Everybody’s got something to hide, except for me and my monkey lamp.

It just occurred to me that Fluid Pudding is nearly 13.5 years old. It’s face is starting to break out, and it’s only a matter of time before it becomes a lady.

This has been a tricky week for many reasons that I refuse to go into. Many reasons for which going into is refused by me. Of which going into is refused? Anyway. You don’t need to know.

This is what you need to know. (Here I sit on a wooden chair in my kitchen smelling like patchouli oil (because I DO) and determining what it is that you need to know. This is how the world works sometimes.)

I finished the Stone Hollow Mittens last weekend. The designer, Carol Sunday, is the woman who designed the cardigan that I finished a few weeks ago. Her patterns are amazing.

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I’m currently reading Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children and on Monday I went to a secondhand store that housed a few dolls who could qualify as peculiar children.

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Sometimes a person will go to a garage sale, pick up a monkey lamp that is priced at $15, and then say something like, “I’ll give you $10 for the monkey lamp.” Immediately, the person who priced the monkey lamp at $15 is put in the awkward position of not wanting to seem like a jerk, but come on! It’s a fully functioning monkey lamp, and it’s priced at $15 which is a very competitive price in the world of used monkey lamps! And maybe the person making the low ball monkey lamp offer doesn’t even realize that the offer is slightly offensive and upsetting, but maybe the person SELLING the monkey lamp knows that the person making the low ball offer can’t seem to pay his electric bill to even WORK a monkey lamp, yet somehow manages to spend quite a bit of money on hookers and blow. Something is wrong. The End.

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Sometimes I think I need to change my LinkedIn profile from Freelance Editor to Purveyor of Monkey Lamps. Also: I Am A Monkey Lamp.

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(I’m once again not sleeping. Can you tell? Did I go too far with the monkey lamp thing? Buckle up. I’m about to mention my dog’s butt problem.)

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The best news of the week? One of my favorite people mentioned a Mediterranean restaurant that is located less than ten minutes away from our house. It’s called Mario’s Donuts and Cafe, and on Saturday night I had a falafel. On Sunday morning I had a doughnut. During the Oscars I had baklava. (I’ve been eating my angst. Also, I quit Weight Watchers. Something wicked this way comes, and it just might be baba ghanoush.)

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The perfume contains notes of pink pepper and suede flower. I know nothing about so many things.

Her: Can I help you find something?

Me: Please! Perfume gives me a migraine, and I’m trying to find the new Taylor Swift rollerball perfume for my daughter’s friend and all I see are the $45 bottles and I really can’t be in this area much longer.

Her: You walked right past it.

(She picks up a rollerball thing and hands it to me.)

Her: It smells very good. Lots of stars go heavy on floral and candy scents, but this has fruity notes. Almost like a grapefruit.

Me (really not doing well in the perfume aisle): Excellent! I’m sure Taylor Swift needs it to smell good, because I picture her walking around smelling like sour cream and onion dip!

Her (suddenly angry, and I’m not imagining it): Ma’am, the stars put a lot of effort into creating their scents. It’s not really a joke.

Me (thinking, for example, that even though *I* can’t/won’t wear dolman sleeves, other people think dolman sleeves are the GREATEST sleeves, and some people treat perfume like a dolman sleeve, and I clearly need to think this comparison through a bit more, but right now I’m feeling lightning behind my right eye): You’ve been very helpful. Sorry about that sour cream and onion thing.

This is what I’ve learned so far today, and it’s not even noon:
If you use a stoneware microwave egg maker, you really should clean it immediately after use.
My anxiety/crankiness skyrockets when I don’t have a freelance job.
The stars put a lot of effort into creating their scents.

If you have any opinions regarding Bullet Journals vs. Passion Planners and similar topics, I would love to hear those opinions. Most importantly, may your day include notes of white amber and Haitian vetiver. (You’re welcome.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Fat Tuesday pancakes are imminent.

In twelve days it will be March and it feels like we just had Christmas and late last week I ate a big silly hummus platter with a salad-eating friend and we reminisced about attending several Love Sucks parties during our college days. It was the 90s and we wore black and gathered at our normal gathering place where we drank cheap beer and celebrated the fact that having a date on St. Valentine’s Day does not make a person interesting or beautiful. The Love Sucks party attendees were ALL interesting and beautiful. Some were adorned with Christmas lights. Some handed out bad poetry on tiny sheets of paper. Some Love Sucks revelers hooked up with other Love Sucks revelers and eventually decided that love doesn’t suck so much at all.

On Saturday afternoon, we celebrated St. Valentine’s Day by inviting both sets of in-laws over for lunch. It was a nice gathering, despite the fact that 78% of the conversation circled around death and illness and how difficult it can be to walk or sit. These conversations always leave me feeling tired and mortal and in twelve days it will be March and it feels like we just had Christmas. Tomorrow my kids will be writing poetry on tiny sheets of paper and I’ll be fighting the inclination to sing songs about the dead people I know and how my bones won’t stop breaking despite all the life-saving chemicals I’m tossing down my throat.

The highlight of the weekend (other than receiving a huge cardboard heart filled with peanut butter cups that I finished off in less than 24 hours) was the craft party that Meredith and I attended on Sunday evening. Seven girls and their moms gathered at 5:00 for dinner, and afterwards each girl presented a craft for the other girls to make. They created decoupage candles, glow in the dark jars, beaded bracelets, cord bracelets, sun catchers, bath salts, and cherry blossom paintings. While the girls were crafting, the moms were hanging out and drawing Zentangles and friendifying each other and despite the fact that my anxiety can reach dangerous levels if I don’t have an end time in mind for each and every social gathering, Sunday evening’s party was perfect. We loved it.

