Friday, December 21, 2007

The Ice Queen Chronicles: Chapter One

When we last left our beloved heroine (me), I'd been pretty busy crankin out simple, mindless teacher gifts - Mindless and Simple referring to the super-easy items I'd made as gifts, not the teachers, just to clarify. But anyway, because this arrived at my house

before THIS did,

I was snowed in with beautiful soft handspun yarn, beads and a hook, and all other necessary materials, and I suddenly realized that I was trapped...

with the Ice Queen.

So I put the movie that Calvin and Ripple sent for the Apes

in the DVD player to buy myself an hour or two of relative peace so I could concentrate, and I boldly introduced myself.

Hello, Ice Queen, I'm Penny. Prepare to meet your doom. Your Provisional Cast On is powerless against me. Behold my Crochet Hook of Justice!! Have at you!!!

It only took me about 40 minutes to figure out the Provisional Cast On. Here's my first attempt, where I tried to crochet the chain first and then pick up the stitches by poking the bumps in the backside (yes, I said that on purpose). The problem was that I could never tell the front from the back, so I didn't know exactly which bumps I was supposed to be picking up with the needle and it came out horrible:

LOOK at that shit. Sucks, dunnit?

And you know how you can read ten different books describing the same concept, but sometimes you just have to read something a certain way before it actually makes sense in your brain? The Provisional Cast On instructions in Charmed Knits made sense to me - even without a drawing or anything visual to go on - and I figured it out. Here's how great I was doing:

The very first instructions were CAST ON 156 STITCHES. And I had about 100 beautiful, perfectly spaced stitches on there, when suddenly my Denise needle came unlocked and a whole bunch of my stitches fell off into oblivion. CURSES!!!!

But I wasn't going to give up that easily. Oh, no. And I am proud to announce that I successfully completed the Provisional Cast On. Yay, me!!

I was pretty sure it looked right, so I changed into my jammies and continued well into the night, and after a few rounds and it looked like this:

Yer goin' doooooown, Ice Queen.

As it turned out I fell asleep, needles in hand. Sexy.

The next day there was even more snow,

so I put the snow pants on the Apes and sent them outside, put my semi-famous Idiot Bean Soup in the Crock Pot (so named because an idiot can make it. Here's the recipe: one can each of pinto, kidney, black and great northern beans, a can of chicken broth, and some cut-up ham - it's awesome and it smells so good when it's cooking), started a loaf of bread in my bread machine, put on my game face and grabbed the Queen by the balls.

Next, I fearlessly approached the bead part. Think your beads can beat me, Queenie? HA! Totally easy! I bent those weak-ass beads to my will. Check me out.

My progress continued, the colors emerged beautifully, my feather and fan looked like it was supposed to (I thought), I had the right number of stitches, markers in the right places, and I was almost starting to see the finish line on the horizon.

The Ice Queen was gonna be my bitch before this day was through.

Then, dear readers, I got overconfident. I admit it. Somewhere around row 30-something, my stitch count got seriously screwed up. There were four stitches I couldn't find and I couldn't figure out how to get them back. Huh???

Sensing imminent mortal peril, I was faced with a choice. And so, rather leave a man (or four) behind, I gathered the troops and retreated.

The Ice Queen, she is frogged. And I'm really okay with it. I'll pop a Xannie and re-tool my battle plan.

The Ice Queen is a cruel mistress.
You win this round, Your Majesty.

But I am not defeated. Oh, no, Sister. I'll be back. And I'll be stronger. And this time I'll be armed with this Ice Queen Care Package from Carmen:

There are all kinds of faboo goodies in here - needles, row counters, handmade stitch markers, tape measures, dishcloth patterns, and The Knitter's Handbook

with topics relevant to this project flagged for my convenience! This was the coolest surprise! Thank you!


But I'll probably have to put the Queen away until after my parents have gone home.

How's that for a cliffhanger? Stay tuned.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

I probably shouldn't be proud, but I am.

First, I'm really proud of the fact that I have spent nothing on teacher gifts this year. Last year we have each of the kids' teachers a $10 gift card to Blockbuster and put it inside one of those microwavable popcorn tubs. Tito and Pie each had three teachers, and Beeb had two. So we spent $100, easily, on teacher gifts. STOOPID. This year I spent zero.

This year I had fewer teachers to deal with, which was great because I had less money too. So I fished around in my stash and found yarn to make scarves for the boys' teachers - this year Tito has two and Pie has only one - and hats for Beeb's two teachers, who are both men.

Here are Tito's teachers' gifts (I made two identical so there'd be no fighting amongst them):

And here is Pie's teacher's gift. I figured only a kindergarten teacher could get away with wearing it:

Yes, it's Thick N' Quick.

I wouldn't knit a guy a scarf unless I knew he was a scarf guy. And I have yet to meet a scarf guy. I'm sure they exist, but it's kinda more like an urban legend to me. So I decided to make Beeb's teacher a hat. And the stash yarn I had that was the most masculine in color (I have a lot of pinks and purples, for some reason) was this Lopi Lite wool that I'd never used before.

The hat itself came out well, I think. I thought I'd taken a picture of it, but I guess I didn't. Oh wait, here it is:

But it itched reeeeeally bad, and I didn't want Beeb's cool teacher to hate it. So when Beeb came and asked if I was done with her teacher's gift I told her yeah, it was finished but it was really itchy and I didn't think he would like it.

Incidentally, here's the one I ended up making to replace it. It's the House Beanie from Charmed Knits, in a marginally masculine self-striping Patons Merino. I think maybe I should have made a medium instead of a large.

But I didn't want to trash the itchy one, because aesthetically, it looked nice, and it could still pass as a gift for someone I was morally obligated but not totally thrilled to give a gift to. So I asked Beeb what she thought I should do with it.

Well, I could give it to Mr. French. I don't really like him. He's kinda mean.

My Inner Bitch secretly applauded her snarkiness.

Sure, Beebs, if you want to give to a teacher you don't like, that's fine with me. Like somebody's gonna complain about a handknitted gift.

Beeb giggled with a deliciously infectious catty glee.

It's fun to give a sucky gift to someone you hate!
Damn straight it is! I've taught you so well!!!!

We're a coupla bitches, aren't we, Beebie?

Yes, I said that out loud.

Monday, December 17, 2007

As if I could possibly love him more...

No, not R this time... Glenn.

Friday, December 14, 2007

Honey, Bring Your Caulk, I Want To Take A Nap.

Ok, I have like a billion things to talk about, I'm way behind on Blogstalking, AND I got my Turtlegirl Yarn in the mail yesterday, but I have to tell this story before I forget.

Yesterday we got the notification in the mail that Pie had been accepted to the district's Gifted Program. He made the 98th percentile! We were pretty confident that he'd make it, we would have been more surprised if he didn't.

