I had good intentions, but was very disappointed

Have I expressed my deep, unending adoration for movies before?

Probably not, because, even though I talk about loving movies, I rarely get off my arse and get into theatres to see said movies.

Today, though, was an exeption. Other than a certain event, yesterday, where I did some serious singing and dancing, I took this weekend off. That is, I made no plans, I made no promises, and I am eating nothing but sandwiches. No work. No effort. No pain (other than hang-overs and the residual effects from the above-noted dancing. Of which there was lots. And singing (click at your own peril, unless you are afflicted with a condition similar to my own shameless adoration for crazy singer song-writers)).

And, it's hot. The cure for heat, when you live in a non-air conditioned space, is to see a matinee.

Well, The Mummy - Tomb of the Dragon Emperor sucks sweaty hairy monkey balls. Don't go. There wasn't nearly enough Brendan Fraser chestage.

Retail therapy

Forgive me for a moment... I'm going to be a stereotypical girl.

I absolutely adore my new purse. I bought it just because I'd spent an hour having my teeth cleaned, and that experience was yucky. I needed something to take the pain away.

It worked. How can you go wrong with pink, red and yellow?

My chiropractor and massage therapist approve of how small it is (and seriously, compared to all my other purses, it is really small. I only have room for one sock-in-progress).

Drive-by posting

It's late, I'm tipsy, and it's way past my bed-time.

But, I am so excited... I need to tell you that I've hired a painter! Kitchen and dining room will be painted Sept 20 and 21.

I can't fucking wait.

And after that, I'm going to hang some art and unpack some books. If I can get the flooring arranged for the following weekend, naturally.

Hopefully I'm not speaking too soon

You know how you think something is too good to be true, that something is going well, and then as soon as you remark on it, it goes bollocks up?

Yeah, like knitting.

I'm going to do it anyway.

Today was the Knit Out at the Forks, hosted by Yarn Over Manitoba. J picked me up at 10 AM (the earliest I've left the house on a Sunday for quite some time) and we sailed on down Main Street for a day in the sun, chatting with knitters, ogling other projects, and maybe even doing a little knitting ourselves.

It was marvelous. A couple friends, Stitcherwitch and Purlerbear and I have been planning, all year, to knit Juno Regina together.

Well, I couldn't wait any more. I cast on. I knit all day, taking lots of breaks, sitting up straight, doing some stretches and massaging my hands.

Stitcherwitch was concerned that the yarn was covering my face.

I felt wonderful, knitting all day. No pain, no tension. Even my damn back and leg felt pretty good, for a change. In fact, when I got home, I sat on the ce-ment pad with some wine and knitted some more! Continuing with lots of breaks and stretching (hey, a girl has to eat and do her laundry some time!).

I really hope this doesn't bite me in the ass. I'm loving the many charts and the tiny, tiny, but oh so very soft string. Knitting, I have missed you. Please don't leave me again.

This is related to knitting. Does that count?

OK, I'm starting to feel bad about the lack of knitting on what is supposed to be a knitting blog.

There's been precious little, and of that, no photos.

But, that doesn't mean I haven't been thinking about knitting. Or planning knitting. Or talking about knitting. Or wishing I was knitting, so that I could finish some stuff up and buy new yarn. Like this.

One gorgeous Saturday morning, when I had zero plans for the day (rare, I know) I took my coffee outside.

And wound 1,000 meters of lace weight. It worked surprisingly well, having the skein around my neck (though rather warm - it was a stinking hot day). I think that will be my new technique, until I get a damn swift.

Yarn: Helen's Lace, purchased from WW. The colourway is Watercolor, but I can't find a pic.

Pattern: I'm thinking another Icarus. Not that I've gotten far on it. But I do love it so.

One evening, I was actually out knitting with some folks, and I picked these up:

Made to order by Purpleniko. Love 'em. (If you count the values of MISSTEA, the result is nine. I am quite pleased about that).

Now, if only my tendons would get better. I've been taking it easy, stretching, going for massages. Something's gotta give, right?

I should have done it months ago

OK, I have just got to tell y'all that hiring a yard service and cleaning service was the best decision I've made in years.

Seriously.

I go away for the weekend - come home, and the grass is cut.

Come home from the dentist - a tree has been planted in my yard.

Go out for lunch - come home to a clean house.

I feel so.... stress-free. All I have to do is put my stuff away when I am done with it, clean the cat box and wash my clothes. This, I can do. And really, it doesn't cost that much. The money I've saved by making wine has paid for it.

