from a rival's threats. Our nation only sets aside one day a year to officially recognize their sacrifice, but please, don't feel like you have to refrain from being grateful at other times of the year. Thanks to them, you have a lot less to worry about every day, and that is priceless.

The Stupid Stacks Up

2011-05-26T11:24:00.001-05:00

You can almost count on The Crazy escalating in the Spring, can't you?

The things I've witnessed in the last couple of weeks....makes you wonder if it's been a full moom every day.

Rather than talking about stupidity at my office or sheer lunacy at a certain State Representative's office (...talking about you, Tony Cornish...), I'm going to get, well....a little personal.

No, we're not going to talk about my weight--it's not gonna be Oprah-personal, but I will be discussing a couple of local institutions with which one of my children is involved.

I'm not excited about publishing identifiers for my children online, so you can tell that the stupid thing that happened pissed me off. A lot. Enough to make me want to name names and write a letter to the editor and such.

My daughter plays fast-pitch softball at Edina schools. The team she is on is not what I would call a hard-driving, championship winning team--they are just starting out, and honestly, they tend to lose more games than win, but, it's skill building so most of the time they are not discouraged by losses. If they put in enough work, hopefully they will be the varsity athletes of tomorrow. Right now, they're not there yet. It's not a big deal to any of them--softball is fun for them, they enjoy the team time and they enjoy learning new skills.

About a week ago, my daughter's team played a team from Minnetonka, and, frankly, they had their butts handed to them. They outplayed us, period--better pitching, better fielding, better hitting.

So we lost.

But, like I said, not a big deal to my daughter and her team mates. Sure it's a disappointment, but....oh well.

After the game, both teams retreated to separate areas in the outfield for post-game wrap-ups with their coaches. I was not privy to those conversations--well, most of those conversations, anyway.

At the end of the pep talk, the kids from Edina put their hands together in classic sports huddle style and shouted "Edina!" on the break. From all the way across the field, in their own huddle behind first base, the coach from Minnetonka had paused for a moment while this happened and was heard to say, in a mocking tone, "Edina!.....Sucks!"

Now, before I go any further, I do want to say that the letter I sent to this woman's boss was incredibly polite. She should not expect the same courtesy here.

I don't think it's terribly Mother Hen of me to want to punch her lights out for saying hurtful things to my child, is it? That's a normal reaction, right?

Anyway...I'll start by saying, simply, "Grow up", and follow that up with a "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Your team played well and they won, and with your single bitchy comment, you erased all of their pride. You took away their win and put the emphasis on our loss. So not only are you unsportsmanlike to other teams, you're a thoughtless bitch to your own team, too.

Did you notice how your team reacted to your bitchy comment? Nervous laughter. Like, they probably couldn't believe you would say shit like that, either.

High school is an important time. Kids need good examples, because at that age, literally, it can go either way. They can grow up to be good and thoughtful people, or....

You, lady, are not a good example, and I would appreciate it if you would stay away from children until you are ready to be one.

Now, Representative Cornish--speaking of "not a good example...." (click here to read all about it)

Random Kitteh Cuteness

2011-05-20T07:34:00.001-05:00

Moments like this one help you forget that time he got into your freshly planted windowsill herb garden and spread potting soil footprints all over the kitchen counter top...

With Apologies To Sally Melville

2011-05-18T10:20:00.001-05:00

I don't dislike the knit stitch, or garter stitch, if you prefer. I like it just fine. Hell, Sally wrote an entire, incredibly beautiful, book about it and I loved every article of clothing she produced while using only knit stitches.

I just had other plans for this yarn.

It is probably the softest, most luxurious yarn I have ever owned--100% Suri alpaca, shaved, cleaned and spun by hand by a lovely person right here in Minnesota--so I started off with visions of laci-ness, grabbed a pattern and got busy.

It was going so well until I realized that I was accidentally adding stitches up one side and the scarf was twice as wide at one end than it was at the other.

Oops.

Frog.

Begin again.

Twice.

Fourth attempt in, and a dozen other projects completed, I decide to let the yarn speak for itself.

Yes, it's garter stitch.

Worse yet, it's a garter stitch scarf.

Don't get me wrong--it is an incredibly soft and luxurious garter stitch scarf. It's so soft and nice, in fact, that even a seasoned knitter couldn't possibly be put off by the beginner-ness of this garter stitch scarf.

Right?

Sure, "garter stitch scarf" is what you make before you know how to read a pattern, or purl for that matter, but....this is different.

Isn't it?

Am I sure this the appropriate thing to do with 25 bucks worth of lovingly hand-crafted yarn?

No, I am not.

Luckily, it is going to be given away, so as long as the person is good at feigning excitement at the time she receives it, I will be able to use the usual mind tricks to convince myself that it is getting near constant use in her possession.

Truth is, I have to give it away. Let's face it, if it stayed here, I would just keep ripping it apart and starting over again until there was nothing left but bits of alpaca fuzz.

Only In Small Doses

2011-05-13T16:33:00.002-05:00

Most lace, which requires much more thought than I care to give, I can only do in small doses...like this little jobby.

It is going to be a headband.

Oh, by the way, did I mention I'm growing my hair out? It should only be truly ugly for the duration of the summer, so I'm developing a series of hats and other head coverings to make it disappear during the awkward stage.

Happy Anniversary.....Jerk

2011-05-13T15:33:00.002-05:00

Just a year ago today, I picked up the kids from school and drove to Faribault to meet a little boy named "Tiny".

He was an absolute mad man from the very start, which worked out well when we changed his name to Napoleon.

Yeah, yeah...I should't generalize with the "jerk" commentary...he's not really like that all the time. Sometimes, like after he has spent literally five minutes compulsively scratching at the side of the litter box because he just can't seem to get that poo covered to his liking, I feel a little bad for him.

Then, when he steps out of the box and announces with a fearsome wail that he has, in fact, finished both pooping and scratching, you sort of want the celebrate right along with him--maybe like you would if you were to potty train a toddler.

On more than a dozen occasions, he has brazenly approached the yarn bowl, looking for a toy. He'll pick up a ball in his mouth and with a devilish glance at me, try to walk away. There are only 756,398,915 special playthings in the toybox, you know...a guy gets bored.

Because he is much more young and agile than his brother, none of their wrestling matches are fair. This fact does not, however, prevent him from starting them. That's the jerk part. The rest of the time, though, he's as sweet as any other adolescent boy you would ever meet.

In time, he'll be less distracted and want to hang out more (right now, he'll voluntarily sit with a with a person for just a little while before it's back to play time) but I doubt he'll ever lose his taste for yarn. I might worry if he did.

I Don't Know Anyone Who Doesn't Need This

2011-05-09T07:39:00.000-05:00

Sure, maybe some don't know they need it, but...10% Camel!

10% Camel! Come on! Of course I bought it.

Anyway...Shepherd's Harvest was fun. Lots of alpaca yarn, but sadly none of the beasts showed up in person for a photo op, so you get a picture of yarn instead.

Get A Job!

2011-05-02T11:38:00.000-05:00

I have been on a quest to rid myself of the little balls of Yarn Without Jobs.

Those lazy freeloaders!

They sit around, taking up space, and generally being jerks about it because they are not big enough to do any heavy lifting on a real project.

I decided to recruit them to be "extras", and am powering through a few pairs of slippers to clean out the inventory.

In all honesty, I don't actually know how to make slippers, though I can recite a sock recipe even before I've had my coffee, so what I'm calling "slippers" is actually a sock formula, only knit with acrylic worsted weight on an almost-too-small needle to make a stiffer, and crazy durable fabric.

The picture above is a toe-up Sockipper, 2nd of a pair, made in what has been my favorite color combo for the last few years, dark brown and torquoise.

I swear, this is the last dark brown and torquoise yarn in the house.

Promise.

Of course, this sets me up to buy more dark brown and torquoise yarn...but I'm thinking of switching to orange as my new weird obsession. Who's with me?

-- Sent from my Palm Pixi

Swinger

2011-04-30T15:14:00.002-05:00

Finally finished, the gorgeous Swing Dress from Vogue Knitting Spring 2011 Edition, which I thought was a standout piece in that issue. I knit it in Knit Picks CotLin--the color is called "Surf".

A couple of executive decisions were made on this project, the first being that I didn't go with the prescribed jute straps. I think on the original rose color of the pattern, they were nice, but with the darker blue that I used, it may have been too much contrast. Instead, I opted to knit the straps, thus adding about three weeks to the project! I tried numerous stitches and widths--everything from wide and lacey to an i-cord. My concern was that too much of that dark color too close to her face would visually distract from the face, or, if the straps were too intricate, they might take away from the lace on the bottom. I backed down to about an inch wide, like the original, knit in plain stockinette, and as you can see in the picture, somehow managed to attach them cleanly--really happy with that.

The other executive decision was made by my daughter, who insisted upon threading a cord through the yarnover row below the bodice so that she could adjust the width and tie it with a bow. So smart!

-- Sent from my Palm Pixi

No, I Will Not Apologize

2011-04-29T13:16:00.001-05:00

As has been previously mentioned, I'm a Twitter person. I'm a twit. I plug into a topic and refresh, refresh, refresh until I suddenly realize I forgot to sleep/eat/bathe and that I've wasted more hours than I care to talk about looking up "What's everyone saying about (fill in the blank)?"

It's just my nature. Or maybe it's my years in the media--I am compulsively taking a situation's temperature, always. I think it's important not only to learn as much as you can about a what is happening in the world, but also to know how people are reacting. I believe that it helps a person get along in society if they know these things, even if (or especially if) they completely disagree with the general consensus.

It is in the area of trending topics where I find Twitter to be equally fascinating and annoying. For every big topic, and every 10-20 tweets about that topic, there are people asking "Why are you talking about ________ when there are so many more important things going on in the world?"

You hear the same bitchy comment surrounding just about every trending topic--a celebrity dies, and people complain that we're not talking about the unemployment rate. A prince gets married, and people complain that we're not talking about the space shuttle. A natural disaster occurs, and someone pipes up to say, "Oh, yeah? Well OUR natural disaster was way more important than YOUR natural disaster!"

To all who would offer that kind of comment, I say Save Your Breath. Or, to be more precise, don't even bother to type it in. Don't bother. I say this because, with the exception of the tween-created Disney channel star-related, and/or promoted topics, those trending topics are, in fact, exactly what we the nation or we the world happen to care about at the moment. We care about them whether you care about them or not and whether you like it or not. The fact that we care about these things, even if it's only briefly, does not make us lesser human beings in any way--it just is what it is. I'm not going to apologize for getting up at 3AM to watch two people I've never met before get married. I don't expect you to apologize for not understanding why I would do that, so I think offering me the same courtesy is only fair.

Maybe five minutes from now, we'll care about something else--maybe it will be something that you deem suitable. Rest assured, when that happens, there'll be someone complaining that your topic is stupid, too.

How about, instead of complaining that we're not talking about the thing you want us to talk about, just talk about the thing you want to talk about instead, without pathetically linking your topic to something that has momentarily caught our interest? You diminish the things you care about when you present them in that way. Yes, that's right--it is YOU who is making your thing a lesser topic by drawing it into the comparison.

Oh, and to the person who said "If I hear one more thing about the royal wedding I'm going to kill myself," and/or the person who said "Anyone who watched that whole thing should go jump out a window," your misery is not our problem. Two days ago, you said the same thing about The President's birth certificate. You'll find any excuse to be an ass--leave us out of it.

Working With Cats, Part Duh

2011-04-26T15:27:00.001-05:00

The cats are both asleep. One is on the love seat, the other in the loft. The older of the two stretches awake and ambles over to the closed office door. The door doesn't latch, and Jack figured out how to open it about two years ago but does he open it himself? No.

Jack: Mom, I need to go out

Me: OK, go ahead.

Jack: No, I mean I want you to open the door.

Me: You open the office door by yourself all the time. Just pull it open.

Jack: Just open it for me, would ya?

Me: Open it yourself.

Jack: Open it!

Me: Jack, I--

Jack: Open it!

Me: Just pull the--

Jack: Open it!

Me: Fine! I'll open the stupid door! I bet if there was a can of tuna on the other side, you'd have opened it yourself a long time ago.

Jack: Whatever...

I pull the door open, then shut it behind him as he leaves.

Three minutes later, the younger is roused from his sleep by a distinctive sound. Unlike his older brother, Napoleon has not yet figured out how to open the office door, and so...

Napoleon: Mom, I think I hear Jack scratching in the litter box.

Me: So what? Leave him alone.

Napoleon: No, I need to go out there now.

Me: Just stay in here.

Napoleon: Open the door, Mom!

Me: No! I will not!

Napoleon: Jack NEEDS me!

Me: He does not need you. He's been pooping by himself for 11 years.

Napoleon: Moooooom! Ooooopen the dooooooor!

Me: No! You're not going to help him, you just bother him.

Napoleon: Open it!

Me: Napoleon, you--

Napoleon: Open it!

Me: He doesn't need your help.

Napoleon: Open it!

Me: Seriously, you're such a jerk...I'll open it but don't you dare--

Napoleon: Open it!

I assess that the litter box scratching has ceased, therefore, Jack has finished his afternoon project and is ready to accept Napoleon's company. I open the door to see Jack standing in the doorway, waiting to come back in.

Me: There, you see? He's fine.

Napoleon: (to me) Oh. Never mind.

(to Jack) Hey, wanna smell butts?

So few waking moments between naps, and this is how they spend them.

Oh, And One More Thing...

2011-04-25T17:05:00.001-05:00

Jack is checking out "Binky Fab", or, for you humans, "Really Fabulous Cotton Throw" in all it's glorious color.

How do you make a really fabulous cotton throw? Get heaping mounds of cotton (the cones are good--yes, get the cones. Get at least four cones....) then cast on using four strands in your preferred width (75 stitches on size 35 needles made a throw around 54 inches wide, which is as wide as a full-sized bed). Then, you knit until you're almost out of yarn, then cast off. Done!

Just to warn you, this is HEAVY fabric, so if you made one as big as your full-sized bed it WILL be the warm-warmiest blanket you own. Having lived with it on my lap for the past few days and also being a lover of blankets with some weight to them, I can't wait to make another, bigger one for my bed. This one is about half that size, and it's been made for a life in my car, for every reason from "the seat's too hot" to "when is the heat going to stop blasting cold air?

Love it. More cotton, please!

-- Sent from my Palm Pixi

Mental Health Via The Internet

2011-04-25T15:19:00.000-05:00

When doing "strange" things, or things that I think that I'm not so sure I should be sharing the fact that I'm doing them, I often check into Twitter, put the strange thing that I'm doing into the search and see if anybody else is doing that same strange thing.

Shut up--it makes me feel better.

Take last night for example: Last night, I sat in front of my television (project in hand, so it wasn't entirely wasted time) and watched, swear-to-gawd, a Pop-Up Videos style replay of the televised broadcast of Charles and Diana's wedding from 1981.

Uh-huh. Sat and watched the whole damn thing.

What?

