PlazaJen’s Blog

Because you needed more, right?

I had Friday off, for a long-awaited spa day. I had originally scheduled my appointment for a month earlier, but the spa had a water main break in their building, and despite their best efforts, weren’t able to re-open in time for me to make my appointment. Boo! But, on the flip side, they gave me a 25% discount on all my services, so Yay! I had squirreled away a few SpaFinder certificates as well, so it was a fairly inexpensive day.

But I’m never good with ‘just lying there’. I get antsy. I’m a multi-tasker, and I start to fidget. And my brain starts to wander and get a little nutso on me. I was having a hand & foot treatment, and part of the process is that they put a mask on your hands & feet, and then wrap them in plastic bags & tuck them under blankets and leave you that way for 10-15 minutes.

Immediately, I start to think about how I now must resemble a corpse at a crime scene. Bagged and tagged, with evidence-preserving baggies on my hands and feet, except, of course, I’ve read and watched enough procedurals to know that it really should be brown paper bags for preserving evidence properly. Details, details. I start getting antsy and flail a bit with my plastic-covered extremities. Then, my brain thinks, “What if an armed gunman burst into the spa? Where would I hide?”

Immediately, I think, at the end of the table, furthest point from the door. But crouched down, I’d feel vulnerable, not well-hidden.  I’m not sure if there’s an opening to go under the table, or if it’s closed off. There’s a closet over there, that would be good, but of course the table would be mussed up and it could be very apparent that someone was/is inside here. Well, I’d have to count on the element of surprise, because the last thing an armed gunman might expect is a pissed off, un-relaxed fat lady emerging from the closet like a wounded rhino, with plastic bags on her hands and feet, which actually would be handy for a suffocation. Self-defense, of course.

Finally, the technician returned and I could stop my crime scene imaginations. And for the record, I was very relaxed after the day was done - I just don’t relax on command as well as I’d like.  And my mind sure does wander……

When you hear someone talk about how they have a batting cage in their basement, what do you think?

“Man, that’s a big fuckin’ basement,” comes to mind. Also, “Holy moly, you have money.” I also think, “Goddamn I’m jealous.”

How awesome would that be, to come home after a stressful day, and just start cracking the bat & feeling that delicious thunk when the ball collided into your swing?

I’m not sporty. Never really have been. The one thing I could marginally do, at least exceeding expectations of those around me, was hit a softball with a bat. Perhaps it is the degree of solidness I bring to the plate. There isn’t any amazing upper-body strength, that’s for sure. But I always got an extra degree of smug satisfaction seeing the softball sail right on by the motherfucking first baseman, or second baseman, or shortstop, or pitcher, or third baseman, because all of them had moved forward about five feet when they saw me come up to bat. (We won’t talk about the running. Run-ning. Not so great. But still. They were runnin’, too, to get that ball. HAH!)

I feel like I’m walloping off the softballs today. It feels good, if not a little exhausting. Hope you’re having a productive, walloping sort-of-day yourself!

I was driving to work today, and the new Snow Patrol song came on; the thing about Snow Patrol, and Death Cab for Cutie, is that I love their music. But, as we all do, we get associations with sounds, smells, that weave into our memories and like a single strand of thread, can jerk us back in time to a completely different place. Even when new music comes out from that band, that sound, the essence that defines a group that’s played together so long, it’s evocative. When other elements combine on top of that single thread, the tug is greater, you can leave your shoes behind it happens so fast, so strong, as you are transported.

Today is a grey, rainy day. It’s chilly, and it’s keep-your-head-down sort of weather.  There’s only flatness in the sky, like a drop-ceiling in a basement;  perspective and instincts for the time of day are removed. When I heard the chords of that song, I suddenly saw myself in the passenger seat, on that long drive north, the day my father died. There wasn’t anything we could say anymore and we both put our headphones on, content in our solitude.  The sky was grey. Flat. A different season, but the same sky. I dreaded every minute that passed because it was bringing me closer to a certainty I could not accept. I savored every minute because each second that passed allowed me to remain insulated, in that place where Denial sits on the couch next to you & whispers false hope, while you nod and try to convince yourself as well.  Distracting you from the door you must enter when all those collected minutes have passed and the time is now.

The largest piece of solace in that day was the fierceness in my husband, focused and doing the only thing he could do. It is part of that memory fabric, and one I’m grateful to have.  As I crested the hill on my commute this morning, tears welled in my eyes, as I felt my love for him explode through my heart like a thousand sharp diamonds, white and perfectly clear, catching and casting the light in countless fragments. Since there was no light to catch, flat greyness overhead, the light could only be coming from within.  It astounds me how we can measure so many things, weight, space and size, yet there can be such infiniteness of space and depth in our emotions.  My words feel clumsy, blunt butter knives trying to carve elaborate chiaroscuro landscapes in sand.

