BO-RING!!!

My life lacks excitement right now. My days consist of work, internet, knitting and sleep. Wow!!!! I'm a barrel of laughs for the entire family!!!

While the general blandness of my life is perfectly fine for me, it makes for very, very little blog fodder. I don't write about work and even if I did write about work, there's nothing fun or interesting going on there. The only interest there comes from me wondering who my secret Santa is and really, that can only take a girl just so far. I can't even write about what I'm knitting as even my knitting is boring. It's all garter stitch washcloths and socks (though I really can't fault the socks...socks are ALWAYS fun). For the sake of cheap Christmas gifts, I'm making my grandmothers both some washcloths out of cotton I already had. Not even the yarn is exciting! I had to put the plain sock aside to make the aforementioned cotton nonsense, so I can't even break the monotony with a heel turn or a toe decrease. GRRR!!! All my exciting knitting is taking a back seat to the knitter's version of a lobotomy.

Still, I'm writing a little something. This is mostly because I really need to write on something that isn't on MySpace. I also decided that I really need to write more here because it's a waste of space otherwise (and no one else should be able to take my MinxyLand name due to me deleting all the shit I've written here). Also, I figure that if The Professor can blog to keep himself on track with his dissertation, I can certainly blog for the hell of it. Using his reasoning for blogging to keep the proverbial fire under his ass (haha, I almost quoted him perfectly on that), knowing that someone is reading this does indeed help with keeping posts going. They may not be much, but I'm thinking that the more I write, the better I'll be at coming up with topics. The topics themselves may not be interesting or at all relevant, but I say fuck it. I have one reader and I don't think he'll mind if my blogs suck.

Snow Day

Tufts of lovely white snow cover the porch, the lawn, the hill across the road. The bare trees now are half-covered in a layer of frozen goodness. This is why I love winter--the utter beauty in leafless trees and dead lawns being concealed by wonderful snow. It's as if nature is telling us to look at something new and brilliant while the plants rest for the season.

I love snow and cold weather. Most people think me insane when I say that I love those two things. Snow they usually understand, because it's pretty. It's the cold that makes people wonder about me. So I tell them that I suppose I'd almost be required to at least like cold weather as there can't be snow without cold. Otherwise it'd just be rain and while I like most forms of precipitation, there's something special about snow. It's fluffy, fun and fantastic. But, alliteration aside, snow is a link to a happy time in my life: Christmas vacation and snow days.

Winter days off from school were always a favorite of mine. My sister and I (and my brother when he was old enough) would suit up in our snow gear and play for hours outside. Lop-sided snowmen, snowball fights and even a doomed-to-failure igloo were among our many chilly exploits. The coldness never bothered me. Truth be told, I enjoyed the crisp feeling of below-freezing air in my nose and lungs. I could've stayed outside forever back then, but Mom wouldn't let us. She seemed to think that food was a good thing for growing children, so she made us come inside for lunch or dinner. (That was my other favorite part of snow days, going into the warm house after playing in the cold snow. Both activities were equally exhilarating to me.) So we'd go inside, hanging up our snow pants and coats, laying our snow-crusted mittens and hats next to the wood stove to dry in the warmth. Mom would have sandwiches or soup waiting for us. These are the things I think of when it's cold and snowy. Winter has always made me happy.

Excitement!

Saturday mornings are for knitting. Every week, I go to my local yarn shop, Malley's in the Yarn, and knit with the owner, Stephanie, and anyone else who happens to stop by. I love the yarn shop. I understand that the concept of loving a place that sells only yarn and yarn-related paraphernalia may be a bit lost on those who do not knit, crochet or take part in some other type of fiber art involving yarn. However, to step into a yarn shop is to step into the most wonderful place in the world. There are so many different types of yarn, from wool to angora, one-ply to boucle, natural fibers to synthetics all in more colors than anyone even dreamed existed. A well-organized yarn shop is a fiber rainbow and feast for the eyes.

Last week, Stephanie told me that she had ordered some new yarns, but she wasn't expecting them until early January. I'd asked because she'd mentioned previously that she was going to order some sock yarn that was all acrylic, which intrigued me because I am a sock knitter who knows people with wool allergies. To my surprise, I stepped into the store and saw the tell-tale bags of yarn that indicated a new shipment had arrived. Stephanie said, "Go check out the new yarn," and of course, I couldn't resist. All of it was wonderful, but I was most excited to see a bag of the acrylic sock yarn (Berroco "Comfort Sock" yarn) over by the sock yarn shelves. It was so soft, it didn't even feel synthetic. And it was my favorite shade of dark gray. I forgot to ask what the price was on the acrylic yarn, but Stephanie also pointed out a wool/nylon sock yarn from the same company (Berroco "Sox" yarn) in fabulous colors and the price was outstanding. It's by far the best bargain for sock yarn in the store. Hence my excitement. I'm such a nerd; I get excited about yarn.

