Sunday, July 31, 2005
What I Did On My Summer Vacation
Friday was a disaster. We will not discuss it except to mention the scraped car, the chipped tooth and the fact that the knob to the laundry room door stopped working.
Saturday? Um, isn't this Saturday? Oh, no, we had planned on going down to the Dyke March on Saturday but that didn't work out and we went Tanning with the Transgendered instead. Even better and we all got to ride a big blow-up dolphin around the pool for hours.
Today, I went for a nature hike with my Princess:
and somehow acquired more fleece:
This is three Dorset fleeces plus some more Cheviot (I don't know how many, I just know I could hardly move the bag and it's not like I'm dainty or anything).
I therefore decided that if anyone was going to take me seriously, myself included, I had to get cracking on washing all of this stuff. Washed almost a whole fleece today and dyed some (hopefully for Juno, but we'll see how it turns out). Heading out to work the graveyard, but there will be a real post with actual knitting content (finished half a shawl) tomorrow, I promise!
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Little Pieces of Peach and Lesbian
I'm tired today, so I'm just going to root around in other people's blogs and link to them and stuff so as to make it look like I'm writing something. The above, from the brilliant Ryan just struck me as the funniest thing I've read all day.
I told you, I'm tired. Plus, she's pretty good.
And, speaking of Peachy Lesbians, run and take a look at who is getting hitched!
I told them I was going to send them a salad spinner. That, or matching clown hats made out of the clownbarf yarn, with pompoms made from the purple stuff I just dyed.
Whatchoo think?
I know I never made the chicken hat, but man, this one's tempting ...
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Don't Ply For Me, Argentina
I've been busy spinning more of the clownbarf yarn, and it's almost embarrassing to admit how in love I am with this cheerful, vulgar little bobbin of yarn:
The only reason that I can even admit how I feel about it is that I know that at least 90% of the people reading this will understand completely. Some might even actually like it, as well.
I was tempted to either throw some bits of undyed Cheviot in there to break up the colour, or to ply it up with that bobbin that you saw yesterday on the bottom holder of the lazy kate, but I think I've finally decided what to do with it.
This is being spun on the "odd" bobbin; the one that came with my wheel (which is still working well!) and which does not fit on the lazy kate that has kindly been lent to me until I can get my own (next month). I am therefore going to commit the unthinkable act of using Andean Plying and plying it back on itself.
This will either be the most fun yarn on the face of the planet, or it will cause stalwart women to faint and strong men to weep.
I don't think I'll ever be able to market yarn, which is my final intention, if I keep calling the colours things like "vole vomit" or "clownbarf" and including descriptions such as the above but I tellya, the Truth in Advertising people would never be able to pin a thing on me!
And now, I'm going to break out the warbadgers and go off on a crusade to find some stinkin' hand carders that I know are somewhere in this house.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
The Purple Wool
The purple wool has been niddy-noddied, dried, etc. and we can now see her in all of her beauty. About 90-100 feet of a fairly fine single, don't know what weight (it seems to vary -- fancy that!). Not enough for "something" but certainly enough for some sort of embellishment or trim. And yes, to all who asked (and so kindly commented), she was dyed with red, blue and purple easter egg dye, purchased for 35 cents per package (each containing six colours and a "magic crayon", the magic of which has only recently become apparent, when it fixed some of my wheel's problems).
I love her, however I am beginning to get the feeling that she is, well, how do I say it? A bit of a ho.
Observe her here, with webcam and the other two skeins of handspun we plied today.
It certainly looks to me as if they're trying to make some sort of pornographic recording, perhaps to be put on that evil internest thingie I keep hearing about!
I'm not sure what the hell she's doing here on the Lazy Kate. Some sort of yarn version of pole dancing?
Here she is, taunting the clownbarf yarn which is in the process of being spun up and which promises to be pretty much as "interesting" as I had suspected it might be.
Oh. Well this explains a lot.
Carry on.
Monday, July 25, 2005
If I'm Lye-ing
I'm dyeing.
