With age comes wisdom. And crumbs.

How is that the older I get, the less able I am to eat without dropping crumbs in my cleavage?

In other, less crumb-y news, last Friday night I cast on a Tangled Yoke cardigan out of my Tallulah handspun. Last night, I finished the body part, and started the sleeves. (Since this is a yoke sweater, I'm farther from being finished than it sounds.)

I have to say, I'm in love. This sweater is on size 4 US needles, and I am making serious progress. (Really, the only thing slowing me down is doing two sleeves at a time. I'm getting faster.) I have my next yoke sweater (out of handspun) planned, and a third one that I'm considering designing. I might be a fickle knitter, but when I'm infatuated with something, I'm unstoppable.

Gotta go. Sleeves await me.

Foiled by my own hubris (or is that ooobreee?)

After announcing to Andrew that I absolutely, positively, WOULD NOT be sick during my time off work this year (because it's a miserable waste of paid vacation time), you guessed it. Hubris punched me in the face, metaphorically speaking.

I got sick. So, Monday, when I felt it the worst, I stayed in bed (or on the couch, in my case, because I can't sleep in bed when I'm sick). I drank fluids, I took cold meds, I slept like an Olympic champion. (The implication there is that if sleeping were an Olympic event, I would place gold.)

Tuesday, I felt MUCH better. I got up, had some breakfast, got dressed, picked up Andrew from his errand, and we stopped TWO places before I announced that I was tired, and would need a nap. (I know, when one is kicking a nasty virus in the ass, it is important to nap when you feel the need.) I also coughed up something EPIC while I was driving, to Andrew's great disgust.

[This is where I point out the necessity of the "in sickness and in health" bit of the wedding vows. Apparently, we needed a "you are disgusting" clause. Because, while I laughed uproariously over how gross it was, Andrew was literally almost sick to his stomach. Phlegm is not for the weak of stomach. I may have made jokes to that end effect. My bad.]

According to Andrew, I was out for two hours, sleeping through a couple of phone calls. This includes a call from Patient Zero, who concluded that I must have gotten it from her on Friday, along with some wicked awesome Christmas cheer. S'ok. What's a transmissible virus between friends, anyway?

I finally got Episode 32 live, after having it sit on the computer for two days, which made me feel good. Not physically, since I've been coughing so much it feels like my ribs have run a marathon. (To my knowledge, they have not, but if they have, I hope it was for a good cause.)

What have I learned from all this? I love 70's music. We've been watching Swingtown on the Roku box, and the soundtrack is AWESOME. I'm seeing a new CD in my future.

Tika has also beaten me (pre-flu-ey thing) into committing to a Jasmin 2009 theme. I'll be blogging about that soon.

For now, it's back to the couch with a cup of tea and contemplating my own bad taste in television.

Weather-appropriate tasks

Chores that are fun to do after it rains:

-Pulling weeds

Chores that are NOT fun to do after it rains:

-Scooping dog poop

This has been a Public Service Announcement from your friend and blogger, Captain Obvious.

I am not smart enough

Things I am not smart enough to do before I have had my coffee:

1- Find my french press, despite that it is always in the drying rack.
2- Recognize my disassembled french press.
3- Reassemble the french press, without tears. ("Why can't I do this?!")

The indignities of aging

Last week I went for my annual appointment with the optometrist. (Let's call him Dr. O. He doesn't get a cute nickname like Dr. B.) If you didn't know, I wear corrective lenses. I got my first pair of glasses when I was 12 (for reading), and then in 2006, I was switched to contact lenses (because I had to wear corrective lenses all the time).

On Friday, Dr. O announced that my coverage included regular contacts (or glasses), and a pair of "computer glasses".

"What are computer glasses? Like, I wear them when I'm at the computer?" I asked.

"Yes," Dr. O said. Helpful, right?

"Over my regular contacts?" I ask, not believing what I'm hearing.

"Yes."

