It's 1.49 a.m. Do you know where your contracts final is?

Hey, so I'm in the middle of a 56 hour contract take-home hell, and I thought... time to blog! Read knitting blogs! Do anything besides curl up into a tiny ball and cry at the state of my massive final.

I mean, it's only worth 60% of my annual grade. Time to slack, right!!

So here's what this makes me look like at this very moment (instant gratification):

That's right. Creepy and suspiciously tiny-chinned. Really, I feel like my head is shrinking, not expanding with the Glory of The Law or what have you. On the other hand, my eyebrows look great still. So there's something positive.

Oh, fine. A real picture of me now, no effects:

That's right. Crazy-haired, crazy-eyed, holding Burton's damned Principles of Contract Law.

This is what I keep repeating through finals:
Law school is an honor.
I am lucky to be in law school.
Law school is a privilege.

And the mantra that rings the truest of them all:
Seriously, I did this to myself.

And fudge me, it's the truth.

i appreciate a droll sense of humor

From today's NY Times:

“Why would you want to be in a stable relationship with somebody who is unstable?” asked Ketny Jean-Francois, a never-married 30-something from the Bronx who has supported her 3-year-old son on her unemployment check and food stamps since leaving her job as a security guard a year ago.

Funny, guys.

I'm plum tuckered. Mr. F's single-mom friend dropped off her two kids for the week while she goes to Stergis. They're great kids, super cute and funny, etc etc. Is it petty of me to be slightly jealous of them, though? Mr. F is resolutely determined to give them The Best Week Ever. Here's what he wants to do in six days with a three-year-old and a six-year-old:

The Park at the Mall of America
Underwater World (MoA again)
The Children's Museum
St. Paul Saints game
Waterpark
Drive-in Movie
Swimming every day at the apartment (excepting the waterpark day)

Pray for me. I'm tired just thinking about it.

OKC: I've been reading Barbara G. Walker's Knitting from the Top. That woman is such a beast!! Brilliant, insightful, helpful. She's the sort of author that 1) I wish was my aunt and 2) I wonder what her voice sounds like. Vive Barbara Walker!

how can you not love this?

A headline from today's AP: "Swayze Joins Celebs Defending Mel Gibson."

Here's the first sentance:

LONDON -- Patrick Swayze has joined several of Mel Gibson's celebrity friends in defending the actor, who in a drunken tirade blamed Jews for the world's wars.

If you didn't snicker, chortle or snigger when you saw that headline, I don't know you.

no, i'm not dead

So.

Hello all. It's been quite a while, hasn't it? Maybe you thought I was dead. Or maybe you thought I faked my death and am now hiding out in the casinos in Monaco, hooked on coke and rail thin and maybe with a sugar daddy named Ernesto fueling my jewelry addiction.

That's what I would think, if I were you.

Sadly, you're horribly wrong. I have been camping A LOT in the scalding forests of MN and WI lately (my sister asked, rightfully so, the other day, "What is WRONG with you? Are you some kind of extreme camper?" To which I replied, "Yes. Yes, I am."). Knitting remains on the forefront of my mind, as does my impending entrance into the realm of law school. Actually, that latter bit I usually just shove out of my mind in favor of knitting. And we all know I do favor knitting.

In honor of the recently deceased You Knit What website, behold the horror the the fugliest knitted "handbag" I've ever seen:

Dude, my gag reflex is twitching, I swear.

super fun etymology

From the ever-amazing http://www.yourdictionary.com

Karaoke (noun)

Pronunciation: [kah-rê-'o-kee] Listen

Definition: Singing live to an orchestral accompaniment provided electronically or the electronic equipment for providing such accompaniment and recording the mix of voice and orchestra.

Usage: Today's word is not to be confused with "carioca" [kæ-ri-'o-kê], a native of Rio de Janeiro or a South American dance based on the samba. "Karaoke" is another lexical orphan with no other related words. (Don't miss the opportunity to meet other Word of the Day subscribers and discuss today's word in the YDC Agora.)

Suggested Usage: Karaoke is most closely associated with the karaoke bars of Japan and elsewhere, where anyone with the courage can sing to the accompaniment of a professional orchestra: "Glynnis loves karaoke because she thinks bad accompanists kept her out of show business." Today's word hasn't expanded much metaphorically because of its newness but it already shows great promise: "Slim is a karaoke player: he thinks he is the star when, in fact, it is the team behind him that makes him look good."

