Riding the Bike with One Pedal.

Category: I’m Crazy (Page 4 of 9)

Wahoo!

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.

Are You Always & Forever With Your Cell Phone Provider?

“Always and Forever” (LaFawnduh’s Song)
(by Kipland Ronald Dynamite)

Why do you love me?
Why do you need me?
Always and forever

We met in a chat room
Where love can fully bloom
Sure the World Wide Web is great
But you, you make me salivate

Yes I love technology
But not as much as you, you see
But I still love technology
Always and forever

Our love is like a flock of doves
Flying up to heav’n above
Always and forever
Always and forever

Yes, your love is truly great
Always and forever

Why do you need me?
Why do you love me?

I, like Cher once sang, am a half-breed, only of the nerd variety. I am a wannabe, I have some skills, but let’s face it, I can’t hack or code, so I’m just slightly elevated above a good Googler. And I love technology. Which, every time I even think that, makes me think of the wedding scene waaaay at the end, after the credits, of Napoleon Dynamite (lyrics above). Only right now, I hate it. So much so, I’m beginning to feel a little unabombery inside. Specifically, I hate my cell phone.

I was perfectly fine a month ago. I was getting sick with what would become bronchitis, but my attitude towards tech and gadgets was untouched. Shiny things! I love them! And then the wheel fell off my Motorola RIZR, and I tried to re-attach it, but instead rendered the wheel useless and immobilized. Awesome. Little did I know the cell phone wheel falling off would serve to be a huge metaphor for the following MONTH.

So, I look at my options, and basically, a cell phone company, say one that rhymes with G-Foible, as long as you are under their contract, they will let you tweeeest in the weeeeend. Even the option to upgrade my line while renewing my contract for another two years would result in paying a Shitton of Money for another phone. And of course, I’m looking at upgrades all the time. I’m not going to replace a nice phone with a bag phone. So I turn to …eBay. For an unlocked phone. Oh! It’s a Maurice Sendak novel of cell phone gadgetry! Yes! But you must read the fine print, and then continue to check what it would cost to buy a new one of the same model.

I buy a Motorola RAZR. I know. I should have asked someone first. Since I began screeching about my hatred, it’s like an entire underworld village of RAZR-HAYTRZ rose up through the dirt to answer my screams. First off, the language for text was defaulting to Italian, which took me a while to figure out how to fix that, but hey, I could handle it. I’m the Network Administrator for our home computer network, after all! Oh, and forget storing any sort of application on this thing, it has no memory. OH and did you want it to actually get reception outside of work and home? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Plus the bonus feature I didn’t even pay for: every time I plug it in to charge (which is often, since the fucker dies every 48 hours if I don’t), it changes the ring style. I plug it in, and on the tiny window appears something like this: “RING TONE CHANGED: LOUD.” And I spent every night trolling through forums, because I needed to set up all of the actual components so it would connect to G-Foible’s network. Like, inputting data addresses and setting features, things one normally has on a branded phone. Whatev, that’s small potatoes, and I even discovered later that the phone companies have it so you can message yourself with the data & apply it to the phone. OK. It still does not change the fact that I want to fling the phone against a wall or out the window, every. single. day. I hate it.

After going to the lake, and having no reception and no web access on my phone, I hit the wall myself. So I bought an unlocked Blackberry Pearl. Which I really liked. I even upgraded the web plan so I could make it into a work device – I had felt a little Short Bus Syndrome when we’d traveled on that wheel-fell-off-trip, because everyone else had iPhones and Blackberries and oh, Jennifer, you don’t check your work email on your phone? No. My phone has a wheel. It was like a caveman holding a torch while everyone skittered around with their GPS voice-activated gadgetry in sleek speed-skating suits. And I had thought the RAZR would be a step up, but instead was unwittingly rocketing back to 2004. Which, in techno-years, is like the Dark Ages.