So, in order to reduce eyestrain, I have to wear glasses over my contacts. It makes me feel about 80000 years old.

But, I got cute Tina Fey frames. So hey, not so bad.

Something wonderful

My Auntie Desi gave birth to a healthy daughter today. I have a new cousin! (Pictures and details pending!)

The Ice Cream Diet

So, I was getting dressed yesterday, and I noticed that my jeans were getting a little ... snug. I thought about the last time my jeans got a little ... snug (when I gained 40 lbs), and if I was doing anything similar (eating ice cream everyday).

When I was discussing this with Tika, she said, "Aren't you going to yoga?"

"No. I think about going to yoga, but then I decide to have ice cream for breakfast instead."

Cause, meet Effect.

If you're looking for me, I'll be sweating it out on the Wii.

The Da Vinci Code… of my pants.

In July, I decided that belt buckles were the ultimate accessory and bought five of them. (Four for me, one for Andrew.) Given that July, August, and the better part of this month have been SUPER-HOT, I haven’t had much occasion for a belt.

Yesterday, I decided that since I was in meetings for a good part of the day (in enthusiastically air-conditioned conference rooms), I would wear jeans, and my new Superman belt buckle.

So, I drank a cup of tea while driving in, and fifteen minutes into working, I needed to use the restroom. No big deal, I walked in, closed the door behind me, and went to undo my belt-

Stuck.

That can’t be. I can open a belt. I’m probably pulling at the wrong angle.

No, it’s stuck.

Oh my god. What if I can’t get out of my pants? What if I pee all over myself at work because I couldn’t undo my buckle?!

I start to panic. Seriously, sweating, prayer, the whole enchilada. With one desperate tug, the belt mercifully frees me. I nearly wept with joy.

It felt like a flashback to kindergarten. You know, when you’re trapped in your overalls? Except that I could always wiggle out under the straps.

In discussing this with Andrew last night, I announced that it would be The Most Embarrassing Thing Ever to wet your pants at work because you couldn’t undo your buckle.

Lessons I learned? Test the buckle/belt combo BEFORE leaving the house. Also, go to the bathroom before it becomes urgent. You never know when you’ll be trapped in your pants.

There has been knitting

Despite the incredible lack of photographical evidence to the contrary, there has been knitting. And spinning. But no photographs.

The camera is fine. The lighting is fine- and the natural light has been fantastic, too. Somehow, every time I start to get things together to take pictures, something distracts me. By the time I remember, it's 11PM and I'm in bed.

I cast on a fabulous sweater- the Henley Perfected. I didn't like the look of it in the magazine, but I saw this one, and was immediately inspired. Keeping with the Social Pressure Experiment, I dug through my stash and selected some Silky Wool that I bought on our honeymoon.

Andrew later pointed out that once I finish knitting up all the yarn I bought on the honeymoon, we would have to go on another to replenish that specific part of the stash. I suggested Boston for the next one.

As far as spinning is concerned, I've been plowing through the Crown Mountain stash. I LOVE spinning their superwash. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE!

I need to write up a review for Shakespeare Santa Cruz's production of "Burn This". It seems that when I'm disappointed by a show, I'm not so quick to write a review. I think it's because I need to formulate what I disliked about the show. Also, I hate writing bad theater reviews.

Mom and I will be going to the California Wool and Fiber Festival in Boonville, CA this Friday and Saturday. It should be awesome.

Slightly devastated

Maybe it's the migraine, but I'm a little devastated. (Can a person be "a little devastated"?)

I called our vet's office to ask her a question, and I found out - rather abruptly - that she's moved to London. (If you happen to live in London, her name is Dr. Susan Johnson, and she is fantastic.)

While the two other vets who work at the practice are very good, one lacks bedside manner, and the other is a fine vet, and has good bedside manner. But. They're not Dr. Johnson.

