so, anyways...

I promised there would be knitting, and there is.

I give you exhibit A:



I found this chart for argyle (aarrrrgyle!) socks, and I had to see if I could figure out intarsia enough to make a pair for myself (why yes, I can as a matter of fact). And any other person in my life who laughed out loud upon viewing that chart. Laughing in a "haha! I must have those!" sort of way, not a "haha, but ok that's extraordinarily lame" way. It's ridiculously oversized because I grabbed some cotton Peaches n Cream from my MDK dishcloth stash and tried out the chart and the technique on a grander scale. I did not have the suggested red and gray accent colors, so I went with the pink and green from said stash for a bit of a punk pirate effect. My jolly roger digs the Misfits. Rawr. I mean arrrr. (Blame Johnny Depp, he really is forcing my hand here.)

Exhibit B is my So Called Scarf, with the pretty plum yarn and is almost completed. The wool is kind of scratchy, so I find myself knitting a few rows and then switching to something else. That or I'm tired of it already. Or lazy. Those excuses are not mutually exclusive of course.

Exhibit C is...well...hmm. I'm working on Sizzle, sort of. I cast on the first time, worked a few rows and then measured it. Not wide enough. No matter how many times I swatched and thought I got gauge, I really didn't. Also, my body is shaped differently than the pattern's author (shorter torso, wider hips), and I'd rather knit it in the round anyway. So I measured myself where I want the bottom to hit, reswatched for gauge, did the math (bleh), and cast on the right amount of stitches. I've knit a few rows since then. I think I have Post Math Stress Syndrome or something. I just can't bear to pick it up again. I know it's only a little addition and a touch of multiplication, and I *have* a calculator for god's sake, but something about it stresses me out. Pics eventually, should I somehow find time to knit more, and stop working 6 days a week (not likely anytime soon).

On a completely unrelated topic: I've run into the exhubby TWICE now. Clearly he doesn't understand the whole "this is my side of town, and that's your side" philsophy. Or we still have a few random things in common. Like driving. And eating.

attack of verbosity

Here I sit. Again. Thinking about posting, cause wow there's a LOT of crap in my head that really wants to come out, but as ever, I've censored it. Some of it is lame, stupid, ridiculous, boring, or really only relevant to me and my inner workings, and seriously that stuff doesn't need to be batted around with anyone but my hubby or my extremely tolerant therapist. Yes I have one. I don't call her as often as I should, but she practically works miracles, so I don't *have* to call very often. Anymore. And I haven't actually been to see her in years. Which is a blessing because she's mega expensive. (I'd put your money on some psychological bantering anyway, cause this here blahg is free.)

Anyway, desperately fighting the urge to edit myself, and as the well-trained journalism major and all-around 'way too fucking nice for my own good' type of person, it comes with a great deal of difficulty and a hell of a lot of "no, no, no, don't delete that. damn it, type it again" brain activity. And I'm 'uncensoring' because I realize that lately I haven't had much to say. The posts have been long, but I haven't really *said* anything. I'm way too 'in my head' and I should really just say whatever I want and not give a damn what anyone else thinks about me. Cause it doesn't really matter, and I don't have the time or energy to care.

Also, if you came in search of knitting activity, there is some, but we're not going to be visiting it today. Click a link to the right if pretty stitches call your name. Otherwise, carry on. Or don't. Your choice here doesn't affect me in any way, and therefore doesn't matter to me. And this may or may not get very bizarre and stream-of-conciousness like (more than usual). If you can't keep up, pay better attention.

I've been through and put myself through a lot of shit in the last year. Depression. Anxiety attacks. Insomnia. Gaming addiction. Knitting therapy. Real therapy. Lies. Bullshit. False friends. The list goes on, but those are the high (well, low) points. And yes, a real full fledged gaming addiction. I know, how lame of me. When I got sick of it (and the liars and their bullshit along with it...you know who you are), I found a way to break myself and I did. I don't even think about it anymore, which is a very nice change. And that was a huge step for me. I used to game every single day for hours, as long as I could stand it, until I could barely keep my eyes open. Not really the way I want to remember my life. So much more important things to accomplish. Like figuring out argyle socks. And maybe someday having kids and trying to not be a complete fuck up as a parent.

I used to have a very long list of the shit I would tolerate for the sake of 'understanding' someone or really just in an effort to see/believe the best in people and help them see it in themselves. Now that list is very very very very short. Did I mention very short? Very. I've decided that it's not my job anymore, a self-appointed task mind you, to try to help other people be better versions of themselves. I can't make that happen. Especially when they don't want it. I can only do that for myself. But I do point out to folks when they're being rude disrespectful assholes. A simple"you're being an asshole" works well in certain cases. But sometimes shutting them out and walking away is the best choice. It has a way of saying "you sorry piece of shit" that words just don't express clearly enough. Even a solid "fuck you" is often just met with "surely you're joking", especially when you're normally a very nice and tolerant person, and then you have to go through the long explanation of just how *not* joking you are, and really, my breath, thoughts, and manual dexterity are clearly more valuable.

I'm the type of person who is constantly (ad nauseum even) evaluating and assessing the person I am and want to be, and many times it's a rocky road to tread, leading to indecision and frustration and often chocolate. Sometimes it takes me a while to see the err of my ways, even with the verbal beatings about the head from my friends, but eventually I see where I'm making stupid mistakes and correct them (reference the gaming and the bullshit here). I'm usually a lot quicker than I can even comprehend. Cause I'm smart and junk. Except when I'm not.

And part of me doesn't want other people to know what goes on in my head. My brain spins so fast that I can't even express, much less type, all the other things I've been pondering in the last 30 minutes. But this is *my* blog and I can say whatever I want (it's my party too, so neener). Part of the last few weeks has been spent in self protection mode, only talking to my closest friends, family, and any other people I'm forced to interact with through my job or the places I frequent. It has served me well and helped me heal and develop thicker skin and a more logical attitude, but I can't stay there forever. If I get too comfortable, I might never want to come out again.

So I carry on. I consider all the things I want to do. I make a plan and go accomplish those things. I live and breathe and function as a (hopefully) better person. I keep learning from my mistakes, making adjustments and new decisions, then rebounding from them. I deal with the issues that make me want to hide in dark places or just leave this world entirely. (Don't call me all freaked out, ya'll know I'm way too fucking feisty to be a statistic.)

And now, maybe I'll also open up. Really open up. Cause I have a lot to say that never gets said. And I have a place to put all those things. And I'm tough enough to deal with anyone who gives me shit about it. (That includes you, Ethridge.)

Thus concludes this session of verbal diarrhoea. Oh, my cell number has changed. Should my services be required, send your mail to the addy on my profile.

You may go now.

zen

It's nice to be blogging again. Even having the thought of 'hmm, that would be fun to share' is refreshing.

During my little break I did a lot of things. For starters, I mostly got my food intake back on track. One of the major things we missed about Athens is the variety of food available, and during those first few weeks we made sure to hit every taco/thai/cuban/indian/ice cream joint we had been jonesing for. Now I'm not eating out nearly as much, and I'm making better choices when I do splurge.

