Really, There are a Couple Hats to Show, Promise

I decided to start writing as the pictures are loading into Photoshop. Yes, the snail-like pace is almost painful.

As I sat here pondering the immortality of a crab, I realized the over-burdening of my processor speed is all my fault. I know, I know, I'm a girl, how could it have been me? That's what boys are for.

Well, just before my LA trip I decided to turn my camera up to 11. Well, 10.1, actually. Mega pixels. I mean, if I want to play around with the pictures I take, I should have the most mega pixels to manipulate...or something. I had a theory at one point. (It's what comes of having been the yearbook teacher, ha, "back in the day.")

Anyhow, when photoshop is opening one (or seven) of these new HUGE pictures, as I'm listening to something on iTunes as well as starting a post using the memory hog that Firefox can be, why am I surprised that everything slows down so badly?

How all this slows down my internets as well, though, is beyond me. This is why I don't get paid the big money. But just as my bruised and battered (ha, yes, another story) knees are connected to my overburdened twisted back, I'm sure there's some similar path that can be followed to connect the WWW to my pooping out processor.

Ah, they've opened.

So the really big problem I have about visiting my parents is that it doesn't feel like I'm "on vacation" in the sense the I need to have my camera out and ready to capture a cybershot moment at every and any opportunity. I've whined about this before. I'm kinda busy being there and just sitting around doing nothing or making puzzles with the kids or refereeing their sordid complaints and arguments (kids that age are soooo funny). So um, the big reveal? Is a bit bittersweet as it occurred during my final moments around my family...well, my mom & dad & niece & nephew.

My flight was ssssuuuuuuuuuupppper early, so my not so little baby brother didn't even poke his head out as we all got ready to go (we'd said goodbye the night before) and my older brother and SIL were equally still sleeping in their house.

I asked everyone to pretend they liked one another. It's such a rare occurrence to get both my mom and dad in one shot, I could not pass up the opportunity. Oh, and the hat my dad is wearing? Yep, the one we got him in Zihuatenejo, so I guess I had something to do with all three head coverings in the photo.

Quick knitting stats: Vanna's Choice in pink and blue respectively, US 10.5 kids sized needles. Cast on 24 stitches and knit like a deamon until you can get it around the kid in question's noggin', sew up the side and gather the top or sew the top flat, your choice; poms not optional.

I knit furiously (that seems sorta oxymoronic...) and sewed on the last pom-pom only hours earlier.

Yes, my niece will indeed be taller than my mom by the time she is 8, maybe 9, it is not an optical illusion. I made her hat into a square and put a pom pom at either corner to match her dimples.

My nephew's is a single pom, a la a favored and similarly blue hat his dad used to have when he was a wee bit older, and though I thought I'd made it bigger, it just fits him. I think he grew between the time I cast on and tied everything off.

Here's the parting shot:
I love the fact that I saw them and was setting up the shot when I was "discovered" by my nephew. Can't get anything past that kid (yes, maybe I am a little proud).

And I didn't cry until after I made it past security.

Teach Me to Knit

As a reward for getting my work done tonight, I am posting!

And, as the blog as my witness! I am starting a new piggy bank fund for a new 'puter with more processing power and like a zillion gigs of RAM. There is nothing more tiring than sitting and waiting minutes at a time for pictures to load and be copied and for that damned swirly thing to stop spinning and turn back into an arrow so I can keep living my life...

Ahem, where was I?

Right, pictures, of knitting! Sort of.

So my niece was really super excited about learning to knit. She wanted to make socks or a sweater or, um, a hat maybe? Please? Cuz I know I can make a rectangle into a hat and I'm so not teaching people under 10 how to use double-pointed anything.
I enlisted the help of my mom for this one. Not only did she find the PERFECT shade of "Vanna's Choice" for my niece, while she supervised her (note the grandma hand in the picture), I tackled one-handed photography and my nephew's, um, lesson.

See, my niece is 6 years old. She is way into learning stuff and if it's pink? Bonus.

My nephew is 4 years old. He's really into doing things big sister is into. I got him blue yarn but um, there doesn't seem to be any picture of him practicing/playing with it...strange. I blame the gnomes.
We are multi-learning here. I cast on 24 stitches and it was her duty to keep 24 stitches on her needles no matter what loop-de-loops, yarn overs, or um, knit three back and forth for a while and maybe backwards as well stitches she experimented with.
I wish this had come out clearer...here is my mom doing some catching of slipped stitches and saving the day.
I guess a fuzzy picture is better than nothing...I almost missed it altogether, see, cuz my nephew and I had started lowering the special clothespin exploring device on the make-shift line that the sheriff (or person in blue) was in charge of.

He was, um, taking a break from the knitting, cuz you know, you knit for too long and you get those repetitive stress thingies going. Can't have that!

And did you know, given enough Angel and Bones DVDs you CAN make a hat (or 2) in a weeks' time? I have lost the last of my patience with Photoshop + not enough computer power for the evening, so the grand reveal with have to wait.

Let's Do This Thing!

Yep, still here.
Nope, not a soul has befallen the unfriendly edge of my letter opener.

I should be asleep right now, seeing as I need to be at work in fewer hours than I care to think about, but seeing as I pretty much collapsed Friday after work (some sinus/allergy/swine flu thing) and have been sleeping for hours at a time every few hours since...I think I might be both slept-out, yet feeling all right enough to head back to the salt mines tomorrow. I have such awesome Calvinist Work Ethic timing, I tell ya.

But instead of describing the awesomeness that was my headache-sore-body-nausea-filled weekend, I bring you one thing that I did on my "vacation" that worked out pretty well in the godawful heat-wave that Seattle had upon my return from LA:

Just look at those curls! Not three weeks ago they were brushing against my elbows!

I have to say that in the quart-sized plastic bag I stored these tresses to get them ready for donating, they look like what they are, not very much hair. Laid out like that, my goodness, that looks like an awful lot...But really it is 15 inches of not very much hair. I did mention I easily fit them into a QUART sized bag. And that's only because my mom had run out of sandwich sized...where they would have been just as happy with plenty of room.

So was I left with super short hair? That's where it's just a little frightening as to just how long my hair had gotten:

Hello world. Yep, my hair is still long enough to touch my shoulders.

This is me doing a mirror shot on my very shoddy GZ'One cell phone camera as I was getting ready to head out to Richard & Steve's house. The redness and splotchy features are thanks to the 90+ degree weather that I am so not used to anymore...but ended up being awesome training for the 90+ degree weather visited upon the not-so-rainy right now city wherein I do live.

Three weeks, really? Well, I am being proved correct in one of my mom's old wives tales.

She used to always cut my hair because she has "hot hands" or maybe my hair just likes her hands? I can't quite remember (I did mention the abundance of nasty in my head that is keeping me from thinking straight?). Anyhow, my hair grows fastest when she's cut it. Which is one of the reasons I wanted her, and not some random child at a hair-cutting place to snip off my locks.

I knew the ends would not be even, and given my hair's tendency to be all wavy/curl at the ends? Not an issue. Not at "nape of neck" length. However, three weeks and it has grown and gotten used to its new length. (Why yes, my hair does indeed have a mind of its own and individual strands grow at all their own paces, why do you ask?) And I need a trim. You have no idea how hard it is to get the very back of your hair to match the sides when you are using your sewing scissors instead of the hair shears I almost, ahem, borrowed from my mom. My tricks are many, including bending at the waist to trim up the very longest bits that I can see/reach/guess at. Ah yes, quite the fashion diva over here.

Yes, I am cheap. But more so, I haven't had anyone cut my hair, really cut it, since about 2002...That seams like a way bigger step than having your mom snip away at a couple/four pony tales...

Taking Things too Seriously

Must remember to breathe.

Just because I am trying to fit in an 8 hour day in 6, no one else is.

Breathe some more...think calming thoughts...fluffy bunnies or whatever...

DO NOT REPLY to the inane email that made you want to stomp over to your coworker and shove his job description in his face...

