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Wednesday, March 30, 2005

turning your orbit around 

Big drama and big gossip going on here chez wooliemama. I'm not going knitting tonight because my girls are having friends sleep over. Pman doesn't deserve getting stuck with four girls and a Teddy. I will post more when things have settled a bit.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

boy, you are my fifth avenue 

From my favorite kitten:


1. How did you choose the names for your children?

Well, it's funny you should ask, because each of my children have a "secret" name, the name they almost got, but didn't. Isabel was nearly Sasha, until her dad and our friend sat me down and informed me a large percentage of the local pet population was also named Sasha. They threw out "Isabella," and I was reading "The House of the Spirits," by Isabel Allende, and it stuck. So feminine yet strong--totally her. Alice was going to be Lucy Venice, but at the Very. Last. Second. before she was born I decided to name her after my grandmother. Theodore was going to be Orion before he was actually conceived--thank goodness I came to my senses--could you just see all the Rushmore-esque "Oh. Ryan?" jokes--and when I told Isabel I was pregnant, at about three weeks, she told me it was a boy and she was going to call him Teddy. Done!

2. If you owned a LYS what would it be like?
Uh, fabulous, of course. I think it would be very bright. I love color, it's part of what I love about knitting, so I think it would be a bright, colorful, sunny old house, with funky furniture, cats, and other cool sparkly treasures.

3. What projects are currently on your needles?
How much time have you got? I couldn't even count them. I start projects with wild abandon, because, frankly, the beginning of a project isn't my favorite part. I start when the mood strikes, set it down, and come back to it later. The ones I'm working on right now are a two-tone pink cotton rug, that I just want done and off my plate, pink and purple Lorna's Laces socks for me, a scarf for a beloved coworker who adores scarves, and Blaze. Which I fucked up and may require NASA to get back on track.

4. How did the psuedonym P-man come about?

He and I have this thing where we make up silly words, (we called Alice "Marmosetopus" until she was born) particularly superlatives. I used to have this thing with playing Pokemon (gotta catch 'em all!) and he particularly loved the name Pikachu. He used to call me Pikadiva, and Pman is actually short for "Keithalicious Pikaman." Huh.

5. Favorite thing you've knit so far and why?

Whew. I love my Booga Bag, although I hate that name, never call it that, and use it here only for reference. And I love all my knitted socks--they make me happy. What a tough question. I'm usually not that happy with sweaters I knit for myself--I was a perfect, petite size 6 before kids and I simply cannot adjust. I like my Buckets O'Chic, too--I knit them to match my swimsuits.


Thanks, Leya. That was fun. Leave a comment if you want to be interviewed, but beware--I have this feeling I might be really tough.

quickest girl in the frying pan 

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So guess who got a digital camera?

The software that came from Olympus is just horrid, and I hate it. Plus, the camera is really complicated (maybe too much camera for a simple city girl like me, but Pman saw it and felt the lust in his heart) and so uploading these photos was like giving birth, but without the fun pharmaceuticals and comfortable reclining position. Pman is sleeping off an eight-hour conference call, and so I'm left to my own devices, which makes me feel like going all Office Space on this bitch.

See how I slave over a hot USB port for my lovelies?

I leave you with pictures, some knitting-related, some...not.

Image hosted by Photobucket.comThis double-pink rug I work on sporadically. Honkin' 70's rug cotton, doubled, doesn't exactly make the heart sing and the hands fly.

Image hosted by Photobucket.comShe's been a bad, bad Lacey. Avert thine eyes. I am quickly running out of options here--my choices seem to be reknit it or lose twenty more pounds. Hmm.

Image hosted by Photobucket.comAn earwarmer for my ex-father-in-law. It was a request, as he's often outside in our chillier cities in the dead of winter. I was told to use the plainest colors possible. I started with the brown cable to make a circle, but realized it was neither thick enough nor soft enough, and picked up stitches around the edge with orange sock yarn. Needs blocking.

Image hosted by Photobucket.comPman's birthday scarf(and pattern detail.) The first thing I ever knit for him where I bought the yarn with my own money. Feels better, somehow.Image hosted by Photobucket.com

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Orange BOC to go with my orange bikini. California, here I come!

