Blog

I knew I said I wasn’t going to write, but hey! Here I am! A brand new hormonal thing this year, along with the migraines, is a monthly bout of serious insomnia. It only lasts one or two days, but while I am not the best sleeper any time of the month, this new insomnia is rough. I got about two hours last night and three tonight.

It’s not that kind of insomnia you can soothe, either. I’ve become pretty good with the reg’lar kind — read for a while, or have a cup of tea, and not stress out, just drift back to sleep eventually. But this kind, the brain is ON! Hello! I’m your brain! I have approximately four thousand seventy-two new ideas to throw at you, and I know you can’t remember a damn thing, so I’m going to yell them at you over and over until you turn on the light to write them down, and then a-HA! You’re up! Let’s play! The brain likes coffee! Coffee, please?

So it’s 0530, and I’m all packed and ready to go camping and Lala and Bethany won’t be here until 8am. Honestly, I don’t really mind. I mind more when I have to DO things, like work. I’m not too concerned with being drowsy around the campsite. Lovely.

Have I mentioned I love Oakland? I hella heart Oakland. When I woke up at this time yesterday, I got up and went shopping at the best store in town, which is open 24 hours: Longs Drugs on 51st. You wouldn’t think so, huh? But I’ve blogged about it before: You can get EVERYTHING there. It’s HUGE. Yesterday I needed nice heavyweight paper and a new print cartridge — they had the right stuff, down to the cartridge number. I found a cute orange tank top over in the clothing section. They sell alcohol, furniture, plants, fabric, and YARN, people. They carry Indian spices and huge water fountains. Over by the indoor plant area, birds flap about under the roof — they get in during the day, and they nest up there. No one seems to mind, which is nice, I think. I got Mom an inflatable bed for her tent in the camping aisle. I think I spent an hour and a happy half there.

Two women passed me at about 6:30am over by the shoe aisle. One said, very concerned-like, "You didn’t know? You really didn’t know? Oh, honey. I’m sorry. Once you know about this store, you’re doomed." Her friend’s eyes were huge. lt’s kind of an addiction. I call it my midnight Disneyland.

Yawn. Now that I’ve both given and got up, and now that I’ve had my coffee, I’m a little sleepy. Figgers.

One more thing: I usually wash my one running bra by hand (that new one from Title 9 just shipped, thank god). I’ve done this for quite a long time. I would seriously love to know just how long I’ve been missing a wire. Dude. One boob has wire, the other doesn’t. Where did it go? Why the hell haven’t I noticed? Did I run the half-marathon that way? I must have. Will I be able to get over this and still run in it, or will I run in small circles, now that I know? This is something I lie in bed wondering about.

Happy long weekend! Woot! (Also, watch me enable Jeni. Heh. Ignore the incredible double-chin shot, though.)

I’m out, peeps. I’m working for the next couple of days on some writing things, tying up loose ends, so I’ll be busy with that, and then I’m out of town for a long, long weekend to Strawberry, our annual bluegrass festival trip. Lala gets to go this year! Yay! Oh, my god, I HAVE to remember the tickets! I have such a huge fear of driving four and a half hours, only to be turned away at the gate. It’s a valid fear, too. I’d do it.

But dude, I can’t wait to be sitting, listening to music, doing some knitting, and some spinning, and some napping. If I owe you an email, I’ll catch you next week. I’m tired of online, you know? Gotta take a little break.

In the meantime, here’s some new music for you: Nora O’Connor. I lurve her. Go check her out in iTunes, or I noticed that Amazon has some quick sound samples. She also has a new album out with Lala’s other girlfriend, Kelly Hogan (HOT) and John Wesley Harding. And they’re playing tonight  in San Francisco, at Cafe du Nord. So starts my Music Week. Oh, yeah.

(vacation) MWAH!

Apparently I’ve forgotten how to knit.