So, the Pearl. Yes! I’m legit! Bona-fide. I switched to the data plan, and I call the Wo. “Hello?” he says. “Hello? Hello?” Hangs up. Mind you, I’m responding. He calls me back. “Hello? Hello?” Heeeeey. The microphone doesn’t work. I abuse several co-workers with testing different options. Back to the forums. Perhaps a software update is needed. Okey-dokey. I attach the phone to the computer with the cable. Nothing. I try another cable. Nothing. I try a third cable. Nothing. I plug the cable into the RAZR. (Microsoft has detected your dumb ass phone from a previous century! Where’s the software? On a 3.5″ floppy you say?) WTH.

I email the seller, they have no solution except to return it. Back it went today. I’m still using my Supah-Dupah Fly RAZR, but now I have to revert the data plan back to my G-Zones (cheaper) web plan. Ah, no, you naive stupid girl. “We don’t offer that any more.”

HUH? I had it on TUESDAY.

“Once you remove it, it’s gone, we have a new product now.” That costs $4 more a month for the same damned thing. (Oh and includes some text messaging, which I don’t really do, instead paying $0.20 per, anytime I simply must receive or send one.)

OMG. Head! Exploding! I disconnect from the online CSR, and call. They immediately put G-Zones back on my phone. But cannot offer me any sort of good deal on a phone to replace my ghetto-blaster techno-sploitation travesty I’m stuck with. My phone is beginning to resemble Ron Jeremy, only without any residual coolness. I have to wait 10 months. (And seriously, the price difference between upgrade with no contract extension and with one is negligible.) For the first time in 10 years (or however long it’s been, it’s been at least that), I’m seriously going to look at options once this contract shit is up.

So. All the drama, and swearing, and pain aside. What really gets me is that the business model for cell phones has absolutely nothing to do with rewarding loyalty. Marketing departments sit around all the time, trying to figure out how to keep and retain consumers, how do we get someone to be a brand advocate, so dedicated to our product or service that they’ll never switch. And I get it, you have a contract, which represents $X and the penalties for breaking the contract somehow translates to permission to just leave that customer alone until it’s time to revisit the contract. Sure, every time I’ve called T-Mobile (because really, did G-Foible fool you?), I’ve been thanked profusely for being such a loyal and long-time customer. But when I ask a CSR to fix a problem and they say no, no and no again, even in the face of me saying “I will leave over this the minute I can,” why do I have to make the next round of effort (and escalate it) to repair that business relationship? Honestly, had T-Mobile offered me a solution, like a Blackberry for $100-$150, I would have kept the upgraded data plan, signed up for another two years, and been happy as a clam. (I even asked! “NO.”) Now I’m just bitter.

I guess the answer is that there’s so much churn, they don’t bother to care about loyalty. Because in the end, I’m just a number, nothing more. I guess it’s a good thing I can now take that number with me, wherever I go. Until then, I’ll be wearing my RAZR around my neck, like the albatross it is….

New Ways To Piss Me Off

Boy, I’ve been having a doozy of it. Between workload & being sick (hey! I think I’ve recovered – last night was the first night of sleeping all the way through the night without coughing!) – I’ve just been an extra bit stressy. Which makes my temper a bit shorter, and it makes me move into blunt whack-a-mole mode.  When there’s a ton to do, and other people are dilly-dallying or unclear about their direction, I find myself leaning more towards R. Lee Ermey. So far, nobody’s decided to off themselves in the latrine, so that’s good.  (this would be me making a reference to Full Metal Jacket, btw. I’m sure my husband will chuckle, knowing I just finally saw that movie in the past year.  And he did just remind me this week that I am no Stanley Kubrick.)

SO, even though there are plenty of things that stress me out & piss me off, let’s talk about the latest new thing that happened today. Some douchebag decided to put THEIR extra trash bag in OUR driveway. We already had two bags out, and since we didn’t plan for Douchebag Drop-Off Day, we didn’t put a trash sticker on the third bag because IT WASN’T THERE. But now we had to haul it back from the curb and wait until next week.

Oh. Yeah. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?  I looked at the bag. If there was any indication that there was something in that trash bag to indicate who tossed it there, I would have been in it in two seconds flat.  Not sure what would have happened after that, if I’d have actually taken my R. Lee Ermey act all the way up to someone’s front door, but I sure enjoyed thinking about it.  At the very least, I’d have returned it to them. The nerve!

