Crimes and misdemeanors

So last night around 10 I told Bean to go to bed. The bathroom sink was clogged and the husband was grumpy and we had to get up this morning too early to think about. She went and I unclogged the sink and then the husband and I went outside (for a cigarette... I know. I should quit...). At 10:20 or so I opened her door and I found her crouched beside her dresser near her nightlight... knitting.

Seriously.

Imagine my dilemma! She is breaking the rules and flat out disobeying a direct order. To knit. The husband said, "Hand over the needles." I gasped and said, "You can't take knitting away from her!" I explained to her that I was not mad that she was knitting. I was thrilled, in fact, that she wanted to knit. It was a timing and misbehavior issue. Then I gave the trust lecture, the disobeying lecture, the we-have-to-get-up-early-and-I-am-not-carrying-your-tired-butt-to-the-car lecture. I said (calmly) I am really angry about this and we will be discussing some form of punishment.

Then I went to bed and knitted until 1:30 in the morning. (Well, my mommy didn't TELL me to go to bed).

But we did talk about a fitting punishment. She's going to her dad's house tonight so grounding is no good. Instead, when we got to the radio station this afternoon I talked to the receptionist and she had a mindless, boooooring task for her to do. She's been working for about an hour and she was very sad that there is a lot of day left. It's great. Bean was excited to be helping, but the excitement wore off and now it's a real punishment. And Kerri gets some help transcribing listener comments. Pages and pages and pages of listener comments. Heh heh heh.

I made an Avon delivery last night and the woman I delivered to was knitting... so I told her about my knitting group and she joined!! That's the second person I've tied to recruit in the last week, and the first who actually signed up. I hope she decides to come.

Knit on!

Houston, we have a problem...

The internets are back! Woo Hoo!!

Not all of our networks are up, though. Like, the network that allows us to have broadcast logs. That one? Broken. They're making some progress though, it was up for fifteen minutes earlier which allowed me to print out logs through next Thursday. I certainly hope that's long enough. Apparently two air conditioners went down and there are a LOOOOOOT of problems. They're waiting for parts.

Here's the funny part... the Big Boss sent out an email explaining what happened and why and what was being done about it. It was very informative. It also listed all of our servers and what they do. Until now I had only been aware that one of our servers was called "Apollo". The other six are Discovery, Voyager, Columbia, Enterprise, Sputnik and Atlantis. Swear to God. I think I would have felt better if they had gone the other way and used mythological gods and goddesses. At least then the amount of tragedy we could expect from them would be more emotional than physical.

Dude, names are important! Like, how many Katrina's do you think have been born this year??

My head still hurts. Big pokey ball of white-hot hurt bumping around behind my right eye. I'm thinking that I need to try another type of medicine. Not good.

Maybe I'll "low tech" it and get some Excederine Migraine. We can see if that will do anything. I had a nasty headache about 6 months ago and had taken all of the migraine stuff I could take in a 24-hour period so out of desperation I took some Advil. Took about an hour but it was gone. Gone gone, not just lingering in the back waiting to pounce.

I'm craving PB&J. I think Bean and I are going to go to the grocery store during my break at 3.

***************LATER****************

So I went to the store. I bought good things like Cinnamon Life and Rice Chex and Jiff and strawberry jelly and some looks-like-white-bread-but-we-sneaked-in-some-fiber-and-calcium bread. The store is about 5 minutes away from my office. Pretty much everything I need in the world is within 15 minutes of my office. (Yeah, everything but my Hospice office - but I guess even that is just 20 minutes away...)

But I digress.

So I'm at the checkout (I am a self-checker, no sense in bothering people just because I need peanut butter). I am at the part where it asks you to swipe your card when I realize that I have left my wallet on my desk. I ask the nice girl watching over the self-check lanes if I can just enter in my credit card number manually. She's even about to let me when another girl stops her. "Security" issues. Ummmm, I have never - ever - had to sign my credit card slip when using the self-check lane. Not once, not ever. Most places anymore don't require a signature if the charge is less than $25 anyway.

