I am completely blaming my father today. I am so, so late for leaving on my road trip, and as I caught myself PUTTERING I remembered how he would just be getting in the shower when the Christmas pageant was about to start, thinking we’d time it so I’d get there just in time for my class’ participation. However, I could go on and on about this, but that would make me later.
I had to blog this, super fast, because you-all need to fall over. Right over. Topple. Kerblam.
May I present: Lizard Ridge.

I love, love, love, love, love it. I did the entire border as directed, in dark purple Cascade 220. This is one of those projects that the moment I saw it on Knitty.com, I just knew I had to make it. A lovely pattern, a lovely yarn, and now, a lovely afghan. I will be under it all winter. Because we keep the thermostat at 63′. So really, all that Noro? A cost-saving, energy-conserving investment. Mmm-hm!

Have a great weekend everybody…. and with the big cold front moving through – stay warm!

Three months ago, I attended the last session in a five-part series through Kansas City Hospice. It was a structured group designed to address the first year of grieving. On that last day, we wrote ourselves letters, and I made a mental note to brace myself to see my own handwriting in the pile of mail around early November.

Well, the letter came on Tuesday, but that was book club night, so I didn’t open it. Last night, I paused, picked it up, and then set it back down. My headache didn’t really fade until close to bedtime & I slept for over ten hours. This morning, I told myself I’d open it, and got all the way out to the car before I realized I’d left it inside. I waited for the alarm to set itself, and then went back in. Re-set the alarm, back out to the car. Sat in my car, and read the words I’d written to myself. Purple ink on pink paper, too. And I cried, but it was a mixture of emotions – I’m sad, I was surprised to see that indeed, I had made some progress (here were also things I hadn’t yet done), and I was shocked by my own wisdom and perspective. Because I wrote the letter, honestly, as if I were a parent writing to a child, with my hopes for myself, and with humor, and with love. One thing I’d hoped for myself did come true – I’d hoped to be less angry, less desiring of punching things. Anger has been replaced with sadness, which I suspect will take a lot longer to fade, and ultimately will never leave me.

I think everyone who goes through a major life upheaval should do this very same thing – and give the letter (all set to go – stamped & addressed) to a trusted friend. There’s something very different about opening a letter than re-reading a blog entry, or flipping through a journal. At least it was for me. I won’t write it all again here (some of it is just between me & me ;) ), but here are a couple of paragraphs that resonated.

8.07.2006
Dear Jennifer,

This has been a rough summer for you, and hopefully things have gotten a little easier. I hope that you’ve been able to write about some of your favorite “Dad” memories – and that it feels OK, maybe even good. {note – haven’t quite done this one yet!} I want you to remember him, every day, even if it’s in a joke or a smirk or an angry political reaction – he’s living on inside you and it’s ok to remember the good times.

Remember to tell all those friends, family & your husband that you love them. Thank them again for all that they did & continue to do. Remember how much your dad loved you – it never leaves you. You will always be his princess, his Fergendorfer, his little girl.

Start looking at the types of grasses you & James will plant in your memorial garden next Spring. Make sure you still know where those Suburban gift cards are. {this made me laugh}

Don’t worry. As he said in his last true conversation with you: it will all be OK.

It will. {this made me cry, both sad tears and joy tears.}

Love,
Jennifer

I have a semi-splitting headache today, and no discernable cause. (I’m well-hydrated, caffeinnated, got enough sleep, haven’t missed a meal since 1983….) The only thing notable today is that I woke up & discovered that for the first time in a LONG time of my voting life, I was able to say, “I’m a winner!” (Technically, I’m on the winning “side”, and some of my issue votes passed, too.) I’ve contained the grandstanding because in our house, when one person wins, the other loses. And it’s the same way at work. So I just expelled it at those fuckers down the street with their yard signs and from the comfort & privacy of Mimi, said, “LoooOOO-Hooo-Hoooo-OOO-Hooo-ZAHHHHHH” in their general direction as I drove to work.

