Dear Dear Diary
I think I got Leigh-Ann's
cold. I've been reading her blog too long. ;)
You know you dont feel well when knitting is too complicated. I'm cold, cranky, and the nose is drooling.
I'm really grumpy because I was invited to a "slumber party"
tonight. I think I was invited to show of my Blue-Ball Beanis
and provide the off color humor that only the oldest woman at the party can provide, in a Been There, Done That nasty sort of humor kind of way. You know- like the designated drunk at a party. I was going to be the designated potty mouth, and that's a fun role to play. With knitting friends, so everyone would be thinking of vibrator cosies, fun-fur restraints, and condom critters. I was even going to bring the knit silk ball gag...
Anyone want to buy a hand knit black silk ball gag?
Knitting at B&N tonight.... And while I ordered decaf, I think I didnt get any.
Jazz and I have finished reading A.J. Jacobs' book "Year of Living Biblically." (Hi A.J., if you're still googling your name on a regular basis).
Jazz flatters me by thinking I am a great writer, and he is usually good at coming up with ideas for me to write a book about. Some things, I'm not particularly keen on, but others are intriguing. He thinks this book ought to have a female counterpoint. With a woman trying live for a year biblically. What flashes through my mind is a much of the cleanliness issues and the rampant sexism. A woman living biblically will have a tougher time of it in our culture. We aren't designed any more as a culture to have a woman be unclean for 10 days a month. And the unclean length of time varies with "how to be purified after"- there was one temple bath I remember seeing on a documentary of this was the bath where women came at the end of their uncleanliness and came to be cleaned and blessed, before they could go back to their lives. They did no work while unclean- no cooking, no cleaning, and set themselves apart. While I've had Jazz's cooking (and he's pretty good), I don't think separating myself like that would be good for our relationship or my mental health. Since I work from home anyway, it would have little impact on my job as it is. Yet I can see the look of horror and disgust on friends' faces when I explain why I'm skipping a casual gathering of friends, even if it's just women.
I am no muslim, but I have often talked of taking the veil and I've thought long about the social implications of this. The original Hadith reads, as my understanding of it, as "Do not dress in a manner to attract attention to yourself." This can mean dress modestly and non-revealing fashion- just like everyone else (and indeed, this is what my dearest muslim friend does, as it does not draw attention to her like a head scarf would in rural upstate NY), or cover your hair and throat modestly, or wear the full burka leaving nothing visible at all. Personally, I find the full coverage to be more lurid- that flash of eye, the glimpse of an ankle or a hand can be more sensual than some bimbo in a string bikini- it leaves room for the imagination to take over, and that's the more dangerous animal. This is, of course, all moot when living biblically, because it's a *hadith*- part of the Muslim tradition. Or is it? Most orthodoxies will have some form of hair covering for modesty. Since I like hats, I'm all for it.
This is a subject I may research out of my own comfort and interest, but I know I would not manage to live a year biblically. My inner feminist cringes at much of it. Yet also, I know at the root of some of the biblical things- it's not as sexist as some of the fundamentalists make it. "Submit to your husband" is often quoted, but I've also felt this misinterpreted. And "Be fruitful and multiply" will be outright ignored in this household. We add pets when we can afford them. That's good enough for us- as we are stewards of all the animals of the earth, and I do what I can for our pack.
It's a good book, with food for thought. I recommend it.
I didn't have time to make some cloth things before the cramps hit. Dang it, normally the cycle is longer than that, and thanks to the event, no time until Sunday. Maybe I can get some sewing done then.
The only true sewing I'm going to get down between now and then is I may be able to sew a few mice for the Order of the Roaring Mouse. It's for a Moot Court tomorrow. Really, what better for a joke order than the Mouse That Roared? Bring on that God Damn Cat!!
The Mouse on the Bar Room Floor
Some Guinness was spilt on the bar room floor
When the pub was shut for the night,
Out of the hole
crept a small brown mouse
and stood in the pale moonlight
He lapped up the frothy brew
from the floor
then back on the ground he sat
And all night long
you could hear him roar;
"BRING ON THE BLOOMING CAT!"
