I Hate Statistics

• 0: % chance that anything would be different if I were in Wisconsin right now. There's not a thing I could do to help or change anything. It's all a matter of waiting for her to heal. I guess she's being a bit of a shrew about starting physical therapy on her knee.
• 50: % odds that she'll end up having heart surgery after her knee heals. They've got most of the problem under control with diuretics, and they're going to keep it that way until she's recooperated from her knee surgery. She's 83, my Grandma. They want to make sure she heals reasonably well before they start messing with her heart.
• 66: % of her sons are able to be there with her, my Grandma, while she's in the hospital. Uncle Les drove 4.5 hours to be there with her, and is staying in a house owned by the hospital next door. It's good, because my parents live 45 minutes away. Uncle M is in KC, and is feeling the guilts because he can't be there. He has conditions that don't make it easy for him to travel.
• 33: % of her daughters-in-law. Both of my aunts are at home, holding down their various forts.
• 50: % is not a bad ratio when it comes to blood vs. inlaws. She has 50% more blood there than marriage.
• 75: % that I'm a little terrified to meet some of my own marriage this weekend.
• 100: % going to St. Louis to see my brother-in-law while he's back from Iraq. He leaves to go back tomorrow morning, bright and early.
  

Grandma

Grandma had some complications after her knee surgery. She's in Intensive Care, with heart and breathing problems. At some point after the surgery, her aorta stopped working correctly, and it caused her lungs to take on some fluid. Hence the trouble breathing.

I'm still flying by the seat of the pants I was wearing yesterday around 1:00 PM. No new news yet.

I know I'm not the praying sort, and it's a little hypocritical for me to ask for yours... but if you have any thoughts to spare, could you send them her way?

Thankee-sai.

Turn for the Worse

Robby: i will call you
when dad calls me
Sarah: please do
it's fine
i love you
Sent at 10:08 AM on Wednesday
Sarah: i love you too
Did i just tell myself i love me too?
Sent at 10:10 AM on Wednesday

Grandma has had knee surgery and is in the hospital today. Last night my dad was in there with her, and they gave her a patch to help her breathing.

This morning he got a phone call from the hospital, telling him she "took a turn for the worse" and that he needed to come to the hospital.

That's all the information I have.

Update: They think she's going to be ok.

Crotches and Other Stuff.. Who am I Kidding, it's Only Crotches.

So, I am interested in meeting people in my own age group. People who may or may not be married, people who may or may not be interested in going out and getting wasted, just for the fun of getting wasted. No goal in mind, for either set of people.

Am I insane? I crave the sort of drama I had when I was single. I want to fix people up with other folks. I want to help out the single portion of our nation.

Why is it so hard for someone over the age of 25 to meet someone they don't find irritating? Why can't I stand most people anymore?

Am I getting crotchety already? If so, tell me how to fix it!

Speaking of Which

I Almost Can't Believe it Myself, So Don't Be Alarmed if You're Suspicious

This morning I woke up and lay in bed for a few minutes, thinking about my day. I snuggled with the cat. (As much as anyone can snuggle with a Linus, that is. It's all about reading the warning signs.) I thought about the dreams I had. (One dream involved some girls I knew in college and some socks I'm not finished knitting, the girls had ruined the socks.) I lay there and thought about the day I was going to have. I thought about taking a walk. And then, people, and then I WENT FOR A WALK.

I know, I know. Feel free to take a few moments to yourself to compose. I understand. I'm a little shocked myself.

In the spirit of a Very Brave Friend, I thought I might post a Before Picture of myself. I am very not brave enough for a bikini shot or anything, but I did take some pictures (using the timer) of myself in my walking uniform. They're not pretty, but I hope that someday fairly soon, this shirt will cover my ginormous belly. I hope that someday my track pants won't be forced into high water pants from the stress of trying to cover my behind. It was a little embarassing being out there today, but like Lisa always said, "Wouldn't it be more embarassing to not do anything about it?"

You know what? She's right. Whenever I see an overweight person working out, I cheer them on in my mind. They're getting healthy. I want to get healthier, too. And let's face it. I could stand to lose a few pounds. For me.

Before you get too excited, I want to say that I'm not really expecting to look very different very soon. I mainly want to be able to walk around the block without getting out of breath. I want my joints to be happier. Exercise helps that.

Plus, who knows how long this'll last? Let's be honest.



I picked the side view because it looks the least like I'm a doughy ball of confusion. Apparently the timer had me a little distressed and unsure for the first three shots, and they all happened to be the head-on ones. Also, from the side you can see exactly where my problem is. Yeah, that giant belly? That would be the problem. No sucking it in today, folks.

