National Elisa Thinks You Should Say What You Mean and Mean What You Say Day

I'm lying to you already.

Oh, I'm not saying that it isn't important to speak succinctly and accurately, of course it is. I'm just saying that I have a tendency towards inventiveness (read laziness) in my speech. I have a tendency to use words that, although they do have inherent meaning, have a different meaning when I use them.

Tonight, we'll have a lesson in Elisa-Speak. Enjoy the ride.

Item. n. Can be used to describe any "thing".

Bucket. n. Anything that holds something else.

In use, you might hear these words in conversation like this:
Friend: "Elisa, do you need anything from the cafeteria?"
Elisa: "Yeah. Can you get me a bucket and some items?"

Translation: "Yes. Will you please get me a paper salad bowl and some utensils?"

Just so you know, the above was a fairly typical bit of conversation I had with various co-workers, and they usually understood what I meant.

Upon seeing something shiny and pink:
Elisa: "I need to have that item." Alternately, "That item should live at my house".

Translation: "I would like to own that shiny, pink thing."

Pants. interj. Means that something or someone is bad.

Usage: "You're pants!"

-pants. suff. Means that something is very cute.

Usage: "Look at that puppypants!"

Put pants and -pants together and you'll really make some heads spin. I'd like it if you did. So go ahead. Then report back. Thanks.

I should also tell you that the fact that I am so comfortable with pants being both a good and a bad thing is considered flogic* by Michael.

He's not always right.

-ado. suff. Reduces the impact of the word it is attached to.

Usage: "Fuckado".

During the first Thanksgiving I spent with Mike and his family, we watched some football with some of his cousins. At one point, something bad happened and I said fuckado without even thinking about it. Mike leaned over and said "Did you just say fuckado in front of my 12 year old cousin?" and I think I responded to him with "Fuckadoodledo". Mike later remarked that at least I hadn't just said fuck.

four. n. Indicates a small number, but not necessarily the real number four.

Usage:
Friend: "So, how do you think you did on the SATs?"
Elisa: "I think I got about four answers right, including my name."

8,000. n. Indicates a large number, but not necessarily the real number 8,000.

Usage: "I've got 8,000 mosquito bites."

In context, it really isn't difficult to figure out what the hell I'm talking about (at least I think so, I can't really speak for anyone else who tries to converse with me on a regular basis), but when forced to, I can be as, um, whaddyacallit, er, precise, as the next person.

Right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, it's been a hell of a month, but this is the last official post of the first "National Elisa Thinks Stuff" Month. I may make this a semi-regular feature, or I may just do it again next year, but either way, this probably won't be the last time you find out just what I think.

I am planning to do a recap of some of the best comments I received over the past month, and let me tell you, you gals are WAY funnier than I. WAY funnier.

*Flogic is not included in the Elisa-Speak dictionary because more than one person worried about what might happen should flogic become known to Significant Others.

National Elisa Thinks It's Keeping It Real Day

Or, Elisa's in a mood.

So, you guys know me right? You know that I feel rather, ahem, strongly, about orderliness. You know, I have that whole "I want you to be able to open any drawer in my house" thing. Well, today I faced up to the fact that there was a big part of my life where I wasn't keeping up to my own standards, and I felt, well, strongly, that I needed to take myself to task and get all my shit sorted out.

We're calling this Keeping It Real Day at Chez Concateknit.

I began by taking stock of the living room:


The tote is home to a baby blanket that I'm knitting for Mike's sister and BIL who are expecting their third boy in a few months.

The coffee table:


And under the coffee table:


Here's where it starts to go wrong:

This was (some of) my stash in the spare bedroom. That is a BAD picture. While the sight of all that yarn makes my heart warm, the site of all those muffins and boxes and bags scattered around on the floor make me feel ANXIOUS.

It gets worse:

This is a bag that's hiding in the guest room between the bed and the nightstand (Kim, I swear this will be gone before you get here).

And hanging from the back of the guest room closet:

That's an afghan I keep making myself forget about. I manage not to see that bag every morning. I know it's there, but I erase it from my consciousness. No, the afghan doesn't usually erupt from the bag the way it looks in the photo.

The other thing that usually lives in that bag is this:

The lap blanket I am making for my G'pa's girlfriend, Deborah. I was making it for him, but when he passed away, I decided to finish it and give it to Deborah instead. I really do feel a sense of urgency about finishing this and it isn't awful to work on, it's just, well, let's just say I don't wanna.

In order to embrace and confront my shame, I brought everything out to the living room:


I sorted and organized:
The sock yarn

The wools and silks

The bucket of Cotton Fleece

The other stuff: some Debbie Bliss, some lovely ribbon yarn, some DK weight yarn I bought to make finger puppets, that kind of thing.

I also put all the yarn destined to be sweaters into one bucket which made me ridiculously happy. Did you know that I have four sweaters planned for myself? Jesus, I knit one sweater successfully and now I've gone crazy with the sweater yarn purchases.

I also made an FO bucket. It's contents are few:

A scarf on the left and two Booga Bags on the right

So, those Booga bags? I don't want them. I knit them, felted them and promptly fell out of love with them. I really feel like they need some kind of bottom insert to help stabilize them, and I'm just not going to get around to making those inserts.

Do you want them? I swear to god, if you do, just leave me a comment that includes your email address and I'll email you for your snail mail address. There's nothing wrong with the Boogas except I don't want them, which means that They.Must.Get.Out.Of.My.House.

Also, do you remember this? Yeah, well, now it's this:


I told you, I'm in a mood and I mean business.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
In case you were wondering how I'd be spending the evening of the Oscars (and really, I can't imagine that you would), I'll be watching my newest, shiniest, most brand spanking new guilty pleasure: Dog the Bounty Hunter. I become giddy EVERY TIME I think about this show. You might be interested in knowing that Mike is trying to convince me that the Dog marathon has been canceled, but he's just a dirty rotten liar.

National Flogic Day, Part IV

Or, Why Elisa Isn't Allowed to Hang Things Anymore

I've always believed that a house isn't a home until there are pictures on the walls. That means that almost before I do anything else, I start deciding where pictures will be hung on the wall.

A year ago, when Mike and I moved into our apartment, I took a day off of work so that I could do some speed unpacking to help us get settled in as quickly as possible. Our first apartment had been awful and so I was even more anxious and excited than usual to get our boxes unpacked and our pictures hung.

Actually, the only important statement in the previous paragraph is that I said that I took a day off. Yes, I was home by myself.

Of course, I was 29 years old and perfectly capable of being left alone to unpack a house and hang pictures. Or so we thought.

I got a lot accomplished that day: I unpacked our entire kitchen and pantry, unpacked and shelved 12 boxes of books, unpacked over a thousand cds, hundreds of albums, two wardrobes, and of course, hung a ton of pictures.

It's the pictures I'm not allowed to go near anymore.

Why?

Well, ahem, I'll show you:


These holes live in the foyer underneath a picture of Mike's daughter. You see, I thought the stud thingy ran horizontally, so I kept trying to get a nail in the wall just above or below the area where my nail kept getting stuck.


A widescreen view. Notice the holes underneath the other two photos? Here's when I started to get a little confused. I mean, if I could hang the original three pictures, why couldn't I get a nail in the wall 12" below the first nail? Remember, I was convinced that the stud thingy ran horizontally.


One of my bedroom walls. This is where I finally gave up.

When Mike came home, well, there was a lot of laughter at my expense. Now when he sees me with a hammer in hand, he'll just point to the holes in the wall.

But mostly he just laughs.

Needless to say, not a single picture has been hung in my house for almost a year.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In retail therapy news:


Those boots are going to help me grieve for the broken boots, may they rest in peace.

And in case you couldn't tell, yes, those most certainly are pink high heels.


