Okay, since ebola put me to bed for four days, there's not so much Fug You.
Really, if I see nobody but Alan, and my cats, there's just nobody to hate.
So, Fuck you, ebola-like stomache flu virus thingy.
On a somewhat hatey and "fug you" note, if you go to shamelessrestaurants.com, and click on "other cities", go to the Chicago forums.You can see a very long, pretty darn funny, flame-filled thread on my old boss Dion Antic, of Food and Drink (Iggy's, Harry's Velvet Room, ect.)
It's so nice to know that other people hate, too. And hate much more than I do.
Of course it's not so recent for me, so the hate has probably faded...but I'm not so sure that I ever hated Dion like some of these people. Feared him, at some point, then, was just sorta sad that he wasn't as cool as his PR, then well, sure, I had absolute contempt for him, but, really, who doesn't?
Sure, Dion is a sad little man, but he always paid me. Most bar/club owners are egomaniac, coke-sniffing freaks who fuck their more-attractive employees. I am thankful I got into fine dining and left the bars behind.
Dion is no better or worse than most, but damn, the posts that he posted on himself are truely a look into the black hole where his soul used to be. I wonder what it's like to be that empty?
Next week is filling up, work-wise.
I think I'm speaking at some sort of cheese thing for 'the company' on Monday, then there's class on Tuesday, I'm helping a friend re-vamp a restaurant's wine list on Thursday(or, if that doesn't happen, I'm going to go to a spinning guild meeting. Then I'm sure the company has me for the weekend.
I would really love to have a Saturday off. There, I've said it.
I want a whole Saturday to do shit with Alan. I want to get up, and go thrift shopping. Then, maybe look for some sort of 'Stash Storage'. Yarn stash, not anything else, degenerates. Then, lunch. Come back, maybe work on the house for a couple of hours, then take a shower, and go out to dinner, or see a band, or maybe hang out with a couple of friends at a bar, have a couple of drinks, or even see a movie.
Or, I'd like to drive out to Maringo, Illinois, and go to the spinner/wool paradise out there.
Or, drive out to Janesville, see the llamas, buy some wool, and try out a spinning wheel, then lunch, (see above to end of perfect Saturday) you know, fun stuff.
What I don't want to do is be at a restaurant, as an employee, for one weekend night. Or, beholden to work at somebody's private party.
Knitting wise, I'm done with the front of Izzy's sweater, and i'm about 3 inches into the back. It's a quick knit, and I think it's going to be done within two weeks.
Alan's sweater: I'm almost done with the body, then onto the sleeves, then the turtle neck. I'm thinking that this might be done by the end of February.
Wine of the week:
2003 Granger "Cuvee Speciale"
Julienas, France
If you find this, buy and drink. It's fucking amazing. Complex, full bodied, earthy, fruity...it's got everything. It's a rock out with your cock out kind of geek wine. I bought a case. If you're lucky, you'll get to drink this with me.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Sick, Sick, Sick
That's what I am. Sick.
Right now, I'm cowering on the couch upstairs, shivering. My eyes hurt. My neck hurts, and my head hurts.
I slept all day yesterday. Woke up at 11 am today. Had juice. Went back to sleep and woke up again about a half hour ago (2pm)
I would like to clean, or organize, or knit or do anything...but I can't.
I'm pathetic. Please send ice cream.
Right now, I'm cowering on the couch upstairs, shivering. My eyes hurt. My neck hurts, and my head hurts.
I slept all day yesterday. Woke up at 11 am today. Had juice. Went back to sleep and woke up again about a half hour ago (2pm)
I would like to clean, or organize, or knit or do anything...but I can't.
I'm pathetic. Please send ice cream.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Fridays are for "Fug You"
I think that Fridays are for bitching. My week has been uneventful, for the most part, but I think that there are certain things that need to be addressed every once in a while.
Mainly the list of stupid people that I run into.