The second attempt at dyeing was far more successful than the first, and I must say I'm quite pleased.
Step one:
Take a weird little Rabbitch-spun ball of wool, toss it in a pot with a splash of vinegar (ah! That cidery smell again!) and a squirt of soap.
Step two:
After the wool has soaked for about an hour, turn the heat up a bit. Warm it up slowly. After it is warm, trickle little sploots of colour all over it. Let it sit for a while.
Step three:
After it starts to look interesting, and not at all the colour you were sort of planning but, in a strange way, far better, turn it over and add some more sploots of colour.
Make sure that the water is VERY hot but not boiling.
Step four:
Keep on adding colour, even if it looks like it's going to look stupid. Really, what do you have to lose? Make sure as best you can, without actually scrubbing the wool in any way, that the dye has squooshed all through all of the fibre, so that you don't get weird white bits in the middle.
Step five:
Take it carefully out of the water with a fork. Look in awe and amazement at all of the beautiful colours. Carefully ignore all of the bizarre little towers of overspun yarn.
Step six:
Put it in a cage, huddle over it protectively. Take it out and smell it. Hiss threateningly if anyone else comes too close.
Repeat.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
As Promised
Here are a few pictures of our trip to the Aquarium two days ago. It was fantastic, and there were lots of things other than just fish and whales and dolphins (which are really just big fish, as you likely know).
Here we have:
a scarlet bird thingie
If I'm going too fast with the technical jargon, be sure to let me know and I'll just tone it down a little for those who move their lips while reading the pictures.
We also saw one of these.
sloth
Creepiest little fuckers I've ever seen. And trust me, I've seen a lot.
And lastly, there was this:
steller sea lion
The Steller was stellar, what else can I say? Although really, if you stare at it from the right angle, it resembles little more than a giant, fresh turd. Believe me when I say that the smell wasn't nearly that bad.
I would post pictures of Mr. and Mrs. Yarn!, but they tend to avoid that sort of stuff; the witness protection plan being so strict and all.
More adventures in dyeing tomorrow.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Out for a Drink
This is all I got today, babies. A little pussy.
Had lunch with Janis and Mr. Yarn. Both lovely people, and I have a bunch of aquarium pix (I think) however Missy Moo is in the middle of her first sleepover and has just stabbed one of the other little girls in the eye (it'll heal) and the cat has taken up drinking.
Better post tomorrow, I promise. And in the meantime I can watch my stats soar from all the pervs googling for pussy ...
Friday, July 22, 2005
Dog Loves Me After All!
I've been busy bemoaning the fact that this week is pride week and that I'm working all weekend and would have to miss the Vancouver Dyke March which, I was firmly convinced, was happening this weekend.
It would seem that although I'm relatively proud, I'm not so good at the calendar thingie. It's NEXT weekend. I'm working the graveyard on Saturday but I'm off all day Friday and can make the time to go down and join the good folks in East Van on Saturday at noon.
Yay!
Let's just hope they don't kick me out for not being a "real" dyke ... I'm going to take my kid in the hopes that her cuteness will overwhelm them into ignoring that little fact.
Yes, there will be photos.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Tempest in a Teacup
OK, hopefully we've all gotten that out of our systems.
Joe and I have emailed back and forth, cordially, and I'd like to put this all behind us. Well, if I put much more behind me there's going to be some sort of law passed, but you know what I mean.
I have a great urge to now say "Birdies in their nest agree" in a sickly-sweet, coy tone, just like my mother used to do. I wanted to punch her every time she said it, and now she's over 70 I can possibly run fast enough to get away from her afterwards. I wouldn't count on it, though.
And now, in local news, I have a visitor! The lovely Janis and the hopefully-equally-lovely Mr. Yarn have decided to grace my fair city with their presence. We're getting together tomorrow and will eat lunch someplace fun (where I hopefully won't drop all of my food on my chest) and then spend some time at the Aquarium.
I haven't warned them yet that my husband's working graveyards, so I'm going to bring Her Surreal Highness with me so that he can sleep. Many pictures will be taken.