Etymology: "Kara-oke" is a clipping (a shortening, like "doctor" > "doc") of kara o-ke-su-to-ra "empty orchestra" where "okesutora" is the Japanese pronunciation of "orchestra," borrowed from English. Clipping also applies to "Makudonarudo" (MacDonald's), shortening it simply to "Makku." As for "kara" it is also found in kara-shuchou "empty business trip," a business trip one doesn't make but collects the expenses for, and "karate" from the Japanese phrase kara te "empty hand." Japanese phonology (sound system) differs from those of European languages in two interesting ways. First, all syllables must end on a vowel and not on any consonant except [n]. Second, all syllables must begin with a simple consonant, not a consonant cluster like [st] or [pr]. So, "McDonalds" becomes "Makudonarudo" in Japanese and "baseball" is pronounced "besubaru" [be-su-ba-ru] to avoid the [sb] cluster and final [l] in [beysbal]. (Thanks to Mark Volpe, rising young mind in the world of word formation, for suggesting and providing the background for today's word.)

–Dr. Language, YourDictionary.com

big changes

Not Mr. Fabulous

Big Change 1:

Mr. F. has decided to transition officially and medically from female to male. I'm excited for him - he won't have to worry about being jumped, being yelled at in bathrooms, being scared. Some people read him as female and some people read him as male. I know that situation isn't a problem for him, it's when the two sides collide. They look to my Mr. Fabulous for an explanation and there isn't one, not really. He's a guy. He still gets a period. No wonder people get confused.

It's funny; when we're in public together solo we're totally read as a straight couple. People (men especially) don't tend to look at men, just women. And I'm so outrageously femme they (again, men especially) see a shadowy male figure by my side and figure "straight" and go back to looking at my chest. Whatever. Being read as straight by straights doesn't really bother me. Actually, I could care less. I am nervous, though, about losing the queer community. I'm a queer femme, chickens, and I can't be anything else. It's scary to think about being rejected from our dyke friends because Mr. F. is taking this step. Actually, I can't think about losing friends quite yet. It's too scary.

I realize this is all pretty incoherent. That's just about how my thought process goes about this these days. On one hand, I'm super excited for Mr. F. I'm excited for the changes, the broader shoulders and stinkier armpits (color me a freak, but I actually like the way guys smell), the whole kit and caboodle. Plus, I think he'll be even sexier (can you imagine that?) I'm attracted to transguys. And I'm really excited for him to move through a public space without trying to make himself as invisible as possible. I'm excited for him to feel safe. I'm excited for how this will affect us.

Then again, I oscillate wildly between excitement and terror. I think, wait a minute. How will this affect us? It can't be all roses. He's going to go through puberty again. I'm going to be dating the equivalent to a 14 year old boy, all hormones and moods and horniness. How will I be with that? What if the sweet, kind, fabulous guy I'm dating comes through this transition as a different person? What if he leaves with the estrogen and a dickhead is left? I know that's selling Mr. F. waaaay shorter than he deserves, but I really do think that going through a huge, life-altering process like gender/sexual transition will produce a different person. How different will he be? How different will I be? I'm so scared thinking about that. I'm scared about the stuff I just have to go through day to day.

I know I just need to trust him, trust that he's actually a good person and not sell him so short. June is when we're planning his first shot of testosterone. June is so close. Sometimes I wish he was getting the shot right now, sometimes I wish never. Sometimes it's hard to differentiate between the two.

Big Change 2:

Mr. F. and I were hanging out yesterday. We know that we'd like to buy a tiny little house somewhere in the Twin Cities (should that sentence be Big Change 2? Oh well, I'm sure you can keep up). I know that Mr. F. wants to buy a motorcycle like nothing else. Between those two big purchases, I was worried that Mr. F. wouldn't be able to propose to me in the next year (or should that sentence be Big Change 2? Yeah, we want to get hitched. Not anytime soon, but I would like to be engaged sooner than later). I asked him about it. He turned to me and said, "This is KILLING me. I HAVE to tell you. I ALREADY BOUGHT THE RING."

OH HOLY SHIT.

So I don't know when or how or where (I do know who and why, though), but Mr. F. and I will be getting ourselves engaged one of these days. We've looked at antique rings before, I can't deal with blood/civil war diamonds. I CAN deal, however, with a dead lady's diamonds.

Again, OH HOLY SHIT.

I'm so excited to go wedding shoe shopping one of these days. It's going to be FABULOUS, darlings. FABULOUS.

So my two big changes are BIG, kids. BIG BIG BIG. And I'm very nervous and very excited for both.

This is neither me nor Mr. Fabulous.

sushi? moonies?

