my stepdad's not mean, he's just adjusting

I am the queen of waisting away a Sunday. I did not vacuum the floors, wash the dishes, pay my bills, go to the grocery store, unpack my suitcases from last weekend. However, I did do my laundry. A small moment of productivity squished in between the four movies I watched. Those would be The Lives of Others (sad, yet offers hope for mankind), Mrs. Henderson Presents (Judi Dench refers to someone's bosoms as "fried eggs"), How To Kill Your Neighbor's Dog (still one of my favorites), and the ever hilarious Death To Smoochy. But my gods, check out that sock!

It's not you. Oh no, wait... it is you!

Like I said before, it's one thing to tell yourself that you are single and happy and another thing to believe it. A friend, however, has filled me in on her Three Point Plan for being truly single and happy (she remains nameless... unless she reveals herself). And since I got the "It's not you, it's me" speech from Mr. Jerk-Around, I'm going to give it a go, only I'm going to add a Fourth Point.

The Three (now Four) Point Plan for being Single and Happy:

1. Girl friends to hang out with. (Check)
2. Vibrator. (Check)
3. Exercise. (Umm... I'll have to work on that one.)
4. Knitting projects to work on. (Check)

I've already got three out of four down, so I'm on my way already! I'm a bit suspicious about exercise being the final key to being a Happy Single (not to mention, my friend is married... but I won't hold that against her), but as an act of faith in my new plan (because I do love a plan!), I pulled out the Taebo dvds I bought a gajillion years ago and used a grand total of twice (and felt very nauseous), and I jumped around with Billy Blanks for 40 minutes. Go me! Hopefully I can stick to Point 3. Because surprisingly, I feel happier already.

Sock shot (and a Klingon Hula):

I don't do shitty work. I just don't.

Yesterday was the first meeting of my new little knitting group, brought about by my friend (Codename "L"), lovingly referred to as Purl 'n' Purge. (Watch out, Debbie Stoller! We might just start a new new knitting revolution.) The plan is for weekly meetings, which I'm very excited about, as it will hopefully help with my lack of knitterly self-motivation.

I didn't get much knitting done, however. I was too boozed and too torn on whether I should rip back my sock, yet again. Robin gave me grief for being a tight knitter so I tried to knit looser (because I was self-conscious about what tight stitches said about me as a person). The silly thing was TOO loose though! I tried it on and it went up over my knee and halfway up my thigh. I have learned my lesson - don't change more than one thing at a time (I went from size 2 to size 3 needles to start) - and have ripped it back and started again. Because, as I've said before, I just don't do shitty work. ;)

So here it goes, try number three!

guess i'll be left alone now

Pretty much anything done angrily is a bad idea. Like driving. Or eating ice cream (it's gone before you notice). Or kicking a tree. Knitting, even, can go sourly if done in a time of seething hatred. (You knit that shit into your project, that's bad knitting mojo!) Just about the only thing I can come up with that isn't a bad idea for the mad moments is showering. Just, my gods, stay away from the razor. That too is a bad idea.

Writing also is a bad idea. But I'm going to do it anyway. As well as eating the ice cream. But I must say ahead of time, anything from this point forth has a good chance of being recanted. But right now, I am just so very mad. So mad, I wish that it weren't midnight and I could scream at the top of my lungs so that every already-waking person could hear my howler monkey cry of anguish. You know what this is about. It's all about dating.

I just don't understand. My friends will say (gods bless them one and all!) that it's his loss, that I'm a good catch. It's true, I know. But it doesn't change the fact that DATING STILL FRAKKING SUCKS!

I was being jerked around for a month: Does he like me? Does he not like me? I'm going to just ignore him and busy myself and he'll leave me alone. Omg, why is he still texting me, I haven't talked to him in two days, how sweet! Nevermind, I hate him, because he's not asking me out. I don't care about your cold, just frakking ask me out already!!

I had to be talked out of a neurotic breakdown last week, but today it was not happening. The neurotic came. And the neurotic acted. It's been a month. How much should a girl have to be tortured for the sake of a mate! I had to ask if it was going anywhere. As stupid as this sounds, through a text message. (Because that's all he freaking deserves!) And he didn't answer, which I'm guessing is my answer. Which is great, now I know. I would rather know that I'm back to the beginning yet again than be yanked around, driving myself freaking crazy. But it doesn't stop me from being so expletively PISSED!

What the hell?! What the fucking hell?! Is it too much ask for a decent guy, to not have to whore myself out on the freaking internet to even find shitty ones, to be given the truth up front instead of being jerked around, to have someone use the phone already in their freaking hand to use it for what it was invented for, a freaking PHONE CALL?!