I just realized that I have no idea what she looks like. She's seen the photos on this blog, but maybe I should wear rabbit ears, just to be safe ...
I've Been Outed!
I made a post on May 14 regarding what I felt was a distasteful post on someone else's blog. I deliberately didn't link to him at that time, as I have always felt that although I'm going to say what I really feel about things, having spent far too many years sitting down and shutting up, that it's crass to link to someone if you're dissing them.
Which I was. Clearly. I felt that his post was pretty much over the line, and disrespectful of anyone who didn't knit with only fine fibres. I stand by (most of) my words of that evening.
Anyhow, seems that one of his ardent fans has told him I've been "dragging his name through the mud" (and they also seem to want to use me as a cat toy and claw me all up -- ouch!). Tonight he made a gentlemanly and thoughtful response to that comment, to my post, and to my blog in general.
The comment about dragging his name through the mud was clearly incorrect, as I have never until this point mentioned him by name or linked to his blog, however the spirit of that comment was accurate, and I am glad that he has supporters who defend him.
This is one of the reasons I don't do a Google search for "rabbitch". If someone loathes me, I don't want to know. Although now I'm strangely tempted to do so ...
I have said that I stand by most of my words of that evening. I still feel the same way as I did when I wrote it. The word that I do not stand behind is "bigot". It is a nasty word and I feel small for having used it.
I wrote him an email, thanking him for his post and apologizing for the use of the word. It is a strong word, loaded with perjorative implications and was clearly inappropriate in this case.
I believe I am big enough to admit when I am wrong. (I also believe that if I get a lot bigger I will be eligible for my own postal code.) I therefore publicly apologize and withdraw the term. I was a total assbeagle to use it in the first place; I was just very angry and hurt, both on my own behalf and on the behalf of anyone who knits with funfur or acrylic and who makes things that aren't quite "art".
I also reiterated what I have said more than once; his knitting and spinning are fantastic. I have less than half of his skill at this point in my career, and have learned things from reading his blog, for which I thank him.
And now, in the hopes that the fibre police won't kick in my door and take away my Rowan Magpie, I make the plea ... can't we all just get along?
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
For Those Who Would Mock The Afflicted
I present to you, a big rack of ass.
Really, dude, it looks like someone ate a clown and then puked.
We'll be working on this one later today.
Or digging a hole in the back 40.
Fish and Chimps
Oh dog.
My newly-dyed fleece looks like ass. Pepto-Bismol pink ass, reeking gently of cider vinegar.
The red is PINK, the purple alas is gone and in its place is PINK and the whole thing reeks like some sort of personal cleansing procedure gone horribly wrong. If sheep ever got into feminine hygiene, this is the sort of thing that they would smell like. Except more cidery.
Oh great, drunken sheepdouching. Just what the world needed.
I can only hope that in the cold, harsh light of morning, I can find some way to continue on, but hey, at least it's replaced the horrifying green cotton as my personal bete noir!
Stay tuned for photos. Or not.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Is There Life After Dyeing?
Apparently so. I'm still here.
I went out for another spinning lesson today, however I was late, we were going to ply but I didn't have enough ready, and my wheel sucks.
Goats.
And donkeys, more than likely.
Anyhow, couldn't get much of anything done until I switched to her lovely Ashford Traditional. I may or may not be keeping my clunker of a wheel, but I'm definitely getting me one of them there Ashfords!
Got stuck in traffic on the way home (took me two hours!) and after suitably refreshing our hot, sticky selves with ice cream cones, Eleanor and I decided we should take a run at dyeing the fleece we washed yesterday.
So, I spent a day and a half drying it, only for it to end up back here:
Behold, the fleece, leisurely soaking in a warm bath with some vinegar added. I could only find cider vinegar, however, and may never be able to eat fish and chips again. I added some soap, too. I couldn't remember if Diana had said to do so or not, and well, I couldn't see the harm.
We carefully gathered our serious and expensive tools of the trade.
