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Hah! Snuck that in on ya, didn’t I? (Most of you, that is….) I’m 32. And may I say that I LOVE my thirties? The twenties were cool. But the thirties rock.

And that dinner party? Yep, it was a birthday party. And I’m gonna photoblog it, because really, who doesn’t like a photoblog?

It was…. ready for it? Awesome. You know how I worried and fretted and stressed? Two people kept me sane and made my party fun for me — my sister Christy and my friend Marama. Christy came early and went shopping with me (and paid for the Safeway run even though she shouldn’t have). Then she came home with me and started cutting up things and didn’t stop for a LONG time. She gathered blackberries for the fruit salad, and chopped heaps of things like garlic and tomatoes and other things needing chopping. She made things pretty while I showered and fretted. Then Marama came over with her daughter Kalea (who was the best party favor EVER; I wish you could all have Kalea at your parties). Marama took over backstage. Every time I looked, I caught her wiping something down or washing something with nice soapy water. I felt awful about it, but she kept smiling and pushing me back into the mingling fray, with sweet wishes for me to have fun.

Which I did.

I had SO much fun. I couldn’t decide who to invite, so I invited a select group of my favorites from all the different segments of my life. I think thirty or forty people filtered through the house over the course of the night, which went from five till almost midnight. And I loved looking around and seeing A from work talking to B from the bar, who actually knows C from knitting, but didn’t know that they both knew D from high school. Much, much laughter. I tried to mingle as best I could, but I would find myself deep in conversation with one person, only to realize I was neglecting a whole group. Then I just decided to never mind it and keep having fun.

Without further delay:

Marama and daughter Kalea, setting up for the party.

Kalea with my sister Christy. Kalea fell in love with her, and fast. But who wouldn’t?

I am so happy it’s my birthday!

Strange people were doing odd things with my camera:

It was at this point that I gave my camera to Kalea, and appointed my five-year old friend my staff photographer. It thrilled her to her sandals to have such an important job, and I got a brand new look at my house. Like my purse, for example:

The best part was how people had to bend down to her level. (This picture made me howl.)

She took lots and lots of pictures of her feet. I don’t think this was on purpose.

Some photos are centered:

Some are not so centered:

Scary thing is I don’t know whose hand this is around my waist:

My favorite boy Winter was there, seen here with Kira (in her fab new tank):

My dude is WAY high on sugar:

I, on the other hand, have had a LOT of champagne (seen here with Don, of the Dude sweater):

See?

Kalea’s still snapping shots, but now people are coming down to her level:

And even posing for her!

I think Kalea might have gone a little sugar-happy too (or it might have been the booze), because the shots become at this point more avant garde:

My pre-Marathon gams, in my fabulous Diner Floor shoes:

Finally the camera is reliquinshed at the end of the night, and we’re looking at a very happy Kalea:

And some of my favorite gals are still hanging out at the end of the night:

It was the best birthday party EVER. Oh! The clock just clicked over to Monday! Officially, happy birthday to me!

THIS is funny (thanks, Amy!). I’m in Portland’s Craiglist!

I’m also, let me admit, in a wee bit o’pain. I pushed myself running yesterday, and I KNOW I shouldn’t have. I should have been doing the pool running but I missed the road running (that’s the craziest phrase I’ve ever written) so I went around the lake. I thought I was doing great, but I could feel the shin splints hurting again, and when I stretched at the end, I think I pulled something. Damn it.

So I iced all night and arnica gelled and ibuprofened (let’s see how many other irritating verbs I can create), and I’ll do the same today. Sigh. I know once they heal I’ll be fine. It’s just having the patience to let ‘em heal. (Where the hell can I buy some patience? Right now!) So no running for the next ten days. Pool running, yes, which they say is 90-100% as effective as real running. But honestly, it feels like cheating to me. For one, you don’t sweat, or at least you don’t notice you’re sweating. Ew. For another, it’s so flipping BORING! The only thing I can pick up on my headset radio is the local right-wing talk show which makes me run all the faster. Again, ew.

It’s Friday! One more night o’work, and then I’ve got a fabulous weekend planned. Fourth of July is my favorite holiday in the whole wide world – I love fireworks like I love cashmere. It’s something about that boom and that report and that glug you feel deep in your chest when a great big one explodes and lights up the faces of the people next to you. I’ve got a friend with a loft in the embarcadero in Jack London Square, so we’ll hang there and walk down for the show.

And tomorrow I’m having a Real Party at my house! My first one! I’m not thinking about it. Really, I’m not. Not even a little bit.

(Okay, I’m making pasta with veggies, and garlic bread, and a big salad, and Christy’s bringing devilled eggs and a cake. None of that a-little-bit-of-this-and-that, because I’ll end up spending a hundred bucks at the grocery store only to have a fridge full of leftovers that no one will eat. This is what I want: a dinner party where people can fill a paper plate with simple food (no barbeque, too complicated) and then take it to the backyard and balance it on one knee while they drink their [beverage of choice].

