Saturday, July 04, 2009
Ponderings From The Shore
Yes, I know, another post. Don't get all het up or anything. Think of it as a special Independence Day present to my neighbours (or sorry, neighbors) to the south.
I worked Thursday night from midnight to 8am on Friday, came home and got about three hours of broken sleep (although now I'm more awake than anyone should be at 2am on Saturday; go figure).
However, tired as I was when I got up, my services were required.
My dear friend C had to go to work yesterday. She's a single mom, working like hell to keep body and soul together and make a good home for her twins. Unfortunately, the other day, after slaving for weeks like a navvy to make enough money for rent (hauling scrap metal, doing odd jobs, gathering and cashing in like $100 worth of cans and bottles for recycling while waiting for her new job to start), she lost her wallet.
A wallet with over $500 in it.
Now some people are honest, however apparently a wallet with that much money in it is more temptation than others can resist, and it hasn't been returned, so even though through the intervention of her parents she managed to make rent (and imagine how much fun it is to have to ask your parents for rent when you're almost uh, thirtymumble years old) she had to go out and haul scrap again yesterday to pay for goofy little things like, oh, cable, electricity, hot water, food. You know, those little luxuries upon which folks like us are wont to splurge.
Her kids are old enough to spend the day on their own, and in fact often babysit Her Surreal Highness for a few hours here and there when I have to juggle my own impossible schedule, but it's pretty boring sitting home all day long and she asked me if I'd take them out somewhere with HSH. She's saved my bacon about eleventy billion times, so the only possible answer was "yes, of course."
We chose to go to the beach, where her kids, who swim like fish, had a fantastic time and where E discovered that in fact she doesn't swim as well as she would like and requested swimming lessons as part of this summer's regimen. (I said yes).
While lolling about on the sand (in black jeans -- WHAT was I thinking??) I pulled out my ever-present little notebook and scribbled a thought or two that I thought I should share with you.
1. The company of children, like cheap liquor, when taken in great quantity is apt to make you vomit.
2. Children are far more pleasant when they are about 100 yards away, and in the water, optimally with the wind blowing in the other direction so you can't hear them at all.
3. It is preferable if those children are alive (I'm not completely lacking in maternal instinct; I mean I wouldn't, like, eat my young or anything, I'm just not Mary Poppins. I did, however, buy them all ice cream and brought them home as hale and hearty as they were when they left, so I'm hoping that gets me a few points).
4. Boob implants look like boob implants no matter how young or how buff you are. Even in your early 20s, you shouldn't have lighthouses sticking up from your chest when you lie on your back on the beach. That being said, I appreciate the brevity of the swimsuits being worn by the aforementioned surgically-enhanced young ladies and would encourage them to continue with their research into the limits of swimwear.
5. Children (oh here I go again, call the Ministry) who are stupid enough to annoy Canada Geese by splashing water on them when they are serenely bobbing about on the waves minding their own business perhaps deserve a little menacing by said geese.
6. The plural of biscotti is surely biscotti, is it not, and not biscottis? (This from another barely-adequate book I was reading while lolling on the shore. I could be wrong on this but it just sort of struck a jarring note.)
Hmm, being a pedant, I've just looked it up at that online dictionary thingie and apparently the singular is biscotto and the plural is biscotti. At no point is it appropriate to use "biscottis". You can probably argue with me on this one but I'm just not interested; I've proven to my own satisfaction that the book was wrong and have demonstrated my moral superiority by not correcting it before returning it to the liberry. I can die happy now.
Anyhow, those were just a few scribbled thoughts I felt I needed to share. You're welcome.
And now for the meat of this post:
Tomorrow is the natal day of Her Surreal Highness. Nine years ago minus one day, I was being cheerfully sliced open by the sure and thankfully steady hand of Dr. R, after having endured six days of the medical community's attempts to induce labour (or labor, seeing, you know, the folks to the south and all).
My hoo-ha had seen the films about how babies usually come out and was heard to mutter "I can't be having with dilation and pushing, nasty stuff and all" a la Nanny Ogg. I mean really. I just couldn't possibly imagine doing such a thing and apparently my nether regions were in agreement. Anyhow, she arrived all well and healthy and a tidy scar that nobody ever sees is a small price to pay for her magnificence.
Her Majesty is my only chicken and although few can drive me to distraction (or drink) more quickly than can she, I treasure every moment of her life and every hair on her head. Even if she does poke at the batwings on my arms when I'm skeining yarn and asks me why I've gone all jiggly and then giggles like a madwoman as my face turns purple.
