Saturday, December 31, 2005

 

Lady of the Evening


Or Creature of the Night?

As of today I am officially off day shifts and will henceforth, for about two years, work the graveyard shift from 10pm to 6am, Monday to Friday. Tonight and tomorrow are the end of my old line and are just coincidentally graveyard shifts.

This will mean a lot more money, and a lot less work, at least at first. (What? I'm getting a 35% raise to do less at work? Cool, can I do overtime?) We're changing a bunch of stuff at work and I'll be doing a ton of work later on, but for the first three or four weeks I'm going to have a little paperwork and large amounts of knitting time.

Which is sort of a pity, as we all know I can't knit worth a damn. The more uncouth amongst us might even refer to me as a "fake knitter", although I don't think I'm quite fast enough to earn that title yet.

I'm thinking I'll finish up a couple of things I've promised people. I need four more of the dreaded green dishcloths, and have just enough cotton left to complete them. Unfortunately I don't think I can card or spin at work or I'd be doing that, too. I need me one of those tiny portable wheels, clearly. (This new job will also mean that I have postage money to mail off the four boxes that are sitting here waiting. Yay! To anyone who is waiting for something and who thinks I'm a deadbeat, I'm not, I've just been dead broke.)

The scarf I'm knitting for myself (finally!) is at about 25" and I think I'll put another 5-6" on it tonight at work. Anyone want a picture of a boring garterstitch cotton scarf? No? Oh well, I'll post one anyhow.

And now, the shameful truth. The Woman Who Owns Most of the Wool in the World doesn't have a cardigan. Not one. I have a machine-made shawl with moth holes in it and a machine-made shawl with stains. Nothing else.

After I actually catch up on all of my obligations so people don't want to commit slappage upon my face, perhaps it's time to knit something, like oh, an adult sweater? With sleeves?

(Or maybe a shawl. Not that godawful Clapotis. I'm still allergic.)

Stay tuned. I'm betting I'll just make dishcloths again.

Friday, December 30, 2005

 

Morning Has Broken


And so, seemingly, has my shower curtain.

My brother has borrowed my camera, so I can't show you this but oh dog I wish I could.

I just walked into the bathroom and my shower curtain liner (fortunately not the outer fabric curtain which I had custom made and I love) has met its demise.

When we first got the knittens there appeared a few rips and tears and mysterious holes in the shower curtain liner, and I sort of took it in stride, but the last few days have been ... well, let's just say the knittens have been vigorous in their attempts to keep the Western World safe from the evil of the vinyl curtain of the shower.

It would seem that Diamond, the black Chinese cat, has finally won his bid to defeat the blue vinyl menace. He's ripped half of it off, and was sitting triumphantly on its carcass about five minutes ago.

There was no point in beating him. I don't beat animals or children anyhow, and really, the thing was dead, no amount of anything (including duct tape) would be able to save it.

Guess I have to go spend another dollar, or deal with a very wet bathroom floor for a bit ...

Please excuse me while I gigglesnort madly.

Thursday, December 29, 2005

 

Nakedness, Arson and Cabling, Oh My!


Here I am on day one of my Plan In Which I Aim To Get Things Right Sorted Out (the astute will note that this is about an hour after my announcement that I am about to kick life's ass. This is known as foreshadowing. I've used it before, pay attention: this will be on the final.) and already The Christmas Wreaths are down, the tree is no more, and the lights are nestled snugly in their beds. Or in a cardboard box, whatever.

The car is loaded up with Tons of Crap (tm) to go to the dump tomorrow morning and, um, the house is still a complete disaster. Nevermind.

Speaking of complete disasters, working on xmass day was one of the more "interesting" days I have ever worked. You see, someone decided it would be amusing to set a couple of fires. In a hospital. On Christmas day.

Yes. Yes, I thought so too. Thank you for mentioning it.

Anyhow, all is well (or will be) and nobody got hurt, but the day was so insane that it took me until today to remember that on my way in to work that morning I met a man walking down the street. Downtown. In his boxer shorts.

Nothing else; no socks or shoes or shirt or a hankie or anything. Just wet boxer shorts (it was raining). It's gotta be a heck of a day at work to make me forget something like that for three days.

And that had to be one hell of a party.

Speaking of lousy Christmases (christmae?), has anyone noticed that Patti is having a "worst (or best) present ever" contest over on her blog? Hurry on over and join in. Don't try to top me on the worst present, though, unless you, like, got crabs for your birthday or something (ooh! I got 12 stitches on mine once, but that wasn't really a present and I'm digressing here). I've already posted about receiving a used bathrobe one year when I couldn't fly home for Christmas. This year I got something even better! My mother has written her memoirs, had them printed out, put them in a book and handed them to me, saying "you must tell me what you think of them." My mother is a good writer, don't get me wrong here, but um ... the family she lived in and the family I grew up in are completely different animals. I doubt she'll be mentioning the alcoholism, selfishness, inappropriate sexuality and constant emotional abuse.

But maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised.

And wasn't this a knit blog, or at least partially so? I apologize; this season brings out the worst in me.

