Month: March 2005 (Page 3 of 5)

Yesterday was a very tumultuous day, with ALL sorts of stuff going on – it wasn’t until 6:00 last night it finally clicked: The Ides of March! I think it explains a lot. I feel like the only thing missing from the day was a paper cut.
In that vein, I can only close with one line:
Et tu, Brute?

(and I went to about.com to make sure I was saying this right, in case my Latin Experts out there want to weigh in)

Ahhh, teenage years. I was on the phone yesterday with a friend of mine, yapping and laughing, & the words “what about me?” came out, instantly triggering the memory of that schmaltzy early 80’s song by Shannon Noll. I remember I used to sing this song ALL THE TIME into my curling iron, just my own little version of American Idol in my bedroom, as I poured out my angst and soul while wailing out the lyrics, backed by a homemade tape I’m sure was created while listening to Casey Kasem. I remember one particular evening I sang some song over, and over, and over, completely forgetting about my responsibility to keep an eye on dinner, and didn’t remember until I heard the front door open that there was, indeed, chili on the stove (burning), impervious to my melodrama and need to be a tragic star. As my own personal version of Survivor continues, I laughingly remember the words, and how goofy I was, and how even though I’m more grown up, sometimes the drama still fits. Let’s all sing, shall we?

Now I’m standing on the corner, all the world’s gone home,
Nobody’s changed, Nobody’s been saved,
And I’m feeling cold and alone
I guess I’m lucky, I smile a lot
But sometimes I wish for more than I’ve got
What about me,
It isn’t fair I’ve had enough, now I want my share,
Can’t you see, I wanna live
But you just take more
What about me, It isn’t fair
I’ve had enough, now I want my share,
Can’t you see, I wanna live
But you just take more
You just take more
You just take more than you give
What about me…
What about me…
What about me…

Today’s Self Indulgent Moment has been brought to you by? Diet Coke, Dove Chocolates and crunchy Cheetos. Tune in tomorrow when we sing “Cat’s in the Cradle” or perhaps a special song from Dan Fogelberg.

We were both wayyy lazy this morning, I think I hit the snooze at LEAST three times, and then neither of us lept up into action. James told me I did quite a bit of talking in my sleep, which always fascinates me. Apparently I had one full, complete sentence that was understandable, and that was, “I’m going to take myself out now.” Which struck me as odd, until I remembered Part One of what I was dreaming, and that was that we were visiting my mother, and she was being nice at first but then she went into her predictable I-hate-you-because-you-are-fat-so-I-will-weep-and-beg-you-to-have-your-stomach-stapled persona. Oh, yeah. She’s a peach! And while this seems rather dreadful to you, and don’t get me wrong, it is dreadful, but it’s more like a worn patch of rug to me anymore, it’s just part of the decor in House O Jen, I was just SO PLEASED. Because obviously, I was exercising GOOD JUDGEMENT and removing myself from a toxic situation, even in my dreams. Huzzah for moi!

Now, this is where it gets even wonkier, and slightly NC-17. Before I go there, let me just say that at about the age of ten, my father looked at me one morning whilst I was in an excited recount of my dreams from the night before, and said, “Jennifer. Nobody wants to hear your dreams. The only person who finds your dreams interesting is YOU.” Good lord, my daddy could be a harsh bastard man sometimes, but every time I think of him telling me that I LAUGH because it was one of those arenas where he never fully succeeded in stopping me. Ha! I don’t care! And now you’ve given me information on how to torture you!

So, back to my dream, I’m not sure why, but I know what the source was, it was that damned current issue of Martha Stewart Living that arrived yesterday. Martha’s out and already giving me unattainable home projects, and let me just tell you I would love nothing more than to make these cakes, but I don’t want to burn two weeks of vacation time to do it. OH bother I can’t find a picture. Anyway, if you see the April issue, grab it and flip through it – you’ll see a lamb cake, fashioned from using a lamb cake pan mold, and then covered completely with white chocolate curls. Making the chocolate curls alone would take three days. And then there’s a bunny, covered with mini-marshmallows, with chocolate-espresso-bean eyes and yellow licorice whiskers and cotton candy ears. And an amazing chicken you frost with skills that take a month at the Culinary Institute to learn, complete with little coconut-covered chicks. Every one of ’em’s adorable and would take at least 47 hours to make.

