Because there’s nothing like having Olivia Newton-John ricocheting around your head in a high-pitched whine.

I had my first appointment with the physical therapist today, who was a really great smart guy. I think I still get gaga whenever I’m around really smart men who don’t talk down to me, but as though I am smart enough to ask questions when needed. It explains my 4 crushes on different professors, anyway. So I have a list of exercises to do, and it was a very optimistic visit because I am getting better each day, and did not tear anything in the knee, simply overly strained. It did amuse me how he kept referring to my muscles as “him” or “he”. Like these little men live inside my lower back and knee, and need some hot tea & brisk activity to recuperate properly. The other thing I learned is “Up with the Good, Down with the Bad”, which is something we can apply to many things, not just climbing stairs. However, specific to stairs, you’d think, of course, lead up with that good leg, but you wouldn’t think, ok, step down with the bad leg, because it’s Wobble City when you do that. Amazingly, it is safer to step down with the bad leg. I can’t wait to get home and try it out. Meanwhile, I’m going to think about the best spot to needlepoint that little catch phrase.

I’m off to Dr.Phil (god help us, not THAT one, but my MSW Phil, who is umpteen times more sensible and perceptive than Oprah’s mihnkey), and it’s sometimes a crapshoot to see what we’ll be talking about. I’m sure there’s plenty, it’s a matter of picking with bottle to uncork. I still have a dream I’m starring in Alice in Wonderland. “Drink Me!” hmmmm, the bottle labeled “mother”? or “father”? or “Work”? Where’s that Mad Hatter? The best is in Through the Looking Glass: my favoritest scene ever, where Alice meets the Red Queen, and they have to run, run, run on the chess board but that’s just to stay in place, if you want to get anywhere, you have to go even FASTER! I just wanted that big queen crown SO MUCH. I smell a Halloween costume for next year. I bought a fabulous mug with that very picture on it, and the quote from Alice saying “I never thought I’d be a queen so soon!” and of course it’s Roger’s favorite mug because we gave him tea in it once and the joke IS funny. I swear if he breaks it, he’s a dead queen.

The other image I have is that I’m starring in the longest episode ever of Survivor, where we are down to the final three people, and we are walking and doing the Tribute Episode to Fallen Comrades, and we come upon each Fallen Comrade’s torch and there’s something that is reminiscent of the person and we take a few minutes to look downward in a silent overwrought melodrama as if we still miss them. But in this Episode, we do miss them. I feel like I’m walking by Shelley’s torch, then Brent’s, then Ashley’s, then Liz’s, then Brandi’s, then Dana’s, and I’m probably missing some of the torches because there have been so MANY Fallen Comrades, and I wonder why on earth I’m still here, and where I’m going, and is it going to be my torch next?

Meanwhile, it’s acres of knitting on the Folly body. I forgot it here at work so I’m not making that mistake again tonight! It’s big TV night! Yay!

There will be a lot of rules.

1. You will have to be able to speak English. If you want to have other languages and do some chatty thing in said other languages, you go right ahead. However, if I need tech support or am calling to ask if your store carries food dehydrators, then you better understand what the hell I’m talking about.

2. There will be excessively strict customer service rules, and while the customer will always be right, we will also guarantee you will have your luggage shipped to Japan if you throw a hissy fit or behave overly selfishly. At the very least, the underpant gnomes will be sent to your home and you will have either no undies or undies that bind, itch or wedge.

3. You will know what the fuck a food dehydrator is, despite the fact you think Doritos are a food group and that the news on tv is real.

4. There will be no motorcycle cops, except for those escorting me at lightning speeds where I need to go, or if there is a need for a motorcade.

5. There will be no managers who have not passed the PlazaJen Management Aptitude Test, wherein you will be asked seriously difficult questions like, “Do you solve this problem by a) committee? b) ignoring the problem? c) delegating responsibility? or d) figuring it the fuck out and talking to the little guy.” Anyone who answers a, b, or c? They will be sent to a special island that they can NEVER get voted off of, and they will also not be getting a Pringles & beer party for any reason whatsoever.

6. There will be healthcare for everyone, and weekly massages if you’ve been Good. At no additional cost to you. Good will be defined by volunteerism, karma-building, and other quantifiable, measurable gold stars.

