Monday, March 31, 2008

End of story


















Dear FC,

You are very lucky. My friends did not tell me of the latest piece of gossip circulating through the rumour mills until today. Had I know that you were GETTING MARRIED while I had all weekend to myself I may just have driven to ‘burbia and beaten you to a pulp.

You are foolish if you think that is acceptable behaviour, and you should be wary. Women are quite cranky when made to feel like complete idiots. Thanks so much. I really wish to repeat this experience again.

My only (minor) consolation is that you seem to have left a trail of women behind you…I’m sure they’ll all be just as thrilled with the news. On the other hand, maybe I was the only one stupid enough to be suckered by you. Humph.

Best wishes to your fiancĂ©e in the future – I think she’s going to need it.

[Please please tell me you’re not scratching your head in confusion, saying I don’t understand, what did I do? I may have to beat you again for that].

XOXOXO

Why do all my “episodes” end with such a tremendous crash? I think I’ll bow out forever and stick with tv and knitting, boring but much safer. Although there’s always JQ.

Still rampent speculation in the co. regarding whether he quit or was fired. And even *gasp* his sexual orientation. Apparently women have tried to fire him up numerous times over the years with no success so that naturally leads to the homo speculation. I can’t see it, myself, but you never know…Maybe the marriage thing is just spec. Trying to get more goods from Cathy but it’s slow going. Now I just want to know – my personal involvement in this situation is so over. It’s done. Finis. Caput.

Sunday, March 30, 2008

Who's the April fool?

Reality check. FC has no reason to call you and won't. He doesn't need to be nice, charming, gentlemanly because as we've already established... HE'S NEVER GOING TO SEE YOU AGAIN.

Get over yourself. Irresistible you are not.

Feh.

Saturday, March 29, 2008

Day two.

Tick tick tick tick tick...

Craig, my hairdresser, rocks my world. How has it taken me 40 odd years to find a hairdresser who knows my hair better than I do?

I went in this morning to get a hair cut and he wouldn’t cut it! I explained my problem with looking like a bush and he said there was no way for him to cut it and make it look better – I just had to wait. He didn’t even offer to trim it. He voluntarily saved me an $85 haircut. Dude.

This is a haircut that’s now almost 5 month old and I though it was starting to look pretty crappy. He suggested I put it up with clips (and showed me how so it looked good, not like I was going for a run! - just say no to the ponytail, girl.) and then he ironed it for me. Man, it looked just awesome! So good I actually went out and bought a flatiron. Me, the girl who doesn’t own a single tool fancier than a hairbrush. How could I not? He took my slept-on hair and turned it into fresh from the salon hair in about 5 minutes. I am in love.

Carolyn and I went shopping after my hair affair. Instead of spending vast sums of money, I returned 2 Buzz Lightyears, the bad jacket and my beloved shoes. It was sad, but necessary and a net gain of $200 even after the flatiron. A good day, I’d say.

As opposed to detailing the bizarre phone messages I would like to leave Fairycakes, I will burden you with this lovely song, sung to the tune (such as it is) that goes with the every popular “I’m fucking Matt Damon” clip. If you substitute FC’s real name, it fits the song perfectly, but for obvious reasons I’m not gonna put it in here.

I’m fucking FC
In my dreams every night

I’m fucking FC
And it feels oh so right.

I’m fucking FC
In the car, on the floor
And in building 84.
On the plane, by the TV
And of course in 93.

I’m fucking FC!

Ever wondered if I have too much time on my hands?

Friday, March 28, 2008

Day one.

This must be what it’s like to be a heroin addict – doing really stupid things just for the rush. But you gotta do more and more dumb stunts since you get hooked on the rush. At the time it feels awesome, and then sickening, and then you’re so relieved it’s over. Then the adrenalin fades and you have to think of something else to do to replicate the rush.

We did a drive-by at lunch. Classic stalking behaviour and I would have been absolutely and completely mortified if I had been caught. I made Morrison drive right INTO the little gated complex, but as soon as we were there I panicked and made her turn right around and get the hell out. God, imagine the implications of that. You can get away with being seen on the street but to actually be driving up to his front door????? A restraining order might not have been uncalled for. Every single car of class I was convinced was him, and the car next to us with a dude in a tweed jacket? Stroke material, my friends.

