Saturday, September 30, 2006
My 6am relief called in this morning about 1:00am, or actually his roommate did. He was too sick to come in.
My first thought was concern, as I care about this dude. My second thought was concern for me ... aren't I damned near dead from this lack of sleep thingie? Didn't I promise my girlfriend that I would take her kids tonight? Don't I have things that have to be done, such as laundry?
My third thought was, "Dude. I wonder how much knitting I can get done."
Anyhow, a) I think he'll be ok, b) they got someone to cover from 8:30 onwards so I got some sleep and got the laundry done and c) almost a whole mitten, apart from the thumb.
Knitting updates tomorrow, complete with pictures. Tonight it's "make the children shut up and then fall on your head" night.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Some assweasel keeps phoning and waking me. All day long. About once an hour.
Dear people, if you are going to phone me, please note that I do not answer the phone during the day, but if you call once and leave one message, there is a good chance I will return your call at some point.
Anyhow, the reason for this whine is that I'm so exhausted that I can't even get spinning or knitting or anything time. I'm completely trashed. Writing a rant (and I have two ... two ... ready for your reading pleasure) is completely out of the question until the weekend.
The good thing about having two rants half-way ready is that some time soon I'll be abusing two blogs at the same time. In between posting my favourite recipes for cheeseburgers and Ritz Cracker Mock Apple Pie and showing you how to crochet a cover for your toilet paper roll that looks JUST like a poodle, I shall no doubt find ample opportunity for a little ranting and raving.
In the meantime, please go feast your eyes on my new obsession. As soon as I get some time and some land, we're gonna have a few of these babies.
And now I'm heading to work. Likely not to work much.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
I had one of The. Worst. Nights. Ever. at work.
And now I'm sitting here and the only thing I can think of is this.
Anyone who works with me will understand. Anyone else will just have to call the lads with the white jackets to take me away.
And now, to bed.
Monday, September 25, 2006
When Not Too Drunk To Knit
I keep promising update photos on the knitting but of course I'm far too drunk to even knit most of the time, nevermind remembering to take photos.
Amazingly, some knitting seems to have been occurring in my home. I'll be awaiting another friendly email from the new
irish hiking scarf. elann.com peruvian highland wool. for that horrible norma's red scarf project
eris. for me. found, after hiding for several weeks. we don't know where it went but it seems to have a headache
the dreaded mitred-square baby blanket, now about 80% done. it's sort of eye-bleeding, isn't it? but it's for a (very) young new mom who will appreciate it
this may look like just a cuff but really it's a completed mitten. for that other do-gooding bitch's mitten challenge.
I'm now going to drop the kid off at gramma's, take a bottle of water to my husband (seeing he alleges that some bastard drank all of his water yesterday and didn't refill the bottle. Which would be more convincing if he didn't, like, work alone) and then pack up piles of knitting to take into work.
We have a new manager. I'm pretty sure she blows goats. Let's just say she's not inspiring me to do a lot of "extra" work tonight. Knitting will occur. Possibly quite a lot of it.
A Little Disappointing
|You Are 58% Evil|
You are evil, but you haven't yet mastered the dark side.
Fear not though - you are on your way to world domination.
Clearly this is fixed. I'm far more than 58% evil.
Thanks to Dharma for this one.
Don't Come 'Round Here No More
Those who are observant about that sort of thing may note that there is no longer an icon on the sidebar for a webring I used to be a member of.
The old admin. was cool, but overwhelmed. She asked me in October of last year if I'd take it over and I said yes even though I didn't have the time, but heard nothing more (so I wasn't sure if she was serious or just mocking me or maybe didn't get the email.)
Anyhow, this month I received an email saying that there was a new person taking care of it (yay! and it wasn't me!) and giving us instructions on how to get the new code we needed to put on our blogs.
I tried, three times, to do it and it didn't work. I sent an email asking for assistance and got back a message saying "Excuse me for asking, but are you drunk? Your info says you blog drunk a lot. No offense."
Large amounts of offense were taken. The code has been removed from my sidebar. They can get along without me.
And maybe in between knitting a yurt big enough for all of Mongolia and saving all of our homeless, I'll just start another ring.
You know, like in my copious free time and such.
In between being all earnest and world-saving and shit and working on the endless mitred square baby blanket (which is now over 80% done and you can see it real soon, honest, unless I forget) I have apparently overlooked introducing you to this blog, which seems to be written by a drunken lunatic with a killer dog.
No, I don't mean the dog is great (although he is -- Hi Petey!) but I suspect he also kills people and buries them in the back yard.
Go take a boo. Then come back. She'll make me seem sober, honest.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
I'll Never Sleep Again
OK, so I got me so het up about the last post that I wrote the Mayor and Council.
WTF? I think I may be way out of hand here.