Image hosted by Photobucket.comA water lily Isabel made for me in art class. Bellissima, no?

Image hosted by Photobucket.comA sweater for Alice. I inherited this yarn, and truthfully, she's the only one who can stand it. I sort of made it up as I went along, but at 3 sts. to the inch, the pattern was basic geometry. She loves it.

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Tasha with her ribbon-reinforced strap. I haven't done a lining yet, but I imagine I'll get to it. I nearly didn't make this bag, because it shares a name with Pman's ex, a girl I was acquainted with in high school, and who was unfortunately as dumb as a sack of hammers. Well, clearly, because look who she let get away.

And, lastly...
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My totem shelf. This is in my bedroom, and holds all my dearest totems up high. If you look, you can see representations of all my children's Chinese astrological animals (Dragon, Tiger and Horse, if you're curious), a teacup that belonged to my grandma, a blue vase I bought the last time I visited Seattle (my hometown), a "2003" tiara that Pman chased a girl down and paid her $20 for (sweet story behind that), a stepping stone Isabel made me, the plastic lei from when Isabel and I won "Best Costumes" at her playschool luau, and a necklace Alice made me. There's other stuff, too, but ever since I got a china cabinet, my totems have two safe places to live.

I know the picture placement is dreadful, but I just couldn't face learning all that stuff again today after practically ripping the pictures out of the camera with my teeth. C'est la guerre.

Monday, March 21, 2005

if i could take twenty-five minutes off of the record books 

Oh, and also, the deal with That Awful Guy? See, he was in a position to do something to improve the lives of some of my friends. Nothing illegal, just life-liberty-pursuit-of-happiness stuff. And this change would put him out of harm's way, more or less, right? So as long as he keeps away from us, we'll keep away from his wife,see?

Maybe not strictly ethical, but, hey, this is the real world. People who make a stand out of everything are tiresome. And I will drop him like a motherfucker if he ever lays a hand on me again.

No progress with my friend. Yesterday was her birthday and we didn't talk.

Last week, I forgot to tell you, Pman slipped and fell on the ice and cracked a rib. Just because his life wasn't challenging enough, right? Such is the crazyness of our lives that I think he's almost forgotten about it himself.

Alice has a fever and a sore throat and is requesting another dose of medicine. Later, peeps.

suppose i accidentally got my shit together 

So, I kinda had a nervous breakdown last week. It's totally okay, though. It was exactly what needed to happen so I could get a little help. Me, Dooce and KC are out there, hittin' the pavement, making mental illness fun and hip and froody again.

So, two things. I am going to talk about this stuff as if it were normal. For me, it is. And I'm inclined to go with Ariel Gore on this one. Telling folks about your breakdown can only cause them to be nicer and gentler to you, as well as dispelling any doubts that I am "normal." Plus, I am in great historical company. Believe me, I am going to enjoy drinking Manhattans in Hell with Zelda Fitzgerald, Sylvia Plath, and Virginia Woolf much more than the poor suckers stuck in Heaven with Laura Bush, Tammy Faye and Debby Boone. Yawn-o-rama. Also, I am finding my Big Book of Hitchhiker to be sort of my Crazy Lady's Bible--it makes me feel less personally crazy and more that I'm simply on the wrong planet. Although I did get to call in crazy to work on Thursday--it was very liberating.

However, my knitting is sucking so much. I'm not knitting anything I like right now, just about thirty projects that I hate. Send inspiration!

Scratch that. Send inspiration and chocolate!

Friday, March 11, 2005

i still can't believe speed racer is dead 

So, for the record, I know full well that I shouldn't be writing about these things. They are both rather volatile situations, and I'm sure that publicly airing these kinds of dirty things can only come back around and bite me in the ass, but it is my place. And what kind of correspondent would I be if I didn't slip you the skinny? Seriously, if I don't talk about what's really going on with me, after all we've been through, what credibility do I have? (And aren't you dying to know how it turns out?)

Remember the post about my best friend moving away? (You can scroll down if you need to catch up. We'll wait.) The part I left out is that her boyfriend, hereafter known as the Squire of Dimness, or SoD, is a total rat bastard. As in: when is Jane going to dump that rat bastard Sergio? To spare the guilty as well as the innocent, (I can't be bad all the time, either) I will try not to spill other people's personal stuff and stick to my point of view.

