••• Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Art the Fark Wednesday 

Way last fall, the PTA at my daughter’s school held a fund raiser which offered parents the opportunity to pay potentially large sums of money to put their child’s art work on a variety of garments, dishes, linens and personal hygiene paper products.

Also, way last fall, The Cakers was bringing home, daily, piles and piles of beautiful ::or not so much:: artwork, which she created in kindergarten or at daycare. Of course, we saved most of this work in a special file folder. ::Funny story*, that. Or not so much..::

So when the opportunity came to showcase some of Cakers' best pieces, via Christmas gifts, we could not resist. After several rounds of catalog perusal and over-mulling,we decided to go with the non-cheesy practicality of coffee mugs.

More difficult than selecting the final product, however, was deciding on the artwork. After several days of ponder, we were able to decide on two pictures, for three mugs.

Unfortunately, Christmas came and went without the mugs. To be honest, we had kind of forgotten about them until they were delivered to our home, yesterday.

Aren’t they cute?

While I really liked the colorful one, the green one with the dog and rain falling like cannon balls is my personal favorite. It makes a strong statement, in that sweet, gentle, we're-gonna-need-a-bigger-umbrella kinda way.

Yesterday my husband put the mugs on display in the kitchen, for when The Cakers came home from school.

Daddy to daughter: “Look what we have! Coffee mugs showing the artwork of our favorite artist.”

“Daaad! You mean your two favorite artists!”

Two favorite artists?”

“Yeah! I made the flower picture and my friend Macy made the other one. She gave it to me for a present. Remember?”

So wrong on so many levels, the least of which was paying 15 dollars a piece for two mugs bearing the artwork of a child I didn't know from Adam's Cat.

I’m just glad we didn’t have to face this humiliation with in-laws, on Christmas morning.

*Funny Story That
We had some awkward moments adjusting to the new world of kindergarten and the related daily windfalls of newsletters and artwork. To save space and to cut down on clutter, I started tossing the obviously useless pieces the day they were brought home. Not a good idea.

“Mom? Where’s the picture I drew of the Cheddar and the caterpillare, eating poop, while flying in a spaceship to the cottage?”

“I threw it away. I didn’t ….Ididn’t …know what it was that you wanted it. I’m sorry!”

“Mom! I did! I did want it! I want it right now. I miss it. I miss it soooooo much!” She then falls to the floor, wailing and writhing in pain.

Okay. Lesson learned.

Then and there, I decided that this particular drama would not be repeated and that it was nigh time for the girl to take some responsibility for her belongings.

So I developed a new plan, as follows: 1) When Cakers brings home artwork, whatever she wants to keep she must put away in a special cupboard.

2) Once a week, after Cakers is in bed,I will go through the cupboard and throw most of it away.

3) When she asks me what happened to the recently-deceased picture of her kindergarten-teacher-turned-new-adoptive-mother making her pancakes for breakfast, on a spaceship headed to the cottage, I just say “I don’t know honey, what did you do with it?”

I am a trained professional.
Please don't try this at home.


••• Sunday, January 28, 2007

Hat the Moople 

It's been said that a leopard never changes its stripes. The same can't be said for hats.

Remember this?

Now it's this:

When I went back for the 7 row Encore frog, I found myself just pulling and pulling. Next thing I know, I'm casting on for this. ::scroll down a tad.::

What a fun knit. And fast. Ree Ree fast. This makes pattern number 3 from Bonne Marie, in my current knit parade.

That's what I call a hat trick.

::My favorite hat trick ever was running into three ex-boyfriends at one hockey game. And you know how ever once in a while you have a night when you just know you look your best? The skin, the hair, the twinkle in the eye? It was a night like that. Sigh.::


••• Friday, January 26, 2007

Dangling Smarticicles 

A woman calls her childhood friend: "Remember that goofy girl in the 4th grade who used to come to school with gum in her hair? I think I just saw her at the yarn shop, walking around with a skein of Baby Cashmerino stuck to the velcro on the cuff of her ski jacket."

Yeppers, that was me. No, not the imaginary person talking to her imaginary friend on the phone. I was the Girl With Gum in Her Hair. Ummmhmm. The girl who grew up to be the Woman who Walks Through Yarn Shop With Skein of Baby Cashmerino Dangling from Velcro Cuff.

Needless to say, I made no purchase today.

I Cando Friday
Oh Yes I Can

Today was supposed to be one of the coldest of the season. When I arrived home from the yarn store at 4:30, it was 38 degrees and sunny. ::Translation for those not from around here: Not that cold. Balmy. Even.::

I'd not been on a real walk outdoors in weeks, and have been missing it, sorely. And I tell ya, it was just what the doctor ordered. Okay, almost what the doctor ordered. Cabana boy just returned from the store with a tall, skinny brown bag filled with the rest of what the doctor ordered. Something red, I presume.

That there photo is a self-portrait of my shadowy self, on my Friday walk.