Tomorrow is a big meeting-day, and then I should get a bit of a reprieve. There’s still plenty of work, but we should get a little breathing room on these high-pressure, hulking huge deadlines. It’s nice to be busy, as long as it stays below the panic line. Spring Break is next week, we’ll be getting some fishing in, I’ll still be working, but there are all sorts of demarcations in time that remind me things are shifting – the time change, the daffodils in the front yard, just waiting to explode, the seedlings under the grow lights winding and waving in nature’s destined journey towards the light, roots expanding and threading into the soil below.

Oh, and if you want to weep from laughter, and you didn’t see Letterman’s Stupid Pet Tricks last night, it was utterly priceless. Bailey, Play Dead. (I hope this works – couldn’t get it to embed.)

I could hardly catch my breath, I was laughing so hard. (I think it was the :second: playing dead that was so funny, like, OH!oh, hell, no treat yet? OK, I’ll play dead again real quick, mister.) I also really like it when it’s apparent that Dave is genuinely amused. Almost as much as I love  hearing my husband and I laughing uproariously, together. By golly, I almost forgot about that damned bag of trash. ;)

The Plague, THE PLAGUE!

Even as I type that, I can see and hear little Hervé Villechaize, standing on the sand, waving his little arms wildly.

Oh, the Plague. Long has it stayed. I think (and we say this reservedly, so as not to jinx it, with fingers crossed, and eyes a-squint) that it is finally leaving me for good, and that The Mend is beginning, because let me tell you what, this has been a Most Unpleasant Week.

I am always comforted to hear that it’s going around, though. Less-comforted when I hear of people recovering in a day or so, not that I wish them ill (or more ill, in this case), but just from that selfish place, that says, “Why aren’t I better?” in a very Veruca Salt sort of manner. Complete with a foot stomp.

In any event, I went in to work on Tuesday afternoon, and that was rather challenging, but somehow,  I still believe through sheer force of will, I can make reality change. Perhaps I should start trying to bend spoons with my mind and then take on the universe after that’s checked off. In any event, I then went in to work yesterday morning, and by 11:30, was having a very rich visual of sleeping in my car over the lunch hour. My only debate point was back seat or front seat? (Back seat might have more room…windows are tinted….front seat has lumbar support and reclines…) After another thirty minutes or so, I realized how ludicrous that was, and perhaps if I could not sustain myself through the day without sleeping in my car, perhaps I shouldn’t be in the office? (This plague has also rendered me a bit stupid, btw, although I think I just proved that point.) So I spent a couple more hours doing something that probably would’ve taken me 20 on a normal day, and then I came home & slept like a rock.

Today, I’m at home. And about to go off and sleep like a rock again. Through all of this, I have wished instead of a virus, I had a parasite. I mean, a parasite can be treated right-quick-like, AND you know there’d have to be a great story to boot. Instead, I just got the crud that everyone else has, and I have it a bit worse than most, and I can’t cure it with my mind.

But if I do get a parasite? Seriously? You KNOW you will all hear about it.

Energized, yet Drained. Cheerful, yet Rageaholic.

Yes.  I am covering a wide swath of ground these days. And through it all, I am bizzy bizzy bizzy! I always love being busy, but sometimes it pushes the edges and boundaries of normalcy, and I find that’s when things like …oh… “politeness”, or … “consistency” start to fall by the wayside. Work’s been really busy & I have had some great conversations with my bosses about goals for the year & I already hit a couple balls outta the park, so I feel like th year’s off to a very good start. I’m behind on sending out presents and holiday greetings but hell. Isn’t it better to get a thoughtful note from me when I get around to it, than nothing at all? Or just my signature in a timely manner? That’s my approach & I’m stickin’ to it, dammit.

