Betty freakin' Crocker

Wow! Those are some fine lookin' socks. Do I see the start of toe shaping?

Why yes, Barbie. How observant of you. I have just begun to shape the toes.

Impressive - when do you think they'll be done?

Well, Barbie, since you ask - I think they might be finished this weekend. But do you think you could find some clothes for the next shoot? Maybe even just a top? A scarf? This is family content here.




















I am sick. Run down, swollen glands, crusty, tired sick. Slept all day yesterday and STILL didn't feel any better. Went to the doctor today and they couldn't see anything of course, but said maybe I had mono. As if - that's the best laugh I've had all week. Mono - the kissing disease.

I made cupcakes yesterday for the kids, and to see if I could make purple icing. Talk about a colour nightmare. I made bruise colours. Tasty though, if you don't mind eating bruises. Took the rest to work so I wouldn't eat them all and used one to bribe C to get TH's office# for me. Not like I couldn't have done it myself but I don't want to leave too obvious of a trail, you know. The fact that she did that for me, and that B said my cupcakes would be irresistible made me do something a wee bit silly: I dropped off a cupcake on my way home.

Now I'd been thinking about this for a while of course, but I was hoping my common sense would prevail. I had pretty much talked myself out of it , in fact. However, the lack of negativity from my enabling friends I took as tacit permission to do this silly thing. (The fact that they didn't know what I was planning is irrelevant, highly irrelevant.)

He was not there so I left it with his secretary, such a lovely woman. In the initial plan I was going to drop off two so she didn't feel left out, but my piggy friends ate all the rest. Next time, for sure.

Get an email later saying thanks so much for the "fairy cake". He's so British it's funny. Didn't mention having sex on the office floor - always a disappointment, but unsurprising considering the amount of glass in his office.

Now what? The logical next step of course would be to proposition him but even I, with my cajones clanging the way they are lately, don't have the balls for that. So I think I will do the sensible thing - nothing.

Although it's highly probably I will change my parking habits.

Rehash

I don't know why I worry about stuff like who's in the cafeteria. I'll tell you who's there: everyone and their dog. But fortunately no comments from BR. Slug lady was there and I saw her looking TWICE. Bet she wonders what's going on.

OK, here is the blow-by-blow...

I met him in the lobby where he was talking to some dude who I know but couldn't put a name too. All smiles, as usual. Nice teeth for an english boy. Manchester. Wait, wait while he finishes his convo. Then - get this - he does the kiss on the cheek thing. Two cheeks. I almost passed out. He has lovely smooth cheeks. I guess all that shows is that he's not a hairy Italian monster who has 5-o'clock shadow at 10 am, but it was nice.

So we go hang our coats - how civilized- and get lunch. As we're walking in he says you have to tell me all about reg. blah blah blah, and I looked at him and said - no, it's your turn to answer questions. Ha.

I took it as significant that they were serving mac & cheese so I didn't have to anguish over what to eat. Them's good picking food. I told the cafeteria chicky that I was paying and of course he said no, no, so I looked at her and said "I'm paying. He doesn't know what he's talking about." Smooth, eh? That's why I have to beat the men off with a stick.

Sat down, made some small talk we got down to the nitty gritty. Some highlights:

2 cars - he rents in France, Audi Quattro in the US, don't know about here - we got sidetracked but he parks underground.

He's buying a vacation place in Tuscany with his SIL. Life is rough.

His assistant services his car for him.

We were talking about Steve and I said something about him having a mid-life crisis and he said, "Oh, then he must be much older" which I totally didn't get at the time. God, he probably thinks I'm 30 or something ridiculous like that. Hmmm... how to sort THAT out?

He's hot and I'd bang him an a flash although... I think he smokes. Don't care. He's very craggy around the eyes. He has some weird mannerisms which I kind of like but I suspect might drive you mad after a while. Ah well, not like I'll get the chance to be driven mad by him.

Low points:

The legal chick came to join us. While she's a lovely gal, I wanted her to get the fuck outta there. Things degenerated from there, but as we were leaving (he had to go talk to someone else - the man is a fucking social butterfly) he says to me "and stop avoiding me". Ak! What's that supposed to mean?? Do you think he actually knew I knew he was in the caf yesterday? And to point it out? What's up with that?

I was shaking through the whole first half of lunch. And it turns out I had lettuce in my teeth. Fuckola.