Instead, breathe lots more. DEEP, cleansing, TV birthing-class-breaths...Let. It. Go.

~~~

It's been rough, this re-entry from being away. Work-wise at any rate. The balance is skewed in a very bad way right now. In the shower I think about uploading my pictures and sharing with you my bits and pieces of share-able vacation news...and then instead I rush-rush-rush to get out the door so I can take rein of the various wild horses that have become the best metaphor for my work/workload.

And right now? Hi, howzit? The camera? NO IDEA where it might be...but we're breathing about that one as well.

Did I mention there might be moving involved?

The lease is up and as much as I like this neighborhood, I can't do another summer of smelling the sulfur-propane-exhaust mix that comes in through my living-room window. Not if the temperatures we've been seeing the past couple days are what summer will be this year. I pay too much money for toxic fumes...I'd rather pay too much money somewhere else. (That and the small thing about the break-ins earlier this year? Yeah, not liking the living here all that much.)

More later, promise.

Everything All At Once...

So I'm home.

Only really I'm at work because as soon as I go home I am too tired to deal with much more than dinner.

And about dinner, thank the gods for Hulu.com, without whose old 70s TV shows there would not be enough of a distraction for me to both cook and eat my dinner as I'd probably fall asleep on the couch and wake up grumpy and sore at about 3:30 AM otherwise.

Settling back into my old routine has been difficult.  I think this is because I hated my old routine.  I think some changes are in order.  More on that later.

Right, so too much is in my head at the current moment.  Mostly having to do with deadlines at work, but I did want to say I'm here, I'm alive.  And pictures soon :).  Cuz we all love the vacation slide shows, I know!

15 Whole Inches, Baybee

So, who knew step one to cutting off all of my hair would involve a trip to the hardware store?

Really and truly?  I figured as much, seeing as my greatest super power at my parents' house is a combination of "it's never ever easy" and discovering something that makes people me shout, "eeeuuuw, what's that!"

This time around I've had such Nancy Drewish adventures as:

• "The Great Mold Adventure"
  
• "BUG!"
  
• "Rust Be Gone"
  

It's the last (for now, the visit is still young-ish) that I had to fight with for my haircut.

Apparently, everyone (but my mom, whose professional shears they were) is happy to use whatever scissors they can lay their hands on to trim their locks.  Well, what can I say, they are all boys and my mom has kept her hair super short for forever and um, can't reach where her scissors were relegated to, possibly since the last time she gave me a haircut (2001 I believe).

So when I pulled them out, I was not all that surprised to find them all rusted solid.  Instead of fighting to see if I could salvage any of them via soap and scrubber, I borrowed the car and visited our local hardware store.  

Unlike the craft store, they were super well stocked and even helpful!  Though, being my father's daughter, I decided to roam the aisles on  my own to find the Naval Jelly and Barkeeper's Friend.  See people, years of being the fencing team's armoury chick, and having to wash stainless steel pots and pans that have seen better days on a sailboat have armed me with lots of rust knowledge.  Besides, the scissors were so gone that I knew if I broke them there'd be no great loss.

Hours later...okay, maybe one at most, I was able to salvage my mom's "Arbolito" scissors.  To give you an idea of how um, aged they are?  The manufacturer stopped making/shipping/selling shears to the US about 20 years ago.  Vintage!

And still sharp enough to cut off 15 inches worth of hair (four semi-easy snips as I had to divide up the hair into pony tails) for Locks of Love.

My baby brother thinks I look super young with short tresses.  At my age...isn't that the goal?  :)

I Must Be Losing My Touch...

You know I don't care much about this, really I don't, it's just kinda weird how 5 people unsubscribed from my bloglines feed in a 24 hour period.  Seeing as they were all private folks?  I never knew who they were to begin with, and usually I don't connect to my blog via bloglines but being in LA it was just something I noticed...and no one who's left really cares, I know.  And it's probably because of online ponderings like this that people are choosing to read other things.

Okay, I'll stop now :).

In other news:

Earthquakes, we've had a few.  

Yep, LA in the Spring is the perfect time for them.  We've had half a dozen small quakes since I arrived.  I've only felt one of them though, the one in the almost 5 range...4.5 or something?  Anything smaller and I am still so much of a SoCal native that I don't really feel those anymore.  But if they are small and sustained?  I think I get flashbacks of the '87 Northridge quake...just because that one seemed to go on for FOREVER.

Knitting, oh has there been knitting.

Not only have a plucked (plugged?) away at Andy's never-ending socks (you'd think I'd have learned from my first experience with size 11 feet?) but I'm down to the toe on a mangled "Fawkes"(I will find a link later...sorry googlers) sock (I did not use the heel nor am I taking the pattern all the way down the foot), as well as one leg and half of another on a super secret present knit that wasn't so super secret before but I unraveled that one completely and have started again using some ohmygod soft and silky stuff.  I'll have more details and maybe a picture or seven later.

See, as usual, I have the camera, I've even taken some pictures...but even if I had a compatible cord with me?  There is no way I'd connect it to my brother's PC.  I am a bit afeared of it, I guess.  (Why yes, I did just have to delete a whole slew of nasties on here, so you know where I stand.)

This wouldn't be so bad, the no pictures thing, except that my niece (6) really really really wanted to learn how to knit!!!  (And because of this, so did her brother (4).  I love the "me too" years.)

So I traipsed off to the local big-name craft store that was in such disrepair I couldn't believe it (dear god my mom lives in ghetto-ville), and found ONE pink and ONE blue (the last of each, I think) Vanna's special yarn, and after digging through the mess at the bottom of the needle display, I found 2 pairs of those uber-cute matching children's knitting needles.

And there are pictures!  But I will add them later.  Just imagine pictures of pudgy hands trying to hold knitting needles interlaced with my mom's hands helping my nieces fingers find the yarn...and about five minutes later what my nephew decided he really wanted the yarn for :).

My mom thought I'd be crushed.  Maybe 20 years ago when dealing with small fries was frustrating.  Something magical must happen at 30 though; or maybe it's just the culmination of all my kid experience.  I just like the fact that they are playing with the yarn and think their needles are cool.

My niece wants a hat and when she is "tired" of knitting or needs "to take a break" I take the knitting and fix the oopses and knit a few rows more.  We're going to make a "square" fold-n-sew hat which I'm sure many of you will know it when you see it but I have neither the words nor the time to search for what I mean just now...the nephew wants to play fire-trucks again.  I'm game.

On the Ground...

84 degrees is quite a shock after Seattle's high of um, what was it? 59?

I spent about 10 minutes at a wee little park with my niece and nephew after dropping off my little brother AT HIS PROM (!!!  I is old), and I think I'm a little sunburnt and a really lot tired.

But hai!  I'm here!

Some Good News, for a Change...

For those of you following the whining saga of my former life as a Sailing Adventurer ^(TM), I will stop tormenting my land-lubbing friends (love ya' lots, honest) and just post it here to have it done with.

I received a surprise call while at work on Monday...just after I hit "PUBLISH POST" or I might have edited/amended/changed the ending.

So the Irish Rose is soon to be called something new. She deserves a new name, she is so no longer the same sailboat we found abandoned in Alameda. Instead she was, until recently, an abandoned and damaged hull + pieces on the Big Island of Hawai'i. I do hope this doesn't become a recurring issue in her life. But, yeah, so many parts and pieces gone and missing that really now, if the tales say a boat has to be torn down to her bare bones before she can be renamed without bad juju about? This would be the closest I'd ever want her to get.

Why the new name? New owner. A (to me) wonderful Peruvian man and his wife (?) have taken ownership of my girl and want to make her into their Sailing Adventuring home.

He LOVES my boat. You can hear it in his voice, the sadness at what he found, the joy of telling me about finding the owner of the mast and bartering his carpentry skills to buy the mast back, the ecstatic giddiness of my extensive knowledge of the boat's history...

I think my little girl has found the right man. A mother's heart is at peace here.

Seriously though, he kept calling her mine throughout our conversation, and it kinda hurt every time...especially when I would correct him and say "no, your boat." My Irish Rose, but his...um, he hasn't quite decided on the name, but he wants it to be the equivalent of "Ocean Flower" so as to keep the floral theme going. Yes, tears. But yeah, it definitely will be his, you can just tell.
~~~

And on a different more EEP note...I leave for LA on Friday and have not even started figuring out what all I need/need to pack/etc. and everything. The best part is that I'll be at my mom's house, so I can pack some undies and dirty laundry and will still be good :). I am silly, I know.

It Is Not A Tumor

Okay, hai, long time.  I may win space-cadet of the year soon.

So did you all know that yesterday was mom's day?  Yeah!  Happens every year shortly after 5 de mayo and yet, can you believe I almost missed it?  Again?

