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I’m knitting some socks.  They’re a beautiful mix of bold colors and earthy tones.  I found a great pattern that accents the color changes and knits along so quickly.  I can see myself wearing these socks with my off-white hi-top chucks on the plane to New Orleans to visit my quirky and fun friends that will appreciate sock nonsense.  They will think I am fabulous.

Here’s the problem:  I could fit 3 feet into this one sock.  I thought size 3 needles would be too big.  I thought as I made it past the cuff that it seemed a bit large.  I wondered whose foot on this planet needed a heel flap of such large proportions, and were they single?

I almost pulled out the sock.  I almost gave it up and got out my trusty US 2 dpn’s to cast on a simple, boring sock.

So I checked the Rav link for the pattern to see if anyone else had such problems.  Nope.  They are all wearing their socks.  A few opted for a smaller needle, but the ones that were knit with US 3 look just fine.  I’m going to go with it.  Am I in denial, or just hopeful?

Clean-Up Time

Lies I tell my son:

Son:  Mommy, where is my red racecar from my Happy Meal?

Me:  I have no idea.

Truth:  In the trashcan.

Tie match.

It’s December 31, and my favorite day of the year.  I’m sitting in bed this morning with a cup of hot black coffee, watching English Premier League on ESPN2.  It’s Man U and Blackpool, no Arsenal, and more’s the pity.  English football is an interest I acquired in 2011, having never been a big fan of US soccer.  In 2011 I also learned about Neil Gaiman, and am I ever happy about that.  I can really sink my fangs into his stuff.  (Blackpool just scored again, 0-2)  In 2011 I lost a lot of weight, rounding out my total weight loss (so far) to almost 45 pounds.  My knees don’t hurt and I haven’t had lower back pain in over a year.  In 2011 I signed final papers for child custody arrangements for my little Dude.  Time is the only answer to see how that decision pans out.  (Man U just made their presence known, 1-2) In 2011 I found my voice in my poetry, but my writing still moves at a snail’s pace.  Despite my ridiculously slow progress, I feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment in finally finding my writing style.  Only took 33 years.

Today is a day of anticipation.  Knowing you can cast aside the dirty bits of last year, hang on the the good bits and spend the new year polishing them ’til they gleam, taking on new projects and resolving to finish the old ones – well, it just makes me feel so…full.  It makes me feel full of something, not sure what, but most days I walk around feeling a distinct hole in my spirit, and on December 31, I don’t feel that way.

My favorite day of the year.

(Man U for the tie, 2-2)

How’s it Going?

It is KILLING ME to not add more movies to my queue.  I don’t know how I am going to last a whole year.  Why am I doing this to myself?  Am I some sort of crazy masochist?  It hasn’t even been 24 hours, for cryin’ out loud.

Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.  I think I may go shopping today to offset the pain.

Here’s my plan.  I think I’ll share everything I watch with you.  I’ll provide the title, genre, how many stars I rate it, and two sentences about the movie or show.  I will keep you up to date on TV shows I watch, but you won’t get a breakdown of it until I’ve watched every episode.  Unless there’s a really good episode that needs to be talked about.  Here’s what I did yesterday.  Don’t judge me.

Fish Without a Bicycle, comedy, 1/5 stars.  This was just awful.  There is nothing original to be found here.

Vampire Journals, horror, 1/5 stars.  The only thing scary about this movie is that I actually snorted from laughing so hard.  It’s actually pretty awesome in its campiness.

Raising Hope, TV show, S.1 E. 1-4

Coupling (U.K.), TV show, S.1 E. 3,4

Men Behaving Badly (U.K.), TV show, S.2 E.4

Yes – I watched all of this, and no, I have no regrets.  I had nothing else going on and I needed to have a day that just involved me, a cozy blanket, and my laptop.

Completely Out of Control

I sorted my Netflix instant queue yesterday afternoon.  Sorting by genre makes me feel like I am exerting some sort of control in an out of control world, like I have some power in my life and how I spend my afternoons on a paid holiday from work.  Never mind that it could be better spent helping the homeless, going for a walk in the glorious autumn weather, or writing that novel I keep talking about.  We all have our moments of glory, and my Netflix queue is mine.

