Friday, November 30, 2007

Quote of Day, part deux

"So how's it going with that? Are they still dating?"
"Yeeeah. Turns out that she kinda lied about her age. She's a bit older."
"Older? She fudged her age? That is so not good."
(10 year old at table interjects) "She what?"
"Sometimes women fudge about their age."
"Fudge?"
"You know, they don't really tell the truth."

"Oooooh, well . . . there's no truth in fudge. No matter how hard you look. And that can get messy."

Excellent. And so true. No truth in fudge.

Quote of Day

I do not want people to be agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them.
-- Jane Austen

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Giving in to My Insufferable Yarn Habit

I spent a hundred dollars on yarn yesterday.

I spent $240 dollars on an alternator for the skunk. So I guess that is worse. But I need an alternator. I'm not sure I need the yarn. But really, I think I do.

I bought some 100% alpaca for a hat I'm knitting for a friend. Went to a new yarn store and they had the yarn listed in the pattern but only in yicky colors. So had to find other yarn, which is always iffy with a new pattern. And then the very nice lady messed up my bill and only charged me for two balls of yarn when I actually had three. Didn't want to ruin my karma, so corrected her . . . which meant I had to find cash, as she had already run my card.

Then went to Murray's Auto Parts and dealt with this tall guy. I think he thought he was flirting with me (confirmed the next day at pickup of alternator) but to me he was just arguing. I don't really want to discuss alternators . . . nor did I want his vast pretend knowledge of Neons. Just wanted to buy an alternator. But he was happy to see me back. Used my name a bunch of times for good measure. Can't wait to go give the "core" to him.

Then I went to my local yarn store and dropped another eighty bucks on some: alpaca silk -- yummy, some straight worsted alpaca in black and a fun color combination for a hat that I was making for hud. Until he looked at the pattern and chose another hat. So it will go to someone, I'm sure. Burgundy and green . . . but somehow it works.

Am making the gloves from Naughty Needles . . . as well as the pirate eyepatch. But have to get the hats done first. Have about one inch of six done on the first.

Pictures later. Have to go.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Computer Crank

I think I'm too dependent on instant messaging.

And while this is significant to my phone bill . . . because I was really in need of reassessment of my minute plan before . . . I'm now become proficient at typing three conversations at once. And no one should be able to do that. No one.

It doesn't provide enough focus.

And as much as I like the quality of having instant friends and acquaintances in my office . . . without having to actually clean my office . . . I think I need to get back to getting out more. Because it's really easy to be sucked into that monitor.

So cutting myself off today. We'll see how I do. (Okay, I'll leave it on . . . but won't be in the room. Of course I want people to be able to message me.)

Monday, November 26, 2007

Reminder

Must . . . not . . . smother . . . spider . . . monkey . . .

And no, I probably won't explain that.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

O' Non-Denominational Tree, O Non . . .

Am putting my tree up today. And we all know how I am about that . . . with the matchey-matchey-ness. I'm thinking perhaps that I will make ornaments this year.

Pictures later.

Thursday, November 22, 2007

Item one: I am thankful for my knockers

The teachers upstairs, they have a white board. Every week they write a topic . . . and then the others respond to it.

This week was "What are you thankful for?"

And a friend of mine, who will remain unnamed, wrote "My Knockers". Which is hilarious. And she should be, honestly.

So I am thankful for:

My Knockers -- no, really they're great.
My Family, even though they yelled about stale crackers for fifteen minutes. I have been listening to the stale crackers fight for 36 years . . . my mother does not care about crackers and their state of freshness. My father feels very strongly that crackers must be as fresh and crunchy as possible . . . directly out of the unopened package. They can discuss the state of the saltines for hours. And when I say discuss? I really mean yell.