I joke about the rage-a-holic part, somewhat – I’m still PISSED at Time Warner Cable, because even using my connections, I got a VERY disappointing solution yesterday. Instead of our bill going up 60%? She could knock off a little and make that increase just 40%. FORTY percent. People, this is not gas, or milk, or any other commodity that is finite in its production. Yes, the internet has bandwidth, I understand. But TWC is still going to have to buy MTV and HBO whether or not I’m in their customer base, and there is absolutely NO reason I should stick around for a rate hike so substantial when there are other options. Options that involve hassle on my part, but what’s the best salve for hassle? Nostril-flaring joy that the fuckers over :there: aren’t getting your money any more. I’m not quite at that point yet, because I emailed my contact again with less-florid language describing the above, and it’s now gone on to a different department, presumably one higher on the food chain.  I shall keep you updated, because if I’ve picked up on one thing in this life, is that folks out there have some shared rage against The Man, who sometimes comes in the form of The Cable Company.

I spent a good chunk of my weekend making more DPN Holders for The Loopy Ewe, and my local yarn stores, so I’m chipping away at my cost to go to the LE Spring Fling at the end of April! Woohoo for cottage industry!

I’m off to a blogger meet-up tonight – should be fun & interesting,  since I didn’t get a chance to meet everyone at the last one.  I’ll be the one with my knitting, but I promise, I am oh-so-far from dowdy, shy & retiring.

Update…

OK, I received a message both at home & at work from a Time Warner Cable CSR, complete WITH a direct, local phone number, to return the call & discuss my aggregious billing situation. Only downside is that said CSR agent stopped working at 2 today, and I didn’t get the message in time to resolve things today. So I am leaving it until Monday, and have set down my ashcan of white hot coals. (I will not throw out the lighter fluid yet, though.)

Oh, man. I started my day with Kiefer Sutherland on NPR, and looky here, here he is on Letterman. Pitter-pat. Oh, but a very strange suit, Kief. Huh. You make me want to adjust the vert alignment on my screen. (Gah, remember doing that?)  Anyway, Jack Bauer’s about to embark on yet another Very Bad Day, and gotta love Fox, they’re really kicking this season off – two hours on Sunday, two hours on Monday, before settling into the regular Monday 8p (CST) timeslot.  It’s fascinating how the show has actually influenced … our world. They touched on that in the interview this morning, that West Point was consulting with the show, out of concern for how their soldiers were behaving due to what they’d seen on “24”….which makes you think perhaps the ol’ idiot box has gotten too influential? Though a couple years ago, I read something about how the show paved the way in Americans’ minds to accept the notion of a black president. Whatever the parallels to other happenings in our world, I do know that the show does require a LOT of reality jumps, but Kiefer is a great central figure, and he’s a great, gritty hero who doesn’t back down from a fight. I firmly believe he could kick Chuck Norris’ ass at this point.

And, if things don’t go well on Monday with TWC? I may be drawing upon my own inner Jack Bauer.

bip    BIIIP  bip.

Walking On Broken Glass

Wow, two days back into the work routine and it’s Hello Stress! Good thing I didn’t resolve to give that up….

Anyway, last night, I was downstairs & had opened the pantry door where we have stored an interesting mix of sundry appliances, canned goods, annnnd the paint that came with the house. The  items are grouped by shelves, at least. Anyway, an empty mason jar fell, and instead of hitting the carpet, it hit the inside edge of the wood cabinet, and shattered. Lovely.

You know how sometimes your brain is just set to “Ricochet”? Well, mine was, as I was picking up shards of glass and thinking about how I really should bring the vacuum down and yet I knew I wasn’t going to, and the rest of the process went something like this:

So, this obviously isn’t tempered glass. Or whatever sort of glass they make that isn’t supposed to shatter into really sharp pieces.

I wonder who invented tempered glass. I wonder who invented GLASS?

Probably some pyromaniac motherfucker, since don’t you have to melt things to make glass in the first place?

So, hell. Is that all of it? I think so. Huh. Well, let’s see. Would I walk on this strip of carpet barefoot?

Yes.

That’s not a good answer, Jennifer. You grew up walking on glass shards.

Hell. I did.

Well, I’ve gotten nearly all of it, and the only way anyone’s going to step on it is if they shimmy alongside the cupboard here, clinging to it like those Indiana Jones Lego characters do on that Wii game. Which would actually be pretty funny.