____________________

Later: Ok, so I was uploading the pictures from my camera while I was typing that entry out - not unusual for me - and I hit a few strange buttons on the keyboard by accident, but nothing seemed to go wrong, so I thought "No Biggie" and kept on uploading. (Does anyone else ever do that, or am I just the clutziest/laziest person ever to live?) Anyway, explorer wasn't letting me load the pictures onto blogger, so I went to Firefox to do that thing I do and when I closed explorer,



...this was looking me straight in the eye. I about died. Apparently what I did when I "hit some buttons" was save one of the head-on pictures as my background. It took a few moments for me to realize that it had been stretched to fit this screen. And now, since I had to show you that one because it's just so damn funny, I need to show you the original as well, to prove that I'm not a dwarf.

Testing, Testing... 1 2 3

Does everyone hear me? Can you hear me in the back?

Test... test...

Good. I think we're all able to hear me talk now.

Does everyone here have a blog? Raise your hand. High, so I can see it.

Hmm, ok. Yes, interesting. Most of you have blogs. Good! Then what I have to say will be very helpful! I know, because I was once like you. When I first started writing my blog, someone suggested something to me and it has changed my life. Changed. My. Life. People, you need to get yourselves a test blog.

Nothing fancy! Nothing over-the-top. Just a plain old blogger free blog. It will be your salvation!

On your test blog, you can post the pictures you want in your sidebars. Without posting them on your main blog. You can also play around with your template without fear of ruining the good thing you've got going.

You're going to wonder why you didn't think of this before, and I'll tell you why: You do not have the brain of a Bruce. I am here to act as liaison. The Bruce brain is a powerful operation, but also humble.

I never thought to tell you about this genius idea because, frankly, I thought I was the only one who didn't know. And that was almost two years ago! How little I actually knew! For all of us with not-Bruce brains are wandering in The Dark, and I see that now. I have gone into The Light, and The Light is good! It is Enlightening Light, folks! And I have come back into The Dark to lead you with me.

So come with me now! Step into The Light! Get thee a test blog! Flourish!

Hey

Guess where I'm going to be on April 26th.

That's right, in the same general vicinity as, possibly even in the same (largish) room with Stepahnie Pearl-McPhee.

Productionism

You've got to love those days when you turn out to have the exact same level of motivation that your house requires to stay alive. You know the requirements I speak of: countertops to be wipened, laundry to be did, general organization feats which normally don't appeal to you in the slightest to be taken care of. This day was one of those fantastic days when the amount of effort completely equaled the amount of effort I was willing ot put into it. And I got a few other things done in the meantime. Seriously, it was one of those days.

On Februrary 18, when we signed our lease, we decided that in order to move our belongings smoothly from one house to another, we would have to take some drastic measures. Many of those measures involved relocation of our boxes and boxes of clothing and random belongings which were small enough to fit into a car being moved before the rest of our stuff (Read: the big stuff) was moved. Honestly? It was a pain in the ass for those of us who don't work 40 hours/week, because we were required to do all sorts of heavy moving and relocation without the 40 hours/week portion of our family unit. The non-40-hours/week people felt they were spending way too much time in the car with each other. Thankfully, we no longer have more than one non-40-hours/week person in our household, so I (the remaining non-40-hour/weeker) can speak frankly. Frankly, it sucked.

So anyway, we (the NFHWers) moved the majority of the apartment in a week and a half, without aid of moving van or special assistants. It was extremely efficient, in the end, but at the same time I wouldn't suggest it for the faint of heart (or for the far-of-moving). The NFHW's made at least two trips a day for more than 7 days. I will further explain, and say that if we were only moving in a rented truck, it would have taken us a bagillion trips in the truck. That's how much stuff we moved in my freaking car. For serious.

Anyway, one of the first things we moved was our closet. I mean, the first things we hauled out to Nix-eee as a couple were the contents of our closet, minus the four or five things we wear on a bi-weekly basis. (We are a simple couple. A few shirts and pants are all we really need.) Obviously, we moved the things we moved into the master closet, which until earlier this evening looked like this:



Now, I realize that picture doesn't show much of the closet, but believe me when I say that there was shit everywhere. That one garbage bag? It's nothing. There were seven. I originally took that picture to show you all where I found the Linus a few minutes after introducing him to the new place. I thought that by opening all the doors, he would investigate the rooms on his own, and feel more comfortable. Apparently, the place he felt most comfortable was behind a rack of Bruce's clothes. I can't blame him, the guy smells nice.

Here's what it looks like after the renovation/curious ambition of me:



Nice, eh? What else did I do this weekend? Well, for starters, I recycled some yarn. I took this:



And I turned it into this:



Which I plan on turning into a sweater. Great, huh? Go, and seek out sweaters at thrift shops which you can use to create your masterpieces. Follow the tutorial. Actually, read it before you ever go out in search of good sweaters to recycle.