I need to: Clean the house, string the outside white lights, wash the outside chairs, oh hell, wash the INSIDE chairs, or at least de-fuzz them for the more allergic guests, go grocery shopping, and NOT freak out.)

But honestly, I’m not really thinking about it. Ahem.

Enjoy your weekend. Mwah!

You know what I’ve learned through this blog? Or rather, what I’m in the process of learning on a daily basis?

How to say thank you.

It’s never been easy for me; I’ve always been the “oh you shouldn’t have” or “what I got you isn’t half as nice” kind of person. But lately, with the donations, and the compliments on the article, and virtual hugs, and all that dang love that I feel from all sides, I ain’t got no choice. It whittles my words down to just:

Thank you.

(After being whittled, she just goes on typing, doesn’t she? Yep.)

Now. Go see Bethany. She’s at the end of the chapter, and this last entry made me get a little weepy. I’m so proud of her, so proud of both my incredibly accomplished sisters.

And I’ve got a lil article in the sexy mag…..
Whee! I’ve had such a great day!

Good grief.

Check:

$3006.

Aiiiiyeeeeaiiiiyowyowyow! That’s the sound of me jumping up and down all over my living room and dining room, waving my hands and stomping my feet. It ain’t pretty. Both cats are now under the bed.

Sandy and Don were the two who put me over the top. Bless your hearts, both of you, ALL of you. Greta, honey, you were right. It happened. And how.

I’m changing the donate button over there to direct to the Team 911 pledge site (“The only thing we’re used to running is a hot bath”). If you’d still like to donate, it’ll go to getting my three fabulous wonderful coworkers to the run. And you’ll still get my undying thanks and your name listed and some stitch-markers, to boot.

IT’S NOT EVEN JULY YET! I thought I’d be struggling with this until, like, November.

Bless your hearts, every one of y’all. Love love love.

Aaaayoweeyowweeeeeeeeaiiiiiiaaaaaioooooooohooogah! I have to go try to calm down…. No, why bother? Yipppppeeeee!

What a response! At first I have to admit I felt a little chagrined – my pal that got bashed isn’t a good friend, I only see her situationally, when I’m in the City hanging with a certain group of friends. I adore her and think there’s nothing happier in this whole world than her huge laugh, and Cat playing Flip Cup is one of the great wonders of the world, but I wouldn’t call her up if I was having a bad day. I have her email, but not her cell number. You know? I started to feel like I shouldn’t be receiving such lovely, caring comments.

Then I realized that you weren’t responding because she was a close friend of mine, you were responding because you understand that it happened in my world, something that never should have happened, and should never happen again. And yet it does, and it will. Your thoughts do support her and heal her, and they support and heal me, too.

It does suck, though, huh? I sometimes forget how blessed I am to have a family that loves me, and friends that support me, and a community (online and in person) that protects me. I forget that there a whole lot of people who use the word “dyke” as an epithet. I forget that they live so close to me. I picture that kind of ignorant person living in the back of beyond, somewhere far away, having dropped out of school in third grade due to unfortunate circumstances and never having had the opportunity to learn love. I forget that that kind of hatred can be bred in affluent, well-educated families, and that they can live next door to me, and they can smile and let me go ahead of then in the grocery store line, because I don’t “look” gay.

Erg. I don’t want to think about it anymore. Can’t. I’ve always refused, flat-out, to be ruled by fear in any way. We’re all in danger at every minute. When I eat bread, I could choke. When I drive, a drunk driver could hit my car. When I walk, a tree limb could break as I’m under it. Terrorists could attack. Or Bush could start a war (no, wait….). You just have to stand tall and enjoy as much of it as you can. Right? And love.

Have I made it perfectly clear yet how wonderful my readers are? How loving they are? How SMART they are? I am a lucky, lucky girl. And I’m a lucky girl who’s already done her writing for the day, and it’s still early, so I have time to cruise blogs for a bit. I took myself off line this past weekend, almost entirely. Didn’t post, didn’t even check email or any blogs. I need to do that more often. It was quiet and nice. But I missed you.

Have you noticed (of course you have) the lack of Knitting Content? That’s because it’s been slow around Casa Rachael – still working on the Brick Joy cabled DB cardie – only have the back to finish, then joining pieces and picking up and making hood. I find the yarn almost impossible to photograph, so I haven’t bothered. Picture deep red/orange, lots of cables. There. You get it. I sent a pair of RealQuick Socks to a friend recovering from a bad fall – orange and purple Horstia tweed, and I regret I didn’t get a pic of them – they were my first socks made using worsted weight, and they were FAST (just used Wendy’s magic toe-up formula, which works on any size needle, any gauge yarn).

Hey! Bethany’s home. No, I mean it. I haven’t talked to her yet today, but she should be at Mom’s by now. She’ll spend two weeks in California, and then she’s on to settle for a time in Montana where she’ll be working and playing, thanks to an Artist’s Grant that she received from a lovely, lovely, lovely friend. But the road trip that lasted almost a year is over. I’m so proud of her.

Now. Mwah.