But this means two things: A) He'll go for a full day on Mondays with Beebie (which gives me A MORNING TO MYSELF) and B) My reasons for not wanting to look at other school districts back when we were house-hunting were completely valid.

Told ya, FIL!!!

Oh, and it means one other thing. I get to remind the Aldis that my kids are smarter than theirs. And very few things in this world fill my cold black heart with as much glee as being a catty little bitch, especially when I get R to participate with me. He's an even cattier little bitch than I am, and I LOVE it.

I'm sure some of you may be new to my blog, and even if you're not, I think it might be appropriate at this point to remind you of a few of the myriad reasons why the Aldis (my husband's older brother and his wife) annoy me.

This is an actual email I sent to my friend Renee back in 2002:

Well, I'm sure you remember Reverend and Mrs. Aldi who are notorious for giving us re-gifted, crappy, age-inappropriate and incorrectly sized gifts (remember my Winnie-The-Pooh sweatshirt from the Juniors department and the Bubble Train for ages 18 months+ for Beeb's 4th birthday?) that were purchased on clearance and put away for a gift-giving occasion that could be months away, rendering the shitty gift virtually unreturnable and worth about 33 cents in store credit if you can even determine which store it was purchased from?

And forget a gift receipt since you'd only get back what they actually paid for it, which probably isn't much more anyway. We end up giving the gifts they give Beeb to Toys for Tots, which means I have to figure out a place to store it for 6 months.

And I'm sure you remember how we attempted to rise above this gift-giving inequity and continued to buy cool gifts for their daughter Aldigirl, such as a wooden dollhouse and a Rainbow Princess Barbie, which were met with Mrs. Aldi muttering audibly "oh greeeeeeeaaat, more little pieces for me to pick up..." Bitch.

Well, we got wise to their scheme and decided to play it to our advantage. Now, we look for toys with lots of parts that are completely annoying on clearance and put them away to give to Aldigirl. It's like a sport, and R and I are great at it. In fact, it's brought us closer together as a couple.

At one point we found the Baskin Robbins mini ice cream maker on clearance for $3.49 at Target, but then we found it at WalMart for 20 bucks, so we returned it to WalMart (hee hee) and made money on the deal.

Then we found Cootie Jitterbug - a battery-operated, noisy and annoying version of the original, and put it away for nearly a year until Aldigirl's birthday. Thank GOD they didn't have a party for her again this year. Every year they try to cram like 12 grownups and 7 kids in their house. No, Reverend Aldi had a conference in LA, so they actually purchased a plane ticket and took Aldigirl to Disneyland for her 4th birthday. Whatever.

Anyway, we presented Aldigirl with her gift at Easter (in a non-reusable slightly torn gift bag, as I had covered every detail) and to my delight, she shrieked "I ALREADY HAVE THIS GAME!!!"

Gleefully I imagined the scenario that we had endured so many times before - standing in line at the return counter "um, yeah, I got this as a gift and I need to return it..." "yeah, RIGHT! we haven't had those on the shelves for 6 months! You can have a dollar in store credit, if ya want it..." "no, thanks..."

Well, apparently Mrs. Aldi knew exactly what it was worth (since she probably bought it at the same time we did), because her reaction was NOT "that's okay, we'll see if they'll exchange it...", instead it was " love that you can have one upstairs and one downstairs..."

And the best part was that I was in the bathroom at the time, where I could hear everything and yet freely snicker without fear of an embarrassing social faux pas. I was so tickled by my triumphant victory, I don't even care if she's onto us, which I suspect she is.

Two years ago Aldigirl gave Beeb what appeared to be a surprisingly cool gift - a "Juice Box" MP3 player. It was cool, but we soon discovered that it was discontinued and finding new cartridges for it was going to be a major pain in the ass. Another clearance rack fiasco. Thanks, Aldis. At least they're consistent enough to be predictable.

The next amusing incident requires a little bit of a set-up. Since Aldigirl's birth, exactly nine months and five days after Beebie came, Mrs. Aldi got Aldigirl's picture taken once a month, every month, for YEARS. And she would buy them in four of five different poses, and let me "choose my favorites", which was always a little uncomfortable, since I really didn't like any of them.

Their kids look like they could be the love children of Mr. Bean. Seriously.

We literally have drawers full of baby pictures of Aldigirl and Aldiboy. And on the back of each one is a printed label with their respective ages in Months and in some cases, Weeks.


Now, I don't take my kids' pictures that often. With mine, I kinda went with the "once every three months for the first year and once a year after that" plan. (And I haven't even been that religious about it, really. I think Tito had a picture for his first birthday and that was it. Oops.) So whenever I have pictures of my kids, I feel obligated to share them with the Aldis.

On Mother's Day last year we took out the boys' school pictures and one that Beeb had taken of her sitting on the floor - one of those portraits where you're sitting and your shoes show up in the shot. It was taken at school, but it's not the standard School Picture picture. It was really cute.

I handed the pics to Mrs. Aldi and after she said how adorable and grown-up my boys looked, she asked where we got Beeb's picture taken.

"Oh, I think they took it at CCL..."

CCL is our district's Gifted Program. I just love pointing out that my kid got into it and theirs didn't. Yeah, it's bitchy. I know.

A few years ago Reverend and Mrs. Aldi informed the family that Aldigirl would be testing for the gifted program. I almost choked on whatever I was eating when I heard that. R and I personally witnessed the child eating a crayon when she was 5 years old, swear to God.

The best part of the next several weeks was that I didn't even have to do anything to enjoy how this story evolved. MIL and FIL were the ones who kept asking them if they'd heard anything yet. They hadn't, and R and I knew they weren't going to, but it was fun to hear the Aldis dodge the subject whenever it came up.

Then one day when I went to drop Beebie off at the gifted program building I saw Aldigirl's name on the visitor's sheet and "testing" beside it, dated two months earlier. So I was sure they had to have heard something by now.

And of course, they never actually told us that she didn't make it, but the excuses they kept giving were incredibly entertaining. My favorite had to do with the fact that Aldigirl had broken her arm a few weeks prior - I forget how but I'm sure it was funny - and it somehow affected her ability to perform on an intelligence test. Ok, maybe there's a valid case to be made for her not being able to focus or something, but come on, a broken arm doesn't affect your brain.

Annnnnyway, since then I have taken demented delight not in bringing up the Gifted Program, but in simply sitting back and allowing the Gifted Program to be brought up by other people in the Aldis' presence as much as possible. Y'all can hate me if you want, and you probably should, but exactly how often does shit fall together EXACTLY like I want it, for my maximum possible amusement?

Exactly never. Except for this.

And here's the total beauty of it - I NEVER bring it up myself, so that allows me to feel like slightly less of a bitch. See, they can't ever say, "Good God, Sarah never shuts up about that gifted program." So they can be bitter all they want, just not at me.

