So, I was indirectly tagged by the Chaotic Crafter for this, a whole ten days ago. Indirectly, because she tagged everyone, so it almost counts! ;-) I didn’t steal this meme (like all the others), I swear, Ma!

Crazy 8’s

8 things I’m passionate about
~Writing
~Linux
~Knitting
~Civil Rights
~Child abuse
~Spirituality
~Books
~Yaoi (covers face in shame - is it bad to be passionate about that?)

8 things I say often
~Fuck (often? Try ‘way too much’)
~SEBASTIAN! GET DOWN! (yelled to cat)
~Hmm. (in a suspicious tone, usually directed at A.)
~*lol* (is it bad that I consider “say often” to mean “type often”?)
~What the fuck?! (online, and off)
~I got (insert number here) eggs today! (… farmgirl …)
~Stop biting yourself. (To… an unnamed person.)
~I’m not mad. I’m irritated. (*sheepish*)

8 books I’ve read recently
~Good Omens (Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman)
~A Lick of Frost (Laurell K. Hamilton)
~Julie of the Wolves (?)
~Of Mice and Men (John Steinbeck)
~The Circle Within (Diane Sylvan)
~Naked in Death (J.D. Robb)
~Danse Macabre (Laurell K. Hamilton)
~Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (JK Rowling)

8 things I want to do before I die
~Go to Europe
~Go back to Japan
~Be a mom
~Live a lot more years
~Write a novel (that’s published, preferably)
~Own a house
~Have an orange and white kitty
~Have a job I love

8 songs I can listen to over and over again
~All These Lives (Daughtry)
~Photograph (Nickelback)
~Better Days (Goo Goo Dolls)
~Stay With You (Goo Goo Dolls)
~Can’t Not (Alanis Morisette)
~Further on up the Road (Bruce Springsteen)
~Unwell (Matchbox Twenty)
~Wake Up Call (Maroon 5)

8 things that attract me to my friends
~Sense of humor
~Shared Interests
~Creativity
~Intelligence
~Shortness (Seriously, most of my pals are under 5′4″… Coincidence?)
~Geekiness
~Social-misfit-ism (Why are the vast majority of my friends complete social outcasts? Or at least, were complete social outcasts at the time of my befriending them?)
~Honesty

8 things I’ve learned in the past year
~All about chickens.
~That time goes by faster every year.
~That our government’s justification for the war in Iraq was partly based on misinformation gained through the illegal use of torture.
~How to knit socks, for real.
~That I am one suckass gardener.
~That my grandmother has Alzheimer’s.
~That yes, bad things (psychos shooting up the town, for example) can happen here, too.
~Where Scorpio (the constellation) is.

8 people to tag
I don’t even know eight people! *hides face* Anyone who’s reading this is officially tagged!

Tsuki says: “What do you think you’re lookin’ at?”

That’s how my immediate supervisor communicates. ALL CAPS, VERY STERNLY. When on paper, anyway. In person, she stutters and bumbles and looks panicked and gets flustered all over the place, but on paper, hoo boy, does she sound like she means it.

Today, I went into work to find not one, but THREE gigantic notes typed up in all caps, threatening doom if we watched television or surfed the internet, or dared sip a cup of coffee (haha, just kidding on that one) before we had all of our office complaints typed up in a terribly outdated log. For those not in the know, I work as a dispatcher at a sheriff’s office, so our “complaints” are literally complaints from the public, wanting us to take action in a) unlocking their cars, b) dealing with stolen gas, c) removing pesky trains from the tracks, or d) bringing peace and goodwill to all men (except that weirdo across the street who looked funny - could we please escort him out of town a.s.a.p.?). We take these complaints and handwrite them onto little slips of paper, and type up all the information in our daily logs, and then, at the end of the year, my supervisor FREAKS THE FUCK OUT and tosses all the year’s closed and cleared complaints at us in a panic, wanting them typed up in a separate complaint log YESTERDAY, because HOLY GOD IT’S NOVEMBER ALREADY!

Now, what she wants done here is for the complaints to be categorized, then put into numerical order, then typed up into categories (in numerical order, obviously) so someday, some poor sap can hunt through a billion binders full of logs and hopefully have a better chance of finding the specific complaint where Joe Blow called Jane Doe nasty names on the telephone. There’s a category for that - Telephone, in fact - but if Joe Blow was actually Jane Doe’s hubby, it might be filed under Domestic, or maybe Harassment, or maybe something else entirely. Now, you might be thinking to yourself: aren’t there computer programs that can do this sort of thing?

Why yes. There are. But we’re not going to use that new fangled shit, no way. We like paper. We like typing shit up ten thousand times in ten thousand ways. We like not having a fucking clue, and sitting in a paperific firetrap, thank you very much.