This is my 'back to normal' breakfast. Y.U.M. Fat free cottage cheese, organic strawberries, raspberries and blueberries, and some low fat granola. Mmmmmm. Also makes a good snack. Or dessert. I could eat this multiple times daily.



(On a side note, I'm kinda weird in that I don't really care for matching dishes, so this is the only bowl that i have in this pattern. It makes me very happy in a deep down tingly sort of way. Most of my dishes are asian themed and all but this one have blue in them somewhere. I'm a nut, and I'm ok with that.)

I've been knitting also, obviously. I finished Shedir #2 yesterday. I love this hat so much. And the yarn, Elsbeth Lavold's Silky Wool, is a total joy to work with. In fact, I have a skein of it in black, so I may cast on another one and give this one as a gift. I'll have to think about who it might fit though. I have a tiny head, and very fine hair. On someone else it may look like a beanie. Eww.



As a house warming gift, my mom gave me a small rosemary bush and a pot of African violets. I guess she figured I'd find a way to make them grow. She probably didn't count on the cats eating them first. The second day I had the plants, I took them outside because for my kitties, violets are a delicacy and rosemary is very close to catnip.

Simply having something to grow and a porch to put pretty green things on made me run out to find seeds and cutie little pots. I got two kinds of basil (sweet on the left, and lemon on the right) and I'm going to have to divide and replant both of those very soon. I had no idea how fast they would grow, and from what I've seen at the grocery store, they get MUCH bigger.



I also got cilantro and repotted the rosemary. I'm thinking these will need bigger pots too eventually.



The cats devoured the first set of violets while I wasn't looking, but luckily they seem to like the outdoors (maybe not the hundred degree heat so much) and have found new life. I have about four little stalks of buds like this one.



So precious and promising (and purple! yay purple!). Also, I can make things grow! And sort of come back from the dead! I'm totally a genius.

Last but most certainly not least, I've been taking a few steps toward a new career (to be revealed later), and I'm considering applying to grad school. I have much to read about, learn, and muddle over. I love researching and immersing myself in something I really care about, and it's going to be hard, yet fun.

Just how I like it.

god save the queen

I've officially retained my title as the Queen of ADR (that's additional dialogue recording, for you non film geeks), as given by E, and proven once again this Saturday as we wrapped up some voice work in his basement for a few scenes from wowgirl where audio magically disappeared, got distorted or just plain sucked. (More on the movie as I have some time this week to write. Ha. Whenever that is.)

I totally rock at being able to recreate cadence, intonation and speed of my lines from when they were filmed, and recording them back to match my lip movement on screen so they sound crystal clear and sometimes better enunciated. I usually get it in one take. (Hence my royalty status.) Which leaves lots of time for karaoke, goofing off and the requisite "aaaaaannnnndddd ttttthhhhhheeeeeeennnnnn?". I also got to do a little acting direction with Nate, i.e. "say it like... less depressy and more reflectivish". Yup, I are a good acting coach.

E said, as we were doing some of the final scenes, that he didn't really like how my character got treated at the end. Short changed even. Not exactly as dynamic as she should have been written. Though we can't exactly go reshoot any of it, maybe we altered the perception of her with different vocalizations. Which is very exciting to me. She was a lot of fun to play, but I had similar feelings while we were shooting.

Doing the ADR work really makes me miss acting. It's such a great outlet for me, and requires so much of my heart, yet makes me feel so alive and energized. Heartbreaking, soul destroying emotional vomiting. And I usually giggle through the tears when I'm done. Or say something like "good god that hurt. wanna do it again?".

Our local theater has already cast the next play, with Karen as the evil Antonia in a musical version of The Tempest. So maybe I'll audition for whatever is next.

And I'm out of energy. Spinning** is my abusive lover, and she has taught me the meaning of pain this week. She's also reminded me of my competitive side, and with instructors who make each class like a real road race, I'm so totally addicted. I must sleep so I can face her again at 5 a.m.


that. is. all.



** this kind of spinning, not this kind.

it's the end of the world as we know it

...and i feel awesome.

shiny happy. orange crushy. hairshirt-esque.

i am the everything.

and i’ve probably been listening to too much rem.

and afi (miss murder is my new fav song), evanescence (amy lee knows just how to crush my soul, and i let her willingly), dixie chicks (i’m not ready to make nice either!), and system of a down (totally in love, again). semi-schizophrenic musical choices, and that’s how I like it.

sadly my office is hung up on some radio station that shall not be named. if i have to hear ‘stairway’ or ‘layla’ one more time (really, three times a day is more than enough), i might choke the next person who walks past me singing either song in absolute mockery of my suffering. that specific coworker (who also shall not be named, but let’s call him "j" just for fun) might be significantly taller and denser than myself, but i think if properly motivated i could manage a good few seconds of airway blockage via my hands around his neck before he casts me off like the wild little animal i will have become under such duress. ahem.

otherwise, things are steady as she goes, lovely, and perfect. i’ve spent the last few weeks working out, hanging out, reading, knitting, and making a few personal decisions and changes. i’ve lost interest in some things and gained newfound love for others. i forced myself to step away from some activities that were sucking the life from me, and frankly, i like the new direction i’ve chosen. i may have a friend or two who disagrees with the changes, but it’s hardly their choice to make, and if they can’t support my efforts to do what’s right for me, they can’t really call themselves my friend. miserable hating-my-life me would have been devastated and willing to do anything to keep said friendship. more normal, happier and balanced me says ‘how sad for you guys...see ya around’.

what a difference a change of perspective makes.

oh. knitting stuff. yeah.

i finished the honeymoon cami. better pictures soon and notes on the changes i made. i ventured into uncharted territory and did a rework on the back to make it a halter instead of a tank. it required math and logic (dear gods) but worked quite nicely.



also working on the so-called scarf when life gets dullish.




and the shedir hat. i'm so slow on this one, but i really have to be in the right mental place for these rounds of cables. (irritated is not one of those places. i'm just sayin.)




and swatching bits of my stash like a mad person for jemima and sizzle.

jemima is getting the debbie bliss cotton angora for certain (yum). teal for the main color, and light blue for the accent parts and button bands.




the verdict on yarn for sizzle is still out. i have a lot of gorgeous yarns that might work, so plenty of excellent potential. there's just the tiny issue of gauge. as ever. i've swatched some knitpicks shine, elann's lara (discontinued i think, but i'm definitely not getting gauge so it's irrelevant), and southwest trading company's Bamboo.




i want the sizzle top to be kind of shiny so i *really* want to use the bamboo, which still looks gorgeous after swatching and washing. well then...i guess i've decided haven't i? despite my misgivings and ignoring all instinct about this yarn (it's slightly scratchy and my stitches look odd to me for some reason), i'm casting on. and there's nothing you can do to stop me. so there.

god i'm stubborn.

in retrospect...

