Yarn-A-Go-Go

Happy Weekend!

Getting ready to go, packing up, being my normal anal self. Lists and more lists. Re-written lists. Checking things off and then double-checking.

I LOVE lists.

Strawberry Festival starts tomorrow afternoon, and I can’t wait to be there. Four days of bluegrass and sun and swimming in the lake and dancing and beer and my whole family playing guitars.

Last year the family couldn't make it, and I went by myself. Camping alone was a little alarming to think about (oh, you should have seen THOSE lists), but it was a blast. Met a woman named Alpha who went swimming with me in Frog Lake every day. It’s aptly named – hundreds of teeny tiny little frogs to play with while you’re swimming, putting them on your hand and watching them plop back into the water. One afternoon, as we were squelching through the slime to get to the cool water, Alpha felt something dry and crinkly in the bosom of her antique bathing costume. Thinking it was an old tag, she reached in and pulled out..... a dry, dead frog. A frog that had been there since the day before, when we’d gone swimming and it had apparently hitched a ride. Then she’d ridden off on her bike for a full afternoon of contra-dancing and guitar playing and dinner eating, all the while carrying her friend with her.

I’ve never heard anyone scream any louder than that.

So I’m off. Have a great Labor Day weekend! I leave you with a couple of pieces from my Lo-Tech Sweat – all done but part of the hood and the pockets.

I’m not bringing it with me – I figure I’ll spend time making some mousies for the Mouse-A-Thon and maybe finish some socks.

Ah, summer....

Bravo! Bravo!

Dude. Let’s talk Bravo Queer TV.

Damn it to hell – I’m DEVASTATED that tonight wasn’t the final Boy Meets Boy, and I’m terrified that yes, Franklin

will be the straight one. AND I have to work next week. If any of you email me on Tuesday night next week, please, for pity’s sake, don’t tell me who won – it’ll have to wait till the morning when I can watch the tape.

Here’s how Mopsie, who’s done the math, put it: That terrible pairing off they did? It was so the producers could assure that gaydar wouldn’t rule the game, and that a straight guy would make it to the top three. We already knew that. But Mopsie has a memory, unlike me, and reminded me that Sean (straight) was paired with Franklin.

Aargh.

And Wes makes my skin crawl. He's fake, sooooo fake.

I NEED him to be the straight one.

Please. Don’t ask me the hard questions right now.

Wes. Ew.

Ew, ew, ew!

All I know for sure is that Queer Eye (no spoilers) was the best ever, and I loved the big Greek boy. I think it’s hot how the Fab 5 have gained such instant popularity. And the Fab 5 aren’t hiding; they’re not being politically correct. At all! Please! Did you hear Carson’s comment on the chocolate last week? My ears! And I’m good at this game! I can only hope that... what? ....that there IS hope. That a completely straight goofy Greek boy can be swept away by five queers on national prime-time television, so much so that he embraces them out of sheer excitement for how much they’ve helped him (or by how much schwag they’ve thrown his way, which is, let’s face it, a considerable amount). Even Mom Georgia from the old Greek country toasts them, which was freaking adorable.

Sigh. QEFTSG made up for the disappointment that was Boy.

I’m investing in Bravo.

Haka

I’ve really been enjoying The Book of Salt, even though it’s not something I would normally pick up. I know I’d read about it when it came out – the fictionalized account of Gertrude Stein’s cook. Nuh-UH! Are you kidding me? That kind of thing normally leaves me cold. But a friend lent it to me, and I started reading it without reading the jacket. By the time it came to me that I knew what the book was about, it was too late. Now I have to keep reading for the language.

Yep, it’s over the top all right, but somehow Truong gets away with it. It might be because the book is ABOUT language that she can get away with being so purple, but I don’t hate its luridness. Actually, I’m digging it.

Just listen to this about jade:

Oh, you know what? Never mind. (This is still me, not Truong.) What was purple and moving in bed after a cocktail last night (see below) is now just annoying. I’ll just show you MY jade instead:

When I was little (you’ve heard this already? I’ve written it? You know I’ve forgotten if I have), I always had a plastic tiki. My mother had the real greenstone one. She told me on every trip to New Zealand that when I was a grown-up lady, I could buy myself one. Always the pragmatist, my mother. So last year, when the whole family went, I did. It’s one of my three most precious objects. (Not that I really have three, I just bet I could come up with three if pressed....)

And I do believe that it’s the most alive kind of stone. It does feel like it breathes next to me, and the way it warms up against my skin is comforting. When I was dating T, she had such respect for it (not that she doesn’t now, you know what I mean.....) She refused to touch it at all. While this felt a little silly, I really liked that she felt like she did – that she believed there was power in such a little totem. The other day at Peppa, a couple of women closed their unknown fingers right around it: “Oh, how pretty! What is it?” No mojo was wiped off, as far as I can tell, but it was a little annoying. He’s MINE. He’s scaring away MY demons with the haka face. Oh, god. Wanna see my haka face? I RULE when it comes to the haka. (Christy’s gonna kill me.)

