these days of leiderhosen

Steven has given me my birthday present early: a generous gift certificate for Kabuki Hot Springs. So I am off to soak my old bag this morning; I shall start my 93th year tomorrow scrubbed a bit cleaner. Love him. Great guy. I have decided that I like when my birthday falls. It is now too late. To order that last frantic present, to beg off the in-laws caroling party, to buy a tree. It is now time to grab your favorite alcohol and fluffy slippers and crawl back into bed if you so desire. Happy Solstice.

I've got the unbearable Christmas impulse again to rent Hugh Grant movies, just to watch him do embarrassing things in them. (sing, dance, etc.) Thank god I have lots of projects to finish before the weekend. I feel rather stupid and unnessesary just hanging about the house cursing at yarn when Steven is trapped in his little room, working away. Occasionally he does open the door and we have a little midday Solid Gold dance-fest which is great fun. Small triumph yesterday in finishing Steven's Christmas request a pair of neck bolsters: one is a replica of one I made for him years ago but the other is a brand new memory foam covered invention/confectionery that required six yards of fabric, three layers and the use of an electric knife. Both bolsters have utterly silly flannel covers with little yellow duckies all over them.

Why do I love being a girl? Because somewhere deep, deep inside me (north of the spleen) is the desire to say trashy things about the way someone else might be dressed. Or I might just be a catty gay man. This is equally possible. But until I figure this out, I have these lovely creatures to thanks: Go Fug Yourself . Do not hesitate a moment longer. Go. Go. Go. It's the bloody week before Christmas. The office is dead anyway and everyone else in the office is either already drunk or cruising political porn. Utterly worksafe, I promise. My all-time favorite post is this: Lindsay Lohan (although I have no idea who Ms. Lohan might be. Somehow I think I'd thank y'all not to enlighten me.)

Happy Birthday, Steven Speilberg! Go listen to Garrison Keillor's ode to him in today's Writer's Almanac. Throughly charming. I can see the rain wildly bouncing off the roofs all around from my treehouse perch. There is no shortage of thunder, lightining. Very, very frightening. Maybe this is a good opportunity to make this week's pie crust & bread. Few things are as comforting as Malt-o-Meal with whole milk and maple syrup. Rah. Went to see Narnia and thought it is pure crap. Hated the children. Hated 'em.

This morning I plonked myself down at my favorite table at Cole Coffee, facing the door, my customary three napkins, my book (The Serpent and the Moon) in its bookstand and began work on knitting my most pressing Christmas present. I am a couple rows into it when up walks someone asking to share my table. I absolutely always share my table with whomever needs it. So, okay, yes, sit. But oh my. Huge brown eyes and amazingly thick salt & pepper hair. London accent. Unpretentious manner. He is in a word, just adorable. He opens the conversation with "How is your sex life?" -glitter. twinkle. smile.- Uh. "Fine. Great. Heaven. And how's yours?" I do not tell him to get stuffed or leave me alone or to go away. We sit, we talk, I ask him questions equally frank questions every time he bites into his scone. So in short, I do suspect it might have been some kind of a proposition. The first in maybe 12 years. I looked like hell: no lipstick, uncombed hair, split lip. ...

...that everytime I go into the local yarn store, Article Pract , there is always someone discussing the work they are getting done on their tattoo that afternoon. They are almost always a bit older than myself. Local feminist tat parlor of choice: Diving Swallow . Am contemplating some work myself. Job first, though. ...Shred's fat little face when she isn't complaining or begging for food. ...having the ladies at Cole's Coffee say "two double doubles, right?". Or just having coffee with Steven in the morning. ...Blue Sky Alpaca's Alpaca and Silk yarn, sport-weight, olive. I'm making someone a brioche stitch scarf with it. Almost nicer than cashmere.

I present to you: anezkahandmade.com My god, what are you waiting for? Scott tells you knitters not to miss this: You Knit What?? Interviews today and a few more this week. Am about to sell my soul to the yarn store in Mill Valley, if only they will allow me to wear comfy shoes to work there. Curses! I've discovered Bakeshop Betty on Telegraph. Started by an Aussie import, she insists on producing bakery products so good it makes ones knees weak. Most exceptional, the very mouth-twisting best lemon bars and some kind of Aussie delicacy: rectangular generous wegdes of pound cake with raspberry jam and custard layers, dipped in dark chocolate and rolled in coconut. Fan-bloody-tastic. Tonight we are having their pot pies for dinner. Saturday in the shop was undiluted madness. Sunday, I invited myself to my parents house to (my words) vomit Christmas up all over it. For the first time ever Steven and I decorated a tree using five massive barrells of X-mas ornaments collected by my mum...