G is for Glass

I found a store on etsy that is entirely devoted to glass bottles.  It's here.  This person has 1533 items in their store!   A whole store!  They are mainly vintage bottles - soda, apothecary, milk.  Where do they find them all?!

I have spoken many times about my hoarder tendencies.  One of the things I would love to collect would be vintage bottles.  Apothecary, soda, maybe even some milk bottles. 


I also love those electricity glass thingies.  Like these:

 

 

Instead, I currently collect yarn.  Here's the picture I posted recently...

That's my Wall 'O Yarn. 

On the left (and these are bins only - the bags are a whole 'nother story), the bottom is a 45 gallon bin with all my Aran through Bulky weight.  Above that, I have 25 gallon bin of Felting Wool, 25 gallon bin of Cotton, and 25 gallon bin of novelty yarn that I am willing to sell (currently that novelty is waiting it's turn to be made in to pet beds).

In the middle, we have a 45 gallon grey bin of Non-Sock Fingering/Sport/DK/Worsted yarn.  Above that on the left, there's 10 gallon bin of novelty that I actually have plans for, 15 gallon bin of Kitchen Cotton, and a little shoe-box bin of Blue Moon Fiber Arts yarn.  On the right, we have 15 gallon bin of sock kits (that's actual kits and sock yarn that's already wound in to cakes).  Above that, a 20 gallon bin that is ALL WIPs (or as I call it the Bin of Shame, or sometimes the Bin of No Return).  On top of that I have a 10 gallon bin of Knit Me Next!! (Or, as I like to call it, Future WIPs and UFOs.)

On the right, the 40 gallon grey bin of roughly 200 skeins of Sock yarn.  Over that, we have a 15 gallon bin of Malabrigo yarn, a 25 gallon bin of Acrylicrap (mostly used in ami's), a 25 gallon bin of "Good" Acrylic (how much am I in love with Berocco Vintage?!), and a 25 gallon bin of yarn waiting to be dyed.

S.A.B.L.E. much?

I'm working my way through the Bulky lately.   It's so seductive in it's ability to be a full sweater within a very short time!!  I just finished Comfortable Cables.  I haven't taken any pic's of it yet, but soon, my lovelies, soon.....

Happily drowning in yarn, Ruth!



F is for Finish

Almost time for Husker football to start up again.  Next Saturday, as a matter of fact (or so the husband tells me). 

For the past few years, I've had this tradition of CO'ing a new sweater each time.  Thing is, I'm not sure I've actually finished any of those sweaters.  It's hard to say.  The only one I've ever actually documented as a Husker kickoff sweater was last year's Astoria, which is not finished.  (As I suspected, I got to the stranding bit and chickened out.  It's still on the needles, it's just... waiting.)

I have a rather shocking amount of WIPs.  Most are in an enormous bin in the basement.  Here's my Wall 'O Yarn...

Here's a closer look at what's in the middle...

That big monster in the middle, on the right is my WIPs bin. 

You see my dilemma.  Above it we have the Knit Me Next!! bin.  Below it, we have the Sock Kits bin.  And the little one to the left is the Socks That Rock bin.  Sigh.

 That WIP bin is overstuffed.  The Knit Me Next bin is on top of it to help keep the lid from popping off.  It's not all sweaters.  It has quite a variety in there.  Socks, kitchen towels, bath mat, hats, more socks, a pair of mittens, slippers, some socks... 

And I know that's not even all the WIPs I have floating around the house (I almost typed "gloating" instead of "floating" - equally appropriate, I think.).  I can think of at least six sock WIPs that are gloating outside that bin as we speak. 

What should I do? Shall I finish things from previous years?   Shall I start a new sweater?  I've been puzzling over this for quite some time.  I think I may have a solution.  There's 2 halves to a football game.  Why don't I CO something new at kickoff like I always do? (frontrunners right now are either Idlewood, Alta, or Comfortable Cables - mainly Idlewood and CC because they are mindless enough to be able to watch the game.)  I can work on the new thing during the first half and then work on a WIP only during the second half! 