Now, ordinarily I'd scoff at articles that seriously linked Moonies to multinationals. Apparently that's just naive. According to this Chicago Tribune article, the majority of the US's sushi comes from True World Group company which operates under the dictates of Mr. Moon himself. Fuck. And I love sushi too. What to do? What to do?

Choice quote:

Adhering to a plan Moon spelled out more than three decades ago in a series of sermons, members of his movement managed to integrate virtually every facet of the highly competitive seafood industry. The Moon followers' seafood operation is driven by a commercial powerhouse, known as True World Group. It builds fleets of boats, runs dozens of distribution centers and, each day, supplies most of the nation's estimated 9,000 sushi restaurants.

oh dear.

Someone thinks I'm sagacious! They're clearly misinformed and possibly (super) amiss in their idea of me, but hell, if some poor soul wants to think I'm perspicacious who am I to judge? Anyway, onward and upward:

Dear Abbess E,

A friend of mine* recently wrote to me with the following quandary:

"I'm sorry I've been out of touch. But I'll give you a brief update on my love life. I've got this terrible crush on this woman (yes, you heard right, woman) and it's killing me. Because I can't have her. Ok, it's worse than not being able to have her -- I actually think I could steal her away from her girlfriend of almost two years but I don't think I should. So everyday is a tug of war. I know she is having problems with her girlfriend and she does flirt with me but I don't want to be the reason she leaves her. I've never been with a woman. What if I break up this two year relationship & then decide it's not for me a week later? So I've just been waiting for her to decide if she still wants to be with her girlfriend but I'm getting impatient. I can't take her flirting with me much longer without seriously reciprocating. It's so damn hard being good. I think I'm gonna just break next weekend & make a move. If I have hot lesbian sex I'll let you know."
How shall I advise her? I await, with desperate expectancy, your reply.

Sincerely yours,Pal of Potential Sappho

*Please note that this is not one of those "friend of mine" is really ME affairs. Though I have been known to enjoy a good cliche as well as the next man.

Okay, POPS (ha), here's the deal. I've met your friend. Well, I haven't actually met your friend, but I've met That Girl a million times. That Girl is the bicurious one, the possibly even queer one who, oops, just happens to surround herself with queer women and, oops, befriends a hottie! What are the odds? This is what you tell your friend, "Honey, you answered your own question. You shouldn't break up the hottie's relationship. Can you even imagine the drama? You'll have your rebounding hottie on one hand and your own psycho-sexual drama on the other. It sounds like an angst-y, fucked up situation that can only escalate into more angst-y fucked up drama. And you're right. If you still think you're straight or at least primarily into men you'll just be hurting this girl in the long run. And speaking of run, run. Run now."

That said, who knows? Maybe your friend and her hottie are ultra drama queens. Maybe half of the attraction is based in the grief (oh the grief) and sorrow (oh the sorrow) of not having what you want. I'd like to bet that actually fucking would be anticlimactic but c'mon, we both know what will happen. Tears. An anguished reunion with the hottie's ex. Tears. Sloppy sex. Drama.

The only good thing that could come out of this - the hottie could (maybe) leave her current gf, which she obviously wants to do AND your friend could take that footstep out of the closet if she is in fact queer. Let me know what happens! I love this sort of drama now that I'm not, you know, LIVING IN IT.

Classic lesbian drama, much like your friend

happiness, part 2

3/10/2006

Almost a month ago I let my Chilly Willy go. I miss her so much everyday. Here are two pics of us on her last day.

I just hope she's okay. I hope she knows I still love her.

those simpsons, they're so clever

I still haven't seen this episode and I still haven't read Gravity's Rainbow but oh, those Simpsons are funny.

18 lbs and whad'ya get?

Okay.

So let's say you decide to send 18 lbs of stuff to your ex two years after the breakup. What would you put in the box? Meaningful old letters? Forgotten favorite sweaters? Old books? Photos? That'd be nice of you.

But let's say instead you fill your 18 lb box to your former lover with old bills, hated sports bras, shoes that pinch, old college assignment sheets (and let's say your former lover graduated, oh, four years ago?). Maybe you'll throw in some random books and yes, a stack of prized photos.

Now, of that list, I get the photos. That's nice. But the ratty sweatshirts? The bridesmaid dress that went with the most horrible wedding ever, complete with the archetypical Bridezilla? Why? It's CLEARLY trash, but hey, why not go through the hassle of packing and sending a huge ass box of random crap?

I remain mystified.

If you did all of the above, you and The Ex would be great friends. Maybe you could even go bowling together and commiserate about your days in Crazyville. Feel free to kick it on the weekends but for the love of our lord above please don't breed. That's my singular, humble request.