We've had some fiscal shenanigans over the last year or two, what with Mr. Assmuppet not having a permanent full-time job and with me being mentally incapable of much more than remembering where the bathroom is. He's working full-time now, thank the FSM, and I seem to be myself again (my apologies to all who didn't like me much in the first place; I'm afraid I'm back and I'm not going away again). The long and the short of it was that I was uncertain that we'd be able to do much in the way of birthday celebrations for Missy Moo, however the week has been quite wonderful.
There have been celebrations all week. My friend Ann send a Box O' Goodies which was received with squeals of glee. She has sons, no daughters, but she always seems to know the exactly right things to send. Gramma P also sent a box which got here yesterday, to an equal number of squeals of glee. Dresses! My kid doesn't wear dresses but these were bang-on and the kid's going to wear them happily.
My friend C has a friend who got her tickets for The Jonas Brothers concert this past Monday, at which I am told E danced and sang and screamed with the best of them.
I'm a little disappointed, in that my first concert was Blue Oyster Cult, definitely not a "boy band" but hell, she's eight and I was fifteen; one takes what one can get.
(And I sort of like the Jonas Brothers, too. Don't tell anyone, k? It'll be our little secret.)
We have also arranged for a party at the Laserdome. An hour or so of running about and shooting and then 15 minutes' climbing on the rock-climbing wall, followed by pizza, pop, chips and an ice cream cake. The minimum booking is for ten kids (including the birthday person). We've had eight responses, which means that unless someone shows up unannounced (they often do) there will be one slot left. My friend had said that the Laserdome was a great place for a birthday; they do all the work and I can just sit there and knit. However, unless there's a surprise arrival, you can bet there's going to be a mommy hiding behind the rocks and shooting people, and despite my fear of heights (which is immense and causes close-to-paralysis in me) I think I'll do the wall, too. So there.
The best thing, though? The Complete And Uttar Best Thing Evar?
The delicious and talented Lala has fallen upon hard times and is at the moment a "woman of leisure". She has been volunteering at the Rock Camp for Girls in California and told me that there was one in Vancouver, but however it was too late for E to go this summer.
I went to the website* and discovered that although they are full for this summer, they have a few slots left for Aboriginal girls.
My husband is Aboriginal. He's a Quinault and has Status, at least in the US (although not in Canada, as apparently when you cross the line that some white guy drew in the sand at the 49th parallel, you lose your cultural heritage, but I digress, and clearly have no issues with this. Shut up). E isn't status but she identifies as partially Aboriginal.
I emailed them, they emailed me, the committee discussed it and ...
I got the news yesterday that she would qualify for a spot. We may also qualify for funding although that's a small thing as we all know I'll be rolling in filthy lucre after Sock Summit.
Best birthday present ever.
Sadly, she has chosen to be a percussionist**, but at least she didn't choose the banjo. There are, indeed, small mercies.
* if you happen to have a few dollars spare, the Rock Camp for Girls is a worthy cause. Read the website, read what Lala has to say about it. This post is 900 years long and I'm running out of steam; but I think that any organization whose sole goal is to create a safe and empowering environment for our children is one worth getting behind. There is quite possibly a Rock Camp for Girls in your town, and if not, then there's one close to you -- or what the heck, go mad, contact them, and start up one of your own!
** E's grandfather is a drummer. His pipe band won the world championships in 1956. She comes by it honestly.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
If You Butter Them, They Will Come
I've been most negligent in my blogging duties over the last, oh, year or so, and as a result my readership has dropped off dramatically. And who can blame 'em? If there's nothing to read, why bother reading?
I think I've dropped from a high of 500+ readers a day to 90-ish, and I mentioned it to Mr. Assmuppet recently. He said "well, it's still a lot of people, but we could fit them in the living room, if we buttered them and packed them closely."
It seemed like a good idea, but then I thought "what about the vegans?" I mean, the vegans wouldn't want to be buttered would they? I resolved the problem by suggesting that the vegans should be coated in olive oil and stacked in the guest room. I mean, there can't be more than half a dozen, right?
These are the sorts of conversations we have in this house, which explains a lot, really.
Anyhow, for any of you who are still reading, I really appreciate your continued attention, and I promise the butter is fresh.
So things have been busy Chez Lapin. I'm getting ready for the Sock Summit and I think I'll have, oh, about half as much stock as I need. I'm also working almost full-time at the "good" job. About two days ago I grabbed myself a backbone or two and told the "bad" job that they should go and suck weasels because I'm never ever giving one minute of my time to them. It felt pretty good, and I actually managed to be polite and in my resignation email there was no mention of actual sucking or of weasels, although it was implied.