THERE ARE SOME SWEATERS YOU CAN'T DO THIS WITH. READ THE TUTORIAL, PLEASE.

The reason I chose these was because they were on clearance at the store I work at, and they were both too small for me to wear. Luckily, I love the colors together, and I can put them to good use as a pink and brown striped raglan sweater of some form. I still haven't worked out the details, but hell... they were clearanced! And to be honest, the only reason I bought them was because I'd noticed them at full-price, and wished I could afford them. Not because I wanted to wear them, but because I knew they'd be perfect for recycling. It paid off, this time.

On top of doing 1,000,000 loads of laundry today, I also checked the finances. Not everything is going according to plan. Damnit. But then I did the dishes! So I'm even, right? Tell me I'm even.

B doesn't like cleaning on Saturday. That's what Sunday is for, he says. Productive things can wait, Saturday is the day for doing nothing worthwhile. What do you think?

Yep, Still on THAT Topic

I might have been being overly apologetic when I wrote the last post - just like I was overly angry when I wrote the one before that.

Like you guys, I've been thinking about it a lot. I've spent many hours in the past few days just thinking about what the hell those people are thinking when they take their ideas about marriage and they warp them so much. It's completely different than the way I view happiness, and it feels like an affront to my whole being. I know that's not how they meant it, but that's how it feels.

I am angry. Like you guys, I'm glad I came across it. I'm not happy that it's taking up so much of my time to think about. I'm not particularly satisfied with the way other people love. But I'm happy that it gave me a window into the way other people live their lives. It's made me happier than ever to be with Bruce. I'm happier than ever that I held out for the person who was exactly right for me.

There's not a teensy, miniscule chance that I would ever be happy in a relationship like the ones I see described in some of those stories. Not a chance. I feel like I'm fortunate to have someone who doesn't look at my body as a status symbol. I'm happy in a relationship where I can make independent decisions on how to live my life - I feel that my relationship is strong because my partner believes in me. Believes in my equal role in our lives. After a few days' thought on the subject, I can say I'm happy for those folks, too.

I'm happy that they found people who agree with their view of marriage as more of a "contract". I'm happy with them for not settling for someone who would not live up to their expectations of beauty or of aptitude. I'm happy that they found people who they feel will push them to meet those expectations in themselves. If they need those pushes, then it's good they found someone who will constantly keep them in check.

Mostly, I'm happy that I didn't freak out and marry someone who would expect things of me when I was young and thought I should just get married. I'm glad that I had the guts to leave the relationship I had that was like that, and spend my time in solitude*. I'm very happy that I stuck to my guns and held out for my kind of partnership, even when the going got tough and I felt like I might not ever meet him.

What I'm trying to say is that I'm happy that she married that bastard, 'cause I sure as fuck wouldn't.


*excluding Lisa, but we weren't that close. We're not, despite popular belief**, lesbians.

**popular belief simply because we didn't like creepy drunk guys slobbering down our (collective) cleavage enough to find a ditch somewhere*** and just do it with them.

***True story. One of us actually got propositioned to find a ditch somewhere and just do it. How romantic, right?

Now, With More Patriarchy Blaming!

Here's the post on MIM's site, the one that spawned all of the Other Posts. Oh, and here's MIM's Follow Up.

Here's something else I think you will enjoy. So, er, Enjoy!

I was slightly inebriated last night when I wrote that last entry, and I hadn't meant any anger to be directed at any one person. I am still angry, but I was never mad at L., because the only reaction I had to her story was sadness.

I am angry with the very idea of checking in with your husband before you change yourself. I am married, but first and foremost I am myself. There is nothing he will ever do to express his personality that could make me love him any less. I expect the same from him, and this is why I married him.

Because Bruce and I have a loving, friendly relationship, I will sometimes ask his opinion on the ideas I have for my hair. (This is an example, bear with me.) I will not tolerate him telling me that it's not fair for me to want to get a haircut, because he signed up for me with long hair. That's absurd and medieval. I didn't want him to cut his hair off last summer, but when he said he really wanted to I did it for him.

God, if he stayed exactly as he was when we got married for our whole lives, I would divorce him. I mean, how boring is that? He "advertised" himself as a dynamic, ever-changing personality, and it's just "unfair" of him to stay exactly as he was.

But Seriously, Guys

What the fuck?

I mean no disrespect for women who chose to marry men that care more about weight than they do, but I told myself long ago that the person I married had to be someone who cared less about my appearance than I did.

I suppose it's lucky for me that I fell in love with someone who thinks I'm sexy no matter what, huh?