So I said, "I will be RIGHT BACK. Ten minutes, tops, ok?" They nod. "Seriously, right back." I resist the urge to point at my groceries and say "Stay!"
The last time this happened (Oh yes, there was a last time. No learning from past mistakes for this girl! No-siree!) I said I would be back in ten minutes and by the time I got back (in less than ten minutes) they had put BACK all of my groceries. ALL of them. And this was no self-check-20-items-or-less night. This was a real cooking night with fresh herbs and everything. This was a no-list, I'm feeling creative night.

This time my stuff was still there.

So Bean and I had PB&J's for a snack and I'm on the down-hill sprint toward going home. I have an itty bitty air shift and then a quick Avon delivery and then homehomehome.

It reminded me of something funny my Hospice boss said yesterday... we were trying to figure out what my schedule would look like. I said I could come in on Wednesday mornings for the meeting but then I'd have to go. She said, "Oh, you have class on Wednesdays. Wow, that's going to be a long day for you!" I resisted the urge to laugh. She has no idea. I have to leave so I can race to my actual job and work for a few hours, then go to class, then back to work for a few more hours so that I can maintain my 40-hours-plus schedule despite the fact that I am also in school and "volunteering" at Hospice 16 hours a week.
My whole life is long days. That's really why my house is such a mess and I sleep all the time. That's really why my kid spends more time with me at work than she does at home.

Bad assed shoes

So my office-y shoes KILLED my feet today. I got to the station at about 12:30 and went barefoot for the rest of the day. They're just not Crocs or Birks...

Hospice was fine... after I settled in. I got there a little early. I'm always early. I sat in the reception area for 20 minutes before my supervisor showed up. I could see my car from the window and I just kept thinking about the knitting in my backseat. I kept thinking that it would only take a minute to go get it and then not only would I have something to do while I waited I would have something calming to do while I waited. The stress of the morning, or the heat of the day, or the fact that I didn't eat anything before I went made for a pretty good-sized headache by noon. I almost didn't get to work there because of my migraine medicine and working there made me need my migraine medicine. Jeez.
I also discovered that the big weekly meeting that I need to attend is on Wednesdays so I have to go in Wednesday mornings too. Bleh.

I still have no real idea what my responsibilities will be, but I did get to go on a home visit this morning. It was odd but interesting.

When I got to the station I discovered that some genius in the building where our server is located didn't check the temperature. The air conditioner broke and our server is not just down, it's melted. This means no internet, no email... and all of the network connections we rely on for things like, oh, operator logs are toast. Literal toast - well, maybe more like server soup. They thought they might have it fixed by mid-afternoon. Nope. People walked around sort of dazed because they couldn't check their email (or eBay listings... which reminds me...) and I'm like, "People, if this doesn't get fixed soon we're going to be off the air. Like, big, silent HOLES in our schedule."

I had someone else download the program we needed for tonight and burn it onto a CD for me. That's messed up.

So anyway, we're going to miss any of the underwriters and day sponsors for tomorrow. People are not going to be happy.

Dum-de-dum

I swear that this is worse than the night before the first day of school. I colored my hair (finally, jeez) and have used six different of moisturizers, (hair, nails, feet, eyes, face and body). I cleaned out my purse (so as not to look like the total bag lady that I am). I watched Under the Tuscan Sun (must read the book) and While You Were Sleeping on ABC Family (ick - to the channel, not the movie).

AHHHH! Scary Televangelist on with no warning after the movie. (Which would be why ABC Family gets an "ick"). Not my favorite thing. "You must repent-ah your-ah sins-ah. Gawd-ah will forgiiiiiive yew and know that you are truly-ah his chiiiiild if you call our prayer line now and give. Just a hundred dollars a month-ah and you will know your souuuuul is free-ah." Scary televangelists give me the screaming heebie-jeebies. The husband likes to watch (purely for entertainment value) this crazy man (Pastor Bob) who speaks in tongues and lectures against "eating your seed." Me? I'd rather watch reruns of Full House. Seriously.

I can't even knit. I can't focus on one thing long enough to finish a row of anything. If I had size 4 needles and the right yarn I could make this headband I saw online today - it's basically row after row of garter stitch, but each row is like, 5 stitches. I might have the concentration for five stitches at a time. Maybe.

So I sent an email to Crazy Aunt Purl. Basically saying that I think she's great and I wish I lived closer so we could be best friends. (Shut up, I am not a stalker. But seriously, there are a lot of similarities). And she's really smart... like she says if you eat Cheetos with chopsticks there is no lingering Cheetle to pollute your knitting. Genius. And she employs the tried and true "what would Loreli Gilmore do?" method of decision making. Love that. AND she is quoted in the new Interweave Knits. (~le sigh~).

