Since my last post I have:

1) Completed my final day at method.*

2) Completed the first season of Mad Men on DVD.**

and

3) Completed my first scarf.***

*My last day was an easy one; mailed off my last packages, filled out some paperwork, hugged some friends, waved goodbye. It was a good way to spend the last five months and I feel lucky the timing worked out so well. Pretty sure I'll never work at such a lovely smelling place again.

**Enjoyable show, though unclear why the world is so utterly obsessed with Jon Hamm's handsomeness. He's not bad on the eyes, but have these people never seen Josh Holloway?!

***After many a start/mistake/restart cycle, I decided to take the plunge and start my first scarf. Unfortunately, once I got serious I also noticed my ball of yarn was...no longer a ball. It had somehow morphed into one giant, heinous, eleven dollar ball of hell. I tried my very best to untangle it, but after an hour or so I was close to giving up and cutting it apart.

But then! My knight in denim armor came to my rescue; Clay sat with that damn mess of yarn through many a TV program last night and this morning until the whole thing miraculously came undone. I paid him in kisses and perfectly-sliced-and-sugared grapefruits.

So! Then I got to work on a Combo Scarf. (Pictures below!) Overall, I'm very pleased with my first efforts because - I didn't totally eff up! And I'm a seriously spatially challenged person, so to figure this stuff out mostly solo is a big deal for me. I probably shouldn't have chosen a pattern with so many alternating parts for my first go (I completely lost track of which row I was on many times) and I really needed to use two balls of yarn instead of one (it's more of a neck warmer instead of a scarf) but I'm totally hooked!

(Would have been a punchier ending had I been crocheting.)

Weekend photo album or: The making of a domestic

I did quite well on my weekend checklist, thanks.

While I played many a Rockband drum solo Saturday morning, Clay played basketball down at the Y. On his way home he stopped at the Farmer's Market and picked me up that scrumpshy olive bread along with a bundle of tulips. And a chocolate croissant. Yes please times ten.

Later in the day, down in the Castro, we watched some college people play their own round of basketball on the big screen. Zzz. But oh my, what accidental luck! Our friends live right next door to Imagiknit! At halftime, I picked out some yummy green yarn and bamboo needles.

On Sunday, we scooted down to the Marina and picked out herbs and flowers and new self-draining pots and soil and fertilizer. And then I got to planting and windowsill-arranging and serious-face-making. Plants are no joke, people.

We watched a Law and Order per my request, then I started knitting lessons with my new, made-for-the-elderly DVD. The lady on there talks to me like I'm five. Honestly, I wouldn't mind if it were three.

Fotos below:

you know that old adage

(may or may not be the correct usage of this word) about boiling a frog slowly? as in, if you put a frog in lukewarm water and very slowly increase the heat he’ll just sort of hang there until he dies of boil-dom? many times i = frog.

like my sophomore year of high school. every morning I’d wake up and hop into the shower (not entirely true – I’ve always been an every-other-day type of gal, but you understand the use of hyperbole in narrative, don't you?) and soap up before beginning another day of algebra 2 and eating ice cream sandwiches from the vending machine.

at the beginning of the school year, the water pressure in said shower was fine. I didn’t really notice it one way or the other. hop in, hop out, put on my l.e.i. bell bottoms. as the year progressed, the water pressure very slowly, slowly, almost imperceptibly, became weaker. again – I just went with the flow. since my dad used the downstairs shower, and my mom takes baths (is this too much information on my family’s former bathing habits? apologies) and I have no idea what my little brother at age 11 was doing, there wasn’t much intra-family discussion on the water situation.

one morning I woke up, tho, and holy s*%t. one small drip of water was exiting from one of the shower head holes. one small drip. one hole. and it was cold. the scary thing is this seriously didn’t happen overnight, it had taken like six months to boil me.

eventually the plumber came in, checked out our situation, turned to my mom and said:

“you weren't living.” amen.

I bring this up, because I’ve had a slow simmer going in my lower back and right leg (simply put: b/c of the way I’m built and I move, my pelvis gets out of alignment, making one leg longer than the other, making everything along the way from knee to hip flexor to feet go into excrutiating spasms) for a long, long time. I was just starting to get it fixed 4.5 years ago before a trip to india. I thought the physical therapist would be able to fix it in a few visits, but after her assessment – come in once a week for lots of months, you’ve got lots of damage to reverse – I just got discouraged/bored. she’d made me feel better in the short term and in my just-graduated-from-college mindset, that was good enough.

but over the past 4.5 years, it’s gotten worse and worse, making me squirm on the couch and live with an electric heating pad down my pants. and since I almost popped a leftover-from-an-ear-infection vicodin before heading to work today and my name is not gregory house – it’s time to get some help. I’ve got an appointment lined up in two weeks and I’m looking forward to it more than christmas. (I kind of wanted to make a tiny tim joke there, but I couldn’t figure it out nor did it seem very nice.) the end.

