I would pretty much kill for a digital camera.
I would like to snap photos of pretty yarn, pictures of our backyard, or pretty much anything else, so that the people who read this, but who never post a comment (Dan), could see what we're up to, since they're so far away.
That said, I re-arranged the upstairs this weekend. Alan now has an office/studio type space where the living room used to be, and the little room at the top of the stairs has become the spinning/television room.
Why? Because we have very different styles of working.
Like right now.
I am supposed to be working on a class for le cheese shop, so I have the laptop on the couch, the t.v. on, and all my books, cigarettes, and coffee spread out around me. This is how I work. Very often the television is on, and I'm not watching it...very common, or like right now, there is music on...and a movie playing on the vcr, with the sound turned off. I need stimulation, otherwise, nothing happens.
Henry, Portrait of a Serial Killer is good to work by, with The Clash providing a soundtrack.
I've always worked better call scrunched up into a ball, with my legs tucked under me, in low light. As a kid all I heard was "You're going to ruin your eyes reading in the dark." "Sit up straight."
Alan is a desk guy. He likes to sit at a desk, and type (freak).
So, now he has a desk, in a room that he can actually use. We need a comfy couple of chairs in that room, but other than that, we're set.
So, since the back room has great light, I thought he would actually use the desk/table that we have upstairs if we set it up right, and the wubby and the little couch (which is exactly the right height for me to sit at while I spin...all other chairs are too high, and I spin unevently when I sit in them), and my wool are in the little room.
I'm pretty happy, because I've been sort of avoiding doing anything to the upstairs, because we've done zero rehab work up here. Sort of a 'Don't look at the Elephant' deal. However, in my quest to live imperfectly ('cause the other choice is to not live at all), I'm trying to do stuff even though the final product will be imperfect.
So, imperfect as the upstairs is, we're living in all the rooms.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Five fucking seventeen
Yeah, it's just a little past 5 am. See, I cannot just come home and go to bed, no matter how tired I am. Funny, no? I got home just under two hours ago, and my goal is to be asleep before 6 am. I will wake up around noon. I will probably go to bed around 2 am Sunday morning. Nope, even though I love sleep, I don't sleep much.
No.
I must lay on the couch. I must surf the internets. I must talk to the husband. No matter what.
When I was little, I was not a napper. Nap time was the horrible time when I was forced to lay down, and not sleep. Sometimes my mind will just not shut off.
Most times, I can, if I am on the edge of exhaustion, go to bed without too much talking to Alan. Sometimes, I lie in bed and read until I fall asleep with my face all smooshed up on the book. That is how my glasses get scratched.
Right now, I'm just killing time until the white noise in my brain takes over.
Insomniacs, Unite! Take Over.
No.
I must lay on the couch. I must surf the internets. I must talk to the husband. No matter what.
When I was little, I was not a napper. Nap time was the horrible time when I was forced to lay down, and not sleep. Sometimes my mind will just not shut off.
Most times, I can, if I am on the edge of exhaustion, go to bed without too much talking to Alan. Sometimes, I lie in bed and read until I fall asleep with my face all smooshed up on the book. That is how my glasses get scratched.
Right now, I'm just killing time until the white noise in my brain takes over.
Insomniacs, Unite! Take Over.
Friday, February 24, 2006
Roads less taken...no Fug
Really, not so much Fug this week.
I'm tired. Really, really tired. And I am sore.
It's a good tired, but it's there. I really need to grout the bathroom, and start to think about the house again. We took a short rest from the house stuff, 'cause seriously, it was starting to becomming a serious stressor on the marriage. So, we took a little break, and things have become a ton better. But I can feel the call of a pretty bathroom, and I know that I want to move into the downstairs bedroom for the summer.
Why? I don't know, it just seems like it would be fun to sleep in all the rooms of the house.
I want to paint the downstairs bedroom a deep, deep red, and do something funky to the bed down there.
I also want to find a bead curtain with the virgin mary on it. I saw one years ago in a shop in New Orleans. I didn't have a place for it then, I think it was too much money, as well.
I want to put that sucker between the living room and the downstairs bedroom. I want to buy some new curtains for the downstairs, and I also want to finish the entry way.
