Just for some variety...

Dysfunctional cucumber

I was picking the tomatoes from the other side of the fence the other day (my produce apparently prefers the even-more neglected yard of my neighbours to the north) when I happened to glance over at my cucumber bush. I hadn't had one for a while and figured they were done for the season. To my surprise there was a monster one, and it had grown through the fence. It required some careful work with a paring knife to extricate it from the fence and the rosebush.



Still tasted amazing, though the skin was a bit tough so I peeled it. No hard seeds inside or anything!

Dysfuntional knitter.

I knit. I like to knit, it passes the time and I get interesting stuff out of it. I do not, however, identify myself as a Knitter. I don't knit at parties, I don;t knit to make a point. I knit because I like to. Sometimes.

So why was I so offended when I was called a "knitter" with a serious eyeroll? It didn't really make an impact on me at the time, other than to be mildly amused, but it obviously festered enough for me to bring it up in my recent "get this off my chest" email about how boring I am.

Knitting fills a weird need for something I can't quite define. On the surface it makes me feel like one of the cool kids (in the knitting scene, at least. few people would go so far as to call knitting "cool") for possibly the first time in my life. I think it just happens to be *my* knitting community that makes me feel that way but I don't care. It's not like I stray far from the fold.

Knitting lets me create things for a person that doesn't exist. The cute pink sweater in size 2T for the little girls I'll never have and not so secretly covet. The sweater that looks super glam on someone who weighs 110 pounds. I can convince myself that it will look great on me the entire time I'm knitting it, and when it looks like arse in the end, I don't even really care. The boyfriend I secretly want, though I would never in a million years admit it and it's always something I can keep or give away.

So it filled me with great pleasure when it turns out he likes that I knit. Even if he's just saying that because of my hissy fit, which was in general completely unrelated to knitting.

Come on, tell me your secret reasons for knitting...

Hats... finally

Beaumont:


We call them pirates:


Nate: (the back of it anyway - she doesn't want her face all over the innerwebz)

On the other hand...

...sometimes you just have to throw yourself in and hope for the best.  Holding back isn't a good strategy for life and you can't *always* get kicked in the teeth.  Right?

Hat numbers three and four are finished.  The Beaumont Tam looks like arse on me, as did the manly ribbed one (Nate from the Queensland Collection by Jane Ellison).  I gave Nate away to my colleague since it seemed to look good on her and no one else.  I knit it out of Tanis Aran weight in Stormy and it looks great colour-wise, but not style-wise.  Pictures to follow soon, I swear.

Beaumont is up for grabs too, unless I suddenly turn into an elegant french woman with perfect hair.

Random thoughts

If you are bored, you are boring. Find something to do and stop stalking.

Trust is key - in both yourself and him.

Quid pro quo - watch the numbers and try for balance.

Self esteem. You ARE worth is, so have some trust. If it doesn't work out now, something will eventually. This is not your only hope.

"Needing" is openly reaching out and asking for support from a man in a trusting manner, one that assumes that he will do his best. This empowers him. "Neediness," however, is desperately needing support because you don't trust you will get it. It pushes men away and makes them feel rejected and unappreciated.

Initiating sex is good. Men like to know they're wanted.

It is not dysfunctional to be protective of one's heart, and to refrain from giving someone the keys to your soul until you know they can handle the responsibility.

All hats, all the time

I am on a total hat kick. Why? They're fast, compact, you can knit a crazy ass pattern and you only have to do it once... so many reasons.

First was the Koolhaas hat by Jared Flood. This is an awesome pattern and I've been wanting to do it for ages, but the twisted cable stitches was too much for my brain and I didn't really give it a chance. Then I googled "cabling without a cable needle" and tripped across this YouTube video which made it a piece of cake. And I made it out of Sublime Cashmerino Aran which I got at the Purple Purl's inventory sale for the ridiculously low price of $2 a boll. The stuff is gorgeous. (Mental note not to knit anything other than stockinette in black ever again due to my ancient and crappy eyesight. Torture.)


Then I knit Adrian Bazilia's genius hat We Call Them Pirates. The only tough part about this is the fact that the chart is in reverse - the white squares are knit in black and the black are knit in white. Otherwise, simple fairisle and super impressive! (I tried knitting the mittens before but I only knit one. There's a reason I knit my socks two at a a time.) This I made out of Louet Gems sportweight and I remember why I love this yearn so much. Sproingy, well twisted, super soft. And it comes in great colours. I knit the inside band in green just for fun :)

And lastly, another Jared Flood: the Beaumont Beanie (the beanie version in the tam colours, but red and gray, not red and white. I thought the contrast would be better a bit more muted but I may have been wrong.) I'm actually using the yarn called for in the pattern (Classic Elite Fresco), which is a wool/angora blend and sheds bits of fluff up my nose occasionally. I am only a few inches in and still find this rather charming.

This pattern is kicking my ass. In the first two inches or so I've had to rip back three time, the last time all the way to the ribbing. Apparently not only can I not count very well, although I have consistently demonstrated my superiour reading skills I cannot identify that "MC" obviously stands for Main Colour, and that would be the gray, not the red. I tell ya, it made a lot more sense when I figured that out. Riiiiiiiiiip.

Pictures of the last two to follow. My computer is acting like it's a hundred and two and keeps having aneurysms, strokes and other non-productive brain anomalies.

As for my "relationship" I'm currently involved in a battle of wills with myself (yes, another) not to text dude. He's a man and thus a the master of non-communication, but the text balance is falling too heavily on my side so I'm seeing if I can give it a rest, and whether he might pick up the slack. Needless to say I'm not really holding my breath, either for him to do said picking up of the slack, or for me to have the will to resist much longer.

Step off the ledge, my friend, at least for a few days. Auntie Flo is standing right behind you ready to give you a big push.

Random photos

Just to celebrate my technological breakthough.

Look! A fully healed arm. Just a blob of new bone to show where the break started.


Texture. Koolhaas hat, FLS socks and Malabrigo tea cosy.


Too much?

Stairs

Picture 013
Originally uploaded by TOmomma

What happens if I blog it via Flickr? Nothing good, I suspect. I shall have to go back to something else...Well it does seem to work if I only want one picture in my post.

HA! (Caftan porn, for your viewing pleasure.) It worked! Now all I have to do it keep my ancient computer from imploding and we're back in business.

And yet again...

Seriously? I don't have the brains I was born with.

Ever since I got my handy dandy new phone I have been addicted to texting, with a certain person in particular. It's so much better with a proper keyboard. However, I was introduced to that modern equivalent of drunk-dialing last night: drunk texting. And much as it is so mortifying to realize your drunkenness has been captured forever were you foolish enough to leave a message on an answering machine, it is even worse with texting because you don;t have an excuse. There's no maybe about it - you drunken messages WILL be saved - typos, misspellings and all - on the cellular device of the one you texted. Better yet, you don't have to rely on your alcohol-fuzzed memory to recall the details. Every last one is also recorded on YOUR cellular device. You can wake up the morning after to the sight of your phone on your pillow, then scroll though your conversation and relive the moments - every last horrifying one. Then when said victim doesn't call you in the morning there's really not much mystery as to why.

I have burning urges to text at the best of times. Throw in a couple of bottles of cheap red wine and wild horses can't stop me declaring eternal devotion to someone I hardly know. There really should be a way to retract or delete them - jayzus, they can put a man on the moon but you can't recall incriminating text messages? What is wrong with this world?

I will spare you the gory details but trust me when I say they are mortifying. His response? Better than I could ever have hoped for. Still, I don't know if I'll ever be able to look him in the eye again. Thank god there's text messaging.

Depressed

My ex is a dick and wants to cut his child support payments by 75% now that he has the kids a few extra days a month. I'm done being accommodating but the prospect of the fight ahead makes me want to shoot myself in the thigh.

Dude is still trolling PoF. I occasionally have a look when I'm bored, but I want to ask if he's bored, keeping his options open or looking to upgrade. I'll look all needy-like though. Depressing.

The new Flickr - still shit. Maybe I'm just too stupid to figure it out. Depressing.

Fucking Flickr

God I loathe change. Fucking Flickr won't post my pictures. The day I'm having it's enough to make me hurt someone.

Fuck.

Enough

I'm going to stop talking about the boy. I did find this on PoF, which I find highly amusing (not to say that this has happened.).

