Tag! I'm it!

I've been tagged not once, but twice today...I feel so special! Since Ari got me first, here's Seven Random Things About Me (I'll do Barb's tomorrow.)

The Rules:
1. Link to your tagger and post these rules. (done!)
2. Share 7 facts about yourself: some random, some wierd. (check!)
3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post and list their names and link to them. (yep)
4. Let them know they've been tagged by leaving a comment at their blog. (got it!)

1.) My middle name, Shiloh, is from the Neil Diamond song, courtesy of my father. My niece Shiloh was not named for me, but for the Biblical location. Even so, when she's a bit older (and I learn to play all those F*%$@D -up suspended D chords on the guitar) I'm gonna teach her the song, and we're going to sing it for Dad and see how long it takes to make him melt into a puddle. (Love ya, Daddy-O!)

2) When all the world's against me, and the sky is falling, my miracle cure is: a big bowl of Froot Loops. And then a second bowl right after. Never fails.

3) Mr.Q and I first met 21 years ago, in junior high. We hated each other. I still have our yearbooks with the nasty inscriptions to each other. Sometimes I like to joke that he had to marry me as penance. (I have only just now realized that that could work in the other direction too....Hmmm!)

4) When I was about 2 or 3, I had a hamster that I re-named every day, after a different member of the Peanuts gang. Then I gave him a bath in the dishwater and drowned him.

5) When I was about 2 or 3, I had an upset stomach one day. Mom was taking care of my baby sister in the other room, so I climbed up onto the counter and grabbed what looked to me like gripe water, and drank a bunch. It was rubbing alcohol. The doctor said to take me for a milkshake. I remember being very excited about going to Smitty's for a milkshake for breakfast. I don't remember dancing on the tables and singing. It was 7:00 AM, and the cops about to start day shift were having coffee. Whee!

6) When I was in junior high, all the girls in my biology lab had the biggest crush on Duran Duran. We named our frog "Simon" after Mr. Le Bon, for the duration of our disection. Then we found out it was a female frog. Ooops!

7) My Dad first taught me to knit, using 2 pencils and a piece of string. Also, he had the biggest make-up kit in our house. Mom was the one who taught me how to throw a football, and do my first oil-change.

So there ya have it! Now, I have to tag a few....Sarah, Jel, Anie, Barb, Rebecca, Wenchlette, and Arctic Knitter.

Whew! Naptime, I think. Tonight I send Mr.Q off to the Island for the weekend, and I'm looking forward to spending some quality time with myself, Rabbitch's wheel, and Jel, who's also flying solo for a couple of days. I do hope there's Indian food at some point!

Long weekends rock! (Or, more accurately, they "folk"!)

We've had a very nice long weekend. Rather busy, but in a good "making order from chaos while still sleeping in a little and hanging out in coffee shops and maybe baking cookies" kind of way. Finished a hat this weekend, from not-quite-one-skein of Malabrigo, pattern of my own devising:



I'm 'specially pleased with the decreases, which were more challenging than I ought to admit. But I wanted the purl-y bits to kind of merge into the rest, and I'm rather impressed that I managed to figure it out with minimal tinking. (Not to be confused with minimal thinking. Coz there was a lot of that!)



I'm mostly quite pleased with it, except it's supposed to match a scarf I've just started, same yarn, same colourway (Azul Profundo) - but there are about 17 shades of difference between the skeins, so they match the way my cutlery does. Which is NOT. Oh well! Another reason to glory in thwarting the fashion police!

Meanwhile, the cats have managed to illustrate just about perfectly the mood of the weekend:


Except there's been rather less head licking between the human residents of our wee abode. Though with the cookies (choc chip) there's been a bit of spoon-licking. More calories, fewer furballs. I guess that's the trade-off.

Who is Lester, anyway, and why don't my cats like him?

I was going to title this post "Stuffing Rabbitch's orifice from both ends," but even Mr.Q found that a little shocking. And since I know my parents visit here periodically, I wouldn't want to shock them. (Stop laughing, both of you! Sheesh.)

Yesterday was a near perfect day. I slept in. I went for coffee, and to my gleeful surprise, discovered that The Bean has started with the eggnog lattes already. Oh frabjous day! I love how the "latte art" kind of looks like the Grinch's dog when he puts the reindeer antlers on it:

After a delicious, leisurely coffee and muffin, I hied me to the Rabbitch Hutch, for my first ever spinning lesson. Now, I've had a couple of heavy petting sessions with Jel's drop spindle, but there was wine involved, and I don't remember much. This, though - this was really my first time. I was nervous, I didn't know what to expect. And it was painful at first, but Rabbitch was very gentle. Eventually I sort of started figuring it out, but I'm still not sure where everything goes, or how it all fits together.

