1. Saw Napoleon Dynamite on DVD, finally. It’s now in my top five of faves. Of course, I loved the characters, but I continue to be intrigued by the fact that you never really know what year it is.

2. Cakers loved skiing. Actually, I don’t know if she loved the skiing as much as she loved the golf cart rides between the hill (well, incline) and the day care trailer. We spied on her for a bit during the lesson. Too cute. One time she stopped mid-incline to put snow ON her skis, then spent the entire ride up the Magic Carpet, brushing it off. One time I heard the instructor yell “Anna! Anna!” Then saw my Cakers lean forward, toss her fists to her side and yell “I not Anna! I ANA!” That’s my girl, my little Liger. (….like a lion and tiger mixed…bred for its skills in magic.)

3. Listening to great music on the radio. I’m pretty sure Northern Michigan has one of the only remaining FM stations, in the U.S. of A., not owned by Clear Channel. It’s called The Bear. It's classic rock at its best, mostly from late 60's and 70's and includes stuff you never hear on the corporate oldie stations. I'm talking Marshall Tucker Band and Traffic and Canned Heat and The Band.

When listening to the Bear, my husband and I like to play the "Who sang this?" game. It's actually kind of hard, but being four years older than he is, gives me the competitive edge. I had planned on reminiscing some more on the old tunes, but I'm afraid it would pale in caliber/interest level to Alison's topic related post, earlier this week.

4.Weekend Things I Wondered:

A. Why, as a whole, rural news anchors are a smidge homlier than their urban counterparts? They’re so pasty (as in having no color, not as in a Cornish meat pie). And stiff. And wear glass rims from the 80's. And why are they named after Northern Michigan towns and/or townships? And since we’re here, I also want to know why they sound like they're being broadcast from Uncle Pooty's pole barn? Isn’t the same audio technology used by urban stations, available to the rural communities?

B. Why the ski lodge sells pop and water from machines which only take perfectly straight, crisp 1 dollar bills? Where would a skier keep such a bill?

C. What the hell this woman was thinking?:
Cakers and I were waiting for our ride, just inside the door of the daycare trailer at the ski resort. The place was teeming with screaming, tired, one-socked toddlers. So, this woman comes in and asks me if I know where the cross country trails are. I don’t.

She then asks what building this is (Hello? Can’t you hear them calling?). I tell her it’s the Daycare Center. Raising her voice above the din, she says “Is there any body in there?” (And People, this is not a pleasant person. She's got bitch.) The question was so ridiculous, I didn't even answer.

She then clarified, “Are there any workers in there?”

I wanted to say: "Nope. No one. I just stopped in here looking for a pop machine that takes crumpled bills, and picked me up this little cutie ::Patting the Cakers on the head:: In fact, there are still a couple quiet ones left, if you're in the market for a toddler, with a day or two of ski school under his/her belt. Just so ya know, the best picks are hiding in the bathroom. I'd stay away from the four year-old with the mustache, if I were you. He’s trouble."

Instead, I said, with a bit o bitch o my own, "Of course there's someone in there." Freakin’ IDIOT!

Pssst...Kimmy, can you see this?

1.Total amount of music files on computer:
Ummm...I don't know because I can't find them. I had free AOL Music download for a month and don’t know where they, uh, downloaded to. I do remember being thrilled at finding Todd Rundgren's “Parallel Lives.”

2. Last CD you bought: Old Crow Medicine Show and Snoop Dogg.

3.Last song you listened to before reading this message: (Rock me mama, like a) “Wagon Wheel,” Old Crow Medicine Show.

4. Five songs that mean a lot to you: Peter Gabriel, “In Your Eyes,” Van Morrison, “Into the Mystic” , Jackson 5 “I’ll Be There”, Everything But the Girl, “Missing,” Counting Crows- “Anna Begins”

5. Three people to whom this will be passed on…. No one. I think this one’s been played out.

1. Do you knit continental or English? English. But here’s a weird thing…My mom learned to knit in high school. After getting married, she quit knitting and took up breast feeding. A few months ago, she decided to take it up again (knitting, not breast feeding) and called me for some beginneresque advice.

Through the course of our discussion, my mom said “Well, I learned to knit the wrong way, from my home ec. teacher, who was from Germany. People would always tell me I was knitting wrong, so it kind of took the fun out of it."

