Kat with a K

Um... oh.

So I finished the hat, and took pictures, and took pictures of Dewey.

And I'd love to show you, really I would.

If I could only find my flash card reader.

I managed.

So I walked out of the library with my stack of books, got in the car, and... it didn't start. The battery and oil (oil? the oil was changed last week) lights were on. Okay. I conclude that the battery is dead. I fish around in my purse for my AAA card, only to discover that it expired on June 15. Oops. I'm quite sure they didn't send me any renewal bills or anything, but now that I think about it they might have me still listed under my ex's account so the information would have gone to him. Oh well. I decide to call them anyway and ask if they'll renew my membership on the spot and come help. But... the number doesn't work. You know, 800-AAA-HELP? Verizon tells me that no such thing exists. Huh. Now what?

I go into the library foyer, pondering my options. I notice that there are a few capable-looking people around, so I call and leave a message for a friend, telling him that my car's battery is dead and please call me. Bingo. Someone looks up and asks if I want her to jump it. She is incredibly patient with my ineptness with the whole process. It takes a bit, but we get it going. She and her friend give me instructions: let it run for a while before you go anywhere. Make sure you're somewhere with cables before you turn it off again. I need gas anyway, so I go to the full serve place around the corner and warn the guy. "Before I turn it off, I want to make sure you'll be able to get it back on if the battery's dead again." He assured me they would, but it ended up having absolutely no trouble starting up again. Had it just been a fluke? I'm not sure.

So. I managed. I'm proud of myself. Sure, I didn't have the jumper cables (must remedy that) or the knowledge, but I didn't panic. I made a mental list of boys to call to come save me possibilities to pursue. I admitted to the kind stranger that I didn't know what I was doing, and I learned from her instructions. (Yay for fellow library patrons.) I coherently explained what was going on to the gas station guy. And yes, I will update my AAA membership immediately.

Okay, now the real test: off to see if it will start again...

You have got to be kidding me.

You know what will REALLY help me calm down and relax and sleep and all that? The fact that an alarm outside my bedroom door is chirping (some sort of low battery thing, I assume). Loudly. Every. Thirty. Seconds.

I... can't even... gah.

It is way too early in the morning to wrap my brain around this, but I had to share. A new anti-abortion movement has a bold new plan: get pro-life men to marry single pregnant women so they don't have abortions. Um. Right. Do you see why I'm having trouble even finding the words?

Two favorite lines from the article:

"The motif of a man proposing marriage to a woman pregnant with another man’s child is a common one on soap operas that are a fairly good gauge of female fantasy. These stories represent the truth that many pregnant women don’t really want to abort, and would not, if marriage and commitment were offered to them."

and

"Most women are quite rational people."

Yes, the first quote clearly shows how rational the author thinks women are. (Women? People? What? Dorothy Sayers review coming soon.) I'm not sure I want soap operas to be taken as an accurate gauge of "women's fantasies." Maybe some women, sure, but, um, no thanks. If you must have an accurate gauge of my fantasies, please use Jane Austen.

It seems like this would be setting up a really bad dynamic for a marriage: "I saved your baby's life. Without me, you'd be going to hell." Umm, Godlike husband much? Of course, that's probably the point.

(Thanks to Feministing for the link.)

Well, it worked!

My oh-so-subtle plea for milk, that is. I love my roommate. And the best part? He blogged about it too.

The Plan

Okay. Trying not to panic. Plans solve everything, right? I'm a good planner. I like to make lists. So. I just need some lists and a plan.

First, knitting hours as calculated last night:

Coworker scarves (2): 5 hours each
Dad's and brother's scarves: 10 hours each
Roommate's scarf: 20 hours
Nosewarmer: 1 hour
Cousin scarves (3): 3 hours each
Pairs of mittlets (3): 5 hours each

Total: 75 hours. KHPD: 7.5. Um, right. That's another full time job. I have one of those already. Huh. This might be a little difficult, you think? So.

1. This weekend will be the big marathon knitting. Friday night: finish at least one cousin scarf. Saturday night (since I'm working all day): finish at least one coworker scarf. Sunday: Knit all day. Finish other coworker scarf and nosewarmer (and hopefully something else, but let's let that be a pleasant surprise). Those three scarves are the things I really need done before Christmas, so I will breathe a bit easier then.

2. The next focus will be the mittlets, since those are harder to knit while out and about. Monday and Tuesday I will work on the mittlets at home and scarves while out (in line, on lunch break, etc.).

3. The three cousin scarves? I'm going to go with these. Two hours each. Steph promised. And did you see how I budgeted three hours for each above, since I know I can't possibly knit as fast as she does?

4. I am leaving work early tomorrow to go to the yarn store to get the yarn for the cousin scarves, mittlets, and nosewarmer. Oh, but there's supposed to be an ice storm. Please God, don't let the yarn store close. That would totally mess up the plan.