Now what? If he had bought lunch I'd send him an email saying thanks - what are the chances of him dong the same? Pretty slim, I think. While he's very responsive to my emails, he's not big on instigating them. What I should do is let this rest and see what happens.

Whether or not I can do that is another question entirely.

Feh

Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Kill me now.

BR was supposed to have lunch with someone who stood her up. She will now have to go to the cafeterial BY HERSELF.

Fuckola.

No guts, no glory

So after sending a series of harassing emails to my little friend yesterday (relax, it was only two - one first thing in the morning and one before I left as I still hadn't heard from him) and perusing his availability, I concluded that he would likely want to have lunch today (if he hadn't decided I was harassing him, which I very much feared).

I dressed with intent this morning, trying to select the perfect balance of stylishly corporate and subtly sexy. Of course that was a total disaster, especially since I slept in the tee shirt I though might make a good accompaniment to the pants and jacket combo. Good planning, sunshine.

Plan B - regular black shirt, black pants, shoes rather that boots as my sole concession to glamour. Of course the moment I step outside I freeze my titties off as the temperature has plunged from near zero to minus a gazillion.

I drag my sorry ass in to work through the acres of wind chill and dude has finally got back to me. All systems are go. Standby for liftoff. I'm about to crash and burn in fiery flames if I don't keep a very tight watch on what comes out of my mouth.

Oh yeah, and you lazy-ass bitches who didn't come to work this morning? (you know who you are). You get NO details until tomorrow. I hope ebola is good to you.

Ok, ok if you want to spoil the surprise...

How do I love the Purple Purl? Unbelievably.

After titless was an hour late, I went to a PACKED house and they still made me feel welcome. And I closed the place. Just little old me. I might just have to move in there.

Finished the foot shaping so it's off to the races. Did manage to yank an entire needle out of both socks, but that's an evening of light damage for the PP.

I won the edamame!

Well, it was a nice theory: dude never gets back to me and I can let my overwhelming obsession die a natural death. Turns out this is not going to happen. Yesterday evening, email from the dude saying when will we have lunch. (OK, I cheated a bit and sent him a "priming" email on Friday but he didn't answer that so I thought I was a goner.) Am I sad? Ah, no. Au contraire.

On a somewhat related topic, I was also thinking that being crazy might not be so bad. What is wrong with having a totally different reality existing in your head? No nasty surprises, you get everything you want, you're always the cool kid, anything is possible! I sort of envy the people on Queen Street who can live their whole lives like this. OK, you wouldn't get anything done (at least not mentally taxing activities) and you'd have to be able to make the distinction between your worlds, but still... there's a lot to be said for not feeling guilty about having a vivid fantasy life. Guilt takes the fun out of everything.

My sympathies go out to my friend Carolyn - her husband was let go from the Ultimate Geek JobTM . However, he is very competent and I'm sure all will be well before too long. Having him home to help with the monsters will be a burden I think you can shoulder, Carolyn.

Oh, and I have a parcel - colour my life perfect. I think it's my purewool!

Sock therapy

On a more pleasant note: I got to see I's baby yesterday - how very, very cute! There's nothing like a baby. In fact maybe it was the baby fumes that set me off (see mental breakdown below).

And - drumroll please - I managed to pick up the stitches for those damn navy socks. I've been waiting for the perfect opportunity, which would involve great lighting and minimal distraction for about an hour, but I finally figured out that was never going to happen in this lifetime. So I booted the kids outside yesterday and went outside to do it. With the help of an extra 6 teenie weenie dpns, I did it! It was warm outside and the light was excellent and the kids were firmly buried in a snowbank, so all was good. Now all I have left is an acre of decreasing (I still don't have my Etsy markers, grrrr), two acres of size bazillion foot and I'm done! (We shall not discuss the elephant in the room named Back Seam.)

Pictures? Hmmmm. I shall have to ponder that.

Perspective.

I have entered the seventh circle of hell where my children are concerned. They drive me mad. - Deliberately mouthy, non-listening, uncontrollable monsters. I can't take them anywhere or keep them home and they don't want to do anything I suggest simply because I suggest it. Yeah, yeah, reverse psychology and all those fabulous techniques. Frankly, I just don't have the energy anymore. If anyone calls anyone poo-poo head just one more time...

