••• Thursday, November 29, 2007

I Need Therapy Thursday 

But not as bad as I might need some specialized critter control.

This meaningless post is a BWO production.

::Thanks, JenLa for the link.::


••• Friday, November 23, 2007

Thankful, I am 

That this one is over.

The Good Thanks Given:

-The brine ::I originally devoted an entire section of this post to the subject. It was titled: Brine's Song.::

-The roasted vegetable gravy.

-The apple pie.

-The homemade crusts of Pumpkin Pies #s 1 & 2.

-Pumpkin Pies #s 3 & 4, store bought crusts notwithstanding.

-The Cabana Who Goes To The Store on Thanksgiving Eve, without mocking or complaint.

-The premade crusts from the dairy section of the grocery.

-Mashed potatoes from Gordon Foods.

-Did I mention the Gravy? I am therefore unapologetic about the store bought potatoes. The Gravy makes the potatoes, any way you peel 'em.

-The wine. ::Have you tried the Little Penguin Cabarnet Savignon? Good and cheap. Cheap and good. Mmmm.::

The Bad Thanks Given:

-First round of crusts for the apple pie. There's a fine line between flaky and falling apart like a jilted prom queen.

-Pumpkin Pies #s 1 & 2, created with the Cakers. With lots of love. And no sugar. This bitter reality was not caught until 10 p.m., when I was fixin' to throw together the apple pie and grabbed the sugar canister from the pantry. Only then did I remember that it was the first time all day that I had grabbed said sugar canister from the pantry, two beautiful pumpkin pies cooling on their racks notwithstanding. ::I love cooking and baking with my daughter. However, I need to develop better resolve to not be so easily distracted by excitement over four successful egg cracks in a row, as I was heading for the pantry. For the sugar.::

-The lost package of fresh sage, rosemary and thyme.

-The nightmare I had about my Thanksgiving turkey sinking into a murky pond and my trying to poke it back to the surface with a rake, while my dinner guests sat at the table. Evidently, my subconscious had a hard time with my Turkey soaking in a brackish bath, in a cooler, in the garage, overnight. I also had a dream that a furry animal got into the cooler, drank the brine and died instantly. Thanksgiving morning, I found the animal in the cooler, floating along side my Turkey. Before scaring myself awake, I remember dream-thinking "I'm sure any related dead animal germs will burn off in the oven."

Okay, the outline form is getting tiresome now.

The bottom stress-line for me was that at 11:00, instead of popping a Tylenol p.m. and tottering off to bed for a night of peaceful sleep, I was starting on a fresh batch of pumpkin pies, followed by another set of homemade crusts for the apple pie. And it wasn't until after the pies that I was able to get to the brine.

At one point through all this, I worried that I had jinxed myself through some unknown act of human irreverance. I later felt kind of silly about that line of thinking, but have decided to keep my promise to no longer buy my jeans "off the pile" at Costco. ::Hey, I figured that, superstition or no, something good should come of my epicureal travails.::

All said and done:
The turkey was a plucky success.
The gravy was groovily suave and fortified with an earthy richness.
And the wine was my best friend.
Hopefully said friendship will continue at least through this evening.

In Pictures, Eye Can Delight
After dinner we had to run off to my sister's house for dessert, so I couldn't finish cleaning up and spent the better part of today putting the kitchen back to rights. I did, however, take a mid-day break to capture the essence of my holiday centerpiece in the afternoon light.

You are strongly encouraged to embiggen all. I would like to draw your particular attention to the textures of the yellow flower in picture number 1. However, before clicking on picture number 2, please clear all children and fertile women from the vicinity.

••• Monday, November 19, 2007

I Can Haz Frend? 

Okay. So I have this one friend, who has lots and lots of friends.
I, on the other hand, have not that many.

Once every 3 years or so, this one friend will loan me a sampling of friends, from her vast array. This loan package invariably includes perks of kinship and comaraderie.