These are, in order from left to right, a mug that says "Just Say No To Housework" and which has, for some reason, a cat sitting on a sofa licking its ass, a mug from Capilano College, a mug from Sprint Canada, a mug my friend gave me and which is impossible to use due to the nasty addition of a heart instead of a handle, a mug informing all and sundry that Beer has been the proud sponsor of casual sex since 1858 (I'm assuming it was all mead and stuff before that) and a mug advertising a company I worked for 15 years ago and which has since gone out of business. As has the logo on the outside of the cup, it would seem.
The Dubble Bubble cup behind that row belongs to the cat. She won't drink water out of a bowl on the floor.
Shut up.
An aerial view of the carefully measured and mixed high quality dyes.
OK, I bought them at the Super Store just after Easter when they had overstocked. I paid 35 cents (Canadian, even) per package of six colours.
I love the blue, which is unfortunate, considering what happened later. (This, dear readers, is a literary device known as foreshadowing. Take note of it; it will be on the final.)
I poured in the dye, as per Missy Eleanor's detailed instructions, and got this:
Hey, it's Pride week here in Vancouver -- I could get me my own little rainbow flag!
After soaking for an hour or two and checking repeatedly, I resigned myself to the fact that the dye wasn't going to exhaust and washed it all out.
This:
is now drying on The Rack (I'm starting to sound like the Spanish Inquisition, aren't I, with the racks and the orifice tools and all ...). I think it looks sort of like cotton candy. We won't really know what the hell it's done until after it's dry and carded and spun, but I'm pretty pleased with it in spite of the paleness of the colours.
Stay tuned for more Adventures in FibreLand.
Monday, July 18, 2005
How To Have Fun on a Hot Summer's Day
First, take one tub of warm water. Add a bunch of cheap-assed dishwashing soap, thusly.
Secondly, boil some water, so the water in the tub is really hot.
Next, open up a can of whup-ass. Or, if you are a little short on the whup-ass this week, a large black plastic can of sheep-ass, mixed with a little fleece.
Then, entice a small person who doesn't much like sheep shit but who hates being left out, to assist you in this endeavour.
Get her to keep adding the fleece to the water until you get this:
Switch it back and forth between two bins of very hot water, making sure not to agitate it. One way to agitate fleece is to start talking about politics. Mention it at your peril.
Keep transferring it from one tub to the other, changing the water between each transfer, until it changes nationality or until it stops leaking lanolin all over the place.
Haul it all out of the water, admiring it profusely and patting yourself on the back the whole time.
Again, in the time-honoured tradition of Kathy Lee, encourage your under-aged labourer to complete the task for you. Hope that the shackles are not visible in the picture.
Put all of the washed fleece into a dry tub and take provocative pictures of it. Hope you are not arrested for pornography.
Fake up some bizarre drying-rack dealie out of part of a little clothes-horse you found in the storage room.
Take a close-up, because you are a complete and utter fibergeek.
Dance.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Blatant Theft and Vintage Hilarity
I'm running on less than three hours of sleep today. Graveyard shift coupled with small unrestful child makes for poor bloggery.
I shall, therefore, without further ado, bid my own originality adieu and steal directly from Franklin's blog, because I'm sort of a tit like that. In fact, I'm stealing from his COMMENTS -- how lame is that? This, from birdfarm over at MadTeach, is one of the funniest sites I've seen in a while.
Better blogging when I've had more sleep. For now, I leave you with this ...
Ingeborg smiled to herself. Oh yes, she was "ready to rumble", indeed.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Everybody's Talkin' At Me
And, apparently, I don't hear a word they say.
In lieu of any real blog fodder tonight I have, for your reading pleasure, answers to questions asked so long ago you've probably stopped caring about them, and follow-ups to comments made by people who have forgotten who the hell I am.
Gimme a break, k? Today's my bloggiversary (yes, I will try for any sort of sympathy I can get -- good of you to mention it) and I must say that, looking back upon the sea of drunken rhetoric interspersed with all-too-frequent obscenity that I have left in my wake, I don't think that Crazy Aunt Purl can be the only one to be a little embarrassed about all the TALKING, you know?