Hey, The Sound of Music wasn't on in the evening like it was supposed to be, OK? Stupid ABC Family made Sound of Music the opener for Titanic! Gag....that's just so wrong. Titanic had the prime time slot on Easter, and The Sound of Music, which was SUPPOSED TO come on six-ish (because it is the right and holy thing to do) started at around 3 in the afternoon. I missed all but the very end.

Please don't talk to me about DVR's and Tivo--I'm not talking about convenience, here--talking about right and wrong!

...

Anyway...

There I was, alone, pouting, Julia Andrews-less, when what should I happen to see but this show which was essentially running Charles and Diana's wedding video, the same one we all got up at 4AM to watch back in 1981, with no announcer voice, just little thought bubbles, like, "Diana's dress took 80 bazillion yards of silk to construct" or, "Doesn't Andrew look bored out of his mind?" or whatever.

And I watched it.

I watched it and kept watching it.

About 40 minutes into it, I did a Twitter check, just to make sure that, A) I wasn't the only person watching it, and B) That the people watching it who were on Twitter talking about watching it didn't appear to be total loons and/or otherwise ghastly.

They all checked out OK.

I then backed up and did a baseline check of people who are on Twitter who had watched The Sound of Music (miraculously, as they clearly have the television schedule tattooed on their cerebral cortex and knew when it was going to be on, unlike me...).

Those people all seemed relatively normal as well.

I think I'm OK.

I mean, I'm as OK as I'm going to be, as someone who watched the Charles and Diana wedding video and squinted to see pop-up factoids about the bridesmaids. There's really only so much "OK" that they can attribute to you after something like that.

More Stuff I Finished

2011-04-24T22:45:00.002-05:00

I'm gonna be so clean slate by the time I get all these UFO's finished up, that I'll practically have my virginity back.

Or...probably not.

I knit one of these slippers about a year ago.

OK, actually it was two years ago. Shut up.

Then about a year ago, I knit the first half of the second.

What was extra lame was that I was able to finish the second half of the second slipper in one afternoon last week, which serves as a reminder that there really was no excuse not to just finish the damn project in the first place, two years ago.

What's most cool about these slippers is that I just steam-cleaned the harwood floor in the hall, so it's slipper. Sometimes I get to see the teen who wears the slippers sliding past my office door on the slippery floor.

Sometimes she does it on purpose.

Stash Reduction

2011-04-19T13:13:00.001-05:00

The stash reduction project moves forward with these giant balls and cones of cotton (which my camera flash has distorted to look like Christmas colors...hmmm....the real colors are butter-cream, an orange-pinkish-melon-y color and a pale green. Gorgeous and summery.).

I'm making this mass quantity of yarn into a throw blanket for the car/beach/tent. Just a little something for the summer, unlike most of our knitting projects. I didn't go with the GIGANTO needles this time, just a small (compared to Speed Stix size 50, anyway) size 35 needle and straight garter stitch--I'll let you know if I like it in one week.

Also, in case you thought I may have given up on the lace, not to worry--the main body of the top is complete, and I am knitting the straps for it. I should be done shortly and will post pictures of my child wearing the top, with her back turned to the camera to avoid any boob lust. Don't worry, it's the same shirt on both sides...

-- Sent from my Palm Pixi

There's Always Some New Low

2011-04-17T10:25:00.002-05:00

I have taken to trying to get my kids' friends to laugh these days. My children no longer find me amusing, so, I crack wise with their friends in the hopes that if my children are ever talking to said friend and claim that their mother is a Lame-O, that the friend will stick up for me and stay something like, "Oh, I like your mom! I think she's funny!"

I'm not entirely sure, but I believe that this is the height of pathetic.

Late last night, at the corner of Lake and Lyndale, while waiting for pedestrians to clear the intersection, the comment, "OK children, count the drunk hipsters!" was given a healthy guffaw by my daughter's boyfriend. That sort of thing is important to me, since if he wasn't in the car, my daughter would have likely rolled her eyes and muttered one of those "Oh-my-gawd-mother" things that she does to show how utterly retarded she thinks I am.

The boyfriend is also especially fond of my not-really-road-rage commentary involving other drivers being, ahem, assholes, morons, and/or idiots.

My daughter finds this kind of talk annoying.

Whatever.

On the same car ride, different daughter, after being picked up from a party, commented that the hostess had a friend visiting from France and that the two of them spent most of the evening speaking to one another in French, a language not shared by any of the other party-goers.

Since I happen know the hostess and think the girl is the one of the most down-to-earth kids I've ever seen in a high school, the line, "Pretentious bitches!" was meant to be funny.

Sadly, none of that daughter's friends were in the car, so, that one fell flat.

The knife in the heart moment of the drive, after the boyfriend had been dropped off and it was just the siblings and me headed home, was when one daughter commented that she thought Top 40 disc jockeys on the radio were so mean compared to the jocks on the rock station.

Here, finally, was my undeniable area of expertise. After all, I spent 14 years in the radio business, during half of which I was a night time jock on Top 40 stations. I knew, without a doubt, the real answer to that question--hell, I'd been mean to at least a billion teenagers in those seven years, and I knew exactly why they did that: Because kids eat that shit up. That's the truth, y'all. The truth.

I waited for the children to look to me for an answer, thinking, any minute now they're going to turn to the expert, the one who used to do that for a living, and ask, "Mom, why are they like that?".

They never asked.

*sigh*

I would not be denied. I volunteered my answer.

Somehow, they were not impressed.

How could that be? 14 years of my LIFE in that business, and I don't get to speak in defense of the craft of giving teenagers crap on the radio?

Now, somebody please explain to me why I'm so hell-bent on getting my kids acknowledgement, when if it were anybody else who didn't think I was interesting/amusing, I would have blown them off a long time ago? Maybe I am as lame as they say. I think I'll stick with the (easy) business of making their friends laugh and give up on these two deadbeats, entirely.

All In A Day's Work (AKA Cat-astrophes)

2011-04-14T12:56:00.002-05:00

Because my work from home situation allows me to be about three feet away from Snug In My Bed all day (don't think it isn't torture) I don't have the conventional office experience. Some people work with jerks, or gross people who clip their toe-nails in their cubical.

I work with cats.

Behold the magnificent domestic cat, a species generally considered to be quiet and clean and altogether less mucky-muck than dogs.

That may be true, or you may think it so....until you start working together.

We've all heard how working together can be hard on a relationship--this can be true of human mates and of the four-legged, furry variety. You just don't know the true character of a thing until you work together and see the types of situations that stress them out.

For example, who knew that toys could cause so much anxiety for a cat that their interactions with the toys would disrupt your workday? Not me. But at least once a week, Jack runs into my office holding a Kong Kickaroo in his mouth while making muffled panic sounds (as much as he possibly can with his mouth full) demanding that I HELP HIM IMMEDIATELY BECAUSE HE DOES NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH THE TOY.

"MY GOD, MOTHER!! I THINK I'M SUPPOSED TO HUMP THIS THING BUT I ALSO WANT TO RIP IT TO SHREDS! I'M SO CONFUSED!!!"

It's a noise you can't explain away. After the panic has been relieved, Jack will often settle in for a nap while cuddling the Kong Kickaroo. It's a complicated relationship.

Then, of course, there is the inter-office bickering.

Jack: Get out of here, Kid, it's my turn to watch Mom

Napoleon: No it's not! It's MY turn to watch Mom! And I want this whooooole love seat, all to myself...

Jack: I was here first. Beat it.

Napoleon: What if I smash my paw across your face, do I have to beat it, then? Huh, asshole? How about that?

Jack: You little fucker!

Napoleon: Nyah-nyah, loser!

Jack: Fuck off!

Napoleon: Oh yeah, how about if I bite....I'll bite....I'll bite your SHOULDER!! Yeah, your shoulder! How about THAT old man?

Jack: Why you little...

And, it's on...

Bodies tumble noisily to the floor, bitch-slapping follows, along loud galloping up and down the hall, and name calling. Nobody ever apologizes, ever, they just keep returning to the scene of the crime and start all over again until Mom tells them to knock it the hell off.

This is all for my benefit, of course--I'm sure if I wasn't around, none of this would be happening.

You know how, sometimes, if you work in an office and you bring your lunch, and you keep it in the break room fridge, if it's something good, some jerk might steal it?

Try having a co-working who feels no shame in taking food right off of your plate.

Napoleon: Is that chicken? That sure smells like chicken! Let me just....put....my hand...on it.....so I can see.....if it's....chicken.

Me: Napoleon, you ass! Get your hand off my plate!

Jack: What the hell? You're giving HIM food? How come I never get any food?

Napoleon: It's because you're hugely fat, Lardo

Me: Napoleon!!

And, to no one's surprise....it's on.

Again.

Anytime you start to thinking that if you spend another minute locked in the fluorescent jungle with a bunch of loons that your boss is trying to pass off as co-workers, that you will completely lose your mind, please think of me.

Think of me and my front row ticket to the daily circus of animal life. The jealous, petty bickering and cat fights.

With my feet up....

Ten paces away from a fridge full of beer.

My Brain Needs Spring

2011-04-09T18:49:00.002-05:00

There is one dumb thing about smoking that I truly miss, and that is going outside.

Sure, I could go outside now, as a person who no longer smokes, but...I'm weirdly purpose-driven and feel like if I'm going to be outside, I should be doing something. I don't like wasting time. Time is the only thing I have that's worth anything.

Anyway, back to the outside. Smoking gave me something to do, outside.

In the winter time, as a non-smoker, it makes absolutely no sense to put on your coat and shoes and go outside and stand around for 5 minutes. Hell, that activity makes no sense in the Spring either. The difference is, in the Spring/Summer, the warmth makes the reasons to go outside so much more abundant. Almost every day, there is something, like, I'm sunning myself on this rock, or I'm raking the yard, or I'm planting/maintaining the flower bed, or I'm stirring the compost. Whatever it might be, it's easy to think of a reason--projects practically scream your name--and it's easy to put on flip-flops (or not) and just walk outside.

As I'm throwing my windows open to air temperatures that would make me slam those same windows shut in the Fall, my brain re-awakens to the infinite possibilities of the Spring. You can feel the potential. It's a beautiful thing.

Here is my little pledge for Spring, and it's not that I'm going to be better at maintaining the flower bed, or that I'll commit to getting out and taking walks every day. Those things are good and I will most certainly be keeping them in mind. Instead I just want to keep this feeling in my head--this fresh start feeling, where you know that things will get growing, literally and figuratively, as soon as you take an action--and I want to apply it to everything. That's the brain I want for the rest of 2011--kind of a gardener brain, who's willing to plant things and tend them and share a great big harvest when it's all grown tall at the end. THAT is what "outside" means to me--doing the work and seeing the results.

Cheers to leaving "just surviving" behind, if only for a little while, and getting back to thriving. Viva Spring!

Have I Mentioned That I Have One Good Cat And One Bratty Cat?

2011-04-06T16:40:00.002-05:00

The nice, crisp, in-focus photo features the "good" cat doing his Vanna White impression with my work in progress, nearing completion.

The other, blurry photo is what we'll call an "action shot" of the Bratty Cat ripping the knitting out from under the good cat's watchful gaze. Do you see the look of shock and horror in Jack's (good cat) eyes? You should have seen mine...

The shirt, and the Bratty Cat, both survived to show off another day.

Six Degrees of "Screw You"

2011-04-05T17:44:00.001-05:00

There is a lady at my office who quit her job last week. She quit, among other reasons, because she can't stand our boss.

The same day she told me about it, my best friend's partner also quit her job.

She was pissed at her boss.

Aren't we all?

Neither of those ladies had any work lined up, or anything to fall back on, like, say, Powerball winnings. They just said "Fuck this" and quit.

I want to admire these women. I do. I mean that takes some balls.

Problem is, Sensible Shelly is screaming "WHAT ABOUT THE GODDAMN MORTGAGE, HUH? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU PLANNING TO DO ABOUT THAT???"

Now...unlike me, both women have partners who are employed and with whom they share household expenses, so it's not like there's no money coming in. Unfortunately, there is no conceivable way I could give my boss the gigantic "Screw You" that he so richly deserves without ending up living in a cardboard box somewhere (and if I did, I can assure you that I would refuse a crust of bread from that asshole....my loathing runs that deep...).

I think that having that kind of faith, that things will be OK, even with little or no money, is a good thing. I have a similar kind of faith. I really forge my own way in a workplace, which is why I've been so fortunate in work situations in my life--managers (normal ones) really love those self-starting types. Within the confines of the job description, I really do whatever the hell I want to do to get to a goal and virtually never ask permission unless it's one of those this-is-dicey-I-might-get-sued/fired kind of things. The wrong kind of manager--like the one I have, for example--is threatened by that kind of go-getter, because they think they might make them look bad. This type of manager might react by making life miserable--or trying to, anyway. Here's an example:

In our office right now, there is a written policy that says people have to ask permission before they get up and use the bathroom. Seriously. We're all perfectly grown up there--no school children on the premises, and yet we are expected, on the occasion when we might need to pee, to seek out a member of leadership and ask to be excused.

That's the kind of rule that a truly fearful manager makes, to try to control every movement (bowel movements, included) that takes place in the office.

Have I ever, even once, asked permission? Oh hell no. I'm forty-fucking-four years old, and perfectly capable of assessing the need for my presence at the computer versus my need to relieve myself. Most grown-ups are, and, ALL grown ups who work in my department are well advanced in that etiquette.

Still, I'm directly disobeying, and if he ever got excited about anything, my boss could probably hang me out to dry on that one rule alone.

That kind of "Screw You", I have no problem with. I'm involved in several of those right now, and I'm probably not setting a good example to the new people, but, like I said, I don't need a parent, because I'm forty-fucking-four years old. Having said all of that, I'll be damned if I'm going to walk away from money because my boss goes out of his way to be a jackass. No...I think you're gonna have to push me away if that's the deal. Unless it's for the sole purpose of grabbing another, larger paycheck, then I will remain in the receiving line as long as they'll have me. I think that's a more impressive "Screw you" than just quitting. Doing well by ignoring idiots is really the best revenge. Besides, this is serious on-the-job training for how to deal with complete pricks--might come in handy later.

I am 100% certain that there will never, ever be a time in my life where I will feel like I can or should reach out to my current boss for any kind of help. After all, this is the same guy who promised me he could make a few phone calls on a job I was looking at within the company, and instead of doing that, he just sent me an email that said I wasn't qualified for the job, anyway. He's an asshole like that. He's not Team Shelly--not a nice person, and since he's so UN helpful, he's really of no use to me, anyway. So I'm not worried about burning that bridge--I could care less.

Because I am smugly certain that the shit he inflicts on others comes back to smack him in the face on a regular basis--could be his car doesn't start, or maybe his kid never calls him...whatever...I believe that no dramatic scene involving me telling him off while I walk out the door could ever be as good as what he brings upon himself. In fact, it's those dramatic scenes that allow these jerks to continue to play the victim and illicit sympathy when what they should really be getting is....that shit in the face thing. Also, that's how I know he won't fire me....there's no way for him to be a victim if I'm the one getting fired...