5. Basic schedule for next week: work 8-5 Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday. Probably other work Monday and Thursday evenings. Wednesday I'm taking the day off to go Christmas shopping with my cousin in Boston. I'll carry a scarf around to knit while we shop. I'm sure she'll love that. Wednesday night I need to make something for the work potluck on Thursday, but I can knit while I make meatballs, right? Wednesday night is probably around when I'll cut down on sleep, as well. Don't want to do that too early, or the adrenaline will run out.

6. Tuesday evening I have agreed to see a friend. The conversation went something like this:
Friend: We should hang out before Christmas. I have presents and I miss you.
Me: Is hanging out something that can be done while knitting?
Him: Of course. I figured as much.
So hopefully that won't cut into the knitting time too badly.

7. Friday evening is free. Thank goodness. Oh, except for packing for CT. Saturday (Christmas Eve) I'll be working and leaving for CT right from work. Sunday is Christmas and there will be lots of people at my parents' house. Nevertheless, I seem to think I will have a fair amount of knitting time both days.

8. On Christmas, I will be knitting my roommate's scarf, since Christmas Day is one of the very few days on which we won't see each other (as we'll be with our respective families). And he's okay with it being a Boxing Day or New Year's or Epiphany present if necessary.

9. And really, I'm not above giving a few things on the needles and having them done when I see everyone again at New Year's.

10. But. That's only an extra week. This is still quite a lot of knitting, even with the extra week.

Progress reports will appear when possible. Let's hope I can get lots done over the weekend so I don't get too discouraged. Send caffeine and chocolate.

P.S. I was vaguely thinking of a few more nosewarmers for other relatives, "if I have some extra time." The delusion runs deep.

The invisible divide

Isn't it weird when real life friends become online friends and vice versa? Yeah. I mean, I'm used to meeting people online and then meeting them in person. We all know how that goes. But what happens when an in person friend starts a blog?

Well, first you start finding about things in odd ways. Like you read that she's going to ask you something before she actually asks. I'm not, of course, suggesting that she shouldn't have written it... but perhaps it would have been easier to kill two birds with one stone and ask me directly in the blog.

And then this thing happened to me last night that I was going to blog about, but I looked over and Erica already had. You should read her post, because boy, is the holiday season at the bookstore fun. And to whet your appetite, my new favorite quote:

What a customer said to me last night:

"Hey, can I get, like, a library card for here? Is this a library? Nah, this ain't no fucking library."

I kid you not.

Unsuitable

If I hadn't already pretty much decided that I can no longer in good conscience consider myself a member of the Catholic Church, this would be the final straw. I'll give you a few highlights, in case you don't have time to read it.

First of all, the main point: "Even if they have never had a gay sexual experience and are fully committed to celibacy, homosexual men are not suitable candidates for the priesthood."

And in case anyone was unclear, here are some "warning signs" of potential homosexuality:

students who had trouble relating to their fathers; are uncomfortable with their own identity; tend to isolate themselves; have difficulty in discussing sexual questions; view pornography on the Internet; demonstrate a deep sense of guilt; or often see themselves as victims.

Here are some of the reasons given for why even celibate gay men make bad priests:

He said they tend to have few friends, to close themselves off from others in "a clan of persons of the same type," to resent the claims on their time made by parishioners, to encourage other gay men to enter the priesthood and to deal with authority predominantly as a matter of "seduction and rejection."

Umm, pardon? Who has he been talking to?

The article goes on to explain that candidates for priesthood must be mature in their masculine sexual identity and theoretically capable of being good spouses and fathers. It seems to be accepted without question that any man with "homosexual tendencies" could not possibly fill any of those criteria.

Really, who are the ones making statements with no social or moral value now?

EDITED to add: I just found the actual text of the Vatican document here, in case you were wondering about the thing itself.

Dear universe,

Just a few small requests:

1. The new coworker in the cube next to mine really does not need to talk to himself, randomly laugh vaguely maniacly, or sigh and/or moan at random times. Really.

2. It is getting toward the end of November. Will you get over this wishy-washy "Oh, maybe I'll rain or just fog up everything" thing and just snow already? Hint: This might be easier if you would also stop with the yo-yo temperatures.

3. I like working with the public. Really. I'm just not sure how many more times I can explain something as complex as, oh, alphabetical order or the fact that the bookstore has two floors or how, if you want a price changed, you do in fact have a "price issue" without attaching "you idiot" to the end of all of my sentences. Could we make everyone just a tad smarter?

4. You don't really want Christmas to be in fewer than 40 days. Really. How about an extra week or two? How do you expect me to get all this knitting done?

