I'm a spoiled brat

On August 11, I was sitting with my family at the ancestral pile.

Mom was trying to get me to stop playing with Mini J, so that I could catch my bus home.

I, jokingly, told her that if she let me have her car, there wouldn't be any rush.

Well, I drove home. I'm certain a Greyhound bus incident had something to do with her sudden generosity (and there are reasons for her fear that are private and will not be explained here).

The justification was that I needed a car, temporarily, to have a wee bit of a holiday, do some winter stocking of the shelves (meaning, haul home 600 pounds of cat litter) and generally make the transition from summer to fall.

And, it has been really, really nice. I went camping with my girly pals, I scooted out of town to visit some friends that don't get near the attention they deserve. I've got about half the cat litter needed to supply my boys for the next year or so.

Also, not spending three hours on the bus to get to and from my weekly lecture has been really, really nice. Even though I don't like driving in the dark.

However, I have missed walking. Really, really missed it. Today, in fact, I needed bread and a few veggies, and I considered driving the seven blocks to the nearest grocery store, just because I have a car.

Yikes. That's a slide into laziness that is completely unacceptable. I purposefully strode out of the house with headphones in ears and walked.

It was a lovely little walk. When did fall arrive? I hadn't noticed, because I've been sitting in a car.

One of the signs of aging

is that a whole bunch of the songs that you found incredibly moving and powerful as a teenager are now part of a Time Life collection.

Helplessly, I watched the whole half hour. Tomorrow, I will wake up and find that I need a cane. I'm sure of it.

All the better to smack young men in the butt, I suppose.

The position is open, but I'm not accepting applications

I had an interesting experience at the watering hole, tonight.

As is normal, the usual suspects were there, and we were all laughing, talking and generally insulting each other. All in good fun.

I got a great deal of work done on a sock, and it was, all in all, a lovely evening.

Except for Jesus (note: not his real name. Duh. Merely a reflection of his looks. He has no saviour tendencies, whatsoever). He is an attractive man (meaning tallish, painfully skinny, dark-haired) who I have admired and flirted with for quite some time. Tonight, he made it clear that he was now unattached. And that he was perhaps looking to change that situation. He cleverly referenced previous comments I've made into our conversation (BTW, I'm even saucier than I think I am, if he is to be believed). And to make my knees even weaker, threw some clever insults and double entendres (damn, I wish I knew enough HTML to get the proper accents) into the conversation. I'm a sucker for witty conversation.

Well.

I have promised myself, repeatedly, that the watering hole does not equal intimate encounters. Whenever I've broken that rule, it's ended badly, usually making me look like a first class bitch. Which may be true, but that doesn't mean I want to be a bitch.

So, I finished my drink and paid my tab, saying something about an early start in the morning (which is completely true). Jesus paid his tab at the same time.... and walked me out... and stared at me as I walked away, not looking back.

Sigh. I could be having a lot of fun right now, with the devil to pay tomorrow. It's mighty inconvenient when my morals sneak up on me.

With a name like this, I had to buy it

Really.

Funky Llama. And, it's actually pretty good. Perfect for an evening of watching TV and knitting.

Dinner

Ingredients:

A piece of meat, sliced thin,
Vegetables, whatever is in the crisper, also sliced thin

Saute over medium heat, with garlic, worcestershire sauce and hot sauce.

Salt and pepper to taste.

Serve over rice. Add soy sauce if desired.

Yum.

Fat yarn makes fast socks

One week, start to finish (and they are big enough to fit me. Yay!)

I started these in order to have something simple to knit at J's wedding. She's a knitter. I had to knit at her wedding.

Regrettably, these are too big for her, but she's getting her own socks. Soon. I hope.

I am not known for my powers of observation

Yesterday morning, I notice an error made the previous evening (and I wasn't even drunk while knitting. For real): So, I drop the stitches, and work it all back up (any changes in stitch definition are fixed while blocking, I promise):
Later, I take my knitting outside, because it is a beautiful day, and I notice another mistake, near the border, six inches below.

Frog! Dropping stitches near the border is too fiddly. Even for me.
It's OK. If I rip, I just get to knit more.

No surprises here

100%ALCOHOLIC

What can I say? I've had years to get to know my likker.

Sunday, lovely Sunday

Some out-of-town friends called me this evening, and popped in for a quick visit. They graciously interrupted my usual Sunday evening routine of laundry, cooking, laundry.

It was a treat to have drop-in visitors, and not be completely embarrassed (Thank you, cleaning service. You are worth the money).

It made my day. I was able to show off my new paint job:

I feel like I am in an aquarium. I love it.