After I bought the pumps, my car seemed to go on auto pilot and I ended up at A Good Yarn:

That's six skeins of Lamb's Pride Worsted (hate the new label, btw) in Blue Magic, and two skeins of Koigu KPPPM.

And just so you don't start thinking that I all I do is make holes in the wall and buy yarn:

I've finished the back and left front of my Ribby Cardi, and have cast on for the right front. It's a fairly straightforward knit and even though the Peruvian Highland Wool is no KPPPM, it's still quite nice.

I do have an FO to share with you, but since the FO is a birthday gift, I'm going to wait and post the photos after I know the recipient has received and opened the gift. Tee hee.

Thank you for all your kind get well wishes yesterday! I'm feeling much better now thanks to a day of rest, a boyfriend returned safely home, and some damn successful retail therapy.

I hope everyone has a terrific weekend and stay tuned for the final two "National Elisa Thinks...Day" posts.

Now I've got to get back to my program: Cops - Bad Girls 4.

National Elisa Thinks February Kicked My Ass Day

That's right folks, I'm down for the count. It's the big KO. February finally kicked my ass.

I admit, I was pretty cocky. I thought I could just fly in the face of the February doldrums. I thought I could float like a butterfly and sting like a bee all the way around February, and that I'd be safely into March before February realized what a fool I'd made of it.

Ahem, not so. Best laid plans and all that.

So, here I am with no Flogic post for you (you'll get it tomorrow or Saturday at the very latest), wearing my sweats, and I've got tissue, the new Linda Barnes book, a very tall glass of water, a very drippy and sniffly nose, I've just started to watch Money Train on On Demand. It's one of their free movies - surprising, I know.

Oh, and today I'm the Queen of Sneezy Town. Wendy said I could be Queen of Funky Town, too if I wanted. That's cool with me. I'll take what I can get.

The bottom line is that I'm paying for my high-falutin' February Can't Get Me Down Hubris with a righteous February cold. Pfft.

On a positive note, Mike returns from a long(ish) business trip tomorrow evening and I am really looking forward to having him home. I've been lucky enough to have friends who don't mind coming over in the middle of the week to knit, eat, chat and share my ">chocolate, but it will be good to Have.Mike.Home.

No, I'm not a complete baby-pants when he's away - I took out the trash and killed a spider that wouldn't listen to reason.

Hey, you know what? I've seen Money Train before.

Sweet.

National Elisa Thinks It's the Little Shit That'll Send You to the Nuthouse Day

I'm known to remain quite calm during a disaster. Like the time my neighbor, S, came over to my apartment with a badly cut finger wrapped in paper towels 30 minutes before his parents were to land at San Jose International Airport, did I freak out? Not I. Hastily I made a sign with my neighbor's parent's last name on it, gave it to my ex-husband along with instructions to meet S's parents at their gate and I took S to the emergency room where I never even flinched while S received 13 stitches and a tetanus shot. I made sure he had his insurance card. I filled out all the insurance/emergency room paperwork. I was cool as a cucumber the entire time, and more than once, S marveled at my calm.

However, a paper cut and a missed train in the same day can make me completely lose my shit.

Isn't that always the way, though? When Some Really Major Shit happens, I slide into the Zone, that place where I focus absolutely on the task at hand, and all the things that need to be done just seem to slide into place. The more freaked out the people around me get, the calmer I become.

Unfortunately, I seem to be out of the Zone a lot.

An example:

When my ex-husband and I were getting married, within two weeks of getting engaged I had arranged for the flowers, my dress, our rings, the location, the caterer, the photographer and the DJ. One night, maybe a month into the wedding planning, my ex and I decided to go through a drive through at a fast food restaurant for dinner and when he asked me what I wanted, I burst into tears and cried "Why can't anything be easy?" and "I can't make even one more decision, I just can't". I may have also said "And you can't make me".

Yeah, that's me being out of the Zone.

Should you be standing next to me someday when something (I'd find) irritating happens and I start to laugh, and it sounds kind of like "huh huh, huh huh", you probably want to duck. Or distract me. That's the "huh huh" of a woman on the edge, a woman who's about 3 seconds from losing her shit (one of my favorite sayings, thanks, feel free to use it if you like).

Are you wondering what those things are that I'd find irritating? A short list would include the above mentioned paper cuts and missed trains, but would also include palm trees (I HATE palm trees), smelly people, bad manners, over air-conditioned rooms, stripes with plaids, big hair, ginormous fake boobs, coughing, bad service, and oh, did I mention, PALM TREES.

Seriously - I f*cking hate palm trees.

Huh huh, huh huh...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On a much different note, I received two lovely RAOKs today. One, a sweet little note and funny card from Lisa, and two, some terrific lemon-bergamot lip balm and a tube of cuticle cream with a lovely little note from Margene. What wonderful mail to come home to! Thank you so much, ladies, for taking the time to think of me. I truly appreciate your thoughtfulness!

And of course, in a moment of pure flogicality, I told Mike to take the digital camera with him on his business trip to Missouri this week. This means that I have no pictures of the lovely RAOKs, tomorrow's knit knite will be pictureless, and Thursday's (last) flogic post will have to wait until Friday because that post requires pictures, folks. Mike actually tried to convince me that he didn't need to bring the camera with him, but get this - I insisted.

I'll be here all week, folks.

National Elisa Thinks It's Guilty Pleasure Day

We all have them. You can say that you’re too cool for reality TV or that you’d never stoop so low as to buy a Christina Aguilera CD, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t something that you adore that someone else wouldn’t raise their eyebrows at you for.

You KNOW what I’m talking about.

As for myself, I’ve got so many guilty pleasures that sometimes I think I may have to start questioning my own taste. I’ve decided to give you a list of my guilty pleasures organized by category because the list would be too unwieldy otherwise. That being said – it’s still only a partial list.

Movies:
Dude, Where's My Car? – I won’t even lie. I giggle every time I watch this movie.

Foul Play – I love the 70’s Goldie Hawn/Chevy Chase movies. Foul Play is my favorite of the bunch, and I always watch it when I’m home sick.

Con Air – I said, “Put the bunny down”.

Karate Kid, Parts I and II – I REALLY wanted to be Elisabeth Shue in Part I, and I thought the Tea Ceremony in Part II was the most romantic thing I had ever seen.


TV:
Reality TV – American Idol (I know, I know. I started watching for the bad auditions and ended up hooked.), The Swan (which I won’t even try to justify), The Biggest Loser, Cops, Wildest Police Videos, these are just a few of the reality TV shows I’ve gotten hooked on. I watched one season of Survivor and that was enough. I tend to watch the really bad reality TV shows, which means that if it’s on Fox, I’ll probably give it a go. It’s just a little something about me that’s a bit twisted, I realize that.

Fear Factor – Sure, this is reality TV, but it gets its own category. I just like watching artificially enhanced girls and over-muscled guys eat entrails.

Music:

I know too much about 80’s country music, and my collection of 80’s country music is large. I own at least one CD by each of the following artists:

Billy Joe Royal
John Anderson - "Down In Tennessee" still gets me every time I hear it.
Conway Twitty (80’s style) "Hello, Darlin'" is a fine country song, and Jason Molina covered it, so there.
Alabama - "She and I" makes me weepy just thinking about it.
Ronnie Milsap - I've been known to belt out "There's A Stranger in my House" before. I won't lie.
Merle Haggard (again, 80’s style) "If We Make it Through December" reminds me very much of growing up, and even more recently, I found myself identifying with it when Mike and I were going through a particularly rough patch.

Other guilty pleasure bands I like include Air Supply and Bread. Go me! Actually, I’d argue Bread’s legitimacy as a non-guilty pleasure any day.

