Spain ROCKS. Amazing.
Archives for June 2005
June 2005 Archive
Anyone want to work at the magical, amazing, one-of-a-kind Artfibers? Here’s what Kira would like to tell you:
Artfibers of San Francisco is looking for a part-time sales/customer service person for our retail store at 124 Sutter Street. Preference will be given to those with retail/customer service experience. Hand-knitting skills and experience must be at the intermediate to advanced level with emphasis on sweaters. Familiarity with Artfibers brand yarns is a plus. Attention to detail, reliability as well as good listening, learning and people skills are important.
Work schedule is 12:00 – 4:00 Monday through Friday (may be negotiable). Wage is $12.00 per hour plus great yarn discounts to the right person. Must be able to start immediately. See our website: to learn more about our company. Call 415.956.6319 to schedule an appointment for an interview.
I am pleasantly surprised and terribly anxious all at the same time. DJ, the new owner of the upper unit got hold of J, the guy who just sold it to her. And he’s being very, very cool. He showed up yesterday afternoon when he told me he would, and he had his plumber guy with him, and they went into my bathroom and listened to the upper unit leaking above our heads. Man, I’ve never whipped a bra off a shower rod that fast before. Nothing like two males in your bathroom gazing up at the ceiling to make you realize your lingerie is probably dry.
They hemmed and hawed and knocked and said okay, they’d be back the next day.
"Oh, you’re going to work up there tomorrow?" I ask, still blissfully naive.
"Yes. Down here. What time’s good for you?"
"For the work."
"Because you need access to my unit?"
"Yeah. For the work."
"What work, exactly?"
"Ripping out the ceiling."
I mean, it’s good in the long, dry run. Even though he doesn’t own it anymore, J’s going to take care of it all, and it sounds like they probably know what they’re doing, although his plumber is definitely an under-the-table kind of guy. (J is probably scared of a non-disclosure lawsuit, I’d imagine.)
But lord, where am I going to pee for those long hours of work? The neighbors won’t be home, that’s already established, and I don’t really want to leave my house full of strangers who might let my cats out (oh, please, not that). Must. Not. Drink. Coffee.
I have to tell you, the new owner is being great, too, all apologies and extremely nice. I think maybe she was in shock from everything else breaking this week. She just looked overwhelmed. I honestly like her personality, very much. This is just a speed-method for getting to know my neighbor.
Well, I’ll take trial by water over trial by fire any day.
The unit above mine sold! It sold to a very nice-seeming single lady, for thirty grand more than I bought mine for, eight months ago. Them’s ridiculous numbers, people. I’m not complaining, but dang.
So the nice-seeming lady moved in over the weekend, and so far her electricity has been shorting out, her dishwasher has blown up, neither her range nor her refrigerator worked right, and yesterday morning at six-thirty, when she was taking her shower, it started raining in my bathroom.
I exaggerate, perhaps. It wasn’t dripping from the ceiling, rather, I could HEAR it dripping from her bathroom to my ceiling, an ominous fast trickle, and it was raining down my wall from the window all over the toilet and floor, which means that lots more water was running inside our wall.
Now, the unit up there has been vacant since I moved in, so this was, as far as I know, the first water that had run up there in eight months. The last owners had to replace the entire bathroom in the unit that is now mine (hello, clawfoot tub), and when I ran upstairs to tell her that my floor was flooded, this is what I had in mind. Her bathtub falling into mine. See Anne for scary ceiling details.
Strangely, the new neighbor took more than 10 minutes after being told about it (through her cracked bathroom window) to come down, fully made up and dressed. I woulda put on a robe and flown downstairs. But people react to situations differently, I suppose. And when I explained about the last time and suggested she not shower again until the plumber came, she seemed very against this idea. She said she HAD to shower every day. Well, okay. Some do. But maybe somewhere else? Or get the plumber the same day? Again, people react differently than I do. But I would have been freaked OUT if my tub was leaking into the downstairs unit. Her dime, I suppose, in the long run. (And mine, in terms of dryrot…. Erp.)
So I’m practicing patience. I’ve been told when they redid my bathroom, they put in green-something, hardie-board, which should resist water. But what about upstairs? Who knows? The old owners of both units are shadier than the current administration, so I don’t trust a word.
