NotScarlett

Rant-o-rama

Yesterday sucked. Today sucks more. I am homesick, cranky, upset about a piece of mail that came yesterday, and have found that Simply Sleep does more than make me simply sleep, it knocks me on my ass and makes me groggy the day after I take it. I'm also pissed that even though I SUBSCRIBE to IK, I have not received the latest issue. Oh, and the bird flu is really starting to freak me out.

I thought I was going in to early menopause today when I began having hot flashes. Thankfully, that does not appear to be the case, as I checked the thermostat and it's 82 degrees in my office right now because some people think that we need to have the heat on when the low temp OUTSIDE in the morning is 58. I'm sweating. I feel not so fresh.  I need to buy a fan.  Or beat my co-workers into submitting to my temperature demands. All! Cold! ALLTHETIME!

As you can tell, I'm in a (heavy on the sarcasm here) EXCELLENT mood.

Ick.

I'm combating my all-around ickiness by thinking about the fabulous package I received from my Secret Pal yesterday.

Check it out:

That there is some Debbie Bliss Baby Cashmerino, and some Southwest Trading Co. Optimum, along with beads for my very own Odessa. Do you see that adorable card? And the pin? Brian tried to take the pin. He wants to marry it.

Secret Pal, you rock my world. Thanks for spoiling me rotten, your package came just when I needed a little pick me up!

Now I am debating on my plans for the evening. I can either a.) go home, do laundry, walk the doggies, go to the gym, and come home to knit while watching House, or b.) go home, open bottle of wine, sit on couch with doggie, drink wine and knit while watching House.

It's a tough choice, with the icky mood I am in.

Tomorrow should be interesting. I'm the only Catholic in my 130 person office.  I have a company luncheon to attend, where I will be interacting with our subcontractors, vendors, etc. If you are there, look for me. You'll be able to spot me easily, I'll be the only one with the dirty forehead.

Tomorrow is the first day of 40 days of no carbonated beverages for Sarah, or, as some people call it, Lent. (If you aren't familiar with Lent, or the idea of giving something up for Lent, you can learn more here....don't worry, it's a non-religious site, I promise you won't be forced to convert to Catholicisim/Christianity if you click it.)

You may think that drinking soda is a pretty lame thing to give up, but I drink A LOT of soda. A LOT. If I could, I'd get my faucet to dispense Pepsi instead of water. NASA contacted me about using all my empty Pepsi cans to build the new space shuttle. One time, Pepsi asked me to do their ads, but that skank Britney beat me out. 

Ahem.

Annnnywayyyy....I was originally going to try to give up sugar and caffeine entirely, hoping that the change would stick after Easter. After thinking about that for a while, I decided that I don't want to be institutionalized for insanity, and revised my plan.  The "no soft drinks and cutting waaaaaaaaaaay back on sugar" thing just seems safer for those around me. 

Wish me luck, and pray that Brian survives.

This is Just to Say: Poetry Monday

The last poem of February....here it is, in both it's orginal form and it's English translation, by one of my favorite poets, Pablo Neruda.

Love Sonnet XVII (or, Manana XVII)

No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio
o flecha de chaveles que propagan el fuego:
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of the carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva
dentro de si, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,
y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo
el apretado aroma que acendio de la tierra.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

Te amo sin saber como, ni cuando, ni de donde,
te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:
asi te amo porque no se amar de otra manera,

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

sino asi de este modo en que no soy ni eres,
tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mia,
tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueno.

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

I'll leave you with some pictures of a place I love, and am feeling particularly homesick for today.

 

from l-r: Victoria Avenue, Riverside, CA. My parent's house, Riverside, CA. Huntington Beach Pier, Huntington Beach, CA.

from l-r: View from a speeding car on the 15 freeway, Norco, CA. Entering wine country, Gaviota/Las Crcuces, CA. San Clemente City Beach Pier, San Clemente, CA.

All pics with the exception of the Huntington and San Clemente pier pictures were taken by me onmy trip to California last October.