Anyway, I still have no confirmation either way, but dude is back on the email list AND the intranet. I’m not liking that one little bit. Imagine if I’ve made a serious miscalculation and he hasn’t actually left? It seems unlikely from the gossip swirling around, but the fact that I have not heard one concrete fact makes me highly suspicious. And the IS issues just add to the intrigue…

Imagine how mortifying it will be when he returns from whatever has him away (emergency?) to find he’s been sacked by public opinion. Not to mention my lame assed message. I’ll have to pull a Seinfeld and break in to erase the answering machine message.

*************Update: Positive confirmation by my boss that he was in fact TERMINATED. What a terrible word. Now I feel awful for him. He’ll get a might severance package and probably a good a mighty good lawyer, but still…

And hmmm…. Maybe it’s me. I seem to spread employment instability wherever I go. Look at Inco boy…sleeps with me and the next thing you know he’s been sacked. Sigh. Better not let that little gem get out or I’ll never get laid again. In fact I must be getting more virulent as I didn’t even have to sleep with Fairycakes, I just had to think about it.

At least I didn’t have the humiliation of him being back at work. Gotta look on the bright side.

One day down, 30 to go…I’m still calm and hopeful and ready to accept psychiatric help on an outpatient basis. No need for a straightjacket just yet. The question is – is he more or less likely to call me now that he’s been sacked rather than quitting? We might just break even on the edamame bets.

Oh, and I'm loving the sock - pattern and all.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Jayzus H on a stick

First things first…

The boys are better. Hallelujah. From this picture one might well ask why I bother putting water in the tub- they're obviously getting nowhere near it...
















Jack’s socks are too short. Cute as hell, but definitely too short. Bugger. Ah well, the toe shaping was messed up anyway (what a surprise since I did it at the PP).
















I have started socks for *gasp* myself. In a moment of self-delusion, I decided I should knit the Embossed Leaves socks. Now, I can’t knit lace. Really. I’ve tried several times with the simplest pattern known to mankind and I balls it up like crazy. So why I would have selected lace for socks I cannot even imagine. I looked at a nice cable pattern but rejected it because it involves knit and purl. Yeah, like lace doesn’t. I chalk it up to the emotional distress of yesterday. So far they’re going nicely though.
















Yeah, that’s ribbing. Twisted rib, but just ribbing. Not much to screw up there.

The yarn rocks my world, though. Soft soft soft with tons of twist. Indigo Moon merino in Moss from, finally, the Purple Purl. Makes that Opal feel like steel wool.











Fairycakes is brought to you by Primitives.









Speaking of emotional distress, word on the street is that FC has left the building voluntarily. Since the gossip consensus seemed to think he had actually departed, I decided that now would be a good time to PHONE HIM UP AND ASK HIM OUT. Me. Lily-livered chicken-shit me.

I 411’d him and found the most likely candidate in the book. That’s hardly stalker behaviour is it? No, I didn’t think so. Driving by the house, maybe more so, but I haven’t done that. Yet. Anyway, I had to make sure it was him, so I *67’d myself and called.

Be still my beating heart. Machine, message, the whole nine yards, and yes it was him. So him, such a FC message. That was OK. Brief discussion with Morrison on how to proceed. Quality time with the sick kids and then. I went upstairs and did the deed.

OK, now after I walked upstairs with the phone I practically had to apply the defibrillator my heart was banging so hard. A few minutes to calm down and I was ready to go through my carefully scripted message. (Yes, scripted. I’m a moron and I know myself too well to wing it.) I’m not sure what would have happened if he had actually answered the phone at that point but I believe it would have involved either me slamming the phone down or the paramedics.

Fortunately that didn’t happen. However what did happen wasn’t much prettier. I made it through exactly two words of the script (“Hi, it’s”) before ballsing up my OWN NAME, but of course I couldn’t go back an correct that. What kind of idiot can’t say their own name? So now of course I’m in a full blown panic (he’s not going to know who it is! I’m a moron! Could this be any worse?) while trying to hold it together enough to leave SOME sort of message.

My solution? Babble. Um…so anyway…and I thought…ya know… God it was brutal. I sounded like a 14 year old with zero grasp of grammar, the English language, and vocabulary, and an IQ of about my bra size. I suppose I managed to get the message across but man, talk about a car wreck.

The ball is now totally in his court. I give him a month before I abandon all hope. After all he may well be away tying up his affairs.