Books:

The Cat Who Series by Lilian Jackson Braun. These books are a guilty pleasure for obvious reasons: intuitive cats, tingling mustaches, men who inherit millions of dollars, restore apple barns and found colleges, and, do I need to continue?

My Sneaky Pie books. This is what I call the series written by Rita Mae Brown and Sneaky Pie Brown (why yes, that is her cat). These books are definitely guilty pleasures, but when I first started reading the series, I found myself dreaming that I was a character in Crozet, WV, and that Ms. Brown could create that compelling an atmosphere keeps me reading.

The Stephanie Plum novels by Janet Evanovich. I know that Ms. Evanovich has a huge following, but we all know that a huge following doesn’t denote Great Literature. Although I find myself less and less pleased with her books as the series wears on, I know that I’ll keep buying and reading her new titles, which means that this series definitely qualifies as a guilty pleasure.

Foodstuffs:

Diet Coke with Lime. Seriously, I think this tastes like Endust smells, but I still drink it. These days I seem to choose Diet Coke with Lime whenever I get the chance. I know, it doesn’t make any sense to me, either.

Bugles filled with Cheez Whiz. Stop laughing.

Peanut Butter w/Chocolate Chips. What makes this a guilty pleasure is that I like getting a big spoonful of peanut butter and then mashing as many chocolate chips onto it as I possibly can.

Coffee and Crackers. This is an old school family recipe that you really have to be brought up with to appreciate. It goes like this:

Make a cup of coffee with coffee and milk
Crumble saltines into a cereal bowl
Pour coffee over saltines
Add sugar
Enjoy.

Okay – I’m sure you’re thinking that you could probably handle everything but the “enjoy” part, but I promise you, if you grew up in my family, you’d find yourself at the grocery store, eyeing the Saltines, whenever you felt a little homesick.

Flavored Coffee. Please understand that I was a committed coffee snob for a number of years. I would never have thought about purchasing a cup of flavored coffee. I would have SCOFFED at you should you have suggested that one day I would get a cup of flavored coffee each morning before work. It happened like this: The day after 9/11 I found myself in my cafeteria, buying a cup of coffee per usual, and without questioning why, I bought a cup of the daily flavored coffee rather than the usual stuff I always bought. I did this for about four days in a row before I started to question why I was doing it. The reason why? Because there is a short period of time in my history where my relationship with my mom was very good, and what I remember about that time is her making flavored coffees and sharing them with me. We’d go the mall and get a mocha from Gloria Jean’s or she’d make some at home in the evening and we’d drink them together. Those memories are very comforting, and post 9/11, comfort was what I craved most. So, no matter what kind of hard-assed things I may say about my mom, I’m still doing something every day that reminds me of more pleasant times with her.

So, what are your guilty pleasures, and what makes them guilty for you? I can’t wait to find out!

If you have today off, enjoy. If you’re at work, well, it’ll be over soon. As for me, I have to get ready for the Cops marathon that starts at 3pm.

National Elisa Thinks Knitting Helps Her Feel Less Lazy Than She Really Is Day

Sundays are traditionally lazy days here at Chez Concateknit. Especially during football season, when I require little if any focused energy from Mike, Sundays are low-key. In fact, I am a big fan of showering on Sundays only to don a clean pair of sweats. It doesn't require a lot of prodding to convince me that whatever I think needs to get done can actually be done at Some Other Time.

Witness a conversation from today:

Me: Do you need to go to B*st Buy today?
Mike: No. Oh - to buy the vacuum cleaner?
Me: Yeah.
Mike: Well, sure, if they carry the one we're looking for.
Me: Okay, well, I'm going to take a shower, so why don't you find out if they carry the vacuum we want. Whether or not they do will determine whether I put on pants after I take my shower, or whether I put on sweats.
Mike: Oh. Okay.

(a few minutes later - I'm still in the shower)
Mike: Hey, babe?
Me: Yeah?
Mike: They carry it.
Me: Okay. Did you want to go out there and pick it up then?
Mike: Well, we could, but we don't need to rush, do we?
Me: What do you mean?
Mike: I mean, we don't have to go buy it today, right?
Me: Um, sure. I do have to go to the grocery store, though.
Mike: Oh. Do you need me to go with you?

We did go to the grocery store, and for that I am thankful because we're supposed to get another storm tomorrow and the last thing I want to worry about is whether or not I have enough coffee for Tuesday morning.

Aside from rambling conversations with Mike, pretty much all I did today was knit. I finished the first of the birthday socks (photos to come when I'm not too lazy to get up, get the camera, take pictures, blah blah blah) and cast on for the second sock. I keep thinking that the birthday socks will be done in time to be wrapped and shipped to California in time for Kim's birthday (she knows these are coming, so I'm not ruining a surprise) until I remember that this is a short month, which means that I don't have my regular allotment of Oh Shit days at the end of the month to use to prepare for whatever deadline is inevitably looming for the first of the month.

But the amount of knitting I did successfully kept me from thinking about all the other things I wasn't doing. For instance, I wasn't doing laundry (although Mike and I did talk about laundry), I wasn't going to the gym, I wasn't writing thank you notes, I wasn't balancing my checkbook, I wasn't paying bills. I was knitting. I was looking at yarn on eBay. I was watching discs 4-6 of Season 4 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Under normal (read: before I knit) circumstances, I would have felt guilty about all the things I didn't do today, but because I was knitting, I felt like I was doing something constructive, and if I am really truthful, I think I have arrived at a place where knitting feels like a perfectly legitimate reason for not doing all the other stuff I should be doing.

Thank god for knitting. Otherwise I might feel like I needed to dust.

We Interrupt Our Regularly Scheduled Program

To bring you three Very Important Updates:

One: Good Hair



The side view:


I have rectified the Bad Hair Situation by replacing the Bad with Good. I went to Portsmouth, NH today and had a wonderful stylist named Jill fix the badness that has been living on top of my head, causing me great trauma, making me feel like an unpretty kitty.

Believe me ladies, this is Big News at Chez Concateknit.

Two: Stash


The yarn? 50% off. I'll be making Lara from the Debbie Bliss Alpaca Silk book for $40. Yesterday, I bought the 10 balls of yarn that were available, and in a purely flogical moment, I thought "10 balls is enough to make this sweater. I can definitely make a sweater for 10 balls of yarn". Um - sure. You know why that was flogical, right? It's flogical because I really just thought 10 balls = enough to make a sweater, without any thought at all to how many yards were in each ball. Luckily I was right - but it was dumb luck. Oh, the yarn is Sable, which is a 70% merino, 30% angora blend. Sweet, no?


Bearfoot by Mountain Colors. Sweet merciful Mary, there was no way I was getting out of the LYS without this. It makes me Very Happy. It all comes back to sock yarn, baby. It really does.

Three: Well-Behaved Muffins Make Beautiful Socks


I really love working with the Koigu KPPPM. It's feels great, and it works up into the most beautiful fabric ever. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, if I was yarn, I'd marry some Koigu KPPPM.

Tomorrow I'll starting thinking things again. Promise.

National Flogic Day, Part III

I had to enlist Mike’s help with this. I was coming up with a complete blank for our third installment of National Flogic Day at Chez Concateknit.

I’m still a little disturbed by the gleam that crept into Mike’s eyes when I said “What else have I done that you would classify as flogic?” I told him I needed two more entries for the month, but only one for tonight, but he was really ready to give me Many More Than Two examples of Elisa being flogical. On the plus side, I’ve got this week’s and next week’s posts in the bag. The downside is that gleam I just mentioned.

Note to self: Mike has more than a few things to say about Elisa and flogic.

Second Note to self: Stop asking him questions about Elisa and flogic.

Ahem. Bruised ego aside (he says “Most of the flogical things you’ve done seem to do with food), I do have a part III in our Thursdays Are For Flogic series. Let’s begin.