Okay, just a few lines from the book.
On making love with someone with whom a common language is not shared: “We will attempt to tell stories to each other using just one word.” Too rich, but sweet. My teeth ache in a good way.
Also on sex: “There is no narrative in sex, in good sex that is.” And I like it that she doesn't try to force such a narrative.

Tonight: Boy Meets Boy finale. I’m terrified that Franklin will be the straight one, and that will be too horrible. It has to be Trying-to-Have-Gay-Hair Pompous Ass Wes, it just HAS to be. I can hardly wait.

New Favorite

Isn't that an Alison Kraus song?

Just a quick note to say that: Seagram's 7 and San Pellegrino Aranciata can, in a pinch, become a new favorite drink. It's like a mimosa, but with a dash more sass, and a quirky one-two punch. Think I've found my campin' libation of choice.

Off to bed with me. 'Night.

Memories (or lack thereof)

Why doesn’t the Tiger Balm pot ever run out? Have you noticed that? I’m sure I’ve bought Tiger Balm before – I remember buying some in New Zealand when I hadn’t brought mine – but I can’t remember ever HAVING to. There’s always some more left. I have one little jar of the ultra-strength that I can trace to a relationship nine years ago. There’s still plenty left. And I use it all the time! Not sparingly, either. Here's the Ancient One:

Is it odd that I time things by relationships? Do others do that? I used to remember my hairstyles by the person I was with at the time. It’s been a busy year, though, so lately I’ve been remembering to get my hair cut by using dating as a clock. Oh, god, I haven’t talked to her in about eight weeks. I had just had a haircut then. Must be time to get another one.

Why can’t I simply remember it was December of 1999 when I cut my thumb so badly that I needed surgery? Why do I have to remember that Lynn and I were breaking up in order to place the date? Years don’t mean that much, I guess. People do. That’s the simple answer.

Of course, during the longer ones, two and three year relationships, I lose all track of time. I can trace particular cars owned and food likes and CDs bought only to time frames. Between 2000 and 2002. Somewhere around 1994 or 1996. I know who was IN said car or liked said CD, but that just narrows it down some.

It’s why I write so much, always have, in either morning pages or online: It’s because I CAN’T REMEMBER ANYTHING. I’m legendary for it at work. I don’t remember a thing people tell me. It makes me a safe repository for secrets, I can tell you that much. You can’t spill what you can’t remember. Just yesterday, I was watching an early episode of Queer Eye with my sister Christy. When Jai (AKA QueerEye Candy, ‘cause he never gets to DO anything) came on, I got all excited. “Hey! You know what! He’s.... He can..... I think he was a singer.... or something.....”

Christy looked at me and said, “He was in Rent on Broadway. I told you that.”

Partners hate this in me. But they can tell me their best stories, over and over again.... That’s a plus, right?

I’m so rambly today. Have a lot to do to get ready for Strawberry and I’m not doing anything. I think I’ll read blogs and knit instead. I JUST managed to line up the cat-sitter a few minutes ago. Nothing like the last minute, says I.

Oooh – didja see? The Grammar Avengers webring is now official, thanks to Em! Link to right. Let me just state for the record – I know and understand most rules of grammar. But I either 1: break them on purpose for effect or 2: break them because I’m lazy. I joined because no matter what I say, I’m still obsessed with THINKING about grammar. Even if it don’t show much a’tall in practice. Yup.

And just for fun, here's Digit a few minutes ago: (check out those extra toes....)

MockWOC

Had a ball yesterday – got off work at 7am, and managed to get a lovely long nap at home. Karen picked me up about 2pm and we drove into the City to go to Peppa. Freaking gorgeous day – warm, clear, everything that San Francisco usually isn’t. Peppa is an afternoon dance that’s held at a club in the Mission. It’s officially a Women of Color dance, but as you can tell from my photos, I am decidedly NOT a WOC. (I call myself a MockWOC – or, since this was Peppa, I called myself Salt.) But the women are mostly non-discriminating, and as long as you have a WOC or two somewhere in your entourage, you can dance the day away in the large patio garden.

We got there early, met up with Jenn and Geena, and unlike the last time I was there, there was an interesting hour of very junior-high behavior. Everyone stood around in groups along the edges of the patio, everyone watching each other, rating, discussing, and NOT dancing. It took the two boys who managed to get past the bouncer and a girl with no shoes to kick it off, but we were the second little group on the floor, and the floor filled up fast. Oh, the beauty of a hundred and fifty girls dancing in the sun.... T’s face, when she arrived from the Giants game and saw this vision, was priceless. She just kept shaking her head, “I didn’t know.....”

Afterward, we met up with a couple of T’s friends and wound up at some art-opening slash surf-punk thing – loads of garishly over-the-top art filled with dead things, either painted in reds and blacks or actually made up of rat bones. People milling about, looking impressed. I had no opinion about the art (or at least, no GOOD opinion) so I kept my mouth shut and we found the bar. Karen and I only lasted there for about half-an-hour, but T really wanted to hear the band, so we left her there and we headed over to the Wild Side where we shot pool and chatted up the locals. I kept having surreal moments where I’d be introduced to someone, and I’d realize I recognized her from my Friendster list. That’s when technology reaches the point of absurdity.

