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Best Compliment, Ever.

JWo has a thing for Gwen Stefani. If she had big knockers, she'd be a serious threat to Jennifer Tilly in the JWo-Hotpants-DeathMatch.

It was a year or two ago, but I still remember it, because it was an awesome compliment.... I think I was whining a little about myself, and he just said, "But, Jennifer, you're EXACTLY like Gwen Stefani! You're just not blonde & skinny!" And knowing my hubby likes the bigger-boned gals anyway, that was the best compliment, ever.

Now I need to assemble my posse of Harajuku Girls. And find a drum majorette uniform.

I Could Have Sold Pencils While I Wore It

James has Parent-Teacher Conferences today & tomorrow - long days for him, and every year, I have my flashbacks to PTCs of my own. I used to dreeeeead them. Dread, dread, dread. Sitting there with my parents (or sometimes, just my Dad), listening to everything about me, categorized, summed-up, and presented for consumption.

It's not that I was a terrible child, or student. Quite the opposite - but I wasn't perfect, and while perfection itself was never stated as the "goal" in our house, excellence, striving to do better, and outpacing everyone else were the desired accomplishments. To me, in those meetings, the things I was already doing well were in the "yes, fine, that's expected" pile, and the areas of improvement were cartoon-like huge. I've spent a lot of years since trying to find a bit more balance.

Not surprisingly, there were always two areas that got addressed during my Tour of Duty through the public school system - but the surprising part was how much I actually didn't care about them. Even in 4th grade. I felt terrible about being called on the carpet for them, the embarassment & fear I might be in trouble, but the actual behavior? PFFFT?! What-EVAH, bitches. That behavior being, of course, excessive socializing (talking, passing notes) and being unorganized/messy.

I laugh, remembering that particular 5th grade PTC. It was just my Dad, and Mrs. Haller, the disciplinarian from hell, who proudly displayed a paddle each year with the warning she WOULD break it over someone's butt that year. Oh, and she did. She of the long fake fingernails that would dig into your shoulder, or grab your ear. (You youngsters today have no idea what you missed out on! LOL!) The topic came around to my desk. I can still see it. I have to laugh at the memory of that image: of course I would take a 12" x 24" space, meant to house just a pile of books & notebooks, and turn it into a Vortex of Chaos. Papers hanging out, everything about it said "disheveled". So they started cooking up a threat for me, how could they make me more organized? And my father turned and looked at me and said, "We'll have you wear a sandwich board that says, 'I AM A SLOB'." Of course, Mrs. Haller agreed whole-heartedly with THAT one, because I already had enough issues fitting in, surely this would be the motivation I needed to keep my desk clean.

Now, before you get too worried, I never had to wear a sandwich board. And it did worry me a little, though I think I looked at my father with eyes that said, "Are you fucking kidding me? SURELY not, dear father." But mentally, I was already thinking about how I could possibly SIT in my desk chair while wearing a sandwich board. (Could I set it to the side at times? Hang it off the front of my desk?) And how I'd sit at the lunch table, or how I could play on the swings at recess with it. Because for me, it wasn't a question of changing that messy-desk behavior, it was how I was going to adapt to these new challenges placed upon me.

Did I ever mention before that "stubborn" also came up a lot at these conferences?

What's That Hissing Noise?

Oh, yeah, that'd be me. Back in the day (when I lived in Minneapolis), I got completely screwed over by a TiresPlus store. You know, because you don't have lumpy bits dangling betwixt your legs, it means that you should be subjected to talked-down-to instructions & it should cost a lot.

So we got in the habit of hissing like a cat at all TiresPlus locations. You know, teeth bared, hands up like claws (boy, don't I have that theme going this week. Fits right in with all my knitting.) And a spit-laced back-of-the-throat hissing. Extremely attractive. Effective in making people stop and steer clear of you, though.

So, I'm having sortof a rough week - mostly large heaps of work & a rather strong disinclination to work every minute of the day. And I find myself wanting to just HISS at everything, as a stress-release. I did have a good reminder yesterday, though, to put it all in perspective. I thought about what I'd be doing in my old job right now? And it makes my current stuff look like prancing through gardens of flowers in springtime. Like a big clumsy tiger, that's me!