When men disappear with no explanation:

1. Phoning Scotty (beam me up, I'm gone).
2. Phoning Home (as in goodbye, Elliot).
3. Getting Probed on the Final Frontier (abducted by little green Aliens).
4. Pulling a Gandalf (*poof* twinkle, he disappears) or the Great Disappearing Act.
5. Getting Bourne Again (as in Bourne Identity-- he's been activated by the CIA)
6. Visiting Hoffa (for Jimmy Hoffa, the disappeared leader of the Teamsters)
7. Trapped with Marcel (from Marcel Marceau, the famous mime- the silent man in the invisible box routine. The invisible box are the acquaintances who run interference for him.)
9. Joined the cast of Days of Our Lives (i.e. he's in a coma).
10. Joined the Boys from Brazil (reference to ODESSA ratlines and the movie about ex-Nazis hiding out in Brazil).

This is also known as the Silent Dump. (And here in Montreal, we also call it Signing Up for the Hell's Angel's Swim Team.)

Har.

Ha! You were not correct.

Dude texted me for non-specific and lame reason Tues night. On thurs we had a convo at 3 am. What would we do without text?? He also emailed me on Mon, though I didn't get it until today. And tonight :) several times :) Methinks Sunday might see some action. One can only hope.

I'm back! A week off festering disease, dysfunction and well, I can't think of another dis-word. Anyway, it was good. Calvin developed what we're calling phleboffles - rash and fever - which lasted all fucking week. I think it was psychosomatic. Arrived the day we got there and left as we departed. He shook like a leaf after a few i minutes in the water. Plus Jack got pinkeye and I got a stye on my eye (FYI a tea bag cleared that up so fast I almost forgot I had it!).

Lake Huron was great - it was nice and shallow. Jack tried as hard as he could but even he couldn't drown himself. The waves were HUGE that day we got there and a few other days, and the kids had so much fun in them. Jack would get swamped by a huge wave, tossed on the rocky shoreline, and emerge grinning to do it all again. Pictures will follow when I've downloaded them. I loved the rocks. Fossils everywhere, cool colours, amazing combinations of stones...

The drama - my brother and his revelations - was a bit anti-climactic. I know it was coming, but my mom was so full of drama. She kept trying to tell him what a mistake he was making. That boat has sailed, mom. Me, I was all abut "man up and take responsibility for your kids". He arrived at the cottage without any food. Personally, I don't give a rats arse, but I gave him a good lecture on how he needs to show the kids that he can do the mom-thing; provide properly, take care of the stuff she normally would do. I almost think that registered. I was not impressed.

At one point my mom was sobbing in the car and I just threw up my hands and walked away. When she came up later to "explain" I had no time for it. I said, with no small irritation, that I understood she was torn, but that I was sick of the drama. If anyone had show the slightest inclination towards tears when MY life was falling apart, I might have been more sympathetic, but no one acted like this at all! Stop with the drama!

Wow - that was something for our repressed family.

Steve the dick, when picking up the kids, announced that the numbers I sent him for pour very simplistic child support calculations were off. When I pointed out with incredulity that I had only fixed the number of days in what he sent me, and nothing more, he waffled on about percentages, 40%, changing the formula, blah blah blah.... Even I couldn't take it anymore. Kids present or not I said you've had a month and a half to look at this and NOW you want to change the whole fucking formula??? It's YOUR formula! I was so pissed off I basically kicked him out of the house. He was all, we need to talk about it and I said WHATEVER and kicked them all out. WTF? He's so stupid his eyed are tied on his arsehole.

Got a new phone. It a fancy-arse Nokia E63 which does more that I need but at least I can text properly. Technology is a bitch - it makes me feel old when I can't unlock the GD thing. Ah well. It works with my ultra-cheap Speakout wireless plan and can get email at home. So it took me forever and I never managed to import my contacts, I switched SIM cards with the one from my other Nokia! Colour me pleased with myself. I am giving my old phone to Orly. She needs one for the kids and has zero tech needs. Reduce, reuse recycle.

Yes, Barb - you were right.

I admit it - I'm weak. I emailed. No response. A week of regret. Moron indeed.

I hope I don't turn to food for comfort. Still, the sick feeling in my stomach when I think about it should hold me off for a while.

SERIOUSLY???????

How many child support cheques can one man bounce???? Feh.

Tata!

I'm off on vacation. Wish me luck. Me, my mom, my deadbeat brother and four kids - should be a laugh a minute. Ask me how much wine I'm bringing. Fortunately zen buddhist vegetarian minimalists seem to have a strong affinity for red wine. One of the more delightful parts of their character :)

Today's lunch involved protein. This seems to be the key as I survived the onslaught of five children hurling themselves down the as-yet unsecured waterslide in my back yard. Kind of like this, but with three more boys, much more mud and ton of chaos. Only three minor injuries, miraculously.



My lawn's gonna need the week to recover...

Resistance is futile

I have a communication problem. I have no life so when I meet someone interesting, all I want to do is talk. However, I have been very very good. I have not had any communication with my dude since Tuesday night. It's killing me, but I'm resisting. Part of me thinks he will think I'm not interested, but the majority of me screams BACK OFF! So I am listening. For now.

As for the zen buddhist minimalistic vegetarianism, that's actually going pretty well. I made a discovery today, though. Monday through Wednesday I have been eating a pretty normal lunch and next to no dinner. That seems to have been working well. Today I deviated from the plan and had half a salad - a veggie only salad - for lunch. By dinner time I felt extremely weird, and somewhat less than patient. So I think the key here would be to have a decent lunch including some PROTEIN and as little as I like for dinner. Hell, I just sleep at night.

Or not. I also seem to have developed zen buddhist insomnia, which sucks the hairy one. My eye was twitching so badly today it was like being in an electrical storm. I finally cranked up the AC and that seemed to help, so hopefully that'll work tonight too.

And I'm doing Alberto VO5 Hot Oil Treatment as we speak! How long has it been since you've seen that? My hair is a hideous dried out crispy gross mess, so maybe it will help. I don't recall it working before, but who knows?

Some fucker stole Calvin's bike today. Totally unsurprising as it's a cool bike and we left it unlocked. I can't even work up much anger, just a bit of frustration and some relief to get rid of one bike. I do feel bad for Calvin, though. He loved that bike.

Just one more day until I can blow this town again. Then the urge to email will be a mute* point.

* for those that think I'm dumb as a plank it's a joke.

Don't need no drama. No, don't need no drama

Sorry kids, no relationship drama for today. A couple of happy email convo's in which, yes, I did have to explain and justify the spelling of my name which is such a PITA but necessary, I suppose. Dude seems so NORMAL. Not overly needy, not evasive, just interested and normal. Go figure.

I would like to go on record as saying I will NOT disappear. At least not for long :) Given the choice I will take the opportunity to engage in as much male-female activity as I can, but not to the exclusion of my friends. Yes, I know I have precisely 52 hours of spare time per two week period (including sleeping, which can be sacrificed in certain situations). But with the implementation of the New and Improved Child-Custody AgreementTM , set to be implemented in August, I should have acres more time! (Or at least a few more evenings.) That should help.
____________________________________________________________

Sounds like my bro has decided to jump ship. Fucker. As I told my sister:

Also - your deadbeat motherfucker of a brother seems to think it would be a good idea to leave his wife and children of 18 years and shack up with a ex-heroin addict, ex-prostitute white trash bluegrass whore. Colour me disgusted. He wants to be "happy" and being stoned and drunk all the time while playing stupid bluegrass music and fucking this tramp seems to make him happy. Fat tramp, too. Grow up, you irresponsible little twat. What is WRONG with men? Sure, leave you wife, I'm all about embracing the change, but man up and do it properly, not waffling around and screwing up everyone's lives while moaning about being unhappy.

Feh. I'm so pissed off and mom could happily kill him (which is refreshing)

_______________________________________________________________
And for those of you that are worried that my zen buddhist vegetarian minimalistic philosophy is sending me off the deep end.. It's a JOKE, people. I just need something to call my sex instead of food philosophy which is more socially acceptable. I can't remember to be a vegetarian. Plus, what's wrong with exploring options? I might be at the top of a mountain meditating next year instead of slogging away at a job that bores me to tears. Would that be bad? You can knit on a mountain top.

Pop pop, fizz fizz...

Oh, the relief!

I sent him a PoF email spelling out the potential situation on Thursday. I also put in some blurb about me not emailing him too much and should I email or text or call or what. Typical me stupidness.

Really, why don't more people treat me like the dolt I am? I have to C&P this because I want to remember forever that there are some OK people in the world full of psycho, dysfunctional and just plain weird folk.

Frankly I was terrified to open his message. Have I not learned that if you send a message that you're scared to get a reply back from, you shouldn't send it at all? Right? Please channel the Fairycakes "I committed career suicide" email next time you have any doubts, sweetheart.

Anyway...

That sounds nice... But I'm actually working in Kitchener from tomorrow to next Tuesday. I don't usually get home till 10:00 or 10:30. ... you can email me at metrosexual@provider.com if you prefer. :)

Always the smileys. It makes me happy. And the consistency. I knew he was working and he said he was working. How refreshing. (yeah, I made up the email addy - whadda ya want? to tell him he's being blogged??)

