Friday, July 25, 2008
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See you there!
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Yesterday, for the first time ever, I had a pedicure.
I'm headed to Cape Cod this weekend for a wedding and a couple of my friends talked me into going for a mani-pedi with them. I had no worries about the manicure part of the deal. I've had a few manicures in my life and even once dipped my toes into the pond that is acrylic nails. (Not me. I couldn't function and was afraid I'd scratch my eyes out in my sleep.) It was the pedicure part I worried about.
My feet shouldn't be touched. Really. There are a few reasons for this. First, I'm extremely ticklish. I giggle and squirm when I touch my own feet. I couldn't imagine how I'd handle having someone else touch my feet. Second, my feet are just gross. I have wonky toes that turn sideways. I have callouses on the soles that one of my friends calls my tap shoes. My toesnails are bumpy and lumpy. They're just not nice feet. I imagined that the ladies who worked at the nail salon would get together for dinner that night and one would say, You would not have believed the feet on that broad! I should have taken pictures!
When we arrived at the nail place, we first picked our colors. I wanted blue for my toes - of course. But then I saw the green. My dress for the wedding is green. I needed green toes. I picked a pretty shade of pink for my fingernails. Then the pedis were first. We sat in a row of fancy chairs, complete with massage functions, reclining abilities, and People magazines. My two friends were taken care of first, which was good. I was able to watch and gear up for what was coming my way.
I got a little nervous when one of the girls started to wince and mouth, That hurts!. She, however, already had a boo-boo on her big toe that was being poked a little. I had no boo-boos, so I figured I'd be fine. I watched as they were trimmed, smoothed, snipped, scrubbed, lotioned, massaged and polished. Looked okay to me.
My turn. Jenny took care of me. She was adorable. She quickly realized that it was my first time and said, You ticklish, even though I was being a grown-up about it. When my foot would involuntarily twitch, she'd laugh and say, You sensitive. Yup. Me sensitive all right. I got through it fine - and even enjoyed it. There were a few times that I had to put my hand in my mouth and bite down to stifle the giggles and stop myself from squirming. This was especially hard when Jenny was weaving a paper towel-type thing between my toes to separate them. The best part, though, was the hot paraffin wax. It was put in a little plastic baggie, then place over the heel and tied around the ankle. Felt so good. After I was polished, I headed to the manicure chair and was pinkified. My nails are short and stumpy, but Jenny shaped them so nicely and the polish made them look so much better.
All this for $25. What a deal. My fingernails look pretty, but my feet . . . they're lovely. My feet have never looked so good. Clean. Not that they were dirty, but they feel and look clean. And neat. And new. And soft. And I like them. And I want to keep them like this.
When we were done and Jenny called out, Goodbye today!, we walked over to Chili's for drinks. I had to remember to respect the manicure as I opened doors and flipped through the menu. I ordered a Blue Pacific Margarita. It came in a glass big enough to swim in. Potent stuff, too. Yikes. You'll be happy to know (Mom) that I didn't finish it. I couldn't have. I would have been ill. I was trying to maintain my new image as a fancy, dainty, pampered lady.
I could get used to that.
So don't you want to see?
Here are my green toes with my green dress:
Pretty good match.
Here are my feet in all their newfound glory.
Here's my dress. Very Greenwich-garden-party if you ask me. I'm not the Greenwich-garden-party type, but I lreally ike this dress. Good for a summer wedding. Good for $29.99 at Marshall's.
In other news . . . I had a blind date the other night. A blind knitting date. Not a date with a blind knitter, but a first time get-together with a knitter I met on Ravelry. We connected on the site and decided to meet up to knit.
I was a little nervous. What if she doesn't like me? What if she's scary? What if she's really a crazed murderer and I end up in a dumpster?
Worried for nothing. Delightful girl! (with a blog) She even invited a few others (one with a blog) and the four of us had a really good time knitting and talking. We're going to do it again. It's great to make new friends.
I've been working on these:They're addictive.
Monday, July 14, 2008
I know it's a keychain.
Don't be a wiseguy.
Do you know what it is - what its purpose is?
It's a chapstick holder. Okay, let's get this right. It's a lip balm holder. Isn't it cute?
It was an easy little knit. Piece of cake. Mmmmm . . . cake. I used US 3 needles and Sugar'n Cream cotton, knitting it magic loop style, K2P2 rib over 12 stitches. Just made it long enough to fit the tube and then did a 3-needle bind off. Cuteness.
So I made a second one . . .