I met a fellow Ravelry knitter this morning in the parking lot next to Gomer’s (which has been remodeled, btw, and I was a little sad to see the old-timey charm go). She had seen my Rowan Linen Drape listed as for sale or trade, and after a few emails conversing, we agreed on a price, place and time. It seemed kind of funny, like a wacky drug deal, and there we were, in the blustery gray morning, handing over yarn for cash. She was very nice, and said her husband had asked her if she felt safe, going off to meet a stranger in a parking lot. She told him she was going to meet a KNITTER. There is a difference, usually. And frankly, if I were ever going to have a business nearby at my beck and call for help, it would be Gomer’s. Those fellas that work in there look like they could take down an angry rhino, with their bare hands.
She also told me she reads my blog (Hi Joyce!), and it will never cease to amaze me just how much I panic for a minute, when I meet people who say that. Because I simply assume I offend at least 75% of the universe in some way, shape or form, with my beliefs, my politics, and let’s face it, my potty mouth. It’s super bad. Way fuckin’ bad, in fact. I love to swear! So I always worry for a split second, until I remember, it’s a choice. Just like my little brandishing yesterday - you choose what you do or don’t want to see, read, think, acknowledge, and no, turning away from it doesn’t mean it goes away, but that’s the beauty of all these options. You can look at fuzzy wuzzy kitties or you can read some really frightening shit and wonder how the world continues to rotate with such stupidity or evil residing inside it.

I have no idea where that was going.

Yesterday, I had a vacation day, of sorts. Poor Wo, he has Teh Gout. He’s had episodes before, but we both thought his toe was out of joint. Ya know, as you get older, things just don’t always snap right into place in the morning, there’s creaking and stiffness and a little popping noise here or there. But this time, it was excruciating. So I dropped him at work, and returned to get him at noon, so they had time to get him a sub. We then went to one of those Minute Clinic thingies, because the Urgent Care on his insurance? Is totally fucked up. Gah! I wanted to walk down there and have a chat, I got so pissed. I called before 8 am, and after a long conversation, it was determined that since he was not a PATIENT of one of the doctors at the Urgent Care, we needed to wait and call back after 8 a.m. Uh, ok. So I did that. And was told that Urgent Care did not begin until 5:30 p.m. I started to ask where they got their definition of the word URGENT but instead hung up in a fit of pique.
Have we met? Do you know me? Do you know how little patience I have for being dropped into an Escher staircase? I rip that shit up.
So off to the CVS we went. To discover they will not diagnose such things, no, no, no. Great concept, folks, not sure if we’ll ever false-start our way back there, though. Especially because this one is on Raytown Road, and I really, really hate Raytown Road. I’ve ended up on it, lost, more times than I can count, including late at night with my pal Liz, when we asked the Anthony Kiedis-look-alike how the hell to get OUT of Raytown, and he had no solid advice. I don’t like it. Negative associations stick with me.

We then headed off to the Emergent Care over in Lee’s Summit. Now, no offense to my pal Joyce, or anyone else who lives in any nice suburb, but GODDAMN I HATE THE SUBURBS. Specifically, I hate driving around in them trying to find things on newly constructed roads in subdivisions that house all sorts of odd businesses, like “Dental Studios” and businesses with names that mean absolutely nothing about what they do - “Ramaflam”. (I made that up, but you know what I’m talking about.)
By this time, we’re halfway around the metro, and that puts me right near a CostCo (one of my original destinations for the day), so James signs in, and I head off to shop.
I buy myself roses, and a space heater, among general necessities. Light my fire, babeh!
Retrieve the Wo, and drive to the closest CVS (I scoped it out on my way to CostCo). Get him major anti-inflammatories, and also major Vicodin. While scripts are being filled, we park at Sonic and get some ice cream treats, because really, it’s been a rather arduous, not-fun day, and the Wo feels bad for upturning my vacation day, and I feel bad because I’m grouchy, but then I also feel bad he’s in such crazy pain and there’s nothing I can do about it. So I do what I can, and drive him around and get him drugs and make sure they’ll treat him before I leave him to go shopping (because I LEARN). So he got that new “sticky bun dough Sonic Blast”? And I was all scoffy-scoffy, eewwww, I bet it’s gonna be bad, it sounds weird, Hello, My Name Is Negative Nelly, and then I had a bite of his and HOLY SHIT I WAS WRONG.
Y’all have to go try one of those things. Iff’n ya like cinnamon and pecans. And the dough is like cookie dough, in case you, like me, who have experience with these things and know, from previous experience as a baker, that a big ol’ bite of yeast dough, no matter how sweet, fucking sucks and sounds like a nightmare in an ice cream treat. And that is what I thought they meant by “sticky bun dough”, because I am literal and I think I know what’s what.
And sometimes, I am wrong.
But not about Palin.
Or Teh Gout. Or Gomer’s, or The CostCo, or the common thread that weaves 75% of us together, and there’s an even bigger binder thread that weaves us fiber-freaks together with our love of yarn.
Now, I have some mittens to knit, because it’s colder’n a witches titty in this house.