But I did indeed finally pack up and send my mom her ripple socks, whose picture and post I can't now remember and am being too lazy and hazy to link to just now.

Good thing I even remembered to call pretty early in the morning because just about 2:30 PM after my friends J & L left for home I collapsed and proceeded to have a migraine-style headache that I've deduced was not a hang-over but maybe an epoxy-cat-over.

Okay let me 'splain a little:

There was a "welcome spring" party on Saturday at Tim's house.  Yeah, I know it's May, apparently spring really needs coercing in the PNW, and we were to wear plaid and paisley to please the gods and bust a pig-shaped pinata while we were at it to scare away some bad juju or other and as with most of these parties, burn things.  Yes, that party, did you get the flier as well?

Last year there was a similar party (without the plaid, paisley, or pig...but definitely with the fire) where in a new "portable" fire pit was christened and what is that smell?  Is it the pit?  It smells of plastic and epoxy and is the pit on fire?  Bah, we're just drinking too much and are having a group hallucination or something.

Right.  So when shortly thereafter everyone caught some lung-bug, no connections were ever made...maybe cuz we drank too much?  I'm not sayin' nothin'.

This year we are older and wiser and used such terms as "pace" and "moderation" and also maybe only sat a few minutes at a time around the same fire pit because, ugh, what is that smell?  Is it plastic?  Epoxy?  Is the fire pit ON FIRE?!? And besides, there was "Rock Band" to be played and um maybe I got 100% belting my lungs out in a very angry rendition of the Beasty Boyz' Sabotage, thankyouverymuch, but yes, my throat does sting a little because you get really light headed when you have to scream for five minutes straight to get those "awesomes" to flash across the screen and your palms are sweating and your nervous and really?  100%?  Well I need to get some air and instead of air inhale way more epoxy smoke of death that is healthy for anyone...

So the next morning, my head is a little groggy and my nose stuffy but yeah, a shower would be awesome...like my score...until after scrubbing and scrubbing my hair I'm wondering why no one told me I reeked of so much smoke!  How horrid!  I shampooed my hair three times and still no good and then I realized it was because the smell, the buring and slightly epoxy smell?  Was IN MY NOSE.  

I'd inhaled so much of it, that it was still here...probably looking a whole lot like toxic black tar (I have an overactive imagination, what can I say) coating the inside of my lungs and sinuses and yeah, so not good.  And no dosing of Advil or Sudafed or Netti Potting made it feel all that good...and then came the headache.  I haven't gotten one so bad since the burning tires incident back when I lived in Mexico.  Apparently pyromania knows no racial lines, just sayin'.

I threw the cat-thing in because I am preeeeeetty badly alergic to one of Tim's cats, so I thought it best to not inhale too much of her (you know what I mean) at the party.  She was technically someplace else, but unless you are deep cleaning your place?  There is cat dander and hair where you'd least expect it....like where I stashed my purse and sweater, for example.

We'll Make Great Pets*

I've been trying to figure out the best way to lay out all these things and, well, there isn't one. So hello, and welcome to my disjointed and stunned Monday night.

So I really hate it when Mike Judge is right.

To whit, the H1N1 panic being blasted like so, is not that far off the reality.

The reality, that I could only wish I were making up, was in my "day 1" perusing of Flu-demic filled news. I wish I had saved at least a screen shot so you could feel my discomfort and spread the crazy out of this corner of the world to dilute it a little. A comment left on what I want to say was the Seattle Times website had a person freaking out because s/he has Mexican neighbors and OMG s/he is going to get teh Swine Flu! From her neighbors! Who are Messican!!! And therefore infected! Cuz they are Messican! (Okay, s/he stopped after the first exclamation point and the rest is me, but you get the idea.)

That was about the time I posted my previous 2012 commentary. Cuz really, sometimes, if you don't laugh, you cry.

I explained to someone else closer to my sphere of influence that um, no, actually, most of the folks catching the bad flu in the US were actually not Messican but 'Mericans who had vacationed in the land of my ancestors as most of "my people" in the US, in Washington State in particular, were not likely to be heading to Mexico any time soon. And probably hadn't been for years, because, well, we either lack the funds...or (please don't shoot me) the papers.

And, no, I do not know why so many more Mexicans are dying from the flu than others in the world, but my guess is that if you live in the D.F. you may as well be smoking 5 packs a day, so if you catch a virus that kicks you in the respiratory balls? Yeah, not gonna be a good outcome if your lungs have been thrashed your whole life, you know. Or, okay, yeah, you got me, we are dying because we are not as cool as you. Is that what you wanted to hear? Or can you drop this line of questioning already if you don't like my initial answers?

Your theory sounds just as plausible as mine or my dad's (which revolves around narco-trafficantes and their need to fight back and kick some ass and whoops, where did that vial go). Hmm, maybe my dad's been watching too many of those mexican drug trafficker movies.

