And Now...Back to ME...

I used to work with a guy who, whenever the lunch conversation focused too much on someone else, he'd say something totally random about himself. So we kind of joked with him that his segue was "...back to ME..." - this is for you, Alfonse.

Usually memes don't come to me until everyone else has done them, so I'm going to just put it "out there." I'm not tagging anyone - and if you decide to run with it too, please comment, and I'll follow. Back to you.

This I got from Pammy:

What I was doing 10 years ago:
Married for two years and loving it - working in Atlanta, at Georgia-Pacific - just about to change jobs to have a less stressful commute from our new home in Marietta.

Five things on my to-do list today
1. Stop spending so much work time on the internet (FAIL).
2. Go to the high school grad night fund-raiser BINGO night (not as bad as I thought it would be, but still - BINGO).
3. Take an overmax inventory of the storeroom (a work thing - every quarter - hate it - had one day to spare - SUCCESS).
4. Take our new signature cards to the bank (SUCCESS).
5. Set an alarm for Joe to get up tomorrow and make sausage with his buddies (I kid you not).

Five snacks I enjoy
1. Anything with cheese
2. Salty-crunchy stuff
3. Alcohol
4. Chips and Salsa, with margaritas (see #2 and 3)
5. Olives

Five things I would do if I were a billionaire
1. Move out, fix this house up right, and bask in its glory
2. Hire a personal trainer and nutritionist. Someone who would kick my ass.
3. Start some kind of animal sanctuary
4. Make sure my neices and nephew are set for college
5. Start a NY franchise of Hanks

Five of my bad habits
1. Interrupting people (I believe this started when I moved to NY)
2. Biting my fingernails. Hai. I am 36 years old, and I still gnaw on my fingers. Blech.
3. Drinking, drinking, drinking.
4. I make suppositions. A lot. And Joe calls me on it, which is good.
5. I lie. But never when it matters. When salespeople call, or when a guy in the mall tries to get me to buy something - I don't know what it is. Rather than just reject them, I lie.

Five jobs I’ve had
1. State 4-H Office Clerk (at UGA)
2. Bookstore Clerk (again, at UGA)
3. If I got paid to play piano at weddings, does that count?
4. I used to sell my baked goods at work - cheesecake, pecan pie, German chocolate brownies...
5. Accountant. I wish to god that was something else.

Pushing The Button

Whenever I complete a knitting project, I feel a wee bit of pride. Something is done. It's over. It's in someone else's lovely hands now.

With socks, hats, gloves, etc - I give it a little bath in a big bowl of shampoo-water, and it hangs out for a while to dry. But with larger things, like with Little Miss Miranda's Blankie...it goes in the washer. Fortunately, I have a kick-ass washer with settings such as "hand wash" - but, still. I have to push a button. And hope that my woven-in-ends don't unravel the whole darned thing and I end up with a wad of wet string in the washer when done. Yes, I know - totally illogical. But I think about it just the same (much as I sometimes think that, mid-quasi-sleep, our ceiling fan in the bedroom is a large spider...ridiculous, but real at that moment).

So...since I know you sometimes read this blog now - if you share a name with a little crippled boy in A Christmas Carol (or, for that matter, a horned questioner in front of a Python bridge), or if you share a name with a particularly beautiful California town - know that a certain something has been made with nothing but love and hugs - and I hope to god it's not a big pile of yarn in a few hours. I love you both to pieces, and your little boy is too adorable for words. I can't wait to meet him.

By the way - thank you SO MUCH to my dearest older brother and my upstate mom for helping me to fight MS. You rock!

MS Ride 2008

Okay, folks, it's that time of year again. I'm going to get my fat ass on a bicycle and ride around upstate NY to raise money for the fight against MS. My page is here, for those who wish to donate. For all you knitter types, I'm thinking of putting up some of my stash for those who donate. Maybe like some sock yarn up for raffle for everyone who donates $25 or something? Still pondering the details - ideas are welcome.

Don't Mess With Me

You know the scene from Trading Places where Dan Ackroyd is dressed in a dirty Santa costume, on the bus, about to eat the fish he stole from the party, and emits this scowling "Blaaaaaaah" to a disgusted onlooker? Yeah. That's what I'm feeling like today. Good luck, coworkers.

The One That Got Away

...or, How To Start a Holiday Weekend in a Most Bizarre Fashion...