I knit this pink one from the bottom up using the magic cast on for toe-up socks (not that I've ever knit toe-up socks, but I figured it would work for a toe-up chap . . . ahem . . . lip balm holder.) This way, the bound-off end is the open end, so it's a lot more rigid and sturdy. (I think those words kind of mean the same thing, but they help me make my point.) I like it better this way.
I'm planning to knit a bunch of these and sell them at our team booth at the American Cancer Society Relay for Life in Milford in September. Our team is geared around breast cancer (Woohoo! Breast cancer!), so I figure that I'll knit them in different shades of pink. Pinkity pink pink. Hopefully, they'll sell for a few bucks each and all of the proceeds go to the ACS. Good stuff.
Have I ever told you how much I love summer? I hate the heat and I can't stand the hot sun, but I love love love the knitting time. It's a wonderful thing when my real life doesn't get in the way of my knitting.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Over the course of the last few days, I've been doing some cleaning, organizing, and decluttering. As I went through my bathroom cabinet, I found quite a collection of hair products.
I have hair product issues.
I've always had semi-wavy hair. In the past, some days it was really wavy and on other days some parts were wavy, but others were straight. Wacky. Since my hair grew back after chemo, it's been different. When it first came back, it was really curly. (I remember my mother telling me about a friend of hers whose hair grew back super curly and she told me, "It was so cute - just like Little Orphan Annie." Ugh. I didn't want to look like Little Orphan Annie.) It's relaxed quite a bit over time, but it's always wavy/curly - very curly on humid days, wavy on dry days.
I have yet to find the perfect hair product to help style my hair in a way that will make me happy every day. I always air dry my hair part way and then blow dry while scrunching with my fingers. I've tried gels, mousses, pomades, waxes, creams, and pastes. I still haven't found one that I love love love. I keep buying. I keep trying. Some days my hair comes out nicely, but most days it's wonky. One side is frizzy and one side is smooth. One side flips out and one side flips in. The whole head is flat. The whole head is poofy. Never happy.
Maybe it's not hair product issues . . . it's hair issues.
I don't, however, have knitting issues.
Unless it's an issue to always knit more than one of most projects I choose.
Yesterday, I started another Wild Clover Mini Clutch. I needed another one.
This time, I used two strands of Cascade 220 held together and knit with US 6 needles. I wanted this one to be larger and sturdier so that I can use it as a make-up bag. I used another glass bead as a button.
I just finished reading this yesterday:
I think my swollen, puffy eyes have finally gone back to normal. It was such a good story, but it devastated me. I cried my way through the last chunk of the book. I'm not giving anything away to those of you who haven't read it - there were happy parts mixed in with sad parts. It's just that the sad parts really got to me. It was heartbreaking to read about the conditions that women in Afghanistan had to endure - and many still have to endure.
I'd read this author's first book, The Kite Runner, and I loved it. I'd received it as a gift from a friend, but originally had no interest in reading it. It just didn't appeal to me. One day when I was stuck with nothing to read, I picked it up and couldn't put it down. A Thousand Splendid Suns wouldn't have appealed to me either, had I not already read the first book. I'd knew I'd probably like it. I was right.
If you haven't read it, you should. But make sure you have a box of tissues and a bottle of Tylenol next to you. And maybe even a place to take a nap when you're done. I was exhausted.
Off to find some mindless, happy, light reading.
Friday, July 11, 2008
I knit up this little ditty holding two strands of yarn together - each in a different colorway. I randomly dropped one strand and replaced it with a different colorway. I knit until I didn't have much left and bound off. I knit a 5-stitch i-cord strap using some leftover Cascade 220. Voila!
I reallly like it.
Then I looked inside. Ooh. That's pretty, too.
So I flipped it inside-out. Hmmmm. I really like that.
I can't decide which way I want to use it. I've always been partial to stockinette stitch, but the reverse stockinette really shows off all of the colors. Whaddayathink?
In mothering news, my boy ate eggs today! I know, I know - call the newspapers. It's the story of the century. But really - this is a BIG deal. It is. I have been raising hotdog-mac'n cheese-chicken nugget-pizza-french toast-pancake-waffle-grilled cheese-boy for fourteen and a half years. He's never eaten eggs. Wouldn't touch them. Tonight as I was making french toast (with cinnamon and vanilla in the eggs - yum!), I had leftover egg mixture. When the french toast was done, I poured the eggs into the pan, scrambled them, and . . . ahem . . . strongly encouraged my boy to try them.
No way. I hate eggs. They're all over your french toast. Eat them. Yuck. I can't. I know what eggs are like. You do not. Just try them. No, no, no, don't put them on my plate and ruin my french toast experience! Okay, get me a little plate. Try them while they're hot or you really won't like them. Maybe when I'm done. No. While they're hot. They get cold fast.