Anyhow, here's what I wrote:
Dear Mayor Sullivan and Council:
I have long been concerned with the problems that we have with people living on our streets because of a lack of housing, affordable or otherwise. I mean, yes, affordable housing is an issue, but ~any~ sort of housing is an issue. My husband and I are both educated and employed, drug-free and generally law-abiding, and having been pretty much trashed financially by the leaky condo thing, have lived in all sorts of unsuitable places for the last few years.
We have been fortunate enough to be able to rent a house from the District of North Vancouver and we finally after three years of waiting and about 40-50 phone calls (I'm persistent) have a (mostly) decent house for a rent we can afford. We live, of course, with the spectre of being evicted at any time should the District decide to develop this land, but we consider ourselves extremely fortunate and believe that the District has no immediate plans to develop their land.
I'm one of those annoying do-gooder types and spend a lot of my time working to bring some comfort to those who are homeless or in need, through a program called Blankets for Canada. Basically we distribute handmade blankets acruss Canada to shelters or to anyone in need. I think we record about 6,000 blankets a year, although as many of our smaller chapters don't do the paperwork we ask them to do, we think it's closer to ten thousand. A drop in the bucket, really, but we do what we can.
Anyhow, there's a point to this (and I'm sure you're glad I'm finally getting to it). I have a blog and you can find it at http://rabbitch.blogspot.com/ if you're really interested but it's not necessary to go there. I tend to be a bit of a pottymouth and I'm sure I babble on about a lot of things that you have no interest in (I mean it's mostly a knitting and humour blog), however I wrote a post tonight about an idea that's been fermenting in my head for a while.
Why don't the people of Vancouver fund some housing for our neighbours who live on the street? I don't mean through taxes or whatever, I mean why don't WE pay for it? They're OUR neighbours and they're human beings; why don't we just stop pussyfooting about and do it? Isn't it time to step up to the plate and stop asking others to take care of our problems?
The gist of my post tonight was that there are what, about two million people in Vancouver? So I figure half of us are either too poor or too disinterested to participate. And about half of the remaining million are kids. But that leaves half a million people. If everyone put in just $1 a month into a fund, that would be six million dollars in a year. Couldn't land be found and a decent housing complex be built for that? I mean the condo complex I used to live in cost $15 million to put up but it had all fancy Italian marble tile and oak cabinets and brass hardware and vaulted ceilings and gas fireplaces and stuff. Couldn't something serviceable and nice be built for six million? I mean I know it wouldn't house the 1300 homeless but we could maybe get a hundred or so folks in from the cold.
Would Council consider doing something totally pie-in-the-sky like starting a fund that people in Vancouver who cared about their neighbours on the street could contribute to voluntarily, to build them some housing?
Is it totally bonkers to think that if there was a voluntary fund started that it wouldn't flop?
I sort of think it might fly, but then again I may have too much faith in my fellow man. I mean, I'd sure put in my buck a month and run a carwash or a bakesale or sell some knitting to raise funds. And if I raised $200 ... how many others could?
Isn't it time we took some responsibility for each other? Or should I just sit in the corner and eat some granola and sing kumbaya?
Anyhow, I'll stop here, but I'd really like you to think about calling on the good nature of our citizens to take care of each other and maybe just fix the problem without sitting around and waiting for someone to write some sort of legislation and figure out where to take the tax dollars from.
Half of me hopes they'll consider it. Half of me hopes they'll shoot it down so that I don't have to make it work.
WHAT was I thinking?
Boythink vs. Girlthink
This is a concept I've had hanging around in my head for a couple of years. And no, this isn't going to be a boy-bashing or girl-praising sort of post. Bear with me. I love both men and women but I really think we approach things differently.
We all know that men and women, in general, speak differently, right? I mean, it used to drive me NUTS ... I'd be in the car with Ben and I'd say "do you want to pull over at the next store and get a Coke?" Now what I SAID was "do YOU want to pull over and get a Coke?" Simple, right?
Not at all.
What I MEANT was ... "I'm thirsty, pull over, I'd like to get a Coke."
What he would hear me say is what I said: "Would YOU like to stop and get something to drink?" And he would answer the question that I had asked, which was, was HE thirsty. His response would be "No, I'm fine, let's keep going."
So what I was saying was that I was thirsty and wanted a drink. What he heard me doing was asking kindly after his welfare and he answered the question I'd asked. What I HEARD him responding was "No way bitch, you can die of thirst for all I care, I'm going to keep driving until I'm damned well ready to stop and I don't care if your EYEBALLS turn to dust, I'm not delaying this trip."
This, clearly, led to some difficulties. I've had to learn to be more literal and express my needs. The man cares for me and if I tell him I'm thirsty and want to pull over and get something, for sure he'll pull off at the next store and even go in and get it for me.
So now I say "I'm thirsty, pull over so I can get something. Do you want a drink too?" And he will say, "Oh sure, I'm not really thirsty but I'll pull over here and if you're going in you might as well get me something as well."
