The Barber is Dethroned. For Once.

I know I don't need to remind my vast readership of my passionate love for All Things Depp. I've been listening to Sweeney Todd in the van so much that the kids know most of the words. They each have their favorite songs.

Pie likes Ladies in their Sensitivities (Excuse Me, My Lord, May I request, My Lord, Permission, My Lord, to Speak...), Tito likes Pirelli's Miracle Elixir (That's what did the trick, Sir, true, Sir, true...), and Beebie likes By The Sea (Wouldn't that be Smashing...). Personally, I'm fond of Epiphany; so wrought with palpable angst.

There's something deliciously demented about driving my kids around Suburbia in an innocuous-looking minivan, singing merrily about slicing people's throats and encouraging one another to Try the Priest. Hey, at least I wait until I'm alone to play NWA - Straight Outta Compton. That's how this gangsta rolls. A soccer mom, I'm just NOT. Suck it, bitches.

And because this Soundtrack includes not only my Beloved Mr. Depp, but also my equally (if not more) beloved Mr. Rickman, it goes without saying that for a CD to dethrone the Sweeney Todd Soundtrack as my driving CD of choice, it would have to be pretty effin amazing.

My new driving CD is the soundtrack from the movie Once. Oh, my friends, if you have not seen this movie, you simply must. I bought the soundtrack within an hour of watching the movie. I don't want to tell you anything about it, but it's a sweet romantic story and I absolutely loved it. Seeing Once was the highlight of an otherwise rather dull week. Oh, and I got a new vacuum but I don't like it because it's too bloody loud, but that's pretty much it.

Last Wednesday night I had to go to Beeb's junior high, which she won't attend until fall (I hate having to think about August when it's only January, don't you?) and get her all registered and whatnot, and when I entered the cafeteria for the presentation, I saw three of the moms from the ill-fated Daisy Troop Puppet Regime - and you really should read that story if you're unfamiliar with it - and I instantly cast myself into Inferiority Mode.

That Daisy Troop debacle may just hang around my neck forever. And ok, I know it's my own choice and I should get over it, and at an intellectual level, I know that maybe they've moved on and I'm the only one who cares, but I can still feel the weight of it sitting on my shoulder like a parrot, squawking to the world how stupid I am, er, was. And kind of still am. I can run, but I can't hide from the constant reminders. So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. Yeah. That's my life in a nutshell.

One of the former Daisy Troop moms is Mrs. Aldi's sister, and I actually like her all right. She was without question the mom who was the nicest to me during the Daisy Troop Era. But she always looks exhausted and sad. Perhaps if I sit next to her, I'll look stunning. I'll give it a try next time I leave the house in my pajamas and slippers and my hair in rollers.

The other two women were the wife of this really hot guy who teaches at another school - I'm pretty sure she thought I was flirting with her husband, and in fairness, I was - and her friend who wears way too much eye makeup and talks like the late Suzanne Pleshette. Thank GOD I didn't see Dr. Eyeball. Cuz I guarantee she would have cornered me and it would not have been a pretty sight.

Oh, and while I'm thinking about creepy people, I got an odd phone message from Camille's mom Margie (she's the sweetest person in the world, love her to death, she's just really INTENSE - remember?) that went like this: Hi, Sarah, it's Margie, Camille's mom... I have a question for you, and it's kindof weird... can you give me a call back either before 5 tonight or tomorrow morning between 9 and 11? Thanks!

First of all, she's already weird and any question from her would also be weird, and I think she has a sense of what would qualify by MY standards of weird (which would have to be pretty fuckin whacked-out, bat shit crazy, let's be honest), so for her to preface the entire thing by letting me know that she had a weird question for me was extreeeeeemely unsettling.

And the reason why she gives me such a specific window in which to return her call is because they have neither call waiting nor voice mail. Not even a plug-in answering machine. Seriously, when you hear a busy signal or when the phone rings nine times without a machine picking up, don't you just want to scream What century is this????

And it frustrates the fuck outta me because I'm a little freaked that maybe the question she has for me is something like "Hey, do you have a blog in which you call my daughter Camille? I was doing a search for Joey Lawrence Bulge and I found this Behold My Brilliance thing..." For some reason my blog gets hits for Joey Lawrence Bulge all the time. I don't even want to know.

