Home sweet home

I went home for Christmas yesterday. Since the roads were crap, and I am recovering from some sort of terrible plague, it was probably not a good idea.

However, having knit eight pairs of socks, I was going to deliver them, dammit.

Plus, I had to pick up these:

The background wheel belonged to my grandmother, the foreground wheel, my dad purchased at an auction sale. Neither of them are operational, but the one in the front has potential.

Not Christmas gifts, because we don't do that, but, a very good Christmas nonetheless.

Surprise weekend getaway

Last Thursday, I was hanging out with some colleagues sharing a few beers.

My host asked me if I wanted to join him at his family's cottage that weekend. His son was otherwise occupied and the friend that was going to join him bailed.

Since I had no weekend plans, and was just a wee bit tipsy, I said yes.

It was fantastic.

He fished. I knitted.

I learned how to use a slingshot (and, I only suck about half the time).

We saw an eagle, among other wildlife specimens.

We hiked along the hydro line.

The view from the deck was amazing.

I didn't want to leave. I hope it doesn't take two years to get around to the next visit.

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 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).

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.

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.

Be careful what you ask for

because you just might freaking get it.

In ways I never imagined.

I did get a pedicure this afternoon. I made the appointment for 5:15, thinking that the yard work would be done by then, and I would be settling back with a beer (Alexander Keith's, as domestic as it gets, hbacmama), some barbecue, and looking forward to an evening of knitting.

Well, no yard work was done, no wine stuff was done, and certainly no housework was done. The intended barbecue was stuffed into the oven for an hour and the veggies were microwaved.

I spent the entire day deeply and intensely involved in some serious "suggested readings" Oi. I understand, now, why people think being an accountant is boring. It's because accountants are bad writers.

Anyway, earlier in the week, I threatened to get a massage (which is a huge deal for me. I hate the idea of sitting there, while someone else touches me, and I can't knit!).

The featured special, at the shop close to my house was a "spa pedicure" for $20. I made my appointment, saying that I only wanted a "basic, garden variety" pedicure. Well, I placed my feet in the tub, settled down with my reading and... the seat began to vibrate.

So, I thought I would roll with it. Let the seat have its way with me, so to speak.

I could hardly walk, when I got out of the chair. Four hours later, and my back and left leg hurt even more.

What I was thinking of doing, when I suggested a massage, was going to see one of my many friends whose first initial is "D" and happens to be a registered massage therapist. D always has told me to not see her when I'm in pain. I should go when I am feeling good.

I am waiting to feel good. It's not happening. Now, where's that insurance card?

But it wasn't a complete waste of time. My toenails are a shocking shade of pink now. Did you expect anything less?

Pheromones are Real

Just got home from a surreal (or, more surreal than usual) evening at the watering hole.

When I got there, there was only one seat at the bar. Strange item number one. (I’m told it was payday and pension day).

So, I took that seat. Please note it was next to the “head seat.” Next to the best seat. The seat next to where the most regular of regulars sit.

And when Neil the Irishman left an hour or so later, Rodney the railroad man told me to slide on over and take the good seat. Strange item number two.

So, I did. I’m no fool.

Guess I’ve arrived. Little ol’ me was sitting where the old (as in longevity, not age) guys sit.

Later, Mike the biker came in, and he cheerfully sat beside me, and Rodney, Mike and I bull-shitted for the better part of three hours. I told all sorts of saucy stories about myself, and the boys traded stories in turn. They also said that they’d seen my tattoos, and knew how tough I was. Really, I should skip buying a scooter and buy a bike.

They also said they could make me cry, if they really, really wanted to. I laughed.

It was a good night, even if Wade the delivery guy completely ignored me (we usually have a really feisty discussion about bluegrass). Strange item number three.

After some chicken fingers and loads of good insults, I found out that Rodney the railroad guy did not talk trash about me. The freaky guy is indeed a freak, and apparently I am glad that he didn’t email. Good to know. I would hate to think that my charms have diminished over the winter. Even though the firm lecture I have drafted has been wasted. (Rodney tells me that dipshit walked out of the pub saying "I'm never talking to her again." Suddenly, the fact that dipshit ignored me three weeks ago makes sense.).

So, some time later, I’ve ordered my last pint. I’ve paid my tab, and I’ve planned which bus to catch. A very, very handsome man sits down. Says “hello gentleman… and, girl!” And leers. Sort of. We all say hello, and the general bull-shitting continues… My bus is coming, so I wander over to say goodnight to Wade. I walk by Mike and Rodney, and kiss each of them on the cheek.

Very handsome man I don’t know says “Hey, where’s my kiss? “

I say, “I don’t know you well enough to kiss you. But, I would have sex with you.”

And I waltz out the door. With a certain swing in my step. If you know what I mean, and I think you do.

I paused for a moment, in the lobby, before I stepped outside of the building. Just to hear the gales of laughter and, over it all, I hear very handsome man say “What?!?”

..........................................................................................

And this brings me to the thoughts rolling around in my head tonight.

I’ve made a decision this winter, a decision that I haven’t talked about much. Just to a couple of you, really.

I’m done with dating.

I’m done with that stupid (but fun, I admit) game of putting myself on display, hoping someone will notice me.

I’m done with going after someone I like, and hoping they like me back.

I’m done with swallowing my own opinions just because some stupid person with a penis will be hurt if I say what I really mean. Or back-pedalling when the person I am speaking to is too dim to have and interesting and spirited debate about current issues.

It’s clear that if that is the sort of man I choose, I’ve been choosing the wrong man, and whose fault is that? Mine.