Anyway, now I can stop all this obsessional behaviour. Yeah yeah, pick your self up off the floor. What could I possibly find to obsess about now that I’ve done the deed and he’s no longer at work for me to *possibly* run into? Check two phones for messages how many times a day? Refuse to answer either phone on the off chance it might be him? Drive by, crank call, other things I haven’t even thought of?

It’s going to be a looooong month, girls.

It's final

OK, not final as in the company put out a memo, but word has come down the FC has indeed left the company. Word seems to be that he has found a new job, but who knows? "Word" is not particularly accurate, now is it?

I am sad. No reason to tart myself up for work anymore, no sashaying... back to the mind-numbing routine.

Still, I can call him up and ask him out now. If I have the balls. I have absolutely nothing to loose, though, so he says no I have a moment of humiliation and then I move on. I'll NEVER see him again.

Get some balls and go for it my friend. Quick, before he gaps the country or forgets who you are.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Extreme emotional distress. I should sue the company.

As my regular morning ritual, I was trying to establish the location of Fairycakes yesterday and I couldn’t get him on outlook! Imagine my distress. I though it was just a computer glitch causing him to be obliterated from the company memory, but I was unreasonably distressed. I felt sick and anxious and unable to eat – so unlike me.

After some discussion with the gals, we thought it was probably a mistake, but weird none the less. After my meeting I actually went to see his secretary and ask her. She said, predictable enough in retrospect, that he was just offsite for the day.

However, my social network tells me otherwise. I actually sent him an email and got an automated response that was not at all like the other one I got (which included his cell number). This one just said I’ll get back to you when I can, leave a message with my assistant. Very different tone. And the feelers we put out have been gathering some disturbing vibes. C’s boss was talking about it totally unprovoked. Too much of a coincidence for me.

Oh, and his company cell phone isn’t working. They’ve cut the umbilical cord.

If indeed he was sacked and he did tell his sec, why would she confirm it to me? Of course it would have to come through the “official” channels. I am so self delusional, I just hear what I want to hear.

In short, I think he’s gone. And I’m very sad.

B thinks it’s good as now I can ask him out and he can say yes. Except I don’t know how to get in touch with him short of going through his assistant, which seems so… uncertain. I want to speak to him, or at least be able to leave him a message I know he’ll get. (Control issues, anyone?)

Oh, what was I thinking? If he is the FC in the book, I can call him directly. I shall have to try that tonight. Stalking? No, just good intelligence gathering.

Sad sad sad. Now what gives me a reason to come to work? The occasional visits from JQ? (who BTW is hot hot hot for me. Must be the hormone vibe. I had to beat them off with a stick yesterday.) I like him but I’m so over the casual bonking at lunch scenario, at least with him. I’d take anything I could get with FC.

I’m a freak.

Update: OK, so now he’s back on the list! WTF???? I can’t take this. I am amazingly lighthearted, though. How much would it suck being fired even if you do have more money than god and are old as the hills and ready to retire?

So why do I want to go out with a dude who’s 60, smokes and probably dyes his hair? Very good f-ing question. Because I’m obsessed and obsession has no rhyme or reason.

I’m wearing my new shoes tomorrow! I looooooooooooooooove them with the passion of a thousand white hot suns.

On a more mundane note , I finished Jack’s socks last night at the PP and wound the Indigo Moon for socks for ME! Finally. Can’t decide whether to do a cable pattern or a leafy pattern that would go with the green colour… decisions decisions. I’ll probably go with the leafy thing as then I can knit mostly instead of having all those purl sections which drive me mad. And I’d have to knit “normally” so my gauge would be way tight.

Party Friday night at the Purl. Woo hoo! Bring on the te kill ya. (Interestingly, they called me Tequila Lise when I walked in last night. I can only imagine the conversations that went on without me. Really, I was hardly drunk at all. I swear.)

Friday, March 21, 2008

Easter weekend looms large

This weekend brings some momentous events. First, I give you the unconventional yet highly effective potty setup:

The boy pees on the top level (less messy than standing and peeing to the bottom level) and then will remove the top level and sit to poop.



This is miraculous to me - I spent 6 months trying to get C to do just this.


Mind you, it's interspersed with pant peeing incidents. Still, early days.






What a great topic, eh?

