Ru-Paul and Other Distractions. (Blogstalking week 4 AND 5)

I hate traffic, my filthy windshield, and sunrise. Now that that unpleasantness is out of the way, let me tell you about what I love. What I love is things that are completely random. Like this weekend. This was a hella random weekend. Friday night I was out with Lucky. It was an entire night devoted to driving around to creepy places. Those creepy places included the most enormous cemetery ever to go completely unnoticed by everyone I've asked about it. This place is HUGE. I can't even begin to explain the extreme largeness. As a matter of fact it's actually two cemeteries that sort of run into each other and three mausoleums. One of the mausoleums is a three story building that at first we thought couldn't possibly be what it was, it was just too big. The other two are smaller two story deals though smaller is a completely relative term, they're still larger than most suburban apartment complexes in this area. The thing that's so crazy random about the place is that it's on two main roads and yet no one seems to know it's there. We also hit up an apartment building that Lucky says would be his top choice for locations to shoot a slasher flick in. I agree, the place is like a tiny Winchester mansion. The stairs alone are just bizarre (two sets right next to each other that never intersect and you can't see one from the other but they lead to the exact same spot) then you throw in exterior walls on the inside of the building, a rickety fire escape, all the blind corners (and by that I mean all the corners are blind corners, I bet it makes moving in and out a bitch) a great view of the city, and the fact that you never see any of the residents of the place and you've got yourself a movie. I wish I had thought to bring my camera but that's the theme of the weekend, randomness and me kicking myself for forgetting the camera. Saturday we went to the barber shop and they invited us to their anniversary shindig that night. Red Todd Kidd and I tried to find a sitter but couldn't so he bade me take up with Kaylee and go forth to this rockabilly show. So we did. Adventure ensued. First we went to the Tower Bar where this thing was taking place. They were playing the most campy and strange D-movies on the tv in the corner, almost everyone in the place was drinking tall boys of PBR, and the whole place looked like a casting call for West Side Story 2 (Which I'm sure would have the same basic plot as West Side Story except it'd be set in present day and the tension would be between hardcore rockabilly kids and apathetic emo hipsters fighting over who gets to be pretentious in the town's diviest dive bar. Then one pretty little cutting emo girl in horn rim glasses with no prescription and an outfit that probably cost $300 trying to get it to look like it came from a thrift store locks eyes with a vintage car driving, leather jacket wearing, James Dean wannabe who clearly spends most of his time on ebay looking for vintage pomade to rock in his pompadour and doomed romance blooms, I hate to spoil the ending for you but they both die, she slits her wrists with one of his vintage Elvis records then he puts her dead body in the car with him and drives off a cliff). Kaylee and I sat there, sat there, sat there, watched a reenactment of the Outsiders when a rumble broke out just near the door, sat there, sat there, sat there, got drinks spilled on us, sat there, sat there, and sat there. Since after all that sitting the band STILL hadn't gone on and it was damn near midnight, we took off. We had a mind to head to this piano bar Kaylee's been talking about but we never made it there. You see, we got caught up in a weird midnight traffic fiasco that was being caused by some random side street being blocked off. As we were stopped we heard an amplified voice ring out through the night, "Yes, hello everyone! I'm Ru-Paul Superstar of the world!" (or whatever the hell that catchphrase of his is) and we decided we had to find out if it was really him. So we parked around the corner and wandered back to discover some charity event drag show with Ru-Paul on stage in a wig he'd clearly gotten at Dolly Parton's last yard sale and more pink sequins than I thought existed this side of Key West. Spectacular. Truly. But we were hungry and our curiosity was sated so we left and stumbled on to a little 24 hour diner where we spent the next hour eating the most awesome sandwiches and talking to three complete strangers about porn among other things. After that I was drunk dialed by The Cowardly Lion who simply read me the definition of drunk dialing followed by the definition of a booty call. So we went over to his house and hung out with him and his wives for a little bit. Yes, I said wives, they've been watching too much Big Love over there. Sunday was for geocaching with the family which was pretty cool, actually. RTK's been on me to try it out for awhile so we got a GPS and went and did one. The kids loved it. I'd go into more detail but my fingers may fall off from all the typing. I'll blog some pics of that another day. Anyway, the three things I love (in case you don't get the pictures): October, my daughter trying to throw up the horns, and National City Municipal Code 11.68.050 which prohibits "cruising" and leads to those goofy signs all up and down Highland Avenue, it always cracks me up. Also you'll see my blogstalking week 5 assignment which requires I photograph a statue. I found this copse of angels quite by accident in the aforementioned giant cemetery when Lucky and I went back Sunday afternoon. Technically you're not supposed to photograph people's headstones but I cropped out the ones you could read. The statues stand out because the whole area they're in is plain as hell except this group of statues all crowded together like some sort of saint convention.

