Inflammation of the senior

I've been away from my dear ol' blog because a) I have been nursemaiding (badly), b) I was out of town for a couple of days to see my sister and get a chair for the digs-I-haven't-seen-yet (and yes, I know, not see other people who live in the same town whom I love dearly and never see - I'm bad, bad, bad! Hi, Don!) and c) I have actually been doing a wee bit o' the stuff I don't want to do. Sorry. I'm sure it will happen again, though. I'm sure you'll deal.

Yesterday, the Salvation Army refused my donation. Ahem. THE SALVATION ARMY REFUSED MY DONATION. Wow. That can make you feel like a loser. Because, really. Have you seen the stuff they sell at the Salvation Army? And my stuff was good stuff (that I didn't want anymore, but that's neither here nor there). I was somewhat demoralized, what with the sorting, packing, carrying down two flights of stairs (there were six boxes worth -- I tell you, I've been working) and there was no way I was taking that stuff back home. I seriously considered just leaving it in the bed of the pickup until someone stole it. But today I took it all to Goodwill and they took it with a smile. I was nervous, though. I don't think I could have taken it if both places had refused to take my stuff. So my pride is saved. This time.

It's my last week of work and I have whatever the workplace equivalent of senioritis is. Bad. I swear I spent at least as much time today doing interpretive dance as I did working. What? You don't do interpretive dance at work? How do your coworkers ever know what a complete dorkwad you are? I like to have all my dorky cards right out there on the table so there are no awkward silences when dorkiness accidently slips out, like when the PA student spills a gallbladder container and you can't stop yourself from saying, "How do I get this off my hand without betraying my cool exterior?"* Well, okay, there are still plenty of awkward silences, but you don't care as much because you've already established yourself as a dork. And, really, who can keep from doing interpretive dance to certain Duran songs? Or cheering a grumpy coworker by whippin' out the jazz hands for a jaunty "Just Jack!"? Like Colt 45, it works every time.

I found out that the George/Eleni-gan is now officially the George-gan. Yay! Congrats, Em and Deno!

*-Fox Mulder, The X-Files, "Squeeze"
(the episode that made my friend Meredith afraid of her bathroom for months because she had registers just like that)

Hot

It's freakin' hot here, kids. Now, I'm sure it's at least as hot, if not even hotter, in other places right now but the simple fact is that I don't live there. I live here. And it's freakin' hot here, kids. I can be bouncing off the walls at work, but by the time I walk two blocks to get home after work, I am sapped of all energy and have to take a nap. It's bizarre. Today I didn't even mean to take a nap. I just lay down in front of the fan to cool off and woke up and hour later. Now I'm all groggy and fuzzy and all I really want to do is go back to bed. This weather makes me feel like a total loser. Yes! That's right! It's the weather's fault! But for the weather, I would rock.

My niece sent me a link to this blog. I've read it from the beginning and I think it's fake. What do you think?

UPDATE: I knew it. Totally fake.

Adventures in Roll-Back(tm) land.

Let's just say that unforseen circumstances led me to start on a plunger quest at 10:00 on a Saturday night. Now, in Columbia, MO, if you need a plunger at 10:00 on a Saturday night, there's really only one place you can go. Yes, the ubiquitous Wal-Mart. Anyone who knows me knows that I have a deep-seated hatred of said Mart, the details of which I shan't go into here. But, as I have mentioned, it was 10:00 on a Saturday night, I really needed a plunger (you just really can't put things like that off), a Wal-Mart Superannoying Center is right across the street, I still had a Wal-Mart gift card I had gotten for Christmas and, hell, they already had the money, I might as well get some of their stuff. Like a plunger (Thanks, Steve! I love my Christmas present!!).

Here are some things I can tell you about the people who shop at Wal-Mart at 10:00 on a Saturday night.

• There are a suprising number of them. I find this odd, because I, for one, never would have been there at such a time were it not for something pretty emergent, like dire plunger need.
  
• None of them are handicapped and none of them are the kind that will park in the handicapped spots even though they, themselves, are not handicapped. I have seriously never seen such a sea of empty, blue-lined parking spaces in such a full parking lot. Ever. Anywhere.
  
• They tend to be young and travel in packs. As if this were really their hot, group-date Saturday night plan. "Hey, dude, let's pick up the beyotches and head over to Wally World! Oh, and for God's sake, don't forget your cell phone -- it's not like we can actually talk to the people we're with!"
  
• Except for the Asian people who came to get every empty box on the planet. At least two Asian couples (who did not appear to be together) were pushing around multiple carts full of empty boxes (the employees stock the shelves at night, so I guess this is the time to get your empty boxes) while shopping for food. I mean, the cart was already full of broken-down boxes (and I mean full), and yet they were trying to balance their food purchases on top of the cart full of boxes. I so badly wanted to go up to them and say, "Here! In your full-to-overflowing cart! A fabulous invention that will hold your groceries! It's called a box! You seem to know of it's incredible powers, as you have decided to collect four million of them! Perhaps you would use one now!" Alas, I did not. They might have pelted me with boxes. I mean, they had extra.

So, I buys my plunger and I goes on my way. God willing, I will have no further reason to visit said Mart. Especially not for hot Saturday night non-handicapped, group-date, cell phone, box collecting action.

P.S. The plunging was fruitful. In case you were worried.

P.P.S. "PlungerQuest" would be an excellent name for a band.

