What I'm Knitting Now

Dear Readers,

I know you've been missing the knitting content. I'm sorry. I'll try to make it up to you this week.

It will undoubtedly interest you to know that I am working on three pairs of socks right now, including the ones you see above. On Saturday I was at my local coffee shop (which shall be referred to hereafter as LCS, since apparently it needs to be referred to frequently) and a man I often see there said to me "When I met my wife nine years ago, she was knitting in a coffee shop."

So now I just need to teach Susan how to knit again and then we'll get her married off right quick. Hee hee!

Our Roots, Yo

So this is the trailer where Dad spent his teenage years in Alaska.

It's in North Pole - yes THE North Pole - and it is surrounded by fast food restaurants. There is no conceivable reason why this trailer - sorry Dad - wanagan survives fifty years later. I am fairly sure that it was old even when Dad lived there. So I have to assume that it is meant to be a memorial of sorts.

Proof of our white trash roots.

So, with that in mind, I am off to buy some cheetos, a super big gulp of diet coke, and some blue eyeliner. This weekend I will head over to Walmart to get me some Juicy Couture knock-off track suits (hopefully with some pithy saying written in a particularly virulent color across my ass) and some midriff-baring tank tops.

I've been trying to decide what tattoo to get but the location is a natural. Somewhere on my bosoms. Preferably in my visible cleavage. I'm thinking Tasmanian Devil, Drunken Mushroom, or - in my future baby daddy's honor - a leprechaun with a big erection. What do you think?

I'm also thinking that the Subaru Outback has to go. We need something cooler. A bronco with jacked-up suspension and a vanity plate that says 'BORNWLD'? A van with an airbrushed tiger on the side, plush carpeting and a captain's chair? What to do, what to do.

I'll be quitting my job next week. I've decided that the career prospects at Hooters are really promising.

In case you think that all of this is a joke, you're wrong. Remember, I did enter a Busweiser bikini contest. That was just practice. It's on now, yo.

I Am a Famous Wino! I Mean Oenophile..

Today I am quoted in the NY Post! I am talking about our neighborhood wine shop which has wine tasting dispensers.

I happened to be there, discussing my co-worker Maragaret's wedding plans and showing off the neighborhoods newest attraction (FREE WINE!) when the reporter from the Post approached us. They also took our picture, but I guess we weren't as cute as the 21-year-old celebrating her birthday. However, they quoted ME and not HER!

The above photo is only a means of illustrating me drinking. It's water, not wine.

Eyes on the Road!

Will have to let a photo speak for me today, no time to post!

My, How the MIghty Have Fallen

If I wear a helmet all the time - do you think it would make the rest of my body look smaller?

So this morning we went to the gym. For the second time in two months. And the second time in one week.

What motivated this revolutionary new attitude towards gym going? Last friday my company had a casual day. Which meant that I got to wear pants to work.

PANTS!

(Yes, it's true that on, literally, every day of my working life I wear a skirt of some sort. I've come to terms with it and so can everyone else. I think of it as a very convenient separation of church and state in my closet. Much like Mr. Rogers and his sweaters and sneakers, when I get home from work I ritualistically change out of my skirt into something more comfortable. It works for me, okay?)

So, in preparation for this day of freedom, I tried on all the pants in my pants drawer. All of them. The percentage that fit me? 30. Thirty. Three-Oh.

None of the lovely Joseph pants fit. Not one pair. Even my jeans from last summer didn't fit. Nor did my Agnes B black cotton trousers. Well, they buttoned - but were so tight around my roly-poly waist that I looked like an ant. Of what did fit, a shameful percentage involved either stretch fabrics, drawstring or elastic waists, or the mental note of 'fat pants.'

I realized that my skirts are more forgiving. They can ride up a little higher and still fit. So in a way, my skirt uniform has contributed to the gradual, barely noticed - but very real - expansion of my ass. So, if for no other reason, damn my skirt uniform!

I ended up wearing my Seven for All Mankind jeans that I bought with you and Eugene last fall. They fit. They have lycra in them. God bless the person who thought to put lycra in jeans.

Any hoo, I find the state of my physique to be wanting. After this horrible exercise in futility I looked more closely at the state of things and noticed some dimpling that I had not seen before. Dimpling is bad. Dimpling is very hard to get to go away.

Then I did some math and realized the sheer volume of cash we were wasting not going to the gym. I could buy lots of new pants with that money, but I would rather not allow the Great Ass Expansion to proceed any further. I take my stand here. This is where it ends! Huzzah!