D Day

D could be for Destin, where I went yesterday. Or decongestant, or David Cross, or dicky dumb people, or downpour, or dangerous driving conditions, which were all a part of my day. However, I think we all know what D means to me.

DOGGIES.

I never was a dog person. My grandparents had a devil-poodle who bit me on the throat at age 2. At age 7, my auntie's Siberian Husky puppy jumped on me and knocked me down, pinning me to the ground and nipping at me for a few terrifying minutes. These events, among others, sealed my fate as a cat person. I would go as far as to say I HATED dogs. They drool. The stink. They bite. They eat their own poop. Eww. Dogs are nasty. I was all about cats. Someday, I'll tell you the story about the cat that saved my life.

Anyway, in the summer of 2004, I met my new roomie. And her two dogs. I was not happy about the move in the first place, but the dogs were NOT HELPING. There was Tallie, a collie-chow mix, and Jasper, a mini-dauschund. At the time, I was home alone with the dogs a lot, and slowly but surely, they grew on me. These dogs were people dogs. They lived in the house. They liked to cuddle. They were bathed regularly. They didn't eat their own crap. They didn't bite, or jump, and they both adored me. Before I knew what happened, Jasper was sleeping in my room every night, and I looked forward to seeing the doggies at the end of a long work day.

Circumstances changed, and Nina and I moved in January of 2005. The roomie wanted to get rid of Jasper as she was expecting, and was concerned he would be extremely jealous of the baby (he is a bit of an attention freak.) We went back and forth...he was coming to live with me, then he wasn't, then he was....she ended up keeping him.

So there I was, living with my sister, whose work and social schedule meant I was home alone 95% of the time. Brian was still living in Panama City, and I usually saw him every weekend, but the majority of my time was spent by myself. We were getting used to our townhouse and our neighborhood, and I was working long hours. All I wanted to do when I came home was cuddle up on the couch with something soft and warm, and feel loved for a few hours before drifting off to sleep. Y'all, I was LONELY.

Nina asked if I wanted to get a dog. Her friends dog had just had puppies and we could have one for free. The fact that they wouldn't REALLY be free after shots, de-worming, etc. made the idea a little less appealing. So did my disgust at the things I had been hearing at work about people traveling out of state to get a purebred animal when the local news was running daily stories on how overcrowded the animal shelter was at that time. The final straw was the dogs themselves....pitbull-bulldog-lab mix or some other thing that would end up being gigantic. I saw the puppies and they were teeny and sweet, but we don't have a fenced yard, and they would get much too big for our house.

I tried pushing for a cat. I thought, I like cats, cats are easy, and we have room for a cat. No dice. My sister HATES cats. She tried pushing a pitbull. I said no. We went back and forth for a few weeks, and then one day, I came across this. I emailed the link to Nina, telling her that this was an example of the size dog we needed. She emailed me back. She was smitten. We called the rescue agency, and agreed to go to their adoption that Sunday at Petco to meet Cricket.

We got to Petco on Sunday before the rescue had arrived and set up. It was pouring down rain, and we waited about 45 minutes for the "damn dog people" to get there. We agreed we would just check her out, take a good look, and not make a decision right away.

Then, in she came. All pointy eared and wagging tail. Brindled and beautiful, so full of energy. It was love at first sight for me. She was a bundle of energy, and the adoption people asked if we'd like to walk her. That's when Nina noticed how cozy she was with another brindled puppy. We were told that the other dog was Cricket's brother, Thomas. They, and another sibling who had long since been adopted, had been found in an animal shelter in Bainbridge, GA. They were all crammed into one tiny cage awaiting euthanization. Something about them made the adoption lady (who from here on out will be called by her actual name, Jen, instead of ADOPTION LADY) take them home and add them to her rescue organization.

We walked the doggies, who were playful, but sweet and very happy to let us pet and cuddle them. After spending about 30 minutes with them, I asked Nina which one she wanted. Her response?

" I can't decide. I think we have to have them both. I mean, they only have each other, we can't separate them."