and now my (relatively new) blog has gotten it’s very own troll.

Awwwww.

Ain’t that cute? I wonder if he lives under a bridge and eats goats on Sunday. Whups! Perhaps he just sacrifices them.

You know, I don’t actively seek out blogs of folks I dislike, or with whom I disagree, let alone leave snide comments for those people who write such blogs to read. Yes, yes, I understand that I will never get my troll badge, operating under this principle. The irony is that HIS blog is all blather and bravado about how you can’t be disrespectful and blah blah blah blah blah. Go home, fucknut. You will never change my mind and I am PRO CHOICE and voted for OBAMA. (Just a little salt for your wound or your balls, whichever you happen to be licking right now.) I don’t like holier-than-thou assclowns, and your comments will never, ever appear on my blog. Because, see, it’s MINE. That’s why this is all so cool. Speaking of cool, I DO have a fairly good little program here in WordPress, and should he persist, he shall find himself not only blocked, banned, and branded, but I’ve got his IP and all that other good stuff. Not to mention a whoooole lotta friends who have my back, combined with ninja computer skills.

Just sayin’.

1. I have a post-election hangover. I’m happy, I’m overwhelmed - I feel like our team worked really really hard and our prize came with a big ol’ dumpster out back we have to clean up and empty out. And there might be dead bodies in it. Great! Let me just get my mask on.

2. I swear, it’s not Political Random Orts! But, if I never hear a peep about Sarah Palin, ever again, I will be happy. She makes me crazier than Phill Kline ever did.  And I don’t give a rat’s ass what she does next, as long as she does it far, far, far away from me and the political future. Mmkay? Because all these newshounds egging her to run for President makes me want to start shopping for a new home. In Ireland. Or the Gaza Strip. Actually, I expressed such sentiments to an old friend of mine & she just replied, “I’ve always wanted to move to Mexico and teach my kitties how to make jewelry!” I wonder how well Polly would do with a soldering iron. We could make sculptures!

3. I have tomorrow off. I’ve already put a bunch of errands and to-do’s on my list, so it doesn’t feel like loads of fun, but that’s ok. It makes for a longer weekend, and I can do things at my own pace. And believe me, my laundry looks like a marathon right now!

4. Sleep. I have been hungover from Daylight Savings Time as well. It seems like we used to cherish the extra hour (and I do, really), and feel refreshed - but I find myself toddling off to bed at insanely early hours.. perhaps it’s that election hangover contributing to the problem?

5. Knitting. There simply has to be more knitting. There we go. It has been decreed.

6. Angie’s List. I responded to a general Twitter question this morning with a positive response, and within two hours, got a notice they’re following me now. Way to go, social media. I love it! I also need a new housekeeper. Sigh.

7. The Shield. I LOVE THIS SHOW. OMG. You all are well-aware of the heartthrob status Michael Chiklis holds in my life, but I am giving some serious, serious props to Walt Goggins, for some phenomenal, Emmy-worthy acting. He portrays evil, desperation, with shiny bits of barely-sympathy-evoking humanity and I am astonished each week by just how damned good he is. I am also freaked out about how this series and season may end. Only three episodes left! Garsh.

8. Breakfast for dinner. It’s just the greatest, isn’t it? It’s what we’re having tonight, and I must confess, the hashbrowns are my favorite part. :)  (I impulse-purchased some dried ones at CostCo & they’ve turned out to be one of the greatest things ever!) And let’s hope I can stay up past 9:00.

peace out, home fries.

standing in line for two hours to vote…….compared to the hours you spent to get here.

Mr. President, First Lady. Congratulations.