Item #1 -- Hey, Lucia! Umm, hi! I like your style. You commented like way back on February 27th and I didn't see it until now. I don't usually obsessively read my own blog, but usually I at least check out the comments. My bad.
Item #2 -- Regarding my February 21 post, thank you Stitchy, I was flattered and understood completely what you meant. I've always thought I was a throwback to the '40s. And no, Marlene, seeing my grandpa was like a preaching kinda guy I think the swearage was likely kept to a minimum.
Item #3 -- dragon knitter, I got the wound in my February 20 post through my stupid eczema. I'm allergic to everything (especially including stress), and apparently my thumb decided to protest its exposure to something or other. I am pleased to say that today, a mere five months later, I am (insert televangelist's voice here) healed!
Item #4 -- Alice, are you still alive? I haven't gotten an address from you (from our March interaction) and you haven't posted since April.
Item #5 -- April 30. MarQ1 asked how I was going to dye the wool, and what it was going to be when it was done. I'm going to dye it in either my big pasta pot or in Rubbermaid tubs. What it's going to be depends on what it looks like. Eleanor gets to choose the colours. I need a shawl, and perhaps it will become one of those. Maybe even woven on my new loom! He also asked if egg dye was permanent on anything other than formica countertops and children's clothing ... I suspect it may also be permanent on anything I'm wearing and possibly the carpet or the tile floor in the kitchen.
Item #6 -- Vicki, you responded to about ten posts or something in April and I never said a word in return. Clearly, I am a twat, forgive me. And I hope you got the job you were hoping for back then. And Holly thank you also, you have the cutest dogs, and cats. I love reading your blog.
Item #7 -- Tuesday, April 5. Yes, Gwyn, I will marry you. Or be your best friend. Either works. Both.
Item #8 -- I never did cast on The Chicken Hat. I suck ass. Thanks to everyone who participated. I may make one yet.
Item #9 -- May 31, yes Hockey Mom, you may use the term "all full up", as may anyone else who feels the same way.
Item #10 -- May 30, yes Cathy, you may use my drum carder, but unless your spare room is astounding, I'll never get my stash in there. Let's just trade back and forth for a bit, mmkay? And yes, Susan, I will share the karma. You're close enough for me to bring some in person. Coffee, soon-ish? I do think you're supposed to pay for it somehow and somewhere, Quinnbee, but I don't think it costs very much. A quarter will do.
Item #11 -- May 26, again with the comment from Susan, I plan on dyeing it with easter-egg dye I got on discount from the Stupid Store (aka SuperStore). 35 cents a box and I hear it is good for yarn. Might as well try, nothing to lose but some free wool and cheap dye.
Item #12 -- you are so stalking me, missy, and if I hadn't lost your address I'd be sending you some bunnie slippers right soon. Email me again will you, Miss Bunnie Balls, with your snailmail addie and I'll make sure you get them shortly.
An aside here. Miss Bunnie Balls, who is and always will remain anonymous, is TOO a stalker, no matter what she says, and also a truly magnificent person from way back. About four years ago when my car blew up, I called a friend at the college to take me home, with my small child in tow. My vehicle had blown the fuel pump I do believe. And the alternator at the same time. It was something truly awful and Ben wasn't working and daycare was $850 a month and I was fucked. I stood in the driveway, after Dave, who is also one of the best human beings I know, had driven me home and I said out loud "universe, I need some sort of miracle; my car is dead and I can't fix it ... help me out here". I went into the house and checked my email and there was a message from a total stranger saying "Janice, I will send you the money for your car. How much is it?" I wrote back saying "Um, who are you? And why are you offering? I don't want to be counting the gift horse's teeth but this is strange." And she wrote back saying that she had been in the same place years before, that she had been reading my spewings on usenet and thought that a) I was funnier than fuck (I think she was too much of a lady to actually say fuck) and b) she had never known anyone who worked harder than I did and c) she had it, I needed it, and she wanted to do it so I should shut up and take it.
