Overheard Conversation:

Setting: him – in kitchen. me – in bathroom getting ready.

him: “Have you heard about the movie ‘Three’ on ESPN?”

me: “No. What is it?”

him: “It’s about Three!”

me: “Three what?”

him: “Three!”

me: (louder) “Three! Three what????”

him: (laughing)”Oh, my sweetie isn’t a redneck.” (more laughing)

(more chuckling as I continue applying makeup and am now growing more and more frustrated)

me: “WHAT THE HELL IS THREE? THREE WHAT? I DON’T GET IT!”

him: “Dale Earnhart’s car number! Number Three!”

me: “oh.”

me: “No.”

me: “I’m not a redneck.”

Editor’s note: James does not follow NASCAR, but on odd days does classify himself as part-redneck, and is a direct descendent of full-blooded rednecks. Therefore we have not insulted anyone in this exchange, except possibly passionate number Three fans, and certainly they aren’t reading blogs about knitting, but if they are, this is more to illustrate how I like to think of myself as really really smart, but there are things that boom right over my head & James’ enjoyment of testing how truly in-tune I am to every pop culture thing out there. I’m usually right there….. until it involves sports.

Hey, Hotmail, way to get with the twenty-first frickin’ century. Love the fact that FINALLY, finally, after all these years, you’ve taken away the damned frames when you click on a link in an email. And also, you seem to have done away with the blasted “Your window has been idle for more than ten minutes and the link cannot be clicked on you stupid stupid peon, I have more money in my left pocket than you and 800 of your closest friends earn in a year and still I trap you in this little maniacal webgame of mine MOOOHAHAHAHAH” or something to the same effect, you know what I mean.

Three cheers & crossed fingers for Twyla to win it on Survivor. She’s crusty, she’s cranky, she could totally kick my ass, but she wouldn’t have to because I’d be working & helping out. She doesn’t wear a bikini & she’s from Missouri.

Delight that hubby’s home from a four-day hunting junket. I love getting the time to myself and love how much I ache & miss him at the same time. It’s nice knowing I married the right one. :)

Must Not Forget To Program DVR For Alias & The Shield. Need. Fix. Soon. 24? Kiefer? When You Comin’ Back? Miss You. Hurry.

Bitchslap to Barbara Walter for picking PARIS HILTON as one of the Ten Most Fascinating People. COME ON. Just once, ONCE, I would like to see a really smart, but societally-deemed “unattractive” woman who is making a bleeping difference in this world get lauded and accoladed by the pop culture machine. Oprah without makeup DOES NOT COUNT. Instead, we get a vapid air head who wants to trademark “her” saying: “That’s HOT”. Paris, here’s a new version of HOTmail. Enjoy, you skank. I hear there’s a video of you out on this crazy thing called “the internet”. You should put some clothes on and do something worthwhile with your time.

Hrmph. Enough slapping and praising for one evening.

It’s funny when you find yourself in, well, the funnies. James & I have long established that, for the most part, I am Bucky Katt, and he is Satchel Pootch. Last year for Xmas, I got us mugs with funny strips on them relating to each of us……. Satchel is distraught because they don’t make crullers anymore (James’ favorite)…….mine, Bucky ends up breaking the wishbone & falling through the door – SWEET CRACKER SANDWICH, I got my wish, I’m out.

Anyway. I’m Bucky.



Not the most flattering character, but hang on, I’m also Eric Cartman. Kinda. Like when he gets mad at others and yells, that’s when we sound the most alike. Especially with the “Screw you guys, I’m goin’ hoooome.”



…and we’re both “big boned”, dammit.

The saving grace of it all, the cartoon element that makes me somewhat redeemable and offsets all my selfishness is probably one of the most altruistic cartoon characters out there. She’s bright, she’s tender-hearted, and most of all, she has a rigid iron core backbone when it comes to discerning right from wrong. Neither of us can accept injustices and rail against the world when something’s not fair. Yes, I’m talking about Lisa Simpson:

Fortunately, I’m not jaundice yellow, but I do like her hair. And I know, FOR SURE, Lisa Simpson would be a knitter, if given some ecologically sound wool & handmade free trade wooden knitting needles. But she would make everything for charity, probably. And here comes Bucky Katt rearing his scrawny selfish head and reminding me, once again, that I’m more Bucky and less Lisa……

My nickname (among many) growing up was “Ferg”, because apparently my father had to read esoteric history books to me as a baby, and was reading something about General Ferdinand, and the name evolved into Fergendorfer, shortened to Ferg. The Ferdinand was a theme, because “Ferdinand the Bull” was one of the very first books I learned to read as a child, and was definitely one of my most favorite books – to this day. My very first book I learned to read, at the ripe old age of 3, was “Father Bear Comes Home” and I loved the illustrations – especially with the mermaid & Little Bear.