It was SUCH a good night. Day. Whatever. Knowing I don’t have to be back at work for ten days, knowing I had nothing to do but hang out..... Knowing that I could either ride home with Karen or take BART back..... It was a loose, easy day, and today I’m just so damn lazy that I can’t stand it. I never want to leave my apartment again. I really might crawl right back into bed and keep reading The Book of Salt. Oh! Discussion of Secret Life of Bees starts today in the knitblog readers group, doesn’t it? Have to hop over there and see what’s going on.

Knitting news – working on the sleeves of the LoTech Sweatshirt – forgot to bind off 7st at the raglan edge on each sleeve, had to frog for miles. Erg. I only frog when patently necessary, as this was. Too annoyed.

But blissed out otherwise. What a good Sunday!

Tantrum

Written yesterday at work -

I don’t know why I’m so stumped on my writing. I’m at work right now, taking my break. I try, most days, to do my writing on my forty minutes off. But lately I’ve been acting like a petulant child out here in the empty foyer.

Bah! Bad words! Don’t like these words, give me something else. Mom! Tell her to stop!

I stamp my feet. Aargh.

Yep, throwing a little tantrum out here right now. Not happy. Don’t know why. I just DON’T KNOW where the novel’s going. I know the end is close, the denoument is approaching, and I don’t know what it is. The characters are bugging the hell out of me.

You know those Tuesday mornings, when you wake up and your stomach kind of hurts, and your back is stiff, and when you put the lipstick on, you’re totally aware that your skin kinda looks gray? And there’s not enough milk for cereal, and there’s no cream for the coffee, and you stub your toe on the door while you’re carrying out the cat litter? And the cat’s whining and yelling and there’s absolutely no goddamn reason for her to do that, and your house is a mess, and you have absolutely no will to clean it?

That’s what writing feels like right now. I’m going through the motions. I’m writing because I promise myself I will write. I didn’t even write at all yesterday, and I’m feeling guilty about it. So I’m in the writing blahs AND I have guilt.

And I’m not even writing right now. I’m writing this blabber to make myself feel better, but I still have to close it up and get back to the real writing, which I DON’T WANT TO DO!

Raspberry blowing. And not in the good way.

Foot stamp. Why can’t writing be more like knitting?

- Later – You know what? That little tantrum helped. Just did my writing. I don’t hate it. It was kind of fun. It’s usually kind of fun. It’s just getting my ass into the writing seat that’s the hard part. I need to throw more tantrums.

My Love-a-Lees

Dude, it’s a knit-along! Got the list up to the right. Wanna join? We need a button, though. Any ideas? Maybe I’ll hit up Pioneer Melissa, since she did such a WONDERFUL job with mine, but I hate to abuse anyone like that. God knows I don’t have that talent (to make the button, I mean, but nor do I think I possess it to abuse anyone....). And I don’t think there will be any special “done by” date, maybe Christmas perhaps, but it’s fast and loose. Just like the shawl/scarf. Like I said, I still haven’t felted Suki. Mare, you’re a doll for holding space for the picture.....

It’s Friday! And I don’t work at all next week! Ten days off! Four of those in the sun at Strawberry (hopefully the link works today) in Yosemite. That’s a lot of beer in the sun, dancing to the music, and the best Greek Gyros you've ever had. I worship the man who runs that stand. His name is Spiro (he says) and he’s small and wide, with more hair than you’ve ever seen. For the last ten years, he’s run this stand at various bluegrass festivals with no more than fast hands and a young blond guy with lots of piercings. When you step up to the stand to order, without fail he asks, “What’s it for you, my love-a-lee?” And when he hands you the hot, dripping, lamb cucumber goodness, he always says, “Here you go, my love-a-lee!” Over the years, the young guy with all the piercings has become much wider (all that gorgeous lamb) and now he actually calls all the women love-a-lees, and he totally gets away with it. Spiro’s blond California employee now speaks with a Greek accent. Oh, it makes me happy. If they weren’t there, I think I would cry.

Cool Thing Number Twenty-Seven for This Week: If you google the word Rachael, now I’m number TWO! Isn’t that crazy? Course, it’s for my old site, which directs to this site, so it doesn’t feel as official. But I’m Rachael Number Two! AND if you google “my glass house” my old site is number ONE to pop up. This site, not so hot. It comes up number twenty-six.

Of course, these are arbitrary assignments of popularity in an electronic ether. Who really cares? Why SHOULD I care? But I DO care, that’s just it. I want the word Rachael to hit on ME first, not on a weird Rachael singer that I’ve never heard of. Give me time. Mwah hah hah.

Happy Weekend!

Shawl Knit-Along, Anyone?

Hey! Wanna knit-along? Maggi and I are getting together – we’re gonna do the shawl seen here.

Here's the pattern . Only Maggi's thinking of doing it more as a lace-weight scarf. I’m going to do it as a worsted weight shawl. How will you make it? C’mon, you can’t belong to too many knit-alongs. Shoot, I still haven’t felted my stupid Suki bag. All it would take is getting my ass over to the laundromat, as my washer isn’t sophisticated enough to connect to hot water. But nooooo, I’m too lazy.