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We were all home yesterday and because the house was fairly clean and the snow wasn’t allowing us to drive, I finished the mitten that I started during Saturday’s in-law lunch.

Stone Hollow Mitten

I’ve been knitting like crazy lately, mainly because it’s the time of year that lends itself well to sitting on the couch and wrapping yarn around needles. Also, I don’t have a freelance job right now and I don’t feel like doing abdominal crunches. Knitting it is. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

But a chair is not a house and a house is not a home!

So, I rejoined Weight Watchers a few weeks back because I’m on the edge of 45 and those stinking ten pounds that I gain every year during the holidays somehow turned into fourteen pounds and when Jeff is out of town I tend to eat my anxiety and that anxiety sometimes tastes like grocery store doughnuts and my pants don’t fit.

Anyway, this morning I decided to actually go to a Weight Watchers meeting because I’m paying for this, so why not take advantage of Every Single Opportunity? (Side note: We joined the YMCA over a month ago and I still haven’t gone, mainly because I can’t walk on a treadmill without holding onto the sides, and my Fitbit doesn’t track steps unless my arm is moving, and if the numbers aren’t advancing on my wrist I feel as if I may as well stay home—where I can eat a grocery store doughnut.)

After weighing in (down 2.4 pounds since I rejoined!), I took a seat in the meeting area (back row aisle, as I need to be able to make a run for it because: You Never Know). Less than five minutes later, an older woman and her gentleman friend scooted past me to sit in the middle of the back row.

Older Woman, to her friend: Well, you gotta love new people who sit in your regular seat!

Gentleman Friend: I’m just glad there are enough seats for everyone!

Older Woman: I’m just glad I know that I need to get here earlier next week so I can sit in my chair!

Me, to myself: Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle, Plato.

Older Woman: I actually gained four pounds this week because my husband retired!

Gentleman Friend: Is he force feeding you?

Older Woman: HE MAY AS WELL BE! This chair is so uncomfortable.

Me, to myself: Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind, the second is to be kind, and the third is to be kind, Henry James. Also, no one has ever become poor by giving, Anne Frank.

Me, to the Older Woman: I’m so sorry. This is my first week here. Am I sitting in your chair? I’m more than happy to move.

Older Woman: My name’s not on the chair. You can sit wherever you want.

Me, to myself: We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars, Oscar Wilde.

On Sunday, I finished a project that had been on needles since July of 2010.

MnCO3

Yesterday I finished a project that had been on needles since September of 2012.

"It's the Berries!"

Next up? I think I may tackle the scarf that has been taking up needles since September of 2008.

Secret Garden

Would you mind if I sat in your chair? ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I was the leg wrestling champ at a Halloween party in 1996.

James Franco and I walk into an empty artisanal bakery in Philadelphia.

We’re both hankering for something with nine grains.

Who’s more awesome?

Hint: James Franco is NOT more awesome.

Oprah and I walk out to get my mail.

We’re both wearing cabled cardigans.

Who’s better?

Hint: Oprah is not better.

In the past two months, I’ve been told that I’m like Oprah but better AND that I’m more awesome than James Franco. I think it’s time for me to start crosssssssstitching (too many esses and I don’t have time for it) a compliment sampler to hang above my work station that will serve as an Atta Girl when I’m feeling like a knucklehead. (Disclaimer: Please know that I know that one doesn’t have to be better (or more awesome) than someone else in order to achieve fulfillment! I can achieve fulfillment in my car with nothing but a burrito and my own mind! You can, too! Mindful Burrito Wednesday! Go do it!)

As I type these words to you today, I have the components for lasagna simmering on my stovetop, I have a sushi lunch scheduled with a friend, and I’m once again playing with a lazy journal. (Lazily.)

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I finished my freelance project yesterday afternoon and I finished The Hotel New Hampshire the day before and I’ve tidied up my point of view. Enjoy your day. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

More of exactly the same!

At approximately 2:07 this morning, I ordered a bottle of lavender essential oil from Amazon. I have no memory of submitting this order. The last time something like this happened was when I entertained a bit of morphine after my hysterectomy which led to ordering a book about Milton Hershey because I apparently thought it might be something Harper would enjoy. (And she DID, which means that even when I’m on drugs, I KNOW MY KIDS, Officer!)

I haven’t mentioned this, but Jeff has been out of town every other week for the past few months and I HATE IT. He’s out of town today which means it’s not really Superbowl Sunday as much as it’s just Sunday. (The girls and I *did* go to the store a few minutes ago to buy a huge cookie cake and a tray of vegetables to eat during the game. I’m not completely devoid of spirit. (True Story: I have no idea who is playing in the Superbowl. I know.))

The albatross known as Freelance is still underway. This morning I hit the Only Ten Chapters To Go mark, which felt HUGE. The end will come this week. On a related note, Project Don’t Forget to Do the Things You Love is also underway.

This week I turned this:

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Into this:

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And it eventually became this:

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Also, I blocked the Honey Cowl that I finished last week:

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I talked to one of my favorite people from high school a few days back and his fiancée is a knitter so I decided to spin some yarn for her. It’s all bamboo and silk and la la laaaah, which means it’s the perfect yarn for a bride. (You know it’s true.)

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Finally, I’m ready to do the final dance that will turn this asymmetrical vest into the cardigan that it’s meant to be. (Fitting a sleeve into a sleeve hole is terrifying if you’re me. Honestly, that weird heart thing that happened in December? It happened shortly after the first sleeve was installed. I have no idea if the two events are related.)

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I’m a chapter away from finishing The Hotel New Hampshire, and all I want is for Franny to be happy.

It’s all I want for anyone, really. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>