It would be one thing if I were the one bringing it up just to be twatty, but honestly, I'm not. MIL and FIL, every time we're out there, will ask us something about what Beebie's doing in the program, or sometimes at larger family functions Carol the Boob-Starer (R's cousin's wife who CONSTANTLY stares at my rack when she's talking to me) or Mrs. Happiestfamilyinthewholewideworld (not sure if I've mentioned her but her Christmas card will surely arrive any day) will ask which classes Beeb is taking because their kids go there too, and that's my absolute favorite.

Carol will talk about Little Ricky's Mission to Mars class, Mrs. Happiest will talk about how her Tracy's class raised $4000 for The Heifer Project, I'll talk about Beeb's French Civ class researching and formally submitting a potential route for the 2008 Tour De France (seriously!) and the Aldis get to talk about how their kid can twirl a flaming baton, throw it up in the air, land in the splits and catch it in her teeth.

Great fuckin resume she's got going there.

By now I'm sure you're probably wondering about the title of this post. Well, I'm going somewhere with all of this, I promise.

As I mentioned, R shares my sentiment toward the Aldis and enjoys just as much as I do passively drawing attention to why their kids are going to work for my kids someday. So when we got the packet in the mail, we already knew it was going to be (with absolutely no effort on our part) a topic of conversation at Christmas. Fuckin' beautiful!

Everyone knew that Pie was testing. A couple of weeks ago R went to get something from The Reverend and The Rev asked if we'd heard anything back yet. R said we hadn't, and the Reverend said (ok, imagine a recording of the voice of Eeyore playing at a super-slow speed),

Yeeeeeeahhh, wellllll... we think Aldigirl has the intellllllllllligence for it.... she just doesn't have the diiiiiiiiscipliiiiiiiine. We've had some prooooooblems getting her to doooooo her hoooooooomeworrrrrrrrk.

Whatever. Dude, seriously. Give it up.

I knew MIL and FIL had been anxious to hear if he got in, so I asked R if he wanted to call his parents right then to let them now, instead of waiting until Sunday evening like he and his siblings usually do.

No, I'll wait till Sunday, and I'll be sure to call them before the Aldis do.

And the fact that I knew exactly what he meant by it (that it would give his parents the opportunity to inform the Aldis, thereby keeping our consciences clear) I gotta tell ya, it was hot. So hot, in fact, that I said,


(Ok, the whole gifted program backstory was intended to paint a vivid picture of precisely why R's comment turned me on so much. I know I went a long way for it, and thanks for sticking with me.)

Oh, and I forgot to mention that Beeb was sitting on the bed watching TV with us.

So after I announced that I was turned on (and I didn't say it very loud) R said, "Um, hey Beeb, why don't ya go read in your room. Mom and I want to... uh... take a nap."

I sincerely hope that his choice of words is no reflection on my (ahem) abilities.

Beeb came back with -

I KNOW what you guys are doing. I KNOW what you're talking about. AND IT'S TOOOOOOOTALLY DISTURBING.

I was shocked! What?? We're as icky as our parents are? But I'm only 36! I'm still hot! I'm a MILF!

Ugh, it's like, soooo gross to think about your parents...

Beebie, you should be happy that you have a mom and a dad who love each other so much! Seriously, Beeb, how do you think YOU got here?

I KNOW how I got here, Mom. I watched a movie about it at school last year.

Beeb, if it makes you feel any better, it kinda icks me out to think about my parents too...


So now, whenever we want to freak her out, we're going to wink at each other right in front of her and say "Hey, honey... ya wanna take a nap??!!"


Thursday, December 13, 2007

Tito's Christmas Play.

Tell me this isn't the cutest little face you've ever seen.

"The little lord Jesus asleep on the hay..."

All together now... Awwwwwwwwww.

And special guest star: Robert Goulet!!

This was the first time Tito's ever done anything like this by himself. Last year he had Pie with him. I wasn't really sure how he was going to handle it. I had visions of him spinning in circles or picking his nose or something, but he stood there - very, very still and totally focused. I was blown away by his professionalism.

After the show I said, "Tito, I was so proud of you! You didn't make faces or be silly, you did such a great job!!"

And he said, in a soft but very serious voice:

"It was VERY important."

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

This is why you love me, isn't it?

We've had a leak in our basement, nothing major, but just annoying especially after we'd had the plumber out not even two months ago for a leak in roughly the same place.

So today the plumber came by, took a look at my bathtub and determined that the problem was that water was dripping behind the metal disc that's between the faucet and the wall.

I asked if it was something that my rather handy hubby could fix, and he said that R could probably fix it, but since he was here now (and I would have to pay him anyway), he'd see if he had the necessary materials in his truck, and if he did, he'd go ahead and take care of it. Fantastic.

So, about 10 minutes later, he came out of the bathroom and said it was all taken care of, but to wait a few hours before taking a shower. No problem.

And so, as I handed him a check for $55, I said -

Wow! Good thing you brought your caulk!

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Do you know me?

I love interesting quizzes. I try to pass my favorites along for y'all's edification.


Which of Henry VIII's wives are you?

this quiz was made by Lori Fury

Your Score: Saffron

You scored 75% intoxication, 50% hotness, 75% complexity, and 50% craziness!

You are Saffron! Those other spices have nothing on you! You're warm, smart, and you make people feel really good (and with no side-effects!). You can be difficult to get to know and require a lot of those who try, but you're so totally worth it. *Sigh*

Link: The Which Spice Are You Test written by jodiesattva on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

I'm a little disappointed that I only scored 50% hotness, but I guess I'd rather be intoxicating and complex, since they require a little more depth.

Anti-Stella recently tagged me for a Seven Random Things About Me meme, and you know I don't do anything if I don't do it full-out, balls to the wall. So I've seen this one on a few different blogs and I decided to gank it and give my vast readership MORE than seven things. It's the holidays. I'm in a generous mood.

Elaborate on your default icon:
It's that black and white pic of me next to my name. I love that picture. It captures my essence quite well. Don't I just look like I'm about to make some smartass comment?

What’s your current relationship status?
Blissfully married to my awesome husband R for 10 years. And I never call him by his first name - I actually do call him R, which I have from even before we started dating. It was my code name for him whenever my work friends and I talked about the cute guys we liked in the office.

Ever have a near-death experience?
If you're talking about near death in the sense of being beckoned toward the big white light or whatever, no. If you mean have I ever been in a situation where I felt about 98% sure I was probably going to die? Yes.

Once insanely cold winter morning, my friend Michael called to ask if I could drive him to where his car had broken down the night before. Sure, sweetie, I said, where is it?

East St. Louis.

If you're unfamiliar, I can't even paint a picture other than it is THE scariest place he could possibly have said. I'm the kind of friend who doesn't ask questions in these situations.

Long story short, he got the car to start so I followed him back to my side of the River across the Poplar Street Bridge. And then, literally halfway between Missouri and Illinois, Michael's car died. We were in the far right lane, which was good because there is no breakdown lane, but bad because obviously, Hello, Mississippi River!!