And remember, the holidays are just around the corner......
(Do you hate me now? Every year I always officially hate the first person that makes that threat.)

Digit’s inside at reasonable hour (5pm) and is now screaming to be let out. But if I do that, he won’t come home for hours out of spite, so he’s not going anywhere. Last week I had to leave him out one night when he wasn’t home before I had to go to work. When I got home at seven the next morning, I gave his “come home” whistle. I saw him way down at the back of the neighbor’s garden. I watched him see me, kick up his heels, and then GALLOP all the way across two yards and a long driveway to skid to a stop at my feet. He was so HAPPY to see me. Usually he doesn’t betray that at all. Way too cool for that.

And a big shout out to Karen, who’s the coolest kid on the block today. She helped me secure the missing Strawberry Music Festival ticket that our family needed to go as a whole. This, for bluegrass lovers, is like winning the lottery. Christy hadn’t bought one before they sold out, and we’ve been devastated about it – after it’s sold out, you have to either sleep with the devil or sell your soul to Nike to get a ticket. But Karen tracked one down for us, and I’ll pick it up in the City this weekend. And we can ALL go camp in Yosemite and listen to Alison Kraus! Whoopee!

....come on, knit along?

Addictions of All Types

I worked fourteen hours last night, and I’ve been fighting a headache for two days now. I think it’s true: If you miss that caffeine window, the headache has a place to snake its gnarled little fingers in, and it doesn’t let go. I did it again today - hit the ground running and kept MEANING to get coffee, but it wasn’t till now, seven pm, three hours after waking up, that I’ve finally made the death-strength espresso that I sorely need.

Chugging espresso (with a leetle sugar and some half’n’half. I ain’t stoopid.) Work, come on, baby. Kick in. I need you. Oh, darlin’....

I had a couple or three missions when I woke: Drop off a book and CD for a friend. Check. (Bonus: Sun-warmed tomatoes, right off the vine.) Get to the LYS and look for yarn for a shawl. Check. Get to yoga. Nope.

You know what happens when you go to the Local Yarn Store, right? This shawl is one of those projects that has been haunting me – a dear friend said one day that she wanted me to make her one. I chortled or did whatever it is I usually do to change the subject. Since then, she’s watched me turn out project after project, and she's become serious about it. Please? Pleezzzeee? I put her off, but for some reason it came up again last night, and I found this pattern, thanks to Wendy and her new lace links.

NOW I’m excited about it. Don’t worry, I’m not a pushover (well.... not when it comes to yarn, anyway). I WANT to make this for her. It just took until the time was right to get motivated.

Went to the yarn shop and realized that every skein I picked up was unreasonable. She wants black, I want outrageously soft and rich. Yeah, right. Looking at over $140 for this puppy. I love her, but I just don’t have the funds. So I gave up the yoga idea and trundled over to Michael’s (sob) and picked up some gonna-be-just-fine-get-over-yourself Wool-Ease in black. The lace pattern will show well, I think, and she’ll love it. I just wish I could have used the cashmerino....

Coffee’s starting to hit me. Aaahhh. Imagine what it must feel like to have a heroin addiction (typo: heroine addiction – I have that already) if just getting a coffee fix feels this good. Damn, I miss smoking.

[Aside – did you notice B came to her own defense in the comments below? Nicely done, says I.]

Oh, and it’s Cari’s birthday! Thirty! Now is when it all starts....

One More Quickie

We love the gals who can throw the International Rock On sign without thinking about it, like Pamie in her most recent post. Check her out HERE (scroll down for pic). She's too cool. Me, I just look awkward when I do it. (And oh, my god, you should have seen me learn to high-five last night. Apparently limp-wristed and flappy ain't the sporting way to do it.)

That's why I knit. Just not that cool. But we're rocking (thanks to Alison).

Rockin' and Bowlin'

Hoo boy. The weekend was long and jam packed with things to do. Yesterday was stressful (in that self-imposed way), as I went slowly crazy and Bethany watched with glee. I decided to redo the apartment. This had been coming for while – I had been feeling the need build up in me, but it suddenly hit full-force. Beth and I redid the living room, making an actual entertainment center out of a bookcase. The TV, VCR, digital box, and stereo are all in one place! Using one extension cord! I moved most of the yarn out of the living room and into a Cost Plus basket in the bedroom. Moved Adah’s personal chair back into the living room next to the working yarn, shown here:

and best of all, got rid of five huge bags of books. I finally found the gumption to get rid of all the wonderful books that I’ve loved passionately yet know I’ll NEVER read again. I had to leave the dream behind. Sigh. When I was a kid, I read the same favorite thirty books over and over and over again. I thought it would always be that way, gain a new favorite, read it four times. Now I have over sixty books in my to-read pile, and more enter the house every week. I’ll never again be that summer-vacation, watermelon-eating, Gone With The Wind for-the-seventh-time-reading little girl.....

