Monthly Archives: June 2005

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da.

I’ve had the hiccups three times now in the past 24 hours. That’s the way I roll, yo. I’ve also had the same song stuck in my head since last night. I can’t tell you what it is, or it will never go away. Song-that-shall-not-be-named was a constant soundtrack while Jason and I played tennis after work. I think it went away briefly as we watched “True Romance“, a film Jason passionately wanted me to see. It’s a lot like “A Life Less Ordinary“, only with lead actors I’m not attracted to.

I’m all stressed out. Seriously. Trying to make my life ideal takes a lot of effort. I’d like to write a whiny white-middle-class-girl blues song about it, but I don’t know what rhymes with

I can’t consolidate my loans because they’re either private, or not enough to count.

I have a cat I don’t want, but no one to take her.

I’m going to lose my insurance if I go on vacation.

I have litigation hanging over my head from a rightly broken lease.

The tag in the back of my shirt itches.

My skirt has static cling, because I stopped shaving my legs.

I’m almost done with the book I like, and I loathe to read the one I have lined up.

Dun du-duh da dun. Call me Johnny Lee Hooker. (Sonya Lea Hooker?)

I think I lost a day

I went home from work last night, read a little Tim Sandlin, and fell asleep until this morning. I knew I had a cold, but wow. I think the last time I slept for 14 hours was the year I was on the homecoming committe, cheerleading, and my birthday all landed on the same day. That next day I slept for 16 hours.

AAAnd, I still have a cold. Tough breaks, eh?

On the upside, I did get a postcard in the mail that said that the TKGA got my submission and they would be mailing it to the evaluator shortly. I was reading the Masterknitter yahoo group list, and apparently the organizational company that runs the master knitter deal have been getting more lax about submissions. They let one of the best evaluators go. While that means that my swatches have a better chance of making it through, I’m disappointed that I’m not doing the hardest thing ever. Ah well.

I also agreed to go with Kat to a Joanna Newsome concert Wednesday, but then forgot that Wed. is kick-ass/take-names volleyball night. And, I emailed the previous owner of my cat (a much more pithy version of the open letter to her) and she said her husband might not let her take the cat back.

So all in all, it’s been a rough couple of days. Except for the knitting. The knitting is on track.

An open letter to the previous owner to my cat.

Dear Candy,

I’m sorry. I really thought that when I answered that interoffice ad for a free cat, I would really enjoy having an inside cat. Ironically, if you look at the URL, it turns out that I hate having an inside cat. I grew up on a farm, see, and although I’ve enjoyed having many cats as pets, I’ve never really experienced what it’s like to have a superfurry animal in my carpeted and upholstered home.

I mean, I tried. I liked having a cat but I hate that she’s so furry. Oh, I guess that’s what makes her cute, because those naked cats aren’t fun. Anyway, I have hair on everything I own, and I like wearing black. I feel like a selfish discarding a pet – especially since there’s nothing actually wrong with the cat, other than having a lot of hair that comes off. I mean, every day I brush the cat, and there’s a kitten-sized pile of hair sitting next to the cat.

You said that if I decided that it wouldn’t work out, I should bring the cat back. I know you meant right away, but it’s only been four months. Whadda you say?

Thank you, and see you soon,

p.s. – if Candy doesn’t want her cat back, does anyone else want it?

An open letter to Joe Mohan

Dear Joe Mohan,

I have a problem, and I know that the best person to talk about this to is you. I was at the thrift store this weekend, and I bought a velour hoodie from H&M. I’m not sure if the burnt orange color is right for me. It’s a good cut, and it’s definitely more feminine than most hoodies I wear, which makes it a plus. Do I a) look good in burn orange, and b) keep the hoodie because even an unflattering color is better than looking like a 13-year-old-boy, unintentionally?

Famoose II

Summer Blast

As you well know, I have had my first brush with science fame. Having been forced into*, and hating, the Invention Convention as a child, I am smugly linking to an article written about a camper I worked with when I was a Girl Scout camp counselor. I can tell you right off that this kid was super cool, and, more importantly, super game. She’d freaking try anything. I respect that. I respect that a lot.

Anyway, in the picture I have bad camp-hair, but the shirt I’m wearing has my camp name** on the back of it, and glows in the dark. It’s too bad that even though has my full name in it, you still get a self-help author or soft-core fan-pr0n when you google me. Better than having a name-doppelganger who goes by “Moonie” and loves dolphins.

*Not parental fault. They are only responsible for the “snowsuit incident”, and my eyesight.

Luck be a librarian

I’ve always had luck at libraries. I think it might be they can smell the future librarian on me, or maybe they can tell it runs in my blood.

