Feh.*

Random Sludge
I’ve been a little under the weather the past week, suffering from some kind of gluey, sinus sludge. And as this substance makes a slow and less-than gracious exit from my body, I can’t help but worry that I'm actually expelling brain glue; essential material for holding together the bits and pieces of my brain. ::With the help of some twigs, yarn and duct tape.::

::But I will say that DayQrunk is my new best friend. MmmMm...How I loves me some warmy orange.::

I’ve also been physically and mentally busy with work and home issues. The worst of the physical work stuff is almost winding down. Almost. I have cranked out three reports in the last two days, with no coming up for air in between.

But the emotional work is yet to come, when our department will have take a hard look at the full impact of losing two full time staff for next year.

The home situation is complicated, and getting moreso by the hour it seems. At the risk of being cryptic, I can only say that we have some changes going on in someone's (not me) professional venue. These are good changes, in light of what was soon to become a dire circumstance. But not so great when considering the wider scope of someone's hopes and dreams and in the interest of optimal family function.

Again, I'm sorry for the vague-y ness,but that's all can say, and really, the whole story is kind of boring. Unless, of course, you’re living it.

Truth be, we are both grateful and relieved for this Timely Save and will not be looking this Blessing Horse in the mouth, any time soon.

It's complicated.
And emotion sucking.
And thought plucking.

Random Dudes on Couches
Meanwhile, College Tumor Boy is home, as of Saturday. Following are stats related his return, to date:

1-Number of jobs applied for.
0-Number of jobs procured.
3-Number of times he has reminded me that his uncle has offered to pay him 200 bucks to powerwash his deck this summer, so no worries if he can’t find a real job.
1-Number of laptops he owns.
0-Number of laptops he owns which have been unpacked and fired up.
1-Number of laptops I own
0-Number of laptops I own, to which I currently enjoy full access.
1.5-Number of boxes of Town House crackers consumed.
1-Number of jars of peanut butter consumed.
13-Number of times I have heard "What's to eat in this house?"
0-Number of unemployed friends currently in town for the summer, with whom he might be able to hang, off my couch. Away from my home.
1-Number of vehicles as yet unpacked of all worldly goods, minus the as-of-yet-unfired-up laptop and a bottle of acne medicine.
1579-Number of times I have said to self “How handy it is that all his belongings are still in his car, in the event of Sudden Homelessness?”
14-Number of hours per day spent listening to screaming sportscasters on my T.V.
5-3/4-Number of total feet taken up on the couch, while sleeping to the sound of screaming sportscasters on my T.V.
5-Approximate hour of the morning he goes to bed.
3-Approximate hour of the afternoon he awakens.
.5-Number of bottles of my hooch he has consumed.
6-Number of times he has used the word “tweak” in describing his observation of my increasingly destabilizing emotional presentation in response to all of the above.
0-Amount of hope in possession, that any of this will be changing soon, except maybe the numbers.

Random Time Passing
I meant to post about this way last week, but I was busy with an unglued brain. So let's just pretend it happened two days ago, and call it good. K?

The weekend with My Circle of Brain was a wonderful treat, but a bit more subdued than our maidenhead voyage back in January.In hindsight, a bit more subdued might be a good thing, in that any attempts to match or surpass on previous crazy, could have resulted in someone getting hurt, or arrested or famous.

And because we were guests in someone else's home, it was probably best to keep Kristi off her high horse, and the sanitary products stuck to the proper side of our underwears, and Kellie from shooting/posting recordings of activities that could get someone hurt, arrested or famous.

But there was plenty of fun to be had.
And good drink.
And, of course, good company.

Kellie did write up a picture-laden, detailed summary of our all too brief time together. Scroll down for a picture of me, popping my freak in a new pair of sunglasses that are just about bigger than my head.

:: The following will make more sense if you read Kellie’s post. ::

In honor of our surviving the weekend together, I have created a new scarf design:

Drama on the High (Neuro) Seas: A Pattern
1) Cast on an odd number of stitches, depending on your width preferences.