In all the election drama, and getting ready to host bookclub, I completely forgot a birthday. Miss Polly. Yesterday, she was Three. Three years old! My li’l girl! She’s overdue for a dental chew, so I’ll give her a big one tonight & we’ll have hugs, and I know she’ll forgive the oversight…. Hopefully I’ll also finish the Lizard Ridge border & have Final Pictures to share! (I’m doing the full-blown border with scallops on it – it gives it so much more stability & really pulls the whole thing together.) In the meantime, I’m drinking copious amounts of water and pushing the vision of leaving work & going home to nap out of my head…..so far, unsuccessfully….

Our big boss left for Arizona & will be gone through the end of the year, so I asked MY boss if we could party today. No go.

We hit the elections at 6:30 a.m., and still had to wait in line. Apparently people with last names beginning with “A-I” don’t get up early. We waited in the “Everybody Else” line, and I got handed a ballot with the stern instruction to make sure the circles are completely filled in or they won’t count. WTF? Are we still voting in the way I used to take the Iowa Basic Skills tests? Jesus. Soooo, I turn around and see the one electronic voting machine open, and ask to use that. This discombobulates the lady manning the voting bin, and they had to get another person to run it (they have to insert a card.) Sweet cheeks. I have held up the Everybody Else line process now. What the hell? So I get started & I hear the Wo state that he’ll use the machine after me. And THEN! I hear the one discombobulated lady tell him that the electronic machine is primarily for the handicapped and disabled. Greeat. I do a quick scan to make sure I haven’t muscled my way past any crippled early-risers to get to the machine. WTF? I mean, yeah, I read the little flyer and noticed that I could put an object in my mouth and use the touch screen that way, but nothing about it said “For the Disabled”. And hello – it’s a computer-based world, and I’m not going to worry about my coloring skeelz at 6:45 in the mo’nin’. (Bubb Rubb made me say it like that. And I’m not much on political correctedness on my blog. Especially when there’s stupidity abound.) I cast my votes, and then got out of the way so the Wo could pretty much cancel me out. (We agree on most of the issues, at least!) I think there should be a standardized voting process from a machine standpoint. Did we learn nothing from Florida?

So, after today, we’ll get a respite from all the mudslinging ads, and yard signs. The anti-choice, anti-stem cell, pro-Jim-Talent people on my street put all their yard refuse out in two huge bags – open at the top, and as I drove by on my way to work, I thought, “hm. I could just swerve…. and topple them over…. and they would knock down their yard signs…. hmm….” But I didn’t. Freedom of Speech and all, and, let’s be honest, the fear of being arrested.

Get out and vote! Completely unrelated, but because I LOVE this picture, here’s a neat shot the Wo took of Suzy retrieving a duck this past weekend:

If she could run for office, I bet her platform would be “Moar Fud and Treets 4 Dogz Evvywere”. Now, that’s a yard sign I could get behind.

My direct phone number (and address) at work has somehow gotten listed as a residential number. So, I used to get phone calls trying to sell me things, and for a while I got pizza coupons. (bonus!) When I came in this weekend, I had pre-recorded messages from various election folk, begging me to vote for them. This afternoon, I grabbed a call and after I said “This is Jennifer”, I heard a woman say, “Obviously your feet ain’t botherin’ ya that much.” Hm. I don’t want to impose my Midwestern Nice Standards, but I’ve even travelled a little bit, and I have yet to hear that sort of greeting condoned in any part of the country. I said, “What do you mean, my feet?” as I began to suspect this was yet another telemarketer with a list in front of her. (At this point, the two people in my office are looking at me like I’ve gone crazy. I won’t say they’re wrong, but we can’t attribute it to that phone call.) Over the phone line, I heard far-off laughing and more silence, so I went back to the good old standard, “HELLO?” and that woke up my telemarketer who immediately asked me to vote yes for the soccer stadium tomorrow. Never mind, sweetie, you’re calling Missouri, not Kansas. I can’t vote on it. And I’m at work, so no cally here no more. And my feet? They are just fine.

I’m ready to go home. Home to my Wo, and our dogs, and I’m not answering the phone unless I recognize the number.