So this morning we got up at 6:45 and went to the gym. I ran around the track (yay air conditioning!) I ran around the sand volleyball court (good lord that was HARD!) I did abs, I did arms, I did The Exercise Which Hath No Name, which a personal trainer taught me and is the single most painful thing you can conceivably do to your ass and outer thighs. Ask me and I will show you sometime. And it will hurt you too.

And I will be back tomorrow. Those Joseph pants are too expensive to throw away.

And I don't look good in dimples.

I Brake for Ferris Wheels

Saturday morning I met Susan at the coffee shop and we drank our iced lattes. They were made by Andy, who was hungover, and that was funny because he was still all clean-looking and tall, but looking carefully, you could see that his eyes were just a little bit red - usually they are very bright and clear. I don't think he appreciated my noticing that.
Eventually I wandered home and pulled together my knitting and other amusements, put on a summer dress and zipped up north to the company picnic in Snohomish. I did have a nice time, and I ate popsicles and watermelon and took my shoes off and walked in the grass and found out that one of our VPs somehow found our blog!!! (Hi I.G.!)
After the picnic (and I'm sad to report that there was no piglet show because apparently the piglets got out of their pen and the eagles who nest in a tree near the Farm swooped down and had some tender bacon for breakfast one morning) I pulled out my Lynyrd Skynyrd box set and got Natalie back on those country roads. One of the country roads took us by Klahaya days outside of Snohomish, and what Klahaya days seemed to mean was a travelling carnival with funnel cakes and a ring toss where you could win a bowl of goldfish, and carnies the color of a leather handbag for whom a cigarette was really a kind of 11th finger.

When I saw the ferris wheel featured above, I had to stop. This is the kind of girl I am, the kind of girl I make a conscious effort to be. I will stop to ride the ferris wheel, even if I have to do it all by myself. Actually, in some ways it's more amusing to stop and ride the ferris wheel all by yourself.

But I didn't end up riding the ferris wheel all by myself. Turns out, if you don't weight the ferris wheel appropriately "you can try to stop the thing, but it'll just keep on going. even if you put it in reverse, it'll keep right on going forward". At least, that's what the guy running it told us. I wasn't going to challenge him on this. So he put me in a car with a long-haired grizzly dude and his little son, who had spectacles and seemed a little tentative about it all. I took their photo together up at the top and he gave me the thumbs-up sign.

On the way down, the little boy said "My eyeballs don't feel too good."
"Your eyeballs?"
"Yeah, my eyeballs feel like they're gonna barf!"

And that, my friends, is going in the book for sure.

You Can't Handle the Cuteness!

Hi there,

Love the NY monsoon post!

Here's another of Charlotte, with her mama Chelsea. I've got a full weekend, including Sunday brunch with these ladies.

This is going to be one of those Summer Weekends. It's Hot here. Not just Seattle Hot, but even Everywhere Else Hot. It would be hot even if we were in NY. I'll have the top down on the car and probably get a sunburn and change clothes several times a day, but that's okay, because it's fun to take a shower in the middle of the day, and go outside with your hair wet and flip-slops on your feet and just a summer dress.

The SGEN company picnic happens tomorrow. I'll get up in the morning and have an iced latte at my Local Coffee Shop (I'm into capitalization today). Maybe Bobby will make it - he's my local barista, you know. That was a riddle in the Ode to Bobby post, but I don't think anyone figured it out. Then I'll drive north to a place near Snohomish where I can take my shoes off and have my feet in the grass, and the picnic will be more fun than usual, because it's been such a lovely month at work, and now that people know about my writing and the ranch adventure, there are a few more non-work topics to talk about.

After the picnic, I'll zip down to Boss Kirsten's house, probably shower again in her big house, and then head out with her to see Pink Martini at the winery. Have I told you about her group of girlfriends? They are all a few years older than me, and were sorority sisters together at Western. If you are like me, the phrase "sorority sisters" may not conjure up the best images, but sorority girls from Western seem to be considerably less noxious than the Typical Sorority Girl. They are a very close and loyal group and I've been impressed by the way they have supported each other over the years. They call me "New Girl", even though I first met them several years ago. They could be very entertaining at the concert, since they like their wine.

Josh S. is having a party that same night, maybe I'll drop by. Did you know he lives on 18th and Aloha now? Everyone's moving back to the hill.

Then Sunday there's the brunch, and I really need to do some laundry and some writing. The next Pamfa workshop starts August 14! We'll be there the weekend before for Pam's Take Back the Ranch party. Can you imagine it?

Tonight, right now, I'm about to pack up and have dinner with friends, Mikalea and Henry and their two kids. After that, I drop by to get my presents from Elvis. Apparently he brought me trinkets from Europe.

