Thursday, June 30, 2005


Another Mission Accomplished

Sort of.

Found my evil knitting bag:

It was lurking in the back of my daughter's closet, likely plotting my demise or something.

In its cavernous, murky depths I found:

A pile of yellow baby weight yarn, abandoned by my mother part way through some sort of ribby baby project:

Apparently it sapped her will to live so thoroughly that she was unable to even finish frogging it. I sense that this will languish in my stash for the next three years until I give it away. Or make a shawl with it. I could do that.

Also in the bag was:

Another ball of yarn. I have no idea what I was intending to do with this. It will end up being another hat, methinks.

And then ...

Oh thank dog. More yarn. Whatever would I have done without this small ball of red sportweight acrylic? (I think it's sportweight. Who knows? Three-ply squeaky goodness, anyhow).

Yes, more yarn and a single knitting needle; the partner of which I do not believe I have ever met.

And then, la piece de resistance (I'm too lazy to put the accents in. deal.):

The needles I was searching for, hanging out with some yarn that's destined to become a bunnie for my aunt and making friends with some small, dull, inefficient scissors.

All of that work and I find out that they're 4.5mm, not 4s.

Think I can fake it?


Mission Accomplished

Sort of.

Got the Dulaan box all packed up and ready to go:

and then realized it had to be there by July 1 in order to make it in this year's shipment on July 15. Somehow I had it in my head that they had to receive it by the 15th. I am, therefore, an assbeagle. A good-intentioned one, but an assbeagle nonetheless. I guess they're going to get four items in advance for next year's shipment.


Wednesday, June 29, 2005


Hide and Go Eek

I'm so pissed I could scream. I have been ripping this junkpile of a home apart for several hours now and cannot find the needles I need to cast on Soleil.

My fury is approaching that of The Harlot when her yarn churlishly concealed itself from her questing eyes the other day. Clearly, my knitting needles read her blog and have been Getting Ideas.

I want this top. In fact, I NEED this top, as I have a weeding to go to in August and my boobs seem to have spent the entire hibernating season gorging themselves quietly on bearfat or something, 'cause they're way bigger than they were before.

Great, what sort of Google hits am I going to get for THAT little sentence?

Anyhow, if you see my 4mm circ needles running about anywhere, please chastize them severely and send them on home.

In the meantime I'm just gonna sit here without a shirt and sulk.

Tuesday, June 28, 2005


A Night On The Town

Hubby and I went out tonight for the first time in like 500 years. I will have an entire pictorial essay shortly, but for now, the preamble.

Me, trying to get into fancy shoes:

Me, conquering the fancy shoes:

Me, trying to beat my bra into submission:

Me, showing off the boobs in the now-defeated bra:

See? Middle-aged housewives who knit CAN be hot when they try. Well, hot-ish.

Shut up. This is as good as it gets. Humour me.

Monday, June 27, 2005


We Have Good News and We Have News That Sucks Donkeydick

The good news is that I have seamed and finished almost all of the Dulaan stuff. A little finishing later today and it'll be off on its journey. Looks like The Spinning Queen may be interested in trying to get the guild involved in the Dulaan Project for next year, which will make for a big contribution -- that'll be fun.

Other good news is that you may remember my rant about being denied a paid day off of Family Leave back in February, when my employer, who runs the daycare that my child was in, declared a professional development day for the daycare. By doing this they deprived me of care for my child (while still charging me full rates). My employer also required me to show up for work that day. As my husband had just gotten a new job, he couldn't take a day off for fear of being fired, so I had to stay home with Eleanor. Under our collective agreement (we're union) parents are allowed four days or 28 hours a year off, with pay, for the "care, health or education of an immediate family member". I therefore applied for a day of family responsibility leave, thinking that it would be a good idea if a parent stayed home with a four year old child, rather than giving her a sixpack and the remote for the teevee and wandering off to work for the day.

They denied me this leave, saying that I could certainly stay home with my child on that day, but that it didn't fall under the guidelines, and that for PD days, parents just had to suck it up and take a vacation day, and that the clause referred only to emergency situations.

I grieved it to the union, stating that as it was my employer who in the first place had denied me access to childcare that they should take some responsibility for this, and that in the second place the clause could hardly be referring only to emergencies, as the word "education" was in there, and I could not think of one circumstance of "emergency education" I had ever encountered (apart from a few administrators who had a need of some emergency education in the form of abrupt slappage upside their little pointy haids.)