I must say that having learned to express my needs directly, while being foreign to my upbringing, has certainly led to fewer instances of us driving down the highway with him thinking all is fine and the birds are singing and the world couldn't be lovelier, while I'm sitting there fuming, trying to swallow the dust in my mouth while also trying to remember my lawyer's phone number.
Took me a long time to learn that one.
But this post isn't just about that. It's about an idea I've had fermenting in my noggin for a while; that perhaps we approach most things differently. In my experience men in general look at the big picture, single out one task, and have to do ALL of it before they move on to the next thing. Women do bits of everything and think that if they get 10% of 10 tasks done, that they're moving ahead.
One of the women I used to work with said that there had been a study done which proved that the ability to multitask was genetic (and she was a great big important PhD so she must have been right even though she was also a giant screaming unwashed bitch not that I had issues with her or anything) and that in general women could do it and, in general, that men could not.
I know that in my case if I have to get the laundry done, get the dishes done, and do eight other things at the same time, I have no problem with walking into the kitchen and washing four glasses, three plates, a frying pan and six pieces of cutlery and then putting them in the rack to dry while I go off and do something else, be it laundry, picking up the kid's toys, dyeing wool, or filing the taxes.
If I ask Ben why he won't do the dishes, the response is that he'd be glad to do them if I would take Eleanor out for three hours so he would have time to clean the kitchen.
He has to empty the sinks (yes we have a dish problem in case anyone was wondering) and clean them out. Put all of the cutlery in a large bowl with hot water and soap so it can soak. Then he has to rinse out both sinks, fill one with hot soapy water, fill one with hot clear water. And then he has to put towels on the counters and maybe haul in a couple of straight-back chairs and put towels on them, too. And then he has to wash every single dish in the kitchen, first in the soapy water, then in the rinse water, and lay them all out on the towels to dry. He has to do it all or none at all. (I will digress briefly here to say that in deference to my eczema he has washed dishes and filled just one rack of dishes twice this week, so it's not impossible it just goes against the grain.)
Me, I think if I happen to wash three or four cups and a couple of plates on my way through the room, well, that's a few more things that are clean that I can then bung in the cupboards when I pass through the room next when I interrupt whatever other thing I'm doing at the time.
And if I want a clean cup, well then there's four of them sitting right there!
I think this idea started burbling in my head when I worked at a certain community college. We had a need to generate large amounts of money so that we could offer scholarships to the top musicians coming out of high schools in BC, who we were losing to a certain well-funded college in the East which was able to offer them full scholarships for the year.
A man who was in charge of fundraising was coming up with fantastic ideas for getting large corporate sponsors to give us $50-100K with which we could set up big scholarship funds of $1500-$3000 a year, covering a student's entire tuition and book expenses. There was a woman who had been with the department for about 15 years or more who had a lot of good, small, fundraising ideas. Fundraisers that would have gotten us about a thousand dollars a term. Her ideas kept getting shot down and she was truly feeling frustrated about it.
I spoke to him about it one day, and said that I had been in the department for ten terms, and that if L had been allowed to run with her ideas, we would now have ten thousand dollars in the scholarship fund. He said "hell, you can't do anything with ten thousand dollars!" (please note here that the capital of the scholarship funds remain intact while the awards are given from the interest generated by those accounts). I said "well perhaps you can't offer a full scholarship from ten thousand dollars, but you could certainly give a current student who is living on bread and bananas a $300 cheque to buy groceries." He just looked at me and walked away. He had no response. I don't think he realized how much of a difference $75 more a month in grocery money could make to someone living on bread and bananas (we actually did have a student eat almost nothing but that for a full term).
I've been gone from the department for a year now, and I don't know if he's gotten his $100k donor yet, but I do know that if she had been allowed to run with her ideas, there would be another $2k in the account right now.
I'm betting that neither has happened.
Another example is the charity work I do. The Vancouver chapter of Blankets for Canada generates only about 100 blankets a year 'cause I do most of the running around and I don't have time to find enough people to help me. (Please note that the average knitted blanket takes 110 hours to make and the crocheted ones come in at about 60 hours, so this is no small accomplishment -- the people who knit and crochet for us are fantastic). I think that what we're doing has a real impact. Sure, we have 1300 people who are homeless and living on the streets. Because of what we do, 100 of them at least have a blanket to wrap in on cold nights.
So, um, I had a point here, but I've been up for 48 hours interspersed with brief naps and head-punching so I may not be expressing myself as clearly as I'd like.
I guess I keep hearing about our homeless problem and hearing about how we have to do these huge projects and I think ... ok, so there are about two million people in Vancouver. Let's say half of them are too poor or too uninterested to pitch in. And let's say half of the remaining million are kids. That's still half a million people. So instead of looking at how they can raise six million dollars to get a housing project going ... if every one of those remaining half a million folks tossed in one dollar a month, at the end of the year there'd be six million dollars.