...and I warn you - this is a long one...

Yesterday was tough. One of my coworkers has six weeks of vacation each year, and I get to fill in for him. It's a high-pressure, late-hour kind of job that has nothing to do with my backgrounds in accounting or literature. Yesterday was one of his days off. I got to work at 6:45am and left around 8:35pm. So, yeah. Yesterday was tough.

Joe thankfully took me out to a local pub - he's good at this. He listens to my rants while I drink pint after pint, and he doesn't make it seem too obvious that he's actually watching the NCAA basketball games. He's wonderful that way. We got into a bit of a row about something I won't get into now, and it happens to even the best of couples. But it was a pretty quiet ride home (two blocks).

We got home, I checked email, and he went to bed. Later, I went up to bed, knit for a bit, then turned out the light. Me, Joe, Otis, and Coz were all comfy in the Big Bed, when I heard Dobby's nails clipping along the hardwood floor about ten minutes later. My little boy is coming to sleep with me, as he normally does. It's such a cozy feeling, a purring cat going to sleep on you/near you. I love wintertime for the snuggles I get from the kitties. I hear Dobby come around to my side of the bed and pause, as he normally does, to jump. Then I hear skidding toenails and lots of rustling.

Odd.

Did he get into the trash bag? Did he get spooked by a shadow?

I turn on the light and see him head towards my dresser across the room. He's making loud sniffing sounds like that bull in the Bugs Bunny cartoons. He pauses near the corner, looking behind the blanket chest. Waiting. Waiting.

Oh, crap.

With a pounce and a scare, Dobby flushes out the mouse, who scurries along the baseboards towards the bed, runs over my slippers, and under the bed.

Fuck.

Joe wakes up, somewhat. Then he goes back to sleep. I sit up in bed, looking over towards the opposite wall. Dobby and Otis are now staring at the corner of Joe's armoire, waiting for the next move.

What the heck am I supposed to do now?

I lean back, try to read a bit, and--nothing. I'm sleepy. I have to sleep. But I am NOT sleeping with this ticking time bomb in my room. The next thing you know, the cats will catch the poor thing, and they'll bring it to bed with them. No way, dude. Ain't happening. I'm going to the guest bedroom.

And so I do. And I close the door and shove a towel under it.

I have a somewhat restless night's sleep, since it's a room I never sleep in, and I dream of beverage cans, mice, and beer. Not in a good way. My restless slumber is rudely interrupted by the bedroom door being shoved open and a grouchy "What the hell are you doing in here" morning greeting. This from the man who thinks I was so mad at him that I slept in another room.

The only intelligible words from my mouth are things like "the mouse" and "did they kill it," and it slowly dawns on Joe that I wasn't trying to prove a point - that I just wanted to get some sleep without a dead rodent being placed on me. He vaguely remembers the mouse conversation at midnight and says that he doesn't know what happened to it. And so we go downstairs.

No mouse corpse in the kitchen. Or the dining room. Or the living room. The front stairs are clean. The upper landing shows no signs. We look around the bedroom and see nothing. Joe peeks under the cat bed near his armoire and finds out that that's where Coz has been relieving himself (more on that horror another day). I check under the bed and see something that doesn't appear to be a sock. I grab a flashlight.

There he is, poor little mousie. Okay, at least we found him. I hate it when they die with their eyes open. Wow, his eyes are really glassy and black. Those were my last thoughts before he moved. Goddammit.

"Joe, get Otis out of the room and close the door." I go and get paper towels and a cup from under the bathroom sink. I kneel down, point the flashlight, and...nothing. The sonofabitch is gone. I picked up my slippers. I rifled through my knitting bag (oh, please god not the knitting). Then the little bastard made a dash from underneath the nightstand.

And then here we were, at seven in the morning - me, in my nightgown, wielding a flashlight and Swiffer mop thingy, and Joe, in a t-shirt and boxers, with a trash can and paper towels - trying to corner this mouse who kept running from nightstand to nightstand on either side of the bed. We finally got him out of the bedroom and onto the landing, when he decided the stairs were a better option than the trashcan we were trying to wrangle him into. Once on the stairs, he took a flying leap (really - mice jump about fifteen times their little length) to the area at the bottom of the stairs where there is a large gap between the wall and the baseboard. It leads to a closet which leads to the outside. Mouse - 1, Weismanns - 0.