I had all the kids in the world today. The baby was clingy and the nephew... well, he's a great kid, but he will dink around and take 45 minutes to eat a hotdog but the second he swallows the last bite he's suddenly in a big 'ol huge hurry to get to the next thing. "Can we go now?" "No." "Cause I really want to go." "Noted, we'll go in awhile."

The cool thing about the nephew is that we end up in these existential discussions. He's, you know, six... but the things that come out of his mouth are astounding.
"How did dogs get made?"
"God made them"
"What about cats?"
"God."
"And grass and telephone poles and McDonalds?"
"God made the heavens and the earth and everything in between."
"I thought God was a spirit."
"He's the spirit that made all that stuff." (This from Bean).
"Oh. Who made God?"
"Nobody and nothing. God wasn't made, God just is."
"He just appeared one day?"
"Nope, he just exists. He always was and he always will be."
"Can we go to Krispy Kreme? I like chocolate donuts."

Last time it was that you should always choose life over death, even if life is crappy sometimes, because if you die you can't have pizza anymore.

I love that kid. He's the coolest thing since Bean.

Ok. Must try to sleep. There's a Leave it to Beaver marathon on TVLand right now... if that doesn't do it I don't know what I'll do. I used to count sheep, but lately all that does is make me want to learn to spin...
'Cause I've got time for that!

Night all!

Send Booze. Oh, and more ice.

It's going to be hot here again. Like over 100 degrees hot again. Nooooooooot goooooooooood. It was over 75 degrees when I left the house this morning - that would be before the sun came up. Fucking July.
So that's why I need the ice... here's a few reasons to need the booze:

1) I stopped at The Happiest Place on Earth (Not Disney, haven't you been paying attention?? Quik Trip!!!) and got my morning Diet Dr. Pepper. Oh, and Pop Tarts were on sale. Oh, and also chocolate milk.
So there's this guy there... and I think he was drunk. Drunk or crazy or both. Here's the thing: in this day and age, most men have figured out that with very few exceptions women see strange men who come up and suddenly start talking to them sort of, well, threatening is not exactly the right word. It's not exactly the wrong word either. Especially at odd hours. I think it's sort of annoyance with a strong undercurrent of alertness. The kind of alertness that is inherent to any group of people who has some history of being attacked with no provocation for one reason or another. Women, different races, gay men and women... you know.
So this guy, late 50's maybe. Rounds the corner, blocks my way (though not aggressively, just in a way that I would have to be really obvious and rude about getting past him), looks at my chest and says "university of... in divernity... uni..." It takes me a minute to realize he's trying to read my shirt. (Rewind 20 minutes to me, stumbling around in the dark, hands plunged up to the elbows in the pile of clean laundry on the couch. I find a t-shirt, throw it on over my jeans and stumble toward the door). I look down and say, "Unity in Diversity."
"University Diversity?"
"It's just a shirt, man" and I edge past.
He says, "It's a great shirt. Mine says 'Hooters!'" Then he sees the back, "House of Blues!"
Yes, you drunk, fucking moron, it's a House of Blues shirt. Can I get my carbs and go please? The Quik Trip guy is smiling at me, I want to tell him to shutthefuckup but he's the Quik Trip guy. I see him every weekend morning at this time. He makes it possible to get Diet Dr. Pepper and whatever else looks edible before 6 am!!
Crazytown is yelling "I see you in there!" to the rows of drinks in the cooler. Nope... he's yelling at someone hiding in the cooler. Bet it's a female employee. I pay for my carbs and as I'm leaving I see Crazytown coming toward the door from the other side. I'm thinking, "GETINTHE CAR! GETINGETINGETIN!!"
I get in, put my keys in the ignition and start to back out of my space, pretending I don't see him coming toward me. This, in my opinion, is where he really crossed the line. It's one thing to make conversation (crazy as it is) in a well-lit convenience store. It's a whole other thing entirely to approach a woman in a parking lot in the dark. He's AT my window so I crack it and say "What?!?"
He's now holding a black pen. What looked like "Laurie" is now written on his chest. "Sign my shirt!" I blink. "I want you to sign my shirt." He's so fucking cheerful about it. I don't ask why on earth he wants me to sign his Hooters shirt. Some things you just don't want to know.
"I am late for work," I say, continuing to back out of the space. He's standing so close to my car that I think my mirror clipped him a little.
Good.
Something like that happened to my friend Melissa when we were undergrads. She was in the library and some guy she had never seen before came up to her and cheerfully told her he was "Stalking her." He knew what classes she had on Wednesday afternoons, and he knew she liked Diet Coke. (Turned out that he was in both classes and Mel drank Diet Coke like they were going to stop making it and she had to store it in her body for the future of the free world). He was just trying to meet her... but that was a lot inappropriate. "Hi" can seem threatening in the wrong context.