I have received notice that my grievance was successful and that my leave for that day was approved on a "without prejucdice" basis. I'm not sure what that means ... apart from the fact that I'll receive that day's pay in my account some time in the near future.

I sort of feel like running through the streets singing "Solidarity Forever" and wearing a Lech Walesa T-Shirt but it's almost three in the morning, so I'll just sit here sucking on a beer and be happy that I'm getting the cash back.

On the Sucking Donkeydicks newsfront, it would seem that my mother in law has just been diagnosed with MS.

My MIL is an amazing woman.

When I first met her, I showed up after driving through a blizzard, to invade her home. This woman who her son had never met but about whom he was stupid, and who was going to show up and Break His Heart And Never Call, like the last lady. So I showed up, got snowed in, stayed six days and we got stuck on each other. Him and me, not her and me. She still thought I was going to dump her little boy and leave him all messy.

The second time I met her, it was about two weeks later and it was two in the morning When I Actually Came Back To See Her Little Boy and she was scrubbing the grout in the bathroom with a toothbrush when I arrived, telling me what a horrible housekeeper she was. The only thing that really bothered me about this was that was using my own toothbrush. Let's just say we had issues for the first couple of years of our acquaintance. (Edit: please note I just realized I used this line already last year some time. I am old and have little material. Please forgive me.)

She is about what, fifteen years older than me. My husband is younger than me (yes, he's my toyboy) and she started having babies young. She is a little slip of a thing, like maybe a size four on a "fat" day, and she produced three great big strapping lads. My husband is 6'2" and um ... not svelte. He's a former US Marine and has come close to nudging the 300-lb mark on the scales more than once. His next youngest brother, while shorter, was very involved in wrestling in high school and is not a little man, either. Third boy is also in service and not tiny but he's nothing like her first two Moosebabies.

I have no idea how she had those three boys and lived.

I have no idea how she raised them alone on minimum wage jobs and kept on feeding them.

I have no idea how they all grew up so smart, and to be essentially decent men.

She has a lot to be proud of.

She's getting married again (some women never learn) on August 6. So we're going to Seattle to hear The Harlot on her bookbookbook tour and then going to Tacoma for a wedding. Eleanor will be the flower girl and she's very concerned about knowing her role. She keeps saying "ok, so I get a basket of flowers and I give one to everyone, right? Oh yes, and I get a really good dress." She has her priorities very clear.

OK, so back to the donkeydick stuff. I guess she's just been diagnosed. I don't know a lot more than that. I do know it's not a death sentence, and there is a lot of shit they can do.

But still.

I'm concerned.

Anyone out there who's interested in praying, please do so. I would deeply appreciate it.

I think the Karma Man may get another $10 this week, just in case.

Saturday, June 25, 2005



As promised, batteries. 40 of 'em.

At least 8 are earmarked for use in the camera.

And, the actual hat that's going off to MongoLEEah:

The endless boring 2x2 rib scarf:

And two pairs of booties, still to be seamed:

Finally, the start of next year's Dulaan box:

Man, I hate that yarn.

Going to bed early. Missy Moo decided I didn't need to sleep last night. My ancient body has been begging to disagree for some time now, and you know I hate to see a grown body beg.

Especially if it's mine.

Thursday, June 23, 2005


Still No Batteries

Clearly, I suck. I even have knitting content for you tonight so please imagine if you will:

*picture of the Dulaan scarf*

Here we have for your imaginary pleasure, about 45" of 2x2 rib in sage acrylic that I now loathe with all of my heart. I plan on casting on another scarf with this later today, to start next year's Dulaan box.

And here:

Please imagine a small blue toque. Oh, wait!


That's not the actual hat. That one lives with my friend Michelle, but it's the same pattern and colo(u)r, just smaller.

And, um, stuff. Imagine two pairs of booties here, as well.

I worked a double shift last night and Her Surreal Highness decided I didn't need to sleep in between getting home at 9am and going out to work again at 3pm. I'll try really hard to suck less tomorrow, k?


Guilding the Lily

Whoa, has it been that long? Sorry folks, busy stuff happening, not the least of which is juggling work with hubby.

No, we haevn't gone into the juggling business, sillies; he's getting a lot of shifts and I'm getting a lot of calls also for extra work. I'm stealthblogging from my "second" job tonight, having been called in for an emergency graveyard shift. I'm proud to say that this is the first one I've accepted since leaving the college. No more of this double-triple-shift-shit for me. Well, apart from today. Shut up.