5. I'd also vaguely like to know how I ended up with two iPods in my desk, but hey, I'm not complaining.

6. Oh, yeah: Thanksgiving. Haven't I agonized over this enough already? Shouldn't it be over by now?

Thanks,
Kat

Warning: Harder than it looks.

The warning label on the bottle of cider my roommate and I split last night:

In case you can't read it, it warns against "operating machinery" in conjunction with this product.

Now, would you think that "umbrella swift" would count as "machinery" in this context? It does! Who knew?

Yeah. I was rather impressed with myself, really. "Winding yarn" has been added to the list of things I'm not allowed to do when there's been any alcohol involved in the evening. My roommate, of his own volition, took the pictures for the blog before he sent me to bed. He clearly understands the priorities around here. A few more, because they're actually kind of pretty:

I especially like that last one. (As always, click to make big.) He has potential as a wool porn photographer, don't you think?

For the record, I really didn't drink that much. It was a 750ml bottle (7.5% alcohol; less than wine has) split between two people - the cork wouldn't go back in, so obviously we had to finish it. It's just that my body isn't exactly used to, well, any alcohol at all. My roommate, for whom the cider was "like soda," was rather amused by my reaction. (I was pretty dizzy.)

The culprit, if you're curious:

You can learn about it here. It was very good - the alcoholic beverage I have liked the best, by far, of the half dozen or so that I've tried. It looks like it's only available locally, but I highly recommend it to you NH/MA/ME people. Just not when you have urgent ball-winding to do.

Libby and samurai and bears, oh my!

Hey, who knew? Everyone's favorite chief of staff is also a novelist! (That article is worth a read¹ just for the phrase "the long and distinguished annals of the right-wing dirty novel." Really.)

___
¹ But it's not exactly G-rated material. Just to warn you.

And where was the graffiti, anyway?

Just to keep us updated:
Days until Thanksgiving: 34
Number of phone calls with parents about Thanksgiving in past two days: 4
Number of neurotic e-mails to roommate about Thanksgiving in said time period: about a dozen
Number of hysterical conversations with said roommate about said topic in said time period: It's kind of hard to say. Since we live together and work together, he has a kind of hard time getting away from me.

Conversational highlights:
Dad: "No, really. It's not like you're going to be missing anything fun."
Mom: "It's a holiday. Someone might as well have fun... Maybe I can tell them I'm on call?"
Roommate: "I had no idea Thanksgiving could be this complicated."
Me (e-mail): "One more thing and then I promise I will shut up about Thanksgiving until at least, you know, November."
(In my defense, I kept that promise for several hours until my mother called me at work to discuss - say it with me now here - Thanksgiving.)
After witnessing said phone call:
Roommate: "You know, I'm starting to be surprised you turned out as normally as you did."
Me: Hysterics. Sort of unquotable.
A bit later:
Me: "So now do you see how I'm not really being unreasonably obsessive about this? Just being prepared for the inevitable?"
Roommate: "It certainly does seem to be a learned behavior."
A bit later still:
Me: "I'm driving myself crazy. I must be driving you crazy."
Roommate: Did not exactly reply. Did watch a movie with me so I could, as I put it, just stop thinking for a while.
Yes, he's a very patient man. Yes, he will be getting a darned good knitted Christmas present. (No, let's not discuss my family's Christmas plans yet. Thanks.)

So, to help me Just Stop Thinking, we watched American Graffiti. Great soundtrack. Interesting seeing the actors (especially Dreyfuss and Ford) so young. Loved Harrison Ford singing "Some Enchanted Evening." But. WTF?

Problem A: The plot. Let's just say that I was not surprised when George Lucas said in the "making of" documentary that the original version was almost twice as long. I definitely felt as though a few of those deleted scenes would have been helpful for figuring out, you know, what the heck was going on.

Problem B: The message. Let's review what we learned:
1. How to get your boyfriend back: Don't sleep with him. Do get into a potentially deadly car crash with another man.
2. How to control a man: Threaten to accuse him of rape. Alternately, threaten to rape him.
3. How to control a woman: Threaten to rape her.
4. Women ruin everything. The boy with the girlfriend did not go away to college. The one without a girlfriend did.
5. Get in cars with strange men. Really, what could possibly go wrong?
6. How to be a good teacher: Chaperone a school dance. Smoke with one student and sleep with another.
7. How to find your soulmate: Hook up with your ex-girlfriend. Join a gang (okay, it was somewhat under duress). Get a message on the radio to "the blonde in the white T-bird," because there could only be one of those.
8. Or: when you respond to his radio message, make sure you don't tell him your name.

It also really bugged me that, at the end, there were little notes of what happened to the four primary male characters, but nothing about the women. Presumably they all got married and lived happily ever after. Or, you know, went insane from dealing with these men.

I also did not notice any graffiti in the movie. Huh?