So anyway. Today, I walk into work, and she’s got this BIG SCARY NOTE taped up on two computers AND the foot-tall stack of complaints themselves. You know, in case we miss it. Or something.

More likely, because she’s a fucking psycho who is trying to be big and intimidating and scary, and really, she doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing and is trying to cover her ass with BIG LETTERS and REDUNDANCY.

Gah.

And then, she has this HORRIBLE microsoft word table document that’s fucked four ways from Sunday with weird boxes of text announcing that these are complaints, and gah, just much weirdness and badness, with margins that slide off the edges of the pages and all… and I am supposed to USE this?

Er. No. First thing I do? Hop on the internet to bitch to pals about my supervisor’s idiocy, and then draft out a new form that isn’t filled with bizarro. She’d gotten about 35 complaints typed up in her shift. And of course, her BIG SCARY NOTE. I got about 100 done, perhaps more, mostly during commercial breaks of Law and Order: Criminal Intent, and I didn’t even start really, until my shift was halfway over, because my egocentric deputy (yes, egocentric, not eccentric) wouldn’t leave until FIVE A.M. He normally goes home at three. There was nothing going on. He just wanted to talk. And talk. And talk. About himself. And his thoughts. And his dreams (literal ones in his sleep, not “oh, I dream of going to Ireland one day!”). And his politics. And bitch about everyone but himself. And gah. Shoot. Me. Please.

So yeah. There you go. I told my supervisor in the morning not to touch the complaints, thank you very much, and to tell Ellen, who I work with, not to touch them either; I will type the damned things up myself so at least it looks professional, and not like a kindergartener was playing with the computer.

Tell me… why the hell do I work here?

Why?

So night before last (that’d be Sunday night) A. came over and thought she’d utilize my kitchen, mixer, ingredients, and “expertise” to make a coffee cake for my mother’s (belated) birthday. Now, A. is no Martha in the kitchen, and to be honest, she’s lucky to boil eggs without disaster, but everyone’s gotta start somewhere, right?

Well, after searching the internet for ages at work searching for a recipe, she came up with what is probably the world’s only coffee cake recipe that requires one of the few kitchen gadgets I do not have - a pastry cutter. It’s called Brown Sugar Crumb Cake, and you can get this recipe (with its rather unappetizing photo - holy god, could it look any more ick?) here. Now, the last recipe I made from about.com was a complete disaster. Let’s say sugar cookies that tasted like pure flour, okay? So I was skeptical from the start - I mean, bad photo, and About.com ‘certified’.

But, it sounded good. I mean, how can you go wrong with an ingredient list that doesn’t have much more than a lot of brown sugar and butter?

Hahaha.

“How could you go wrong?” is the sort of thoughtless thing Murphy (of the “Murphy’s Law” fame) catches you thinking and giggles madly at. Because what went wrong? Oh, just about everything.

The problems started when it became apparent that A was not exactly sure what “packed” meant in relation to “two cups brown sugar, packed”. She is, granted, a novice baker, and we got that straightened out. Then the lack of a pastry cutter (which we remedied thanks to a trip to my mother’s to borrow hers). Then… well, it’s possibly that A measured out a tablespoon of baking soda and powder, but neither of us think that’s likely. (Well, she denies it vehemently, but she also denied doing anything wrong that time she totally ripped up the directions to the tacos and added like, a lake’s worth too much water, and she also denied doing anything wrong (”You’re just skeptical, Katie!”) the time she dumped two packets of seasoning for our Rice-a-Roni into one dish, which, by the way, tasted like a giant mouthful of salt, and I do give her kudos for choking down several bites in an attempt to prove just how ‘wrong’ I was at being completely sickened at the first bite. So, make what you will of her denial, folks.)

But seriously, I watched the baking soda and baking powder measuring, and I didn’t seem too alarmed by the size of the spoon she was using, so I think she’s telling the truth this time around. Honest. ;-) Well, then… you see, there’s this line in the directions, which I did not read, because hell, A. is an English genius, I didn’t expect to have trouble with her reading them - carrying them out, perhaps, but not reading them, and it says:

Reserve 1 scant cup of crumbs and set aside. Combine remaining ingredients and whisk until smooth; stir into the remaining crumbs in bowl.

She read it line by line. “Reserve 1 scant cup of crumbs and set aside.” And after a minor discussion on what was meant by ’scant’, she removes some crumbs and sets them aside.

Then she reads: “Combine remaining ingredients and whisk until smooth.”

Did you see that? I didn’t, because i didn’t read the instructions. Read like she read it to me, it sounded like they wanted us to add the rest of the damned ingredients and mix it all up until smooth. She thought so, too. So that’s what we did. We did not combine the remaining ingredients separately. We mixed it all up together with the crumbs we had not reserved, and… mixed it smooth. This, ladies and gents, may have been a big problem.