Also this weekend: Went to a surprise birthday party Saturday night where we scared the pants right off the intended victim – she just gaped at us (and I can just imagine – who the fuck are all these people in my darkened living room?). I was the only person over thirty in the room. One lovely girl was aghast when she learned I was thirty-one. Right reaction. Wrong method. No, it’s okay, I had to soothe her. I’m all right with it. I like being thirty-one, really.... Honestly, it’s not that bad..... I had been up for twenty-odd hours at that point, and everything felt like such an effort.

Drove into the City again on Sunday night to attend K and R’s knitting. The fog was banked at a distance, and we leaped from the metering lights to the height of the Bay Bridge with such abandon.... Only to slam into traffic again at the island. But it was a gorgeous night to have the top down. Knitting was actually held south of the City, in San Mateo of all places because one of the girls has a swimming pool in her complex. Right on! Bring on the swimsuits and the wine coolers, said I.

I found my way to SM (stop it!) pretty well, but when I exited the freeway, I got a little lost. Well, ahem. Made my way on accidental surface streets through Burlingame (which prior to this trip I had just thought was an alternate landing strip for stray SFO flights, but it turns out to be quite charming in a small-town softball way) all the way to Millbrae. Twenty-five minutes and innumerable eucalyptus trees later, I found I had missed the imperative turn-off long before.

Knitting was good, when I finally got there. I’ve started Bonne Marie’s LoTech Sweatshirt in a camel-colored cotton. It’s actually just kinda dirty beige, but I feel better calling it camel.

Monday was spent running around with Bethany, shopping at Chain Stores From Hell (we won’t mention names, but I got the sweetest lamp – I promise I won’t go back), shooting, and reorganizing my house. Bethany is a saint. She took me at my stressed out (but where am I going to put all the photo albums?) whiny worst and made me into a calm, cool, collected gal who only had to walk to three different stores to find a bulb that fit in said Chain Store lamp.

Then I went bowling in Albany. I’ve been to Albany perhaps twice in my life, and I think once was on accident. It was surreal. Rock’n’Bowl. More like Hip-Hop’n’Bowl, with crazy action lights that were trying SO HARD to be cool, and a big video screen (to which I was glued, since I ain’t up on my Mary J. Blige). Every once in a while, a chintzy smoke machine would send gloopy steam over the lanes. It was dark, and the neon balls glowed. The lanes were full of either people wearing too-tight clothing who missed the lanes entirely, or guys who chucked the balls in seemingly arbitrary arcs and made strikes every time. I bowled one game for a whopping 138 and WON! I was trounced soundly in the other games. I suck. But every once in a while, I’d hit something good and stick with it.

B met us there, and I think she was as shocked as I was that she made it over the Bay Bridge. She was, I’ll admit, super cute, bowling way better than I was (after she warmed up), and she even came home with me afterwards. Of course, this was because I had taped last week’s Boy Meets Boy, which we watched before she set out valiantly in a westward direction. (Spoiler: Dan was SO straight!) I KNEW I taped that episode for a reason. Girl trap. Didn’t work all that well, as she left afterward. Gawd, I hope she made it home. If SHE ended up in Millbrae, I’ll know I gave her the swimming-pool directions, and not the City ones. Dang. Hope she made it home, ‘cause it’d be nice if she came back over sometime (said coyly, scuffing toe on floor).

The East Bay rocks. It DOES! (well, at least it rock’n’bowls, and that’s something, ain’t it?)

By Popular Demand

and by that I mean a couple of requests, but it's just WAY more fun to say by popular demand, I give you the cabled straps of the crazy new ChicKami:

It was exceedingly difficult to get a photo of those! The yarn doesn't do much for cables, I have to admit. Or cables don't do much for the yarn, whatever. Basically, I narrowed the wide straps to 10 stitches (because of my larger gauge in the Bernat Denim Style yarn), and worked them k2, p1, k4 (with a 2X2 cable every six rows), p1, k2.

The waist cable below was p2 k6 (3X3 cable every six rows) p2, with k4 on either side, all the way around. I did no side shaping, since the cable does that for you. Couldn't be easier to adjust Bonne (I got the spelling right for once! How could I not have noticed?) Marie's excellent pattern.

Guilty New ChicKami

I picked the day shift slot. I’m SO happy I’ll be sleeping at night. But now I feel like crap, because I hadn’t realized that by signing that slot, I’d be totally disappointing my friend Brandy (who was one of the first two fans of this site). I feel pretty badly about it. I know it's all about seniority, but it blows to be so far down on the list.

Damn. Bleah.

So here’s my CableChicKami. That’s my little sis in the background, wearing my Pamie tiara and knitting a camera cozy for the party that we’re to attend tonight. Pardon my bra strap and my new haircut, which I actually really like even though the chick styled it ala Crispin Glover. It's cuter when I do it.

Better image of the Ck itself (although I look psychotic, this was taken at Awake Hour Number 28):

Fair and Balanced Shift Work

So, at work we sign our shifts in six-month watches. I have to make a decision TODAY about whether I pick:

A four-day midnight shift with Sat Sun Mon off (9pm-7am) (I have this now)
Or
A four-day day shift with TWT off. (9am-7pm)

In four years of working at the PD, I’ve never before had the choice to get off of midnights. If I took the day-shift slot, I’d get all the holidays off, as this year they all fall mid-week. I haven’t been home for Christmas in four years. But I wouldn’t have weekends off anymore, and god knows I love a good fun-filled weekend.