But now I'll have to fess up as to how I spell my name...

Vegetarian Zen Buddhist monk angst

Now the handwringing begins.

My mom is picking the kids up for me Thursday evening. Should I get her to stay and ask dude if he wants to meet up? If so, for what? A quicky? - so shabby. Coffee/drink? - better, but he might find that totally pointless. But if he finds that pointless are we in a bang-only relationship all of a sudden? Aren’t I trying to avoid that? And more to the point, what if he says no? What if he makes plausible excuses but says no? Do I write him off? I am pretty done with the excuses but you have to cut people some slack, don’t you?

Feh.

I have done the contacting up until now. He has responded so far, promptly and appropriate enthusiasm, so I think that’s OK. At what point do I step back and wait for him to make a move? Never? Once I start, does that set the precedent for ever on, so if I stop contacting him it’s me saying I’m not interested? Am I totally overanalyzing this? (rhetorical question). I *want* to step back and let him make the next move but I’m worried he won’t (which sounds even stupider out loud than in my head).

Why am I so dumb? If I were giving the advice, what would I say? I'd say call him and just fucking ASK. Pussy.
________________________________________________________________________

The vegetarian zen buddhist monk lifestyle seems to be working for me, except I keep forgetting the vegetarian part. And the buddhist. But I am embracing the zen.

Q. Where to vegetarian zen buddhist monks go to have a big dump?
A. They don't - the don't ever eat enough to ever have a big dump.

Hope sends you emails

I'm not the kind of person who can wait passively to see what the outcome of the other night's adventure is. I need to know the interest level before I work myself into a lather. So I sent Smokey an email just saying I had a good time etc. etc., and he replied in kind! Again, not being one to be happy with that minor success, I then went way out on a limb and said while I was busy for the next two weeks, maybe we could do something in two weeks.

Well, much to my surprise, he said...

I should be around :) let's talk as it gets closer :)

And the smileys are his. I think I'm in love.

No, I'm more realistic than that. It's never going to be a move-in-and-live-happily-ever-after thing, but who knows what it *will* be. I'll take another kick at that can as a beginning (if it even materializes) and see how it goes from there. If it does happen again, maybe we could have some sort of low-key "discussion". Just because I'm that sort of gal :)

Oh, and he texted me back too, even if he was mocking my ancient texterater. I like to cover all my tech bases.

Vacation update!

Ah, July. And what a July. Hot humid and disgusting - in the city, at least. Fortunately the kids escaped the first week of July and I followed last week, giving them a glorious two weeks up at the cottage. I did not, not once, hear them say "I want to go home". Oh joy.

I give you a pictoral summary of the week.

Serenity... briefly.


This was more like the norm:











Guess what we watched on the rainy day?




This was moments before Jade's near-death experience, where her hair got tangled on the bottom rung of the ladder, holding her head under the water. Longest minute of my life, and I shook for an hour. All's well that ends well, though.


My most favourite niece EVER. I adore this girl.



There was lots of this... better than tv.


Looks so peaceful, doesn't it? While just steps away chaos reigns.


_________________________________________________________________

Minor dating update: Talked to someone last week - let's call him Jim - who seemed nice and normal and not too good to be true. Came back from vacation and he'd deleted his profile. WTF? In a knee jerk reaction, I then decided to go out with someone who emailed me that very day - I never do that. WTF? So he's a smoker - that can't be any worse than any of the flaws in the other freaks. We'll call him Smokey.

Turns out, we met for drinks at 7:30 and I rolled home at 11:30... the next morning. Had to do the walk of shame, my friends. Beer, music, young male musician friends, VERY hot little body, metrosexual apartment. I would DIE to live there. I'll let you use you imaginations as to what transpired, but it was good. Smokey's a pretty nice guy as well as being a hotty.

Breakfast in the morning and we left it totally up in the air so I will probably never hear from him again. Too bad, he was pretty interesting and ashtrays don't taste too bad when you're drunk.

Of moths and miscreants

When Miko's car finally gave up the ghost, she bequeathed it to her mechanic for the low low sum of zero dollars. The only thing she walked away with was her roof rack. One might wonder at the wisdom of her selection seeing as she no longer owned a car, but hey. Hope springs eternal.

One of the less than lovely qualities of that roof rack was that it was slightly too large for her compact car. In fact, slightly too large for any compact car and, I suspect, many midsize vehicles. The ends of the bars protuded menacingly from the sides of the car. There were more than a few victims of the head bashing implements, despite her tendency to scream: "watch your head!" when anyone exited the car. As a result, a few of us got together and knit her some roof rack cozies for the ends of the bars, the purpose of which was to make them more visible and possibly to cushion the blow when it met its mark. (Anyone familiar with the installation of roof racks knows they are located in the opening of the doors - right where you head enters and exits at maximum velocity.)

Anyway, now that my kids are bigger and I no longer need to pack the entire contents of the house, I decided this year not to rent a minivan for the pilgrimage to the cottage and rather put my roof carrier on my car - for which I need a roof rack. Since Miko no longer needs hers, she let me borrow it. I got it half installed, only to discover one bar is missing the bits that actually attach it to the car. (We shall not discuss how long I stood in the driveway fiddling and contemplating before I came to this realization.) So since I couldnit put the other bar on, I decided to tidy up the cozies.

These cosies are NASTY. Before the car died they were at the mercy of the elements for a good while. Since then, they have been sitting in her basement for...at least a year, I think. The cozies are made of wool. I could explain, but I give you a visual instead:


On a technical note, I was interested (but unsurprised) to see the blue and pink - both kool-aid dyed, had faded significantly, where the purple, dyed with acid dyes, was almost unaffected. The moths liked the purple one best. The pink is Paton's merino, the blue is chunky BFL and the purple is.... I don't know. Maybe BFL? Maybe corridale? Can't remember.
________________________________________________________

And just for entertainment purposes...

I was supposed to meet the mushy hotel dude at noon on Saturday for a drink. Just before, I check and I see he's online. Now he lives at the border between Toronto and Mississauga, so I knew something was not right. I emailed him to ask if we were still on and if so did he plan on teleporting there, and he says "24 hours and counting". Yep, dude said he got the day wrong and thought it was on Sunday. Deeply apologetic, blah blah blah.

Fast forward to this morning, I check my email and he suddenly has to go out of town on business and can't meet up. Deeply apologetic, blah blah blah.

Sound familiar? Sigh.

Canada Day

Well, happy Canada Day. While most of the country is enjoying a stat holiday, I am at work. However, as you will notice from the time stamp, I am blogging from work - how awesome is that? Due to some peculiar abberation in our company's security/anti-timewasting software, I have access to everything today. I doubt it will last long. but it's fun while it does.

My boys left this morning for a week at the cottage. While I miss them inordinately, this time without them is so precious - it's my yearly recharge. Time to do whatever I want, whenever I want without whining, putting on shoes, being woken up in the middle of the night, rushing to pick them up, cooking dinner that goes uneaten, and so on. What am I doing, you might ask?

Tidying
Sleeping
Knitting
Sewing
Building steps for the new slide (all the neighbourhood kids will be pleased)
Drinking
Maybe dating? Maybe having wild gorilla sex with the man of my dreams? Yeah, pretty funny.
Cleaning up both the front and back porch, the state of which which make my house look like Kentucky.
Drinking some more
Playing with my friends. Yay yay yay!

I am also teaching myself the guitar. This is not easy as I am slow and have no memory cells left and my fingers are tender like a baby's butt. My hand on the strings resembles an arthritic claw - is it supposed to be like this? My main goal is to get somewhat minorly proficient so I can play basic tunes (I wonder how hard K'naan's Waving Flag is? - Calvin loves this) and encourage my kids to sing. Calvin especially loves to sing and gets no opportunity at home. Yes, bad parenting example number 7,493.

And my ever-loving mother, in her helpfulness, weeded out my weed plant last night. It was barely two inches tall, located safely between my lettuce plants in a window box where no-one could step on it by accident. Five weeks of molly-coddling down the tubes. Feh.

Guess I'll stick to drinking.

Dudes

Over lunch today we decided that, unscientifically statistically speaking, internet dating has to pay off at *some* point. Not everyone can big a loser or have some fatal flaw. We decided the magic number is 10. In 10 dates there's got to be someone who is reasonably attractive, has a job and a place to live and their own teeth, and no intolerable personal habits or mannerisms.