Twice during my nomadic AmeriCorps year, I managed to wheedle library cards out of libraries near which I lived for no more than six weeks, and with no permanent address in the county.

Today, I managed to let my local library lend me a roll of microfilm, to scan (for archive purposes). Microfilm! You’re not supposed to lend that shit out! I’m a little scared by my power.


Done, donedonedone!

You know, I talked and talked and talked and talked about the master knitting program, wholly aware that I like to start fun challenging projects then leave them behind (see: Alena’s first album title), so you should all be very very proud of me for mailing off my level 1 kit for the TKGA Master Knitter program. Already, I’ve learned a shit-ton, and have implemented it directly into the sweater that I’m making for my bro.

See? That, my friends, is called blocking.

Here’s the detail: it’s a left- and right-cross cable.

Tornado mountain rescue coup

I’ve been having epic dreams, but I haven’t remembered them when I’ve woken up. I’m feeling triumphant that I have a thin grasp on last night’s, and I’m agonna share.


I was at the family farm. In fact, the twins and I were all living there, like it was back in high school. There was a storm, which there are; and we noticed some funnel clouds, which do occur; and we went into tornado mode. That is, we crowded near windows to look at the storm line. A tornado began to form. I cried out, bringing attention to it, since Anton and Alena had lost interest. We watches with that neat feeling of being near a terror of nature smugly separated from it by a well built house.

We watches the tornado drop down an begin to spin, starting southwest of Eldy’s, following the highway north. Just north of Eldy’s, the tornado stopped and spun in place. I thought that was weird, and then I noticed that the continued pressure from the tornado was drawing the earth up – not breaking up topsoil, but actually drawing the crust of the earth up. Suddenly we felt the house shake. The tornado was drawing that point upwards, like pinching a bedspread in the middle and lifting it up. Suddenly, our house was perched precariously on the side of a mountain. Our flat eastern Iowa farm was now the steep side of a mountain.

We began to evacuate – I went up to my room and tried to figure out what I needed to pack. I was methodically collecting everything when my dad came in and reminded me that we were in a house that was liable to start sliding at any moment. Haste was to be had. I puzzled over whether or not the collective worth of my Pez collection merited the time it would take to find all the boxes.

By this point, things had reached a fever pitch, and we had to abandon ship. There were folks from down below (or several miles away, previously) who came to rescue us. They were mostly from Wheatland, as Calamus was now part of the mountain.

We were evacuated to a sort of lodge, where other survivors/neighbors/relatives (in my area, you’d be all three) were gathered. The team that saved us had arranged a dozen sofas in lines in front of a TV, so we could watch movies and forget the danger we had just escaped from. All of the survivors and rescue team were familiar to me, but the only one I distinctly remember was Jeremy Cook. He invited me to sit next to him on one of the many sofas and, being exhausted from the events, I fell asleep. I awoke to find myself the ‘big’ spoon, curled around his back. My dad was silently motioning to me. He telepathically told me that the rescue team was actually a group of people who were going to take over, and to be on guard. Everyone else woke up, and the rescue team attacked.

There was a brief scuffle, and the refugees won. It happened so fast, all I had time to do was smile coyly at Jeremy Cook and think about how best I could hurt him.

My family collected our stuff and walked outside. Dana Soedt had just gotten a new truck, and my dad said amazedly, “That’s the new Silverado, isn’t it?” She offered us a ride, and we piled into the truck with our duffel bags and suitcases.

Then I woke up.

Lurchy feeling

There is nothing like shuffling through old binders trying to find a single sheet of lined paper (what kind of technology freak am I?) and running across a post breakup/getting back together letter from an ex. I got this horrible lurchy feeling in my stomach, and nearly melted down, until I noticed that he used the wrong your.

Then I was OK, somehow. It’s magical what grammar can do to a soul.

Bad night’s sleep

I wrenched something in my back yesterday – so I slept badly and gingerly last night. Flickr says my pictures are an unreadable format, even though they are clearly labelled .jpg. Ah well. I’ll post them tonight.

I’m mailing off my TKGA Master Knitting Level 1 package today. I’m starting to realize that although it only took me a month or so do complete this first level, the next two might take me years. I mean, I’m starting school in (AHH!) two months, and a good 17 days of that are going to be spent on vacation. I don’t think I can handle knitting an argyle sock on a roadtrip.

“Roadtrip” you ask? Yes, after spending an incredibly extended Fourth of July weekend with Graver et. al. at a cabin in Michigan, Jason and I are flying to NYC to hang out for a few days before hooking up with Charles and Silva to begin the epic 2005 roadtrip to Austin, TX. I’ll get back for three more weeks of work at Abbott, then I’m off to fine Chambana.

I wonder how I can rig up the camera during the roadtrip…