I suppose the blogging isn't really stealthy. We have full internet access here and all they ask is that in between answering calls and helping save people's lives, that we don't download stuff and crash everything while we're sitting here bored on the graveyard.

Fairy nuff, if you ask me.

So in between gathering large amounts of new toys, not buying batteries for my camera, gallivanting about to social events with Her Surreal Highness and working, I managed to take Lily the Wheel out to a guild meeting on Tuesday night as a guest of Herself .

What a hoot! There were only three or maybe four ladies knitting and one who was making a SOCK -- which is beyond me at this point -- was very complimentary about the Endless Green Dulaan Scarf upon which I unashamedly toiled while the meeting was going on. There were also only two wheels there (including Lily), which disappointed me a little, but it was nice to play with the other one a bit and see what a well-running wheel should feel like. I also found out that Ashford bobbins fit on this wheel, so I won't have to get some handmade, which is a relief. (Now to find $54 for four bobbins without telling Ben I'm buying something new ...)

After the meeting, I then chatted to some very helpful ladies who told me that a) I'm supposed to oil ALL of the moving parts of the wheel which is possibly why it is sticking, dammet (forgot one small but vital area), and b) she is a very nice wheel.

I'm going to put spinning aside for a couple of weeks until I get a lesson, but I now at least have a bit more of a clue as to what I'm trying to do here. I even had some stuff right! Even though this guild is about 35 miles away from where I live, I am going to join as a regular member. There are a ton of interesting people there, with various splendid skills (and they have their meetings on Tuesdays, which is the one night I can pretty much guarantee always being free. I just wish I felt like I had something to bring apart from somewhat-manic energy and boundless enthusiasm. That'll have to do for now, until I stop being such a newbie.

Having made a promise that I shall not make lace or a shawl or anything of that nature ever in my life, I am about to cast on Soleil from Knitty and a shawl/stole/throw dealie from some magazine I just bought and which is at home so I can't put a link in here. I am also almost finished Sophie (yeah, sure, you've heard that before, haven't you?). I promise to buy batteries tomorrow and post some actual pictures of knitting content, mmkay?

No, really.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005



What in the Purple Screaming Fuck?

It would seem that according to, I'm 151 hits short of having 50,000 visitors to my blog.

That seems like an awful lot. I'm not that funny.

Gratified as all hell, but still ...

The flabber, she is gasted.

Monday, June 20, 2005


Freaky Glasses and Ass-Flavoured Popcorn

Today was, as are so many "non-working" days of late, a girl's day.

I worked the graveyard (got home about 6:30am), slept a few hours, got up and did the lunch thang with my kid while hubby went to work, and then I did a victory lap around the campus where I used to work.

Well, not around the whole campus, just wandered the administration building while garnering admiration from the many who still are incarcerated there. Seems that the matching set of Samsonites have disappeared from under my eyes, and that this is generally accepted to be an improvement.

Amazing how much better you feel when you stop taking it up the ass from people for whom you have neither love nor respect (and from whom you also garner neither). Who knew?

Not that I'm bitter.

Anyhow, about four peeyem one of the employees with whom I used to workand I toddled off for coffee and far too much sugar. She's the co-worker metioned in an earlier post for whom I knit in acrylic, as she vomits on herself. I gave her the URL of this blog today.

You're welcome, honey.


(Oh christ, and now I have to read all of my archives to make sure I haven't dissed you at any point. Nah, fuckit, we can both take it.)

Anyhow, after dropping her off at home, I had to take my daughter to see The Adventures of Shark Boy and Lava Girl. The movie? Not so bad. The 3-D glasses? Annoying until my daughter, who doesn't always hear exactly what's being said, renamed them "Freaky Glasses". Then, although they were no more comfortable they became considerably more funky.

The little kid who plays Shark Boy? Desperately funky. He's gonna be a cutie in another ten years.

Speaking of funky, and not the kind that smells good, I discovered that it's always wise to check if your child has washed her hands before letting her share your large bag of popcorn.

I'm just sayin'.


Out of the Mouths ...

My daughter informed me today that I look like "a beautiful dork".

I must say, I was flattered.

Just came off two graveyards, so I'm a little fuzzy today. Slightly more quality of postage to be expected later on.

Not necessarily from me, but expect it anyhow.

Saturday, June 18, 2005


Trés Cool

There's a very nifty thing over here that I'd love to get my ample ass involved in but it's on a Saturday. August 6th, to be precise.