Back to playing with string.

One of the best presents ever came from my brother. My brother with whom I didn't exchange gifts. He's invited me to attend a cabling workshop in January with him, to learn how to make kilt socks.

I can't think of much that would make me happier. Well, that is, unless his cables are better than mine ...

*g*

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

 

Christmas, Rehashed


The child slept until 8:30 and then got up and demolished the stockings. She was upset that there were no presents under the tree, but I explained that Santa had left them at Gramma's house and that was (marginally) cool.

She played with her stocking stuff(ers) and then went back to sleep, whereupon I snuck out, bought up every pink plastic toy in sight (at 50% off, thankyouverymuch) and went up to Gramma's and left them there (wrapped) so as to not be a liar.

She had expressed a wish for Ben and I to have presents as well, so I bought a purse and a kilo of coffee (both of which I needed) for me and some socks and underwear (again, needed) for Ben. I thought she might be miffed, but when push came to shove, all she wanted to know was which packages had her name on them.

She got a Bella Dancerella dance studio, some dolls and some makeup (she loves glittery stuff) from us, and a bunch of DVDs and clothes from my parents. All is well in her world.

As for the rest of the comments: I got out of cleaning up because that's my mother's house, not mine. If I tried to clean it up, I'd likely do something wrong and hear about it intermittently for the next 15 years. My mother seemed to like her earrings but I'll bet anyone $20 that I'll never once see her wearing them.

My cats stayed out of my tree, but I have no idea how or why. They pulled down a couple of strings of beads, that's it. Maybe it was just too skanky for them. The tree pictured there is my parents', and the penguin is due to my mother's obsession with them. They have a cat also but it wouldn't dare misbehave. I think it's scared of penguins.

And now it's time to pull all of this crap down and take charge of my life again. It's been kicking my ass a bit, of late.

Time to kick back.

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

 

Xmass, a Review in Pictures


The tree:


Out of focus, natch. Yes, that is a penguin on the top.

The partners in crime:


Do I make cute babies or what?

The Rabbitch:


hrm, I look sort of sad, here. I'm not. Not drunk, either.

The aftermath:


The good part is I don't have to clean this up.

We all survived, Christmas happened, and I have a better clue about how to prepare for next year. Last year it was all just fun and games but she's got demands this year, and by gum, she'd better get 'em!

Clearly, she's got me whipped.

The End

Monday, December 26, 2005

 

So Now It Begins


Here we are, on xmass eve (according to The Calendar of The Rabbitch) and a) we have just discovered that Santa is supposed to leave all of the presents HERE rather than up at my mother's place which is where we were planning on them being and where we told Her Majesty they would be; b) the presents have not been purchased; c) it is 11:48 on xmass eve which is really boxing day so the stores are closed and d) presents are expected for both me and daddy even though daddy and I had planned not to exchange anything this year (thus relieving me both of finishing The Christmas Knitting and also of stretching the nonexistent budget).

Oh yes, and all four cats have to get presents, too.

Gah.

Fortunately The Child sleeps very very late, and there are a few small gifts already purchased. I'll race to the moneyplace, the dollar store and then the store that hopefully has some sort of christmas toys left at deep, deep discounts and get back before she wakes in the morning.

Ben and I have worked out that I'm getting a kilo of coffee and a new pillow and he's getting socks and t-shirts.

Fuck The Christmas Knitting. We'll try again next year.

Gah.

Sunday, December 25, 2005

 

Merry Christmas, You Stinking Rabbit


Apparently, I reek.

I have been gifted with the most astonishing array of lovelystuff this Christkwanzzayulukka. Rachel H sent me a new computer mouse, not yet ruined by beer, so I'm very joyous. She also sent me a back massager and tons and tons of chocolate (some of which contained liquor --w00t!). Her Majesty got the best princess hat ever and some sparkly ballet slippers. There were also four balls of Regia sock yarn, so I guess I'm going to just have to suck it up and wear comfortable socks, dammet.

She also sent several scented candles.

Marie, one of my favourite blogstalkers, gave me a huge bag of cookies (and lots of chocolate -- do these ladies know me or what?) and some incredible violet alpaca yarn, with strict instructions to make something for ME rather than someone else.

Nothing scented there.

One of my coworkers gave me a PartyLite candle holder and a dozen tealights, scented.

I'm beginning to see a trend here. Everyone thinks that I deserve beautiful yarn, but that I also smell a little funky.

I am very much looking forward to attcking all of this lovely yarn. I also promise to wash more often.

Thank you, all, and may you and your families have a peaceful holiday festival, whatever you smellebrate.

Saturday, December 24, 2005

 

One Down


Actually a couple down. I bought two books for my father today (pretty much all you can get the guy apart from power tools, and as much as I bitch about my mother, I'm just not doing that).

Also completed are The Christmas Earrings:




First pair I've ever made, and I quite like them -- they don't have any blue in them; that's just the coat in the background. Like I said, she'll probably re-gift them to me, but if so I have some smaller beads so I can make more for her. One dorm boot is made, half of the husband's hat (we will not discuss the Fuzzy Feet at any point in time) and both of the boyfriend-in-law's dishcloths are complete (although no liquor has yet been bought on his behalf).

