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      A Very Good Day, Indeed.

      November 25, 2009 /

      Yesterday was one of those blue-ribbon, splendiferous days that you thought may have faded into the naivete of youth, when birthdays brought a new bicycle and summers were long unending days of sunshine and grass, an enormous hiatus from school and responsibility. Yesterday was absolutely fantastic. Yesterday, I accepted a job. A job I want, a job I’m looking forward to going to, and I’ll start out part-time in a couple of weeks. A couple months after that, I’ll be full-time. But it wasn’t just the job. It was so many things. Lunch with two dear friends. Then I went to the grocery store, where one woman stopped to compliment me on my wrap (the background image on this blog, in fact), and another woman came over and we had a nice chat about yarn, knitting, local yarn stores, and Ravelry. She wasn’t familiar with a lot of the things I was talking about and scribbled notes on the back of her shopping list. My husband coming home and telling me he’s proud of me, reflecting on the life we’ve built together, and how we navigate the waters well together, because there have been dark, bad seas for both of us in our years together, and even in the bleakest hour, there is comfort in knowing you are not there alone. Later that night, we went out to dinner for crab legs, and while James was up getting dessert, the woman seated behind me started complimenting me on my shoes. (Dansko clogs, patent black leather) Random kind friendliness, piling onto the day. We decided to give the slots a shot, and the wheels spun and the bells rang and then my $20 became $40 (being the nervous nelly gambler, I immediately cashed out). It was a day that felt like it glowed, with no nicks or dings or scratches, one that had only improved each hour it was here, and it was so very good.

      Many blessings to count. Happy Thanksgiving.

      Today…

      October 28, 2009 /

      …is brought to you by the letter “J”, the number “3” and the color “Orange”
      Afternoon Snack

      Since my unemployment has coincided with the school year, we’ve opted for after-school snacks instead of packing James a lunch in the morning. It’s been rather fun, and I intentionally made this one orange-themed. (Those mandarin oranges are from Aldi’s!)

      Also, let’s talk about carrots. I’ve given up on the pre-fab, uber-convenient so-called ‘baby’ carrots. It seems that the manufacturer has taken to including more water in the bag – because the absence of water made the carrots, in my words, ‘dusty’. But now the water? Makes them slimy. I hit the wall when I had to return a huge tub to CostCo, and then the next week, saw the same sort of slimy water on a regular 2# bag of the carrots. Irritated, I decided it was time to get back to my proverbial roots. Back in the day, carrots required a modicum of work. It’s not that much, really, and I’ve always enjoyed the ol’ peeler. And you know what? Way more flavor. Way more moisture. Carrots the way they always have been, and we’d forgotten that, in the ease of bagged, shaped, finger-sized convenience. The first carrot I peeled reminded me of how my dad would whittle a screwdriver-shaped carrot for me, the strips left behind destined for salad. A contented crunch.

      Bonus? The dogs love carrots, too, so they get the ends, which they excitedly chomp on while watching to see if more are going to be tossed their way.

      Lovin’ Every Minute of It, Nah-Nah, Nah-Nah…

      September 26, 2009 /

      So, there are jobs out there, it’s just a long process to hurtle yourself through the door. I had an interview this week, and am glad I had some inside scoop on the job, because it was one of the fastest interviews ev-ah.  Apparently that’s how they roll. Mkay! I shall write my thank-you note and we’ll see what happens. I’m also continuing to network like a mo-fo, so much so, I am a little challenged to even keep up with it all. Fortunately, I also have a friend who’s gone out on his own, and he has SO MANY connections. He was following up with a contact I’d emailed and never heard back from, despite phone messages, and he was able to get some more info (guy’s out of town, totally slammed, and is going to call me next week.)

      Add to all of this three small-ish freelance gigs!

      It’s not easy, waiting and wondering and not knowing. I mean, I know. I realize that nobody gets up, goes to work and knows for sure what’s going to happen. A meteor could hurtle from the sky and squash you like a bug, that would be un-anticipated. Not on your mental agenda. But being unemployed means you really don’t know what tomorrow is going to bring. A phone call?An email? Some communication that will unfold into a meeting? An interview? Where? Will they like me? Will they like me more than the 20 other people they talk to? Will they like me the most? So many unknowns, a gal could go crazy trying to run them all through her head. Yet even with all this uncertainty, I’m … happy.