Ach, lest you think I'm a bitter, bitter lady (I'm only mildly bitter, promise) let's fill the rest of this space with good things! Last night was my friend Jessica's birthday, a truly lovely lady. First we had cookies at our book group (the funny and utterly fierce eclectic Dykes) and then Thai food (Thai It, You'll Like It!) It's so funny to think how things have changed in the past two years. I remember being sick, being lonely. That real kind of loneliness that distorts things, makes intimacy seem scary and dark. Makes friends hard to find or see. I feel really lucky these days. Maybe it was all getting my Graves' stuff under control but I think it's more than that. I feel like my life is settling in comfortable ways, and comfort in the best sense of the term. That's exciting to me, you know? Lucky.

OH! And I've had a fire lit under me to get a tattoo. I'd like to go to this cool-looking local place, the artist seems like she does really beautiful work. I've had the idea of a snowflake rolling around in my brain for the last few years and I've finally decided where I'd like it - upper back, just under the nape. Here's the sort of snowflake I'm thinking about - the kind of that make me think of rose windows and mandalas:

Namaste, of course, remains unblocked, unseamed, and unloved.

that's it, i'm moving.

From today's New York Times:

BOSTON, April 4 — Massachusetts is poised to become the first state to provide nearly universal health care coverage with a bill passed overwhelmingly by the legislature Tuesday that Gov. Mitt Romney says he will sign.

The bill does what health experts say no other state has been able to do: provide a mechanism for all of its citizens to obtain health insurance. It accomplishes that in a way that experts say combines methods and proposals from across the political spectrum, apportioning the cost among businesses, individuals and the government.

Universal health care AND gay marriage? Fuck this Minnesota shit, I want to move to Massachusetts! They're the only rational state in the union these days. AND I wouldn't have to deal with visa issues a la Canada.

Besides, I hear it's quite lovely there in the fall.

word of the day: Atrabilious

Atrabilious (adjective)

Pronunciation: [æ-trê-'bi-li-ês] Listen

Definition: Peevishly gloomy; melancholic in the original sense of the word and exhibiting a proclivity for hypochondria.

Usage: The medieval assumption was that a superfluity of black bile (atrabile) caused melancholy, a gloomy and nasty disposition (black bile being one of the four humors flowing throughout the body—blood, phlegm, and choler, the other three). Now, "melancholy" has come to refer to little more than a pensive mood, perhaps soured by a jigger of depression. Today's word, though, retains the original meaning of peevish gloom, a setback many of us suffer (or enjoy) from time to time. "Atrabiliously" is the adverb and ”atrabiliousness" is the noun.

Suggested Usage: First, remember that the original meaning of today's word was pseudo-medical, so it always works in that context, "The dinner of cabbage and Polish sausage left Waldemar a bit dyspeptic and atrabilious, so he went home to call his doctor." But today it has become a fascinating substitute for "bad mood," whether passing or permanent: "Don't waste your jokes on Hammersmith; that atrabilious old goat has no sense of humor."
Etymology: From Latin atra bilis black bile + adjective suffix -ous. "Atra" comes from the same root as the adjective atrox "gloomy, dark, terrible," whose adverb, atrociter "violently, cruelly" underlies English "atrocity." Apparently, the connection is through "black" from the idea of "burnt." These words are somehow related to Sanskrit atharva "priest," and more clearly to Serbian vatra "fire" and Persian ataš "fire" from Old Persian "atar." Apparently, Latin atrium "atrium, foyer" shares the same origin, though the connection between fires and Roman atria is unclear. (Scott Stambler, a bit atrabilious himself at the time, sent us today's word.)

–Dr. Language, YourDictionary.com

18 lbs of drama, people.

So.

I have this ex. The Ex, if you will (and oh, shall we). We dated for four tumultuous years. I would cry to Rich that'd we'd broken up (again) and he'd pat my shoulder with the appropriately sympathetic look on his face and then say, "Hey! Let's watch some Buffy!" and go off skipping. The man was bored with the breakups - who can blame him? I was bored. Well, actually, I was full of angst and confusion and overwhelming amounts of drama. Want to see a typical day? Okay, my chickens little, here it is:

Wake up.

Breakfast (low fat, low cal) She worried about my weight "for my health," even though she was a documented former and unreformed ana and loathed fat people. She liked my chest, hated the accompanying belly fat. You know, "for my health." Yep.

Stumble to work.

Work.

Lunch (low fat, low cal) See aforementioned reasons.

Work.

Sneak in my covert high sugar/salty snack treat. Be consumed with guilt and shame.

Work.

Stagger home.

