Name: chef knitbits
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There’s a topless man in my neighborhood. Rain or shine, he’s topless. Sometimes he accessorizes with a Dalmatian which helps the eyes a bit but I’m serious, Topless Man is always topless. We went on a walk yesterday and sure enough, Topless Man was washing his car, topless. Two days ago, while taking in the garbage can, he stopped to chat. Maybe he was checking out my rack because it is a show stopper but my point is, even with the short shorts, your man nipples make me gag.
I was sure I only wanted one kid but now I think things are changing. I can’t help but cry every time I watch The Discovery Health channel and someone’s in labor. In order to be in the best physical shape to comfortably carry a baby, I’ve been trying to loose weight. During my last pregnancy I seriously gained 60 pounds! Luckily, in nine months I had lost that and more but today I sit here almost at my old pregnancy weight. Within four years, I’ve gained it all back. Ok, so my plan is, loose as much as I can before getting pregnant but it’s not working out. I’ve worked out for almost a month, four days a week, plus eaten no sugar and I haven’t lost a single pound. Not one fucking pound! If someone I love tells me one more time that, “its all muscle”, I’m going to scream.
Ever since our fight, my knitting has taken a back seat. Last night around midnight, I picked up my tangled bundles of yarn and tried to work through the barriers of hurt feelings and bruised spirit. Sometimes when I knit, a Zen type trance takes over. My breathing is deep and slow, thoughts flow in and out like a breeze, truly a meditative state. Some say knitting can be spiritual. Quieting my soul definitely requires a spiritual experience. My needles clink when they touch ever so slightly, my own personal wind chime. Last night was different. It wasn’t long before I noticed a mistake. I looked at it wondering if anyone will notice and contemplate ripping out my progress. In the end, I know it will bother me like an unresolved issue. I hate to do it but I slowly pull out the stitches and rebuild.
“Help me lift this chest.” She said. I knew it when I saw it, it was mine. I couldn’t imagine what it was filled with but I was eager to open it. “You’re father’s sick of having this in the garage” my mom protested. Once I opened it, I cringed thinking I could just slowly close it and dump it. It was overflowing with pictures, letters, cards, dried flowers, and pieces of my past. I started opening letters. They were folded into tiny squares that needed deciphering to get into them. Most talked about boys and summer camp.
I tried to tackle the cards when I came upon a few complimenting me on being a great granddaughter. I cherish those seeing as how the author is no longer with us. To my delight, I opened a card and found a five dollar bill. I welled up with delight remembering how grandma filled cards with money. Later, I found another card with a dollar in it. My husband was teasing, “Keep going!”
The money is mine. I got it before I fell in love so it’s definitely all mine. It’s been a long time since I’ve had something so sweet. Two pressed bills filled with love, just for me burning a hole in my pocket.
I have a stash of fireworks in my bedroom that’s driving me nuts. I’m not sure how to safely get rid of them. Where does one store fireworks while waiting for the next holiday? I’m afraid they’re going to start randomly going off, killing everyone in the house. I can ignore them no longer.
There’s a rubber glove laying on the street jut past my driveway. Every time I get the mail, I jump over it and head straight towards my cluster box, number 7 on the far right. The way it just lays there, looking used is disgusting. My mind wonders, did it clean a toilet? Was it used in a murder cover up? Is my neighbor making bombs? Maybe I’ll get a stick and poke it down the road towards the party house. Something must be done.
I know this guy who’s a stocker. Stocker Guy places butter and yogurt on my supermarket shelves every time I’m there. Seriously, every time I’m looking for some sour cream or just plain milk, Nick is there. He’s bald with this stupid/sexy tuff of hair on his chin and an uncomfortable to look at piercing which makes him stand out in a crowd. Anyway, today I went to the grocery store and there was Nick, again only this time I got this weird urge to talk to him so I said, “Do you actually spend the night here?” Of course, he's got no clue who I am so I try to cover up by saying, “you know, because you’re always here.” Ok, that was dumb. Now I’m the stalker!
Today I made my three year old cry by showing him his college fund. Proudly, I began explaining that one day he’ll want to go to college. I told him he’d be big enough that he wouldn’t want to live with us anymore. Of course, he couldn’t imagine anything more horrible, leaving him screaming. I tried going further into the explanation that one day he wouldn’t want his parents around anymore which was not my smartest move, sending him further into shock “No, No” I cried, “not for another 16 years. Don’t worry.” Two minutes doesn’t mean anything to a three year old let alone 16 years. I was sunk. In a hole, screwed so I did the only thing I know how, picked him up and told him he could live with us for as long as he wanted to. The crying stopped.
Same day, different topic:
She called first thing this morning. Caller ID exposed her then sent her to the answering machine. She didn’t leave a message. Last nights unfair fight still tastes bad in my mouth. I couldn’t avoid her all day so I finally answered her call late this afternoon. Sure enough, she rambled on acting like nothing happened. I hate how they do that, ignore issues that make them itch.
My house smells like I'm trying to attract fat football watching men. I've got chili simmering. Not just any chili but the chili that will win first prize at tonight’s chili cook off. Apparently Joe is the guy to beat this year. I've never gone to this thing but my husband has gotten himself all worked up about it so I’ve jumped on board only I hate to loose.
Ever since I've moved back to Texas I've eaten more animal products than I can remember which is why I've had to join this hoity toity gym that so far has given me hemorrhoids and itchy female parts. Not wearing undies and sweat does a girl harm. Luckily they make creams for those sorts of things but frankly once the appropriate creams are inserted in their appropriate spots, you feel violated and ashamed.
My sister called all giggly this morning at 8am which alarmed me. "Why are you up so early?" I asked. She exclaimed,”I couldn't sleep because I'm so excited!" She went on to inform me that she actually had sex last night. Now, normally this wouldn't surprise me because she sports a wedding ring but her husbands a neuter. I wish he'd just confess his queerness and move on with it. Anyway, she wasn't excited because of a mind altering orgasm but because she now "officially trying." That's right, no more pills. I asked her if her nipples were sore and she actually thought about it, thinking she was pregnant already. I told her I should get going because I had to start knitting her a baby blanket. The sad thing is that I'm already halfway through a blanket that's intended for their spawn. Shh...Don’t tell.
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