Tomorrow is Another Day

Ah, another day . . . and now I am not crabbypants.

The date was lovely. Home turf. Overly concerned waitstaff. Master's degreed engineer. Cute. And we all know how I like smart. He walked me to my car -- which is the most points you can get on a first date. And I was home, in bed by 11.

And now, all I have to do is straighten up my house by 3 p.m. when my brother is coming with a cast-off television and possibly a stereo. And figure out how to candy some lime rind. And find a suitable container to transport the yummy mini pies. I think a lime zester and a container can be found at Target . . . plus evidently I need honey and a candy thermometer.

Yes, they are yummy, in my opinion. Have tried them. And yes, they come out of their little foil cups beautifully.

Now I just have to find time to do my nails . . . which may not happen. And that would be okay.

So good day. Yummy pies. New bigger television. Stereophonic sound. Whoo.

I Didn't Even Use Extra Booze

I just made 24 individual boozey pies . . . which are interestingly arranged in my very small freezer. My kitchen is a mess . . . the rest of my house is untidy . . . and my family is coming over tomorrow. Oh, and I have to get ready for this blind date, in less than an hour.

I need some uncrabby pills. Right now. Or booze. Or something. A Hallmark greeting card? I don't know. An attitude adjustment.

And I would like to take some pictures, maybe get something up on ravelry and there just isn't time. I promised myself this would be a one drink affair, but it's not going to work out that way. It never does. Plus, that would be wasting a big bunch of pretty and the putting on of high heels in snow.

Maybe makeup will make me feel better. Doesn't seem fair to the rest of the work when I am this Crabbypants. Oh, wait, I haven't eaten anything today (well, except boozey pie remnants) so maybe that will help.

Now let's just hope that those suckers come out of those foil cups.

Update: It's 6:20 and Gwen Stefani is right . . . the magic is in the makeup. I feel slightly better and more confident about facing the world. I probably should eat something, but they have nachos el magnifico where I'm going (you didn't know they served Nachos in Hades?) (I know, I know, bad attitude . . . stop it) and my brother is close so I can go visit him after and shoot Z with Nerf darts. Nerf darts will fix most things. Well, and sometimes they break stuff . . . and that's cool too.

Thought of the Last 2880 Moments

Grrrrrrrr . . . I hate the hiatus plan.

I'll Call Him "Kisses"

I'm going to ignore it's Valentine's Day . . .

I got a haircut without really getting any hairs cut. Trying to it grow out until I have can pigtails again. My hairstylist liked the hat I made her.

And I went to Walmart and bought an oil change . . . I love Milford, where Carthart is high fashion. The 'rent's backyard is very pretty and they are very wired. Can type here, while watching the flat screen (tastefully white to match the wall) AND look out into the yard with the snow, the squirrels and the birds. And deer. Lots of deer.

Waiting for Mom to get home from work so we can go out to dinner. Am grocery shopping tomorrow and perhaps going out on a date. In my hometown, no less. How I love a man with a good garage. Have decided to go with little tiny boozy pies . . . individual size. With some candied lime, maybe, if I can figure out how to candy lime.

And now, I will research how Splenda is destroying my life. I don't drink diet soda all that often, but I do drink ice tea, with two packets of "yellow stuff". And really, I don't think that I can do iced tea plain.

Oh, and I'm working on holiday themed sock monkeys. They sell socks for every holiday at Target. The Valentine's Day one has stitched "x"s . . . an example that I made during class while teaching the kids how to make them. Pic when I get to a camera.

Happy Valentine's Day to all.

What About Boozy Cupcakes, Though?

Anyone can live through a three day work week.

And I'm going to a "potluck" on Saturday . . . something that I have avoided since, say, junior year of high school, when the Amnesty International people (the only "club" I ever belonged to . . . and only because Jeff would show up every so often) had a potluck and both E1 and I went. A week later S called and asked me out and later he admitted that he had just read down the phone list until he found the first Emily. So if my last name hadn't been first alphbetically, we would have never have gone out . . . or ever become friends. And that, my friends, is what I associate with potlucks. Weird (albeit sometimes delightful) boys making random phone calls.