7. The work week will be adjusted. I haven’t figured it all out yet, but there will be at least one more day for weekends every week. There will also be mandatory holidays and like those smart European countries, a time where half the country shuts down & stops working. I’m serious. There are too few workers doing the job of many, for no more pay and for absolutely no sense of security in their jobs. I think this is cranking everybody’s stress out of control, and it’s not scientific, but I think it explains part of the reason why we’re a country of angry, responsibility-rejecting, obese, depressed, frustrated people who are snapping more and more.

8. If you want to drive an SUV, you will have to submit a request, justifying why you need one. Poor grammar and typos automatically disqualify you.

9. Everyone gets breaks. You can make yours knitting, or smoking, or snacking, but everyone gets one, 2x a day.

10. Celebrities will no longer be defined by the Stupid Machine. We will have a wide variety of role models & people to admire & look up to, and I guess if I were you, Paris, I’d start studying Hotel & Motel Management, because you’re going to need some actual skills beyond porn & partying.

It will be a good Commonwealth of Jen. I promise. And I’ve approved this message. In the meantime, vote for change on November 2.

Well, it’s hard to break into Olympic sports as an overweight, short 36 year old with no athletic skills or even inclinations. But that won’t stop me. I had my first floor performance today outside in front of the building, and I just thank the dear DNA within me that have, at the very least, made me double-jointed or flexible, whichever is more accurate. I slipped on some very slippery tile/rock, and went down like a sack of potatoes leaving the back of a semi. Let’s slow-mo it for our listeners: first, I had just poured a full cup of coffee. Black. Hot. Little cup. In my right hand. I saw some people I knew (I don’t even remember who I was heading for anymore) and stepped in their direction, leading with my right foot. My right foot did not stop. It just kept sliding. I saw the coffee leaving the cup, and as I tried desperately to anchor myself with my left foot, the coffee splashed everywhere, and unfortunately, my left foot was also on the slippery tile section. (there’s a decorative “ring” around the circle drive, and the brilliant architects & contractors thought, hey, so it’s slicker than snot if it’s wet? who cares! The cars won’t lose traction because it’s a pretty narrow band! And nobody walks anymore, walking is OVER rated. It’ll be fine!) So left foot went shoop! and I went down on my left knee & the whole leg did one of those crazy-ass bend-way back like you used to do to your Barbies. I would like to point out I was wearing thick rubber-soled shoes, not Barbie shoes, too. Sensible. Not falling down sort of shoes. Anyway, a long long time ago we did this sort of thigh stretch before running where you have one leg straight out & the other one is bend & your foot is pressed back to your side, while you lie down? yes, that is the position I was in. In a dress. With people hovering now, worried, let’s help you up. You just sort of wish you could lie there for an hour, and be invisible. I did take my time getting up, doing one of those remote “check? check!” things with my body because the crack I heard from my knee made me think I’d broken my leg.

Eventually I got myself to the doctor, thanks to KRISTIN who is the greatest & will forgive me for not linking her name right now because I’m on Celebrex and really tired. It’s a torn ligament but not Scary Torn, because that would require surgery & would have also forced me to scream at my doctor out of pain, given the movements she was doing with my knee. I love my doctor. However, if it still gives me pain next week, I will go to the “industrial doctor” so any further measures are covered under workman’s comp. Good lord. Today I feel very old and creaky, and more committed to taking some of the pounds off of me, because the larger the mass of the object hurtling towards the ground, the greater the impact! Now, I think I am going to go home and do some sleeping.

And then I’ll start planning my gymnastics routine. I’ve only got four years to put it together, and it’s got to be good. We’re talking Will Ferrell in Old School good. Perhaps I’ll knit my own ribbon for the floor routine.