And I'm not really that tall. I'm wearing stretch pants.

P.S. I apologize for all the typos in yesterday's post. I initially thought to blame it on some Super Cosmic Intergalactic Blogger Word Scramble issue, but that would've been lame, even for me. Truth be, I published late last night, and was too tired for effective scrutiny. And I can't access blogger from work so I couldn't fix it.

But tonight, we drink!

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••• Thursday, January 25, 2007

Hats What it's All About 

Me and Knitting have had a recent parting of the mind and are currently emotionally estranged. Knitting, being the sweet and tender soul she is, blamed herself right off the hat.
Absolutely not, I said. It's me. I've changed. I lost my path. You deserve better, and I'd understand completely if you decided to move on.

But sweet, charitable Knitting agreed to stick it out through this period of Turds und Wang*, with only two stipulations: 1) The relationship will be on a platonic basis for awhile, defined as "No Addi turbos or high end yarns." ::Snort. As if...:: 2) No more speaky German.

*It's a German thing, meaning a period of turbulence or pre-menstrual psychosis.

What's all the rest of that mean?

Well, off the top of my head, it means hats. Lotsa hats.

Okay. Just four hats.

The top hat, is Bonne Marie's ChicHat pattern, in two strands of Encore.

The green and pink number is also in Encore and the pattern from Last Minute Gifts. And here's a surprise: I think there is a mistake in the pattern. I shoulda caught it. But I didn't. I made the children's size and it calls for a cast on of 72 stitches, in a worsted weight. They must grow 'em large in the Land of Last Minute Gifts. I just hope I can find an adult recipient of willing to wear green and pink in the same hat.

There is supposed to be a pom-pon on top of the green/pink one too. But there isn't. When I was a kid, I could never make the pom-pon. When ever I tried to make a pom-pon, it always turned out looking like an armless yarn doll.

Being an all grown woman ::and still growing! Yeah for me!::, I kind of thought I could figure out the pom-pon. But no. It was actually looking pretty good, up until it exploded.

Heh. I always wanted to be on the Pom-Bomb squad.

Hat number 3 is Bonne Marie's H2O in some yarn my mom gave me. I lost the labels, but I think it was Jiggle something, like Jack and Jiggle, or Jiggly With It.

Hat number 4 is Encore again, and this pattern

And this little short-rowed bane of my current knitxistence is Knitty's Tychus. ::Is it just me, or does that sound like a nasty?::

It's a real fun knit and should be pretty easy. The yarn is Encore, as should be the name of the pattern, seeing as how I've knit, ripped and knit again, the same 7 rows. For some reason, I just can't count straight for this. And as I look at this picture, I see that I'm going to have to do it again. Again.

So whazzup widdall da hatz?

I dunno. I suddenly was tired of thinking about big knitting. My current sweater project (Polar) is almost to a point where I'm I need to do some mathematical calculations to get the neckline/collar I desire. It's not a big deal, really. But it seemed so. A big deal.

And that's when I realized that I had a strong need for my a kinder, gentler, less calculating knitting. I had a vision of knitting being smooth and graceful, like two lovers running through a field of daisies, or a T.V. commercial for self-heating K-Y gel.

I want my knitting to be spontaneous and easy. I want to sit in my favorite spot and have it drop out of the ceiling, like an oxygen mask on a jet plane.

I want my knitting to be less thinky. And more fun, with dignity.

So I decided to shake off the ennui and cleanse my mental knit palette with some something easy, like hats for charity. Because I already had a bunch of yarn out for the last horizontal striped scarf, I figured the transition to hats would be astro-glide smooth.

But first I had to leaf through a gazillion books and loose sheets, in search of the right patterns. After I found the patterns, I needed the proper needles. So I opened my needle drawer, to face this:

All of a sudden, knitting hats felt about as easy as catching dust bunnies with a blow dryer.

But I persevered. For charity.
This perseveration for charity will continue through the end of the month.

And now that I have you bored to tears and totally convinced this should never be a blog that offers All Knitting All the Time , and stick to making shit up and playing with my food, I bid thee adieu.

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••• Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Fut the Wuck Wednesday 

Sunday night my husband grilled steak for dinner. And it went something like this:

Now compare to the real deal:

Okay, I did arrange the upper peninusla to appear thus. But I swear the mitten came on my plate looking like that. Of four pieces of steak, two made up the state of Michigan, one was a dead ringer for Minnesota and the fourth was the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus standing in line at Disney World.

I've lived in Michigan all my life.
How do I like it?
Medium well.

WT More F
A couple months ago,I bought myself an Electric Light Orchestra Greatest Hits CD. Over the years, whenever I heard an ELO song from back in the day, I'd get all warm and toasty and reminiscey. I kind of remember them as a little left of mainstream rock-n-roll. Maybe even a little artsy fartsy, what with the orchestra and all.