Before we had the dogs, she was our vet when we had pet rats. She treated them with the kind care that one should treat a beloved pet- regardless of their initial cost, size, or lifespan. One night, she kept the office open late for us because one of our beloved rats had an emergency, and the ER vets are terrible for small animals. She cared about our animals, and followed up on them with genuine concern.

Dr. Johnson helped us deal with Elphie's abuse, making sure she was comfortable at the vet and not traumatized. She did gentle exams, and would discuss the care of the dogs at length, answering any crazy questions we had. She spoke to the dogs in a kind voice, and moved at a pace that was comfortable for them. Mom says that she took care of us *and* our critters. Whole family care.

So, now we may be on the market for a new vet. I'm going to talk to the other gal at the practice, who was our first vet there (who we liked a fair amount), and get a feel for how she is with dogs. 'Fraidy-cat, mixed-breed dogs.

I know quite a few of my readers are local. If you love, love, love your vet, please shoot me an e-mail (or post their details in the comments) with their information. We need a vet who is skilled, gentle, and kind. (We liked Dr. Johnson so much that Andrew tried to convince her to move in with us.)

Dr. Susan Johnson DVM- if by chance you trip across this before I can get your e-mail address, thank you for the care you have taken of our family. Niki, Elphie, Macy, Cindy, and all the rest thank you. Andrew and I especially thank you.

In which a DVD costs me $162

Earlier this week, Andrew wanted to buy some picture frames. The plan went like this:

Step 1: Go to Target and buy frames.

Step 2: Print pictures at Kinko’s.

Andrew wanted some company, so I tagged along. We looked at frames, and on our way to the register, Andrew asks me if I wanted to pick anything up.

“Oh, yeah! I wanted to get a copy of ’10 Things I Hate About You’,” I answer, as we go back upstairs to the appropriate department. We walk through the DVDs, and not only do I find 10 Things, but a bundled pack of Ghostbusters 1 and 2.

Sam and I LOVE the Ghostbusters movies. I think if Ghostbusting was a real profession, Sam would be one. At $13, this was a steal.

[For you folks playing the home game, we’re at 9 + 13 = 22.]

Across from the movies, I saw the display of Wii games. There was the “High School Musical” game, complete with microphone. It’s totally creepy, but I have an unnatural love of the HSM movies. Maybe it’s Zac Efron. Maybe it’s because I’m old enough to know which original high school musical movies they’ve ripped off the themes from (Grease and Dirty Dancing are just two of them). Maybe it’s Zac Efron.

Andrew mocks me a little, and we pay, claiming that the game is for our daughter, to save me the embarrassment of feeling like a creepy old lady.

[Now, we’re at 22+ 50= 72.]

When we finished at Target, I mentioned that I wanted to check New York and Company for a dress that I hadn’t been able to get online. Just as we start to walk towards NY&Co, Andrew spies a GameStop. Since we’re on the hunt for a few specific Wii games, we stop in.

[Two games = 60. 72 + 60 = 132.]

Oh yeah, NY&Co. Two dresses, both 70% off.

[Two dresses = $30. 132 + 30 = 162.]

That’s what I like to call Jasmin Math.

Good Friends = Good Advice

Like I've said before, I've gotten an overwhelming amount of support from my friends through this bout of insomnia.

Yesterday, Gretchen suggested a glass of wine, candlelight, and a bath. While I'm not normally a bath kind of girl, when you hit the end of your rope, you're willing to try anything.

So, last night, I drew a bath. I lit some candles, and I poured myself a glass of merlot. I listened to a chapter of Little Women (courtesy of CraftLit), and soaked.

For the first time in ages, I slept - sleeping pill free - for five, blissful, perfect, consecutive hours. This morning, the sun shone brighter, food tasted better, and there was a little extra spring in my step.

It's a good start.

Helping hands

I believe that knitters are generally very helpful people. The post about my recent bout of insomnia drew out a fair amount of empathetic- and helpful - commentary in my inbox.

