Friday night conversations

S: Monday is the Summer Solstice. Do you know what that means?
Me: It's the longest day of the year.
S: Yes, but do you know what that means?
Me: It's the first day of Summer.
S: Yes, but do you know what that means?
Me: Um....that there will be sunlight until about 10:30.
S: Yes, but do you know what that means?
Me: ???
S: The days are only going to get shorter. We're that much closer to cold and fucking snow.

Jesus. The pessimism rolling off him was palpable.

Sunday evening

I'm sitting in a slope-side room here, drinking a delicious Bloody Mary (Bloody Mary mix was home-canned by me last fall, the dill pickles were canned by a dear friend), listening to S chatter on with our dear friends I & R - they're two floors down in the pool. S is a loud talker and I've got the slider to the balcony open just a smidge.

The sun is shining, I've spent the weekend learning*, and I've not once thought about work.

This weekend? PERFECT.

*Learning how to SKI! I've fallen a couple of times but have realized that it's all a part of skiing.

Home! Dogs! Chaos and Mayhem!

S is home, safe and sound. His flight arrived on time even though it took off late. (How do they make up that time? Speed? I thought the plane roads had set speed limits so there would not be mishaps. Maybe I'm wrong.)

Anyway! We were up late into the night looking at pictures and chatting and catching up and I was so very glad he was home.

Then! We got up early to chat and look at videos and catch up and drink coffe and I was still so very glad he was home. As I continue to be.

He had many good stories from his 10-day cruise and I know I've not heard them all yet. (I'll ask if I can post some of his pictures.)

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This past weekend, I stayed at my parent's house. Sunday morning while they went to church, I took the dogs for a walk*. Their dog Annie is a Shih Tzu puppy and has not had much experience on a leash. She stuck close to Russ and followed his lead but she was not walking tail-up, ya know? Cautious, she was.


I thought it was adorable so I snapped a pic and texted it to my dad. My (72 year old!) father texted me back saying he got the pic. So I called him. Told him his Annie was doing fine and that Russ was being a good walk-on-a-leash role model** for her.

About this time, he darts sharply left just about jerking me off my feet. I had a brief glimpse of beady eyes and white teeth before Russ came up with The Raccoon With A Death Wish. Russ begins shaking it like it's a stuffed toy.

Meanwhile, I'm still on the phone with my dad. "HOLY SHIT, he's got a raccoon, I gotta go!"

A ruckus ensues: hanging up, raccoon shaking, leash tugging, screaming DROP IT -- all while standing in the middle of the road, mind you -- more shaking, and finally! I get the leash pulled up enough that Russ drops TRWADW.

On my shoes.

Luckily Russ had grabbed TRWADW by the scruffy bits of it's neck and shoulders so there was no blood***. Thank gawd.

TRWADW shook himself off, then made haste for the side of the road**** where he hopefully climbed a tree instead of sitting at the base of one WAITING FOR ANOTHER DOG ATTACK*****.

It was about this time that the bumping, dragging noise I was hearing registered. It was Annie, tearing ass down the middle of the road, dragging her retracto leash behind her. HOLY SHIT! My dad's pride and joy was running like her tail was on fire.

"ANNIEANNIEANNIEANNIE!" More screaming, some running, much tugging on Russ's leash with shouts of "This is your fault, MOVE YOUR ASS!" The yelling finally broke through her panic. Annie stopped, turned around, saw Russ trotting towards her and became her usual puppy self again.

But she made me carry her home.

My throat hurt until Monday morning.

To any of my parent's neighbors who were trying to sleep in? Oops, sorry.

*down the very un-busy-at-10 a.m.-on-a-Sunday-morning dirt road that is across the street from their house.
**he lied.
***Russ is current on his rabies shot and a close inspection revealed no scratches or puncture wounds on the big doofus. I'm watching him closely anyway.
****but not before looking over his shoulder to either a) determine he was clear for a get-away or 2) to send Russ a WTF? look. I think it was the latter.
*****GAH! Raccoon! Sitting at the base of a tree! Was he eating? Was he sleeping? Had he been hit by a car? I was going to go back and check on him but I still had the dogs with me. Poor critter. I hope he's o.k.

60-second blog post

I'm sitting in a McDonald's in Kalkaska, MI (look it up - no time to link).

S is on day 3 of the DALMAC bicycle tour. Today is a 90 mile day for him.