I put them to bed and sat down to watch some mindless TV. With the Oscars on there was absolutely no selection, so I was just flipping and I came to this program on TVO. Why I make myself watch this stuff I don't know.

It was a documentary on an orphanage in some eastern European country - Romania, maybe? - and it was truly aweful. It wasn't that they were abused particularly or left to lie in a pile of their own shit, but they were so horribly, horribly neglected. No one EVER spoke to them so they didn't learn to talk. DID NOT LEARN TO TALK. They all rocked like they were autistic, but apparently that's normal when you have absolutely no stimulation. They were fed, bathed dressed and left. So many of them just sat in the chair they were put in until the next meal, repeat, repeat, repeat. What kind of a way to live is that? Some of them FORGOT how to walk. How do you forget how to walk??? They would have been much kinder to just give them a big hug and put them to sleep the day they arrived. I absolutely cannot imagine anyone living like that.

Is it so hard? Expensive? They had "social workers' that came and visited who did NOTHING, didn't even speak to them. Frankly, they would have been better off putting them to work - agricultural work, cleaning, ANYTHING just to provide them with a little stimulation.

The workers there weren't unkind, they just didn't care. No feeling that these were children they were carrying around like sticks of furniture. And they were fed, but many of them were literally skin and bones while the workers, in very dramatic contrast, were typically eastern European- large women with meaty arm who looked liked they hadn't skipped a meal in ages. And the kicker? When the woman making the documentary asked the director what she though they they needed most she said. Get this. A computer. Starving, neglected children and she thinks a computer is what they really need.

How about an ounce of compassion, people??? Oh, I forgot. You can't buy that.

I bawled. Life's little fucking miracles my ass. I kissed my kids goodnight and though how terribly, terribly lucky they are to have all the crap they take for granted, materialistic stuff, but more importantly a mom that loves them more than life itself and would do anything to keep them from harm. I want to sell everything I own and send the poor fuckers the money but you know who would end up getting fatter. I would seriously contemplate packing in my life and going over and punching the living daylights out of those people.

I cried for a hour, at least. Snuggled up with my little bunnies this morning made me cry again (although what they hell are they BOTH doing in my bed when they have their own?). And now I look like complete and total crap. I need medication. No wonder everyone in North America is on drugs. It's the only way to deal with this crappy world. Those poor little orphans could use a break from reality, I suspect. Perhaps I'll just set up a fund to pipe high-dose Ambien into their water supply...

Da hat

MY hat is done. Pretty goofy looking and really too long - if I were good I'd zap out a few rows and make it so I don't have to turn it up, but I like it. Basic black with a little bit of fuzz and spangle. And it ain't a toque so it doesn't give me penis head.

















And a huge round of applause for the Blogger people who finally fixed the spellchecker. I suck at proofing. Thanks.

I'm such a geek.

OK, in my defense I've got a science background and I've always had a wee bit o' the geek in me, but I found this to be hilariously funny:

Colomer France has withdrawn its Intragen 5 patch from the French market, where it had been launched as a cosmetic product for the prevention of hair loss.

A patch for baldness? I thought that was a toupee.

There goes the neighbourhood

In a rare departure from my narcissism, I must mention the fire on Queen W. (photos courtesy of the CBC). Very beautiful in a sad way.

It's not often that a section of Toronto's downtown catches on fire but when it does it's pretty spectacular. The buildings are all about a century old and they seem to go up like a tinderbox - no big surprise when I think about the construction of my house, I suppose. In this case, the buildings were three story row "houses" - stores on the bottom level and apartments on the top two. Not only does this result in the displacement of the people that live about the stores - mostly renters I would imagine, who often don't have the foresight/brains/money to have insurance and thus end up not only homeless but with absolutely no possessions at all. While I personally would be delighted if my house burned down, I cannot imagine many other people feel the same way.

Plus, it is such a cool section of Queen that was affected. Not yet all glammed up, but certainly on the way. One can only imagine the delight of those who want to see icky chain stores and the like go in there. No one in their right mind would rebuild the buildings the way they were, and thus there goes the kind of storefront space that makes Queen W. the funky neighbourhood that it is. No more indy head shops, ribbon stores, used record stores or whatever else was there. While they might be able to support themselves when the store and thus the rent is pretty small, in the new and improved bigger-is-better world they will be totally cut out. Let's all hope that Duke's does continue (though my feeling is they may just take to opportunity to get out) since it would be exactly what the neighbourhood (still) needs. Otherwise I fear the suburbanization of the area, egged on by the big box stores going in nearby, the materialistic condo culture and the proliferation of chains like the Gap and H&M that will do zippo to protect the nature of the area unless forced to by ironclad heritage rules.