Kid on the Diversey Bus:
If you are rapping, loudly, you need to go fuck yourself. Double this if
a) you are white. Score!
b) you are wearing a really stoopid looking fake-fur parka and a belt buckle that lights up to present the message of your choice. I noticed that yours read "Whitey" No shit. Double score!
c)you rhyme "Chi-town" and "my town". You are not dope. You are not "the voice of the mean streets". Dude, considering where I got on the bus, you most likely got on at Diversey and Harlem. Not a rough place.
Kid on the Diversey Bus, shut the fuck up. Forever. You are only embarassing yourself.
Guy who asked me for change in Lakeview.
You are wearing really nice clothes. Your shoes were spotless.
Fuck you.
The lady who needed to talk about 'white people' on the North Avenue Bus (see a pattern?)
I'm right here. I could correct many of your mistaken ideas, but since you seem to know everything about *all* white people, I'll just keep quiet. I'll just say, I'm surprised to find out that all white people :
Don't give correct change in some sort of global conspiracy.
Sell good stereos to each other, and only sell the broken shit to people of color.
Work to keep your son out of a university.
(This was not all...there was much, much more. These were just the highlights)
I mean, how do I have time to knit and have sex with Alan, what with oppressing you?
Lady on the Bus, shut the fuck up. Perhaps the fact that you've devoted all this time to conspiracy plots ment that you perhaps put your son's edumacation on the back burner?
My boss(es). Just in general, 'cause if you didn't do something to piss me off by friday, you'll sure as hell do something this weekend. Don't even pretend.
The emoliscious duo. If, you have a new apartment, and you have a car between the two of you, and you have a couple of days off, get your shit outta my house. It's almost a week since you dissappeared into the night. No call? No "Hey, we're thinking that on X day we'll be over to take some stuff, return the key, ect?"
Rude. Unacceptable.
Get your rotting food out of my refrigerator. Get your half-eaten crackers off my counter. Get your shoes out of my entry way...or, at least give me time frame. Cause, see I want the molding coffee cup that's in the bedroom back in the kitchen, and since the guest room belongs to you, and I don't want to invade your privacy (or, wade through the three feet of shit that is piled all over that room), I can't have it until you tie up loose ends.
Even when I was your age, I was soooooooo much more responsible. See, when I left my room a complete and utter mess, I was paying rent. Then, my mess was paid for. My roomates couldn't say shit about it. There's the rub.
So, emo kids, get your shit together. You are both nice kids. I still think you are both nice, smart funny kids, but I think you lied when you said you were clean and neat. Totally lied.
Fridays are soooooo for Fug You
See, I'm old. I'm uptight. I have issues.
Mainly the list of stupid people that I run into.
Kid on the Diversey Bus:
If you are rapping, loudly, you need to go fuck yourself. Double this if
a) you are white. Score!
b) you are wearing a really stoopid looking fake-fur parka and a belt buckle that lights up to present the message of your choice. I noticed that yours read "Whitey" No shit. Double score!
c)you rhyme "Chi-town" and "my town". You are not dope. You are not "the voice of the mean streets". Dude, considering where I got on the bus, you most likely got on at Diversey and Harlem. Not a rough place.
Kid on the Diversey Bus, shut the fuck up. Forever. You are only embarassing yourself.
Guy who asked me for change in Lakeview.
You are wearing really nice clothes. Your shoes were spotless.
Fuck you.
The lady who needed to talk about 'white people' on the North Avenue Bus (see a pattern?)
I'm right here. I could correct many of your mistaken ideas, but since you seem to know everything about *all* white people, I'll just keep quiet. I'll just say, I'm surprised to find out that all white people :
Don't give correct change in some sort of global conspiracy.
Sell good stereos to each other, and only sell the broken shit to people of color.
Work to keep your son out of a university.
(This was not all...there was much, much more. These were just the highlights)
I mean, how do I have time to knit and have sex with Alan, what with oppressing you?
Lady on the Bus, shut the fuck up. Perhaps the fact that you've devoted all this time to conspiracy plots ment that you perhaps put your son's edumacation on the back burner?
My boss(es). Just in general, 'cause if you didn't do something to piss me off by friday, you'll sure as hell do something this weekend. Don't even pretend.