It's a matter of increments. Percentages. Looking at the cumulative effect of small amounts rather than looking for the one grand gesture.
I think it might be a girl thing. And I think that maybe until I run the world (or at least the city) that nobody's going to do it.
Feel free to bash me for this, it's just a worm that was in my head for a while and I had to get it out. In fact if everyone starts fighting about it I might just delete the post.
Or, hell, I might just take my copious free time and start a fund and see if I can't raise the damned six million dollars to get some of our good people off the streets ...
Maybe after I sleep.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Noolie Needs your Nickels!
Julie's doing a walk for the Leukemia and Lymphoma society on September 30 ... that's just a week away.
She's at about 75% of her total donation amount. If you have a dollar (or heck, even a nickel) hop on over to her donation page and put out for a good cause, and get a chance to win some great prizes, too!
Go on -- it'll make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Guaranteed.
To Sleep, Perchance to Punch Myself in the Head
I'm gigglesnorting madly, as I quaff yet another bucket of coffee. I think the coffee's going to be all that keeps me alive today.
It certainly won't be the sleep.
You see, I'm not a tosser (all my UK friends may stop chuckling right now) or a turner or a flailer-abouter when I sleep. I'm the sort of person who, if the bed is made, can lift the corner of the quilt and slide under, and then in the morning, slide back out from under the quilt and not have to remake the bed.
This is a good thingie and such, as really I only make the bed about once a week, and that only recently since I decided that with the advent of new (free! Yay for people shacking up and giving me their living room suite!) furniture, it was time to start behaving as, well, even if we live like we're trailer trash, at least we might try to live like the sort of trailer trash who have a double-wide, you know?
But I digress.
This morning when I got home from work I discovered that not only was Ben up and ready to go to work, the sproglet was awake too. So I made lunch for Ben, urged Eleanor to put on some sort of outfit (purple Dora the Explorer pajama pants and an inside-out peacock blue turtleneck long-sleeved t-shirt. Kid gets her sense of style from me.) and piled everyone into the van so we could drive daddy to work. Got back home about 6:45 or so and Little Miss "I Never Eat Breakfast or get up before 10am" demanded eggs and toast. Made the eggs and toast, ate the yolks on some toast myself (she only eats the whites) and then crawled off to bed for what had dwindled to a possible two hours of sleep.
I was freezing cold and somehow managed to twist myself into some pretzelly-shape to try to get warm. And then, apparently about 15 minutes after I got warm enough to drift off, I decided to swear off my lifelong pledge of non-flailery and punch myself in the head.
Out of the blue. For no reason that I have yet been able to discern.
So, um, that was sort of it for the two hours of sleep. What with the punching and the hysterical laughing and then the further insane demands for food from the munchkin, those longed-for two hours of sleep turned into fifteen minutes of napping (and a second or two of punchery).
I'm off to face the day as best I can (birthday party, then housecleaning, then 8 hours of work) and I suspect that the coffee will be flowing like, um, like a flowy thing. That tastes of coffee.
If any of y'all happen to have made a voodoo doll of me and are making it punch itself in the head, would you be kind enough to stop it right about now?
Thank you in advance.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Now and Zen
I'm still here, folks, trying to maintain my oasis of Zenlike calm amidst the madness.
Let's see ... the schedule for the last couple of days:
Get home from work at 6:30am, make kid's lunch, do an hour of paperwork, realize the time, run around screaming in circles, get the kid dressed and take her, poorly-groomed, to school, only about two and a half minutes late.
Get home, find oneself unable to sleep due to the running in circles and screaming thingie. Have a bath, finally get warm enough, sleep three hours.
Get up, realize the time, run around screaming in circles, get the husband and the self dressed and take them, poorly-groomed, to school to pick up the child. Wait at the school for 45 minutes. Have a parent-teacher conference in which you discover that your supplies-choosing skills are flawed, and that you owe $5.
Discover that this year's teacher is a human being, and draw a huge sigh of relief.
Drive husband to school through a horrendous gridlock, swooping through a fast-food drive-through on the way for your first (and possibly only) "nourishment" of the day.
Drive home, realize that you have to go back out and buy some groceries, run around screaming for a bit, do some banking, buy groceries, come home, do laundry, wash dishes, bake cookies (watch out Martha Stewart) and make it to work (again poorly-groomed) only two minutes late.
Work all night.
Come home at 6:30am, try to get warm, search online for a knitted pattern for something horrible you are making for a friend, wake husband so he can go get uniform for new job. Make breakfast for child, sleep three hours, get up and go back to sleep for the next three or four hours, feeding child in the "waking up" portions of this routine. Get up, run around screaming for a bit, make coffee, fold laundry, wash dishes, clean carpet (unsupervised lunch incident), fold laundry, make more cookies (really, I'm not well), blog so that everyone knows you're alive, call mother-in-law to wish happy birthday, take a very fast shower, head to work.