I’m a vegetarian, albeit a fallen one (he says “Most of the time, I think you have a pretty good head on your shoulders. Have you told them about your thing with corn?”) but I really hate when Mike wants to tell people that I’m a vegetarian before we go to a function because I worry that the host will have to go out of their way to accomodate me.

I truly hate to have things prepared especially for me. It makes me feel really uncomfortable, and it makes me feel different - in a bad way. Almost without exception, things work out just fine for me when I go to a function like a potluck or a BBQ. It so rarely happens that there’s nothing vegetarian at one of those kinds of functions that I hardly even think about it anymore.

But Mike does (“Hey, did you tell them that you think bananas make you stupid just because they smell bad?”). Mike thinks about it so much that it makes me anxious. In a BBQ or potluck situation, I really do assume that there will be at least a salad with a salad dressing that probably doesn’t contain meat. I’m almost never wrong about this, people.

I am ALMOST never wrong.

Except for one time: Mike and I went to a BBQ at the home of one of his co-workers (he says “Um, his Supervisor!”), and as usual, I told Mike not to worry about what I would eat. I said what I always say, which is “Don’t worry. I never starve.” For whatever reason, we didn’t bring a dish with us, which is how I usually prevent myself from starving, but I still felt Cool and the Gang about it. Beer in hand, I wandered from table to table looking for a little something to nosh on, and I kept coming up empty-plated. The salad? It had meat in it, and not easily removable pieces of meat, but little bits of tuna or chicken salad that had thoroughly coated everything. The potato salad? I swear, there was Spam in there. Finally, feeling a little Zen about the whole experience (I find hunger really helps me with the whole Zen thing) I found a bowl of salsa. Excitedly, and much less Zen (because I was gonna eat finally), I picked up a tortilla chip (no, corn tortilla chips don’t count toward the whole corn thing) and scooped up some salsa, only to find that there was chicken in it.

Okay, really – who could blame me for thinking at least the freaking salsa would be meatless?

At that point, Mike had had it (he says “You know, the whole fried zucchini thing was really crazy.”) and he told the hostess casually that I was vegetarian, which sent her into a tizzy and meant that I then had to endure having her run back into the house and make me a cheese quesadilla. A HUGE quesadilla, which she announced was for me and for me only, to everyone within earshot. Well, I was mortified, and beyond that, I felt responsible for eating the entire quesadilla.

And Mike says “And none of this would have happened if you just would have let me tell her you’re a fucking vegetarian!”
Then he says “Grumble, grumble, drive me nuts, grumble.”
And then he says “So, did you tell them the REAL reason you don’t like corn?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Knitting Meme – I’ve been tagged.

Thanks Lauren!

Do you knit using the English or Continental Method?
Continental. I fancy that someday I’ll be able to do both at the same time and really impress the hell out of people, but for right now, well, I’m just happy not to stab myself with my needles, or strangle myself with my yarn.

How long ago did you learn to knit?
Most recently – about 9 months ago. I was taught the knit stitch by my dad’s second wife’s mom, but not knowing how to cast off, the scarf (of course) went nowhere.

Who taught you how?
Most recently – the internet.
The first time – see above

What was your first FO?
Wee doggies – an orange Homespun scarf that’s pretty damn wonky.

Favorite yarn?
Should this yarn lie to me like the last yarn lied to me, I want you to remember that I said this: I love Koigu KPPPM. Love it. If I were yarn, I’d marry it.

Favorite pattern you’ve knit so far?
Well, since I’ve knit it four times – I’d have to say Julie Anderson’s Sophie bag pattern.

Favorite pattern source?
IK and knitty. I’ll have to say ditto here.

Favorite needles?
Circulars. Clovers and Addi Turbos .

Nicest thing you’ve ever knit
The Cowl Sweater from Stitch n’ Bitch (otherwise known as the Very Bad Sweater). I gave it to my friend Shannon last night and she loved it. The girl sitting next to me said she had paid a lot of money for a similar sweater and she liked mine better.

Most hated project
The Very Bad Sweater.

Let’s see – who will I pass this on to…

Well, Wendy of course (sorry, darlin’), Melanie, and Emily.

TAG!

National Elisa Thinks Sometimes the Cosmos Shits In Your Lap And Tells You to Call it A Kitten Day

No, it wasn't a good day.

It wasn't a bad day in a Terribly Traumatic kind of way. It was the kind of day that beats you down by inches. The kind of day where you start to think that maybe you've done some bad cosmic shit and now it's all coming back to you.

I had a friend once who told me he thought I must have been a very bad cat in a former life to be reincarnated as a human in this life. It's days like this when I start to believe him.

Need proof?



You know where this happened? Not close to my house. Not by a long shot. This happened as I was just starting the second of my three (sometimes four) leg journey home. I stepped off the shuttle and noticed immediately that one of my legs was no longer (har har) as long as the other. I hobbled across four intersections, into the T station, down the stairs, through the station, down more stairs, down the platform to a bench where I sat down and the genius sitting next to me said "Did your shoe break?". As I held the heel in one hand and looked at him, I replied, "Um, yeah.".

And then he laughed.

I hobbled the rest of the way home (read: I ran/hobbled off the T and literally threw myself in front of the bus that would take me closest to my house) walked up the up the front porch and was greeted by two packages:



The thing about these packages? I only ordered the two books on the right. I didn't order the package on the left. And the books I did order? I ordered them FIVE MONTHS AGO. I swear to you, there is a postal conspiracy out there, and it's gunning for me. I received a postcard in the mail last week urging me to get a PO Box. I laughed in the face of the postcard. I threw it away, scoffing at the nerve of the Post Office to ask me to get a PO Box so that I would have to go to the scary Post Office more often than I have to go now.

And then they deliver a package that I swear they've had for FIVE MONTHS.

WHO KNOWS what else they're holding of mine.

I expect to start receiving ransom notes any day now.

The last thing that happened to me is maybe the worst.

My sock lied to me.

You know what happens to liars at Chez Concateknit? I turn them back into muffins:


Blurry muffins.

That's right. You've been warned.

National Elisa Thinks The Telephone Is An Instrument of The Devil Day

Alternate title: National Elisa Just Realized She’s Outing Herself About One of Her Many Crazy Behaviors Day

Because really, who needs the telephone these days? I’m just as easily accessible via email, or IM, or hell, even by blog, so why call?

For four years, I worked for a telemarketing company. Yes, I started out as a telemarketer, but then I moved my way up the food chain to assistant manager. I lived in a world where a minimum of 60 phones were ringing AT ALL TIMES. When one of our telemarketers had an order that needed verifying they would snap to get my attention, so in addition to the Ringing, there was the Snapping. For YEARS, I could blissfully ignore the sound of a telephone, but turn on a dime in a department store if someone snapped their fingers from three departments over. Admittedly, this has left me a little warped. I no longer pounce on or glare at innocent snappers, but I have a pretty well developed neurosis concerning the telephone. I hate it. If you call me, I probably won’t answer. If you leave me a message, I will probably delete it without listening to the whole thing. When I do check my messages, I listen only long enough to hear who the message is from and then I delete it immediately. Don’t tell me anything important in a voicemail message because I will willfully not listen to it. I will find out you called, delete your message, and then call you back. At some point. Of course, I will have no idea why you called, so you’ll need to tell me.

Part of my neurosis stems from the belief that no good news comes from the telephone. You know who calls me on the telephone? My Other Aunt. When it’s 7am and my phone rings? That means MOA has been up all night and has decided that at 7am ET, I’m probably awake and ready to talk to her. Oh, and she’s not up all night because she’s an insomniac.