The issue with this particular bit of compromise is that I often doze off during the second half.  I don't know what it is about football that makes me sleepy.  It certainly isn't the hollering husband sitting next to me!

I think we all know which way I'll go, Ruth!

E is for Egg

Before I met Dave, I never ate bacon.

I always thought, "Bacon and coffee.  How can something smell so good and taste so bad??"

My dad was always a bacon and eggs man.  And coffee.  He had bacon and fried eggs for breakfast every chance he got.  He and my mom drank copious amounts of coffee.  I tried all of it and didn't like any of it.  My mom used to tell my I'd change my mind about coffee when I was studying late nights in college.  Never happened.

I didn't discover the joys of bacon until years after Dave and I started dating.  I think it was a few years in to our marriage that I caught on. 

As to eggs, I like eggs.  But I've never liked them overeasy.  Hardboiled (in any form - plain, on a salad, mixed in to egg salad for sandwiches), ScrambledVeryDry (when I was in the Army, I had enough nasty, wet scrambled eggs to last a lifetime), cooked in to pastries (that's the best use of an egg)...

Dave likes his eggs overeasy.  Those type of eggs always grossed me out.  The yolky part just seemed like uncooked egg to me.

I've always been one to try new things.  Particularly with food!  I watch a lot of the food channel and they keep talking about the "eggy goodness" of a fried egg, so I thought I'd give it another shot.  Hell, I didn't like mustard until I was in my 20s, stationed in Germany!

Overeasy eggs are Delicious!!

I quickly became obsessed with them.  I had a fried egg sandwich nearly every day for almost three months!  I'd order them when we went out to breakfast.  I tried them overmedium and overhard.  I like overmedium best.

I'm liking this whole discover-(or even rediscover)-things-in-my-adulthood thing.  Makes me feel like there's hope that I'll never be stuck in my ways and inflexible about my preferences. 

Are there foods you hated as a kid and now you can't get enough of them?  What about other things? 
Like classical music?  I never hated it, but I never really gave it a shot, either.  I think I'll explore that next...

I still can't stand coffee, but overeasy eggs and bacon? mmmm.

All that wasted time, Ruth!

D is for Dope

A couple of weeks ago, I went to the store for a mere 40 minutes, and while I was gone, Dave and his mom had the mother of all blowouts. 

Thankfully, the kids were also gone (in CA with my mom for 2 weeks).

I think I've mentioned that when she gets mad, she says things I wouldn't say to a dog.  She also brings up the laundry list of your entire life's mistakes, real or imagined.

One of our imaginary sins that came up during this shouting match (lovingly held outside so all the neighbors can know their business) was that she thinks Dave and I are "dope fiends" because we are OK with marijuana having been made legal in Colorado.

The funny thing about that statement is that Dave has NEVER tried an illegal drug in his life.  It's downright un-American, if you ask me.

She and I almost got in to it a week before on the same issue.

There was a traveling nurse that came to our house to give her an insurance-company-mandated physical.  MIL was telling me what a lovely person that nurse was (which, to her mind, means the nurse agreed with everything the MIL asked her about, thus confirming that MIL is, once again, right in all ideals).  One of the things they talked about was weed.  Nurse agreed with MIL that weed is the root of all evil.  Nurse used to work in a prison and claimed that every single man behind bars ever started down the road to the big house by smoking a joint.  Nurse also told MIL that it's been proven that marijuana is the ONLY drug in existence that NEVER leaves the body.  That it stays in your cells and never leaves.

At that point, I'd heard enough.  We were driving to the grocery store, just she and I, and I'd had it.  I said, "That nurse was talking out her ass."

MIL looked shocked and said, "Well, she's a nurse, so I think she knows what she's talking about."  I said, "Never happened.  Your body completely regenerates every cell it has about every 7 years or so, depending on the cell type.  NOTHING stays in your body forever."

