Nothing says I love you like booze.

My dear friend Jennifer:

Those cans of drink you left at my house the other day?  The Palm Bay Ruby Grapefruit Sunrise?  The devil's work.  Indeed, they do taste like something totally non-alcoholic.  I sucked haf of one back just now in the space of about 10 seconds before I remembered that they DO have booze in them.

Then I drank another.

It's Jack's birthday today.  Got Lego Batman for the Wii so I am the best mother ever, for now anyway.  And I made a candy cake, again, best idea ever for the kids who's totally sick of cake.  Easy easy birthday, though I did have to reach into my superpower stash and come up with plan B when my child declared his favourite food chicken legs.  What?  I was counting on pizza.  Shit - how do you pull that out of your arse at 5 pm?  Two words: Chalet Suisse.

Now I have a date - yes, on my child's birthday - and I'm already half cut.  Thank you Jenn C.  I blame you totally for whatever transpires.  And no, it's completely unrelated to douchbag.

Weakness

Roller derby.  So fun, yet such a timesucker.  I don't have time to get laid now even if I had the opportunity.  Though doing a good block on Bren Bren was almost as satisfying.  I think I'm born to block.  Jam, not so much.

So I say to myself, at the risk of provoking an aneurysm in those near and dear to me, why not go hang out with a douchbag?  Fun, entertaining, always available (strange how that is now, eh?).  I have resisted the temptation to fill my 14 seconds of free time with a little douchbaggery.  So far.  But I am weak.  I do realize, dear reader, the futility of going down that road again.  I hold out hope, but I know its futile.

Bancroft dude wants to come and visit.  So much for a purely email relationship.  I doubt this will go anywhere but I am not prepared to have a long distance, subsidized by me relationship.  Unless he's really worth it :D  I got low standards, what can I say?

Or not.

I guess I should publicly admit to what a disaster that was.

No chemistry.  None.  So weird.  We did it anyway but it was lame and he had no creativity and a small penis.  I wonder what happened?  Weirdest thing ever.

Maybe I should take this as a lesson - either sleep with the dude when you get the urge or wait until you know him well enough to know if you really want to. 

Back into the trenches.

Four is the luckiest number

Oh.  My.  God.  I have become the drywall commercial.  It's sickening.  Nauseating.  And pretty damn awesome.

After a few days of really good email exchange, we decided we couldn't wait until Tuesday and I got a babysitter for Sunday night.  This way, I thought, if it's good we can do someting fun on Tuesday and if it sucks I haven't wasted a quality evening on some innernet dude.  I was completely prepared to find him disappointing - email is usually a bad predictor of future behaviour. 

Not this time.

Dude shows up and he is WAY cuter than his pics.  Looks young and adorable and has dimples for god's sake.  And all his hair, not grey at all!  Very smiley, excellent personality, funny, charming and totally into me.  But not in the creepy way of #3.  Not at all.  Maybe because I was the same.

I've never experience anything like that - it was weird.  I had absolutely no problem making conversation with him, but now and then we'd just stop and stare at each other.  Then we started holding hands.  Pretty much doing as much physical contact as you can do seated across the table from someone in a public place.  If hands could have sex, our would have.  So here we are gazing across the table into each others eyes.  If I had been watching I would have barfed.  I may indeed have sicked a little up in my own mouth.  It wasn;t just the physics, though.  It was totally a mental thing as well.

I think it was the fact that he was so obviously into me.  Very good for the confidence level.  He thought I was "cute as a button" which he said was the most socially acceptable thing he could think of to say in public.  Har.  He didn't seem to have any sense that it might have been a disaster.  He's mildly suggestive in a very hot yet inoffensive way.  Confident but not arrogant.  Talkative but not a bore.  Good listener.  Funny.  Perfect.

We met at 7:30.  Left at 11:30 despite the fact that I told the sitter I'd be home at 11.  Oops.  We barely made it out the door before we were making out in the vestibule (what a great word) and we got some serious necking in before someone else left and made us stop..  Walked to the subway, made out some more and then went our respective directions.  Absolutely no doubt in anyone's mind that we'll be getting busy on Tuesday.