"NORMA, THESE CRACKERS ARE STALE."
"No, they're not. I just took them out of the bag."
"THEY'RE OLD. THESE ARE DEFINITELY STALE."
"(innocently . . . like she doesn't know . . . ) I MUST HAVE KEPT THEM FOR YOUR BIRDS THEN DEAR."
"JUST THROW THEM AWAY. WHO DOESN'T THROW STALE CRACKERS AWAY? WHY DO YOU INSIST ON KEEPING STALE CRACKERS?"
"(dismissive tone) I WAS JUST KEEPING THEM FOR YOUR BIRDS. FEED THE BIRDS WITH THEM. (my sister just read this and commented "BULLSHIT. She didn't keep them for the birds.)"
"IF YOU WERE GOING TO FEED THE BIRDS WITH THEM, WHY WOULD YOU PUT THEM OUT FOR US?"

This goes on in a circle for fifteen minutes, until I snatch the crackers and put them in the trash. And then my mother will make me take them out of the trash and put them in the backyard.

I love them anyway.

I am thankful that I am at a point in my life that I can buy a pretty pretty princess jeep.
I am thankful for my wonderful, supportive, great friends. (yes, you and you . . . and you . . . )
I am thankful that I am healthy. And that I don't seem to have hand foot and mouth disease anymore.
I am thankful that I have such an interesting life.
I am thankful that I am talented (I can make sock monkeys), and smart, and am now confident enough . . . although it took a while, to see that I am talented and smart.
I am thankful for Mr. Cat, who fought valiantly against my knitting needles today. He's getting on in years, but still loves a good knitting needle kill.
I am thankful that I have several good pairs of shoes (if not fifty) and several pairs of jeans that make my butt look good.
I am thankful that I have people that will tell me when I butt doesn't look good . . . AND people who will tell me that I have a great ass.
And to round out . . . I'm thankful that I have a good booty.

As an aside, my mother is thankful that my hair isn't blue . . . because evidently, I am sooooo much more attractive when my hair isn't blue.

May everyone have a great Thanksgiving.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Exactly What I Wanted


So I did order the pretty, pretty princess jeep . . . with everything but Sirius radio because I do not have a Y chromosome and therefore do not have an undying need to pay for radio. I find the plain old free radio to be just fine. And it has an ipod thingy. And it is yellow and cute.

So this is my mid-life crisis car . . . my I didn't have any fun in my twenties, being all good and trying to work for a living and now I can sort afford it and don't have any children to fall out of it if I take the top and the doors off. Hell, I don't even have a dog.

And I had to order it . . . because they don't come the way that I wanted it.

Speaking of wants, I really wanted to get out of school and find a bar stool with my name on it. But instead I went to the reindeer games and only "played one game" and left. It's been a rough two weeks . . . no three weeks, what with the sickness and the pestilence and the kid who tried to burn down my room because he was bored. So I want a nice quiet weekend. Shhhhh. I mean it. Some laundry. Maybe a few errands. Nevermind that everything is 25% off at H&M on Friday . . . and IKEA has some things I might riot over. I have to buy a jeep . . . and Christmas shop. So am staying inside and not shopping.

That's right. Not shopping.

Maybe. If I can help it.

Saturday, November 17, 2007

Fembot Harems and Girlie Wranglers

Going to the DIA member preview so just a quick update . . .

I think I like Deals Gone Bad better than Mustard Plug. Sorry Dave.

My jacket was wet with other people's sweat last night.

The only guy that I thought was cute (and old enough) (and was flirting with me) had a fembot harem. No really. Two girls that followed him around. With the same hair. And similar outfits. And makeup. And that is just wrong.

I think I saw the whole of Kalamazoo's punk scene. All thirty of them . . .

I tagged the bathroom. The marker was there. I think they were encouraging it.

Evidently, Kraftbrau is closing. So I kept discussing buying the place. Which is nuts. Because I don't need a bar in Kalamazoo.

I will put the links in later.

I have decided to buy a Wrangler. But not a off-roading hardcore one. A girlie one. In detonator yellow. A yellow princess Wrangler with power locks. So sneer all you want.