And so I said well, it's lotsmumblehundred dollars, and she said that's fine, shut up and take it and gimme a Western Union office to send it to.
And so up I shut, and send it she did. And it was a gimme, not a loan. And so because I wasn't allowed to pay it back, I've been trying to pay it forward ever since. Karma needs to be passed around.
And that's why she needs some kitty or bunnie slippers. Send an address, sillyperson; I've lost the packing material from the bunnie balls and don't have it any more.
Item #13 -- Danielle had some good suggestions as to keeping the wool-eating bugs away and hiding my stinky wool. Go look at the lovely stuff she's spinning!
Item #14 - May 14th post. I won't name the knitter for those who don't know him, but I'm glad that some folks after reading my post got the courage to keep knitting in spite of the slings and arrows. Yes acrylic squeaks, yes, it's not as "nice" to knit with as expensive fibres, and yes, it has its place. Anyone who thinks differently or who feels they can dictate the fibre or the items that someone chooses can bite my large wobbly white ass.
Nuff said.
Item #15 -- May 12 Emma, it's because he's terminally lazy, but he's been working for five weeks now and we'll be ok again financially by the end of September, thank dog.
Carma, if you've had a fleece in your trunk for a couple of years, I think it's time you embraced the dark side and got yourself a wheel. No fleece should be forced to languish that long.
Item #16 -- May 12 again, Laura, a beer in this neck of the woods is about 12 ounces, so ONE in your part of town would be all that you could have before driving. I would recommend having three or four, and then taking a cab or a bus, myself.
Item #17 - Chela Jane accuses me of enticing her to blog. My evil continues to spread. Go read her, she's good.
Item #18 -- Yes, MarQ1, I always call "weddings" "weedings". It's a holdover from my old usenet days. Indulge me, please. I am weird. And Kathy, I can't make your link work, but no the bed isn't on the floor, there is a frame under it. And it isn't mine anyhow, it's Ben's bed. I stopped sleeping in the same room as him when the snoring got too bad. I sleep with my kid now and am far less grumpy.
Item #19 -- Thank you knitbrarian for the info about the Harlot's Vancouver appearance, however I'm still going to have to go to Seattle, as that is the day my mother in law is getting married. Damn Steph anyhow for not checking with me first!
Item #20 -- a "breast mouse" is a collection of cells that decide to hang out together and make a huge lump in your boob. The first time you feel it you think you're going to die 'cause you have this huge lump. It's very scary but it's absolutely nothing. My surgeon told me I could wait ten years to have it taken out if I felt like it 'cause it's never going to go bad. I figure he should know, seeing he's the guy who saved my father's life 5 years ago.
I wouldn't recommend a core biopsy to anyone, it's horrible, they freeze you up and then suck this thing like a core geological sample out of you with a wide-bore needle, but it's reassuring as hell to get the lab reports back later. And a month later when your boob looks like a boob again and not a watermelon, that's cool too.
Item #21 -- June 16 -- the loom just arrived, anonymous, and is on the way in, not out.
Item #22 -- Liz, I demand pix of your poodle perm with the bangs sticking up. I was brave enough to post mine, girl; now it's your turn!
Item #23 -- Last, but not least, thank dog, becuase I'm getting very tired, yes, Franklin, you may call me any time you'd like. Email me at bunniegirl@shaw.ca and I'll give you my number.
I can't tell you how much fun I've had with this blog over the last year. I recently picked up some old medical records of mine, complete with 20-year-old psychiatric reports (yes, I was nuts for a bit). According to those, by my interpretation, this blog is one of the healthiest things I could have chosen to do. Well, apart from killing my parents with a ball-peen hammer. But I don't have one.
Anyhow lastly, a huge thank you to everyone who's been reading and commenting over the last year. You're all sick. Get help. But make sure you get help someplace they have internet access, mmkay?
And that's all I have to say.
xo
Rabbitch
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Sultans of String
Today I went for my first spinning lesson. I found out that a) I don't know how long it takes to drive anywhere, b) I could get lost in my own bathroom, c) some of the stuff I've been doing is all wrong and d) some of what I've been doing is all right, and I can make yarn that actually looks like yarn.