Anyway, I say bring it. I'll stand here and take it, and maybe I'll whine about it sometimes but mostly, after I've left here (and I will leave here, soon enough, and forget all of this stupidity) I'll be a better, stronger person for not having just run away when it first started to suck--before I had my legs back under me.. And years from now, when he's burned his last bridge and comes to me for help, it will be the most delicious laughter, ever.

And More Of The Same

2011-03-30T16:27:00.002-05:00

This might be the part where someone could make a comment about how this week's progress shot looks a lot like last week's progress shot.

But wait! There's more!

OK, not much more...just some.

Consider, if you will, just how much of this work was actually done on a broken circ! Yeah...so much for knitting being a stress reliever--I take it out on the needles. I snapped a cord this morning and it's being held together by some carefully woven Scotch tape and my utter terror of screwing this thing up. I will be switching to a shorter needle soon. Until then, stubbornness keeps me from buying a new one in this length.

I promise no more pictures of the same dumb lace panel from here on out--next pic, hopefully, she'll be wearing it.

Can Somebody Please Explain The Cats And Can Openers Thing...?

2011-03-30T14:09:00.001-05:00

Working.

I'm working.

The house is mostly silent. Kids are home on Spring Break and hanging out three rooms away from me, watching TV, goofing off online, etc. I've got a cat snoring next to me and the sound of his breathing and my thinking are the only sounds I hear.

Suddenly, Jack jumps up, hops off the love seat and heads for the office door in a very big hurry. I stand to open it, thinking he must have been having a wet dream or something and I don't want to be the one keeping him from the toilet.

But instead of running to the litter box, he runs to the kitchen...

...where my daughter is just starting to open a can of mandarin oranges.

Not tuna fish, or delicious wet cat food....mandarin oranges.

Not an electric can opener, either, I might add. We have an old twister model, because we don't eat a whole lot of food out of cans.

So...what just happened?

Not Quite Like Progress

2011-03-23T14:32:00.001-05:00

More like five inches of knitted buffoonery.

You didn't know there was such a thing as knitted buffoonery, did you?

Here's me, measuring my daughter's chest size so I can decide what size to make this top:

Me: How big are Punky's boobs?
Punky's Sister: They're freaking HUGE!
Me: I know, right? Oh-mah-gawd...

And so, I cast on approximately 800 million stitches and got started on The Shirt Of Huge Boobness.

A couple of inches into it, I start thinking "what exactly constitutes 'freaking HUGE', anyway? I mean I know her bra size, but when the nearest pattern size is actually 3 inches larger than that, even allowing for the probability that she'll wear a bra and a tank top under this...it might not be the boobs that are huge, but the shirt.

Luckily, there are plenty of places in this pattern to make huge-ness disappear. Like everything else in life, we're winging it.

OK....so....when I post the completed picture with my kid wearing the top, can you do me a favor and act like we've never had this conversation about her boobs? Thanks--you're a peach.

Any Excuse To Stay In My Jammies

2011-03-19T12:33:00.001-05:00

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Oh, Sorry--there was a piece of lint stuck between the Z and the shift key.

Come to think of it, the food particles hiding in this keyboard are enough to horrify all but the laziest of housekeepers...funny how I treat my most-used possessions with such disdain. My car practically has to beg me for an oil change, the computer keyboard crackles under the influence of toast crumbs and it's been years since the vagina was in for maintenance.

...

Some of that is true.

This week we had St. Patrick's Day, or, Rookie Night at the bar, as we like to call it. A friend of mine posted some wacky St. Pat's pics on their FB account which consisted of some drunk guys in kilts and some drunk guys mooning the camera to reveal that they were wearing boxer shorts with the word "Irish" written across the ass. In the background of the the photos (and this is priceless), my father, sitting at the bar, with the "What a couple of idiots" look on his face.

He received a patent for that look in 1978.

My St. Patrick"s Day celebration was a lot like my Saturday, March 19th at 11:30 in the morning celebration. Me, at home, thinking, "I should probably take a shower and get out and do something..."

As I understand it, and I am certainly no historian, the only reason I would be considered Irish is because James VI didn't like my bad-ass family stomping around near the northern border of England so he shuffled us out of Scotland and into Northern Ireland, where we continued our "Piss On You ALL!!" battle cry until famine forced us to America, where someone decided that anyone who had ever set foot on the Emerald Isle must consume mass quantities of crappy beer at least once a year.

We figured that was as good an excuse as any.

Thinking of it now, I wonder if that ancient event sparked my current loathing of "tradition":

King James: You and your people are annoying the hell out of me. I'm sending you to Ireland.

Clan Kerr: What? Fuck that!

King James: You'll eat the same food and wear the same clothes.

Clan Kerr: You're not serious!

King James: Oh, and one more thing--they're Catholic, so behave yourselves.

Clan Kerr: Catholic? Bloody hell...

I've been all "don't tell me what to do" my whole life. Could it be that it's just in the blood? Even if it isn't, I'm making that my new excuse.

As I am writing this, my 15-year-old is scolding me because I am still wearing pajamas. Scolding, from the child who usually doesn't see daylight until well past noon on any day in which school is not in session. Today she's awake, and dressed. Today.

Don't tell me what to do...I'm pulling the Northern Border Warrior Clan card.

Pajamas for all! On to battle!

Sure, the "Don't tell me what to do" thing gets me into some uncomfortable situations here and there. Ever tried to explain to your mom why you don't "do" church, without hurting her feelings? Tough gig. And being one of those people who would rather live on the street than accept a hand-out from a certified asshole has led to a few lean times.

Better hungry than fat with strings attached, I say.

Hopefully I will turn out the way my father did: 70-odd years old, a seat with his name on it at the local watering hole, and allowed to call an idiot an idiot without being lectured by some PC drama-squad.

What else do you really need?

You're Welcome

2011-03-17T09:45:00.001-05:00

(Actually, "You're Welcome", provided you are not vegetarian. If you are vegetarian, please change to "I'm Sorry"...or, try this with TVP or something, and see how it goes...)

Guinness Stew

2 pounds of beef stew meat

Oil for cooking

White Flour

Salt and Pepper

Onion and Garlic

Carrots, Potato, Parsnip (or whatever stew veggies you like), cubed

1-2 Tablespoons tomato paste (because you never use a whole frigging can of it, do you? So it sits in the fridge and goes to waste. *sigh* Buy the tube, instead...)

One bottle/can of Guinness

Toss cubed meat in about a tablespoon of the oil. Mix 1/4 cup of flour with salt and pepper, then toss beef in the flour mixture to coat.

Heat 2 tablespoons of oil in a large skillet and add the beef, browning on all sides. Reduce heat and add diced onion (to taste) and tomato paste. Cook for three minutes, then add one clove diced garlic, and cook for an additional two minutes.

Remove from heat, and pour contents into a slow cooker, Dutch oven, or your favorite stew-making vessel. Return the frying pan to the stove and deglaze with about half of the Guiness--scrape the bottom while you stir to get all that pan yumminess! Add the deglazing liquid and the remaining Guiness into the stew pot with the meat. Add vegetables, cover and cook 2-3 hours (low and slow!)

If You'd Just Sit Still For A Moment

2011-03-16T16:42:00.001-05:00

I'll tell you what turns me into a sniveling blob....secret weapon time.

Here's the thing...I'm somebody's mom, which means that every so often, I get to attend a musical concert in which one or both of my kids is singing, or playing a musical instrument of some kind. I've been doing this for, gosh, 12 years now, and they've gone from kazoos and recorders to guitars, violins, etc. (and back to kazoos again, but that's another story...).

And the singing! Oh, the singing. Lots of singing.

Through the years, there has been one constant--one thing that occurs at least annually, and turns me into a slobbery gob of emotional goo. That thing is....Colors Of The Wind.

Colors Of The Wind--that perfect, perfect song by Alan Menken.

Did you know that if you sit in a stuffy, packed auditorium and listen to 50 kindergarten and first grade kids sing Colors Of The Wind, you forget how pissed you are that you had to park six blocks away and that you broke a heel walking and you were late and some asshole stole your seat so you ended up in the very back row where even there, other parents crowd you with video cameras, trying to catch their little angel in action?

Did you know that?

I learned that a dozen years ago..

At least once a year since then, I attend a school concert in which some teacher has chosen Colors Of The Wind as a number to be performed, and, at least once a year, the sound of children singing it touches me so deeply that I cry. For real. That's how perfect that song is. Stephen Schwartz's lyric in combination with children...I dunno, it's like a direct realization of all of the innocence in the room focused like a laser beam to my heart. It melts everything.

I thought I was off the hook this year, but last night, there it was on the program..."Music from Pocahontas" Still, I believed I had a chance to get out of there with my make-up intact--after all, this was a philharmonic orchestra...no singing.

No little innocent children voices urging me to be more at-one with nature.

Yeah...that didn't really last long past the introduction....

Damn you Alan Menken! Damn it!

How do you do that?

How do you erase the pissiest of moods? How do you turn, "I can't believe I have to go to another one of these damn things," into "Oh-my-precious-baby-I-can't-believe-she's-almost-grown-up? *SOB* "

Huh?

How do you do that?

*grumble*

Anyway, now you know. Now you know my one true weakness. I trust you'll use your new power for good and not evil.

And On To The Next

2011-03-15T10:54:00.001-05:00

Woodland Winter Mittens (December version) done, and now, in my ongoing protest of the weather, I'm going completely in the other direction--hello Summer top! Ooooo...cotton.

I'd just like to say once again what an awesome kit this (the Mittens, I mean). Knit Picks released it, promptly sold out of it (I think I squeaked in my order a whole two days before they announced they were all gone, so I got lucky...) and a lot of people were left wanting it. With any luck, they will offer it again.

This project bugged the living hell out of me, so any "real" knitter would probably love it. I may cast on for another pair (doing the January pair next, I think) but it will definitely be a back seat project and may actually take until January to complete. As always, your mileage may vary...

Who Would Try To Write A Blog In 15 Minutes?

2011-03-11T11:33:00.002-06:00

Duh...

But it's bullet points, so I'm sure you purists are going to whine.

I just....need to talk about stupid pumpkin spice scented candles. Why am I always fooled into thinking that they'll smell nice? Has anyone ever had a pumpkin spice scented candle that didn't smell like the charred remains of a jack-o-lantern on the morning of November 1st? Because I have not.
I started working from home this week, and while I still have regular office hours, the fact that my "office" is near a huge window in my home as opposed to somewhere deep in the fluorescent jungle has made the idea of being chained to a desk for 8 hours a day significantly more palatable. Just the click of me typing, and the sound of cats snoring, instead of the din of Annoying Laugh Lady, People Making Small Talk About Weather/Sports, People Getting Way Too Animated About Politics, People Coming Around Looking For Candy and/or Donuts, etc, etc. Bliss
One thing I must say, being at home with the children (read: cats) all day is that anyone who claims not to like cats is just a jerk. I mean, sure, they're assholes sometimes, but...what's better than a cat in your house? They're like living sculptures when sleeping, and fuzzy love-sponges when awake.
I was photographing a mitten (see WIP, below) in it's finally-finished state when the door bell rang. It was the mail lady, with a box of yarn in tow. Perfect timing.
I bought myself a box of samples of ridiculously expensive perfumes, with the logic being that I would try them all out just to see which ones I love and which ones I would not be buying in full size, and wouldn't you just know that I love them ALL? Damn it! Then again, comparing any of them to the smell of a gnarly pumpkin spice scented candle is entirely unfair.

OK, So...Funny Story, In A Lame-O Sort Of Way

2011-03-09T13:36:00.002-06:00

I have this work in progess, which you can see is a pair of mittens with a lovely mountain scene across the front, all stitched in teeny yarn, several colors, etc.

Because I'm a glutton for punishment, I was attempting to knit both the right and left mit at the same time, because that's what you do when you're crazy-but-productive-in-your-head.

Somehere around that mountain top, I noticed that I had skipped several rows of the pattern on the right hand, so as you see it, I had to remove it from the suddenly-less-than-magical Magic Loop set up and trudge forth (or backwards, in this case...) one at a time, on dpn's.

My comfort level has gone up considerably, all of a sudden! Whew! No gigantic circular needle mess. Now here's hoping "second mitten syndrome" stays away long enough to power through...

Doing A Thing

2011-03-08T16:14:00.000-06:00

Project alert! Gonna do this thing, from the most recent VK, only in blue, not rose.

Honestly, I loved the color and immediately thought of Punky, who wears this color often, but when I asked her to point at a ball of yarn on a page, she went with Knit Picks CotLin in "Surf"--go here to see what that looks like.

One thing? I'm soooo ditching the gnarly jute straps....scratchy! It'll just be more Surf. Surf, Surf, Surf, Surf, Surf.

Also? Perhaps Winter will one day end, and she'll be able to wear this fine garment. It could happen.

Wake Me Up When September Ends

2011-03-07T12:11:00.001-06:00

So, I have this blog visitor who keeps reading the archive from September, 2008.

Same dumb month, again and again.

Me being me, I have, of course, poured over that archive 600 times to ensure there is nothing awful, or anything for which I may be sued, that I wrote about that month...and other than the usual it's-only-funny-for-about-ninety-seconds humor, and semi-lame attempts at deep thinking, it's not terribly embarrassing.

What an entire lifetime ago that was! So bizarre. The month started with me working a temp job at an insurance company (a company that laid off ALL of their temps about 2 weeks after I left there, by the way, so, Yay me for leaving...), continued through some election commentary and a couple of drunken nights out, then ended with me looking back at how far I've come....kinda like I'm doing right now.

I'm a one-trick pony if ever there was one.

I make a lot of statements indicating that I might know a thing or two, or that I may have figured something out. I don't, and I haven't. Not really. Like everyone else in the world, the older I get and the more I see, the less I know. Ask me about the things I was so sure of back in September 2008. Most of those things are no longer true.

In September 2008, I wrote this line: "Desire…what a wonderful and terrible thing. To want something so badly that you refuse to believe it can never be. It makes you see things that are not there." And this: "I know tomorrow I will be less sad, and the next day, even less. Eventually, it will feel as if it never affected me. Ever the clown." I stand corrected: As it happens, both of those things ARE true.

That is not to say that September 2008 was any better than March 2011, just that two and a half years later, I can apparently reach the same conclusion without having to cry my eyes out, first. Is this progress, or was I more interesting as a complete wreck?

Uh, Hello?

2011-03-04T18:52:00.001-06:00

Would somebody like to explain to me why this image...

...was used in an advert on Facebook for women to get Pell Grants and other scholarships to further their education?

Are we saying that if you complete school, one day, if you work really hard, you can become a stripper?

Are we saying that, if you're currently a stripper, you can qualify for a Pell Grant?

Get an education so one day you, too, can sit bare-ass naked inside a giant margarita glass?

If you go to college and get smart, perhaps you'll be able to afford very large drinks?

Anyone? Anyone?