Don't these people get it? They're moving in because the area is "hip" and "funky". Don't you want to keep it that way? Pull out the Saab and go do your crap shopping at Ikea, Pottery Barn and H&M in the burbs. Oakville beckons you back to the mothership with open arms....

I know, I know it's all been said before. I just had to get that off my chest.

Addictions

Why is it that the City of Toronto needs to clean the snowbanks off Steeles in RUSH HOUR, for the love of god? They've been there for weeks, it couldn't have waited a couple of hours?! They had two of six lanes blocked and it was a living nightmare. It's enough to make me stop driving.

Sometimes I really miss my old lifestyle. I spent the weekend with T in Beachburg and I felt like a 20 year old again. OK, admittedly a 20 year old with not much life, but still. The sense of no obligations was awesome. We drank, hung out, watched countless hours of Weeds (my new great addiction) and yapped. Very nice. Contemplating making "special" brownies to honour the occasion. Smoking might be bad, but brownies only make you fat.

Speaking of addictions, I am totally addicted to the quick and easy rush you get from knitting a hat. I abandon projects with absolutely no remorse if the prospect of one so much as crosses my mind. I did one for Mike on the weekend (basic black KP Swish, huge, tons of extraneous pet hair) which took me less than 2 days. Ah, how long will the love last? I'm knitting myself one finally out of Paton's merino in black (I decide the electric blue was too... electric) using the WW Keppie pattern. This particular hat is bringing me no end of joy as I have chosen it to use up the tiny remnant of yarn scored at the first Knitty yarn circle. I've been waiting for the appropriate project for it and this seems to be it. I don't even know what it it - I know it's Artyarns, and is wool and beads and something vaguely metallic and maybe silk. It is heaven. I feel angels singing when I knit with it. Its soft and silky and a joy to knit with even though it's got the beads. I figured a little bling couldn't hurt my basic black hat and it seems to look pretty good so far. Whether I'll wear it is another thing entirely...

Also bought some Paton's Merino in the aptly name Paprika to make a hat and maybe some mitts for T. She wanted rust and this was the closest I could get without stooping to acrylic.

Socks are languishing ever since I picked up the stitches for the foot. I fucked up somewhere and ended up with different numbers of rows on the socks, ripped it out and haven't got the inclination (or lighting, or eyesight) to pick them up again. Waiting for a peaceful, sunny day. And my Etsy stitch markers - that would help as I seem to be incapable of decreasing properly.

Finishing Jo's sweater for his birthday? Hahahahahahhahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Oh, on a final note: my latest man addiction. I was expecting said man to take some initiative upon his return to our fair shores but I am told by my personal consultant that that is not going to happen. He will, according to the enlightened one, be expecting me to set up some sort of lunch thing (like a formal meeting request). You know what? I'm buggered if I'm going to do that. If he really does want to have lunch with me and is not just going with the flow, he'll A. remember and B. do what I said: tell me when he's back so we can set something up.

Too much to ask? Probably, but at least it might tone me down a bit from my truly obsessive fantasizing. Stay tuned. I only have this week to get through before he's back, then the whole of next week to stew about whether he'll be in touch. Fancy another little wager?

The forest

I bitch and bitch about how bored I am at work, how under employed I am etc. etc., but it's really my own fault. I have no get-up-and-go (except at quittin' time). And despite all my bellyaching about the company and what a crap place it is and how they run their employees over and don't give a rats arse, we do some really great stuff here. I guess I'm just stuck in my grey little pigeonhole and usually don't see the big picture.

But the big picture is cool. Despite the fact that we are bogged down to the nth degree by onerous government regulations and mega bureaucracy, we continue to keep our heads above water and even *gasp* thrive.

I don't know how we do it. If I were the public policy dudes I would have cracked my skull banging it against the wall by now. But it's very interesting, if frustrating. God, don't tell me I'm developing career aspirations!

(Oh yeah - the ability to string a sentence together in a coherent and somewhat amusing manner? Very sexy.)





















One size fits all - meant for a 6-month old, fits a 5 year old. Go figure.