Fight about going to the gym. Me: "You should love me for who I am!" Her: "You don't care about yourself!"

Break up.

Workout at the gym.

Get back together with a lot of tears.

Eat dinner (low fat, low cal)

Watch TV

Discuss maybe breaking up again.

Decide against it.

Go to bed.

Lather, rinse repeat.

Notice the lack of sex? Yeah, me too. Now stretch that day into FOUR YEARS and tell me you wouldn't walk out of that relationship with major issues and consequentially run through a herd of fucked up alcoholic queers with anger issues (of varying degrees). It's still a wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles that I found the nicest, cutest queer around, Mr. F. Seriously, it's so weird.

Anyway, the Ex decided to run through the old apartment and decided that two years after the breakup would be a good time to send me 18 lbs of my old crap. Clearly, I've been missing it. Or she thinks so at least. In her email of "Hey, I'm sending you 18 lbs of stuff!" she also said, "Hey, I want to be friends now! Let's email each other!"

Um, no.

Good lord no.

How do I go about saying "Um, no. Good lord no" without coming off mega bitch? The girl training in me decrees that I suck it up and email her short missives every so often and be her friend. The rational feminist training in me decrees that I can fill my life with whomever I goddamned please. Obviously, I'm going with the latter.

This is what I'm contemplating as my reply:

Dear Ex,

Thanks so much for sending my 18 lbs of stuff! I'm excited to see what's in it. As for e-mailing, I don't think it's a good idea. You're an awesome person and we had some really good times, but I think we had too much drama for too long to have a real, solid friendship. I hope you're doing okay these days and thanks again for sending my stuff along,

Take care,
Elizabeth

How's that sound? To businessy? Too fake? It's not - it's 100% true but sometimes it's hard to tell what's real in email.

As I've been recently clued into, flah, I say. Flah.

OKC:
Namaste is finished, I just need to block and, gulp, seam. I hate seaming but I figure having a project with a shitlong seam is a good way to get me to do it and hopefully, hate it a little less.

Also, I just found out today that I'm referred to as "The HRC Sticker Girl" at work. I mean, yeah, I have a small HRC sticker hanging up here at work, but that gets me a whole title? I mean, go gay pride and all that, but still. Shiiit, at least I'm not "The Dead Plant Girl," which I could easily, easily be.

well, shit.

I just wrote the best post ever. Fucking blogger. I'll try to recreate the genius soon, peeps.

oh lordy

I've been obsessively checking The Village Voice today for the updated Savage Love. Sadly, it's Monday, not Tuesday. I arrange my week around Savage Love (Tuesday afternoon) and Dear Prudence on Slate. com (Thursday mornings). They neatly slice up my little week into digestible bits. I like that I have something to look forward to every other day of my week, even if it's small and pretty silly.

I think I especially need those little markers because my weekend was, well, complicated. I had visitors - Mr. F's parents from South Dakota (of the newly infamous misogynistic laws - but don't worry, they're crazy liberal. Yay). They're nice people, but I have complicated feelings about them, especially towards Mr. F.'s mother. She's a nice lady in theory but something gets tangled in the practice. I could go into that with a lot of depth and fervor (which I'm sure would make great reading) but I just can't dissect Mr. F.'s folks in public. They're individuals. That's all that needs to be said.

I am knitting the lovely namaste from Knitty . com. It's knitting up beautifully. Mine is all purple cheap shit yarn. It kind of feels like I'm knitting with garbage bags. Eh, it's a fun knit and it's zipping along. It's a belated birthday present for my friend Liz. Lovely girl, lovely knitter, lovely yoga aficionado. I don't think she knows how to do cables yet so I'm sure this'll wow her completely. Chrimmeny I love that. It's so simple but I come off it so pro. Lovely.

my infinite grace and goodwill

Imagine, if you would, your upper thigh, preferably the widest part. Supermodels, think about a tree trunk. Now imagine your thigh/tree trunk wrapped around my left ankle. Add a lot of black and a little blue. E voila! You have my lovely sprained ankle!

As I was running for the bus on Wednesday, my already weak as shit ankle turned. After having my ankles spontaneously turn on me for 26 years at this point, I'm usually pretty quick to correct my balance. Frenzied running kind of made that impossible. Now, I'm a klutzy girl. I fall all the time (did I ever tell you about the semester in college when I had that inner ear imbalance? Bloody times, my friends. Buckets of blood and many pairs of ripped pants). Usually I just roll with it - the roll is very important in falling - brush myself off and jump back up red-faced. This time though I landed square in the middle of the street and for a brief, horrifying moment I wasn't sure if I could get up. I knew the fall had to have looked bad when people started getting out of their cars to see if I was okay. Um, embarrassing. I hobbled onto the bus where I got a good stare by everyone who could see out of the front of the bus. Thank god the driver waited for my sore ass. If he had pulled away from the bus I would have thrown myself in front of it. I mean really, what more did I have to injure?