At the conclusion of said loaner weekend, amidst the mild hangover, aching post-laughing face and overall sense of Damn, Friends is Some Good Shit, I tell myself: I gotta get me summa dat.

But then I get back into my pre-loaner loner mode, and slowly regain my falsely brave sense of relational autonomy.

But until I resume that position, I have this picture to keep me warm:

That's me in the front, with my big ass button hat. If it looks like we are walking funny, it's because we are walking funny, because the photographer wanted a picture of us walking, without the blur. So we ended up walking, without the walk.

Here I am carrying a big stick, as I'm wont to do when walking with the rare pack of newly borrowed friends:

First, I used the stick to divine who, among my new friends, had cootie hootch. ::And don't tell me you never played cootie hootch with divining rods, as a child. Yeah, right.::

Next, I stood in the middle of the road, stick in hand, and directed traffic. After nearly getting blown off the road by an enraged deer hunter ::Or maybe he just thought I had a nice rack?::, I used the stick to safely lead us back to the cottage, pageant style.

Odd thing that. After leading what I thought was an entourage of new friends to safe harbor, I turned around to see that my friends were not behind me. Not even close. They were, in fact, quite not there. As in gone. Absentia. AWOL.

My friends showed up eventually:

As did some knitting and Lemon Drop martinis.

And lake photo ops:

For the record, that isn't my lake. In fact, I felt kind of guilty taking those pictures of "another lake." It was like I was having an affair. Fortunately, my lake is in an entirely different watershed, making the chanceso of her finding out, nil to none.

In Other News
I'm balls to the walls at work.
And I'm not talking about Fluff Stress*.
I'm talking about Real Stress.**

Tomorrow is the last day of work this week.
The very day I should have an evaluation report completed and in the mail.
The very same report that has yet to have one word typed in its general direction.
And yes, that quite exactly the same report that I was fixin' to take home this evening, with the full intent of typing a word or two, in its general direction.
And precisely the spot-on, very one report that I left sitting on my desk.

Later this week I am hosting a Thanksgiving meal in my currently filthy home.

To Sum: A little earlier than later,between this point in time and that, again, there will be little to no blogging done 'round here. S'more.

In the meantime, may I present...

Celebrity Scumbag Look Alike Monday

*Pretend stress that occurs because you have to work 30 minutes later than usual, and will therefore miss the first show of your daily back-to-back Judge Judies.

**Extreme stress that causes one to perceive the pooping of the pants as the only available coping strategy, short of sudden death.***

***Actually, I might be on to something with this. Think about it.

P.S. I totally made up some, or even many parts of this post. For example, my friends didn't ditch me. This time. They were merely keeping a safe distance. From me. And the stick. Mostly the stick. I think. Plus, I walk fast. That's what they told me. That I walk fast. It's really hard to keep up with me. When I walk fast. In fact, you wouldn't believe how many friends I've lost on account of that fast walking. And my hootchie finder/traffic stopper/pageant leader/great diviner stick. And I'm not making that part up, at all.

P.P.S. I don't know if it's blogger or if my keyboard is on the fritz but I have been editing, saving and re-editing the same words over and over and nothing is sticking. It's like typing into the Twilight Zone, without Delete capabilities. And I really should go to bed. So please forgive any grammatical and editorial transgressions. And goodnight.

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••• Saturday, November 17, 2007

Abscond Saturday 

Me and my best bud...

...Are off for a weekend with the girls.

And you don't need to send anything.

••• Friday, November 16, 2007

I'll Take Meye Candy... 

...Ogre Easy

Cakers brought this home from school today. I wish you could see his ghost-like skirted bottom, but he wouldn't all fit on the scanner.

I love this stuff.

I love picturing her picturing the picture in her fabulous mind, before putting it to paper.

I love wondering her wonder as to how wonderful it will be.

And the best part for me:

She has no idea how wonderful it is,
That wonderful that she is.

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••• Wednesday, November 14, 2007


I hear that 49 is the new Chocolate Frosting On the Face.