SSSSSSSSSSS! So there!

He Was Off By One Letter....

Einstein = Mega Knitting Squared.

Seriously. My hands are going to be permanently clawing at the world like Lobster Boy by the time I'm done knitting this jacket. (The Einstein Jacket by Sally Mellville, in the Knit Stitch book...) DAMN me for not being itty bitty! It's acres of garter stitch that you knit, turn, pick up more stitches & magically you end up with a coat! Right now it looks like an afghan gone bad, in a heap on the loveseat, where I sit with it, each night. It's been two weeks, and I've got the lower body done, the front & back panels & have just begun the first sleeve. Once that's done, it's collar time, and finishing! Good thing, because I'm refusing to wear a coat right now, and that's rather stupid, since we slid from unseasonably-warm days, to freeze-your-face-off days with no in-between.

More fall leaves pictures to come, too.

One-Upping

My blog (gladly) got discovered by Heidi a while back, and because we used to work together, we have a bond no Hurricane Wilma can break. I haven't seen her in a few years, in fact - and a fact that will hopefully change soon. After all, when you work with kindred spirits in this advertising business, your connections are forged like airline titanium, or ten-year-old blood-brother boys with pocketknives. It's a connection not even your spouse can crack, unless they, too, are employed in the Evil Empire. All you have to say is, "Motherfucker (client) (supervisor) (project)" and it's as though a large gong in a far-off land has been struck, one that we were trained in our cribs to recognize when The Time Comes. You just Get It. I realize this isn't inherent to advertising, either - whatever particular industry you're in, the common pitfalls, hilarity and issues interweave you together with people you might not have ordinarily known or shared experiences with.

So that brings me to my point, which is that Ms. Heidi posted a quick entry titled, "I know someone who’s been to a prostitute." And then, all she said was, "Oh, come on people, I didn’t get details." We-he-he-ELL, pardon me for taking off my hat & stayin' a while, but curl up your feet & take a listen to MY story. For I know someone who's been to a prostitute. At least a couple of 'em, in fact. The man in question & I used to work together, and there were many happy hours-turned-into-evenings with our crew & I heard a lot of funny stories in my tour of duty at that employer. In fact, he was on a work-related trip in San Francisco, where he availed himself of the services from "the most beautiful woman he'd ever met". Yeah, I rolled my eyes, too. You can think "Pretty Woman" and romanticize the working-girl industry, but then I give you THIS story, from the same guy: He also availed himself of a little :cough: oral pleasure from a Working Girl over on Independence Avenue. He extolled her "skills", but then revealed this gem: "I'm not sure now if she was a man or a woman. I was really, really drunk." I absolutely loved to give him shit about THAT one.

Thankfully, he's quit drinking, been sober for several years now, and presumably, no longer feeling the need to pay for services rendered. If not, I hope that at least now he can spot the drag queens.

Dyeing Adventures

Yesterday, some of the knit crew gathered on our back patio & began a very exciting adventure: hand-dyeing our own yarn. It was blustery cold, and at times, raining. So we had some outside circumstances contributing some challenges! But Kristin was an awesome teacher, and we learned a ton on how to do the dyeing, the different processes, and all the steps to creating our own versions of the $30 skeins you buy in the store!

My focus was on dyeing sock yarn - I have some merino worsted, as well, but I think I'm going to wait for another day. I wanted to learn & experiment, and see what might work, and what might result in something dreadful, before I ventured in to creating wool for an entire sweater. (Kudos to the ladies who jumped in with both feet, though! They'll be knitting sweaters soon!) I'm happy to say that I absolutely love each skein I dyed, for they are each very different, but were really fun in their own ways. I have four complete skeins, with a fifth partially-dyed & needing more done to it - it can wait until next time. We used acid dyes, and didn't do a whole lot of mixing/experimenting with shades, since we had a nice assortment to start with. The sock yarn also can be used for lacey-type scarves, and one or two might become that, instead of footwear.

Here are the skeins! They are all on my Flickr page as well.

My first skein, definitely looking a lot like the landscape around us right now!


Beth is a saint, for she created the enormous skeins for self-striping sock yarn. Purple, Orange & Red. Pippi Longstocking, get out of my way.


