Spazzmanda

Guess who did a radio interview this morning?

Yes Ma’am. That’s me on a local Christian station talking about work stuff. Pretty neat, actually. I’ve never done anything like that before and it was a 30 minute interview so I just kept on talking. (It wasn’t very hard at all.) Look closely at the FINISHED stormwater shawl. Yuppers. I finished and blocked that beast last night, I just couldn’t wait one minute longer. (More to follow.)

So you had better do as you are told.

You better listen to the radio.

I’ve had a “sad” day. It happens. It sucks. It sucks donkey balls. The only thing I had to look forward to today was an aerobics class (I know, even I’m embarrassed to admit that one) until I spoke to Jenny and have been recruited to help her with her “Baby Bobbi Bear Butt” at the Starbucks tonight with Arnold (it’s a knitterz thing.) So I have two things to look forward to. It’s just a non stop party for me.

I’ve been moping something fierce today. I want my life back. But there is no “back” so I’m stuck with what is. Quite frankly, what “is” is enough to make me want to slice open my wrists with something dull and rusty. Today anyways. But probably not tomorrow. I think I have a vague inkling what serious depression actually feels like now, no desire to be productive, no desire to move, feeling like a zombie. I’m not at that level, I’m just saying I have the ability to relate to that level of sinking and see why people seek meds. I want meds. Good thing my Doctor can’t give me any, ‘cuz I’d take them by the fistful on days like today.

I didn’t really get to take a full lunch break today due to more work stuff that even if I did talk about it here, I just don’t want to (it goes back to that dull and rusty scenario so let’s not.) I decided to go to the Dollar General (where things generally cost dollars) and stock up on some stuff for the beach, the beach, the beach beckons and is only 9 days away. So I wandered. I bought deodorant in a double pack, some motrin, some benadryl and dove soap. Needed some laundry detergent. Neat. All has a perfume free version. Bought that too. While pondering the purchase of a “Dora the Explorer” kite that looked sort of rinky-dink for the wind gusts in St. George (particularly during hurricane season) and there I saw it. And it stopped me in my tracks.

Yes. That IS Alanis Morissette’s “Jagged Little Pill.” But it’s special, its acoustic, it was 5 bucks. It whispered to me, buy me. I’ll make you feel better. Everyone can remember the song that was positively an anthem for wronged women everywhere, but this time it is softer with a hint of Indian sitar just for flavor. Could it be that Alanis (and I) have matured somewhat? I remember the original counterpart of this slice of rock n’ roll history the summer before my freshman year. I had just busted my then boyfriend smooching his “room mate” - but honestly, I was probably going to break up with him anyways since he was a. too old for me and 2. I was about to go to COLLEGE and c. who wants a boyfriend at home when they are in COLLEGE when there are man feasts aplenty? - Holy cow. I had totally forgotten about that. See, I have been cheated on before! I remember now. His name was Mike Manly- and no I’m not joking- and her name was Jennifer something or other. She actually wasn’t a skank though, she was pretty nice except for the liplock with my man and all. Weird how music triggers dead and buried memories.

Alanis’ lyrical stylings made my heart sing with “Yeah! Men are all dogs and they do all suck!” Little did I know that six months later I would be wanting to gouge my eardrums out because every.single.girl.in.my.freakin’.dorm played this album on a loop.

The lyrics are still enclosed with the CD. Oh, Alanis, as if we could ever forget.

I still have my concert T-shirt. I know what I’m wearing to bed tonight.

In the past 24 hours, I’ve learned the following:

1. Don’t buy painters tape at Big Lots, it can peel the drywall off of the walls (and paint too.)

2. Sweating is a good thing.

3. Don’t spray paint your switch plate covers on a teensy square of newspaper, the white over spray WILL get on your black patio table.

4. Gainesville had like a foot of rain in the past few days (and I have the full watering can I left on the patio to prove it.)