I went on to give her my views on addiction.  Here they are, for good or for ill:

I think addicts are wired to be addicts.  I think there may be things in their life that they need to escape from, some of them have horrific things that they should be able to escape from, but some people do it with addiction, others do not.

I strongly believe that if someone is going to be an addict, it doesn't matter what drug they start with.   My brother grew up in the same unstable, dysfunctional household.   I might even go so far as to say that I had it worse, considering the Very Bad Things that happened because I am female.  (No one in our house ever touched me - see previous post for the story.)  I've done the exact same drugs my brother's done.  (I almost let that slip out with her, too!  I can only imagine the firestorm that would've started.  Not to mention the filing away and savoring of that little tidbit until her next tantrum.)  My brother is an addict that has had a very hard time getting his life together.  I never got addicted to drugs or alcohol and have managed to reasonably keep my life on some sort of "normal" track.

Everyone is addicted to something.  For the MIL it's cigarettes and (as I've recently discovered) copious amounts of alcohol.  For some it's food.  For some it's being a dick.   (Please misread that last one as you will. hah!) 

For me it's yarn.  And spending money.  And yarn.  And spending money on yarn.

I really have tried quite a lot of drugs over the years of my well-spent youth. 

Weed:  Tried it in high school a few times.  Bored me to tears.  My friends would be cracking up and getting the munchies; I'd be asleep in the corner.

Cocaine:  My high school sweetheart had several cousins heavily involved in the powder.  One worked at a company that makes (among other things) the sauces they use at Baskin-Robbins.  That place was fuckin' Candyland.  Most of the employees would spend their lunch hours snorting up in the parking lot.  He also had a cousin who dealt coke. 

The first time I tried it, we went to the dealer-cousin's house.  The house was modest, but lovely.   They set up some on a small mirror laid on the pool table.  I'd been so terrified by all the Just Say No propaganda that I was sure my heart would literally explode the first time I tried it.  I turned to Sweetheart and said, "Promise me if anything happens, you will call an ambulance."  He promised he would.   He didn't even laugh at me. 

I was so nervous that when I bent to take that first sniff (rolled $100 bill at the ready), that I started laughing and accidentally blew the stuff all over the pool table.  Cousin and Sweetheart were both patient and didn't get mad.  They just set up again, and I did it right that time.

Don't mistake me.   Neither one of them were pressuring me or cared whether I did it or not.  I was curious and wanted to try it.

Sweetheart and I used to coke the fuck out three or four times a year.  4th of July and New Year's Eve, we'd go to different cousins of his in Sacramento.   His female cousin there, T, was a heavy construction equipment driver and always had good stuff.  We'd stay with her and her husband (and their kids) and party all night long for a few days at a time.  (Never in front of the kids.  They'd get sent down the block to stay with her parents.)

The thing with me and coke is that I'm way too fucking cheap for that crap.  I was always a hyperactive person anyway, and I couldn't see paying $100 for something that made me MORE hyper but only lasted twenty minutes.  It was always free and it was always a blast!   But I'd never "waste" my money on that.

Meth:  Yes.  I've tried it.  When I first moved to Tucson, I met and was hanging out with this group of people my age.  I suck at names, but I do remember this one ginger boy they called Peaches (because of his hair and all the fuzz on his arms?).  They all worked in construction (well, not the girls), so there was easy and copious access to drugs.  They called it Crystal in the 90s.  I'm rather dim, so it didn't occur to me until much later that Crystal Meth was, you know... Meth. 

Anyway, like most of my drug mini-adventures, I decided to see what all the fuss was about. 

It suuuuuuuuucked.  

I was up for three days.   We were all hanging out in the same house for this long weekend.   I did a few lines and that was all.   Up for Three.  Days.   At the end, I told Peaches, "I can't stop talking.  I'm annoying MYSELF and I can't shut up."

I somehow managed to clench my jaws and continuously talk for three days straight.  I still have jaw issues due to that mess.

Like most of my drug mini-adventures, I end up asking myself, "How is this fun, exactly??"