It’s nice to have a job that is fun, and I’m actually in charge of people and stuff, and not just a chick with a title and no power whatsoever. It’s relaxing to not be micromanaged to the point of total inefficiency. It’s liberating to be given responsibility and then trusted to follow through with it at your own pace, in your own way.

My previous employer, while a great man, was an extreme micromanager and a ‘my way or the highway’ kind of guy. Thus is the influence of the military, I suppose. To say I don’t thrive in that sort of atmosphere would be an understatement. If you weren’t able to predict and anticipate what he needed at any given moment, well, you wouldn’t last very long. Luckily I’m a mind reader. Ok that’s a lie. But I am funny and engaging, and I guess that’s what actually paid my bills, cause I screwed up a lot.

Most of that lead to a certain amount of fear and uncertainty for me, and coupled with the genuine distaste for the town we were in and the attitudes embraced by many of the folks there, you could conclude that I was pretty unhappy. That pronounced and very present sense of instability really took its toll on the way I thought, felt and acted. I felt fear, helplessness, anger, frustration, desperation, and often all those things at once. I constantly looked outside myself for what I thought I needed. Turns out I didn’t need anything I sought after. I just needed to be reminded of who I am.

And being back here reminds me thoroughly, forcefully, plentifully, and beautifully. It’s taken a few weeks, but I realized today that I’m not just back at home. I am back. Me. That hopelessness and desperation made me say and think (and probably do) crazy things. I grasped hold of just about anything I felt like I could have some control over (knitting, working out, gaming, etc), only to watch whatever I thought I had hold on crumble time after time (definition of insanity much?). Which only compounded my need to have something, someone that made me feel safe.

You’d think that my husband would have been the logical choice, but he was going through the same thing and we could hardly comfort ourselves, much less each other. A lesser marriage could have gotten very, very ugly. Thankfully, we’re both smart and we don’t do stupid things to hurt each other when we’re down (or ever actually). And we tell each other literally everything, and god, good communication is really the key to what makes us work so well. I’m really so lucky to have found such an incredible guy.

Thanks so much to all my friends who tried to help while I was in crazy/unhappy/paranoid/thinking-in-circles mode. I know I probably said some stupid shit. Thanks for loving me anyway. And for constantly trying to remind me of who I am (I mean Karen, Pete, and Joey specifically here…I love you guys).

dazed and confused

Dazed from being sick (yes again) and the intake of drugs that are *supposed* to make me feel somewhat normal, only to actually make me feel like a crazy person. Well, moreso than usual. I can do crazy just fine all by my self, thank you very much DayQuil. Confused because feeling completely out of it will do that to a girl. There was a lot of "where are we going again?" and "ok, now WHY are we doing this?". Ya'll know.

Thankfully I have a sweet hubby who kicks ass and makes a killer soup and takes me to the ER when I need a doctor on a Saturday afternoon. He'll be 30.5 on Friday, so Karen and I are throwing him a party. Shhh, it's a surprise. Did I mention that I absolutely and completely suck at surprises? Really. I do. It's sad.

The lovely Karen also seems to think I'm a super hero of sorts. Let's try and keep my true identity a little better hidden shall we, love? Damn. There I go, sucking at surprises again. Ah well.

Be forewarned that I come armed with turkey sandwiches and yarn.

Fear me.

ugh

i may have just perished.

i can be found under the squat rack at my trainer's feet, somewhere inside a quivering pool of goo.

please come get me.

Beaucoup d'insanity

Ok, so we're *mostly* settled.

By mostly I mean I can find some of my bras, a few utensils and there is some food in the fridge which may or may not be consumed. There are still boxes everywhere. Most of which contain stuff to remain boxed until we move again and actually have space to unpack some things. Maybe this weekend I'll work on reboxing and moving junk. So I tell myself.

In the interim, I'm working on knitting a few items, because what better way to procrastinate right? And I have start-itis and there are so many things I want to work on, so I started them all. Ha knitting goddesses, take that.

First are a few washcloths from Mason Dixon Knitting. These are shamefully addictive, and I have almost a full metric ton of Sugar & Cream cotton to make a LOT more.


Honeymoon Cami, pre-bust increases and shaping. Pray to your local diety that it fits, or there will be cursing and hexing and laying upon of poxes. Yes you heard me. Poxes!


Another Shedir hat, this one for myself. I've tried in all my most beguiling of ways to get pictures of the gorgeous brown Shedir I made for Stacy in NYC, but she is a bit too computer illiterate to get them off her camera. I was a bit too stunned by the technology of my own camera to figure out how to get a good shot.


Baby Kimono (also from Mason Dixon Knitting). Not that I have anyone to give it to yet, but I'm sure someone will come along.


(I might be in a cream/white groove lately, no?)

And yummy plum colored yarn for another So Called Scarf, yet another gem I made as a gift and didn't want to give away. Tristan grows tired of all the knitting pictures and demands more kittie love.


Oh yeah! This new object of my affection is called Ellie. She's a four year old Beagle we rescued on Sunday. She likes to snuggle and hug, and generally be next to us. Once the cats get used to her, some semblance of sanity will be restored. Maybe. She and Tristan are the same size, so the actual degree of sanity is still up for debate.

I heart Athens

Moving this time around was as pleasant as it could possibly be. It's almost as if Athens is saying "welcome home bitches, i knew you'd be back, also here is some perfect weather so get cozy and junk, and hit the pool cause jeez you need a tan".

I'm ready to start the house hunt though because this apartment is tiny and not well laid out for people other than college kids who argue over stupid shit like who's going to pay their third of the cable bill and omg move your laundry and holy damn did your nasty ass boyfriend really eat my Fruity Pebbles?! Not that I have anything against college kids in general, only a few specific ones. Who happen to live upstairs. And the walls are thin.

Regardless, I'm so glad to be back. I've hit almost all of my favorite lunch spots and the requisite coffee joints.

I've done a little knitting, a little settling in, and a lot of shopping. Pictures of stuff later, when I find my camera.

I am tired.

just in time

Today is the first day of hurricane season. And we are moving in two days. Far far away from the coast.

Surely there is no way a hurricane can form and slam into south Georgia in the last days of my existence here. I think. However, I'm pretty sure I know my luck on these things, so I'm warding with the apartment with little voodoo candles and doing the "stay the fuck away from me you mean ugly hurricane" dance anyway. (Granted, Brunswick hasn't had a major hurricane since 1893, but like UGA football fans across the state utter every freaking August, "this could be the year!". Geeks. Ahem.)

Dubious Wonder knows how to have a good time during the season, and for that we lift a glass of Hurricane Punch to her.

I am looking forward to watching something *other* than the Weather Channel over the summer. Like Supergroup. Thanks for your show review Miss K. I love it, but not to the point of obsession. Yet. And wtf is up with Sebastian? I had a *major* rockstar crush on him for the longest time, now all I can think is....ewwww. But Scott Ian and Jason Bonham can come home to me any time. Evan Seinfeld...gross. Ted Nugent...take away the guitar hero status and you have my dad. Double gross with a sprinkling of ewwww on top.