      What I am happy about is when my one freelance opportunity came to be, the person hiring me was describing his process of how he came to arrive at me, he said, ” I think she has experience in this particular industry, I know she’s smart, I..” I didn’t hear much after that.  Thanks. For recognizing I’m smart. For smartness not being a threat. I told a sage agency owner I met with that first week of being unemployed, all I want to do is work someplace where I don’t threaten people. Because I’m smart. He got it, having been in the same boat himself at previous jobs or interviews. Finished my sentence for me, actually, because I didn’t want to sound arrogant about it, but he got it. Was already there.  Knew that it’s not about having a crazy vocabulary or being able to spell really well, it’s about everyone having confidence in what they do, what they bring to the table, to not be fearful if someone has a great idea. A couple of the jobs I’m going for are big deals. They carry a lot of responsibility, and should require a lot of brainpower. Some aspects of the job, I’m not going to know. So I have a choice. I can be fearful, that I don’t already know how to do every single thing, or I can be excited, because I’m capable of learning, and I know that even while I’m learning, I’ll make a difference.

      The other thing that I’m loving is how supportive everyone in my life is. From my husband to friends, the great MommaLinda to former co-workers, to new friends who are skimming alongside me, in their same unemployment-issued skiff, the positive energy is just tremendous. So thanks to everyone for this, because it truly makes a difference. And not that I’m counting my chickens before they hatch, but I had a mental flash yesterday of just how big the celebratory party is gonna end up being.

      Pillow Talk

      September 6, 2009 /

      him: “If you were a bear, what kind would you be?”

      me, without hesitation: “Kodiak.”

      him: “Holy shit!”

      me: “What the fuck, you wanted me to say something cutesy like ‘panda bear’? After the week I’ve had, I’m ready to kill every camper in a 100-mile radius of me.”

      pause

      me: “So. What kind would YOU be?”

      him: “Polar bear.”

      me: “Why, because it’s cold?”

      him: “That and they’re kinda mellow, they hang out….. y’know.”

      me: “They can be just as violent as a Kodiak bear. I mean, I could be a polar bear, too, but right now, I’m just really feeling the Kodiak.”

      I’d say that’s a good way to sum up Unemployment, Week One. Kodiak Bear.

      Home from Cancun….

      July 3, 2009 /

      ….and what a fantastic vacation it was. More on it, of course, with pictures, but here are my bullet points from yesterday’s day o’ travel.

      – Reward travel sucks, because they put you on the killer flights, as in, 7:25 a.m departure, so you are getting up at 3:45 a.m. for a shuttle.

      -Cancun Airport TSA would like the world to know that KNITTING NEEDLES ARE DEADLY. The very dour Julia told me to go put them in my checked luggage as they could absolutely not go on the plane. (Addi Turbo Lace circs, #4s, about as deadly as pencils or a belt, but ok.) FYI, one’s luggage is not sitting around waiting for you to put it back in, but thanks for the hike, Julia. Also, FYI, if you try a different security line with your knitting needles, they will still take them. I thought I’d try it, since Julia was also extremely concerned about my bar of Christopher Elbow chocolate (made me open it to show it was, indeed, chocolate.) So I initially thought she was being a gigantic beyotch and thus upon seeing the second security lane open, thought, ‘What the hell’. Told JWo after the fact “I had a plan,” even though I really didn’t, I was going to feign stupidity and confusion, I think. In the back of my mind, I knew that $15 needles were not worth ending up in a Mexican prison over (nor were they worth spending $50 to check them!) Please recall the time of day. JWo felt bad and bought me a bottle of Bombay Sapphire at the duty-free shop. Along with four other bottles of booze, because criminy, duty-free airport booze is CHEAP. (Kahlua – $13!)

      -Gotta love my honest husband who told the customs agent as we were funneling through after retrieving our luggage that we had 10 bottles of booze. (Five more we’d packed in our luggage, purchased prior to the airport.) Turns out we’d gotten into the Very Anal Customs Agent line, and even though we told him some of the bottles were small (they were!), he said something about seeing just how small they were and made us go into the Here We Search And Grill Ye Customs Department. There were approximately 75 people in the non-residents line, and as we entered with our carts of luggage, we were beckoned straight up to an agent, since we were, quite obviously, the only US Citizens in the HWSAGYCD.