Then she read: “Stir into the remaining crumbs.”

Yep. You bet. We stirred in the remaining - the reserved crumbs, even as we asked: “I thought there should’ve been a topping!” And even as I (and mind you, I’m no master baker either, but I’m not a novice) thought: “Funny that we did all that bloody work with the pastry cutter just to mix it all smooth like this and then add in the rest just like so… what a waste!” Did anyone re-read the instructions? Nope.

Would’ve been too late anyway.

The batter, by the way, tasted great. A. left some in the pan and ate a bunch by the spatula-ful. You think I’m kidding. I kid not.

So, that done, she poured it into a newly greased and floured pan, and popped it in the oven, while I, relieved that it was over, checked my email and told my online pals that we’d just finished mixing up our coffee cake. Thirty minutes later, D-I-S-A-S-T-E-R!!!!

A. opens the oven door to check on the bloody thing, and smoke pours out of the oven, and she starts freaking, going: “K! We have a big big problem!” I was a bit concerned that the oven was on fire, I must admit, but she assured me it wasn’t. Instead, it was…

Yeah. Picture that, in my oven, except worse, because at the time this photo was taken, a whole lot of that goo had spilled all over the damned place. For a couple minutes, we just sat there looking at it, alarmed and baffled and distressed and not at all sure what to do. Finally, A. grabbed my spiffy halloween mitt and another one, and hauled the giant mass to the dump.

And I was left pouring salt all over everything in the oven to quell the smoking. It now looks the Nevada Salt flats have just been hit by a giant asteroid.

And the house? Smelled like burnt coffee cake for hours.

Now… if you want my honest opinion, we farked the whole damned thing up from the start, and I should’ve vetoed the recipe the moment I realized you needed a bleeding pastry cutter, which is usually outside my culinary skillset, or at least read through the directions completely so I’d have a clue what was coming…. But I think the real problem lay in that the directions called for one 8×8 pan, and even all mixed up together wrong, I think it needed TWO 8×8 pans. I think A. filled it too full (I do recall her saying how heavy the pan was, several times, as she put it in the oven.), because after all, it said to only use one 8×8 pan, and we baked away. A, of course, insists she did not fill it too full, but you read the above examples of her denials, yes? Even if she didn’t fill it too full, clearly, it was too full (for whatever reason) by the time we yanked its scary ass from the oven. No denying that.

Well anyway, it could’ve been anything - measuring wrong, or whipping the batter up far too much, or adding the extra crumbs in instead of on top (but honestly, it all had to fit in the same pan anyway, right?), or being too full in the pan and needing two instead of the one it called for, or hell, it could’ve just been a terrible recipe. I don’t know.

But damn it all, I want to try again.

But maybe in A’s kitchen this time, eh?

Remember, remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder Treason and Plot
I see no reason that Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.

It’s November again, and the 5th, no less. A toast to Guy Fawkes today, please. I see no reason for the spirit he showed to be forgotten either. We live in a mad world these days, and sometimes, I think a plot to blow up parliament (or congress, as it may be here in the states) is a marvelous idea.

But I’m a bit radically leftist, I suppose. Or would that be rightist? Or perhaps I’m just a bit of an all around anarchist at heart.

Speaking of rebellion and the like, I rebelled against my own promise not to buy yarn until the socks and the shawl were both done, and in fact, I failed to complete either before I broke down and went insane enrolled myself in Sundara’s Season’s Yarn Club, which is way too friggin expensive for my budget, and way too pretty and mysterious and lovely to pass up. I chose winter for my season, and every month for the next six months, I’ll be getting gorgeous hand dyed yarn from Sundara herself in a wintery theme. This includes 3 skeins of sock yarn, one skein of silk lace (*droooooool*) and a couple other yarns, too. So yay. Yay for the yarn stash, anyway. Big fat nay for the wallet, which is curled up sobbing in the corner of my purse right now.

I may or may not have mentioned before that I have no money. Now I have even less. Congratulations, Katia, welcome to welfare!

Moving on, moving on…. You want to know about the socks. Right? Well, here they are.

Lovely, ne? I agree. I liked them so much that I broke my promise a second time in the same freaking week and bought this:

Yes, oh yes, that is more sock yarn. Where did I buy this? Pam’s Knit and Stitch, in Great Falls, where I shopped myself down to the pennies a couple days ago with Mom, who was also inspired to take up cross-stitching again while we were there. (This shop, fyi, has the most awesome ever cross stitch patterns and kits.) So, I had Mom pick out some sock yarn (the dark Regia Galaxy yarn there - surprise! I never would’ve picked that out for her in a billion years!) and I picked out some for myself (The Tofutsies, which is gorgeous and soft - SOFT, I tell you) and picked up the Interweave Crochet Summer 2006 issue, which has that Babette blanket in it that I so badly want to learn to crochet in it. Grand total? Too. Much. Money.