Gotta buy me some pink plastic delights for my daughter, or something with Dora the Explorer on it and I'm pretty much done, seeing The Brother and decided to give the badly-abused budgets a break and not exchange gifts this year (*whew*).

We celebrate on the 27th. I still have a chance.

Now would be a good time to start holding your breath.

Friday, December 23, 2005

 

I'm Still Here


Sorry, I was out drinking with The Family Stump.

They're utterly dreadful. Very talented musicians singing about very horrible things.

It was a hoot, down at The Railway Club.

It has made the completion of The Christmas Knitting a little less likely, however it was way worth it. I don't get out much.

I wandered around downtown, I actually chased down a vagrant and gave him $20 (don't tell my husband) and then went to a hotel where I was accosted by a security guard. I asked him very politely to help me find first a bathroom (damn that beer!) and then a taxi and he did both with great aplomb. I like being taken care of, it was very nice.

I'm now home and think I shall read a blog or two and then fall on my face.

And yes, I smell like a French Ho, yet again.

More tomorrow. Or not.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

 

Holy Snapping Kwanzaayul, Batman!


Good grief, with all the fuss going on around here, I have no idea what I can even call this holiday any more.

Is it any wonder that my knitting is equally confused?

I think not. I blame it on all of the politically-correct people who can't just suck it up and call it Christmas. Yes, you. You there, chewing on a candy cane and calling it a "Festivus Peppermint-Flavoured Walking-Stick-Shaped Confection". You. It's all your fault.

It certainly has nothing to do with my complete lack of organization and total inability to understand time; both the time of the day AND the time of the year. I am a dual-diagnosis temporally-impaired 'tard.

I prefer to be referred to as "special".

I have finished the earrings for my mother and will post a pic tomorrow. They're gorgeous. She will tell me how much she loves them. Then she'll tell me again an hour later. Then once more.

By this point I will know that she will wear them once, say they're "too heavy" and give them back to me for my birthday.

I just hope she gives me the gift box back too, it's sweet.

We will not discuss the knitting. It would be vulgar to do so.

Oh yes, and I think I broke my toe tonight. It's all swollen and the nail is black and it sort of hurts to walk on.

Nevermind.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

 

Tonight's Playlist


Theory of a Deadman - Santa Monica
Willie Nelson - Always on My Mind
Strauss - Mir ist der Ehre Widerfahren
Aerosmith - Dream On
Warren Zevon - Knockin' on Heaven's Door
Smashmouth - Walkin' on the Sun
Japan - I Second That Emotion (one of the most astonishingly romantic songs on earth)
Alice Cooper - I Never Cry
Bare Naked Ladies - Call and Answer
Chris Isaak - Wicked Game

And I'm off to bed.

dog, I love music. Gonna tune that damned guitar to middle C this week if it kills me.

 

Oh We Hate Cats



we hates them, my precioussss

Call the SPCA or something. Clearly there is cat abuse going on here.

Monday, December 19, 2005

 

It's Beginning to Look a Lot ...


... like the beginning of November, or something. Yeah. I could use about six weeks to get finished up here.

Notwithstanding the creeping sense of reality that is beginning to nibble at the edges of my delusion, I would like to point out that I actually ~am~ making some sort of progress.

Behold:


the second set of my two-set order of stitch markers; completed, as promised, before xmass

These were mailed today and will reach the recipient either Wednesday or Thursday. Yay for ExpressPost! Picture's a little fuzzy, apologies.

I took these up to my mother's house on the way to the post office and she liked them. A lot. She's never used a stitch marker in her life so I'm not going to give her a set now, but I'm going to make two of the ones with the plain green beads, put them on shepherd-hooks and ta-daa! Earrings. Some handmade slippers (specifically requested) and some custom-made earrings she can boast on (complete with antique glass beads) will pretty well take care of the presents for her.

I was going to give my brother's partner four dishcloths and a bottle of red wine, but I was busy knitting on the third dishcloth last night and fell so in love with the pale grey/blue/lilac soft-soft cotton that I was agonizing over casting it off when it reached dishcloth length. I sat there, waiting for someone to give me permission to keep on knitting it and make a scarf and maybe ... *shock* ... keep it for myself.

I finally gave myself a shake. I give EVERYThing I make away, no matter how much I love it. In fact if it's yarn and I love it I often have to give that away also. WTF? I'm not Mother Teresa, dude.

I'm a little tired of being invisible and waiting for permission. I can have a scarf. The boy can make do with two or three dishcloths and some liquor (he's not expecting anything and would be thrilled with even ONE dishcloth. One of the nicest men I've met.) I put the blue/grey/lilac on a spare needle and it will be finished after the festivities are over. She's mine.

I think I still have a chance of making the deadline for The Christmas Knitting. You'll note that even though I added one more item (the scarf) it's not really for Christmas so it doesn't count.

And I added the earrings for Mum but those will take an hour at most. And they're not knitting.