10 seems a bit low to me, but we shall see. So far we have had:

1. Frisbee. He was socially acceptable, except for the spandex shorts, basically attractive though his upper lip was not too my taste. And a bit presumptuous - "that kiss (little, lame, quick) must have got your heart pounding". Surprise, yes. Passion, no.
2. Flicky. The post office dude with the spittle. Flicky because of his weird habit of flicking the very fleshy and separate lobes of his ear. Ew.
3. Toothy. Last night's dude, who decided he didn't want a relationship but rather just dating (AKA sex) and talked about how his ex never put out all night. Plus, when he discovered I drove to our "date" said he wanted to go… parking. Yes, parking, like park somewhere and make out. Ummm… no. He was too eager and basically unemployed and lived on someone's floor and laughed to hard and showed his teeth too much. If they were nice teeth, sure, but they were splayed out like someone had sat on his head when he was a child. Yuck. I have a tooth thing.
   

This weekend I am supposed to go out with Sergio the hotel dude. I will find a nickname for him once I meet him. Girly-man probably, due to his penchant for romantic comedies, holding hands and skipping though the daisies. That will be 4.

And don’t forget Earl the helicopter dude. He seems interested and is back from "Croatia", whatever that is code for, on Sunday. His pics are hard to judge but he seems to have a bulgy eye issue in one of them. Something weird is going on anyway. I fancy him as being like Fairycakes in my mind, but I think I will be grossly disappointed by the reality of the situation. He'd be 5 if it pans out. Half way.

Volume, my friends, volume. If nothing else I'll be able to write a dating book by the end.

Crazy cat ladies

In the spirit of general thriftiness and being willing to make an easy buck, I get these emails from time to time asking if I want to do a survey on X, Y or Z. Usually they don’t apply to me or it's $25 for a hour, which isn’t worth my while, so when the cat food one came up and they were offering $90 for two hours, I thought that was OK. I'd done on of them before (years ago) and it was sort of fun.

Right.

Got a babysitter and trekked up the Yonge and Eligible - roughly a 45 minute trip. Hmmm. That should have been a clue. I get there and there are eight other ladies waiting in the office. They look a bit… down-market, but hey, whadda you expect for a survey company? Anyway, we go around in the circle and introduce ourselves and our cats and the problems immediately become apparent. Some of my favourite personality types are there!

A. The long talker. She pauses before everything like she's about to make a life-changing announcement, and then goes on at long and slow and boring length about something so basic we get her meaning before she's done the first sentence.

B. The truly crazy. Her cat is her best friend, she has a hundred boring stories about it that she thinks were all dying to hear, and she has absolutely no concept of what a focus group is for. FOCUS group, people. Not group therapy. Not a advertorial for Walmart. Focus group.

C. The my-cat-is-special type. We had a couple of those. My cat is too old or too fragile to do what normal cats do. I would buy that but my cat can'tcope I like variety but my cat can't eat fish because of the ash the ash you know the urinary tract thing and the vet said about the ash the ash the fish the flavours aaarrrggghhh!

They could have paid me $200 and it would have been barely enough. I gotta give the woman who ran the group credit, though. She shut down the long talkers and the whack jobs just as fast as she could. I bet she just loves her job.

I will never misuse the term "crazy cat lady" again. If I use it on you, you're in serious trouble.

...followed by tremors

A multitude of tremors:

My child, sweet as pie on evening, awakes like the spawn of Satan, kicking his brother, throwing my stuff, using his attitude voice.

Me, starting the day in a foul mood due to said son and the ex who cannot seem to show up on time for love or money. Stomp, stomp stomp. I am a three-year old. Got to sit in my office all morning and listen to an ACIP webinar and finished the body of Barb's chicken to keep my hands amused. I've got to keep emergency knitting for days like this. It stopped me from killing anyone.

Actual tremor - 5.5 on the Richter scale, apparently. Centred in Ottawa but very noticeable here. I was in the library or I wouldn't even have noticed it. I was walking though the stacks and I though to myself, I really am too fat if I make the shelves jiggle like that. I stopped walking and they kept jiggling so I figured it wasn't me. Looked around and other people were looking around too so I figure it was a quake.
Not nearly as scary as being stuck in the possessed elevator last week though. I really thought I was going to die then, clutching poor Jackie's hand.

And another emotional tremor when I went to meet my psych gal today and she said they were going home "just in case" because of the earthquake - was that OK? Feh. I had the cloud of doom over me all afternoon after that. What, you call the suicide line and they put you on hold? That's how I feel.

Relatively peaceful evening, though. Thank goodness for small mercies.

There'll be peace in the valley tonight

Some nights just seem to fall into place seamlessly, and this was one of them. I wonder why? Maybe because I spent more time lecturing them about being nice to each other, about not *actually* hitting one and other and their friends. Calvin just seemed more at peace tonight. Less fractious, like the world was giving him the short end of the stick.

Whatever it is, I am delighted. This is what having a family is about. Letting them sleep under the desk if they want to. Making yogurt popsicles and saying they can eat them for breakfast. Showers instead of baths. Picking the big battles and letting everything else slide, especially when it doesn't matter at all.

And my central park came home. Phew!

Sing it with me, baby.

Another one bites the dust

OK, I really gave this guy the benefit of the doubt. He said he was average... and he was. Not fat. He has a job, a kid, seemed relatively intelligent despite poor poor typing skills.

But...

In person, he had some serious flaws. He talked a mile a minute (kind of like his multiple emails) and got...brace yourself... spittley at the corners of his mouth. OK to talk to, a bit too agreeable. but whatever.

Major flaw - manners. He had a drink when I arrived. Fine, but he had already paid for it, didn't ask if I wanted one certainly didn't offer to pay for it. He's a cheap tipper and bitched about the cost of the beer. And it was hot today and he was sitting in full-on sun when I arrived. He didn't ask if I wanted to move to the shade and he sat with his back to the sun while I had it full in my eyes. Never once took off his sunglasses.

Really? Can you make a SMALL effort? Would that kill you? You got an hour to make the best impression possible - and you didn't. Your mother would be ashamed. No wonder these people are single.

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My central park hoody might be a victim of the Tottenham bluegrass debacle. I left it in my brother's van and I'm scared to ask for it back in case he doesn't have it. All that Malabrigo... *sob*. All that work. Back and two almost completed fronts. Sigh. That'll teach me.

Philosophy 101

Here's a philosophical question for you. Actual responses encouraged.

Are people meant to stay together forever? Over the span of 10 or 20 years, it is reasonable to expect that people will change and grow apart?

If the answer is yes, who's responsibility should it be to deal with the fraying threads of the relationship? Let me rephrase that - why does it always seem to be the woman's job to stay "stable" for the sake of the kids, and the man's job to go off and seek happiness at the expense of everyone around them? Why does a man's happiness seem to be so pressing that they feel it's acceptable to make everyone in their previous life miserable?

Early 40's are bad times, my friends. Unfortunately this late-onset adolescence doesn't seem to be limited to a certain age.

Speechless

I am so sad and angry and discouraged and sad I can't even find any words. This is going to be a shitstorm.

Trauma

My kids both have night terrors. I don't know anyone else's kids who get this and sometimes I think my plate is just too full. Am I traumatizing them so much that they need to let it out at night? The books say no, but I don't know that I am convinced.

It's charming. They start screaming - usually No, no, no! or Stop stop stop! in increasingly panicked tones. The will stand up in bed and wave their arms like they're trying to grab something, or push something away, or...? I don't know. The best/worst part is that they (according to the books, and my experience) don't even know I'm there. I can't comfort them, calm them down, anything - they really don't seem to know I'm there. It's tough because they seem SO upset but there's nothing I can do. On the other hand, I just have to be there to make sure they don't hurt themselves. I say nice things occasionally (mostly just to feel like I'm doing something) but other than that I don't have to be concerned or sympathetic. Just there.
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I am spending the weekend at the Tottenham bluegrass festival with my brother and his two kids. I am trying not to think about all the things I should be doing instead, but having cleaned the most dire parts of my house today I have alleviated much of the guilt and plan to enjoy myself. Even if it is in Tottenham.
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I have a new victim on PoF. He has a kid and claims to be educated and literate, but his emails are BRUTAL. Run on, little punctuation, no caps, typos galore.. I freely admit to being a snob when it comes to communication and I called him on it. He said he actually could spell but couldn't be bothered to spend the time to do it "properly", and maybe he has a point. He spelled algorithm properly. Anyway, he's certainly interested - he sends me two emails for my every one (weird?) and he's not hideous and might be OK. Maybe I'll find out one day.
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And finally... I have been chosen from a cast of thousands, selecting the appropriate answers in not one but TWO questionnaires, to do a survey. It pays $90 for two hours which seems worth the trek to Yonge and Eg and a babysitter. But... it's for cat food. Yes, cat food. I've officially been certified as a crazy cat lady.

Officially on the wagon...ouch!

I purged my office of crap this morning (Hot Tameles? Really?) so I couldn't eat anything bad all day. What virtue. ETA I forgot - I ate the last two Lune Moons as part of the purge - does that count for or against?