Have a great weekend!
XOXO
H

What's wrong with this picture?

So off we went to the Philharmonic in Central Park. Aren't we classy? I know you're looking at that picture thinking just how classy we are.

It was hot, hot, hot. We thought that this would dissuade some of the usual thousands of people from showing up. Wrong, wrong, wrong. You can see from the above photo just how wrong we were.

The Great Lawn was packed. People had some pretty elaborate setups too, with tables, candles, iceboxes, lounging chairs and decorative serving bowls for their picnics. We kept it old school with a blanket, chips and salsa and guacomole (from Whole Foods yo!) and some frosty beverages that had spent the day chillin' in the freezer.

Our friend Trish had already saved us a spot and we were to find her by tracking down her orange and yellow balloons. There must have been a massive sale on orange and yellow balloons though, because those were literally the only colors we saw. And there were a lot of them. Orange and yellow balloons to the horizon. Luckily, Trish had mentioned that hers were light orange and yellow balloons so, because of my advanced graphical sensibilities, we were able to track her down.

I can't say that we listened to the music overmuch. We were distracted by the antics of the three-year old topless girl on the adjacent blanket. And the contact high from the ganja being smoked on another blankeet was pretty diverting too.

It didn't seem that anyone else was paying much attention to the music either until Bethoven's Fifth was being played. Then everyone was whooping it up because they actually recognized it! And they pumped the volume waaaay up. The Great Lawn was rockin'.

At the end of the concert there was a fireworks show - not as great as LaConner, but then how could a burg like Manhattan expect to compete with the reservation? Certainly the fireworks did not go off all night, like in LaConner. And there were no exciting brush fires, like in LaConner. And we didn't have the charming bartender from the LaConner pub, but all in all it was okay. Oh, and we weren't playing Crazy Eights - so LaConner fireworks definetly beat Central Park fireworks hands down.

Then, after the fireworks, we were loitering - waiting for most of the hordes to depart - when

BOOM!


The water saturated skies opened up and let loose upon us.

As most people who live (or have lived) in New York know, summer rains in New York are like mini-monsoons. They drop water like buckets - torrential buckets - and blow themselves out in half an hour.

If you are lucky enough to be indoors or near shelter when this happens, you can stay put and wait it out with a minimum of fuss or dampness (provided you remembered to shut your window, but that's another story). However, if you are caught out in the open - in the middle of the Great Lawn, for example - there is really no hope for you.

People were running around like lunatics with plastic bags over their heads, sheets draped over themselves, fold-up seats as makeshift umbrellas and many equally absurd attempts to stay dry.

Euge and I were just laughing. It was HOT WATER. Like being in a shower. And it was everywhere, there was no escaping it. You could really only embrace it.




These rains are actually one of the things I love most about summers in New York. They are so wild and brief. Like the teenage boys of the weather spectrum.

People were streaming out of the park - ignoring the beauty of the water cascading down the glass windows of the Temple of Dendur in the Met, ignoring the vast lawns in favor of the water - and people - logged paths. Trying, ridiculously, to keep dry. It was hysterical.

We caught a bus on Fifth Avenue, along with 60 other soaked individuals, and laughed our way home. It was almost the best part of the evening.

Actually, it was the best part of the evening.

What's In the Box?

There it is. The truth about Allison, revealed, in the form of a music box. This, my friends, is just one of the many items belonging to Allison that I have moved around with me over the last 6 years. Alright, I bear some of the blame for never having opened said box, but can you blame me? The box had "Allison's Doll Collection" written clearly across the front of it. I understand the sentimental value of such a box, but don't really feel the need to see the dolls myself. It was only recently that I decided to open the box, thinking, ah yes, this will be a funny blog entry, we'll take scary photos of the dolls!

Well.

The box was not full of dolls. The box was full of banana combs with velvet poufs on them, a commemorative booklet from Fergie and Andrew's wedding (Allison was once quite the Anglophile, at least when it comes to the royalty), some old nylon stockings, a Snoopy pin, loose beads, single earrings and also, this music box.

This box is a time capsule. This box is a peek into Allison's soul, circa 1986.

I think it will look really nice in her Manhattan pied a terre, don't you?

Look who came to visit!

Beryl and Amber took the train up to visit me last week. Doesn't Beryl hurt your eyes with her cuteness? She's such a funny girl. She will have a very serious thoughtful little look on her face, then name something, just say a word and give you that big smile you see in the middle. It's like she's not just trying to remember the word, she's actually thinking about what that name does to the thing she is trying to label. I have a purple stuffed monster that Elvis gave me, and she held it, looked at it, and said "Monster." and looked up at Amber, then looked at it again, and said "Baby." and looked at Amber again. So sweet and earnest.