/end brain ricochet

After that, I went off and did some laundry, and forgot completely to tell the Wo about the breakage. (In fact, he’s learning about it through the blog.  Now he’ll go and shimmy alongside the cupboard, just to prove I missed a piece.)  And yes, I did grow up picking glass out of the bottoms of my feet – my father’s glass studio was just off the kitchen/dining room, and I would often walk in there barefoot, and pieces of glass often made their way out into the house. I still recall being about ten, dancing wildly to a Beatles album and landing hard on a large piece of glass, way out in the living room. Oof.  That’s the only memorable gouging I recall, in fact, but the sudden sharpness cut me to the quick.  And I did learn how to walk into a room with broken glass on the floor. You step carefully, you disperse your weight consciously, and if a piece of glass pressed against your skin, you instantly recoiled, to minimize the depth it would penetrate.

Sure, I could’ve put on shoes. But I didn’t. Some things I just liked to experience the hard way, I guess. It was kind of a personal challenge, to be tough, to not bleed or cut myself. I guess I still do this brevity thing, just not always with broken glass….

Pardon My Twang….

…But I keep hearing an old-timey version of a Ralph Stanley song running through my head, specifically the refrain, “The darkest hour is just before dawn”.

Now, those who know me, and even those who don’t, yet come here for all the sparkling Grief Blogging might worry that I’m in a depression. Fear not. Well, I am, a little, but really, anyone over the age of 14 is bound to get the blues this time of year, what with all the manufactured joy and pre-packaged expectations that come with “The Holidays”. Nope. I’m in the darkest hour because I am cleaning and reorganizing all the kitchen accoutrements. Holy shitballs, Mabel, this is a Task and A Half! And basically, with most un-cluttering and organizational projects, you have to explode the whole thing before you can put it in order. Right now, Houston, we have esplosions.

This morning, I moseyed down to Index, a restaurant supply store in the River Market, and boy, it’s easy to drop your whole wallet there. It gets hypnotizing, as you walk around looking at all these…things… you start to think, “Well of COURSE I could use a dozen of those little stainless cups they serve ketchup in at McCoy’s,” and you catch yourself mentally visualizing and measuring your oven, just in case this enormous cookie sheet could fit in it. And of course you’d need the matching Silpat. I caught myself eyeballing a sugar pourer. It was only $1.50. I was certain that would be useful. I could throw the old one away. Update the sugar pouring aspect of my life.  You wouldn’t believe the siren songs I hear in my head in that store.  Anyhoo, I did NOT buy anything off my list, my goal was to get some large foodservice-grade containers to put baking supplies in (flour, sugar) and then at least one more big one for rice. This is the downside of the CostCo shopping – enormous bags of flour and rice, and where in the hell do you put them? Shove ’em in the back room off the kitchen, that’s where. Alongside last winter’s birdseed, which, upon unearthing, I later caught Tripper EATING. He is such a motherfucking black lab it makes me crazy. Birdseed. To him, it must have been some gourmet trail mix. (That is going out to the greenhouse. I did not buy a tub for it.)

So now my fantastic birthday-present-to-myself from this summer, the KitchenAid 6, sits on top of a chrome cart, and stacked in glorious organization under it are the flour, sugar, powdered sugar and on the bottom shelf, rice. I will be able to just pull the cart in to the main kitchen area & use the mixer on the cart, instead of having to lift and move the beast onto the countertop (because it’s so tall, it blocks the cabinet doors. Yep.)  And this one beacon of organization and containment is in the middle of the dining room, and its strangeness is making Suzy crazy, so she’s been lying here GROWLING at it the whole time I’ve been typing. Dogs. Thank god they can’t drive, they’d lose their minds.