And I'm thinking about making slippers for my father, also, but those aren't officially on The List yet so shut up.

Just. Shut. Up.

I'm perfectly fine.

 

Door #1


To clarify about The Bathroom Door:

a) We work alone on the graveyard shift. We have to leave the door open to hear if the code alarms go off. If we don't hear the alarms and take appropriate action, people die.

b) No, it's not icky, as a rule. Our entire work area, which is a secure area into which nobody can enter without permission and into which nobody can see, is double-locked.

c) It is icky if unauthorized persons (i.e. the guards) come into the area without permission or warning.

d) The incident is being taken care of. We'll possibly both have to fill out some forms, Devon. Mine will have to be rewritten at least twice, as I don't believe they like to see "motherfuckers" quite so often as I would like to write it on an incident report form.

e) No, I'm not really getting a handgun. I may well get a baseball bat, though.

f) The incident was not repeated last night.

g) I'm going to go put up a Christmas tree now.

Sunday, December 18, 2005

 

Who Guards the Guardians?


Who watches the watchers? And who keeps us safe from those who are (foolishly) entrusted with our safety?

Dunno, but after last night's little office invasion by our so-called security force, I'm working with several pieces of furniture in front of the door. Sure, if we have a fire nobody will be able to rescue me, but seeing we've had two very upsetting incidents of people being where they shouldn't be (my fucking workspace, not theirs -- my workspace in which I am required to leave the bathroom door open so that I can respond to any alarms) in the last two weeks, and we've never had a fire, I'm willing to take my chances.

Reconsidering my husband's suggestion of a handgun (seriously).

I don't blog a whole lot about work, so 'nuff said, but I think you can tell I had a bad night. Heads are going to roll.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

 

Yowza


And I present, for your collective delight:


two washcloths

I shall pause whilst you ooh and aah a bit.

Done? Good, then let's continue.

Anyhow, this is evidence that at least ONE person is going to get something handmade this Christmas. These are intended for my brother's partner who is coming up to our house for xmass on the 27th. (Hubby and I work the 25th and 26th. Makes for difficult timing of festivities, but large paycheques.)

I had been going to roll a bunch of dishcloths up into cylinders and tie them with ribbon and stuff them in a nice red gauze wine bag that I have here, however I had sort of counted on getting BACK the dishcloths I made for the craft sale. Not one sold at the first sale and I was figuring at the very most one or two would sell at the second one, leaving me with at least a dozen on hand.

Unfortunately the girl that took them to the second craft sale has left town for two weeks and, despite my attempts to contact her, didn't return any of my calls before she left.

Disappointing, as I'm pretty sure there's a box of my stuff sitting in her room, and I'm going to have to re-knit a bunch of it, needlessly, really. (Also if any of it sold I wouldn't have minded having been given the cash for it, seeing I'm the one who paid for the whole table at the first craft sale and didn't see a penny out of it. And dude, it's xmass. And the shoes, and stuff.)

Oh well, I have tons of cotton (surprise!) and um, lots and lots of days to xmass (lots. shut up.), so I'll just cast on another dishcloth tonight. Think he'll get four, and a bottle of actual wine in the wine bag.

We will not discuss the rest of The Christmas Knitting. I can still get it done, even though I spent much of last night emptying the closet (couldn't just toss, tons and tons of hand-washed-and-dyed wool in there and some books I want) and spinning Kermit, who has nothing whatsoever to do with xmass.


but i think i'm in love with this little green guy

Lots. Of. Time.

Ooh! I'll bet I could do a pair of socks for Ben, too! I'll just cast those on now, shall I?

*cackle*

Friday, December 16, 2005

 

Cure for the Common Cold


Apparently the cure for the common cold involves dressing up in a very tight black dress (and a cobalt blue velvet cape), going out to a party, dancing like an assmonkey all night long and replacing almost all of your bodily fluids with red wine.

Alert the media.

I am told that I had a wonderful time, and everyone loves me. Of course they do, I give good party. Just not usually quite so ... vigorously.

Woke up half-dressed in the wrong bed this morning (fortunately my husband's) with a mouth tasting like the bottom of a parakeet's cage. Or perhaps the bottom of a parakeet. I'm not willing to do a taste test for comparison.

Unfortunately during all of this debauchery (my husband even danced with me!) no photographs were taken, so you'll just have to take my word for it that I was exceptionally hot and smelled like an expensive French ho (I wore perfume and body lotion! Opium if you're interested.) We even won one of the door prizes; a portable DVD player. Can't beat that.

God, I can't believe how badly I've needed a night out and for how long. That was truly excellent.

Slept late, late, late today and had a short and sweet shift at work. I'm now back home, all ready to do The Christmas Knitting.

But first ...




Um, my husband wants me to clean out the closet so we can use it for something else.

I'll start right after that, though. Promise.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

 

Oh The People You Meet


When you knit on the street.

I have been feeling sort of like ten pounds of shit in a five pound sack of late (did anyone notice?). The death of the car, the footwear malfunction (my only two pairs of shoes both have the left sole coming off. (WTF? Do I walk all wonky or something?), etc. etc.