I'm also afraid that she'll con me into watching her kids or something, but then again, I figure if she doesn't have call waiting or a fuckin answering machine, she probably doesn't have DSL either, so I'm probably safe, but I'm still not calling her. I can selectively use the excuse that I tried calling and nobody was home or the line was busy.

But anyway, so I got Beeb hooked up with all her classes, and she has decided to play in the band. I am sincerely hoping that "This one time... at Band Camp..." will stop playing in my head, especially since her instrument is the (ahem) Flute.

Oh, I thought of another thing I did this week. Inspired by the Sexy Snape video I posted for you, I decided to watch Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, with Mr. Rickman as the evil Sheriff of Nottingham. I remember thinking he was wicked sexy even back then, when I saw it in a theater. But this time through I felt that there was an appalling lack of Sheriff scenes in the film.

I went ahead and bought myself Mesmer, so if you were thinking of surprising me with it, too late. Perhaps on my first Mommy Monday Morning (starting next week - woo hoo!!), I'll spend some time alone with Mr. Rickman, a bottle of Peach Schnapps, and the B.O.B. I like to call El Diablo. Someday I'll give y'all the specs on El Diablo, but just to give you an idea, you could probably club a baby seal to death with that thing. And if that's TMI, well, sorry.

UPDATE: In a bitterly ironic twist, as I was typing this, Margie called to invite me and the Apes over to hang out today, since all the kids are off of school today. I was kinda looking forward to a leisurely lunch, so I managed to push the agreed-upon meeting time to 1:00 instead of NOW, which works out fabulously because Margie needs to go to work this evening and she'll be kicking us out at 4pm at the latest, giving me time to decompress (and one needs to after an afternoon with Margie) before R gets home. God, I'm so glad I minimized that shit.

But the question remains, was "Would you guys like to come over to play?" the weird question she had for me? Cuz I kinda doubt it. And now my mind is abuzz with the possibilities. GAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!

Surprise - It Didn't Suck!

So, like I said yesterday, I woke up to Mimosas and breakfast burritos and my 37th birthday got off to a good start. We had a few minor errands to run, which included exchanging a Wii game that we'd bought for Pie last week. We had bought him the Pirates of the Carribean game, which was a little too difficult for him, so Pie exchanged it for the Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix game. Goodbye, Jack Sparrow, Hello, Professor Snape. I don't think you can actually play as Snape, but we haven't gotten that far in the game to know.

As one of my creative and frugal birthday gifts, R spent some time researching and collecting Alan Rickman sound clips for me. And I've been (ahem) enjoying them very, very much. My favorites came from the movie Mesmer, which I've never seen and which, sadly, is not available at my local Blockbuster, nor at Blockbuster Online, so I'm going to have to find it on Amazon and buy myself a Valentine gift.

While I'm on the subject, let me just briefly discuss the benefits of purchasing one's own gifts. I shopped for my own birthday gifts this year, as I made it clear to R and to everyone who cared that I was absolutely determined to have a non-sucktastic birthday this year even if it meant taking matters into my own hands.

When we got paid last week I went out and bought myself the Sweeney Todd soundtrack, which I'm sure R would have thought to purchase for me but A) I couldn't wait and B) I wanted to make extra special sure that I got the Super Duper Fancy Deluxe version with all the extra pictures. And suffice it to say, I have been extreeeeeeeeemely happy with this CD. I've been listening to it pretty much nonstop since I bought it.

My favorite part is when Johnny says "Sweeney's Waiting... C'mon, C'mon..." the beginning moments of his delicious decent into madness. Helena's singing voice doesn't thrill me like Johnny's does, but I'd still make out with her. And of course Alan Rickman sings on it, too. It's a swoonfest, girls.

I also bought myself the Knitting Pattern a Day calendar for 50% off, which, again, I'm sure R and the kids would have thought to buy for me, but I was unwilling to wait until my birthday to see if someone had thought of it, because if they hadn't, I might have a hard time finding it on January 14th. I think I like it better than last year's edition, but that could very well be because I feel much more competent now and more patterns look do-able this time around.