So, he's bad news. I've thought this for two years, and never said anything. My opinions on her boyfriends have never been particularly well-received, and I do tend to want to mother her, so I thought I'd butt out. I never thought he'd last this long, anyways. And I hate him. She has received 100% genuine, solid-gold, platinum proof that this dude is not what she thought he was. A lot, a lot of lies. And she still wants to be with him. I finally gave her my opinion about this whole situation, and that was pretty much that. We're still speaking, but we're surely not talking, if you know what I mean. It was the day after her mother went into hysterics at her about this guy, and believe me, when Her Mom and I agree a guy is bad news, you'd better find a safe place.
I understand sacrificing things for love. I've even done it a time or two. And believe me, I know that people have rough times and relationships aren't always candy canes and rainbows. But I am flat out scared for her.
So for the past two weeks, I've been a wreck. Stomach tied up in knots (we hate knots!) and frequent headaches, not to mention emotionally all worked up. And the past week, a wee little bit of anger and resentment snuck (sneaked? Does anyone know what the deal is with that verb?) in, anger that she was putting me and others through this, without so much as an explanation, really, and after ten years of friendship, does my opinion mean nothing? Nothing, to the woman who beat out my own mother for a seat in Teddy's delivery room. And then I feel guilty, because obviously this isn't the brightest era in her life and I should be nothing but support and comfort.

And there is nothing I can do. I've said my piece to her, and my home is always open to her. Anything I have is hers. She can make mistakes and come crying home to me for the rest of her life and I will be here. I'm just frightened that she won't--come crying home, that is. I'm afraid nothing he can do is bad enough to scare her off, and that she won't call me if things go from bad to worse.

I have reason to believe that she, once an avid wooliemama reader, no longer has internet access and therefore is shielded from this entry. If you find this, honey, I'm sorry if I upset you.

But I'm willing to leave it up to fate. May someone have mercy on my soul.

Please?

The next piece of trauma, I mean, uh, drama happened last night. Someone in a position of, well, not trust exactly, mmmm....responsibility? over me was supposed to drive me home and I ended driving his drunk ass home, with Mr. Octopus's hands all sorts of places they didn't belong. You can imagine how thrilled I was, especially when I had to peel his drunk, heavy ass off the lawn and onto his porch. And he's married. And I know her. Talking to her most likely is going to shape up Prince Charming, but do I really want to be involved in that? (no.) But on the other hand, the fear that I will tell his wife will probably make him behave himself anyway. But what if it's helpful information for her? How would she feel a decade from now to know that this sort of thing has been going on and she was the last to know? I don't want to break up a happy home (did I mention the kids?)

Damn, I'm the anti-cupid.

So, people, what do I do? Do I tell the better half about her halfwit husband's hijinks and learn to handle my scandal, or do I keep my trap shut and call cabs in the future? Should I speak the truth so I can set a truthful example for the kids, or just lie low?

He wasn't even supposed to be there last night.

Oh, and Pman is really mad. It's been years since I set off a fistfight.

(I am kidding, you know that, right?)

More later, I just ran out the clock.

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

it's breaking my heart you're leaving 

I have every good intention of making a nice long juicy gossipy post later this afternoon, but God never laughs quite as hard as when I make plans, so know this:

Knitting group tonight, 7:00, D-Note, Old Town Arvada. It will be fun, oh yes, it will be fun.

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

sending autos swerving into the loneliest evening 

So I just lost a whole post. Ouch.

I've finished my Linen shell. It's too short for my chest, but all my tops are like that. Either I let my um, front porch hog up all the room in a sweater or live with gorilla arms and a mudflap on all my sweaters. I think it's just my body's way of telling me my stretch marks need to be exposed to air and sunlight more often.

But it's gorgeous. And I love it. And I'm plotting plotful plots as to how I'm getting enough Linen for the cardi. That way I can ignore Fluffy for real.

I'm punchy--I've got two feverish kids and one who talks so much I kind of wish she was sick just so she wouldn't talk so damn much. Please tell me you are coming to knit tonight, folks, because I have a feeling I'll be more than ready for a stiff drink at 5:00 today.