I heard the other day, supposedly, that by the year 2020 the woman to man ratio is going to be four to one. If it's true, I might as well just rip out my ovaries now. No sense being bothered with periods and acne and mood swings if my genes are never going to be used for furthering the smart alleles of the human race. I might as well just go get my 900 cats right now and own it, get as many happy times in with Fluffy, Felix, and Federico as I can.

Someone said, "just forget about it and the right one will come along." But I don't think he's coming. As far as I can tell, there is not a somebody for everybody. For some, there is not even a somebody for now. But even if there is, try as I might, there is no way in hell I will be able to forget about it. I keep thinking about the moment in Grey's Anatomy where Meredith swears off men and knits a sweater. "I'm not having sex, I'm knitting a sock" really just doesn't work for me. I'm going to need something bigger than a sock. Perhaps a sweater. For an elephant.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!! So now it's just me again. And my Aaron Douglas shrine. Maybe if I promise him a steady stream of beers, he would be my boyfriend. Unlikely. And so I resort to you: Anyone got any great ideas on 1) where in Sam Hill I can find a guy who stays home reading on Friday nights or 2) a spectacular knitting project to make me forget about finding a guy who stays home reading on Friday nights?

Since this is a knitting blog, I'll leave you with a knitting anecdote. When I started knitting like a year or so ago, my mother thought this to be hilarious. "Old, lame people knit, not 25 year olds," she said. "Great way to get a guy! Haha!" Tonight, I've discovered she's changed her tune. She tells me she saw that the craft store is having knitting lessons and she was thinking about signing up. "Sounds fun! It'll give me something to do."

Tomorrow: I continue the sock over beers! (Probably yet another bad idea.)

deconstruction

I can't sleep. I was so excited earlier about purchasing some $3 wine from Trader Joe's, excited that I'd be all toasty and fall blissfully asleep... but I guess I got too excited about it (and other things) and now I can't manage the zzzzz's. Exciting stuff is happening all around: One friend is starting a Stitch and Bitch in my neighborhood, another got promoted and gets to work the coolest shift EVER, another friend is possibly dating two guys, another just bought a house (quite literally, this evening!), my oldest is currently on her honeymoon, and I've figured out what my plan is. Why do these things feel it necessary to throw parties in my mind at midnight?! I can't sleep, but I can write... and unknit.

My Plan:

A few weeks ago I realized I was dead in the water, a floater riding the tides and rip currents to Slackerville. It took a few meaningless words from a delivery boy for me to realize that I no longer had a plan and was "just living." I took my current job to get a better idea if I'd want to go to grad school. Grad school got crossed off the list, so I stayed to see if anything better came along. Nothing better came along, so I stayed to have money to pay the cable bill. Once I realized that my plan had diminished to merely sustaining a continual source of 7th Heaven reruns, I started to freak out.

A further shock came shortly thereafter when I found out my job isn't as stable as I thought. A single math error could mean the difference between having a funding source until April or three days ago, and nothing I could do, spectacular or horrible, could change the fact that I could be dropped at a moment's notice.

I wracked my brain for a direction I'd like to take, but nothing came. There are things I'd like to do and then there are things I'm qualified to do, and the two don't necessarily coincide. But it's like when you are in a hurry to get out the door and your keys have gone missing. You search furiously to no avail, until finally you stop looking and they magically appear in your hand. As did my plan.

I stopped freaking out, I stopped thinking about it, and focussed on one tedious task at work. The machine I work with is always breaking down, and I discovered yet another problem to work on. I was victorious, and in the process, realized I could fix it all day if I had to. As long as I didn't actually need it to do anything for me, ripping its guts out and putting it back together is quite pleasurable. Also, it turns out I'm qualified to do such work! So I've got a plan again... and I'm excited. It's no house, but it makes me want to get up in the morning.

My Un-knitting:

I got size 3 (and sizes 1.5, 1.75, 2, and 2.25) needles this weekend and can now resume work on my socks! (Can someone please tell me why on earth a store would sell all kinds of sock needles and NO sock yarn?!) Meaning, I'm now prepared to rip back my midget sock. Here we go (with a random wedding photo from this weekend - look close and see my conehead)!


























I wrapped it all back up so now it is bag-portable once again. I'm taking it with me to work tomorrow (because I'll have short breaks of time and I don't want to read Science and Nature).