It took me two hours, but I was finally able to cast my ballot. There were easily 100+ people in front of me when I arrived at my local polling location.  I had my coffee, then my knitting, and eventually we all were stretching and shifting our weight from foot to foot as we stood in bright sunlight, all of us with last names in the L-S pool. (For whatever reason, there were WAY fewer A-K people, and they kept shouting at them, to shoot to the front of their line. The S-Z people got to advance a few times as well.)

Thank goodness the weather is cooperating. I would think it could have been discouraging to many, to wait that long in bad weather. As I felt my feet tingle, I just reminded myself that two hours is a small price to pay to change the future of our country. And I kept seeing these shoes in my head:

It’s no secret where my allegiances lie. I voted for change. Every minute I waited was worth it, and I was really amazed at the tenacity of everyone in line with me. I’ve never seen so many people (easily 120+ people in front of me), and I felt heartened that democracy can work. Participate - no matter where you fall politically. The only way to have representation is to show up, yourself! And no matter how much time it takes, remember that it pales by comparison to the battles our predecessors fought to gain freedom and the right to vote.

OK, I’m going to start by saying THANK GOD this is finally DST weekend. Because I got up at 7 am, to go to Liberty, to a craft show. Not your run-of-the-mill craft show, no, but a craft show with kick-ass good crafts. It was a lot of fun, and I did a good job of shopping, both for myself and for others. There were lots of unique finds, and we spent about an hour, toodling around the building, saying howdy to our buddy Ana, and making our purchases.

After that, we made our way to the Old Mill Stitchery, which carries some nice yarns (lots of Berroco), and has some stitchery-type things, plus a HUGE room for wool rug making. I fell in love with a small rug, and then instantly fell out of love with it once I saw the price tag. ($700. It was drop-dead gorgeous, but certainly not going underfoot at that price!) I got a cute little kit with wooden bowls designed to use up your leftover sock yarns, and it was pretty inexpensive.

Then it was time to find something to eat.  Beth wanted breakfast-y food (it was 10:30) and Laura & I really didn’t care, we just started eyeballing things as we were driving through the big shopping area up there. B saw a Steak & Shake, and since we knew they’d not only be open, but they’d serve just about anything, I turned right…. and moments before making that turn, saw “The Corner” in the opposite direction. So we did a U-turn, because lawd, if you haven’t ever been, they make cinnamon & sticky buns the size of your head. And all the food is good. Which is why there’s always a wait.

The beautiful thing about knitting is that it gives you patience when you need it. We had our name on the list, estimated wait was half an hour, and we sat outside on a bench, all three of us with our knitting. Chatting back and forth, jumping each time the overhead PA system sprang to life, knitting the minutes until we were called. Suddenly, a man crossing the parking lot looks over at us, and starts waving and shouting “HEY THERE!” We are all instantly confused, thinking surely he must mean someone else. Within thirty seconds, though, I realize, this is a former client of mine, and his name jumps into my head, and I find myself waving back saying, “Well, Hell! Hello there, Danny!” He comes over and shakes my hand and introduces himself (uh, I remember you, I said your name!) and we exchange pleasantries. He goes back to his wife, they head to their car, and we’re left chuckling about our confusion and the randomness of me running into someone in Liberty (which for those following from another location, this is a northern suburb, approximately 30 miles away from me, and not someplace I frequent.

Then,  a guy walks buy, and I look at him, and say, out loud, “That’s Chip! Hi, Chip!” Because it is CHIP from Kansas City SWAT, and I’ve not only met him, I have his autographed picture. Beth starts laughing. Chip turns to look at me, and I realize I’ve done all this out loud. “Hi Chip! We met at Jimmy Johns a while back, how ya doin’.” He is kind enough to go along with this and even mentions the correct location, saying he remembers, and hi, how ya doing today, and are we waiting to be seated, or have we already eaten? Which would be rather funny, to have eaten and parked ourselves on a bench to haaaaang and knit, but ok, it’s not like my stream of consciousness is going to correct yours, Chip, you could crack my head open WITH YOUR MIND and a TEASPOON. He goes in to check on the wait, returns, gets his wife, and we all nod at each other again like we’re old pals. I’m hoping to be able to use my ever-growing connection to Chip, SWAT team leader, for more blog fodder down the road, I’m just putting that out there right now.

We had a fantastic waiter (Charles) (he’s in charge) (I love him), great food, and an all-around successful, entertaining morning. I’m sleepy, so I should get a nap in before I head off to the festivities tonight - also up north, but more towards the west this time.

I realized as I was typing that it’s November now, but October marked the ten-year anniversary of my move to Kansas City. I think I came here mid-month, for my job. And every year I’m here, the universe seems to get just a tiny bit smaller. But ever so much more colorful, and ever so entertaining. I love it!