Heads Full of No

2011-02-25T14:30:00.001-06:00

So, it is decided that people who "don't like" a particular food and make a big show of not liking it are losers. Can we all agree?

The reason I say this is because I have heard conversation around the office two times in the last two days about how certain people "don't like" a food and "won't eat" a food. Onions were the big offender in both conversations--as if a stupid onion ever hurt anyone....

People will find any way possible to suck the joy out of their lives, won't they? "I don't eat onions--I'm a grown up and I don't have to eat onions!" Really? Do you have any idea how much onion flavoring goes into every savory food you buy? You might as well be saying that you don't like salt! Your parents failed. Next!

And they say it so proudly, like it's some badge of honor to not like food.

My gawd you're boring!

And ungrateful.

I'm not impressed!

Maybe you could "not like" racists or liars, or homophobes, or something else that actually matters, and put your whiny energy into that, instead?

Please understand that I say these things as someone who does not like raspberries. I don't like 'em. Do I run around announcing that I don't like them (other than this blog, I mean...)? No, not really. And my kids like them, so I buy them and keep them in the house--I haven't started any anti-raspberry campaigns or marched in the streets. And I still try them once in a while, just to see if I like them yet. I still don't. But I also don't judge people who do. I don't make not liking raspberries an integral part of my personality. 9 and three-quarters days out of ten, I don't even think about them. I don't place limits on what I can eat. I'm still waiting for someone to make me a raspberry dish that I like.

I would also like to point out that today, the person with the longest list of "forbidden" or hated foods in conversation was a person who has got to weigh at least 300lbs.

Hows that Food Hate thing going for ya?

Hate...makes you ugly. Limiting thoughts about food are a glaring symptom--likely your head is filled with a million other limiting thoughts. Maybe you can only date a certain type, or you can only drive a certain car, or you can only live in a certain neighborhood because you so strongly dislike the other options that you can't move beyond those feelings.

And so, you'll never go anywhere, never do anything...and it all starts with something as simple as an onion. Wow...you're going to let a plant dictate your life?

Think about that, Mom's and Dad's, when you say your kid only eats chicken nuggets and nothing else. You know damn well that's not true. They'd eat plenty of things if you didn't indulge their bullshit. Just like any other living creature--they'd eat just about anything if they got hungry enough. I watched Bear Grylls bite the head off a raw fish yesterday--pretty sure you'd do the same if you were starving.

So please, don't ever tell me that you don't "like" a food or that refuse to eat it. It's just a sign that you've got a head full of "no"...

Nothing, Really

2011-02-21T08:26:00.001-06:00

I work two hours later than my usual time today, and that fact has left me with a brief period of quiet--the children are not awake, and the furry beasts are curled up asleep in comfortable chairs, as they should be on a snowy day. Having spent the weekend moving at top speed, the quiet feels un-natural to me this morning. I feel I should be doing something "productive", whatever that is.

I have been in physical therapy for the past three weeks because of an issue with my shoulder, and the therapist has declared, on numerous occasions, "You are so wound up!" in reference to the muscles on my shoulders--she could bounce a quarter off of them and rather than delighting in that parlor trick, she set about "fixing" them by loosening them up.

She asked me if I carry my stress in my shoulders and I admitted that I had no idea. I don't think in terms of "stress" or "I'm so stressed out right now". I think in terms of, "What can I be doing right now?" or "What needs to be done to make this situation better?" I was unconvinced that I was carrying that around in my shoulders, but I let her do her work.

Most of the time, my perspective has been a good way to think of things. See a problem, solve a problem. Lately, and this is entirely related to life at the office, my "see a problem, solve a problem" trigger has been nothing but trouble. I try to do something that I think of as helpful and discover that that thing I did was actually someone else's job and now they hate me for making them look bad. It's not like I ran around saying, "See? I had to do this because they didn't do it!" I just....did whatever and apparently someone noticed that the other person wasn't doing it. Not my fault--I was just trying to be helpful.

I realize this morning that the so-called "stress" that I've been carrying around in my shoulders has actually been frustration. I'd rather act, when able, than sit around and let something be half-assed or broken or non-functional. That's just the way I am. But at work right now, in order to avoid drama, I have to avoid action. It's so wrong and so counter-productive that it makes me nuts, and, apparently, makes my shoulders freakishly tight.

To combat this, I've taken on projects at home, such as completely remodeling my room, updating the living room, doing really difficult and involved little artsy projects, etc. I just can't shut it off because my boss tells me to. I can't. I don't want to.

On the other hand, the lesson learned by having an insecure boss is that this is his issue, not mine. While my taking ownership of the success of my team would be an admirable trait to most bosses, because it is something that makes my current boss lash out like a spoiled 6-year old, I simply can't do it right now. As such, I have had to re-align my brain to make this a positive.

Now, to be clear, I don't think it's a positive. I don't think that being a clock-watching, ass-sitting, do-nothing is in any way positive, but, that's the role that has been handed to me, so....what-are-ya-gonna-do, right? The positive comes from the moment I see the lesson of Let It Go, and make THAT the focus of my action.

If I apply my usual energies to it, I'll have this Let It Go sh*t mastered in no time. Here's an example--just the other day, my daughter came to me with a broken iPod. Not just any broken iPod, but the one that I spent a lot of money on at Christmas, through some hardship, because she had asked for that exact thing and really, really, wanted it. Two months later, he she comes with an iPod with a screen that was basically shattered. The thing still worked, but...it's broken. She was expecting me to be pissed. I was. She had lent (or given?) the protective carrying case to a friend, and for the last few weeks I have been bugging her to get it back from him and she didn't. And now, she's got a broken iPod.

My first reaction was, "I don't have $200 to buy you a new f*cking iPod right now!" which is true. I mean I have it, but I'll be damned if I want to buy an iPod with it. Then, at some point, a little switch went off in my head and I said, "Look, I gave you a gift, and what you do with it after I give it to you is none of my business. I'm sorry that you don't have an iPod anymore," and I apologetically refused to contribute to the iPod Replacement Fund. Maybe, at some point, if she's saved 3/4 of the replacement cost, I'll pitch in, but only then. I was mad at first because, as an action person, I thought that now that she broke her iPod that I was going to have to do something, but, that's not true. I don't have to do anything. I already did something--I bought her the iPod. Everything after that is her problem.

This is an uneasy place for me to be, but, learning to shift my focus, once I get past the initial growing pains, will end well--these things always do. There will be a million dumb examples, and I promise not to share them all (*yawn*), but, that's what I've been doing lately. Nothing.

Grammys--Lightning Round

2011-02-14T07:42:00.000-06:00

A few thoughts, in no particular order, regarding last night's Grammy telecast:

--Christina, as usual, tore the roof off the dump.
--Not only did Christina's amazing singing bring me to tears, so did Cutie Katy Perry! The wedding videos were such a wonderful touch, I'm actually tearing up a little right now just thinking about it. Sweetest thing, ever.
--I'll say it: Justin Bieber was, in fact, robbed. However, considering the fate of many other "Best New Artist" winners, I hope his loss is a sign of a long and distinguished career.
--Dear Daughter #2 (during the Dylan performance): Why does he sound like that?
Me (incredulous): WHAT??
**sigh** I am consoled be the smiles on all the faces of the artists who were standing on the stage with him
--E! made it sound like the night was going to be all about Gaga. It wasn't. In fact, she was barely a blip in the line-up of huge talent that stomped across that stage. Just goes to show you that you shouldn't believe everything you hear. The egg was pretentious. She's good, and I liked the song, but I also liked the song 20 years ago when it was called "Express Yourself" by Madonna.
--Speaking of huge talent stomping across the stage, holy shit, that was Mick Jagger! Looked and sounded great. Also? The same child who was concerned about Dylan asked me for Mr. Jagger's age so she could run a mini comparitive analysis of their supposed abilities. I told to just wait until she was their age and see how she feels about things then.
--And finally, God Bless Arcade Fire. While Twitter was alive with WTF's, not only did they win, they also hopped right back up there, to the confusion of Streisand and Kristofferson, and blasted us again. This is what joy looks like, people! We need more of that!

It's All In The Presentation

2011-02-11T19:55:00.001-06:00

All of my adult life, I've worked, with only short little breaks here and there, what with the havin' babies and moving to Alabama business, BUT, for the most part, I've worked my entire adult life. During that time, which spans 25 years of workiness, I have met and enjoyed many co-workers, supervisors, bosses, clients, and extraneous people of all ages and types.

I love it.

I love working, and love helping people, and hope that I make a positive difference in people's lives.

The first 14 years of my work life I spent in the media--radio, specifically, as an announcer/copy writer, and the skills that I used in that work have carried me through the rest of my life in a huge way--no question. When you're 18 years old and it's part of your job to stand in front of people and present something, be it an artist about to sing a song, or a new car that your client would like to sell--any old thing--you develop what I consider to be the single most important skill in the whole wide wiggedy world: The art of Presentation.

Seriously, if you can do an effective presentation, you can do anything. Anything.

Think about it--think what skills are required. Can you show up? Check. Are you clean and well kept? Yes. Did you write down a few things to say and do you speak a language that can be understood by the people you are speaking to? Yup. Are you enthusiastic? YAY! OK, then! Now go out and conquer the world! Because now you can sell things! And the more enthusiastic you are, the more things (be they ideas or actual "things") you can see and the more money you'll make and blah, blah, blah, blah.

So that's what I do all day--the same thing I've been doing and loving since I was a teenager. I present ideas, and I defend ideas. I bend people's brains a little so they can come over to my side and if I can't get them to come over to my side, well at least they can't say I didn't try. By the time they're done with me, even if they still disagree with me, they will at least be softened up.

That's my job, and I do it very, very well. People who start off a conversation hating my guts end the same conversation by thanking me for enlightening them--THAT is how fucking good I am at my work. That's how well I am able to present and communicate an idea.

Anyway....I had an encounter with a person who, for the lack of a better description, has a very small mind. He can't think beyond his own little experience, and rather than being enthusiastic about things on his own, he likes to take things that you're enthusiastic about and destroy them so that he doesn't feel bad about not having any marketable skills. A real yuck of a person.

Actually--you know him you love him--it's my boss. Today was my annual review. As if the 12 cent raise wasn't insulting enough (but I was expecting zero cents, so whatever), I also got to be told that I didn't actually have the one skill that I know I have in abundance. He declared that I, a person who has been making presentations and influencing other people's decisions her entire adult life (and getting paid for it, I might add), somehow needs help in that department.

To be fair, he did this (inexplicably) AFTER he said I was a "natural leader" and a great advocate and I "really sell people" on the project, etc. That's another part of what made it so completely insane.

So, me. The one so adept at speaking to virtually any demographic and getting them on board with whatever kind of nutty thing my company might want to throw at them, was given a low grade in "communication", specifically speaking, writing, and my ability to influence.

Bliss.

What a piece of crap this guy is.

But here's the thing, and, this is important: He's nobody. I mean he might be a somebody to someone, like his kids or something, but to me? Zip. He's a nothing. He's a person who can't even write an email (I've caught him copying and pasting MY writing) telling me his opinion on my ability to write--that makes him less than nothing, in fact. He's actually a vacuum. That's how nothing he is.

And why is he nothing? Because the only gift he uses is his ability to trash people. Instead of being uplifting, he throws you down and kicks dirt on you. I think we all know people like that. They never make you feel better, only worse.

There's just no room for people like that when there is so much good in the world that should be getting my attention instead.

So while it bugs me that he gets to say shit like that (which is entirely incorrect and insane) and get away with it and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it, and it bugs me that I've had way too many drives home from work during which I had imaginary conversations with him where I told him to go fuck himself; there is a solution, and that solution is simply to forgive...myself. I forgive myself for thinking that he might ever be a decent person and I forgive myself for falling for any of his phony-baloney nice guy crap and I forgive myself for getting pissed and wanting to jump up and down on his head with golf spikes on my feet.

These are natural reactions that any normal person would have when someone is purposely fucking with you, so honestly, there's nothing to forgive.

How about this--I'll do you one better. I'll forgive the piece of shit for being a piece of shit. Because just like any other piece of shit, he's just a representation of waste. I'm sure he didn't choose to be garbage and like any and all other narcissists, he was created by someone who chewed him up and pooped him out--someone treated him like garbage and surprise, surprise, after enough of that he eventually became garbage. A Poo Is Born.

And, wow, sucks to be you and all, but you're still a piece of shit.

Just because I forgive you for being poo doesn't mean I want to hang out with you.

Anyway....

That's my Friday presentation. I hear that I suck at those, so if you must say something, please be kind...

Try To Keep Up, Would Ya?

2011-02-07T15:06:00.002-06:00

Quickly Now! Here are some snapshots of the week past...

The 2nd Itty Bitty sweater is completed, and as you can see...totally cute

I love the colors on that one. I might make a full-size version for myself.

Shoes, wrangled.

Those of you who have been to IKEA may recognize these items as laundry hampers (white) and shoe wranglers (black) although, I'm sure IKEA has much more dignified names for them. I also purchased a cordless drill for the express purpose of attaching IKEA purchases to my walls--that's committment, people...

Yum.

After IKEA, we went to Big Bowl and had mochi. The most "American" way I can describe this dish is to say that it's ice cream enrobed in a gummy bear. Each one is dumpling sized, and comes in orange, coffee and "some mysterious thing" flavors, with chocolate and caramel dipping sauces. It wasn't on the menu where we went, so be sure to ask for it if you don't see it, and they'll make it for you.

Here, Napoleon bites the hand that feeds...

Meanwhile, the Good Son cuddles up with his Teddy and a binkie.

The blankie is the 2nd of the "6 Hour Afghan" patterns I have completed, with Speed Stix and enough odds and ends yarn to wrap a house with. Jack ADORES this blanket....

OK! Now you're caught up. Any questions?

If You Can't Say Something Nice...

2011-02-02T14:52:00.000-06:00

It occurred to me this morning that there are two people in my life without whom things would be less happy, less easy, less cheerful, etc. I wanted to thank them and others like them, who are 1) CONSISTENT and 2)Thoughtful about the work they do. In short, they appear to give a shit, on a regular basis.

I wish this wasn't as refreshingly odd as I am making it out to be. I wish that top-notch service was not an exception. The good news is, because it sometime IS the exception, these rock stars are easy to pick out from the crowd.

Every weekday, usually before the sun shows it's face, I am in my car, transporting grouchy teenagers to their early morning studies, where they surely smile and say nice things, unlike what they do at their home environment. Often, said teenagers merely tune out for the morning drive, plugged in to iPods and not feeling the need to engage in pleasant conversation. Sometimes, though, they are fully engaged in what is going on in the car and on the road around them, but I can assure you that the only time they are interested in the trip is when we are running late and they think that harping about it will make us get there faster.

Every day, at the end of this less than joyful trip, I see a man standing in the middle of the road, waving his arms like a maniac, smiling and laughing and generally having a good time of it.

He's the crossing guard.

We love him all to bits.