      -I will not use this agent’s name, but let me tell you, he looked like he could send us to Pound Us In The Ass US Prison without blinking. A BMF, for all you Pulp Fiction aficionados. James handed him our declaration form, that VACA had scrawled over with red ink, indicating we were here because we had ten bottles of alcohol. This very intimidating agent seemed to be struggling to contain his amusement. “Ten bottles of liquor?” We nodded. We were then informed that as Missouri residents, we were only allowed to bring in EIGHT bottles (four apiece), and as we sort of gosh-gollyed stammered our responses, he continued, informing us that Texans are only allowed one. Continuing to half-smile, but looking like he was trying not to bust out laughing, he informed us that yes, he could collect some tax from us, but really, that’s a lot of paperwork and that’s not what his purpose was, his job there today. I also got the impression that perhaps he was a bit irritated with the Very Anal Customs Agent for having even bothered him with something so trivial. He waved us towards the exit and we gushed our thanks. Oh, Julia? You could learn something from this man.

      -As we exited, we found ourselves flanked by some returning military folks, and at the sight of them, two grandma-type volunteers, dressed in red, white & blue, waving patriotic pom-poms began whooping and cheering. I smiled, because I thought that was pretty cool, but then as we started to turn to the area to re-pack our luggage, I looked back and saw the grandmas were in the airport section, but beyond them was a big room, with a double door, and lined up inside were all the families waiting for their family member, pressed up as close to the door and one another as they could be, eagerly waiting for the soldier they knew was coming (thanks to the whooping grannies) to round the corner to see if he or she belonged to them. I get a lump in my throat just typing about it, because it was such raw, aching joy and love, palpable even from 20 feet away. We got an even better perspective when we arrived home in Kansas City, standing by the baggage carousel – one soldier on our flight was waiting for his bag, and he and his girlfriend were entwined, he finally just picked her up and held her piggy-back style, holding her legs, her arms around his neck. Turns out he’d been in Iraq, and they hadn’t seen each other for four years.

      Happy Independence Day, indeed.

      In Some Ways It Gets Easier…

      June 8, 2009 /

      …and in others, it’s a bit like Prometheus, chained to a rock and waiting every day for the birds to rip his liver from his chest. Only these birds are ripping out my heart.

      Tomorrow will be three years since my dad died. Six weeks ago, I started feeling this huge amount of dread. Three weeks ago, it went away. I basked in the departure of those emotions. Wahoo! Pesky grief. Even upon hearing about my good friend’s dad dying, a co-worker buddy of mine who has had his share of woes thrown upon him this year. Even today, talking to him, hearing about the funeral, hearing about his father’s last moments, I felt distance. Three years of distance.

      Then, five minutes ago, I realized it was three years ago, exactly, almost to the hour, that I got the call to come home. He was dying. The unavoidable loomed large and dark and high and impassible. Those moments and hours that allowed the tiniest light of hope to flicker, still, no matter how daunting it seemed. To no avail.

      Like a thunderclap, a summer microburst, fucking grief.  It will pass as quickly, but the drenching is thorough.

      Take My Neighbors, Please.

      June 6, 2009 /

      When we moved into this house nearly 7 years ago, I chirped constantly about how our neighborhood is ‘such a mix!’ because, well, it was. And still is. There are people who’ve lived their entire lives in the same house, back before there was a shopping center at 99th & Holmes, there are people who’ve just moved in, renting a house, there’s a gorgeous mansion-like home sitting on four acres of land, and then? Then there’s the batshit-crazy cat lady across the street, and now – with glitter! – another relative of some sort living next door, in the house on the corner that used to be owned by the bank and now enjoys a driveway full of cars, parts, crap and then some more crap.  This would be the same family who hung outdoor Christmas light netting haphazardly around the top of their living room ceiling. And the same family that post-Thanksgiving, had about 6 bottles of Seven whiskey in the recycling. And the same spot where I happened upon the Crazy Drunk Guy (who is the primary resident, I believe) in handcuffs on the side of the road when I came home one night. (with two cop cars and plenty o’ po-lice.)  There is a third character in this motley crew, and he has been on crutches for about two years. Damn leg must keep breaking? I dunno. I may also have already mentioned the main form of entertainment for these fantastic contributing members of society is to sit in a lawn chair in their driveway & drink beer, while listening to classic rock coming out of the speaker in the trunk of a car.

      The good news – besides our home value declining while city property taxes went up – is that these folks mostly swirl in their own toilet bowl, and keep their festivities contained to the two residences. Until last week.

      Last Friday night, I was getting dinner ready & the doorbell rang. James had just come in the back door from the garden, and I asked him if he’d go take care of it, as the doorbell rang again. The half of the conversation I could hear was…. odd and interesting at best, and then I could tell it was ratcheting up a notch. The fact it ended with “If you don’t get off my property, I’m calling the police,” wraps it all up.