I guess this means I'm in for a good lickin'.

Seriously, I'm handling this marker better than I did the 39. Maybe I'm just more stoopit. I dunno.

Anyway. I'd love to stay and chat, but I have a sudden urge to ride the aisles of the grocery store in a motorized cart, and maybe run the wheels up the heels of 30-Somethings.*

::I remember when the characters on 30 Something seemed old.::

*Dear loyal reader 30-Somethings. I'm not talking about you. Really. I'm talking about the imaginary 30-somethings who stole my nice ass and hairless chin(s).

P.S. Thanks everyone, for the Birthday Wishes Already!


••• Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Dear Knitting... 

Why you hate?

Okay. I guess that’s not exactly fair.

The Knitty Kitty is, as of yet, not quite knitty or kitty.
I’m up to the eyeballs. ::And In more ways than one merely unknitty kitty.::

But I don’t have any eyeballs.
And I don’t have any embroidery thread.
And I don’t want to go to the store to buy something.
Or anything.
And I don’t want to stuff the damn thing.
Or sew its cute little paws to its little striped body.

Evidently I’m not a knitty kitty kind of gal.

And I ripped out that Cherry Hill scarf, again, and started knitting the yarn into a runner for my dining room table.

Seven inches in, I hated it.

So I ripped it again.

And then I looked at all my new yarn, and had a yearn.

But then I thought to finish Cakers’ Willam’s L’il Step-Bro sweater before she grows out of it.

But I can’t find the pattern alterations.
I know I wrote them.
On a piece of paper.
Like a scrap paper.
But not that scrappy.
Like in the bottom margin of a Dulaan hat pattern.

I was so careful to keep this precious paper, that I put it somewhere special. And secret.

Isn’t that special?
And it really shouldn’t be a problem just counting some stitches.
And writing it all down again.

But I don't want to count.
I don't want to write.
I want to sit.
And knit.

Like something I haven't done in over a week.

And still, that damn unknit kitty.

Giving me a mournful look.

With only his mind’s eye.

With only a mind that’s still only stuffing.
In a bag.

Now you’re getting this.
I know you are.

And don’t get me started on that.

And I’m ridiculously overwhelmed with work. And stuff.
And it is showing no signs of stopping.
And if my mind wasn't so bleary-eyed,I'd see something clever to say.

When I’m stressed, like this, I talk to myself.
A lot.

But I’ve reached a new level.
With this.

Now I talk to myself, about myself.

Behind my back.

Send booze.

And eyes.

And minds.

And stuff.


••• Friday, November 09, 2007

Friday Shrmiday 

Even though I've spent the last five days being tag-teamed by a bevy of bean hole harvesters, some of us are having the best week ever.

I kick...


...and kick.

And stuff.

::You really gotta click-to-big on the cat shots.::

Today's segment of Eye Candy Friday was sponsored by our friend, The Tree.

::Admit it. You really love that one.::

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••• Thursday, November 08, 2007

I Needed-Therapy-Wednesday Thursday 

Butt Beans 2, Human Beans 0.

Today I sent a pass for a student, but the student didn't show at the designated time. After waiting 10 minutes, I make a quick run to the mailroom, then the loo.

When I return to my office, this is the scene that greets me:

Look closely at the, um, hole:

See the gray pencil marks?
Someone took a pencil to my bean hole, then left.
No note.
No call.

That's been the essence of this entire week, people.
Random acts of Buggery.

P.S. The bean remains.

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••• Saturday, November 03, 2007

Saturday Chat 

I have more to catch up than the time to do it, but I'm going to try.

Week in Review
It was a busy one.

Thursday: Parent-teacher conference for Cakers. Initially, I had planned to brag here, about all her high achieving ways. But I changed my mind. You see, the most important things I heard from my daughter's teacher is that she is an apt, attentive student and a sweet, gentle friend to all her classmates.