Heather, of CraftLit notoriety, directed me to this interview on NPR about insomnia on Talk of the Nation. Part of the interview addressed how different people (and the medical industry) deals with insomnia.

There was also a link between people who suffer from migraines and insomnia. Oh, and the hormonal thing. (I hate when anything is linked to hormones. It feels like a second coming of the Hysteria argument. Ugh.)

Dr. B mentioned a while back that he read a study that revealed that type A women tended to have a higher incidence of migraines. While, at the time, it sounded more anecdotal than scientific, there is a "duh" quotient. (Not "Duh, I knew that already. More "Duh, why didn't I think of that?". Does anyone still say "duh"?)

I looked up "type A personality", and came up with this (from Wikipedia):

"Theoretically, people who fall under Type A generally exhibit characteristics such as being time-conscious, highly competitive, direct and more assertive, and less relaxed.^[1] Type A individuals are often high-achievers who multi-task, and are unhappy with delays. ^[2]"

<sup>Of course, if you're competitive and less relaxed, you're more likely to suffer from sleeplessness, and migraines have been linked to sleeplessness. The whole thing is a cyclical disaster.

Complaining ends today, when I start knitting Auntie Desiree's baby sweater.</sup>

Insomnia

I’ve been flirting with insomnia since the cruise. There was one night, when the fabulous Sharon gave me an acupuncture relaxation treatment and I slept for twelve blissful hours. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than I was when I woke up, refreshed.

I’ve been battling the lack of quality sleep for a while now, but this is the first time I’ve felt like a true insomniac. I can’t really fall asleep, and when I finally do, I wake up with incredible frequency. In lieu of being frustrated, I’ve decided to use the extra time to do things like read, write, knit, and catch up with my TiVo.

I’m also using the time to plan my wardrobe so I don’t kill myself in the morning trying to make it look like my clothes didn’t jump out of the closet and attack me. This is better for everyone- trust me.

I’ve got an appointment with Dr. B this week, and I’m debating taking the sleep meds that my regular doctor prescribed. (I stopped because they made me perpetually drowsy. I also didn’t want a pill to fix the problem.)

Maybe I’m not spending enough time at the spinning wheel. Maybe the issue is that I spent ten days away from the spinning wheel, and my brain has interpreted it as a major deficit.

While I don’t really like how I feel, the upside is that I am getting a lot accomplished. I’ve always felt like I don’t have enough time to do the things that I want.

Instead of being frustrated and tossing and turning, I’ve added a few things to the nightstand to pass the time- knitting, a notebook, and Tika’s copy of The Poisonwood Bible. I understand that this will pass with time, but I figure, why not use the extra time?

Chivalry is not dead

It’s not, and I have proof that has given me a modicum of hope that humanity may not be entirely doomed. Let me preface all of this by saying, I love the movie “Love, Actually”, but I have historically found people in airports to be unpleasant and rude.

They’re not happy to have their loved ones home, but rather, inconvenienced by what air travel has turned into. People don’t like all of the security, and it makes everything very ugly.

When I got to the airport to come home, baggage claim was my first stop. What I have noticed about Baggage Claim is that people cluster around the carousel long before any bags have started coming out, and stand there, regardless.

Since my luggage is a little… colorful, I stood back from the crowd, and waited. My smaller bag popped up first, and I walked up, excused myself as I parted a couple of people and grabbed my bag. I rolled back to the sidelines and waited for my other bag to make its appearance.

When it did, the gentleman to my right said (without looking at me), that he would grab it for me.

“Thanks,” I said, “My bags are a little … colorful.”

He laughed, looked at me and said, “They match your backpack.” Looks up at my face, “And your hair.”

I smiled and said, “Sometimes things work out just that well.”

I have to admit, I was shocked. Sometimes people do nice things for other people. When was the last time you were courteous to a stranger? When was the last time a stranger was courteous to you?