I’ve got me the Monday Blahs. I started to write a post about the stench left behind by our resident homeless person in our work garage stairwell, and I sounded like a cake-eating Republican beyotch. On the eve of the election, I’m not cruel enough to give my husband that kind of hope. Heh. ;)

I had a ramshackle, busy weekend. I shopped with my friend Roger for 7.5 hours on Saturday. Yes, that’s a whole billable day of work! I was correct in thinking, Crate & Barrel can’t be THAT bad – there can’t possibly be 1,200 people there! (like there were that Wednesday night from hell.) There were maybe 400. And waiting in line wasn’t so bad. I didn’t get much, Roger did. We had to put the seats down! :) Then we went to Pottery Barn, he ran in to Williams Sonoma, we ate lunch, and then trucked around NE Furniture Mart (the devil’s playground). Grabbed a cone at Sheridan’s – and then went to Super Target. I get tired just remembering it all. But I did finally find the buffet/hutch I’ve been seeking for so long. And it was on sale. But they have to special order it, so who knows when it will actually get here. However, like a wise person, I learned from the couch incident & paid for delivery. Delivery=Good. I believe my hubby will agree. :)

Went to brunch on Sunday & then watched the Chiefs reclaim the Governor’s cup – woohoo! I also got Lizard Ridge completely put together! I’m working on the crochet border, and will get pics up soon. It’s absolutely stunning. I nearly fell over. I’m sure once the border’s done, I’ll be on the floor. Or else it’s just all this racing around project-stuff catching up with me! I have to host our book club tomorrow night, so tonight’s crazy for cleaning (and that is SO not how I spend Monday nights), and I’m going to Iowa this weekend – so I don’t know when exactly things are going to let up. Given the proximity to the holidays, I expect around January. Oh well, I’ll be knitting my way through it all. Next on the needles: another Vintage Velvet scarf in deep mallard blue Touch Me, and then a sweater or two. I have so many projects just begging to move up the priority list…. there’s another thing I need to do, finish organizing all my yarn. OK. I’m just going to lie down on the floor right now. Overwhelmedness, thou art my new friend!

I’m not kidding. This week has three weeks crammed into it. Maybe even four.

Just to illustrate how I’ve lost control over my basic motor skills & rational thought: I’ve agreed to go back to Crate & Barrel. On Saturday. Around noon. Shoot me in the face right now. Perhaps I should take a vicodin or something before we go.

My take on MO politics: Everyone’s an ass-fucker. Everyone’s cheated the cancer patients, worked for Penthouse, lied, slung mud, and is in favor of rape and pedophilia. Maybe even legalization of meth. The commercials are why I’m now exclusively watching all programming via the DVR, so I can skip the mayhem. Just another few days…..

If you work in collections, you might want to start reading another blog. If I have to deal with these Pizza Hut mo-fo’s again next week, someone’s losing the battle, and I can guarantee you, it won’t be me. This has evoked the same emotional, primal reaction on the same scale as when I battled the ocean. I will not go under, folks. If I do, I’m taking the entire PH corporation with me. Get your Big New Yorker this weekend, just to be safe.

(Great. Now I’m on a fucking watch list. More problems. I feel like a persecuted rapper. P Diddy, I feel your pain.)

The good news is that most of the Lizard Ridge has been blocked, and I’m shooting to get it all done this weekend. If all goes as planned, I’ll fall over in shock and awe, and maybe I won’t get up until the election’s over, and my fraud charges have been cleared up….. and the parking lot at Crate & Barrel has emptied…..

Ahhhh, dearest Kristin. You know me so well.

See, I thought I was in the creme de la creme. The Shopping Elite. The Who’s Who of Crate & Barrel’s mailing list. Instead, I was shopper drone #812, and when we got to the private event, there were no parking spaces left. No valet, just a bow-tied woman telling us to park across the street. After thirty minutes of sitting in line to park. Hey? Concept? Tell us BEFORE we’re stuck in a no-way-out line of cars. And women should just not wear bow ties. Unless they’re getting married in a civil ceremony, to each other. Otherwise, please. Don’t do it.