No, fuck that. I married a man that I chose to fall for. Part of the reason I allowed myself to fall for him is because he's not hung up on what size of pants I wear.

You know what? I don't want to be hung up on the size of pants he wears, either. I love him just the same, so what's the difference? We already motivate each other to exercise, and if it got down to it, we'd focus more and get things done.

Point is, I don't want him to think about my extra pounds any more than I think about his - which is never. I want him to love me for me, and I think I married the perfect guy for me.

How about you all?

Scientific Experiment

Glass 1: My head feels a little lighter. I'm still knitting with lots of precision (not much required out of straight stockinette sock, after all. I'm craving my second glass, and I've got 1/4 inch still in there. I was struck by a sudden fear that we missed House yesterday, what with all of our watching The Sopranos on DVD. We're stuck watching the seasons as they're available to us at the video store. But hey, any Sopranos is better than no Sopranos, eh? I liked last Sunday's episode. The Amazing Race is back on after commercial, must go watch. (9:37PM)

Glass 2: I'm 1/2 inch from the bottom (9:58) and I'm going out for a smoke. I've decided that I need to bring with me a book that's easy to read, one of my practically free chick-lit books from this christmas when I ordered a bunch and got them for almost nothing. You know, one of the filler books that they didn't really like, but they packaged them with some good ones to hopefully sell the whole thing at a higher price. Man, I'm debating keeping in my typos just for the record, but it's too much, and I usually hit backspace so quickly it's impossible to not, you know? Anyway, off for a smoke. Love you.

Glass 3: Quite frankly, I started the book. I read the first paragraph before checking the back or the author's bio on the back page. When I read the second paragraph, I knew the author was british. God, I love me some british chick-lit. There's nothing like it for me. Look at it this way, the Queen's English is the purest form of our language, and I love it. There's nothing so disappointing as opening a book and reading something that could have come from your own mouth (or fingertips). I don't know.

I don't mean to knock books written by americans. Hells bells, you know I've read my fair share. I love them, but there's a totally different feeling to the ones written by the british. There's an added attraction that you can't find in books written here. It's a whole nother language to master, a whole different tone to adapt to, a whole nother world.

I started this book not liking the fact that the author hadn't stated where she's from, but I'm getting an inexplicable high from the small phrases that made me certain of her history.

It isn't the dialogue, though I'm sure that would tip it off even sooner. No, it's the phrases like "grubby dressing gown", "It would be obvious in a moment that someone was unsuitable", and thinking of the nights that he and Smith spent mindlessly hopping through forty-seven cable channels without talking" that I love. Those sentances just aren't constructed by people who live in North America. Not even you, Canada. I've read your books. They're not as satisfying to me.

You know what I hate? I hate people who adopt that fake-o english stuff, expecting that people like me will fall down at their feet for being quazi-british. That's bullshit, and I'm calling them out. You tea people are included. Screw you and the faux british you rode in on.

Now I'm reading blogs. Please excuse my wandering. I feel like I'm leaving you all hanging, but really you'll keep reading like no time has past, won't you? The time is now later. (10:37) I'm still on glass #3, though that will end soon. I've got about 1 inch remaining.

1/4 inch. (10:40.) Please remind you to tell me (or me to tell you, whatever works) about the sweet high school boy who stalked me last year in Lawn and Garden and how I finally confronted the issue that lay between us - namely that I am not 18, am married, and am really very too old for it to be legal to fancy him and especially too married to entertain the thought. It's a very good story. I promise.

Glass 4: Just gone out for another smoke.

(10:54.) I don't know if you've realized it, but the reason I'm reading this fine british chick-lit is that it takes a lot less effort than the (sturdy? What's the word for the other book I'm reading?) novel that I'm reading. It's still good, and that should say something, right? Although, I'm getting a little drunk now. Can feel the effects, and so forth. Still reading that one blog I talked about before, without really talking about it. You know, the one I actually hate? Haha, how fun.

(11:08) Feeling nostalgic. David Letterman just got laughs for claiming that Wisconsin is america's dairyland. How idiotic. No reason for laughing, folks. It's the damned truth.

Glass 5: Thought for a minute I'd missed glass #4, but there it is, clear as day. Thank God for the experiment, or I'd be lost. Going to smoke now. (11:23.)

(11:35.) Talking to an old friend. I love my friends across the world, and look forward to hearing good things from them. At times in my life, if I didn't have friends I'd never met, I'd have had no friends at all. Sad, when looked at from a different perspective than mine, but it's true and it makes me happy nonetheless.

Glass 6?: Perhaps I missed a glass here or there. I don't think so, though. Bruce has been at Cam's since before I started drinking. Well, almost.

Going to call Cam. (12:26.)

