Monthly Archives: February 2010

As soon as I finished knitting Shellen, I started another stuffie. I know, I understand that I’m a bit obsessed right now. Don’t judge me.

Her name is Daphne, and she is knit with a sidekick called Delilah. One of Danger Craft’s adorable designs, Daphne has been great fun to knit. The legs were a little fiddly, but I succeeded in getting them attached to each other and have started the body portion. This is my progress so far:

The colors are much prettier in real life, I assure you. My crappy cell phone camera just doesn’t do it justice, but you get the idea.

I highly, highly recommend the Danger Craft knitting patterns - they’re just too stinkin’ adorable not to love!

“I miss honey on toast. It’s fucking remarkable.” - Sam

“Women need to protect themselves. You put that condom in your purse and save your own fucking life.”- Lady Gaga

I’m so excited (and quite frankly, damn proud of myself!) that I can hardly type.  Twelve days ago I wrote about my plans for the 2010 Knitting Olympics. Well, the Olympics are coming to an end this Friday with the official Closing Ceremony — which will also be the end of the Knitting Olympics — but I am already standing proud on my invisible virtual podium!

On February 12th at 7:30 pm during the Opening Ceremony in Vancouver, Canada, I cast on a female version of Ruth Homrighaus ’s famous Sheldon pattern.

On February 23, 2010 at roughly 10:30 am, I finished my turtle. I’ve named her Shellen:

She’s adorable and I already just love her. I won’t be gifting this, she’s MINE ALL MINE. And I love her. (Oh, I’ve already mentioned that? Sorry.)

I have definitely opened a huge can of worms with this project. I am now absolutely obsessed with the idea of knitting hundreds — no, THOUSANDS! — of critters, creatures, and monsters. And of course I want to knit them all RIGHTNOW, thankyouverymuch. But alas, knitting is not a sport for the impatient and must be trudged along at a slow, smooth pace.

This is just a tiny peek of my current knitting queue. Feel free to notice the overload of cute:

I will openly admit right here, right now, that I will never — I repeat, NEVER — be able to knit all of those stuffies. But that certainly doesn’t stop me from fantasizing about doing just that…

I just spent a half hour looking at photos of my sister’s trip to Peru last year. I’ve never wanted to go traveling more in my entire life than I do right now.

As many of you know, last August I lost one of my best friends to a fatal motorcycle accident. Her name was Heather Rini and I write about her often. During the hours that followed her sudden death, I connected with her other best friend, Sandi. She and I have kept in close contact ever since. We’ve spent hours on the phone and have sent more text messages to each other than can be counted. Over the past 6 months, we have built a powerful friendship without ever having properly met. But we’re about to change that.

In celebration of Sandi’s graduation from beauty school, Sam and I will be spending a few days in Seattle soon.

I’ve spent the majority of the morning navigating every hotel reservation website known to man. After hours of painstaking research, I think I’ve finally decided on a jacuzzi suite for $85 a night when booked in advance through the hotel itself. I guess sometimes even the Travelocity gnome and the Priceline Negotiator can’t beat standard hotel specials. The reservation is non-refundable under any circumstance, but I’m confident that at this point nothing short of nuclear genocide will come between Sandi and I and the meet-up of a lifetime that we’ve earned.

So here’s to FINALLY getting to hug Sandi after all these painful days, weeks, and months since Heather’s passing. I’m looking forward to a weekend in remembrance of our Heather who sadly cannot be there to share the memories we’ll undoubtedly create.

With the loss of one great friend came the addition of another — a friendship to stand the test of time in honor of an amazing friend we once shared. Sandi, here’s to a new beginning with deep respect to an unexpected ending. My dear Sandi, I cannot wait to meet you. I love you with all of my heart, my newest friend.

I’ve become enamored by the beauty and spiritual history of Tibetan and Buddhist meditation/prayer beads.

This might come as a bit of a shock to those of you that know I am strongly anti-religious, but that doesn’t mean I am anti-spiritual. Though I do not believe in a higher power or invisible men in the sky that I’m supposed to talk to and build an intimate, loving relationship with (exactly how is that not blatant Schizophrenia??), I am extremely intrigued by the idea of metaphysical energy and the benefits of concentrated thought.

I’ve been shopping around the past few days searching for a local Tibetan bead supplier. I’d like to make a variety of Buddhist mala bracelets like the power beads I used to wear in high school; similar to the ones Heidi Montag has been seen wearing:

This weekend I will be heading down to my old stomping grounds, the Hawthorne District (known for it’s metaphysical, natural healing, and head shops), in search of authentic Tibetan prayer beads. I’d also like to stop at Powell’s Books to find an instructional meditation and/or yoga book.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Yesterday afternoon, as I pulled my Danskin gym clothes out of my Nike gym bag before grabbing my brand new touch-screen mp4 player (a Valentine’s Day gift from Sam) and tying my New Balance running shoes, I realized something — I am now that girl at the gym.

You might know the girl I’m referring to. That girl is the one that can often be seen:

• holding herself as if she feels a bit superior to those around her.
• proudly flaunting a brand name gym bag.
• only sporting water-wicking activewear fabrics in cute, flattering styles.
• working out while listening to her badass touch-screen mp4 player.

That being said, upon first impression one could assume that I have become one of those girls. But I am here today to denounce such an assumption. I have justified that I can participate in all of the above outlined actions without actually being one of those girls.

How do I justify such things? It’s very simple, actually:

• The better I look, the better I feel.
• The better I feel, the more motivated I am to continue spending time at the gym.

I have found over the past few years that I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. I have plenty of self-esteem, that’s no secret, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about what I look like. I may appear as just another one of those girls when I’m working my ass off at the gym, but I feel fantastic – better than I’ve felt in years and years. And if trendy workout clothes, a badass Nike bag, and one hell of an awesome mp4 player help me feel this sexy and amazing, I’m completely okay with that.

In honor of those we’ve loved and lost, I’m participating in To Write Love On Her Arms Day to raise awareness of depression and suicide in people of all walks of life.

I couldn’t stand it any longer — last night, I convinced Sam to help me cut off nearly ALL of my hair. This is the cell phone picture I took the day before:

What actually happened in the bathroom last night was not at all what I was hoping for. The damage is done; my hair looks nothing like the photo I was aiming for. I have to accept that Sam just isn’t a hairstylist. I also significantly underestimated how badly I wanted to *keep* most of the length up front (I did, however, happily chop off the dead ends that felt like plastic Barbie hair).

This is now the view from the front, which still looks somewhat normal:

and this is the surprise party in the back (shown still wet from the shower):

Tonight, I plan to try cutting half of the length from the mohawk portion. If I’m still unhappy after that, I’ll have Sam shave the entire back of my head, keeping what’s left of the length in front (which is also his favorite haircut for me to wear and the easiest for me to upkeep).

I’ll let you know how it goes. For now, I look like a half emo, half gutter punk, scene-confused ginger. And you know what? I’m totally OK with that.