And, because I'm tired of it all already and need a little more laughter in my life, did you know that Mexican Ranchera music, the kind with the big horns and the guys all dressed alike and almost marching to the beat as they sing about their horse or their truck or their woman, have entered the 21st century with such modern classics as, Maldito Texto. A-yup, a song about a woman breaking up with a guy via text message. At least she won't give him swine flu that way.
~~~

10 days until LA. If they don't shut down the airports my plan is still go!

* Cuz you were good and read to the end: Porno for Pyros, Pets (Personally? I vote for the Martians.)

The End of Days...Coming to a Mexican Theatre Near You...

So, there's all this hoopla about the latest pandemic/book of revelations/end of daze stuff (isn't it amazing how fast things go from "oh there's a flu-thing" to "OMG WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIEEEE!!!")  And even more hollerings and ponderings as to why it's started in my ancestral homeland.

So pardon me as I don my aluminum foil baseball cap but um...did we all forget the Mayan calendar/2012/end-of-the-world thing already?

Hello crackpot theory from Seattle:  This, of course, is based on the idea that back when the Mayans disappeared it was because they were a super-intelligent race which developed space flight/cool star-trekky teleportation/something similar and POOF!  Gone, in a pre-historic instant!  

So the theory goes that come the "end of the world"/calendar, they are returning to bring their forgotten brothers home (ET-style).  When my people come back in the spaceships, come December 22nd when they start taking a headcount...do you really think there'll be room for 6 billion?  I don't.

I mean, just counting the peeps who live in the D.F. (Day-Effay for full effect), that's over 20 million!  Now I'm no UFO expert, but thems a lot of peeps to stuff in the ships.  So a pandemic here, a war there, it's just what the Mayan witch doctor ordered to keep the numbers in check, or something.

Right, you all think I'm super nuts now, but need I remind you all that TWO states found me sane enough to teach children?  Buahahaha!

Is Writer's Block a Little Like White Coat Syndrome?

I have White Coat Syndrome.

You know, that thing about high blood pressure at the doctor's office but nowhere else?  Yep, that's me.

But the last time, when my doctor asked me if I did?  Explaining what it was and then taking my pressure?  Dropped ten points, just like that.  No really!  As she said, just admitting it to the nurse and/or especially yourself does wonders for your nerves and pressure and BAM!  Well more like, Aaaahhhh, normal numbers.

So after telling you all and my various emailers how bad I am at writing right now because I just can't?  All of my Jack-Handiesque thoughts and nonsense has made their way to the world via blog comments and random one-liner emails and chats and scribbles at stoplights.  (Yes, red-light-writer, bad, very bad...but does it help that I only do it when I know it's a super-long light?  It doesn't, I know...for shame...)

But where was I?  

Right, the nagging thought for the day:

So Seattle is one of those hip-cities that are all about the recycling and stuff, right?  Making it super-easy every year to recycle more and more and mix it all up and feel good about the environment and all that noise.

Well, earlier this month they added more stuff to the list of what can go into recycling.  I'm all down with that.  We can even mix glass with everything else!  Aren't we cool?  

Why is it then that they replaced a big ole' trash-sized recycling dumpster for non-glass items with two "house" sized recycling bins for ALL recyclables?  Sigh... 

Mindblocks are Trippy...

I thought I had writer's block.

But that's not really it.  I can write fine, I can tell you all about how I can't write about anything other than not being able to write.

See my problem?

Every time I sit down to relate the latest wacky thought crossing my mind?  It dribbles away to nothing before I can start typing.  Vanishes like the last wispy veil of the dream you had last night that you just can't remember anymore but it's all on the tip of your brain waiting for you to fall asleep again...because as soon as I get up and walk away from keyboards, pens, pencils, scraps of paper?  Like maybe in the shower or while cubing up chicken breasts or running around delivering my inter-office love notes?  Yep, the words and stories and pictures keep flowing.

If I try to write it down?  All I can think about is how hard it is to remember my great idea.  And I can tell you all about that.

My brain is stuck, blocked, broken.  Or maybe just too jam packed (jammed pack?) with all the weights and worries of the world that I, me, my vioce, we're all trapped beneath it and can't seem to break free right now.

Which is trippy cuz how did I get my previous post out so easily?

TGIF

My Life Looks So Exciting, When Written Down...

Reconnecting with high school friends involves a lot of synthesizing of the last 17 or so years of my life into a few lines of coherent prose. To whit, and because a lot of my history is scattered hither and yon throughout these posts, I shall summarize it all here! And maybe you too will think I am so freakin' cool that I should be in the history books! Or committed! (I've linked to older posts and/or websites for those who want to delve deeper.)

17 Years in 10 Points + Epilogue

1. Just before graduating high school, my best friend and I decided, damn it, we were going to work the 1992 Renaissance Faire (in San Bernardino) if it killed us. I think it almost did. But we were young and adventurous, and immortal and I don't think I ever had that much energy sans caffeine ever again. Adrenaline is a powerful drug, people. So is fear and the abject need not to get into hard drugs or pregnant just before leaving home for college, just sayin'.

2. Technically I did not pack up my room to move away from Los Angeles for reals until after grad school, but as I only really "lived" there during summer breaks, let's agree that mentally? I moved away the summer of 1992 to go to UC Santa Cruz.

3. After many years of schooling and fencing and working horrible hours at the library and being a writing tutor, I graduated in '96 and immediately moved up to "East" Menlo Park (as my students liked to call it) to go to Stanford's Teacher Ed Program and get a Master's degree and my first teaching credential.

4. The spring of '97, just before graduating, in the midst of intense student teaching, final projects, and as a mom-day gift to the women who filled that role in my life, I got married to a fellow I'd met at that 1992 Renaissance Faire.

5. Four years (!) later after learning how to sell books, some accounts receivable, AND actually using my degree teaching 7/8th grade ESL? My world changed. A lot happened in 2001, of course. The one that changed my life forever was that my then husband cashed out the last of his options just before the stock market crashed. Debt free (I know, hate me all you like), we took off to Mexico on a 32 foot sailboat thinking we'd be gone a year.

6. We spent two sailing seasons cruising down the coast of Western Mexico all the way to Zihuatanego, Grro. I was very disappointed that it looked NOTHING like the stretch of beach they used for the movie. But dude! We'd gone 3,000 miles in a sailboat!

7. March of 2003 we set sail to Hawai'i. Yes, same boat. Just the two of us. Yes, 32 feet on deck. We did not kill one another. Didn't even get into one single fight. 29 days. 3,000 more miles. I was the strongest and buffest I will ever be during that trip. We landed in Hilo in April and I was about 40# lighter than I am today. SICK AS A DOG, but damn, I looked good.

8. February of 2005 I was packing the last of my bags and boxes to get the hell out of dodge. In two years I'd earned my second state teaching license, found the sweetest and sassiest, and scariest kids as I taught middle school, met some of the nicest people in the world in our neighbors and friends, and a nightmare of a marriage that ended very badly.

9. I ran away to North Lake Tahoe. As far away from the ocean and tropical weather as possible. I fell back to library work, because my world works in circular patterns...and I took to crocheting them as well (circular patterns) and knitting many many hats and met another set of very nice people that made me think the world is not that bad of a place and everyone has a world of stories in their past and hai! They made it, so could I.

10. In February of 2006 I realized I needed to make real money again but the thought of moving to southern california was too depressing, the bay area was never my thing, Santa Cruz was no longer feasible...in a turn of events that I don't think anyone could have orchestrated, I was but one of a group of friends decided to move to Washington State/the Seattle area at about the same time. It just kinda happened. And remember the circular thing? After temping for a year/year+, I got a job doing accounts payable.

Epilogue: I don't know if I'm going to teach again. The fact that I still wonder about it makes me think I might not mind earning yet another state's credential. I just don't know. In that same vein, I don't know if I'm sticking with accounting. I know...no, I KNOW I'm not living up to my "potential." This is especially true when I run into old school friends who are doing amazing things. And knowing is half the battle, I suppose, but right now this is where I am. And no, I do not have children. I live in a pet-free building, so currently, no animals to call my own either. My relationship status is technically single.

Yes, I was vague in a lot of points because um, if I tell you everything then what do we have to talk about over copious amounts of coffee/cocktails/milk'n'cookies?

Defeat Never Felt So Sweet

Someone else filled the last spot in my division, cue huge sigh of relief.

Now I can go enjoy the sun and daylight after work instead of sitting in my corner trying desperately to knit one more row before dinner, and another after, and another just before bed...

Why do I try then? Two years running and all?

Because I think it makes me knit faster.

Or at least it reminds me that other people out there knit at my pace and I am not such a sl-o-o-o-w knitter, only a slow one :).

I know, I am not a well person.

But it does feel good to sit back and be a cheerleader instead of a competitor, sometimes.

Have I mentioned my OCD Tendencies?

I did not drive back to work last night to look for errant knitting bags.

You have NO IDEA how difficult this was.  It took so much self-control I think I may have blown a fuse.  I know I gave myself a tummy ache.

See:
- LOST would be on before I returned.  Yes, I am addicted, la la la, not listening.

- Did I mention I had no idea where I might have left it?  Yes, I know I've walked almost all the way back to Tim's condo when a mere feet from my own front door in search of a lost item, but this time?  This time involved stops along the way to places long closed (library) and if I didn't immediately find it on my chair at work?  That would only add to my trauma.

- I think subconsciously my arm needed a break.  I have this badly damaged tendon issue that was never resolved and knitting every spare moment of the day after you've been typing and data-entering and pretty much just over-using damaged parts is just plain not smart.

- We're working on smarter, not harder this year.

- I am not OCD!  Shut. Up.

So this morning:

- I collected my knitting bag from the "found" box behind the front desk.  The note said it was found in the back stairwell (I'da never seen it) and signed by the security guard.

What's really silly here?  The knitting contest?  Not much of a big thing to me at this point.  I know I am too slow to win in the more advanced rounds.  The knitting?  I have the pattern at home, there is always more yarn to be purchased, and what a great excuse for new needles!

No, the thing that made my tummy turn inside out was the little bag I've been using to cart my sock knitting projects about.  It was a going-away gift from the last class I may ever teach.  And losing it?  I don't wanna say I'm a big baby or anything...but um, yeah, I think I might have cried a wee bit at seeing it all in one piece...and the word "inconsolable" might have drifted into my thoughts last night if I would never see it again.  I am so not good at losing things.

Which is probably why Andy's advice to me today after I mentioned I'd found my bag was that maybe I should to try to stop being such a space cadet.  Isn't he a sweetie?  Don't you want one of your very own?  This is the kind of thing best friends are for though.