Had my review today; let me say overall, it was positive. It was fine. I have discovered, the older I get, the delicious art of NOT speaking. It has many results, and I have found that those results tend to benefit me. I did not do much speaking in my review, and it not only made the whole thing go faster, but I think it also put more pressure on my supervisor(s) to explain things & the more she talked the more she put a positive spin on things. :) Insert small smile.
I am a talker, big time. I think when I don’t talk, it makes the other person think they need to talk more. They give me more information than they maybe intended, which I like. So, despite my cacophonous headache, I am fine, I am not upset or discouraged. I am amused that, time after time, my organization (or lack thereof) and time management/socializing do come up in reviews. Perhaps I should take it as a sign to change. Instead, I usually take it as evidence that I continue to be the same person I was in grade school.
Evidence #1: At a parent-teacher conference in 5th grade, Mrs. Haller made a HUGE deal about my messy desk. I expected my father, packrat extraordinaire and messy man himself, to back me up. Instead, he suggested I wear a sandwich board that read “I am a Slob.” I was a little miffed (horrified) by that, but it didn’t change me. (Nor did I have to wear the sandwich board.) Eventually, in high school, I had two lockers, one for overflow crap (and pitched lunches – I still don’t understand why I never just put them in the trash, more on that in a moment) and one for books.
Evidence #2: While in gym class in the 4th grade, the principal came in and screamed (I mean it was LOUD, what with the acoustics), “I WANNA SEE JIM, AMY AND JENNIFER IN MY OFFICE RIGHT NOW.” I will not lie. Amy & I were about to pee our pants out of fear. Jim had to go first (and I have forgotten his last name, but for storytelling purposes have given him a new one.) We sat on the chairs in the secretary’s office, quaking, our little stomachs doing amazing gymnastics, as if we had never left gym at all. We couldn’t hear what James was in trouble for, and the principal was being loud – but what with the blood buzzing in our ears from adrenaline pounding through our systems, we were shit outta luck on gathering evidence for our defense. Then it was our turn. Boom. Into two new seats, same positioning, me on the left, Amy on the right.
“YOU GIRLS ARE SPENDING TOO MUCH TIME TALKING AND PASSING NOTES IN CLASS! YOU TWO ARE WHAT I CALL ‘SOCIAL BUTTERFLIES’!”
And honestly, at that point, all the adrenaline left me, like I’d been given a shot of some normal-life-restoring epinephrin from an EMT worker. Wha? But of course! C’est moi! That’s what all this hubbub is about? It’s who I am, dude! I even remember thinking, “So? What’s so wrong with that?” And I was silent. We both agreed, through nodding, to knock it off. And we never did. I still don’t. Now, with my workload, I can’t socialize nearly as much, but email is the modern way to pass notes, and I don’t see myself changing because it’s not someone else’s style. However, the ability to keep my mouth shut when needed is an excellent lesson, and I use it often.

About those pitched lunches? My mother refused, for the longest time, to not buy any bread other than what my father liked. And he was on a kick of LOVE LOVE LOVING Catherine Clark’s Brownberry Cinnamon-Raisin-Walnut Wheat swirl. And my dad’s a crazy, with what he’ll eat sometimes – the man likes miracle whip & peanut butter sandwiches on toast – and so he ate that bread with everything. This girl despises Walnuts in most any form. Torture was used to get me to eat the dreaded Sweet Potato Casserole at Thanksgiving when I was three: You will sit here until you eat the vile blob: marshmallows, walnuts, orange juice & sweet potatoes. We will go in the other room and turn on the Winnie the Pooh special and enjoy it while you sit here and contemplate this horrid blob of orange growing colder by the second. I pinched my nose shut & swallowed, desperate to see my dear Pooh & Piglet & Eeyore. So you can imagine how receptive, at the age of 15, I might be to say a bologna or braunschweiger & Miracle Whip sandwich on freaking BREAKFAST BREAD BY ANYONE ELSE’S STANDARDS, let alone one with the WalnutFactor. But that is what my mother packed for me, day after day. So I retaliated by stealing change from her purse to buy my lunch, and putting my bag lunch in the extra locker, where they molded and were eventually discovered by a teacher, who had no way to pin it on me – I remember looking vaguely perplexed and uninterested in the hallway when they yelled, “Who’s stuff IS this?!”
Funny. I had that perplexed & uninterested face on earlier today. The more things change, the more they stay the same…..

