Thursday, 27. May 2010
*Disclaimer
1. This post may contain a little TMI than some folks are used to, but I am one such person to never skim on details.
2. This post may also provide too much insight on my personal neuroticism.
As I’m sure you’ll all agree, moving is a pain. Luckily, my sister flew in from Toronto for moral support, and I had movers to come in and pack up all my things for me. Now I don’t know how you store your delicates, but being a child of the IKEA age, I have two of their Antonius shelves to house mine.
Ikea Antonius Shelving
Now here’s how I process. I figured, since all the items are already in their respective drawers, it’ll probably be more time-efficient to just wrap tape around and around to secure them. In fact, that is exactly what I’d do as a mover if I were to pack. Secure items. Check. Lift shelves to truck. Check. Unload from truck. Check. Et Voila!
I was so so wrong. I stepped outside my apartment to soak up the last few days of California sunshine while 3 burly men came in and took apart the dining table, coffee table, book shelves, bed frames. In the mean time, these men got to work packing everything else. About 30 minutes later, the apartment gave birth to 40 boxes that just kept coming. Thinking that I should probably step in to check on their progress, I sauntered in. All the items in my Antonius shelves – the ones that store my delicates – had been emptied.
Let’s think here for a second, my friends. One out of three of those burly men was in my underwear drawer emptying out the contents into a brown cardboard box. He might or might not have seen what I own. I was hoping for might not, but who are we kidding here? He. touched. my. undies. And let’s not even get into how we categorize them – Grade A for the super special occasions, Grade B for the everyday wear, Grade C for the…. well, you get the idea.
Mortification ensued. When it came time to initialize the form and acknowledge that everything had been packed and ready to ship, looking straight into the mover’s eyes was a challenge. I looked everywhere else but. His hairline, his nose, the tree 10 feet behind him, and oh, yes – the form.
Good thing I have a sister to laugh it all off – over beers to drink it all away. So, the lesson here is, when movers come to pack your stuff…they pack e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g.
Posted in When I'm not knitting by winnie -
Friday, 21. May 2010
Back in late 2009 during the coordination for my impending move to Boise, I had a conversation with the office administration lady in regards to what I should expect.
“Make sure you do all your winter shopping. You’ll need warm gear for Boise.”, said the lady.
“How cold does it get over there?”, I asked.
“In the winter, it’s about 20 degrees Fahrenheit.”
Having lived in Southern California for the last 10 years, my immediate response before I could filter my thoughts was:
“Holy cow. How do you people live?”
The day that my flight landed, it snowed. This was the first week in November. It was a bad omen. The next couple of weeks, it was full on winter – with temperature never breaking 20. I thought to myself: “They lied to me.”
It was then that I realized that I was going to need a much warmer sweater than all the sweaters in my arsenal. Knitting was no longer a hobby – it had become a necessity. I got crankin’.
This is my Turkey Waddle Sweater. I completed it on my Thanksgiving trip out to Detroit to see my best friend and his family, and was able to snap a few pictures by his parents’ lake house. If you look carefully, I am wearing 3 layers of clothing in this picture. Photo-snapping session lasted about 5 minutes before I dashed into the house for my down jacket. This ex-Californian is thin blooded. We don’t do cold – no we don’t.
Materials: Less than 7 balls of Rowan Yorkshire Tweed Chunky, in Lobster (I think), Sz 10.5 needles for body and Sz 10 needles for the ribbing and sleeves.
Notes: Sweater was knit bottom up, with 3-needle shoulder bind off, and then the sleeves were knit top-down ala Barbara Walker style. There was no waist-shaping, and the only mod that I made was to start the ribbing from the elbow down.
Braced with the warmest sweater I’ve ever had, I thought I was ready to go back to Boise and conquer the cold. I spent an entire weekend inside the confines of my new apartment and watched the snow outside. By spying on my neighbors, I even figured out how to use that weird looking contraption that they call a windshield ice scraper. Totally saved me an embarrassing experience of asking strangers how to use the damn thing.
