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.
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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)

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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.
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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.