Then this afternoon Miko and I instituted the Tame the Boys Plan - phase one. She took Jack while I took Calvin. They both bitched and moaned but I figured it would work out OK. HA.

Calvin had a 20 minute meltdown over the prospect of being taken away from his friends for a Whole Day, during which I contemplated the fact that someone smelled a lot like BO. Who could it be? Turns out, I realize with horror, it's him! My wee 8 year old. OK, so he was all hot and sweaty but he smelled like a trucker. Ew.

Anyway, I got him calmed down, we went out to eat, he said it was too noisy to do homework so we came home, where it allllll fell apart. Screaming fits about the homework. Crashing and throwing things. That old routine. Feh. So much for quality time.

Then Jack come home, declaring he DIDN'T have a good time and didn't want to go with Miko and didn't do anything fun. Liar, liar.

So, unmitigated disaster? We're doing it again next week, with roles reversed. It can't be any worse, can it?
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The love of my life on PoF is a smoker. Bummer. He didn't even care that I was fat. There goes another one back into the pond.

I drowned my sorrows with some chocolate I had stashed and several ice-cream sandwiches. I sure hope those are gone soon.

Inane remarks to put off snacking.

Ah, another weekend bites the dust. This one was quite harmonious! Maybe it's the vitamins, maybe it's the phase of the moon but Calvin and I seem to be getting along a bit better these days. Jack, of course, is a phase or two behind and is still trying to be the bad boy, but I can cope with him. He calls me mama when he's being sweet. How can that not melt your heart?

I gotta stop eating. Suggestions? Anyone know a good electroshock therapist? I keep having good intentions, but then I go to the grocery story and boxes of ice cream sandwiches follow me home. How does that happen? I have the body of a 55 year old man, complete with gut from underboob to gunt. I should be belting my pants under my boobs. Hey, weren't high-waisted pants coming back???? Maybe I could make a fashion trend actually work for me.

My little gardening experiment seem to be taking off. I have about 6 sprouted seeds and have transplanted them to soil. That should kill them off. I'm looking forward to the process of eliminating the ones with balls. Genocide? Homicide? Maleicide? Just plain sex selection? Hitler would be proud.

That old chestnut

So the last dude I went out with seemed mildly interested after the fact. He did get back to me, suggested we do something and when I responded then promptly ignored me for two days. I can take being ignored - I'm only a bit needy - but hey, if you're able to check your messages and read them, surely it wouldn't kill you to respond? Especially when you eventual response is less than a dozen words. WTF?

Another pet peeve: ... instead of proper punctuation. I like ... as much as the next person but it's no substitute for a period or a comma. You can't have one giant sentence with the ideas separated by ...s. Sheesh.
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I'm back on the chunky machine. Did the inside of the tea cosy...badly. Swatched for the sleeves of my central park hoody. I love that sweater. Too bad it gives me a headache to knit by hand these days. And I loves me that machine. I did the I-cord for the tea cosy in about 5 minutes flat. How long would it take to knit two feet of I-cord? For me, forever.

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Oh yeah. OK, I have general feelings if incompetence and inadequacy around pretty much everything I do. I realize that and I know it's not a particularly attractive quality and I work on it. But some days...

I got home from work today and my neighbour's unemployed single mom, friend is gloating about her new car. Not new to her, no. NEW. Seriously? I have a decent full time job and I still drive a 10-year old car poice of shit that won;t keep air in the tires and doesn't have a fucking radio. I don;t want to hear about your stupid key fob. WTF? Debt load, my ass. That's just irresponsible. Not that it makes me feel responsible. Nope, I just feel lame.

And then the neighbour who shall be nameless starts talking about her kid and how much he reads and he goes through books so fast and there's no point in buying them he'd read all night if she let him blah blah blah and I just want to fucking slap her. She KNOWS my kids both completely suck at reading and she does it anyway, all the time. She's supposed to be my friend - is she socially unconscious or is she really trying to feel better at my expense?

A gave me a smack in the head and said don't be stupid. I think she might be right.

Said children of mine are relative angels these days, I am delighted to say. I hesitate to mention it as we all know what will happen as a result, but WTF. I bitch about them so much I should mention the nice stuff too. Jack gave Calvin a big hug in bed this morning and they lay all snuggled up together for a micromoment. It warmed the cockles of my stony heart.

Pet peeves

Mute point
Peaks or peeks - as in my interest
Walla (this one enrages me for some reason)
They're, their and there
The fact that gmail won't load on my computer. iPod? Sure. Work? No problem. My GD effing home computer? No way. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Emergency switching to hotmail for now. (Oh oh oh! Just remembered I can try my other computer! Who knew I'd actually have a use for it?)
The itty bitty keys on my iPOD touch.
Shopper's Drug Mart having "family" sized chocolate bars on sale for $1
Evening primrose oil, which is supposed to reduce PMS breast pain and reduce swelling. Ah, no. It seems to have the opposite effect on me.
Hotdog buns in packages of eight
People who don't check/return emails
People who ask me to do stuff.

Have I forgotten any?

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I broke down and went to the dentist. $60 later, it turns out it's not 13 cracked teeth; rather just a few very tense muscles. A judicious application of Advil and some self awareness and it's MUCH better. Tends to flare at dinner and bedtime, go figure. (My right upper canine is now barking at me annoyingly, but if that doesn't go down in a few days, I'm back at the dentist soon anyway. Feels like root canal material to me. My teeth are such crap.)

Important questions

What's that bird that makes a chirping sound like an annoyingly yippy puppy? It starts just before dark and goes on for what seems like forever. Drives me batty.

I have done something unspeakable to the whole left side of my mouth - it feels like all the gums are really sensitive, plus I have a toothache in each tooth. Could this possible be from clenching my teeth? I dunno, but I shall have to go to the dentist if it doesn't let up in a few days...

Went on a real date last night, which went OK but I haven't heard anything from dude so it was probably a disaster. He made me play frisbee. Talk about a well-prepared dude, I guess he dates a lot. Actually, he told me he does so I am unsurprised by his slickness. He's got that Mike Green upper lip though, so I don't know if I can get over that. MG was one creepy dude. Plus, who wears spandex bike shorts on a first date? What ever happened to making a good first impression? One *can* bike in regular clothes with out spontaneously combusting, you know.

Weekends off are great. I slept in until noon today - what sloth! Then I cleaned the kids' rooms - even under the beds!, fixed Jack's light (which has been draped over the door to the closet and finally the handle of the closet) for months now so I thought it was time... I'm reeeaaaallly slow but I get there eventually. Planted snow peas, lettuce and cucumber.

Oh yeah! When I was buying the veggie plants, I sailed in at 4:45. It's one of those temporary set-ups enclosed by wire fencing for the growing season, set up in the parking lot of No-Frills and it closes at 5. Anyway, I pick my plants and go up to the cash to pay. However... not only is there no-one at the cash but the fencing has been chained shut! And it was only 4:50. I can't say I was hysterical or anything but I did wonder what the chances of me climbing the fence were like. Slim, I should think. Of course I happened to be wearing a skirt, how appropriate! Now I'm not the kind of person who will ask a perfect stranger to go find someone to let me out so imagine my relief when who should come along but Shannifer's sister, Andrea! I have never been so happy to see someone in all my life. She toddled off to ask the management about springing me and offered to stay with me till I was released. Fortunately just then the guy who runs it came back - just a pee break. Glad I didn't have to go all McGuyver on the temporary fencing. All that for five bucks worth of plants.

BM's pa seems to be out of the woods. Death's door one day and perky as hell the next. Isn't the body a mysterious thing? Colour me relieved.

(Wow but I lead a fascinating life.)

Grand Finale - moving on.

OK, I am posting this sort of reluctantly since I kind of feel like it makes me look like a mad psycho stalker, but WTF. If you haven't figured that out by now... ;)

When we left our happy couple, Daniel and Ange, they had merrily arrange to meet up in the Yonge and Eg neighbourhood in which Ange resides. Unfortunately, Ange had "something com up" and had to email Daniel to let him know she couldn't make it.

Darling Daniel didn't take it well. He thought she should have called him to let him know. Really? I was pretty sure that's what cell phones were for, but when you didn't call me to cancel and instead thought it was appropriate to use email, I thought I'd been mistaken and quit using mine. Ange sent him a quick message saying "I think I made my point." and then promptly blocked him.

I was tempted not to block him just to see what he would say, but common sense won out. I want him to be pissed, but not to make a cast-iron connection between Ange and I. I don't think that would be good. He could, theoretically, do the same thing again, under a different name, but I'm going to go out on a limb and assume he's got bigger fish to fuck with. I have blocked him from my profile and deleted Ange's entirely.