On the way home from work while walking down the street (flapping my shoe all the way) I ran into a large, angry, very drunk African-American gentleman who was loudly shouting at passers-by "come on out and fight! It's a good day to die!" I was inclined to agree with him, as some paperwork I did this month didn't go through in time which will cause a certain reduction in the xmASS festivities and I have a nasty headcold that is making ominous bronchial rumblings. Sorta felt like that straw that pissed the camel off so much.

Anyhow, got on the Seabus and hauled out my knitting, thinking that if I were to go down with the ship, I'd at least go with knitting in my hands. The lady next to me kept looking over surreptitiously and at one point I caught her at it and smiled at her. She knits too, it would seem. We spent quite some time discussing the differences between Canadian and European knitting and she asked me if I'd like to make some little dolls that they send off to sick kids in Africa (kids dying of AIDS). And, you know, just the knitting chat and the new project and stuff cheered me up enough that despite the shitty shoes (and the fact that I was knitting with ACKrylic on fucking Susan Bates needles -- oh god I hate her stuff -- dammet) I decided to respectfully disagree with the drunken gentleman and hang around another day or two.

At least until I have all of this ACK knitted up.

And complete The Christmas Knitting.

 

Let's Put The Ass Back in Xmas


At this time of year, one of the holiest times for Christians, there is a big push on to "Keep the Christ in Christmas". I respect that, but it makes me wonder how this whole huge holiday thing came about.

I mean, a recent survey of the ten all-time favourite Christmas songs revealed that seven of them were written by Jews. People who don't believe that Christ was the Messiah at all, but who seem to have an ear for a catchy tune.

Frosty the Snowman, Santa Claus is Coming To Town, Jingle Bells ... these are not religious songs in case you haven't noticed.

This whole thing puzzles me. I mean I don't go running out to buy presents at Ramadan, I do not celebrate Eid, I don't put up Hanukka lights and stockings. Kwanzaa leaves me completely unaffected. But here I am, a non-Christian, caught up in the frenzy to celebrate the birth of the person I refer to as "grandma's imaginary friend".

I think the time has come for the separation of Church and Retail. I would like all of those who are celebrating a religious thingie to go to the left and frolic with glee and candles and nativity scenes and call it Christmas.

The rest of us, who have somehow gotten caught up in this consumerist frenzy, please form a line to the right. We shall now celebrate xmass and buy a lot of Barbies and cake and then eat turkey.

This does not mean that I am not religious. I would say that but then god would kick me in the ass. I receive instructions from my deity on a tediously-regular basis. It's just not the Xian dude.

And this does not mean that I don't believe in Jesus. I think he existed and I think he totally rocked the house, I just don't think he was any more the son of god than am I.

And I think both Jesus and my god are pretty much confused about how the purchase of "Transformers, Robots in Disguise" makes you holy.

Please feel free to ask me if you have any questions.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

 

Moving Forward


And viola, as the French say, my first ever stitch markers (and a set for which I've been paid, even!):




These are actually more orange than pink, and are larger beads than I would otherwise have chosen, however they are for someone who is almost blind but who still knits (and can still see bright colours). I thought this might work for her.

I need to mail off these and the next pair tomorrow or Thursday to have any hope of them arriving before Christmas.

Not that there's any pressure or anything.

Everyone else all done, I assume?

don't hit me

Monday, December 12, 2005

 

Getting a Grip


First up, we have exhibit a:


the knittage of the brother

I would post a picture of my chest all puffed up with pride but this is a family channel (ha!).

Inertia has me in its grip of late. Inertia or Ennui or one of those Greek Goddesses anyhow. Maybe even Angst. The fact that I managed to go to work (got called in for an extra shift, thank dog) with pants on is pretty much the high point of my day. Oh yes, and I made coffee, too.

That being said, and The Christmas Knitting only barely being started, it is clearly time to Get a Grip.

Therefore I have added another project to the Christmas Knitting List.

What, you thought I was going to give it up? Dude. I'm not THAT depressed, yet.

I have added a hat for a friend and a couple of sets of stitch markers for another friend. (yes, that's actually two projects) plus a hat for me (three. shut up.).

There is no hope of finishing any of this for Christmas. I shall, no doubt, add another project tomorrow.

I did start a hat for myself with that very chunky stuff I was spinning (and then plying and knitting right off the bobbin, a la Lee Ann) but, as you can see, this is Slightly Too Big.




Here is the knitting. It looks like that on purpose.




This hat shall therefore be my husband's Christmas gift. A hat's not so much, but a hat built from the sheep on up should be enough.

I've also finished the first of my mother's ghastly ACKrylic orange dorm boots with fun fur cuffs. She asked for them, honest. I think she was even sober at the time.

All I need to finish now is a couple of pairs of Fuzzy Feet and the stitch markers and a couple of other bits.

Not a freakin' hope.

Think I should cast on a cat bed or something?

Sunday, December 11, 2005

 

Words Fail Me


Car died.

Muffler dealie came detached from the um, manifold thingie? Yeah, that. No compression.

Big annoyance.