And it's Jack's 3rd birthday on Sunday. As I bought them both Buzz Lightyear and they're now off Buzz - I'm screwed. Ah well, the fickleness of youth. Fortunately I found some leftover Lego which will probably get me over the hump.

Plus the easter egg hunt: always a cornucopia of tears, fighting, temper tantrums, it's not fair-ing and chocolate induced hysteria. Good times.

I have decided that FC is bad for me. Yeah, yeah, besides the obvious;

- 1st time we met it was because I almost missed the shuttle and everyone was slagging me off.
- 2nd time was after the MM fiasco in SW. Nuff said about that particular event.
- 3rd time - lunch after which I got ebola (OK, it was strep, but it felt like ebola)
- the sighting I had of him on Wednesday? Just after I almost fell down the library stairs.

Should I take this as a sign that I am doomed if I get anywhere near him? Imagine if I slept with him - my house would probably burn down!

Still, I gotta do it. Ask him out, I mean. I don't know how or when but I will. My luck it will be just after he gets a new gf. Sigh.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Game on.

This not having access at work really bites, by the way...

You know what? The bitches can say what they like about Fairycakes not being hot, and I almost believed them, but I had a brush with the man today (he didn't see me) and he is SO hot.

Ha. Game on.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

More of the same

Finished Calvin’s socks, which were greeted with great enthusiasm. I love my kids.

Speaking of which, it’s funny how one can loose perspective. Over the last month or so I have started to think that my kids won’t make it to their next birthdays. They’ve been driving me mad and I really wanted to kill them. However, it seems that perhaps it was not my kids. It was a combination of me being whacked, them being tired, out of sorts, and cranky, and everyone being off their feed.

I made chicken curry with rice and peas and naan last night and it was hoovered up. Jack was eating MEAT with a FORK. They both had a bowl of cereal afterwards. Oh joy, oh bliss. My chill’n are back! This morning it was cereal and two rounds of toast plus milk galore. No wonder they’re full of piss and vinegar – they eat enough for 10 men. I love them to pieces when they’re like this.

As for me, I find the sashaying is growing old. It feels (and I’m sure is) totally pointless. I need action or to lay off, and I’m too bored to lay off. What does that leave? I think it leaves me having to speak to the man, easier said than done. Maybe I’ll get my Etsy cards soon and I can use one of them as an appropriate (using the term very loosely) icebreaker for Fairycakes and I.

Who is hideous, according to Barb. Sigh. I am so deluded. Maybe it is just the accent and his undeniable charm, but I think he’s hot. So if he really is old and hideous, wouldn’t that make my chances better? My horrorscope says the approach of the full moon (that’s on Friday, FYI) makes it necessary for me to speak my mind. FC seems to be committed all day tomorrow so again it comes down to the one day deadline on Thursday, a fabulous repeat of last Friday’s pathetic performance. Now that’s something to look forward to.
I leave you with this stunning picture of Miko and her $250, 250 pound skirt. NWT, surprise surprise.

Monday, March 17, 2008

Alcohol and a Wiinus - what more could I ask for?

Ah, the glorious weekend. Finally, FINALLY, I felt better and I didn’t have the kids and I took full advantage of the convergence of the planets under my sun.

Friday night, once I had established that no tall, dark, accented man was going to magically sweep me off my feet and take me away for a magnificent romantic weekend, I went out to the drunken knitters night with the gals from the Purple Purl. What a time.

We started off at the store where we did a little moderate knitting and some light tequila drinking. Now there was a new and novel experience for me. Not the tequila, but enjoying it. We had no lime so we subbed lemon, and no salt so we used sugar. Coarse brown sugar. It was awesome! No yucky salty afterbite, just sweet lemonade to wash down the not-so-hideous tequila. It was brought from Mexico by the non-drinker in the crowd, go figure, and it was MUCH better than the usually gut-rot I’ve had reluctantly in the past.

Then we went up to the Spotted Dick where we were unable to sit with the other bunch of knitters as there wasn’t enough room. That was fine with me as I don’t know any of them and we all know how much I like strangers.

Had an awesome time. Fellow Guiness drinkers, giggles, poutine (my poor arteries), sugar cubes on the needles, the neverending dog bed. A good time all round. Rolled out around 12:30 and took the subway back with Jenn.

Saturday… I shall gloss over the $30 parking ticket, the hideous hours spent at the Eaton’s centre looking for work clothes *shudder* (though the Anne Klein red patent sling-backs rocked my world, even at $120), the fact that I had two buy TWO freakin’ Buzz Lightyears… an experience I’d rather forget.