I've been amused today by:

1. my recent conversation with Etheridge where we spoke using Elvis song titles:

E: "You Can't Say No In Acapulco"
me: but i can "In The Ghetto"
E: "I wonder, I wonder, I wonder"
me: well, "(there's) No Room to Rhumba in a Sports Car"
E: "I Really Don't Want To Know"
me: I prefer "Paradise, Hawaiian Style"

We went on for quite a while. Clearly we do not have enough to do at our respective jobs.

2. White Zombie's "More Human Than Human". One of my all-time favorite songs.

3. Secret Wars Reinactment. Consider yourself geeked.

Not the alpha dog

Since Nate started his job this week, I've been fending for myself for a few days, and I'll be alone all next week too, drowning in a sea of boxes. For those of you who have my number, feel free to prank call me for laughs. I am bored and must be entertained.

While I would normally relish the alone time, I'm shocked at how quiet the apartment can be even with me and 5 animals in it. I've had lots of time to look around, do some thinking, knit some little things, watch tv, and do the occasional bit of packing. I average about two boxes before I say to myself, "whew! there, I packed today" and call it quits.

Some things I've discovered about myself are a little shocking too. Like my complete inability to feed myself. Since I have such an awesome cook around all the time, I usually get a nice dinner made for me. When left to my own devices I rely on frozen waffles, atomic fireballs, and beer. When did this happen to me? I used to call myself independent! I needed no man to feed me!
Now I can't even bother to open a lousy can of soup? What the hell is going on? Either extreme laziness or a ridiculous level of "spoiled absolutely rotten".

And also, my dog is no longer my own. He was a birthday gift from my ex-husband before we got married (never a good idea, by the way. dogs as gifts. just don't.) and I have always been the alpha dog because I trained him and took care of him, and well, because I was cool like that.

But somehow, the power has shifted. Nate is now the alpha dog. And in his absence, I can't even get the damn dog to sit so I can put his leash on him. "Hello! McFly! I am the mom here, I am the alpha dog, and you will do what I say!" And what do I get in response? A woof and a spin and a lot of tail wagging. My appreciation for his cute puppy dog attitude is waning. Now I'm just the one he runs to when the vacuum cleaner comes out. Or it's thundering outside. Or when Nate says the dread "B" word (bath!). Stupid dog.

I have plans for him though. Next week will be doggie boot camp, led by yours truly. No more messing around. No more treats. Just good old fashioned retraining. And a lot of "I am the boss of you, now go lay down and junk".

Also, for those of you interested, it was 100 degrees today with 70% humidity. I may never go outside again.

Packing sucks

I love how moving has a way of forcing you to go through your junk, sorting the good from the bad and throwing stuff away, while treasuring and embracing things you'd forgotten since the last time you shoved it semi-ceremoniously into a box.

I'm probably a pack rat to a certain degree, as in I still have all my yearbooks and silly awards from high school, but I also love minimalism and a distinct lack of clutter in my life. The hub's love of technology, however, lends itself to certain amount of 'stuff', but we're working through all that. Sort of.

Items disposed of (donated or trashed):

7 - very large bags of clothing, his and mine, but mostly mine (and I haven't gone through my sweaters yet)

3 - boxes of junk still packed from when we moved here 2 years ago (and probably several more to come)

2 - boxes of VCR tapes (blasphemy!)

2 - vacuum cleaners (we bought a Dyson, don't get me started on how much it ROCKS)

18 - photos of four different exboyfriends (like I'd forget what the jerks looked like, I damn sure don't need photos as reminders)

a gazillion - used pens, old notebooks, random scribbled on papers

6 - boxes of fabric I collected for god knows what reason (found a group of ladies who quilt for charity, yay!)



My dilemma is this: what do I do with things like wedding and honeymoon pictures from my first marriage?

When we moved here, I just packed them up and figured I'd deal with them later. Well, I still haven't dealt with them. I can't just throw them out like that part of my life didn't happen. But they're not relevant anymore either. I tried to pawn them off on him when we split but he wasn't having it. Should I just keep some of the ones that are important to me? What if they're all important to me in some way? And what about the pictures of Hawaii? Those are entirely too beautiful to meet the trash compactor.

This one of me and my dad is one of my all-time favorite photos, even if it is from my first wedding.

It goes in the 'keep' pile.


Thoughts on the rest? Start a bonfire? Let them rest in peace (or pieces)?

Interlude

For my musically inclined friends, Jack White of the White Stripes has a "side project" with some of his buddies called The Raconteurs, and they are taking up permanent residence in my CD changer. Very retro indy type rock. Me likie.

But Jack White could scream nursery rhymes and wallow in the mud dressed like a psycho clown from outer space (ha) or Dani Filth, who might just *maybe* have some issues (but i LOVE Nymphetamine...watch the volume dahlings), and I would still be all full of smit for him.

Running, and a Tunic

I am so in love with my new purchases, I can barely stand to take them off. I'd sleep in them if they didn't get sweaty and gross.

I got this from Athleta, in charcoal, yum, and I feel there are many more running skort thingies like it to come. I'm also lusting over this for the summer. Bring on the cute tank tops and flops. And someone make me a margarita.

I also snagged this (sooooo in love. and it has a super secret pocket inside for my spygirl needs.), this and this (omg a pocket for my inhaler! and it's orange! not normally a color i'd chose, but i have so. much. blue. and also pink.) from Title Nine. My new favorite place to shop, other than Amazon.

Karen will be dragging me to run very often as soon we return to Mecca, er, I mean Athens. I've missed running the campus track, the campus hills (my lungs don't miss those), and through downtown. Five Points is an awesome place to pound the sidewalk, but I prefer to avoid the sorority girls whenever possible. Yes, that is semi-hypocritical since I used to be one, but that just means I know what goes through their heads, and I rarely choose to subject myself to it.

***************************************

Prairie Tunic is finished.



But why is it not on my body, you ask? I love it, really I do. But the pattern is flawed. If I had made the size smaller, I would probably be swooning over it and refuse to take it off. However, I made the correct size for me, and since the pattern has *NO* shaping for the waist or bust, I look like a big slouchy box. Some surgery is forthcoming. I will probably sew new side seams and create shaping then cut (gasp!) the original seams, eliminating about 2 extra inches on both sides.

If I had been smart, I would have added shaping myself while knitting this up, because I could read the pattern and see clearly that there was no shaping. But I need some practice with making adjustments to patterns, and frankly, I wasn't ready to start screwing it up, because the top was coming along so well. Why take a swing at my knitting karma?

Yes my gauge was right (shush Denise), and I blocked to the stated proportions in the pattern. This particular pattern just needs some love and shaping. It looks just fine with some jeans and cute flops, but if I wanted to dress it up (and I do, because damn it's cute) then it needs shaping.

Oh, there's also a pattern correction for the front triangle shaping here on IK's site. For the record, I used the recommended yarn, Jaeger Sienna in Blush, and US3 Addi Turbos (knit back and forth, obviously).