Walking a lot for a few, dudes. I've lost 12 lbs from the spinning obsession and the stress and the lack of eatage, might as well make it 25.

Fuck me.

(And if I keep losing weight at this rate, by this time next year you'll wanna. You know it.)

Saturday, December 10, 2005

 

Release The Hounds! And Then Make Them Roll Over and Play Dead.


So I seem to have agreed to babysit The Hounds of Hell tonight. All night. For a sleepover.

Somehow this made sense at the time to me, seeing the mother is the one who takes my daughter when I have to work graveyard shifts, however when the reality rolled around I was apprehensive (even though I've done this before).

My friend and I had a good chat, covering such diverse topics as text messaging etiquette, weight loss, housecleaning, and the imagined sex life of the people upstairs (and really, after I brought up the subject of her likely having a strap-on, both of us were pretty sorry we'd gone there).

Then, she told the kids (mine included) that they got ten more minutes and it was lights out, and that they weren't to irritate me, and she'd see them in the morning. Mwah, goodbye, and all that shit.

That's when I started to get a little antsy.

You see, here's my big secret. I don't like children. I never have. All that babysitting I did as a kid? Easy cash, no other reason. Lucre, baby, and the filthier the better.

I feel guilty about this. Clearly, "Ah Bahleev Thuh Childruhn Ahr Ahr Fyoochur" and all that (and is there a much more irritating song on the face of the earth?). I think children sense this guilt and, cunning little opportunists that they are, work it to the max and talk me into all sorts of bizarre concessions (such as midnight bedtimes and ice-cream breakfasts). I therefore expected all sorts of chaos to break loose the minute the sound of her tires faded.

They've been in bed half an hour. I think my daughter may still be awake and colouring. My bet is that the other two are asleep.

There has been no yelling, no hair-pulling, no demanding of pony rides and cheese sandwiches. Nothing but one comment that the child was getting a drink of water and going back to bed.

There has not been such bliss at 10pm in this house for many moons. Clearly I must forthwith and with haste make her the purple bunny that she has requested. Clearly she is magic and has The Power.

I believe I shall henceforth be worshipping at her feet.

I wonder if she does husbands? (so to speak).

Friday, December 09, 2005

 

Hello Jeebus? Are You Listening?


OK, so we have no money. None. As in ten extra dollars in expense sends me into a tailspin.

And we have a lot of debt. Like $31k or something (THANK YOU LEAKY CONDO BUILDING ASSHOELS I LOVE YOU).

And we have a shitty credit rating because of the debt stuff and the fact that I chose to go to part-time work for my daughter's kindergarten year so that I could be around for her and took a significant fiscal hit because of it.

And no matter what the long-term implications are, I stand behind that decision. She's a far-happier and more secure kidlet because of it.

However, because I am the sort of person who believes that totally stupid stuff happens sometimes, I've decided that we need to buy a house.

With no downpayment. And a shitty credit rating.

I sent an email tonight to a friend of mine who is a mortgage broker. I've seen at least three houses in an area we would be happy to live in, and for which the mortgage payment is about what our rent is.

The only stumbling blocks are, of course, the complete lack of downpayment, and the shitty credit rating.

So um, Jeebus? Even though I don't believe in you if you would be kind enough to make this happen then I won't tell my kid the truth about your dad, ok?

Everyone else, if you could cross all possible fingers and toes, discuss things with your deity and maybe do a dance or something, I'd really appreciate it.

Thanks In Advance.

 

Oh. Dear.


Do not do this at home. Or anywhere else for that matter.

Word to the wise.

 

The Christmas Knitting


I have not yet started The Christmas Knitting.

We are in a financial situation where, if I do not do any knitting, there will be no Christmas and yet ... even though I have not started The Christmas Knitting, or even The Spinning of Shit That We Need to do The Christmas Knitting, I have chosen a) to dye a large pot of Dorset wool, hoping to get more of that glorious yellow colour (which will be neither spun, gifted, woven nor knit for Christmas) and b) to spin some of Kermit, who has nothing to do with The Christmas Knitting whatsoever, and is in fact going to someone with so much going on in their lives that they would likely be happy to wait to April for it.

But I seem to think that The Christmas Knitting will all magically get done somehow.

This is my fantasy. Get out.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

 

Deck the Hos with Hunks of Holly


Or something.

My husband's company is having its Christmas party next week. We never go to any festive dealies, so I was surprised when he invited me. Even more surprised when I was able to get the night off work.

Gah!

So now I'm faced with finding $20 to get my $800 suit cleaned (yes, times have changed, Ch├ęz Lapin -- I used to wear stuff like that) or sliding my skanky ass into my "oh my god is that painted on get the children inside look away Ralph!" black dress.

Or wearing something matronly and appropriate.

I've lost a ton of weight. I think we all know which I'm going to choose, no?

I expect he'll either be made a manager or get canned by the end of the month, depending on how reliable my foundation garments prove to be.

I promise we'll have batteries in the camera before then.