Bruce answered (12:29.) Am going to finish up conversations with brother (LOVE YOU ROBBY) and maybe go to bed. Possibly. Maybe one more glass. I wish I had more to offer for my brother than just a place to stay. I wish he wanted to live with me just to live with me again. I miss him terribly. We'd love to have him here.

My Dear Little Brussels Sprouts,

How I miss you when I don't hear from you! What happened today that you're sad about? What happened today that made you glad to be alive? What happened today that you were all "Meh," about, but seems sort of cool, now you think about it? What little glorious achievements did you accomplish? What made you want to cry? Tell me all about it, parsnips! I want to hear it all!

1. I woke up this morning and went to the evil store in my red hat. When I got there, I caught sight of myself in a mirror and realized that either that really cool girl who told me it was cute was lying, or I've become un-cute enough to make it ugly. Either option is sad.
2. I woke up to Bruce telling me that it was 8:00. I had a minute of disappointment at having to get up before I realized that I didn't have to work today. Having a day off feels nice. So does being woken up and then realizing you can sleep as long as you want.
3. I finished "Little Altars Everywhere" and while it's not as good as "Divine Secrets", it was ok. I love finishing a book, though. So that's cool.
4. I braved the video store early this afternoon. Although you'd think that the traffic would be calmer on a Tuesday afternoon than on a Friday evening, this is not so. Even though the amount of employees there is the same. I can't figure out if it's all the questions/reminders they're required to ask/tell us, or if it's just their level of gross incompetence when it comes to quickly servicing their consumers, but fuck they're slow. Seriously.
5. I watched "The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood", and it made me cry. But you should definitely read the book, there's more to the story and the characters are a lot more complex.

So, tell me about your day!

And here's a few pictures of that dishcloth you were all DYING to see. (You can't fool me, I know nothing excites you more than a dishcloth!)

If any of you knitters are wondering, I just did a really simple repeat, which went something like this:

Cast on 36 stitches
Rows 1&2: k2, p2, repeat to end
Rows 3&4: p2, k2, repeat to end

I contemplated slipping the first stitch of every row, but then I forgot that I contemplated that and then just didn't do it. I knit until I felt like it was almost square and the yellow bits were approximately even on either end. It turned out pretty well. It's kind of pretty. What more do you want from a dishcloth?

Shitty

I know I'm new to the whole online knitting community thing, but I started looking at Knitty before I ever started knitting - sometime last summer - and I thought I had it all figured out. You see, the fall Knitty came out in September, that was up for three months (September, October, November) and then came the winter issue. I assumed it was for winter (December, January, Februrary), and that a new issue would be coming in March.

Was it wrong for me to assume they had one issue every three months? You know, because there are 12 months in a year, and (commonly thought to be, though not in Missouri) 4 seasons every given year?

Really, doesn't that make sense to anyone else? 12 / 4 = 3, no? Three months per season?

Am I the only at the edge of my seat for the online magazine to put out their spring edition? Am I simply being shitty?

Last Sunday,

Along with the rest of the world who's rich enough for HBO, I watched the start of the next (Fifth? Sixth? Who knows?) season of the Sopranos. Let me tell you, it was pretty freaking good. Even for someone who has always been too poor for HBO. Except those years before we had my little brother in tow. Let me tell you, he sucked all the money out of our house. (Just kidding, Robbo. I think the real reason we got rid of HBO was because I kept watching The Twilight Zone and having nightmares about sticks flying at my head.)

[God, this first beer is the best first beer I've ever had. No lie.]

So last night, we decided to rent the first two DVDs of the first season of The Sopranos. We watched the first episode last night before we passed out. (Well, I watched the first episode, Bruce watched the first 10 minutes of the first episode. When it was over, he woke up and we both went to bed. I cast on for a dishcloth while watching, and lo and behold, this morning while watching the next seven episodes, it got finished. How great is that? This is why I love dishcloths - they're so damn quick!

(this is where I'll put the motherfucking pictures when the fucking website starts working again, eh?)

The yarn is plain old Sugar and Cream cotton. It's only about $1.00. Yeah, that cheap.

Ok, kiddos, love ya!

Today is a New Day

I woke up today to find my blog working. Everything is in order. You may continue reading.

Actually, I'm impressed that it saved my post from last night. Who knew?

Here's some celebratory breakfast pictures.

I have some pictures of the Perfectly Good Lawn Furnature, too, but I don't have time to upload them right now. Work sucks.

We were all driving from Cam's house to our house two nights ago, and there was something on the side of the road. Of course, as you all know, I have a hard time leaving Perfectly Good things on the side of the road, so when I saw a full set of wicker patio furnature out there, of course I wanted to check it out. When we drove past again and looked, there was a sign on one of the seats of the chairs that said, "Free Furnature".