Resuming the dream, and cover the children’s eyes, because for some reason (perhaps my gay friend’s bachelor party I need to help organize?) I needed to make penis-shaped cakes. And I had to find a mold, but I couldn’t go to a cake store, I had to shop at this other store, where they had a wide variety of scuba diving and other water-stuff equipment. Most of which was stuff I didn’t recognize, but I was hell-bent on finding these molds for my dickcakes. And half of what I found was NOT GONNA WORK. It was basically a frustrating shopping experience, but I think I did find something to use, and I’ve tortured you long enough with reading about my dreams.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll be surprised next month, when I get the Merry May Issue of Martha Stewart Living, and they’ll have a whole how-to on Crafting the Perfect Penis-Shaped Cake For That Special Gay Man-Bride.

I’ve been in a really melancholy place the past few days. I realize some of the causes of it – for instance, another person’s probably going to quit and then the rest of us have more work to do, etc., but I think in general, I go through a few “mood dips” a year, despite all the cognitive work I do and the medicine that keeps the absolute crazies away. But despite that, the sadness seeps in here and there, and I resist crying over stupid little stuff, as much as I teeter on the edge of doing so. Like I just want to watch American Beauty and get in a good sob. (Not the horse movie, the one with the roses, and the beautiful plastic bag in the wind.) The good thing is, I see this and I feel it and it doesn’t overtake me. In the past the melancholy would wash over me like a huge wave, and I would get caught in the undertow. As I typed this, I realized that this happens to me pretty much every Spring – kinda weird, hm? You’d think Fall would be the more likely candidate for that effect. It’s the opposite – I love Fall, and the burrowing in to Winter. I must have been a bear in a previous life. :)

I think my dear hubby is one of the other reasons I don’t have so strong an undertow anymore. And, despite all the craziness in his family, their existence in my life has given me a whole new set of memories and laughter, along with some of the furrowed brow and irritation that only family (my side included!) can give you.

For instance, surely you noticed I misspelled “melancholy” in the title. That’s because almost all words ending in “ly” at our house are given a special treatment. During one of the first summers we spent down at his grandparent’s house at the lake, we were fishing on the dock. Specifically, in the enclosed section of the dock. While waiting, waiting, waiting, which is the key part of fishing if you’ve not done it, I was looking around. (I can be a bit ADD at times.) There was a big 50-gallon trash can, and it had a sign on it. It said “Can’s ONLEY”. Now, I let the apostrophe go, because that’s a pretty common goof. (forgivable? never. But common all the same.) But the spelling error/correction on “only” cracked me up. I kept saying, “Cans ownLEE! Cans ownLEE!”, cracking both of us up. With that, James and I rooted another inside joke that is still with us today, and so today I can say I’m melancholEE, and smile and get through all of this crap, because I’m not going into the undertow, and there are so many things more important than the things dragging on my ankles right now.

Well, if it’s a buttonhole bag, a la Mason-Dixon Knitting, then I guess I’ve got TWO! My knit friend Leslie made several of these, and they are so cute, I had to jump in and play.
If you decide you wanna play, too, then here’s the pattern.
The first one I made has a little more “character”, because I was teaching a continental knitting class while I was working on it, and I mad-hatter free-wheelin’ used my bag to illustrate various things. I then ripped it all out, but didn’t rip it quiiiite far back enough and so I got a protrusion on one side, with an indentation on the other. Must’ve been showing how to decrease or something. O well! I don’t really care, and if it does end up driving me crazy, I’ll cut the thing into coasters or potholders. :) I used Brown Sheep in a dark navy, light blue & orange. I had to incorporate the light blue, because I felt like just dark blue and orange would come out a little too “DA Bears”.

The second bag was knit much taller, as you can see in the pre-felting picture – and it came out a nice-sized handbag. Good for weekend play. My current focus is on Folly, and trying to get the sleeves done this weekend, so I can start seaming & doing the collar. I am starting to think I won’t get to wear the sweater before next Winter, but, I still feel the need to finish ‘er up before beginning anything else overly ambitious.

Because I can’t have just ONE thing going, though, I am working on Anouk, and while the Pima Tencel cotton is loverly and smooth and soft, it just reinforces my dislike of working with cotton. So hrmph on that, good thing it’s for a baby, right?

In other news, my husband has decided to grow Giant Pumpkins. Giant. Like he’ll be happy if he gets a 300-pounder, but the real competitors grow pumpkins in excess of a 1,000 pounds. You know, we all have our obsessions. This one’s funny and charming and makes me love him even more. I’m sure there will be pictures to come as that project progresses! :)

Bags, pre-felting. Bag on the left has some “issues”. :) 

Here they are, post-felting! 