Baby steps, though. So tomorrow I grout! I will soak the paper backing off the tiles, and grout. I will not obsess over the tiling job. I will not think that there is too much space between tiles. I will respect, and like the job that Alan put so much time into.
I know that I have control issues. I know that my OCD-like tendency stuff is destructive. So, I'm going to let go.
Then, we can call the people who resurface bathtubs, and we'll have them come in and fix the tub all pretty.
I might actually re-grout the floor as well. Then, with a sigh of relief, we can pretty much call that bad boy finished, and move on to the entry way.
I am proud, and impressed by all the work that Alan's done. And a little sad that I'm such a slacker.
I really want to work on the outside of the house this summer. I would like to think about the garden, and the front porch. I would like to think seriously about the windows, 'cause we can't do another winter like this one.
I can't wait to drag the wheel out onto the back porch, and do some spinning...I would love to see what is going to come up this spring. I would like to start a compost bin. I would like to cut and stack wood for the fire pit. I would love to figure out some rain barrels.
I want to plant some climbing vines on the west side of the house, 'cause that fucking side of the house gets so much sun it's painful in the summer.
But mostly, without sounding like some sort of hippy, I want to be more mindful and happy while I do this work.
Alan is really good at that, for the most part. He seems to inherently like the process, and isn't so concerned about everything being perfect. He can just sit back and enjoy. He's also better at habits than I am...he just gets into a groove, and then just does things.
I admire that.
Spring is almost here.
I'm tired. Really, really tired. And I am sore.
It's a good tired, but it's there. I really need to grout the bathroom, and start to think about the house again. We took a short rest from the house stuff, 'cause seriously, it was starting to becomming a serious stressor on the marriage. So, we took a little break, and things have become a ton better. But I can feel the call of a pretty bathroom, and I know that I want to move into the downstairs bedroom for the summer.
Why? I don't know, it just seems like it would be fun to sleep in all the rooms of the house.
I want to paint the downstairs bedroom a deep, deep red, and do something funky to the bed down there.
I also want to find a bead curtain with the virgin mary on it. I saw one years ago in a shop in New Orleans. I didn't have a place for it then, I think it was too much money, as well.
I want to put that sucker between the living room and the downstairs bedroom. I want to buy some new curtains for the downstairs, and I also want to finish the entry way.
Baby steps, though. So tomorrow I grout! I will soak the paper backing off the tiles, and grout. I will not obsess over the tiling job. I will not think that there is too much space between tiles. I will respect, and like the job that Alan put so much time into.
I know that I have control issues. I know that my OCD-like tendency stuff is destructive. So, I'm going to let go.
Then, we can call the people who resurface bathtubs, and we'll have them come in and fix the tub all pretty.
I might actually re-grout the floor as well. Then, with a sigh of relief, we can pretty much call that bad boy finished, and move on to the entry way.
I am proud, and impressed by all the work that Alan's done. And a little sad that I'm such a slacker.
I really want to work on the outside of the house this summer. I would like to think about the garden, and the front porch. I would like to think seriously about the windows, 'cause we can't do another winter like this one.
I can't wait to drag the wheel out onto the back porch, and do some spinning...I would love to see what is going to come up this spring. I would like to start a compost bin. I would like to cut and stack wood for the fire pit. I would love to figure out some rain barrels.
I want to plant some climbing vines on the west side of the house, 'cause that fucking side of the house gets so much sun it's painful in the summer.
But mostly, without sounding like some sort of hippy, I want to be more mindful and happy while I do this work.
Alan is really good at that, for the most part. He seems to inherently like the process, and isn't so concerned about everything being perfect. He can just sit back and enjoy. He's also better at habits than I am...he just gets into a groove, and then just does things.
I admire that.
Spring is almost here.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
I'm coming, Dan and Telina
So, if there was a sentence that summed up what I want to do in California this time:
I'm here to drink some wine, and buy some fiber, and at some point, we're going to run out of wine.
Okay, so last time we visited T. and D., the first night was a silly, silly night of cheese eating, wine drinking, and in one person's case, late-night trailer puking.