I still remember the moment in time when I read something new, and comprehended it. It was truly the proverbial light bulb going off. I was still 3, we were living in Knoxville, Iowa, and I woke up to the sun shining in my room. I called for my dad, and I remember it was SO QUIET. I saw there was something on the chalkboard in my room, and I went over and looked at it. It said “I have gone down the road. I will be back soon. -Dad” and I read it, there was this “Kablooey!” in my mind, and I walked over to the window and looked out, and saw my father riding his bicycle back up the hill. I wasn’t afraid by the quiet, I understood where he had gone. And I felt very, very wise.

I’ve given my father new versions of “Father Bear Comes Home”, “Ferdinand the Bull”, “Ferdinand the Bull ” – in Latin – and still thank him for teaching me to read. I wish I read more, of course, and that might be the one New Year’s resolution I actually keep.

Meanwhile, I’m frenetic & making lists & being a highly organized systematic freak in my approach to work, holiday things, shopping, and life in general. Don’t be surprised if I start walking around with a stopwatch & a whistle soon.

Yesterday morning, I did my usual weekend home-alone routine upon waking up: go to the bathroom, admire how insanely-styled my stick-straight hair has become overnight, go unclick Polly from her pillow (she’s leashed up at night to prevent mischief), and let her out so she can go pee, too. Often, it’s out the back, but yesterday morning, I let her out the front door. Our Saturday paper was smack-dab in the middle of the driveway, and I thought I’d see if Polly would retrieve it after she’d gone pee.

Much to my amazement, she bounded straight for the paper, picked it up, made a small detour pit stop on her way back (to pee, but never dropped the paper) and brought the bagged paper right to me! I didn’t even have to say “Paper”! (The command we’ve used with Suzy.) Well, I was astounded, delighted, ecstatic, and Polly was pretty happy, too, what with all the praise and then a Woof-a-roni treat. I called James on his cell, just to leave him a message, about how exciting this was, what a great job she’d done, and how proud of Miss Polly I was! Later he left me a message back, and I could hear the smile in his voice…… turns out he’d been working with her all week and having her retrieve the paper instead of Suzy, as a surprise for me when he was gone. Awwwww. Honestly, it was more romantic than a dozen roses, and I’m a selfish material girl who likes her roses.

Polly had a bit more difficulty with today’s paper, understandably: the Sunday paper, especially in December, is unwieldy even for Suzy. But we were able to get the paper inside without flashing the neighbors too much butt cheek, I think. They’re really old, and their vision has to be bad. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. It’s nice in my world and the sky is all sorts of pretty blues.

I feel spastic! It’s like being sick left all these -oh what the fuck are those things that bounce around under microscopes, not ions, atoms? microns? nucleuses? dust motes? I enjoyed science in a reserved sort of way, I’m sorry, anyway, like all these things that normally jitter & jive on a daily basis but they just got stuck in suspended motion while I was playing Woman Hacking Lung for my next Oscar. Good god, I am watching SKATING on tv. SKATING. I am a middle-aged woman. This has got to go. TRIPLE LUTZ THIS CBS! Forensic Files, you are my long-lost friend.

Anyway.

I was sayin’.

Right now I feel all supercalifragilistic freakadoo hepped up like I’ve done coffee, shots of espresso, and snorted a big ol’ snout of cocaine, not that I know what that’s like, but I can imagine, and there was that time in college when this guy Martin did some and he was all Muhammed-Ali-esque and couldn’t stop bouncing around on the balls of his feet. Like, right now, if I started talking, I wouldn’t stop! And all the atoms and ions and nuclei and molecules – MOLECULES – that was the word we were searching for – have been unfrozen & they’re making up for lost time. And it’s all because the EVIL FOG OF COUGH and COLD has been lifted! I think! Other people seem to think, in an encouraging way, that it’s a cold that lingers for months. Well, that’s because they choose to believe it. I choose to believe I’m cured. OH Dear it’s a wounded dog on Forensic Files who saw his owners get killed. And the dog just died. This is too much in the other direction. PRINCESS BRIDE! You killed my father, prepare to die. I tell ya. Bruce, it’s more like THREE HUNDRED-57 channels and nothin’s on. This is why the DVR is the awesomest thing EVER because it records what I want to watch, and it’s like having my own personal cable channel, right there, accessible.

Now, if only I could get Polly to retrieve me some chinese take-out, we’d be cookin’ with gas.

Back to knitting. The Holiday Shardigan WILL be done – maybe tonight! I expect I will topple forward like a wind-up robot on its last key-click in about an hour, and all of this manic energy will be a distant memory. But it’s the weekend, and life is improving. Minute by minute, channel by channel. Stitch. By. Stitch.

Harvest the freshest eyeballs you can find.

Rinse in a mild saline solution. If you don’t have saline solution, go ahead and use distilled water with a pinch of kosher salt.

Heat oven to 350′.

Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a Silpat.

Leaving at least 3″ between them, place eyeballs on prepared sheet.

Bake for about 15 minutes, or until they are quite firm and have no surface moisture left.

Replace in eye sockets, and voila! You’re experiencing my head cold extraordinaire.