This is why I come to work.

My little furry friend is extremely poetic, and makes my heart go pitter pat with his not-meant-to be-romantic-and-is-totally-sending-me-the-wrong-message message exerpted below:

Early signs of Spring here with the buds on the Rose bushes swelling + breaking
through, the forsythia fattening in anticipation of a blast of yellow blossom,
and the winter pansies already in full bloom!
Across the way you can see the
Alps - snow covered + enticing skiers from all over France to line up for the
thrills.

Wonderful, fantasy inducing stuff, no?

Then my fucking hilarious friend C bursts my rosy bubble. "He talks like that to everyone, all the time", she says. Imagine the boardroom convo:

Sweetly scented Q1 2008 profits are up, bursting through my azalea graph like
euro daffodils in the coporate spring. The meeting of prancing VPs went
well, as we discussed the burgeoning, bulging projects in our portfolios.
Layoffs await in the quivering bushes.

I laughed for a hour. Stick a fork in me, I'm done.

Bike weather? I think not.

Da pants are going for a ride on my bike.

I feel an inordinate amount of love for these pants. Maybe because they're my first real acid dye. The colours are amazing, and they knit up OK, not marvelously - too much leg pooling for my liking, but what the heck. And they are supposed to be small, but the only thing small about them is the rise and the length of the legs. Still, I love them like crazy. The BFL dyed up like a dream and feels and looks like my gold standard: WWBN. I shall gift them on to my friend A and her charming baby Evan - my sole cloth diapering friend with a boy. I just need to gauge when to start the cuffs - I have almost no wool left and I'm not sure how much the cuffs take. It's fairly crucial as I don't waste it since the leggies are as short as can be. I don't like cuffs that are too wide, but I don't want to waste ANY wool. Decisions, decisions.

Also going to knit Mike a hat this weekend. Basic black, very boring but that would probably be my choice too. Actually, at the PP last night I discovered I can wear a hat - it's the dreaded tuque that does me in. So I am going to knit a flat-top hat in the leftover blue Malabrigo (yum) with some sort of subdued accent colour. I figure the more I love the hat the faster spring will come so I want it to be fabulous!

The pants don't like the snow anymore than I do, all appearances to the contrary not withstanding.

My mother

My mom is smart. Intelligent, artistically talented (she taught me to knit, though she'd pass out if she saw my stash), an accomplished cook, she raised three kids in a country where she didn't have a stitch of family and she didn't even know how to cook or do laundy when she left home. But she was an ogre when I was a kid. She could quell our outbursts with one look - she's still the reigning master of the evil eye. I wish I had that power.

I am pretty sure my mom thinks I do a hash up job of parenting, but she does quite a good job of disguising it most of the time, much to her credit. She'll offer unsolicited advice when it's uncalled for and certainly unwelcome, and is often at odds with "modern" parenting styles. However, when push comes to shove and I'm at the end of my parenting rope and about to hang us all, she offers a voice of reason, sanity, sympathy and humour without being condescending or belittling.

My mom will hopefully never read this sorry excuse for a blog, but I just want to say: Thanks for talking me down from the edge, mom.

February sucks

How can it be so freaking cold? What happened to global warming? I know it shouldn't be a big deal, but man, it was -29C with the wind chill this morning and that is not pleasant.



However, I did manage to go for a run today at high noon. I am not losing weight fast enough from not eating so I thought doing some exercise might speed things along a little. Go figure, eh? I was so not cold, but I think I got frostbite on one ear. Really, I wore my fuzzy ear thing but I just got too hot. And my glasses kept icing up.

The general concensus is that I need medication. I am seriously obsessive. I imagine scenarios that will never happen: everything from me dying and the kids being alone, one kid dying, both kids, how would I ever carry on... And this can go on for hours, days. I make myself bawl. And of course the victim of my latest obsession... especially unhealthy because I will get myself in such total and complete hot water if I start to believe it. Do you want to humilliate yourself like that? You would die a thousand deaths. C has confirmed he is a charming dog to EVERYONE, so get over yourself, have lunch for the sake of lunch and GET OVER IT. You are never going to be the happy couple, never even going to go out, let alone bang. GET OVER IT. It's bordering on pathalogical. You cannot see reality for your fantasies and this is not good.

On the other hand, he doesn't need to be such an incorrigable flirt, does he?