The emoliscious duo. If, you have a new apartment, and you have a car between the two of you, and you have a couple of days off, get your shit outta my house. It's almost a week since you dissappeared into the night. No call? No "Hey, we're thinking that on X day we'll be over to take some stuff, return the key, ect?"
Rude. Unacceptable.
Get your rotting food out of my refrigerator. Get your half-eaten crackers off my counter. Get your shoes out of my entry way...or, at least give me time frame. Cause, see I want the molding coffee cup that's in the bedroom back in the kitchen, and since the guest room belongs to you, and I don't want to invade your privacy (or, wade through the three feet of shit that is piled all over that room), I can't have it until you tie up loose ends.
Even when I was your age, I was soooooooo much more responsible. See, when I left my room a complete and utter mess, I was paying rent. Then, my mess was paid for. My roomates couldn't say shit about it. There's the rub.
So, emo kids, get your shit together. You are both nice kids. I still think you are both nice, smart funny kids, but I think you lied when you said you were clean and neat. Totally lied.
Fridays are soooooo for Fug You
See, I'm old. I'm uptight. I have issues.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Hot Pink Yarn
One day, I shall have a digital camera, and I shall display pictures, but alas, no time soon.
Until then, let me talk about hot pink yarn, or, more to the point, the four year old that picked out the hot pink yarn.
Yesterday, my friend Izzy (four years old) and I went to buy all the things that you need to make a sweater. A sweater for Izzy. And, since Izzy is four, I figured she should have maximum control over said sweater, because, uh...if she didn't, she wouldn't ever wear the fucking thing.
So, Izzy and discussed color over the phone. "Pink. Or, Pink and Green. With a cat and a Rainbow?" I told Izzy that maybe the cat and rainbow are beyond my skill level. Okay, what I really said was, "We need to work from a pattern. Do you know what a pattern is? "
"No."
"It's the instructions. Like the rules to Candyland."
"I don't like rules."
"I know, honey. That's why you cheat."
She giggled. "I know. I cheat."
If we all had that much self-awareness, we'd be better off as a species.
So, Izzy and I went off to the yarn store. Izzy was perfectly well-behaved, and sweet, as she always is with me. I've got 'special friend clout', which means, for the most part, Izzy doesn't ever really misbehave around me. It's something that, if I were a parent, would really piss me off. But, I digress.
So, we looked at patterns. One thing I noticed is that Izzy would choose patterns based on the little kids in the pictures. She picked the ones that looked happy, or were doing something "fun." She didn't really choose based on color of sweater (which surprised me...I thought we'd have to talk about how "we can make the sweater in any color, hot stuff, 'cuz that's different".
Instead, we talked out how the kids in the pictures looked rich, and how it's good to have lots of money. (A concept which, btw, fucking horrified me).
I, of course, said that the kids in the pictures looked happy, not rich. And while having enough money to pay the rent and keep yourself in macaroni and cheese is good, being rich is not necessarily a good thing. How lots of rich people are unhappy, and lots of rich kids don't have mommy and daddy who spend time with them, and how Izzy is really lucky to have parents who love her and spend time with her, and how that's way more important than being rich.
"And you."
"What, honey?"
"You spend time with me too, so that means that I'm lucky, right. Cause I have friends, like Dave, and you, who spend time with me?"
Amen.
So, we picked a turtleneck sweater, which is done on number nine needles in a 1x1 rib, which might drive me insane. There might be some tiny changes made to that pattern. I'm just sayin'.
Then, we picked the yarn.
That kid has awsome taste in fiber. She breezed right past the Cascade 22o (an inexpensive wool yarn), and headed right towards the 'good stuff'. She's a yarn snob in the making. God, I don't know if I'll ever feel prouder of her.
She fondled the yarn like a pro. Picked it up, and rubbed her little cheek against it, and said "This is really soft."
I could have cried. In her hands was my favorite yarn. Malibrigio. 100 percent merino wool, soft as a baby's ass, and lovely to knit with. No machine washable yarn for this kid. No acrylics.
Sure, the name is "Barbie Rose", and to me, it's fucking pink. Too pink, but what the fuck, she's four, and aren't we all allowed to love pink at four?