Broken

Well, I may be, but Gator's foot definitely is. Broken, that is. It's caused him to become housebound and me to discover what a crappy nursemaid I am. Not that I don't want to be a good nursemaid, mind you, but I just don't think it's in me. I think it's the same thing that makes me not yearn for children. Gator says I'm not nurturing. Not as an insult, just as an observation. He's right. He seems okay with it, but it does bother me a little bit.

So I've been attempting to nursemaid. And trying to continue doing all that dread stuff I don't want to do. But now that there's new stuff I don't want to do, the old stuff I don't want to do is really not getting done. Although it might be a good excuse not to nursemaid. There's a logic in there that just might end up being beneficial to me, but I don't think I've quite completely grasped it yet.

So, do I sound like a complete bitch, or what? I think sometimes I must be, but Gator says no. He lies a lot sometimes, though. I suppose I'll go with it anyway.

New Topic: Since I'm quitting my job at the end of this month, I'm trying to make something for everyone I work with. Since making something cool is not really allowable in my timetable, I'm making them knitted dishcloth/facecloths. This is mostly because I already had a bunch made up and they're quick and easy and I don't have to look at my hands while I make them so I can make them while watching movies, etc. I hope they like them.

Old Topic with New Topic Tie-in: I just realized that I just announced that I'm going out of my way to make things for people I've know for just over a year. Right after I'd gone on and on about how I am trying to avoid doing more things for my temporarily crippled husband. I'm a bad, bad girl. Why does anyone like me?

This too shall pass. I know I'm harder on myself than anyone else ever has been or will be (except my sister, Jane, but that's another story).

Saturday Sky

Another beautiful day in Missouri. I like clouds. :)

Okay, I lied

So I didn't go right to bed. No! I found this! If you love this, you understand me! And Gator! It's almost freakin' perfect. Bob, David, and Rush. Dude.

Can you tell...

...that I don't want to do all the things I need to do? Like get the rest of the stuff from the storage unit, sort it mercilessly, likely clean the living daylights out of it, take castoffs to the Salvation Army and find places for the things I'm keeping? Not to even mention the thought of packing. Oh, I'm so not even there yet.

But Cripes, I feel like I just got settled here. I don't even really have this place set up the way I want it and now I have to go somewhere else. I tell you what, if I even remotely like my digs-I-haven't-seen-yet, I'm stayin' there all five years. Moving totally sucks.

So I'm not doing those things I need to be doing. No, I spent the last two days furiously hooking the baby-gan. This afternoon, Gator made an off-hand comment about needing a hand-made coaster for his cubicle. So... guess what I did tonight. Yup. His favorite color is purple and I happened to have some in my stash. I warned him that it was basically going to be a doily. He totally digs it. He's so weird.

And now it's not quite 8:30. I'm seriously considering going to bed. What's wrong with me? Is going into work an hour earlier each morning wrecking me that badly? Tonight, I'll listen to my body. Next week, though... Grrr.

Too tired to be witty

It's true. After spending the entire Fourth of July crocheting and most of the day today (work was so slow that several of us got to leave way early) piecing, edging and blocking, the George/Eleni-gan is finished! And I'm pooped.

Before blocking:


After blocking (yes, it's in the other direction):


Good gravy, I seriously need a better steamer. I've heard good things about the Scunchi (sp). Anyone have suggestions?

Now, totally off to bed. Well, maybe ibuprofen first.

Let freedom (and cuteness!) ring

Happy Independence Day (tomorrow), Americans! Eat some hotdogs and blow some shizz up! You go!

It has been asserted, in an email referencing this post, that amigurumi is, to paraphrase, sickening. In short, it made Missa throw up in her mouth a little (which, while I think this is a horrible thing for her, don't know why she thought it should be a concern for me).

Never fear, laymen. Amigurmi is a Japanese (go figure) word that means something along the lines of "little crocheted doll". I know, you're on the edge of your seats, arent' you? This has become a crochetland phenomenon because a) they're easy, b) they use up scraps and c) they're cute, cute, cute!!! I have only made one so far, and her name is Kiki, and I love her. I have another, completely different, one in the works but I ain't showin' till she's done. Nope, not gonna!


This cuteness, however, seems to turn some people off of amigurumi. I don't understand it, personally. I mean, cute is good! Cute is essential! To survival, even! Babies are cute, or else we'd never want to take care of the squalling poop machines! How can cute make one swallow one's own vomit? Look! Kitties! Cute!! I know some people who like to think they're tough and cool who lurve them some kitties. As well they should. Nay, I think I shan't associate with them that don't lurve them some kitties.

But it's a natural progression, don't you think, from one form of cute to another? Kitties = cute. Japanese ultracute renditions of kitties? Yep, still cute. Little crocheted doll renditions of Japanese ultracuteness? Totally cute. Observe:



Where does the cuteness factor break down? It doesn't. Cute is cute! Cute is good! Long live cute! Are you in need of cute therapy? Because cute is the new cute, people. Deal with it.

A day late...

I had planned to do this yesterday. Really I did. See, Saturdays are notoriously slow here in blogland, so Sandy came up with this idea: Saturday Sky. Folks just post a picture of the sky each Saturday, and then we can go around and look at what the sky is doing all over the place. Okay, so it's not earth-shattering, but it's kinda neat. And you know me, I'm always afraid I don't have anything to say. Once in a while I'll let the sky do my talking for me.

So, you're noticing, it's actually Sunday. Yes, well. I had to go into work yesterday then the M-i-L announced a family picnic in the afternoon (95 degrees F and screaming children -- woot!) and the day just got away from me. So my premiere Saturday Sky is a Sunday Sky. I imagine we'll all live.

Here's my sky! It's a beaut today!