Seriously. I drink a lot of wine.

Now, the next project is to stake this tree for the next two years. Any advice?

It's story time, again

My brain is tired, my back is sore, and my mouth hurts from being at the dentist.


Plus, there is more water (just a little bit, this time) in the basement from the torrential downpour that hit the city today (as I was driving - I used to be an experienced driver, but I'm not anymore. I was tense when I got to the dentist).


So, I will tell a story.


Way back in March, Construction Inc. hosted a gathering for the office staff at our box at the Phone Booth. I marched in, all cute and sexy in my cute pink hat and black blazer, because N and I were meeting for drinks after the game. There was the usual introduction of guests, and before we were finished, I looked up.


Waaay up. And said, "Hello, how have you been?"


My invoice clerk then says, in a carrying voice (naturally), "Misstea! How do you know my brother!?!?!"

And you should have seen the interest on our office manager's face! He was very, very curious.

I said, calmly (I hope), that we'd seen each other for a bit. There was an awkward conversation. Clearly, we were all flummoxed.

I went to find a seat and enjoyed the hockey game.

I remember this now, because that invoice clerk was fighting with the microwave in the lunch room yesterday.

I managed to fix it for her, saying that the microwave was 22 years old. My Grandad and I had bought the same one for my mom when I was fourteen.

I could see her mind squirreling, trying to do the math... finally I just said that I was 36. Her jaw damn near hit the ground. Again.

So, given that my clerk is only about 22, and I know her brother is only a little bit older. Tall cute boy was indeed, very, very young. And totally unsuitable.

Though he was (and still is) very tall. A compelling trait, that.

His sister has the same eyes. I wondered why she looked oddly familiar.

I will never, ever learn

Y'all know I have a disgusting habit of not dealing with the bills, catalogues, yarn, needles, empty wine bottles and other detritus that comes into the house. Every surface is littered with paper, empty water bottles, empty cd cases, ball bands, patterns, books and magazines. About twice a year, I realize that the mess is driving me insane, and I attempt to do something about it.

So, I hired a cleaning service. Clearly, I am not doing anything for myself, these days.

The night before they came, I raced around the house and swept it all the loose stuff into a 64 litre tub.

My goal was to thoroughly sort through it all in time for their next visit.

Well, that's in less than 48 hours, and all I've done is pull some of it out, wondering where it should go (meaning my desk is covered. Again).

And, the girls are coming over to bottle wine. I've got half an hour. Go!

I might have hit delete, but maybe not.

J left a comment on my last post. She said, "I don't have a polka party, but I bet they'd look cute at our upcoming karaoke event. "

I don't think I'd hit delete... but I've been into the wine. As usual.

J is getting married! The next big social event on my calendar (other than a block party in St. B, more on that later) is her stagette, and then the happy celebration of her wedding,

I am happy, and truly privileged to share in her day. How do I love this woman? Let me count the ways.

Wait a minute. There is no need to count. She knits. Nothing more need be said.

So, the new question is... what does one wear to a karaoke stagette, given that the footwear (and I am sure the bride's footwear surpasses mine, as well it should) is $10 fake argyle/Harlequin loafers with pink hearts and silver stars?

And the budget is $40 (just to make it a challenge, and no, I refuse to go to Value Village.).

Internet, show me your knowledge.

Oh, and I loves the karaoke. I'm famous, such as it is, in certain bars around town.

My dancing shoes

N and I were supposed to go out, a while ago. She was not feeling well, and I was royally hungover.

Therefore, we did not.

But, I had purchased the most, adorable cute shoes (for $10, win!), to temporarily replace the ragged pair of flip flops that should have been retired four years ago, but I cannot bear to part with (far too comfortable, stench notwithstanding).

A girl cannot polka well in flip flops. It's undignified.

Now, the question is, when is the next polka party, so I can show off these shoes?

Happy Anniversary to me

I was surprised, when I looked at the calendar last week. It's one year ago that I began working at Construction Inc (the application for the pension plan told me that I wasn't dreaming).

Oh my, what a glorious wonderful thing working there has been. Truly, I am lucky.

I dance to work every day. Frequently late, but I am dancing.

I mention this tonight because I had dinner with Bosslady and my former junior support person this evening. It's a freaky coincidence that we got together this week.

Junior and I have been in fairly (ir)regular contact, and as much as I love Bosslady, I knew that I needed some time to heal.

