There’s a lime tree in my new backyard.
I know you know what that means.
There’s a lime tree in my new backyard.
I know you know what that means.
Hola! How’s everyone doing? This is chloepeeps speaking, OLPPs daughter. I am writing this blog because school is OVER and I am FREE from school for quite a while. I think for 2 months, or 3. I was SO sad, I nearly started crying. But enough about my ranting about school, it’s OVER for Pete’ sake. I’m now writing about the creature thing olpp was talking about.
All questions shall be answered now.
#1: Yes, it was quite difficult. It did only take a few hours though.
#2: His button eyes are clearish white.
#3: His name is fiesta because I pretend he is the Mexican spirit of fun and partying. Whenever Mexican music goes on, he will start dancing. Fiesta is a very good dancer. Well, that’s all folks!
I haven’t knit anything in days. DAYS, people. All this packing up to move stuff has eaten up all of my time, time that would otherwise have been devoted to knitting and generally sitting on my ass.
However! Packing up has allowed me to catch up on al of my junk TV, namely Celebrity Fit Club. I know you know how I feel about Ross the Intern. I want to be his best friend. I want to call him when I’m blue, I want to call him when I’ve made waffles, I want him to come over and be stunned by my precocious children and some of the whacked-out things they say that crack me up. But alas. And Maureen McCormick! Marcia Brady, you know. She seems like she’d be so sweet. I’d teach her to knit. I’ve even developed a soft spot in my heart for Kletus, I’d totally have him over for barbecue. Harvey would inspire me to cheat on my husband, and I don’t even officially have one yet.
Screech, on the other hand, is SUCH a mess. I detest him. I seriously do and here’s my theory on Dustin Diamond.
Remember his character on Saved by the Bell? He was the loveable nerd that everyone tolerated. Not liked, not sought out for his good company, but tolerated. Tolerance is one of those words about which I feel conflicted. It’s appropriate in the context of Screech, or pain, or construction noise. Those things are tolerable. But it’s not appropriate in the context of race, sexual preference, religious persuasions, or anything else that distinguishes human being, chosen or otherwise. Tolerance means you’ll put up with the unpleasant thing for a while, but that tolerance will, as some point, be worn thin. So no, don’t teach your children tolerance, teach them that we’re all human beings. Ok, back to the wretched Dustin Diamond, for whom my tolerance has worn quite thin.
So during his formative years, Dustin Diamond played the loveable nerd, the tolerated, painfully and embarrassingly awkward nerd, Screech. That HAS to do something to a person’s psyche. It simply must. This is what I choose to believe, because I cannot fathom someone being such a horrid person for no reason other than they are simply horrid. And he it, he truly is. He’s just gross, physically, emotionally, in every way.
You see how desperately I want to avoid packing up Chloe’s room? Last summer there was a SNAKE in here. And since this is the desert, I’ve startled three cockroaches so far. We’ve even had a few scorpions in here. I’m so afraid to pick up piles of clothes and sheets, because god only knows what’s under there!
More later, turtledoves. And maybe someday I’ll actually knit again.
* No idea. Sounds like a sex toy to me.
I seriously thought I was going to escape this meme!
Well. I don’t know that there are seven weird things about me, Risa, but I shall certainly do my best.
1. You know that old saying “I wouldn’t want to be part of any club that would have me as a member”? My grades this semester were such that I’ve landed myself on the Dean’s List. Now, I know just how much effort I put into those classes, so I can’t say that I’m very impressed with myself OR my university for that honor. Oh well. I’ll take it.
2. I have wanted someone to lick my eyeball ever since reading one of those lists years ago that proclaimed such a thing demonstrated a certain type of deviance. Not a big old slurp, mind you, just a little quick “EW! You actually DID it!” and then be done with it. I might regret saying that out loud.
3. My ex-husband has a name that you would automatically think is a girl’s name, and so does the man I dated before I met JungleJim. However, all of the significant loves of my life have a name that starts with the letter J. Except William Shatner. But he lets me call him Jelly Bean, so he counts.
No he doesn’t.