I usually work on Saturdays however I have that one off. No problem then, you say? Ha! I say. (I say that a lot). I'm taking the day off work without pay (yes, this is how slavish and fawning I have become) so that I can go see Her Harlotness in Seattle on the 4th while she explains to us all about the Bookbookbook and whilst we watch her try not to say "arse" in public. Should be a hoot and I do believe I'm going along with my buddy Gaile. I certainly hope so, or else I'm going to be sitting there, muttering "assbeagle" and knitting on a vile green dishcloth all by myself. I don't do crowds well; I can't see that being any kind of fun.

Any other Pacific Northwest Knitting Blogger Types (yes, this is allegedly a knitting blog and I still insist on identifying myself in that category) planning on being in Seattle on the 4th? I'll be bringing Mr. Rabbitch and the Rabbitchette; we'll be staying at the Camlin, I do believe. Come stalk us.

Friday, June 17, 2005


Some More of the 100 Things

26. I am terrified of wasps. Bees give me the heebies, but wasps, well, if one comes into the room I go out until someone considerably butcher than I am kills it or does the ol' catch and release thingie. The only person I will ever protect from a wasp is my daughter.
27. I can sing, but I refused to do so for many years. When my parents discovered I could sing, it suddenly became their gift, not mine, and they made me, a very shy child, sing for their friends. It took me years to own my voice again. I have been known to sing in public in the last couple of years.
28. I have a pierced navel.
29. I know exactly, to within half an hour, when my child was conceived.
30. I lost my second child. It was a blighted ovum, which, from what I understand from the medical folks who helped me out, is when the egg is fertilized but doesn't implant, and all you get is a great big placenta, no baby.
31. I really don't like opera, as a general rule.
32. My favourite instrument is the cello.
33. The first solid food I ate, at about the age of four or five months, was a brussels sprout. Brussels sprouts remain, to this day, my favourite vegetable.
34. I cannot stand rum.
35. I am so terrified of dentists that I have been known to cry during cleanings.
36. I am allergic to peppers. Green peppers, red peppers, bell peppers, all of them.
37. On a related note, I'm allergic to all nightshades, which as well as peppers include tomatoes, potatoes and eggplant. Mostly I can't touch them with my hands, but I still eat them. Well, apart from the peppers because I don't like the migraine dealie.
38. I used to be High Anglican.
39. I also was a Buddhist for a short period of time.
40. I have gone scuba diving and stopped one dive short of my PADI certification.
41. I used to dance competitively (Scottish Country Dancing) and have won trophies.
42. I long for a tattoo.
43. I have a juvenile arrest record.
44. I spend between 50 and 100 hours a month on charity work.
45. Although I have accrued almost two years worth of post-secondary education, and have worked in the post-secondary education system for 12 years in total (two different institutions) I have little respect for those who choose education over experience.
46. I have danced with my husband exactly once, on our wedding day.
47. Music can make me cry.
48. I seldom watch television.
49. I don't answer my phone, as a rule.
50. I think my breasts are too large and welcome the impending surgery to remove my breast mouse, as I am hoping I can talk them into reducing the other one at the same time.

Thursday, June 16, 2005


Looming ...

Well, it's in the back of my van. That's hardly looming, really.

I suspect it's merely lurking.

Wednesday, June 15, 2005


My Husband Hearts Me

And why do I know this? It's because after I showed him the dreadful thingies over at this place he sent me an email with a link to this, which I think is even funnier and more vile, if in fact that is possible.

Most guys who are trying to sex you up will send you flowers and candy. He sends me porn, links to sites like that and horrorscopes from the onion. I think the boy knows the audience to which he is playing.

Envy me.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005


The Luckiest Girl In The World

Ok, so I'm not exactly a "girl". Shut up.

Today was wonderful. It started out by us waking up late, late, late, cooking like a pound of bacon or something and having a huge breakfast with white nugget potatoes and toast and bacon and eggs and coffee and such. (Yes, we're all going to die soon, but at least we will die with pork on our breath. I could be a vegetarian but for the swineflesh. Like I said in a late-night drunken conversation with my buddy over at Fidgety Budgie, bacon is like having a mouthful of Jesus for breakfast.)

We then (eventually) got dressed, got our large lazy buttocks (is the plural buttoxen?) up to Karen Magnusson Swimmin' Holler or whatever it's called, and boinged about in the wave pool for a few hours.