      So, Crazy Drunk Guy (from the corner house, handcuffs, shit everywhere) comes to the door with a kitten on his shoulder. Like some sort of wackadoodle white trash pirate, I guess. And a broken broom handle stick that’s been out by the street by the road where the garbage is picked up, like, forever. (that’d be our contribution to the neighborhood trash. a broken stick.) And this motherfucker, in his drunken slurred state, accuses my husband of beating a kitten to death in the street. (I’m sorry. I have to stop and laugh. Again. Preposterous and crazy all at once.) With what, you ask? An 18″ stick.  How do we know this was the weapon? Because CDG asserts that it had blood and fur ALL over it. James asks him if that’s the case, where is all this blood and fur now (as the stick has nothing on it.) “It fell off,” CDG replies.

      Ahhhh. All that time spent in the driveway drinking beer does NOT sharpen one’s CSI skills. James tries to jog the alcohol-deadened logic button, that a dead animal found in the street was probably hit by a car. To no avail. CDG is lookin’ for a fight. James tells him he doesn’t appreciate all these cats running around OUR yard, when we’ve put in the time and money to build a fence to keep our dogs IN and even more money to vaccinate and keep our dogs healthy, which is something they obviously do not do, as they don’t even put a collar on ‘their’ cats.

      Now Crazy Cat Lady decides she needs to get on the action. She’s halfway across the street and yelling about how she only has ONE cat.  James points out that it’s bullshit, because she has a swarm of them around her house at all times and she feeds all of them. (Hearing CCL start to scream, Crazy Drunk Gimp (CDG 2.0)  grabs his crutches and starts making his way from the corner house – oh yes, he’s a regular white knight. Of course it’ll take him half an hour to roll up on our asses, and the fact we can see him coming does nothing to create more intimidation, just comedy.)

      “Do you want them to starve?” she brays, an unhinged skeleton trapped by demons, and he, of course, says, “YES.” Because at this point, there is no logic, there is no even playing field here, it’s like trying to play tennis when half the court is a swimming pool. At this point, they are ordered off our lawn under threat of police intervention,  back to their never-ending life cycle of bottled beer, flea-laden feral cats, and classic rock enjoyed in a lawn chair.

      Wisteria Lane, we ain’t. Such a mix.

      Random Orts. Shake ‘Em Like an iPod Nano.

      April 13, 2009 /

      1. We now both have iPod Nanos. James exclaimed he never ever thought he’d own anything Apple. I, on the other hand, work amongst the Mac devoted, and as a consumer, have looooved their marketing. So, when the new 8G Nanos went on sale at Target, coinciding with my work anniversary, I decided to engage in a little retail therapy. Since my husband likes to tell me I have to have everything better than him, I decided a couple days later to buy HIM one, too. I even loaded it with a ton of music.  So now we’re finally in this millenium, and I enjoyed using mine while doing yard work on Saturday. He was fairly amused by the “shake-to-shuffle” feature, which he proceeded to do for about five minutes (while it was hooked up to a speaker).  Mine is turquoise, his is black. I think they’re stupendous.

      2. So I went to the Apple store on the Plaza, to get an armband thingy. I couldn’t have felt like a bigger Luddite if I’d tried.  I determined that one of the qualifications to be an Apple Genius is to have a really interesting haircut.

      3. When we were at Em Chamas, there was one waiter who didn’t have much showmanship. He was the one serving flank steak. So now the big joke at home is to flip one’s emo hair while braying “FLANK STEAK”, just to illustrate your attitude and disdain for the situation at hand.

      4. I have a dear friend coming to visit this weekend, so I was working on cleaning the guest bedroom. In the process, I discovered that I have a lot of yarn. That job springboarded to my Huge Project, and you can see, I’ve got some good storage upstairs. And a lot of yarn.

      Just one day of sorting....

      I still have a lot of work to do, but this makes me happy.

      5. I need sunshine. This doldrums- rain crap, combined with freeze warnings, is making our household very emo. We are ready for spring.  Our thoughts on the weather can be accurately captured with two words:  FLANK STEAK.

      6. My (very conservative) friend Shan accidentally went into a gay bar on one of our trips to NYC. He was reassured by the bartender (female) that it wasn’t, they served all kinds (including the two gay men at the bar).  He then told us it was a unique bar, because it had all these roosters all over the place.  I responded by asking him if he thought perhaps all the cocks in the room were a CLUE.

      7. My friend Laura is finishing her final week of retail hell at Macy’s, before starting a really kick-ass job that will use her education and skills. She had posted about a certain crazy ceramic rooster that had gone on clearance and would make a great white elephant gift.