(Although I've heard as a song, and as whiskey, not Guinness) There's also a reference to a pretty good Peter Seller's Movie based on an even better book.
The only thing that irks me about Heath Ledger's death is the fact that someone out there is already drawing Heath looking at a bottle of pills with the caption, "I wish I could quit you."
Oh and here's something to think about, for those who want to be greener. Men, leave the room now.
If you're still here, you deserve what you get.
I'm thinking of making my own pads. Links like this really help the idea.
Of course, having a rash of bleeding on the skin near where the edge of the pad rubs is probably a huge impetus for this as well. No one likes extra bleeding when you're already bleeding, and it's a wonder I can tell. I considered trying a Diva Cup
, but I worry that I'll have a reaction to the plastic from which it's made.
Making my own pads are a great way to use up the extra cotton batting scraps from quilting though. And making them machine washable would be very nice indeed. And if I ever do get that Etsy shop going, it's something else I can work on to sell besides Beanises.
I'm enjoying the "pre-event jitters" I get before my group hosts any event, particularly when I autocrat, although this time, I'm not the only autocrat- I'm more acting as training wheels for two others, who would likely be fine without me. I'm scheduling the classes, which is challenging and yet somehow fun- because I can schedule the classes so I can take one I really want to take.
The jitters open the door to insomnia. I worry about stupid things going wrong that aren't likely to- I think about all that could go wrong. This is only good in that I try to come up with contingency plans for everything, and then people think I'm doing really well as an autocrat/organizer because I have all the bases covered. Unfortunately, I don't sleep, and that makes me more susceptible to making myself ill with the perfumes or exhaustion.
One of these days, I'll get the digestion back on "track" but it still hates me from Kissmoose.
Yesterday's excitement meant I got to drive around in a Sunfire (think very sporty car I have trouble getting in and out of) that smelled of New Car. Too bad the passenger window was fritzy about wanting to do what I wanted it to do. But hey- no snow yesterday.
Today's excitement finds me baking a quadruple batch of chocolate chip cookies. Jazz finally admitted that's enough to share.
And tonight, we go to see the Philharmonic. Because we need to be Cultural too.
I just wonder how tacky it will be to bring my knitting.
I'm thinking of trying a new diet.
It's complicated and very simple at the same time. Just avoid anything with high fructose corn syrup (which everyone ought to do anyway), corn syrup, and sugar. Yes, this may mean I have to make more things, but I don't mind that. And if I want something sweet, there's still maple syrup and molasses and fruit.
And I really ought to get more exercise too. The basset is getting fat. We should walk. I'm scared to, because of encountering perfumes of laundry etc. But it ought to be good for me anyway. And the basset *loves* it. Hrm. Can't log into work right now, may as well get that leash.
I'm not sleeping any more. I just nap.
If I fall asleep before midnight, it's a good night. At 1:30ish, Kenya needs a potty run. Then she wants another potty run at 3 AM. And if I'm lucky, the basset will keep sleeping. If I'm not, the basset will also get up. Either way, in order to prevent the dogs from treating our bedroom door like it revolves, I have to sleep on the couch until 5 or 6 when Jazz gets up. Otherwise, as soon as I get snuggled into bed, one of the dogs will come and wake me to go Out. As it is, they sometimes do when I get snuggled into the couch. I have listen for the basset to make sure he doesn't knock over the trash or start thumping up the stairs. If he heads upstairs, he'll bark outside the bedroom door. It's his little way of asking for his breakfast early, because when Jazz gets up, everyone gets breakfast. So cleverly, the basset thinks if he wakes Jazz, he gets breakfast. The best sleep I get is after Jazz gets up- I head back to bed and actually get three straight hours.
Fortunately this isn't forever. And I'll hate for it to end. But I'm just still very tired.
I have been pointed to Dangerous Knowledge
and I feel the need to experiment. I have to now wonder if the Capsule can survive the baking process... and therefore allowing the presentation of sugar cookies that watch you eat them.