End of story.
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Here is the modern equivalent of the plastic owl used to scare away pigeons: the rubber coyote, complete with hairy tail. These (apparently) scare away Canada geese so they don't leave nasty pile of goose shit everywhere. They are put in strategic location, and - get this - it's someone's job to move them around periodically!

Here he is, lurking outside our building (yes, highly illegal on-the-property shot.)



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The kids got to go rock climbing at the school fun fair last weekend. Jack was gung ho but bailed half way up.





Calvin made it up the "hard side" in about 15 seconds. He LOVED it.

Up:



And down.


It's a pretty sophisticated set up - it's all mechanized so they don't have a person on the other end of the cable, and if they let go they just hang. They grab the padded part of the cable and it lowers them slowly down. Pretty cool.
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Happy children. Upper and lower blocks have FINALLY united. We now have a zillion kids and two nets. Awesome.


The upper and lower blocks of our street have FINALLY united. We now have a zillion kids and two nets. Awesome.

Life Lessons

1. Don't drink on a school night. I went out for a pedicure/drinking night last night. Besides the odd company (one instant-drunk and one gal who actually passed out on her face. In the salon. I kid you not.) it was a lot of fun, but even with dragging my sorry ass home at 11, I still felt like death all day. I'm obviously too old for this.
   
2. Revenge is sweet. I have developed an alter ego - Ange the Angelic Angel - on PoF. She was developed purely to smite the arsehole that blocked me, and it's fun. Ange is blonde and likes wild sex. Otherwise I pretty much stick to the facts so I don;t have to remember much. Darling Daniel (we can upgrade him from dude now) seems to like Ange (as do numerous other men, due to Ange's proclivity for wild sex) and is happy to converse. Ange's lack of a picture seems to bother him though - he asked that I provide one next time I wanted to chat. So I have uploaded one, though I neglected to let him know. He can find out in his own sweet time. With any luck he'll suggest meeting up and then I can do to him what he did to me. I do strongly suspect he'd do it to Ange as well, but I really hope to get there first. Revenge IS a dish best served cold. EDITED to add - yes, Daniel is hot for the picture of Ange and suggested meeting up on Friday. Gosh, will he show? Will he cancel? Will SHE cancel? Tune in next time for the ongoing drama....
   
3. Men are dicks. See above.
4. Discretion is the better part of valour. I shall refrain from waxing rhapsodic about my latest conquests. They all seem to end up in the crapper anyway.
5. Honesty is not the best policy. A little judicious whitewashing of my actual views would probably attract more fish (pardon the horrible pun). I revised my PoF profile once, and I think I shall edit even more. It's like a cover letter, right? What you're aiming for is an interview where you can put your best foot forward.
6. Life is short - make the most of it. People seem to be threatening to drop dead around me. Not my peeps necessarily, but my peeps peeps. I don't like this - it makes me sad for them and makes me contemplate my own family's frailties. My skinny little boys were lying in bed this morning covered only with a sheet and I thought they looked like dead refugee children, lying on a street with a sheet tossed over them. So we celebrated the rain by watching Star Wars I and eating pizza. Peace and harmony reigned for the first time in weeks. If only it we could live on pizza and TV. And the best organic baby cukes from Fresh From the Farm. YumMy.
   

PoF #1: an objective review

Let's cast aside the emotion and futz of the past few weeks and focus on how things *really* went in my first little fishing expedition.

I initiated contact. The fish in question seemed interested, and thus followed an email exchange lasting a few day. The productive part culminated in him asking me if I 'd like to meet for a drink. Or course I would. He seemed charming, witty, very well spoken, if a little unwilling to be serious. There was none of the discussion about what do want out of this or "what do you do, what are your life goals, do you want to save the world, etc., etc. I suppose that should have been a clue, but hey. Things were progressing nicely and I figured I could feel him out properly in person. Trust me, that's always the best way to do it. Someone can come off so well over the net and in person be completely different.

At this point things started to go downhill. Date #1 - fish emails at the last minute to say he has to work late. Fine, it happens. Date #2 - fish emails to say he just can't make it. Uh huh. Date #3 - oops, fuckfish forgot it was his sister's birthday! Are you starting to see a pattern? Good, because I'm so dumb I gave him another chance. We degenerated into some marginally smutty talk and agree sometime next week (this week) we could meet up. Riiiiiiiiiight.

Last night I gave him the gears for being lame, having lame excuses, blah blah blah. Nothing really rude, not worse that we'd been backing and forthing for weeks now. And then the last message I tried to send him wouldn't go - it said:

This user has BLOCKED YOU.

Seriously. How passive aggressive is that? Just man-up and tell me to get lost. Sorry, were you being too subtle for me? AAARRRGGGHHH. It makes me feel like a creepy psycho stalker who's been harassing him with no reciprocation - which is NOT the case FYI.

You know when you say to yourself, wow - this guy is hot and smart and nice. Why does he need to find a date on the internet? Now I know. HE DOESN'T EXIST.

Stage 2.5 - Relapse

Oops. I may have done something stupid. Fortunately, no one reads my blog who can intervene. Only time will tell, and I'll only have myself to blame.

Who needs a therapist? The whole world should blog. It's free, you don't have to leave the house, and it takes less than an hour. Win win. Boring the unknown public? Even better!

Stage 2 - Anger

Fucking numbnuts (I think it's a good sign that we've gone from "dude" to "fucking numbnuts") finally sends me an email allegedly from Montreal, where another ones of his alleged sisters is allegedly getting married. Who does he think I am? His little late-night conversational bimbo? He was drunk and I may have been a little under the influence (thanks, girls!) but he STILL had no explanation for his appalling behaviour. Doesn't thing it worthy of an explanation! Talk about channeling Fairycakes - they both have such a capacity for avoidance - maybe it's the age? Is that something mummy taught you growing up a half a generation ago?

Either way it was pretty effing annoying when, after I asked if he ever planned on showing up, he said... wait wait, let me quote him exactly:

Speaking of which (how's that for a segue), I want to see a pic of you (not just your face). I assume you have a camera or a cell which takes pics. Send me one, now, via godiwouldlovetoputinyouremailaddy@yahoo.com

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. It's 2 in the morning, I'll get right on that. Perhaps you'd like me to take off a few layers first, bare some skin, talk dirty to you? Sheesh.

Perhaps I should put in his actual email address and you could send your comments directly to him. Now THAT would be amusing.

Because I'm all about the drama

I have a minorly obsessive personality. I'm glad it doesn't seem to apply to substances (other than chocolate) or gambling or something equally destructive, just to my emotional state. Over the years, I have got a grip on this problem, managing to be somewhat restrained in how I express myself. (We shall overlook Fairycakes and the OMG I've committed professional suicide! incident of 2007(?). Fortunately I also seem to be attracted to men who have the ability to completely ignore anything that doesn't fit into their strategy. Convenient, eh?)

Anyway, as a humiliation-sparing strategy, this blog has become an outlet for the things I want to say to people but really thing would be a bad idea. Many times it works. Not always, but mostly. As such, I give you what I would like to send to dude as a harassment technique: The Kübler-Ross five stages of grief.

Stage one: Denial

This is one of my favourites and I can stay in this stage for a long time. He didn't dump me. He really did have three unrelated very important events come up, coincidentally on the same night we made plans. Coincidentally at the last minute. And the fact that I haven't heard from him since doesn't mean he's REALLY not interested, oh no. It probably means something really important and probably bad came up, distracting him from checking his PoF mail. What, he managed to check three times a day before? Well, he must have been hit by a bus. Maybe someone died. Yeah, that's it!

(Yeah, yeah, I know it's over. I'm still working though the stages and obviously haven't got to the last one yet. Maybe this will help. Stay tuned as we work through the successive stages: Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance.)

Another proud parenting moment

As a conscientious mother, I often volunteer for activities in my kid's classrooms. Nothing says I love you like a day with your mommy at school. Today was Yellowfish Road, where we go out and paint yellow fish (surprise) on the street by the storm sewers. This raises awareness for the quality of water that runs off the street and straight into the lake from the storm sewers.

Anyway, Calvin and Jack had a busy night last night, boogying until past bedtime and not going to sleep until, Calvin informs me, 10 pm. Shocking. So when he complained this morning about being tired I was unsurprised and unsympathetic. I agreed he looked a little rough around the edges, brushed his hair to give the illusion of a well-dressed child and dragged them both off to school, on foot, god forbid.

Half way through Oh Canada, Calvin breaks formation (completely out of character) and hustles over to me, saying he's sick and wants to go home. I have to admit he did look pretty crappy. I saw him cough and almost gag and hustled him post haste into the washroom. Needless to say we did not yellow fish road.