The unexpected bonus of having a super sprained as shit ankle is the kid glove treatment of Mr. F (who already is weirdly nice to me. It's so strange being with someone who isn't, you know, a complete psycho asshole) AND I get to wear my ghetto sneakers to work!!! I can't tell you how the inner bum in me rejoiced when I realized that. Of course I didn't jump up and down or anything (oh we'll be having none of that, thank you very much) but oh, my heart was full of glee.

That said, I'm already bored with my injury. I'm done with it. Unfortunately it's not done with me. Bastard ankle.

if this doesn't thrill you, then you are no friend of mine

Chaucer has a blog, everyone!! High nerdery indeeded!!

I love it!!

Take the quiz:
What Musical Are You?

Once More With Feeling
You're Once More With Feeling! This isn't a real musical... It's the musical episode of BtVS. So, feel lucky to be one of the best shows ever! You're moody, and indifferent at times, but you're learning to be more of a people person.

Quizzes by myYearbook.com -- the World's Biggest Yearbook!

burn out

Occasionally, I get a raging case of job burn out. Today is such a day. Sometimes when my boss sees something he doesn't want to see from my research and raises a fuss, I just want to stomp my foot and slam the door behind me. Is that so wrong? I don't think so either.

I think I'm just not a financial researcher at heart. My job is a good job, great benefits, intelligent work, room to move and learn. All very good and well. And I know a lot of people would be delighted to die in this job. I am just not one of them. You know what I think gets me? I know I'm grossly underqualified for this job but I get to keep it because I put up a good front. I had no idea how important fronting was in the workplace, really, until I got here. Hi, I was a literature major. Hi, I don't like basic math. What the hell am I doing reading cash flow statements? When did my life begin revolving around balance sheets?

All I can say is that I hope for a few things:
1) I make it out of here unscathed
2) I make it out of here before they see through the front
3) I don't get fired and have to declare bankruptcy (that would blow)

This is not me (but it sort of is).

little golden books that never made it

a recent gift to me from my former 9th grade science teacher...

Little Golden Books that Never Made It


1. You Are Different and That's Bad

2. The Boy Who Died From Eating All His Vegetables

3. Dad's New Wife Robert

4. Fun four-letter Words to Know and Share

5. Hammers, Screwdrivers and Scissors: An I-Can-Do-It Book

6. The Kids' Guide to Hitchhiking

7. Kathy Was So Bad Her Mom Stopped Loving Her

8. Curious George and the High-Voltage Fence

9. All Cats Go to Hell

10. The Little Sissy Who Snitched

11. Some Kittens Can Fly

12. That's it, I'm Putting You Up for Adoption

13. Grandpa Gets a Casket

14. The Magic World Inside the Abandoned Refrigerator

15. Garfield Gets Feline Leukemia

16. The Pop-Up Book of Human Anatomy

17. Strangers Have the Best Candy

18. Whining, Kicking and Crying to Get Your Way

19. You Were an Accident

20. Things Rich Kids Have, But You Never Will

21. Pop! Goes The Hamster...And Other Great Microwave Games

22. The Man in the Moon Is Actually Satan

23. Your Nightmares Are Real

24. Where Would You Like to Be Buried?

25. Eggs, Toilet Paper, and Your School

26. Why Can't Mr. Fork and Ms. Electrical Outlet Be Friends?

27. Places Where Mommy and Daddy Hide Neat Things

28. Daddy Drinks Because You Cry

a great many things

So so so many things. So little time to blog.

1) I've taken up bellydancing and frankly, I love it to an insane degree. I've just finished my first eight week session and have signed up for the next eight week session! My very adorable teacher Kristina calls my friends and me "The Peanut Gallery" because we're so squirrelly. Example of said squirreliness? My friend Jess and I pretended to bellydance as if we were cojoined twins. Kristina just rolled her eyes, laughed, and walked away. She's a very patient person. A picture of the lovely hip scarf I bought is on the left!


2) Mr. F and I just had the most fabulous vacation ever in glorious Duluth (MN pronunciation: Doooo-lute). I was a little iffy about the cabin I rented for us. I thought, this place looks like it could be shoddy. And I really didn't want shoddy. Mr. F and I haven't gotten to spend a lot of time together because of his crazy schedule (school and work) and I can't go over there with my dog CW any more because he got some nasty hategram about "NO DOGS EVER" blah blah blah. So this weekend was really important to me.

