Random Friday

Wow, am I behind in blogging. Writing and reading. And even though my one thought as I went to sleep last night was "Don't forget the camera", I forgot it! I've had a great FO sitting un-pictured for two weeks now! ARGH! So instead of FOF, I present you with 10 stupid and/or random things from my week:

1. I'm still a little sick. Not crazy sick. Just coughing/congested enough to be constantly annoying. Everyone I know is also sick.

2. I'm sure #1 would not be so if I could get some normal sleep for a few nights.

3. My Thursday class is kicking my arse.

4. In talking with some folks on Valentine's Day, specifically men who claimed to LOVE Valentine's Day, I realized that Valentine's to men? Is really Guaranteed Sex Day. I further mortified said men by claiming that sleep....a good long cozy sleep is better than sex. L and I concluded that we would take Fall Back over Valentine's Day ANYtime, just for that one extra hour of blissful sleep. Fall Back is now a full-fledged holiday in our minds.

5. I got to "work" from home 2 days this week. Sweet!

6. I got to take out all my aggression on the solid ice encasing my car yesterday morning. (I believe my neighbors are concluding that I have some anger issues...especially since most of them have also seen me take a hammer to the washer and dryer coin slot more than once this week.)

7. My house is a mess and I need to change the kitty litter. Ick.

8. My sister is visiting this weekend and will probably arrive at my house even before I get home from work. No spastic last minute tidy for me.

9. I need new clothes.

10. Did you guys hear the "B Flat" story on NPR this morning? Very funny. Maybe the funniest thing I've ever heard on NPR. (Oh except for the day after the State of the Union, when a woman calling in remarked that it was nice to see a woman sitting behind the president...."With a hammer" slips in the host...Ira Flato maybe? Too funny. Did I say that out loud?) I tried to link to the B Flat thing, but I can't find it!

Phlegm

Did I ever tell you how I don't get sick?

Yeah, I'm sick. I've been sick for a few days now and its really pissing me off. I need someone to shoot me with a tranquilizer gun and write some notes to my boss and teachers and daughter so that I can get some rest. Ok?

Will try to post the FO later, but it might be Monday.

The eyes that look at me

I've sort of been mulling this post around for a long time, but its still not so firm. If it sucks as a I try to think it to words, I'm sorry, but it seems to be time. (Obligatory disclaimer...this post is not about Mr. Eyes, though he is present in some of it.)

About a week ago, I stumbled out into the laundry room with my pajamas (no, not sexy pajamas, more like your mother's pajamas gone yoga) as it was later than I usually let other humans see me. My mass of hair was down and I had a wool hat on. My mass of hair is never down. I like it, but well, there's too much of it for me to do anything other than get it out of my way when its down. So as I stumbled out, I ran into the guy that lives across the hall (old and harmless as far as I know) and Mr. Eyes. Old Neighbor does about 7 double takes before he says, "I've never you seen you with your hair down...."

"Like the big messy pile of blond of that it is?" I ask.

"No....like Marylin Monroe," he responds with all sincerity.

Marylin Monroe? Did I hear that correctly?? I would've been more able to beleive...uh...Marilyn Manson....Marylin, my first love's evil mother, though she has short dark hair. Anybody. I would've believed ANYONE more than that. It was one of those awkward moments that makes me feel like a stupid teenager again, when any compliment leaves me dumbfounded and self-deprecating. Even now, I feel the burning urge to make you understand that I, IN NO WAY, look like Marylin Monroe.

Later on, I tried to accept it for what it was. Wow, for a moment, some weirdo thought I looked like Marylin Monroe. There's a first. And probably a last.

The comment and my gut response to it has left my continually uncomfortable. And guess what? That uncomfort? MAKES ME EVEN MORE UNCOMFORTABLE. Man, life is really a bitch.

And, to make things even more weird, its not like its the only over the top protestation of my looks lately. N did it. Mr. Eyes does it. Even my yarn store friend does it. Using that dreaded "B" word.