I love these colors...they are what I gravitate towards. I'd like them a bit brighter, but again, for a first-time out-of-the-box adventure, I'm happy!


My last skein, half-immersion (purple), half-handpaint. Jungle Fever, baby!


And yes, after 5 or so hours of dyeing, eating, tidying up, etc., I collapsed & took one of those naps that feel like you've been professionally sedated & when the phone rang & woke me up, I had no idea 1. where I was, 2. what day it was, & 3. what time it was. Later, when I went to bed, I even beat James to the Land of Nod, and he almost always falls asleep before I do. Play dates tucker me out! And yet I'm already looking forward to doing it again soon!

Blazing Toes. Look Out.

Courtesy of Wild Scorpy, another fun quiz! You can get your Superhero Identity here....

Your Superhero Identity For Today Is:

Name: Silver Sister (True, true, I do not wear gold. Platinum would have been better, though.)

Special Power: Blazing Toes (Need a light? Hang on. Must take off Crocs. Lifting up leg ....and..... I've toppled over. Hold on.)

Transportation: Quantum Minivan (oh yes, nothing says Superhero like a minivan. No offense to those who drive them. Remember, my dream vehicle's a station wagon.)

Weapon: Quantum Spear (I guess I have thing for the Quantum brand.)

Costume: 100 Percent Cotton Helmet (For breathability! It is, after all, the fabric of our lives. Wait, do I only wear a helmet? That's scary.)

Sidekick: Bobo (ah sweet Bobo. Good monkey! Fetch mommy a daiquiri.)

Nemesis: Harold the Unspeakable (Why are we speaking of him again? :arched eyebrow:)

Tragic Flaw: Addicted to yogurt (uh, yeah. For the culture.)

Favorite Food: Cashews (Mmm! The only nut that cannot be sold in its shell! Show off your smarts & tell us why not!)

The Striptease of Fall

I've mentioned it before, and I have to say it again, this is absolutely the best time of year for my commute. Each day, the transformation of the trees that line Ward Parkway bring new changes, new colors, and very soon, the riot of color will explode, and then shortly thereafter, be gone.

In my mind, Mother Nature is the consummate striptease artist. And only in the classy sense, like a coy can-can dancer from the paintings of Toulouse-Lautrec. Her Fall dance starts out with a hint: just a slip strap, peeking out from her clothes, pressing in to a freckled shoulder. Then a glimpse of lace hem, creeping out from below, a shock of bright color drawing our eyes in. We hardly know where to focus, when will it all be unveiled? What will the ultimate palette of colors be? Will it take our breath away, anew? That is the mystery we anticipate, holding our breath. Once she is clad in her swirl of reds, golds, browns and oranges, we watch, transfixed, for we know, as all years before this have taught, we will blink before the music stops. And she will slip behind the back curtain and be gone.

In Which I Get Serious For A Minute.

I saw this online this morning. I don't know if you have to register to read it, but my reaction boils down to two words: Absolutely Dreadful. Yes, that's an American Idol quote, but honestly, it's what I first thought, and not in Simon's voice. We have had an enormous jump in our homicide rate this year in Kansas City, and the notion that people are buying t-shirts to support staying SILENT about those deaths is revolting. Just because most of those deaths are happening in "one part of town" doesn't mean it's not our problem. It's everyone's problem. And I have no idea what I could do to change it, but at least I'm mad about it.

Fear is the ugliest, ugliest thing in our society. It makes people do the wrong things, prevents them from seeing the right things, and keeps those lines drawn along street names and income lines.

I often lament the rapid decline of responsibility, and James finally snagged one of the reasons: we have children of the children who were babies having babies. Got that word trail? Sure, we gave options for taking care of your child while you stayed in school. We've got WIC so you don't starve. But the parenting broke down. Parenting is where you learn responsibility and accountability and rules and consequences and in the absence of that, you stay stuck in a teenage mentality. Without a support system, you don't leave that mentality, either. And that's the full circle on the "don't snitch" link up above. I wish to God I had the answer, without sounding like an Aldous Huxley novel, re-programming people, sending them to boot camp, mandatory schooling.

I'm definitely in a "Rail-At-The-Sky" place this week.