2) If you are really confused about how many stitches you should cast on, ask your friends their opinion about how many stitches you should cast on.

3) Argue with each and every solicited opinion about how many stitches you should cast on, then come up with a 4th option, all on your own. Cast on that amount of stitches.

4) Repeat the High (Neuro) Seas pattern (see below) until you reach desired length, but not long enough for someone to use against you in an attempted homicide.

High (Neuro) Seas Stitch Pattern:
1) Row 1: purl

2) Row 2: k3 *k2tog, yo * to last 7 stitches, then knit whatever the fuck you feel like, to the end of the row.

3) Row 3: Purl

4) Row 4: Knit 7, *k2tog, yo* until confused, or something goes wrong, or something goes right when you're sure it should be wrong. Hand project to Sue so she can figure out what is wrong. When Sue tells you what is wrong and how to fix it, *knit any series of stitch pattern combinations that you desire, EXCEPT whatever Sue told you to do to fix it. * Repeat between * * to the end of the row.

5) Row 5: Purl

6) Repeat row 2.

7) Repeat row 3.

8) Rip entire project and swear a lot.

9) Ask three friends for suggestions on another garment that could be made from the yarn.

10) Argue with every piece of solicited input.

11) Decide to give Montego Drama on the High (Neuro) Seas another shot.

12) Cast on an odd number of stitches, depending on your width preferences.

13) If you are really confused about exactly how many stitches you should cast on, ask your friends how many stitches you should cast on.

14) If you are given three different numbers from your three different friends, argue with each opinion, then come up with a 4th option, all on your own. Cast on that amount of stitches. WARNING: The number of stitches for this cast-on SHOULD NOT match any previous number suggested by friends from this, or previous cast-on solicitations. Not following this step could result in...well...never mind. How much worse can it get, really? But still, it helps to write these things down.

15) Repeat steps 1-14 until you run out of yarn, friends, booze or are deprived of oxygen against your will by a trio of known assailants.

16) Cast off and slap self on your very flat ass, 3 times.**

Random Inapprorpriateness

*I never heard of this Feh thing until I started reading blogs.I assume it means the opposite of Squee. Squee is another expression that is new to me. It makes me think of going pee, then thinking you're all done and wrapping it up, then realizing there is still some pee. So you squeeze it out. That is Squee. To me.

**Sorry to be so long in the wind, but just because I’m busy, doesn’t mean I don’t have things to say. Just no time to say them.

Labels: Bitchmom Screampants, From My Loins, I Can Haz Frends?, I Work Too, Unhealth, Wild aRandoment

I’m back.

Thank you all for your good thoughts and positive energies and prayers.

I'm feeling pretty good but not quite 100%, yet. And my stomach is still bloated like that of a three-day roadkill, on a Texas two-lane. I am, however, very appreciative of whatever % I am at, because whatever it is, it’s 100% better than yesterday and 1000% better than the day before that.

T’was a strange ride, this one. Too pathological to make even a mildly interesting tale, let alone a humorous one. I know, when has that ever stopped me?

However, Monday evening in the ER, I had a little scare with the CAT scan results (which was one reason they prepared me to stay overnight), when they found what looked like a mass on my left ovary, of the non-fibroid variety.

But thanks to my after-midnight interlude with Tony Orlando and Dawn and their magic shaft, they/we/I learned it was nothing but CAT fluke. So they handed me a post-interlude crotch-towel, a 6-pack of narcotics and sent me hobbling down the yellow taped road (Robbyn, is there a play in there, somewhere? They don’t call you the Whiz for naught).

And despite the toxic pain, and the wee-weeness of the hour and the trail of Tony goo, slimbing down my limb, I was a happy, grateful girl. Okay, the morphine didn’t hurt.

It’s that sense of gratefulness, or feeling like I dodged a bullet (I can’t stop hearing the words that weren’t said....), which compels me to keep most of the story/whining/complaints about my rotting privates, private.* Just a little superstitious sensibility, I reckon.