After I listened to the CD a few times, I realize I don't like them as much as I remembered. The only song I care to listen to on the entire CD is Telephone Line, doo-waw-dooby-dooby-waws notwithstanding. Remember the Jetsonian sound effects at the beginning of that tune? How embarrassing. But not nearly as embarrassing as their recording of Xanadu.*

Please Xayu didn't.

Knitting Knuggets
I've been doing some and there'll be updates soon.

*I later learned that ELO actually wrote the song.

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••• Sunday, January 21, 2007

Terms of Intendment 

Yeah, I'm just a few little weeks late for the New Years Atonements and Declaration parade. Like many people, I steer away from New Year resolutions and decrees. I once had a friend who started every year with a new personal rule like "I will not wear stripes or prints, only solids," or "I will not smile in pictures."

While I admired her drive and courage to be able to make the big sacrifice for meaningful change, I've never been much of a rigid, personal-rule-oriented person, except when it comes to touching OPB or Other People's Boogers. With that, I am not down.

But I am not opposed to some good intendments. ::2nd definition::

Following are my Terms of Intendment for the year '07.

Knitting Intendments
1) I will continue in my quest to decrease my current stash at a rate that is equal to or greater than the increase.

In other words, I'm not joining any Knit from the Stash clubs, but I will continue to honor my current level of stress, stemming from how much yarn I own in relation to how many years I have left, in which to knit it.

One of my stash problems is that I don't have that great of a selection, which is kind of prohibitive when it comes to options for projects. Around blogland I often read about people just pulling an entire project's worth of Noro Silk Garden from their cache, or Rowan Silk Haze.

I ain't got mucha nuthin' like that. I do have several skeins of Noro something-something in my stash. It's some thick-thin shit which was discontinued after about 6 months on the market. I only ever found 3 patterns designed for this yarn, and all three garments looked like pureed cocoon on the models.

I have lots of Encore and Cotton-Ease, and some cotton candy stuff that over the years has morphed into what appears to be a giant tampon. ::Hmmm...:: I do have a sweater's worth of Cascade Indulgence, in Peter Maxx Lime. But most of the yarn I own is undoable. Being the poster child for Trailer Stash, I fear I have my work cut out for me.

2) I will knit at least one garment using the yarn recommended by the designer.

Bonne Marie is a no-brainer for this intended intendment, because she provides a list of possible yarns for her patterns. ::Yet I still shopped off the list for my attempt at Ce-Ce. That is exactly why this item is on the list.::

I'm thinking Ariann will be my near-maiden voyage into this uncharted-for-me territory.

3) I will try my hand at knitting a sock.

If that goes well, I will knit another to match.

4) I will try to stick to one project at a time, if possible.

I thrive on chaos on a couple of levels, but mostly in my head. Chaos is my source for creativity, both on the job and in my personal life. Chaos doesn't work well with knitting. At least not for me. There's too much physical shit to move around and keep track of. With the chaos fueling the inside, I kind of like the calm on the outside.

Creative Intendments
1) I will read the manual for my camera.

2) I will find the manual for my camera. And then, I will read it.

3) Until I find and read the manual for my camera, I will stay away from the Flickr sites that showcase incredible photos taken by alleged amateurs who use the very same camera as I do.

::There was a link at the bottom of my flickr page that took me to sites of people who use my same brand and model of camera. I clicked. I wept. I stuffed my camera in a drawer.::

4) I will play with this:

I bought it back in the fall, I believe. Cabana boy just last week cleared a spot for us in the basement. I'm really excited to get sewing again. Hecks. I might even read the sewing machine manual.

::This is the twin Brother to Norma's. I asked. She told. I bought.::

5) I will share more stories from my childhood.

::You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll unsubscribe.::

Intendments for the Body
1) I will continue to learn to accept my aging body, with grace and a plump ass.

2) I will refuse to accept that I can feel my stomach bouncing off the tops of my thighs when I walk up the stairs. Okay, we have a steep staircase, but still.

Maybe I won't get thinner but I will work hard to not get bigger. Even after I reach my 100 miles on Run-a-go-go, I will continue the pace.

3) I will weigh myself once a month, post-period.

Intendments for the Soul
1) I will call the high school friends I promised I would call, after seeing them at my recent high school class reunion.

And not because I told them I would, but because I really want to see them. ::I have a very hard time making phone calls like this. This one might take a while.::

2) I will read more books.

3) I will take definite and specific breaks from the internet.

4) I will get over a fear and travel to meet some bloggers. ::Not ready to go West yet girlie, sorry. You know..::

Maybe south? ::wiggles eyebrows.::

The Endment.

I picked up a pair of jeans a few weeks ago at Costco. ::Yes, I swore off such purchases from said store, but I was desperate and they were pretty cute. In fact, they look good, considering what they have to work with.::

Anyway, here's the tag from the jeans:

I draw your attention to the last item, which should read:
Attention middle-aged women trying to maintain a look-long-gone. We take no responsibility for how your uni-butt or menopausal gut looks in these jeans. All you can hope for at this point in your life, in these pants, is the appearance of having slender knees. Otherwise, shop at own risk.