The Death of Christmas

This is not my favorite time of year. I hate Christmas with the fire of a thousand suns. Yeah, I know that seems a bit extreme, but I stand by my statement. I originally was going to vent about how Christmas has been so bastardized by greed and gluttony, but I've changed my mind. Instead, I'm going to write about when Christmas lost its magic for me.

When I was a little girl, I loved Barbie dolls. Every year, all I wanted for my birthday, Christmas and Easter was a new Barbie doll. I received so many over the years of my childhood, I could populate a Barbie commune with them. When I was 7, I remember going to school one day (after being out for a couple of days with a nasty black eye) and opening my exceedingly messy desk to find a birthday/get well present from one of my classmates, Sarah. It was a lovely Barbie in a pretty summer dress with blue shoes to match. I was thrilled. I proudly carried that doll home and showed my mom what Sarah had given me in school. I believe that was the beginning of people regularly giving me Barbie dolls as gifts for birthdays and Christmas. I'd say that most often, they were Christmas gifts, but let's face it, that was twenty years ago and my memory is a little fuzzy.

Flash forward from when I was 7 to when I was 11 or 12. This was the ultimate year of the Barbie. Between all the relatives who gave me gifts, I managed to accumulate four brand-spankin' new dolls for Christmas. I'd never had that many new Barbies at one time, I didn't know which one to play with first. Ah, such excitement from molded plastic and tiny articles of polyester clothing! I was, and still am, so easy to please. I thought for sure the number of dolls I would continue to receive would only increase as I got older. I never once thought the splendid feeling of opening new Barbie dolls would soon come to an end.

The very next Christmas, after thinking for an entire year that the previous holiday's bounty was an indication that more and more Barbies would come, I only received one Barbie. I was heartbroken. Surely I should have gotten at least the same amount as the year before, so why didn't I? I was older, and the older you get, the more you get, right? Wrong. It was the last Barbie I received as a gift, ever. Apparently it was decided (without consulting me, of course) that I was getting too old for little girls' playthings. I didn't think I was getting too old, so why did everybody else? I still played with my Barbies, combing their hair and dressing them in the many outfits I had amassed over the years. I loved every strand on their blonde heads, every bendy leg and stiff arm. So why was I too old to get them?

I never understood why. It was then that Christmas lost all its charms for me. I didn't think it then, but looking back I suppose I thought on some level that if I was too old for my cherished dolls, I must have been too old for a child's holiday. Christmas is for toys and I was too old for toys. Sure, I'd get somewhat excited about some of the other things I'd get, like books or a new toy-like gadget. But no one understood why I didn't get as excited as my sister did about getting clothes for Christmas. It's because I didn't want any stupid clothes; I wanted my Barbies, damn it!!!

So there it is, the reason I hate Christmas so much. Perhaps it's selfish, but put yourself in the mind of a tween-age girl whose only passion at the time was a formed plastic doll. I'd been told that I was no longer allowed to enjoy my passion because I was too old for it and needed to grow up. A harsh message that broke my little heart. I've yet to recover.

Resolution #9 Completed...

I knit myself a sweater. It's blue and lovely and fits me nicely. It's currently drying from being blocked. This is the second sweater I've knit; the first one was a sleeveless shell that I knit for my sister over 4 years ago, when I was a fairly new knitter. I think I waited so long to make another one because the first one took me forever to knit and I didn't want to end up starting something only to find that I didn't really like it by the time it was done. Another thing that deterred me was the attempt I made last summer to make myself a sweater that ended very badly with a gauge accident (however, the aforementioned accident saved me from the tragedy of wearing a sack-y sweater with horizontal stripes...yikes). After the gauge thing, I was timid about making another sweater that could end in me looking at the pieces months from now thinking to myself "Gee, I should really reclaim that wool for something else, but I'm too lazy to take out all that work." But I found a pattern I really liked, knit a whole bunch of swatches to get the right gauge and knit me a sweater. It turned out pretty good, too.