I then came home to find an email from She Who Has A Spinful Nature, offering to let me be the guinea pig for her new spinning class. Like duh, I'm going to say no? I've never actually SEEN anyone spin and have just been making this all up as I go along. The opportunity to even watch someone for half an hour is something I treasure and the thought of having real live CLASSES from someone who isn't faking it, fills me with delight. Expect my spinning to hit new heights of hotness shortly.

There were, however, some drawbacks to the day, the largest of which was discovering my British (*spit* ... I'm Scottish, not British! And yes most of the English people I've spoken to feel the same about the B-Word; we're separate countries, FFS!) passport.

This passport expired in 1998. I got it in 1988 because I think they were going to the EU passport thingie and I wanted something from this particular era. That, and it makes it easier to get through customs on that end of the trip, and being a British (*spit*) Subject, I'm entitled to one anyhow.

I was, at first, happy to rediscover this, however my delight diminished markedly upon opening it and discovering The Permanent Official Government Record of My Really Bad Choice of Poodle Perms.

Really. Dude. I hope my daughter never finds this; I'm thinking I should encase it in cement and toss it in the river some time soon.

Let the mocking commence.


100 Things About Me

Well, seeing half of the blog world has done this, I think I shall do so as well, seeing my pal Juno claims that she's quite sure there are many interesting things about me.

This is gonna take a long time. Be patient, mmkay?

1. I am shy. The person you meet on my blog is who I am inside my head. If you meet me in "real life" I will quite possibly blush and stammer.
2. My favourite colour is yellow.
3. My favourite flowers are anything my daughter gives me in a bouquet, usually dandelions; however, I have a great fondness for roses, daffodils and irises.
4. I loathe lilies, not because they remind me of death, but because they stink so bad.
5. I speak a fair amount of French but I greatly dislike doing so.
6. I love bagpipes.
7. I hate being a secretary and hope to never have to whore my skills in an office again. Not that this isn't a good choice for others, but for me it's hateful and kills me a little bit each day.
8. I very much dislike Fair Isle knitting.
9. I have always been a cat person, but would very much like a dog.
10. I had to type "dog" four times before it came out as dog instead of god.
11. I am very loyal.
12. I am bisexual but don't usually talk about it because when you announce it all of your girlfriends think you're going to try to jump them when they didn't think you were going to jump their husbands/boyfriends when they thought you were straight. Is this because they think that they're sexier than their men? Rilly, most of them aren't. If I want you I'll let you know; otherwise, relax. I'm not dating right now.
13. I type 90 words a minute with a 1% error rate.
14. I can't stand having my feet touched and almost killed someone with a cut crystal ashtray for tickling them one night. I stopped myself just before I hit him. He was so fucking annoying that I assume someone has killed him for something else since then, it was 12 years ago or so and I haven't heard from him for about 8 years now.
15. I don't sleep much.
16. My blood type is O negative.
17. I left my first husband for a man I met on the internet. A man who I had no idea what he looked like. I drove 300km (180 miles) in a blizzard (they closed the highway shortly after I drove through). At the time I had been driving less than a year and was totally freaked out. We've been together nine years now.
18. My best friend died of AIDS in 1995. I haven't found anyone to replace him yet. I still have his ashes and miss him horribly.
19. I learned to drive when I was 33.
20. I bought a condo and got caught in the "leaky condo" scandal and ended up paying $41k in repairs.
21. I am deeply in debt because of this.
22. I have no idea what colour my eyes are, so I usually just write down "grey". They change constantly.
23. The man I admire most in the world is my brother.
24. I have an inordinate love of pygmy goats.
25. I consider myself to be deeply religious, but I despise most of what I know of organized religion, and am certainly not a Christian.


Better Than a Chicken Hat

Bwaaaaahaaaahaaahaaa! Just found a new blog and although I've only started reading, if this is anything to go by, I think we've got a winner.

I've also just figured out who I want to be when I grow up. I want to be Tallulah Bankhead in a bunny hat.

Oh, I think I just hurt myself laughing ...

Monday, June 13, 2005


And To My Daughter, I Bequeath ...

My mother is very organized. Some may even say she's a control freak. And yes, I would be one of those people.

She has decided that she is going to die (well duh, me too) and, being a control freak, she has decided exactly how and when this is going to occur. Seems that she's going to last another ten years. She'll be seventy-one this summer, this isn't a completely unreasonable expectation but still. Dude.

Part of this process seems to be that I have to leave with part of her estate after every visit there. OK, it can't be every visit but it sure feels like it.