1982 or 1928, part 2

i just got the most sudden/stabbing ache in my right knee. like, hold onto the side of the couch and grimace while i watch reruns stabby. i headed over to weather.com to confirm what i already knew: the next two days are going to be cloudy and rainy. why oh my must my joints predict the weather?

also: all you hydrox lovers! run, don't walk to your local grocery store aisles. the usually-discontinued cookie has been reissued for a 1908-2008, hundred year celebration. nom nom nom.

also: i borrowed all about eve from the library and have already started my under-the-quilt fest, tummy filled with taters. i even took out my teeth to get extra cozy.

realizations

isn't it sad when your mom drives you to an abandoned railroad bridge in the woods near your old high school for a lovely tour of the foliage and says:

"this looks like it's probably where the cool kids come to hang out"

and you look around and see lots of beer cans and old campfires and agree - then realize you never "came to hang out" there in all your formative years?

sigh.

in other news, we made a delightful batch of apple butter today and poured it into some leftover mason jars from our wedding. very laura ingalls wilder and very cool kid.

the apron

have you heard of it? it's a really great invention - right up there with sliced bread!

i've had two of them hanging off my refrigerator for a year now, but i never thought to tie one on. it just seemed like one extra step in an already complicated dance called cooking-in-a-very-small-kitchen. but i'm trying to make more foods these days to save some moola and just, you know, be a grownup.

for many a day i felt frustrated by how filthy my jeans got after one wearing. the oily peanut butter smears, the dried egg yolks, the flour powder. do other people just get naked to cook? is that how they keep their clothes clean? and then i looked over one day, and the cutest apron ever, homemade by my friend caroline for a christmas present, covered specially in a tea cup print to honor my addiction, winked at me. and i fell deeply, irreversibly in love.

it's like a big napkin you can wear! that's got pockets! and kind of feels like a pulled-together outfit! and it makes me feel all feminine and feminist simultaneously, somehow. also: as happy as i am with my current choice, i think i may have just stumbled across that all-important thing-i-can-collect. you know, for when people ask me what i want as a gift or i'm, uh, spending hours at a time on etsy, the site that is the answer to every crafty dream, and i want to drop a few bucks that i don't have.

or maybe i could just make my own?

i really want something from j. peterman

i just have to decide what. a few months ago, i requested the catalog online, just because i had to see it in real life, just because i had to know if elaine spoke the truth. and seriously people - it does not disappoint. the clothes all have pleats, the descriptions all reference sundance or lady godiva, and the illustrations are straight out of highlights magazine. i love to climb in bed, pull on my hoodie, and read aloud - in a british accent, duh - some of my favorite selections.

currently, it's:

"she's married to a doting london banker with a genealogy that predates the magna carta. they're quite an item in the smart set."

right?

i laugh, you laugh, but deep down we all want a maroon velvet coat with shoulder pads and peterman knows it. he's got x-ray vision into my soul and doesn't care how much i make fun, because ultimately, i'll lock my doors, make sure no one's watching, then lay down my credit card. the picasso shirt? the secret thoughts coat? the harlow pants? i'm dizzy with options!

the idea of a new job (oh, where are thee) one day, where nobody knows me yet and i can recreate myself beforehand becomes an all-too-distracting daydream during my constant death march through craigslist. a daydream that includes homemade lunches, lipstick, shiny hair and a thomas jefferson shirt. oh, how they'll envy me.

a small window into my life

rockbanding:





murder she wrote'ing. this series reflects my absolute delight with tom selleck guest starring on a "recent" episode. jb fletcher and thomas magnum in the same room?! could life get better? answer: add matlock and then, no. (also: new couch prominently featured. love!) (also: white bindi prominently featured: post-wedding zit killing ops.)

so i'm a little slow

sure, i knew about this american life and prairie home companion and things of that nature. and understood they were urbane and hip and enjoyed by people who like things i like.