I promise I will be better of keeping track of all my junk.  Less rushing and more planning ahead.

Oh, and planning ahead?  

I'm trekking down to LA la land May 15th - the 24th, leaving at waaaay too early on the 25th, just FYI and all that :).  

Convincing Myself to Wait Until Morning...and Failing

I can't find my knitting bag.

You know, the one that contains my Tokena-in-progress? Which, according to the Ravelry forums I may be the last one they are waiting for to finish. Yeah, that one.

See, I took it to work today because I had a whole real 15 minute afternoon break where I literally put on a timer and just sat and knit while listening to some Nine Inch Nails on super high. I should hang a sign on the back of my chair that says "ON BREAK" or maybe set my screen saver to say "NOT LISTENING" or something similar because I know people walked up behind me and started to ask questions which my supervisor-guy deflected for me.

In a very literal sense (due to seating configuration) he watches my back during these times of "DO NOT BOTHER ME."

I have my ipod. I do not have my little bag.

Crap.

I would so drive to work tonight right this second to get it, but what if it's not there? What if I left it somewhere in between?

See, I rushed out the door. I had errands and stuffed things willy-nilly and no, I did not shut my bag, why would I go and do something like that?

Urgh. My head is starting to hurt.

Everyone's Private Rainbow

I wish you could see my violets. They are so purple! Deep, rich, mysteriously purple. But all I can give you, even after fiddling with Photoshop, is this:



I am far too lazy to look, but I'm almost sure I've mentioned Dr. T., my high school Chem and Physics teacher who taught me more than he may have realized.

He was "shoelace smart," as my friend Pam would say, when it came to Math and complicated thinking. So smart, so very very very smart that the little things like tying your shoelace are so irrelevant a thought that they never stick?

Yeah, he'd start an equation on the board and two lines later it was solved, because he did all the "inconsequential" and "fiddly" bits IN HIS HEAD. We would have been doomed had it not been for Ms. B., Math teacher extraordinaire who would walk us through the page-long explanations to get the magical outcome that Dr. T. insisted was EASY.

I am tangent queen this morning...where was I?

Rainbows. Or at least color spectrum. Dr. T. said everyone always only ever saw their own private rainbow due to combination of water droplets, light, angles and the way our human eyes captured it all and processed it in our brains. He mentioned in passing that possibly purple and red, at either end of the spectrum, were probably the most individualized.

Ah, purples. I've been told that red is the hardest to photograph, is that why? Because we're all seeing our own version of red? And purple aside from being mostly red+blue? And as mentioned, at the end of the spectrum? It has not been the easiest for me to duplicate.

I've tried for days now to get a good picture of my Tokena socks-in-progress as well, and obviously each day the progress is a little more...but the picture? Still not doing them justice. So I fiddled with the Photoshop again:



I'm told I'm still in the running...but unless I get WAY PAST the heel and/or a good deal into the foot area before I go to bed tonight...I may not make it.

On this quiet and reflective Easter Sunday though? Who knows.

Two Steps Forward...

Like getting serenaded* with Whitney (love the hair!**) yesterday at the park wasn't enough to pitch me head first into the 80's...I now have Paula Abdul in all her dancing glory + cartoon cat jumping around in my head...you know the one that goes, sadly, "Two steps forward, two steps back..." But not in the happy-rappy-dancy way?

This is what my socks looked like on Sunday, basking in the sun, having a fabulous time at Gasworks Park as I waited the arrival of L&L&T&B.

This is also what my socks look like again tonight, after "tinking" back the measly 7 rows I painstakingly added to the sock on the right as I realized that somehow? Maybe too much sun? Maybe too many small children and dogs and people with kites? The sun? I completely and totally IGNORED what the chart said to do and put in a couple rows that had absolutely nothing to do with the pattern.

It's not going well, people. Cuz, baybee opposites are not attracting. (Here, get it out of your system, and yes, it really is as bad as you remember it.)

Yeah, good times.

*By serenaded I mean that one lonely guy in that tiny red fishing boat with the very loud speakers and the very dated soundtrack...but it did cause both L&L to burst into song...

**Actually I do love that bow. If that isn't the precursor to the Aretha hat (which I still think I could pull off, shut up) I don't know what is. (ZOMG! Did you know Aretha appears on the video? It's a sign people! Okay, must go away now.)

The Thing About Fish Oil...

So I officially have the lowest blood pressure I've had in years for the last few months.

And maybe I'll find out via the web or maybe you all know? Am I just a shade darker than glow-in-the-dark pasty white because of the fish oil pills or the 1000 mgs of vitamin D? Regardless? I don't mind it at all. Anything to make the day-glow veins look less, well, day-glow, you know?

But the one daily fish oil gel-cappy thing I take? Which, when I read the suggested dosage is only 1/6th the norm? Screws with my head like there was no tomorrow.

Every day, once a day I get this taste in my mouth that tells my brain, "Oh, you had Salmon today already, so no fish for dinner."

And then I do a double take and sometimes actually have to stop whatever I am doing and tell my brain no, no, no, you did not have sashimi for breakfast, that's just the cheapie fish oil pill letting you know it's all swooshy in your tummy, yum! And the next thought promptly becomes, "Am I going to be like when I'm a ditsy little old lady? Stopping myself and pretty much talking (sometimes out loud) to myself to explain things to me?"

At least I'm not doing it in the third person, yet.

O-okay, back to the knitting...cuz I made it through round one (yey me!) and round two started today and I'm still working on the cuffs while everyone else seems to be nearing the heels.

These Are Not the Socks You're Looking For

I think I am worse than a grandmother.

Do grandmother's make people hold their child in such a manner to get "just the right shot" of be-stocking'd feet?

I made these socks for L&L's little girl about 4 times. See, she keeps growing. I finally gave up all hope of making a heel and created tube-socks for the ever growing legs. Yep, they are knee-highs right now, but give or take a week, she'll be using them as anklets.

For all your knitters:
US 2 needles, CO 32 stitches and 2 x 2 ribbing until I thought I'd go blind. Then I made an eye of partridge "back of the heel" but never turned the corner, just kept the ribbing going on the "front" of the sock so that it would maybe stay on the child's foot longer than 5 seconds...until again, I thought I might never finish, and then made a toe.

The yarn? The left overs of my Vesper Sock Yarn in Cantaloupe. Yey bright colors in far-too-grey Seattle!

I do love having a bit of color in my pocket during the dingiest time of the year here.

I use to joke about this and now I am so very much eating many bitters about it...it has been "All Summer In A Day" around these parts for far too long. And when the sun is out and shiny and bright and tempting from the window??? It is still not anywhere near 50 degrees outside.

Andy and I (more Andy than I...my mouth runneth off lately) were pondering how we would walk around in shirtsleeves in Tahoe when it was just touching 50 while here we are still dragging around scarves and pea coats while the hard core PNWers are busting out their shorts...

I think I've acclimated...It has not been 15-28 degrees all winter and now the temps are melting snow like it would a mile up by the lake. So now I am grumpy-mc-cold-pants and NEED to go to to Mexico or Hawai'i or anywhere where I can break a sweat AND catch a sunburn while wearing shorts and a t-shirt...and not my pea coat cuz someone's left the heater on too high as I'm running errands.

And now my break is over...I have to finish some toes tonight so I can maybe get my nerve up to trying a new-to-me heel.

You're Not Missing Anything, Honest

My life has not become too sexy for this blog or anything.

More like the utter and complete opposite.

For those of you wondering about my non-knitting life, sorry, I got nothin'.  Everything is pretty much as it was last week...except maybe my butt hurts a little less and the sinus thing is now just an exploded eyeball thing (okay, maybe I should catch you all up...I can hear, I can breathe, but my god, my eyeball looks like that time my elementary school classmate got slammed into the coffee table by his older brother when they were "playing" wrestlemania and his eyeball was all bloodshot and awful and the skin so swollen it looked like he was growing a new head?  

So all I have is the bloodshot eyeball.  No swelling, no new head.  It doesn't hurt, itch or anything, but feels like my eyeball is dry...which to me says, "HELLO SPRING!"  Yep.  even in artic-ly cold Seattle, flowers are starting to bloom and spread their pollen-love to all...especially my eyeball.)

On the all-I-do-is-knit-front?  I am tirelessly working away at my Sock Madness Sock #1...but I am a slo-o-o-ow knitter at the best of times and so, to make sure I don't get distracted by some other shiny thing, I've kept my life super-simple in the get home, knit, make dinner, knit, eat, knit, clean up, knit until my eyes grow so heavy I must go to bed-style that leaves NO TIME for bloggie things.

I mean, I have cute baby feet pictures to share (good blogger), but yeah, still on the camera along with the pie pictures and everything else that seems so time-sensitive that I'd have to find a way to wander back in time to have it all make sense.

Odd how life keeps moving forward and you're stuck 3 or for days/weeks behind.  How do scrap-bookers do it?  (Sorry that kind of stuff just pops into my head at random...usually when I don't have enough sleep.)

And yeah, I have no chance of finishing my socks before the Sock Madness round is up or all the spaces filled, but as I've decided they'd be a perfect gift item, I have incentive to finish, at least.

In Pain, but Here...

Pain #1:

Wednesday's headache?  At this point I wish it was a hang over.  It's sinus related...my theory is that the music and bar and live instruments combination was so loud that it dislodged everything and put extra pressure where it need not be.  I am insistent on this because I am still stuffy and head-achey in that "trying not to be another bloody sinus infection" way.

And yet, yes, still kinda sorta planning on getting down to the High Dive to listen to In the Drink in non-rehearsal setting.

You caught that kinda sorta bit eh?

Pain #2

So um, can someone just come on by with an ice pack/heat pad/vicodine/a saw?  Because the cure?  Oh dear me oh my it is so much worse than the disease just this second.

Yeah, I went to my "butt" doctor yesterday AM and what was supposed to be my last visit ever became my last visit related to my bike accident and my very first one related to strained back muscles due to possibly my 3, 4, too many to count and remember past bike accidents (remember when we were young and immortal?), that one really bad sailing accident, and possibly that other time when I was slammed into the wall not-so-much-accident that I don't talk about...

i.e. my body has finally been inflicted upon by that dreaded "last straw" and the onion metaphor was used on me and I used every bit of control in me not to say I liked parfaits better.

Yes, even when I'm twisted and contorted in pain (the main muscle worked on yesterday is the one just to the right and up of what most would know as the "pulled groin owie;" the one that wraps around and does major work for my spine...hence the right thigh/hip/groin area not so happy with me this morning...and if I cut it off would it hurt less?)

Pain #3

I bonked my head on my car super hard this morning while I was trying to figure out how to get into the driver's seat without hurting myself, too much.

Yes I wanted to cry.  But being a big girl now, I simply swore loud enough to convince the new folks just moving into the building that maybe I was the one tenant best avoided...I make such awesome first impressions, let me tell ya'.

However, the distraction given to me by my pounding head was just enough to get me into the car without thinking too much about how much my pelvic area is inflamed and HURTS when I lift my leg up enough to clear the door frame of my car.

~~~

I won't say he promised, but my doc did hint that maybe today would be the worst of the pain seeing as he had to work on the biggest of the muscles yesterday.  I hope he was not lying to me so I'd come back.  

I am counting the hours until I can take more advil...is that bad?

Happy Friday!  

Happy Hang-Over Day!!!

I'm starting to understand the popularity of Twitter.

No, I do not have a Twitter account.  I am just not that interesting.  And I rarely do things which are.

But how many people did I see at the Tin Hat busting out their iphones blackberries mobile devices every ten to fifteen minutes to do some button punching and then have this look of...not so much...or maybe it was, satisfaction that they'd gotten something off their chests or something? And someone else, possibly at the other end of the room, scrolling laughing and then doing some more possibly virtual button punching?

I dunno, it was kinda weird and old fashioned to turn to my table mates and just, um talk, out loud...but that's just me.

Though, sitting here now thinking about everything that happened last night?  I think it might have been best for me to dish it out 140 characters at a time as the night progressed instead of sorting and resorting it in my head to figure out what of worth to note down on my own virtual pages.  Of course we'd all be la-a-aughing at how bad my grammar can get after a couple lemon drops...I am, after all a "cheap date" now-a-days and really, three drinks in three hours is still three drinks, I don't care what my weight is, my metabolism is slow and getting slower every day...but I think I had the best night's sleep than what I've had in a LONG time.  Sadly. 

La la la, moving on...

Sometimes it takes me running errands to realize the obvious.

My shoes, the ones I bought (along with too many "plastic" pants) what seems like eons ago when I first signed up to do temp. work?  The ones I still use almost EVERY SINGLE DAY to work? (I've ditched most of the plastic pants cuz um, hi, polyester is so not good for my well being.) They hurt my feet, which hurts my knees, which last I checked were connected to the thigh and HIP bones.

My first boss ever?  The podiatrist I used to reception for?  Would have slapped me upside the head with my tattered (I am not nice to my shoes) Jocelyn Danskos.  This was brought home rather glaringly when I took off my Dr. Martin's boots (oy!) last night and noticed that my feed DID NOT hurt.  (For those of you not in the Dr. M know?  Doc Martins are not not known for their comfort.  They have fabulous style, does that say enough?)

So I helped out the economy in what would be the fastest shoe purchase EVER (for me).  Seriously it took less than 5 minutes from the time I walked in here to the time I was walking out toward my car, new shoes in hand. I simply pointed and asked them to help me replace the old ones with an exact copy.  Why mess with what's worked so far?

Anyhow, I may not do ANYTHING for the ever-hated Valentines' day, but I raised a glass or three for the Irish, got to sit in on a little bit of practice time for a new-to-me band (there may be music, I have not sound here), In the Drink, and got to watch BAAAAAAD tv (there may have been a Leprechaun marathon at the Tin Hat....oh my was it awful...it took me back to all the B-movies my older brother and I used to rent).

But yeah, a fun time was had by all. 

And yes, BIG badda boom headache right now, why do you ask?

I Did Jinx Myself, Didn't I?

Except, happily, I also met my goal for the weekend...it was a little one:

Spend as little time in front of my computer as possible.

I didn't even read the BBC or Seattle Times or anything (I get 99% of my news online). Just couldn't do anymore...it really is cyclical, what with me having to squint at numbers on a screen and get things to balance and take stuff from one account and get it into another...urgh. All before the closing deadline...urgh. But now I'm back for a bit, until I get sick and tired of it all again...next month.

So, hi, I'm catching up and reading the day's discoveries...and I'm told I started being "old" at 27 because some "scientists" have stated we reach our top mental capabilities at like 22 or some BS like that and we all decline whole-heartedly by 27. See, when you look back at your college senior thesis and think, "Man, I was smarter then!" Um, you were...according to these guys.

I don't buy it, myself. I think people have those "peaks" because, yeah, that might be the apex of your learning in life, I mean, you're about to graduate from school and your brains are stuffed! So unless you go on to learn more and more and more? Yeah, your brain will cope by letting slip the Pythagorean theorem or the ADP/RDP formula in lieu of your intense need to remember such things as, "Did I pack Billy a lunch today?" Which becomes way more important.

Or something.

Anyway...the pie/Pi activity was a hoot...and the pictures of my pathetic attempts are still on the camera...so nothing to show today.

I did finish the knitting part of some baby socks for L&L's T. Heel-less ones as she is growing like a weed and it's still kinda cold here. But I have to graft the toes...which is the hardest bit. I'm also at the toe of a sock for me...and finally got to the feet for some socks for Andy. Hmmm, kinda a whole lot of sock knitting...and there's to be more. I kinda signed up for the Sock Madness thing again. So I see all this other sock knitting as, um, training, yep, that's it.

Happy Monday!

I'm Not Trying to Overwhelm, Really...

So this would be the fourth day in a row that I am posting.

There, I just jinxed it and we'll get back into a "maybe once a week" pattern again in no time :).

My workplace is celebrating Pi day today instead of tomorrow. I've made two to share but have not taken any pictures yet as I finished at about 11PM last night and yeah, it was my birrday yesterday and that's my excuse.

No, I didn't take any birthday pictures either. But I ask that you use your imagination as I describe that I am sitting with red roses decorating either side of the monitor, birthday cards are propped just in front of me (I think I have finally converted MJ to the dark side, her cards are officially the kind of cheese I adore...), and there is leftover ice cream cake in the freezer.

For those that can't live without the gorey details: I had yummy scallops in curried cream sauce over fettuccine. (I made it, but that's what I wanted for my birthday dinner...I was not going to have Andy deal with the curried cream sauce, it is tricksy and from the 70s and has been adapted by me over the last 7 years...eep, so it breaks our "make the other person dinner as a birthday gift" tradition we somehow silently instilled when we first started sharing living space...but meh, he made a yummy salad!)

I have a couple things to do before I run off to work: take some pictures of my pies to share with you tomorrow...and maybe pick up some ice cream as we've all come to know just how much I disparage my pie making skills. A la mode might do wonders.

But I'll leave you with these:

I won the drawing over at the Sockamania monthly sock knit-along! Yey me! Yey pretty yarn! And a pen even. All of my needs met in one single swoop...(Have I told you all about my pen, um fetish?)

An unblocked, unwoven ended beanie. It's the latest thing I've finished knitting...and it's even blocked as we speak...somewhere. The ends still need weaving in but um, yeah, I don't know where it is at this moment.

I guess I have three things to do before I get to work...

Moving Up a Demographic Unit

I had no idea this would freak me out so much. (What, me freak out! Ha ha ha, I know.)

So you know those silly usually marketing-related boxes asking for age ranges? 28-30, 5-7, etc. and so forth?

A few weeks ago, when I last ran into one, there was this explosive sigh of relief that came out of me (that I had no idea was there, would be there, would come from me) when I realized I was still in only the second age range! See, the box options were:

__ 18-24

__ 25-34

__ 35-44

etc and so forth.

What this was for, I can't even remember. (The mind is the first thing to go, after all :) This is why I keep blog, and a journal, and write letters, so that when I can't even remember my first name, I'll have a fabulous story of some woman's life to look back on...or something...where was I?)

Right, so back then, a few weeks ago? I was that middle demographic and was elated to still be there.

This morning? At midnight no less when Andy and Tim lifted their glasses to toast the end of Andy's birthday celebration and the beginning of mine? No more. The mantel has been passed. I'm now part of a different marketing research scheme. My google ads will no doubt start changing. Facebook will probably keep advertising that belly-fat thing they've been doing for forever, but what's next!?! Cialis ads? (Was it me or were there WAY more of those kind of commercials during last week's LOST episode--it's the only thing I watch "live" right now. Speaks VOLUMES about who ABC thinks is watching that show.)

I think my main problem here (besides the fact that maybe I am as kookie as my cousin V usually describes me as) is that I don't like 7 x 5. It's a numbers thing. I know, I'm a little odd, that's why you're here, either checking up on me or laughing at the silliness. No stalking though, that's just not the road we need to go down :).

Anyway, I did not get enough sleep last night to dwell on these things in such public forums as blog posts, so instead I'll switch gears and list things that make me happy right now on this, the dawn (well, almost afternoon) of the first day of my 35th year:

- My hair is so long now that if I wear it "down" it sweeps across my elbows as I walk. This is a silly thing but there is no end to the amusement it gives me. Almost as much as it did when it was so short that it used to tickle my neck. (I'm not sure which I like better...more on this later.)

- All of my work pants are too big. (I wish this was a general statement, but I tend to wash all of my pants (jeans included) in hot water and though I'm winning the race to stay smaller than my work pants, denim shrinks faster than I do...so we're still fighting the good fight.)

ETA - And they PAY me to do math EVERY DAY people...my baby brother was born in 1992, so I was a WHOLE YEAR wrong here...

- My little brother liked his birthday present (I got him the first three volumes of "season 8" of the Buffy saga.) So I'm still kinda cool in his eyes, for an old lady (he turned 1617 (SIXTEENSEVENTEEN!!) on Monday, I am SOOOOO old compared to that).

- My mom and I have good conversations on the phone, including last night as I was rushing around cooking Andy's birthday dinner (homemade chicken soup) and baking him oatmeal cookies and she laughed and laughed at my Spanglish and a couple swear words because really, I should not be cooking, baking, AND talking on the phone at the same time. There should be laws. But anyway, real conversations are so nice to have! (Instead of the one-sided lecture series circa 1993-1999 or so...)

- Trader Joes hand cream from the restroom at work makes me very happy. Even if it does smell like little old lady. I don't mind that smell so much as I did about 10 years ago when there was nothing and no-how that I'd use anything (Neutrogena "Fisherman's Friend" anyone) that would make my hands feel so wonderful but smell like I was, um, not 25...I am so not that person anymore.

- Early birthday wishes from all of you that thought I would be way too busy today and tonight to get your phone call or email. See, I'm going to try to dwell on the positive here and be all cheery that you cared enough to drop me a line, and not the negative that I'm actually working all day today and yeah, let the young people party like it's on sale for $19.99. Unless I get a nap? Or lots of sugar? I'll be in bed at my usual hour. Oh wait, I wasn't going to dwell on the negative. My bad.

Okay, back to the salt mines with me.

I Think It Just Wanted Some Attention

Seriously, I went to bed, dragging my leg behind me, almost.  So tender to the touch I could not even have my blankets on my hip, it was too much weight.

This morning?  I don't know if I'd call it centralized, but it really does only hurt in what I shall call the "main owie area" in that "I've walked too many miles" sore feeling instead of the constant pulled tendon/throbbing ache I'd been experiencing.

It's like it was waiting for me to finally give in, say uncle, acknowledge my defeat...

Weird, huh?  And just in case, I GIVE!  Really!

In a complete and transitionless tangent, his goal, like my little brother's on Monday actually, was to sleep his day away...what a simple birthday wish, but just in case:

Happy Birthday, Andy! 

Blame it on the Pa-a-in....Yeah, Yeah...

Are you old enough for me to have gotten some Milli Vanilli stuck in your head?

It's been there all day. So much so that even humming "The Girl from Iponema" did not help. I had to have a little wiki-session with regards to Rob and Fab, you know, if you can't beat it out of your head you may as well fill it chock full of useless trivia. It doesn't make it go away, but boy does it fulfill a deep set need to find closure of some kind.

Am I alone in this? Does anyone else get obsessive about a thought to the point that they must do the Google-fu to fulfill a need they never knew they had? I mean, how else would I have ever known that A-Ha is still touring and OMG they are still cute and/or kinda (scroll all the way down) HOT!!! (Forgive me, I'm about 26 hours from hitting the big 3-5, so I feel like I get to have these crazy moments.)

Where was I? So the pain...

So I am also here to acknowledge my intrinsic masochism...or maybe it's just a massive pain threshold that surprises most people who have seen me panic to the point of whimpering at needles, or full-on cry when bonk my head... but um... yeah, you know that feeling you get when you pull a hamstring? So I'm experiencing something similar, but the pain actually starts just at the bend in my right knee and extends all the way up to just below my rib cage. Nonstop. It's been days now. Ever since the weather started doing the pseudo snow thing. Constant. No rest except for the few hours of sleep I've gotten when I'm finally too exhausted and the naproxin has kinda taken hold.

Forget daylight savings messing with me...this tops it.

Yes, before you ask, it's the same leg as is attached to the hip of hips which has been being Osteopathisized all this time. Relapse in a super bad way? I dunno. I haven't spent much time thinking about it as I'm in the throes of trying to finish my work before we close the month. (And researching failed fake bands, obviously.) And lemme tell ya, it is hard to concentrate on anything when all I can think about is just how much I can stand living with this pain before I go all Lorena Bobbit on it. I'm seeing my Doctor next week...But if I don't sleep soon I think I will be ready to cut it off. I will cut me! And I'm not all that good around knives.

See, I can only sit here and type as I am practicing my own kind of chair yoga: sitting on my right foot as I extend my knee over the edge of the chair letting gravity and my "very strong" leg muscles purposely hyper-extend the tendons in my knee cap and stretch out the muscles and things (so technical) running along the inside of my leg because damn does it feel gooooood in a baaaaad way. And now I'm seeing just how close I can get to having my right toe touch my left shoulder...as I type. Let me distract myself some more...

So about my "very strong" legs...yes indeed, my Dr. has verified that I have FREAKISHLY big muscles in my legs for a girl my height/size. Just what every gal wants to hear, I know. One of the reasons I have the superpower of being able to "carry" so much weight and only look "chubby" or a "little overweight" instead of the full on OBESE those god-awful government charts would have us labeled at is that it really is big bones and even bigger muscles.

But I guess it's better to be told that yes, those are muscles and not, oh, I dunno, fat maybe, clinging to my thighs. This means that with the proper training I probably could walk all the way to LA and back, but ha ha ha on me, I will never ever EVER fit into that magical Devil-Wears-Prada-size-four pair of anything, never.

Ever.

This is me being over this concept and instead moving on towards working on a new goal. How about regaining the ability to leg press 750 lbs the way I did that summer my older brother and I spent too much time alone in the weight room at my high school, before it was my high school?* I think I was 10...maybe 11.

Oh yeah, and do you at all wonder why I am so damaged? Cuz I don't. Not really.

*Please note I am dripping with sarcasm and am not that crazy. Just maybe in a little too much pain.

I've Been Waiting for Today...

How about some random:

* Never ever ever use cool water in your Neti/Netti/Nose Teapot EVER. It is painfully horrible! Be ye not lazy and wait for the tap water to warm up. Ask me how I know...

* I don't know if this is petty of me, but I find it heeelarious that the Prius owner and her mate who, it turns out, live on the same floor as I do and park down only a few spots from me in my parking garage, ALWAYS take the elevator instead of the stairs. (I take the stairs mostly because I find the elevator scary and slow and I'm usually in too much of a hurry and have too little patience to stand there waiting as it slo-owly make it's way up and stops to "DING" at every floor... (I'm on the third floor, of a four story building, you would think this would be fast...ha ha ha.)