When she said that, I got all sappy and thought about how Nina and I are away from most of our family, and in a way, we only have each other here in Tallahassee. I was sold. Stamp that giant "SUCKER" sign right across my forehead.

To make a long story less long, they came home with us that Sunday evening.

That was a year ago this weekend.

(Ironically, my loneliness problem was solved with Nina traveling less for work, and Brian moving back to Tallahassee about 3 weeks later. It didn't matter though, because I was in dog heaven. )

Even though Cricket no longer lives in the same house, she'll always be my little princess dog. I always tell her "Mommy picked you out of allllll the doggies in alllll the world to come live with her and be her baby." Corny, right? I love the fact that she's right down the street. I also love the fact that she's psycho. For real. I've never seen a dog so small outrun a Greyhound. If I could bottle and sell her energy, I'd make a fortune. She loves playing with other dogs, she's ALWAYS in a happy mood, and my sister constantly has hilarious stories to tell me about her weird little Cricket idiosyncrasies.

Obviously, Thomas is now Sampson, who is the love of my life. He is not just a pet. He's more like my child. His personality, his weird quirks, his love of his daddy and their ropey game....everything about that dog just makes me smile. Since becoming a dog person, I find it hard to be in a "down" mood. If I get too sad, or homesick, or grouchy, or irritated, playing with Sampson for 10 seconds cures me. I miss him when I am at work, which is just STUPID because I work 6 miles from my house and usually go home for lunch. A lot of the time when B and I go out, we end up looking at each other after a few hours and saying almost simultaneously, "I wanna go home to Sam."

I keep in touch with Jen, and regularly send her pics of the dogs as well as updates on how they are doing. I thank her in every email for introducing me to my sweet puppies. Seriously, you cannot NOT love either one these dogs. They each have their own unique personality, and the love they give makes up for all of those chewed up flip flops. Plus, they are really, really, ridiculously cute.

I adore my doggies. I can truthfully say they have made me a happier person and enriched my life beyond all of my expectations. That's why for me, D is for dogs.

See how much my kids have grown??

Young Cricket

Young Sam

Cricket Today

Sampson Today

Happy Dog-versary to me and Nina!

Just call me Oscar

Yesterday I went on an impromptu field visit to one of my job sites. I walked in to the house, and marveled at how wonderfully the tile subcontractor had made those minimal grout lines in the shower wall tile. I was impressed at the fact the granite installer had wiped down the countertops AND cabinets when he was done. The carpet guy was there, and I was commenting on his skill at doing corners, when everything was ruined.

You see, he was listening to the local country radio station. Now, I enjoy some country music. That usually means Old-Skool country, or (although I HATE calling it this) Alt-Country. I have even been known to sing along to a Kenny Chesney song if the timing is right (its a holdover from this guy I used to date...we'd get drunk, ride dirtbikes, and listen to Tim McGraw and Kenny Chesney. Hey, we do silly things for love, right?) It wasn't the country music that killed me. It was the song that came on.....

Dude. Did he just say, "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk?"

Oh, for fuck's sake.

WHHHHHHHHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?????????

I walked out on the carpet guy, mid-sentence. I got in my car and drove back to the office. I could not talk to another human being while listening to some man sing about a HONKY TONK BADONKADONK.

I so wish I was kidding, believe me.

In light of this disturbing discovery, I'd like to share a few other things that MUST STOP NOW.

1. Brokeback Mountain jokes. The parodies were mildly amusing the first time. The fifty millionth time? Not so much.

2. Dick Button. Uh, yeah. Have you watched any of the Olympic Figure Skating events? There's a reason his first name is "Dick."

3. Lindsay Lohan. Enough said.

In other news, I have Fuzzy Feet coming out my ass. Well, not literally. That would be bad. I am on my third pair in two weeks....my entire family is requesting slippers. The good news is there is a new LYS in town. They are currently a VERY small operation, however, they carry Cherry Tree Hill and Brown Sheep exclusively at this point, so I am finally able to get my Lamb's Pride fix without paying for shipping.