What to do?

I’m stewing. Must decide tonight. I’m leaning toward the day-shift choice – biorhythmically, my body’s been fucked up for years. And I’m constantly reading how night-shift work leads to brain cell damage, causes higher risk for breast cancer.... This isn’t very fair, is it? Midnights are cool. I like the wee hours, having only made their acquaintance during this job. I had never stayed up all night until I started working, not even during college or grad school, and I remember how odd it was to see the clock click to four a.m. and think of all the people who were sleeping, missing such an strange, quiet time.

Some pictures for your fun:

My ChicKamis are getting out-of-control. What liberties I’m taking! I just have to finish the back (which I’m going to raise again) and the wide straps (which I think I’m going to cable).

**Okay. I’ll admit this much, too. You’ll understand. In the wee small quiet hours between three and, say, six am, there’s not usually much going on. At ALL. It’s great knitting time. Moving to a day shift, I’d lose most of this ability. I’d be a weekend knitter. Sob. You see why my decision is so heart-wrenchingly difficult? Can’t really admit to choosing a six-month shift for its knitting potential, though. Can you?**

And this is my little friend Winter (I’m his fairy godmother). He’s spending three months in Australia. Monica said she had hold him back – he wanted to jump right onto his wallaby friend.

Happy Weekend!

Junk

I opened that huge box and bag! It was a time capsule, yes, but it was a time capsule that had only cured for two years, so instead of forgotten treasure, it was mostly just dusty crap. Alas, as was suggested, no yarn stash. I was still smoking then, so didn’t yet need the massive quantities I’ve come to believe are necessary. That came six months later. I DID find my bag of car-wash stuff. Besides that glorious time I paid those people to do it for me, that tells you how long it’s been. Uh-huh. Also found a crap laptop computer that I’m pretty certain I have no interest in turning on. I bought it as a junker about three years ago, and it never worked right in the first place. I guess I’ll make sure there’s nothing incriminating on the hard drive and then I’ll donate it to someone, somewhere.

I did find some of my old jackets in the box, including this beaut that I would have missed sorely had I realized I didn’t know where it was:

In the bag were some of my old clothes and SOME THAT I HAD NEVER SEEN BEFORE. I mean it. Did Alyson add her “to the thrift shop” belongings to it? ‘Cause I’ve never seen these Grinch boxers:

But this is kinda cute:

And there were a couple of Eddie Bauer sweaters that are plain but still functional that I’m totally keeping. One man’s trash.

Here’s Adah checking out the haul:

Isn’t that weird? It’s given me the worst itch – I think I’ll gird my loins (what an image!) and clean out my house this weekend. I’m gonna pretend I’m moving. Get myself to that hardhearted place where I can throw out my hanging lanyard tag ID from the Breast Cancer Three Day Walk and a cool looking green candle that I’ll never burn because I miss the person I was with when I bought it. Junk like that. The stuff that I’m totally attached to but would NEVER miss were I never to see it again. I want to have space, blank spots where I could put something, but where I don’t. Where I leave the bookcase/cabinet/countertop empty, just because I can. Yeah. I know it’s a dream, but I want it to come true......

I have so much CRAP!

Wake Up!

Two years ago, I was trying to buy a house. I had been evicted from my little moldy apartment in the Oakland hills and instead of renting, I decided I wanted to buy. No, this wasn’t financially responsible on my part. And I couldn’t find a house I could afford that didn’t have iron bars on the windows and gunshot holes in the garage doors. But I lied to myself for a while, and told myself I’d be happy living in an area where I couldn’t step outside after five p.m. While I was looking, I crashed at various friends’ houses. One friend provided me a mobile-home, another the driveway in which to park. I was working midnights then, too, and sleeping in a metal box during the day in mid-summer in Contra-Costa County was miserable. If Alyson used the washing machine while I was sleeping, we’d trip the breaker, and my meager air-conditioning would crap out. I’d wake in a little ball of sweat, too enervated to even walk to house to reset it. There was no working toilet. I crept into Alyson’s house to pee or just tried to hold it (don’t ask about my tupperware experiment).

It was awful not having a place to live. I’m a Cancer, and I don’t really believe all that shite (don’t we all say that?) but home is everything to me. I finally rented an apartment, my sweet little apartment where I’m still happy, gave up the home hunt and started working on paying down the bills instead.

BUT. All this to say that I still had a box and a bag of belongings over in Alyson’s garage. Whenever I visited her, I wouldn’t feel like piling it in my car. She offered to bring it over in her truck, but we never got around to setting it up. While I was sleeping today, J dropped it all off. What’s alarming to me is this: I didn’t hear her unlock and crank open the door. I didn’t hear her dump the stuff in my living room, which must have taken several trips. I didn’t hear her swearing at the Door That Won’t Close, as everyone does. I’m always complaining about not being able to sleep – how was I able to sleep through that? I use earplugs, but I can hear through them – they just muffle the sound a little. I sure as hell heard every note of the Chopin that the ex-Juliard guy upstairs was practicing for an hour (he’s good, but rough on this particular piece). What about a fire? Would I hear the fire alarm? I’m half-tempted to look like a crazy single cat-lady and put up five or six alarms, just in my bedroom. That’d wake me up, right?