Random drug stories:

Worst high I ever had:   In college, tried a "cocoa-puff".  That's a cocaine-laced joint.  The weed is trying to take you down, the coke is trying to pull you up, and you are just fucked up in the middle.

Funniest high I ever saw:  When I was in high school, I hung out with mods and punks.  There was this cheerleader that had a crush on one of the punk rock boys.  She was always bugging us to hang out.

In my little town, there was a place where ALL the kids went to party, no matter what clique you ran with.   It was called the Dykes.  It was a big canal out in the middle of nowhere.  To get to it, you had to know where the turnoff was - a tiny side street off a country road.  Once you took the turnoff, the little road went steeply up, then made a nearly 90-degree turn, and then sloped down to the area where the canal was.  About once every few months, when leaving, some kid would go straight and end up with a broken axle.  Also, when you were actually at the canal at night, if you were looking toward that road off in the dark, you'd see nothing, then.... lights.  Tiny lights of the headlights of approaching cars would appear.

The cool thing about the Dykes is that the farmers who lived further down the road (and, I assume, owned all that land) didn't care if we partied there, as long as no one got hurt or left their beer cans about.

Ok, so with my friends, they did a lot of drugs.   Heavy shit like PCP.  This was pre-me-trying-anything, so I'd just hang out, sip a beer (maybe) and those of our group that didn't partake would sort of babysit and drive those that did. 

Cheerleader sauntered over one night and was trying to schmooze up to the boy she had a crush on.  He was a PCP user, and to try to get in with him, she was bugging him to let her try it.  She weighed slightly more than her birth weight and was claiming she could hang and wouldn't let up, so finally he let her have a hit.   (They'd dip their joints in the PCP liquid.) 

After a few short moments, she was obliterated.   I noticed her staring off toward the dark road, and as I followed her gaze I saw.... lights.  She shouted, "COPS!!" and took off running.   We all looked at each other in bewilderment.  We saw white dots, no red or blue.  (The cops would come out occasionally, but more often then not, they'd have a beer with us and leave.)

We let her run.

A few hours later, when we were ready to leave, CrushBoy said, "We can't leave her."  I was all, "Can't we?", but was overruled by nicer friends. 

We went off in to the field to find her dumb ass.

We found her, all right.

She was entangled in a barbed wire fence.  It was so damn funny!  She was trying to call for help but as quietly as she could so the "cops" wouldn't hear her. 

It was like a scene from The Fly:
"help me!  help meeee!"

We untangled her, put her in a car, drove her home, put her on her front porch, rang the bell, and left.

Now, those of you thinking of Tetanus, don't worry.  It was what passes for Winter in Clovis, CA, and she was jeaned and jacketed and unbloodied.  Most of what was caught in the fence was her enormous down jacket and her even bigger, '80s-styled blonde hair.

So, yes, weed is legal in CO.  Have I tried it?  Not since the '80s.  It's not quite the point in CO where you can walk in to a dispensary and walk out well-stocked.  One still needs a medical card at this point.  But soon, my friends, soon....

hah!

I may try it again.   Dave has expressed vague interest.  We'd definitely go the edible route if we were to try it.  We can't stand smoke - blech.

I have some questions about the whole legalizing weed thing.

First there's this:
3.9 tons of marijuana confiscated by Texas Highway Patrol

What are they going to do with all that weed?  Wouldn't they be smart to sell the confiscated drugs to a state that has legalized?  An auction to dispensary owners, like they do with confiscated cars, houses, etc. 

Would that make Texas a drug dealer?

But seriously, how much debt could be erased by selling that amount of illegal to some place that has made it legal?  Would it be wrong to use that "drug money" to help schools?

Personally, I think all drugs should be legalized and regulated.  Prostitution, too.  But that's just me.

My jaw still aches, Ruth!

C is for Comedy

I spent most of last year angry.  Just pissed beyond all reason. 

One of my best friends is a counselor, and she said that's a sign of depression.  I don't know about that, but I know I wasn't myself.