B has walking pneumonia, and is home sick for the third day this week. I was not aware that symptoms of walking pneumonia included leaving your dirty clothes in a giant pile on the living room floor and stacking filthy dishes up in the sink instead of putting them in the dishwasher, but hey, you learn something new every day, right? Seriously, keep The Man in your thoughts, and say some prayers that he gets well soon. Seems like one of us has been sick every week since December. And also? If he doesn't get well and I have to keep cleaning up after him? I'm going to beat him.

Oh! Before I leave for my jaunt to Destin, I have a knitterly question.

A dear friend of mine lost her favorite scarf. She tells me it was a silk/cashmere blend, not "fuzzy", and appeared to be handknit. She would love for me to recreate it, but I am stuck on a yarn choice. She's buying the yarn and is willing to pay top dollar, so budget it not an issue.  Any suggestions for a non-fuzzy, super soft silk/cashmere blend?

Poetry Monday

Phew. It's a good thing it's Poetry Monday, because, y'all, I am BUSY and that's about all I've got time to post.

My day would be a lot more productive if the football addled men in this office would stop oogling/discussing the recent photo spread of some of my town's residents in a men's publication. Now, I don't want anymore weird search engine hits than I am already getting so I am not going to mention specifics, but in case you don't know where I live, I will tell you there is a university here; I'll call it EffEssPoo. Some unofficial cheerleaders for the Poo are scantily clad and prominently featured in a magazine this month. We couldn't get through meetings this morning without a EffEssPoo/half-nekkid girl reference every few minutes. Oh, and their Playboy spread (um, no pun intended) will be published soon. I say, flaunt it if you got it, but seriously? 90% of the men I work with aren't ones you want to see slavering over a woman. I'm sicked out. Yeesh.  You may be thinking, "That's inappropriate behavior for the workplace! How DO they get away with that??" Hi. I work in construction. "Nuff said.

On to the poetry!

I've never been  Dickinson fanatic, however, I've always loved this poem. The palpable longing, the impossible situation....it's heart-wrenching. Makes me wanna curl up with a box of Kleenex and some bon bons while sobbing my eyes out.

I cannot live with you,
It would be life,
And life is over there
Behind the shelf

The sexton keeps the key to,
Putting up
Our life, his porcelain,
Like a cup

Discarded of the housewife,
Quaint or broken;
A newer Sevres pleases,
Old ones crack.

I could not die with you,
For one must wait
To shut the other's gaze down,
You could not.

And I, could I stand by
And see you freeze,
Without my right of frost,
Death's privilege?

Nor could I rise with you,
Because your face
Would put out Jesus',
That new grace

Glow plain and foreign
On my homesick eye,
Except that you, than he
Shone closer by.

They'd judge us-how?
For you served Heaven, you know,
Or sought to;
I could not,

Because you saturated sight,
And I had no more eyes
For sordid excellence
As Paradise.

And were you lost, I would be,
Though my name
Rang loudest
On the heavenly fame.

And were you saved,
And I condemned to be
Where you were not,
That self were hell to me.

So we must keep apart,
You there, I here,
With just the door ajar
That oceans are,
And prayer,
And that pale sustenance,
Despair!

I've gotta get back to work. And trying to block out icky man talk about icky things I never ever want to think about any of them having/seeing/doing. Ew, ew, ew.

ETA: Um, some of us forget to credit authors. BAD US! It's Emily Dickinson for those who didn't catch it earlier.

And the winner is....

Remember my little button contest???

I have a winner!

Though there were only THREE submissions, I got lots of wonderful buttons, made by some very talented knitters, and they'll be up on ye olde blog shortly.

Now...on to the winner....

To be fair, I used that wacky random number generator for my three contestants.

Miss Carrie, congrats! You win the yummy Lorna's Laces Shepherd Sock! Please email me with your snail mail addy so I can get your yarn on its way.