And our cats were in the dining room, just sitting around and looking pretty.

I Love My Life

Today, a beautiful person and friend mentioned how much she envied my life.

My first instinct was to apologize. Go figure. Then I thought about it...

I'm overweight, I drink and eat too much, and I'm pretty damn shallow at times. But I look at my life, sometimes, through my father's eyes. What would he say to me this day...?

I honestly believe he would be proud of me - and of Joe - and the life we've made. Forget regret and improvements that are needed. I'm a soul that's been a work in progress for thirty-plus years, with many more to go. I care for Life, I care for the Earth, and when I see the hardwoods in the winter I dream of my father and his love for their silvery embrace. I have a very good life.

And when I watch the sunset from our porch, I know he's proud of us. I'm proud of us.

Go Petrels!!!

This is a weekend of catching up - two weeks of mail to open, taxes to finally take a look at, make more plans for our Italy excursions, lots of laundry... But all of that pales in comparison to OU's Lady Petrels making it to the Sweet Sixteen for Div III - and after last night's win, they're in the Sectional Finals! Whooooot! You see, this is a Very Big Deal - no team in any sport at Oglethorpe has made it this far.

I'm not much of a basketball fan - it's really just a good excuse to pull out the knitting. But I played volleyball and tennis at Oglethorpe, and once you're a Petrel, you're always a Petrel. We're bound by the magical campus, amazing experiences, and the privilege of having a weird mascot. Congratulations, ladies - I'll be proudly wearing my Petrel pin to our office dinner party tonight.

And another thing on this weekend's agenda...? Updating my new little friend:

Hello, gorgeous. Come to Mama.

Slow Day, Hon?

Joe's finally made some updates!

Also - quick recap of a STELLAR weekend:

Friday night - knit night - start my toe-up Monkey socks

Saturday - quick clean of the house(ish), run off to the train station to go to NYC. Lots of rain. Checked into the hotel, drank really expensive booze at the hotel bar, had fun with the bartender, went to The Gingerman where Miss Bitchy Waitress ignored us, drunk-dialed a few friends, ran to have a late dinner at a great Thai place, then met up with my Rav friend (after getting turned around near the Union Square Barnes & Noble - hey, I remember that place!), and then we saw EDDIE!!! OMGPONIES!!!1!

Awesome show. Unbelievable. Less than $50/ticket, and we were close enough to hit him if I threw something at him. Good gawd, he is funny. Show ended around 1am, and to wind down we hit a nearby deli for chips and a 24-oz Corona (we = classy) to take back to the hotel.

Woke up waaaaaaaaay to early, only to be reminded that it was indeed an hour later (damn you, time change!), rode the train back, had about an hour back at home before friends came to pick us up for the Home Show, where we decided that - after the gutters, exterior painting, and closet organizing, we're going to build a sun room with a hot tub. Par-TAY, anyone? We all then hit The River Station for good food, beer, and lots of laughs.

Bills didn't get paid, laundry didn't get done, and we were exhausted, poorer, yet happy.

Ana Ng and Eddie

As much as I looooove this song, it was in my dreams last night. All night. After the 50,000th time going 'round in my head, I'm getting a wee bit tired of it. Enough to want to shove a garden spade into my ear.

On a much happier and exciting note, guess who I'm going to see tomorrow night...




I'm so excited I could scream. New-found friend over on The Rav had extra tickets, I called Joe in a panic, and voila. I think I might need to pinch myself before the weekend is over...

Fifteen Years!

Holy crap, I'm getting old. Fifteen years ago today, my roommate Peter and I held the party mentioned in this post. That's when, thinking that we'd finished the keg and needed emergency beer, the only sober person at the party (Tim!) drove a very drunk Joe and me (we were probably pretty annoying too) to the grocery store where we bought A LOT of Busch. Then we came back, and I planted a big smackeroo on a very surprised Joe. Then we found out the keg was still half full. Then Joe later passed out. And Peter and I had Busch for weeks and weeks.

Happy Hookupiversary, Sweetie!

Everyone Should Have a Snarky Friend

And by Snarky, I mean this awesome chick.

