Archives for January 2004

“They constantly manipulate facts, and when things don’t work out as they want, they run to mama and whine.”

Seems as if the AFA isn’t, in fact, going to take its poll on whether Americans favor same-sex marriage to Capitol Hill, as they had originally said. Hmmm. I wonder why? Humorous, but disappointing just the same. (Thanks for JStrizzy for the link.)

I got the best sleep last night! No knitting done at all, just bound off a Secret Project (pics to follow in the next few days) and called it good. I took a hot bubble bath, which I used to be good at doing every night, but I’ve fallen out of the habit recently. I tried to catch up a little with my New Yorkers (four weeks behind right now) and I got to bed at a decent time. I slept until ten minutes before the alarm would have gone off.

I took Alice Starmore’s Celtic Collection to bed with me. I’m going to make Cromarty (breathe deeply, in, out — I’m a wee bit frightened, this being my first A.S.) and I wanted to READ the pattern. You know, really understand the construction. Of course, I can’t get past the very SECOND instruction, k1b. WTF? Amy, help! Is that knit one through the back loop? That’s the only abbreviation they don’t explain in the back of the book. And it’s the second thing I’d have to do after casting on. Lord.

I’m going to do it in Koigu Kersti, from the boys, and can I just tell ya? They cut a deal with me like no deal has ever been cut. Also, I got to talk to Rob on the phone, as they were cruising — I mean looking — for a new home for Threadbear. I hate it that they have to move their business, but we’ll all pull together and order LOTS of yarn from them to make the transition a little easier, huh? We’ll sacrifice a bit. Won’t that be terrible? Ordering yarn? Stop it. And Rob? Fireball, that’s all I’m gonna say.

So I read Cromarty. That made for sweet dreams. And I tried to get further with my Proust, which the – girls – and I are reading, but I swann….. I’m loving the book — it’s rich like fruitcake and heavy cream, and it makes me drowsy and dreamy in the same way. Oh, it’s lovely. And narcotic-like.

All right. I’m bored with myself and work is busy, so I’m outta here. Have a great weekend. Mwah!

Now would be a good morning to say:

Think about Stitches West. Less than a month away! Seriously, if you’re in the Western Hemisphere (alison, you’re the only one from whom I’ll accept an excuse), you should come. Mariko and I are planning on Friday breakfast in Jack London Square at Jack’s, followed by a morning of excess at the Marketplace, and possibly lunch at Le Cheval (I haven’t asked her about that one yet…) I have to work all day Saturday, but I’ll be back on Sunday for a class and more shopping.

You know you wanna.

Absolutely too damn sleepy to write much more today. Yesterday I had lunch AND dinner out, and both meals were heavy Italian creamy pasta dishes with a beer. My pants SO don’t fit right today. And all that food kept me awake, so instead of going to sleep at ten and getting up at four this morning (had to be at work at five), I finally got to sleep about one-thirty. And why is it that on the nights I can’t sleep, Digit can’t either? He growls and paces at the windows, using my hips for purchase to get at the window next to my bed (and he had more to purchase last night, that’s fer sure).

This is painful. I’m a sleep-gal. Not that good at it, but it’s my favorite sport. Need. More. Coffee. Want some?

It’s your Friday! You did it! (and thanks for the EXCELLENT comments. What would I do without you?)
*yawn*

I love Maeve’s new Peachy-keen sweater. And her sleeve lengthening tutorial below it is fabulous. Do you think she’ll lengthen my bolero for me if I ask nicely?

Hokay. I did something dumb last night. Not Very Dumb, only slightly silly, but now I’m regretting it. There are nights, very few and far between, when I like to go home and look at personals on either Planet Out or Craigslist. (Free is good.) I can admit that here, since we’re all internet junkies, right? And I’ve made excellent real life friends from both places (and met at least one crazy, but hell, that can happen any-damn-where). But I still feel dumb about it, and I’ll tell ya why in a sec.

I went to see Big Fish last night. I remember someone (maybe Em?) said they had been and had cried for the last 30 minutes of it. I thought to myself, Eh, I don’t cry at movies anymore. Or books, really. I must getting old and hard.

Oh, lord. I sobbed. Really. Those great big gulping sobs that are hard to breathe around. Granted, I’d only had three hours sleep, but that wasn’t it. It was just good. Really good. Some part of the movie (the big-ness of the peripheral stories?) kept reminding me of The Princess Bride, with a little less levity and little more Tim Burton-ness. Gawd, I love him. I ran out of kleenex from my pocket and had to use the sock I was knitting. Don’t tell Christy. Sniff.