I did some forensic surfing this morning & happened upon the blog of I guy I went out with before I met James. Curiousity killed the cat & all that, but I think why the mind pursues such avenues is to remind the mind that all is well. I won’t lie & say I still don’t wish that guy’d trip & fall into a sticker bush only to discover an angry porcupine residing under the sticky bush branches. I went into all of my relationships in life with an optimistic attitude, and it sometimes prevented me from seeing that I was the one being used – and with all that said, I’ve spent more time remembering that experience than I meant to. Suffice it to say, I was simply a luscious burst of purple butterfly bush that he fluttered onto, all the while reminding his former girlfriend how much she really wanted him back. Lies Lies Lies Yeah, they’re gonna getchoo! It just hit me, though – he was the supposed Buddhist (ha!) – so it’s really bad karma for him, I think my sticker bush justice might actually pan out. What I’m really saying here is: I am lucky. I am one of those people who live life shouting out loud, colorfully, doing what I want & being a passionate sort of person. Not a lot of smoke & mirrors, and nobody’s really ever said behind my back, “That girl’s such an….enigma!” But my deepest, profoundest feelings of love are not something I tap into often, because it’s just there, running along through my veins all the time, and sort of like depression, if can be overwhelming if the current surges. But today, I let myself feel just how overwhelmingly in love with James I am, and with that feeling comes that fear of “Oh God, please do not take this away from me ever because I surely couldn’t stand it and it would be like ripping out half the muscles in my body, I would be so broken.” I am gonna sob like a baby at this wedding today, because I’m so happy. I’m so happy I have a love worth risking the loss of half the muscles in my body. Happy for Cindy & Sean, of course, too. But I’m selfish right now, and I’m happy, and (whoa, who ever says this?) I’m grateful that I got kicked to the curb & duped when I was, because it made me open & free to meeting JWo. My Jwo. Who, right now, is building us a headboard so our bedroom can finally start looking like a real room, not a room in which two teenagers don’t know how to pick up any of their clothes. MWAH! I kiss you JWo, and thank you with every fiber of my being for being able to open your own heart up to me and seeing what the next Spring would bring us.

No, nothing’s broken. It’s just the sound of my schedule going completely to hell, accompanied by the destructive POUNDING inside my cranium. I think it’s because I haven’t had my requisite two cans of diet caffeinnated soda! I did drink some coffee, but I’m so finicky about my coffee it is too – bleah – I don’t know what. Not good, let’s leave it at that!

So, no review, no meeting with co. president, no rep lunch! All three items got moved, cancelled or went away. I am still so tired, I just want to get to 5:00, get home, watch Survivor, determine if I can stay up another hour, watch CSI, and then go to bed!!!! I love the DVR.

I wonder when all my yarn purchases are going to get here. I love yarn. Yearning for Yarn. Yearning for Yarn in a Yurt, the Youthful Yak Yowls.

Well, my hubby’s home & it’s good to have him home. I’m so tired I feel like I’ve been pulling all nighters, when in fact, I’ve been getting solid amounts of sleep! What up?!

Anyway, given our polar opposite voting inclinations, we did not watch the debates but happened upon this crazy show on A&E called “Zen and the Art of Competitive Eating”. I am not kidding. It was a two hour documentary on this dude (and he can only be seen as a “dude” because he’s got a goatee & dreds) and his quest to win competitive eating contests. There is even a Federation for these people! Wowza! Anyway, at 9 p.m. James called it quits & went to bed, so we DVR’d the second half of the show, and I came upstairs to watch the rest of the debate & play a li’l Zuma. And I guess the debate was pretty restrained – Dan Rather said you needed lessons in “speed yawning” to watch ’em tonight. BREAKING NEWS: Good lord, they’re saying a huge terrorism raid happened in Columbia MO today! Channel 5 news both repulses & hypnotizes me. They’re sooooo sensational, and it really borders on humorous, given how seriously THEY take themselves.

Well, tomorrow should be an interesting day. I have my review, then a brief appearance in front of the president of the company, followed by a rep lunch. I wonder where we’ll go for lunch – it’ll depend on two things: what SHE likes to eat, and how settled my stomach is from nerves. I can guarantee it won’t be a competitive consumption event.

Polly has the gas of a devil dog, and Suzy is having crazy dreams, she is burfing in high notes very quietly while twitching her paws & ears. Now she’s snoring. It’s fascinating to me, how dogs dream & how real it is for them! I think it’s time for bed myself. I’m excited to start a new knitting project, and I think it may be the Folly from Knitty.com – and I think this is the second time I’ve said this. Maybe I oughta swatch, and/or make some flowers & see how it grabs me. I did, in my shopping spree yesterday, order the update to Sweater Wizard, which I’m excited to see – I’m not even sure what the upgrades include, but I do so like the sweater wizard software!