We will not let that happen. This time we will be grown ups. This time we will not go into a freak-show, wine geek, show and tell, that slowly de-evolves into lots of drunken "I love you's" and "I really, really miss you. Hippie"
We will not smoke medical marijuanna. Ever. Again.
We will not drink 19 bottles of wine in one night.
We will not be super damaged, and we will eat and drink ourselves silly. In moderation and stuff. There will be morning beers. I learned this magic at the funeral in Wyoming, and I'll tell you, there's nothing like a crisp morning beer, with the fog rolling in off the mountains...er... off the bay.
We will not yell at our husband for bringing beach sand into the tent...er...guest house.
You hear me Dan? I know you read this fucker, you're just scared to comment, like the government doesn't already have you on the radar, buddy.
We will eat at super-secrect, Chef Caputo suggested Dim Sum places. We will order the Chicken Feet, and goddamnit, we will like it.
This is a bullshit manifesto based on nothing but all that makes me happy, and you will comply.
Or, uh, we'll just do it like we did the last time.
I'm here to drink some wine, and buy some fiber, and at some point, we're going to run out of wine.
Okay, so last time we visited T. and D., the first night was a silly, silly night of cheese eating, wine drinking, and in one person's case, late-night trailer puking.
We will not let that happen. This time we will be grown ups. This time we will not go into a freak-show, wine geek, show and tell, that slowly de-evolves into lots of drunken "I love you's" and "I really, really miss you. Hippie"
We will not smoke medical marijuanna. Ever. Again.
We will not drink 19 bottles of wine in one night.
We will not be super damaged, and we will eat and drink ourselves silly. In moderation and stuff. There will be morning beers. I learned this magic at the funeral in Wyoming, and I'll tell you, there's nothing like a crisp morning beer, with the fog rolling in off the mountains...er... off the bay.
We will not yell at our husband for bringing beach sand into the tent...er...guest house.
You hear me Dan? I know you read this fucker, you're just scared to comment, like the government doesn't already have you on the radar, buddy.
We will eat at super-secrect, Chef Caputo suggested Dim Sum places. We will order the Chicken Feet, and goddamnit, we will like it.
This is a bullshit manifesto based on nothing but all that makes me happy, and you will comply.
Or, uh, we'll just do it like we did the last time.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Plans...to take over the world
Or not.
Really, I'm not sure if I want to take over the world, I just want to go to California, and see Telina and Dan.
Alan and I are planning to take a little trip to California over Spring Break, and visit his family.
We won't be staying with his Mom and Dad for two reasons (well, more than that, but these are the big two).
Flesh eating bacteria. Yeah. You saw it here first. Alan's parents have been complaining about 'spider bites' for some time now. Turns out, they were boils
(ewwwww), and they are caused by flesh eating bacteria. Yeah, I'll pass on sleeping, eating or bathing in a house that has that teensy little problem.
The house is cold, damp, and I don't ever feel like having sex there.
So, we'll be staying in a hotel. I love hotels. Fancy sheets, and a thousand channels of cable television.
My biggest conundrum is that I'm going to have to leave my wheel behind. Or not. I'm already figuring out how I can bring the wheel, er make sure I get my fix, on our little vacation.
Maybe I could just knit with some of the yarn? Ha, I say, Ha. Knitting is fun, sure, more fun that a hooker and a bucket of KFC, but not as fun as spinning.
Right now, at least.
I have a plan to spin up enough yarn to knit into a sweater this summer. Two pounds of wool. That's a lot of yarn. It's sort of my informal challenge to myself. I'm not sure if there's anything in my stash that I want to wear...so maybe I should look for roving...
We'll be going to Napa Valley, and there is one great spinning shop in San Fran, and at least one out in Napa. Wine and wool, nothin' rocks better than that. Oh, and Dan and Telina! That's even better. Oh, and seeing lil' kids who are related to me. That's cool, too.
Maybe I'll knit. I still have to finish the cursed mittens. Oh, and I've got a couple of hanks of new yarn that I made that I should take out for a spin. No pun intended.