And here, an artsy-fartsy shot of the string.
I may never sleep again.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Recycling is Good
Really it is.
Honest.
That's got to be why I threw myself in the recycling bin tonight.
Went to take out some boxes and newspapers. We have this insanely steep bit at the back of the house, and I'm always worried about Eleanor slipping on it.
Stepped down on it in my sandals, stepped on the shitpile of detritus that's leaked out of the yard waste bags (dried pine needles mostly), feet went in one direction, body went in the other. I landed on my right hip with my right arm in the recycling box.
Managed to get out before they came to pick me up in the morning, but I'm going to have rather a lot of pretty bruises. Nothing broken and thank dog it was pitch dark so nobody saw me (apart from any neighbours who may have night goggles trained on my house).
Mostly all that's hurt is my right hip, all down my ribcage under my right arm, and the heel of my left hand.
I'll be sure to post pictures if the bruises are pretty.
In the meantime, remember to recycle. It's good for everyone.
Honest.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
I Cannot Find My Thingie
Observe, my dining room table. Observe the fact that it only has three legs. Observe the fact that there is a ratchet thingie lying on the floor in front of it. I have been using this; therefore I am clearly butch.
Please do not observe the fact that a) there are newspapers and other unidentified or identifiable shit all over the floor, b) there are even more stains and c) It is July 10 and I have been in this apartment without a table for 8 months.
The latter is untrue, it's only been broken since January or so.
Yes, I know it is now July.
Shut up.
The cat strongly disapproves of the three-leggedness of this table, as you can clearly see. (The box with the duct tape on it is my new loom.)
So I decided tonight to get all efficient and find the piece I need to fix this table so that my daughter can paint and I can make stitch markers.
Remember way back when, when I was out at Ukranian Tire, being all carpenterly and stuff, when I went to look for a 3" piece of 5/16 threaded rod and impressed the guy in the business suit? Yeah, that piece. The piece I didn't get. Anyhow I figured that I can either use the carriage bolt that I got instead and fuck about with a bunch of washers to make it work, or can mess with the existing rod and make that work (as I'm not interested in driving 75km to get a new 25-cent piece of rod for which I will have to pay three dollars).
I cannot find the thingie. The rod deelie. The whatsits. My best guess is that it's somewhere in the "toss it on there until we're all sorted out" cabinet.
Jesus wept.
No table for me, I guess.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
Oh I Think I Just Broke Something
Not to worry -- the injury is from laughing this time, rather than from one of the peculiar domestic mishaps that seem to plague our charming ItGirl (who never posts because she hates me. Or because she's having a life or something).
No, this injury has nothing to do with broken ankles, the 12 stitches I needed in my ass after falling into a hot tub (story for another day) or any of the violence and shit that seems to have taken over the world lo, this last couple thousand years.
This injury is, in fact, pretty much confined to my stomach muscles (my what? who knew?) after spending an evening reading the words of Mark Morford over at something called SF Gate. Something to do with San Francisco, I suppose. I know nothing; I'm about as wordly as the five-day-old kittens I got to smoosh on for a bit today (and yes, we're taking one home in six weeks. shut up.) so I'd never heard of it or him before today.
Hilarious writer, sometimes a little overly heavy on the America-bashing but hell, sometimes someone's gotta say it ... and I've got a couple dozen friends who would stop talking to me if it were I who did so. And I couldn't do it that well anyhow.
Hee! Go read him. Then, after you change your underwear, come back and thank me.
You're welcome.
My Week
Apart from the publicly-enacted hysteria, my week has also been busy with other things, for instance:
yes, I am painted like a cat. this is my birthday party. piss off.
Fear of cat? Quite a bit. Fear of cabling?
Not so much.
Missy Moo had her 5th birthday party, followed by her "real birthday" a few days later and then her "birthday shopping day" today. Some may feel that this was excessive. I'm just pleased she didn't demand three cakes because I'm so easy I'd have caved pretty much immediately.