I wasn't sure if I should call Missouri Motorist Assistance or Illinois Motorist Assistance, so I called 911. Oh, and the best part? I was pregnant with Beebie. I vividly remember screaming into the phone "And please hurry - I'm PREGNANT!!!",

I just kept thinking I am going to die on the Poplar Street Bridge. I'm either going to die in a crash or else someone's going to knock me over the rail and I'll drown in my car.... it's going to be on the news... I wonder what they'll say about me... we're pretty high up, so maybe I'd have time to unbuckle myself on the way down and try to swim to the shore... I wonder if I could get out through the sunroof... nah, never mind, the impact alone would probably kill me... FUCK FUCK FUCK...

It was bloody cold, and all I could do was roll my window down enough to get my arm out and motion to oncoming traffic to get out of the lane we were in. It felt like we were there a reeeeally long time but we couldn't have been. Eventually they came and towed Michael's car and everything was ok, but I can't drive over a bridge without remembering that moment.

Name an obvious quality you have:
(Sigh) Must I? Ok. Laziness.

What’s the name of the song that’s stuck in your head right now?
The Humpty Dance.

Any celeb you would marry?
Alan Rickman, and I'd want him to dress as Professor Snape and spank me on special occasions.

Who will cut and paste this first?
Most people have already done it. I'm late to the party, as usual.

Has anyone ever said you look like a celebrity?
When I had short hair I heard Katie Couric (think Bryant Gumbel era), and more recently, Tina Fey.

Do you wear a watch?
I used to feel naked if I didn't have one on. Now there's really no place I have to be at any certain time.

Do you have anything pierced?
Both ears and both nipples. And yes, it hurt.

Do you have any tattoos?
Yes, a blue star right above my bellybutton.

Do you like pain?
Sweet pain, like a needle through your nips, sure. Kidney infection pain, not so much.

Do you like to shop?
I used to when I had money. Now I do it as infrequently as possible. There's not much I need.

What was the last thing you paid for with cash?
A Sunday newspaper. And a soda.

What was the last thing you paid for with your credit card?
We got a store credit card when we bought our sofa last year and paid it off in 3 months before the interest started. But we have no actual credit cards.

Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone?
About 10 seconds ago the counselor from Beebie's school called. Apparently some boy punched her in the nose on the bus yesterday and she didn't tell me. That'll be an interesting story for the dinner table.

What is on your desktop background?
A picture of me and Tito riding on the Metrolink. The look on his face is hilarious.

What is the background on your cell phone?
A picture of the kids at Purina Farms.

Do you like redheads?
I married one!

Do you know any twins?
Anti-Stella's a twin, and my cousin Amylovie from Yarntopia is a twin who has her own twins. My friend Mike (not Michael from the bridge story) has twin redheaded girls. R knows I have a friend named Mike, but my friend Mike's wife doesn't know that I have a friend named Mike, so please keep it on the downlow.

Do you have any weird relatives?
Have you ever read my blog? Click on Life at Chez Aldi in the archives to get you started.

What is the last movie you saw?
Life is Beautiful. One of my very favorite movies. It was on regular TV. Only don't watch it dubbed, watch it in Italian with subtitles. It's an incredible story.

What was the last book you read?
Sylvester and the Magic Pebble. I read it with Pie.

Is there such a thing as love at first sight, or it is more likely to be lust at first sight?
I first hooked up with R at a Happy Hour. It started out as lust, but it quickly morphed into the passionate love we've had ever since.

What’s your favorite book?
I loved The Color Purple. I didn't want it to end.

When was the last time you googled your own name?
It's been a little while. Sarah (my maiden name) is a British Porn Star.

What was / is your favorite subject at school?
I've always loved literature. Particularly American literature, plus Jane Austen and Shakespeare sonnets.

What was / is your least favorite subject at school?
I hated history. I have no sense of global historical perspective. It's embarrassing.

Do you like having your photograph taken?
Not really. Unless my hair looks good.

What time were you born?
I don't remember, I was pretty young then. And I wasn't wearing a watch.

Ever seriously questioned your sanity?

How many phone numbers do you have remembered and can say off the top of your head?
Most of the people I call are listed either on my cell phone or on Speed Dial so I don't have to know very many. I do have the number to Domino's Pizza memorized, however.

Can you Limbo?
No, and people who can totally creep me out.

Have you ever killed your own dinner?
No, but I'm thankful to whomever did.

How long have you been living at your current residence?
Almost two months. Still unpacking.

What phobias do you have?
Bridges. We've covered this.

What’s your ideal breakfast?
Eggs with cheese, bacon, a biscuit, and a mimosa.

Where are you right now?
In my bedroom.

Why do you blog?
Cheaper than therapy.

What would you call your autobiography?
It's Not Magic... It's Mommy.

What’s the longest time you’ve stayed out of the country / where?
Maybe a night or two at my aunt and uncle's house in Ontario, that's it.

Do you use ICQ, AIM, etc..?
Yahoo IM. Say hi sometime!

Do you have nightmares frequently?
I have intense dreams, but I wouldn't call them nightmares.

If you were another person, would you be friends with you?
Absolutely. I'm an awesome friend and I'm a damn hoot to be around.

Which TV character could you be friends with?
Liz Lemon from 30 Rock. I would have been great friends with Maeby Funke from Arrested Development. I miss that show.

What’s on your mouse pad?
Don't have one.

What is your ring tone?
It depends on who's calling me. I like to customize clever ones for each of my frequent callers. For example, when my parents call, it plays Mama Said Knock You Out. It defaults to the Mizzou fight song.

What did you watch on TV last night?
I honestly don't remember.

Scary movies or happy endings?
I like the surprise twist endings you never saw coming.

Monday, December 10, 2007

A Major Award!

Remember how resolute I was about sticking with scarves? Well, I timidly announce that I will, very soon, be taking on something more challenging. Why, you ask? Because I threw my hat in the ring for a contest on Turtlegirl's blog. In order to win the Grande Prize - some beautiful angora yarn (wut smellz like da bunniez) that she spun herself - participants were asked to give one good reason why they should be the winner.

We've discussed my competitive nature.

I, in my zeal to win something, offered up the following entry:

I will, so f*ckin help me, make something other than a scarf... preferably something just beyond my advanced beginner status... and then I will, for as long as it takes, document my progress (or lack thereof) on my blog until I either finish it or go crazy trying. Either way, I guarantee it will be fun to read. It’s like the gift that keeps on giving.

Pick me!

Sweet Turtlegirl viewed this opportunity to let her handiwork become an instrument of learning, and I was thrilled to be named the winner. And then I thought, OH SHIT.

Turtlegirl chose this pattern from the current issue of Knitty. It's called Ice Queen.