I get to come to McDonald's and pay $3 for a decent internet connection.

And hit ever yard sale I can find.

Yesterday was the Amish Quilt Auction & Flea Market. I bought only three things. Not including lunch.

Marth MacGuyver (Again, no time to link -- sorry Wendy!) would be proud of my thrifting skillz. No wasted efforts on my part. I'm honing my "holy cats, that is JUNK" eye and avoided the stalls that only had crappe from someone's basement.

That is all. I must go kill, yet again, the stuffed raccoon that is sitting on top of the ice machine. The thing has been staring at me for an hour and I AM THOROUGHLY CREEPED OUT.

A rant that has been brewing for awhile.

S and I have been dating for over three years now.

We're asked all the time, "When are you going to get married?"

The answer is, "more than likely, never."

This never fails to astound people.

A couple of weeks ago a friend of S's asked me 'the question' and in the process not-so-subtly implied I'm delusional if I think S is going to ask me. (I had a hard time not losing my shit on this person.)

S is very vocal in his views on marriage - his friends all know his views:

He has no plans to ever get married.

He was upfront about this when we started dating.

I knew what I was getting myself into.

Do they think I'm not able to understand what S means when he says "I'm not going to get married"?

What people fail to understand...

what they fail to take into consideration...

what they can't wrap their minds around...

is that I don't want to get married.

WHY do they give me that you're-crazy!-what-woman-doesn't-want-to-get-married look? For fuck's sake that look pisses me off. I am not defective just because I don't want to get married.

People, I've been there. I've done it. It wasn't the best experience of my life and it wasn't the worst. But I don't want to do it again.

See, here's the thing...

I LIKE being single. I LIKE having my own house and my privacy and the freedom to do what I want, when I want because it's only me I've got to look out for. I like letting the dishes stack up and falling asleep on the couch and leaving books everywhere. It's my life and I'm tired of people making me feel inferior because I don't want to get married. DEAL WITH IT PEOPLE. This is your issue - not mine.

What S and I have? It's perfect for us. It works for us.

So stop asking us when we're getting married.

Because we're not.

(A word of advice - if you're one of those people who asks couples who have been dating a long time when they're getting married? For the love of God, STOP. It's not cute and it's not funny. It's an uncomfortable question to be asked, it's an uncomfortable question to answer -- because more than likely we can't tell you to take a flying leap -- and it's really none of your business anyway.)

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Now, just because I don't want to get married doesn't mean I can't appreciate the symbolism of the day. Check out what this bride did.

Comfy Couch for Russ

We were out in the yard and S was playing with the dogs. He paused to take a break and with no prompting whatsoever, Russ decided to have a seat.

Who has time to blog?

Not me, apparently.

So far I've had a very busy and most excellent summer. Which leaves no time for Defective Typewriter!

I've had a fabulous vacation to Mackinac Island, made especially nice this year because S and the rest of his sailing team took FIRST PLACE in their division of the Port Huron to Mackinac yacht race. So aside from some quality alone time on an idyllic island, I got to hang with some pretty happy sailors.

I've learned how to knit! And I'm knitting up a storm. I've progressed from kitchen items to shawls. I'm making my mom a shawl for her to take to church with her. (See the pattern here.) The body of the shawl garter stitch (knit every row) so you'd think it would go pretty fast, right? Wrong. See, the whole "new knitter" thing is working against me as I have to go slow to keep my stitch tension even. At one point, I had to rip out a dozen rows and reknit them because they looked awful. But, the more I knit, the easier it is. I've got the continental knitting style down-pat, let me tell you. (I took a 'learn to knit' class at Joann's at the beginning of June which was invaluable for learning knitting basics. The teacher taught us the 'throwing' method which, in my opinion, is super inefficient. While searching the interwebs for videos on how do different stitches, I hit upon this video which is what I used to learn the continental method. An interesting article discussing the merits of both methods is here.)

So here's the shawl in progress:

S think it looks like a loin cloth.

I've got about 11 1/2 inches done on each side. The shawl is supposed to be 40" on the sides and 60" across the top. I figure I'll get it done sometime in 2011.

The yarn is wonderfully yummy: Moda Dea Bamboo Wool. It's 50% rayon from bamboo and 50% wool. It's scrumptious and I love knitting with it.

Enough about knitting.