      8. My friend Shan’s desk, as of last Friday:

      Office Rooster

      I love doing stuff like that. Ceramic rooster – $17. Making everyone laugh – worth every penny & then some.

      9.  I finally got a Blackberry that works, exchanged by the eBay seller. I’ve discovered that you can chat with other Blackberry peeps (I have two!) and you can look up directions to Em Chamas because it’s in the Northland and you can’t remember the road, and you can see your email all the time. It’s pretty cool, I must say – and yes, I’d love an iPhone, but right now I’m stuck with T-Mobile (the aforementioned G-Foible) and this phone will at least get me through the end of our contract.  Still have that RAZR if anyone would like to take it off my hands; got a direct connection to Satan, should you need to be phoning him up anytime soon.

      That’s it for today! Shake it up!

      Wahoo!

      April 11, 2009 /

      I won a gift certificate from The Pioneer Woman! I have no idea what I’ll buy, and when I told my husband Van Dyke’s Restorers was a Cabela’s company, he immediately wanted to know if the gift certificate could be used there. (No.) (I don’t even want to know if it can.) (I’m not good at sharing, does nobody remember this?)

      This would be lovely, though it would require me to kick in some cash to cover the difference. Never mind there’s nowhere to put it. I’d be perfectly happy with it in the living room. Watch my DVR, knit, splash a little, no biggie! Hi, company! Can you all just look out at the garden while I get out of the tub? Thannnnks.

      Actually, I just realized why the site was familiar to me – a couple years ago, I was looking for some bun feet to raise our dining room table – I’d bought it from a friend, and it sat a little too low. (The table itself is really cool, it’s a reclaimed barn door, but the construction doesn’t allow you to lengthen the legs at the top.) The bun feet were pricey, and I went with something much cheaper from Lowe’s that worked for height, only to discover they didn’t work as well for stability. So! I expect I’ll be bunnin’ it up! And, the more you read and say “bun foot” the more it sounds really, really weird. Especially when you like Vietnamese food, and, um, bun (noodles).

      Look for the next post to be a big ol’ smattering of Orts. There’s been lots happening, but work has been really crazy with, you know, work, and there’s more work and fewer people, so we …work a lot more. But there are still jokes and drama and funny things going on.  I’m especially chirpy because one of my dearest friends is coming to visit next weekend, and the weekend after that is my trip to the Loopy Ewe Spring Fling and whenever I think about that road trip and yarn and meeting all the knitting friends I’ve made online, I just get so excited.  Like I was today! I swear, you just get in your path and sometimes it feels like a rut, but then you come around a corner, and it’s like everyone threw you a surprise party and you remember all the reasons life gives you to be happy again!

      mwah! I am cheerfully annoying. I kiss you and go. Wipe the lipstick off your cheek. I understand.

      Drive-thru Entertainment

      April 3, 2009 /

      Well, we didn’t go to any fish fries this year (hey, with my own fryer, we can have our own quite easily now…) but we did take Momma Linda and ourselves up to the Brazilian steakhouse (Em Chamas) while they were having their seafood-Fridays/$10 off promotion. De-lish, and the service was utterly top-notch. But we didn’t stay for dessert, and after all that meat-onna-spear, my husband persuaded me to pull into a McDonald’s for a cone. (I like a cone.)

      So I pulled up to the order box, where I was greeted by a female voice, asking me if I’d be interested in the Double Quarter Pounder Extra Value meal, which, given the meal I’d had, was pretty laughable. I declined, and ordered the cones.

      A male voice replied with the total due.

      Suddenly, I got squirrely. “Why, MY how your voice has deepened, I must say!”

      And the voice chuckled, and lowered even further, “Why yes it did.”

      As we were driving around the corner, my husband informed us that those are recorded greetings (Who knew?! Not me!) so it then made sense – but I’ve always visualized someone starting the process, and then someone else jumping in to handle the rest. Tricky, tricky! All with the recordings now, this modern world continues to shock & awe! We pulled up to the window, and the guy was laughing, we were laughing, he said something about he gets that once in a while, and I said something about just learning it was a recording, and then I might have said something about how interesting it was when I thought he was having a sex change between the time I’d ordered & the time I’d paid. (I do this randomly, get utterly inappropriate & it hasn’t failed me yet. Yet.)

      So by the time we get to the delivery window, apparently that guy’d been standing there waiting, cones in hand. He said something about how if we’d been any longer he was gonna eat ’em himself. I demanded to know if he’d licked them already.

      It’s been a stressful week. I got drunk on meat. What can I say.

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