...Oh no, I'm an idiot! I just realized (Please tell me you've already noticed! HAHA!) I spent $10 on a pack of sock needles, NOT sizes 1.5, 1.75, 2, and 2.25, but 1.5, 1.75, 2, and 2.25 mm, i.e. sizes 000, 00, 0 and 1! What the hell is a tight knitter ever going to do with toothpick needles! I thought they were crazy half- and quarter-sizes! I thought I was being smart and preparing myself for possible future needle size changes! I'm just a knitting moron!

socks foiled, once again

I'm going back to the motherland for a wedding this weekend and had planned to pick up my new sock needles then. Plans changed when Robin, after one of those neurotic phone calls where there may or may not be some crying, suggested in an effort to cheer me up that I leave work early for an adventure to the knit shop. Once I heard the idea, it was already written in my book, and I immediately had the grand plans to look for yarn for my next project. MUST DO SOMETHING WITH MY HANDS TO HELP WITH THE NEUROTIC-NESS! I rode my bike home, hurriedly ate dinner, and walked 30 minutes to the knit shop... only to discover it still closed for Labor Day! Anguished! So it's back to the original plan, and the not-knitting continues....

While we're waiting, let's take a picture-trip back in time.

The prettiest yarn I've ever bought, the worst project I've ever made.

Fingerless gloves I made from yarn purchased in New Mexico in February. Sure, they look pretty, but they suck in use. Every time I wear them, they stretch out a bit more. Currently when I put them on, it feels like I'm wearing gallon sized ziplocs. The problem I think was the yarn. Beautiful cotton (maybe?) tweed, but should have been used for... well shit, I don't know what it would be good for. Something that sits there and looks pretty, I suppose. I shall conquer the Fingerless Gloves though. Robin and I have grand plans. Methinks the key is to knit them like socks (small gauge, stretchy sock-like material).

how long would you wait in line for your fandom?

There are so many stories I can tell about Dragon*Con, how I spent my Labor Day weekend, but the only knitting-appropriate one I've got involves my beloved Jayne hat.

It was clear after only moments that Emily and I were not as dedicated as other geeks, nerds, and dorks in regards to their respective fandoms. For instance, our dedication resulted in wearing Jayne hats and standing in line for no more than 20 minutes, but others' resulted in full-out package-squeezing superhero uniforms and Storm Trooper outfits and camping out in front of panel rooms for hours ahead of time just to get a front row seat to photograph Brent Spiner's nose hairs.

Geek-citement!

"Our kids only had moldy bread to eat for three weeks, but they thought we looked freaking awesome!"

However, as subtle as I thought the Jayne hat to be, the Jayne hat was quite the attention grabber, be it a shouted "JAYNE!" from within the mob, a wave from a fellow Hero of Canton hat wearer, or people who came up to us to inquire "What the hell is the point of your hat?! We keep seeing them everywhere!" I approached Mark Sheppard for a photo - he wouldn't give me one, but even he knew that the hat identified us as Firefly fans. In fact, we got more attention while wearing Jayne hats than when we were in full costume. Apparently our costumes did not reveal enough boob, ass, and stomach. (P.S. I'm never ever going to feel self-conscious in or out of clothing ever again!)

I was standing in line to get Aaron Douglas's autograph when someone approached me, asking where I got my hat. When I told him I made it, he remarked that mine was the best he had seen and he'd PAY ME TO MAKE HIM ONE! I gave him my email address in case he was being serious, but people, I made it from a pattern! It's no amazing feat, I even bought the same yarn the pattern suggested!

Most of the attention was positive, but there was one instance in which Emily wanted to strangle and maim. Before our very first panel (Possibly the worst one. It was supposed to involve some Star Trek people duking it out with some Battlestar Galactica people, but due to the asinine number of panelists and the disorganization on part of the moderator, it resulted in jokes mostly about toe sex and man love on behalf of the very silly Battlestar Galactica actors.), the announcer pointed out Emily in her Jayne hat, in a room full of some 400 people, and suggested to the audience that she was lost and perhaps confused about her fandoms. Perhaps the announcer jerk-face missed the half-naked, fat woman in chain mail extending only to just above her navel.

In regards to my Slytherin scarf that I hurriedly finished for last weekend, I didn't get to wear it! We decided not to attend the Yule Ball after discovering there had been some people standing in line for the Firefly and Battlestar Galactica parties for SEVEN HOURS and the lines went around the block. My best guess as to how the party was going to go was that you stood in line drinking beer for hours to get in then when you did get in, you stood around drinking beer with the people you'd been standing in line with for hours. Like I said, I'm not that dedicated. Compared to some people, I'm not even a nerd!