Folks, have you ever been to 119th & Roe? This is not crossing a cobblestoned street. This is crossing 6 lanes of haywire traffic, and we picked a less-congested parking lot, and appparently? The one with fucked up sidewalks and uneven terrain. So already, we were not off to a good start. I immediately backed off purchasing anything that weighed more than -oh – a can of soup. We apologized under our breath as we traipsed through the still-fresh landscaping, and I felt the distinct sinking feeling as I trod on fresh sod. Just helping those roots take hold, that’s us!

Inside? A fucking madhouse. A zoo. A gigantic cocktail party, where more people were drinking and noshing and Thurston Howelling with each other than actually shopping. Note to C&B: Y’all need to have a Driven! The Jennifer Shopping Event, and only true shoppers can come. We’ll stop and have drinks when we’re waiting in line for our purchases to be rung up. There were far more people preoccupied with brie and white wine and standing around and waiting for the sun to start orbiting them, than people who were actually cognizant of the fact they were in a STORE that someone else might want to look at something on the shelf behind them.

I could go on and on. Let me hit some of the high notes: I was pawed by a woman who admired my velvet jacket; we got free coasters when we left; the policeman at the corner did not want to chat and he started to be a crossing guard for us when the light changed, but abandoned us after one lane. Hey! So we went over to Dean & Deluca. Where we met the most charming young man who peddled me three different kinds of black licorice (because HE believes in giving out samples!) and he’s a dancer, in a very-intensive training program (5 hours a day) and we had an extremely long conversation about licorice, Christopher Elbow chocolates, and the state of downtown Kansas City. Really, I’m not a difficult person, or shopper. I can make friends with the best of them. (Helps if they’re gay.)

It was on the way to Dean & Deluca that I learned Kristin had told her husband we wouldn’t be out late, because I was going to get angry with the crowds. I find it interesting that other people know what to expect from me more than I even do from myself, sometimes. It’s good to be known, I think. James thought it was HILARIOUS and also, Not Surprised.

I, on the other hand, am going to plot a “sick day” or something and go in the morning when Crate & Barrel opens, a few weeks from now, and preferably mid-week, and I’ll see then if there’s anything I simply must have. Until then, I have a lot of black licorice to tide me over, and some photo coasters to fill. And, apparently, some angry eyes to put away…..

Do you like how I’m putting the time on my blog posts to the future? I feel powerful doing it. It’s like I’m blogging – when I’m asleep! Tricky, tricky! But if I don’t do it, I’ll forget the gems of the day.

Let’s see. I have random things to assemble and throw, like grapefruit. Here goes:

Operation Halloween was a grand success. We learned from last year. In that some kids (and grown-ups with grocery sacks) come to your door without a costume on, and ask for candy. Rather than be ass clowns, and mean ones at that, and since these folk are often intermingled with perfectly classy costumed children, the Wo and I devised a plan: Two Sets of Candy. No diving in and grabbing, we hand it out. (We lost some volume last year to grabbers.)

Courtesy of our loverly CostCo, and the coupon, we had a box of absolutely fabulous full-sized candy offerings: M&Ms, Snickers, Skittles, Starburst and other Mars Products. Also courtesy of loverly CostCo, we had a box of Sour Gummi Belts, 100 per box, $2.97 a box. We even tried them, to make sure we weren’t being Totally Evil Ass Clowns. (They’re definitely more a kid food, we decided. But loads of sugar, nonetheless.) So when the kiddoes came a-knockin’, if you were in costume – and let me interrupt myself to say, there is nothing cuter than a baby in a bumblebee outfit. NOTHING. Except a walking toddler in a bumblebee outfit who won’t stop thanking you for her candy. That was the highlight of my night, right above the noises the dogs were making in their abject disgruntlement over not being allowed to charge the door and bark their heads off. Eating numerous squares of a Rosati’s pizza came right after that highlight, if anyone’s keeping score. Oh, yes, I interrupted myself. If you were in costume, you got an awesome full-sized Mars candy item. If you were in street clothes, or say, someone in their mid-50s with no obvious small child in even proximity to yourself, you got Sour Belts. I informed a nice couple at CostCo this was our plan, as I watched them debate over how much candy to buy. I’m just sayin’, we’ve gotten a little lax as a society, and just hoofing your ass around without a costume does not mean you deserve a big-ass Snickers. It’s Jen Justice, and for the most part, it works.