Well. I have healed. I have moved on. I am happy, happy, happy.

They are not. Bosslady is running out the clock to (early) retirement, and Junior (at only 25) hasn't figured out that work should be meaningful (but the stories she told me about being harassed. Yikes. Part of me wishes I was still there to protect her).

Am I ever glad I don't work there any more. It is nasty. It's not even the same department. The new department is as messed up as the old, I am not pleased to report, and a new reorganization is coming. Jeebus. Big Financial Corp. has not figured out that people aren't commodities.

The biggest news is that nasty woman has been promoted. I comfort myself by knowing that incompetent people are frequently promoted, so that they can do less damage.

Small comfort, I know.

The best part of this evening, other than hearing the good news about people I care about, and knowing that I am much better off, and having a fine meal with two women I have missed dearly, is that Bosslady and I might be related.

Her ancestral history is eerily similar to mine. And, her parent's names are EXACTLY THE SAME AS MY GREAT-GRANDPARENT'S NAMES (For clarity, my great-grand parents are long-deceased. Bosslady's parents are elderly, but living. But, strange coincidence, no?) That bears further investigation, given the things we discovered tonight. We come from a fairly small genetic pool, she and I. Who knew? I would be thrilled if we turned out to be cousins.

I am determined that it not be another year before we get together. That was far too long.

A rude awakening

A couple weeks ago, N was over.



She, kind and good friend that she is, comes over every couple weeks, and does my heavy lifting (and I love her for it. Well, love her more, because I love her anyway).



She told me, on her previous-to-last visit, that I "have to do something about that basement." Meaning, "Sort out my house and finally get unpacked, dammit."



I know. She hasn't said anything that I haven't told myself a thousand times.



And I promptly returned to my knitting and the book I was reading and forgot (meaning, didn't bother to do anything) about it.



Well, we had 80 mm of rain on Monday and Tuesday. And I think most of it is sitting in my basement. One of the stacks (somehow, I don't know... mhmm...cats?) toppled.



The top box, of books (oh, my dear sweet precious books), was splayed open, on its side, in the puddle, soaking up water (clean water, thank FSM).



I hauled out the bit of paper with the number of the company I was considering on it, called it, left a message, and steeled myself to spend some money. It's time.



I can live in a less-than-stellar space. My books deserve better.

My back yard is 10,000 x awesome

That's why I haven't been blogging. It's too nice to be inside.

I made a promise to myself, sometime in June, that I would get my money's worth out of this place, and sit outside, all summer. And, judging by the eternal sun burn, I have.

Three of the seven daisy plants my mom bought me have bloomed. I got a whole bunch of lilies from a colleague, which seem to be taking well, and there's tomatoes! (some of which are now ripe. I had just about given up hope).

I also got five full, luscious pea pods, which I ate raw with my morning coffee one Saturday. I am a real gardener! I wasn't going to call myself a gardener until I ate food from seeds I planted myself.

Now, I have.

But, it was five pea pods. So, I'm a crappy real gardener. But, I've learned lots (like squash flowers close at night. Who knew?) this year, and next year is going to be amazing!

My dad made me a stand for flowering baskets out of an antique rake (the kind pulled behind a tractor) so I will not be putting flowers in the garden beds next year. It'll be all about the food.

That'll learn ya (to make assumptions)

Again, at the campsite this morning.

I was wiping the grit off the picnic table my brother and I had dragged (I don't lift so well, these days) to the site to accomodate the crowd and one of the people I don't know so well says, "You'll make a good wife some day."

I said, "Hell no, I need a wife. I fired the last one."

There was stunned silence.

Anny Missie

So I know I promised all sorts of clever and funny posts about my silly little life, but something happened today. Something that I've been waiting for.

I was hanging out with some of my family and various people related to members of my family at a campground this morning, and from the other side of the truck, I hear "Missie..." being called out in a sweet little girl voice.

I look at my brother's mother-in-law and say "I think that's my name."

I haul myself off the bench and walk around the corner to see Mini B running toward me, hands outstretched and her dear, sweet face beaming. She was calling, "Anny Missie." Meaning, "Aunty Misstea."

I scooped her up into my arms and burst into tears.

Oh hai!

I am alive.

I've been gardening, and reading, and flirting.

Details to follow.

(So, will y'all shut up now? I'm busy, yanno, hiring gardeners and stuff).

Plus, there's been a little (a very small little bit) of knitting.