Listen, I am not the "B" word. (Well, I am A "B" word, but that word we use freely on this blog.) I've spent the good part of 30 years making myself understand that I'm not a ghoul, that I am in fact, like Burt's drawings in Mary Poppins, better than a finger in your eye. It's a big step. But that it where it ends. We shall not venture in the the areas known as "B". I am comfortable being better than a finger in your eye. It makes me feel like my self-image is realistic and manageable. I don't want to be "B", I don't want to be chasing "B", I don't even want to consider "B" because it instantly makes me feel like I'm allowing objectification, of myself, of all women. It makes me queasy. It makes me remember the days, very clearly, when I felt horribly ugly, or at best, completely invisible to other people. I don't want to think about how I look, I don't want it to be of any concern.

But then I have to wonder, do I try to make my looks unimportant because I've spent most of my life feeling very sub-par in the "B" department? Am I just masquerading my self-loathing-concept as a virtuous lack of vanity?

I mean, let's be honest, YOU KNOW I get off on it. I KNOW I get off on it. People get off on being told they are the "B" word, just like the Pillsbury doughboy gets off on tubes of refrigerated dough....and that's some hard getting off. Even when you try not to, even when you don't want to, it still makes you smile.

I still look the basically the same as when I felt that I was worse than a finger in the eye. But when some people look at me, they see or say "B". And I'm stumped.

In an unrelated conversation, Mr. Eyes used the phrase, "I'll be your mirror." And all I could think was "Wow, wouldn't it be weird if my mirror was always telling me that I was beautiful."

My mirror certainly doesn't say that now. It's been trained. It says "Eh, you're better than a finger in the eye. Except for Wednesday when that festering cesspool you called a zit made you a whole lot worse than a finger in the eye."

But what if my mirror was trained to say the "B" word. I wonder who I would be then?

Would I be vain? Would I be self-assured? Would I be worried about getting old? Or would I still laugh in that mirror's face, knowing too well that the remnants of the ugly teenager lay inside? "B" will never stop making me queasy.

FOF: Not. Instead......

I'm sure that many of you may think that I gave up on the whole mitered square blanket thing, yes? No mention, no picture for months. It's true. Christmas knitting killed it for quite some time. I've only worked on it a little this month, maybe 15 or 20 squares, but here it is:

I still haven't even decided how wide to make it. I'm thinking maybe 2 or 3 more squares. I want it to be pretty sizable....big enough to cover my bed when I want it to. I work on it really sporadically just because its such a huge project, I've come to terms with the complete undefinability of its completion date. So when it strikes me, I do it. It's my current perma-wip. Wow...that sounds sort of kinky, doesn't it?

And that's it for today. I had 4 hours of sleep of Wednesday night and 5 last night. This may be okay for SOMEONE out there. But it is SO not okay for me. I can't even come up with a cleverish analogy for how I feel...its that bad. And I'm telling you this after my Friday Triple Venti. My desk has never looked so comfy. (Actually it has...I've fallen asleep at work several times. Dicey. Especially when I wake up to someone opening up the door and they get my "Where the fuck am I???" face.)

Edited to add: Duh! I do sort of have a finished object! My kmks partner, Annash, finally got her package way over in Finland, so you can click here to see the bag I made out of a felted sweater. And I have another great package from my wonderful SP9 to post, but clearly I'm not coherent enough to do it justice today! Sleeply lame ass signing off.

A really good way to piss me off?

Suggest, or even better, INSIST that I take Little A to church after I tell you that I am not a christian. Because, yuh know, I guess I should save her from my heathen ways.

Hello? Are you listening? I DO NOT BELIEVE IT. And if I'm going to save her from anything, I'd rather save her from organized religion. But thanks for your righteous advice. It was really helpful, really. Maybe next time, we can discuss patriarchy.

So if you still need to piss me off some more? Say it again. Go ahead. I dare you.

This has happened to me more than once in the past couple of years. I cannot understand how anyone can be so wrapped up in their own beliefs that they don't even seem to comprehend not believing. Instead, they think I'm sitting around waiting for them all to save me. And to save Little A, apparently.