Work all night.
Anticipated Saturday Schedule:
Leave work at 6am, find a way to buy a birthday present AND get home by 6:30. Sleep three hours, take child (likely poorly-groomed) to birthday party, come home, nap for about 45 minutes, pick up child, run around screaming for a bit, pack up food and knitting, head to work for the 4 to midnight shift (counting on husband being home by 3:30 from his 7-3 shift so that this is possible). Get to work, make coffee, read blogs (thank FSM for internest access at the "other" job), knit. Maybe run around screaming a bit.
Get home at midnight. Drink a bit.
Fall on face.
Yes. Positively Zenlike. Anyhow, that's why I'm not posting much. Watch for knitting updates on Sunday, methinks. I've finished another washcloth for myself (which I know gets you all moist with envy), am about a foot into the red scarf for that horrible Norma, am still stuck at 7" on Eris because I lost the damned thing for a week (don't ask) and I've got half a mitt completed for Ann's mitten drive.
And now I have about ten minutes to call my mother-in-law, grab a shower and pack food for the night before running out the door.
Don't you wish you were me? Admit it, c'mon. You do and we all know it.
ps dining room still looks good. we will not discuss the living room or kitchen
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
It's Talk Like a Pirate Day again, and not a moment afore time!
Today I got me faithful galleon back from the scurvy dogs who were holdin' her captive. I managed to get her away while losin' only about 80% of me treasure; a small price to pay for such a trusty vessel.
We shall once more be cruisin' the high seas (or perchance the highways) in search of unsuspectin' sheep (and llamas) (but no ducks) from whom to wrest their stinkin' fleece.
Fuck. Pirates don't say "whom" do they? I knew I wouldn't be able to keep it up for long.
Anyhow, I got the van back today, just in time for the first guild meeting of the season. Unfortunately I didn't get childcare arranged in time, as I assumed I wouldn't have the van, and so had to miss the meeting anyhow.
I had it booked off from work, so I decided to celebrate the day by ripping apart my dining room and giving it a bit of a facelift.
I still haven't gotten that great big mirror up on the wall anywhere -- it weighs about 80 lbs and I can't do it myself. As for the rest, I'm pleased.
Who's coming over for dinner?
Monday, September 18, 2006
Horseshoes and Hand Grenades
It would appear, dear friends, that I have completely lost my ability to count.
I have cast on two different items tonight, both in the same yarn, both with the newly-beloved cable cast-on method, both one stitch off. And, as we all know, in knitting (at least in most projects) "close" just isn't good enough.
WTF? Can the cable cast-on not be used with Elann.com's Peruvian Highland Wool? Am I doing something totally wrong? (And in case you're wondering, one item was one stitch over and one was one stitch under. Not only am I fucking up every single time, I'm doing it in new and interesting ways each time.) Am I perhaps drunk out of my mind and haven't noticed? (i usually notice stuff like that). Is this NEW MATH or something? I've always been scared of the New Math ... perhaps it's finally arrived Chéz Lapin to wreak its vengeance.
Have all of my UFOs finally gotten together and generated enough psychic energy to make it impossible for me to start something new while they languish in wooly purgatory?
Have I lost my Knitting Mojo?
The last one is the one I fear the most. As I sit, poised to start the third chart of Eris, this would be a really really bad time for that to happen.
I am going to try, one last time, to cast on for an Irish Hiking Scarf for that horrible do-gooding bitch Norma's Red Scarf Project. And if I end up with 43 stitches again, I'm just going to sit in the bathtub and cuss until the Math Police come and take me away.
Speaking of cussing, here is the blog I just discovered (thanks Cari!) of a boy who cusses as much as I do. And who is way more talented than I am in the knitting department. Especially tonight.
Go visit; he's fun!
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Yes, I am clearly an assgerbil and it should have been a cheesy fake German accent you were all singing in, not a cheesy fake French one. So if anyone's been singing with the wrong fake cheesy accent, please stop immediately and start again with the other one.
Thank you to everyone who pointed out that it was the lovely Miss D. who sang that. Clearly I should be taking more medication. I think I got her mixed up with Celine Dion or something.
So anyhow, as I wallow in a little embarrassment here, I shall try to divert your attention with a picture of the second finished mitt:
I love this mitt bigtime, and have immediately cast on a second pair, in lighter yarn and a smaller gauge, as MissyMoo has demanded a set of her own. (she tried to get me to let her go to sleep with these on tonight)
I have a horrible case of startitis tonight and we will not mention what else I've cast on. It's a sickness, I tellya. That or a surfeit of gorgeous yarn that I really need to fondle. I think I'll go with that one.
I will work on Eris again tomorrow night in the peace and quiet of work. Pictures of progress on Tuesday.
But anyhow, there you go. An FO. And for anyone who thought I couldn't produce one ... well ... FO.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Falling In Love Again ...