Yeah, it was that good.

I have a feeling we'll need to do some restoration to the chairs - they looked a little better in the dark - but they were free! Free Perfectly Good Lawn Furnature!!!

Ok, maybe a few pictures.

Did I Piss Them Off That Much?

Tonight I spemt(sic) the night out with my friends, and I came back to a place where although Taco Bell Nachos apparently thrive, my website is forbidden to access. What the hell is up with that, Internet?

Anyway, I'm off to read some other blogs where I'm not so disgruntled. Good night!

Little Rituals

Every single morning I go through my little dances of things I need to do before I leave the house. Having a house makes this much more enjoyable. I have things to do now, before I leave. Things to wake me up before I get in the car and show up at work wondering why I don't remember the drive.

- Have a glass of orange juice. I never used to like it, would only barely tolerate the no-pulp variety on very rare occasions, and now I like the "Lots of Pulp!" kind. Strange.

- Walk around, open the blinds. My house is big enough and private enough that it matters if the light comes in. This is so refreshing. There are more than three windows. I can't believe there were three windows in my old place. How depressing.

- Feed the cat. He seems to be eating more, running around the wide open spaces of the living room. Maybe I'm just noticing because we're running out of cat food.

What are your little rituals?

I have some exciting news about some Perfectly Good Lawn Furnature that I'm sure Lisa will love hearing about later this week.

Childhood: Part 1

As I've been reading through my books on the Ya-Ya's, I've started coming up with some memories that I want to share with all of you. You see, I was fortunate enough to grow up with grandparents who lived on a farm, and a cottage (not a cabin, oh hells no) within an hour of our house.

All of my memories of summer are wrapped up and kept in the smells of that cottage and that farm. I have the barest of summer memories that don't include the scent of pigs or the smell of a river flowing through the woods. When we weren't at the cottage, or at my grandparent's farm, the summer didn't seem real. Those were the things that defined our summers.

During every week-long summer visit we had at Grandpa's farm, I made it my mission to find THE kitten. It was my goal to find the best kitten, make it very friendly to humans, and socialize it so that it would not be afraid to give us it's kittens in the future. All I wanted was a kitten to love on. I was barely hanging on to the hope that one day there might be a whole litter of kittens who weren't afraid of me. That never really happened.

The one time I can say for certain that my Grandpa was the most proud of me was the summer that I humanized a whole litter of kittens. One of the kittens was a torti, just like her mama, and two were yellow tabbies. I remember, because I was so involved in those kittens that I named them all: Baby was the torti who let me hold her all the time, whenever I wanted. She was my baby. I was about eight years old. There was a yellow tabby, a male, and he wasn't the least bit interested in me. Eyes was a yellow tabby too, and she had a problem with her eyes. The first real knowlege of my grandpa as a tender-hearted man was my mother telling me that he went to the vet (no matter how unheard-of it is, the treatment of barn cats) and was treating her with medication to clear up the infection in her eyes.

The treatment didn't work, poor Eyes didn't make it. She wasn't strong enough, and tough enough for the life of a barn cat. Her sister, Baby, carried on their line for many years, however. She constantly brought me her kittens to show them off - it seemed that I stayed with my grandparents at the perfect time, just when spring was turning into summer.

Just when the barn cats were starting to be more laid-back about leaving their kittens alone for long enough for me to find them, I would be there, with my ninja stealthiness, and with all my efforts focused on finding those kittens. Every part of my mind would be absorbed in finding those kittens, and being a person they could trust. Sometimes it worked. Some of my happiest memories involve those barn kittens.

Good Missing Jesus, Help Me

Every time I have more than three glasses of wine and Bruce is sleeping, all I want to do is leave messages on my favorite blogs and pray and pray and pray until I fall asleep that they like me, they really really like me! Which, actually never ever happens, except for that one time with The Sarcastic Journalist, and a couple of times with Our G&D Lady. And yes, I feel an unnatural attachment to these people. An attachment that sometimes leaves me feeling like crap. Because you see, Internet, I'm not always one to leave comments on peoples' sites. And so you see, Internet, I'm not always someone who gets noticed as being someone who's obsessed with other peoples' lives. But, oh, when I get to drinkin'?! Them's the best times of them all, Internet! Because I can write them witty* emails, or leave them witty* comments, and then they will surely think that I am amazing, and write me back and tell me nice things about myself.

*This is all being thought to myself after at least three glasses of wine, so you can imagine how "witty" I actually am, can't you?