2) Bean has been complaining that her stomach hurts for the last few days. It's a nonspecific hurt and it comes and goes. My mom came to pick her up last night and she was all sigh-ful and asked if she could take our peppermint tea to grandma's. I said of course she could, and explained to my mom that she'd been feeling weird. "And," my husband adds when Bean goes inside to get the tea, "She's been a moody little thing." My mother and I locked eyes and my husband and dad are standing around oblivious. You know, like men. "Fuuuuuuuuuck." I breathed, really slowly and reached for my husband's cigarette. "What?" asks my husband. "What? Asks my father. "Oh shit," say my mother and I at the same time.
I AM NOT OLD ENOUGH TO HAVE A MENSTRUATING CHILD. and, I AM NOT AT ALL READY TO LIVE IN THE HOUSE WITH A TEENAGER. And trust me when I say it does NOT matter that she's only almost ten. When the boobie and hair fairies come, then the period monster isn't far behind and that is the absolute end of Bean the Good Natured. At least, it's the end of Bean the Perpetually Good Natured.
I need to lie down. For like, seven or eight more years.

3) I looked at some houses yesterday with my realtor aunt. What we can afford is pretty much the exact house we have (too small, rooms way too small). She gave me some information on houses in other neighborhoods. Jeff and I drove around last night and there is one house that we thought was going to be too close to a bad neighborhood but it's really not bad and it's BIG. It's old, though, and we're not do-it-yourself people.
I guess we could learn...

4) Practicum starts tomorrow. At this point it's the getting up early that's making me whine. I just need to figure out what to wear.

If I were a smartie girl...

(mmmmmmm. Smarties.)

WARNING: This post might be rambling and long and not make any sense at all. Oh and change subjects with little or no warning and then change right back. Just deal, ok? It's early.

If I were a smartie girl I would NOT have taken a whole entire xanax last night after 10pm no matter how on edge and weepy I was. I also would not have followed that xanax with every chocolate thing I could find in my house. I think that it's interesting that pot and xanax both make you calm and snacky - and xanax doesn't give you burny throat. Oh, and is legal. Not that I know about the pot - I've just, um, read about it. Smartie girls remember that they have to be at work on Saturdays at 6am and that if they take a whole entire xanax they are just asking for xanax-head at work. Did I mention that I got here at 6?

Smartie girls would stop at Quik Trip on their way in to work(yay! I'm a smartie girl) but would stick to buying Diet Dr. Pepper. Only. (Oh. So I'm not a smartie girl). They would certainly not think maybe some coffee would be good, too, and then get sidetracked by the fake-o "capuccino" that is really hot, coffee flavored sugarwater. Smartie girls would also not take that time to remember that you can get Krispy Kreme at QT, and even though EVERYONE KNOWS Krispy Kreme are only good from the actual Krispy Kreme store and even then, only when the "hot" sign is on. Smartie girls would not buy more than one... ok, more than two QT/Krispy Kremes. So now I'm xanax head and I'm full of sugar and I'm sleepy and I feel like I'm stoned.

(Dear Hospice people, I have a prescription for the freakin' xanax, which I ALSO showed the guy who took my pee for the drug test, so back the fuck off).