Monday morning. Four layers of clothing. Two layers of socks. Arm warmer. Cashmere fingerless gloves underneath a pair of fur lined leather gloves. Stepped outside the door, and checked the temperature on my iPhone and it said “4 deg Fahrenheit”. Stepped back inside the apartment.
“Please route all my work calls to my cellphone. I’m working from home today. I ain’t driving in 4 degree weather.”
They lied. They told me it was 20 degrees.
It didn’t help that every Friday afternoon, one of my office mates would come in and tell me that it would be snowing in the weekend, and that it’d be really fun to go up to the mountains. He conveyed his weekly weather reports with such fervor and gusto – even after I had mentioned that nature and I don’t really get along.
To this day I still can’t figure out whether or not he was trying to interest me in outdoor snow activities or scare the shit out of me.
Posted in FOs, Pullovers, When I'm not knitting by winnie -
Thursday, 20. May 2010
Well, it appears that after my last post in 2008, I jumped ship. To maintain continuum, let’s just say that 2009 sucked the big one. Yes, sucked. the. big. one.
I'll miss you, Sunny Cali. Don't you forget me.
The largest change for me in the year 2009 was that I have been uprooted from So. Cal. For the last 6 months, I have been residing in Boise, ID. Culture shock? You betcha. This is where I’ll be for the next few years, and regardless of how I feel about the place, I’ve grudgingly settled in. (No, Winnie, tell us how you really feel).
I debated for a few months whether or not to just shut down the site since I’m not as proliferate a knitter as I once was, and but found out that I really lack the cojones to just click on that “delete my account” button. For better or worse, I’ve decided to blog again. This time around, however, it’ll probably be more than just a knitting blog. I figured that my life has changed, and why not document it? I’ll whine, I’ll rant, and maybe also sneak in a few knitting pictures. Perhaps when I look back in a couple of years, this will all be funny. Believe you me, I’ve got stories.
Welcome back, readers.
Posted in When I'm not knitting by winnie -
Monday, 6. October 2008
Preface:
I spent yesterday in San Diego hanging out with a friend that I haven’t seen in a year. During the much anticipated catch-up story-telling session of everything that has transpired in our lives, I realized that alot of the punchlines and “oh-no-you-didn’t” moments have escaped my short-term memory. This is definitely no bueno in my book, because you see, I need instant refreshers to all things funny and tragic that have occurred in my life.
And so, encouraged by my Life in a cubicle commenters, I’ve decided to incorporate more of the funnies that have happened to me. My friend Bobby calls it the “Human Interest” section of the blog.
Date: August 7 2008
Location: Cubicle
Anonymous Person within my hearing range had been groaning in pain all morning. The story was that he fell off a horse and injured himself. But as all things go in life, there was more to the tale.
*crack*
Truth is, he cracked his rib on the shitter.
Moments later, the same person suffered a bout of non-stop sneeze-fest. In the midst of his sneezing, all I heard was:
Merde! Merde! Merde!
That must have been some merde indeed.
Posted in When I'm not knitting by winnie -
Tuesday, 2. September 2008
Preface: This post has nothing to do with knitting. But it is a true story. First hand experience.
3:08pm
There is a repair man working on our air vent on the ceiling. This entails removing a ceiling panel, climbing up the ladder, and repairing… whatever that needs repairing. All I can see is a pair of navy blue work pants and his derriere. His upper body is in the ceiling, and all this is happening in the cubicle adjacent to mine.
So picture this:
He’s on a ladder, drilling stuff. *Bzzz…bzzz…bzzz*
I’m in the other cubicle, with one earbud from my ipod in the ear.
All of a sudden, he farted.
There was a 3 second awkward pause in the drilling.
No one moves. His torso is still in the ceiling.
I proceed to put the other earbud in my ear.
When he emerges from the ceiling, he will see that I am listening to music and therefore, my pretense of not hearing him fart is believable.
Posted in When I'm not knitting by winnie -