But the movie, while it was the PERFECT see-alone movie, left me feeling so lonely. I NEVER feel lonely. (Exaggerator that I am, never usually means once every four or five months. Pretty standard marker.) I went to Christy’s house, but we watched Sex and the City, and her boyfriend came over. Both good things, but both exacerbated said situation.

So, driving home, I decided to go to the local gay bar and have a drink. Maybe dance. Sounds good, right? Then I pictured what always happens when I go in alone – I sit at the bar with my 7&seven, smile at everyone, they smile back and I leave, a little embarrassed. Women aren’t easy to talk to. Men? I’ll talk to any man, in any bar, anytime. Women are harder. So I drove home, made myself a 7&San Pellegrino Aranciata (the Trader-Joe’s-shopping version of the drink) and read online ads for fun. Sometimes I like to respond to them. Sometimes I make friends. But last night I posted my own on CL. (Search for yarn, it’s the only one.)

The reason I feel Quite Silly is that now that I’m awake and rested this morning, I’m got a full inbox of sensitive sweet responses and I’m NOT LONELY in the slightest. Have no reason to believe I’ll feel that way again anytime soon. I like being single and I don’t want to change that status right now. Can I call them in four or five months, when the mood strikes again? No? I just feel a little guilty sometimes, as if I should be making the effort to find the One, but the last year and a half of single-dom (never before had) has been bliss.

So now I feel like an ass. One girl I might go on a date with, just ‘cause her note was perfect. If she wants to. That one doesn’t feel weird. But the others, like the one who wrote, “I am currently reading Cash-flow Quadrant by Robert Kawasaki and Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill,” but sounded so good-hearted, what do I do? Definitely NOT go on a date, and I have to write back, but what do I say?

It’s my own stoopid pickle. This is why you don’t post after a tall glass of fancy. And I was so much more excited this morning to read my comments from you all! Those are the ones that matter to me. Erg.

I need to go yarn-shopping now, to make myself feel better. My friend Kira and I are meeting for lunch in the City and I’m going to ImagiKnit for the first time. That might do the trick, no?

Isn’t that amazing? Riona, in my comments, said that Our Lady of Venice, my new yarn lady shown there on the left, is named Beatrice! She met her a couple of weeks ago while she was there (hold on. Must shake off my jealousy. Okay. One more sec. All right, back to the blog). I swear, it’s the perfect name (and a variant of alison’s new pal’s name, which just makes it all that much better). I knew you could get a LOT out of this blogging thing, but the very name of the yarn lady in the most beautiful city in the world? In less than a day? Yowzer.

Killed ants yesterday. I actually became Very Lazy right after I wrote the post about having a busy day planned. Isn’t that the way? The second you admit you’ve got a ton of crap to do is the second you realize you’ll die if you don’t take a nap on the couch. And I don’t even nap. So I went in the kitchen and just peeked at the sugar bowl. Just took a quick look, to see if I could just chuck a few dry goods and get rid of their food source, sending them on their way kindly and gently.

THIS is what I saw. Don’t click if you’re squeamish. Theresa in SC, don’t. You can’t handle it.

So I cleaned. Damn it. They’re still around today, but in fewer numbers and I’m hoping for the best.

And I wrote, too! I haven’t been talking about it, don’t want to jinx myself, but I think I’m back in the saddle. I took a break over the holidays that I felt terribly guilty about, but did it anyway. I lost all motivation and lost some belief in the book, too.

But I know by now that confidence in your own writing is completely situational and subjective. If I wake up and my hair looks great and my cheeks are naturally pink and the sun is shining and Digit is purring and my coffee turns out perfectly, then the novel is a sterling example of the creative originality of the Great First Novel. If I stub my toe on the way to the bathroom and ants are marching and I can’t find the phone and I’m sneezing from allergies, then the novel is a blithering, self-indulgent collection of silly, trite, overused words, strung together like a candy necklace from the dime-store. Cheap, ready to break, and attractive only to six-legged pests and already grubby hands.

Slight exaggeration, perhaps. But know what? I just need to finish it. And then start really writing/revising it. You’ve heard that before. I’m 490 pages in and I feel the end coming. No, I mean it this time. I have no idea what’s going to happen, exactly, but I’m confident my characters are going to take me there. They’ve brought me this far. Just have to write. Every day. And I have been.

So has Bethany! Tell me it’s not just me – her posts slay me. Especially this one. If you have any Robert Earl Keen or Steve Earle CDs, put one on before you read her. They’re her soundtrack.

And lastly, gratuitous cute kitty shot. Adah, sleeping: