tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-347569382011-04-21T15:52:18.128-07:0017 kinds of craftyPruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.comBlogger571100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-74485768494430871352008-02-08T11:37:00.000-08:002008-02-08T11:41:31.325-08:00

I like math so much more than I like people. I like exact answers, truths, proofs. Demonstrable patterns to the universe. Having to figure out the logic model of people just makes me aggravated.While the wind feels like winter still, there is grass growing in the softball infield, and the clouds are promising Spring.That's all I've got.

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-59610824979193528312008-02-05T12:00:00.001-08:002008-02-05T12:00:49.895-08:00

Electra on Azalea Path Sylvia Plath The day you died I went into the dirt,Into the lightless hibernaculumWhere bees, striped black and gold, sleep out the blizzardLike hieratic stones, and the ground is hard.It was good for twenty years, that wintering -As if you never existed, as if I cameGod-fathered into the world from my mother's belly:Her wide bed wore the stain of divinity.I had nothing to

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-85454694293514291032008-02-04T12:34:00.000-08:002008-02-04T12:35:14.296-08:00

I never know when she’ll call, so when her number shows up on my caller ID it’s like a shot through the gut every time. It’s never the right time for these conversations, during which I can feel my very soul being drained through the earpiece and into the chasm that is her life. I wouldn’t change places with her for anything in the world, but I can’t ever seem to hit “ignore” and make the

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-80235503064134670572007-05-18T13:54:00.000-07:002007-05-18T14:04:04.690-07:00

A play in three actscharacters:Me - playing myselfOther People Bothering Me (OPBM)- played by themselvesAct OneSet in my small, windowless office, morning.OPBM (walking in, interrupting an ipod-induced reverie): Can you get me an inventory of the items we discussed yesterday?Me: I can't. It's Friday.Act TwoSet on the patio outside the office building, midmorning.OPBM (interrupting an intense

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-51040396172250866612007-05-11T13:24:00.000-07:002007-05-18T14:04:04.692-07:00

The bruises from your dog have risen, and are fading. The ache our fight left in me has lessened to a souring in my stomach and for that, I am relieved. We haven’t talked in days, and it’s possible we won’t. If we could, I would tell you that I make mistakes all the time, this is not new to me. The nicest thing about being In The Wrong is that The Wrong is a crowded place; you’re bound to run

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-20364168849272183682007-04-27T09:57:00.000-07:002007-05-18T14:04:04.693-07:00

I must confess that I love John Mayer. Not just because his last name and mine are oh-so-close (that's an obvious sign of our dessstiny), and not just because he wrote perfectly likeable pop songs, and then took a hiatus and did a delightful blues project. Also not because he's a terriffic guitar player and also has an enviable tattoo on his arm (in a box - another sign of dessstiny).No. It is

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-7200488841764581812007-04-21T11:39:00.000-07:002007-05-18T14:04:04.694-07:00

Mein Sister came to town last weekend. We rocked Low Divide with Jess:We rocked Pizza King, where we stunned Travis and Matt (or at least Matt):We rocked the Turf:We rocked the turf so hard Pants’ shirt came off:In all, I can’t wait until she comes back. It’s been 2 years since she was here last, and that was about 1.8 years too long.

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-75998130154650827502007-03-19T12:51:00.000-07:002007-05-18T14:04:15.122-07:00

I needed a shirt to wear out on Friday night. While I wait for my sister’s improved version of this shirt, I whipped this up in about 30 minutes on Friday evening: To make: I grabbed a white undershirt out of the drawer and used a marker to guide neckline depth and width and cut that out. Since the sleeves looked like this before: I chose to make them into cap

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-14759338347007592212007-02-14T10:27:00.000-08:002007-02-14T10:29:39.979-08:00