I have no idea what his name is--a fact I realized when I decided that I wanted to buy him a thank-you gift--but his name isn't as important as the fact that he is a never-failing, kick-ass public servant who keeps things moving and keeps it safe for kids when all of the self-important jerks in SUV's (myself included) start thinking that our time is more valuable than anyone else's.

Let me be clear: I still think my time is more valuable than anyone else's. That's why we need people like this man. Every day when I see him, even the grouchy days, I wish I had come prepared with a large cup of hot cocoa that I would hand him from the driver's side window as I coast through the intersection. Every single day. That's how much I appreciate you, Mr. Crossing Guard As Yet To Be Named. For you sake, I hope it warms up soon. I know you can't stand there holding hot cocoa like a goon in the middle of the intersection, but don't worry--I got you...

Further on down the road, there is another guy waiting, and I don't see him every day, just days when I'm feeling naughty...

...naughty enough to eat a fast food breakfast, I mean.

My weakness, sausage biscuits, can be found at a drive through on the way to work, and if the food didn't warm my heart (I have a rather un-natural love of biscuits, I'm not gonna lie...), the fact that the same guy is working there every week day at 7AM, surely will.

The first time I ever heard him talk, I thought "How sweet! A gay Latino! I love gay Latinos!" because ultimately, I'm awful like that. I don't know if this man is gay, or even Latino, for sure, I'm just saying his voice is a little Leguizamo-In-Julie-Newmar-esque, and I think that's cute. It makes me smile, without fail. Go ahead and slap me.

Anyway...

Sunshine-Boy takes my order, chuckles because it's always the same dumb thing every time, tries in vain to get me to add cheese to that and marvels on the days I am able to pay for the transaction in cash, since I virtually never carry any (I do know, however, that the exact cost of two sausage biscuits at this particular venue is exactly 2 dollars and fifteen cents). I handed him exact change this morning and he nearly fell over from the shock.

And that kind of stuff just works on me. Consistent and cheerful with a good memory? You're hired. So here's to you, Other Guy Who's Name I Don't Know, for feeding my tummy and my soul. I'm sorry you work in food service, and also? I'm really, really glad you work in food service....

One could argue that now that I have all the nice-ness off my chest that I can go back to being the same, bitter old me, but I think we'll let the nice percolate for the rest of the day and see what happens....

Pics (Evidence of Actual Work Done...)

2011-01-28T07:52:00.002-06:00

The Job That Pays has been busy, as has the Job That Doesn't Pay. One job has a slight edge on the other in the enjoyment factor, but they have been happily co-existing, so, no worries. Here are the January projects...

In Lion Brand's "Amazing"

(or "Intriguing, or whatever the hell it is....lost the label, in typical fashion...)

Entrelac Scarf for Teenage Girl #2

Here's hoping she hangs on to it for a while before losing it at a friend's house, etc.

The socks were a road trip thing, have absolutely no stitches in them that required any thought, and had an easy-peasy yarn to work with, the name of which I, of course, can't remember.

OK, juuuuust kidding! It's Patons Stretch sock yarn in Olive.

But I want you to know that I did have to look that up.

Owing to the fact that I messed up the gusset, they are mine.

-- Sent from my Palm Pixi

Post-Holiday Blech

2011-01-17T11:10:00.002-06:00

We will not speak of such things as blog neglect. I prefer to focus on the fact that I've busy DOING stuff.

Or, I'm a complete and total lazy-ass.

OR! When there is time and inspiration, there's some kid using the computer(s) and I don't feel like typing out an entire essay on my phone.

OR! OK, there is no other or. Those three cover all the possible options.

What follows is all the blog post you can buy with 5 minutes and a cup of Peace Coffee Twin Cities Blend. No, they did not pay me to say that, I'm just hoping that if I say that Peace Coffee Twin Cities Blend is the only coffee I like anymore that they might take pity on me and send me some.

OR! They might take pity on me for having such a limited palate and send me some of their other fine coffees.

OR! Oh, never mind. I don't really want Peace Coffee to send me Peace Coffee. I get my Peace Coffee from Coborns. Have I mentioned how I love Coborns and shop there all the time? Link, link, link, link link?

OK....I'll stop.

This is truly the season of discontent. I'm not saying that just because the world is going crazy--don't we always claim that the world is going crazy? I'm saying it's the snow and the snow and the snow and the snow. And the dark! Yesterday while in the car, I realized that it was the first time I had driven in actual daylight (with sun) in months. On days the sun shows it's face, we are tucked into fluorescent offices well ahead of it, and miss the entire show. In the afternoon, the sun is setting before I am home. Weekend clouds are obviously no help.

I can now see why people want to retire in warmer climates. There's just something about a beach that makes it all better.

The fact remains that I HAD beach and blew it off for the excitement of Minnesota. Don't think I don't kick myself sometimes--I definitely do.

One of my good friends has a tanning bed in his house and I used to think that was strange, but no more. I'd love to have one of those right now.

I am waiting for the day when I can get out and sun myself on a rock like the reptile that I am. I'll shamelessly kick off my work shoes and plop myself right down on the front lawn. I may be in a shaky mood until then. You've been warned.

One more thing: I was looking at blog stats, something I haven't done for a while for all of the reasons mentioned above, and was directed toward an old gem--a remembrance of a sunny weekend year ago, when we drove across the state of Wisconsin for no particular reason other than it seemed like it would be fun.

It was.

Someone out there, bless their heart, actually did a Google search for "Vitamin water psychic caesar". I can't image what other results they may have had in their search besides this one from my archive, August 2007. Think warm thoughts and enjoy.

Just Throwin' This Out There...

2011-01-12T07:41:00.001-06:00

--Dear City of Minneapolis: what's with the whole "not plowing/sanding/salting" thing? Those of us who have to be somewhere every day are getting annoyed.
--Related: Drivers of the city of Minneapolis, take heed! Now is not the time to practice last-second lane changes, or my personal favorite, crossing 3 lanes of traffic in the space of 100 feet so you can make your exit! If you cause an accident and I'm involved, I can all but guarantee that I'm going to be a bitch about it.
--Still going on about the weather: I sent my landlord a bill for snow removal. The thing is, snow removal is included in my rent and I'm not supposed to have to do it myself, and yet, the snow is never removed, so for safety reasons, I do it. I actually don't mind shoveling, really, just the fact that I'm not supposed to HAVE to makes me nuts, so I set my rate at $100/hr and billed for my time. If the weather continues like this, I'll be living rent free until June.
--I set a (as yet unpublished) goal of at least one finished item per month in 2011, to help me keep at the knitting projects and also to help keep my mind off of things that make me nuts. So it's me, my audio books, and my projects. Now if I can just tear myself away from shoveling, being annoyed with my boss, and reading twitter long enough to actually do that...

Because You Must Tear Yourself Away From Current Events Or You'll Lose Your Damn Mind...(AKA Entrelac-ac-ac-ac-ac)

2011-01-10T12:26:00.000-06:00

And what's better to help you maintain sanity and humility than entrelac?

Actually, this is an easy project--just that same entrelac scarf pattern you keep seeing floating around. Mine was on Knitting Daily, and has good directions, video, etc. I think they may have even written a song about it to the tune of Billy Joel's "Movin' Out"...

...but probably not.

The yarn is Lion Brand "Amazing" wool blend. The color is called "Aurora". P.S.: Lion Brand is having a sale right now, but it ends tomorrow!!!

I think if everybody on the planet, or at least here in the States, made at least one entrelac scarf, they'd be much more calm. I'm just sayin'.

Eye Of The Beholder

2011-01-09T12:59:00.000-06:00

I read somewhere recently that communication is not the responsibility of the listener.

That is to say, if you are trying to sell something (ideology, new car, or what-have-you) that the burden of the message is on you.

That you can't blame the listener for not hearing you correctly.

This concept plays into our lives in many unexpected ways that we may not think of in terms of a communication project. For example, if you want very much for your children to grow up to be productive and contributing members of society, then it's on you to keep that message going throughout the entire time you have the little buggers within your influence. The responsibility for their successful adulthood is yours until the move out of your house--even beyond.

Lately, I've had situations in my life in which there are people who talk a good game--they are powerful and influential, and people look on them with favor because they have indicated that's what they want. Some of them have very large media and ideological infrastructures who are out there pumping their message and pumping their fists all day, every day. They are yammering on about how they feel, and why you should agree with them.

There are a lot of these very loud people out there, demanding your attention, and they all make sense at one time or another, making it very confusing to decide which one of them deserves your full attention.

Somewhere on the other end of the spectrum, there are people who's actions are their communication, and there is very little message or fist pumping going on. Because of their actions, they quietly attract a group of like-minded people (AKA "Friends") and they are happy and grateful for the company. They don't ask for accolades, but they do get them, because the people who are positively affected by their actions are grateful that they, the Do-ers, got up and did something instead of just talking about it and expecting the listeners to do all the heavy lifting.

When I read "communication is not the responsibility of the listener", it was a part of business communications article written by some Harvard MBA trying to explain how to become a successful business leader. It applied directly to something I was experiencing at work, so I remembered it.

Two days later, the media exploded with the news that a US Congresswoman is shot in the head at close range, and that the same Congresswoman happens to be one of the individuals "targeted" by political opponents.

It was then that I realized that "communication is not the responsibility of the listener" applies to absolutely everything. While fingers immediately started pointing at Sarah Palin, her camp decided to go with their version of blaming the listener for not hearing them correctly.

From Business Insider Wire article:

"While all signs point to yesterday's shooting as being the lone act of a deranged gunman, it's not secret that public discourse in this country in the past year has been, as (Keith) Olbermann says, amplified by violent imagery. In the past month or so alone an alarming number of cable and political personalities have been casually calling for various people's assassination. To question why that is acceptable is a welcome, necessary discussion and should not have had to be brought about by yesterday's tragedy."

My boss has a saying about how some people "know just enough to be dangerous". While he uses it in a joking way, and in most cases it is funny, the truth is that the environment of "communication" that we have cultivated, politically and otherwise, has bred a large population of people knowing just enough to be dangerous for real. While we clamor for ratings or political gain, or even just to be paid attention to by anyone, our language becomes increasingly pointed. Eyes on the prize, we shorten our message to the 140 character/7 second blip and leave the rest of it open for the interpretation of the listener.

The more people you speak to, the greater your responsibility to be completely clear. Just as my boss has more responsibility not to be a jerk than I do, Sarah Palin (and any politician/business leader) is more influential and therefore needs to be more careful about the messages they are endorsing, because the message is not the responsibility of the listener--it's on the speaker to be very, very clear exactly what they mean. It's not OK to be silent until someone gets hurt or killed and then say that's not what you meant. It's not OK. It's not OK to allow people to go on believing that you have gun sites pointed at your opponents and then, after people get shot, go back and claim that they are surveyor's marks. If they were surveyor's marks, why didn't you say that the first time someone expressed concern? By not saying it then, you allow people to draw their own conclusions.

To those who have a responsibility to be very clear, this was a huge failure. It is now upon those of us who communicate through our actions to respond with great clarity.

Back In Recovery

2010-12-31T19:17:00.001-06:00

Aah, Family. Nothing more delightfully exhausting, is there?

There was a song once (maybe more than once) about how a person just wanted to sleep in his own bed again. To say that I could relate would be understating things, although the songwriter's version was apparently at the end of a bad turn with a woman, mine was after a few days of my self-induced Not Your Routine thing at my parent's house. And let me be clear--they are great people, community leaders, talented and nice as all get-out, but after the 900th time hearing your parent declare something "stupid" (or any variation thereof) and being silent about the fact that you flat-out disagree, a person gets a bit twitchy. And then you have a few (several) beers or some pills to calm the twitchy. When I got home and flopped sideways on the mattress in my own room, sans chemical enhancements, I became unconscious immediately and stayed that way for almost 12 hours--didn't even care to find a blanket the entire time.

Yikes.

Now then, is the problem is that my parents think things are "stupid" that I do just about every day (including living in a city as opposed to a wind-swept prairie)? Or is the problem that I choose not to tell them that I think them impossibly small-minded? After all, living where they live, "small-minded" is a survival technique. It's rough as hell out there--small population, harsh landscape--and you won't survive it without friends. Well, when there are only a couple hundred of you and the choice is agree or be out in the (literal, bitter) cold, you are more likely to form some opinions that might not fly when confronted with a more diverse population. Here is an example of what I mean--a class mate of my sister's moved away and became a successful doctor and my mother admitted to being surprised by that because "he always seemed so backwards." And various other entrepreneurs (or nationalities...), when their names are uttered, it is with disgust. How dare they? How dare they be different, and be successful at it?

There is an old marketing credo which goes like this: "Everybody drinks Coke". That is to say, in almost every populated corner of this earth, you can buy Coca-Cola. The Coca-Cola marketing campaign has convinced every living soul on the planet that they are, in fact, The Real Thing. In marketing, we hold this example most high, because, well, it means that you can sell anything to anybody if you just keep at it long enough. There have been a couple of occasions in my life when I have heard someone declare that "you can't do that here" because this is (insert name of town) and a person of influence has, at one time, declared it undesirable. When you hear that sort of thing, you make a decision--do you tell them "Everybody drinks Coke" and set about the business of proving them wrong, or, just say "screw it" with the full realization that you're going to have to excuse yourself from there before long or succumb to the twitchiness?

My home town has a strong "you can't do that here, this is (insert name of town)" vibe--not that anyone is nasty about it, but that may be only because nobody ever confronts them with a Coke. Things are a certain way, they've been that way a long time, and rarely do they falter. Why should they? Things are working just fine the way they are, right? Well, yes, but it's so different everywhere else! If I had never left, I might still feel the same, but, I did. I left, and, spent 20-odd years looking at things that were in direct contrast with my upbringing. Somehow, I managed to thrive despite the fact that everything I've done has been "stupid".

Of course, it may also be true that it is I who is the small-minded comfort junkie and all of what I found so painful was just me being annoyed because I couldn't flop on a couch with whatever my current project was, a handheld social net/email/texting device at the ready, and watch Hugh Laurie's American accent show for six whole days in a row. That kind of thing can send me right over the edge.

Ugly Business AKA She Breathes Fire

2010-12-21T19:59:00.001-06:00

What an ugly day it was.

Not the weather, not the part about how I had to walk two blocks to my car thanks to the Minneapolis Snow Parking Disaster of 2010, or even my bad hair, just....today was ugly.

You know how when someone is giving you a hard time and giving you a hard time and giving you a hard time and you tell them to knock it off but they don't stop and finally, at some point you haul off and smack them (literally or figuratively) because they Just. Wouldn't. Listen. ? You know what I'm talking about?

Today was the day that I hauled off and smacked someone.

Figuratively, of course...

They had been hassling me for a long time and I'd reached the end of my patience for their stupidity.

I don't take myself very seriously, but I do take my work very seriously. I put actual effort into it, and I'm the opposite of a clock-watcher. I'm one of the rare few that actually gives a shit about the level of work that they do. As such, when I meet someone who doesn't take work seriously, I don't have a lot of respect for them. When I get stuck working with someone who doesn't take work seriously, I find them annoying. When that person works in an area where they can affect ME by not taking their work seriously, I flat-out get angry.