5. Cats like yarn… still. Ziplocs are your friend always.

6. NEVER stereotype the “type” of person that knits or crochets as being either elderly or female…

Don’t you love his outfit? That is dedication. That is delightful. That is… a whole lot of yellow. (Disclaimer: This is not my photograph, it was forwarded to me and I’m merely sharing it with the world because, honestly, someone must.)

I love my mother. Having an awesome mom rocks. I had a BIG night at work tonight, a triumph if you will, and my loverly mother also came up to help me…. paint. No, actually, to help me drink. But we looked at the paint in the can and said, yup, that’s a can of paint.

She brought me almonds.

And an article about why almonds are the awesomest food in the world.

(Look at her reading about the health benefits of almonds as she peels some teensy weensy cheese rounds.)

She also brought two bottles of wine, and a verrrrrry nice little sleeping pill -for use in an emergency “pity party” only, and not as a chaser for the wine. The photo is bad and dark but I care not, much like how I will feel when this little miracle of modern chemistry is imbibed.

(See my standard quarter for scale? That’s how I roll.) Along with our meal of teensy cheese, we had almonds. Of course we wouldn’t want to have an unbalanced diet, now would we? As we talked and laughed, we stealthily played one of our all-time favorite games. We sliced the cheese rounds, thinner and thinner. With each slice of the knife, we were taunting one another, daring each other to put it out of its misery. I whisper with my glance “just eat it, you know you want to.” But she who eats the last of the cheese is the loser and neither of us wants that. So we shared the last little bit of the coveted white squooshy cheese (I don’t remember what kind I bought, but it was elaborately packaged and super-fancy).

Don’t her nails look purty? I’d like to have nice nails someday, but I have “little girl hands” and apparently always will-what with all the painting, crafting, needle work and other artistic endeavors, why bother with super sexy nails? but I covet them secretly…

In other news. I’m escaping this weekend on an adventure and I just can’t wait. More to follow. Have a wicked cool weekend!

We had a hot date last night, in culmination of the never ending birthday festivities, my man, a.k.a. “this” guy:

–took me to see Eddie Izzard (in concert?) It isn’t a concert when it is a comedian is it? It is a theatrical performance, right? Well, anyhoo, we LOVE Eddie Izzard. He is the funniest mo’fo’ on the planet as far as I’m concerned, I laughed so hard I almost wet myself last night.

And he looked like this:

… but less blurry and stuff. Yeah.

We saw this performance at the Cobb Energy Performing Arts Centre (ooh, spelled with an “re” I wonder if things there are colourful too since we’re being all fancy pants and using Briticisms and all.) It is located on Cobb Galleria Parkway (not to be confused with Cobb Parkway, which is close, but not the same thing. Sheesh, you would think they could come up with a better road name, right? It is a really beautiful theater, new, big but not too big. There was a minor mishap with ushers sending us to the wrong side of the theater (odds and evens are on opposite ends.) Our seats were good but there didn’t seem to be a bad seat in the house. Eddie performed for like, 2 1/2 hours- just talking and being funny for over two hours! Amazing bloke that one is, talking about bollocks and being genuinely entertaining. (I wish I were British, to say things like bloke, bollocks and shag all the time, it would be sweet!) Anyways, blah, blah, great show, great new venue (but it was a tad chilly, my own fault for not bringing a wrap) good times!

Thanks honey! Nobody do a birthday like you do! Now birthday month 2008 is officially closed.

UPDATE:

Just for you, Margaret:

This was me on night of said date. And actually this was Jeff:

You can tell that it is him by the telephone surgically attached to his ear lobe. The photo at the top of the post was taken of him in his funny, magic man clothes. He has the BEST tshirt collection ever!

A thought that comes to my mind almost daily. I don’t know why some greenery enjoys the pleasure of my company while some flora abandons ship almost immediately. I have no green thumb, but I like to grow stuff, when I can. This year Jeff got me a loverly hummingbird bush (amongst other fauna) and I am eternally grateful for the beauty that is our patio right now. Now we have also adopted some plants that were “liberated” from an untimely demise (i.e. the dumpster at Lowe’s by Jeff’s Mom) and we have planted them as well, what the hell.