And yes, I ate lunch before I went to the dealership.

And parts of my hair are purple. But you have to look really closely.

And my tongue? One step forward . . . two steps back. Again. And again. I'm better. Still looks gross. But not as gross. And took a nap today, woke up and felt weird again. Plus, it's like I got high eating food. All light headed. My tongue/mouth doesn't hurt anymore . . . my tongue just feels . . . weird. Weird is better than pain. But still not right. So may have to go get chunks cut out. Bummer. If only to possibly get a real diagnosis. I really do think it's hand foot and mouth, but it's taking me forever to get over it (been sick for exactly two weeks, which is not out of line, but I would like my immune system to rally. Of course, I did just go to a concert, got covered in other people's sweat, plus smoke, plus was banged around in the pit, and had four hours of sleep . . . and I ate that McDonalds at 2 a.m. . . . oh, and did I mention the beer?)

Whatever, yellow princess Wranglers and purple hair are much more fun to talk about.

Friday, November 16, 2007

K-zoo

So I have made it to Kalamazoo for the Mustard Plug concert . . .

And hopefully it will not be sold out and there will not be swarms of college kids. Perhaps no one has heard of Mustard Plug in K-zoo. Let's hope so.

Kraftbrau house is very small and very, very squinchy . . . in that there are lots of small rooms and you have to walk forever to get to the bathroom (I think I remember, like, going down a long hall, through a couple of rooms, maybe outside and back again).

So no one come.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

WooHoo

I ate solid food today.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

See? Tongue Lesions!

I just read the insert for the medication that they had to special order for me at the drugstore and it says, and I quote:

"The mechanism of action by which amlexanox accelerates healing of aphthous ulcers is unknown."

It then goes on to talk about in vitro studies . . . and how it seems somehow to deal with inflammation. "Aphthous ulcers" would be canker sores. I do not have those. I have either Hand, Foot and Mouth disease (also called coxsackie virus, which is fun to say) or Shingles . . . but only in my mouth. Sounds lovely, doesn't it? My close friends and family love it when I show them, which I do often by sticking out my tongue as far as I can. "Thee? Ny ton ih gost."

Of course this is only a tentative diagnoses. Evidently, a best guess scenario from the medical profession. If it doesn't clear up in seven to ten days I have to go in and try again.

It all started with a sore throat. Simple enough. Sore throat and a headache two Saturdays ago. Inconvenient because I was putting up insulation. And I was tired. Very tired.

And the sore throat got worse. To the point that I went to see a doctor. During school. I left work to go see a medical professional. Almost never happens with me. And she looked at my throat for three seconds. She did a strep test. It was negative. She said it was a virus and that I should go to bed. Give it 7 to 10 days. That was Tuesday.

Wednesday I shivered in bed and slept.

Thursday, it felt like I had burnt my mouth with all the tea I was drinking. The roof of my mouth was swollen. My tongue felt burnt. So sore throat and mouth pain. Thursday evening, I did a lot of swishing around of salt water. A Mr. Crabbypants trick.

Friday I had a red spot on my tongue. I figured since it was cut and I rubbed salt in the wound. I started the antibiotic the doc gave me "just in case". Then two spots. Saturday different spots. But no sore throat. Sunday different spots but they were more ugly. And I couldn't eat. My mother nudged me until I went to the urgent care (another blog entry altogether) and that is where I got the HFMD or Shingles of the mouth (or allergic reaction, maybe . . . whatever, if it doesn't go away then go to the doctor again) diagnosis.

"So can I go to work?"
"Are you going to spit on anyone?"

So I haven't really eaten in going on four days (not really true, I had mac and cheese this evening) but I can have vanilla shakes. HFMD is only supposed to happen in young children but yeah, my body is weird, so maybe. My mouth is much better than Saturday. But I would like to remember when I didn't have to pay attention to my tongue all the time. M1 says people pick it up all the time in Indonesia . . . from escalators. And 7-10 days is coming up.