More of the same

Tonight is my first football practice without the other coaches. I have no idea what the fuck I'm going to do. I'm seriously apprehensive and I'm thinking taking this on was one of the worst mistakes I've ever made. I've been trying to read up on drills and such but my mind wanders to other places. I wish I could find some good coaches to help me that will actually come every day. There seem to be a lot of people who want to help but they can't devote the amount of time that's needed. I'm listening to Benny Goodman and trying to calm down. I do love Benny Goodman. Red Todd Kidd left his performance review from work out on the computer desk and I don't know if I should look at it or not. It's bugging me. I mean, he left it *right there* but at the same time it would bug me if he read my stuff without asking. Okay, I won't read it. I'll just turn it over and try not to stare so hard I get x-ray vision. Went out and waxed philosophical about life with Lucky last night. He got fired and now feels, more acutely, the lack of direction he's been suffering. I told him to write a novel. The guy tells a fantastic story. You could ask him to tell you about the last time he did his laundry and an hour later your sides will be sore from laughing and you'll be shocked a whole hour has gone by.

It's going to be epic.

Tomorrow Lucky Champagne is picking me up at 7am (yes, on a Saturday) so we can go on a road trip. Our road trip was supposed to be a weekend and it was supposed to be to our friend's bar in Arizona. Now it's just Lucky driving to wherever we can get to and back by the end of the day tomorrow. It would not surprise me if we end up at the Center of the World. I know he wants to go take some paint to the guy at Salvation Mountain. Hooray, a field trip to the zealot swindler's place! Actually I know it will be fun because it will be something different to do. Plus funny crap just always happens to Lucky. I have no idea what tomorrow will hold, I'm just along for the ride. I will be taking my camera so hopefully I'll get some amusing pictures. I had hoped to show you one finished sock for Entrelac today but I totally fucked up the toe (all because I was totally caught up in that cinematic masterpiece The Brothers Grimm) and had to rip it out so you have to wait. Not that I expect anyone was falling all over themselves in anticipation. Oh, and since a few people have asked the pattern came from Folk Socks (Welsh Country Socks), I didn't come up with it. I did modify it a bit though.

Not Irish

I'm not Irish. Not even a little bit. Nope. So of course last night I went out to celebrate St, Patrick's Day with the horde of other non-Irish people who use it as an excuse to drink copious amounts of all manner of booze and throw up in their friend's cars/lawns/beds etc. I didn't see a single person throw up this year so I consider it a majorly successful evening. I also remember most of the stuff that happened so another success right there. Of course I was dead to the world until well after 9am today but the kids didn't complain too much about their late breakfasts. Anyway, every two days after the ides of March one of my oldest friends both literally and chronologically, in fact for the blog here we'll call him Methuselah, throws a party to celebrate his drunken heritage. He happens to be Irish but he also happens to be a drunkard and that second thing is what he's celebrating before you get your hackles up and get all pissy about Irish bashing or some such (and by the way, Methuselah's little brother The Cowardly Lion also just as Irish and somehow never as drunk, I'm just saying). I see I've lost my point, has anyone seen it anywhere? I seriously doubt it but hell, it never hurts to ask. Oh yeah, Methuselah threw a party as he is wont to do. Methuselah's parties are generally the most random I've ever been to. You never know who you'll run into from what phase of your life. Sometimes that's cool but more often than not it's incredibly awkward. Occasionally it leads to Lucky Champagne having a throw down while Napoleon and I scream insults at people. I gotta tell you, that's some role reversal, Lucky is much more an insulter and Napoleon and I are not shy with the face punching. Moderately amusing aside, the throw down mentioned above took place for a number of reasons which mostly involved some idiot punching Lucky in the stomach for no real reason but also because Napoleon decided that some other idiot wasn't allowed to talk to or about me in the particularly insulting manner in which he had been. I find that funny because the last time I got into a fight it was partly because some bitchy girl was talking about Napoleon in a similar manner (also I punched her boyfriend for grabbing my ass and she was pissed about it, you know, like you do). See, this is why none of you six or seven readers would really want to know me in the real world, clearly I don't abide there. The more I blog about my life instead of my knitting the more charming I sound, right? So last night Red Todd Kidd, Lucky, Kaylee, Edina and I all head out into the unkown of Methuselah's place. I'm happy to report there was no fighting not screaming of insults and we all had a pretty good time. But then again, I haven't heard from anyone yet today and it's entirely possible that my version of events has nothing to do with reality, it wouldn't be the first time. I bet you're wondering what the hell this post is about and what it has to do with anything. Sadly, there is no point. I was just posting because I had a few minutes and it's been awhile and also if I ramble about this I won't have to dig out the pictures of RTK's socks I've been meaning to post for hella days. I hate loading pictures.