OH, but see, there’s more. There’s a huge big ol’ reason all of this is happening, besides the fact I’m on vacation, and alternating between lolling about & knitting and being productive. I got a really kickass Christmas present. Two, in fact. One from my MIL (Momma Linda) and one from my husband. We draw names in his family, and she got mine. And she has heard me bitch and pick fights with said husband over …wait for it…. a french fry cutter. He has refused to buy it for me because it is…impractical. A unitasker. No. I am not married to Alton Brown, but sometimes it sounds that way! I wanted one because the cheapy one I  had broke, and I wanted a solid, restaurant-quality, never-gonna-break sort of french fry cutter. DO NOT ASK ME how many times a year I make french fries. Because that is not the point. Here was something I genuinely wanted. For years. It started to take on a lifeblood all its own.  James would complain about how hard I am to buy for, and I would always look at him and say, “French fry cutter.” Yet he refused to get it. (There were arguments made about our walls and the fact it has to be mounted to one, blah blah blah DETAILS, people. Trivial details.) So, since my MIL and I are not unlike each other, she went and ordered me the mac-daddy french-fry cutter to beat the band. Doesn’t have to be mounted on a wall, either. And when she informed my husband of this gift, he knew his goose was cooked. Or tater was sizzlin’, whichever metaphor you prefer. Because in the past – and as recently as last week – others had offered to pool resources, to go around him, to buy it for me. I refused. I purposefully never told my father, because he would have had it shipped express the next day to make a point.  This was my lynchpin. My sand in his Vaseline.  So the Wo knew he had to do something. And he ordered a twin deep-fat fryer from CostCo. Yes. That clanging noise was everyone’s arteries slamming the doors on crazy. CRAZY. But he had to get with the program or have it forever held against him, and it has made me laugh repeatedly since Christmas day, because it’s partly an O’Henry short story, partly a clash of personalities and priorities, and through it all, completely filled with love.

Anyway, now, all this stuff has to go somewhere, and some things need to be removed, since they are ever-so-rarely used. And I’m taking FULL advantage of the no-limit-on-trash-bags opportunity this week, going a little crazy with the tossing, but it feels good.  With the bonus that now I can have my very own State Fair in the kitchen anytime I want.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun is slowly sinkin’
The day’s almost gone
Still darkness falls around us
And we must journey on
The darkest hour is just before dawn
The narrow way leads home
Lay down your soul at jesus’ feet
The darkest hour is just before dawn

Like a shepherd out on the mountain
A-watchin’ the sheep down below
He’s coming back to claim us
Will you be ready to go
The darkest hour is just before dawn

The narrow way leads home
Lay down your soul
Let jesus in
The darkest hour is just before dawn
The darkest hour is just before dawn

For everyone who found their heart aching over the holidays, just remember…. you are not alone.

My, What A Fetching Chapeau….

Yes. There has been knitting. I haven’t done much in the way of blogging it, partly because I haven’t done as much blogging in general, but whatevs. You forgive. We move on.

Here we have Hat #1, the lovely Koolhaas, by Jared Flood (Ravelry Link, FYI). This hat rekindled my love of twisted stitches, reminding me just how much I adore them. In fact, they sorta make me shriek with joy. Apparently I was so swept up in my twisted stitches, I opted not to follow the pattern accurately, and so I stunted the first few rows by not knitting them in pattern, and continuing to make the stitches travel. If you do not knit, never mind. I made the hat too short. That’s why you see my buddy Amy modeling it, because it went into her birthday stash.

Amy's Koolhaas

According to her mom, it was THE hat in the house, eschewing all others, for a while there. Flattery, Miss Amy, it will get you everywhere, and quite possibly into my stash! I’m going to teach her how to knit over the holiday break, and I’m looking forward to it.

Fresh on the heels of no-hat-for-old-Jen, I knit another Koolhaas, this time for James. He wears it well.

Big grins

Now, I am going to make myself a Koolhaas, and I cast on for one this weekend, in a beautiful merlot-cranberry merino. But I also needed a hat, and fast. Enter the Chunky Cabled Tam, from the latest issue of Knit 1. (Rav Link)  It’s a fast knit – two strands of Manos, doubled, and it sorta killed my hands. But I was determined, and it was whipped out over the weekend. Part way through, I tried it on and got an interesting reaction from my husband. Part amazement, part shock and maybe a sprinkle of horror. “Is that for you?” he enquired…. uh, yeah! “Wow!” I think we agreed it takes balls to wear it, and balls, well, not so much an issue for me. Chutzpah. I haz it.