Be brave. Buy liquor.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

 

Assault and Batteries, or Lack Thereof


No, I haven't been assaulted, relax. I also have no batteries (unless I choose to take them out of the Battery Operated Boyfriend and I think we all know how soon that's going to happen, don't we?) so there will be few, if any, photos in this post.

The assault to which I refer is the assult to my senses caused by the great pot of fleece soaking stenchfully in my bathtub. MAN, that stuff was DIRTY! The first wash, when poured down the drain, resembled nothing more than tea with milk in it. That's pretty dark, so I think you can imagine the odor. Not all of that brown was from spilled milkshakes, people!

It's in its third bath now and most of the brown (and most of the lanolin) is gone. I had to wash the last several laundry-baskets-full so quickly that I was only able to give them two washes and they're still pretty stinky, so I'm determined to do the rest of it slowly and thoroughly.

No matter how bad any of it smells, I have a feeling it will not reach the heights of reekage attained by The Harlot's friendly goat.

It's amazing either of us have any friends left, judging by how we smell.

Anyhow, this is some of the wool that was outside my front door and which got drenched. I didn't manage to wash all of it, as a) it was a monumental task and b) I'm a great big slacker. (I would also like to note here that I haven't received one word of apology about the soaking. I do believe my new landlord is some sort of ass-flavoured epithet, which is a dreadful pity after starting out so well. Maybe it's contagious or something.)

I had, of course, no intention of washing wool tonight. I had the evening all planned out; spin some more chunky wool and finish the hat that isn't going to fit me, spin some of Kermit:




Card and start spinning the glorious kid mohair I have earmarked for a couple of cabled headbands:


it's actually purple

and start on some handspun for Ann.

I'm thinking I might have some sort of "I can't actually do it if I've planned it" disease. Is it just the start to the Christmas season or am I an asslemming?

Don't answer that one.

 

Tonight's Play List


Bare Naked Ladies - Call and Answer
Johnny Cash -Hurt
Theory of a Deadman - Santa Monica
Nickelback - It's Been a While
Yo La Tengo - Yellow Sarong
Warren Zevon - Accidentally Like a Martyr
Willie Nelson - Always on My Mind
Harry Chapin - Taxi
Alice Cooper - I Never Cry
Johnny Cash - Desperado
Bare Naked Ladies - Alcohol
Beth Orton - She Cries Your Name
Garbage - Only Happy When it Rains
Mama Cass Elliot - Dream a Little Dream
Pavarotti - Puccini - Nessun Dorma

Well, if that isn't a bizarre playlist, what is? They weren't played all in that order, but they were all played. There were a couple of others in the middle there but that sort of sums it up.

I highly recommend both the Cash and the Pavarotti.

I went to a horrible play last year with a friend, and they were playing the Johnny Cash album in the lobby, I think it's "The Man Comes Around". Whatever the last one he made was, with all of the songs you wouldn't expect him to be singing. And as his beautiful, ancient, god-filled voice was singing, all she could say was "Oh god, that's the worst Desperado I've ever heard, I wish they could stop playing that." No respect, no reverence, no recognition of who he was. I think that was the beginning of the end of our friendship.

I still highly recommend the Cash.

Tigger and I are going to bed now.

xo, sweeties.

Monday, December 05, 2005

 

Creeping Senility


Have I used this title before? Possibly. I'm so senile I can't remember.

Spoze I could Google myself to find out, but they say if you do that too often you'll go blind, and I can't afford to go blind because I've just lost my second pair of glasses in three days.

This is fine, they aren't prescription, but rilly. Dude. I can't see the newspaper without them (and I'm having a little trouble seeing the screen actually ... I should get these things tested one day).

I also sent my hubby a "honey we really need to talk about stuff but not until January" email (so now he's in a snit that will likely last a month), forgot to put out the garbage, left my child's hood to her only warm winter coat at work and, although I can't fucking SEE and my computer/knitting area is in a dark corner of the house, cast on a BLACK scarf. Oh yes, and I sort of wrecked my computer mouse (with beer) so now one button doesn't work and I had to reverse the button function and keep forgetting and wondering why the mouse is being weird.

No, I'm not pregnant, not unless there's a star in the East and three wiseguys are coming up the walk with presents (and I'll bet you were all just dying for that information, weren't you?), so I'm thinking that senility is the only answer, no?

I'm going to sit in the dark here and work on my black scarf until things make more sense.

Send candles. And a flashlight.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

 

Welcome to the Dark Side, Honey


The brother, he knits.

The proof:




I do believe yet another dance is in order.

Drinks are on me! (And also on my mouse which is why only one button is working but that's another story).

 

Downtime


Not as in time to be down, but as in time when there is nobody else in the house and I'm actually not running about like a loon, trying to get ready for work. I might even get in a nap before my shift tonight, which would be nice (and likely wise).

I love working these graveyard shifts, and can't wait until I start doing them full-time on January 4. Last night was spent manually reviewing about 2600 records to compare birth dates and identify errors. And yes, I'm not being sarcastic, it brought joy to my slightly-ocd-little heart.

I can't get my own life in order, dammet, but I can sure as hell keep records straight.