Poor dude slept ALL day. He did rouse himself long enough to play Uno and Picaseroni (or something like that) but he ate nothing, did nothing and had a fever of 102. Nice going, mommy.

Anyway, I got some prototype big bags made. One with regular interfacing, which I think is too floppy, and one with "medium" weight interfacing. While the bag looks great and stands up nicely, the interfacing itself bites. It's made from some coarse-weave fabric which is seriously pokey at the cut ends. I think it will snag yarn like crazy. I'm going to make another with the other thick interfacing, but I think it's too thick. I could do two layers of thinner interfacing, but that might just push me over the edge into not-worth-my-while...

I like the blue one. I can't sell it as it's too pokey but I could keep it. What a sacrifice.

Chinglish

All this time I've been pimping myself out on various internet dating sites and all I had to do was read my email!

I don't even know why I read this - it must have been providence. Usually it would go straight into the bin. It was from World Importers Net, who specialize in producing all kinds of Bedspread sets, scarf, glove, cap, hat, sock, shawl and plush toys etc. Wow - just what I need as summer approaches. But wait - it gets better!

We now have a good write to you in the hope of relations.

I live in eternal hope of relations.

Perspective

Oh, Po. I may not have known you as well as some but you were a spectacularly original character and I will miss you. I'm glad it's over for you, but not for us.

Seriously??????

My friends are horrified. They are convinced that dude either weighs 300 lbs, lives in his mother's basement, is married, or is existing just to jerk people like me around. Maybe all of the above. Is it fun, I wonder? It takes a special kind of person to do that. Maybe petty, vindictive, dishonest… sound familiar?

Why, they ask, are you willing to give this asshole any more of your time?

I don’t know.

I'm changing my profile to read this:

Tag line: Sucker

I'm a sucker. That's all you need to know. Talk to me nice, use some $50 words, maybe get me laughing and I'll stick with you through thick or thin. Nope, don't bother showing up when we agree to me. Nope, you don't have to confirm because I'll do all the work for you. You don’t ever even have to leave you couch because I'll let you string me along… and along… and along…. until you've had all the fun you can with me. Then you can ditch me and I'll go unresistingly back to the pond. I'll initiate contact, and email you regularly so you never feel the rejection of an empty inbox. I'll wait around while you're online talking to someone else, no problem. That what us suckers are for. They don't put us near the bottom of the food chain for nothing you know. Give us garbage and we eat it right up.

(Also closely related to another flourishing specimen, the Doormat. Maybe you've had some fun with her, too.)

Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me three times? I'm a sucker.

Damned innerwebz

Is everyone like this or just me? I had to force myself not to email him all weekend with completely stupid things to say. OK, I lie, I sent one, but then I composed a gazillion more and managed not to send them. Even the one saying my time is important to me and if you're gonna bail do it now.

Internet dating is designed to make you neurotic, paranoid and insecure. It shows whether you are online or not, whether you've read the emails you received, whether you deleted them - all things which are completely unnecessary. So dude is online, has read your email and doesn't respond. Is he talking to someone else? Does he have nothing interesting to say? Does he not want to deal with you? Is every other hot woman on the site sending him Better messages? Is he checking sporadically while watching the TV or making dinner? Who knows? And when they disappear off line as soon as you come on is that because they're trying to avoid you? I don't know! All I know is it fuels my raging paranoia and I have to try my very hardest not to send messages like - Dude? What's up? You didn't respond to my email about the weather 22 minutes ago. Are you fucking someone else?

Yeah.

So anyway, I have been very good. . I know there's a delay in the site showing who's on and who's not. I take that as a good thing. It means I do what I want. I log in for 2 hours, doing laundry or something completely unrelated and trying not to pay attention. I log in for 30 seconds, check my mail and log right back out. It's good to be unpredictable.

But tonight - I'm layin' down the law. Dude will confirm TONIGHT that we are still on. When/if he does so, I will give him my phone # and tell him to CALL should something come up. I should NOT have to rely on checking that stupid site to see if I'm going to be jilted. Of course it would be nice and polite of him to reciprocate, but if he doesn't that's too bad. God forbid something comes up with me, that's his problem.

I have a very baaaaaaaaad feeling about this.

Let's try some optimism, kids! He's got no reason to plan something if he doesn't want to go. It's the internet - he just bails and has no repercussions, so if he really didn't want to go, he would have bailed. End of story. Snap out of it, creeping jesus.

I see a red door and I want to paint it black.

That is my mood, or at least is has been for the last few days. Is this how depression comes on? I feel like I'm wearing a black hood over my head. Bleah.

On the other hand, the sun is shining today and I feel much better. Or maybe I bottomed out and there's nowhere to go but up. I gotta stop whining, whatever it is. OK, so I made my child's birthday the worst. one. ever. but hey, I'm sure they'll be more of those. I sent him to bed without brushing his teeth, but hey, by the time that comes back to haunt him he'll have his own dental plan. And if he or his brother kill the other one, that'll be one less university education to pay for. Cup half full kids, not shattered and leaking red wine on my beige carpet.

Dude made startling revelations under the influence of alcohol on Friday night. Har. It's the modern equivalent of drunk dialing, only more permanent, unless you were foolish enough to babble on someone's answering machine. I'm going to take it as a good sign that he wanted to. Or maybe (based on the revelations) he's just a bit... I was going to say odd, but no - it's pretty normal, just dark and surprising that he'd fess to it. And MAN the guy can write. Even hammered he can use the word "behest". I think I'm in love.

If I should get stood up AGAIN, I hope nothing comes up at work because there may be a sick day on Wednesday. Not that I'm too heavily invested or anything...

Ah the good old days

...when advertisers could pretty much do as they pleased.


Who knew smoking was so beneficial? Guess I must have been smoking the wrong brand.

This has been quite the week.

1. I made plans with my PoF dude to go out on Monday night. Not an ideal date night, but hey, it was just a meet and bum-sniff event.

He cancelled, citing unexpected work commitments. Spent fun evening with Miko and rescheduled for Thursday.

2. Lost my keys. I don’t know where the fuck they are but really, I have to do something about my house. I blame space, I blame the attic, I blame the kids, but really, there is JUNK piled everywhere and it doesn't need to be there and most of it is mine.

3. Fought with Calvin. Over and over and pretty much lost my mind. Homework is the antichrist.

4. Bought small appliances - a hairdryer, clock radio, iPod dock, answering machine.

5. Had raging PMS. While attempting to get into the tiny space to plug in the new clock, I got frustrated and threw my plastic shelves across the room. Real mature. And you wonder where Calvin gets his temper from?

6. Thursday. Anticipation. All dressed, mascara on, hair brushed, I check my email. You know, just in the tiny chance that dude bailed on me again. I'm sure there will be no messages… but, sure enough, there was. He cancelled. Again.

OK, I got serious brownie points for graciously accepting his lack of excuse (I just can't fucking make it) - must be an afternoon of reading elegantwoman.org. But I clearly remember thinking, in my LL days, that I should disappoint everyone before I go out with them because you can tell so much about someone by how they react. Real gentleman do not yell at you or call you names, or make rude implications. Guess it works both ways.

Anyway, I thought there was a ring of truth (and desperation) to his messages and though it might make me a doormat, I am giving him one more chance. Really, just one more. The one bright side? When I said maybe it was my mojo, or the overused venue (Allan's) he said "It's not you, it's me" (and keep in mind he was well aware of the blinding cliché) and I fired back "Oh, that old chestnut." I was pleased to actually use that phrase!

Date night? Tuesday - AKA knit night. Miko's in NYC so I don't really want to go AND I won't need a sitter. God forbid I show up at knitting...

7. Went to the doctor for my check-up. I adore her so much. I unloaded about Calvin and what was going on and she was so great I almost started bawling. I sort of thought she would think I was over-reacting, but she was so sympathetic and understanding and had good ideas and is going to send both of us to talk to someone professional. I really hope that helps. She also suggested that, since homework was such a big stressor, that I give that particular joy to someone else. Daycare, school, Steve. Anyone. Just not me. It's so nice to have someone take away something that I really want to do but know isn't working at all. I am NOT helping him.

8. Calvin is 8 tomorrow. My baby. I'm hoping beyond hope that this next year is a bit smoother. More Dr. Jekyll, less Mr. Hyde. 'Specially since Jack has been sipping the potion lately.

Sleeeeeeeeeeeeep

I need sleep. It's been what - about a week since I slept properly? I feel like I'm stoned all the time. Not good.

Tonight I should have been setting up for the Frolic. Instead - due to the massive efficiency of Ms Schecter - I am home, emailing dude. Frankly, what I should do is have two glasses of wine and go to bed. But no - I trade inanities via email. Sigh. Monday can't come soon enough.