There are several elements to this pattern that will be new territory for me.

1. Lace. Lace and I, historically, do not get along. I wish I had taken a picture of Foliage before I frogged it, but seriously, I was too embarrassed by it to post it. And you've all seen the shit I'm NOT embarrassed to post but probably should be.

2. Beads. Like I have the time, patience and manual dexterity to deal with THAT.

3. Dear God, not the Chart! Charts give me a headache just looking at them.

4. And the element which will I will have to learn most immediately: The Provisional Cast On. I've never been able to master this technique, and, as a result, have passed over any pattern that requires it. I'll love what the finished item looks like in the picture, then read over the Materials... Yeah, I got that, got that.... What? Provisional Cast-On? Crap. Forget it. The pattern links to a tutorial, so maybe I'll be okay, but if the first picture I post is one of me curled up in a fetal position, rocking back and forth and sucking my thumb, don't be alarmed.

Folks, this blog's going to get really interesting really quick. And Muggles, fear not. I know a lot of the faithful Beholders of my dubious Brilliance aren't knitters.

But, knitter or not, if you enjoy the schadenfreude of watching someone of reasonable intelligence make an utter ass of herself, Santa's comin' early.

Y'all are in for a fuckin' treat.

I'm so glad I have the NC-17 language warning label.

Sunday, December 09, 2007

Why My Weatherman is better than Your Weatherman.

You might remember that I have a bit of an impure crush on my local meteorologist . I actually do know him personally (and have for several years), so obviously I have to curttail my lustful thoughts, but he's just supercute and I can't help myself.

In addition to his dashing good looks, the man is cool as hell. He wore the nosewarmer I made him on the air last winter (seriously, what other TV personality would do that, except maybe Ellen DeGeneres? I don't see nosewarmers atop the list of Oprah's Favorite Things. Hmmmm... perhaps I'll send her one.). He plays guitar and sings in a band, has fantastic taste in music, and is totally hilarious.

So because I was pretty sure he'd say yes, I presented him with an idea. While I was unpacking boxes, I found a bunch of ugly vintage ties. I'd found them at estate sales and had the intention of sewing them together into a skirt but of course I never did because I have no idea how to sew. But they were the kind of ugly that's so ugly it's cool and it was a shame to throw them out.

See? Was I kidding? UGLY.

At this time of year his station raises money for The Salvation Army and he and his Morning Show crew compete against the Evening Anchors to see who can raise the most. I offered to send him the ugly ties and make a donation for each tie he dared to wear on the air.

And my weatherman, in his infinite coolness, said he'd do it.

So, on Monday mornings at about 7:25, tune in for a segment called My Tie Mondays. And, if you are so inclined, feel free to send in the ugliest tie you can find and a donation to The Salvation Army and he'll wear it on the air (unless it's green because of the green screen) and you'll enjoy 30 seconds of St. Louis fame!*

* unless there's a Winter Weather Advisory, like today.

How cool is that?

Thursday, December 06, 2007

I'm Stickin to Scarves.

So the weekend of the Big 12 Championship (which I refuse to discuss) I made the kids each a back and gold Tiger Spirit hat of their very own.

I used Vanna's Choice yarn, as it was the cheapest (and only) yarn I could find in the colors I wanted.

Pros - I made all three hats from one ball of each color, $2.99 a ball. Quite economical.

Cons - It itches like bloody hell and nobody will wear the damn things.

Bottom Line - THIS ST_FF S_CKS. Buy a vowel.

So then I got the idea to make a hat that someone would actually wear, and fueled by my recent mastery of the Feather and Fan Scarf (currently blocking), I thought I might tackle Foliage, in the Fall issue of Knitty.

First of all, it took me forever to distribute the eight stitches and knit the first round on the double-point needles. Then I finally got to the part where you switch over to circs, and I am pretty sure I had it perfect up until that point. And then I was reminded why I can't do any pattern that requires me to actually pay attention to what I'm doing. I am constantly interrupted. CONSTANTLY.

I know how to do all of the necessary stitches, and yes, I can count to 100, but every time I'd start a round with eight repeats in it, one of the Apes would barge in to tattle on another of the Apes for something. I worked feverishly for two days on Foliage and finally realized that my handiwork looked nothing like the picture. So I took it apart, and, quite remarkably, didn't cry. Thank God for meds.

So scarves, once again, will be my holiday gift of choice for teachers and friends.

Oh, and remember how we had $50, one tank of gas, a gallon of milk and whatever food there is in the house to live on for ten days? We have done really well without spending a single dime on the debit card. I used my breadmaker a few times and dug to the very back of the freezer for stuff I could make for dinner. You'll know we've hit rock bottom when I make the frozen salmon filets that have been in my freezer for about a year.

I also sold about $40 worth of stuff on Craigslist last week (enough to get some groceries and put a little gas in the van), plus I got a $10 rebate check in the mail, got paid on PayPal for a mystery shop I did, and I got quite creative with other ideas for saving money.

For example, I remembered that we have AAA (or, as Tito calls it "Chik Fil A"), which entitles us to a few free gallons if we run out of gas somewhere on the road. I figured I would drive the van on fumes until it finally died, call AAA and get me some free gas, if it came to that. Then I decided that was too white trash, even for me.

So in trying to conserve gas and to concurrently minimize the temptation to spend money, I spent most of the last two weeks at home, looking for things I could either sell or otherwise get rid of. I found some cheap crappy plastic DPN's I had bought at Hobby Lobby a long time ago.

For some reason I had two identical sets of size 4's that I'd never opened, so I decided to see if Hobby Lobby would let me exchange them. I know most LYS's won't let you return needles, but I figured they probably wouldn't have a Needles Exemption in their return policy.

I only got half of their value, since I didn't have a receipt, but it wound up being a little over $4.00 in store credit. Not a lot, but certainly better than nothing, and as a bonus, I got rid of some shitty needles.

So a few days later, after the Foliage Fiasco, I told Beeb I'd make her friends some scarves in that pukey Hobby Lobby Frosting yarn that I have in my stash, and she could give them as Christmas presents. She wanted me to make a green one for her friend Lola, the only color I didn't already have. So Pie and I went to Hobby Lobby to see if it even came in green. I was armed with $4.76 in store credit and a 40% Off Any One Item coupon.

Lo and behold, Frosting does come in a mint green, so I grabbed a skein (marked $3.99) and got in the checkout line.

"Oh, you can't use your coupon. This is already on sale."

It is?

"Yeah, you see, this is a type of yarn called eyelash, and the eyelash yarn is on sale for 99 cents."

It is?

"Uh huh!"

Well, shoot, I'll go get some more!

I walked back to the yarn area thinking, She's wrong, this shit's not on sale, there's an actual Yarn Bee Yarn called Eyelash, THAT's what's on sale, not the whole darn eyelash genre. And I'm not even sure Frosting falls into that category anyway, but I'm not gonna question it - fuck her if she doesn't know what's on sale and what's not.