So, I’ve been knitting the dorky English method for 18 years, having no idea my own mother is a dyed in the wool continental. I told her that her method is coveted by many of us English dorks, who have been unable to switch brain paths. She didn’t believe me.

::See how I am? I can’t even complete a simple questionnaire without blathering….::

2. How long ago did you learn to knit? My Dutch Granny taught me when I was about 10, but boy, was that ugly. After knitting The Incredible Widening Scarf, I quit knitting until 1987, when a friend at work re-taught me.

After about 3 months on the needles, I was teaching that same friend how to do cables and color work. I knit 13 sweaters in one year. I would stay up until 2 am to perform some butt ugly finishing on a piece I would proudly wear to work a few hours later. Without the distraction of the internet or a happy marriage (I was still married to the first guy) I guess I had lots of time on my hands. ::Okay, I think I figured out why I've not been meme tagged 'til now. Because I can't just answer a frickin' question without a life story. I've turned into my mother. ::

5. First FO? Officially, probably that scarf. My first official garment was a two piece, capped sleeve type t-shirt sweater. It fit me like a dream. I wore it to death.

6. Favorite yarn? Alpaca blends.

7. Favorite pattern? The Diamond Lace shawl pattern from the Lion Brand site.

8. Favorite pattern source? Knitty, Vogue Knitting, Interweave Knits. Both Rowan’s “A Season’s Tale” and “A Treasury of Knits” have reserved spots in my WIP future.

9. Favorite needles? My Denise’s, definitely. But two years ago, I would’ve called you a “lyin’ ass ho” and spit in yo eye if you would’ve tried telling me this would be true, today. I used to never, ever knit on plastic, and used circs only for collars. Before Denise, my favs were Ebony.

10. Nicest thing you’ve ever knit? Hard to say, mostly because I haven’t knit, er, finished that many nice things. I guess the Aran for the Cakers is up there. Must Have Cardie…the Diamond Shawl. I can’t pick.

11. Most hated project? Easy. The garter square afghan. I don’t know what was worse, the miles and miles of garter stitch, or the hours and hours to months and months of my husband’s whining for his blankie.

12. Who are you going to pass this on to? Heather because she’s funny and I think she needs a little more attention. Go find her post on stealing a smoke while at a swim meet, between heats, in her swimsuit.. Kim, because she’s a dear and she’s busy and maybe can use a quick-n-dirty post topic and because I fear she will soon run out of cool photos to post. And Bron, because we started out on this blog journey together and she knits like a rabbit in heat. Well, rabbits don't knit, but I think you know what I'm thumping about. And I’m sorry if this is a repeat upon any of y’all. I have the attention span of a flea, on a rabbit in heat.

Me to sister #1: Do you have my Barbies? (Read: Do you have my Easy Crack Oven?) Ana’s showing an interest in Barbies (Read: an interest in learning how to make Crack) and I thought it would be fun to let her play with my old stuff.

Sister: My daughters never, EVER, EVER played with Barbies/Easy Crack Ovens. In fact, I don’t think we ever, EVER had Barbies/Crack in our home. EVER.

Me: I'm pretty sure mom said that your girls used to...

Sister: NEVER, EVER…

Me: All Righty, then.

Me to sister #2: I’m looking for my old Barbies/Easy Crack Oven and mom thinks you might have them.

Sister: No way.

Me: Are you sure?

Sister: Are you kidding me? My daughter wouldn’t be caught dead with Barbie/Crack.

Me: Maybe she’s so ashamed of her filthy habit that she hides the dolls/kiddie crack pipe in her closet. Have you checked between her box spring and mattress? Kids with a Barbie/Crack problem, can be very, very deceitful. I mean, how well can you really know your own children???

Sister: I’m tellin’ ya, she’d rather drink bleach. Then throw it up. And drink it, again.

Dear Ken,
I'm sorry for all the times I popped your arms out of their arm holes and made you into Flipper Ken, (See Illustration 1 in Appendix) then had Francie and Midge lean you over my dog’s water dish and take turns spanking your bare, Mattel-embossed ass.

And Ken, I very much regret the time I was not careful enough, and let one of your arms fall into your body cavity. As you know, after hours and hours of poking your arm hole with tweezers, then an ink pen and finally trying to wittle a larger arm hole using my dad's rat tail file, we finally came to grips with your destiny in a world of one hand clapping. (See Illustration 2, in Appendage) And since spanking a one armed Flipper Ken just wasn’t the same, your sex life, as we knew it, was also over. Adding insult to injury, was my nicknaming you "Snake," on account of the rattling sound you now made, whenever you moved.