I've already cast on for the Honeymoon Cami as my second cute top for the summer. Cami and I have a history, you know. I chose this project as my first attempt at knitting a garment, and to say that I wasn't fully aware of the importance of gauge at the time is a grave understatement. Let's say tactfully, that the sucker was way too big. Much to my dismay. But, I'm not one to let a little knitting pattern kick my ass, so I'm knitting it again. This time as a much wiser knitter. I hope.

Small Town Georgia (really really small)

Welcome to Jacksonville, Georgia. Population 118. Most of it being my family, in some incarnation or other.

Don't ask. It's scandalous.

This town is the site of our annual Family Reunion, which always occurs the Saturday before Mother's Day. No invite necessary or sent, just show up and bring food, sweet tea and pie. Ya'll know.

This is the one and only red light. Also the center of "town". Did you blink? Oops you missed it. There's a church, a building that used to be the general store, an old gas station, and an old auto shop. Only the church is still in use. I have no idea where these people get their groceries.


This is where the magic happens though. My great-grandmother's house, built in 1936 by my great-grandfather. Apparently it has "architectural significance" because of the double front doors, so some company is tearing down the houses around it (and salvaging this house) to build a bypass. Like bypassing Jacksonville is of vital importance. Seriously, just blink. There, you bypassed.


It's so old school, it even has a well. Or what used to be a well, anyway. We were always warned as little kids to steer clear of the well, lest you fall in and die. I still don't go near it, just in case.


And also a smokehouse. There used to be an outhouse, but they tore that down when plumbing arrived to the big city.


The interior is really cool too. It's never been remodeled except to add a bathroom, so everything else is original. Like these "locks".


And these screened cabinets.


And this antique Singer sewing machine, though, not part of the 'architecture'. Still, a collector's dream.


My great aunt Hazel said "hey, ya'll". She really did.



My grandmother *hates* having her picture taken. She wanted to make sure you guys knew that. If you ever wondered where my attitude, semi-psychotic energy, and insane need to call everyone on their shit comes from, consider yourself introduced to Grandma.


I took far more pictures of town and the house than I did family. But we had a great time. Lots of little ones running around. I'm pretty sure I'm the only female from my generation without kids. And that's ok. My great aunt Gertrude (she's 82) asked me if I had kids yet, and I of course replied "um...no". She said, "good, they're a pain in the ass".

I love her.

How Soon is Now?

One of my most favorite scenes from Spaceballs:

Dark Helmet: What the hell am I looking at?! When does this happen in the movie?!
Col. Sandurz: Now! You're looking at "now," sir. Everything that happens now is happening "now."
Dark Helmet: What happened to "then?"
Col. Sandurz: We passed it.
Dark Helmet: When?
Col. Sandurz: Just now. We're at now "now."
Dark Helmet: Go back to "then."
Col. Sandurz: When?
Dark Helmet: Now.
Col. Sandurz: Now?!
Dark Helmet: Now!
Col. Sandurz: I can't.
Dark Helmet: Why?
Col. Sandurz: We missed it.
Dark Helmet: When?
Col. Sandurz: Just now.
Dark Helmet: When will "then" be "now?"
Col. Sandurz: Soon.

And how soon is now?

Um...soonish. Nate starts his job in two weeks, I start mine in four. With us being five hours apart for those last two weeks, moving should be an entertaining venture. We have my family reunion on Saturday (bring on the fried chicken and pie, ya'll), leaving only Sunday to pack for this weekend. And I sadly had to say "I wish I could, but now I can't" to the 48 Hour Film Project for next weekend. I need to be organizing, packing, and throwing out junk instead of acting. I know, I know, what a lame excuse.

Good news is that our apartment will be ready for Nate to crash in when he needs it. And the apartment could be furnished if we want, so we may just throw most of our stuff in a storage unit until we buy a house (which will now be very soon. well, within 6 months or so). So things are a go, though I can't give a definitive date for moving. Let's say, between now and then, mkay?

As long as the hell that ensued as we tried to leave Athens two years ago does not rear its vicious head, I will take it all in stride and with very big smiles. If, however, I am stuck on the side of the road, one mile outside of town, with a full U-Haul (the second truck to break down on us. never again U-Haul. never) and my step-dad on the hottest day of the year for TWELVE hours as we wait for the repair guy to get there, and the fix the damned thing...well, let's just say ya'll will hear about it. Very loudly. That was the longest, most awful day of my life. I hope to never repeat it.

Mole Update: Benign. All is well minus the rectangular gaping wound that replaces the cute mole.

Hair Update: My adventures into the dark world that is Loreal has proven very interesting. I search my scalp, and find grays reappearing, but not even a hint of color. Black is my natural hair color. Blue black to be exact. I am shocked. And perplexed. Have I really been coloring my hair for so long that I no longer know what my true hair color is until NOW?!? Think I'll call my mom and ask this seemingly ridiculous question.

Event Horizon

And just like that, my world changes.

This past week has been a whirlwind of phone calls, stress, coughing, and knitting.

Nate had two phone interviews, both with the same company. The job is perfect for him and he's very excited about the possibility of getting it. He's amazing at what he does and they'd be lucky to have him. And stupid not to hire him. Very, very stupid.

My boss and friend from my previous job called and asked me if I'd be interested in resuming my position in Athens. I called her back the next day and accepted. (Insert big fucking WOOT right here. Ahem. YAY!) We. Are. Moving.

The lovely Stacy called on Thursday (in tears, oy) to say she had taken two pregnancy tests. Both are positive. She then demanded that I get pregnant immediately so she doesn't have to do it alone. Um...I can think of a few reasons to have kids (not the least of which is to have someone to brainwash into helping me take over the world, but I digress), but that one is NOT on the list. Though we did agree to be obnoxious moms together, so maybe I'll catch her next time. But being the Supergirl of Doom means my kids will have super powers also. Do I really want to unleash that sort of hell onto the planet? I must think of mankind.

So, I'm doing all sorts of job mojo dances in my occassional bouts of wellness. I usually stop when the asthma kicks in. Turns out "Melanie, Supergirl of Doom" has mortal weaknesses. Damn it. The coughing, the asthma, the allergies. They. Must. Stop. (Kryptonite anyone?) Seriously, couldn't I have something a little less life threatening? Not breathing is hazardous to my health and junk. Could I have leprosy instead? Amoebic dysentery? Bird Flu? I could survive bird flu. Work with me here universe, I have some world conquering to do.

Oh, and that pesky mole?



Hello! I am (was) a mole!

Had it removed this afternoon. Not by choice. There were needles and scalpels involved. I most definitely panicked. I plead in the mole's defense, even. "Please," I cried, "it's kinda easy on the eyes! Can't we consider the cuteness factor of the offending mole? It doesn't mean to offend, I'm sure of it!" All to no avail. Now that the local anesthetic is wearing off, I say "ow".

Of course I had to have a picture of it, seeing as how it now sits in a little petrie dish somewhere and is soon to be poked and prodded and abused in ways a cute little mole should not ever be abused. Especially one that used to live on my body.