You know who else calls on the telephone? Bill collectors. Admittedly, I haven’t received a call from a bill collector in a while, but when the phone rings, I assume it’s one of my creditors calling to harass me, especially if the call comes at dinnertime.

You know who else calls on the telephone? Telemarketers. Of course I realize the irony here. Doesn’t mean I want to talk to any telemarketers. In fact, I’m probably even more hostile than most people when it comes to telemarketers, because I know EXACTLY the type of people I used to hire.

You know who else calls on the telephone? The random family member from my dad’s side of the family who wants to tell me all about the stupid things my father has done recently. Well, you know what? He’s my dad…I already know he does stupid things. It really isn’t a news flash, although it’s great for getting my blood pressure up, thanks.

I know that you’re thinking to yourself that The Person On The Other Side of The Ringing Phone isn’t always one of Those People. But you know what? Not so much. Pretty much all my friends know about my phone phobia at this point. The messages that they leave for me are usually straight to the point, include very few details, but even more often, they don’t call, they send me an email. I relish email. Email makes me Happy. I see a friend’s name pop up as the sender of an email, and I can’t wait to open the email and find out what’s going on with them. The same person’s name pops up on my Called ID and I break out into a cold sweat.

And if the Caller ID shows the number as Restricted, well, you can bet your sweet bippy that call is going to voicemail.

It takes almost every once of willpower I have not to answer the phone “What’s wrong?” instead of “Hello?”

It takes the rest of my willpower not to bury the phone in my t-shirt drawer just so I can pretend I don’t own a phone at all.

Oh, and if I tell you I didn’t get your message because my battery was dead and I didn’t check my messages? I’m lying to you. I compulsively keep the phone on and charged. I just don’t answer it.

National Elisa Thinks "Ain't Love Grand?" Day

Mike left work early so that I could come home to this:



When I opened up the box of Richart chocolate, inside were these little specimens of chocolatey perfection:



I'd say that gets a "Hell Yeah".

Now, I got a few lovely little things for Mike for Valentine's Day, but that's really beside the point. Because I want to tell you why today is National Elisa Thinks "Ain't Love Grand?" Day.

I'll be the first to admit that Valentine's Day is primarily about consumerism and the greeting card and flower industries making a buck (or many more bucks than A Buck, duh) but I don't see how that differs from many of the other gift giving holidays I celebrate, and personally, I'm in favor of any occasion where I get to buy gifts for people.

I know people say this all the time, but it really is the thought that counts when it comes to gift giving. Some of the best gifts I've ever gotten have not been the most expensive gifts, but they've always been the most thoughtful.

What makes the gifts that Mike gave me this year so special are the facts that 1) Mike arranged those roses himself and 2) He was so excited when I got home that he couldn't wait for me to open the card and the chocolates. Mike gives gifts in the best possible way - without thought to what he himself would like or want. For example, for about three years I asked EVERYONE I KNEW for "The Karate Kid" on DVD, but no one would get it for me.. The first Christmas that Mike and I were dating, what did he give me? You got it - "The Karate Kid". He doesn't like the movie (I know, it's hard to believe, he's so perfect otherwise) but he got it for me because he knew how much I wanted the movie.

Seems like a small thing, doesn't it? I suppose it is, but it gets at a real spirit of giving that never fails to move me. The same way that him buying, trimming, and arranging roses for me moves me, his desire to do something that will make me happy is the reason that I continue to celebrate silly commercial holidays. He reminds me that the true test of love is not in being able or willing to pay an exorbinant price for a dozen roses, but in paying the kind of attention to someone else that always leads him to pick That Thing that will always be absolutely perfect.

Ain't Love Grand?

National Elisa Thinks You're Taking Up Too Much Space And Going Too Slow Day

Well, not YOU - just everyone who commutes in and out of Boston each day. Of course, this most certainly does not include you, you, you, or you!

My question for you dear readers, is this: why doesn't anyone else seem to realize this? And even more to the point, why do the people standing near me seem especially ignorant of the fact that maybe, just maybe, I'm really not interested in having their ass or bag in my face*?

I commute with a relatively large bag and my lunch tote virtually every day, but that doesn't mean that I feel entitled to all the damn space in the world, on the train, in the station, on the bench, or in the stairwell. I make a concious effort to keep my bags very close to me at all times, and not just because I'm worried about getting my wallet lifted (I'm actually NOT worried about that, although I probably should be). I pay attention to how much space my bags take up because I realize that I'M NOT THE ONLY F*CKING PERSON ON THE TRAIN. I never walk down stairs in the middle of the stairwell if I can get further to the right side (because you should always walk as if you were driving, and that means get over to the goddamn RIGHT SIDE. Grr...) and I always allow people to get off the train before I push ahead like a bull. And if I'm the person trying to exit the train and someone is bulldozing their way on without letting me off? Well, get out of my way because I'm going to square my little shoulders, walk right into you and never even say excuse me because you deserved it.

I wonder what it is that causes people who have been standing nose to armpit in a crowded train to get out at the last stop along with many other people and just stand right outside the door as if all the shoving they did to get ON the train, and all the jostling they did to get the EXACT spot that they wanted was with the sole purpose of standing on the platform at the train station just keeping everyone else from getting off.

You know what I say to those people? F*cking move. No really, that's what I say. Sometimes I only say it in my head, but you can bet your sweet bippy I think it really loud.

I've also developed a New Englander's sense of what I feel is reasonable weather to wait outside in. I take a shuttle from the T station to my work, and every morning, especially during the winter, unless a shuttle is already waiting curbside, there is always a gaggle of folks waiting right inside the station entrance for the shuttle to show up. Not me. I march right past all those silly waiting folks and stand outside regardless of the weather, and yeah, I'll admit it, it makes me feel a little superior. I think things like "Where did they grow up? California?" and then I scoff at them. And no, a little frostbite never hurt anyone.

Selective hearing seems to be another handicap that afflicts the Boston commuter. I swear that people can hear the train from miles away, but they can't hear me when I say "excuse me". All I want is to manage my commute without getting into a brawl. All I want is a little bit of kindness, or at least a grudging shuffle out of my way. Is it too much to ask of you, especially as you've had your crotch in my face for 25 minutes?

But here's just one small piece of advice for you before I go. If you've ever ridden the T, or really any subway at all, ever, then you realize that in order to get from point A to point B, the train must move. So hold on to something, okay? Because your balance isn't as good as you think it is, and each time the train stops, the possibility that it will start moving again is Very High. All you do when you let go of the railing or the bar or whatever is piss me off because now not only do I have to keep myself from falling on whomever is standing or sitting around me, but I've also got to prepare myself to catch you when you lurch off balance and fall, limbs all akimbo, into my arms, as if the concept of a suddenly moving train never occurred to you.

*Although, if I am forced to choose between the two, I'll take the bag any day.

National Flogic Day, Part II

I'm not a slave to fashion. I don’t need to wear the latest designs, or buy new makeup for each season. To be honest, I don’t really care much for fashion at all. Style, however, is important to me, and I have a whole litany of rules and regulations that I subject myself to each day as I get ready to leave my house.

When I was still living in downtown San Jose, I would ride my bike all over town while wearing my four inch slides or my faux leopard-print boots, thinking nothing of practicality.

Practicality has never been an item on my list of style rules.

Exchanging cute shoes for Comfort never even crossed my mind a remote possibility.

The year after I moved to Boston, a bunch of my co-workers and I decided to do a 13.1 mile charity walk, and I was never worried about whether or not I’d be able to complete the walk.

I did have other concerns, though. One morning, I walked into a my friend K’s office and said, “What shoes are you going to wear for the walk?” She just stared at me until she realized I was serious and then she replied, “Um, Sneakers?” I said, “But sneakers make me look like an asshole.” and then I walked out of her office. When she stopped laughing, she asked me what I was planning to wear for the walk. I said I thought I’d wear my Sketchers because they were sneakerish but still cute.