Oh yeah.  I'm such a classy broad.  It was snowing like crazy and I was quite wet when I arrived.  Little did I know that my mascara had smudged onto my upper eyelids.  When I finally went to pee and noticed, I was horrified.  I looked like a crazy person.  He was too polite to say anything, either before or after the repair for which I am eternally grateful.  It was sort of hidden by the tops of my glasses, but I don't think he could have failed to see.

And he still likes me.

Number 4

Yes, I'm getting ahead of myself.  #4 only counts if we go out, but we've made plans.

#4 is mid-40s sort of dude who lives in the west end. Am I doomed to find myself forever commuting to and from the west end?  NO.  Unlike your previous relationship, dude is obligated to come to your end of town at least 50% of the time.  That's my new rule. (Rules, as always, evolve from the stupid situations one gets into and thus must make rules to avoid in future.  Of course we all know how good I am with rules...)

Dude has a way with words, a penchant for profanity which I quite enjoy, and finds me fabulously funny.  How's that for alliteration?  He doesn't run away from jokes about drinking at work or getting shitfaced - important things as I embrace my inner alcoholic.

We're supposed to be going out Tuesday.  That's a week from now and give everyone plenty of time to bail. 
Hey, if he doesn't kiss like a fish maybe I'll sleep with him.

As for the previous #4 (3?), I have decided after the events of last weekend and him texting me yesterday with ultra-solicitous concern about my mental health that I need to dial back my Facebook presence severely, at least for now.  I am weak and stalker-like and can't make myself un-friend him which is what a normal person would do.  So instead I will make no updates worthy of comment, I will not respond to anything he says (which should be nothing if I adhere to the previous point) and I will not post on his stuff, whatever it is.  Radio silence is what we're aiming for.  I need about a month more I think before I'm somewhat functional again.  (Slight hiccup in the recover process may happen on Thursday, but that's my own fault and I'll deal with that if it arises.)  M thinks I'm a crackpot and should cut him off completely but I cannae do tha.

Sleeping with #4 would help.

One step forward...

So I was recently informed that I had that expression wrong.  In an uncharacteristic show of optimism, I was convinced it was two steps forward, one step back.  Because then at least you're moving in the right direction, right?

Apparently I have it all wrong and it's one step forward, two steps back.  Figures.  Welcome to my life.

Dude and I broke up.  OK, we we never really "going out" but I ended the illusion in my mind that we were, ending months of teeth gnashing, wailing, chest beating, and rending of garments.  Slept like a baby for the first time in months.  Step forward, definitely.  I am woman, hear me dump.

Started this wretched process of innernet dating again.  Is there a more demoralizing, soul-destrying enterprise?  Getting judged, initially, by a couple of crappy photos and some ill-chosen words.  Then in person by someone who may or may not be to your liking.  Bleah.

# - Toothy - 1 had some teeth issues and a serious inability to stand up for himself.  Really?  You come on a date with a friend who overstays his welcome and then you can't ask him to leave, explain the situation, ANYTHING?  Sheesh.  I have more balls than that.

#2 - Crazy Bill - bailed out at the last minute, via email.  Don't blame him as we had the most horrifyingly boring phone conversation, but he could have just said no.  Whatever.  Do they castrate men in this city before they let them date?

#3 - Lawyer dude - short, dumpy, ancient glasses, some weird walking problem.  Fine, all superficialities.  Took me to the Dominion where the music was too loud for any conversation, but insisted on talking anyway.  Every time I spoke, he said he couldn't hear.  Hmph.  And people wonder why i don't talk about myself  With supremely bad manners, I started texting for a diversion (In the bathroom, I might add.  Not to his face.)  I tried J: hanging with toothless.  I tried M:  baked.  So in a fit of desperation and (and longing) I texted dude.

Yeah yeah, bad girl.  I knew he'd be out, I knew he'd be happy to see me.  And he was.  Hung out with him and his friends and it was fun.  Really fun.  I was myself, caustic and un-doormatty, and it was nice to be like that instead of the mousy bitch I was.  Two steps back, but it was worth the serious disapproval of everyone I know.  It's true - he's my crack.  I need a new drug to get over it.

And #3 kissed like a dying fish.  It was G.R.O.S.S.  I actually wiped my mouth in disgust.  Like Cathy says - it's kissing!  If you can't master that, what hope is there for the rest??? 

 I'm though 3 out of 10 and I might have to off myself if things don't improve soon.

I loves me some tutu

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.