Also, Prairie Tunic is finished. Pictures later.

Randomness

Random Things:

*I heart Stephen Colbert.

*Don't tell the nice young man making your burrito that you'd like enough fresh jalepeno to make you hurt but not so much that you scream. He'll just stare at you until you realize that what you've said could be taken in a way you didn't mean and you start to blush.

*I have pain in my lung. One spot in particular (the left lung if you're curious). Had it since the NY trip, though off and on. Today it hurts and is making me a little panicky.

*I also have a funky mole (to go with my funky figs, miss k). Getting it checked out next week. Let's hope there are no needles involved. I will bolt without shame.

*Hubs may have an interview in A-town. Will know more tonight/tomorrow.

*I got offered my old job back, also in A-town. It comes with free rent. Strongly considering.

*Wore a white skirt. And bought coffee. Ordinarily two great things. Sadly, the new stain I have on said skirt is the two headed love child of those happy things. Sometimes two rights make a wrong? I can't know. And I will not wax philosophical on a coffee stain. My brain doesn't have room for that.

*Stepped on a crack in the sidewalk in my cute little heels (that go SO well with my cute little skirt). And then tripped up the stairs to my office. I'm barely in one piece. Nothing broken, but it could have been catastrophic. It certainly didn't earn me any credits for grace. I hope no one saw my ass.

*Tried to reason with Satan. I don't believe in such a being, but if he exists, he's in my proximity for several hours a day. I just nod and smile and remember to not feed him cookies (ever again).


Random shit my friends say to entertain me:

joey says: 'you and your uncanny ability to end a conversation short and abrupt'

ali says: 'Jean-Luc: Perhaps we can have a peaceful negotiation, and learn to live in the same galaxy. Kirk: Fire'

pete says: 'something strange is afoot at the circle k'

alliene says: 'plus: woot'

chris e says: 'and by the way, "American Gods" - when the fuck did you cross the bridge from normal to SuperGeek?'

sasha says: 'when I got home at lunch she (guelita, her grandmother) had all the drawers out of my dresser emptied on the bed and she was sorting my underwear into sinful and not sinful piles. and people wonder why I don't have a vibrator.' (i love you sashita!!!)

Geek Girl Crush

Karen and I discovered this past week that we have a mutual Geek Girl Crush. Not on another girl. Or each other, for that matter. But on Wil Wheaton. Though probably for different reasons.

I love Wil because he's an actor (yes, he still acts, leave the Crusher alone). And reading his posts about auditioning and really putting himself into a role just make my heart ache in such an omg-that's-so-exciting-yet-i could-not-be-more-jealous-if-he-had-all-the-chocolate-pudding-in-the-world sort of way. And, he reads Neil Gaiman. And he likes Death Cab for Cutie. Oh, the crushing could go on and on! (ha! crushing! crusher! i made a pun! ha!) (god i'm lame.)

And I image Karen loves Wil because he's an excellent writer (very important to a Literature scholar), and also because he was on STAR TREK. I never watched the show. Except that one or ten times, whatever. But Wil has a little piece of my heart (cue Janis Joplin), and I accept that I have given it to him.

His most current project especially makes me swoon, and I will be watching. I don't usually do cartoons, except for the occasional South Park episode (I'm serial!), but look out Nickelodeon, Karen and I are tuning in, bitches.

Other than that, I have a lot to say, but for some reason nothing comes out. I have about 5 posts that are half written, even. I can't seem to finish my own thoughts. But I have a geek crush. Oh yes. I do. Cartoons may be my sanity after all.

OOH! And it's my second anniversary with my second husband today. I'm sure there's a metaphor in there somewhere, but I refuse to dig for it.

Happiness?

I've been thinking a lot lately about happiness. As in, what makes me happy and what doesn't? And how often do those things change? And if I'm unhappy, why? And what can I do about it aside from being very destructive (what's wrong with a little destruction?) in some way in order to make myself feel something other than this pervasive angst that has been slithering around in my brain for some time now, coloring everything that used to make me happy this weird darkish conglomeration of colors rather than the usual happy, positive (and brightly colored) me-ness that used to exist (and still does, she's re-emerging slowly)?

See, now that I'm on the other side of the Funk of '06, I am looking back and analyzing the hell out of it in order to find some purpose and learn from everything that was involved.

In my contemplation I'm realizing that my recent walk down the path of frustration/apathy/irritation/anger (and many other screwy emotions contributing to my general funkiness) has one real root cause.

This town sucks. It sucks so hard that I can feel it on my skin when I wake up in the mornings. And after work when I run. And especially in the summer when the humidity is so horrible you sweat as soon as you step out of your cold shower, and again when you open the door if you dare to leave the house.

This is the kind of place that verbally calls you out if you're different, instead of embracing the "live and let live" ideology. And ya'll, I might be southern in that I love sweet tea and a good BBQ joint, and I use my accent to get what I want in places where southerners are rare, but philosophically I have very little in common with your typical southerner. The people here will stop you in the grocery store parking lot after seeing the Kerry sticker on your hybrid and ask why you voted for "that baby killer". I shit you not. Twice this has happened to me. TWICE. I've also almost been the victim of vehicular homicide by some jackass in a huge truck he doesn't need (clearly making up for something, no?) with his W stickers on the front AND back shouting obscenities at me (through his good teeth) and giving me the finger. So. Much. Class.

Clearly, I do not fit in, nor am I really welcome (totally fine, I could so care less). So all efforts outside of work are to get 1.) a job elsewhere 2.) a place to live, again elsewhere and 3.) to get myself back to school and become someone who makes a difference in this fucked up world. Being an office manager does not cut it for me. It pays the bills nicely, but otherwise, I don't think about it much. Other than some days it challenges my will to live, but I think that's probably true for everyone.

So what can I do in the meantime to please the part of my soul that is screaming for some sense of a peaceful revolution?

1.) Paint my toenails. Mmm hot pink.



2.) Go black. You know what they say...



So black it's almost blue, though you can't tell so much here.

3.) Eyebrow maintenance.







This is all superficial, however, and only barely scratches the surface of what I need, but it's a start.

Lots of reading, writing, resume revising, running and knitting are on the way to fill my brain and make me feel useful and like I'm progressing toward something relevant and meaningful. My school options are still pretty open. I'll either check out some creative writing classes (put my Journalism degree to use maybe?), get certified to teach, or go to some technical school and get a nursing or radiology degree. I always loved the medical fields but was too afraid I'd kill someone. Same with teaching or having kids...surely I will screw their lives beyond repair. But after living here, I see that they could do MUCH worse than me, so I'm reconsidering.

I'm also letting The Cure, the White Stripes, and Tori Amos have their way with me today, and that sort of orgy always leads to good things.

Prairie Tunic, the saga continues

Maybe not so much a 'saga' or an 'epic' as an 'adventure'.