In the interests of jump-starting the refashioning around here, I picked up a project that had been on the needles, languishing, since September. It’s the Anthropologie Capelet by Peony Knits. It was begun to wear over a vintage sundress to a friend’s wedding down in Malibu. As such, it’s knit from cotton yarn, which I abhor, but which I thought would be cooler. I’d tossed it into the WIP

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-38883815806145887732007-02-06T12:40:00.000-08:002007-02-06T12:46:12.710-08:00

As my first project as an official refashionista, I attempted the Tae-kwon-do T-Shirt reconstruction (sorry - I can't seem to even open the old wardrobe refashion blog to link) with a green tee left behind by an errant fisherman. Mayhaps the shirt was much too large (2 sizes larger than the size I might wear), but the front edges sag unattractively, and there is an interesting cowl-like upper

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-86836977976374372932007-02-06T11:25:00.000-08:002007-05-18T14:04:24.458-07:00

I've been in a fit of organization lately. First victim was the junk drawer, which might show up in a later post. Second are the kitchen cabinets. I'm most proud of the baking cabinet, which went from crammed-to-the-gills to this: Check that, baby - that's extra space up there! Love it.You can also see, just to the side, the texture-and-painting that's been in progress for oh...about...a year

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-55443375556857790402007-02-06T11:24:00.000-08:002007-02-06T11:25:43.105-08:00

Third Turnout, Pebble Beach Drive, 5:40pm

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-42366427916732436672007-02-02T13:21:00.000-08:002007-02-02T13:22:41.698-08:00

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-50064228173053443852007-01-26T14:03:00.000-08:002007-01-26T14:04:31.016-08:00

And that’s how it ends. We’re posted up on the porch in the dead of night. The fog sits low over town, low enough that the glow of the prison lights are reflected like an amber heaven, and the airport tower slices through at regular intervals, first white, then blue. The night is cold, and the cigarette smoke hangs in the air around us, and his last statement with it. I’m left thinking, this

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-5287730428166782752007-01-20T23:44:00.000-08:002007-01-20T23:58:07.489-08:00

This post brought to you by Bacardi Silver(TM). I managed, through complete and utter fabulousness, to cock-block mySELF last night. In summation, the drunk me hates the sober me and doesn't want me to be happy. It was likely my subconscious trying to save me from a poor fit, but feels bitter nonetheless. Not once, mind you, but twice. Twice. And I repeat myself.Talking to so many old

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-36720547433910513862007-01-18T15:14:00.000-08:002007-01-18T15:16:01.580-08:00

If I move to SF, we must commit to doing all of the following:-frequent the flea markets,-eat outrageous food,-develop a penchant for elegant yet ridicuolous cocktails, and-become known for hollering.These are my terms. I'm turning in my application today.

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-54122928907726705362007-01-10T11:17:00.000-08:002007-01-10T11:20:46.396-08:00

Behold: The Ugly. An original Con Ugly, which fell into my possession through a rather circuitous route. Belonged a while back to a friend’s brother, whose ex-girlfriend I ran into one day on the beach. She was trying to raise gas money to get to Portland, and wanted to sell a bunch of boards he’d given her, including the Ugly. For sixty bucks, I was the new owner of four, mostly

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-71550039654650086352006-12-21T14:51:00.000-08:002006-12-21T14:57:25.608-08:00

Today, in pictures, abbreviated version:Mid-river waterfallMouth of Mettah CreekSentinel heronAlso noted: 2 bald eagles, an albino plover, 12 cars in the river, 14 tires, 1 boat, and about eleventy million feet of silt fencing. River inventory, post storm.This is why I live here. Stop asking.