And cute as bug's butt.
::Okay. I added that part.::

Wednesday: Halloween. Of course. ::See picture above.:: The weather sucked much hollow weenie, but it kind of worked out for the best. After two blocks, The Princess In Question was cold and wet and requested to go home to count candy coupe.

Tuesday: We saw John Cougar John Cougar Mellencamp John Mellencamp That John Guy, in concert.

I was never a huge fan, back in his name-changing heyday. But over the years I have developed a nostalgic taste for his music, and find odd comfort in singing along to the oldies I once rejected. Maybe it's because the songs aren't emotionally tainted by any particular memory. Or maybe I'm just getting old and cliche.

Anyway, aside from a lull in the middle of the concert, where he sang a few songs from an album as yet unreleased, it was a pretty good show.

At one point I said to my husband, "What are all these old people doing here?"
"We are these old people," was his reply. And at another point, soon after that point, That Guy John gave a little speech about the failures of "Our generation" and that it's "pretty much over for us." We booed.

Then he said it's time for the next generation to "Get in the driver's seat," which caused the smattering of youngins'in the crowd to whoop and holler.

Included in that group of youngins'were five college-age kids sitting directly in front of us. By the end of the night one of them was so drunk that he could not stand and eventully toppled over into the laps of the old people sitting in front of him. As we exited our row at the end of the concert, this guy was still clinging to the handrail at the bottom of the stairs, propped from behind by two of his buds. I can't imagine how he got up the stairs without crawling or being carried.

I said to Cabana: "If it's their turn in the driver's seat, someone needs to take the damn keys."

No Knitting and Then Some
Remember this?

It's gone, daddy gone.
To frog balls.

I just didn't like the fabric. Too rough.

In the Meantime
My hair stylist had a baby over the summer and just returned to work a few weeks ago. All summer I had good intentions to whip up a little something for the baby. Of course, I waited until the last minute to execute a plan to knit that cute cat, Kate, from Knitty.

After finishing what I believed to be the cat head,I realized it was not the head, but the cat's ass I had been knitting.

Aside: I hope there is no relationship between my inability to know a cat's ass from otherwise and the ultimate ability to make my way safely through the rest of my life.

I could have kept knitting, but that would've meant settling for a color scheme other than my vision for the final product. So I ripped cat's ass to frog balls, and started over. And then I knit a paw. And ripped. And I knit another paw. That one survived, but the third one didn't. Paw number 4 was a keeper.

Even though I'm back on track, all that knitting and ripping and knitting again, put me way behind schedule for meeting today's deadline of the Reunification Cut-n-Color appointment.

I needed a plan B. And fast.

I found that plan in the Baby Cable Hat.

Ain't it cute? I was very excited to find the pattern through a Ravelry search. It wasn't until I had the pattern printed and needles at the ready that I realized the Baby part of the Baby Cable Hat described the cables, not the head size of the intended consumer.

No worries. I adapted the pattern to fit a smaller head. I may not know a cat's ass from a head in the ground, but I can subtract. Sort of.

The tassel is a bit awkward, but I still like it. I kind of made it up as I went along. ::I swear I saw an easy tassel tutorial somewhere recently, but couldn't find it again. No harm done. Those years I spent in seclusion, making yarn dolls, finally paid off.::

The yarn is Mission Falls Wool. Green.

Oh yeah. Here's a sneak preview of two cat paws. I lurve them so much, I'm kinda hating the thought of stuffing and giving them away.

Releaf Pictures
I have taken a lover: The Tree in my front yard.
I'm obsessed.

I've been out there with my camera every day, for the past week. Once I finish a shoot and come back into the house, I will look out and see a new shadow, or angle or unique flash of color, and back I go. Dinner be damned. ::The neighbors think I'm nuts and I'm pretty sure are taking turns with related documentation.::

So, with all due apologies, I hereby present more leaves from My Tree.

Don't worry, it's almost over. The leaves will be off the trees in a few days.

And then we'll only have about 237 more pictures to go.

P.S. I love my Spartans. No matter what.

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