••• Thursday, January 18, 2007

Delurker Week 

I read somewhere that it's its itz international delurker week. So, here I am.

I really gotta make this short. Or if not short, at least quick.
Because I'm tired, because:
1)I've spent most of the week trying to slay the Family of Slugs That Live in My Nose and Adjoining In-Law Apartment.

2)The rest of the week I've spent preparing for a hugely big-ass important meeting, which was scheduled for first-thing this morning. At this meeting I had to present a case to an intake committee of people unknown to me. I had 30 minutes to make a cohesive and coherent and utterly on-point presention from about 10 school-years-worth of material. I had to dance it and sing it and profess its every relevance. And I couldn't be late for the bell. Da pipples were depending.

The meeting was not at my workplace so I had to bring the 8 chunky referral packets home with me. I set two alarm clocks and woke up every two hours all night long, to double and triple check the alarms and obsess on whether or not I really packed all the packets. And to pee.

I arrived at the meeting a little early and warmed up to the crowd with some inane banter ::the stuff my hate is made of::. When it was time to start I was really nervous, which made my hands visibly shake as I passed out the packets. Once I got started,my ears turned beet red. Then my face. But my voice never once quivered or cracked. I made my presentation from the heart and not the prepared outline, which is why, I think, it went very, very well, monkey-ass-red ears notwithstanding.

Once I was finished, I was really glad to get out of there and into the lady's room to relieve some nervous pee. After I washed my hands, I did the perfunctory glance at the ass in the mirror and was muchly alarmed to see a quarter size blob of aqua-hued toothpaste on the right butt-cheek of my pants. The same butt cheek that several times faced the crowd in the crowded room, as I unloaded my workbag at the beginning of the meeting and reloaded it at the end, then turned to talk to the guy next to me, which means my butt cheek was ass to eye to the person behind me. Not that I think every body looks at my butt, but it was a small conference room and aqua on khaki is kinda hard to miss. But I still felt good about the meeting, minty-fresh-ass notwithstanding.

3) While I was out slaying mucous slugs and flashing my minty fresh ass to professional strangers, my caseload was conspiring yet again. This time they did something surprisingly clever and rustled up some former caseload. Caseload I believed to be lost and gone forever, to a district far, far away.

But you know what they say.
The Contest
The correct answer was The Battle Hymn of the Republic, but I also accepted The Battle Hymn of the Burning of the School, or whatever, since I tossed it in as a clue.

Using a random number generator ascribed to all correct answers, I hereby announce Amy from Amy’s Blog . Congrats. I'll be emailing you.

I’m sorry, but the 2007 Prophesies will have to wait another day. Or two. It’s time to put on my jammies, take my Nyquil, floss and brush my ass, and get to bed.


••• Monday, January 15, 2007

To the Left, To the Left 

Edit Note:This post was published Monday and the date now reflects the same. As you were.

Over Christmas I had a little squirmish with a viral bug, and I won. After two days of achy threats and mass quanities of African Red Tea, I was symptom free. And feeling mighty cocky.

So I guess I have it coming, this revisit of what feels like the same bug, only bigger. My face hurts. My throat hurts. And a family of slugs has taken up residence in my sinuses. So I gotta make this quick.

1) Contest entrants have been, uh, recognized and their names entered into the big book of contestants. It will probably be a couple of days before I announce the winner. Sorry.

2) To the left, you will see a couple of buttons that go something like this:

You are probably familiar with the friendly whorl of the words which started up a couple weeks ago. While there hasn't been a peep from the Red Marker sphincter corner,I am ready. And that doesn't mean I'll now be minding my grammars. Nuh-uh.

By ready I mean that I'm protected.

Button number one is my battle shield or otherwise license to write as poorly as I please. If you come here ready to draw blood with your red marker, that button is my garlic to your vampire, my marked doorway to your Angels of Dearth, my Bush to your Britney.

In other words, if you are a grammatical strumpet and show up in your CFM, open-capped Markies, I am hereby imprevilous to your stains and smears.

The other button, represents my pedant-peeving, specialty. Yes, that would be, the comma. Evidently some people take issue with my comma overusage. Evidently our natural comma resources are drying up and comma whores such as myself are being blamed for their eventual extinction.

One reason casual comma usage is so disturbing to some is that when the comma is gone, there is talk of replacing it with this series of characters: ~#@. ::Personally~#@ I'm kind of excited about this. I mean~#@ talk about your mind imploding possibilities... I predict the pedants will be plucking their eyes out~#@ with oyster forks~#@ in groves.::

Besides, I have it on pretty good authority that commmas are the new black.

So Go Ahead. Mark my day.


No too bad for an old asscomma~#@ and her dangling participles.

Coming Soon to a Post Near You
Contest winner
Some knitting
Some old thoughts on the New Year

Now I'm going to bed.
And tonight#@~ Nyquil is my new best friend.