It’s a paranoid day, apparently.

This is how Adah sleeps on my feet all day:

And now I’m off to open the box and the bag and figure out what I’ve been happy living without for the last two years. Reason says I should just trash them unopened. But curiosity gets the better of me.....

A Slow Start to the Day

I’m so pleased that I have so many grammarians as friends! Of course, grammar and knitting are similar – tricky little bits to be manipulated, pushed and pulled; not everyone looks to see how something is made, but if one does, each stitch/word is important in strengthening the whole.

Okay. I may be pushing the analogy.

But I love it how y'all pulled out the books and looked it up for me! This could push my laziness to new extremes. Don't spoil me. After reading the excellent comments, I'll keep writing Ds and 1990s, but I'll try not to be so annoyed when I see it written the other way. Humph.

I’m a wee cloudy this morning/afternoon. Last night I pushed my tiredness and cold-remnants right out of my head and went out. First, I went to the local hang-out, which is scary mix of old and, um, old. I read a novel recently that was set in Oakland in the late sixties, and the author described the White Horse in one of the scenes. The furnishings are still the same. So are the people. I counted, no lie, three mullets. We had been looking forward to the karaoke. But when it started with a rousing rendition of “Climb Ev’ry Mountain,” we moved into the pool room. We didn’t dare come out for a long time.

I then heeded my best judgment even less and drove over to the City to meet this girl. She sometimes reads this site, so I hope it won’t come as a shock to her to learn that I’m totally using her for her bar. Well, she’s cute, too. But damn, it’s a good bar. You could sit, by yourself, for hours at the White Horse, and only the crazy Hawaiian shirt guy would talk to you. I’ve been to the Wild Side West perhaps four or five times, and people hug me when I walk in. It’s technically a women’s bar, but it’s also the neighborhood bar. I met Paul last night, who lives around the corner and edits the Bernal Journal. Nope, you can’t make that up. While I try to limit my alcohol intake to a reasonable level (I swear I do, yep yep), there’s just something about bar culture that I fit into. Gawd, I miss smoking, though. Eighteen months.

I’m trying to slyly (all right, I’m not that slick) make myself a part of this crowd. I had a bar once, that I loved. I lost it in a break-up (even though we had drawn up the pre-nup-bar papers), and I’ve been looking for one ever since. I wrote about going back there, not too many months ago, with a girl I was seeing. We were chased out at the end, great huge ugly slurring men screaming “Lezzbi-yans!” after us. (I really think they thought it was an insult.) Guess it was a good thing I lost that bar.

So now I’m waking up slowly. No hangover – I didn’t drink more than a few beers – but I’m sleepy and slow. Back to work tonight. I was given the heads-up by a friend on today’s Fresh Air: Terry Gross interviewed Niki Caro, who wrote the screenplay for and directed Whale Rider. I rarely listen to talk radio, but I turned it on and pulled out my knitting. It was a wonderful interview (catch it if you can) and I remembered how soothing it is to sit and actually watch my hands move with the yarn. Usually I’m watching the computer or the TV while knitting, multitasking my little heart out. This was calming and so nice. Terry Gross, though. Humph. Why does she bug me, just that littlest bit? She thinks she knows everything, doesn’t she? Okay. She does. But still.

Apostrophe this!

I need confirmation from my beloved Grammar Avengers. Now that I’m done with grad work, I’m more of a Grammar Aficionado. I know the rules, and I’m annoyed when others break them. But I also know that in my own haphazard writing I break the rules or simply don’t notice that in haste I’ve used the wrong form of a word. Ugh. What was once unbearable is now almost acceptable. Laziness? Age? (At thirty-one, I can now say I’m in my mid-thirties. You think?)

But help me, please. I may be wrong.

In referring to grades received, it would be incorrect to say “I received all A’s.” Right? Shouldn’t it be “As,” without the apostrophe? Like “CDs for sale,” or “I’m in my mid 30s.”

In the new Harry Potter (god bless, I finished, what a ride), there are multiple references to Harry receiving D’s.

Am I mad? Am I flat-out wrong? Someone back me up. Every time I hit another sentence that had "D's" in it, I had wild one-sided conversations with myself – no, her editors wouldn’t have let that happen, there must some kind of exception when it comes to letter grades, no, I know I’m right, it’s three in the morning, I could be wrong.

Grammar aside, I’ve started a new little sumpin-sumpin. Apparently addicted now to tanking, I’ve decided to cable another tank up. I’m going to make the bottom third in this simple cable pattern, with the top half remaining firmly ChicKami-esque, since I lurve that pattern. We’ll see.