After you lost your arm, I felt terrible. Responsible. To make it up to you, I decided to give you some manjunk. Because I was only 10 years old, the only manjunk I had ever seen was on my baby cousin, Ricky. Because he was a baby, his stuff was better described as "babyjunk." Cousin Ricky’s babyjunk, to me, looked like two concentric circles of flesh. A button, if you will. That's what I saw, so that's what you got. A button, drawn on with a black permanent marker. But the manjunk button, somehow, ended up looking like a donut. Which was not at all the look we were going for. (See Illustration 3 in Appenddicks)

As you may recall, I instantly regretted the disfigurement and immediately tried undoing that which had been done. But instead of successfully taking back your manbutton man-donut, I learned a valuable lesson; the definition of Permanent. But Ken, you know I tried. In retrospect, I suppose the the x'ing of the manbutton (See Illustration 3 in Amendix) only made matters worse. But please remember, I was a merely a deranged babe.

My Darling Ken, the last time I saw you,(I'm pretty damn sure you were clutched in the loving arms of one of my nieces who never, EVER played with Barbies) you looked/sounded well enough.

I'm still plagued, however by the memory of trading all your clothes to Nee-Nee Tunning, just for a chance to watch her brother Dewey, take a piss on their sister Chi-Chi’s new training bra. Although the whole thought of piss-on-a-sister's-bra was intriguing, I had really hoped to catch a glimpse of some real boy junk. Unfortunately, Dewey had quite a grip, and all I saw was the golden shower, followed by Nee-Nee gingerly tucking your wardrobe into a black, shiney rollerskate case, from under her bed.

Because you no longer had any pants, I was forced to make you a pair out of a cabled knee-high sock. Red. Although I was pretty impressed with how the ribbing made the perfect waistband, I can't shake the thought of you, right now, Rattling around my sister's basement, for all eternity, in nothing but a red, cabled, knee high sock. And, of course, your eternal manshame.

So, my once-randy little one-armed wonder, please know that I think of you often, with both love, and regret.

Yours Truly,
Marcy.

P.S. A few months back, I came across this picture, somewhere on line. And I couldn't help but wonder if..well...maybe...nah.

....She said we can use utensils and serving bowls, but we can’t touch the ovens. Excuse me? We can’t touch the ovens? I don’t think so. I said to her, technically, those ovens belong to us... And, by the way, I will be taking this up with Carol....

Mutha Says: We’re serving milk.
Marcy Thinks: Snort. They won’t drink milk.
Mutha Says: My son will drink milk, if I tell him to.
Marcy Thinks: You’re going to make your Freshman son drink milk at the basketball banquet?
Marcy Thinks some more: In front of the JV and Varsity teams?
I hope you have a good therapist.
And, Marcy:And you think your son is going to actually sit with you at the banquet? Honey, he ain’t even gonna look atchu.
Mutha Says: We’re serving milk. It's final. Every freshman brings a gallon.
Marcy's Final Cohesive Thought for the Evening: Ashton? Is that you?

I am 48% Asshole/Bitch.

I may think I am an asshole or a bitch, but the truth is I am a good person at heart. Yeah sure, I can have a mean streak in me, but most of the people I meet like me.

Take the
Asshole/Bitch Test
@ FualiDotCom

10:30 a.m.-Get up “early” to pick up corsage.
10:40-Back in bed.
1:00-Get up again, and this time he really means it.
1:15-2:00- Lift weights in basement
2:00-3:00-Visit best friend who is in hospital with bad case of flu.
3:00-5:55-Hang out at other friend's house, shooting some hoops outdoors (beautiful day, dontcha know?) then playing poker.
5:55-Arrive home to frantic mother.
5:55-Inform frantic mother that he needs to be at his friend's house, ready for the dance, by 6:30.
5:58-6:01 Shower, Shave.
6:05-6:20-Drive over to dad's house, get dressed, drive back to mom’s house.
6:20-6:21-Pictures with baby sister.
6:23-Call friend (who was also playing b-ball and poker until 5:55) to ask if he can just swing by and pick him up, since it's on the way to the girls' rendezvous point.
6:25-6:30-Pace around waiting for ride to arrive while avoiding floating dog fur.
6:30-Ride arrives. Leave for dance.