I Won't Need That for a While

Have I mentioned I hate packing?

I don't even pack my bag before a trip until much too late the night before. See, I keep thinking, "I can't pack this, I might need it!"

It's a terrible habit.

The movers come on Saturday. The truth is I really only care about them taking the things I can't carry, like the books, shelves, couch, coffee table, more books, my desk...maybe more books...all of which (except the desk) are all ready to go, right by the door even. If push came to shove, I can carry the pots and pans and bathroom stuff and my sheets and dirty laundry all by myself. Really.

I think this attitude is not helping my situation.

If I wanted to damage my friendships, I'd have a packing party. But just don't let me see what's going in the boxes because I'll stop you and say "NO! I'll need that until the very last minute," as I have been doing to myself and really and truly people would put their hands on their hips and glare and me and walk right out.

See how much I love you? I would never put you through that at all!

Okay, so that is my update. Still alive. Andy and I are still on speaking terms (moving really strains friendships, people). Knitting until I fall asleep at night...or as I watch an old episode of TNG when I really didn't mean to... (Fall asleep that is...so tired.)

So many boxes. And they are showing the apartment again today...No, really we do not care anymore. There are no unmentionables hanging on any doorknobs so they can come in and wade through the sea of boxes that has been my life for two weeks now.

Raging Against the New Machine

So you know when you're young and silly and rebellious and no matter how cool or hip (or not) your parents are you do the complete opposite just to prove those people can't have had anything to do with you? Well, apparently the same thing goes when you break up with someone who you've spent so many years with. Or that's my thinking this AM as I struggle to understand why I was such a dick yesterday.

See, yesterday while griping that today would be a day spent packing but not moving boxes (we signed the lease on Thursday! After Friday's last minute cleaning--on their part--today the place should be ours and ready to move it! But it's not) because somehow I totally neglected to remember that the Fremont Solstice Celebration will be invading my neighborhood. Big oops.

Instead of sympathizing with my horror of being stuck due to traffic and too many people on the street and just the insanity that today brings, one of the peeps at work says something like, "Oh, you live by Gas Works? So do I!"

Maybe she didn't notice my saying I was MOVING AWAY from our neighborhood because she then asks, "How do you get to work? Do you bike here?!?" All excited. Really, too excited. She took on this about-to-be-preachy look on her face if I gave the wrong answer, which of course I would have even if I did have the "right" answer. I simply could not stop myself, she was reminding me WAY too much of my X.

"I drive. Every single day. Everywhere." (Have I mentioned I hate driving? But at that moment I'd have extolled the wonders of all vehicles if I knew it would chide her. See, I knew what was coming. I must have used the force.)

"Oh," Her face got super serious, "You know you should be biking." Hmm, how did I know the conversation would turn to this?

"I did, every day, for a while, longer than you've been here, actually, then I got run over ON THE TRAIL, remember? That was me, limping around? That was me talking about my 7 hours in the emergency room? And the banana that is my front tire? Leaving early at least once a week to get my bones set to where they're supposed to be? In fact I have biked or walked every chance I've had for the last 13 years, from California to Mexico to Hawai'i and even downtown Seattle. But right now? I can't. Remember?"

"Oh yeah, huh."

Oh yeah. Huh.

Maybe if I "looked" my age, people would get off their high horses and/or keep their feet from entering their mouths. Because thinking back to when I was her age? (I'm thinking I'm a tad more than 10 years older than her) I would not have suggested to anyone I worked with at the time that they should get on a bike to get to work (as I did, every single day). Especially not if I knew they were in their mid 30s and didn't seem very um, Sporty Spice, if you know what I mean. (Limping? Big clue.)

Apparently I have triggers. And no patience for people who are about to tell me how I should be living my life when they know so little about me. And biking? I'd love to, really. But I'm 20 lbs heavier than I ought to be and 35 feels so much closer to 40 when you get up just every morning and wonder why you hurt so much, so please don't throw it into my face that I should be doing x instead of y.

Obviously it's a sore point. See, you get older, you learn things about yourself. Now the next step is not to react so evilly. Maybe I can work on my patronizing skills instead?

Happy Solstice!

I'd Rather be Munching on Cheesey Poofs

This is one of those meandering posts as I have too much in my head just now:

- Do they not have crosswalks in Idaho?

I was behind a driver with Idaho plates my entire way to work the other morning and either they were in so much of a hurry that they felt stopping in the middle of each and every crosswalk at every stop light would somehow put them at their destination in a more timely manner, or they don't stop behind the crosswalks in Idaho.