P.S. Buttons courtesy of my girls.

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••• Saturday, January 13, 2007

Seymour Cluze 

When I started Thursday's post, I had no intention of starting a contest. But as soon as I typed the sub-title Mine Eyes Have Seen The Glory, a song started marching through my brain. Initially I couldn't put my finger on the title of the song, but I recalled singing it as a child. At school and at church.

Later in my childhood a lyrical bastardization was applied to this very tune. This version was a call to arms, if you will, against the dictatorial habits of educators. And rulers. Also in that sordid version there was mention of rotten fruit and a legume, of sorts. And there was violence. Lots of violence.

But why, mother, why?
Why this song with that hat?
That hat we call The Republic?
What is the connection?

I can't tell you that.

But I can tell you the non-connections.

It's not about the big ass. ::Okay, it's ALWAYS about the big ass, except for today.::
It's not the button.
It's not the orange.
It's not pop, rock or country or contemporary, period.

Let's review Thursday's Lead-in:
Now, let's say I'm at this dead president's funeral, and some guy comes up to me and tries to take my hat, but I hold on to it, but the guy won't let go, and pretty soon we're fighting over the hat, pulling back and forth, and pretty more soon a crowd gathers to watch ,and after a few minutes the crowd starts singing a song about what we were doing. The song is a tribute. To the fight. Over my hat. My orange hat, with the Big Ass Button.

A Mulligan
In fairness to the people who have already submitted answers to the contest, sans the bounty of heretomentioned clues, I am extending the contest deadline to January 14, 11:59 p.m., EST.

Those who have already submitted may resubmit and are encouraged to do so given the new set of clues. ::Ahym::

Prize is yarn on the right. Pink alpaca, lace weight. Enough to web a small nation. It suffers from factory oil-itis.

Lame Blame
Cabana boy is on a much deserved ski trip with some fellows, which leaves me Chief Listener of The Cakers. In his absence, I was kind of imagining a bit more time at the blog and needles, what with no need to worry about my husband worrying about my priorities, including what's for dinner and when.

Evidently I was being over-imaginative.
There will be No Great Posts This Weekend.

You seee, my girl has needs. Needs which require full-scale, rapt adult attention. To not hang on her ever word, I run the risk of inadvertently granting permission for her to superglue Cheddar's ears together atop his head or agree to drive a band of rogue kindergartners to Chuck E Jesus for a sleepover. ::Gawd, just jokingly thinking about sleeping on those floors makes me want a skin transplant.::

So I gotta.
Real post coming soon.
I have no idea what that means, or if it's even true.
It is Lie Like a Shitbag Saturday, after all.

P.S. Email contest submissions c/o Marcymayy at AOL the dot the com. Put Contest in the subject line.


••• Friday, January 12, 2007

Fleye Candy 

::click, to be really impressed.::

At the end of The Funeral, there was a Missing Man flyover. We went up to our second story balcony in the hopes of catching a glimpse and a picture,::how's my comma placement?:: but there were too many trees. The rumblin' was amazing.

After it was all over, I stayed on the porch for awhile, hanging to the hope that they would any minute turn around and fly right over my house. Just for me.

After about 10 minutes a jet did fly over. It's that one in the picture. While I kinda knew it wasn't one of THE jets, I held fast to my little fantasy until my husband looked at the cropped close-up and declared it to be a 727. Bastard.

But it's still kinda cool.

Contested Intelligence
Okay. I suck at hosting a contest.
But I'll tell you what.
I got some 'splaining to clue.

Tonight, we drink.
Oh, yes we do.

P.S. Here's an old post with a picture of the Prize yarn. This particular yarn came highly recommended from a respected West Coast knitter and designer and member of a prestigious knit message board. I had planned on knitting a shawl with it, but I already have a pink shawl. Plus the skeining and washing thing seemed a bit out of my laze league. If you read the post, you'll see I kind of predicted this outcome.

P.P.S. Bets, you're killing me!


••• Thursday, January 11, 2007

Scarfing Down the Good Life 

I heart this scarf.
I really heart being done with this scarf.

Pattern: Bunches and bunches of garter. And some fringe. I hate making fringe.

Yarn: Bunches and bunches of Plymouth Encore from deep within the bowels of my bins. A couple of the colors I've had for 12 years or so. Howz that for some ball bustin?

Recipient: An orphan in college.
Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory...
...of the Glowing Big Ass Button.

I don't know if any of you knew this, but one of our nation's former presidents passed away a couple weeks ago. You may or may not have seen anything in the news about this man and his family and the 1.5 billion hours of funeral he left behind, but this dead president was all the rage around my neighborhood. When his funeral procession passed by just two blocks from my home, I went to watch.

And the very next day....this picture appeared in the paper. Sort of.

Look at the upper left hand corner. See the orange hat with the glowing, big ass button? That's me and my Republic. This picture is a serious croppage from a much larger picture of the funeral procession. In the picture that was in the paper you could make me out, but you had to know what you were looking for. In the online version you can hardly see me at all.