I'm just really afraid about it not clearing up in 7 to 10, because that means biopsies. And that means cutting chunks out of my tongue. So let's just hope I get better. And hope all the people I have kissed have really good adult immune systems. (the rest of you are in little danger, unless I spit on you, which I haven't) (yeah, yeah, the forms all say really contagious . . . but you haven't been changing my diapers and I haven't been drooling on you . . . )

So I get a new dentist out of the deal.

So yeah, sorry, I'm gross. With gross things. And weird gross diagnosis. Could be worse, I suppose. Maybe.

And I am so getting a hamburger when this is over.

Monday, November 12, 2007

Just the Right Amount of Gangley

Just as soon as I recover from this pestilence . . .

I would like to date Ned the Pieman.

Perfect amount of slouchy, plus the shoes, plus the vocab . . . just way too cute, indeed.

And I want to be Olive in my next life. Either that, or just have her wardrobe.

More on the pestilence later.

Monday, November 05, 2007

But the Rabbit was Smiling with His Spoon

I have a sore throat . . . and chills. The kind you get when you are cold from the inside out. Which sucks, because you cannot get warm.

I am self-diagnosing strep throat but have been told that you cannot have strep throat without tonsils. "Maybe you have strep neck?" one of my students called out today.

My tonsils were removed when I was seven. Horrible experience. First time I realized that there was an adult conspiracy . . . although the "blanket fairy" was suspicious . . . I mean why would she think that I would trade my blanket with all the soothing smells for a doll? One would think that a blanket fairy would do more research on her customers. I didn't play with dolls.

Anyhow, I was told that in trade for my tonsils, I would get as much ice cream and Popsicles that I wanted. Seemed an okay trade for that. Stupid tonsils that made me sick all the time for yummy, yummy Popsicles. Wanted them in a jar (the tonsils . . . yeah, I've always been this way) but was too wimpy to ask. So I pictured myself in bed, like a princess, with an unlimited supply of grape Popsicles and vanilla ice cream.

And the hospital was scary and weird. And they didn't let me wear underwear in the operating room, which I was thought was terribly strange at the time. And still do. And then I woke up . . . and my throat HURT and my stomach felt awful. And that really sucked. So I demanded ice cream. And was told "no". So I demanded again.

The next nurse reasoned with me . . . or maybe it was my mom. All the blood from the removing the tonsils had drained into my stomach and if I ate anything, I would throw up. I then produced the book they had given me, explaining the whole "get your tonsils out and don't be scared" thing. "See? Here on page seven? ICE CREAM. The rabbit gets his tonsils out and he gets ice cream." (point at rabbit with spoon and smile on his little rabbit face)

"But they meant later . . . "

No go. The rabbit got his tonsils out and he got ice cream. Liars. They told me Popsicles and ice cream and now they were reneging on the deal.

So I got my vanilla ice cream. And I threw up that vanilla ice cream, mixed with my own blood (which, as it turns out, I was going to throw up anyway . . . ice cream or no). And I realized that adults would tell you things just to get you to do things that you didn't want to do. Ludicrous things. Like ripping your tonsils out.

End of story? Part of my right tonsil is still there. So I might even have strep neck, dammit.

I might go get some ice cream.

Thursday, November 01, 2007

Best Line Ever

On Pushing Daisies, a show that I have never watched before:

"Still looking for a man Olive? . . . Because if your belly was full of fish, you wouldn't have to put out so much bait." (looks at cleavage)

It was the only funny line . . . but it was a doozy. Can totally picture my mother saying it. And thought about it as I was dressing for a date, which has now been cancelled. So more fun for me. Think I'll go to the yarn store and then go to bed early. Yay. I love these dates.

(No, seriously . . . I'm not being sarcastic. If I hadn't had a date, I would have stay at school. Now I have time on my hands and can wander aimlessly about. One of my favorite things to do. I might even go to the record store.)