After a 3 hour nap (shockingly lazy, I know. I chalk it up to still being in recovery) I called my lovely friend Tara (who was bunking chez 360 Bloor while her and the hub went to Canada Blooms). I went over there for a gourmet meal of tacos and beer (the hat was well received by the way – perfect fit and suits her to a T, ha ha) followed by a Wii extravaganza. Wiinus, hahahhahahahahahaa.

Now, I am a virtual Wii virgin, having only witnessed Calvin playing it at Aidan’s. What a hoot! Boxing, tennis, bowling, golf… and the stupid bunny games - hours of quality time wasted and I am SORE! Who knew a video game could give you sore muscles?? I didn’t roll out of there until 2:30 am! Thank god for cabs.

Sunday? A virtual spring cleaning extravaganza – lots of fresh air and bleach to banish the residual critters lingering in the air. So not like me but very satisfying none the less. AND I hung my curtains, which are very pleasing. Brown flocked taffeta.

And I ironed! All my blouses. I can’t even make myself wear them they look so nice. Maybe tomorrow, though I am taking the kids in so it might be a wasted effort. No – do it. You gotta look professional once in a while. Hmmm… skirt? I think so. Boots? Definitely.

I see some more sauntering in my future…

--Oh, and speaking of sauntering - Tara and I discussed the situation a bit. She had some fiendishly complex plans involving dropping thinly veiled hints , but the boys - who's opinions I value greatly as they are after all, men - said straightforward was the way to go. Ask him straight up, be prepared for rejection, move on.

Sometimes I think it'd be nice to think like a man.

Friday, March 14, 2008

Sick!

See, now I'm home I think it would be a good idea to CALL HIM UP AND ASK HIM OUT. What the hell is wrong with me??????? You are a gutless wishy washy spineless goat-sucking hair-breasted son of a codpiece. Get a grip. 5 minutes ago you were prepared to let it lie and now you want to CALL HIM UP? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GOURD?????

Give your head a shake. I don't wanna hear any more of this nonsense.

Besides, he's ancient. He probably mainlines Viagra just for a session with Mr. Lefty in the shower.

Sigh... 3:20....zero excitement.

How now, wool-sack, what mutter you?

I suck. That is all.

2:20....nothing to report....losing motivation

Productivity: marginally improved

Although it's a beautiful day out there, it does seem a wee bit silly to be sashaying around in hopes of the elusive encounter. One might in fact say it seems positively...highschool: "I'll just hang around Joe's locker. I'm sure he has a free period some time today." Moronic in the extreme.

On one of my return strolls I had a brief fantasy about hitting him in the back of the head with a snowball, which then led to some scuffling in the snow. I don't think even I managed to push that fantasy to making out in a snowbank at work, but I tried. Pathetic.

Grow some balls, sunshine. Get over to his office and do the deed.

Har. Funny. I think I'll sashay some more. Perhaps I'll glimpse his codpiece.

10:56.... no action...still hopeful...

Productivity: very low

Well, so far the day is just about freaking perfect. I'm wearing a shirt that's too tight and makes me look all bulgy, no sexy and scantily clad as I had intended. Plus it's got a blob of something strategically placed on the left boob - I'm not sure if I slopped my coffee on it or if it's residue from a previous wearing - either one is quite possible.

I would have tried the Tide pen on it, but I have discovered that old Tide pen smells like vomit. What kind of a marketing gimmick is that? Make a pen which magically removes the evidence of your clumsiness but leaves you smelling like someone sicked on you? Not a great idea. Oh, unless you're Tide of course, in which case it's great because your loyal customers are now wedded to the idea that they don't have to walk around all day anointed with the coffee they spilled on themselves when they slammed on the brakes in the car after checking their hair in the mirror only to look up and discover traffic had come to a screeching halt. Since they naturally detest the smell of barf, they go out and buy a new pen every month or so so they can still reap the benefits of the pen without smelling like an overworked orderly.

I have limited myself to one casual cruise through the campus to the cafeteria and back. Shockingly, there was no sign whatsoever of TH. I would have though he would have read my mind waves and be intercepting me in the nearest laneway to be propositioned.