I've learned much from the sweater-knitting process. For one, I can knit much faster than I give myself credit for, but not as fast as I wish I could knit. I started it 3 weeks ago, I think, and finished it today. I was foolish and didn't make note of when I started the sweater, so it's just my best guess. I thought it'd take me much longer than it did. Another thing I learned is I really like wool until I have to block it. This is the first time I've ever blocked wool (I've knit many socks in wool, but have never blocked them before using them...I just knit them and wear them). Wet wool smells kind of unpleasant. It's not a terrible, reeking badness. It just smells like wet animal, which essentially it is, you know, without the animal attached. I've also learned that sweaters aren't as hard as I thought, even though I knit the thing entirely in the round...it was a top-down raglan that I found to be quite simple once I got past the mental block of "Huh?" I experienced when first trying to figure out how the scoop neckline was going to work. After figuring that part out, it was smooth sailing from there. The last thing I learned is that I think I could design myself a sweater all on my own if I wanted to. I know all the basics, and I have information on the more advanced stuff (like shaping and all the math nonsense). That makes me feel kind of good that if I wanted to, I could make my very own woolly creation. And that's about all I have to say about my sweater. Later.

This Makes Me Wonder...

I recently found out that an ex of mine just got dumped by the girl he dated after me. I assume she dumped him because she's a smart girl and probably (after almost two years of him pretending he's a nice guy) figured out that he's a piece of shit who doesn't deserve someone as nifty as she is. I also assume she's nifty based solely on her MySpace profile, as I have never met her in person. Now, early in January, he paid me a visit after not speaking to me for a year and a half. He'd seen my profile in August and that triggered a huge, four month fight between the two of them, where she brought up valid points and he refused to see them, culminating in her telling him that he needed to have a talk with me "to get closure" before they could proceed in the relationship. He came, we talked, he was a dick, I was calm and rational...it wasn't horrible. Before he left, I told him that if he felt like they were going to break up not to let it get to the bitter resentment stage before it happened (because that's not good for anyone involved). He said that he didn't think there would be anymore issues like this one and that they'd be stronger than ever. He gave me his contact information, as if to try to be friends again and left. I emailed him a couple of days later, and he told me he was just being polite by giving me his information and that he didn't really want to have anymore contact with me. Whatever, he always was a dick.

Fast forward to a couple of days ago. I was reading a friend's blog and found the girlfriend posted a comment. Turns out the blog writer is a mutual friend. The blog involved relationships and the comment indicated that she was somewhat in relationship woe and wanted to find someone worthy of her. So I went to her profile and saw that she'd removed almost every trace of my ex from her profile. Seems that my ex is now her ex. I thought to myself "Yes! It's about time she realized she's too good for him." Now, I feel bad that she's going through the pain of ending a relationship, but I can't help but feel a small amount of satisfaction. That smug bastard acted as if our relationship meant absolutely nothing compared to the "perfection" he shared with her, and now it's come back to bite him.

What I'm wondering is: Does this make me an awful person? I'm trying very hard not to be happy about this, but it's been hard. I think I'm more happy about her valuing herself and what she needs more than a relationship in which her needs are not being met. I'm trying to be more happy about that than I am about him finally getting his karmic retribution for the way he treated me for six months after we broke up (I'm trying very hard to keep these feelings in check because karma is a funny creature and will pop up wherever it wants to and screw up whatever it wants...so I'm trying to be happier for her self-respect than I am for my own satisfaction). I don't know. I feel very ambivalent about this and it probably won't be resolved any time soon.

They Never Get Dirty

I've officially decided that I'm insane. I've agreed to knit hunting socks for a 6'2" man with size 12 feet. That's daunting enough as it is, considering I usually knit regular socks for my much smaller feet, though the hunting socks will be knit with worsted weight, so it shouldn't be too bad. No, the bad part is that he wants them black. Black! It's so hard to check your stitches and rows with black yarn...it's just too dark. Black socks may never get dirty (old high school band joke), but they'll be a pain to knit (based on the fact that the navy socks I knit once were very much a pain because of the dark color). But I'll make them because I like him a whole lot and he asked me very nicely to make them. Also, he shows an interest in my knitting, asking me about construction and how different parts of things are made. I don't think he'll be a knitter anytime soon (or ever), but the fact that he wants to know about something that's as important to me as knitting is very telling. It tells me that he cares enough about me to learn some things about my favorite hobby. Maybe someday, he'll tell me in other ways, too...like verbally. Someday, I hope.

New Socks!!!

Yay!! I have new socks. I'm only excited about this because I made them myself. I've made myself socks before, but I still get very excited when I have new ones. I think these fit my feet the best over any pair I made previously.