I was designing this aran, mm-kay? Not that hard. I figgered out the motifs I wanted, and swatched them, measured, did the math (I love the math). Cast on for the 244 stitches I needed, joined, knit the ribbed band. All of it. Lots of ribbing.

Then I realized in my notes I’d added a motif, which was going to make the sweater a good three inches bigger around than I’d wanted it. As it’s going to be for a small person, those inches mattered. If it was for me, I’d just have accepted a bigger sweater. With a misplaced, odd-man-out motif under the armpit. Whatever.

But I ripped it out.

Cast on the correct number, 232. Ribbed it all. Lots of ribbing. Lots of boring ribbing. Decided to count one last time — don’t know why I did this, but I did. I was TWENTY stitches over. I had been knitting 252 stitches the whole time. And I’d counted twice!

I ripped it out.

Cast on again. Counted my stitches approximately one gajillion times. Did the ribbing. Lots of ribbing. Almost done, I smoothed it to admire it.

A MOBIUS STRIP.

I’ve never done that in all my knitting life.

I threw it into the corner of my knitting bag and we’re not speaking. Stupid complicated 2X2 ribbing.

But I’ve been working on the wedding dress. I’ve forgotten to install decrease rows three times now. And on this decrease row that I’m on, I’ve forgotten twice to do so when I’m supposed to. So I’m taking a break from tinking to write this.

I’m a knit-moron lately, and I don’t know why. Humbling, really. I’d make a sock, but it probably wouldn’t fit anyone I know. Or anyone human.

(Thanks for laughing at my post yesterday. That felt great. Happy weekend!)

Hey. Pssst.

Can you keep a secret?

No, I mean, really. You can’t tell anyone. If this got out, oooooh. I’d be in trouble. But I’ve got to tell someone or I’ll just bust.

So, did you hear what happened?

Em goes to the store yesterday and bumps into Wendy in the condiment aisle. There were some words, apparently, about who could kick whose ass, Scout or Lucy. It got ugly. Wendy pulled Em’s hair and threatened to spin it. Em whipped out a pair of travel scissors and sliced her corrugated hem.

Seriously, you can’t breathe a word of this.

I guess the cat-fight thing only came up because Cari and Claudia had been over in Atlantic City (you already know about their little problem, right? Oh, damn…. Don’t tell anyone I slipped, but that’s why Claudia’s stash is so limited, and why Cari’s dog are so small. Their finances are pretty strapped most of the time, if you know what I mean.) Anyway, while they were there, there was the usual blogshop talk, Cari talking about cats versus dogs, how to shop for spinning wheels and elephant tusks, and they were just walking along, and then they saw something.

You’ll never guess.

Right there, in Atlantic City, (they were walking back to the motel — no money left for a cab — you know how it goes), they ran into the Harlot coming out of this run-down building in a real bad part of town. She looked tore-up, all scared and small, and she was clutching something under her coat. When she saw the girls, she mumbled something about "crack silk haze" but c’mon. We know what she was really talking about, right? Yarn. Yeah, right. You know they don’t call her that for nothin’.

Where was I? You’re such a good listener. I know I can trust you. Not like that Carrie. She’s something else, huh? Twins. Yeah, right. You know she’s just making up that twin sister Cathy, right? Glasses on, glasses off, like we’re gonna fall for that. I mean, NORma. She’s got some nerve, huh?

I never talk like this, really. You don’t mind, do you? We all need to vent every now and then, huh? It just gets to me, it all piles up sometimes, and I realize that I’m just so MAD about what I see going on in blogland. Frauds. They’re all frauds.

Just look at Ryan and her Dulaan scam. Who’s going to believe that knitters made that many items for charity? That’s just ridiculous. Just because she has The Mighty Knitter (TMK) at her beck and call to do all that knitting…. Well, I don’t think she’s paying her enough. All I’m saying.

And I guess while I’m blabbing, I’ll just mention this: Iris? That stuff about the temp job? You know she’s actually the CEO of a company that imports alpacas to exploit at fiber festivals, right? She’s loaded and she has way more fiber than she’ll ever be able to use. Okay, I guess I do sound a little bitter. Aren’t you?