I'm not here to judge their driving, I know that Southern Californians (I was one, I'm a little better now) are infamous for their "rolling" stops and utter disregard of crosswalks when they're about to make a right turn.

But making the pedestrians walk around your car at each stoplight? You're just asking for trouble Ms. Idaho Red Station Wagon.

- This was a sleepy thought I had that was meandering it itself...As I was cutting up my banana for my cheerie-O's this AM, I realized that this would not be a banana my niece would eat, as she doesn't care for the ones with the overly dark seeds in the middle. This is a challenge for my mom as you just don't know what you're going to get until you start slicing up a banana, so I convinced her to just cut out the middle when we were prepping my niece's plate of Mexican Rice.

That's right. Cool, sweet, banana on just made, warm-not-hot Mexican Rice is the bomb. But I don't know where this um, combination came from. I mean, my older brother and I used to eat our rice using Fritos as utensils and then there was the eating fresh-out-of-the-pot beans with toothpicks. I do know that is not normal, trust me, we don't eat in public like that.

But at my mom's house? Rice and bananas is the norm. Do other Mexican households eat their rice that way? I've googled it, and found nothing, in English at any rate, I didn't try it in Spanish as I didn't want my work machine to change languages on me. It tends to do this all on its own. Maybe someone out there knows? Or has found me because you google/bing-ed the same thing?

- That period of time between putting in your notice of non-renewal of lease, and signing your new lease? It's kinda scary. I feel homeless. And scared. What if something happens and the apartment isn't really ours? What if they change the rent rate between our putting in our application and signing the papers? Our current place has already started showing our apartment (oh more on that...) and the last thing I want to do is walk hat-in-my-hands to ask for more time.

- We do not live in the most, shall we say, popular of the units. I have described the 24-hr lab whose windows face ours all across our BIG PICTURE WINDOW? Yeah, quite a view. Add to that the box hell that we are living with right now? Not what I'd consider for the Better Homes layout.

Yet, they want to show the place to prospective tenants! Why would you show the place at its worst? How are you going to get the overpriced rent that way? Moronic. Yes, we did say we didn't mind people looking, but we also said we'll be packing and in the middle of moving. It's not like we told them we'd have it all perfect to show. It's not like we're breaking our lease and it's in our best interest to get it rented before we move out. Maybe they've confused us with someone else, I dunno. I do know I am one tired and sore old lady. And my knees still hurt.

- Because I fell down the stairs at work. I think I forgot to mention this bit.

It's been a couple weeks now. The swelling is almost all gone, but the bruises are still appearing. It's a little disconcerting when the sickly teal-ish color is superseded/overlapped by an even more disturbing purple splotch.

No, I was not running, nor was I rushing. I was even holding the handrail. This tweaked my thumb more than anything. I don't know how it happened either, one second I'm walking down the stairs and the next my knees are being crunched on the steps, and then elbow, and my hip, and my backside, and my ankles are bruised too so they joined the fun...but I didn't hit my head...so it wasn't a full on somersault, but close enough.

Yes, this makes packing even more fun. But I'm not lifting anything.

- If you can afford a moving company? Do it.

I've saved my pennies (okay all my change and any extra dollar or seven that I'd budgeted for the week) all last year for this (the last time Andy spoke about giving up our fabulous view/finding some place better). This was pre-the last bike accident even. I just pictured myself trying to get Andy's couch out of the door and right then and there decided that I would be willing to pay someone for my NOT having to do it. Just how much depended on how long I had to save.

I almost gave up my dream before finding the moving company a co-worker recommended. I'll let you know who they are after the move. You know, just in case.

~~

Okay, back to work with me...

Real Fast, Cuz I'm Supposed to be Packing

It's official.

We found a new place to hang our hats.

We've given notice.

When the moving company confirms, I can say exactly how much time I have until I move, but it's only a couple weeks, I hope.

So...instead of sorting through pictures and preparing another post (this one about how I broke the plane on my way back from LA), I interrupt my life with sorting, organizing, and packing. (Oh and getting rid of stuff.)

I usually don't mind the sorting and organizing. It makes things look neater when you are cleaning. But sorting to pack? That just blows. I have piles of stuff everywhere as things start coming out of the closet (pack what you're not using first, of course) and then the boxes are RIGHT THERE, in your way...just asking for another accident.

Oh yeah, more on that later, but really? I gotta go. One more box to finish before I break for lunch.

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.