I put a piece of eggy goodness into my mouth to show the boy how delicious they were. He rolled his eyes, took both of the plates (good sign!) and walked away.
You're right. They're pretty good. They taste just like french toast.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Sunday, July 6, 2008
I've also been working on my black garter stitch version of the Anthropologie. It's . . . BO-RING. I like it and I know I'll wear it happily, but the knitting is a big ZZZZzzzzzzzzzzz. I need to work on other things to break this one up. I'm determined to finish but . . . yawn.
When I was at my sister Kim's house yesterday, she tried on her Anthropologie - the one that's just like my first one. (Yes, I'll knit a different sweater pattern soon. I feel like I could knit this one blindfolded and upside down while wearing a straight jacket underwater.) She's happy with it and likes the fit, but I just need to lengthen the sleeves few inches to make her completely love it. I'll work on that today.
By the way, Kim is the sister who knits and who doesn't come to Thursday SnB, but really should. I told her yesterday that the SnB girls who were there last Thursday said I need to make her join us, but Kim insisted that I've never invited her. Wrong. I asked her to come after I first started going and knew I loved it. She says that didn't happen. It did. My mother and sister Kathy backed me up.
So . . . . Kim . . .
You are hereby cordially
invited to join a wildly fun
group of knitters at
Thursdays 7:00 PM
Panera Bread in NH
Thursday, July 3, 2008
As I told you the other day, I really did go to my dental appointment to have a 3/4 crown put on one of my molars. I was a good girl.
I arrived on time (which is amazing in and of itself), drank a final cup of water (which was dumb because when I get nervous I have to pee like a puppy), and waited for my name to be called. I waited for . . . about 8 seconds. I assured the girl that I wasn't in a rush and if she had other things to take care of, I'd be more than happy to wait. She wasn't buying it.
I got myself settled into the chair and began to go through my mental checklist of all of the things I'd need to ensure my comfort. 1) Lots of novocaine - enough for two people. I made sure the dentist understand that I was completely willing to drool for 3 days following the procedure just to be sure I was truly numb. 2) The noise-cancelling headphones and iPod that I was promised. 3) Gas. Nitrous Oxide. I'd never had it before, but I was looking forward to any help I could get to make myself leave the room while they worked on my mouth.
Check. Check. Check.
We were good.
The iPod I was given was amazing. Eighty bajillion artists and songs were loaded onto this thing. I started myself off with some Dave Matthews Band, which I felt would go along nicely with the drug-induced haze I'd be in from the nitrous. The nose mask was put onto my face (I made the assistant swear that no photographs would be taken), and I was reminded to breathe through my nose. No small feat for a mouth-breather. The dentist did the novocaine thing (Crap! That hurt!) in three places. I took some seriously deep nose-breaths, which made the nose mask grip onto my face with major suction - and we all know how I feel about suction, and I immediately knew that I would not be treating myself to an ice cream cone when I was done. Wine. It would be wine.
The dentist started to do whatever it is that dentists do and I continued to nose-breathe. The headphones worked really well and although I could hear voices, I couldn't really make out what was being said. I do remember that the dental assistant began to sound like a valley girl with lots of Oh my Gods and likes. I know I had to stifle a few giggles because I heard her rambling on and only heard the dentist saying ah-ha and hmmmm.
Then . . . the drama. I started to become more aware of what was going on. My nitrous had been slowed and I wasn't in lala-land anymore. I opened my eyes and saw the dentist looking at me and thought he was going to tell me I was done. Nope. He said something like, I'm going to have to leave now. Huh? I'm not feeling well. I'm having trouble with my vision and I'm going to the emergency room. Huh? Dr. Blahblahblah is going to take over for me and finish the procedure. Huh? He's a great dentist and you'll be fine with him. Huh? I'm almost done with the drilling, so he'll finish that and then make the crown. What?
And then he was gone. The nitrous cranked up and I quickly sucked that nose-mask to my face until I was pretty sure it would leave a permanent impression. Then I realized that my poor dentist needed someone to drive him to the hospital. I attempted to say this to the assistant, telling her that he couldn't drive himself. Someone had to drive him. After a few tries, she understood me and took off to tell someone, while I was wondering why it took a drugged person to think about another person's safety. I switched the iPod over to Fleetwood Mac and nose-breathed again.
I was vaguely aware of a new man next to me and he continued the job. I floated and flittered and I remember thinking about blogging the experience and giggled a little. I thought about wine, too.