Hmm...'adventure' is even perhaps too exciting a word. It implies that there was mortal peril, jeopardy (I'll take The Films of Pauly Shore for $1000, Alex) and perhaps a touch of fortune, and divine intervention lending a hand in my survival. 'Tale'? Yes, 'tale' fits nicely. As does 'yarn'. But that would mean I just crossed another line toward my eternal damnation as a nerd.

Good thing I like nerds. And hellfire makes me hot.

Forgive the crap quality of my pictures. I was rushed and didn't bother to color correct or even attempt to make them pretty. Just like me. Every. Morning. The two most common words out of my mouth at 8 am? "Fuck it". Now you know.

The back piece is finished, washed, blocked and very soft and pretty. I'll weave in the ends once I put the whole thing together and wash it. Part of my problem with the Picovoli was that I washed and dried AFTER I had weaved in the ends, and they were a bit too short and therefore unraveled when the cotton bloomed. Grr. Argh. Won't make that mistake again, I tell you.


Full shot of the back piece blocking. Yes on a beach towel. I have no taste, and I'm ok.


Detail of the top triangle. Ooooh geometry. Obtuse or Isosceles? Equilateral or Scalene? Bueller?


Lace detail. Probably blurry or at least not very crisp. But look! Holes! Where they're supposed to be!


Edging detail. Slip stitch yumminess. Looks like I'm a pro (at what is officially up for debate).


And a hint of work on the front piece. Twice the lace, twice the fun!


I might be a smartass about my abilities (wipe that mock-surprised look off your face), but I'm really proud of the way this is turning out. The pattern is easy, the edging looks professional (when done right. ahem.) and the fit will be just the way I like it. Maybe if I'm feeling wild and crazy, I'll break out my TopStick double-sided, sticks-anything-to-you-and-hurts-like-a-bitch-to-remove tape and adhesify (a word? who can say) the thing on my back for some choice entertainment.

Also, I want a cookie. Any kind will do. And a new hair color. I'm thinking Dark & Sinister.

Happy Places & Prizes

Oooh. Prizes. I love prizes!

I got this lovely package in the mail this week....




My Secret Pal is so very sweet! AND..she's a gamer too (Happy Place #1)!! Our hostess did a great job matching us, and then matching me with Jenny, ANOTHER gaming chick. The three of us could totally be the Charlie's Angels of gaming. Bet our virtual asses are that hot too. I know mine is. Rawr.

There are two skeins of sock yarn (*drool*), dyable wool from Knit Picks (koolaid incoming), Sensational Socks book that I've had my eye on for some time now, some Bert's Bee's Lemon Cuticle stuff (for my hands after knitting. eww.), and some ADORABLE knit kitty toys stuffed absolutely full with cat nip!

The kids (er...kitties) loved the toys so much, they almost had the box open before I did. Then all hell broke loose followed closely by kitty nirvana, as witnessed here:



Molly: "Ha ha! I have killed it!"



Murphy: "Give me the nip now!"



Tristan: "I will shred you if you take this from me, beotch."



Sydney: "Just need one more sniff, just one...really, I'm not an addict. It's cool."

Thanks Tina for making SP7 so much fun! And thanks so much for the card! You made my day!


And for an update on me...after emotionally beating my head against a wall (not recommended for the faint of heart) and functioning on very little sleep, I've discovered through long conversations with Pete the Philosophizer and Loren, the Obi-Wan to my Princess Leia, that I am in fact normal (in most ways) and I am not going to die (slightly over-dramatic, sure, and to be confirmed by doctors on Tuesday).

As a part of my recovery, I am throwing out the My Chemical Romance CD because it has served its purpose and I'm tired of them. Told you guys it wouldn't take long. I've moved on to the new Lacuna Coil CD, Karmacode (Happy Place #2).



Ya'll. Go get it. The cover of Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence" is so good it's painful.

Pete the Philosophizer is very good at snapping me back to reality when I'm feeling particularly hideous, loser-esque, and like the world might END if all the Diet Dr. Pepper in the world are not delivered unto me post haste and by a very hot man of any nationality, but preferably Antonio Banderas. With. A. Spoon. Ya'll.

My weekly reality check from Pete went like this:

"wake up sweetie. you are fuckin awesome. i mean jesus christ on a skewer...you have a great hubby (granted it isnt me but still a good guy who loves you), i love the ever-loving shit out of you...you are intelligent, gorgeous....you are the queen of the positive outlook...you dragged me back from my senseless funk a year ago....so i know its in you. you are the optimist here...your personality is one that goes out and gets shit done, right wrong or indifferent... you are headstrong and possibly one of the most stubborn people i know. so cut out the bullshit and be who you are...the girl i and everyone else adores. also, i will beat you if you don't start being you soon."

Thank you, Petie (omg he'll smack me just for typing that! muahahaha). I made the big ugly cry face after this, you know. Big. Ugly. But, everyone should have such amazing friends, and I'm incredibly grateful for mine.

And should I feel icky again anytime soon, I'm totally going here to Happy Place #3 and leaving everyone and everything but my knitting and some CDs behind. I might do it anyway just cause my soul aches for this kind of place.



And now, there's an awful lot of this...



Sort of a smirk, but also a smile. I'm mysterious like that.

Recidivism

Recidivism is the word of the day.

Repeat Offender. That's me. And a few of you others out there. But I'm not naming names because that's your problem, not mine.

As Duckie says in "Pretty in Pink"...Do I offend? Oh, yes, and how.

1. I got a second (ahem, third) parking ticket this week. Oops. Good thing they're only $10 each. Still, I should try to rectify my need to park directly in front of my building. Must be because I'm always late or something.

2. I'm always late. If I arrive early, people think I'm sick or there's something devastatingly wrong with me. "You're on time?!? Do you need to see a doctor? Is someone dead? Did you run out of ice cream?" I stopped making excuses for being late a long time ago. No point in lying about it. There wasn't any traffic, my dog/cat/grandfather/fourth nephew is not sick, and my clothes did not get burned in the dryer. I'm just late.

3. I have a habit of "just going to look" at expensive things, and suddenly making a fairly major, life altering purchase. Specific cases: 2002: my Civic Hybrid, 2004: my insanely expensive engagement ring (I got to pick it and all, you know. And yes it was the most expensive thing in the store. I'm evil. And yet somehow he still loves me. Clearly, he's insane. And I am awesome.) 2006: Nate's brand new Toyota Matrix. You can sorta see the butt end of my car on the right. It's not near as clean and new car smelly, but it's cute (and liberal, yay!)!



Maybe in 2008 it will be a house. Cause that is officially on the back burner, thanks to Purchase 2006. But we needed a new car because that old Jeep was on its last wheel. Poor thing. I think I got a little teary over trading it in. Nobody loves your old piece of shit the way you do. Ya'll know. Also, you know my head is fucked when my retail therapy session is a $20k ding. What? I'm totally fine.

4. Flaking on my competition. Nicole and Pete are going to kick my ass, literally. This makes about the 7,438th time that I've flaked. I think it's cool and I would look really amazing and I have so much admiration for those who can do it, but I just don't have the determination and give-a-shit to diet that hard for 4 straight months. That, and I'm too easily upset and ice cream is my savior. Amen. Praise the Neopolitan Dynamite.