My husband and chilluns have been pretty supportive throughout the ordeal. Of course, as soon as I put on my bra (the universal signal for Momma's Feeling Better! Let the Essence of Life Drain Resume...) all bets were off.

That being said, because I took to the bed for days, after arriving home from 1.5 weeks of vacation, there's some serious shit needing some serious attention around here. So, I best fetch my bra and get on with my favorite blog reads.

But first, this Knittin' Knugget...

A Stolin' Moment
Here's a visual update on my lacey shawl.



I'm still loving this project, but the little nip in the air this morning has me thinking about rummaging through yarn bins, for some reason.

I did have a bit of a setback with this, while on vacation. At the end of the first skein, I realized, based on the length, I was not going to have enough yarn to get 6 feet of stole.

Now, I am known to be impetus, but I swear, I did the math before starting the project and believed that I was getting similar yardage to that of the recommended yarn. But, the measuring tape don't lie, so frog's away!

I then started over with a bigger needle, and when I came to the end of the ball again, the wrap still didn't look as long as I hoped it would, but it was an improvement. So I go to my yarn bag to get the next skein, and what do I find? A little ball of yarn.

And what did I remember? That when balling the skein, I came to a join, with tails, so I severed the yarn. So the skein I was using as my measure model, was actually about 2/3 of a skein. Maybe less.

An entire frog foot, for naught. But, I think this gauge makes for a drapier, lacier fabric. Right?

Have Peesfull Weekends, all.

*You can thank me for this omission in comments, email or by sending me packets of AA batteries.I’m back.

Labels: Unhealth

Here I am, facing that hateful, daunting task, of trying to write a marginally interesting post, on the heels of having blown, what may have been, my last creative blog wad.

Additional Pressure: I have to be at a meeting at work, in 30 minutes, after which we're leaving for the cottage, for a long weekend. With the in-laws. And my son (yeah!) and his best friend. And only one phone line (no wireless) (of course), which means stealth-like blogging opps will be dearth-like.

Anyway...
Uh...
So...Okay, I know.

So, my husband bought the Cakers this carton of gummi bears, see? And they looked real yummi. And since the Cakers doesn't really like gummi bears, but really, really likes to yank daddy's wallet chain, at the grocery store, the sucking of gummi bear head was left to me.

So, suck did I.
And suck I did.

After consuming approximately half of the carton, over a 2 hour period, I notice on the top of the container the words "Sugar Free."

My first thought pertained to why my husband bought sugar free gummi bears, at a price of 5 fucking bucks a container. 'Cause, I'm here to say, We Eat the Sugar. Round Here. My second thought was Damn, these gummi bears are good. And sugar free, too? How day do dat?

So, after poppin' half a fistful more of them-there-dad-gum-bears(I was a southern girl in a previous lifetime. It was a good life. Mostly spent with Billy Joe McAllister. Up on Chocktaw Ridge. Throwing shit.), I commence to reading the ingredients. I'm not typically an ingredient checker-outer, but was merely curious as to how these jellicul-iscious bears could taste so good, without sugar.

I never did get my answer, on account of being distracted and disturbed by this:



(the highlighted part, is what I'm referencing.)

Evidently, "excessive consumption" is defined as about half a handful more than I consumed. That being said, about one hour after my last dose of bear shit enhancers, I knew some pain. Serious pain. Intestinal pain. It felt like the yummi gummis were holding a pogo stick marathon, deep in my innards. I was doubled over a couple times, praying for the 'rreah. For relief.

But dang, if those things didn't taste good.

The Re-Bastardization of Nina
Here's the front of Nina, which I've changed up even more than the back. I decided that the wide expanse of reverse stockinette, meeting the ribbing right down the middle of my tatas, was not a look for me, either. So I added five stitches of ribbing down the middle.



I really would love to sit and chat some more about my two favorite topics, shit and boobs, but I really gotta get.

There may not be much (if any) posting over the weekend. So mabes I sees ya all on the other side.

Of the weekend.

Monday.

Toodles.

::Due to time restraints, post was unedited::

Labels: Boobs and Pee and Poo, Unhealth