I've also decided that because there were so few entries that the other two ladies deserve a lil' somethin' for their fabulous efforts. Rebecca and Renata, in a strange twist of fate, I already have your snail mail addresses, so keep an eye on your mailbox. You'll be getting a surprise from me in the next few weeks.

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for my super cool buttons. I love them all....you guys kick ass. Also in the kick ass category? This. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll totally understand.

OOoooOOOOooooo! I have to tell you what else is kick ass:  playing Boggle on the Internets! I am rapidly developing an unhealthy addiction to online Boggle. It's starting to rank up there with my unhealthy addiction to Totino's Pizza Rolls (cheese only, please), Rollergirls, and really bad historical romance novels.

Thanks for all the kind works about my socks. And also? Thanks to Anne Marie for telling me she thinks I could be a ninja. That means a lot to me because in my world, ninjas rank right up there with robots. I love ninjas.

I leave you with this:

1. Depeche Mode is stil awesome.

2. I'm having fondue for dinner

3. If your an Olympic Knitter, WHY ARE YOU READING BLOGS???? Come on, get back to the knitting! Go for the gold!

Have a fabulous weekend!

ETA: There are a few buttons over there in the side bar. Help yourself, but don't steal bandwidth, bitches. You know the drill.

Also? I'm slowly working my way through a box of Trefoils. I may have to be hospitalized. I CAN. NOT. STOP. EATING. TREFOILS. Stupid delicious Girl Scout cookies.

Feet, glorious feet

We've had some cold weather here lately, and while I love it, the dry air is wreaking havoc on my skin.  In a roundabout way, this is spurring my sock knitting frenzy on. Let me explain.

If you have a penchant for not wearing shoes, and you get really rough heels and those icky thick callouses on the bottom of your big toe, your feet will get really disgusting in the dry months of winter. People will say "Put on some moisturizing lotion and wear thick cotton socks while you sleep" or "Put Vaseline on your feet and wrap them in Saran Wrap for a few hours, it'll soften those babies right up" and you will think 1. I've done the cotton socks, it's not working, and 2. Are you fucking insane? I don't want to put Saran Wrap on my feet, ya weirdo.

Your desperate desire for smooth, cute feet will tempt you to buy one of those scary foot shaver thingies. You will stand holding it in your hand in the Health and Beauty section of your local Wal-Mart, thinking  "I have heard it's bad for me to use this on my feet, but man, they are so rough I could refinish furniture with the bottom of my big toe...what the hell, it will be ok if I use the scary foot grater just this one time. It has a safety guard on it, I totally won't cut myself with that wickedly sharp blade. Smooth feet and non-snagged sheets, here I come!"

You take the foot mutilator home. You slide the freakishly sharp German blade into place.  You prepare yourself and your bathroom for an evening of foot rejuvenation. The first few strokes of the scary foot thingie are ok. You're doing great! LOOK AT THAT DEAD SKIN PEEL RIGHT OFF! Your hand slips and you press down just a bit too hard on that big toe. You cut yourself. Wow, that shit is BLEEDING PROFUSELY! I mean, it's all over the bathtub, running down the bottom of your foot and dripping into a rapidly expanding blood puddle. Huh. So THAT'S what the bathtub would look like if it were pink. Better get some help.

You call out to the boy you live with, calmly telling him to "get his ass upstairs with the first aid kit, stat!" Boy will come in the bathroom, make a snide remark about a crime scene, and ask you what happened. Decision time. Do you a.) think of a really good, non-embarrassing, believe able lie really quickly or b.) tell him that you were shaving down the rough spots on your gnarly feet and accidentally grated off half the skin on the bottom of your big toe?

Although it may be awkward, and he will laugh (hard, loudly, and for a long time), you go with option b. Boy bandages your foot, and asks to see the foot mangler. You show the boy and he says "OH MY GOD, you used THAT on your BODY? Are you INSANE?" You tell the boy to shut up. You then sheepishly ask him to help you get downstairs with your wounded foot. You sit on the couch and start knitting a pair of socks to protect your feet from the dry winter air. That night, you go to bed with your feet slathered in Aquaphor, wrapped in Saran Wrap, and covered in a pair of cotton socks.