Wine of the Week:
2003 Runquist Syrah
Paso Robles, California
Um, yeah. This is tricksy, seductive little wine. When you first open the bottle, you think, whatever...it's just a fruit bomb. Sure, a perfectly balanced fruit bomb, that has a finish that lasts, and lasts, and lasts, but shit, it's a fruit bomb. Then the magic happens. Pepper, and coffee, and leather, oh my! Not a fruit bomb. The slightly grippy tannins suggest that you could keep this around for a couple of years, if you wanted to, but why wait?
Really, I'm not sure if I want to take over the world, I just want to go to California, and see Telina and Dan.
Alan and I are planning to take a little trip to California over Spring Break, and visit his family.
We won't be staying with his Mom and Dad for two reasons (well, more than that, but these are the big two).
Flesh eating bacteria. Yeah. You saw it here first. Alan's parents have been complaining about 'spider bites' for some time now. Turns out, they were boils
(ewwwww), and they are caused by flesh eating bacteria. Yeah, I'll pass on sleeping, eating or bathing in a house that has that teensy little problem.
The house is cold, damp, and I don't ever feel like having sex there.
So, we'll be staying in a hotel. I love hotels. Fancy sheets, and a thousand channels of cable television.
My biggest conundrum is that I'm going to have to leave my wheel behind. Or not. I'm already figuring out how I can bring the wheel, er make sure I get my fix, on our little vacation.
Maybe I could just knit with some of the yarn? Ha, I say, Ha. Knitting is fun, sure, more fun that a hooker and a bucket of KFC, but not as fun as spinning.
Right now, at least.
I have a plan to spin up enough yarn to knit into a sweater this summer. Two pounds of wool. That's a lot of yarn. It's sort of my informal challenge to myself. I'm not sure if there's anything in my stash that I want to wear...so maybe I should look for roving...
We'll be going to Napa Valley, and there is one great spinning shop in San Fran, and at least one out in Napa. Wine and wool, nothin' rocks better than that. Oh, and Dan and Telina! That's even better. Oh, and seeing lil' kids who are related to me. That's cool, too.
Maybe I'll knit. I still have to finish the cursed mittens. Oh, and I've got a couple of hanks of new yarn that I made that I should take out for a spin. No pun intended.
Wine of the Week:
2003 Runquist Syrah
Paso Robles, California
Um, yeah. This is tricksy, seductive little wine. When you first open the bottle, you think, whatever...it's just a fruit bomb. Sure, a perfectly balanced fruit bomb, that has a finish that lasts, and lasts, and lasts, but shit, it's a fruit bomb. Then the magic happens. Pepper, and coffee, and leather, oh my! Not a fruit bomb. The slightly grippy tannins suggest that you could keep this around for a couple of years, if you wanted to, but why wait?
Saturday, February 18, 2006
All introspective and shit
So yesterday I vented. Perhaps I shouldn't have, but I did. There are so many bad things in the world, and sometimes, they bother me.
And yet, today, listening to Waylon Jennings and the Clash, with the sunlight reflecting off my old wood floors, sitting upstairs with some coffee, things might not be that bad.
Sure, my house is colder than a witch's tit. Sure, Phang, the hairless one is curled up directly on one of our radiators trying to keep warm, and sure, in less than one hour I have to be bathed, spit shined, and happy to teach some stranger and her friends about wine (but, hey, they bought me at an auction for AIDS research, so it's like drinking for a cause, right?)
Alan is creating small, Cathulu creatures out of sculpy, and then sticking wool onto them. My wheel is in the corner, at rest. I have lots and lots of books, and wool, and good friends that I love. There is wine in the cellar (some of it made by us), Bud in the fridge, and food on the shelves.
All of this is good, and unexpected. I didn't dream that we would be the only white people in a high-crime neighborhood, homeowners, and that I would find a career (not a job) in wine. Ten years ago, I knew fuck-all about wine. (Some would argue that I still know fuck-all)
I always thought that we would be living in Wicker Park in a run-down loft for ever, and ever. We even have furniture that didn't come from the alley now.
Weird. Late night slut-bartender to wine professional. Ten years ago, I didn't even drink wine.
Now, it's what I do for a living. It feeds my soul.
Two years ago, I was miserable. Overworked, and on the fast track to burn out.