So I chose dessert, figuring that if I really "eff" things up, I can always stop by Holiday Markup and save myself with a cheesecake. It's for 20 and right now I'm thinking cupcakes . . . even though my sister has made no bones about my cupcakes skills. (something like, they taste like . . . well a not nice body part) But again, there is the stopping by Holiday Markup backup plan. And there is boozy pie. I just don't know how I'm going to make that individual servings.

Because I was told "well, it's for 20 and I don't really have the table space . . . so baked Alaska would be bad . . . and . . . french toast sticks would be good . . . except M just pointed out that french toast sticks aren't really dessert."

So I shouldn't go with french toast sticks? Cause I can just get a big bag of those frozen at Meijer.

And I forgot to ask how many recovering alcoholics and children there are going to be at this party. Boozy pie is actually boozy. Damn. Cupcakes it is.

Maybe I'll have my Drinks in Here

As my friends roll their eyes.

Sometimes I like to find new places. My current obsession is to find a "book club" that is just far enough away from work that none of my students is my bus boy, none of my former students are my wait person, or worse, none of my former students are drinking . . . ur, um, "reading books" . . . at the table next to me, but close enough that my friends will come out. Most of my female friends live on the East Side, so it's just easier for them rather than hauling everything for book club out here. And yeah, I do live in the land of cool book clubs. But whatever, expanding my horizons.

So last night, I went to a place with the BEST bathrooms I have ever seen . . . in a book club. The paint was the same color I have in my office . . . there were real pocket doors to make up the stalls . . . there was very nice beadboard . . . and very excellent fixtures, considering the small space . . . very nice lighting, bright enough to see, yet not jarring . . . and very clean. Oh, and nice tile.

Very different from the usual bathroom experience, with the not so nice graffiti and the goo . . . or like, at the Front, which has both goo and graffiti and the extra added bonus of no sink, except for the one that is IN A STALL basically, so you have to wait for the person to get done to wash your hands. One should never wait until they really have to pee at the Front. Always go before . . . like a long car trip.

The Hardluck Lounge, in Grosse Pointe Park. I found parking. They have great bathrooms. There was a place to sit. The drinks were good . . .

I could bring Princess. And she could sit without putting down a napkin. And go to the bathroom. If they had wine, we could possibly live there.

So a good discovery, in my adventuring.

Henry Rollins hates dating

You must watch this. NOW.

Snow Day

I did my nails.
"Tamed" my eyebrows.
Ate some peanut butter toast.
The whole grain white bread from Trader Joe's doesn't toast very well.
Watched "The Cell", mainly for the costumes.
Knit most of a ninja hood.
Need to get size 8 double points, which I missed in the materials list.
Watched Martha Stewart . . . you can get your dog's DNA profiled. Who knew.
Watched CNN.
Ate some yogurt.
Took a shower.
Changed all my linens.
Will stop and get needles on the way to Pilates.
Maybe more yarn.
School tomorrow . . . but it's Friday.
And anyone can survive Friday.

Might make a snowman after Pilates.

Haiku Maybe

I just shoveled.

Turn around and there was an inch of new snow.

So I stopped.

He Tripped on His Cape . . . Honest

We have another "Winter Storm Warning" this evening.

The last time (last Friday) I was all stress because they called off school very late (I was already dressed) and the weatherman was speaking like Super Grover on Crack . . .

"aaaaaaahhhhh . . . ten inches of snow . . . . ahhhhhhhhhhhh . . . zero visibility . . . . aaaaaahhhhhh . . . don't go out. DON'T GO OUT." and then much like Super Grover he would run into the screen.

But last Friday there was only three inches of snow. Hardly snow day material. And now, since we have all been burned by the hype of the local news (even MORE secret text messages . . . film at eleven) well, I'm afraid that the people who make the school decisions may not believe the weather people anymore. The boys who cried snow. So it may be really nasty tomorrow and we will go to school regardless.

Crap.

Knit Michigan

I want to get this statement out of the way . . . as it is somehow burning in my brain.

I got very little knitting done at Knit Michigan.

There. I said it. There were classes and vendors (real vendors, vending, unlike Friday) and there was a lot of walking this year. It was much more spread out.