I try to be courteous and polite when I can. I smile, I’m polite, I hold doors. Maybe the trend is catching on.

Unintentional radio silence

Sorry folks. This has been a crazy week. I know you love the lunacy (why else would you be here?), so:

Monday (3/24): My partner in crime at work is scheduled to go to the UK on 3/25. Picking up extra work was done. Go home, clean for six hours for Tuesday’s event.

Tuesday (3/25): Sign off on the closing papers on the condo. Work, work, work. Chaos started at 8AM. Purlescence Booth Bunny dinner at the house. (This was a raving success. Chloe’s husband barbequed, there was much in the way of good food, good wine, superior company. Andrew was shocked that the house was as tidy after they left as it was when they arrived.)

Wednesday (3/26): Migraine. Slept all day, went to Purlescence for a chair massage at 7.

Thursday (3/27): Condo closes, officially. Crazy work stuff. Coffee with an old friend from HS. Knit night at Purlescence. Partying in the parking lot. Get home about 10:30PM.

Friday (3/28): Doggie playdate. WFH. Dexter marathon. Food, coffee, donuts. Dinner at Forbes Mill with Tika to celebrate the closing of the house. Small world experience after dinner:

We were stopping at the Apple Store in Los Gatos so that Tika could get a case for her nano. The sales clerk helping us looked suspiciously like my First Crush Ever- and I know that FCE has two younger brothers.

So, I said, “Are you FCE’s, younger brother, D?”

He was, understandably, confused and a little worried. I explained that our moms had worked on volunteer stuff together, and we got caught up. It doesn’t feel small worldy when you live in the town you grew up in, but I know that FCE is married and living in Oregon now.

Saturday (3/29): Oversleeping. Exchanging the intermittently ringing phone for a new one. Plying at Purlescence. Niece’s 13^th bday party. Twister. Candid speech:

Ok, as my readers, you will appreciate this. Or, I hope you will.

I have four sets of in-laws, and two sets were at the bday party. The kids range from almost 16 down to 8 years old. The older girls were baiting the youngest, who flounced over to me and asked, very clearly:

“What is a virgin?”

“A what?” I thought I had heard her incorrectly.

“A VIRGIN. What is it?” Nope, I heard that right.

“It’s someone who hasn’t had sex yet. Why?” I answer honestly, and then follow her back to where the girls are sitting, discussing the very interesting topic of sex and virginity.

The conversation goes a few places, and one of the SIL’s is there, and we’re answering their questions. Halfway through this Q&A session, I realize that my other SIL (#2) is going to murder me for being honest with her kids.

Oh well. I’m of the opinion that children should get their information early so that it has maximum impact on them. Be honest, clear, answer their questions, and hopefully they won’t become parents before they intend to (or contract any nasty diseases).

My SIL2, on the other hand (the not-present one), is of the opinion that not talking to her kids about sex will keep it off of their radar. So, I quietly told her kids that they should ask their parents about these things, and if they still had questions, they could come and ask me. Kids should have someone who is going to be honest with them about the important stuff.

Sunday (3/30): Pedicure at Le Spa, Campbell. Relaxation. Reading. Pretty toes. Spinning and laundry at home. Helping Humanity charity ball at the Decathalon Club- with the in-laws. Terrible food, good music. The “sex talk” comes up in conversation. I prepare for a swift and terrible death.

The SIL (who was the other adult participant in the sex talk) and I start telling SIL2 about the previous night’s discussion. SIL1 paid me the highest compliment by telling SIL2 that I answered the kids’ questions “very anatomically and academically”. Score one for me!

We left the ball a little early, watched Superbad, folded laundry, and spent a couple of hours of necessary prep-work.

I'm hoping to get back on the blogging-more-regularly-about-good-stuff wagon. Stay tuned!