I've always had people telling me I'm a dreamer and overly optimistic and always looking on the bright side.  Last year, those qualities have seemed to have left me.  I hope they aren't gone for good.

So much happened last year that sucked.  My FIL passed in June.  My high school sweetheart's mom and a friend of mine (two separate people) passed away within ten days of each other in the fall.  I wasn't especially close to either of those two people anymore, but at one time or another in my life, they were important to me and the world was lessened by their passing.

School keeps changing and not for the better.

I hated my job with the white-hot fury of a thousand suns.

After my FIL passed in June, I was so angry with the MIL.  She never really treated him well.  She fed him in to oblivion and she kept the house clean, but she was never nice to him.  For the few months we lived together in Parker (after they first moved out to CO), I watched her take his every misstep, misspent dollar, mistake he's ever made and fashion them in to a spiked club with which to beat him over the head every day.  Every.  Day.

My prime example of how she treated him:
We were having Sunday dinner at their place, as usual.  We'd just had a KFC meal and she'd made corn on the cob to go with it.  We'd put all the food on paper plates, to make that day easy for her.  Dave asked his dad to please pass the corn.  His dad picked it up with one hand and started to pass it.  She yanked the plate away from him, snapping, "You need two hands.  You're going to drop it."   Ironically, she'd yanked it away from him with... you guessed it.... just one hand. 

I sat there thinking, "Jeez, woman!  The man is 80-some years old.  I think he can figure out how to successfully pass a plate of corn."

Whatever they had together obviously worked for them because they were married 40+ years until he passed.   And he would sit there and take it, so... I don't know.

It made me so angry that in his last days and after he died, she would tell anyone who listened what a great man he was.  What a fine man, a good man, a good provider, etc., etc.

Wow.

She sure as hell never let that on when he was living.

Maybe I should be a little more compassionate.  I probably couldn't be less so, because to hear her go on and on about it made me sick.

Maybe she finally figured it out too late?  Seems like she was suddenly afraid to be alone, even though when he was alive, she really seemed to hate being with him.

We moved her in with us last November.  It's been... interesting.

I've been with Dave since.... well, we met October 1998.  You know, I've never once seen that woman laugh?  She's never been taken by surprise and burst out laughing.  She's never heard a joke she didn't scoff at.  I'm not even sure I've ever seen her give a real, genuine smile.

This January, I sat down and had a little chat with myself.

I see how bitter and lonely and angry and unhappy she is with... well, just about everything.  I see that if I kept on the path I was on last year, I could easily end up just like that.  What a horrible existence that would be.  Not only for the people around her, but for her as well. 

So I've been making a real effort this year to have more joy in my life. 

It's tough.  Stupid, bad, scary things have happened this year (more on that in future posts).  I have to keep reminding myself that stupid, bad, scary things have happened every year of my life and will continue to happen every year I have left. 

I remind myself that I can roll with it and see the good side, the bright side, or (at the very least) that there IS a light at the end of the tunnel, and even if that light IS a train, maybe the train is full of candy.  And yarn!

One of the steps I've taken... no, that's not accurate.  One of the steps I've been handed on a silver platter is a new radio station in Denver. 

I hate radio.  They play the same crap over and over, there's always commercials, and most of the DJs get on my nerves.  On my commute to school (about an hour each way), I've rediscovered audiobooks.  When I'm not listening to those, I'm listening to this new station.

It's all comedy, all the time!  Clips from comedians of all types (of course, they censor the bad words).  They even do clips from "vintage" comics.  A couple of weeks ago, I was driving to knitting group, upset about something that went on in my house (don't remember what)... that station played Abbott and Costello's Who's on First!! 

I LOVE A&C.   I used to watch reruns of their show whenever I could find it on cable.  When I was taking sign language in college, we had to do partner projects (??).   My partner and I did Who's on First.  I was Abbott.  We printed it out and laid it along the table.  We moved on down the line as we did our show.  So much fun!