So I did. And I finished the walk. But not without injuring one of my big toes and ending up with some really freaky shit happening to that toenail. In fact, I ended up convinced I had an ingrown toenail and going to the doctor about it not once, but twice.

To this day, whenever the weather turns inclement, my friend will call or email to find out what shoes I’m wearing, and usually I’m wearing something not terribly practical.

Mike thinks that my unwillingness to wear sneakers for the walk is a primo example of flogic, and I suppose if I use his standards, he’s right. But had I wore sneakers that day, I wouldn’t have ended up at the doctor’s office one Friday night for my perceived ingrown toenail, and in my terrified state (oh yeah – I HATE going to the doctor. Usually they need to make me lie down and do deep breathing exercises before they can take my blood pressure.) I may not have felt the need to just drive around looking at stuff instead of going home, and I might not have wandered into the café where I met Mike.

Um, the point?

Well, I guess it going something like this:

1 - Fashion is Lame.
2 - Style is Good.
3 - Cute shoes are Great.
4 - Cute shoes and sneakers are not equal.
5- Wearing cute shoes to go on long walks and injuring yourself can lead you to cute boys who will later make Big Fun of you for spending A LOT of time thinking about #’s 1-4.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before I go, I’d like to show you a little something:



Last night, I went met Wendy, Keiko, Jackie, and Wendy’s lovely friend Erin, for dinner at Clery’s in the South End. We ate, we drank, we knit, and we spent a lot of time talking about Jackie’s engagement. She’s just radiant and full of joy, and I know that she and Eric are going to spend a lifetime full of love together.

Yay for love.

National Elisa Thinks You Should Embrace the Thong and For God’s Sake, Pull Up Your Pants Day

Okay, this may not relate to you. Maybe you own a mirror, and maybe you use it on a daily basis. Maybe, before you leave your house in the morning before school or work, or in the evening before you go out, you take one last look at your ass before you walk out the door to make sure that:

1) You can not see your panties, or any panty lines through your pants,
2) You can not see the top of your panties when you bend down, and
3) You most certainly can not see the top of your panties when you’re standing up

If you answer “Yes, I make certain of those things”, then you may as well just skip ahead to the next blog, because you’ve already got this shit figured out. But if you’re thinking to yourself, “What are panty lines?” then keep on reading, darlin’, because this is for you.

First of all, there’s no reason for you to own any non-thong panties. Don’t argue with me. You’ll get used to the feeling of the thong, and let me just tell you that whatever you think it’ll be like, it’s not nearly as uncomfortable as the feeling of having all that granny panty fabric all bunched up. Let me repeat: there is no reason for you to own any panties that are not thongs - Not for “that time of month”, not for working out, not for riding your bike, never. They are cute, they are comfortable, and if you don’t own any, then you should.

If you insist that thongs will be uncomfortable and that you don’t want that piece of string up your butt, okay fine. You’re wrong, but whatever. At least observe a few simple, rules, ahem, suggestions:

1) If you plan on wearing white pants, check the thickness of the pants before you put on your red panties. If you have to ask why, then this rule is doubly important.
2) If you are going to wear thin pants, it is important that your panties also be relatively thin, otherwise you will be a victim (or perpetrator) of PTL. Panty Lines. Panty lines aren’t pretty – panty lines suggest a lack of attention to detail. And you know what else? Just because you can’t see it (because you can’t see your ass unless it’s on purpose) doesn’t mean that it’s not there. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean that I want to see it.

Second, before you leave your house in the morning, just bend down or bend over and feel above the back of your pants. Feel anything sticking up out of your pants? This applies to both #2 and #3 at the beginning of this post because it’s either your panties or your ass crack, and I don’t want to see either. If it’s your panties, go put on your low-rise panties (or better yet, your low-rise thong). If it’s your ass crack you feel, go put on different pants. I don’t care how young you are, or how young you feel, ass crack is not the new cleavage. It isn’t cute, it isn’t sexy, it does nothing except hide the place that makes poop, and I can assure you, there is NOTHING sexy about that thought. So change your pants. And then burn them.

Having trouble remembering all these rules, er, suggestions? Then just remember this: Crack Is Bad.

Keep your thongs low, your pants up, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

National Elisa Thinks Nothing Good Can Come From Bananas Day

Well, maybe banana bread, but that's a big maybe.

I have a friend who hates bananas as much as I do, but she eats them every day because they are "good for you". I saw Screw That.

If I happen to like something that is good for me, well, fine. If I happen to think that something tastes terrible, well, then I don't care if it is good for me or not, I'm not having it.

Maybe that's the best thing about being a grown up: not having to eat something just because it's good for me.

My dad's second wife had this whole "no thank you helping" thing that really made me crazy. No matter what she was serving, you had to eat at least a small helping of it or you wouldn't be excused from the table. I spent a few formative years eating at least one thing I didn't like that was supposedly good for me at each meal, and when I was finally old enough to make my own choices about what I would and wouldn't eat, I decided categorically that I would never eat a banana again. I can't stand the smell, I can't stand the taste, I can't stand the way that they get brown and mushy. I can't stand anything banana flavored, and if I get the banana flavored jelly bean, I'll spit it out and say (or squawk, more likely) Blech! Ack! Ick!

I'll throw down for the hot buttered popcorn flavored jelly bean, but the banana is all yours.

If you like bananas (and I'm sure you don't, especially as today is all about how Stupid and Bad bananas are), rest assured that I will never fight you for one. Yuck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I spent a little time getting to know the outlet shops in North Conway and Tilton, NH this weekend, and this is a sampling of some of the items that followed me home:

That there haul includes a $4.00 skirt and a $10.00 pair of purple wool pants from The Gap. No shit.

And now I'm rockin' it Lolly style, because, well, who doesn't love Lolly Lauren?

Two little fabric flower pins that now live at my house.

But I've saved the best for last. We all know that I'm not terribly practical when it comes to choosing the right footwear for the right occasion.* Mike has been trying to get me to buy "practical" winter boots now for quite a while (read: since he's known me). I caved when I was at the outlets. I went for "practical". But I went practical in true Concateknit style:

Why yes, those are knee high plaid rain boots. And yes, I am wearing them with my sweat pants shoved into them. Is that my ceiling you see in the background? Well, duh. I mean, how would you take a picture of your new knee high plaid rain boots?

If you haven't heard the good news already, go here. Then come back. I'll wait.

Isn't that just the greatest news? I haven't known her for very long, but I can tell you that she's an absolute doll, and she deserves all the happiness that a long life filled with lots of love and joy can bring her. The wheels are in motion for The Plan.

I also wanted to take a minute to say thanks for the great comments you left about Kim Day. If you haven't checked out the comments for yesterday's post, you have a couple of minutes, and you're interested in learning a few little known facts about yours truly, well, Kim's here to help you out. I can attest to the truthfulness of all the anecdotes.

*Actually, you may not know this about me yet, but you will on Thursday.

National Kim Day

I know I've talked about my best friend Kim a lot since I've started this blog, and in the spirit of getting to make all the rules this month, I've decided that today is Kim's day.

Here's why (In no particular order):

1. Kim has the most beautiful curly hair ever. The kind that women pay hundreds of dollars to try and replicate artificially.

2. In addition to the hair, she's got beautiful big blue eyes and long eyelashes.

3. She was a dancer for many years, and one of my favorite pictures is of her wearing a ballet costume when she was in 8th grade.

4. Her first car was a yellow VW Beetle.

5. My cat Bubba recognized the sound of her engine pulling into our driveway and would always run up to greet her, and sometimes, if she wasn't fast enough, he'd jump into her car.