We went back to Izzy's house after lunch. I taught her the knitting poem.
Open the door.
Put on a scarf
Take the cat out
Before the cat barfs.
And she wrapped the yarn over my needles at the appropriate time.
The kid's a natural.
In many ways, the best time I've had in a long time.
Until then, let me talk about hot pink yarn, or, more to the point, the four year old that picked out the hot pink yarn.
Yesterday, my friend Izzy (four years old) and I went to buy all the things that you need to make a sweater. A sweater for Izzy. And, since Izzy is four, I figured she should have maximum control over said sweater, because, uh...if she didn't, she wouldn't ever wear the fucking thing.
So, Izzy and discussed color over the phone. "Pink. Or, Pink and Green. With a cat and a Rainbow?" I told Izzy that maybe the cat and rainbow are beyond my skill level. Okay, what I really said was, "We need to work from a pattern. Do you know what a pattern is? "
"No."
"It's the instructions. Like the rules to Candyland."
"I don't like rules."
"I know, honey. That's why you cheat."
She giggled. "I know. I cheat."
If we all had that much self-awareness, we'd be better off as a species.
So, Izzy and I went off to the yarn store. Izzy was perfectly well-behaved, and sweet, as she always is with me. I've got 'special friend clout', which means, for the most part, Izzy doesn't ever really misbehave around me. It's something that, if I were a parent, would really piss me off. But, I digress.
So, we looked at patterns. One thing I noticed is that Izzy would choose patterns based on the little kids in the pictures. She picked the ones that looked happy, or were doing something "fun." She didn't really choose based on color of sweater (which surprised me...I thought we'd have to talk about how "we can make the sweater in any color, hot stuff, 'cuz that's different".
Instead, we talked out how the kids in the pictures looked rich, and how it's good to have lots of money. (A concept which, btw, fucking horrified me).
I, of course, said that the kids in the pictures looked happy, not rich. And while having enough money to pay the rent and keep yourself in macaroni and cheese is good, being rich is not necessarily a good thing. How lots of rich people are unhappy, and lots of rich kids don't have mommy and daddy who spend time with them, and how Izzy is really lucky to have parents who love her and spend time with her, and how that's way more important than being rich.
"And you."
"What, honey?"
"You spend time with me too, so that means that I'm lucky, right. Cause I have friends, like Dave, and you, who spend time with me?"
Amen.
So, we picked a turtleneck sweater, which is done on number nine needles in a 1x1 rib, which might drive me insane. There might be some tiny changes made to that pattern. I'm just sayin'.
Then, we picked the yarn.
That kid has awsome taste in fiber. She breezed right past the Cascade 22o (an inexpensive wool yarn), and headed right towards the 'good stuff'. She's a yarn snob in the making. God, I don't know if I'll ever feel prouder of her.
She fondled the yarn like a pro. Picked it up, and rubbed her little cheek against it, and said "This is really soft."
I could have cried. In her hands was my favorite yarn. Malibrigio. 100 percent merino wool, soft as a baby's ass, and lovely to knit with. No machine washable yarn for this kid. No acrylics.
Sure, the name is "Barbie Rose", and to me, it's fucking pink. Too pink, but what the fuck, she's four, and aren't we all allowed to love pink at four?
We went back to Izzy's house after lunch. I taught her the knitting poem.
Open the door.
Put on a scarf
Take the cat out
Before the cat barfs.
And she wrapped the yarn over my needles at the appropriate time.
The kid's a natural.
In many ways, the best time I've had in a long time.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
These are the days...
Let's be frank, 2005 wasn't all 'highlights'.
There were some real bummers, as well.
The husband getting robbed at gunpoint in front of our house.
A couple of good friends have been going through some very hard times. (I love you Shane)
The plumber had to come out a couple of times (He always costs lots and lots of money).
Lessons Learned?
None really. Sometimes people go through shit. Sometimes you can't fix the leak by yourself. Sometimes some kid decides to rob whitey.
Note to the shithead who robbed Alan: Fuck you. You only got three dollars. So fuck you very much, and your stupid cultural bias that all white people are rich.