Cabled Beret

Yes I Can Wear This Hat

Dramarama

Someone at work pointed out it has the potential to resemble uh, Blueberry Muffin, from Strawberry Shortcake, circa 1980.  I’ll grant them that there’s a resemblance, with the caveat it does only when worn IMPROPERLY.  That’s if you put the hat straight up on your head, and anyone who’s ever worn a beret or tam can tell you, nobody makes that look work well. So piss off, Strawberry Shortcake. I’m wearing the hat and everyone else can go suck it.

And, apparently, this is my general approach to the holidays. I’ve not even looked for cards or wrapping materials, and I remain unfazed. The more I participate in the crazy, the crazier it makes me, so I’m resisting. I can smell the panic around the corner, though.

Happy Happenstance

Yesterday, I left for my lunchtime hair appointment. I was exactly on-time, which is always a riveting moment and should be noted, since on-time has never been one of my strengths.

My stylist greeted me with a slightly puzzled air – turns out, the appointment was for Thursday (in her book). I chalked it up to her pregnancy brain, because I never make plans on Thursdays, as I am often at a client meeting that can last an undertermined amount of time. This week, I wasn’t going, so I just told her it wasn’t a problem & I’d see her tomorrow, and now I could go to CostCo and get a new mini-fridge for my office!

You know, the old one-door-closes-and-a-window-opens thing? Or, make-the-best-of-it? So into the blowing cold wind & tiny snowflakes I went. Walked into CostCo and saw my BFF Beth! She was there to pick up pictures, but they’d mucked up the print job & needed to be redone. She didn’t have plans, so we cruised through CostCo together. I especially liked the part where I wrestled the enormous fridge box into my cart, telling her that while I knew she wished she COULD help me, secretly, I was hoping everyone around us would look at her with disdain for not helping her friend out. (She is not able to lift anything over 10# right now while recovering from a procedure.) (Obviously I was prepared to wrestle this by myself. She actually helped by holding the cart still.)

I got a fancier, bigger model (of course you did, I hear my husband utter), but I had researched them on Consumer Reports, and they basically hated all those little ones. The brands of the bigger ones they did like still cost a bit over $100 online, just for the hated-little size. So, that was all the justification I needed, my fridge is the equivalent of hunting quail with an elephant gun, but whatev. CR said it’s good, and that’s all I need!

Getting it in the car would have been easy, had the Murano been cleaned out. We purposefully didn’t get it seated in the cart, so it would be easier to offload. But I had to keep tilting and wedging the box in the hatchback area, and all I could think about was when I first moved here, and moved a 70-plus pound air conditioner into my apartment – by myself. That was a bitch and a half. People walked by me and watched me struggle then, too. Whatever. I am MIGHTY, dammit, and I am tenacious, and I am stubborn.  I realized afterwards that some of the looks might have been because my shirt had pulled down and my bra & a nice expanse of my bosoms were greeting the world cheerfully. Hm.

After that, we grabbed a bite at the Westport Flea Market, and I was greatly amused to have my order called in song. (to the tune of Snoop Dogg/Pharrell’s “Beautiful”) “Jennifer….. I just want you to knoooow….that your food is doooone.”

The new fridge is fantastico, if a bit overkill for an office fridge, but it actually keeps things cold (the other one conveyed more like … the notion of cool.) I actually had shards of ice in my Diet Coke this morning, so I took the temperature down a smidge. I like the ice, but I also put some apples in there, and I don’t want those frozen. Of course, I could put them in the crisper. Yes. I now have a crisper. Currently it holds the mini ice cube trays. For the mini freezer. Yes.  Shush.

‘Twas a happy day. I did get my haircut today, it’s fabulous! I came back and ate my sammich from my new fridge & need to figure out who has Diet Coke on sale so I can stock up. And then, tomorrow’s Friday! Yippee skippy! Cold weather & knitting go hand-in-glove!

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