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-67650994584146826962006-12-15T10:45:00.000-08:002006-12-15T10:47:15.668-08:00

Back then, we were living on the southern coast of Oregon, just outside of town. We posed as an engaged couple so we could rent the house; we posed as engaged to avoid the ire of the conservative retirement community. In fact, we were living in sin, I suppose. As with the original sin, it ended in banishment. But at the time, it felt so adult, and I felt so nested there. In retrospect, how

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-79170097418132060662006-12-14T16:15:00.000-08:002006-12-14T16:20:06.540-08:00

Dearest R: I am comforted to know that, even though I haven't seen you in years, you continue to occupy a small space in the world, and live and breathe somewhere not so very far away. We talk on the phone almost weekly, and I can't imagine what problems we can't solve in those hours. The connections between everything seem so clear when we talk, drawing the lines from one thing to the next. I

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1165864169042648942006-12-11T11:08:00.000-08:002006-12-11T11:09:29.053-08:00

From the Iliad of Homer (transl. by Pope):"Fix'd is the term to all the race of earth;And such the hard condition of our birth:No force can then resist, no flight can save,All sink alike, the fearful and the brave."Can't shake this. Back to bed.

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1165603412669343652006-12-08T10:43:00.000-08:002006-12-08T10:43:32.676-08:00

...because she keeps me up at night and she never has anything intelligent to say.

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1165532272095201522006-12-07T14:57:00.000-08:002006-12-07T14:57:52.106-08:00

It’s that I can see my breath in the house in the mornings. It’s the sink clogged slow by dog hair, my hair, the innards of a stuffed rat. It’s finding the lost sock under the bed, weeks later. It’s eating three eggs, half-cooked, for dinner because there’s nothing else. It’s gin, and so much of it, but never enough. It’s sleeping in on Sunday mornings, it’s your chin on my cheek. It’

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1165354922354273592006-12-05T13:40:00.000-08:002006-12-05T13:42:02.366-08:00

“I’m done with him,” she says, rearranging her cigarette lighter on the table so the sun catches its’ surface and spikes into her empty glass. “It’s tiring, and I want to be free to do other things; he’s getting in the way.” Crossing to the fridge for more ice, all I can muster is “mm hmm.” I have the creeping feeling she is waiting for me to defend him. He and I were friends, after all,

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1164661252711368362006-11-27T12:51:00.000-08:002006-11-27T13:00:52.726-08:00

By not going home for Thanksgiving (mom, I hope you've forgiven me), I got to enjoy not one, but three, T-day dinners with assorted friends and friends' families. Everyone makes excuses for their families, I've noticed. I've also noticed that everyone's family is their own, unique brand of crazy. In every case, that crazy is lovable. The sort of madness that, as a daughter, drives me to fits

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1163393114174310802006-11-12T20:40:00.000-08:002006-11-12T20:45:14.183-08:00

Love the bay area. Love. Burlingame? Not so much. Seems to be a city constructed entirely of hotels, and B-grade chain restaurants (elephant bar? I thought they went out of business 10 years ago! El Torito? El fucking Torito?!).Surreality abounds this weekend, and to top it all off I rushed from friends' house to the airport and shut my eyes for justaminnit and woke up at SFO. And now...

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1163113721746602952006-11-09T15:07:00.000-08:002006-11-09T15:08:41.760-08:00

Knitting Surgery – Part 1 So…my Rogue hoodie is too short. Not too short to fit on my body, but short enough that it hits me someplace unflattering. Like somewhere between my knees and my navel. Rather than be glum about this, I have chosen to see this as an opportunity to take scissors to my knitting OF MY OWN ACCORD. This is big, people. This particular knitting surgery

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1162574326726298282006-11-03T09:14:00.000-08:002006-11-03T09:18:46.736-08:00

We have a series of heavily-armored firewalls at work, but some spam still manages to sneak through. More and more lately, I get that fun spam that's just random words, or what seem like poorly translated text. Today's is, by far, my favorite:Subject: object staff neat-handedlyFrom: Al Cooper [akstcalphaomegamnsdgs@alphaomega.com]Because with such an husband, her misery was considered certain.