But that’s life as a knitter, I suppose.

The shawl is also moving along. I am midway through the 4th of 5 repeats and going strong. Good news: it will be finished before my first shipment from Sundara ever arrives, which makes me warm and fuzzy inside, like I almost-maybe-kinda didn’t break my promise after all, except for that blasted sock yarn splurge at Pam’s Knit and Stitch. Rawr. Anyway, I’d take a picture of that (the shawl) but it really doesn’t look any different than it used to, except bigger, so what’s the point? See this if you’d like a reminder shot.

Also? I’ve begun a Christmasy dishcloth for my neighbor, Barb, who deserves some knitted goodness after all the help she’s been. But gods, I hate this yarn. It’s gorgeous, but it’s got this silvery strand of something EVIL in it, and it makes my fingers raw.

I’m using the DW Dishcloth pattern, by Rhonda White, which is gorgeous, easy, and perfect for yarn like this. What yarn is it? Lily’s Sugar and Cream Christmas something or other. I don’t have the ballband anymore.

I needed something simple and easy to knit tonight. So that was it.

My list of things to finish by Christmas:

So there you are. Christmas gifts and Christmas stuff to be done. Also, need to get a gift list together and start on that - will probably do baked goods/gifts in jars for most people again. Huzzah.

Halloween came upon me too quickly this year. I vow not to let Christmas do the same!

So, I never did get around to blogging about Samhain. Bad! *swat* But, I did do a little something for the evening. Not much, granted, like I told A. I lit candles. About a half million of them or so. I spared a thought for those passed on - my grandfathers, but mostly Ed, and little Salem, of course. I put out milk and bread for the land spirits. And I laid out some tarot cards.

I wasn’t really in the mood, to be honest. It crept up on me, the 31st of October, with me decorating like, three days before, and cursing time for moving so bloody fast, and then whoosh. Gone. The wheel turns fast, children, and if you blink, you’ll miss something. Like, entire holidays, perhaps, like the autumn equinox, or that silly one on the first of August (Lammas) that means about as much to me as any other day in August, or even a night like Halloween.

Blink.

We’re five days into November, and it feels like it should still be September 1st or something, except for the chill and the first dusting of snow we had tonight. Time just seems to be sweeping along at a breakneck pace, kind of like Nascar, if you ask me - a circular race to nowhere, just go go go, as fast as you can.

I need to slow down. If there’s anything this year has taught me, it’s that I need to spend more time living in the real world, appreciating the little things in life. No, not just the little things - the real things. Things outside of my own head, outside of my own thoughts. I need to step into this world, the real one, and take a breather from the worlds in my head, and the time I spend on them.

Fresh air. Sunrise. Sunset. A cup of tea. The chickens running around the yard. Yarn and bread dough in my hands. The scent of warming cider and muffins and fresh laundry. Spending time with people - real people, in the flesh. And spending time alone - really alone, not hovering around online chatting with faraway friends.

Tarot did me little good that night - my mind was on other things. But that’s okay - I didn’t need the cards to tell me what I needed to know. I just needed Father Time to come kick my ass into November, to wake me up and say: “Hey, pay attention, girl. Life’s passing you by. Come enjoy it while you can.”

The Monkey socks have been finished! I wore them around this morning a bit, and found them to be quite warm. Also… quite… stitchy. As in… I am rather used to wearing the TINY gauge socks you buy at the store, and these, though definitely small for knitting, have rather large stitches and my feet seem to feel every one of them. Also? A bit on the itchy side. Not much - and only when I’m thinking about my feet, generally, but a bit.

The washing I’m about to give them oughta soften them up some. Speaking of washing, remember this sock? I still have it. Did not need to frog it for extra yarn, and in fact, still have lots of yarn left. Not enough for two pairs of socks - at least, not enough for two pairs of Monkey socks - but close. So, I’m considering that extra third sock to be my ’swatch’. Uh, yes. The swatch I actually did not make, but hoped begged the gods it would magically fit my feet.

I confess to being, in general, a bad swatcher. If I swatch at all, I look at it and say, nicely, “Gee, that looks like a nice little square of fabric.” And I pretend to measure my gauge (I have a hell of a time counting stitches for no good reason) and then I say: “Hmm… close enough.” whether it is or isn’t close enough, and knit it anyway.

So it’s really lucky that anything fits at all - though granted, I have not dared knit too many things where gauge is actually an issue. Scarves? Shawls? dishclothes? Kitty beds? Yeah.

But, lucky me, the socks fit perfectly so evidently, I did something right by making them on smaller needles than called for.

Pictures coming once they’re washed up and all. :)