Note: Colors and clarity may be off for some time after re-installation of eyeballs. The best antidote is a long, Ny-quil-induced nap. If not possible, copious amounts of hot beverages are in order.

Fortunately, we live in modern times, so when we get sick with chest colds and sore throats and sniffly noses, we have a whole host of products at our fingertips we can buy to make ourselves feel better. It would be better to not have the symptoms in the first place, which is more a veiled reference to Kristin and her current symptoms, however, there are some things, like colds, which you can’t avoid. I liked how, for weeks preceding my own cold, people talked about how they were “fightin’ off a cold”. How does one fight off a virus? Chicken soup? I hear Oprah uses some herbal remedy. I use Zicam but sometimes, there’s just no stopping The Cold, because The Cold can be like a dysfunctional family member who simply doesn’t listen to the word “no”. So I pretty much succumb. I felt Cold coming into the House of Jen on Sunday, and by Tuesday it had unpacked its bags, eaten three bags of Doritos, and done a load of laundry. There were no bitchslaps or sucker punches to throw. The Cold was here. I’ve put it on notice, and by staying home from work today, am supervising the Cold and making sure it folds its laundry and puts some of it back into its suitcase. Because it will be leaving, and taking its chest maracas and runny nose with it. There is no need to fight, this is not a burgeoning Bronchitis Party, I will not sacrifice myself for the Cold or Work or anything else. This is the line drawn in the Kleenex, Mister, and by Friday, I will be symptom-free.

I have the huskiest, graveliest voice today, Kathleen Turner should be worried. Unfortunately for me, I feel like crap & every so often I issue a barking, phlegm-rattling cough that has kept most people outside of my doorway & wishing silently that I would just GO HOME already.

And I will. I’m just trying to clear up the most “on-fire” things & make sure I don’t miss any deadlines – because work is more important than health, right? Cough, cough… I’m not the only who puts work first, and I know it’s for my own mental security, that nobody’s going to have to rummage in my office, or have to have conversations about how to cover my work, blah blah blah. It’s a hybrid seed, borne of paranoia and responsibility…. and it seems to be ROOTED IN MY SOUL……. but I do take the hedge trimmers to it now. Maybe I should buy some Roundup?

As I went through my morning routine, I thought about what “stuff” I’m loyal to – beyond the obvious & more important (James, friends, honesty, etc.) and thought I’d try a list to see just how loyal I am.

1. Laundry Detergent: Tide, Fabric Softener: Downy. Yeah, yeah. My mom always used the stuff. When I was living alone & struggling, I didn’t always buy them because they were a bit more expensive. But I always wanted to. Once in a while I’ll try something new (the new Method line is nice but a little too fragrant), but 98% of the time, our stuff is washed in Tide, rinsed in Downy.

2. Dove anti-perspirant. The semi-soft stuff you click up through the cheese grater-esque topper. Nothing else keeps me unstinky.

3. Colgate toothpaste. With the exception of a Costco coupon purchase on Crest, once, in a fit of savings-induced madness, we don’t brush with anything else. That three-pack of Crest lasted way too long.

4. Viva paper towels. In this category, I am a freak. Absolutely no substitutions and cheap bargain paper towels make me NUTTERS. James thinks I’m over the top but I notice he enjoys blowing his nose with them. (an ELEPHANT would be happy blowing its nose in Viva.) I can’t stand anything else, and always buy the multi-packs when they go on sale.

5. Miracle Whip. Either you get it or you don’t. Light or Regular, doesn’t matter. Just keep that goopy yellow mayo away from me.

6. Clorox bleach. The ads worked. I’m convinced everything else is watered down.

Wow, I’ve stumped myself. I thought with as much of a consumer that I am, the brands would just fly off the keyboard. But every category I mentally stumble into, there are multiple brands without a single must-do, must-have. Makeup – all over the place, but I prefer Neutrogena for my base. Cereal & peanut butter? Primarily consumed by James, so we buy what he likes, asks for, or is on sale. Bread, same thing. Cleaning products – I like to try a variety. Clothing & Shoes – most of my clothes come from Ulla Popken because they’re the only plus-size retailer that doesn’t engage in gobs of polyester or mumu-esque wardrobing. Love my Doc Martens, Birks, and Ecco shoes. When you can adequately combine style with comfort, I’m sold. I realize Birkenstocks aren’t necessarily considered stylish by many, but they’re perfect for showcasing hand-knit socks, and they are very comfy. Loyalty Shopping? I love my Wal-Mart (SuperCenter please), Target (SuperTarget please), Bed Bath & Beyond, Linens-N-Things, Organized Living, Pier One, Price Chopper, and Jo-Ann’s.

Now, don’t get me started on yarn shopping. I have way too many local and internet spots that get my money, and there’s no way you can trick me into saying “I’m a Berocco yarn girl, all the way.” That would limit me waaaay too much. And isn’t that what this country’s all about? Choices!

I’m thankful I have so many.