A New Year's Eve Warning

We've all done it at some point. Called up a friend or an ex or a significant other while completely wasted. The thing is, sometimes you leave evidence. Sometimes you get the voice mail or the answering machine and your better judgement who was sitting next to you three drinks ago is now passed out on the floor so you leave a message. Everyone else is going to warn you about drunk driving but not me, I assume my readers know better. I'm here to warn you off of the phone this New Year's Eve and I'll do it with these two stories: Only once before had this happened to me and it was a doozie. At a party at a friend's house, the first time I had been out to really have a good time since my son was born, my friends made it their mission to get me so blitzed I didn't even know what country I was in. After several rounds of a drinking game and an entire bottle of tequila between the six of us, I called Red Todd Kidd to tell him I wasn't going to make it home (the designated driver had literally had tequila poured down his throat Tijuana style) and could not figure out why he didn't pick up the phone. You see I called his work number. I actually left an incoherant message while someone whom I'd nicknamed Paddy McMick (I had jumped him into my gang* and that was his gang name, it's another story for another day) was singing Tura Lura Lural at the top of his lungs in the background. I have no idea what I said in this message but true to his awesome nature, Red Todd Kidd has never given me a hard time about the incident. I however, have never stopped giving a hard time to The Single Letter (the planned designated driver) over his two famous quotes** of the night, or the fact that when we did leave the next morning I had to drive. My second drunk dialing incident happened in November at Edina's birthday party (you may know her as belely from the knittyboard). We were out at a restaurant and ended up waiting for several hours for everyone to show up, by which point we had had many drinks and no food. Edina had had twice as many drinks as anyone else since it was her birthday we were all ordering them for her. It began to look like she wasn't going to make it through the party. So we started a pool on when she was going to lose it, and by "it" I mean her lovely dinner of tequila and whatever that peach stuff was. Right now I know you're thinking, "So that's what she's like in real life, what a bitch!" Well, yeah kinda, but it was all in fun and I rarely go out like this so cut me some slack. Anyway, a few days later I check my voicemail and I get this message: Later on when Edina asks why she took a picture of Lucky*** it's because she said, "This is a picture of Lucky losing," after she threw _____ at him because we took bets on when she was going to throw up and he said she owed him ____ [expletive deleted] dollars and [expletive deleted] Napolean _________ [expletive deleted] ___________ and now I've drunk dialed myself. At first I'm baffled as to who the hell it is and the third time through the message I realize it's me. It took four more run throughs to figure out what the heck I was saying. Then I had to call up Edina and tell her about it so we could laugh our asses off. I don't know if the message would be funnier or less funny without the garbled indechipherable sections but without a CSI unit to enhance the recording, I'll never know. I've been waiting to tell this story until Edina sent me the picture in question but I'm beginning to think she never will so I'm just going to post this with old pictures of the persons in question (the ones I chose are one of Edina and Red Todd Kidd from like two years ago because it's cute and one of Lucky with Darth and Lola Beans because it will make you wonder why I let him around the kids, it kinda looks like Lola is flipping him off, and lastly because my first pair of hand knitted socks ever are in the pic) and update you with the real pics (and a bonus pic of Lucky wearing his boxers outside his pants a la Madonna from last weekend) when I finally get them. Because I'm sure they'll be hilarious. *In high school a friend of mine declared that I was the leader of a gang. She called this gang Sarah's Gang or SG. She ran around for a long time punching people and telling them they had been jumped into my gang and then giving them rediculous gang names. Years later Edina and I revived this tradition just for the hell of it at a party one night. It went on for another two years after that. ** Quote 1: Not my boots! Without my boots how can I be southern!? Quote 2: Roll me over, that's how Hendrix went out! ***The heretofore only unnicknamed member of my real life friends, has now been dubbed Lucky Champagne for blogging purposes due to his penchant for Lucky cigarettes and Miller High Life. I know it's a lame nickname but that's why it works.