When I was in my 20s, I always thought it would be so much fun to do standup - all that traveling and making people feel good.   As I am older and presumably wiser, I see the flipside of that.  Sure you get to travel everywhere, but you probably don't get to actually stick around and see much of the towns you're in.  Also, as I listen to more and more of this station, I realize, there's really a craft to it.  It's hard damn work to come up with new stuff, funny stuff, relevant stuff.  Best left to the professionals.  And then there's the hecklers.   I don't think it would bother me after I'd done it awhile, but I think in the beginning, it would've stumped me. 

Here's a master of dealing with hecklers....

Brilliant!

Let's see, what other steps have I taken to be happier...

I try to get my hands on needles every day. 

I've made an effort to spend time with friends.  Not just at knitting group either.  I have tried to meet with my friends from group OUTSIDE of group!  One on one, here and there. 

I try to let the bullshit roll off my canopy of yarn and friends, instead of letting it stain everything.

I've taken to listening to audiobooks that intrigue me and watching whatever the fucking schlock I want to despite my husband's judgmental sighs.

I try to enjoy my boys as much as I can.  I noticed that when I was tired or upset, I'd snap at them and that's not fair.  They make me so happy.  They are so damn funny and sweet!

I'm not always successful with any of the above steps, but I'm making a real effort.  It saddens me that this has become effort when it used to just be who I was.  But maybe with that old adage, "Fake it, 'til you make it", it will become my nature once again.

Enjoying the laughter, Ruth!

B is for Bins

We moved on November 1. (Well, about two weeks on either side of that.)  In moving, I've found scads of crap (as one does in a move).  The main thing I've done (besides watch several episodes of Hoarders) is to organize ALL my craft stuff.

Anything that had a whiff of craftiness about it, was put in the basement.  After I found all craftiness-related items were put in the bottom of the house, I went to work.

Let me give a brief description of our basement.  The stairs go down and if you kept walking, in about 5 feet you'd walk into the water heater and various other house-heating, floor-to-ceiling type things. 

If you turned left, you'd see the set-up we did for the kids.  Against the wall where the stairs run: TV and gaming consoles.  Big piece of carpet underneath - rolled up futon (currently looking for a futon frame) - their toy bins - a table with all their board games - a heavy, 6 foot table that has those folding legs (Dave found it somewhere).

If you turned right, you'd see a queen-sized bed up against the wall.  To the right of the bed is a small door about 4 feet off the ground that leads to the crawlspace (that thing runs under the ENTIRE rest of the house!  Told Dave I was going to fill it with yarn). 

Opposite the bed, is MY space!

Back to the craft stuff.  And understand that when I say "craft stuff", I'm including all yarn.

I put five or six empty cardboard boxes on the bed and surrounding floor.  Then I took every little box and bin that had craft stuff (not the yarn, yet...) and started sorting in to the boxes.  There was a sewing box, a box for knitting accoutrement, a beading/jewelry box, a papercrafts box, a box for stuff that should be in my office, a box for glass rocks (used to make them into magnets), a box for misc..... you get the idea.  Most importantly, a box for duplicates and things I want to get rid of.

I'd take all the smaller boxes and bins and and just start chucking.  I didn't peruse or think too much about any of it.  Pull crafty stuff out of small bin, chuck in to appropriate box.

This took me roughly a week, working at least an hour a day.  Once it was all divided, I'd take each big box and further sort into smaller boxes or back in to the small bins/boxes where they would live.

Dave gave me a big bookcase (7' X 3' X 1').  It's now full of very organized boxes and bins!

Then I went to tackle the yarn....
another week of time.

I tossed the stash.  Didn't dump any out, just dug through what was in the bins, looking for vermin.  Nothing there - yay!

I had 4 or 5 HUGE ziploc bags of yarn that had been either taken out or never put away.  I started to put it all in the bins I already had and then realized I wanted to rearrange nearly ALL of those bins in to different categories. 

I have three enormous bins.  One is sock yarn.  The other two were marked Good Wool and Good Stuff.  ??  The "good stuff" was pretty arbitrary - anything with alpaca, silk, etc.  So I rearranged both those into "Non-sock fingering to Worsted" and "Aran to Bulky".