And I leave you with a snap of Digit. He’s outside the window, in the barren window box (I planted a lettuce-seed sampler there, and got nothing but ugly looking spouts), crying for me to notice him. How could I not notice that face?

Baby ChicKami!

It's done! Made with Baby Bernat in cotton, using Bonnie Marie's awesome pattern. It has a few mocha coffee spots on the front, and I'm a little alarmed at how the stripes in the bust kind of striped out into wide swathes of solid color, but it's cozy and soft. I used the fabulous wide strap version, but I raised the neck in the back.

Okay, weird pose. I was in a hurry to go to work.

See the mocha stain?

Raised neck.
Oooh la!

Weather's beautiful, Wish you were here

With his permission, I submit to you the front of a co-worker’s vacation postcard.

This is what it said on the back.

I’ll make it legible:

Greetings from Ireland. I must confess I ran into a bit of bad luck. Today, our first day in Ireland, I went jogging and got bit by a dog! Then Katie and I were passengers of a very violent auto collision. Our car was totaled. Katie’s neck and face were hurt. I hurt my back and broke several ribs. Feel very sore but we lived. I feel like hell. Will try to enjoy the rest of our trip.

(Update – Katie’s fine now, Bob’s kidneys and ribs are healing nicely.) I KNOW it’s terrible, but reading it makes laugh hysterically. I'm a very bad person. Luckily Bob has a good sense of humor. It’s the Very Worst Postcard Ever!

Baby-yarn ChicKami almost done. Pics this weekend. Working mad hours tonight and tomorrow and then I should get a weekend (albeit a shortened one). Fighting the cold with all my Vitamined C might.

And I live here?

OMG, now it's official. Califonia is CRAZY. Gary Coleman's in the race. See this fabulously funny East Bay Express article on the governor-race-as-art-installation.

Also: This is great. New gifts to make for Christmas.

Day 2 in the New House and I've Already Spilled Something

Just because I CAN put up pictures, whenever I want! I just wanted to see his face again. Digit doesn’t repose easily, or gracefully, so when he does accidentally fall asleep on the bed next to me (so undignified!), I like to capture the moment.

Crap. Now I’m getting the cold that I felt trying to get me last week. I don’t feel sick yet, don’t feel anything but a mild ache under my skin and a thickening of my throat. That tap-tap-I’m-gonna-getcha feeling. Oh, hell, no. I’m not going without a kicking, screaming fight. Unfortunately, I’m working sixty hours this week, and I’m only half-way through. Damn.

BUT – I’m getting a lot of knitting done. Working on a modified ChicKami in that baby yarn I was using for the sweaters. Of course, I was at work last night, a brand new gorgeous big-as-they-come (but don’t admit Venti) mocha at my elbow. I turned to say something witty and sparkling to my co-workers and knocked the whole damn thing over. It flew, top cracking off while still in the air, a hard rain of mocha dropping through the room. Do you know how much coffee is in a Venti? The whole amount covered three computers, a fax machine, dripped into three drawers and drained under three floor rugs. I was devastated.

But I gotta tell ya. That Bernat baby yarn – that stuff is meant to be washed. It was the easiest mocha clean-up I had in the whole room. I had to scrub the keyboards, but I merely swiped at the yarn with a sponge and it lifted off. Hear this, young mothers. Or mothers of the young, whatever.

I was so tired driving home I forgot how to drive. Really. I made a right turn near my home and realized AFTER I had turned that I had forgotten to look left.

I will drink more coffee tonight. I won’t knock it over.

I still had energy when I got home, however, to play with Adah (note her Wendy mousies):

She's not possessed by the devil, I swear. (Wait - that could explain a lot.....)

Welcome!

Hi there! Welcome!

This is my new glass house. It’s a little early to let you in, I don’t have everything unpacked, and I haven’t even figured out how the ice-maker in the fridge works (and I might not ever work that out), but the some of the pictures are hung, and I really wanted you to have my new address.

Will you bookmark me, please? And if, by some miracle of fortune, you have me listed somewhere on your site, will you update that link? I’ve been having so much fun, and I’ve found so many new fabulous friends, and I don’t wanna lose you. It’s a little frightening to me – next week would have been exactly one year at my old site, and it’s oddly painful to leave it behind.... the blogging first steps.....

BUT - I just love this new place because I have commenting! And trackback! I can’t get over it. Someone leave me a comment, please! Also still have the tagboard, although I can’t seem to work out the pixel size of the comment box, aargh. And I haven’t worked out all the coding for the rings I’m part of.

(Pulling on my cardie and putting on soft shoes), I’m so glad you’re here! It’s so nice to see you! [sung offkey] It’s a good feeling, a very good feeling, the feeling we know that we’re.... [wait for it] ....friends.

OH! - and the reason I love this new place so much is I can throw in a pic or two right with the text, whenever I want! (I know y’all have had this ability forever, but it’s very exciting to me!) So here’s one for you:

The blanket behind shedding Adah was knitted by my New Zealand grandmother for me more than thirty years ago....

Testing Adding Photos

This is my bee-yoo-teeful baby Winter who's in Australia right now with his fun Mom and Dad. This was his gummy snake that gave him a sugar RUSH!