And let me tell you something: spinning is not the sweet, innocent grandmotherly craft it pretends to be! It's rude! I mean really - what respectable craft involves an orifice and an orifice hook? Among other things. My word! Here's Rabbitch, trying to get at her orifice from both ends:



After two hours - which really didn't feel that long at all! - I had my first yarn, about 3 inches of which were sort of even and not too badly overspun. See?



I don't know what I was spinning with. Something sturdy enough to survive my total lack of finesse. It was too much fun! When we finished, she sent me home with a bag of fibre and her extra wheel. I think I might have truly come over to the dark side now! I celebrated by spending a peaceful afternoon in bed with a good book.

The peace was rather shattered when Mr.Q came home. "Honey," he called from the living room, "the cats have been attacking your wool." Well. Needless to say, that got my butt out of bed right quick! Seems somebody had gotten into the bag of animal hair that Rabbitch had sent home with me, and pulled out a piece (only a small one, thankfully!) of the blue-faced leicester....and peed on it! Aaargh! Stinkers!

The rest of the fibre was untouched, and most of the leicester was still in the bag and safe. "Why did you pee on the leicester?" I demanded. They didn't answer. "Who's Lester?" Mr.Q asked.

Sigh. I put it away in a cupboard.

After supper, I headed out again for more fibre (and other craft-related fun) with some other knitting pals. We went down to the Circle Craft market together. Let me tell you, this was not your average pre-Christmas craft sale, oh no! It was ginormous. And very, very cool. I picked up a few stocking stuffers (yes, I know it's stupidly early, but my family has decided to go with a "Hand-made or Fair Trade" theme for the stockings this year, and so this was a perfect opportunity to pick up some funky local stuff). There was a booth with "secret compartment books" where they had taken second-hand books and glued the pages together, and cut out a secret compartmend inside. Very cool!

Also, there was yarn. I was surprisingly restrained. Looking at this from Indigo Moon:



I managed two amazing feats: one, I did not take off all my clothes and roll around in it; two, I walked away with only one skein! (I did, however, get my ticket re-validated, so I could, in theory, go back today....

After the madness, we did the only thing we could. We went for beer. Crazy, loud, noisy, a hockey game in overtime on TVs everywhere in the pub. We responded the best way we know how - pulled out our knitting. And did a little yarn fondling, in some cases:


Heading to the bus stop after, I called Mr.Q to check the bus schedule. "Take a taxi" he said. "What?!?! That's yarn money!" I responded. I could hear a weary sigh on the other end. "I could see the yarn lust boiling in your eyes before you left the house," he said, in his best Eeyore voice.

I have no idea what he's talking about.

To top the day off just perfectly - I was the one out till midnight, and he was the one in bed and asleep early, which I found entertaining. Holy role reversal, batman!

The Mewses

I haven't posted any cat pics in awhile, and I'm sure certain paternal members of my family are jonesing for a feline fix (also, there is nothing else at all to tell you about, except maybe the grilled-cheese-and-tomato sandwich I had for dinner, and watching Firefly re-runs...) So. Meow Mix:

The Happy Couple - note Bagheera's paw around Brigid's shoulders:

Aren't they sweet?

What you don't see is Bagheera (fixed Bagheera!) trying to mount the kitten a few minutes later. And getting his semi-geriatric arse whupped. I do wish they'd figure out who's Alpha Cat! 3 of the beasties in the house, and nobody wants the job.

Singe, resting after a rough night of providing for the household:

(Note the ugly UBC library chairs in the back. Which are now gone! All gone! Have I mentioned my new IKEA chairs? I love them! I'm suddenly eating meals at the table again!)

And all three of them (with Mr.Q's leg) taking a nap after a rough day of napping:

I'm rather pleased that the cooler weather has allowed the re-mergence of the RocknRoll quilt...A courting gift from me to Mr.Q, many moons ago. A good way to use up a few of his kajillions of band/music t-shirts. (The thing is huge - bigger than king-sized, and heavy, with a double layer of cotton batting inside. Sometimes I think I had to marry him just coz I couldn't part with the quilt, after so much work.)

Serious post ahead!