Now it is getting truly exiting. Brace yourselves, we have a burgeoning head of lettuce (about three bites worth) happily growing alongside some cilantro, which is also flourishing, I’ll have you know.

Now for my personal favorite… drumroll please… our “vegetable.” Somewhere along the way this plant lost its tag, but from the bar code we have deciphered that, at maturity, we will have a crop of “vegetable.”

Good to know. The center green thing that is positively thriving is a lonely refugee patio tomato, of THAT I can be certain (it had a tag.) However, the two spindly things on the outside, well, that can be anyone’s guess, but by the way that they are creeping, I’m going to hypothesize that maybe… possibly… they could be a bean of some sort? An Okra plant? Won’t this be fun? I’ll be sure to take a photographic essay of our journey together –so stay tuned.

Now for your daily dose of eye candy. I merged two birthday gifts today in a most delightfully brilliant way (um thank you, thank you very much). First, some really cute glittery rock star decals with my equally rocking, slicker-than-snot sewing machine- wanna know how I know it is rockin? Take a gander:

What, what?

Now from the side:

Boo-ya! NOW I’m ready to roll!

I went to the lake this weekend in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains with my lovely and adoring parents who had been on vacation at their cabin on the lake for about a week. I had an extra day off on Friday since we worked on Memorial Day so I was going to float and read and get my drink on with my Mom and Stepdad. We had a wonderful trek to Young Harris to this phenomenal vineyard, beautiful view, tasty wine, just a delight- and that is when they sprung it on me. Their recently divorced friend (divorced after 25 years) had invited himself (and a date) up for the weekend. I was a tad tipsy and as my mother’s daughter was going to make the best of it. But dudes, the cabin is cozy and accommodates the fam quite nicely, but who is this woman? Is she cool? Is she fun? Not to mention that I felt that “our” time was being infringed upon- I don’t get to spend so much time with the parentals to have them all to myself, you know? But, I’ve known the man since I was a child (let us just call him “Dick” for the sake of the story) and Dick was a tad wounded. Wounded, lonely, newly-divorced man. A nice man that probably hasn’t had the opportunity to get a word in edgewise for going on 25 years, so we felt like Dick needed some friends and support. So enters Dick and date “Jane” (and that is only because even after two days, I still can’t remember her name.) So, there we are in this tiny cabin.

Warning: Content Below not recommended for anyone under the age of 18.

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Well, if you are me, you normally lose more than you win. I’m not so much lucky when it comes to competition- I blame the Girl Scouts for destroying my competitive spirit. Now, many may view the scouts to be a little fascist, paramilitary regime, but I enjoyed it for a time- saluting and all. You see, when I was a scout (like 22 years ago) was the last time I WON something.  I must begin this tale with the cookies. I did NOT enjoy selling the cookies. You see, the prizes you got when selling the cookies were so very enticing, but they only went to the power sellers, and I lived in a neighborhood that was going through the cycle of having mostly old people and they didn’t take to kindly to me peddling my sweets (diabetics.)  It broke down something like this: sell 50 boxes get the patch (no, not everyone that participated got the patch, you had to sell lots and lots of boxes) then sell 150 and get a stuffed toy, 250 boom box, 1000 new car…. whatever, the point is I rarely broke 100. My mom, who is a saint, was pissed about the entire system of awards (she would be correct into thinking it wasn’t fair for a Dad to take his kid’s sales sheet in to a big corporate office and make her sales for her and that everyone that participated should get the freakin’ patch at the very least.) So she bought something like 100 boxes from me each year then put me in uniform out in front of her Hallmark shop and I’d sell them from a card table (very wise my mother- I was very fortunate she used her mad marketing skillz to ensure that I would get that little scrap of fabric for my sash at the cookie awards ceremony.)