You have to sing that with a cheesy French accent, btw. If you have a genuine French accent, then please sing it with a cheesy English accent.
And no, I'm not falling in love again with Mister Assmuppet who is, yet again, proving to be the most selfish man on the planet (I'm not going to rant on and on here; I'm just too tired of dealing with it).
Rather, I am hopelessly in love with the cable cast-on. (and here you thought I was wasting my time at work actually working? hell no, i'm learning new knitting stuffs.)
Why did nobody tell me about this thing before? I shall expect you all to present notes from your mothers explaining this transgression.
Failure to do so shall result in ... aah, taunting or something. Or maybe I'll mail you some acrylic.
be kind, i'm still sick and not really up to being genuinely evil yet. gimme a week or so
edit: please note that an excellent explanation of the cable cast-on (and several others) can be found here. Enjoy!
Friday, September 15, 2006
I Guess It's Time ... For Me To Give Up
I guess it's time.
Called "my mechanic" yesterday. I know his fiancee's kid goes to my kid's school but I couldn't get his number, and the two numbers I have for him were out of service.
Damned if I'm letting The Annoying Small Hairy-Backed Frenchman fix my car again, seeing it looks like the problem is with the part he replaced last year. Which shouldn't need replacing for another 10 years or so. Yeah, that part.
So anyhow I drove to work last night and the van started SPEWING great gouts of smoke. This struck me as wrong.
I got to work in one (smelly) piece and worked all night. The van did the same thing on the way home this morning and I parked it at the side of the road and cabbed it home.
It was probably safe enough to drive home, but fuck that noise. I honestly thought it was on fire at one point.
Which, again, seems wrong. (I know you'll find it startling that I'm not a licenced mechanic myself, with this razor-sharp insight into the workings of the internal combustion engine.)
So it's being towed to a repair shop in the morning and on Monday they'll call me to give me an estimate and tell me if it's even worth doing surgery or if I should just have it put to sleep.
If they can fix the radiator and thermostat thingie enough that I can keep it going another year, then all is well. At this point I'll take six months. Um, but I've gotta have it back for Tuesday for the first guild meeting of the season.
Wish me luck. I've given up trying -- it's all in someone else's hands now. Me, I'm going to bed to try to get another hour of sleep before bussing it in to work tonight. Um, that is, if my babysitter can come early enough for me to bus it in.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
I got a couple more inches on Eris done last night, but of course my almost-broken camera doesn't want to cooperate and really I'm too lazy to put up with its tantrums right now. I'm almost at the end of the second chart. Of, like five. For the right-hand side of the collar alone. I'm not entirely sure what I was thinking when I took this on, seeing my only experience with cabling has been one headband but what the hell. It's not going to be perfect but it'll be great practice for my next one.
The wool, for those who asked, is Cascade 220 in colour 2401 - Cabernet. I really like it.
The car is getting sicker by the minute and I can't find my mechanic's phone number, so either it goes to a shop (where I will pay at least six times as much) or gets replaced tomorrow. I'm getting sicker too, it seems, and I really can't deal with it having to be filled twice and overheating once on a 15-km trip.
please note, the "getting sicker" of me is likely an illusion. i'm just drinking some tea that acts as an expectorant and we won't go into any nasty details but let's just say I'm not feeling fine right now.
Blrph. It's raining and I think I feel betrayed (isn't it supposed to be still summer?) and I also feel chilly (trying not to put on the heat until October).
I think I'll just sit in here and knit the rest of that blue mitt and sulk for a bit.
Pictures tomorrow. It's my "sleep-in" day so I'll be a little more human, promise.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
In Which Proof of Actual Knitting is Presented
I am still sick. Not dying, not sounding like a Canada Goose, but definitely snot-filled and sort of bronchitis-y. Nice. Just the time of year you exepct to get this sort of thingie.
The car is also still sick but due to an upturn in fortunate circumstances Chéz Lapin, it should shortly be if not in tip-top condition (because no way in hell am I going to invest that much cash in a 17-year-old van) at least in less danger of exploding on me as I merrily drive to work.
Which is good, as I usually have wool with me, sometimes good wool and I'll bet when the paramedics got to the scene of the explosion they wouldn't even THINK to pull the wool out of the wreckage. And oh FSM, what if I lost my Lantern Moons? It is to shudder.
So yeah, things are going ok, and I've been sticking to my Selfish September pledge and have been knitting for me, first every single day.
And here we have, lounging beside my favourite mug:
half of the second fingerless glove. i love this mug, ferociously. i have never been to vegas but now i don't need to since a coworker brought this back for me. it is full of very hot, very good coffee.
the first 4.5" of eris. observe the cabley goodness. observe that it will take me until three weeks after i'm dead if i continue at this pace. observe that i don't care, i'm a process knitter.