I had an "Acrylicrap" and a "Good Stuff Acrylic" bin.  I kept those but took quite a lot of stuff out of the "good stuff" one and made a "Blanket" bin.  I have a bin of sock yarn that's already rolled, so should be used first.  I have a bin that says "Knit Me First!" for stuff I want to kick out this year.  There's a Kitchen Cotton bin.  There's a sadly-too-large WIP bin.  There's a Felting Wool bin.

I had a bin with yarn in it for ideas I've had for my own designs over the years.  Sadly, now that my skills may actually (almost?) be up to what the designs in my head need.... most of those yarns are discontinued.  I'm getting rid of most of those. 

BUT one of those sets of yarn is in many pieces.  In Tucson, the store I used to go to let me do a store model.  They gave me all the yarn for it.  It was a disaster.  I won't say what book it was, but out of the 24 designs in the book TWENTY had errata.  We even found an error ON THE ERROR PAGE!!

It was an lovely, though odd yarn (Filatura Di Crosa Portofino).  The pattern was crochet and the yarn was a really bad choice for it as it was several strings plied together and would split about every third stitch.

I eventually finished the project but not without lots of little balls of leftovers.  I have about 6 or 7 balls of it left.  4 complete-with-labels and the others are all in little bits and balls.  I've decided to knit it together with  the plethora of black Paton's Classic Wool I have and make a huge, felted bucket (like my friend, Tina has!).   The black will felt but the Portofino won't.  Should be interesting!

I'll make a list of all the other things I want to make this year, later.  As last year, it's a completely delusional list.  As last year, much of it is the same since much of it didn't get done last year!

I've had such fun going through all my stuff!  It's like an archaeological dig.  Layers and layers of crafts I've been interested in over the years.  Once I found knitting, all that other stuff basically got ditched.  I had two medium sized bins that had cross-stitch and needlepoint stuff in them.  I've got that down to one bin and the rest is going on Etsy.

As I unpack the rest of the house, I keep finding more bits and bobs of craft stuff.  It's like a squirrel or a dog discovering their hidden stash here and there in the yard.  The difference is that now, instead of my usual shove to the back of the closet/bin/box/whatever.  I take it downstairs to the basement and either put it in the appropriate place or put it in the get-rid-of box!  Such a huge step for me!

Still a long way to go, Ruth!

A is for Alcohol

In the past, I've talked about finding a drink that made me seriously consider alcoholism. 

Now to people who have had that in their lives, I realize that's not funny.  Never being a part of that myself, it cracks me up.

Let's see....

There was the hot chocolate w/Godiva liqueur, kahlua, and a dash of cinnamon.

There was the unnaturally refreshing cranberry-and-mint mojito in Vegas that blew me away on a hot summer day.

And at Xmas, I bought myself a bottle of Gingerbread Kahlua. 

Shut. Up. 

Mixing that with some milk (a la White Russian) and I've found myself a new obsession. 

I don't have an addictive personality by nature [she says with nearly roughly $20K worth of yarn in her basement]....

All right, all right.  I'll be more specific...

I don't have a substance abuse personality by nature.  I'm WAY too cheap to be addicted to anything that lasts less than a few hours.  Also, if last year's events didn't send me to a future rehab situation, nothing will.

I don't like wine.  I don't like beer.  I like vodka or rum with juice.  I like sweet stuff like Kahlua, or  Tuaca and eggnog (had once a year at my in-laws annual Xmas Day dinner party).

Ooooh, and Cider.  I really enjoy a good cider.  Angry Orchard makes a really good apple and a stellar Ginger Apple Cider. 

On New Year Eve's, Dave took me to a really nice steak house.  Amazing food!  The manager suggested a pear cider.  As much as I like apple ciders, I LOVE pear ciders.  The brand was one I'd never heard before - Fox Barrel - ohsodelicious!!!