Today I got the buttons. This all came about when I mentioned that there is a new store here in Vancouver named Button, Button.

I think y'all know just how long it's going to be before I go down there with a sack of money and clean them out, don't you? Actually I have bills to pay off first, but I'm thinking October is going to be a very buttony month.

Anyhow, I got to reminiscing about the big tin of buttons I'm sure my grandmother had. Dad recalled the half-a-suitcase full of buttons he had brought home from a button company that went out of business and for which he used to do the books. (The agents would take full boxes of buttons, but there were hundreds of open boxes, which he got to bring home). I used to play with them for hours. Apparently I was a strange and solitary child -- should I not have grown up to be an axe murderer?

Anyhow, no batteries yet for the camera (and no, I'm not taking them out of some other appliance for your selfish enjoyment!) so you don't get to see the sack of buttons I brought home today. It's not that scary, maybe a sandwich bag about 3/4 full. I'll use them, they're welcome, but you know if I get too much more crap in this house my husband's going to have to move out (and now that he's working I'd sort of like to keep him ...)

I brought their spare bed home last week, and I think I'm getting the chest of drawers in a couple of weeks.

I am not bringing home their piano.

Sunday, June 12, 2005


So Much Time, So Little Skill ...

OK, so I'm finally going to move past baby sweaters, bunnies, slippers (but never dishcloths!) and the like and tackle a garment all for me me me.

Yesterday I bought a copy of Creative Knitting, and although I was startled that there were so many obscenities to commit with yarn, there were, however, two items that I liked. A Lot.

This was one of them.

I'm sort of thinking that the cunning dutch cotton I got from Ann last year would work for this. But, of course, being a total newbie to shaping of armholes and picking up of neckbands and all, I have decided to change the pattern completely, because this would be Totally Logical.

I'd like to make a tank. Maybe even the Shapely Tank from hell, but without the short row shaping and with the leafybits at the bottom. Ya think? Whether or not it works, rest assured I shall preserve the entire agonizing process in minute detail.

Just a short post tonight. Tomorrow starts my first "real" day off. The first day of realizing that I only work part-time and that I love my job.

Tomorrow is also a "girl's day", but you can bet your bippy that there will be spinnage. Much spinning and maybe even some dyeing.

And I would like to solemnly swear that no matter what the results of my spinning turn out to be, they will never be made into anything like this:

as I am clearly cognizant of the fact that my child will be the one to decide whether I get to spend my declining years living with family, or languishing in a refrigerator box under a bridge.

Friday, June 10, 2005



What goes around, comes around.

I finally got my giant lazy ass to the post office and sent long-overdue prizes out to Freddyknits, Dragon Mad Knitter and to our friend Janis over at Yarn!

More packages to be sent tomorrow. I apologize; I've been in a bit of a spin (no pun intended) of late, but at least I'm not as bad as Laurie. Go on. Go look at her shame!

After I dragged my thoroughly-ashamed self back on home, I discovered that the mail carrier had been by and had for once managed to figure out where I live. My camera is dead (not damaged, just out of batteries. Yes, I used them all in the vibrator. Shut up.) so I can't take any pictures of the package that was waiting for me when I got home.

Our beloved Trixie took it into her lovely non-knitterly head to send me a big bag of peanut M&Ms -- bunny mix! Who knew there was a bunny mix?! She also included a couple of "smiley power" pencils and some barrettes, both of which my daughter immediately appropriated (she's not getting the M&Ms, dammet) an incredibly sweet little sheep with a pull-put measuring tape tail made by Lantern Moon, and an autographed copy of KnitLit (too).


Thank you, Trixie! I love ya, man!

I would also like to thank Maryse for making me almost rupture myself when reading her response to my "Homewrecker" post. I can't think I've ever heard a better quote than:

'well you know that in Quebec giving the gift of ice cream is Quebecois for "thanks for the fuck"'

You owe me a new keyboard, bitch.

Thursday, June 09, 2005


Into Every Life, a Little Shit Must Fall

Some people, however, seem to acquire it in bucketloads.

So not only has Ol' Weird Harold moved out(name invented by Bill Cosby, I believe, and not Annoying French Canadian Man's actual name), he's now threatening dog knows what, possibly including not paying his half of the rent which is already overdue for this month. (For anyone who thinks that he shouldn't pay for a place he isn't living in, a) he didn't give notice, b) he left after the first of the month and c) he promised to pay half the rent for a few months).

Oh yes, and she lost her job this morning.