Let’s see. While I was battling people all day as if I were starring in my own version of Star Wars, taking on countless Storm Troopers of Evil Credit and Bad Doings, I saw what has to be the most challenging, exemplary customer service situation I think I’ve ever seen before in a restaurant. Kristin and I dined at McAlister’s for lunch, and we sat near two old biddies who were sharing a sandwich. They called the manager over, and motioning to another sandwich plate, with a big-ass sandwich sitting on it, and informed him they had no idea the sandwiches were so large, so they were splitting the one, and could he take care of the other sandwich they’d bought. He first offered to give them a to-go box. They said that they would do that only if they HAD to, but they’d much prefer him to just give them a refund and take the sandwich away.

And that’s exactly what he did. He had a choice, to make them take the sandwich (that they TOTALLY should have taken), and potentially never have them come back in, or to give them their $7, throw the sandwich away, and not have two selfish old ladies leave, never to return & possibly bad-mouth his restaurant. He gave them cash back and they ate their split sandwich and Kristin and I marvelled at the entire thing. I need to remember to call & commend him, because honestly, given the day I’d been having? I might have shoved their heads in a pitcher of sweet tea and told them to bob for their fucking dentures.

Oh, and I totally tried to pick a fight with the Bunn Automatic people, because the coffee carafe we have dribbles everywhere, and they (surprisingly, and wonderfully) responded to my email with a “Hey, call us, we will send you a new one free of charge”, and since it had been two weeks, and I was spending half my day tearing up the phone lines and ripping into people, I called them & they apologized profusely that at the time there was a backorder, and they were checking daily for the carafes to come in and I was on the list and it would be turned around as soon as possible.

I swear. Customer service. It just soothes the angry beast.

Oh, and our pumpkin-carving competition submission at work was completely subversive. We showed a pumpkin asleep, with a (my) letter opener jabbed in the side of its head, with ketchup blood falling down onto our weekly status (think: TPS Reports and Office Space). And to think, they were going to carve a bat with the company logo. Oh and no, we didn’t win the competition. But we won in our HEARTS! Let me just say that a pumpkin throwing up is NOT original. Not that I’m competitive. But with our theme we didn’t stand a chance.

Yeah, so I came home & took off the first round of blocked strips:

(Polly checked out the first set and gave it the A-Ok to unpin)

And then I pinned out the next round:

The third set of strips are “waiting in the wings” on the end there. It’s just astounding how much the color definition grows once they’re blocked.

It’s freaking gorgeous. When it’s all sewn up, I will fall over in astonishment at the combined beauty.

That is all. It was a full day.

Update!

Discover card sent the statement out by accident. Kind of like Capital One auto finance sending me a letter I’d been denied credit (and causing a sequential Panic! At the NuWos!) and it turning out to be the fact they MEANT to send the letter that my check was expiring soon. Whups.

So I left a message with the po-lice to get an update, and then I thought, hey, let’s just make sure the Pizza Hut collection bitches are off my ass. Good thing I checked. They are clinging as tightly as a deer tick on a bloodhound. Fuckers. And Tashina, the “customer service” person, a term I use quite loosely in this situation? Apparently dressed up like a big fucking bitch for Halloween. I know I hinted it was going to happen, and it did. I blew a gasket. I saw it shoot up to the ceiling and disappear, piercing through the roof on its way to the moon. They are demanding a notorized affidavit from either the police (yeah, like that’ll happen) or my bank. And wouldn’t tell me what it should say to make it go away, just kept saying I had to send it. So I thanked her. Thanked her for being so helpful through such a difficult situation, Thank You for making me, the victim, have to do even MORE work to prove I did not buy $60 worth of goddamn pizza. And then I hung up on her. I never, ever hang up. I hope she gets Dung Heap Cupcakes in her damn trick-or-treat bag tonight.