I’ve learned, over the last seven years or so, I do not need a man by my side. Oh, yes, I have learned that, and I’ve loved every minute of it (well, after the first six months I’ve loved it). And even more clearly, I’ve learned that I don’t really like how I behave when I have a man by my side. Therefore I will do without.

“If this is it for me baby, that’s just fine, I'm not looking any more”

...........................................................................................

But I'm still going to flirt. And have one-night stands, if the opportunity presents itself. Just sayin'.

A little teary

Last night, at knit night, even though it wasn't my birthday, I got a gift.

A completely unexpected, thoroughly wonderful gift.

This is yarn I donated for the swap, and my friend scooped it up, to make something for me. I had to step outside for a moment to compose myself.

Thank you so much, bus buddy.

I'm gonna walk (500 miles)

I used to walk so fast that my friends had to run to keep up with me.

Sadly, that has changed. I've hardly walked at all in the last six months or so.

And, I have missed walking. I'm so out of shape that I get short of breath if I have to run 30 feet for the bus.

When the weather smartened up, I promised myself that I was going to walk as much as I could. It's been working. Starting to feel really good, and am slowly getting back to my old pace.

It's been going so well, in fact, that on my forced march yesterday, I was really motoring. I overtook an old man on a bicycle.

But today, I discovered that I pulled a hamstring muscle while doing so. And that is pretty damn sad.

Serious business

I have never ever talked politics, or human rights, or anything remotely serious, on this here blog. Except my own craziness.

That changes right now. I have very strong feelings about women's rights, domestic abuse and violence. Feelings that I can't articulate. I can only say that I despise, with all my heart and soul, the evil in this world, and right now, I've found a very real example.

But it's nearly twenty years old.

I've been reading, for a while, a blog written by a woman in the southern United States. I clicked on a link one day, and it was funny, so I added it to my private blogroll and kept reading.

It's not funny any more. It's deadly serious. She's telling her story, and it is violent, heart-breaking and infuriating. Read this story. And get angry. And don't allow anybody to make you feel worthless.

Go, read. And stand up, for yourself and your sisters. If we don't look after each other, who will?

There aren't enough hours in the day

I had big plans for the weekend. I was going to transfer all this wine:





into these:





Friday, I was too tired.



Saturday, I was too busy.



Sunday, I was too hungover (but totally worth it. Who knew there are video games that don't have death and violence as main themes? I think I need to have Guitar Hero. It's amazing!)

Firing up the still

Who knew that Saturdays could be so productive? Certainly not me.

It's amazing how much housework can be done in the two hours before two of your most-favourite girlypals arrive. Just sayin'

Moving on...

Here are some very interesting photos of this afternoon's activity:

El jefe - working hard (forgive the rotten Spanish).

El vino, coming soon (accompanied by more rotten Spanish)!

Some of the materials, in the workspace. And that's the cleanest my kitchen's been in quite some time.

Beautiful women that I love. And slaves to my wine-making superiority. Hah!

Seriously, I love these bitches. Truly, without girlypals, a girl has nothing.

Almost made it

I was barrelling down my walk this morning, thinking it was awfully slippery, and wasn't it amazing that I hadn't fallen yet, this winter.

Then I landed on my ass.

Or more accurately, half my ass. It's mighty sore, and if there's a bruise, I'm not going to show you.

Glamour Do or Don't?

I think this is a pretty good look. It shows off my inner 10 year-old.

More search terms

To the poor sap that googled brains dynamite blow nose:

Did you find what you were looking for? I suspect not.

To the person looking for trendy easy knitting project:

I may be easy, but I am certainly not trendy. Sorry about that.

To the statistics geek looking for causes traffic jam:

If you are male, straight, tall and not a loser, email me!

Adventures in Grocery Shopping

I had a freaking brilliant idea earlier today.

I thought that I would hop on a bus and go down the street about a mile and do some grocery shopping at one of those big-box complexes that are popping up all over the place.

This made sense to me for several reasons:

• the cupboard is pretty bare right now, and I need to eat.
• the big grocery store has all the stuff I want, at about 5% less than what I usually pay at the store close to my house.
• I usually do nothing at lunch except peruse Ravelry and knit.
• I have plans this evening, and having to buy food was going to seriously cramp my style.
• It was a beautiful sunny day. I wanted to get out of the office.

And, for a bit, my plan worked. I was at the grocery store about fifteen minutes after I left the office. The store is clean, brightly lit (with skylights). Not too busy, and a very large selection of things to buy. It was easy to find what I needed, the produce is nice and the queues at the till were very short.

All in all, a very good experience. I was even going to be back at the office in good time.

So, I was standing at the bus stop, grooving away to the tunes on my Ipod, enjoying the sun, and congratulating myself on planning my time very well. For a change.

You do know that once I had that thought, things were not going to turn out well, right?

I got on the wrong damn bus. One going north, not west. It took me forty minutes to get back from wherever-the-hell-I-was to the office. I'm damn lucky I didn't wind up in Beausejour.

Three buses, some walking, and a fair amount of cursing. Yup, a lovely, if somewhat extended, lunch.

You can thank me for the warm weather

The super-duper, Antarctic-hurricane-resistant clothing I ordered last week got picked up from my local postal outlet today.

Ergo, now that I am prepared, it's getting warmer.

Is it really sick of me to wish for one more really cold snap to wear the damn stuff? I look smashing in periwinkle.

Of course, since all my outer clothing, previous to this, was black, pink or taupe, I think I need some new accessories. Woot!