I've been working a lot at the "good" job, and have been spending most of the recent evenings there skeining yarn. There are some new colourways coming up and hopefully my Etsy store will actually have something in it tomorrow after I've had some of that sleep that I hear all the cool kids talking about. It sounds like fun and I'm gonna go get me some shortly. I have a big pile of green/yellow superwash merino that's a lot of fun and a few thangs of sock yarn and for the month of July, in honour of both the store's reopening and the birthday of Her Surreal Highness, shipping will be free.
I've also been reading a heck of a lot of books and I've been over the last day or two reading this thing. I mean this THING. It's by Lillian Jackson Braun -- she writes the "Cat Who" series. I read them from time to time, they're light and meaningless, sort of like the "natural flavoured" microwave popcorn of literature, or even "light butter", but this latest book makes me wonder if she's maybe lost it. It's "The Cat Who Had 60 Whiskers" and I'm 3/4 of the way through the book and so far there's no storyline and no plot. It's a pile of poorly written, uninteresting, disjointed paragraphs. It makes me sort of worry about her mental state. If you're a fan of hers, don't go read it. I mean really; don't. I shall be returning it to the liberry, tomorrow, unfinished.
And now it is the time for the sleeps. Again, thank you to all who are still reading. I will actually have some photos of new yarn (when I find out where I've put the frigging camera) in a day or two and maybe seeing I'm almost sane again I'll blog more than once a month ...
Bisoux to all of you.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Bwaaa!
Ok, so it isn't a real post, but I'm getting ready for the Victoria Fibre Fest and working full-time and Joy's coming to see me in about um, ten days or something and I have a new (very old, but new to me) couch and bed coming on Wednesday morning and I don't have anywhere to put them and I'm sort of bonkers.
So, while you're waiting for me to rejoin the land of the living ... here's a little gigglesnort I picked up from a friend on Facebook today.
You're welcome.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Slipping In Under The Wire
Ack! I almost forgot to post on this, one of the most important days of the year.
I refer, of course, to Freddie Mercury Day.
(Yes, I know that some people are celebrating Victoria Day, but honey, you celebrate your dead queen and I'll celebrate mine, k?)
Mr. Mercury brought us joy, showmanship, and one of the most beautiful voices I have ever heard. The world is richer for his having joined us, albeit for far too short a time.
And so, Farrokh, I salute you. You did indeed rock us.
Rest in peace, dear.
I refer, of course, to Freddie Mercury Day.
(Yes, I know that some people are celebrating Victoria Day, but honey, you celebrate your dead queen and I'll celebrate mine, k?)
Mr. Mercury brought us joy, showmanship, and one of the most beautiful voices I have ever heard. The world is richer for his having joined us, albeit for far too short a time.
And so, Farrokh, I salute you. You did indeed rock us.
Rest in peace, dear.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Oh. Em. Gee.
Gah!
I thought I hadn't blogged for about two weeks and just suddenly noticed that as of tomorrow it'll have been a month.
I believe it was Lee Ann's husband who said that if you don't post for a month, your blog is officially over. Or maybe it was for two months.
Clealy*, sir, I am sneaking this one in just under the wire.
Anyhow, it's been a long and involved month (the same can be said of the last year, really) however reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated (and perhaps celebrated a little too gleefully by some. Names have been taken.)
There are many reasons for my prolonged absence (and erratic posts) but I'm sure most of you don't come here for excuses and whining (although there has been a plethora of both over the past, difficult, year), therefore we shall dispense with all of that and just move on to more pressing issue of what I've been up to over the past, like, three or four months since I've actually written a "real" post.
Things I Have Learned
a) "Slumdog Millionaire" and "Hotel for Dogs" are NOT the same movie. If you get them mixed up and express shock at the latter winning the awards given to the former, you will be laughed at and perhaps taunted.
b) when knitting anything but warshcloths, gauge actually does matter and if you ignore it you will end up with some very nasty objects, none of which you should preserve for posterity. (hint: you should not be able to fit both feet into one sock)
c) fibre people are amazing (no, not Euell Gibbons and others of that ilk who run about eating bark mulch, I mean you, the knitters and spinners and occasionally even the crocheters) and should one start to fall on one's ass, there will inevitably be someone there to pick one up. And then to kick one in that self-same ass should it be so required.
Things I Have Knat
a) Warshcloths. Fourteen of them I believe.
ii) A scarf for my boyfriend-in-law.** It's a gorgeous blue alpaca/silk and I have a picture of it somewhere but I'm posting this from work so y'all are going to have to wait. It was supposed to be for Christmas but I think he got it half-way through January.