You really didn’t know any of this? Oh, geez. I can’t believe I’m such a big-mouth today. Must be the champagne. You know Alison? He always tell me to watch what I’m saying after the bubbly.

Oh, damn. Now that was a big secret to let slip.

We can’t gossip any more like this. Lala will be here soon to pick me up, and if she thinks we’re in any way involved, like with a capital I, she’ll go all pugilistic on you. No, Janine, really. I know I was supposed to help you out of the restaurant and all, what with your foot, but you REALLY don’t want Lala to see us with your arm over my shoulder. You know those Buddhists.  Just hop out. C’mon. Hippity hop. You can do it.

And thanks for listening.
 

Because the blog ennui is on. Julia and Em even doubled up on the blahs, without knowing it.

I’ve taken to making myself little notes of blog ideas, because when I sit down to write, I cain’t think of a thing that might tickle anyone’s interest, least of all mine. So I just decided to steal my own comment from Em’s site:

But the point, for me, at blog inception, was to write. And it keeps us
writing, no matter how trivial or silly it seems. And it keeps our
friends happy. Plus, archives are the BEST way to find out when a lease
is up.

It’s true. I can’t count the number of times I’ve used my own archives for reference. What yarn did I use? What was the name of that restaurant? What was I thinking when I signed up for X? It’s like a searchable public brain.

Plus, it’s writing. And that’s what it’s all about.

But, man, BLAH! We need to have a blog party, yo. Get some folks drunk and start rumors and peep on people making out behind the barn. Spice things up ’round these parts.

There’s a tree-trimmer in my backyard — the fellow who owns the big old sycamore behind me has decided to take it out, so they had to back a tree-eater-truck up my driveway after I moved my car. The guy could barely drive the truck, and it was only luck that I had JUST walked across the driveway when he put it in drive instead of reverse and shot out into the street. He looked kind of sheepish. I’m sure I looked kind of terrified.

The cats are not enjoying the noise. They’re sure they’re next. No, what’re next are the ANTS that have moved my house over by three inches overnight. I’m going to vacuum them up and mail them back to Uncle Milton. I especially like how their entrance is in my bedroom, so that the mass has to tromp through the bedroom and living room in order to get to the kitchen. But even with all the best holistic advice that y’all have given me in the past, I find that the best way to deal with them is to (Lala, my little Buddhist, close your eyes) shoot Raid into the crack from which they’re tromping, and then 409 the heck out of the rest of them, killing them and cleaning my floors at the same time. Erg. I need to mop now. I have the serious cleaning urge.

But first, some photos of SpinPorn. I’m finally spinning again, having had time last week while I was sick. This is the most beautifully colored green/pink from Carolina Homespun, 70% merino, 30% tussah silk. I got 8 ounces from them, and strangely enough, I found another four of almost identical stuff at Deep Color, so I think I’ll have enough for nice big lace something. It’s two-ply, closer to sport weight than lace, but I LOVE it. It’s the finest weight I’ve ever managed.

With the flash, to show the silk,

And up close, because I like it:

Also, This Just In:

Why My Girlfriend Is Better Than Your Husband

With all respect to your husband, of course. But while having a Sunday morning lie-in, Lala decided she wanted to learn how to use the drop spindle, which, it turns out, she was AMAZING at. She understood the fiber much more intuitively than I ever did when starting on the spindle. And dude, that’s HOT.

Yesterday afternoon we went to a fundraising party for our friend Jodi Terry (who’s running the AIDS Marathon in Honolulu, the same one I did last year — go support her! She’s as much of a runner as I was last year, having not run a mile since high school, and she just ran 14 miles last week! Run, Jodi, run!). 

At the party Lala was spinning like a, like a, well, like a spinner, and a gal named Indira wanted to try.

    Another natural.

Oh, spinning is good. So is the nectarine I’m eating. Hope your day is happy.