Bonus: they have a friend who enjoys renovations and needs a few extra bucks. I may have found a flooring person who will be willing to work with me. Maybe. I hope.

Dumped via voicemail

Before y'all get excited, I wasn't dating anyone.

What happened was that a fellow came over to look at my floor and give me an estimate to have it re-done (laminate, plywood, linoleum, I don't care except it won't be carpet). He scrunched up his nose, told me it would be a nasty job and that he thought he didn't have the skills to do it. He said that he would tell the office to send someone else to take a look.

Fair enough. I know it's a nasty job.

The next day, I'm sitting in my office, and I see a voicemail message on my home phone (the phone that no one uses, because (a) I don't hear it and (b) I'm rarely home). It was the reno company, telling me that the fellow who had visited was the best, and if he wasn't up to the job, perhaps I should find someone else.

In other words, "It's not you, it's us."

I'm a wee bit ticked, because they have never used my home phone number before. It's always been my cell. So, they didn't want to tell me in person. Instead, I got dumped on voicemail. Blech.

You'd think I was picking my nose

Last night, during my lecture (knit night peeps, how I miss you, all ready), I disagreed with the lecturer and spent a good five minutes eloquently arguing (why can't I be eloquent during exams? It's one of the mysteries of the universe) that I thought standard 2500 of the Institute of Internal Auditors was not the horrendous waste of resources and time he thought it was.

I failed to convince him, but he agreed that my points did have merit, and were thoughtfully expressed.

For the next few minutes, I was the student that he made eye contact with as he talked (You've heard that, right? When public speaking, make eye contact with someone, and in a large crowd, preferably lots of someones).

Well, I had forgotten to keep my hands below the table, and he stopped in mid-sentence to say, "ARE YOU KNITTING?"

I looked around, and said to the class, "Yes."

He stumbled and mumbled for a few minutes about how he'd never seen that before in his classes.

Well, he's going to see a lot more of it over the next eight weeks. It's either that or nap.

Now, I know you are curious to know what was I working on:

A basic broken rib sock, LL Shepherd Sock in Jay Pond, 2 mm needles, 72 sts. Heel worked over 34 sts.

I am one lucky knitter

It was my birthday last Friday, and all my knit night peeps got together and got me something that I wanted very, very much. I was blown away, it was such a complete surprise.

The wooden thing is the middle is a swift (which, for the non-knitters reading) is a tool used to turn a skein of yarn into a ball. And gets you out of holding the skein, if you are around when I am winding yarn. Therefore, it's a gift to you too.

Now, just for fun, I want to wind every skein in the house. There are quite a few of them.

I am so happy, and grateful, to have found a community that gets this yarn-and-stick thing. I don't know what I would do without all of you.

Consider myself meme'd

hbacmama had a meme in her post today, and she said that, "You read it consider yourself tagged."

Well, I read it. And the following are my answers:

WHAT I WAS DOING TEN YEARS AGO:

I was the Accounts Payable Clerk for the Pan American Games Society (1999) Inc. $140 million budget. Every single nickel (all seven million of them) went through my hands. Goldeyes Stadium? I wrote the cheques. Investors Group Athletics Centre? I wrote the cheques. It was my first job without a hairnet or safety boots, and I loved it. Our CEO introduced me to the Chair of our Board as "This is Misstea, she's The Hammer."

I've taken an inordinant amount of professional pride in that. I play by the rules.

5 THINGS ON MY TO DO LIST TODAY:

Finish month-end

Go to chiropractor

Eat dinner (no, I am not kidding)

Do a load of laundry

Phone friend re: weekend plans

Bonus points: floss.

SNACKS I ENJOY:

Chips
Veggies and dip
Chips
Popcorn
Chips and dip

(I think chips should be a separate food group).

THINGS I WOULD DO IF I WERE A BILLIONAIRE:

Buy the farm (literally, and then give it right back to my brother, the farmer)
Give large amounts of money to the charities I support
Travel
Invest.
Invest some more.


5 PLACES I HAVE LIVED:

Nodnarb
Scotland
Winterpeg

Sorry, can't make it to five. I had plans for heading off to parts unknown, but then my brothers went and had babies. Now, I need to be close to them (the babies, of course).

Summer's not over yet

Or at least I like to think.

Look! New blooms, and as an added bonus, finished socks!

Really, there's something to be said for stockinette. It goes quickly.

Hair Fail

I had country singer-big hair when I left the house, I promise.

Then there was wind. And humidity.

But on the plus side, look at that awesome posture! Plus, I was eating cake. For the second time in one evening. That's how much I love J.