And now I have to go and do some laundry. It would appear that I don't do laundry while I'm on vacation. Neither do I do it while I'm sick. Unless I want to go to work commando, in my wedding dress, I'm thinking I'd better get on this.
Stay tuned for further painfully-slow knitting progress.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
That Time Already?
I seem to have lost all sense of time.
Those who know me will chortle to themselves, as they likely think I've never HAD a sense of time and in many ways that's so. I don't know how old my husband is, I don't know when anyone's birthday is, and I often don't know when I got married (the month OR the year).
I'm really not sure why any of it matters but I try, hard, as others seem to get their pants in a bunch when I get a year confused with a week and so on. I mean, I want to remember birthdays and things (and if you'd like me to remember yours please let me know a week before or something as I'm not entirely sure if I have a calendar anywhere. And if I do, you can be pretty sure it's not for this year.)
This is completely retarded. I used to be the TimeNazi. I took the Franklin Quest Time Management seminar and had a big fat zippered leather book with all of the details of everyone's life written down, with a list of tasks and all sorts of bizarre symbols, letters and numbers next to them. I was damned good at it too, even though the whole silliness was utterly foreign to me.
And then it all went kabloo somehow.
And I just can't do that any more. Or, well, I suppose I could if I had to, to support my family but really, I'd rather eat a nest of live fire ants.
(oh and did I mention I've been married twice, and the boys have their birthdays three days apart? Makes for an interesting um ... October. I'm pretty sure it's October.)
Anyhow, it seems that September has snuck up on me once again and I remembered just in the nick of time that this month is our anniversary. I even know it's our 8th, seeing I said recently that it was the 7th and was corrected by my husband who, thank FSM, thinks that this is amusing. He even had bets going with a couple of friends that I would forget our first anniversary, which I would have if someone who got married two days after me hadn't wished me a happy anniversary.
So yeah, I think I'll take him out for a nice dinner and pretend that I wasn't planning on knitting him something this year ...
Maybe he'll get slippers in October. Likely on my first husband's birthday, too.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
That's what the doctor said to me when I went to visit her today.
"Go home, drink fluids, shut up."
She didn't specify that the fluids should be beer but then again she didn't say they shouldn't, so ... *g*
Anyhow, apart from sounding like a Canada Goose -- that is when I can make a noise at all -- I'm actually feeling just fine. I spent the day knitting for myself and completed this:
Voila. My first fingerless glove.
The cast on was too loose. So was the bind off. The thumb has some hastily-inserted fancy stitching in the background so you can't see the holes where I got stupid when picking up the stitches.
I love it with a passion and have already cast on the next one. Pattern from Knitty, wool is Cascade 220 in denim, needles 5" Brittany Birch dpns.
Gonna go knit some more.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Literally. Seems that I've lost my voice somewhere. I have only fairly mild cold symptoms and not much of a cough, but no voice. A sort of squeaky/honky/whispery thing is the best I can manage and believe you me, it's sexay. Well, if you're some sort of freak, that is.
My daughter is, naturally, appreciating this situation, however apparently it's not so good for someone who has to call the emergency codes for six healthcare facilities (and who also answers the phone for all six) and so I've taken the night off work.
I've probably got about 3" of the collar of Eris done. Not much but I just did my first really freaky cabling thingie where you put three on a needle, knit two, then knit one off the needle and then do something or other else sort of scary (sorry, drug-enhanced memory here) and I got it done without blowing anything up. This pattern really is well-written.
I'm finding the Cascade is a little splittier than I'd like, and I wouldn't mind if the Addi needles had a slightly pointier point. Otherwise, all is good and the colour is utterly gorgeous. This baby's going to get finished.
It won't be perfect, but it'll be finished.
Due to the addition of drugs this evening, I'm not risking Eris but have been knitting on these fingerless gloves on my new Brittany Birch needles. I like the pattern but hate the picot bindoff so we're going to skip that step. I'm also not so sure about the Brittany needles. I think I ordered them too short (5" -- wtf was I thinking?) and they aren't as pointy as I like. I think it may just be a case of having been spoiled because the only other wood needles I've used have been Lantern Moons. The LMs were about four times the price ... and worth every penny.
I shall attempt to do something or other more constructive tomorrow, like maybe even take pix of the Eris progress, but right now I'm going to have to go lie on my head. I really don't feel bad but I'm thinking that getting 9 hours of sleep is going to be a little wiser than sitting up wrestling with knitting all night.
Talk to you tomorrow. Or to anyone, FSM willin' and the creek don't rise.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Selfish September, Day Four
Bah! I'm going back to work at my "real" job tonight. No more surfing the 'net and making snarky posts while knitting.
Oh well, it was good while it lasted.
I've been knitting for myself every single day and should have an Eris progress picture for tomorrow. Not a lot of progress, but it's there. I have also almost finished something else I've been going on about for oh, a year or more. I'm going to shut up until it's a finished object, just so everyone doesn't throw rotten tomatoes at my house or something. Because I know you're all like that.