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1162504914142832532006-11-02T13:59:00.000-08:002006-11-02T14:01:54.150-08:00

I was honored to receive the Connor Byestewa Jr. Award for excellence in environmental management this week. I received this award for performing the most mind-numbing of tasks while maintaining my sanity and good humor. I promptly gave the most lame acceptance speech ever, which I apparently slept through, as every photo of the speech features me with eyes closed.What a wiener. I mean winner.

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1161127006260815592006-10-17T16:16:00.000-07:002006-10-17T16:16:46.266-07:00

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1161032593030520512006-10-16T13:52:00.000-07:002006-10-16T14:03:13.036-07:00

A few months ago, my knitting protege at work and I decided to knit the Rogue sweater together at work. Hers is going to be periwinkle, mine oxblood with turquoise hems.After a couple "incidents" with the sleeve cabling, and after throwing the whole thing unceremoniously under the couch for a month or so, I'm back at it, and am now halfway up the body (pictures to follow).I feel infinitely

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1160085941670837262006-10-05T15:00:00.000-07:002006-10-05T15:05:41.680-07:00

ABC is going to kill me. More specifically, this Lost business is going to be the death of me. I gather that, since I don't understand a fucking thing that happened on this show last night (except that they were speaking english, and seemed humanoid), this isn't Lost's First Rodeo. So I need to rent some previous seasons, stat; so I've got that.And THEN (in singsong voice) there's the little

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1159827201433852472006-10-02T15:09:00.000-07:002006-10-02T15:13:21.440-07:00

Likes: Getting to drive this mutha at work:Dislikes: Um...see that pile in front of the excavator? Yeah...that's about 1/276,543,624 of the most pain-in-the-butt part of my job. You can haul it out, and it just comes back in, like a smelly tide.

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1159553134453246022006-09-29T11:04:00.000-07:002006-09-29T11:05:34.460-07:00

Accused last night of being a fearful person, I am indignant. I have fears, but not like he thinks. Fears are irrational things; if we can rationalize them they are not fears anymore. I am afraid, of: crickets, jumpy dogs, kelp, being touched by cold noodles, burning to death. I am not afraid of people. What could be done to me that is scary? Nothing. I could be killed, I suppose, but then

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1159393338619321452006-09-27T14:38:00.000-07:002006-09-27T14:42:18.630-07:00

From Sean, via myspace, just wasting time... THE CANS:Can you blow a bubble?: Affirmative.Can you dance?: In my own weird way.Can you do a cart wheel?: Mos definitely.Can you tie a cherry stem with your tongue?: Yup.Can you touch your toes?: Yes.Can you whistle?: Not well.Can you wiggle your ears?: Does chewing count?Can you wiggle your nose? Am I being graded on this??THE DIDS:Did you ever

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1159372912972023792006-09-27T09:00:00.000-07:002006-09-27T09:01:52.980-07:00

Find your own pose!Not entirely true, but reminiscent of the way I prefer to sleep: tangly.Excalibur traits and tendencies: Excalibur couples may battle just as much as other couples (and participate in more than their fair share of public huffs), but they look so good together, it outweighs any other deficiencies they may share. It isn't that they're classically good-looking, or similarly sized

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1159289033167894992006-09-26T09:41:00.000-07:002006-09-26T09:43:53.173-07:00

Forces to be reckoned with. Beware, beware (Except for Sister #1, who apparently refuses to brandish her finger guns. We think she's adopted.)

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1159202704427293312006-09-25T09:34:00.000-07:002006-09-25T09:45:04.436-07:00

It's earthquake weather in town lately, and as much as it's unsettling, I love it. Sunny and warm and mostly still. I would enjoy the days more, however, if I could just sleep a little. I feel like I spend my nights listening to other people sleep instead of doing it myself. Believe me: if you sleep anywhere in my vicinity, I am an expert in how you snore. I've decided everyone does it, it's

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158962315830664892006-09-22T14:51:00.000-07:002006-09-26T15:03:13.616-07:00