I also wonder how my two students are doing with their Fizz Mittens. Hopefully the more experienced of the two is helping her friend along – they’re so enthusiastic – taking on so many things, taking so many classes & have so many projects going, I think I feel like a mom running behind the child on the bike, not hanging on to the seat but desperately wanting to, out of fear they’ll fall off the bike & hate the bike forever.

Lights out, gassy dog. Wake up, dreamer dog. It’s time for bed.

Hi, I’m Velvet Jenns. Do you like to lay around & knit all day? Does hearing about a sale on yarn make you jump up and grab your credit cards? Well have I got the book for you. “I Wanna Be A Yarn Ho” gives you all the strategies and tips you need to be the best Yarn Ho you can be. It includes a chapter on “Hiding Your Stash” – not from the po-lice, but from the loved ones in your life who think you don’t need no more yarn. Helpful ideas, like, have you ever used that space where the spare tire is hidden? No Yarn Dog sniffer is gonna find it there, nor will helpful husbands who want you to clean out yo’ trunk. NObody needs to be hearin’ “You don’t need any more yarn!” Because it just ain’t true.

We move on to a chapter on “Creative Finance”, or how to get jobs in places that will get you yo’ yarn at a discount. If you are not qualified, then we advise you get you a friend who will pimp you yarn at a discount. Mebbe teach some classes for some extra cheese. Another chapter’s devoted to websites with all the great sales, such as www.knitpicks.com – they put Cool Stuff and a whole lot of other yarn on sale today, and they offer free shipping if you spend over $30, and since I spent $106, tax-free and no charge for shipping, girrrrrrrl, I got me some yarn coming. Dat’s a deal! Another tried-and-true dealer is www.elann.com where if you spend $500, you get a $50 credit for more of the stuff you need. Free advice: have your goods shipped to the WORK address, read the finer points in the sub-chapter “smugglin’ home” and you can get your yarn into a safe cozy place and none’s be the wiser. Sheeeeit.

My thanks and apologies to Eddie Murphy/Velvet Jones.

Have patience with all things but first with yourself. Never confuse your mistakes with your value as a human being. You’re a perfectly valuable,creative, worthwhile person simply because you exist.

-St. Francis De Sales

Actually, it was less than one. It was a fraction of a minute, the amount that would be pictorialized by a dust mote, or a graphite shaving from a pencil. Just the tiniest blink, soft and quick and barely perceptible, like eyelashes at dusk.

Blindingly fabulous imagery aside, I attribute my good fortune in not being broadsided by a very determined, in-the-wrong sedan in part to my video-game-playing skills. I think the more you play puzzle-type games, the more you visually see where you do fit, and where you do not. Thus, as Shit For Brains decided he was going to cross Ward Parkway, in the rain, in rush hour traffic, despite my oncoming right-of-way presence, I had the presence of mind to hit the gas. Thus evading having my rear passenger side being hit. I knew, as I did it, that there was still a chance he’d hit me, and with the increased speed, I was going to spin crazily and more extremely than if I’d hit the brakes. But if I’d hit the brakes, I’d have been hit for sure. And as it registered I was in the clear, I moved my white knuckle grip down to hit the horn. God, I hate the horn in the Honda. It’s like having a mosquito on the bullhorn, and while it’s annoying, it doesn’t register nearly the level of vitriolic anger I NEED to communicate in situations like that. It was quite a scare, and I wanted to turn around & chase the guy down, give him a real what-for, shake my fist in his face, maybe even a little bitch-slap. But I didn’t. After all, I’d already pushed the karma luck bank as it was, with such a narrow escape. And it made me think how all those things conspire – is it fate? is it random? is it chaos? Those little slivers of time where one sliver too late and you’re pushin’ up daisies at Park Lawn – but you got the sliver before that later sliver, and so you made it, heart pounding, contemplating your New York Minute and how you were spared, at the very least, a police report, a totaled car, some whiplash & your new glasses smashed into the bridge of your nose by the airbag.

I’m delighted to report I’m staying home tomorrow, on a vacation day. It’s going to be busy: return/exchanges at Linens’N’Things, do some of the work I brought home, walk on the treadmill, finish the laundry, do the dishes, sew something, anything, get the sewing machine hummin’, go volunteer, and itch the chigger bites all over my freakin’ feet. It will, despite the itchin’, be a glorious day, because my car is not smashed in, I am the definer of my life, and I have a dog who wants to hug me ALL THE TIME.