I'm thinking that maybe I have to actually BRING the karma man home with me next time I go to work and rub him on her front door or something. In the meantime, it's my day off tomorrow and we're going to have a council of war in the morning and make a list of options and what needs to be done first while I stuff her full of pancakes.

I've got half the list made already.

Yes, I'm a bossy friend. She's in too much shock to do it by herself and I'm a control freak. It'll all work out somehow.

First recommendation is to remind monsieur that his trucks are in her name, and if rent money doesn't arrive, she's willing to sell the new one for the $500 he owes her ...

Yes, I did earn the name "Rabbitch" fair and square. Why do you ask?

On the knitterly front, having shown amazing self-restraint (knitted restraints, at that!) over the past five or so months, I suddenly remembered that I am not on a yarn diet I just decline to count, measure, or otherwise admit to my stash until I've reduced it by 100 items and also that needles and accessories are not yarn, so today I went thrift-storing (yes, it's a verb) and bought these:

I love these old plastic needles and can never turn them down, especially at 50 cents a pair. Even with mis-matched colours (which adds to the appeal for me, quite frankly) that's a steal.

I have several pairs of these, some stolen from old ladies even before they passed on (for shame!) but I don't know what they are. Anyone else know?

Tuesday, June 07, 2005



It would seem that I'm a homewrecker.

The Weird French Canadian Boy next door and my friend broke up. He moved out. They were fighting all the time, and you know it was best for everyone, right?

Well, I found out tonight that I'm part of the cause.

She took care of my kid for a couple of hours while I moved stuff to the storage locker. I gave her a box of ice cream bars in thanks.

I gave her the ice cream bars, he looked at them and said "well, I'm glad she's able to satisfy your every need, seeing I obviously can't."

Um, wtf? I gave her ice cream in return for babysitting. It's not exactly strange, and it's certainly a few steps short of fornication.

I've never made a secret of the fact that I have an "interesting" past. I'm easy, or at least I was before my husband got me all married up and made me stop dating. I've slept with a whole bunch of boys (and several girls too but that's a topic for another post and oh my god I think I just came out but move along, it's not all that interesting).

But really. Ice cream? Frozen milk on a stick. That's hardly grounds for divorce.

Some people just need to have the extreme slappage applied upside their heads, methinks.

And in the meantime, I'm a homewrecker. And that home? I don't mind so much being part of the wrecking.

Monday, June 06, 2005


Well, He's Got My Vote

Getting ready to start washing some of my fleece (outside, in a turkey roaster, so hubby doesn't complain.

And a closer view.

For anyone who can't read it, the instruction is "Support The Bottom of Pan". Quite frankly, he can't be worse than any of the other candidates ...

Sunday, June 05, 2005


You Spin Me Right Round, Baby

Spinning attempt #3, elegantly displayed on a toilet paper roll, in lieu of a spare bobbin.

Think I might be returning the wheel, but keeping the yarn.

Watch this spot for updates, and such; right now I'm heading out to work the graveyard shift ...

Saturday, June 04, 2005


When Good Wheels Go Bad

Next, on Oprah

It is recommended that the more sensitive members of our viewing audience avoid watching this program due to its graphic nature.

I'm going to have to bail the kid out of jail before she's eight, aren't I?

Friday, June 03, 2005


Mohair Blanket Mummy Bondage

Mohair Blanket freakin' Mummy Bondage???

That's the latest Google search that brought someone to this blog.

I'm without words.

There are some very strange people out there, and I hope to hell they didn't find whatever they were looking for.


Thursday, June 02, 2005


Should I Stay or Should I (Call 911 and) Go?

This isn't about me, so don't start getting all panicky when you read the title. My marriage is actually in pretty good shape right now; better than it's been in years.

This is not about me at all.

This is about my friend. The friend I wrote about some time ago, who took her kids and left a physically and emotionally violent man.

She has told me that he is abusive. She has described enough incidents in enough detail that I have no doubts at all about her veracity. I've never seen that from him, but then again he's antisocial and has never even said "hi" to most of the daycare parents on the few occasions upon which we have seen him.

I'm basing all of this on her word; a word I have no reason to doubt.

They were together for several years. Years during which he threw furniture at her, threw glasses, broke plate-glass windows, tried to strangle her in front of her little kids.

Fortunately the last incident was when they were too young to remember, but jesusfuck, it should never have happened at all.

Through it all, she never reported it. The one time she tried to call 911, he had ripped the phone out of the wall. So there is no paper trail.