* Speaking of Prius drivers...I have nothing against you, honest, it's just you kinda stick out in your "humanness" all the more when you are being, um human... So I bought in to the Girl Scout Cookie Scam because I am weak and I love Samoas and was curious about the Dulce de Leche (more about these in a later post) and seeing as I'd already decided the $10 bill was gone (the change would likely go into my vending-machine kitty), when the little girl with the lisp (oh yeah, more on her later) asked if I wanted to donate my change to the homeless or our troups...I did. The fellow next to me held out his hand for his change. As we walked over to our respective cars I saw he was a Prius owner and had to chuckle...I know every penny counts in this economy...but still, it was the dino-burning girl that gave up her change for a cause...and not the enviro-guy? (Hey, in this car-centric society you know you are what you drive, and all that BS.)

* The little girlscout with the lisp...or... If you want to sell Girl Scout Cookies make sure you have one of her at your table. Chica had manners to boot! There is nothing that will suck in the crowd like a sweet little girl whose face lights up as you exit the market and says, "Excuse me, would you like to help the Girl Scouts?" No really, she said "excuse me." She did not shove anything in my direction and she was so totally polite it was like a tractor beam had ensnared us all. If the need should arise I have already promised myself not to purchase anymore blood money cookies from anyone but her.

* I don't seem to care how famous and awesome and god-like Van Morrison is (thanks to NPR I know he is still alive and touring or something), I still make fun of his music. I think mostly because he looks like my dad and his song styles must have involved a whole lotta drugs and drink to have a grown man record something with "dow dow dow dow dow dow dow" in the lyrics. Please don't shoot me.

* My tax guy will know me by the sterility of my packet. Um, yes , I have a tax guy. I have paid him money to do my taxes for all but two of the last 10 years. (Stupid x husband who wanted a "local" guy who REAMED us that one year and wanted more the next!) Anywho, having the short-term memory of a gnat lately (it is amazing what pain does to your brain) I got all my stuff together for him, including my yearly letter asking how he was etc., so forth/niceties that make us human, and went to the post office to send it off to him. I was not prepared enough to have an envelope ready to go, that is what the PO supplies are there for, right? Back at home when I went to pull out my new book of stamps? Um, yeah, apparently I'd sent him everything but the letter that personalizes this whole experience.

And lastly:

* I was thisclose to getting rear-ended by my boss' boss' boss the other day. Seattle has these SUPERLONG city blocks with no crosswalks (shocking, I know) so back a million years ago a law was passed that pretty much said that if a person is in the act of crossing the street, you stop for them, whether or not they are in a crosswalk. This is not an abused priveledge by any means, but um, people tend to forget. Being a super-paranoid-gramma-driver? I always stop. Especially in front of hospitals, as we were. I did not know who was driving the car that appeared so suddenly and so hugely in my rear-view mirror until he scooted around me farther down the road to make a right turn. Yep, I ALMOST flipped him off, but for some reason (the gods?) I didn't.

And that brings you up to date. (And the spell-check is broken, so forgive my errors.)

It's Only Pretty if You Don't Have to Go Mucking About in it

I'm sorry I doubted you, oh Gods of Snow & Icy Roads. Or maybe it was the trees? Because up close as they are? They look kinda sad and dejected and full of remorse. But with the way they've been whipping about this morning? The gusting winds should soon have them cleared of most of the snow. But um, hai? GUSTY? WINDS?

Winter is just letting us know that the groundhog was right.

But those same gusty winds are showing some blue sky a'la Tahoe...and that is just so perty. Man I am so rockin' the nostalgia right now.

Dear God, It's Almost March...

And did I mention this is Seattle and not oh, I dunno, Lake Tahoe?

Yes, yes, I remember sitting around with Andy watching the snow engulf us the day his nephew was born. In June. We even took a picture.

June!

Snow!

But as I said, that was North Lake Tahoe over a mile closer to the sky and stuff.

But, snow?

In Seattle?

Again?

Though the later it gets the less and less likely it will be that we city-folk see any...but to the North and South they are buried. This means I will still have to call my mom to let her know that I am not in winter wonderland. No matter how many times they say Bellingham, Darrington, and who knows what other places that are NOT Seattle.

This is, after all, the same person who would call me in Santa Cruz, CA asking if I'd felt the earthquake that occurred 80 miles to the North of San Francisco...and would worry about my being in the Northern part of the state of Michoacan when all those people in the state of Chiapas were rebelling.

Maps, they make the world look a little small sometimes. I guess it's a good thing she never knew about the active volcano on the island I used to live on...

You Just Keep On Trying 'til You Run Out of Cake...

It's a new thing, or maybe it's just Andy's TV?

I get nauseous whenever I watch him play "first-person-shooters."  But only if all you can see is the main character's hand/gun.   I mean, Lara Croft did not make me want to hurl because of the screen movement, her outfit on the other hand, well, let's just say Andy chose pants over shorts whenever I was in the room.  And Prince of Persia has come a long way in animation (I actually played this one), but man the dialog is what makes me sick.  But not as sick as I got when companion cubes were being chucked about in search of cake--that was the point of the game right?  The credits song certainly makes it seem that way.

And yet, I loved watching Portal...as sick as it made me.

Or maybe I just liked the idea of the cake?

Speaking of which...I made too much chocolate cake last week...Wednesday night just before Lost, to be exact.  I know, I know, how dare can I say "too much" and "chocolate" and "cake" all in one sentence!?!  

Well, since there's still some in my refrigerator...and I think I'm good for cake for a while...you be the judge.  But you know you've made too much of anything when you don't want nennymore never, ever... until maybe next month for my birthday, right?

This has yet to happen to me with ice cream.

Hmmm, I think I need to peruse ice cream cakes.

More later, promise.

Onions...Parfaits...Either Way, My Butt Hurts

Can I go home?

Yes, I am that dumb ass that comes in to work even when maybe having a desk-job is not the very best for a damaged hip.  But, momma needs a new pair of shoes (literally), and in this economy it's best to make sure that you are not seen as the slacker in the department who maybe should be shaved off to save a few bills, ya'know?

Where was I?

Right.

So I've been seeing this Osteopath, for Osteopathic purposes only, of course...though he has put his hands on my  backside enough for most people to say it's a committed relationship :).  But I've never been "most people."  Dr. W. is making my hip go back to where it's supposed to be, and not where it's ended up-thanks to various and sundry bike/boat/life accidents.

Today he realized one of my legs was too short because the big mass of owie (I know, I get all technical here) was actually pulling my leg up into its socket too much, which in turn was causing massive amounts of torsion and pulling and more owies when I went out and did novel things as walked!  Or climbed stairs!  I know, I am so very adventuresome. 

What he realized though, was that my last accident could not have caused this damage.  Oh no.  Apparently we are able to see through time via my buttocks to April of 2003 when I slammed my tailbone into the sole of the cabin floor whilst enroute to Hawai'i from Mexico aboard the sailing vessel Irish Rose....

Ah, memories.

Because yes, boys and girls, your damage is like an onion (or parfait if you prefer).  And in order to heal and be 100% you have to be willing to fix things layer by layer, digging deeper and deeper into very old wounds that you thought were all healed up.

Surprise!

They are not.  Especially as we are all prone to having old big owies slapped shut with crazy glue and duct tape M*A*S*H-style instead of going through the correct healing and doctoring procedures (who has the time, energy, patience and money!!)  and now, many years later, those old war wounds are a part of you, and maybe they shouldn't be.  

This may sound twisted...but I feel like I should really thank that guy who nearly killed me back in August...if it hadn't been for him decimating my bike and nearly running me over with his huge Ford pickup truck, I'd have never mentioned to Dr. K about the hip pain during my yearly.  She would then never have had the suggestion to recommend Dr. W as a good hip guy.  He'd have never worked on the lopsidedness or the leg stress or now the "sheering" damage that I have packed away in my derriere just asking for bursitis or arthritis to come on in and nest.

The State of Washington just sent me a form letter asking if I wanted to "pursue damages" from truck-driver-guy.  I'm a big believer in Karma, so my first instinct was "no" on the simple fact that I really would not want someone being that awful to me.  After today's appointment?  I really do feel like I'm being thanked for recycling that letter.  Not only am I getting better from the latest trauma from my body, but maybe, just maybe (if I don't find a way to damage myself some more--keep your fingers crossed) I'll be able to heal for real from stuff that's been a burden to my tired and not-old-enough-to-hurt-this-much body.