To have your reputation destroyed by someone who simply doesn't give a shit is the worst kind of injury. I'm talking about someone who, just for jollies, just because they can, takes purposeful steps to make you look bad, even though there is nothing to be gained by it.

That is what you call Evil. Evil, evil, evil.

There is no remedy. You can't teach people like that how to cooperate or be nice--the are not interested in cooperating and they don't care to be nice. If they can fuck you up, they're going to fuck you up. The only way to get them off your back is to haul off and smack them.

So you do it.

And then, you can't believe it came to that.

You can't believe you had to smack someone (figuratively, of course...) to get them to stop being a fucking asshole.

Amazing.

And most untidy.

Not to mention somewhat barbaric, and strangely, you find yourself wanting to say bullshit like, "You have fucked with the wrong person today!" and other exciting B-movie dialog. It just sucks. I mean it really, really sucks. So unnecessary. I'm so not interested in smacking people. It's the last thing I want to do. What drives someone to pick at you until you snap? And why do you feel like you are doing them a favor by doing it?

Anyway...that was my ugly day. Poke, poke, poke, ROAR! My turn to be the dragon, I guess.

There Are Reasons Why Kittens and Babies Are Made Cute. This Is One Of Them.

2010-12-16T21:37:00.001-06:00

The kitten likes Palette.

Palette is a delicious Peruvian Highland Wool sold by KnitPicks (Click. See. Buy. Enjoy.) that one uses to make....well, Peruvian Highland Wool thingies.

In my case, I'm using it to make teeny sweaters. Please enjoy this delightful photograph, taken by someone other than me, of teeny sweaters that were knit by someone other than me.

I keep a fair amount of yarn in the house.

Oh, who are we kidding? There is what some might call a "lot" of yarn here. So what?

Anyway...all the yarns are yummy in their own way, but by the taste of the cat, none so yummy...as Palette.

Palette, he sneaks off with in the night.

Palette, I come home to see unraveled all the way down the hall and into my room, where I find it mostly intact, but heartlessly discarded by it's kidnapper.

Palette, I sit down on my accident, even though I am certain I didn't leave it tucked under that blanket in the crevasse of the sofa.

Palette, which I keep "safely" sealed in the plastic bag it came in, taped shut, always manages to escape with the help of some striped beast who shall remain nameless but you can call him "You Asshole!" because he's used to it by now.

"I'm not wrecking your yarn, Mom! I promise! Instead, I thought I would destroy the Christmas Tree!

You're welcome!"

Stuff You Wish You Didn't Have To Write

2010-12-14T08:42:00.001-06:00

I wrote a sympathy card this morning.

It's not one of these things where I try to show off any skill at writing, but at the same time, hope to be able to say something that is of some comfort.

But what could I have told her, this friend of mine, this would-be mother of two, who has suffered the loss of her second baby 6 months into the pregnancy? All she ever talks about is how she wants to be a mommy and have a house full of children, and I'm supposed to tell her it's not shitty to go home from the hospital with no baby...again?

Of course, I could not.

It seems so ridiculous. Other friends get pregnant and have babies entirely by accident. Hell, I did that, too. And on days when my "accidental" children make me angry and annoyed and I'm ready for them to hurry up and move out already, what does Angela do? What does she always say?

She laughs at their antics and says, "What a blessing your girls are."

Fuck.

I Got Your Crazy

2010-12-09T20:56:00.001-06:00

Once about a hundred years ago, I was watching Law and Order, CI, because I have a thing for men in long coats, and Vincent D'Onofrio had a great line about how schizophrenics make very good witnesses. I always remembered that line, for some reason, and today, when speaking to my very, very first actual schizophrenic, I remembered it again.

What I do for a living is talk to doctors, and I don't hear much from patients. Because I work for an insurance company, you can imagine that the doctors are stressful enough--adding patients to that would be like playing sad songs for a depressed person. It would ultimately just push me right over.

Today I was working on some new technique for talking doctors hands off my throat when out of the blue, my phone rang and on the other end was a lucid, confident sounding person who said he needed to speak to someone regarding insurance fraud. I perked right up, as anyone in an insurance company would, upon hearing the words "insurance fraud", asked him is name, and begged him to tell me what happened.

He replied that while he had been in custody that cameras and probes had been implanted in his head, and that's not appropriate treatment for schizophrenia.

Huh...wasn't expecting that.

I didn't want to go into the "why" part of the "in custody" revelation, and simply asked, "So...what makes that insurance fraud?"

"Well, you people paid for it, that's why!" He answered.

I paused for a moment. I mean, what else could I say but "Hmmm..."?

Just ask any of the physicians I speak to on any given day--they'll all tell you the same: "You SUCK because your company doesn't pay ANYTHING!" Going by that logic, the idea that we would put up the funds to pay for experimental brain spyware seems, well....ever-so-slightly improbable.

I asked when the surgery occurred, and he said that it had happened within the last several years but that he wasn't sure of the date.

"Tell you what," I rallied. "I know how you can see a list of every single thing we have ever paid to have done to you. Would that be helpful to you?

He agreed that it would be very helpful.

I then rather mercilessly gave instruction on how to rend such a list out of someone in customer service, providing my new friend with the precise terminology to guarantee results. He dutifully repeated my instructions back to me. I gave him the phone number and transferred him directly to some unsuspecting sap who likely worked in the same office as the thug who had transferred him to me. I figured with the right keywords, he'd sound no more crazy than the multi-degree'd physician who, after I implied that doctors across the country have just about the same remedy for a runny nose, said to me, "You know, here in Texas, we're not like you Minnesotans. This is TEXAS GOD-DAMN-IT!"

Really, there is nothing smarter-sounding than a person saying "This is TEXAS GOD-DAMN-IT!" Am I right? Or am I right?

Anyway...

That's my wacky work story for today. As I mentioned, it is rare that I ever speak to a patient, but after this, I may switch. Sure, this one was crazy, but, at least he wasn't stupid, and some days that's a step up.

Some Of It Is True

2010-12-01T15:06:00.002-06:00

Burning one off, off the top of my head--ready? Set? Go!

The deli downstairs is having "Wiener Wednesday" with hot dogs, brats, etc., and one of the ladies at work is just slightly too excited about that.
My boss (and I swear this IS true) just asked someone how bi-focals work, because as a man in his 40's in these United States, he shouldn't be expected to have a grasp on that concept. Really? You don't understand bi-focals? Bi-focals? Why don't you just go home and lock yourself in the basement before you hurt yourself?
We're being asked to trust the same person who doesn't "get" bi-focals to stand up for us, to some of our highly educated clients, and explain our program without making the rest of us look like total assholes. Hold me.
Let me make it perfectly clear that we do not need his assistance in looking like total assholes--we've got it covered.
I spoke to a client yesterday who happened to have a strong (almost stereotypical-sounding) Italian accent, who also happened to be from New York. We spoke for a while, and he asked if he could put me on hold, so I said, "Sure." ...And what do you suppose was his hold music? Uh...the freaking theme from The Godfather. The Theme From The Godfather. Strangely, I was much more agreeable to his point of view after my short time on hold. Touche with the subtle sales tactic. You win.
Last nights Glee? When they sang Don't Cry For Me Argentina? Yeah, baby...
When I say that I started wrapping Christmas presents last night, please understand that what that actually means is I picked out the wrapping paper and bought it, then watched while one of my kids started wrapping Christmas presents last night.
Ditto the holiday spritz cookies.
Thank you, ~~Cyberme~~n--er....I mean, Online Retailers, for continuing to have ridiculously AMAAAAAZING deals and sending me 17 emails a day about them. Sorry, I've spent it all. I spent it ALL on Thanksgiving DAY! Yep. Not a penny left to spare on the $29.99 laptop. Nothing but Ramen and spritz cookies from here to February. Let me know when you reach that elusive Never-Runs-Out-Of-Money demographic you seek, OK?
OK, that one was a lie. It won't be just Ramen and spritz cookies. I probably have some pinto beans in the cupboard. Pinto beans and a can of creamed corn. We'll be fine.
I cleaned my room and the cats were so excited that I removed all of the clothing off of my chair (for once) that they now fight over the chair. It was especially awesome to witness cats fighting over the chair this morning at 4:00AM.
OK, that last part was a lie. I mean the 4:00AM part was true, but it was not, in any way, "awesome".
Related: One kitten for sale, barely used.

I'd write more, but I thought it would be fun to go over and try to explain no-line bi-focals, and bi-focal contact lenses to my boss--I plan to speak to him as if he was very small, because my superiority complex has been at rest for far too long.

All That Glitters

2010-11-29T12:02:00.000-06:00

Is probably my knitting

As a rule, I try to avoid glittery yarn and all it's....glittery-ness. Nothing says "I bought this at (Insert Your Favorite Heartland Retail Giant) for four bucks" much more than shiny, knit-but-also-glittery clothing.

I give this a pass because it's not clothing. Or at least not for me.

Tree Skirt, in the "new" Christmas colors...

True to form, I am not quite done making this item--hopefully before there is a tree, there will be a skirt. My children should expect no hot meals before this is finished. The yarn is from Herrschners, and I believe they started selling this a year ago (maybe two) but they were sold out every time I looked until October of this year, so, I grabbed a bag of it and began, as soon as I was able.

Since these are the "new" Christmas colors and most of my tree started showing this color scheme last year (in the ornaments and ribbon), the fact that I am hand knitting something to go with this trend is a sure indicator that by this time next year I'll be sick of it and ready to switch to something else. Sometime around next Thanksgiving, I'll be reminded of my distaste for fuchsia, will re-visit Herrschners and will be advised that the NEW "New" Colors are all sold out.

*sigh*.

Until then--"Oooo-aaaaah! How delightfully trendy!"

Chock-Full of Random-y Goodness

2010-11-23T12:10:00.001-06:00

Got an email from the Science Museum of Minnesota, announcing the on-sale for the exhibition of the greatest of all rock and rollers, King Tut, and now, of course, all I can think of is how he "gave his life for tourism", because that's just how funny Steve Martin is.
Got another email announcing a "Live Mohair Competition". Of course I opened it. Who wouldn't? I mean, knitting? Live? Yeah, baby! Much more exciting than some dead guy. (Was that sarcastic? Because that was supposed to be sarcastic. Any word on that sarcasm font? Anyone? Anyone?)
Interesting to note that the dead guy is still touring and he's coming to my town, but, you have to buy a plane ticket to see the knitting. Oh, Vogue. I love you so much....You're almost the only entity in the world who can get away with telling me what to do.
I went to parent/teacher conferences last night, and one of my 10th grader's teachers suggested that I might be her sister. It was, far and away, the lamest thing I'd ever heard in my life. Of course I lapped it up like a dehydrated beagle. Similarly, a person at my office, who is 30 years old, figured that I must be about 8 years older than her. Yeah. Needless to say, I made no effort to correct her.
I conned my boss into giving us a "Casual Week" because....well, just for the hell of it, really. So here we all are in our jeans and slippers (shut up) and wouldn't you just know that every other department on our floor chose this week to step it up and wear heels and skirts and suits? GAH! I hate you guys! Where were all the sloppy, schleppy clothes you all had on last week?
Noted: Writing blog posts does NOTHING to prevent one from succumbing to the effects of the freezing cold office, where the air temp isn't high enough to thaw a Thanksgiving bird. Time to switch back to the excitement of live knitting...

If Any Of This Pertains To You, Feel Free To Ignore It.

2010-11-22T11:30:00.001-06:00

Sometimes I look at the stats for this blog and feel that I must post a disclaimer that goes something like this....

"I'm just screwing around, here, so don't get all excited if you read something that makes you mad."

I say this because of the wild collection of searches for issue/celeb dejour bringing people in for a visit. I speak for me and me alone, and I am an expert in virtually nothing, so don't panic if I mention your name.

Having said all of that....

Anyone watch the American Music Awards last night? I started watching around the time of the second Beiber win. Lord, please tell me that supposed Usher ill will toward Other Justin** was fabricated by the media. I mean, really. I know the music business is crazy competitive, but I also know that in any situation in which people are allowed to vote for him, that kid is gonna win. Anyone who has spent more than 15 seconds on Twitter would know this. Rabid, rabid fans. So I think we all knew how things were going to go.

Christina, just freaking amazing, as usual, but I'm sorry that somebody dressed you in granny panties.

I am truly sorry to have missed the Peas--every time they do one of these shows, I'm so impressed by how fabulous they sound, and I hear last night was no exception. Love, love, love the Black-Eyed Peas.

Ke$ha: Was the reason the lights were out during your entire performance to hide the fact that you were just barely there? Was that crowd around you placed there to keep you upright? The world wants to know.

Usher: Looooooved that MJ pose at the end.

New Kids/Backstreet: Uh...the dance moves were more rehearsed than the vocals. But this performance proves once and for all that Backstreet Boys had the better songs. I'm just sayin'.

OK, see? That was mostly painless. Tomorrow, we'll go back to talking about sh*t that nobody does internet searches for....like, my cat, or, the fact that I can't figure out what to buy my kids for Christmas.

**As a fan of Justin Currie, the rules are very clear--there is Justin Currie, and, there are other Justins....

Warning!

2010-11-20T11:18:00.001-06:00

Just thought I would warn everyone that I'm cooking Thanksgiving dinner this year. So you might be seeing random "OMG, I totally ruined the _____" type comments from time to time, on Twitter, FB, etc.

I haven't cooked a Thanksgiving dinner since 2007. That seems like a whole different lifetime. Hell, it WAS a whole different lifetime. I had a house full of people to cook for back then.

This year? Just me and the one other meat-eater, plus one vegetarian. A total of three, two of whom like to slather everything in gravy, and one of whom still doesn't like her food to "touch".

I know it doesn't seem worth it to even cook a huge thing, but damn-it! I want to. Sure, one of the turkeys will have been constructed entirely from textured vegetable protein, but I'm doing it anyway. (for the record, the Tofurkey is not shaped like a turkey--really more of a turkey roast look. If it was actually shaped like a turkey, I would have refused, cuz that's just lame.)

It'll be a scaled back, cooked because I felt like cooking, hey-who-cares sort of dinner. No worries that my potatoes aren't the right kind, or that we skipped the green-bean casserole (none of us like it) or that at pie time, the pieces will be un-naturally huge and covered with more whipped cream than a person needs to consume in an entire year. So what? We're talking about the basic "food is love" sort of Lost Weekend of face-stuffing. It'll be a reminder of all that we have, and of all that we are capable of accomplishing. Just the kind of celebration I need right now. Yum!

It's Funny.

2010-11-18T19:58:00.001-06:00

No, I mean, tears rolling down your face funny. Especially funny if you happen to have met similar characters in your life, meaning, just about any dog.

Hyperbole and a Half

On Second Thought

2010-11-17T14:50:00.002-06:00

I think I WILL be discussing that entire week that was lost to "30 Rock".