Ahem. Not that anything like that ever happened for real. Nuh-uh. Not to me.

I can't stop knitting socks. Check out my latest FO's, all done in the last week and a half.

Click on the 2006 FO photo album over there on your left for close ups and specs.

The roses in the background were an unexpected surprise from my honey. (No, not Sampson, the other honey, Brian. ) We aren't big Valentine's Day folks, and I think the first words out of my mouth were something to the effect of, "Oh no. What did you do? How bad is it?"  It didn't even dawn on me that it was VD (Heh heh, I said "VD") until a few minutes later. Yep, that's the life of romance we lead at Casa de NotScarlett.

Sampson and I watched the hound portion of the Westminster Kennel Club dog show last night. I love me some hounds.  I'm partial to beagles and basenjis for obvious reasons, but after reading this post yesterday, I was even more excited to watch last night. YAY BIRDIE!

I accidentally slipped and fell into a bead store yesterday and somehow ended up with beads to make Odessa. I can't afford to spend money are yarn right this second (um, we won't talk about the Paton's Classic Wool that my local Michael's now carries that SOMEHOW ended up in my cart last night) so I am trying to use some stash yarn. The Fleece Artist Merino my SP sent me has similar gauge, and I also have some Rowanspun DK and KFI Cashmerino as contenders. I'll be further exploring my options later today.

Remember, I'm having that button contest....come on, people...sock yarn is at stake. Your deadline is 8AM EST Friday. Send me some buttons!

This Is Just To Say: Poetry Monday

I have no poetry, no prose, no words to post today. Instead, I give you a picture.

This picture was taken in a parking lot during a weekend trip to St. Augustine, Fl in October of 2004. Brian was checking the battery life on the camera, holding it face down to see the indicator on the back of it clearly. I was standing between his feet, leaning against the door of his truck, looking at the camera with him. He pressed a button, and we ended up with this shot, which we both adore. It's very...US, for lack of a better explanation. To me, it represents togetherness. You may see some beat up Chuck T's, but when I look at this picture, I am reminded of how much I love the guy who accidentally took it.

Nice and sappy, right? Just in time for Valentine's Day.

Oh, and say hi to my dad if he happens to be reading. HI DAD!

I've got some FO's on the way....all to cover ze feets. 

To all you Olympians out there, keep on keepin' on. I'm cheering loudly from the sidelines.

And really? Nobody wants sock yarn??

C is for Contest*

After avidly reading all your blogs and seeing your cool little dealy bobbers like banners and buttons, I decided I wanted a button of my very own for this here blog. So I used my mad search engine skillzzzz to find out how to make a button. Apparently, I lack the knowledge, software, and time to create my own. I've moped about this for months. I know what you are thinking: "Dude, Sarah, seriously GET A LIFE." That does not deter me. I want a button. Maybe a banner too, I haven't made my mind up yet. I definitely want a button though. Definitely.

Anyhow, I decided the best way to get my button would be to have someone else do it for me. Don't leave! I'm giving you yarn!

Here's the deal:

Use your creative powers to make me a button for the good ol' NotScarlett blog. I want lots to choose from! BUTTONS GALORE! Remember, you are really helping ME to help YOU have a fancy-schmancy button on your blog that links to this blog.

I think I just blew my mind.

Anyway, email it to me at pinupkitten7ATyahooDOTcom by 8am EST next Friday, 2/17/06. I will pick a winner by randomly pulling a name out of a hat. Or a mug. Or whatever I have handy.

Oh! Wanna know what the prize is??

Here ya go:

Luscious Lorna's Laces Shepherd Sock in Glenwood. It's sherberty colored goodness. I considered keeping it for myself and telling you the prize was a pack of gum and two quarters to get yourself a soda out of a vending machine somewhere. See the sacrifices I make, people?