Margaritas are the new Prozac

I’d like to thank everyone who offered me emotional support the last few days. Rachel pinged me yesterday and determined that margaritas were a necessity, so on my way home, Andrew dropped me off at Chevy’s to meet her.

We ended up there during happy hour (woo! $3 margaritas!), and it was a very happy hour. We drank, discussed gender politics in the workplace, and ate pub grub.

After one margarita, I felt better. After the second, I felt AWESOME. I went home, sat at the spinning wheel for a while, and slept like a rock.

Today is looking much better. Thanks for sharing the love.

An addendum

After I posted yesterday, I blew a tire out on the freeway during rush hour, and then proceeded to super-glue the palm of my hand to the previously damaged headphones.

Andrew, though he did not greet me with a stiff drink (and I only noticed Rachel's invitation for sangria this morning), he did make me dinner while I detached myself.

Upside:

If you find yourself adhered with superglue to something, run warm water over the affected area, and put SLIGHT tension on the object you are adhered to.

In which I become a pincushion

I may be fixated with needles.

Last week, I did acupuncture, and has AMAZING results. My migraine was resolved (which taking Vicodin did not do), and for the first time in nearly ten years, my hands did not hurt.

It wasn’t something I noticed immediately; Sam was driving me around, and I looked down at my hands, and they didn’t have their normal ache. It was bizarre; they looked like mine, but didn’t feel the way they normally do. It was like having an out-of-body experience. But better.

This week, I had blood drawn for tests, and the same day I did something new.

Check it out.

I gave blood. I finally weigh enough! I was very good about it, I didn’t get woozy or pale, but when I was done I felt lighter. The Blood Drawing Technician said that I had “fast” and “light” blood. I told him it was low calorie. I assume it was a compliment.

My motivations for donating blood are partly altruistic, and partly megalomaniacal. My grandmother has O Negative blood, so I’m hoping that I got that recessive trait. (I don’t know my blood type yet, but they’ll let me know.) Something really appeals to me about being able to help people by sitting in a comfortable chair and then being fed ice cream and juice. While I was watching the bag fill up, I thought, “Wow! I wonder if the person who gets my blood will become a little like me…” I doubt that will happen, but my inner evil villain cackles with glee at the thought of it.

Sleeping like a baby

That’s right! My sleeping problems are well on their way to being resolved. I went to the doctor on Friday, described my symptoms, the steps I have taken towards remedying the problem- which have been unsuccessful. I also came prepared with a list of solutions that I wanted to try- none of which included chemical cover-ups.

The sleeping problem seems to have exacerbated my migraines, and when the migraine area spread, and Vicodin didn’t ease the pain, I made an appointment. I also made a list. CT scan, sleep study, acupuncture, and check my thyroid.

It seems that when you are a patient who says, “I don’t want to take a chemical substance to cover up the symptoms, I want to solve the problem,” you’re just a crazy hippie. However, when you say, “My husband and I are considering starting to try to conceive in the next few months,” all of a sudden, holistic solutions are CLEARLY the way to go. Whether or not we decide to conceive in the near future is irrelevant. I’m giving this gem to you all, to use as you wish.

My GP has never been particularly helpful, warm, or fuzzy, but this time she spent an hour with me discussing solutions. She also approved all of the procedures and tests that I had on my list, as well as a couple of more tests that I hadn’t thought of. Evidently, the mere thought of babies is enough to soften the heart of my assembly-line doctor.

One of her suggestions was that I see a Behavioral Psychologist. See, when I’m stressed, my health falls to pieces. It starts with not sleeping, and the effects cascade from there. If I can change the behavior that causes the stress- and how I react to stress, then the problem will be solved. If the stress problem is solved, the sleeping problem will be solved. SOLVED! Not just covered up!

Thus far, I’ve had blood drawn, a CT scan, acupuncture, and the first meeting with Dr. B (the Behavioral Psychologist). Everything else has been scheduled.

Ok, that’s it for medical stuff- this is a knitting blog, not a medical one.