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

If I had to be buried, it would be here.

Over da moon

Oh. My. God. I think I did piddle mysef.

It took me ages to actually look at my email. Sure enough, message from the dog. And to open it? I had to click and then look away. Then just glance at it - you know, how you just get a glimpse of a few words? Just enough to figure out the tone of the message. Talk about juvenile.

Prudence will not let me reveal the exact text, but suffice to say it was good, good good! He thinks I'm funny! Little does he know I'm psychotic, not funny. It just appears that way at first. Still, what he doesn't know...

I "ache" to hear your questions. Hose me down.

And he called Toronto "home". I think I like that more than anything. Yeah, yeah, it was probably just a figure of speech, like I'll be back, more than an actual specification of where he calls home but I don't care!

Colour me over the moon. Knitting? What's that?

Ak

What a great afternoon. Endured torturous company propeganda for an hour, including listening to them basically say it was all my fault I got run over - in front of half the company. Perhaps ML should have just stood up, pointed me out and said, "Yeah - she's the one who can't walk without being run over. Stupid girl."

OK, I know I'm totally overeacting and it's not all about me me me, but it felt that way.

Anyway, tempering my rage was the presence of the lust of my life, complete with what I now see is a thinning (thinning, not balding) spot on the top of his head. And the sticky-out ears. I don't care. I still think he's hot as hades. I winder if he felt my eyes bunring a hole in the back of his neck the whole time?

I am a huge chicken shit. Could I not have gone over and at least said hi? Noooooooooooo. I high-tailed it out of there like a 14-year old with her first crush. Pathetic, my friend. Pathetic.

Anyway, when I got home (before I could change my mind) I emailed him and asked him to lunch. I'm too scared to check my email now. It will have to wait until the kids are in bed and I've had a glass of wine or several.

$10 says he declines. Any takers?

I am powerless over the dog.

Well, turns out I'm still obsessed. I know that will come as a tremendous shock to y'all out there who know me, self-control being my absolute forte. I can't stop, and I can't help myself. Yes, I will publically admit it: I am weak.

On the other hard, there may be a bright side. I am not, absolutely not, going to send cards, letter or anything of the like. (I make no guarantees about email. I have convinced myself if I send an email after proper working hours, his secretary won't read it and he will be able to read it and do whatever with it and not worry about "others" seeing it. Cuz he's a workaholic I'm sure, like all other men.) However, I am strongly entertaining the possibility of inviting him for lunch (no, that doesn't count as email) and grilling him about the fascinating logistics of his three-sided existance. Ms. B seems to think that would be OK.

For example:

• Three houses, yes. Three cars?
• What kind of car?
• Do you get to park underground?
• Who buys your underwear? (though that one might have to be saved for a more appropriate time)
• Do you have any friends? (There may be a more tactful way to put that...) Three sets of friends? Which leads to the inevitable three girlfriends question.
• ... I've forgotten the rest. There's a reason I'm not a sucessful television interviewer.

Suggestions on things to ask? Appropriate or inapropriate, as you like.

Oh, and I'm finished the sock pattern, on to the heel. Not sure whether to post pics as I don't want to spoil the surprise or make Ms. B cry again. (Such a sweet, sappy girl. She might need medication. Is excessive sappiness a sign of diabetes, do you think, or just impending suicide?)

Colour me done.

Let us take a moment to mourn the loss of my favourite obsession. I will still obsess, one cannot forget so soon, but I vow not to mention the subject again or to even contemplate doing rash and stupid things that could be truly mortifying to all those involved.

That is all.

Who knew?

Someone is actually reading my blog! I find that a complete revelation. Look! I've had 21 visitors, and I don't think that includes me (though my blog skills are pretty weak and I may have ballsed up the settings).

Initially, I found this kind of creepy but as B says, what the hell do you have a blog for then? People are SUPPOSED to read it. So now I'm over it. Bring it on. I'm just waiting for the comments saying shut up you psycho bitch, but time will tell...

So if ya don't like it, go away. Otherwise, carry on.

Also, Feb 13 is Dead Bra day. http://www.breastofcanada.ca/happenings.html#DBstories
I had no idea. If I had I would have saved all the zillions I just chucked and made a display in the cafeteria.

My Haiku for the contest (not really)

My boobs, once perky
Now look down instead of up
The knife is calling

What was I thinking?!