I like being a girl (usually)

I love weddings. As bitter and jaded as I am, I still truly enjoy watching people I care about making a commitment to each other. I am always flattered to be included in the celebration.

And, we all know how much I love parties. Good food, good wine, a smoking band, friends to visit with, and I am the happiest person around.

What I do not like, however, is the four freaking hours it takes to get ready - the buffing, the primping, the plucking, the pore-minimizing, the hot rollers (thankfully, my outfit does not require ironing).

Now, let's all hope that it does not rain. Not only for the happy couple, but on behalf of my country-singer big hair.

I couldn't resist, any longer

Most of you know that I work the occasional Saturday in a yarn shop. I do this in exchange for yarn. It's a deal that works well.

I had let my credit build up for a bit, 'cuz I was trying to be mature and not get everything I liked. Plus, I wasn't knitting very much, and there's plenty of yarn to be had around here.

Well, I found out that my credit was getting up there, so I decided to spend a little.

I got the following:

Noro Silk Garden sock yarn. Yum.

Cascade 220. Suddenly I understand why people love it. The colours are brilliant. I want six skeins in every shade the shop carries.

Arquippa sock yarn. Again, I want every colourway. I'm a terribly greedy person.

Sirdar Baby Bamboo, Cherry Lips colourway. I've had a fantasy of making a cute little tank out of this stuff all summer. Well, perhaps for next year.

Now, having caved, I suppose I should put on my big girl panties and finish up some of the stuff I'm working on before I start new projects with all this lucious stuff, right?

My new favourite website

I was cruising around on the Winnipeg Libraries website, and just for fun, clicked on the download audio books button.

Then, I typed in the name of my favourite fantasy author, Terry Goodkind.

A few clicks later, I had the software downloaded, the security on Windows Media player updated, and Confessor, unabridged, coming through my speakers. It is the 11th and final book in the Sword of Truth series, and I have been waiting for the conclusion to the story for quite some time.

I knit on a project for the shop, and had a couple glasses of wine.

Sunray scarf / neckwarmer, available as a Ravelry download, on 5 mm needles, knit in Plymouth Galway.

What an awesome way to spend a Friday night. Now, if I can get this audio book sofware talking to my ipod, we'll really be in business.

Red, Red Wine

Did you know that Neil Diamond wrote that song? That's one of the bits of trivia I trot out, whenever I want to look really smart.




Anyway, M, one of my bottlers-in-crime, joined me this evening, and we bottled this:

I know it's a Zinfandel. Poetic license, eh?

So far, not too shabby

It's been about three weeks since I hired the cleaning service, and resolved to never let the clutter get ahead of me again (yes, I know I've said that before).

And well, I am rather pleased with how I'm managing to keep on top of things.

Mind you, nothing is perfect, but I count the following among my achievements:

• returning a cd (a) to its case and (b) to the basket where cds are stored immediately after loading it onto my ipod.
• paying three (yes, 3!) bills and filing the stubs immediately.
• tearing the mailing labels off five (yes, 5!) reasonably current magazines and putting them into recycling when I decided that I was done reading. Bonus - only two new magazines came into the house today. That counts as a decrease in the clutter department.

There have been a few other historic moments, as well. For example, only the ironing board is covered with clothes. Not the ironing board, both dressers and an overflowing laundry basket.

Also, I recycled some knitting patterns that I must have printed in a booze-induced haze, but that shit was uuugggly, and I was never, ever, even under threat of firing squad, going to knit them up.

Mind you, the pile of shoes by the door has gotten rather large, considering I am a biped, and there seem to be a few balls of yarn scattered about.

Those are things easily remedied, though. I'm going to deal with that, right now. Promise.

See? There's proof.

My festival boyfriend

About a year ago, I was volunteering at the Jazz Festival, happily selling drink tickets and listening to the free stage at Old Market Square.

I stopped, for a moment, when I heard an aching, soul-searing, young, but oh-so-very-old voice soar above the crowd.

I looked at the woman I was selling tickets to and said "Who is this? I'm in love."

She said, "It's JP Hoe. But you can't have him, he's got a girlfriend."

Like I cared. I had a boyfriend, at the time.

Anyway, I wrote that name down on a bit of paper, and had been carrying it around for a whole year, to remind me to buy the CD when I saw it, or take note of any concert listings.

It's been a crazy year. I did very little CD shopping, and paid attention to even fewer concerts.

Fast forward to this past folk fest. My friend passed me $20 and asked me to pick up his newest, The Dear John Letters.

I got one for me, too.



He's marvelous. I think I'll keep him.

Well, it is knitting

Let me present to you the total of my finished knitting objects for the summer of 2008.

Yup, one lousy pair of socks.

Oi.