This is, sadly, not always the case. It seems that some of these terribly interesting people are so interwrapped in their interesting lives (which I love to read about, eversomuch, and hope they are always having interesting days to write about, etc.) that they don't really have the time to write back to every little letter. I agree, Internet. For if they would, it would cut back on their blogging time, and that time makes my day aproximately 15 minutes more fun than it already is. I wouldn't want to do that.

So, in my half-drunken state, I would like to offer unto the God of Blogging the following pictures of our pretty kitchen:






And also a few pictures of our sleepy catten, a part of the reason I'm so scared to try to get a pure-bred dog:




(Again with the picture thing. Trust me, it's enough to make me curl my toes and snuggle in up on myself, in hopes that I was furry and half that warm and inviting. Only with less teeth and other sharp bits.)

Doesn't he make you just want to curl up and take a nap?

On that note, I'm (finally) going to bed. Night, y'all!

WWJG?

Taken two weeks ago:


Taken this afternoon:


Refrigerator Jesus is missing. Now all we have to do is ask ourselves, "WWJG?" Where Would Jesus Go?

Pink Blobs! Random-Electronic-Instrument-Sized Hail!

[Some areas of the Ozarks were hit pretty hard, and we were damn lucky. I'm certainly taking a second today to think about the people who have lost their homes or gotten hurt in the natural disasters of the past year. And pray to your Gods, if you see fit. Because if tornado season is starting in March, it's going to hit hard.]

Last night was a little scary. There was this pink blob that kept making like it was going to get closer and maybe hit us, and there were these guys that kept running outside to get pieces of what was falling from the sky to show us and comparing them to odd (but certainly familiarly-shaped) objects. It was strange, and a little bit scary. Bruce and I gathered some supplies for just-in-case, and we set up a little hub in the master bathroom. Some of it was still there when I woke up this morning.



Notice how I took my knitting and my purse. I'm not sure what I thought I would be doing if the power went out, but I'd have my freaking ID to do it with. I'm so practical.

I thought I'd also update y'all with the things I've been doing with my free time. Looks like I forgot to put "The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood" into the sidebar. I must have been too busy reading it. It's a shame, because it sure is pretty.



I'm done with it now, and it's a wonderful book. You simply must read it. I liked it so much that I picked out another of her books at the library today.

I've also been knitting a little bit. I thought it was a lot, but then I realized that it wasn't, it's just that I have been knitting something I never thought I'd get around to: a second sock.



And also a surprise for some of my favorite puppies:



Which I can't divulge. I'm knitting it with this wonderful silk/merino blend I bought off of Ebay a while back. You should feel it. I thought it was soft when it was in a ball, but it's about 6 times as lovely when it's knitted up.

When we were watching the weather last night (we almost got a tornado!), hoping that the pink blobs wouldn't fly over our new house, the weather dude got super excited and kept showing off the pieces of hail that were hitting their parking lot. Apparently, someone's job last night was to run outside when they saw a big chunk of ice and haul ass into the studio so that the weather dude could show it off. I want that job. At one point, the dude was a little excited and couldn't think of any standard hail-measurements. You know, like coin or sports metaphors (dime-sized, softball-sized) and came up with some measurements of his own. Cell-phone-sized hail was hitting their building at one point. Cell-phone sized hail. I about died.

Of course, for the rest of the night, whenever he held up those chunks of ice, B and I made fun of him. "Look, Button, they're getting Pager-Sized hail!"

"Lord help us, they're getting Dildo-Sized hail now!"

Random Loving

I meant to mention this earlier. Like 3 weeks ago. What I wanted to mention was that my little brother is the best person anyone can ever hope to know in their lifetimes, and no one can ever live up to the expecations I have of them, due to him. He is fantastic, genuine, and completely real. If I hold you to a higher standard than you feel is fair, you need to pay more attention to him. He is the reason that I hold the rest of you to such high standards. Fuck, he's the reason I hold myself to such high standards.

Robby, you're Mr. Razzle Dazzle. I love you.

Heartily Disappointed

I just watched the season finale of Project Runway, and Boy, are My Eyes Tired. Of Rolling.

Not for nothing, but when I saw the first episode of Season 2, I made my predictions. And as you all can see, my prediction was totally false. Fuck, Little Miss Two-Face actually fucking won. That's just plain bad. I hope to hell they pull through with the next season, because the one designer I thought had any personality at all - spunk, pizazz, general fashionista bravisimo - was cut first.

You know what really pissed me off? The fact that the guy who didn't have any personality but yet is a fantastic designer got cut, whereas the girl who made a bunch of prom dresses circa 1985 won the freaking contest. Give me a break, people. And I agree with Jess, "what you came up with in 5 months I could have created using my graduation robes and some silly putty", if only I was given silly putty and a freaking 1985 Teen Magazine when I was 7 to put it all together. What a crock.