But I heard a very strong rumor tonight that the big top executives at Crate & Barrel are looking at the space on the Plaza once occupied by Saks 5th Ave. (Hell, for all I know they’re still there? But if C&B is comin’ they best get their asses in gear and GIT OUT.) Anyway, I nearly peed with excitement. But I didn’t because I was on Beth’s couch and that would have been Very Bad Manners.

But hooooo doggies. I used to always say, “I’d quit my job and go work there again if they came to Kansas City!” But of course we know that would be Insane Talk, seeing how every cent I’d make would just go back into the store, and then JWo and I would be livin’ on the street (but with exceptionally nice furniture and barware!) I think I just miss being able to troll for deals and how great it is at Xmas and then Chicago’s got the Outlet, which is awesomer than awesome. (Now, when I was in Mpls. I worked at C&B part time, just for the discount. I’m not above doing it again, peeps. This pull might be more powerful than – gasp – yarn!) Plus, I’d feel like maybe, just maybe, if they moved here, our city would get that retail oomph, like we’re finally “making it” – I’ve said for YEARS this town would support it like crazy, just GET HERE already, and you know what seems to often follow our dearly beloved Crate & Barrel?

Ikea. Good thing I’m at home now typing this. Cleanup, Aisle 12.

Boy, let’s hope I don’t meet Blogger on the street. It might plummet into a scene out of “Fight Club” and let me tell you, I’ll be the one playing Edward Norton, stompin’ Blogger’s butt. I’m one of those incredibly selfish, foot-stomping 8 year olds, who expects her internet and websites to work ALL THE TIME, NO MATTER WHAT. Yesterday, I left SIXTEEN comments on Leah’s blog (sorry Leah, I’m not doing a link right now because Blogger will probably puke on my shoes if I get all “wild-n-crazy” with the html sheeit.) Today, I tried to leave one on beer girl’s (again, no links! Blogger is sensitive, like Nathan Lane playing a damn Broadway orchid!) and it was dayumned funny, and I got error message after error message. Rather than leave a comment there 110x, I decided to post a Blogger Bitchslap. Because I rely on this site WAY too much, probably falls under “addiction” in that big book they use for diagnosing all your mental problems. So when Her Highness doesn’t get her fix, Her Highness gets all schoolyard brawlin’ and sassy.
Oh, and beer girl? Here’s what I was trying to say: the good thing about the Banc du Jen is that a) the loan officer always forgets about the loan, immediately and b) the only interest is – you guessed it – beer points!
Now, let’s see if this bitch’ll fly and post or if I’m going to have to hold my breath & turn blue.

So, the Lady was all wrapped up in watching her tv, and Mister was off someplace, maybe in that bathroom place where the heater comes up under the sink, I like to lie there in the morning when Lady takes her shower, but what I was trying to write was that they were both doing things, you know? And so I did one of the good tricks I rarely get to do, which is stand up on my hind legs and get stuff off the counter or stove when I think noone is watching! It is so great. And I was very careful and quiet except for a little clicking of my nails, and a little jingling of my collar, I sure wish they’d make that jingling go away because Lady and Mister ALWAYS seem to know where I am, and what I’m doing, and where was I? Oh, yes, so I got a WHOLE FRIED CHICKEN wing or some part I don’t know it was fried and meaty and the outside was really tasty and it was going to be SO GOOD I thought I should try to just nonchalantly walk into the living room with it sorta hidden in my mouth so I could lie down and really, really enjoy it? But Lady already seemed to be on to me and I heard a lot of YAP YAP YAP POLLY NO YAP YAP YAP and so I slowed down a little and got kinda low to the floor, thinking, like, maybe she won’t see me coming in to get on my pillow and savor this chicken wing I’m hiding in my mouth?

But she did. She even took it away, like right, Lady is gonna eat something I had in my mouth but I think she just threw it in the garbage to try and teach me a lesson but I know I’ll forget it the minute something good-smelling is back on the stove or counter. And she kept on with the YAPPING and the NO POLLYing and the BAD DOGging and then I had to lie down on my pillow with only the memory of the chicken wing in my mouth and that really sucked because that was gonna be one tasty chicken wing. Oh well. It’s a dog’s life here. I will keep checking for good tasting things, no matter how much they YAP and NO POLLY me, because I’M PRETTY and Lady tells me that all the time.