Things are going well, aren't they? Someone should have clued me in that if you rely solely on chance encounters with the man of your dreams you are unlikely to get anything more that an unaccustomed amount of exercise and seriously frizzy hair from the rain.

Excuse me, I have a date with the side of a building.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

If there is a god, I'll get Ebola


Socks are done! Hallelujah, and they seemed to go over well. I showed off the seams at the PP on Tues and I was positively rapturous about them. It's good to have an appreciative audience for this type of squeee-ing so the rest of the world doesn't think you're insane.









Love the card and the oh so cute little birdie pin :)









Hat for T is blocking and smells like wet dog - possibly good seeing as its new home is quite doggy.


Boy meets sidewalk. For weeks I've been warning of the perils of sliding down the sheer face of our snowbanks to the concrete sidewalk below. Today, the inevitable happened - he slipped of and landed on his head. Poor baby. Looks like someone hit him with a meat tenderizer.









See the snowbank just past the blue van? Make it steeper and take away the protective layer of snow on the sidewalk and that's the scene.




His socks are ticking along nicely, although had to pick up the heel stitches twice. Why can I never do this properly the first time? Not much point on a pic of these.

And tonight my little friend comes home and reenters my orbit. For some strange reason I have convinced myself that things will go well. I have convinced myself that I will spontaneously run into him alone, not in a group of people, without lurking so badly outside his building that I have to have myself surgically removed and warrant another entry into the SP Annals of Accidentia. That we will engage in witty banter that leads seamlessly into an opportunity to ask him out. That he will accept, and have no plans for the foreseeable future and whisk me away to some romantic paradise where we will frolic in the daisies and bond forever.

Does this have any basis in reality? Even one toehold on the earth? I think not.

More like if I study his schedule and walk around at an opportune times I might just see him, probably with a whole bunch of his PDers and if by chance he does speak to me, I'll say something stupid and inane, miss any opportunity that might remotely arise and scuttle back to my desk having accomplished NOTHING.

Why the panic to do it tomorrow? I don't have the kids this weekend and feel like if I miss this opportunity I won't get another one for ages. What? How long has this been going on? Hmmmm... 8 months? You can't wait another few weeks for a decent opportunity to arise?

But quite frankly, we've spent some quality time in conversation, exchanged mildly suggestive cards and emails, had lunch twice, and kissed. (OK, it was on the cheek, but still. I haven't kissed anyone else at work in my 6 years except BB and he's tres French). Oh, and the cupcake. Maybe it's time we put da cards on da table.

With any luck I'll get Ebola tomorrow and miss the "perfect" opportunity.

Saturday, March 8, 2008

Down to business

Since I seriously started knitting again a few years ago, I learned I know nothing about knitting. I'm only about two steps away from novice. I always thought I knew how to knit, and that was enough. I had no aspirations to learning new techniques or doing things better (or even properly). I was of the opinion that if I couldn't do it the way I learned it it wasn't worth doing.

I don't think it's that I didn't want to learn, I just didn't see the opportunity. I didn't have the time or inclination to take a class. After all, already knew how to knit. In fact, I would have been hard pressed to identify a topic I wanted to study.

Enter the Internet. Since I discovered "boards" (I don't even know what the real name for them is) when I was pregnant with Calvin, I have been hooked. All that information at you fingertips? People willing to offer an opinion (or listen to you yammer) on pretty much any topic? Heaven!

It started with diapers. I bought, discussed, commented and advised until Jack was born, and then I pretty much was done with that. By then I had branched out into the world of wool and that open up the whole world of internet knitting. The WW forums, the Yarn Harlot and Knitty...and then the thousands and thousands of sites with tips, techniques and patterns. More patterns than I could ever imagine, all at my fingertips. Talk about heaven! (We shall not broach the subject of online shopping - what is it about getting stuff in the mail that is so seductive?)

I think it's been the discussion boards that have most opened my mind. All those people talking about techniques I'd never heard about and I seem to have a mildly competitive streak in me - if someone else can do it I think I should be able to as well. Short rows - who knew? Kitchenering? Magical! Different methods of casting on, continental knitting, magic loop? Revolutionary!

And today, I learned something else that may well change my outlook on knitting substantially. I finally made myself sew up the seams on the socks, and since they are for someone else, they had to be much closer to perfect than my usual sloppy seaming. (In fact, I usually make my mother do it I'm so bad at it!).