Most abused women never report it. Please, consider doing so. It's not about embarrassment.

This isn't a man-bashing post, either. Most men who are abused by their partners never report it, either. Violence knows no gender.

He has abused and assaulted at least three other women that we know of. It's not like this is new.

She asked for more child support. She already gets a fair amount, however based on his salary it's about half of what he should be paying.

He objected to paying more and decided to try to take the kids from her because "I will make you pay for what you have done to me."

wtf? She left and then asked him to pay for his kids' upkeep. Doesn't seem unreasonable to me. Upkeep for kids he never wanted in the first place, and who he is only trying to take now because she had the nerve to leave him and it would hurt her more than words can tell to lose them.

He decided to attack her mental stability and went for a Section 15 psychiatric assessment. An expensive procedure, but it would seem he would rather pay for that than to pay for his kids to get another pair of shoes.

And she got the doctor's assessment. They have decided in his favour. Despite affidavits from three prior girlfriends as to his violent nature.

They accepted the statements from a woman he's been having an affair with for 12 years and who has never met her. They accepted statements from just about everyone on his side. All statements and affidavits from her side were dismissed, as far as I know.

So now she's sitting there, thinking that within a few weeks she could lose her children. Children she grew in her belly. Children who need to be protected from her ex.

I don't know what's going to happen, and this is too big for me to try to fix. I hope she asks for another assessment.

The main problem seems to be that no violence was ever reported. I've been a victim of violence (although never in either of my marriages) more than once. And I never reported it.

So, because none of the other women ever reported it, there is a very real chance she will lose her kids.

I can understand the reasoning behind not reporting. "It's just me, it's just now, I've kicked his skanky ass out, and he can't touch me again", but please, if you have been assaulted, report it. Fuck embarrassment, fuck fear, fuck the thought that it only affects you.

It doesn't, and a few years down the road it could have more ramifications and grief than you could ever imagine. Because if nobody speaks up, then it isn't happening.

So please, if this is happening to you, report it, no matter how frightening it is to do so, because this is not only about you. This is about the girlfriend or boyfriend three people down the line who could lose everything because you didn't speak up.

If my friend and the other women had reported it, then there would be a solid paper trail. As it stands, there's nothing.

And she's going to have to pack her kids' room up and send them to live with the man who thinks it's ok to throw night stands.

And if I were her, right about now I would be thinking it was ok to drink bleach.

Wednesday, June 01, 2005



So I had one of the best days ever.

This morning we woke, oh, tennish. Maybe ten thirty-ish. Like I said, my kid's a good sleeper. I rolled over, snuggled the kid for a while, got out of bed, made tea and lunch for hubby while he got ready for work (yes! he's working!) and then made coffee for me, pancakes for Herself, hung with the neighbour and chatted, made more coffee for me, had a shower, meandered into work (using public transit and knitting all the way), arrived on time and worked until they stopped paying me and came home, relaxed and with almost all of another dishcloth completed. (Neighbour likes the green and wants one -- it's a sickness).

In the Time Before The Liberation, I used to wake up, unrested, to the sound of a blatting alarm, run around screaming for a bit, get my kid out of bed, get her to run around screaming and asking if they were going to "put the fire on my bum" because I was late (I guess she heard me saying once that they were going to fire my ass and she decided they were actually going to ignite my backside), run out the door half-washed and half-fed, get the kid to daycare late, get to work late, and endure the looks or even worse, be invited to the meetings to spend twenty-five minutes discussing the fact that even though I worked two hours of unpaid overtime the night before, that I was eight minutes late.

Oh, alert the fucking media, already. I was (note the joyous use of past tense here) senior staff, not responsible for opening the office or for answering the phone. The receptionist, who was always on time, was responsible for that. She was also able to leave on time. Every time.

But I'm not bitter.

Anyhow, the assbadgers are now having to deal with the fact that the NEW receptionist is the only staffperson they have as HR didn't get their asses in gear to fill my position during the five weeks of my three-week notice. The receptionist who like the last one is, indeed, always on time but who, unlike the last one, a) has a reputation for taking about 50% of her time as sick time and b) falls asleep at her desk. And she forgets to answer the phone.

Good heart, not so good in the office. I'm just sayin'.

Oh yes, and she's the senior candidate to fill my position.

I'm certainly glad I managed to find the Good Karma Man on my break this evening and slip him a buck or two.

I'm not going to be telling the folks in my old department where to find him, either.


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