Preparing for The Feast

Any Sealab 2021 fans out there? Preperations are being made for the second annual Feast of Alvis around here. That being a "ham and liquor hootinany" (in the words of Quinn anyway) that celebrates the twin virtues of Alvis: drinking and revenge. ("'Vengence is mine!' Quoth Alvis. Then he shot that guy right in the freaking face." -Murphy) You see, last year in a Christmas backlash a few freinds and I decided to throw a Feast of Alvis after seeing the Sealab episode of the same name. As it ended up there was neither ham nor pomp (and for poor Lucky* there was also no liquor but I'll get to that in a minute) but there was a gift exchange. A gift exchange that we have named the Hate Gift Exchange. Here's how it works: everyone draws a name (there are eight of us, three couples and two single guys that we tease by calling a couple) of a person they are to get a Hate Gift for. The only rules on the name drawing is that you can't get the same person two years in a row and that couples can't get each other's names. After you've gotten your name you set out to get that person something that will completely piss them off or humilliate them. We're such a nice group of people aren't we? Last years highlights included: -My good buddy Lucky who loves to drink (and had his childhood cat put to sleep earlier that day, poor guy) was given a six pack of O'Douls (a non-alcoholic beer) that he was required to finish before being allowed to drink anything fun. -Napoleon* who had lost his job that week was given a "Career Start-up Kit" that was really just a box of that crappy gum that the little kids in Mexico sell. -Fuzzy Tail* was given the last picture in the series you can see throughout this entry in a frame. In front of Napoleon. Now I'll take a second to explain the pictures. Napoleon and Fuzzy Tail had a breif fling but remained good friends. One day, months before the Feast of Alvis, she emailed me a picture of Napoleon in her front yard with the caption, "My garden gnome" because Napoleon is rather on the short side. I laughed, drew a hat on him and sent it back. This went on for several hours ending with that last picture. She told me I could never-ever metion this to Napoleon because she didn't want to tick him off. I agreed never to say anything to him or show him the picture. Instead I framed it and let her do it. I'm such a good friend. This year promises to be equally if not more spectacular. We've added two more people to the gift exchange and hopefully this year there will be ham. *Some names have been changed to protect the not-so innocent. Or because I found it funny.

...and ride off in my time machine to victory.

Among the many things I did yesterday, I got a phone call from my friend Lucky. Lucky amuses me. Like a dancing monkey. If he read this he wouldn't even be offended because I'm pretty sure that's his goal. Anyway he was going on and on and I wasn't really paying attention when all the sudden I hear, "...and ride off in my time machine to victory." That's why I love Lucky, because he plots revenge in ways he can never achieve it but it still makes him feel vindicated. I think I'm supposed to help him get revenge on someone this weekend but since I wasn't paying to close attention to the conversation at that point (being knee deep in finishing Elizabeth) I'm not really sure. Suffice to say I'll call from jail and someone will post an interesting story on the blog on Monday. So Elizabeth is finished. Well, except for the buttons because I haven't bought any yet. I never buy buttons for a knitted project until I'm done because I always get the wrong size. Of course there aren't any buttons in my button box that will do, they're all either white or blue. How does that happen? Anyway, the yarn worked for the project but I can't say it was the best of choices. It was a bit too bulky so it was a little difficult to work with. Also my gauge was off just enough that I didn't notice until I got through two pattern repeats at the top and was where I should have been after three. I just left out the last repeat and the whole thing turned out fine. The only way to really tell is that mine has four buttonholes instead of five. Big deal. I was also unable to get a good picture so you get two crappy pictures. The second one has more accurate color. I'll try to get my mom to model it for me later when she comes home. Well, I'm off to get back to the Overalls of Shame!