I let other people define who I was, and what I should do. I surrounded myself with people who were really nothing more than vampires, addicts, and in one very special episode of 'Jan's Life' a really self-involved hairdresser who nearly destroyed my faith in humanity with her 'friendship'.
Fuck them. I'm really, really happy now.
It's cold out. Now.
But the bulbs that I planted last fall will bloom, and the strawberry plants are holding on. Maybe this year we'll get fruit.
And yet, today, listening to Waylon Jennings and the Clash, with the sunlight reflecting off my old wood floors, sitting upstairs with some coffee, things might not be that bad.
Sure, my house is colder than a witch's tit. Sure, Phang, the hairless one is curled up directly on one of our radiators trying to keep warm, and sure, in less than one hour I have to be bathed, spit shined, and happy to teach some stranger and her friends about wine (but, hey, they bought me at an auction for AIDS research, so it's like drinking for a cause, right?)
Alan is creating small, Cathulu creatures out of sculpy, and then sticking wool onto them. My wheel is in the corner, at rest. I have lots and lots of books, and wool, and good friends that I love. There is wine in the cellar (some of it made by us), Bud in the fridge, and food on the shelves.
All of this is good, and unexpected. I didn't dream that we would be the only white people in a high-crime neighborhood, homeowners, and that I would find a career (not a job) in wine. Ten years ago, I knew fuck-all about wine. (Some would argue that I still know fuck-all)
I always thought that we would be living in Wicker Park in a run-down loft for ever, and ever. We even have furniture that didn't come from the alley now.
Weird. Late night slut-bartender to wine professional. Ten years ago, I didn't even drink wine.
Now, it's what I do for a living. It feeds my soul.
Two years ago, I was miserable. Overworked, and on the fast track to burn out.
I let other people define who I was, and what I should do. I surrounded myself with people who were really nothing more than vampires, addicts, and in one very special episode of 'Jan's Life' a really self-involved hairdresser who nearly destroyed my faith in humanity with her 'friendship'.
Fuck them. I'm really, really happy now.
It's cold out. Now.
But the bulbs that I planted last fall will bloom, and the strawberry plants are holding on. Maybe this year we'll get fruit.
Friday, February 17, 2006
The good, the bad, and the ugly
...is one of my favorite movies. Really. There's just something sooooo badass about sweaty dangerous men, out in the middle of 'the west' doing dangerous, criminal things. In the movies.
In real life, not so much. My life is so not filled with criminals and dynamite. My life is filled with a spinning wheel. Seriously. I'm not kidding. Since Alan is the best husband ever, he and I went on a field trip to Maringo, Ill. on Saturday, and picked out a wheel. It's a sweet little wheel, and frankly, I can't stop touching it. I'm obsessed. I've been trying new techniques, learning, learning, learning. And when I'm done, I have yarn. Some of which doesn't suck. I also bought a buttload of fiber to turn into yarn. Which is awesome. I'm a sucker for colored balls and batts of pretty hair. That's what this has all come to. So, that's the good.
The bad? The death of my Mom's sister, and the funeral. The trip to Riverton, Wyoming sort of fucked up my schedual, and left me feeling absolutely tired and drained. There was a silver lining however. That side of the family is awesome. Seriously funny, intelligent, People who Drink.
Sure, men are men. They have guns, and women cook. And I had to hear "I just couldn't live in a big city" about a thousand times.
"Uh, yeah you could...and frankly, I could live in a small town. I just choose to live in a big city. Don't sell yourself short."
So, it was good to reunite with a side of my family that I had been rather estranged from.
My favorite moment was when I was accused of secretly being the author of "Brokeback Mountain." What could be better?
I did come back from that sucker seriously stressed out, though. Mostly work related, but there was a little stress about what happens if my Mom dies? How can I keep her alive forever? I'm not sure that I could take her dying. Facing that eventuality saddens me beyond belief. So, that's the bad.
The ugly? My friend Shane's life. Without going into details, his life is in shreds right now. There's not a whole shitload I can do to help, either. He's in a place where no matter what decisions he makes, his life is going to change drastically, and it's going to be a painful, screwed up time for he and Izzy.