Although, I gotta admit- an edible flying spaghetti monster rice krispie type treat sounds as delicious as it does blasphemous. :)
About my tattoo...
What with my chemical sensitivities and all, a tattoo can be a very scary thing. The last thing I ever wanted was a half-done picture, passing out and a trip to the Emergency Room. Due to the way tattoos are done (you have to draw the outline from the bottom up, or you'll wipe the picture off when you go to wipe off the blood, if you go with modern style tattoos), the odds are it would be half drawn and not look good in an unfinished state. The best solution is to find a tattooist who can draw the work on the skin as they go, and have no wiping it off fears.
About 12 years ago, Jazz picked up a tattoo artist from a dive bar. I don't remember which bar it was, but the guy was obviously down on his luck and had no place to go. Jazz gave him crash space for the night. I gave him an earful later for that. We ended up hosting a tattoo party at one of our local bars (the Tony R. George Post for Italian Veterans of Foreign Wars in Herkimer, may it rest in peace if they never rebuilt it after the fire and um, we had nothing to do with the fire. Really). I designed and drew several tattoos that day, and he did the tattooing. He offered me an apprenticeship and said I'd be a great tattooist. I was flattered, but I declined. What with my allergies, it would not Do if I was allergic to tatts, because no one would want to be inked by someone who hasn't been tattooed. So before I committed to the tattoo I really wanted (a dragon with a dagger on my lower leg), we did a test dot on my forearm. Sure enough, I had a reaction of the respiratory kind. In retrospect, I think it was to the stuff he was using to transfer the design from paper to skin - regular antiperspirant. That was before I mandated Jazz switch to unscented, I think, so it hadn't occured to me that could be a problem.
But I have my tattoo of literally just . and I think it would be great if I could at least get another . and ) and end up with :) as a tattoo. And If I go to a tattoo artist who can draw directly on the skin, if I don't have a reaction to the inks, maybe I can get another tattoo later where the artist can draw important bits first so it doesn't look weird when we have to stop and let me recover- and perhaps schedule it in one month sessions, continuing the work piecemeal until it's actually done. It would be really expensive to have a tattoo done that way, but if I really really want it, that would be the way I'd have to go.
The problem with turning 39 for the first time is no one believes you when you say it's for the first and only time. No, there's the nudge of the elbow and the wink, and the "yeah right, how many times have you been 39?" I realize I probably still don't look like I'm 39, I've always looked younger than my age, and that will probably change in the next 20 years, as I slowly evolve into that "indeterminate age" that could be anything from 40 to 60. I've already got the grey hair like blending filament. It's curlier than my brown hair, and slowly increasing. I can't run for the dye pot, because I haven't found anything I can use (including henna). If I had not been allergic to dye, I'd probably still be a redhead, and I would not find the grey at all. Personally, I don't mind the grey. It's kind of pretty. And unusual in our "Thou Shalt Stay Young Forever" mentality these days. Judging by where it grows, in about 5 years I'll have a skunk spot at the top of my scalp where I part my hair. Or as I like to call it, a wizard lock. Jazz had one when I met him, and I always loved it. Of course, in the 12 years we've been together, the rest of the grey has caught up with his hair, and very little isn't seriously silver, more salt than pepper, but enough of the original black to be very distinguished and handsome. The sagging under my chin I can do without, but my eyes stay the same.
The other interesting thing about being 39- this is the age my mom became Nana. I'm glad I'm not a grandmother - at least not the same way (*) but it's time to look at the things I'm not likely to do, like most midlife crisis folks can do the closer they get to 40. I'm not having kids of my own. I'm not going to climb Everest. I'm probably not going to have that Rock N' Roll career either. But ya know, I'm comfortable with that too. But I can still get that tattoo I want... ;)
(*) Jazz has a daughter, Tiana Danielle Shaw, and if you're out there, lady, we'd love to see you again, and you are welcome in our house. I'd love to meet you. She's 20-something, so it's a damn shame I never met her. But if she shows up on our doorstep and I go straight to grandkids, I'd be tickled.
Cthulu is watching you.