My parents even let me pick out my own birthday gift this year too. After spending a week playing Wii with the kids while sitting on fold-up papasan chairs, they gave me some money and let me spend it on whatever sofa/loveseat/chair combo I wanted for my living room. I found a great deal on a sofa, chair and ottoman set that had been on display and I absolutely love it.

Here's a pic:



Plus, R took Friday off to hang out with me, and we went to the Lush shop to indulge in a fantastic sale. I got Silky Underwear dusting powder among other fragrant delights. I'm big into smelling good. Ask anyone who's ever hugged me: I smell awesome. I also love it when other people smell awesome, so I got R some shaving cream at The Body Shop. I love that stuff. It reminds me of my favorite Dame Wendy scent - Wonderland.

So I was absolutely delighted with the gifts of my own choosing. I don't have to have a cake or flowers or cards or anything, and I absolutely hate the thought of everyone kissing my ass one day a year. You don't have to kiss my ass, just don't piss me off. That's all I ask. The kids let me relax in bed watching football most of the day, which was nice. At one point, however, Pie came in and asked me a question:

Mommy, I know babies come out of their mommies' tummies, but I was wondering, how do they GET IN their mommies' tummies?

I'm so not in the mood for this conversation. It's my birthday.
Go ask Dad.

Need I remind you of how poorly I handle sex questions from my kids? I mean, I'll talk hot raunchy sex with grown-ups all day and all night, but my kids' inquiries really throw me off because I have to water it down and I never know if I've watered it down enough. I do love messing with Beebie with that whole Nap thing, though. That shit was hilarious.

I forgot all about Pie's question until later when I was giving the boys a bath. Pie mentioned that he now knew how babies get in their mommies' tummies. Oh, shit, I thought. I wonder what R told him.

I hadn't given R a heads-up or touched base to make sure we were using the same terminology, like 'Daddy gives Mommy a special kind of hug and their bodies fit together kinda like a puzzle...' or something equally vague which would almost certainly invite more questions but hopefully buy me enough time to come up with some way to answer them at an appropriate level.

So I asked Pie, "Did you ask Dad about that, then?"

And Pie's response was the highlight of the entire day:


"Yeah, he went over the basics."


Thank God. I was concerned that I'd get a call from the principal saying that Pie was leading the kindergarteners in a lively discussion about the elusive G-Spot.

Cuz THAT's all I fuckin' need.

It's MY birthday, but YOU'RE getting a present.

EDIT: Supersexy Alan Rickman as Professor Snape video clip removed because I couldn't figure out how to get it to stop playing every time I opened the blog.

If you're interested, search YouTube for Snape Can't Stop Thinking About You.

It's hot.




Tomorrow I'll give a full report on whether or not I managed to get through a birthday without something sucktastic happening. Right now it's still too early to tell, but I will say that I got Mimosas in bed this morning. I think R's trying to get me trashed so if anything shitty happens I won't remember it. Not a bad idea.

And I have no idea who seaweed2007 is, other than a fellow Rickmaniac, so don't ask.

Here's a Resolution: Screw it.

So I've decided to selectively lighten up and not drive myself crazy trying to get my kids to behave in public. I figure, a kid can't really be too big an asshole if he's funny enough, right? Who's gonna be pissed if they're too busy laughing at my kids? And if I'm laughing too, do you really think I'm going to scold them?

Screw it, I say. Let 'em be kids. Roll your eyes and question my parenting skillz all ya want. I don't care. You're just jealous because my kids are funnier than yours and you're an uptight twat raising a kid who isn't any fun to hang out with.

I apologize for the quality of the cameraphone recording, and yeah, I probably should have been videotaping Beeb's Special Chorus performance (which you can hear in the background), but I didn't bring my actual video camera because historically the Choral performances are, in a word, lackluster. This was waaaay more entertaining.

The gym was crowded and uncomfortable, and the boys couldn't see Beebie, so they were getting antsy and impatient. I told them they could go stand near the wall where they could see. And here's what happened.