I've tried drugs here and there in my life (future post), but nothing really grabbed me as worth my time.  The same goes for alcohol.   I've done my fair share of drinking (hello, college-and-being-stationed-in-Germany, why yes, I would love a tipple!), but even in my drinkingest days, I rarely took it too far. 

I always loved to go out dancing and quickly discovered that if one is too drunk, one can not dance, one can only fall.  In Germany, I was usually the designated driver on the rare occasions we weren't cabbing somewhere.

I'm not saying I've never been drunk.  I have.  Lots.  I've been drunk enough to puke.  In the way-too-much-information category, the drunkest I've ever been, I tried to pee in a plastic bag.  It didn't go well. 

I used to be able to hold my liquor.  I have a shot glass from Theta Ki at Fresno State that says 100 club.  You do 100 shots in 24 hours.  They told me, "You're a girl, you only have to do 25."  I said, "I'm a woman, I'll do 100."  One hundred shots of tequila in 24 hours.  The trick is to remember one had 24 hours to do it!  Many people try to knock it out and pass out or, you know... die.  I did 3 or 4 shots at the top of the hour, then drank water like crazy and danced like mad to sweat it out.  Rinse, repeat - free shot glass.  Stupid!!

In Germany, they had these tiny bottles that were shaped like the I-dream-of-Genie bottle and were full of a lovely plum schnapps.  Each bottle was about one shot's worth.  We'd turn the little bottle upside down, slam it against the bar a couple of times to make it fizzy, flip it upside, twist the top off, and quaff. 

There was a guy on the rugby team, named Woody that shared my birthday.  On our birthday, we went to the club we all hung out at (The Rock) and he dragged me to the bar and bought two boxes of these tiny bottles.  Twenty bottles a box.  He said, "Happy Birthday!  A box for you, a box for me!"  And we were off to the races.  Woody is a foot taller than me and outweighed me by about 60 pounds.  I matched him bottle for bottle until both boxes were done.

It was one of the few times those guys on the rugby team ever saw me in a dress. It was my birthday, so I wore a dress and some really funky tights and my usual Doc Martin boots.  I was on the dance floor, drunk (cabs that night!), dancing and having a great time.  As often happens at The Rock, a fight broke out on the dance floor.  A guy drew his arm back to punch someone else, and in his draw back, his elbow caught me right at the top of my nose, right between the eyes!  I remember thinking, 'Don't fall.  You're wearing a dress, don't fall.' 

I didn't fall!

Woody and the other guys ran up to me to see if I was OK (and to punch the guy that accidentally hit me).  "Are you all right??"  I said, "Is my nose broken?  If my nose isn't broken, I'm fine."  Woody was a medic and assured me my nose was intact.  I smiled and said, "I'm good then!" and we all started dancing.  The next day, they were all abuzz about at how well I could take a hit and joked about making me actually join the rugby team.

In my drinking days, I'd usually get a good buzz on, then stop.  I've had exactly one hangover (never drinking Jim Beam again).  That's pretty amazing considering how many times I've had too much.  I've never blacked out.  I've driven buzzed exactly twice.  Once in high school and once in the Army.  In high school, I realized how stupid it was and that I  never wanted to risk my beloved Mustang for something so stupid and so easily avoided.  The time when I was in the Army, I didn't realize how bad I was until I started driving.  I lived right off post and was driving from a party on post.  There was no one else on the road so I got myself home.  Not proud of it - definitely not my finest hour. 

Other than that, if you've ever had a few too many with friends, you know, with certain precautions and a modicum of self-control, it can be great fun!

That was all in my twenties.  When I got back from Germany, I never really drank much.  When I got out the Army for good two years after Germany, I stopped pretty much altogether. 

After having kids in my thirties, I am a complete lightweight when it comes to drinking.  I drink maybe once or twice a year, and two drinks has me buzzed enough to stop.  I'm a cheap date!

What's the drunkest you've ever been?

Pouring some Gingerbread Kahlua into some milk, toasting your health and the New Year, and calling it a night, Ruth!