Long story short, I got four balls of Frosting for FREE. So I'm making Christmas scarves with no out-of-pocket expenses. Brilliant.

During this time I also managed to give a TON of stuff away. I gave away four sets of nice flannel sheets and a full-sized comforter to a woman on Freecycle who was collecting for a man who was down on his luck. Then a woman on Craigslist was collecting for a family with three little girls, so I gave away all of the My Little Ponys in the house as well as all of the Sweet Streets buildings and accessories. I also gave two girls' comforters and matching shams, some books, some dolls and three winter coats.

It felt great to help give some little kids a Christmas, after having been the Adopt-A-Family family ourselves, two years in a row. Nothing makes you mindful of how much you have like giving your excess away. And I was so proud of the kids for helping me look around for things that the little girls might like.

And I also need to say how great the kids have been about not asking for much for Christmas. They really understand how the house and the van have left us with less money for extras, and we are all in agreement that the house and the van are well worth the sacrifices we find ourselves making. After May I won't have the childcare expense anymore, plus I'll be able to look for something part-time, so that will help. Until then, it's Craigslist.

Wanna buy a gently used, authentic Coach purse, cheap?

Thursday, November 29, 2007

"Dis My Baskit."

This is for Turtlegirl.

One evening last week, I was reading Turtlegirl's blog, which often features gratuitious close-up shots of drool-worthy yarn as well as amusing photos (with clever captions) of the coolest kitties around, Ripple and Calvin. I usually get my 'puter time during the day when Beebie isn't home, so until then, she had really never had the pleasure of peeking in on some of the other blogs I read.

It might be partially because R's allergic and she knows we can't ever have a cat of our own, but Beeb couldn't get enough of Calvin. She scrolled through everything that wasn't kitty-related. Beeb could care less about the yarn (although I'm working on improving her appreciation of kickass yarns), but she was downright giddy reading all about Turtlegirl's little Calvin. And if you haven't seen Calvin, he really is a character. I look forward to Calvin posts almost as much as I do Turtlegirl's Yarn P0rn posts.

So I directed Beeb's attention to one of my favorite of Turtlegirl's posts and I read it out loud to her in a silly kitty voice as she looked over my shoulder. Beeb loved the pictures and the captions so much, she and I started cracking up and pretending to read the voices of Calvin and Ripple. My favorite part is dis my baskit.

The boys heard Beebie and me laughing and of course they came in to see what we were giggling about. And within a minute Beeb was perusing Turtlegirl's blog for more kittypics and reading out loud to her brothers for their amusement. The three of them looked at Turtlegirl's blog for about an hour, seriously, and I wish I had taken a picture of the three of them huddled at the desk with their little smiling faces lit by the monitor. It was a rare peaceful moment at my house, and I'm kicking myself now for not preserving it.

But I digress.

Later that evening, I heard the sound of two pairs of feet running around upstairs. I crept up the stairs to see what they were doing. I love to catch them in their most mischievous moments in hopes of cementing the fear in the back of their minds that at any time I could catch them red-handed doing stuff they know I won't be happy about, hoping it will serve as a deterrent. It hasn't worked too well so far.

But I peeked into the boys' room and saw Pie opening the closet door to find Tito hiding inside, whereupon Tito said, verbatim -

Go 'way Calvin, I'z hidin! Dis My Baskit! And they doubled over in hysterics.

What're you guys doing?

We're playing Calvin and Ripple!

Apparently, it's a variation of Hide and Seek where one of them (Ripple) hides somewhere, and when the other (Calvin) finds him, the hider says, Go 'way, Calvin, Dis My Baskit! And everyone busts a fuckin gut laughing.

I give them mad props for creativity.

Ok, and I have to add that as I was writing this post, the boys came in and saw R looking at the Kitty in the Basket post I linked to and they said Scroll down, Daddy! This part's funny!!! Ripple says "I'z hidin!!"

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

We Interrupt November to Bring You My Annual Pre-Holiday FUNK.

Doesn't the look on my face say it all? Don't worry, this isn't the picture we're sending out this year. We were just experimenting with where to set up the camera. But Tito still stuck his tongue out. Charming.

Wow, I didn't realize it had been so long since I last posted. Sorry, PennyLuvvahs.

Ok, so the last thing I wrote about was Dollar Burgers on my anniversary. The days following that event were spent scrubbing the old house from top to bottom. It took forever. It was exhausting. I would drop Tito off at 9, then I'd take Pie over to the old house and he'd watch me clean for about two and a half hours, then I'd pick Tito up and we'd all go back to the new house for lunch, drop Pie off at Kindergarten, take Tito over to the old house and clean for another two and a half hours, come back home and wait at the bus stop for Beebie and Pie, then make dinner and wait for R to come home, whereupon I'd get the kids bathed and jammified, and head back over to clean for another hour or two while R and the kids watched TV. Then I'd come home tired and bitter, only to be greeted by a sinkful of dirty dishes.

And R and I differed greatly on how to move stuff from the old house to the new. I thought it would make more sense for him to let me go through the countless piles of crap to see what we wanted to keep and what we wanted to pitch. He decided to move it all and organize it later, the logic being that once we get it out of the old place we can take all the time we want to deal with it at the new place.

See, "deal with it" basically means I have to find time in my day to open up some randomly-packed box of shit and figure out where the individual items therein should go. Nobody helps. Oh, they act like they want to help, but what it boils down to is someone yelling MOM??? WHERE DO YOU WANT TO PUT THIS THING??? and I might as well do it all myself. Like I have time. Or, best case scenario, someone will help by taking the entire box to the basement, which is the dumping ground for everything, and it will be years before I get around to dealing with that.

Anyway, so after I spent about six days cleaning the old house, I got to drive forty miles round trip to drop off the stupid keys. Remember the camp I drove Pie to last summer? The Evilite P.O. Box is out there. And while for a brief moment I waxed mildly nostalgic as I handed over the keys to the house where I potty-trained my two sons, where Buddy The Wonder Fish is buried, where the kids went sledding with socks on their hands, where we watched fireworks in the front yard and where I first learned to knit.

Then, within the same thought, I remembered the FIVE DAYS that we lived without electricity and what a total fucking idiot that stupid Evilite bitch was every single time I tried to contact her, and Evilite's complete lack of any sort of Basic Customer Service Skillz. And I gave the keys back with an uplifted heart and a secret wish that the Evilite bitch would somehow choke on them, right after she refunds our deposit, of course.

I'm reasonably confident that we'll get a good chunk of it back, as we saw that our old house was posted on their website (which I would really rather not link you to, because I don't want them to enjoy any free publicity - even negative - from me) two days after we gave them the keys back, and they were asking $100 more than what we paid at the beginning of our lease. So somehow, we added value to the house. We better fuckin get all of our $950 deposit back, that's all I gotta say, cuz otherwise we're livin' on about $50 until the 7th, and I'm almost out of meds. God help us all. Oh, and my parents are coming to stay with us for Christmas, by the way.