I don't watch TV like a normal person. I mean, I do, and yet, I cringe when people say they have to rush home because their show is on and they don't want to miss any of it. Yes, it still occurs, even in this age of DVR, people still leave my presence, using only a television program as an excuse.

Wait a minute....maybe that's just those people's excuse? Maybe they are trying to be nice and don't want to tell me the REAL reason they are leaving????? GAH!

I had to go there, didn't I? Had to go there...

I have very few "musts" associated with a television schedule, though there are television "dates" with my daughter--is that the same thing?

Anyway, once upon a time, on a boring Saturday morning, I was all alone, flipping around on the TV, looking for something to watch, and it was early enough in the day that there was nothing on except infomercials, so I got out the crack pipe **cough** I mean, went to my Netflix on demand--same difference, and saw the much-recommended 30 Rock sitting there all lonely-like. I clicked "Play Now" and lost several days of my life, just like that.

Around the following Thursday, I had completed watching every single episode all of the first four seasons of that show....and little else. I prepared my food in the kitchen, but returned to the front of the TV before eating it. I did my writing with the laptop on my lap and the Wii remote lying to my immediate left. I showered and made myself presentable when I absolutely had to leave the house, but most of all, I just watched TV, in my jammies. I watched TV late into the night. I watched TV early in the morning. I stuffed my face with as much of it as I could, until all of it was gone.

I awoke from my comedy daze, hungry for more, but still not willing to tune in to the show at it's regular time on Thursdays because, uh, that would be entirely too normal, watching it one episode at a time.

I did that exact thing with The Tudors, except the 3rd and 4th seasons of that spectacular show were only on DVD and people, I suffered, OK? Suffered. DVD? Like....you have to wait for it to come in the mail? GAH!

(P.S.: Dear Producers of The Tudors. I'm sure you tried very hard to make Jonathan Rhys Meyers look fat and blobby like the Henry VIII of legend, but the dude's a stone fox, and a skinny one, at that. So you failed. Not that I mind. At all.)

Anyway...That's how I watch TV when I watch it. In massive doses. I'm a huge TV pig. I want it all, and I want it right now.

It's much the same with chocolate and me, as you can well imagine.

Season 5 of Dr. Who? Watched it. All of it. All at once. Then I went back and rewatched all the previous seasons, too. Ah, Rose Tyler, we hardly knew ya. Oh, and I watched every episode of Torchwood over again, too.

The reason I am bringing this up now is because I'm all caught up on 30 Rock, and have only the last disc of The Tudors left before I have watched all there is to see of that. So...the king is about to die and I have no suitable television heir. Which means I might, for a time, watch TV like a normal person, adhering to something resembling a schedule.

It's entirely possible that I might go to sleep sometime before midnight so that 5:30AM alarm clock jangle will be less dreadful when it goes.

Waking well rested, I'll be cheerful and less rushed in the mornings. Shut up, it could happen.

I may even sit at the table to dine. Wouldn't that be something?

The cats will be so confused.

Wait, Wait....Didn't You Used To Be....

2010-11-16T15:33:00.001-06:00

How does one go from constant blogging to just occasionally checking in? Follow my lead:

Get Busy. I know, I know....plunking down in front of a television may not seem like "busy", but I swear it is. Really. Not only is it important for me to spend evenings burning through the final season of The Tudors on DVD (and no, we will not be discussing the entire week lost to "30 Rock") but I have a lot of knitting commitments and sure it seems like leisure, but....I call "busy". And I will provide some variety of photographic evidence in the near future. And for the record? That's one effing great TV show.
Yawn. I can almost say that there is nothing happening except knitting and television. Oh, yes, there is driving back and forth and going to work and eating and sleeping, but....yawn. Boring!
There is no Three.
What? You thought that even though there was no Three, that there would be a Four? What the hell's the matter with you?

One day soon, my darlings....one day soon.

OH! By The Way...

2010-11-03T13:29:00.000-05:00

I just ordered this.

Here's a picture so you can see how freaking cute it is and how I couldn't have possibly resisted.

I know, right? ;-)

Duty

2010-11-03T13:23:00.001-05:00

A lady who works in my office has what I call the Classic Midwestern Wife/Mom Duty Gene.

Sometimes, you don't recognize it in a person right away. Sometimes, you have to close in on a holiday before it becomes evident. Case in point: Today, the topic of her Resigned to Duty monologue was Thanksgiving.

She described "her" upcoming Thanksgiving, indicating that (of course) she would be hosting and not only did she have to do all the cooking, but also, she has a dog and several of the family members attending also have dogs and (of course) everyone would be bringing their dogs along for the visit, thus creating a situation in which there would be SIX dogs on hand for that 4th Thursday, and What A Time that will be!

Please note, Duty makes no effort to tell people to leave their dogs at home, or hell, even contribute to the food in any way. Duty only sighs and says, "It's going to be a madhouse, but somehow I will manage to not only cook a four course meal for 30 people, but also maintain order in a house full of large, furry creatures who are trying to simultaneously eat off of everyone's plates and smell each other's butts."

Any time I think myself a martyr (which is often, I might add), I need only consider those Duty-Bound wives and mothers. Are they better wives or mothers because they take all of this upon themselves and heap on the "duties" while accepting or soliciting no help from anyone?

I think that's open for debate.

Look at it this way--if they didn't get something out of it, they wouldn't do it. Of course they want to make all the food! Why? So that all compliments about food will be directed at them and not at someone else!

Anyway...I'm thinking restaurant for Thanksgiving this year--does that make me a bad person?

I bet people who own restaurants think I'm awesome...

It's Only A Television Show, Why Does It Matter?

2010-10-29T11:16:00.003-05:00

Ahem.....gonna talk about Project Runway now...

I know, I know! It's just a TV show! Suck it up, I'm doing it.

Last night, the Project Runway finale aired, and fan-fave Mondo Guerra, the "presumed" winner, did not win. Not only did he not win, but the person who did win was someone that the producers spent the entire season portraying in a very bad light. Safe to say that she was the "bad guy" in this season. So, in essence, they let the bad guy win.

Already, there are people online saying they will boycott Michael Kors, or Marie Claire magazine, and definitely the show itself. Will they follow through on their threats? Who knows?

Here's what I do know: Michael Kors, Nina Garcia, and even Heidi Klum all take on a fair amount of risk by sitting on a very public panel of judges, saying nice or not-so-nice things about people's clothing designs--more often the latter, but they may have said some very nice things that ended up on the editing room floor. It's risky to do what they do on that show. When you are selling something, and let's not forget that everyone on that panel has a clothing line or a book or SOMETHING that they want you to spend money on, you are presenting yourself as an expert for the purposes of selling your thing. We consumers play along, say "Yes, you know what you're doing" and we buy the magazine or we knit that Michael Kors design from VK, or whatever, because they have the goods.

But being "an expert" may not be enough if you are not also likable. It becomes very easy to not want to buy a Michael Kors bag when you perceive him to be a flake.

To paraphrase George Lucas, a happy ending adds 10 million to the box office. Using that logic, the fact that Project Runway chose to spend an entire season building one designer up as a total bitch, then made her the winner? Sheer stupidity from a marketing standpoint. People want a "happy" ending. We get the same good feeling from happy endings that we get from the Retail Therapy trips that keep the fashion business alive. Take away our feel-good, and we get mad. The franchise takes a hit, Kors takes a hit, Marie Claire takes a hit. Stupid, and not worth if for "just" a TV show.

I'm not worried about Mondo, or Michael C, or Andy--at least not as worried at Gretchen Jones claimed to be about each of them at various times over the course of this season. It's just a TV show, right? All of those boys will be fine. If anything, I'd be worried for her, now that everyone is waiting around for her to screw up. But the show itself? Ouch. I think this one's gonna hurt for a while.

Return of Random Wednesday!

2010-10-27T11:54:00.001-05:00

Yeah....don't get all excited like I'm going to be doing this regularly, or anything....

I think I can say this now: I'm sick of Taylor Swift. Actually, I was sick of her about a year and a half ago, but I never said anything because, gee, it's Taylor Swift and how bad could she possibly be? Not to say that she's bad, I just stopped caring. We have now progressed from "Don't Care" all the way to "For the love of God, please stop".
It should also be mentioned, any time I am rolling my eyes about someone famous, that clearly I am not famous, or young and cute, or in any position to proclaim myself "better" than anyone who is famous, or talented, young and cute, or any combination of the three, but if you want to tell me to shut the hell up about it, save your breath. I was a cynical harpie long before Taylor Swift was even born.
For those of you following along on Twitter, yes, I mentioned Jack Benny with the assumption that people would actually know who that was.
No, the fact that I'm old enough to know who Jack Benny is does not have anything to do with me being sick of Taylor Swift. Does Taylor Swift know who Jack Benny is? If she doesn't, can I hold that against her?
I'm about to get cozy with my cable bill. Hold me.
Three weeks later, the so-called "Six Hour Afghan" is still not finished. Can you say "Christmas Present"? Don't worry, I'll pretend that was the plan all along.
The woman in our office who likes to declare "Pot Luck" every third Wednesday must be stopped!!! I barely get around to cooking for the people I'm actually related to, and I'm supposed to contribute to the office, too?
On the other hand....YUM-O! And thank you to all the people who like to show off their cooking skills at office potlucks...

No, Joe.

2010-10-26T16:41:00.001-05:00

The "Mojo" and the "Nojo".

There is this guy in my company--soft spoken Texan--who likes to say that if you're being positive, that's your Mojo, and if you're being negative, that's "Nojo".

I like the sentiment. In my life, having a positive outlook, or being proactive, or hell, even just being realistic and taking whatever steps are necessary to ensure a good ending in a bad situation, has been something for which I pride myself. I prefer action to panic. That's not to say that I never panic, it's just that I'd rather be in a situation where I could take an action to aid in a positive outcome than to sit around ringing my hands because someone else's actions were going to leave me completely screwed.

So we had a meeting...a meeting about the "Mojo" versus the "Nojo". About how, instead of sitting around complaining, you should check yourself, and, try to contribute to the solution.

You wouldn't think something like that would cause any hardship, would you? Some innocuous team-building C'mon-Get-Happy corporate workshop? I didn't think so, either.

What occurred as a result of the Mojo v Nojo meeting was that now anytime anyone raises any kind of concern, legitimate or otherwise, they are being accused of having "Nojo".

Ha!

Oh....mah-gawd. I feel like I work in the pages of Animal Farm. Whatever you do, don't disagree, or the pigs that are more equal that others will Trotsky your ass right out of town....

Straight-Up Nostalgia

2010-10-25T16:02:00.001-05:00

This past weekend, I took my almost-out-of-high-school child Out West to look at some of the colleges of my youth--places where the people who would become some of the most important people in my life got their college educations, and where I narrowly avoided getting a degree of my own.

If only I could be a student now, knowing what I know now, and not being the dumb-ass I was when I first went to college. I'm not one to regret much, but the cavalier attitude I had toward college at the time I was enrolled was certainly worth the lament I'm feeling. I'm a stupid-head. I didn't do the school justice, and my daughters are far better prepared to be successful at it than I ever was.

But, what can I say? I started a career, and that career was way more fun than school, so, what else is a 20 year old going to do? Pretty easy to figure that out.

What was somewhat striking about roaming around my former campus in particular was that while I felt a great deal of familiarity with the real estate, I didn't have a lot of "I remember whens" that went along with the campus itself. Our tour took us right past the dorm room that my (still) best friend and I shared 25 years ago, and while I remembered the number (230W Grantham Hall, MSUM), there weren't a lot of "Barb and I had such CRAZY times there" memories that popped into my head. We just...lived there. It was the place that I had to go back to after doing radio. You go from being some oddly popular person that people liked and paid attention to, to just another anonymous student, failing out of Psychology class because you're stupid enough not to get out of bed on time.

In reality, college was just a back-drop to me when I attended--at least everything after my freshman year, just when classes should have started to get interesting. It was almost a hindrance to my "other" life. Now after being out of that "other" life for ten years, I can say with some certainty that I should have paid more attention to school than to radio. Oh well. I'm not dead, yet, after all.

Now that I am smart and college makes perfect sense to me, I'd much rather being doing that than the thing I am doing right now. I guess it's what happens to you when you get beyond a part of your life where everything is handed to you (spoiled) and into the part where it's all up to you. My kids, for the most part, are already there! Incredible. I'll be sure to remind them of how awesome that it when they are groaning about repaying their student loans.

The Thing That Happens When You Actually Sit Down To Write

2010-10-22T11:38:00.001-05:00

Somewhere on the road between Fargo and Grand Forks, you get about an hour with the teeny-weeny keybaod on your phone while The Kid drives...

--Listening to The Used singing their cool remake of the Queen/Bowie song "Under Pressure" and realizing with some certainty that Freddie Mercury's original ad-lib scat singing is something no other human should try to replicate. And I mean that in the nicest possible way.
--Also noted on this trip, Tom Petty's "You Wreck Me" has always been, and will continue to be a bit of ass-shaking perfection
--Gone the way on the dino, but of no importance to anyone: colored toilet paper. Huh? Anyone? Yeah, I told you it was completely unimportant...
--We toured a college (which will remain un-named for the moment, and you will soon learn why...) that my teenager declared "not pretty enough". And...that was actually one her reasons for not wanting to attend classes there. Yeah...
--I dunno--all of my friends who went to school there are among my favorite people on the planet, so I know it turns out good people...either that or they were REALLY awesome before, and somehow managed to stay awesome in spite of the school? Naaaah...
--By the way, "pretty enough" by teenage definition is apparently something along the lines of Oxford University. Feel free to toss your head back and laugh at this point. I sure did.
--One more note about college--WOW, have things turned spa-like since I attended college 872 years ago! The food options alone make me wish I was 18 again. And free state of the art fitness center? Uh, Hello!?!? Not pretty enough...
--Speaking of food options, I ate a seafood enchilada last night that made me rather happy to be alive.
--I have become the second-to-last person on the planet to switch to a flat screen tv...or at least my kind neighbor who intercepted my package delivery yesterday in my absence assure me that there is one of those sitting in my living room right now. Woo! More couch time!

Keeps The Riff-Raff Out

2010-10-15T01:24:00.002-05:00

Sorry about the momentary flame-out on that last post. Sometimes, the only way to get rid of hateful people is to be mean.

Of course, the meanest thing you can ever do is put someone's ridiculousness on display. We all have our own ridiculousness. The difference between sane people and crazy people is that crazy people like to pretend that they don't have ridiculousness. That's why putting it on under a spotlight is such a powerful thing.

These are the people of my life. There must be some level of comfort for them in me, because there are a lot of people like that who find their way to me. Yes, I have actually met the creeper person in real life, and I thought it was hilarious when a friend joked to me that I had a "stalker like those Hollywood types". To be honest, I don't think there has ever been a time in my life in the last 25 years when I DIDN'T have someone like that in my life somewhere. It might be the actual psycho hiding in the dumpster, or, it might be someone with a job and a reputation to uphold.

Those are the scary ones, by the way--the ones with something to lose.