I laughed so hard I cried and when the boys saw me all red and blotchy, they thought I was mad at them. Nah. How could I be?

2007: A Look Back and a Look Forward.

I'm taking a wee break from Wii Bowling to contemplate the goals I set for myself last year and how close I came to meeting them.

I re-read my January 2, 2007 post. Here are some highlights, with my added comments in bold:

I'm depressed.

It's a combination of post-Christmas letdown, and a general sense of having failed miserably in the past year and the high probability that I will fail again in 2007, the fact that I weigh twenty pounds more than I did at this time last year (this year I haven't lost weight, but I haven't gained either, so I guess that's not bad), and my impending birthday.

I have come to dread my birthday in recent years. I'm still trying to forget my last three birthdays in which I've enjoyed a HUGE (ie. the words "GET OUT" were shouted) fight with R, a kidney infection, and a -$600 bank balance. Last year I woke up to an ice storm that knocked our power out for a few hours.

I know it's seasonal and situational, but I'm still fighting the urge to go back on the meds that I managed to kick this past year (one of my prouder accomplishments of 2006, if I could separate it in my head from the weight gain that came along with it). I know it wouldn't be a big deal if I went back on, but part of me would feel like I'd failed at yet another thing. I'm back on now, and I've added a new pharmaceutical friend to my arsenal, too. And I'm ok with it.

Another thing that's on my mind - remember how desperately I wanted to get out of this house and into one of our own and how hard I was working on having this be our last year as Elite's prisoners? Well, this won't be the year. I'm heartbroken, but I agree with the logic that we should stay another year.

I feel like it's entirely my fault. I haven't managed the money well. I've tried, honestly. And I've actually made significant progress in cleaning up our credit. But I really, REALLY wanted to get out of here, and at that goal, I have failed. I know I shouldn't be upset and I should be glad that we have a place to live, but I've lost sleep over this. R is also suffering from insomnia, currently. It's putting a strain on everyone.

We managed to negotiate a six-month lease and we got the perfect house for our family in a location that we absolutely love. PLUS, we got $825 of our $950 deposit back, after having lived there for three years. And I never have to deal with those half-wits at Evilite ever again.

So I thought that to make myself feel better I'd do a few things:

A) Read back over the last year of my silly little blog to remind myself of something good that I did over the last year.

B) Set a goal for myself for next year that I can actually accomplish.

C) Look through personal ads and allow the desperation of ugly people who can't spell to remind me that I am indeed a goddess among mortals. I totally need to start doing that again.

And so, here is my goal: I will knit a sweater this year.

And I'll make some socks. I swear I will. I can't believe how much sock yarn I have and not one sock to show for it. YET.

I have actually taken a step in the direction of meeting the sweater goal already! I signed up for an Intermediate Knitting class at Kirkwood Knittery, wherein I will learn to knit a basic shell.


All, right, so I didn't knit a sweater. I didn't even finish the shell I was supposed to make for the class. I finished the front piece and the back piece, attached them at the shoulders (inside-out, but that's not even the point) and saw that it looked absolutely huge and ridiculous on me and I hated it.

So later I tried to make a ribbed (for my pleasure) tank top and I think I did pretty good with it but I only finished part of the first half of it and it's still sitting in my kickass Lexie Barnes bag in the closet because I can't remember which pattern I was using for it. I also found, while in the process of moving and organizing my yarny stuff, the City Shawl I started two Thanksgivings ago that still isn't finished because I made a mistake somewhere early on and didn't realize it for a while, and I couldn't decide whether or not I wanted to go back and fix it. I should fix it and finish it, shouldn't I?

I have an embarrassing number of UFO's laying around. Including the sock I also resolved to make but didn't, but that wasn't entirely my fault. I took a class and the leader gave us the wrong instructions and I just haven't had the heart to tear out my work and start over. So that's in my kickass Lexie Barnes bag too, taunting me.

So I'm 0 for 2 on my knitting goals from last year, BUT...

I did learn the provisional cast-on, except for the ripping-out and picking up stitches part.

I learned how to add beads.

I learned how to do Feather and Fan.

I learned how to read a chart, kinda.