#) Seven or eight mitered squares for a blanket for myself. I don't believe I'll ever finish this but one can dream.
ping!) most of a sock for my daughter. This will eventually reside with the one sock I finished for myself, the sock and a half I've done for Sandra, the sock cuff I've done for my brother and the one and a half Seabury socks that I did for my mother. Either that or I'll just suck it up and maybe finish some socks. I should probably learn how as I'm soon going to be hanging out with a lot of people who know how to make socks (this is the literary device known as foreshadowing)
Everyday Things Other People Can Manage But Which Defeat Me Quite Often
7) Pajamas. I have lost my pajamas, completely and utterly, at least twice within this past month. If I didn't know for sure that several people had actually SEEN me in pajamas I might suspect that they were sort of like The Emperor's New Clothes and I didn't actually own any after all.
If in fact I don't own any and have been running about Seattle naked, would you be kind enough to let me know? I always prefer to be cognizant of whether I'm being laughed at or with.
(Actually it might be a bit of a relief if those bright pink fleece pajamas with the red and white reindeer all over them were imaginary, but I digress.)
42) Stairs. How on earth can y'all manage to go up and down stairs without incident on a more-or-less daily basis? You may recall a winter or two back when I bounced down the front stairs of the house, leaving a bruise in the shape of Japan on my ass. Well, I decided to celebrate Easter by bouncing down the stairs outside the kitchen door. Unfortunately there were no bloggable bruises, but as there are four entryways to my home, rest assured that there will be many more opportunities for a rousing game of "name that country" in the near future.
Places I Have Gone
Because of a "get into every place neat for free" pass thingie from Mr. Assmuppet's work, we have been to visit The Vancouver Police Museum, The UBC Museum of Anthropology, The Nitobe Memorial Garden and The Dr. Sun Yat-Sen Classical Chinese Garden, all of which were way cool. Mr. A and Her Surreal Highness have gone to a pile of other places but I've been working a lot of shifts (just finishing a run of 12 graveyards and I have another 9 days and 38 nights scheduled between now and September 12) so I haven't really been paying a lot of attention to anything.
When Joy comes to stay with me for a few days in June, perchance we shall have a chance to visit a few more places.
(I know! Joy! In my house! I could squee if I hadn't been working on repairing my spinning wheel with glue and pliers and wrenches yesterday and was feeling far too butch to do anything of the sort.)
The Pending Vending
It would seem that amidst my madness I've managed to do at least a little business and I shall be vending both at the Victoria Fibre Fest in June and at the Sock Summit in August (see back to that foreshadowy thingie a couple of paragraphs up).
The latter will be in conjunction with my partner in crime, Barb, from Wild Geese Fibres in Alberta. I've been working on a couple of exciting projects with a few folks -- more details as soon as they're available (or maybe you'll just have to show up and find out what's going on); I'll be vending some gorgeous little fibre art magnets made by the clever hands of my very good friend wenchlette and some moth-repellent sachets made by my friend Lavender who has a store here, but who seems to be temporarily closed. (I will update this link if she reopens in another location).
Speaking of stores, mine's been offline for many moons now due to a number of issues -- time, money, insanity and the difficulty of manipulating the piece-of-crap software I was using (the software was free -- one gets what one pays for, as always). I've decided to abandon the fibrestudio.net website (yes, I know, one can't abandon what one has neither owned nor maintained for many months - shut up) and go the Etsy route until I get my life a little more organized. I've had an Etsy thingie here for a while but I've never used it. Look for updates happening soon.
Um, and I think that's it. I hope that's it because likely half of you have fallen asleep by now.
I'll just go back to doing some paperwork here and maybe make another cup of coffee, seeing it doesn't seem that I'm going to be able to sleep again any time before November.
Carry on.
*not a typo, just a stupid joke known by like three people who read this blog so it was rude of me to include it but it amuses my tiny mind and it is still my blog so I'm leaving it. So there. Call the Ministry if you are so inclined.
**my brother's boyfriend. I didn't know what else to call him, so that works for me.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
A Blessed Day To All
Today I am joyously celebrating this, the holy day of the Goddess Ostara. I beseech her to bring great fertility to us all.
Whatever you are celebrating today, may there be joy and peace.
And perhaps a little chocolate.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Nom nom nom.
A response to the National Organization of Marriage "Gathering Storm" bullshit performed by paid (and not very good) actors.
Buncha fucking wankers.
Run for the hills baby ... we're there too. Existing quietly and with dignity. Working, loving each other, paying taxes and contributing to the community.
It's a frightening thought, isn't it?
And next time, I'll tell you how I really feel.