I thought the funniest thing was that she would look at her mom, and tilt her chin down and say "Hot" and pull at her diaper. Now, everyone knows that my apt. does tend towards the warm side, for sure, but really the funny part was that she understands the word to have a double meaning, the description of temperature but also "take my diaper off!!".

We all slept in my bed and it was a very delightful thing to wake up in the morning with this little being, all gleeful and curious. I imagined that I was getting a teeny little peek into the best part of what it might be like to have my own kid.

I have a great photo of her with her gorgeous mama that I will post later in the week.

A Scrappy Hair Week

That's what this is. A scrappy hair week.

It's hot and humid. When you're inside it's air-conditioning cranked to 10 and when you're outside it's like walking through a wall of solid warm water. Smelly warm water.

Or a wet sponge. A wet mildewy sponge.

Suffice to say, it has robbed me of all creative juices. Sorry.

It has also robbed me of good hair, dammit!

Tonight we are going to Central Park to see a concert - the Philharmonic or some nonsense. It's really just an excuse to sit out in the park and drink some wine and eat some snacks and conversate. That's right, I said conversate. That's how far I've fallen.

Perhaps I will have some charming anecdotes - culturally enriched anecdotes - to share tomorrow.

In the meantime, I am just going to try to ignore how scappy my hair looks. I mean, I'm married - who really cares what I look like anyways?

I picked a Winner!

Anyone who has ever spent time at a racetrack knows that Thoroughbreds are horses built for speed - their light frames and long elegant limbs, just a part of the evidence. Horse people also know them for their sensitive and spirited natures, and those of us lucky to have known a good one will tell you that we also love them for their big hearts and willing dispositions.

If Bobby were a Thoroughbred, his name would be Here Comes Trouble.

On Sunday he ran the Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation race for the Seattle Genetics team. Now, maybe this race was a dropdown for him, but he didn't sulk, in spite of the fact that he led the field by a minute at the end.

If Bobby were a Thoroughbred, he'd be a 5 year old - too old for the Derby, still young enough to love speed as much as any 3 year old, still too young to safely be called bomb-proof. He may even be a little green still, but he has the kind of big brown eyes that would make a person call a good horse an old soul. Some horses are charmers, and Bobby would be one of those. You'd have to watch your ginger snaps.

If Bobby were a middle school heart-throb, he'd be a friendlier Ryan, messy brown hair and all, and his partner in crime at the coffee shop, Andy, would be a pretty 8th-grade Pete. They'd rule the school, without ever making you feel like maybe they knew it just a little too well.

If Bobby were a summer song, he wouldn't be the song you played at sunset. He might be the song the Mountain Dew people wished they had thought of for that commercial where every face has the bloom of youth and everyone is jumping off a wooden dock in to a warm summer lake with all the exuberance their perfect bodies can muster. Or maybe he would be the song you pick to start a long road trip, the one that takes you through city after city of people you can't wait to see.

Several times a week, he's the first person I smile at all day, and that gives a guy a special place in my heart. Then, when he raced and won on our behalf? Well... then I knew he deserved a love letter on the blog.

He topped it all off when he bought my latte today. He didn't have to do that. But that's a Thoroughbred for you.

Dirty Biter II

Yeah, I am pretty much buried under a load of work here so sorry I'm a bad blogger! Here's this year's Dirty Biter photo. XOXO HM

PRAA

My Name is Allison and I am a Project Runway Addict.

Last night the First Episode and Casting Special (!) for Season 3 were on. And my heart swelled with joy. And the shaking stopped. And now you know where you can find me every Wednesday night.

And if you call me on Wednesday night, I will not answer until it is over. I will, however be available for text-messaging.

Every time I watch the show, I get so prideful of my alma mater. THERE IT IS! THAT'S MY SCHOOL!!!! It's amazing that Eugene can live with me. Maybe they'll do a product design reality show at Carnegie Mellon, and then he can see how it feels. Haha PSYCH! Who cares about product design? It's all about fashion baby!

My initial thoughts?

LIKE:

Alison - Naturally, though I think my husband might also like her - a bit too much. Cute, cute, cute! If I knew her in real life I would spend all of my time being enviousness of her cuteness. She looks like a playboy bunny from 1976.

Keith - I felt bad for him in the interview, but he took it like a man and proved he had skills in the very first challenge. Plus I think he's kind of cute, even if he is gay! gay! gay!

Laura - You have to love a mother of five (though I suspect some of them are step-kids) who can look so elegant and rock the bright red hair and lipstick. My favorite quote? "It's a slippery slope to sweats and a mini-van... I just don't go there" and "I'm an ARCHITECT!"