4. I have a tattoo of a lizard with a four-leaf clover in its mouth because at the time I got it, I was dating a boy (another J name!) who either is or wholeheartedly wanted to be Irish. We we went on a weekend trip together only to discover later that we’d forgotten our toothbrushes. So we stopped to buy new brushes and picked out ones that had lizards on them. The next day we went to Lyle Tuttle Tattooing in San Francisco and got tattoos. Me: lizard clover mouth. Him: some sort of Celtic knot. Not two weeks later we broke up. Let this be a lesson to you. Whether it be about dating boys with J names, or going on weekend trips without toothbrushes, or tattooing in general, take heed, young reader, take heed.
5. Um. Ever since the Great Cricket Infestation of ’06, I cannot sleep with the bathroom door open. It must be closed. ALL the way. This is in stark contrast to doors, bathroom and closet, of my youth which had to be left open just a tiny bit, after I read The Boogeyman in a collection of short stories by Stephen King. I truly believe that reading that story did me some great psychological harm. I’m over it now, though. No, seriously.
6. When I was in boot camp I suffered severe dehydration and had to carry around a water jug with a cup for a lid. It looked like an urn, so I told everyone I was carrying around my Uncle Bernie’s ashes. I never had an Uncle Bernie, and I’m pretty sure people knew those weren’t ashes I was drinking. Look, I was really sick!
7. Ok, since this is #7, I feel it’s only appropriate to dedicate this last factoid to Terrell Collins, who was in boot camp during the same time I was. He was in my brother company, and when our female company split in half, our brother company also split in half, and we swapped halves. We’d have to count off our rows, and Terrell Collins was behind me. So I’d count off SIX, and he’s count off SEVEN. But he said it in such a sexy, sultry way so as to cause me shivers on many occasions. Boot camp is one of the silliest places I’ve been, and after a while you forget that you haven’t shaved your legs or underarms or seen a reflection of your face in seven weeks. You will never feel as unattractive as you do during boot camp, not even during or after childbirth! However, hearing this man groan out the word “Seven” was very often too much for me, and it was during those last four weeks of boot camp that I was plagued with the most vivid and raunchy sex dreams the likes of which I’d never had before, nor since.
I’ve taken this too far. Well? You asked for weird! I’m also none too sure that there are seven knitters I know who haven’t been tagged yet. If you haven’t, please, do list your seven weird things. But don’t restrict yourselves to seven. Forge on, and Vivo los Grillz!
*Because Kristen loves me!
Some things in life I love unapologetically. William Shatner (yes, even in his current state) and today I am reminded of my love for George Michael. I will sing out loud to every single song on the Listen Without Prejudice Vol. 1 album and not even bother to dare you to make fun of me. Today I’ve fallen in love again with the song Precious Box from his last album, Patience.
I could listen to that song all day on repeat. I have some trouble singin’ along, though, because it’s all over the place range-wise. Doesn’t stop me. And perhaps I’ve grabbed the spatula and lip-synced. You’ll never know. Ok, I did. See if you can find it and give it a listen.
I’ve also fallen in love with these, but only because JungleJim suggested one in lieu of an engagement ring:
click image for link
So I did what anyone would do and counter-suggested with this:
click image for link
Wouldn’t that look nice with a wedding dress and my Icarus? I think so.
By the way, Ed, you’re a total doll, going in search of an Icarus! You’re the coolest British boy I don’t really know But would it also look nice over a simmering pan of chicken tikka masala? Grading seventh grade language arts papers? Doing dishes? Planting my xeric garden in my new backyard? I think the answer to each is a resounding YES.
Speaking of my sweet loverman, he will be home soon and shortly thereafter we shall embark on a very romantic date- dumpster diving for moving boxes! I cannot wait to move into our new house. I cannot wait to show you all pictures, especially of my bathroom sink and my kitchen counters. I could die. I’m going to be a total snot and see if Bezzie calls me out for posing my yarn in my sink, it’s that swanky. Stepford-wife knitting swanky bathroom sink.
Oh! One last thing. What kind of deodorant do you use, and are you happy with it? I’m serious.