Bart is here! I've had him for a week and I am enjoying him so very much. Pictures from last Thursday evening:



Been working a lot at my part-time job, too. It's a blessing and a curse, I tell you. Blessing because, let's face it, having that extra bit of cash is nice and it's a curse because it's summer! And who has time to work a second job? Me, apparently.

Which is why I have no time to blog!

Weekend Update

This past weekend was very relaxing.

I spent all day Saturday at home. I went outside once - to take the trash out. S came over Saturday afternoon and I made us dinner -- blackened salmon, green beans, baked potato.

Part of my Saturday was spent cutting out pieces for another tote bag.

The green scroll is the outside of the tote.

The pink is the lining and, if I can figure out how to do it, it will be decorative trim on the outside.

(I just realized - this is the second green & pink bag I've made. I'm not a huge fan of pink so I don't know WHY I chose these fabrics. Unless it was because of the green. I love the green!)

I'll post photos when it's done.

Sunday I realized I hadn't bought enough of the pink fabric so back to JoAnn I went. Then I stopped a S's house for a couple of minutes and finally made my way out to my folk's house for a visit. I really need to make time to go visit them more often. Mom and I played a game and dad watched poker on TV. (Why? Why are men so obsessed with watching poker on TV? I find it about as stimulating as watching paint dry.)

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S's dog had ACL surgery last week. Even with her bandage, she tussels with her stuffed pheasant and makes her needs known. "Hey Lady! Gimme a biscuit," she barks as soon as I walk in the door. She's getting to the point now where she's ready for the bandage to come off.

Speaking of her bandage, it's pink with purple hearts. Not exactly what we would've picked for S's little athlete. See for yourself...

This was taken the day she got home from the vet (Tuesday, 2/17). It also just so happened to be her 11th birthday.

S's 45th

Today is S's 45th birthday.

Dinner with friends and the Plymouth Ice Festival are his activities of choice.

Maybe I'll finally get a picture of F to post on my blog.

Kudos to my Dad (and to S, too!)

My 71 year old father - who has bowled on the Thursday night Men's Senior league my entire life (until last winter when he opted to become the alternate/substitute team member) - bowled a 704 series last night. He had a 210, a 278 (!!), and a 216.

The 278? Was one pin shy of 100-over-average.

I hope that I can carry a 179 average when I'm 71. I guess that means that I need to join a league, doesn't it?

Speaking of bowling, S and I went the other night and S bowled a 200! His first ever!

This post brought to you by the letter F.

S claims I am one of the most even-tempered people he knows. It takes a lot to ruffle my feathers.

But get me behind the wheel of a car and all bets are off.

It takes me 1.2 seconds to go from calm, orderly driver to Pissed Off Bitch Behind The Wheel. I YELL at other drivers. I make rude hand gestures (but I keep these below the dash- I'm not a complete idiot). I LAY on the horn. I speed up and glare. I slow down and glare.

The other day, S and I were going somewhere and this VAN started merging into my lane. By the time I figured out they were trying to get over for an ambulance (we were side-by-side on a 5-lane road, the ambulance was coming TOWARDS us ), I had laid on the horn and called them every sort of bad name beginning with the letter F. What scares me most is that S swears I swerved towards the idiot next to me. I don't remember this. What I don't understand, and what I yelled at the idiot next to me, through my rolled-up window and his was, "why in the HELL didn't you SLOW DOWN and merge in BEHIND ME instead of gettin' all up in my lane and making me honk your dumb ass?"

Really. I know you're supposed to try to merge over for emergency vehicles. But we were on a 5-lane road and the need for him to get into my lane (when I was already in the space he was trying to occupy!) was unnecessary when he could've tapped his brakes and merged in. We were on a BRIDGE, ffs, and I had nowhere to go.

It was not a pretty site, this bout of Road Rage. Scared the shit out of S, too.

So. I tell you this deep, dark, ugly secret because this is what I'm going to work on this year. It's not a resolution, exactly, because I never keep those, it's an acknowledgment of bad behavior I'm going to try to halt. Because one of these days, somebody with super-hearing is going to HEAR me yelling at them and then they'll stop their car and beat the ever-lovin' crap out of me.

And I really don't want THAT to happen.

Happy New Year, everyone!

WW: Our '70s finest for a fund-raising 'Prom'

S and I don't own formal wear. So when this fund-raising Prom was held in February, 2007, we dudded up in our finest polyester and hit the dance floor.

For more Wordless Wednesday, go here.