Ok, so now that I have washed my hands completely of the old house, I can focus all of my time and energy working on the new house. And doing laundry. And cooking. And shuttling apes around. And working on my holiday knitting. Oh, that reminds me, I made something. You know how Necessity is the Mother of Invention? Our TV remote kept falling behind the head of the bed, and it was pissing me off, so I made this goofy little pouch that buttons around the headboard so I can always know where the remote is! It's a little ghetto, sure, but who cares?

And while the house was clean, Beebie had a friend over to spend the night for the very first time in her life. And it went great. The boys had a campout in R's and my room, and the girls actually managed to be quiet and get to sleep before midnight. We ordered pizza for dinner - even ate it at the dining room table I got for free on Craigslist - and had donuts for breakfast and rented Love Comes Softly. It was a lot of fun.

Craigslist has been good to me recently. I've bought some Christmas presents and sold several items we no longer needed, which has allowed me to keep food on the table and gas in the van. I've got about ten items listed on there now. Not selling any yarn, though. I figure if we ever lose the house, I'll need it to knit a blanket big enough for all five of us to huddle together under a highway bridge.

But anyway, you know I need to discuss Thanksgiving. I made my famous Pumpkin Cheesecake and Chocolate Caramel Brownies, both of which were well-received. We had the traditional Thanksgiving fare - quite excellent, as always - and then the kids wanted to play with MIL and FIL's Nintendo Wii. The Aldis were also in attendance. Aldigirl was SO OBNOXIOUS I was ready to kick her buck teeth right down her throat. She kept doing this ghastly fake laugh that sounded exactly like a donkey. And Aldiboy, who is 2, was all over the fuckin place.

My kids, by comparison, were absolute angels. Still, we all know that FIL likes to stir shit up just for the sake of it, so at one point when Tito got a little bored waiting for his turn to bowl on the Wii, he was behaving in a slightly rambunctious but completely age-appropriate manner, FIL said,

Good Lord, Sarah, what did you feed that kid for breakfast??!!?

You know how sometimes you have a split second to debate whether or not you want to say the first thing that comes to your mind? I don't even remember consciously conjuring up the answer to FIL's question. I don't know how the words I said got into my brain. I know I didn't take the time to process the actual correct answer because it would have taken me a minute to remember anyway - probably Fruit Loops or something - I totally made it up extemporaneously.

I swear to God I have no clue where the answer Pixy Stix and Crack, FIL...I fed my four-year-old Pixy Stix and Crack... came from, but I heard myself say it out loud before I'd even felt the words sneak past my gritted teeth and curled upper lip. It was so incredbily satisfying, I think I'm just going to shut off my FILter from now on. I should probably be glad that Why the Fuck would even you ask me such a fuckin stupid question, you Fuggin Jaggoff? didn't slip out accidentally.

I wasn't going to go out on Black Friday - I didn't see anything I really wanted and we didn't have a whole lot of cash to get through the next two weeks, but Thanksgiving morning was cold and rainy and I told Beebie to put a coat on and she finally admitted that her jacket was too small. It's been in the 30's in the mornings, so I'd tell Beeb to put her coat on when she went to the bus stop, and she'd just flat out refuse, and now I know why. Why do kids never tell you that their clothes don't fit? Either she was afraid I'd be angry that I'd just bought that jacket and she'd worn it all but twice, or maybe she's sensitive about her weight or something. Incidentally, the jacket's for sale on Craigslist now, if you're interested.

But anyway, I got a newspaper and saw that JCPenney was going to have winter coats 60% off, so I told her that she was getting up with me and coming along so she can try on the coats with a sweatshirt underneath so we'd know for sure that it fit. So I woke up at 3:15am (without any alarm or anything), got to Penney's at about 3:45, found Beeb a coat and a Christmas dress, had breakfast at White Castle (which I do NOT recommend) and got home by 5am, before R even knew I was gone.

You guys know I love that man like crazy. I hardly ever complain about R. But today, kids, I must.

My sleep problems have been well-documented over the last two years, yes? Well recently, R's been experiencing some sleep issues of his own. Remember how he got his prostate exam on our anniversary? He'd had some strange lower-abdominal pain off and on for several weeks, and it turned out he had Prostatitis, an infection of the prostate gland. He was given two rounds of antibiotics, and it's gotten better, but it's still not all the way gone, and it sometimes wakes him up at night.

There are fundamental differences between Insomniac R and Insomniac Me. When I wake up in the night, I'll turn the TV to some PBS documentary and I'll keep it reeeeeeally quiet and read the captions, so as not to wake him. R turns it up to regular volume, which of course wakes me up, and then he flips through the channels a billion times. And he also does this thing where he'll tap the pillow or the headboard with his fingertips in frustration (which I can hear), or kick the bed, or let out this huge, hideous, theatrical, stage sigh of exasperation.

And then he'll roll over in angst and yank the covers off of me until I have a little bitty corner left. And then he'll yank that off me too. And remember how we're in a King Size Bed? I could be alllllll the way over on the edge of my side with half of my butt cheek hanging off the side, and the man's feet STILL touch mine. I hate people's feet touching me. Even then, I say nothing. I pretend that I'm sleeping, thinking that just MAYBE if he thinks I'm sleeping, he'll try not to make so much fucking noise. But no. Perhaps it's time to try a new tactic. If he wasn't already in pain, I'd kick him in the balls.

This morning he got up at about 5am and went out of the room. I had no idea where he was going, but I hoped it wasn't the living room to play Xbox, because he usually plays games with lots of shooting and loud explosions. What do I do when I can't sleep? I KNIT. So anyway, a minute later he comes back in bed - with food. Does he eat eggs or oatmeal or yogurt or something quiet? No. CAP'N FUCK'N CRUNCH.


And THEN - about ten minutes later - while the TV was still on, I heard him snoring. SNORING. Like something you'd see in a cartoon - like the trees bent in the direction of his inhales and exhales. So if by some crazy chance I could have slept through the volume on the TV, I could never have slept through R sawing logs. I woke up with an aching jaw from laying there clenching my teeth for three hours, and I was actually quite happy to shake him as hard as I could when the alarm went off at 7am.

And I went back to sleep.

Until I rolled over and found a piece of Cap'n Fuck'n Crunch in the sheets.

Thursday, November 08, 2007

A Decade with My Best Friend - R!

It's our anniversary! Somebody, somewhere, is losing a bet, I'm pretty sure.

I can hardly believe R and I have been married ten whole years. And even with all the stupid crap we've endured along the way, I'd still marry the man all over again, because every day is an adventure.

Some days are more adventurous than others, obviously, and those are the things I blog about. And you love me for it, dontcha?