Being up waaay earlier than I wanted to be (yay time change!) I am indulging in a cup of coffee with a splash of Bailey's. Never mind that it's barely 9:00 a.m. I kind of enjoy the slightly naughty feeling I get from it, really: Ooooh! Look at me! I'm sooooo bad, drinking alcohol before breakfast! And nobody can stop me coz I'm a grown-up. Nyah nyah!

I had maybe half-an-ounce of Bailey's left, truthfully. I'm going to have to work at little harder at this bad-ass thing. But not this morning. Today, I want to add a little "nice" to my list, in preparation for when Santa comes calling next month. (Next month! How did that happen? I was just at my junior high Christmas dance the week before last!)

Anyway. My Baby Sister is part of a group of folks in our hometown, Cranbrook, trying to do something to get an emergency homeless shelter off the ground. And to get right to the point - I'm wondering if any of you can help, or can pass this along to anyone you know who might be able to. I recognize that there are issues in every community that need addressing, and that we can't always do as much as we'd like. Heck, Vancouver has the poorest postal code in Canada! The problem's a bit different in a small town, though: First of all, it's cold in the mountains in the wintertime. And the problem is a lot less visible than it usually is in a larger centre; thus, it's often overlooked by many people. Also, there are often far fewer resources available in small towns.

They have the space - a very important first step! But they need help to do the necessary renovations - nothing fancy-shmancy, but beds, blankets and bathrooms, that kind of thing.

When I went to hear the Harlot speak in Vancouver, I was blown away. I loved (loved!) what she said about knitters being "super-responders" when it came to people needing help. Coz something inherent in the craft helps us feel not overwhelmed by the scope of something. A lot of people feel helpless - "What good will my $10/$5/$2 do? What's the point?" But knitters get that my $5, together with my neighbour's, and my cousin's, and their neighbours' and cousins'....well, just like stitches in a sock, it starts to add up!

So. Enough rambling. If you or anybody you know are interested and/or able to help, please pop over to my sister's blog and leave her a message. (Also, you should read her post about Mom's gallstones!) Now - back to my coffee! (And my latest copy of the Oprah magazine, a guilty pleasure, which has already given me one valuable insight: Go and google "Very Excited Pug.")

I am woman! Hear me drill!

We met my sister at IKEA this morning, so I could collect my birthday present (New dining chairs! Thanks, collective-thinking family!) I haven't assembled the chairs yet, we're waiting till tomorrow, when we have time to take the old chairs to the thrift store. Our place is too, too tiny to have extra chairs (and the empty boxes) hanging out for any length of time, even just overnight.

In fact, our place is too, too tiny to deal with the ridiculous number of CDs that we have (not to mention books, random papers, and records. Yes, records. The big, vinyl kind) So, since we just happened to be at IKEA anyway, I splurged on one of these:

I have just spent the better part of 90 minutes assembling and stocking it. I love my cordless drill! Every girl should have battery-operated toys. I mean tools. Ahem.

I have just finished celebrating my triumph with cookies and milk, in a wineglass. I feel very decadent!

F is for Friday

Something in Barb's latest post triggered a childhood memory that I feel compelled to share. What with "F" being for "Friday" and all...

When I was about 7 or 8, we started learning cursive writing in school. I had a hard time with it. I was excited about the process, though, as I loved making up stories, and they'd only look better on paper with this fancy new style of writing! So I worked at it very hard, even when I could have been playing with my Star Wars action figures.

Finally, I felt, I had mastered the particularly difficult letter "F." I wanted to show off to my mother, my parents being quite supportive of all our creative pursuits. (Well, except maybe that time I drew a sun - or was it a cloud? - on that guy's painting at the art gallery, but I hardly remember that, so I don't suppose it counts. Though my difficulties with visual art may stem from that early trauma....)

Anyway. Back to the writing: I found a notepad and a pen, and sat down at the table. Painstakingly, with the greatest care (and uncharacteristic patience!), I wrote the best phrase I could think of, with the most "F"s. With great excitement, I took my masterpiece to my mother, anticipating her maternal pride, the smile which would accompany her praise. Maybe she'd even give me a cookie. This writing thing was great!

You can imagine my proud mother's sweet, joyful reaction when I handed her the pad, on which I'd written a good two dozen times, that F-laden phrase: "f**k off"

(In retrospect, I bet that as soon as she was in private, she laughed her arse off about it...though I'm glad she didn't think to tell the story at my wedding!)