I like it, but I need a reality check. Is he an asshole that can make conversation, or a really witty dude with a dirty streak and a penchant for double entendres? Maybe I'll ask.

I am getting the fairycakes/chris feel again. I know I'm getting my hopes up and am bound to be disappointed, but I can't help it. And I don't care. The feeling is grooooooovy. And maybe it will affect my appetite?

I want to rush home and check my email. Some part of me knows this is going to end quickly, and in crushing disappointment. Why does this always happen to me? The M-word hooks up with someone, has some emails, talks on the phone, has a date where the guy actually shows up and then he's totally in to her. What's wrong with me? Am I overeager? (yes) Should I drag the email on longer? I dunno, but when someone says we should meet for a drink I take that as an invitation. Am I wrong? Am I crazy? Am I obsessed? Do I want to go out with a hot dude named Daniel who can make conversation and is witty and personable? Do I know what a claymation star is? Is he really made of plasticine? Is his personality like a lump of clay, or is he malleable like a lump of clay? Enquiring minds want to know.

Fekola.

Were you scared away by my overeager offer of a drink? Did your agent suddenly call you up with a last-minute fill-in for Grommit? Is my obsession with chickens a turn-off? Did you realize I'm functionally blind without my glasses and don't want to go out with a disabled person (even if it means I get a handicapped sticker on my car)? Did I inadvertently mention I have two boys and you're worried they'll gang-r@pe your daughter while you're not watching? (hmmm… in a couple of years that might be a valid concern) Did your wife catch you surfing the dating sites again? Did skankygal123 email you with a picture of her assets?

I'm stockpiling chocolate for the crash.

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In unrelated news, the green sweater of doom is pretty much complete, I have sewed it all together, and while the arms are a little long and the body a bit big, I quite like it. I am going to have to rig up some alternate fastening system so it doesn't droop and drag at the front. Maybe one of those old-fashioned hooks for fastening your pants on the inside, and on the outside a cute button or something. I dunno, I think it might just look like a sack on me.

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Also - I finally realized it was me that bust my brand new machine. While in conversation with the woman who sold it to me, hurling accusations about how it were not workin right, it occurred to me that in the initial set up, where I dropped the carriage backwards off the bed, I might have bent the effing bed myself! I fessed up immediately and the woman was very gracious about my rash accusations (we do have a relationship as she shed tears on me about her newly dead mother as I was buying it) and thanked me for admitting my mistake. I think religion might actually bring out the best in some people. She's a bible basher, not me, in case you inadvertently stumbled upon my crazy ramblings and think it might be me. The point being, if it were me that broke it, I bet I can fix it!

Picture? I ain't got no freakin' pictures. You got the gabbagoo?

Older dudes

So what is wrong with people over the age of 47? I have had this mental block for ages whereby I think that I want to date someone between the ages of 40 and about 46. Old = bad. Hmmm. So far, almost all the men I have met have been jerks, especially the younger ones. Now that I have dipped my toes (ha ha) into the waters of PoF, I find the ones I find really attractive - both physically and expresionistically, are those who are around 50.

At first I thought it was a fluke - one or two, here or there. But I don't think so. Why doI want a younger man who I'm going to feel self-consciously old around? A well preserved 50 year old seems right up my alley. Case in point: 50 year old with a rather broody picture, taken by his kid so it's not very clear. H.O.T. And as he says:

I will endeavor to enamor you with my plagiarized wit, and superficial charm.

I love it when they talk dirty.

Mmmmm

I made yellow Thai chicken curry tonight. I'd thawed the chicken but didn't feel like cooking it but I made myself, what a sacrifice.

It was coconut milk based, something that has stirred nausea in the very depths of my being since the fateful meal in the Bangkok? Singapore? airport in 1993. Heck, it's been a few years - I thought I'd give it a shot.

PC curry sauce, with baby corn and red pepper. I almost had an orgasm. Who new?

Birthday follow-up

It is with great sadness that I report that my ENTIRE family, with the exception of my sister in Texas, who is addicted to Facebook and probably got a reminder, forgot my birthday. I know where I fall in the pecking order.

I would like to thank my friends at work, who never seem to forget. Also - my neighbours for making me dinner, including cupcakes, and buying me beautiful tulips. I love you, man.

Birthdays

When you're a kid, your birthday is the epitome of self-indulgence. It's all about you. Princess for a day. God help you if your birthday falls in the summer or during Christmas because then your friends can't fuss over you at school! (Let's ignore the fact that my little brother managed to be sick and ruin virtually every single one of my birthday parties from the age of 6 to 10 - at least it felt that way, it was probably only twice.)

When I was young, independent and living away from home, it was pretty much guaranteed that there would be copious drinking involved. Nothing says happy birthday like a solppy drink. At the very minimum I had a couple of roommates to wish me happy birthday with the utmost sincerity. Even my family usually came through for me eventually with some cash and a phone call.

Then, once I was happily domesticated, I could count on presents, cake and drinks on the day from my significant other. OK, maybe the presents didn't quite hit the mark, but the thought was there and I didn't have to buy them. There was an element of surprise, and predictability.

Being old and single is... interesting. You have friends, of course, but they don't live with you and generally have their own lives. My family usually forgets, even my mom, until late in the day. My kids are so oblivious they wouldn't even notice if we don't have cake, I think, and they LOVE having cake. One of the perils of single-parenthood is they don’t have anyone constantly reminding them about mommy's birthday, and going off to buy presents, etc. Whatever. It's not like presents make it more special and one can hope that as they get older they might actually remember…

The presents are the great part. Chosen by me for me. Don't get me wrong - I love a surprise present, but the ability to choose exactly what you want for your birthday, to buy something you've been lusting after for a while, is awesome. You get JUST what you want, not your subtle hint filtered though someone else's brain. Yeeeeeeeeeeee ha.

All I wanted for my birthday was a great pair of shoes and two sloppy kisses. Mission accomplished.

I'll take this as a message

I bought a new machine. It is fabulous. Besides the fact that it needs new sponge bars and smells a tiny bit like smoke, I think it will be great!

As well as all the regular stuff, it came with a box of magazines - 1980's, quite amusing - and a huge pile of punchcards. Some 12 stitch (which I should sell as I hear they're hard to come by and I don't have a 12 stitch machine) some Toyota, some Singer (most of which I have but there's some blanks!) and of course, a pile of Brother ones, another punch, another copy of the knitting course I got with my Singer (which is an excellent resource), and ANOTHER ball winder (now I have three). The punch and book I'll probably give to Miko but you can't seem to give away a ball winder for love ror money, go figure.

Brother knitleader? HUGE. The Studio knit radar is about 6" across; this thing is about 2 FEET across.
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There's a new organic burger place near me and we got takeout from there last night. Evidently, eating nothing but donuts all day followed by a huge burger and 1/3 of a poutine is a recipe for GI distress. After a few hours trying to sleep, I gave up and exorcised myself of that demon. Unusual for me. Maybe I'll get the skinny sickies again. One can dream.
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Mine:



Wow - this is probably the most money I've spent in one day since... I bought my car? Thanks, Revenue Canada!

Jacquard for all

I got a YC2 double bed yarn changer a while ago and couldn't think of a use for it. In fact I didn't even try it. Everything I read lead me to believe it was obsolete and essentially useless. Then I ran across a YouTube video of someone using it, or trying to, or something. I can't really remember and I couldn't find it again when I started to look. Anyway, I looked up some stuff on double bed jacquard and it seemed like a totally cool thing to do with a knitting machine, even with my yarn changer.

I hooked up the yarn changer last week and it seemed to work fine. Damn naysayers.

Unfortunately there is hardly any info on the web about DBJ. I thought about it for days, spending countless meetings doodling and trying to figure it out. While I eventually grasped the basic concept of how it worked, when someone recommended the book Jacquard for All, by Wendy Damon, I snapped it up and it was money well spent, my friends. It not only deciphers what's happening, it tells how to punch the cards properly, and even more revolutionary, how to do single stripe backing and even solid backing!

Inspired by the cover of the book and several swatches, I set out to chart the interlocking circles pattern. We shall not discuss how long this took and where I did it. And while a normal person starts with something simple to master the technique without driving themselves batty, no - not I. Jump in with both feet. (Also, I only have two punch cards left so I wanted to make the most of them.)

Anyway I charted the pattern onto graph paper (the centre block is the graph, the rest are just copies to make sure it lines up)

Then drew it onto the punchcard

Then I tried it. While I followed the directions pretty carefully, I got stripes on both sides the first two times. Eventually I clued in that I might have started the pattern on the wrond row, and sure enough, I backed the punch card up a row and the next time, tada! Not perfection in any charting sense, but it worked! (Squint a bit and it looks better.)

Colour me pleased.

I might be buying a new machine. Maybe. One I REALLY need.