I don’t want to have to repaint. Or pay for repairs, of anything, since even with my recent financial improvement, I still ain’t got a dime extra right now.
It’s interesting, though, this home ownership thing. Happy, happy, happy to have such problems.
And this: Yay, Canada! Once again, they prove smarter than us.
I had the most knitty weekend. Oh, wait, it was Pride, right? That, too. Proud gay knitting, that’s me.
Okay, that kind of is me. Eeep.
I went to the Dyke March (yes, you can call it that, since that’s its official name), and saw all of the people that I wanted to see, and none that I didn’t, so that was really good. I watched the bikes go (O, the bikes….), and then walked to where our party place is at Dolores and 16th, where we drank and danced and watched the March go by. Lazy marcher, me. There were a lot of women who looked REALLY cold, if you get my drift. Me, I was warm. Most of the time. There may have been a breeze once, but it didn’t last long, and although I’ve heard there was photographic proof, I haven’t seen it, so we’re all right. There WAS a woman in a window above us who was so well endowed that every time she hung her torso out the window to the cheers of the marchers, I thought she was going to topple out. I couldn’t watch. That much.
I didn’t ride in the march, but I was on the back of Geena’s bike, dammit! Halfway to my goal….
Sadly, my rockstar girlfriend (she rocks out) was recording and missed the march, but I collected all her friends like any girlfriend should, and we ate massive veggie burritos and then drank beer at the Lex, where we watched all the young hip lesbians flirt. I *so* don’t have the right glasses. But I really liked the person I was sitting with, you know?
That was Pride. I didn’t go to the parade, I wasn’t that proud. I was sleepy and stayed in bed, instead.
Then the Strizz had a little informal thingie at her house, where I knit for like, six hours. That was really nice.
Ask me for names and links. Lazy.
And today, my girls Kira and Rachel came over and we sat at a local cafe (World Ground on MacArthur) and knitted for another few hours.
Much progress was made on my first Lara sleeve (from homespun!) but none to show, because I am, as I have repeatedly stated, lazy.
And now I’m hungry, and laziness is driving me to go out to my car and go to Taco Bell. That’s terrible, isn’t it? Oh, yum. Bean burrito, no onions, sour cream. The perfect end to a fabulous, relaxing weekend. (Even if I wasn’t in Brooklyn. Humph.)
Whew. It’s sure a good thing that I hopped on that supersonic jet this morning when I got off work. Otherwise I’d still be in Oakland for Pride weekend in the Bay Area, and we all know how AWFUL that can be. Dreadful. All those proud people. Humph. We sniff.
Well, shoot. (I did however, answer my wonder-some phone while in front of Trader Joe’s last night, and talked to all three of my gorgeous ladies. All in the same country! Who would have ever thought?)
Where’s that plane ticket? I know I left it lying around here somewhere.
Good thing I still got my Pride.
I just totally stubbed my toe. On my ankle. While lying asleep in bed.
I so win. (But if you can top it, let me know in comments, please.)
This is Pride weekend, y’all! While I don’t plan on hootin’ and hollerin’ at the parade, because I’d honestly rather sleep in on Sunday morning, you all know I LOVE the Dyke March on Saturday night. Love it. Love, love, love it. Love the women, love the safety in numbers, love the clothes or lack thereof, LOVE the motorcycles. There will be photos, probably edited for content.
So please, think good thoughts for this year’s event. Last year, a friend of mine was bashed just outside the Lexington, one of the only lesbian bars in town. He broke her nose before three people ripped him off her. Amazing that something like that could happen in San Francisco, on Pride weekend, but really, it’s just amazing and horrifying that it could ever happen, anywhere, in this reasonably educated society.
Come play! Or be Proud where you are.
Well, mostly better. Fever still lingers a bit, but only in that drive you crazy am-I-feverish-or-not kind of way. Not enough to cramp my style, or prevent me from going to work tonight, although I slept almost thirteen hours last night and just got up from a three hour nap this afternoon. Well prepared for a night of sitting on my ass, I think.
So I have nothing interesting to say, having done nothing in the past three days. So I’ll give you a couple of pics of the most interesting things around me recently (sadly, La’s been super-duper busy, so I’ve been amusing myself with movies and cats and spinning).