OK, maybe Spiderman is not quite the right tone to set after the beautiful peony card. The words "juvenile" and "immature" spring to mind. Really, how can you expect to be taken seriously if you do stuff like that?

Crotchless panties would be a more mature choice.

The stupid socks are driving me batty. Perhaps it's my cold fuddled head, but I knit two rows last night and fucked up the pattern royally. On only one of them, which is mildly surprising. Grrrr. So I have decided in the cold light of day that I will knit them one at a time until the pattern is done, and then put them back together and magic loop the foot. That's the plan anyway.

Really, I have to add this: Am I stupid? I don't think so. I have a pretty good grasp of normal concepts but man, some of the the simplest things seem to elude me. Feeding your kids in the car, reading the instructions before you start... take the humble Post-it Note. This invention has changed the workplace, and is invaluable for a number of tasks. Knitting, for example. Nothing is better for keeping track of where you are in a pattern. Nothing. It blocks the next row and clearly underlines the row you are working on. Zero ambiguety.

And yet at took me 20 rows. 20. to figure this out. I frogged back at least 10 rows total on about 5 separate occasions, just because I was too lazy to get off my butt and find a Post-it. (A real one, not the G&T knock-offs that fall off after 3 repositionings).


But now I give you:

Stalking? I think not.

OK, you would think that one's coworkers would support you in sending a particularly hot colleague (perhaps the one responsible for this: http://knitmoron.blogspot.com/2008/01/ah-office-flirtation.html ) a company-sanctioned cookie-gram. But noooooo, they think it would be borderline stalking. Humph.

So as a compromise to the poo-poo heads, we (read: me) have decided on a Spiderman Valentine's day card instead. Mildly humourous in an "I think you're hot but am not allowed to say so" sort of way? I think it's hilarious, but B's been doing a whole lotta eyerolling. C asked what I though the border for stalking behaviour was.

HA.

Stalking is when one person harasses the other and the behaviour is NOT reciprocated. This is not so the case (see linky above for proof). At least not yet. Spiderman might push him over the edge.

What you gonna do with all that junk?

All that junk inside your lungs
I'l tell ya what I'm gonna do with all that junk
Leave it there to make some funk
Some funky funky junk
Some green and chunky funk

Once more ascending the pinnacles of excellence in the blogosphere.

Progress

Ta da!

6.25" of teeny tiny plain stockinette? Done! Moving along to the pattern, which is much more interesting...

BTW, if you don't get cable? There is nothing on TV on Saturday nights. I had to spend some quality time with Julia Child, ca. 2002. Not that that's a bad thing, but I'm unlikely to be making lobster anything in the next little while so it's purely for entertainment purposes.

Scrabulous

I love scrabble, and as I have no friends that come and visit and spend hours of quality time playing real scrabble, I have latched on to scrabulous like a drowning man. No big news I know, but today I score the trifecta: Used up all my letters on FIELDER in the first move of the game: 80 points (don't ask why that's a trifecta - I just wanted to use the world.)

Must go clean the house, for which I get no points, just the satisfaction of knowing my mother won't think I'm lapsing (back) into the levels of filth and squalor that I descended to before I got a cleaning lady.

Isn't this beautiful? http://knitmoron.blogspot.com/2008/01/ah-office-flirtation.html

Oh yeah, I'm not longer doing gauge swatches. I did that for the stupid pants and now I have pants that would fit Jack, but only if they are ultra-low rise. Grrrrrrrr. Frog, frog, frog. If I had guessed, I would have been better off.
Hat was well received, though.

Snow day

(I don't really want to post anything cuz I like having that other picture http://knitmoron.blogspot.com/2008/01/ah-office-flirtation.html up, but hey, life goes on.)


The TDSB closed the schools at lunch yesterday so we had our first snow day! (Incidentally, the neighbours tell me that's the first time in 8 years...) The kids played outside for more than 2 hours, only leaving as Steve came to pick them up.

It was one of those cool community moments that usually only happen in the warm weather. Everyone out shovelling, playing, drinking (yes, all the community events involve drinking). This is why I love my neighbourhood so much.
















Got my Olivia fabric in the mail yesterday and the kids were actually fighting over it. Calvin wants a blanket and Jack wants a bag. I actually wanted to make someting nice out of it, but I guess I'll just hem it and let them wear it when they're playing Captain Underpants.