Well, shiiiit, that place rocked. It was cheap as the day is long but so well-kept. So clean. And really, what more can one ask for? Our little one bedroom cabin had a full kitchen and a fireplace. The kitchen came in handy because we really didn't leave the cabin AT ALL. Yum. I guess Mr. F missed me too.

Here are some pics from the cabin's website - this is pretty true to form. But because it was February when we went, just add way way way way more snow.











It's so beautiful up there. God, that was the nicest vacation I've ever hand, hands down. No drama, no stress, nada. Just sex, food, sex, food, long walk, sex and passing out from exhaustion. The best.

3) The worst, however, is what's happening with my dog Chilly Willy. I never understood why everyone hated on her. I'd be all, "You just hate little dogs. She's my baby. Why do you hate my baby, hater?" And they'd be all, "Your dog scares the shit out of me. Ow! Ow! She's biting me! AHHHH!"

And I'd think, "Well, she wouldn't bite if you didn't provoke her. Stop moving/talking/breathing/looking at things so much. She doesn't like it."

Well, but I knew when I took CW in as a foster dog three years ago we would someday have to part. I want babies and I have zero doubt she'd kill any competition (babies included). That is not an exaggeration. I know she would gladly maim or kill a child. She's just that way.

So I started talking to a small dog rescue group in town and explained my situation with her. I told them the ideal person to take CW in would have the following traits/habits:

They'd either live alone or with one partner
They'd either work from home or have an abbreviated schedule
They'd keep a totally consistent schedule
They wouldn't travel
They wouldn't have people over
No children, no grandchildren ever
They'd be familiar with chihuahuas
They'd be familiar with aggressive dogs
They'd be willing to live with a very aggressive dog

Um, what? So basically a monk, a really gentle monk that didn't have his brothers around very much and had a lot of time to give to CW. As I went through the process of this I realized that I'm just not going to find that for her. And I seriously doubt I'd find anyone who would be as patient and nice to her as I am. Period.

So next Friday evening at 5:40 pm CW is going to go to the Great Farm in the Sky. I don't say that to be flip. I have this image of her cuddling on God's lap, which is trite and cheesy but it really helps. I'm going to miss her so much. The last three years have been hard - dealing with radiation and all my Grave's disease stuff, getting out of a bad four year relationship and subsequently dating a long line of psycho assholes, money problems, deciding against grad school. Granted all of these thing have ultimately been for the better but none of them were a treat to go through. She was the one constant, the dependable tail waggler, my little lap warmer. She always looks at me with pure adoration and I'm going to miss her little face so much. It's hard, but I know this is right. My vet said it best when I talked this over with her: CW is physically healthy but mentally ill. She bites everyone, including my dad and Mr. F (aka her pack). And dogs are hard-wired to not bite or fight with those in their pack. She's just off and is a dangerous dog. It's not a matter of if she maims/hurts/kills someone, it's a matter of when. That's a hard realization to come to about your baby. I'm so sad about it, I'm going to grieve, but I know it's right. My poor baby. We love each other so much. I'm going to really miss her.

Free to Stitch, Free to Bitch

Go to this site immediately and do what they say:
http://www.cafepress.com/saynotosfse/

I'm so angry about this. Some shit store (careful about that link; I'd hate to burn your retinas off) in New York is claiming the term "Stitch and Bitch" was invented by them and thus everyone is shitting on their intellectual property. My left foot! That term has been around probably as long as knitting needles and I know for SURE these losers didn't make it up. As it were, they've written cease and desist letters to CafePress and Yahoo! to stop people from selling/using that name. So, I've taken it upon myself to write my own cease and desist letter to these losers. Behold my righteous anger:

Dear Elissa K and the other fascists of Sew Fast Sew Easy,

Please consider this to be your cease and desist letter to stop being such idiot assholes. You are shaming the knitting/crafting community with your plot to horde the Stitch and Bitch title (or Stitch 'n Bitch, Stitch 'n' Bitch, etc.). Who do you think you are? You "invented" the term? Wow, what a coincidence, I invented knitting myself! Actually, I also invented the verb and noun "sew," so you should stop infringing on my intellectual property. I'll let you continue to use the term "sew" if you agree to license it from me for the low, low cost of GETTING OVER YOURSELF.

Seriously, knock it off. Drop your application, tell Yahoo! and CafePress that Stitch 'n Bitch is a term that belongs to the knitting community as a whole, and not to a select few asshats (that would be you, in case you're confused). You're embarrassing yourself.