6. When we were in high school, if I was sick and needed to go to the doctor, she'd pick me up from my house, make sure I was wearing a sweater or coat, and drive me to my appointment. Of course, her car would be nice and warm when I got into it because she would worry about me catching a chill.

7. Kim's grandma made her a beautiful Columbia costume when we were in Rocky Horror Picture Show.

8. Kim knows pretty much every bad or stupid thing I've ever done, and she still loves me.

9. Kim knows the bad and stupid things that many people have done, and she still loves them, too.

10. Our senior year of high school, I lived down the street, around the corner, down the street, around the corner, down the street and on the corner from Kim.

11. The first gift I received from Tiffanys was a heart necklace that Kim gave to me for my 30th birthday.

12. Kim was the first person to ever send me flowers at work, and that was for my 29th birthday.

13. Kim is unfailingly honest.

14. Kim is a wonderful mom.

15. Kim has 3 beautiful children - One daughter and twin boys.

16. When Kim's daughter was just starting to talk, she had a way of saying "honey bee" that was so cute that sometimes Mike and I will look at each other, say "honey bee" and start laughing.

17. Kim's laugh is infectious.

18. When I was in a car accident and didn't feel I could call either of my parents to come and get me, I called Kim, and she drove 20 miles to get me in the middle of a terrible storm, and then drove 40 miles to drop off the boy I was dating, and then 20 miles back to drop me off at my house before she got to go back to bed. Oh, did I forget to mention that I called her at like midnight?

19. One morning, after Kim had spent the night at my house, she woke up with about 8 cats (my mom had lots of them at the time) on the bed around her, and she always tells people she felt like Cat Woman.

20. Kim likes chicken.

21. I spent New Year's Eve '99/'00 with Kim and her husband, and on January 1st, we went and saw "Galaxy Quest" together. Periodically, Kim asks me if I've ever seen "Galaxy Quest" and then professes having NO RECOLLECTION of seeing it with me.

22. Kim taught me how to use a potato peeler.

23. Kim also taught me that cabbage and lettuce are not the same thing.

24. Kim makes a mean crudite.

25. Without fail, Kim will pick out the one gift that you would choose for yourself.

26. I don't feel like anything is "really real" until I've had a chance to talk to Kim about it.

27. Kim sent me and Mike a tin full of homemade goodies at Christmas time, and we fought over every last one of them.

28. Kim has the best in-laws ever. I covet her mother-in-law. :)

29. Even though Kim drives a minivan, I still think she's cool.

30. Whenever I go to California, Kim makes sure to feed me Mexican food. Stat.

31. When Kim came to visit me and Mike in 2003, I told her to bring good walking shoes. She brought her version of good walking shoes, which resulted in her having wicked bad blisters on her feet. I kept asking if she was okay, and she would say "I'm fine. I just need to pick up some more band-aids."

32. Kim is a certified EMT.

33. Kim also went to beauty school.

34. Kim is a genuinely kind person. I think true kindness in people is rare.

35. Kim and I once went to Berkeley and got hair wraps. We also had our palms read.

36. At a cast party for Rocky Horror, Kim stopped everyone who walked by, saying "Did you know that Elisa is my best friend in the whole world?". She'd follow that up by telling them that she was exactly 7 months older than me.

37. When I think about my family, I automatically include Kim.

38. When my G'pa died, Kim drove about 6 hours round trip to spend a total of about 4 hours with me.

39. When I went back to school after dropping out, Kim told me that even if she had to drive to my house every day and drag me naked to school, I was going to graduate on time. She was the only person who believed I would graduate on time, and I did.

40. Kim and I used to skip class in college and play chess in the student union instead.

41. If I drove by Kim in our college parking lot and said "I forgot my parking pass and I don't have any change, so I can't park. Do you want to go to Taco Bell?" she'd just hop in the car and off we'd go. Rarely did we make it back for class.

42. When I worked at a shoe store, Kim would come and buy things from me to help make sure I met my sales quotas.

43. Every job that Kim had always seemed like a cool job to me. It didn't matter what it was, it was just that Kim was doing it.

44. Kim has asked me for something, anything, handknit for her birthday.

45. Kim has very good taste in music.

46. Kim is plotting against me with Mike to get rid of my "bad" movies. The fact that she doesn't love "Dude, Where's My Car?" is maybe one of the only bad things I can say about her.

47. She always knows just what to say.

48. She doesn't think so, but she is quite eloquent and well-spoken.

49. She and her husband own a beautiful house and some acreage in the mountains of California and it is one of the most peaceful places I've ever been.

50. She's the best friend anyone could ever have, and I'm just glad she's mine.

I'm sure there's someone in your life that you feel the same way about that I feel for Kim, so if you haven't talked to that person today, why not give them a call, or send them an email, and let them know that they deserve their own day, too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lauren - I promise I'll tell you what else was in the trunk. Tomorrow. ;)

National Elisa Thinks Today is Patriots Day

You WILL be watching the Super Bowl this evening, right?

I just want to say that, no matter what happens, I think the New England Patriots are an amazing team. They run onto the field together, they don't talk smack about opposing teams, they are humble when others talk about the Patriots being a dynasty, and oh, they've won two Super Bowls in the past three years and they finished the season 14-2.

The fact that Tom Brady is a native Northern California boy doesn't hurt, either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In Other News:

You know that I have a new job. You know that it's a Big Girl Job. Well, it's a new Big Girl Job that I L.O.V.E. It isn't an easy job, in fact, it's a very hard job and it is going to keep me very busy. I'll probably have to bring work home from time to time, and for that, I need some kind of item that will transport work from my office to my house. No, now is not the time to remind me that I have a closet full of the kinds of items I am talking about because I will laugh in your face. I will categorically deny that any such appropriate item actually lives at my house.

Or at least, I would have said that until I brought this choice little baby home:


Can you hear me giggling?

I know that I seem to be pretty happy, but you see, as a result of having a new job that I love, I'm having nightmares that involve being made to go back to my old job. Let's just say that my new little Coach item helps me close the door on the old job. I mean, the old job was so un-Coach-worthy. ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In knitting news, let me show you my back:


The back of my Ribby Cardi, that is.

I finished the back while Mike and I were in New Hampshire this weekend, and am about 4" into the left front of the cardigan. I still enjoy knitting this as much as I did when I first CO for it, and I am much less nervous about the seaming and finishing since I was able to conquer, ahem, subjugate, ehm, finish the Very Bad Sweater.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In Blogging News:

I'd like to apologize for the posting fiasco that was Friday. Our internet connectivity has been terrible and we had a repairman out Friday afternoon to unbreak the Internet for us. He was successful, but as soon as the Internet stopped being stupid and broken, Blogger went wonky and would not let me post. Finally, after some hair pulling, swear-word inducing, anxiety raising minutes, Blogger showed that I had posted successfully and I shut down my computer and ran out the door (just so I could sit in traffic, of course).

This afternoon, when I got home and pulled up my blog, I saw that I had successfully posted not once, but five times on Friday. Sigh.

Go Pats!

National Commuting Makes Elisa Anxious Day

Sometimes I realize that I am, and always will be, a California girl. To be more specific, a California girl, who despite her earth friendly tendencies, would really be more happy driving her own car everywhere she has to go. Especially to work.

I spent 3 hours commuting today. One and a half hours to work, one and a half hours home, and you know how many miles I travelled? Twelve. Total. Not each way, nope. Round trip.

I miss having my own goddamn car*.

Rationally, I understand that a car would not really alleviate my commuting anxiety, it would only channel it elsewhere, but when I am on a bus for forty minutes, going four miles, and I spend that entire time with a stranger's crotch, ass, or armpit in my face**, well, let's just say being at a standstill in traffic in my own car sounds like heaven.