I made a quilt for my sister's birthday a little while back, greens on chocolate brown cotton, with a chocolate flannel back and pink piping, quilting at random with hot and ballet pink thread:(sorry about the crappy photo)Also, to the dismay of my roommates, I'm working on this one:Made from gifted scraps and a thrifted turquoise bedsheet. It needs a fairly large border if it's going to make it

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158859637431140962006-09-21T10:21:00.000-07:002006-09-21T10:27:17.440-07:00

Though it provides endless amusement to my roommate, I had my chi realigned yesterday. It could be just new-age hocus pocus, but it makes me feel better. I'd been feeling really down, and now I feel great! Or maybe it was the three cups of coffee! Who knows! Who cares?The hardest part about energy sessions is that they ask you what you want to get out of the session before they begin. This

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158852494910638252006-09-05T08:27:00.000-07:002006-09-21T08:28:14.913-07:00

Do you remember when you were in school and you'd stay up late, after everyone else was sleeping or passed out, having an absolute heart-to-heart with a friend? Do you remember how cathartic, how gut-wrenching, how that felt?I have always loved being awake when noone else is. Being an insomniac, this is fortunate. As much as I love sunny days and lazy afternoons, I have always loved being

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158852445105454252006-08-31T09:27:00.000-07:002006-09-21T08:27:25.113-07:00

Good news: Dr. thinks that the Jupiter-sized piece of me he kept as a souveneir was enough, if not plenty.Bad news: Feeling like I am being stabbed with a hot poker in the guts every time I cough, laugh, sit down, stand up, or breathe (which is unfortunately all too often). "Mild discomfort" my ass. What does he know, anyhow?I slept too well on painkillers last night, but had to drive today,

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158852403735111532006-08-30T08:08:00.000-07:002006-09-21T08:26:43.743-07:00

I'm on my second cup of coffee and things are going swimmingly. It's sunny today and almost balmy, and I spent a long while contemplating the surf before heading down to work this morning. The day seems full of opportunity, and in my stomach is a pit of worry. I have a surgery scheduled today, and I am frightened of it. It's going to be uncomfortable, sure, but they make things to take care

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158852280034067782006-08-24T17:24:00.000-07:002006-09-21T08:24:40.043-07:00

Dearest L:You once bought me a gift for 'putting up with your son.' I've never concluded if it was hopeful or despairing, but I've never forgotten the air of camraderie. Like all the advice you gave me, and the example you set, and the child of your heart, I think upon this gift every day. I cannot thank you enough for all of these, and cannot help but feel that I've failed them all.I am sorry

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158852240427587772006-08-23T08:23:00.000-07:002006-09-21T08:24:00.426-07:00

Price of living in a small town: I'm restless. We don't get a summer here, just a 6-month-long spring which segues right on into fall. Being emotionally driven by light and weather, summer feels like endless possibilities that just don't pan out. I'm uneasy, and desperately want a new life.Driving over Bald Hills today with W, I am reminded at how delicious life is, and that if it's Town that's

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158852184104571862006-08-09T08:21:00.000-07:002006-09-21T08:23:04.106-07:00

In the spirit of Crescent City Sucks, here's my rant about town:My Town is a town of small pleasures. It is a town for the long-suffering. Months and months of bad weather, and a little sunshine feels like heaven. Populated by assholes, so a little niceness goes a long way. Sort of a strip-mall of a town, which makes the surroundings seem that much more of a blessing. This is a town of low

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158852087706129152006-08-01T18:20:00.000-07:002006-09-21T08:21:27.706-07:00

Honestly. I don't read girly magazines much. I do get an inordinate thrill out of making fun of people, however. And everyone at the gate in LAX was an honest-to-god fashion don't. It was fabulous - every genera was represented: acid wash jeans...check. Giant belts...check. Ill fitting drapey shirt making skinny girl look preggers...check. Dude wearing a turquoise terrycloth track suit...

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158852037023150212006-07-26T20:19:00.000-07:002006-09-21T08:20:37.023-07:00

Winning just feels sweeter.