I learned how to do cables.

I bought a kickass Lexie Barnes knitting bag to house my UFO's.

I organized some of my needles (only after discovering that I had duplicate sets of several sizes of DPN's). I still want a DPN roll or some other organizing tool.

I went TEN FULL MONTHS without buying yarn. I'm extremely proud of that.

I got four skeins of practically free Frosting yarn at Hobby Lobby and made three scarves in a day and a half for Beeb's triplet friends.

I knitted ALL teachers' gifts, spending $0 out of pocket. PLUS, I shared the joy of snarky gift-giving with my daughter.

So I feel that I grew as a knitter this year, thanks in large part to Turtlegirl and the Ice Queen. And I also feel that I grew as a person this year. I looked back over my blog and found some of the more stellar moments:

I lost my Ren Faire virginity. And I LOVED it.

And, whoda thunk, my Midnight Book Release Party virginity. And again, LOVED it.

I bought Beeb a bra.

I gave the kids an unforgettable St. Pat's Celebration at Hometown Buffet and Dirt Cheap Liquor.

I went on my first job interview in seven years. And I walked 15 blocks in heels, in the rain, with a broken umbrella afterwards.

I stood up to FIL, just a little. And it felt fantastic.

Two words: SWOLLEN UVULA.

I drank three free beers at Grant's Farm and two at the Brewery in one day.

I ate a Guberburger.

I maintained my composure amidst an Airport Security situation.

Team Karma continued to reign supreme at the Pevely Flea Market Costume Contest.

I got rid of everything Barbie-related in my house.

I sent Pie to Kindergarten and I only cried a little.

I killed the car.

I ate Spotted Dick.

And, of course the biggies - I celebrated ten years of wedded bliss to the King of my Heart, I bought a van AND a house, and my parents visited three times (in March, July, and December), and on their most recent visit, I hosted them in my house for five days without killing anyone. That was a HUGE accomplishment. And I actually discovered that I love entertaining. Well, I always knew I loved entertaining, but now that I actually get to do it I realize how much I've missed it over the last several years.

So, looking back, I think 2007 ws overall a pretty good year. Far better than expected, actually. And although there were some specific goals that I laid out for myself which were not met, there were monumental accomplishments which I couldn't possibly have forseen exactly 365 days ago.

And as for my goals for 2008?

A) I will defeat the Ice Queen and document it for y'all's edification. If I'm up at 3am on December Thirtyfuckinfirst, I'll finish that bitch. I'll unload my Circular Needles of Terror and let her taste my wrath.

Beyond that, I don't know if I really want to set any other goals. My greatest achievements of the past year were the ones I didn't plan. So I think I'll sit back and see what learning experiences come my way if I open my mind to them.

And just for fun, here's one of my favorite lines from all of 2007:

Do NOT screw with a chick sportin' two pairs of panties and an eyeball ulcer. Especially when it's 100 degrees outside. DO NOT.

The Post-Holiday Post.

I know you've been waiting for it.

There was such potential for blog fodder - two weeks at home with the kids, the obligatory Christmas visit to Chez Inlaw, my parents' visit (and yes, they stayed at our house) - I almost hate to tell you that the last couple of weeks have been remarkably unremarkable.

I did, however, create a new word. I'm hoping it gets picked up like The Yarn Harlot's "Kinneared", a practice which I personally love, and I think my vast readership appreciates my skill at surreptitiously taking photos of unsuspecting people.

The PK twist, though, is that I like to take pictures of my kids and capture the actual thing I want to get a picture of in the background, like the pic of Robert Goulet I got at Tito's Christmas Play or the one of Mark Twain at Ted Drewes. It's an actual picture of something, it's just that the focus of the photo is not in the foreground, it's in the background. I'm sure you're familiar with my work, if you read BMB with any regularity.

Ok, so my new word - let me set this up a bit. Sometimes, no matter what I do, I never feel like I did enough. This is particularly true at this time of year. This year I sent Christmas cards to blood relatives only, complete with the cheesy newsletter that contains absolutely no information that I haven't already shared with you on here. (Yes, you know more about me than the people which whom I share DNA. You're welcome.) I felt bad that I didn't send cards to all of you, even though I know you won't be mad at me.