Freely Stitch and Bitching,
Elizabeth

You can email them yourself at info@sewfastseweasy.com and/or store@sewfastseweasy.com.

Feel free to call the store to give them a piece of your mind!! 212-268-4321
I sure as shit called them, and I'm going to call until I can speak with a manager. What a load of bull.

Friday. Joy.

It's a lonely, lonely day today for no apparent reason. The sun has returned; it felt so good on my face as I drove into work this morning. And last night was fabulous - had sushi with Mr. F and some friends for our anniversaries (they fall on the same date, one month apart weirdly enough). Had cake. Had sex. Seriously, it was all so good.

But this morning was different. It was heavy, it was sad. Thankfully, I made lunch plans with Mr. F and found this site, which cheered me up enormously. Maybe I'm nostalgic for the dead of winter? Maybe I just needed to sleep longer? Either way, I woke up seriously Debbie Downer, chickens.

I think I need a little knitting therapy, kids. Stat.

I love tiny nutty dogs

Shades of my own little heart, Chilly Willy...

Officer on duty is bitten by Chihuahuas

Thanks to Yarnagogo for providing the link!

Happy New Year!

Ah, my triumphant return to The Law Firm, L.L.P. today - a truly busy day of personal email, knitting, and finding a therapist. The workload has dried up. Vanished. The first few days were great. I applied to law schools! I knit feverishly! I made lists! Now, I'm stuck in a windowless office on a grey day in Minneapolis with 6.5 hours stretched out in front of me. I'm going to knit, I'm going to have a marathon phone call with Mr. F. (a daily occurrence, actually, that's not contingent on workload or lack thereof. I just like talking to him), and other than that I really don't know what to do. I didn't bring my gym clothes because I was rushing madly this morning to leave the house (an aside - I was only an hour late! When you have no responsibilities or expectations at your job, the start of the workday tends to become somewhat flexible). A truly happy way to start the new year.

And thinking of the new year, I finally made my resolution. I really started making them two years ago when I pledged to see more live music. It kept it on my mind and that year I really did see more live music. Last year it was to see more art, which worked out too. This year's is a tad different - I really want to give myself a monthly breast exam. I think I can do that twelve times a year, right? Also a part of my resolution: encourage my friends to do the same. As far as resolutions go, this one holds way more weight than "I'm so fat!" and that typical shit. Above all else, I am secure in being smugly morally superior to all of my friends. That makes resolutions all worth it, baby.

Coming this week - pictures from my new digital camera! It'll be straight up hardcore knitting porn, chickens little. I can't wait.

Happy Halloween

Here are some lovely Halloween pictures from this year. I'd like to point out the badge was home made and distressingly, I already owned everything required for that costume to work.

12/29 resolutions

The internet seems awash with New Year's resolutions. Crazy Aunt Purl has an excellent list, but most seem pretty mundane a la "I wanna be skinner because thin woman = happy woman" and other such bullshit. Of course, I mock it but I'm sucked into it all the same. Mr. F and I are going to a big lesbo gala thing on January 7th, and frankly, it smells deliciously like a big gay prom. I'm stoked. I'm wearing this pretty dress:

But in this pretty color:

Frankly, I feel super hottt in this baby. It has a drape-y, Hollywood starlet back and the little sparkly things on the straps somewhat resemble snowflakes, which I love. I'm wearing the amazingly lovely ring and bracelet Mr. F. gave me for Christmas. I seriously cannot wait. I'm going with all my lovely dyke friends and it's going to be the best big gay prom/gala thing ever. Of this, I have no doubt.

So, while I don't have a New Year's resolution yet, I do have a 12/29 resolution. I am seriously going to try to go to the gym every day until the 7th. Clearly, I like my goals to be manageable. I feel so silly writing that - am I so brainwashed by the patriarchy that I can't just feel super hot in my pretty periwinkle dress? Must I go to the gym? Good work, patriarchy, nice job. Color me brainwashed.

Obsessing

All I can think about today is when I lived in Italy my class took a trip somewhere in the north. I seriously can't remember where. Near Como? Some other lake? Whatever. Anyway, there was a little old church in the middle of the little old town. Not too different than 1.4 million other little old Italian towns, right? Well, in the corner of this little old Italian church was a larger-than-life Jesus propped in the corner looming over the congregation. He was at such an angle that it eerily felt like I was getting topped by Jesus. Someone had, horrifyingly enough, put a brown wig on J.C. I've never seen such a bloody Jesus, such a huge Jesus, such a fucking scary as hell Dom Jesus.

I have no idea why that image keeps popping into my head.