Yeah, I'm starting to turn into quite the sock knitter. (I blame the Yarn Harlot entirely, for her books re-introduced me to my love of knitting. She's a cool, cool lady with a heck of a lot of knitterly knowledge. If fate has a heart, we will one day be friends.) For some reason, I don't feel quite right if I don't have at least one pair of socks on the needles. I understand the structure of socks, so I don't need a pattern for a plain sock. When I'm worried, sock knitting makes me feel better (which is good because I worry a lot). And I've never felt as good about knitting as I do when I see my hand-knit socks on my nephews' tiny feet, knowing that my stitches will keep their feet cozy and warm. It heals my heart. The only trouble is that I'm running low on sock yarn and must save money for car repair. Bummer.

I Said BRRR It's Cold in Here!!!!

There must be some Toros in the atmosphere. Sorry...channelling Bring it On. I love that movie. The point, though...it's really freaking cold here. We had nice weather all winter, which I cursed at the time because I wanted snow. Well, now it's colder than cold and there's only a little snow because it's too freaking cold to snow. Poop. I should go knit some more on my socks. I love knitting socks...it makes me happy.

Dude, I'm Resolved!

Some resolutions I've come up with for 2007:

1. Organize my room and find a home for my yarn and other knitting stuff.
2. Continue with my mental health stuff.
3. Find me a quality man...QUALITY!!!!
4. Get laid. (I have someone in mind for this...)
5. Try not to be bitter about stuff I don't have.
6. Try not to be bitter about stuff I don't have.
7. Try not to be bitter about stuff I don't have.
8. Work a lot on that lace shawl I've been working on for almost 3 years.
9. Make a sweater.
10. Knit more for myself.
11. Knit more for others (especially for gift-giving occasions).
12. Start my holiday knitting in June (imagine the possibilities!)
13. Acquire more wool...need wool...must have more wool...
14. Get my taxes done early and use the return for good and not evil...and more wool.
15. Really try hard to do all the stuff on this list.
16. Write more on Minxyland.

That's about it. I normally don't make resolutions, so a list this big may be folly, but I don't care. It's tangible evidence of things I want to do and writing them down may help in accomplishing them. Especially the knitting stuff...is it wrong that, in my head at least, I prioritize my knitting before all the other stuff that's supposed to make me a better person?

The Manifesto

Last night, I was writing on my Myspace blog about one of my recent epiphanies (I've had a couple in the last few months). This one was about how I've decided to just be fearless when it comes to romance and love instead of being scared of everything. Yeah, right after I published it, I had a massive surge of anxiety that kept me up until 4:30 this morning. I ended up thinking about something from nearly a year ago...something that I shouldn't be so anxious about, because care was taken and such. But still, I have an empowering moment and my brain decides to fuck with me. It drives me nuts and I wish I could not be like that anymore. Anyhoo, I must be going now.

Feeling Guilty: Part the Third

Well, you know I'm going to say that I'm feeling guilty for neglecting this sweet, innocent blog of mine, so I'll have to divulge something else that's kind of eating away at me. There's a fella I've been flirting with a lot lately and I'm liking him a wee more than I should. Nothing has happened (sadly) and if we're both good, nothing will happen (very sadly), and I'm just getting really frustrated with the whole thing. I'm tired of wanting what I can't have, being able to look but not touch and having to look at his handsome face and not be allowed to kiss his very soft-looking lips. Poop. Let's see...other things I'm feeling guilty about...oh, I'm feeling guilty because I should be knitting my nephew's christmas present (Bobbi Intveld's Bobbi Bear...very cute), and all I really want to knit are socks for myself. Yeah, I'm selfish like that.

All I Want is Quiet

It's so loud here right now. It just seems like everyone is pissed off and screaming at each other and I'm just here typing, being ignored. I really wanted to get out of the house tonight, but it seems that I have no life whatsoever and the two people who I could've spent time with had better things to do. I should work on the socks I'm making for Christmas presents. Yeah, go in my room, shut my door and knit. The hermit's perfect night.

Feeling Guilty: Part the Second

Anxiety rules me right now. It sucks...big time. There's a lot of stuff going on in my head, and since I practically live there (my head, that is), it's consuming a lot of my time. I have a lot of weird feelings and thoughts and issues. Neurotic mess would be an accurate description. I don't know what exactly is going on or what will happen, but right now, I hate it. The guilt over feeling and thinking these weird thoughts is killing me. That's about as far as I'm going to go into it for now.