My friend has taken Her Surreal Highness out for some sort of jollity, to be followed by an overnight at her house. She's even going to take her to school in the morning so I can get almost five hours of uninterrupted sleep (which is more than enough for me).

Faced with this vast amount of free time (somewhere around five hours) I should get started on my list of "things to do or people will come to your house and kill you", but I don't seem to be able to get motivated. I've done two loads of laundry and, of course, having absolutely no unfinished knitting projects (not to mention the no unfinished crocheting projects I also don't have), cast on a boring and tedious garter-stitch scarf that will eventually grace the neck of one of our more chemically-enhanced citizens at the downtown shelter.

Christmas knitting anyone? Not happening. At least not today, despite the fact that I have no cash whatsoever and if I don't do Christmas knitting there are going to be a lot of empty stockings hanging in front of my family's fireplace. Finishing several almost-done projects? Nope. Going to the post office to send off stuff that's ready to go? I doubt it. Finishing up some blankets that need maybe half an hour of work before they can go to the chillypeople on the streets? Forget about it. Making the rabbit that is all my friend wants in return for the 900 hours of childcare she's provided lately? As if.

Clearly I am as morally-bankrupt as the inc*stuous knittens (don't want that googled), and yet I feel no shame.

I do believe I may be a little burned out. Going to make toast and coffee and head to the bath with a trashy novel for a while.

Me relaxing? I think this may be one of the signs of the Apocalypso ...

Saturday, December 03, 2005

 

World AIDS Day


I can't believe I missed it. December 1, that's when it was.

But truly, every day is AIDS day. For anyone who has ever lost a friend or family member to this disease, there is no day that you ever, ever, forget about it.

I've lost, um, I dunno. I think I stopped counting at fourteen friends. I know people who have lost dozens. At some point we stop counting.

And we never forget.

If you have ever nursed a friend to the end, and watched a man barely in his forties vomit his life out into a blue plastic bowl for weeks on end ... no. No, you don't forget.

One day isn't enough.

(And wasn't this supposed to be a humour and ranting and knitting blog? Oh well, I've been serious twice this week, madness will start again tomorrow, I promise.)

But one day isn't enough. And one life is too many.

I dream of the day when people say "remember when ..." and it's a historical discussion, just like smallpox.

And so on this, late late AIDS day on this blog, I would like to remember my best friend, Martin. Come January he'll have been dead 11 years. I still have his ashes in a box. He's still my best friend. I haven't found another one yet.




I miss you, dude. And you didn't have to die two days before my birthday; you could have just told me you didn't have a present that year. I would have understood.

Rilly. Some people will do anything to avoid shopping.

 

You Kiss Your Mother In That Hat?


Ladies and Gents, it has come to my attention that there is a tragedy sweeping our fine nation.

A tragedy, nay, a plague, of epic proportions.

I refer, of course, to the badly-seamed machine-knit acrylic hat.

I understand the machine knitting (hell, I have a White 1602 that I have to get oiled up and going one of these days, seeing it does everything but bring you coffee in bed). I understand the acrylic -- it's inexpensive and comes in pretty colours. I even understand how the bad pattern-matching occurred. If you're doing piecework for like a nickel a hat or something, it's hard to give much of a damn whether half a flower is matched up with half a flower or with half a bunnie on the other side of the seam.

What I can't understand is a) how the bad patterns occurred and b) how the bad hat purchasing and wearing came to be.

To start with, the people who created the bad patterns for the bad hats have to have known that these patterns would not match up. Why not solid colours or, at worst, stripes? There is need for neither snowflakes nor for reindeer. We all know it's winter. Shut up and give us blue hats.

As for the wearing of same, if someone is in dire straits and is poor and cold (or perhaps living outdoors) then they will wear pretty much anything, up to and including a pirate's hat made of newspaper, if it will keep out some of the cold; however, many of these vile cranial concoctions I have spied were worn by those who were obviously far more well-heeled than the denizens of the refrigerator cartons under the bridge, and were likely actually purchased on purpose.

It is to weep.

I therefore pledge to do my best to eradicate this unsightly blot from the face of at least this city. I have tons of ACKrylic that I'm really not that fond of, having now fondled rather a lot of good natural fibre; therefore I shall attempt to turn at least some of it into hats for the local shelter.

Anyone into doing a Charity-Hat-Along-Without-Shitty-Patterns in January? If you're in the Vancouver area I'll even give you the ACKrylic for it.

The rich folks can pay me to make decent hats for them, but dammet, I'm going to give some dignity back to the crackhos.

Um, or something.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

 

Nothing Much


Nothing much tonight. I'm very tired. Woke at 5:20 (again) this morning and lay about in a stress-induced frenzy for a couple of hours until Sasha crawled into bed with me and got me all warm and relaxed, whereupon I fell into a very deep sleep. At 7:50.

The alarm goes off at 8:00.

I've been pretty much discombobulated all day, and seem to be fighting a cold here, so I'll leave you with this happy thought:

Some people are like slinkies. They exist for no discernible reason, however they still bring you joy and entertainment when you push them down the stairs.

More spinnage tomorrow, I promise.

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