but in my life, in general, my brain has to work extra hard to listen to and make sense of books on tape or talk radio and so i steer clear. i'm a serious visual learner and as much as i love to talk, i find the digesting and understanding of the listening process slow and frustrating at times. (let's not even discuss the nightmare that is multi-person conference calls. i feel like i've barely escaped from azkaban by the time they're over. )

but recently, much in the way i feel i've singlehandedly discovered both frasier and coffee, i've been like wow national public radio wow! thank you for all your fun little things and constant chatter! you're the perfect way to spend a car ride to the airport and i find you extremely relaxing - a delightful note struck between silence and the beach boys.

and while my slow-on-the-uptakeness may seem laughable, i'm really quite content with it. just think how many old things i've got left to discover! wings season 1 on dvd here i come.

i know i'm unhealthily obsessed and no one cares, but

i have to get this off my chest.

it makes sense when monk or matlock or magnum run into murder once a week, because they're detectives or lawyers by profession and they signed up for the body toll. what makes less sense to my delicate constitution is why the hell a teacher-turned-mystery-writer keeps running into bloody corpses everywhere she goes. there were 264 episodes of murder she wrote and every episode saw the murder of at least one person. do the math! i did!

mrs. jb fletch originally hung out in maine exclusively, but i guess the producers decided that was getting a little far fetched - all these dead people in the vacation state - so they made her start traveling around to la and nyc and other godless locales of vice and destruction.

i guess this helped some? but no, my god, what if in a span of 12 years, just in your everyday doh dee doh life, you came across 264 dead people? and still remained so jolly? and still wore cheery seersucker kerchiefs and rode a bicycle with blueberries in the basket? wouldn't you feel just the smallest bit depressed about things? if it were me, if i couldn't have a cup of tea in the morning without someone bleeding out on my sneakers, i just don't think i could go on. and while i'm sure this was all supposed to be very inspiring to the elderly, this ballsy old lady taking on criminals left and right, wouldn't it mostly just scare the shit out of you?

there are just so many questions that i have, you see?

1982 or 1928

right now i'm:

* wearing a sweatsuit
* eating ritz crackers with peanut butter
* drinking milk
* watching the hallmark channel
* doing a crossword

and the problem is, i just can't seem to feel bad about it. it's a little bit like my former attempts to become a vegetarian. i've tried and tried to be repulsed by meat (dead! animals! in my stomach! etc), but it just can't be done. hence, the many rows of meat at our fast-approaching bbq nuptials.

so yes, i sit here and try to pre-enact the horror i'd feel if someone busted in right now, interrupting my geriatric couch picnic. but i'm pretty sure i'd just beckon them closer and turn up my hearing aid.

born and raised

do you have a tune or two you listen to on repeated repeat and you really can't explain why? like it may be good and all, but not that good?

for me in the past year (year!) it's been stevie wonder's ebony eyes. what? don't get me wrong, the s-man is one of my all-time favs, but why this song? it wasn't a hit, it wasn't featured in some touching cinematic moment, it's not particularly life changing, and it's really kind of hokey. so why this song over and over and over and over and over wherever i walk and go and live?

i don't myself have ebony eyes, nor was i "born and raised on ghetto streets" - so i couldn't make it the theme song of my hit tv show. and i really can't think of another purpose for it. confusion!

so seriously - give me some examples of your own?

this is my hula hoop. that is yours.

two uncharacteristically warm days brought out lots of people and all their skins to my daily walking route along crissy field. me no likey. humans? on my beach? move along, people. nothing to see here. nothing to see.

thankfully, the wind and fog returned today and left me to walk in curmudgeonly peace. did i used to deal with crowds better? have i finally just accepted my inner old man?

so yes, i was happy to have my path back, but then after my walk i wanted to do a little yoga on the grass near my car. sure sure, i'm quickly morphing into a hippie skip. i'll be sure to wear some flowers in my hair. but then! some man was just sitting! in his truck! facing my grassy knoll! i swear this is a san francisco thing; people just sit in their cars. the hell? how'm i ever gonna zen out when creepy men in white pickups are staring?

to be honest, sometimes i even get annoyed when i hear someone walking up fast behind me. why. are. you. on. my. sidewalk? my brother says he's got the same issue, so we comfort ourselves with the thought it's genetically inevitable.

but at the same time i'm very excited about the book club i'm forming with three other girlies. i'm hosting the inaugural meeting at our sturdy little apartment and fully intend on rocking some of amy sedaris' stuff. and rocking it hard. (oh, i've been meaning to ask: amy, will you marry me?)

apropos of nothing, i suppose, except to prove i do like people sometimes. just not mosttimes.