I'm a horrible giver when it comes to birthdays and Christmas. Just ask my friends - if it isn't in the immediate vicinity of my birthday (which is obviously the only important date in my little world), I forget details. This comes from a childhood of birthdays in early March (me - 2nd, sister - 4th) or early October (Mom - 5th, Dad - 7th, baby bro - 10th) - sorry, Big Bro (May 6th) - even you are not immune at times, it seems. Throw in late October, September, December, and January for inlaws and kids, and I'm all out of whack. I even married a guy with a close birthday (March 4th) - probably because I knew that's the only way I'd remember it. I'm such a loser.

But my friend...? My awesome, caring, giving, heart-so-big-it-could-fill-all-the-internet tubes...?

She remembers. She sends gifts. She sends lovely, beautiful, obsession-worthy gifts...

That's about 400 yards of hand-spun, hand-dyed Bluefaced Leicester, my friends. And It's. All. Mine.

When I first saw a package in my mailbox, I was all like...


...and when I opened the package, I was all like...

Thank you, sweetie. I love you!

Go Jo-seff...it's ya Birfffday...

We go'n party like it's ya birfffday...

Actually, YOU'RE going to party. Alas, my sweetie is away on the evening of his thirty-seventh birthday, and he's going out to get drunk with his boss. And this worries me, because his boss is a total enabler.

This is the boss who, after the Christmas 2006 Company Party, moved the festivities to his house. All I know is we got there, he handed me various mystery shots, and I later got my finger shredded by his pet bird that I wouldn't leave alone, and I kept crying because I thought I scared the bird. Joe had to walk me out of the house. Many others didn't make it (they slept on the floor).

So, yeah. I'm worried. All friends and family who have his cell phone - call, text, and send lewd pictures to keep him entertained while his boss slowly takes him to the Dark Side. And be sure to call him first thing in the morning to wake him up all nice and perky.

Heh-heh...heh-heh....BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA

Yup - I'm Twelve Too!

Following the Snark's lead...

1. Put your music player on “random.” Skip songs with not-very interesting titles (such as “Concerto #4 in E minor")
2. List the titles of the first 25 songs to come up.
3. Put “in my pants” after each title.
4. Bold the ones that actually made you laugh.

1-Just Another Day In My Pants (Jon Secada)

2-Under Pressure In My Pants (Queen)

3-'97 Bonnie & Clyde In My Pants (Tori Amos)

4-Sing In My Pants (The Carpenters)

5-Typical Situation In My Pants (Dave Matthews Band)

6-Do The Walls Come Down In My Pants (Carly Simon)

7-Resurrection In My Pants (Brian May)

8-Never Felt This Way In My Pants (Alicia Keys)

9-Nice Guys Finish Last In My Pants (Green Day)

10-Mamma Mia In My Pants (ABBA)

11-A Minor Variation In My Pants (Billy Joel)

12-Super Duper Love (Are You Diggin' On Me?) In My Pants (Joss Stone)

13-The Chain In My Pants (Fleetwood Mac)

14-More Than Love In My Pants (Los Lonely Boys)

15-Brooklyn (Owes The Charmer Under Me) In My Pants (Steely Dan)

16-Don't Ask Me Why In My Pants (Billy Joel)

17-Ghost In My Pants (Indigo Girls)

18-Shine In My Pants (Trey Anastasio)

19-Laid In My Pants (James) 20-Me and Bobby McGee In My Pants (Janis Joplin) 21-Way Down In My Pants (Tori Amos) 22-Me and Mrs. Jones In My Pants (Billy Paul) 23-Gimme Shelter In My Pants (Rolling Stones) 24-Last Beautiful Girl In My Pants (Matchbox Twenty) 25-Come on Eileen In My Pants (Dexy's Midnight Runners)

I can't decide. They're all freakin' funny. And I was two songs away from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer...in my pants.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

A Great Birthday Start...

So, yeah. The boys decided to give me a birthday present this morning, and they cared enough to leave it right outside my bedroom...

Mousie #1 of 2008. Oh, joy.

At least we had a good time last night - tried out a recipe from a Food Network show on lasagna...
It was quite yummy, and we have enough for days and days.

My birthday celebration will consist mostly of folding laundry, paying bills, and possibly fixing a totally FUBARed mistake on a knitting project that I just can't bear to look at right now.

Many thanks for the birthday wishes!

Today is a Good Birth Day

Welcome to the world, Miss Miranda Evangeline! There are people lining up to spoil you at this very moment...

Congratulations, Pam and Justin! Much love and many hugs to you and your beautiful family.