And now, to distract you ...
Pictures of the Fair
a small child (mine), posing on a carousel
a large rabbit, pretending to be a harmless carousel animal
there were sheep. this was the cutest one
there were goats. most of them looked stoned
there was a small, shorn llama
there was a large, dirty, unshorn llama. it's not dead. it's just pining for the fjords
I was pretty disappointed by the lack of animals, in particular the lack of llamas and the maybe four, five sheep. Of course this fair is mostly about raking in the dough with the rides and the games (my kid's one hell of a sharp-shooter when it comes to the dart games, btw. Came home with six prizes, and not just the little ones, either! I'm never playing darts with her.). All in all it was a fantastic time. I'm looking forward to our "girls day out" again next summer.
And now back to the daily drudge.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Quoth the Asscakes, "Anymore"
I am more crotchety than usual today as my vehicular module decided to become a car-be-q on the way to work and I had to abandon it 12 blocks away. It'll be fine to drive it home later, I just didn't have enough time to wait for it to cool down before work. This of course means that I'll have a 12-block walk at midnight to get to my poor old car and then pour in a gallon or two of water so that I can get home.
I fortunately broke down right across the street from a school friend of my daughter's. I went over and asked the mommy to call me a cab so I could get to work and even though she was at home, and washing her own car, she didn't think to even offer to give me a lift the 12 blocks to work so I could get here on time. Some folks got no couth whatsoever.
Yeah, I know, she wasn't obligated to and perhaps she had some other pressing commitment, but I know if it was me or my parents in the same situation, we would have either offered to drive the person or would have said "I'd offer to drive you myself, but ..."
So anyhow, that's why I'm feeling just a little miffed this afternoon. That, plus the fact that I've been here for at least six hours already and the clock tells me it's only been two hours and 23 minutes, not that I'm counting.
And now for the rant.
OK, I'm aware that the English language is becoming increasingly less formal, and that nobody is running about pouncing on people and taking then into dark rooms to be beaten for transgressing the laws of grammar and spelling.
In general, I approve, as long as there is still room for those of us who are, shall we say, perhaps a tad pedantic to use big words from time to time. And use them correctly, at that.
I mean, in years gone by, I would have likely been stoned for writing the way I do. Nowadays, one just assumes that I'm stoned even before I start writing. It would certainly account for much.
However ... however ... I really don't think I can tolerate this assish business of ramming words together to make one "new" word. I've been seeing "anymore" more and more often of late and I've gotta say, it's just picking my ass (this is an expression we used with impunity in high school and it still makes me giggle, which pretty much tells you how mature I am. But I digress).
How difficult is it to type a three letter word, a space, and then a four letter word? Any more. There, you can do it!
It's hardly rocket surgery, people. (Neither is it brain science).
Please see to it that this transgression does not occur again within my sight.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Not Only Am I Gay, I'm Also Two People
|You Are the Very Gay Bert and Ernie!|
Two grown puppets living together, sleeping in the same room?
They've even got coordinating striped shirts!
I'm all packed up to cast on for Eris tonight at work, and have knit on "my" washcloth just in case my day somehow goes kabloo and I actually have to work at work. (I hate it when that happens).
Kidlet and I went to the fair yesterday and there will be all sorts of photos, but I don't think I have time right now, as there are several bags urgently requesting that I take them down to the dump ...
(And you thought my life was all work and no play!)
Friday, September 01, 2006
I'm sure Ann's calling it something nicer, but September is here, and it's time to pamper myself. Or at least acknowledge myself as a human being or something.
Knitters, at least in my experience, tend to give away everything they make, leaving themselves wandering about in horrible K-Wal cardigans and holey socks.
For this month (and likely this month alone) I pledge that the first row off my needles on any day upon which I knit, will be knit on something for myself.
So today, right after midnight, I grabbed a ball of that blue Cascade 220 and swatched for something I want. I won't post what it is, as I've posted far too many starts and very few endings and don't feel like being embarrassed again. The swatching went badly and I discovered that although I had sufficient yardage, the item I wanted to make would look like ass in that yarn.
It's now sitting happily in the frogpond, awaiting its fate.
In the meantime, I've cast on for a yellow washcloth for myself. Yes, I know, I make millions of these but you see ... I've been evicted from my bedroom. Missy has decided she wants to sleep alone after six years of being glued to me like a leech. This is fine but right now I'm sleeping on the couch and she's got the master bedroom, which she thinks she's keeping.
So I'm in the process of taking the boxes back OUT of the guestroom and making it into her bedroom. At that point I will retake possession of the master bedroom and paint the ensuite bathroom in something reddish. All of the bathmats and washcloths and such will be yellow, hence, the casting on of the wascloth. Just for me, to be used exclusively in my own little bathroom.
As soon as, you know, I can get the Sheriff's office to get her out of there.