I met some very cool people and there was lots to see . . . and I bought some things. Oh, and I found the "cool" knitting groups to go to, one on Tuesday and one on Wednesday. They promise that they don't talk about barley or babies.

And the classes? Well, let's just say that I didn't volunteer to teach any . . . so I can't really say anything. Kumihimo braiding . . . I made a lanyard without lanyard lace. Cool enough, but I already knew how to make lanyards. But now I can make them with a fun foam disk. So let's just call that "a taste of Kumihimo" with the idea that I would actually research it later. Made a very nice pink necklace, which immediately went to my mother. And I will buy more of the foam disks.

Toddler toe up sock? Well, I'm not going to compete with my mother anytime soon in the sock making. Yuck. But my attitude towards socks has nothing to do with the instructor. Just seems like a lot of work for something that I can buy at Target for $3.99. (the sock people cringe when I say this . . . and want to stab me in the eye . . . and then look at me pitifully, as I have not reached the enlightment of understanding the wonders of sock knitting)

As for knitting, I knit five inches on some gloves that I am making. Doesn't seem like all that much to me, as I was there for 15 hours. But now I'm at the complicated thumb part, so those will have to be knit in quiet.

Oh, and at the vendor mart, I found a knit store that sells buffalo fiber and yak yarn in East Lansing and a new LYS in Beaumont . . . which is dangerous, as I go to Beaumont every Saturday. Bought a kit from perl grey, a shrug with thumb holes. YAYNESS. Also bought the yarn to make this. Kinda like a ninja helmet. And I have been carrying the pattern around forever. So forever that it seems not to be on the net anymore.

So about 1000 chemo caps were made and turned in . . . and I think they made 26,000 dollars. So a very cool charity event. Next year's is Feb. 7, I think. Something about the first Saturday in February every year. But this means I can knit the chemo cap NOW and make it all cool and funky.

Okay, have to go buy Sharpies (for my students) and knitting needles (need to make a list). And start on the thumbs.

Dildo Factory

So let's start with the "and in the second episode there's this dildo factory" story.

M2 has a student teacher.

One would think that as a regular employed teacher, you would be overjoyed with a student teacher. Hey! Someone is going to come in and do all my work for me? And I still get paid? Sign me up! But M2 . . . I love her . . . well, there's really two factors at play. First, M2 has the WORST luck in student teachers. It's like the fates want her to weed them out or something. And this time, she even tried to compensate by asking to interview the person first . . . and the person just showed up anyway. And she is this meek, mousey thing who does not talk and looks terrified most of the time. Like that mouse that the kids always trap in the yearbook room (We have sort of a vermin problem. I prefer to think of him as a pet) who just wakes and then expels everything from his bowels and then dies of heart failure to avoid whatever this circle of teenagers is going to do to him.

So the second factor is that M2 is a really good teacher . . . with a strong personality . . . and . . . again, with the "I really, really love her" . . . she is a bit of a control freak. We all are. Well, anyone that lasts in this profession. So it's really hard for her to give up her classroom to someone who may lose all the control that she has gain. To let things dissolve into anarchy to prove to this person that she probably shouldn't be a high school teacher. Or should be . . . I don't know.

So M2 and the ST share a table at parent teacher conferences . . . and M2 and I plan to go out to dinner . . .

(Side story: The teachers like to go out in big groups for dinner. Which makes me anxious. For the restaurant who suddenly will have a table of 25, all of whom want separate checks. For myself, because I like to be on time and we don't have a lot of time and the waitress is taking 45 minutes to print up all of the checks. And frankly, for the general public, because teachers are really obnoxious when they get in groups. So I don't go with the "kids" for dinner. And it's a big problem. But M2 is kind enough to join me and go to a restaurant far away from the large groups. So yes, I socially isolate myself. So I won't be anxious. And for the record, I check and no, you weren't on time for the second session. No one cared. But I do.)

and there is the ST at the table, so we have to take her along.