Anyway, I have 333 films and shows in my queue, ranging from children’s films about Joseph to horror movies about bloody serial killers.  I feel this will be the year.  I’m going to watch them all.  I’m not going to add any films to my instant queue, I’m just going to watch what I have.  I wonder, is it possible to do this in one year?  I think I’ll give myself some wiggle room.  Instead of starting in January I’ll start right now, giving myself almost two extra months.

Did I ever give you an update on how I’ve been doing with reducing my stuff?  Well, it’s going great.  Things feel lighter, and I really enjoy buying something because I actually need it, not because I feel some borderline hoarder instinct to Have and Buy because I may Need It Later.  It feels good to trust that I will have the means to get what I need when I need it, and it’s helped me to better understand the difference between a need and a want.  Also, I joined Nerd Wars on Ravelry so I am using up lots of yarn and getting Christmas knitting done.  It’s a great feeling.

What I thought about…

Black Swan, or the Land of Allegory and Obvious Symbolism, as I will now be calling it for the rest of my life.

*** SPOILERS ***  In case, like me, you haven’t bothered to watch this movie which has, like, a thousand awards and was the most talked about film last year.  So I’m running a little behind on my pop culture.  It happens.

First of all, this movie was a total cliché.  The desperate ballerina, the choreographer who encourages her to find passion within because perfect dancing is terrible if there’s no passion.  Passion, of course, defined as having sex with him.  (Of course.)

Being greeted by the sound of popping cartilage, cracking bones, and grinding joints should not be listened to with earbuds.  I’m pretty sure I almost puked eight times, and I used to dance on pointe.  My toes and ankles still pop when I wake up in the morning and when I lay down at night.  For some reason I don’t think mine sound like that.

I do still love the score to Swan Lake.

Let’s talk about the scratches on her shoulder.  The mother clips her nails, scolds her, is in flat panic that no one knows about it.  Tells her to keep it covered with a shrug. (Allegory for masturbation?  Yup.  Especially when the ballerina tries to get off in the morning and the mother is sleeping in her room.)  This mother seems to have a problem with her daughter’s budding sexuality.  Could it be because she herself got knocked up by a randy choreographer?  (This movie is incredibly transparent.)

OH!  And she starts to sprout black feathers from that spot that look suspiciously like pubes.  Which she pulls out.  Ouch.

Will this girl ever have an orgasm?

Yup.  Administered by the sweet (or is she?  God, this movie is dull.) young Californian.  No wait, the Californian didn’t do that.  Or did she?  Oh no, the ballerina may be unstable.  Surprise!  Is the ballerina a closeted lesbian?  Yes, I think so, considering how she has been stealing Winona Ryder’s things for who knows how long.  How ironic.  Besides, considering that the movie is all about sexual repression what could be more repressed than a lesbian ballerina.  (Cluelessness, this movie has it.)

Ah, she is finally the Black Swan.  She pierced herself with a mirror to be able to own it.  You’re supposed to think she killed the Californian (alleged) giver-of-orgasms, but you are so much smarter than that, aren’t you?  (Penile penetration allegory?  Yup.)

And now she dies, bleeding out from her wound all over her white dress, after giving the performance of a lifetime.  That isn’t saying a whole lot, is it, considering it is the first time she has ever left the chorus.  (First menstruation allegory?  Yup.)

Ridiculously obvious symbolism.  So obvious that I couldn’t even enjoy the scary parts.  I mean, really.  Out played, overdone.  Didn’t really get into it because I was so busy breaking down and laughing at its weak attempts to be intelligent.

God, I’m awful at this.

It has been some time, hasn’t it?  I have logged 2 pretty good dates, two remarkably awful dates, lost another 5 pounds, and can now shop for jeans at normal stores.

I haven’t been writing.  I don’t just mean this blog, I mean I haven’t been writing anything.  I think I have writers’ block, but I’m not totally sure.  I get these ideas, and I think they could be good, so I jot them down, then when I try to work on them I write about 5 pages and there’s nothing more to say.  I think I should save all of them and perhaps the collection will make a really witty, unintentionally ironic novel when I’m famous enough to get away with that sort of shit.