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158851954659811742006-07-21T08:18:00.000-07:002006-09-21T08:19:14.666-07:00

Softball! I haven't played softball since childhood, and was recently coerced onto a coed team which should've been named "the town drunks," because that's apparently how they came up with our roster. Needless to say, we're not very good, but we just play to have fun, and at that we excel. Unfortunately, every other team in the league plays to KICK OUR ASSES. Still fun. Oh, and even getting

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158793822159897222006-06-28T16:09:00.000-07:002006-09-20T16:10:45.236-07:00

I've long said that I aspire to be a reenactor. You know, the actors on shows like "Cops" or "Snapped" who play the parts of victims or perpetrators of real-life crimes? I think I could do this. Wooden acting? Check. Easy lines? Check. I suppose that this job could also entail stints at Civil War battle recreations, but that doesn't sound as fun, and I don't look that good in gray.Thanks to my

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158793782032753232006-05-25T16:09:00.000-07:002006-09-20T16:09:42.040-07:00

I've been travelling for work for just about the last two months straight. Just pit stops at home to wash clothes and pet the dog and such. More of a visitor in my own house than in any of these hotels. When I was younger I wanted a job with lots of travel, like my dad. I thought it would be romantic and exciting; and it was, for the first year or so. Now, it's just itchy sheets, pillows

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158793730856657512006-05-23T16:07:00.000-07:002006-09-20T16:08:50.856-07:00

Laugh all you want, but I can see at night again. I have glasses now, but I just wonder how long it will be until I have sat upon them, dropped them, allowed the dog to eat them...? When I had braces, every time I wore my headgear at recess, I managed to get smacked in the face with the tetherball (I'm still working on my tetherball addiction with the help of a licensed therapist). Glasses?

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158793660531461902006-05-22T16:06:00.000-07:002006-09-20T16:07:40.533-07:00

A year ago, I didn't want a dog, not no way, not no how. Since then, however, the adorable-ness below came my way, and I can't imagine what I'd do without her. I've become a crazy dog-lady. The kind who talks, in complete sentences, to her pets. It was bound to happen, I suppose.

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158793560516791452006-05-12T16:02:00.000-07:002006-09-20T16:06:00.516-07:00

Knitting is like crack. I try to tell them, and they just don't understand. But now I've met my first YARN SUPPLIER (in a bar, but that's not important right now) (while I was knitting, but that's also not important right now); I have seen the face of knitting sales, and I must inform you that it is HOT. Just as soon as I can figure out how to download it, I'll post a photo. Ladies, avoid

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158793360519221282006-05-11T16:02:00.000-07:002006-09-20T16:02:40.520-07:00

I never fancied myself to be particulary sensitive about odd things. Unfortunately, work is filled with bizarre, potent, and not entirely good smells today. Expo markers, carpet cleaner, superfruity air freshener, and burnt coffee. If I were ever wondering what my bad smell tolerance was - meaning how much or how many bad smells I can tolerate without throwing up - I should remember in the

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158793320459456092006-05-01T16:01:00.000-07:002006-09-20T16:02:00.460-07:00

I lose things all the time: keys, sunglasses, wristwatches, telephone numbers, et cetera. I don't know why any one loss should bother me more than others, but the loss of innnocence (or perhaps more appropriately at my age the loss of ignorance) is every time a shuddering one. If everyone always spoke truth, this wouldn't be so hard. Confidential to monkeyface: your lie reflects my lie.

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34756938.post-1158793249900598822006-04-29T16:00:00.000-07:002006-09-20T16:00:49.906-07:00

I've been traveling for...oh...three weeks straight. Haven't slept in five days, and my eyelids have been lined with sandpaper at some point when I wasn't paying attention. Genius observation of the day: two insomniacs make terrible bedfellows. They sleep in shifts.

Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13025648167037592448noreply@blogger.com0