I'd heard about mattress stitch, but never attempted it. I Googled it and with the help of this wonderful site I leaped in.

It was not awful, it was not torturous (well, a bit hard on the eyes, but I am over 40) and the results? Well, see for yourself. I am grateful for the invaluable assistance of Mr. Crocodile.


With the help of Crocodile's soft, light-coloured underbelly, I secured the edges in proximity to each other and began the process. It's actually a lot like what it must have been like lacing a Victorian lady into her foundation garments. Lace, lace lace, pull snug, repeat.

(D'ya know? I've had these pins since I was a teenager and haven't lost one!)





Lace lace lace....









Pulled snug - look how great that looks! You can see the seam here since the flash spares no detail but in reality it's almost invisible!









All done, ends sewn in....










A quick bath...

And we're done! Thanks mom, for the great sock blocker. Its the perfect size, probably the same vintage as the pattern, which is good. They might not be so compatible otherwise.

That's a cactus behind the sock - get your mind out of the gutter.

One more operation. Lets hope the patient is equally as cooperative.

And since I can't possible let a day go without a comment on the "situation"... I have decided notes are juvenile. Do it in person, all casual like, or don't do it at all. Hey, I heard on the CBC that a woman had such a rapport with her gynecologist after an exam she asked him out for coffee - this is NOTHING.

Diversions...



Ugly dirty looking version of the hat, as mentioned, and the finally satisfactory 3-strand version.
And I finally cast on the socks for Calvin. Hot pink and turquoise, his choice. The picture really doesn't do justice to the true electricity of the colours. Lorna's Laces Shepherd Sock in Crazy Stripe. No kidding. 2 mm KP toothpicks, but they're a true joy to knit with. Dare I say better than Addis? Sacrilegious, I know.

Friday, March 7, 2008

What kind of wool are you?

You are Shetland Wool.
You are a traditional sort who can sometimes be a little on the harsh side. Though you look delicate you are tough as nails and prone to intricacies. Despite your acerbic ways you are widely respected and even revered.

Why do I always get the "tough cookie" profile? I'm not tough, I'm sweet and demure. Acerbic ways? Me???

Stupid quiz.

Thursday, March 6, 2008

Better

A card.

Dear T,

You are cordially invited to go out with me.

_ Yes - RSVP the famous #: 867-5309

_ No - Email me a simple "no". Please put me out of my misery at your earliest convenience so the wound licking can begin and I can master my skills of avoidance.

Sincerely,

Lulu

Printed in classic font on a mildly humorous card. I'm thinking one of those 1950's pics...

Things that cause me angst

Antibiotics. My dear doctor (well, actually her secretary) called me last night to say yes, I did have strep and I needed to take antibiotics. Well I'm better, I don't want to. So I call up and say do I still have to? She says yes since I might get rheumatic fever and die. Yeah, right. And if I hadn't gone in the first place and didn't know would I still be about to die? Anyway, I'll probably take them just so I don't infect my poor kiddies if it isn't too late, but then she says, you're not allergic to penicillin, are you? Ah, YES. Doesn't anyone even read my file? It should be easy in the new computerized world, no? Sheesh. I think I'm more likely to die by going to the doctor than not.

The freaking Unoriginal Hat. I have knit this THREE times, and I still think I need to rip out this version. The second version, two strand of rust and one of white with a grey streak looked AWFUL - kind of like it was already dirty- so that didn't make it far. The third version, three strands of rust (we shall not discuss the chaos created by unravelling three strands of wool over and over) was fine but I am knitting like a constipated crone - I couldn't even get the stitches off the cable and back in the needle it was so tight. Sheesh - It's not even much bigger than the first one so I think its gotta go too. Mind you, I have the pattern memorized now.

My indecision and the fact that I think I'm going to make a very poor choice when the time comes. My justification is that people ask each other out all the time - why does it have to be a federal affair? So he says no - how bad can it be?

Yeah yeah, pick yourself up of the floor. I know it will traumatize me beyond belief and I will slink around like a kicked puppy for weeks, annoying everyone I know.

My job, which is a boring hellhole. Why are some people so able to find pleasure (or at least some degree of satisfaction in what they do? I wish. I feel like I'm just marking time until someone discovers just how little they need me and I'll be out on my arse.

The weather. It's March and there is still feet of snow on the ground. Nuff said.