But it's really sad when the Ben & Jerry's gets melty. I didn't even have the stomach to eat it. Also, hello messy desk from hell. I take notes on everything and I never throw any of it away.

5. I'm compulsively honest. Which is sometimes considered offensive. Not that I can't lie and get away with it. But I prefer to lay things out on the table and make people look at stuff. It might be my stuff, and it might be theirs. Funny how most people don't like being called on their shit though. And sad really, because you can't deal with the issues you're facing if you don't LOOK AT THEM. Hiding behind a false reality is the coward's way out (Yet, I know, sometimes the only way to deal with some shit. But still). So instead I'm honest about who I am and what I'm going through (except for right now, cause um...I gotta get through it first, then we'll talk). And I gladly and willingly offer up my shit to be called upon. I kinda dig it, because it means you care enough to say "Hey! You're being a total fucking idiot!". Thanks for the love.

So in conclusion, I repeatedly offend on many occasions and I'm ok. And CAP was right about my horoscope, which is not something I ever believe in, but is a good way to make me giggle. In March, she was dead on: There has been a lot of chatter in your life, and almost none of it has been true or real (how sad). April too is correct: Your month is going to really suck.




Good thing I have sweet animals to keep me in bed and make me sleep. Murphy likes to snuggle so close that I get hot and have to stick my feet out of the covers. Then he plays "Chase The Toes" with his claws. Taylor just likes being on the bed, and Molly is only here because she loves that dog. Still, I am asleep, so all is right with the world.



Also, all my pillow are belong to Tristan.

Swear to Shake it Up...

Hmm. I don't seem to have much to say lately. I keep waiting for my life to get interesting.

Guess I'm going to have to force it and make things exciting on my own pretty soon. I don't do stagnation. I also don't really do change, but I prefer it over drooling in my oatmeal every morning. If by some strange chance you think I'm interesting already, be glad you don't live inside this head. Shit. Is. Dull.

But, my mind is occupied with scary things. I like lists, so I made one. A list of those scary things, for you ADD folks who got lost already. You know who you are. Or do you?

1. Competing in July (there's a whole other blog for that, but sorry, it's private).

2. The thought of being pregnant (ok dreams, you may stop now, I'm still not interested, but the little girl you keep showing me is very pretty).

3. My in-fucking-sane sex drive. Ron Jeremy could not keep up with me, seriously. Not that I would want him to try. Eww.

4. This yarn porno. The busty nurse totally got the shaft. And I don't mean the fun way. In all porno realism, he'd have had her too. That's the way porn works. I'm just sayin. (Not actually scary, but on my mind nonetheless.)

5. Big mosquitoes. As big as my fist. In flocks. Hovering over my head as I run, waiting for me to have an asthma attack or my shoe to come untied so that I have to stop and they can swoop in and carry me off to somewhere icky and slimy. That's what I get for living in the swamp in south Georgia. Yay. Mosquitoes.

Hmm. I'm fairly disturbed by that short list, let's move on.

Well, here's something. Last month CAP said this for us loony-ass Libras:

Resist the temptation to get bitchy this month. Do not give into your inner horndog. Break out the halo and be on your best behavior, because someone is eyeing you closely for a leadership role, or a promotion, or some added responsibility you've been asking for. Maybe it's just that your character has come under scrutiny lately, and you don't want to give them fuel for the fire. (There has been a lot of chatter in your life, and almost none of it has been true or real.) Whatever the case may be, think angelically and picture yourself with wings. Libra, ya'll need to move from wild child to angel in 30 days or less! If Drew Barrymore could do it, so can you.

I can't, I won't and I didn't, in no particular order. There are no wings, but I did get a 69 cent halo, is that good enough? (Shaddup.)

For April, CAP says:

Your month is going to really suck. I mean, ya'll, seriously. Just go home right now and start eating the ice cream. Do they make wine ice cream? Oh Libra... ya'll! I'm just kidding! Truth is, this was a learning experience. See? Any old Joe can give you some wrong advice. You might want to re-consider who you're taking prophecies from these days. After all, the last psychic I visited told me I'd be doing charity work involving water... which, had I followed her advice, would put me wading upstream while begging for money for other people. Not a pretty vision, eh? This is a good time to be careful whose advice you heed. You don't want to end up the proverbial creek because of someone's off-the-cuff armchair mentoring this month, no matter how well-intentioned it may be.

And she tags this onto Cancer's (yes I read them all): Maybe all our old fears will get bored in the waiting room of April and go haunt someone else, like the Libras for a change.

So, I'm going to be paralyzed with fear (see above list, again if necessary), and I shouldn't take advice from anyone. Yay. Fending for myself. I can do that. Just keep the mosquitoes away from me and I can do that. Really. It's not my preference, mind you. I PREFER to be loved, adored, and protected from such things, being a diva and all, but alas. As with most everything, I'll be doing it myself. (Shaddup.)

Maybe someday I'll be just like Ferris. "Oh, he's very popular Ed. The sportos, the motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, waistoids, dweebies, dickheads - they all adore him. They think he's a righteous dude."

A girl can dream.

29.5

April 1st. April Fool's Day. A day of elaborate practical jokes and general tomfoolery. Annually celebrated by me as the day I call my mom and tell her I'm pregnant. Some day I'm sure it will bite me in the ass. Such is karma. Assbiting. Dirty bitch.

This particular April 1st is different though. It is my half birthday. And I am 29.5. The last six months of the downhill slippery (gooey?) slope to 30. The last six months of my twenties. (Pause for dramatic sigh) Shall I mourn thee? Shall I compose gentle words of bittersweet sorrow? Um...sorry, I don't do poetry anymore. How about some cake? Pie? Cookies?

And does this mean I have to grow up? I asked that when I turned 22 also. And then I cried. Because I wasn't 21 anymore, and the next big birthday is...30. However, my 21st birthday was an incredibly fun occasion, and my 30th will be as well. Hell or high water, damn it. If you are with me, you WILL be having fun or I will douse you with something alcoholic and make you dance for me. Some of you might dig that. I certainly will. Whether or not you're clothed is by my choice at that moment.

I'm convincing myself that it's fine though. 30 is cool! 30 is rad! Did I just say rad? Oh my god, I'm so old. Hmm...if my twenties are any indication, my thirties should be a fucking blast.

Let's review shall we?

Actually, let's not. There are a lot of great things there, but there are some sad things too. No need to be bringing up old shit. Roughly translated: We'll do that another day, mkay?

On a lighter note:

You Are Miss Piggy

A total princess and diva, you're totally in charge - even if people don't know it. You want to be loved, adored, and worshiped. And you won't settle for anything less. You're going to be a total star, and you won't let any of the "little people" get in your way. Just remember, piggy, never eat more than you can lift!

The Muppet Personality Test

In conclusion, I'm a nearly old, demanding diva. I can accept that.

Now, where is that house boy? It's time for my feeding.