I also decided to take a run at a secret project involving cables. Fuck of a lot easier to learn than casting on and off was.
And now I can't show you the project again until after it's been mailed off and received. This stuff goes so beautifully quickly that I think it'll be done by the end of the weekend.
I sense a new obsession coming on ...
Thursday, July 07, 2005
She's OK!
Couldn't think of a clever title for this post.
My friend was already in Manchester by the time they started blowing up London. She's home, safe and sound.
Thank you, everyone.
Down on your knees, motherfuckers
And the fatherfuckers too, please. And also those who are not fucking anyone at all, if you don't mind.
London seems to have just been blown up.
I'm still not quite sure what has happened. Neither is anyone else, it's all too new and scary. All I know is that I have a friend coming home from Manchester today and she's slated to take off within the next hour or so.
I have no idea if she made it to the airport. I have no idea if she was on the subway or on a bus. I have no idea if her plane will make it out.
She went to England to take her husband's ashes back to his family. He died two years ago from pancreatic cancer, a long and painful process, and she finally got her shit together enough to take him home and get some closure, and now this.
She was part of the whole weird process when my husband and I got together almost ten years ago (a story for another day). When we finally got hitched, we had a honeymoon cottage all lined up in Gray's Harbour and then the owner of the cabin went in to do some upgrades, moved the toilet and trashed his hip to the point where he needed a hip replacement (again) and the cabin didn't have a toilet.
We thought that although a remote cabin was romantic, a remote cabin without a toilet was just ... icky. I told patty-anne about this (she insists on the lower case letters, btw) and she said "I have a room downstairs that is totally private and has its own bathroom. We are three minutes from the beach. How long may we have you for?" She is so gracious that she made it seem like we were doing HER a favour by staying with her for our honeymoon.
So we went there and we went to the Da Vinci display at the Victoria Museum or whatever it's called, and we ate and hung out and walked on the beach and got coffee in bed (delivered by her and a very enthusiastic dog) every morning and it was the Best. Time. Ever.
She has been through a whole lot of crap, much of which is hers to tell, not mine, but she is a remarkable lady.
And now ... she might be at the airport ... she might be on a bus ... she might be on the subway ... she might even be dead.
So I'm freaking a little.
So yeah, motherfuckers, fatherfuckers, selffuckers and nobody at all fuckers, if you'd do me the favour of getting right down on your knees and talking to whatever deity you converse with, I'd appreciate it. If you don't have a deity, mine doesn't require a whole lot of introductory stuff and doesn't mind if you never talk to it again, so talk to it, mmkay?
I'll know within 12 hours if she's all right, I think. In the meantime, I'm just going to try to keep breathing.
And praying.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Quick Update
Crisis (narrowly) averted, rent paid with a dollar to spare (*whew*) and Her Majesty also managed to get some sort of birthday.
Photos to follow shortly. For now, I'm heading to bed, working the midnight tonight due to one of my COWorker's decision to sprain her foot ...
Happy for the extra cash, will regret the lack of sleep.
Stay tuned, real update on Friday.
Sunday, July 03, 2005
Doofus
Through a total lack of fiscal management (for which I take complete responsibility) I've gotten myself in a mess.
Not up to posting for a couple of days, but this, too, will pass.
See you later in the week, not to worry.
Friday, July 01, 2005
I Am Not An Obsessive Bitch
Therefore it will likely surprise some of you to learn that this is not my entire stash of beads.
I think I paid for four packages of jewelry findings, two packages of beads, one set of wire cutters (dollar store) and two sets of needle-nosed pliers (ditto). The rest is the result of startling generosity of friends and acquaintances.
Now if only I could find the fucking aforementioned pliers I'd be laughing ...
On a completely unrelated note, if anyone's going to be staying in Vancouver at any point in the near future and wants to stay somewhere special, check out Hamersley House. It's a fantastically beautiful bed and breakfast, and it's owned by my new landlords. They spent years fixing it up and they done good.
No, my house doesn't look like that.
Dammet.