HATE:

Malan - My god! The fakety fake british accent and greasy hair! You just want to jump through the screen and slap him and then force his head under a faucet with about a gallon of head & shoulders!

Jeffrey - What is up with the neck tattoo people?!!!! For little baby jesus' sake - it makes you look like you have 15 flat chins and the single one that you DO have isn't substantial enough to stand up for itself! And the stupid hood! Stephen Sprouse did it in the eighties! It's been DONE DONE DONE! Stop torturing me with your rock starness!

Anyways. Those are my intital thoughts.

By the way - I think Heidi Klum is pregnant AGAIN! My goodness, her and Seal must plan to populate the planet with their kids!

The Roof - the Roof - the Roof is on Fire!

No - not really.

Or at least I hope not. Yikes!

I just wanted to provide some photographic evidence that we are actually working on our house. And be 'we' of course I mean primarily Eugene with some minor assist by me.

Any hoo, here it is - several stages back. We (again - Eugene and petit moi) finished the first section and are demo-ing the second section in this photo. The second section is now almost finished with the re-roofing part and then we move onto the backside of the house. Haha I said 'backside'!

This weekend while Eugene was roofing, I was having an All! New! Recipes! Weekend! I made:

Cambodian Beef Salad - It was delicious and lime-y. From that limey Nigella Lawson's How to Eat cookbook. (Get it? British = limey? whatever). My advice though? If you are using the fresh chili peppers, remember to wear the gloves. That shit HURTS!

Haddock with Leeks and Sugar Snap Peas - This was from The Minimalist. Again yum - but with significantly less pain to my fingers. Leeks don't bite as much as chili peppers. And sugar snap peas are so sweet, how could they hurt anyone? They taste as sweet as baby cheeks!

Wholes Roast Chicken and Simple Green Salad - Okay - this isn't new to me, so perhaps it was more of an All New Recipes Saturday. However, aren't you happy to know that I shoved a lemon up a chicken's butt this weekend? And I did make a pan gravy I'd never made before.

So, despite the fact that he tried to work his ass off this weekend, Eugene did not succeed because I feed him so well.

I will be back with pictures of Alaska. Pinky swear.

A Note to the Bitches at Cascade Pizza Inn

Hey Bitches!

Have you seen this girl?

This is my sister Heather. This is my sister Heather with those two cute cowboys you hoped you might get lucky with after the Loggerodeo.

Sorry!

I know that when they turned down your I-Love-You-thong-wearing-ass you were shocked. Shocked! But the sad truth is that she laid her hands on them first.

And they will never be the same.

See that smile? That's the smile of pure Heather fun. That's the smile of the hostess with the mostess. That's the smile that would have a cowboy willingly cross an open field - in view of all his cowboy friends - carrying her handbag.

So, while your Wet-n-Wild lipglossed mouth was trying to get their attention, they were thinking about that smile.

And when you were making sure that they noticed your oh-so-subtle thong jewelry poking out of your muffin-topped jeans, they were thinking how cute a Jackson Hole t-shirt can look on a slender little body.

She'll be back next year. Fair warning!

Ouch! Ow! My EYES!!!

You think you got cuteness? I'll show you the cuteness. Check this girl out. This is Charlotte, my friend Chelsea's daughter. She should be featured on Cute Overload, really. So cute it hurts.

For You, Some Cuteness

Don't Wear Your Clogs to the Rodeo

Ha! I got here first today! Which means I get to post the first rodeo-fallout photo. Here we are, inspecting the evidence from the Woolley. I am probably still drunk. Allison has the Polaroid evidence, which will be on display at the Wall of Fame by the end of the weekend.

Miss Me?

I'm back.

Since we've been 'outed' to Mom, Eugene and his family, and our favorite Dave Zebrowski, I will have to put a bit more thought into my posts. Yikes.

Unfortunately, I am - as Mom would say - incandescent with exhaustion. So inspiration (and typing) is not coming so easily to me today.

In the meantime, Husband gets props for giving me his upgraded seat in First Class. Props to Eugene!!!

He has now fully paid me back for the seven am drive to the airport that I had to do to bring him his passport last month. All I.O.U.s are now invalid. I no longer have any supreme gestures to lord over him. Dammit!

First Class was almost like being back on the cruise with the people being all nice to me and bringing me all the food and stuff. Yes miss, I would like more warm nuts! Bring me more crab salad! What do you mean, you are out of the duck breast? Unacceptable! Massage my feet!

I likes the First Class.

I will write more on that when my brain is fully caffienated and functional.