I got comments on my blog yesterday!! I love, love, love comments on my blog.
I ripped off that bra yesterday like, three seconds after I walked into my house. My husband got a big ol' boy grin on his face until he saw my face (partly cloudy with a good chance of storms) and said cautiously, "You ok?" I said, "Yup," threw the offending bra toward the pile of laundry and then checked the mail... A Netflix AND the new Interweave Knits. Did you know that Knitpicks has some new, pretty pretty yarn coming soon? The ads in Interweave are fantastic. Probably my favorite yarn ads ever. (Half page ads on pages 76, 77, 80 and 81 - I almost missed them). I, of course, went right on over to the Knitpicks website but didn't find any of them yet. I MUST make something out of Quarry (75% Superfine Alpaca, 20% Peruvian Wool, 5% Nylon) and Gloss (70% Merino Wool, 30% Silk).

(~le sigh~)

Oh, right, comments... So I LOVE to get comments. Thank you, thank you!

Emy- Thanks for the Elann update. Those loser-heads. I signed up for updates and they have not told ME anything. I was the person who wanted it... there's a wrap sweater in Big Girl Knits that MUST be mine - I'm thinking in purple. Of course, I have not finished either of the sweaters that I started - though I did knit three and a half rows on the (easy) red tunic one last night.
And to Handknitbyafailedfeminist - use the tampon quote... I know that people who think they're funny aren't ever funny, but I was actually pretty proud of that one.

To the rest of you... Handknit was talking on her blog about how her husband bought a super expensive car and she was not going to take any crap from him anymore about buying yarn... I said that I thought life would be so much better if they would think of yarn like they think of tampons - vital to our existence, and not something they want to know any more about than absolutely necessary!

When I told MY husband this he got that look they get when you use the T-word and then it hit him that I was talking about buying yarn and his "t-word" look was replaced by the "oh shit she wants to buy more yarn - what about our savings?!?" look for a half-second and then the two looks sort of merged. He looked like someone hid broccoli in with his buffalo wings - part disgust, part total panic and part "why oh why am I being punished in this cruel way?" I don't think my giggling helped at all.

Also, don't tell him, but I was on E-crackden-Bay yesterday and bid on (and won) some pretty ribbon yarn:




Oh, and some pretty twisty yarn:









I wasn't going to buy more than one but they came in lots of 6 and it comes all the way from Istanbul so I saved on postage by getting more than one thing.
(So if you've a date in Constantinople she'll be waiting in Istanbul...)
A-hem.
The ribbon says it wants to be a (probably heavily lined) skirt for Bean and the twisty yarn says it is going to be a huge pain in the ass on the needles but that it will all be worth it in the end.

Ugh. Time to do some actual work now...

Or maybe I'll just knit.

Rollin', rollin', rollin'...

Ever leave the house feeling like you're probably going to have a pretty good day? Ever smile as you drive because your favorite song is on and you're running early? Ever think, wow, what a beautiful day? And then realize that you somehow managed to wear the most uncomfortable bra in the world.

I don't even know how I still have this ridiculous thing. I thought I threw it away after the last time I wore it. And it LOOKS like a normal bra. It's white and it clips in the front and I actually have another one just like it that is FINE (shit, do you suppose that's the one I threw out??).

But this one has straps that won't stay put and for some reason the back of it - like from one side all the way across my back to the other side - ROLLS up, causing a very unattractive lump and, seriously, it makes it tighter around which hurts.

I have friends whose breasts are perfectly normally sized, who remove their bras (from under their shirts like we all learned to do at Girl Scout Camp) every chance they get and sigh in relief as the offending bra is stuffed in a glove compartment or under a sofa. I sleep in a bra, because if I don't I tend to roll over on them in a funny way and it hurts and wakes me up. Or I sleep on my back and the lack of support makes them achey. I usually sigh in relief as I put the damn thing ON. I am friends with my bras, they're my support system through the day. So why does this particular one hate me so much??

I don't often wish for small breasts... I wish they were a little smaller, just because they're big because I'm big and if I lost weight they'd be a little smaller, but I rarely wish I were a small-boob girl (not that there's anything wrong with that). But today I wish my bra was a purely incidental item that could be removed and flung under my desk. Today I wish that walking around braless and brazen wouldn't 1) hurt, 2) be disturbing to those around me and 3) cause damage to the psyche of my child.

Maybe if I click my heels together I can magically have a different one on...
There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home...

Well, anyway, if you happen to see me today and I have a big lump across my back or am tugging in a weird way, just understand that I'm being held prisoner in a horrible bra and I don't get to go home until much, much later tonight.