And her freaking show at the end? That entire, "I don't mean to sound like a bitch (paraphrased), but I totally feel like I won already," that was total grounds for me hating her fucking guts for the rest of my life. The fact that she designed clothes I wouldn't wear if my long happy life, and the long happy lives of my friends for as long as we all shall live should depend on it even if the year was Dynasty-Fashioned, well... That just makes it worse.

But I do have to say, I will always Love Jay. Jay was perfection. I think it will be hard to live up to his fashion and his just plain entertainment plateau. As a whole, he's a whole lotta dude who's got the heart of me, and there are rare few who can even try to accommodate the place in my heart.

Tomorrow? Pretty pictures of our kitchen.

Photo Friday: Red

________________

I told you all before about how much I enjoyed cleaning the empty apartment. What I mean by that is that although I enjoyed it much more than cleaning a FULL apartment, it was still cleaning and inherently evil. Guess what, though?

When we turned in our keys on Tuesday, the apartment manager complimented me several times on how great a job I did cleaning the place. She talked about it for far longer than I was comfortable with (my face was bright red and would have made a good picutre for today's Photo Friday, but there are times when one cannot just whip out the camera and photo onesself), and then she offered me a job. Cleaning empty apartments. Because I'm obviously so good at it. We walked out of there, and the first thing I said was, "Oh my god, I have to call Mom!" And I did.

Thank you, Mom.

Saturday: Settling In (The Real Post)

Well, Saturday was a day for getting things together in the apartment. We arranged the furniture the way we wanted it, got all the electronics set up, and tried to invite people out for a party.

In the meantime, I was going through some of my old clothes and found this:



It's a nightie (or whatever you call those things) that my friend Misty found in the laundry while I was living with her in 2003. She assumed it was mine and left it on my bed. I assumed she was making some sort of weird lesbian request of me and put it on her bed. Then we finally caught up with each other and neither one of us knew from whence it had come. So I kept it. The End.

I also found part of my senior prom outfit:



I was going to make a joke here about how those were the best prom-jeans ever, but I realized that it's not really funny. I think those gloves and the shoes (also in my closet, by the way) are the only thing that fits me of that prom outfit. The only other thing I wore was my dress. I figure 2 out of 3 ain't bad. Right?

Oh, the housewarming party? The housewarming party didn't happen. So we did what any couple would do when finding out that no one loves us enough to answer their phone, we went to the bar instead.





And then I said something that got misunderstood and I got upset because I was being misunderstood and it was one of those things where I was just drunk enough to not be able to stop crying once I got started so we had to leave. And go to Taco Bell.



You haven't truly lived until you've been drunk and unable to stop weeping while ordering your nachos. Trust me on this one.

Saturday: Settling In

To be talked about tomorrow, when I'm awake and coherent enough to type.

Also: The super-fantastic compliment from the bitchy ex-landlord.

See you all tomorrow!

Love,
Sunny

Friday: Moving Day

Bruce has been telling me for over a year how terrible it was to move his giant desk into the apartment. Apparently, some people lost some eyes. Now they have to go around eyeless. It was that bad. So I was a little scared when it came time to get the monster out of there.




Looks like a tight fit, doesn't it?



Yeah, it was that easy. We deducted that the reason it took so long the first time around is that on his last moving day, he and his movers stopped off for some kegerator goodness beforehand.

Here are some more pictures of the move - not too many, didn't want to annoy the movers.





That last one is the last picture of me in the apartment. It's a little sad leaving the only place I've lived in for a whole year that isn't my parent's house. And then I think, actually, it's not.

I also wanted to mention that if you are planning on moving, ever, you should maybe get you two guys who are totally into the moving thing to help. Because they will be rockstars and get everything done (EVERYTHING) in 6 hours and bring the U-Haul back with time to spare. This is amazing. It helps if you plan ahead and are born into a family with a custodian/housecleaner as a mother, so that you derive insane amounts of pleasure from cleaning empty rooms. I swear, this has been my problem my whole life; I don't hate to clean, I hate to clean around things. So now, whenever B wants me to vacuum, all he has to do is clear everything out of the room so that I don't have to move around shit. Easy-peasy, right?

More later.

PS: Does everyone else get as big a kick out of their archives as I do? Sometimes I look back and I think, "Man, I am a rockstar/comedian. Bruce is SO LUCKY." And then there are other times when I look back and think, "Dude, I'm such a booze-hound."

Thursday: Fridge Day

As exciting as it was to look at all those shiny white interiors (and exteriors), we felt we needed a little pick-me-up by the end of the night. Wait, did I say little? Excuse me.



What I meant to say is that we had the sudden urge to drink our weights in beer. Yes, that's Bruce's hand for scale.