There were some real bummers, as well.
The husband getting robbed at gunpoint in front of our house.
A couple of good friends have been going through some very hard times. (I love you Shane)
The plumber had to come out a couple of times (He always costs lots and lots of money).
Lessons Learned?
None really. Sometimes people go through shit. Sometimes you can't fix the leak by yourself. Sometimes some kid decides to rob whitey.
Note to the shithead who robbed Alan: Fuck you. You only got three dollars. So fuck you very much, and your stupid cultural bias that all white people are rich.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Abortion in Yarn
So uh, yeah...what did I knit in the few short months that my obsession has started?
Let's see...in order of knitting.
Keyhole scarf and matching hat for my mom (still not sent), and frankly, they are so ugly, that they might not be sent. See, this was my very first thing I knit, and I did fall into the trap of novelty yarn.
I sorta hate these things, and, frankly, think that I can do much, much better now.
Lesson Learned? Novelty yarn is not my friend.
Stripy scarf for my husband (the sexiest evolutionary biologist at UIC). Though the quality of the finished product (weave in ends? Huh? Whatever, I'll just knot these bad boys.) leaves something to be desired, he loves it, and wears it all the time. So, it's not that bad, is it?
Lesson Learned? My husband Rocks.
Big-ass furry fucking poncho-thing. Uh, yeah, I didn't really understand about gauge yet, so I just picked the biggest, chunky angora I could, then used a strand of mohair. Then just knitted away on size fifteen needles.
Does it shed? Like a Persian cat in July, baby. Uh yeah, and it was huge, and so I felted it. Uh, now it looks like something any old caveman would just casually toss on to go kill a mamoth.
I do wear it though, since the house in the ghetto gets cold, since it has no insulation, and that makes it chilly.
Lesson Learned? Gauge swatches are your friend. Use them. Also furry yarn sheds like a motherfucker.
Cleaves, from knitty.com
Okay, so the gauge thing sunk in. And, I bought beautiful Manos to make it with, and I really like the sleeves part, it's just that the cowl is really freakin' big, and I don't think the pattern really was well thought out, and I am now thinking that it's time to frog the cowl, re-size the cowl part, and re-knit it.
Lesson learned? If the model for something is standing all weird and twisty, think twice.
Mittens for Dan.
No pattern, just me thinking that I could do it. Bad. Bad. Me need pattern, and DPN's. They are an abortion in yarn. I am re-making them.
Lesson Learned? Directions and patterns are not the enemy.
Purse for Telina. Pretty, little, felted. Cute. No pattern, but I Understand the concept of the felted purse, and can sorta just get along. Not sent yet, 'cause of the abortion in yarn, and Dan and Telina live together like Dirty Hippies in a RV with tons of cats.
Lesson Learned? Felted purses are sooooo freakin' easy.
Scarf for Little Hateful. Feather and Fan lace pattern. Good yarn. Soft merino. Soft as a high-priced hooker's ass. Light blue. It turned out better than I could ever imagine. She loves it. I loved it. Her mom even liked it. Wow.
Lesson Learned? If you think very carefully about what you are about to knit, and the moon is in just the right place, and those voodoo candles you light aren't a scam, things will all work out.
The Lorna's Laces scarf. I bought worsted yarn, which I thought was very cute. I was going to knit a very cute little vest from Loop-D-Loop (yes, Teva, I bought your freakin' book).
Uh, except the nice lady at the yarn store totally lied to me when she said that the mohair and the Laces looked cute together. Totally lied. 'Cause when I knitted a swatch (see gauge lesson, above) they looked like shit together. So then I thought, scarf, and I'll do the feather and fan thing, 'cause that's cute, but now that I'm, like three feet into this fucker, I still think that it looks like four pounds of shit in a three pound bag.
Lesson learned?
Cute yarn in skein does not=Cute yarn knitted up.
So, here in the little house in the ghetto, lots of things were learned from knitting.
Oh, and yeah, someday, I'll begin to post pictures.
Let's see...in order of knitting.
Keyhole scarf and matching hat for my mom (still not sent), and frankly, they are so ugly, that they might not be sent. See, this was my very first thing I knit, and I did fall into the trap of novelty yarn.