How I spent last night:
And yes, that ball of wool is bigger than Adah. She weighs more, though. It’s destined to be Debbie Bliss’s Lara, I think, if the gauge comes out. Just what I need. Another sweater in California. But at least the nice thing is I seldom wear a coat here, just sweaters at night, so I actually get use out of them….
And it’s spinning up (two-ply) into this:
It’s rather uneven, and I’m really struggling with it. It’s a stubborn Rambouillet from A Touch of Twist out of Schenectady, obtained in Maryland. Drafting more is helping, but it’s still aggressive and jumpy. I think I’d gotten used to the nice merinos and this is hard for me. But it’s a good challenge.
Also, I just saw this in my living room. I love my house. (And my Treo, for taking the picture. Not bad for a phone, no?)
Yes, I took that last wee post down. It felt passive-aggressive, and I hate being that, although I’ve been known to be good at it.
Still sick. Stomach flu with fever, and I thought I was getting better this morning, but as the day wears achingly slowly on, I feel worse, so I’m staying close to the bed, drinking a lot of fluids. And sleeping a lot.
I’m never sick. Unless I have something terrifically big, like that pneumonia last year, but I don’t get the flu.
BORING. There is nothing more boring than writing about being sick, and it’s tedious to read, too.
So instead, go visit my friend Anne at her new blog, just up, Paper Tiger Knits. Yay, Anne! And because there are SO many cool Ann(e)s in the world (and it’s my favorite name, you know), you should go visit Ann of the Alpacas. She sent me some fiber a few months ago, just ’cause, and it is the SOFTEST stuff. Really. Go gitchoo some of this at Maplecorners.
Con: I’m still sick. It wasn’t the tequila, alas. Indeed, the tequila didn’t do anything to kill the little germ that’s attacking my innards and doing a Mexican Hat Dance in there.
Con: Doc barely looked at me, implied it was the flu, and didn’t even bother with trying to help my migraines, just wrote a referral to a neurologist.
Pro: Discovered the fasting blood-work that I’ve needed for more than a year could be done in the office right across the very hallway in the building where my realtor is, and realized that with the flu, I had been fasting, all right. Got that done.
Con: The lady didn’t do very well drawing the blood. Nope. Ouch.
Pro: Walked out of the realtor’s office with checks to pay off ALL my credit cards, thanks to a refinance and the fact that the creeks didn’t rise (LA Times article notwithstanding). The cards have been around my neck for about thirteen years. It feels amazing.
Con: Walked in the house and destroyed the venetian blinds by foolishly trying to open them. Silly of me, that.
Pro: I fixed them and now feel like a big stud.
Con: Still have a germ doing a manic little dance in my tummy, now to a Gloria Estefan cha-cha. No one’s happy in there, man.
Going back to bed now. Exhausted. Hope you’re well.
Bleah. I’m feeling just the littlest bit queasy, and my stomach is upset. I’m not sure what to chalk it up to: It may just be that I’m tired, even though I got plenty of sleep. We had a great day yesterday, lying in the (really hot) sun in Stern Grove in San Francisco, listening to Lucinda Williams and John Doe play a concert for FREE. Well, I’m sure they got paid for it. But we didn’t pay, nope.
And man, were there a lot of people. Luckily, we knew friends of friends of friends who got there at ten in the morning for the two o’clock show, and got great seats. We brought things to do:
That’s the Herron Mandola, the mandola that my dad manufactures. Anyone interested, let me know and I’ll put you in contact with him. It’s got a sweet, sweet tone….
I brought knitting, and only knit about three rows. It was so friggen HOT. Lala was happy, cold-blooded thing that she is. I was pretty happy, but for a little while I was miserable and went into the shade to cool off. I run so much hotter than most people, and I don’t like getting overheated. That’s why I think my general malaise today has something to do with yesterday. Plus I believe there was a bottle of hot tequila being passed around. Note: Tequila should be warm at most. Hot is just asking for trouble.
So I’m off to laze about some more. One more picture for your WTF file:
It’s seriously a book of short linked period romances, with the same cats romping through each story. As near as I can tell, that is. Did you ever?