I usually try to blow off bad behavior. Regular readers don't laugh. I mean, yes, I get mad, and obviously I rage and vent, but after I'm done blowing off steam I go back to a regular heart rate. While this is all very good for my mental health, it does nothing to address the crappy things that people do, and, in most cases, it's not my job to address the crappy things that people do--that is, until they show up where I "live" and try to shit all over the place.

Anyway...sometimes, in order to maintain your mental health, you can't turn the other cheek--you have to defend yourself. When this asshole showed up and declared me an "awful person" because of my reaction to some stepdaughter drama, clearly they no intimate knowledge of my history with that person--they only think they know me because we shared a meal, once. They don't know the number of hours I spent consoling her father when her mother denied his right to see her and her brother. They don't know the sheer amount of time spent writing and typing up affidavits and working on the numerous court cases where we fought for custody of her, and how we went into debt to try to get her away from her abusive mother.

Putting your self and your own children in considerable financial risk to try to save someone else's kid is not something that an "awful person" does.

And what about when she finally did come to live with us? This abused child, who acted out, who needed a strong but loving hand, but I was not allowed to do more than advise on discipline because I am not her parent. Being forced to sit and watch while she stole from my own children, lied, and manipulated all of us, getting basically whatever she wanted, all while blaming my children and me for everything bad that was happening in the household? All while her father did nothing about her behavior? Yeah, you're right. All that turning the other cheek is the sign of an awful person.

Do you think, if you asked her, that she would have even one nice thing to say about me? Me, the lady that was just trying to keep her from failing out of school and/or getting pregnant or arrested? Highly unlikely. She didn't have anything nice to say for the first ten years I knew her, and I'm sure her level of gratitude for the sacrifices I made on her behalf has not changed.

I endured this person, OK? Endured. Her abusive, narcissist mother succeeded in producing an almost perfect copy of herself in this child because even though we finally got custody of her, the fact that her father didn't demand better behavior gave her permission to keep strolling down the same road her mother put her on. I have every right to be annoyed when I hear that her father gave her money again, and that she pissed it away, again, on everything but the rent. It was especially bitchy the way she didn't even try to hide her shopping spree from the guy who gave her the money, but that's her style: Bitchy. It breaks my heart to see the way she and her brother have taken advantage of their father. He's only trying to help, and all they do to repay him is shit on him. I have every right to roll my eyes when I hear about her asking her "Daddy" to rescue her from yet another situation she was warned away from, but got into anyway. The person who came to my blog to nominate her for sainthood because she got into a physical altercation with her boyfriend has spent even less time with her than they have with me. They know nothing.

I take it back--they don't know nothing. The learned one very important thing this week. They learned Shelly will rip your head clean off if you EVER question her integrity in matters concerning her step children. I gave up everything for them, and got nothing in return. Don't you dare. Don't you dare, EVER go there.

My Number One Fan

2010-10-13T09:56:00.000-05:00

In case anyone is wondering why comment moderation has been turned on again...

Here is why:

It's the old, "Write a vile, nasty comment, then check back a million times to see if the author has responded," bit.

Why don't you just use email notification like a normal person? That way, when the author responds, it gets sent right to your email! Oh, wait, never mind...I guess that would take the "Anonymous" out of your "Anonymous" now, wouldn't it? Luckily, this person is not tech-savvy enough to actually be anonymous, and you can clearly see that somebody logging in from Red Rock Radio in Duluth, Minnesota has entirely too much time on their hands. I'm not tech-savvy myself, so you know it didn't take much to figure out who this particular "Anonymous" is. Nicely done. You don't look obsessive at all!

I've said it before, and I'll say it again....I WRITE this freaking blog and I don't look at it as much as this person does! So first of all, thank you for your support!

Second, if you are dying to read this every day, like I see that you are, you can also bookmark it instead of doing a daily Google search. Just sayin'.

Third (and who would know this better than someone in the media?): All media has an "off" switch. You think I'm a lousy, awful person, and, I won't argue with you on that, but doesn't it make more sense in life to simply stay away from that which offends, rather than following it around like some crazy stalker?

I had given some thought to maybe saying "Red Rock Radio in Duluth, Minnesota" numerous times in this post in hopes that this blog post would be the first thing that comes up if somebody is looking for your radio group online. That way, they'd get a good idea of just who they are dealing with. (Hmmm...is this person going to service my radio advertising account, or spend the day obsessively stalking someone online?) I thought better of it, though. Two mentions and photographic evidence of your psychosis will have to suffice for now.

And by the way, I have screen shots that look just like this, going WAY back--almost three years worth--so while I do appreciate the support, I have a mountain of paperwork to turn over to Myron and Ro at Red River Broadcasting if you should ever cross the threshold from "Annoying Creeper" to "Guy Hiding In The Bushes Outside My House". A girl has to cover her ass these days....just sayin'.

I'm Going To Be Completely Honest, Here...

2010-10-11T15:27:00.001-05:00

What kind of an awful person am I?

Let me tell you.

Yesterday, I got a phone call from my ex, telling me about a really bad thing that had happened to his daughter, my former step-daughter.

Upon hearing this news, I felt virtually nothing.

Seriously.

No, "Oh my God is she OK?" No, "Oh that's terrible!" Just...zip.

Tell you what....I won't make you read the archives to figure out where all that cruel heartlessness is coming from. I'll just tell you. I do not like this woman. Don't like her one little bit. The entertainingly bitchy stuff she did, which made it to the blog, was just the tip of the iceberg in reporting the day to day hell--and I do me "HELL"--of living with her. The nicest thing I can say about her is that she didn't have body odor. She lied, she stole, she manipulated, and worst of all, she blamed all of her awful shit on other people, and since my children and I were the closest scapegoats, we usually got the brunt of it. I actually dislike this person, for real.

A couple of weeks ago, when her father described what an asshole her boyfriend was, I thought, and said, "There are two sides to every story," and I asked him if he had formed that opinion based on time spent with the boyfriend, or on his daughter's anecdotes. Since she, herself, would never admit to doing anything wrong, certainly everything that could have been wrong with their relationship had to be the boyfriend's fault. Her father bought into that. He buys into all of the stuff she tells him--always has. The fact that her father believes everything she and her brother tell him is actually the number one reason why I am no longer with their father--I couldn't stand to be around it anymore. No matter what happened, it was always our fault.

Mathematically speaking, that's some pretty sketchy odds--I mean....how is it possible that a person can go through life without ever, ever making a mistake? But that was the logic his children would have you believe--that they were above reproach, and everyone else was irreparably flawed. Having conversations with them in which they would blithely make up some incredible, negative untruth about you, then look at you as if to say, "Yeah, I lied--what are you gonna do about it?" produced the most incredible rage in me. But as much as I hated them for doing that, I hated the fact that I was letting them have that power--that they could push all of my buttons and get a reaction, to make me look like a crazy person for being in constant disagreement with them. I had been a happy, relaxed person, and then I met those two and became a hyper-vigilant, stressed out, angry person. It was not a good thing. I left.

On Sunday, I was advised that my former step-daughter's boyfriend had thrown the woman to the ground, smashed her head on the sidewalk and beat her up.

I was not taken aback. I was not surprised, or appalled. The only thought that ran through my head was, "Wow, just think how many times she made me so angry that all I wanted to do was grab her by the hair and smash her face into a door frame, and now someone has gone and done it." And that's the truth.

Do I sympathize with him? Absolutely not. If you feel like beating the crap out of someone, get the hell away from them, like I did, before you do something you'll regret--something that will give them power over you for the rest of your life.

But I most certainly understand the rage.

I was unable to provide her father with the appropriate sympathetic responses to a woman being beat up, and instead asked questions like, "Did anybody SEE this happen?" because that's how deep my mistrust goes--it would not surprise me one bit to discover that she made most or all of it up.

I don't feel bad about not feeling bad. She earned my disdain, one lie at a time, over the course of many years. I'm not glad this happened, whatever it was that actually occurred. I really wish it hadn't--not because I wish her well, but because some angry person not so very different from me has ruined his life in one stupid, drunken evening.

Her father used to say, when speaking about his children's mother, that if he'd only just killed her when he first felt like doing it, he'd have been out of jail by now, and the world would have one less evil bitch in it. We all laughed about that because A) He didn't kill her and B) She really was/is a truly awful, evil bitch.

I wonder if the boyfriend will be saying that same thing 20 years from now?

Here's Looking At Me, Kid

2010-10-09T08:45:00.001-05:00

While looking at my blog stats, I noticed that someone visited the blog after finding it by doing a Google search for the word "Shelly".

Please allow me to introduce you to the odds of finding a blog with low readership and virtually no advertising by searching the un-famous author's not-entirely-unique first name.

Because I'm here for you, I did the research.

I think my personal favorite was the description under shelly.com, which states "Sorry, but you are looking for something that isn't here."

There are a lot of singer Shellys, photographer and writer Shellys and, oddly, realtor Shellys on the web. I'm sure they are all lovely people. Then again, if they are anything like me, maybe not.

I found a web site for the 2008 Shelly Awards, OK? The friggin' Shelly AWARDS.

OK, forget that last part. My real point is...we all get so wrapped up in our little "thing" that we forget that there are hundreds of other Shellys out there, waiting to be found.

Except for Zac Brown's wife--clearly, she has already been located.

Pat On The Head

2010-10-07T13:39:00.003-05:00

Did you ever have someone talk to you as if you were very small?

I mean something along the lines of a, "Wow, you tied your shoes all by yourself! You are such a BIG GIRL!" kind of thing…

Why yes, just today, in fact. Why do you ask?

Let me give you a little background, starting with the obvious, that being that I'm a grown-ass woman and any patting on the head that occurs as a result of my miraculously being able to do something any normal grown-ass woman should be able to do is only going to result in me being annoyed at your condescension.

Also, I have been speaking in the grown –up language about grown-up topics for many years now. Granted, I spent 14 years in radio, so, I was a bit slower in developing my Adult Persona (radio is really all about extending your inappropriateness as far as you can, for as long as you can), but, I stopped doing that ten years ago, and I now know how to behave appropriately in many situations.

Funny thing is, when I was in radio, everybody assumed I was appropriate when I seriously wasn't. Now that I'm no longer in radio, they assume I can't be appropriate. Weird.

Anyway….today, I wrote an email. It was an email just like the million other emails I write every day for work, and somebody went out of their way to say, "That email you sent to Dr. So-And-So was very appropriate."

As if they were concerned that I would send Dr. So-And-So an email that was inappropriate.

As if, for my jollies, I like to annoy and confuse our clients, and when I'm feeling REALLY crazy, I create litigation-able correspondence in hopes that I can say something SO inappropriate that my Fortune 500 company gets sued.

(Insert eye roll here)

Does anyone out there have a job where people act like you know what you're doing? I'm just curious if they even exist.

Anyone? Anyone?

I'm a writer, OK? I write. That's what I do. I write. To assume that I cannot create a simple document is the highest insult. So I just would like to take this opportunity to very inappropriately say "Fuck off" to the people who do that. Please also note that the "Fuck off" is located a safe distance from the business correspondence. Because I'm just that good. Now please, don't let me keep you from the very important business of fucking off. Thank you and have a wonderful day.

They Write About Love

2010-10-04T00:39:00.000-05:00

So...

I was archive diving and found this little scribble from June 18, 2008--thought I would re-post. Ironically, it's a post based on something I originally wrote in 2007, which was, itself, written during the fallout from a chance encounter from late 2006.

You would think I would not miss several years of "emotional mess", but I do. I am not a drama queen by any stretch, but I do love to FEEL, and I want to feel love, and am not content to shut it off because I'm afraid it's going to end badly. I have had my share of bad endings. Yes, they sucked. They all sucked. I'm not going to lie--it is a teeny bit depressing to read things that I wrote while "under the influence" of some gigantic emotion while I sit here feeling blank for several months in a row. It's coming around, though. Slowly. And as I climb back up to a place where I can feel those huge feelings again without worrying about my hand being slapped, I am heartened by this post.

Freaky Scene

I just found this thing I wrote back in January 2007--I couldn't edit it in a way that I liked back then, but this morning it seems to make sense.

Love gives you a strong sense of what is right and what is wrong, while simultaneously injecting you with the world's most powerful hallucinogen. It is the one thing you will need on this earth, in order to be able to experience anything else--any color, any flavor, good or bad. You can't order it ala carte--it only comes on gigantic, heaping platters, piled high with both things you desire, and things you despise. It is for nothing terribly poetic, though the very skilled can sometimes create a clever lyric around the concept. It is a requirement of being alive. Simple. Grand. Wonderful. Awful

Clearly, only someone in the thick of obsession could have written that.

I'm amazed at just how MUCH is created as a direct result of falling in love with someone--glorious things, and really, really dreadful things--all smashed together in some chaotic mix in your head. At the time I wrote this, I would sometimes wake up feeling wonderful, but awful by bed time, or vice versa. Feelings of exhilaration and joy were almost always followed by the overwhelming notion that I was completely undesirable. An all day roller coaster ride, only, like every other emotion, its not something that is actually "happening", that others can experience, and no matter how much you talk about it with friends, if you can't express it to the object of your desire, you're all alone in your freaked-out world. You can't imagine how many times in the last year I have asked my best friend "Am I crazy? I'm not crazy, right?" while we pick through the minutiae and try to interpret every nuance, in an frantic effort just to keep my head about water. Obsession becomes the only word that describes it--it makes you f*cking crazy.

What has changed since that time is the pitch of the highs and the lows. Somehow, I managed to not self-destruct, and reached a place where there really aren't any lows--or at least no lows based on what someone else might be thinking, which is always the worst possible thing to hitch your life to. I am quite calm these days, and that is a good thing because frankly, I thought my brain was going to explode.

But I still believe those things that I wrote--falling in love snaps you immediately into a perfect perspective, because they say that relationships are like mirrors, and what you love about someone else is actually a reflection of something in yourself. To say that it gives you a very strong sense of right and wrong is to say that when you fall for someone, you actually find your own values--you might say things like, "I don't even know what it is about him that I like, he just seems like a good person", while your mental Rolodex silently flips through all the qualities that you consider "good" in relation to your own goodness--you relate everything about that person to yourself, unconsciously. Maybe you didn't think too much of yourself before, but when presented with someone who seems to share your values, it validates them and, by extension, you. All of those things you have been feeling, those things inside of yourself that you cannot change because they make up the very essence of You, are always ten times more beautiful when you see them in or through someone else.

It is easily the happiest thing in the world to find a kindred spirit. You're filled with joy, but also disbelief--especially if you've been alone with your thoughts for a while, or you're deep into a "nobody will ever 'get' me" funk.

(Personally, I have a permanent residence in Nobody Really Understands Me Land--palatial estate, in fact. The neighbors are friendly, but, for obvious reasons, we all pretty much keep to ourselves.)

While your This-Is-Probably-Going-To Hurt-Really-Bad, logic tells you to approach with caution, every other cell in your body just feels like a moth drawn to the flame--every urge screams MATE WITH THIS PERSON RIGHT NOW!

And that's the "makes you crazy" part that make you write poetry and sh*t...