I sorta hate these things, and, frankly, think that I can do much, much better now.
Lesson Learned? Novelty yarn is not my friend.
Stripy scarf for my husband (the sexiest evolutionary biologist at UIC). Though the quality of the finished product (weave in ends? Huh? Whatever, I'll just knot these bad boys.) leaves something to be desired, he loves it, and wears it all the time. So, it's not that bad, is it?
Lesson Learned? My husband Rocks.
Big-ass furry fucking poncho-thing. Uh, yeah, I didn't really understand about gauge yet, so I just picked the biggest, chunky angora I could, then used a strand of mohair. Then just knitted away on size fifteen needles.
Does it shed? Like a Persian cat in July, baby. Uh yeah, and it was huge, and so I felted it. Uh, now it looks like something any old caveman would just casually toss on to go kill a mamoth.
I do wear it though, since the house in the ghetto gets cold, since it has no insulation, and that makes it chilly.
Lesson Learned? Gauge swatches are your friend. Use them. Also furry yarn sheds like a motherfucker.
Cleaves, from knitty.com
Okay, so the gauge thing sunk in. And, I bought beautiful Manos to make it with, and I really like the sleeves part, it's just that the cowl is really freakin' big, and I don't think the pattern really was well thought out, and I am now thinking that it's time to frog the cowl, re-size the cowl part, and re-knit it.
Lesson learned? If the model for something is standing all weird and twisty, think twice.
Mittens for Dan.
No pattern, just me thinking that I could do it. Bad. Bad. Me need pattern, and DPN's. They are an abortion in yarn. I am re-making them.
Lesson Learned? Directions and patterns are not the enemy.
Purse for Telina. Pretty, little, felted. Cute. No pattern, but I Understand the concept of the felted purse, and can sorta just get along. Not sent yet, 'cause of the abortion in yarn, and Dan and Telina live together like Dirty Hippies in a RV with tons of cats.
Lesson Learned? Felted purses are sooooo freakin' easy.
Scarf for Little Hateful. Feather and Fan lace pattern. Good yarn. Soft merino. Soft as a high-priced hooker's ass. Light blue. It turned out better than I could ever imagine. She loves it. I loved it. Her mom even liked it. Wow.
Lesson Learned? If you think very carefully about what you are about to knit, and the moon is in just the right place, and those voodoo candles you light aren't a scam, things will all work out.
The Lorna's Laces scarf. I bought worsted yarn, which I thought was very cute. I was going to knit a very cute little vest from Loop-D-Loop (yes, Teva, I bought your freakin' book).
Uh, except the nice lady at the yarn store totally lied to me when she said that the mohair and the Laces looked cute together. Totally lied. 'Cause when I knitted a swatch (see gauge lesson, above) they looked like shit together. So then I thought, scarf, and I'll do the feather and fan thing, 'cause that's cute, but now that I'm, like three feet into this fucker, I still think that it looks like four pounds of shit in a three pound bag.
Lesson learned?
Cute yarn in skein does not=Cute yarn knitted up.
So, here in the little house in the ghetto, lots of things were learned from knitting.
Oh, and yeah, someday, I'll begin to post pictures.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Highlights of 2005
Started to knit.
Started to spin.
Learned how to dye with koolaid.
Finished the damn kitchen.
Finished the damn living room.
Finished the damn dining room.
Destroyed the addition from hell.
Almost finished the damn bathroom.
Brought mutant cat 2 and 3 into our family.
Went back to 'the company'.
How do if feel about all these things? Well, for the most part, I feel good. Even returning to the company, and the fact that there is still a big amount of 'crazy' in the company, I wouldn't change a darn thing about my life. I'm busy. Real busy, but not as hectic, "I never sleep and I drink too much to kill the bug inside me", as I was when I worked for the company the first time.
I love both my jobs, and they both allow me to do different things.
I love my three mutant cats, but I especially love Phang, the hairless wonder, because she needs me. Lobby and Tidbit do not need me like Phang needs me, and that makes me a God to Phang and I love it.
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