Having a child means that every single decision that you make has to be weighed by your concern for that child. (You hear me, Katie? Every fucking choice. Every single thing you do has to be good for you kid. Not just 1 out of 5. 1 out of 5 makes you a shitty parent. 2 out of five? No prize to you. 4 out of 5? Still not good enough. 5 out of 5. Hear me.)
Word.
I'm not sure what choices I would have to make if I had a kid. I'm sure I'd be plagued with self-doubt constantly, and I'm sure I'd find plenty of reasons to worry, and fret. But what pisses me off so much about this situation is that this isn't the little shit. This is big, life-destroying behavior, that has happened over and over. And it's not good for Izzy. Period. End of story.
The choices that have been made by both parents consistently ignores the big picture, and focuses on little details.
Yeah, ballet classes are a great idea. If your rent is paid. And you aren't struggling with a bigger fucking problem. I'm angry. There is a beautiful child in the middle of this shitstorm. She didn't ask to be born.
I'm angry with the world, because it's such a shitty place. I'm angry because it's a world that forces people to make choices that suck.
I'm angry with people who consistently delude themselves.
I'm just fucking angry, and sad. So sad. Because at the end of the day, it's really none of my business what happens, and my job is to support my friend, whatever choices he makes. And I will.
I promise.
In real life, not so much. My life is so not filled with criminals and dynamite. My life is filled with a spinning wheel. Seriously. I'm not kidding. Since Alan is the best husband ever, he and I went on a field trip to Maringo, Ill. on Saturday, and picked out a wheel. It's a sweet little wheel, and frankly, I can't stop touching it. I'm obsessed. I've been trying new techniques, learning, learning, learning. And when I'm done, I have yarn. Some of which doesn't suck. I also bought a buttload of fiber to turn into yarn. Which is awesome. I'm a sucker for colored balls and batts of pretty hair. That's what this has all come to. So, that's the good.
The bad? The death of my Mom's sister, and the funeral. The trip to Riverton, Wyoming sort of fucked up my schedual, and left me feeling absolutely tired and drained. There was a silver lining however. That side of the family is awesome. Seriously funny, intelligent, People who Drink.
Sure, men are men. They have guns, and women cook. And I had to hear "I just couldn't live in a big city" about a thousand times.
"Uh, yeah you could...and frankly, I could live in a small town. I just choose to live in a big city. Don't sell yourself short."
So, it was good to reunite with a side of my family that I had been rather estranged from.
My favorite moment was when I was accused of secretly being the author of "Brokeback Mountain." What could be better?
I did come back from that sucker seriously stressed out, though. Mostly work related, but there was a little stress about what happens if my Mom dies? How can I keep her alive forever? I'm not sure that I could take her dying. Facing that eventuality saddens me beyond belief. So, that's the bad.
The ugly? My friend Shane's life. Without going into details, his life is in shreds right now. There's not a whole shitload I can do to help, either. He's in a place where no matter what decisions he makes, his life is going to change drastically, and it's going to be a painful, screwed up time for he and Izzy.
Having a child means that every single decision that you make has to be weighed by your concern for that child. (You hear me, Katie? Every fucking choice. Every single thing you do has to be good for you kid. Not just 1 out of 5. 1 out of 5 makes you a shitty parent. 2 out of five? No prize to you. 4 out of 5? Still not good enough. 5 out of 5. Hear me.)
Word.
I'm not sure what choices I would have to make if I had a kid. I'm sure I'd be plagued with self-doubt constantly, and I'm sure I'd find plenty of reasons to worry, and fret. But what pisses me off so much about this situation is that this isn't the little shit. This is big, life-destroying behavior, that has happened over and over. And it's not good for Izzy. Period. End of story.
The choices that have been made by both parents consistently ignores the big picture, and focuses on little details.
Yeah, ballet classes are a great idea. If your rent is paid. And you aren't struggling with a bigger fucking problem. I'm angry. There is a beautiful child in the middle of this shitstorm. She didn't ask to be born.
I'm angry with the world, because it's such a shitty place. I'm angry because it's a world that forces people to make choices that suck.
I'm angry with people who consistently delude themselves.
I'm just fucking angry, and sad. So sad. Because at the end of the day, it's really none of my business what happens, and my job is to support my friend, whatever choices he makes. And I will.
I promise.
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