If you want to see for yourself, clink here, and go to the fifth picture in the series. That's the one. ::You can see my big ass button though, just below the street sign.::

Practically famous.

A Contest
Now, let's say I'm at this dead president's funeral, and some guy comes up to me and tries to take my hat, but I hold on to it, but the guy won't let go, and pretty soon we're fighting over the hat, pulling back and forth, and pretty more soon a crowd gathers to watch ,and after a few minutes the crowd starts singing a song about what we were doing. The song is a tribute. To the fight. Over my hat. My orange hat, with the Big Ass Button.

Can you name that tune, for a chance to win a prize of a hugo mongo cone of pink, laceweight alpaca?

Email your answer c/o marcymayy at aol the dot com along with any other words of adoration and glorification,etc. Deadline for the contest is 11:59 p.m., Saturday, January 13. The winner will be drawn from a pool of correct responses.

I'll show a picture of the booty yarn late tomorrow. I totally just pulled this contest thangy from my monkey portal, like five minutes ago and now it's time for bed.

P.S. This post turned into something entirely different than I had planned, which was to share my hopes and dreams for 2007. I was also going to talk about a button on my sidebar and another one that will be there tomorrow or the next day. I'm so tired I'm typing with one eye. g'nite.

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••• Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Time Raveler 

The other day I got out my can opener and was opening a can of worms, when I thought “What am I doing?” – Jack Handey

I looked for an apt quote about time, but some of the quotes were too long, while others too weird or cryptic. Even though that quote is not about time, it seemed just writhe.

The Re-ravel: 2006
Anyway. I know I’m a little late with this, so sue me, wrestler. And because I am in one great hurry and you are already on board to tears, I will commence with a whore’s-bath-version of my Review of 2006 , followed by my most Heartfelt Anticipations of 2007, or A Bunch of Monkeys Might Be Flying From My Butt Some Time This Year or Maybe the Next and Maybe I'll Like it or Maybe I Won't.

1) I ABC’d-Along, one long year long. I really liked the ABC-Along because it provided me with not only opportunity but also the odd courage to share banal tales of yore, or otherwise real personal stuff about me and my family that you have no business knowing. Said stories caused you at times, to look away in shame and embarrassment. And regret. Oh wait, that was me.

And I’m pretty sure that if my therapist was still alive, he’d have gone oops upside my head before rolling his own self into the grave, after reading some of that shit. Seeing as how you can't hurt dead therapists or living relatives who don't Google, it's all good. Thanks for coming back, comma Drama notwithstanding.

2) I studied real hard and passed that damn test. The same test that I would not have had to take had I been paying attention for a mere 10 professional minutes the previous year and had my papers in order.

3) 2006 was not a prolific knitting year for me, but I was pleased with almost every item with which I plodded to completion. My personal favorite was the Green Gables, but The Cakers’ Queen of Hearts was a close second.

4) I walked about 300 miles between May and September, and lost a whopping 6 pounds. I promptly regained the 6 pounds in October, without having to lift a toe. ::Can’t hate a little something for nothing, now can I? And ain’t it great how life can be so serendipitously rich and rewarding?::

I can’t remember anything else, and have not the time to go archive diving.

Pre-ravel: 2007
One thing in which I will not be participating in 2007: Knit From Your Stash. Okay, I will be knitting from my stash, since I'm pretty sure the propietors of my favorite yarn store wouldn't appreciate me knitting straight from theirs.

My Bust My Balls program seems to be coming along nicely. The size of my current stash, in proportion to how many years I have to live, still frightens me. This fear functions as a natural inhibitor of the I Need Yarn hormone.

Works for me.

One thing in which I am participating in 2007 is Runagogo.

Here's my '07 mileage to date, all courtesy of my elliptical machine:

I love to walk and as soon as weather allows, I will return to it. In the meantime, it's just me and my cardo machine. But ever since the local channel took away my back-to-back Judge Judys ::4:00-5:00, M-F, Monday thru Friday.:: my ellipticating just ain't been the same.

So, mama got a brand new distraction:

For three days running ellipticatin' now, family members have resorted to begging me to stop the laughing, get off the machine and feed/bathe/clothe/console their helpless, sorry asses. ::I'm feeling kinda comma shy these days, which is causing me no small amount of panic, which in turn is causing me to, plant commas, with wildly random, abandon,. And, stuff., ::

I can't believe I didn't know about this show before, but I'm glad it's in my life now. In fact, I see an intervention in my future. I can't wait.

I also have some thoughts for my knitting in '07, but that'll have to be continued at a later date. My nickel done run out an hour ago, so I'm currently running on fumes.

I Came. I Saw. I Scarfed.

Here she is, the first baby of 2007, minus fringe:

I'll fringe her tomorrow and she'll be in the mail with her older sister to the Red Scarf Project by the weekend.

Hi Mom!