I've been waiting forever to post the next three pictures. They require a small amount of backstory.

When R and I first got married, we had this great idea that each year we would take turns planning our anniversary celebration. On our first anniversary, R planned a wonderful overnight stay at Jackson House, a B & B in Alton, Illinois which advertizes a slice of fresh pie with your breakfast - what a great selling point!! We got dinner at Fast Eddie's and stayed the night in The Barn. It was really nice.

Of course, on our first anniversary we had a 16-month-old daughter (who is also why we never had a honeymoon), and R's parents offered to take her overnight so we could go out. They didn't offer the following year. So when it was my turn to plan, I had to search for places that allowed children. And back then we were both working full-time and Beeb was in day care all day, so we thought it would be kinda nice to spend some time with her too.

I had a vague memory of my parents taking me to Hannibal, the hometown of Mark Twain, (about 100 miles north of St. Louis on the Mississippi River) when I was little. I remembered thinking it was fun then, and now, being and adult with an English degree and a healthy appreciation for Mark Twain's contribution to American Literature, I thought I would like it better this time around.

The place I found was called Lulabelle's. which, according to local lore, was once a brothel. I'm the sort of person who finds tidbits like that charming. The place where we would be staying was called The Painted Lady.

The website mentioned a hot tub (hubba hubba!) and the best pancakes in town for breakfast. Beebie likes pancakes. Lulabelle's sounded like a winner.

The photographs on the website, very cleverly, do NOT show the entire outside of The Painted Lady. Allow me to enlighten you.

The first picture is a little misleading. There aren't a lot of cars in the photo, but The Painted Lady (the small blue house) is located at the intersection of the two busiest streets in all of Hannibal. You can see a bridge in the background. It's the only bridge across the Mississippi within a 50-mile radius. (EDIT: Unless ya wanna go up the river 10 miles to Quincy, Illinois.)

At dusk, they turn on the 80-billion jiggawatt blowtorch that illuminates the Welcome To Hannibal sign, located right outside the bedroom window. See the little blue house right behind the sign? That's The Painted Lady. Was I kidding?

Needless to say, we didn't get much sleep. And not in the wink wink, we didn't get much sleep if ya know what I'm sayin...bowchickabow kind of way like most people would spend their anniversary. Plus, being a brothel, there were no doors on any of the rooms in the house. So we couldn't really put Beeb in a room with some books, close the door and wait for her to fall asleep. She eventually fell asleep in the bed with us, then R moved her to another bedroom, and he and I got ready to fire up the hot tub.

The Welcome To Hannibal lights blaze right into the enclosed porch where the hot tub was. So I figured, screw it, we'll give the truckers a thrill as they whizz by. Then I lifted the lid of the hot tub and I was greeted by a layer of dead moths floating atop the water. Ugh. Never mind.

And the best part happened on our way home. When we set our wedding date, we were quite unaware of the fact that November 8th falls on the weekend that Deer Hunting Season begins.

You can't see it in the photo, but this bleeding deer carcass is BUNGEE-CORDED to the roof of the car. Fucking classic.

And don't you love how the dude's waving us around, like I want to get close enough to his deathmobile to see Bambi's mother's eyes rolled back in her head and her tongue flapping in the wind? No thank you, I'll just snap a picture so I can remember this moment for all eternity... and blog about it eight years from now.

Needless to say, Hannibal was the end of the Bed and Breakfast anniversary celebrations. In fact, the last few years have sparked an alarming trend. Two out of the last three years, R has seen a doctor on our anniversary. Two years ago, he got a vasectomy (the gift that keeps on NOT giving), and this year my husband subjected himself to a prostate exam.

So another man has jostled my husband's junk on the date of our wedding anniversary not once, but twice.

And how will we be celebrating this evening? Dollar burgers at Clancy's with the kids. And Thursday Night TV in our jammies.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Monday, November 05, 2007

Get comfortable - we've got a lot to cover.

I'm waaaaay behind on Blogstalking, so let's jump right in, beginning with Week 6's assignment - A Day in My Life.

First of all, there is NO such thing as a typical day in my life. There are some things that I do pretty much every day, but very rarely do I have two similar days in a row. And that's how I like it.

The first thing I do every day, as soon as I get out of bed, is make the bed. It's really the only thing I'm anal about.

I absolutely LOVE this bed.

I take a shower every day. The nudie pic comes later, pervs.

Post-Shower, in my fluffy pink robe.

And then I walk into my walk-in closet to pick out my ensemble. I'm still organizing in there, but you'll notice the picture Pie drew of me for Mother's Day last year.

Here's what I'm wearing today.

I didn't make the sweater, but I love to wear beautiful knit sweaters around people who know I knit, just so they can assume I made them. Tee hee!

Here's my entry for the current Week 8 assignment - What's For Breakfast? A Caffeine-Free Diet Coke. Or sometimes a Caffeine-Free Diet Pepsi. Whichever's on sale.

Then I ask my favorite ubersexy weatherman boyfriend Glenn what the weather's going to be like today.

And I check the time.

Then I walk Beebie down our beautiful tree-lined street to her bus stop. And I wave wildly like a crazy person, just to embarrass her. Such fun.

So now it's just me and the boys hanging out until 12:45. What to do, what to do...?

Well, I guess I could clean my bedroom.

Or Beeb's room.

Or the basement.

Screw it, I'm gonna dick around on Knitty for a while.

I need to put some clean laundry away. Most of it goes upstairs to the boys' room.

So I'll clean the boys' room.

Two hours later, it's pretty much as good as it's gonna get. Notice the bins are even labeled!

Oh, shit - I almost forgot to take Pie to school.

So now I'm hangin out with Tito until Beebie and Pie get home. I think we'll go to Hobby Lobby. Where they DON'T sell size 9 wooden DPN's, FYI.

So then I hang out with Tito, maybe take a nap or play a game or watch a Thomas DVD or something. Or maybe we'll take silly pictures of my bellybutton. My bellybutton's name is Neville McNavel.

I was gonna do A Day In the Life of Neville, but it didn't come out as clever as I wanted. My bellybutton looks weird because of the vertical scar under it from my gallbladder surgery and the fact that I have a tattoo right above it, behind Neville's eyes. And I'm not even going to mention the stretch marks. I certainly hope that seeing my bellybutton makes you feel better about yours.

Back to the story - big kids come home, and Pie shows me his homework.

It says "I showed perseverance when I made comic books." Only it kinda looks like Comic Boobs. Which, obviously, is WAY funnier.

Next I'll start dinner, and we'll eat at the dining room table I scored for FREE on Craigslist!!

And if you've made it all the way through this post, here's your reward. GRATUITOUS NUDITY, as promised.

That's my Week 7 - The Oldest Pic of Yourself You Can Find. I think I'm about two years old there. Same impish grin, though, ain't it? ;)