This year I also had all of my shopping done before December 1st. That's how R and I like to do it. December is stressful enough as it is. And R and I had already 'splained to the kiddos that in terms of gift quantity, this year would be a little thinner than last year because of the house and the van that we all love. And they were really cool with it.

R and I did great with our budget, and each Ape had exactly 4 gifts to open on Christmas morning. And although each Ape was extremely happy with each of their gifts, I kept feeling like I didn't do enough. I knew it made more sense (both logically and financially speaking) to limit the number of gifts so that there would be nothing I bought solely for the purpose of giving the recipient something additional to open, which would surely be forgotten in favor of a few of the Favorite gifts, which, for all intents and purposes, could have been the only things we bought in the first place.

It also helped that we knew what the Inlaws were giving the kids, and anything we got them would be completely eclipsed by their gift. More on that later.

So even though I knew I did fine with the gifts, I still sensed that the kids were disappointed and just not saying so, and I felt like I'd done an inadequate job with Christmas. Not even just with the gifts, either - we didn't bake cookies, didn't put up many decorations other than the tree and the stockings (we usually make a day of cutting out snowflakes and putting them in the windows), didn't drive out to see Christmas lights, nothing like that. It never felt like Christmas to me, not on Christmas Eve, not on Christmas Day, not even the day after. And I didn't go Day After shopping either, because my parents were coming that day.

I just couldn't shake the feeling that I hadn't done enough. And not even just the Christmas stuff - I hadn't cleaned the house enough, hadn't washed the sheets and towels for my mom and dad's visit, hadn't bought enough groceries, nothing I'd done (and I did a LOT, by any definition) was enough. And just to be clear, it wasn't that I feared anything specific happening as a result of anything I hadn't done; nothing I had left undone was a big deal. And no one was making me feel that I hadn't done enough, no one was giving me a hard time about it or anything; I was simply unsatisfied with myself.

I was consumed by this overwhelming sense of general inadequacy, and it was making me sick to my stomach. So here's the word I came up with, to describe the helpless feeling I was experiencing - the feeling that I'd messed something up irreparably and I wouldn't have a chance to go back and fix it to where I'd feel better and I knew there wasn't a damn thing I can do about it, but I couldn't stop thinking about it...

RETRO-STRESSED.

(Adj.) Stressed about something that's completely in the past that you can do nothing about, and unable to shake the feeling of utter powerlessness that you should have done something differently and now, obviously, you can't. And it's important to add the element of "I know that it makes absolutely no sense for me to even feel like this" resounding in your head all the while.

Annnnnyway, I was retro-stressing the entire way out to the Inlaws'. I should have made peppermint fudge, I should have taken a whole Xannie instead of a half, I shouldn't have drunk that caffeine, I should have worn my Wonder Woman panties; everything that entered my head was some mistake I'd made in the last 24 hours. And it was eating me alive.

But we got out there and everything was reasonably stress-free. MIL had ham and lots of snacks, and plenty of liquor, including Mimosas made with the GOOD stuff. Sweet.

MIL and FIL have a Wii. It's made them rather popular party hosts in their neighborhood, apparently. The kids were playing with it while they waited for dinner. My nephews 1Gig and 2Gig are quite adept at it, as they have not one, but two Wii's at their house, along with their two Lexuses. Hey, I'm thrilled for their parents' success. I just kinda shake my head in bewildered awe at it sometimes because, try as I might, I just can't imagine having that kind of money.

Anyway, at one point, FIL mentioned a game called Rayman Raving Rabbids (or something like that) and one particular game within this game he said was, and I quote, "right up your alley, Sarah."

He went on to describe a game which involves the various deranged rabbit-like creatures atop the Arch De Triomphe shaking up a bottle of booze, guzzling it quickly and letting out a belch that shatters the windows on the Champs Elysses and sets off the alarms on all the Peugots. Charming. And the fact that it made FIL think of me? I have a tear in my eye.