She says maybe three words during dinner and doesn't have enough cash, which is cool because I don't have any cash either and I make way more money than she does, as she makes nothing. And on the way back, I kinda forget that she is in the backseat . . . because she is silent . . . and M2 is telling the story about how she had to take this compatiblity test to get married in the Catholic Church and some of the more tricky "yes" "no" questions . . . like "pregnancy is a big part of our relationship" (well, it isn't NOW but is it supposed to be later? According to the Catholics?) and so then I start talking about my new favorite show, Lucy, Daughter of the Devil and I had just watched the second episode, where Satan buys a dildo factory and Lucy wants to become a dildo designer but that grosses her father out.

"Did you have to bring up dildo factories in front of my student teacher? Are you trying to convince her that teachers are crazy?" Mary says after we get out of the car and the ST is out of earshot. Oops. I was just taking about television. It was on cable. So now the mouse is probably going to have to go to therapy. Or at least bring it up in those student teacher sessions when they talk about how all the old teachers are too old and their brains have been turned to mush by close contact with teenagers. I remember that discussion. It always ends with a group feeling that "we are going to be different".

Oh and the "holding dirty hands" is from this episode. Hilarious. About 1 minute, 52 seconds in . . .
"Look at all the people holding hands . . . holding hands around the world . . .
it's making me want to go wash my hands . . . dirty hands around the world . . . yeah . . ."

Holding Dirty Hands

Quick update:

My new favoritist, favorite show is Lucy, Daughter of the Devil. I love it. Very much so. You should all watch it. Lots.

Parent teacher conferences were this evening. I lived.

The yearbook deadline was met. With two major mistakes. Shrug. Oh, well.

The knitmichigan thing is this weekend, so I will probably have some stories about that.

I was invited to ravelry. Very exciting. Not everyone gets invited. Well, I'm sure you haven't been yet.

And sorry, I have been busy. And I can't write about some people. But mostly, I have been busy. But there is the milkshake straw story . . . and the "yeah, but then you just have clay balls in a peanut butter jar" story . . . and the rude pointing story (I did some rude pointing . . . sorry) . . . oh and there is the "and in the second episode there is a dildo factory" story . . .

So I have a backlog. I promise to write after the knit michigan thing. Promise.

Eleven Hundred Possible Outcomes . . . or Two

It occurs to me that I could just ask . . . and all would be cleared up.

And I'm always SO sure of the answer, even when I don't really know the answer.

But really, there is something about the mystery.

So I don't want to know.

No More Fish

Both my arms hurt. And I took the whole day off for this damn medical "procedure" and then the teachers got half the day off anyhow. Evidently they went in, heard a speaker and then were sent home. So I basically wasted a sick day. And my veins are hard to stick. At least to "Sharon" the CMA that was sticking me.

And if one more person says "you should throw him back". Throw him back into what? It's not like I have caught ANYONE in the first place. And I can't really look anymore (I've now been called a "serial dater") because of all this medical stuff.

Quite frankly, not looking is a relief. It is. But there will be no "throwing back". And I'm putting a stop to the men as fish analogy. They aren't anything like fish . . . and dating? It's not anything like fishing. Both activities are what you make of them for sure. I would have to decide that I like fishing, much like dating.

But no more "plenty of . . . ", no more "throwing back . . . " and certainly no "bait" . . . although I did get the greatest date sweater at Nordstrom. Very Jenny Cleeves.

And my arms still hurt.

Published Maybe?

I think I may be published at this point . . . sure, it's only the web, kinda like this thing . . . but the web address sounds impressive.

Dodgemotorsports.com

My pictures start here, I think. So I made page 8. Which is even less impressive, considering that my brother is part of the website.

Last Day

My last day at the auto show.

I bought two friends and we kicked around . . . spider monkey looking at horsepower and E2 and I being two chicks at the auto show. So mostly, E2 and I looked at what other people were wearing. Especially their shoes. I got to sit in the pretty, pretty princess jeep again and E2 and I plotted about steps for the p3 jeep and how to get in and out with a skirt and heels.

And I am not allowed to dis the Element anymore. It's a very nice car. With very high cargo space.

Then I took them to Lafayette Coney Island. It is my grandfather's place, which I explained, but somehow it must be better if one KNEW my grandfather. So it makes me feel all warm and safe. And it makes E2 scared. There are no menus . . . just one on the wall. And no diet coke, except in a can. But the coneys are really really good. And I'm really, really full.