Keep in mind I plan on hanging on to any buttons sent in to me and may use them whenever I like. I may get all crazy and mix and match them. It'll be like having a whole wardrobe of buttons!

I know many of you (who am I kidding, EVERYONE IN THE KNITTING UNIVERSE) are participating in the Knitting Olympics. I'm hoping this here contest will give you something to do when you are a.) waiting, waiting, waiting to cast on b.) frustrated with your knitting and needing a break, or c.) too drunk to read your pattern properly anymore.

Ok! That's it! See, I TOLD you there was gonna be a contest. Now go make those buttons! The contest starts NOW!

*Yeah. I'm cheating with the "C", because I got nothin'.

Procrastination

I appreciate the fact that my co-workers missed me and want to come chat with me now that I am back at work. I feel loved. Valued. Respected. Actually, that's how I felt yesterday the first 6 times someone came to "check up on you and see how you are feeling!." Now I'm just annoyed. I can't get a damn thing done. Please leave me alone. Please stop calling me. Please stop "swinging by" my out of the way, tucked in a back corner upstairs, inside a room with two doors you have to have a special badge to get through, thus making it impossible to "swing by" office. I love you too, but really? Go away. Please. Just for now. Let me clear my desk and get some shit done. Then we can hug and I'll tell you all about my projectile vomiting earlier in the week.

I didn't think I would miss Brian while he is out of town for work, but I was mistaken. Last night I kept looking up from the TV and out the window every time I heard a car go by. Sampson did the same. We have this Pavlovian conditioning thing going on where we know Daddy comes home at about 6, and we leave the blinds up just a bit so we can see him pulling in the driveway. Last night was no different, and surprisingly, I felt a little lonely when I remembered he wouldn't be pulling in the driveway again until Friday evening. How did I ever get through the first year of our relationship when he lived almost two hours away and I only saw him on weekends? This just goes to show I kinda like the guy.

Um, speaking of liking the guy? How about that Lost episode last night?

Thank you, writers and producers of Lost, for the magically delicious Sawyer. I love you. Give me more Sawyer. In fact, you can just send him over to my house if you want. He's more than welcome to stay forever. As long as he is shirtless, unshaven, wet, and a little grimy. YIKES....that guy is hot. I am not one to get all excited over celebrities, fictional characters, etc. (with the exception of the super dirty-hot Colin Farrel) but GOOD GAWD PEOPLE....I swear there was steam coming off my TV last night. It nearly melted the pint of Ben and Jerry's I was working my way through really healthy snack I was eating. It's not a Josh Holloway thing, it's the bad, bad man that he plays.  Sawyer, you can con me anytime.

(On a non-Sawyer Lost note, has anyone else noticed that the beep-beep-beepity-beep of the crazy clock in the hatch is the EXACT SAME NOISE the scanner at the supermarket makes? Last night all I could think was, "Oh crap, I need to get milk. And bananas. Hey, did Brian eat the last of the cheese?" Clearly, I have focus issues.)

Continuing with the TV theme, I'm glad the Grammy's are over, because now the stories about this can stop. Don't get me wrong, it's cool. It's great! YAY FOR THEM! But you know how when you are watching TV, and your local news update comes on, and it's like, "Gigantic Spider Eats Family of Seven. Film at Eleven."? Last night, EVERY commercial break had one of those news updates. And every one of them, on every channel, was about that very same story. Now, I watch a lot of TV. Last night, from 8 to 11, I was in front of the tube, knitting away. Let's say each hour long block of TV I watched had 5 commercial breaks. That's 5 news updates an hour. For three hours. This means I had to hear about that same story FIFTEEN TIMES in one night. It's too much. Subtlety, class, and actual news content have never been a part of the local newscasts here, but this took it to another level of insanity.

On the agenda for tonight: felting some Fuzzy Feet, whipping up some baby booties, hitting the gym, and of course, TV. Don't be jealous of my thrill-a-minute, reckless and wild, party girl lifestyle.

Come back tomorrow. Less gripes. And I'm giving stuff away.