OK, this is totally naval gazing and of no interest to anyone but myself but still. This is the modern equivalent of dear diary. Get bent.

Version 1

By any stretch of the impossible, would you like to go out with me some time? Out out. Like grown-ups. Not lunch in the cafeteria.

I'm sure there are a thousand good reason why you shouldn't, but I don't care about those - all I want to know is if you'd LIKE to. If not, please let me know so I can commence the process of feeling totally humiliated and stupid - and rightly deserved. I have a highly overactive imagination. Just send me an email saying NO and we shall speak no more of this. You thought I avoided you before...

If you might contemplate this with any degree of enthusiasm, call me 867-5309 and we can discuss further.


Version 2:

Would you like to go out with me sometime?

Yes - call me 867-5309
No - send me an email. All you have to say is no.

Being the yappy bitch I am, I'd lean towards A. but that's now. Things'll change in an hour, I'm sure.

No comments needed on the lunacy of even contemplating this. I am well aware.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Two week reprieve

Dude is in SW until next Fri. Ah, the stalky power of the intrawebby. I can prance around without any worries - or more likely, formulate some dastardly plot for when he returns. This is so stupid.

Feh.

Monday, March 3, 2008

I'm baaaaaaaack!

Yay! I feel like a million bucks, so in honour of the occasion (no other reason, really, what other motivation could I possible have???) I am all skanked up at work today. Short skirt, fluffy top, BOOTS. Yes, the big guns.

The boys were delivered home last night with Jack having just barfed. How freakin' fabulous! He seemed in fine spirits though, so we had a bath and went to bed. Clean bed, I might add, having spent all freaking day doing laundry. Sure enough - he barfs on MY duvet, which I just handed down to him, and Binky, which really needed a wash so that was OK. He barfed until about 3 am and each time I thought, "I really don't feel as bad as I should".

Woke up this morning a new person. Not tired, neck a bit sore, but generally GREAT!!!!! I'm such a great mom- I pack the munchkin off to daycare.

Do you care? No. Oh well, it just means now I can do something more taxing than the idiot proof hat. Which unfortunately is destined for the frogpond as it fits Calvin - not exactly the size my intended recipient.














(Why is this picture so crap? I'm sure it didn't look so bad before...)

I wish I could come up with a good use for my skanky outfit... besides numerous trips past the Building. How subtle is that. But have I ever been eyeballed today! Cathy would be jealous - I even got conversation out of it.

So... today's dilemma: how do I top the cupcake incident? I don't think I can. I think what I need to do is either put a cork in it, or go whole hog and ask him out. I shall have to be fully prepared for rejection, though. I strongly suspect this has all been in my mind all along, especially last week, the week we shall call "fugue state week".

Things I need to contemplate with more clarity:

1. He kissed me. I don't care where he kissed me or why or anything, he's not French and he kissed me. That is not something I'm prepared to gloss over. Not to mention it seems to be way over the normal bounds of work relationship without crossing any formal lines. The dude is GOOD.

2. He asked me if I was OK having lunch in the cafeteria. This is supposed to be my role. And my response was very sub-par - I just glossed over it! What was I thinking? We should have been dining uninterrupted chez the Holiday Inn. Poor showing, my friend.

3. He said "stop avoiding me". I wonder which incident this could have been in reference to? Because you know, I do it so often. It was probably the president's thingy, which was painfully obvious and juvenile, but could also have been the incident in the cafeteria where I pretended not to see him. Who knows? He does have a point though, and he noticed!!

Hai dued. Me hot for yew. Can we baing now, or layter?

Saturday, March 1, 2008

In like a lamb

Yes, March is in like the proverbial lamb, or so I gather from the two seconds I spent outside today. Too sick to clean the house, too sick to run, too sick to do anything except knit, sleep and watch Buffy, which is strangely adddictive.

I'm starting to think I'll watch anything that doesn't have either snow or commercials.

My, it looks like you've finished knitting the socks! What a perfectly Kitchenered toe.

Thanks, Barbie!

Are you going to do the back seam?

No, I think I'll wait until my faculties are all there. Kitchenering took it all out of me.

Oh, OK. Um, you don't mind if I invite a friend over... while you're not using the socks...

Oh, alright. But don't get anything on the socks. You know what that Ken's like.



















I got a bit distracted by another crack hat. This one the Unoriginal Hat by the Harlot. Can it be as small as it looks???