So the kids were so good at Chez Inlaw, FIL asked me if there was something wrong with them. Gee, FIL, if this is how you want them to behave, then why question it? Act like there's something wrong with my kids if they're being good? Yeah, that makes sense. And it makes me feel like a fantastic parent. Thanks.

Ok, so what did MIL and FIL get my kids for Christmas?

A Wii.

(WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!)

I hereby retract all the smack I've talked about my inlaws.

R and I have known about the Wii for months. FIL asked both R and Reverend Aldi if they thought the kids would like one. R said uh, YEAH! without hesitation. The Reverend kinda hemmed and hawed, knowing he'd have to clear it with Mrs. Aldi, and Mrs. Aldi didn't want one in her house because they're too viiiiiiiolent.

Um, Mrs. A? Two things. First of all, your husband is a total fucking pussy, and secondly, you could use a little violence in your house in the form of a lil swat on the BEE-hind because, let's be honest, your brattyass kids could sure use one. There, I said it.

Eventually she caved and the Aldis got one too, but for the record, Reverend Aldi is the most pussy-whipped man I've ever encountered in my life. Perhaps she figured if The Rev had a Wii to play with, he'd quit bugging her for sex. We're pretty sure he's not gittin any.

Oh, and let me share what they got Beebie for Christmas. Not just the High School Musical DVD game. No, no. THIS TOO.



Oh, it's fuckin ON.

So the Wii has become a cherished member of our family, as has the hutch we got on Craigslist to go with the dining room table we got for free. R and I unpacked dishes that we got for our wedding ten years ago that were still in the boxes, and as we placed them on the shelves we realized that we have an alarming lack of liquor in the house. We have beer, sure, but if you're a mixed drinks kind of person, you'd be shitouttaluck at my house. We're thinking of having a bar-stocking party. We'll invite people over for dinner and Wii games, and they'll be asked to bring a bottle of whatever they want to add to our bar. Sure, it's tacky, but I'm like that and y'all know it.

I also got to do a little yarn shopping over Christmas break, which was awesome. It was the first time I've bought yarn in a shop since February. I got some Debbie Bliss Cashmerino so I could make my very first cabled project and my first FO of 2008 - Fetching!


I added a cable round at the end to make them longer, and I didn't bother with the picot bind-off, and they're not perfect, but I think they came out pretty good. I absolutely love the yarn; the color especially.

I'm waiting for the kids to go back to school, then I'm going to sneak up on the Ice Queen while she's sleeping and kick her ass. I was afraid to pick Her Majesty up while my parents were here because I wouldn't be able to give her my full attention.

So, moving on to the Parental Visit. I was really nervous, especially about them staying with us. I certainly didn't want it to come down to me screaming "GET OUT... OF THE HOUSE YOU BOUGHT FOR ME!!" Oh, and let me just say that Beeb was a good sport for letting Nana and PopPop stay in her bedroom, but she did request that I wash the sheets after their departure, just in case they took a "nap" while they were here. Tee hee!!!

Some of the highlights of their visit include Tito's Birthday Party. He's 5 now. It's the beginning of the six weeks out of each year that the boys are the same age. After a few days of Wii Bowling, Tito thought we should go real bowling. So we did. I bowling a 248 in Wii Bowling. And in real bowling? Well, I SUCK. But I'm an excellent ball-handler. And I look hot under bowling-alley lighting, do I not?



Another highlight was Mom and Dad offering to watch the kiddos while R and I went to see Sweeney Todd.

Here's my assessment of Sweeney Todd: If you can't stand the sight of blood, you and Sweeney Todd really can't be friends. However, if the thought of seeing Johnny Depp and Alan Rickman together on the big screen is as hot to you as it is to me, you'll figure out a way to deal with the bloody stuff and concentrate on Johnny's extremely sexy eye makeup. Beeeeeyootiful.

That's enough for now, I think. The kids go back to school tomorrow, and let me just say... I CAN'T WAIT.

I'm gonna Wii Bowl ALL DAY.

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!

HEAR ME WELL, ICE QUEEN - I SHALL RISE FROM THE ASHES!!!

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.

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.

As if I could possibly love him more...

No, not R this time... Glenn.

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

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