So, now I am home, and ridiculously anxious because I have to get in our car and drive through the city on my way to a weekend out of town. I should be focused on the relaxing that will be happening in a few short hours, I should be focused on the fact that I am spending a weekend out of town with some really cool people in a really beautiful setting. I know I should be focused on those things. But you know what I'm really thinking about, right?

I'm thinking about driving through Boston at 4pm on a Friday.

Oh Jesus, I gotta go.
ll
PS - because commuting ate all my free time today, I won't be able to post tomorrow, and for that, I humbly apologize. I had a plan that was thwarted by the MBTA**.

*I have half a car. Mike NEEDS to drive to work every day, and helps me out with my commute as often and as much as he can. Today was something of an aberration.

**These items get their very own special day, mwah ha ha...

PPS - I think Melanie called me an adorable bunch of neuroses, and to that I say um, thanks? ;) Just kidding, Melanie, I got a huge laugh out of that comment. And Mandy asked me if I was a perverted cucumber lover, to which I have to say, well, duh, of course! Oh, and Wendy - why are you farting in my comments? I really thought you were more refined than that. heh heh heh. ;)

*mwah* eveyone, have a great weekend. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled neuroses on Sunday.

National Flogic Day, Part I

Since I get to make up the rules this month, I’ve decided that today is National Flogic Day. In fact, today is National Flogic Day, Part I, because I’ve decided that here at Casa Concateknit we’ll be celebrating Thursdays are for National Flogic Day all month.

That being said, you probably want to know what the hell “flogic” is…

Some Background:

Back when I was a vegetarian in good standing (I’ve had a hot dog and pepperoni since, so I’ve fallen hard and fast) I would get meat guilt. Meat guilt is the guilt I feel when I ask a friend of mine what she plans to make for dinner, and she responds with something like “Oh, I could defrost some steaks, or there’s some chicken in the refrigerator” and I start feeling like a complete loser because there are no steaks in my freezer to be defrosted to feed to my family. I end up feeling very guilty about being a vegetarian and have to stop myself from running out to the grocery store and buying a bunch of meat I know nothing about and have no idea how to prepare.

A Story:

My meat guilt drives me to demand periodically that Mike and I go to restaurants that serve virtually no vegetables, and one day, I insisted that we go to Woodman’s the following weekend so that Mike could have chowder, fried clams, and whatever other kind of fried seafood he was interested in that would help assuage my meat guilt. Mike, being the concerned boyfriend that he is, asked me what I would have to eat. I never even hesitated when I said I’d eat fried zucchini. Remember Mike’s “What Are You Doing?” face? That was the look that he gave me as he asked why I would possibly think that Woodman’s would have fried zucchini. I said “It just makes sense” and he said “To Whom?” At work the next day, I asked my friend Jess what kind of vegetarian items Woodman’s had (I realize that even the fried zucchini isn’t really vegetarian) and she responded, just as quickly as I did “fried zucchini”. You can imagine how excited I was to tell Mike.

We went to Woodman’s the following weekend, and I, feeling vindicated, marched up to the counter to order only to find…no fried zucchini.

The Point:

Mike christened the logic that brought me to the conclusion that Woodman’s would have fried zucchini “flogic”, which means “female logic” and don’t ever let him tell you it means anything else (he told a female co-worker that it meant “flawed logic” because he didn’t want to get in trouble). The most integral factor in determining whether or not something is flogic is a certainty that you are absolutely right, even when common sense tells everyone else around you that well, you aren’t.

So – when’s the last time you used flogic?

I have to thank you guys for your hilarious comments today and always. You guys rock!

In other news:

I got tagged!

Michelle, of The Orange Yarn, Please, and Maryse, of bag 'n' trash, tagged me to do the neat music meme that has been making its way around the blog scene (I feel v. cool, I tell ya’).

1) Total amount of music files on your computer:
A lot. Add a zero to however many GBs you think is reasonable.

2) The last CD you bought:
Damien Rice, “O”

3) What is the last song you listened to before reading this message?
Black is the color of my true love’s hair – Nina Simone

4) Write down 5 songs you often listen to or that mean a lot to you:

I See A Darkness – Bonnie Prince Billy. I was introduced to Will Oldham with this song by someone that I was very close to for a too-short period of time.

In the Dark – Nina Simone. Just listen to it. You’ll understand.

Goodnight Lover – Songs:Ohia. It reminds me of the end of my marriage

Love and Work – Songs:Ohia. It reminds me of the beginning of my relationship with Mike.

Hey Jupiter – Tori Amos. Tori Amos reminds me of my friend Amanda, and I’ve always really identified with this song.

5) What 3 people are you going to pass the baton to and why?
Wendy, because I know she’ll surprise me.
Jackie, because she makes really good mix cds.
Nancy, because she’s just cool like that.

A Long Time Coming

It’s been a long, arduous journey. At times, I didn’t think we’d make it. We went long periods without speaking to each other, and when we were speaking, well, sometimes it got ugly. I hung in there for the sake of our friends, and in the end, it was our friends that helped me to stay the course.

I was determined to work through all our remaining issues. We decided to get together on Sunday:



I required some fortification:



And a few hours later, with no little amount of swearing on each of our parts, we had reached a satisfactory resolution:



You’ve decided to move out and move on. I respect that. I’d say it’s about time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In other news, welcome to:

National Elisa Thinks Getting Other People to do Stuff You Don’t Want to do is A Good Idea Day

There is a lot of stuff out there that seems interesting or just plain crazy, which you should try to get other people to do (or try) for you.

For example:

Ear Candling
Decorating one’s home with lots of “Helping Hands at Home” kinds of crafts (think macramé or ceramic ducks)
Eating strange parts of animals (sweet breads, anyone?)

This is of course only a very short list of the kinds of things you should try and get other people to do for you Why would you want someone else to try sweet breads, you ask? Well, because there is no way you’d eat them, right? I mean, EWW!

The point is not to embarrass or make fun of people, it is really just to get them to do things you don’t, or won’t, do yourself.

So, today, go out there and get other people to do stuff you don’t want to do. Try and convince them that it’ll be Fun if they write that report you don’t want to write. Convince someone that it’s in their Best Interest to have no fewer that 20 items with American flags decorating their homes*. Explain to someone why they should have 4 children so that you can be a Good Auntie. Tell your boyfriend that he should answer to the name Lashundra because it’s a nice name and you like it. Really, it’ll be Good For You.

*I’ve been trying to convince Caroline of this for years. Since she doesn’t seem to be rushing out to satisfy my needs, I’ve been helping her along, and have been able to purchase for her choice items like a ceramic cow, painted like an American flag but wearing a teeny tiny crown. This is Big Fun.

Welcome to "National Elisa Thinks Stuff Month"

Every organization or cause seems to get its own day or month, and I really don't see why I should be any different. So, starting today and continuing through the month of February, I plan on making every day "National Elisa Thinks X Day".

So, for February 1st, I bring you:

National Elisa Thinks Corn Sucks Day

No, really, I hate corn. And you should, too.

Seriously, anything that comes out the way it went in is well, just wrong. I'm not offended by corn chips, corn tortillas, or even polenta, but corn on the cob, creamed corn, canned corn or any kind of kernal-y corn item just seems wrong and I won't eat it.

When I was a child, the only way I could finish eating an ear of corn was to play typewriter: I'd make typing noises while I ate and then at the end of a "row", I'd say "Ding!" and move to the next row.

I suppose the butter and salt helped, but really, it was mostly about the dinging.

Corn is an insidious vegetable and I've become quite paranoid about checking my salsa for corn on the ingredient list. The fact that I even have to think about whether or not there will be corn in my salsa seems crazy to me, and not for the reason that you're thinking.

So when you grow that corn next year, put it in your compost heap, pound it into flour, but don't, don't, don't put it in salsa.