So no more car fun until next year, or until the summer stuff at the Chrysler museum. And I will show all my pictures to the students tomorrow. Just for fun. Like vacation photos. All eight hundred photos.

Probably should have taken pictures of the coney dogs too.

Because Clearly, That's Insane

The last day of the Auto Show press days. And we have come up with a plan for next year.

The floor is pretty clear and there aren't a lot of people around . . . because the "real" press has moved on, to cover other things. Like the Michigan primary. So I decide to look at cars in the random way I look at cars. Because I like them . . . or someone I know likes them.

I bang my head on a Wrangler, trying to get into the back seat. Now I'm never going to sit in the backseat of my pretty, pretty princess Wrangler. But I decide to see IF I can. And you can. But don't try to do it by climbing up like a monkey. Because you will clock yourself and have to walk around with a big goose egg on your forehead. And you will have to tell everyone your head hurts . . . repeatedly. And your brother will roll his eyes, because he told you not to climb in like that.

And I looked at a Honda Element. Which was hard. Because it is hidden.

The Honda people . . . they evidently want to forget that they ever made the Element. So they put it in the back, behind a wall, next to the curtain with all of the supplies and brochures and such. You have to LOOK for it. I don't know if they are embarrassed . . . or that they just want to forget that they made a car thing that was supposed to appeal to young people, but only really appeals to 40 something women. And I don't want an Element. I think they are fugly. But spider monkey thinks he can fit his bike into an Element. So I decided to go check.

After locating the Element, D and I decide to try and fold things to see if a bike could really fit. And this particular Element had an overwhelming new car smell. Not a pleasant, leathery, new car yummy smell. An overwhelming I'M A NEW CAR stuck in the back and never been opened smell. So we sit in the front seat and then move to the back and start messing with things. The seats in the back should flip up but instead they flip to the side and we can't get them to latch and . . . well, then . . . a piece comes off in D's hand. And I don't think it was meant to come off. So then we have to figure out how to put the Element back together. I think that is when security started to notice us.

So then we move on to the Scions. Because they kinda look like an Element, in a boxy sort of way . . . but they are cooler. At least the Scion booth is cooler and they have good hats that they are giving away for free. So we take the Scion apart and there are strange storage places all over the inside of the car. Spaces for what I assume would be Ramen noodles (because that would be all that would fit) over the spare tire. Random holes in the trunk. A shelf underneath the back seat . . . maybe for your porn magazines? So D and I have a long discussion about what the designers were thinking when they came up with these spaces. And my answer always is . . . it's a place for your Star Wars figures. Because that is really the only thing that one could put there.

And then we notice the random storage in other cars . . . the Toyota L7 (is that what it is called?), which has a cup holder in the back door not quite big enough for a two liter, but way too big for anything else, so everything will just spill. And an interior that is made from the same material as a toy Tonka truck. Yuck. (by the time we got to the Toyota, three security guys were standing around watching the nonsense . . . they didn't stop us, but my picture is somewhere, I'm sure)

The deep storage in the Avenger. So deep that you would loose anything to the depths if you put it there. The storage in the Land Rover . . . that is so hidden that it must be for smuggling.

So next year, as a performance art piece, I'm going to bring a bag of stuff and test the storage in cars. LOOK! This space is perfect for 14 marbles . . . and nothing else. LOOK! You can easily hide four packages of Ramen noodles next to your spare tire. LOOK! You can lose four stormtroopers forever in here.

Yeah, yeah . . . I know . . . it's for your cell phone. At least, that is what everyone told us. Or your wallet. So say the Smart car people. But I don't need to store my cell phone next to my spare tire. Ever. So stay tuned.

And yes, we did get the Element back together. Sorta.

Not a Dodge

And therefore, probably not being used for the website. So just a taste. I have to sort through them. And then there are the drunk pics.

Mr. Crabbypants: "My . . . I don't think I've ever seen you this . . . drunk before."

Yeah, drunk pictures.

Anyhow. Mini Cooper. Oodles of cute.

Summary

Yep. Bull. Mounting. Another bull.

In the middle of Cass Ave.

Auto Show 2008