*today’s most perplexing search hit. At least people have stopped searching for bank robber costumes!
I wish I had more to share, but alas, I do not. My semester ended very successfully, despite my near-fatal run-in with my action research project: 35 pages of sheer genius and possibly the most refined-to-startling-purity bullshit I’ve ever written. Larry, if you’re reading this I of course am kidding, that research project was entirely authentic and none of the data was a product of my creative writing skillz.
I highly doubt Larry reads knitting blogs. Not that I’ve been able to accomplish much knitting lately. Here’s a shot of my Icarus right at the start of the fourth repeat of chart 1. I’m sure blocking it will make it look all lace-like and not light-sweatery as it does now. The yarn I’m using says it’s laceweight, but I’m not sure how they arrived at that. Oh well. One skein has seen me through this far, so I’m pretty confident I’ve got enough to finish the shawl. It’s far more green in person. Not so silvery.
Why am I knitting this a year before I get married? I don’t know. I saw the yarn and I had to have it. And I’ve always loved the Icarus shawl but doubted I’d ever be able to knit anything so loverly. Alas. What I’ll do is block it, and then seal it up in JungleJim’s food saver thing. You know what I’m talking about- you put your food, or, in this case your silk/seacell blend lace shawl, into the food saver bag and then heat-seal it shut with the apparatus. Then, a week before we get married (April 19th, 2008) I’ll free it from its prison, block it again, and then let it sit. I don’t know.
In other exciting news, we’re moving! We now have a house with a pool AND a lawn. That’s unheard of around here. One of the other, but not both. I cannot wait. It’s a gorgeous house, I can’t wait to take pictures and show you all. And yes, you can come over and swim and drink margaritas!
And now I leave you with this: last night our dryer emitted a decidedly “I’m burning something!” smell and then refused to dry anything. Unbeknownst to us it ran all night (it’s the one thing in this apartment that’s quiet) and STILL didn’t dry the clothes. So the maintenance guy came this morning and fixed us right up. Charred dryer lint is a scary thing, people. Scary thing.
*I have no idea what this means or why someone would be searching for such a thing. But I think from now on instead of song titles I’ll post blog search hits.
Today my son Nolan turns nine years old. NINE! He’s nine. My baby, the last baby I will ever have, is nine years old. I swear it was only a week ago that he was screaming to be held, pissed off that anyone but me would dare to touch him, or try to comfort him! He’s always been rather attached to me, you see, and he still is. His nickname is Buster, and if anyone watches Arrested Development you’ll understand a bit more about my precious Noleander. Yes, if there were a Mother-Boy gala in Phoenix we’d go. His idea for our costumes was to have me dressed as a tree and he’d dress as an apple. My Buster. My own sweet son.
When Nolan was a few months old I read an article in the magazine Mothering. Ok, ONLY read that magazine if you want to feel like you are either the worst, most incompetent mother ever, OR if you find comfort in someone else rationalizing your over-inflated, judgmental condescending ass. So I only read it once, but the article I read was titled “On the Sweetness of Boys.” That’s my son, sweet. Nolan genuinely cares about other people’s happiness. He will go out of his way to comfort someone, or give them a hug, generic wonderful stuff like that. If we lived near a street frequented by elderly women he’d always be walking them across the street. Thank heavens we don’t because HE’S MINE!
For now. But on the occasion of his ninth birthday I am reminded that my son is growing up, and someday he will belong to himself, and he may have a family of his own. (Secretly, deep down inside I believe he will only and ever be mine all mine, but he’ll never know and I won’t let his chosen one know that, either. Seriously. It’s enough that I know.) He’ll grow up and find a way to become an international do-gooder. He’s a brilliant human being, compassionate and strong. I mean these things, I’m not just being melodramatic because it’s his birthday and I haven’t slept much in the past few days because every waking moment has been devoted to this godforsaken action research project which probably sucks ass but WTF. It’s Nolan’s birthday.
Happy Birthday, my sweet sweet Nolan. You are the first man I ever loved. And I remember the precise moment I fell in love with you, too. You are my son, I am your mama. I love you beyond words. Even when you look scary.