Then came the year of the dog. This stuffed dog that you only had to sell a billion boxes of cookies to get. Well, the dog had velcro on his belly concealing a hidden chamber, and when you are 8- you are all about the little girl secrets that could be concealed within the belly of a stuffed weiner dog. (You know, in actuality, this memory is a little more disturbing than I recall.) This particular year they had some prizes for the troop for randomly selected girls. (Which meant that Allison, the little nazi power seller, might not make off with every single prize that technically DADDY got her by intimidating his corporate minions into buying her smack. ) I won’t ever forget her. She was a smug little girl scout. Well, long story long, I won the dog that year and it was the sweetest, sweetest, most unexpected victory in the world.

Which (finally) brings me to the fact that I actually won something after a 22 year drought. One of my favorite bloggers is Cass at Shut Up I’m Counting. I won some darling little stitch markers with little sheep on them. (This is perfect for the girl that up until recently was using old wine glass charms, stray earrings and washers as stitch markers.) I entered the contest because this lady is damn funny and was asking for advice for her daughter’s birthday and for a suggestion for a pleasurable knit project, so I thought what the heck, I’ll type up a response- I’ve got something to say on all of that. Well I did and I won. Sweeeeeeeeeet - thanks so much for having the contest Cass!

And now to what I lost- I entered the Interweave Magnetic Poetry Contest about a million years ago with my little haiku. I didn’t win, but I’m okay with that because I never claimed to be much of a poet. However, I do have an observation, does any one else notice that all three winning poems make significant use of the word “rhythm”? Just an observation, not a qualitative evaluation or anything but the word positively screams out at me when reading each poem. Personally, I don’t care much for the word rhythm. I don’t hear “rhythm is going to get you” like most people, I tend to let my mind wander to “rhythm method” or “rhythmic gymnastics” or something sort of dirty and pulsating. Is it just me?  Really? Well I don’t much care for the words rumba or rhombus either (but I do so like rum) I suppose it is some kind of weird, personal word association thing. Now I fear I’ve revealed too much.

Oh, and I had that stuffed dog for years until I took him to camp with me and filled his body cavity with jolly ranchers (not my most shining moment) and his insides became a sticky sweet feast for ants and I had to dispose of him. But the memory of my gigantic victory over Allison stays with me always. (YAY for victory!)

Hey, I’m one for two today. I think I’ll go and purchase a lottery ticket on my lunch break- tomorrow’s Mega Millions is up to 166 Million!

I’ve had a nasty, nasty bug. I’m working today, but faking it as it seems I have a nearly endless supply of mucus. All I can think about is those mucinex commercials with the dancing boogers. ew.

Ok, one more time and I’ll quit, I promise.

The finished project (International Fiber Collaborative) and I can STILL spot my square a mile away. I’m not crazy, just very good at finding something I stared at for approximately four months.

One more shot just for yucks.

Ok, I’m done. (Oh, and again, both photos courtesy of www.internationalfibercollaborative.com)

Have a dancing booger-free day!

Anyone recall that I participated in the International Fiber Collaborative project last year, well, early this year when I finished? No? I posted about it here and even here.

Let me sum up. Artist Jennifer Marsh came up with the brilliant idea to essentially upholster an abandoned, unused gas station as social commentary on our country’s dependance on oil products (I hope I got that right- forgive me if I am not completely with it, I’m too excited.)

So, I sent my square. (You can see it here if you are so inclined.) Well, I got notice she had received it, but I checked and checked on the pages where you can view the squares on her site and alas, mine was not there. I was sad. Then I got an email about the installation of the project (it looks pretty freakin’ awesome in the completed state) and I found this:

Look closely, verrrrry closely. THAT square on the front right corner is all MINE baby. (Well I did have some help, thanks to the Northeast Georgia Yarnsters) but see that mitered square- that was me for rizzle dizzle. I’d recognize that bulgy hunk of crap anywhere. I’m so very pleased. I aided in an important work of art, a large-scale politically-minded cozy.