Yeah. Ain't she cute? Three seconds after this shot, she had both her front paw claws deeply embedded in the scarf. Much like dealing with a teen, it's typically best to let the moment pass without intervention, less one is seeking physical damages. It was hard, but I let the moment pass.

This post is officially over, whether finished or not. I'm one eye typing. Less than entertaining at best, dangerous at worst.

To be continued...........................................

::how many of those dot thangies are allowed again? I'm so confused. And scared. Someone? Anyone? I know I said I didn't care, but sometimes::

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••• Sunday, January 07, 2007

V to the Z 

But first, A is for Apologies: 1)For being late with my final Alpha Bits and 2) For subjecting you to them all at once.

Initially I thought I'd spread them out over the next week, but people, my alpha wits are worn to nubbins. Besides, I'm really feeling the need to clean my 2006 plate, so I's can make room for some totally new crap for people to find fault with.*

I'll try to keep them brief.**

V is for Valentine Dance

It was February, 1975 and my junior year in high school. That guy there was the love of my life at the time, and we had been dating for a year and a half. Less than a year later from the night of this dance, the love of my life took the heel of his soul and ground my heart to dust, easy as a strand of pukas. About 25 years later we dated again, briefly, and I kind of returned the favor. ::He was the guy who called and asked if I was still driving a Vulva.::

I always loved this picture, as it represented one of the most exquisitely perfect nights of my high school career. I bought the dress at a store called Gantos Bargain Boutique. Gantos was a kind of a chi-chi clothing store, from where I could only ever afford to buy off the sales wrack. Items that survived the sales wrack were reduced further in price and sent to the Bargain Boutique.

I paid $2.99 for that dress, as is. The only flaw was the tie belt needed to be re-attached at the waist. Even for 1975, 2.99 was cheap. It was the perfect fit and the perfect length. Too bad you can't see to appreciate the tiny black polka dots on the fabric or my shoes. They were 3 inch, black velvet platforms, with a clear plastic sandal foot, topped with a black satin bow. To. Die. For.

My hair was very thin and fine and highly temperamental, and my best hair days were always those with a little humidity, to give its usually flat demeanor a nice little fuzz around my face. I remember the perfect fuzz, that night.

The following summer I found out from one of my best friends that she and my boyfriend had kind of hooked up at the Valentines Dance and had been carrying on behind my back for several months. ::She had a boyfriend too, so this was on the Down Way Low.:: After my friend dropped the bomb on me, she did the favor of driving me to his house, where I slapped him soundly across the face when he answered the door, in front of his entire family. Funny how things were sooo serious then, but in retrospect, we were just kids, ya know?

But damn, if I didn't look fine in that dress and hell if I'm going to let a couple of skanks ruin the memory.

P.S. That's the living room of my house. It was a tiny house in a bad neighborhood, but the living room was sweet. The picture over the mantel was purchased by my mother, through a Bayer aspirin promotion. She Hodge Podged it with a paint brush to make it look authentic. I don't know the name of the painting but the girl had a ribbon in her hair which, from a distance, appeared to be a fish.

W is for Water
I took this picture at the lake, just last week. It looks like ribbon, to me.

I've always loved to look at water. When I was kid, I would often walk to the nearby park and sit above the tunnel of a creek that briefly passed through the park. It was a street sewage run-off creek, and smelled like one, but I didn't care. I knew all its bumps and bubbles and noticed when a new branch had fallen to cause a different ripple. I did some of my best (and maybe some worst) thinking there.

It seems that my fascination with water is not uncommon. Since the beginning of time, man has been preoccupied with water and it seems that still, he's constantly looking for ways to possess or harness it. Around here, people pay millions of dollars for a blank sheet of property on the shores of Lake Michigan. With their purchase they get the illusion that they somehow own a piece of the magic. But they don't. They can't.

Water is the perfect unrequited love. No matter how much you worship or adore, it simply doesn't care.

But it shore is perty.

X is for Xeno
Or Not From Around Here.

I collect angels and these are just the ones I have hanging on a wall. I'm a bit picky when selecting my own, and try to go for the more unusual affects. I do receive them as gifts as well.

Initially I was going to use the word Xenium. I found it in a crossword puzzle dictionary, associated with the words "delicate" "light" and "gift." "Bingo", I says. But further research indictated that the crossword dictionary's integrity was at cross purposes with the rest of the world of word. I had the post already written in my mind's blog, so I kind of stretched it.

Xo xue me.

Y is for Yay!

That's my son and a niece. The picture was taken at a Christmas party at my house, years ago. My mom had sewn fleece hats and scarves for all five of her children and respective partners and all her grandchildren, then we all got together for a family shot.

Z is for Zee End

Or Red Marker This.***
And yeah, that's my fine hiney.
And no, I'm not wearing a Kotex.

*All in fun.
**Apologies, again.
***For more info, see this. All in fun.

P.S. This post was a heap o' toil for me this weekend, so I'm still playing blog ketchup.