Forgotten

The other day, I forgot to shut my door to my room and the dogs decided to make it their little playland for a bit. When I got home there were bits of polyester stuffing for the bears I'm knitting for my nephews' christmas presents, some papers scattered about and a few balls of yarn here and there (aside from the ones that are always randomly littering my room with their yarny goodness). On the bed, I found the lace shawl I started knitting 2 years ago (I'm guessing at this because my memory of the time I bought the yarn for it is a little hazy). It's a circular shawl (based on Elizabeth Zimmerman's Pi shawl) and each round takes twenty to thirty minutes, as I've gotten to the point where there are 576 stitches on the needle. Since I've gotten to that number of stitches, my knitting discipline with this project has been very lax. I'd knit a round here, half a round there. It was not getting any bigger. Now, I've been thinking about the yarn (it's a silk/flax/nylon blend in a muted salmon color) and was planning on frogging the whole thing and making something comepletely different. Then I got to looking at it and remembering all the work I put into it, especially the section of solid eyelet done with a modified knit 2 together where the needle is inserted purlwise in the first stitch and knitwise in the second stitch, resulting in a nearly perfectly reversable fabric. I thought about the times I had to knit back, sometimes 2 whole rounds, because I was so afraid to take it off and rip back to the place I messed up (I was a fairly green knitter when I started it...I have a bit more experience under my belt now). It was painstaking work, hours of my life, and I felt pangs of guilt at the thought of ripping her off the needles. I just couldn't do it, so I finished the round that was started and knit another and part of another before I went to bed. The next day, I knit on it some more and I'm planning on finishing the shawl, maybe not soon, but some day. And who knows, maybe I'll have enough yarn left over for a different shawl, because it was a pound of thick and thin (or more acurately, thin and thinner) yarn that varies from fingering to lace weight. But that's another time. Right now I have people to see and stitches to knit, so until next time, toodles.

Honest About Being A Misanthrope

Yeah, I've decided I really don't like people...mostly just in general, but some in particular as well. I'm getting really tired of disrespectful assholes that seem to just materialize out of thin air. I hate a certain individual, who shall remain nameless, because he's really nasty to me half the time and the other half I just can't seem to do anything right in his opinion. As if I don't already have enough of an inferiority complex, this stuff makes it worse. Nitwits, all of them!

A Wee Bit Sad

Yeah, I'm a wee sad. The Crocodile Hunter died. Not that I was his biggest fan, but it's still kinda sad to me. He was a pretty neat guy, what with the love of nature and the animals and such. I'm gonna stop talking about it now.

Not Much To Say

What sucks about right now (besides the obvious things that always suck for most people) is that I haven't had a whole lot to say lately. And when I do find something to say, it's when I'm not in a position to write about it, usually at work or some other place where there isn't a computer for me to get my hands on. Poop!

I'm Still Somewhat Distraught

I had a lovely, lovely dream last night that I went to France. Yep, France. It was pretty normal at first. In my dream, I was on a tour of the countryside towns and ended up at a train station. I stepped into the restroom at said station and this is where it got weird. All the stalls were really narrow, as in maybe two and a half feet wide...just wide enough for the toilet and about an inch or two on either side. My hips are rather bodacious, so I was having issues maneuvering around in that teeny stall. Not to mention I had several bags with me, as I was a world traveler. So I'm going all around trying to get situated when I realized that I needed something and I couldn't get it. I yelled for my friend to come and it ended up being my long-time best friend (who, after being my friend for 22 years, has really elevated from friend to family), Penelope. That was strange in itself because I've never had a dream with Penelope appearing before. Weird. What was weirder was her yelling back at me to look in my damn bag because she knew what I needed was in there. She was kind of mean and while she's often very sarcastic, she's never been mean to me (not since we were 9 anyway). It made me sad and then, after I had managed to get squared away in the stall, I got all discombobulated again and couldn't figure it out. Later in the dream, I was at a snack machine and all I had were American dimes so I couldn't get yummy nibblies. It was a very strange dream.

My Ears Are Bleeding

I really hate that Clorox Bleach Pen commercial...you know, the one with Kelly Ripa and her awful, awful singing. That woman drives me nuts. I mean, I don't really understand the appeal of Ms. Ripa. She's obnoxious, only moderately attractive and can't act her way out of a paper bag. Every time I've seen her, she seems to make it a point to perpetuate the "dumb blonde" stereotype (or maybe she truly is a dumb blonde, in which case she needs to go learn something already). But enough is enough! Someone fire her and get her off the air...PLEASE!!!