I opened my eyes and my original dentist was standing next to me. Huh? He took the nitrous off me and told me that he was fine. He thought he was having a major eye emergency, like a detaching retina, or maybe even a stroke. Ends up it was an ocular migraine, which he'd never had before. Never had the flashing lights or the aura. (Welcome to my world, Doctor.) He was fine and was going to complete the job.
I switched to Steely Dan and was reminded of my childhood, when my dad would play Steely Dan albums on the stereo on Sunday afternoons. Lots of old favorites, but I was giggling at Throw back the little ones, and pan fry the big ones. Fish are funny.
Then I was done. Done done done. Stick a fork and all that good stuff. Two and a half hours after I'd started, I could finally get out of that chair. I was told to rinse out my mouth with some special swamp-water-looking mouth rinse. How was I supposed to do that when the right side of my face was sliding off? I tried. It was messy.
No ice cream for me. Wasn't possible. No wine either. I couldn't imagine myself going into a liquor store and asking for a bottle of Barefoot Chardonnay. Pfffffffttttt Swwwwddddnnyy. I don't think they would have sold it to me.
I went home and tried to drink using the left side of my mouth. Nope. Tried a straw. Not so good either. I waited. About four hours. Then my face finally woke up.
I did it! I'm proud of myself. I'm such a good girl.
Want to see another good girl?
She's sound asleep. Notice her little pink tongue sticking out. Cuteness.
Want to see a bad girl?
She stole a package of Kleenex out of my bag.
Want to see a cute girl?
She thinks she's good a hiding.
I know what day it is! It's Thursday! I'm going to SnB tonight! (I don't even need those day-of-the-week undies.)
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
I'm going to the dentist today. That alone is a big deal. The bigger deal? I'm getting a 3/4 crown on one of my molars. I'm a little scared, but I'm going. (Yes, Mom and Dad, I'm going and I'll call you when I'm done. Really. No, you don't have to come with me. Yes, yes, I'll be fine. Yes, of course I'm really going. I'm not going to cancel out at the last minute. I promise. Really.)
I've had a little problem with the dentist - just the idea of the dentist. There were years that I allowed to quietly pass without going to the dentist. Years. I'll admit now that I was being a big baby, but I felt I had good reason.
The Samurai Orthodonist.
It's all his fault. He was mean. He hurt me. He yelled at kids. He made his own dental assistants and hygienists cry. He even made some of them become meanies themselves.
Once I was done with my braces (I think I had them on for eleventy seven years), I raised my middle finger of defiance toward all teeth practitioners. I hated them all and tried to act tough, but I was hiding because I was afraid of them. All of them.
It took me a while to start going to the dentist again. When I became an adult and I was in charge of my own oral health, I figured I'd just brush and floss like a mad woman and I'd be fine. Even when an old filling fell out and left a little hole in one of my molars, I ignored it. It didn't hurt. If it doesn't hurt, let it be. A fine way to live, right? Besides, it was fun to poke my tongue at. Gave me something to do when I was bored.
I don't know what finally pushed me to make an appointment at a new dentist's office. I grew up? Nah. I overcame my fears? Nah. I was jealous of all the friends I had who had beautiful teeth? Probably.
I went for my appointment (now this was years back . . . really) and I loved loved loved my new dentist. She was wonderful. She understood my fear and she understood my very strong hatred of the suckie thing. I loathe suction of any kind. The feel of it. The sound. My skin crawls. She limited her use of the suckie thing as she replaced old fillings for me. She shot me up with enough novocaine to sink a ship. She gave me a STOP signal that I could give her if I got nervous or if something hurt. (No, it wasn't the middle finger.) She fixed me. Loved her.
She moved away.
I retreated again to my dental care-free lifestyle. I let a few years go by again. (I'm not proud of this. I brushed real good, though!)
I started going to another new dental office and they've won me over. The hygienist is a doll. She turned me on the the Sonicare toothbrush and she now tells me that my gums are gorgeous and that I couldn't possibly be brushing any better.
But, of course, a piece of an old filling just started to crumble - a piece of a much larger filling. I need a 3/4 crown. Never had me one of them before.
It'll all be done in one sitting. This office is a state-of-the-art, high tech, computerized, digitized, laserized, bells and whistles kind of place. They'll pull my tooth apart, have the computer figure out what needs to be made to put it back together, a machine will make the -art like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle, and the dentist will stick in on what's left of my tooth. I'll have novocaine. I'll have gas. (Oops, the good kind!) I'll have noise-cancelling headphones.
Still, this is a big deal. For going through this, I feel that I deserve some kind of acknowledgement - no - some kind of award for enduring this stressful tooth reconstruction. A trophy. A medal.
An ice cream cone.