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••• Friday, January 05, 2007


Too much Eye Candy can bring great Cygnus.


••• Thursday, January 04, 2007

Net Naked at the Laked 

Things to For Five Days Without The Internets:
-Cry for the internets.

-Nearly complete another scarf* for the Red Scarf project.

-Cry for the orphans.

-Take Cakers to see Charlotte’s Web.

-Give praise and/or thanks to whose ever idea it was to make Charlotte so creepily realistic that you don’t feel so bad badder baddly when she dies and shrivels into what looks like a pile of pubes you might find on the bathroom floor, behind the toilet. ::Oops. I should’ve warned about the spoiler. Sorry, my peeps. But now that the fur is out of the bag, yes, there are piles of pubes behind toilets. Somewhere.::

-Go for some walks.

-Take some pictures.**

-Drink some booze.

-Explore uncharted late night cable TV programming, such as Adult Swim Hang on the Execution Channel. I also caught The History of Sex on the History Channel. ::Sex has a history? That’s some deep shit, Sherlock.::

-Pet the dog.

-Read a book. ::The Historian was a pretty good read, but I was kind of disappointed. It was no where near as interesting as The Internets. Just sayin and ‘Nuff said.::

-Cry some more.
Things NOT to do for Five Days Without The Internets:
-Do not convince yourself that The Internets actually live in the cable television cable and thusly attempt to Jerry Wig (Jerry Wrig?) the resident, non-modemed computer to the Television Cable.

-Do not peer (pier?) into the windows of neighboring cottages in search of the friendly, inviting glow of The Internets. Do this neither in broad daylight, while wearing a remarkably attractive orange hat with a big-ass button, or after dark, drunk stupid.

-Do not attempt to devise a not-so-very-much-clever plan to go “New Years Eve Caroling” at a nearby cottage where you are convinced The Internets are currently harbored, based on some late night, drunken window-pepping. Especially do not do this if you haven’t thought through the implications of singing "We Wish You a Happy New Year" to the tune of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." Umm. It gets a little awkward at the end. Run through it a sec, you’ll see what I mean.

-After the awkward ending of the carol, if the embarrassed cottage residents invite you in for a drink, ::to help us all forget, no doubt.:: do not say this: “Since I’m here, would you mind if I took a quick peek at Your Internets?” Because then they would say this: “Um. We don’t have The Internets.” And then you’d say: “Sure you do. I seen it in that back room right there. That rectangular thing with the beautiful blue glow. That’s The Internets.” While one of your hosts explains that the blue glow in grandpa’s bedroom is actually a fish aquarium and further inquires as to what (is?) you been doing in grandpa's room, the other host will be dialing The 9-1-1.

-Do not go to the mall and inquire at every other kiosk, as to whether or not they have The Internets on their cash register.

-Do not tell the customer who is hogging the computer at the Free Genealogy Search Kiosk that you have it on pretty good authority that she is actually adopted and therefore wasting her time and therefore needs to get her fat ass off this computer and over to the Are You My Mother? Adoption Reunification Kiosk, where you happen to know The Internets are currently not working.

-Once you are arrested and safely contained in the hoosegow, do not ask for one browse on The Internets, in lieu of your one phone call.

No really, it wasn’t so bad.
No. Really. Actually. Not. So. Much.

* Scarf in question:

**Photos in question:

Thats' it for now. I'm about 5 days behind all y'all in blogtime and today I was back to work, so its'going to take a few four me to get my cliche on.

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••• Wednesday, January 03, 2007

Where I Been and Jerry's 

Funeral. Hee.

Post edited in commemoration of WTF Wednesday and because I just waved to a dead guy in a big black car.

For Reals.
I do have a real post in here. Somewhere.

We returned home last night from the lake and our house is still in a fit of post travel discombobulation. For that reason, it's its itz just not feeling write right for me to sit and pore pour poor me heart out while the nation of my living room is in crisis.

Complicating my post travel post issues is the fact that my husband is all bronchial and shit so hasn't been able to congregate the aggregrate of computer pieces required to give me an appropriate blogging thinkspace. I've just now snuck to the basement ::hee:: to use his computer while he takes his mucked up cilia to the doctor.

I can't work here for long because it's only about 12 degrees down here and Bronchial Bill will be home soon to reconfiscate his workspace. I also can't work here for long because this place is haunted by the ghost of passed lugies and I'm kind of grossing myself out just writing about it. ew.

Yet a third reason ::that is three, right? I'd take a count but my fingers are frozen to the keyboard.:: I can't post right now is because the Presidential Funeral Procession will be passing about 2 blocks from my home in about an hour and I'm thinking of donning my Republic and heading to the corner to see if I can pick me up a little Secret Service eye candy. And even though he was really only a half-president, he was MY half-president, and likely the only Republican presidential candidate I would ever have voted for, had I been born a mere two weeks earlier than my actual birthdate.

Just. Say. In'.