not dead yet

Well, the bad news is that I don’t really feel any better today than I did yesterday.  In sickness, as in all things, I generally insist on linear improvement.  I prefer exponential, but will settle for the merely geometric.   Alas.  Disappointed again.

The good news is that I had been planning all along to start a seven-day detoxification diet right after The Big Event, to wash my body clean of all the gallons of coffee, mountains of packaged food, and insane amounts of stress I either ate or internalised over the last few months. 

So the fact that Day One (today!) of this little detox occurs just as I am engaged in kicking a head cold to the curb is all the better.  I’ve got real motivation to purge the crap from my body, since I actually feel like True Ass, and not just the Downtrodden Derriere (Beknighted Buttocks?  Ramshackle Rear-End?) I am acclimated to, and therefore hardly even notice anymore.

Mostly this diet consists of lots of steamed vegetables, brown rice, and some lean protein like chicken, fish, and/or tofu.  Also green tea, some insanely tasty veggie broth, more green tea, and some homemade shakes, which suits me, since I never had found a use yet for that blender Grammy gave me last year.

So yesterday I bought just a ridiculous amount of fresh vegetables, and today I chopped them up and I steamed them.  Also I made a huge batch of brown rice.  At the same time as I was was heating up the kettle for some green tea.  So the sauna was in full effect, and it was pretty great. 

The regimen (which I first heard about through the fabulous-along-many-vectors Lolly) also calls for a nightly bath, in a mixture of salts and lavendar essence, which I have to say sounds downright fantastic to me right about now, too.  So I also cleaned out the bathtub with baking soda and blazing hot water this afternoon.  Also helpful (read: steamy), and fun in an anticipatory sort of way (I’m gonna meet you!  You’re gonna meet me!).

The other good news is that I bought myself some gorgeous new sock yarn the day before I got sick, and so I have had its subtle hues to soothe me through my travails.  Also, it is the first sock I have ever knit on the dreaded size zero needles! 

It is another one of the Nancy Bush socks out of Knitting Vintage Socks— the Lichen Ribbed Socks.  Although I am not planning to build an entire ouevre based on Nancy’s patterns like Lolly is, I am pretty into the idea of knitting resurrected Victorian sock pattterns.

Which says a lot about me, I think.  Alas.

sock zero

thank god you were here to tell me what to do

Holy get me the fuck out of here.

While I was happily sequestered away at my desk all day, our frail island home hath been overrun.  It happens every year at this time, this was no real surprise.  But I was unaware that this year we had issued specially engraved invitations reading WELCOME IDIOTS.

On my tiny little commute home today, I was almost rear-ended twice by cars with out-of-state licenses who thought the speed limit on Route 6A was posted as TEN MILES AN HOUR FASTER THAN THE PERSON YOU ARE TAILGATING. 

When I turned on my blinker (novel idea) and waited patiently for the steady stream of traffic to slow enough for me to turn into the parking lot of the grocery store, a man in an SUV that I had NO intention of turning in front of loomed over me menacingly as he oozed humongously by, ACTUALLY WAGGLING HIS FOREFINGER AT ME SLOWLY LIKE A SCHOOLMARM OF THE DAYS OF YORE.  Or of Van Halen videos from the 80s. 

So yeah, days of yore.  The 80s are totally yore by now.

I tried to get my little shopping done and get the hell out — I just wanted a little raw bar (four oysters and 12 littlenecks, please) to celebrate the three-day weekend with, a little hit of carbohydrates before I go on my next restrictive diet (hello, spicy crab cakes!  Hop right on in here!) and maybe a little smoked bluefish to toast the sad passing of that great champion of smoked bluefish paté, Vineyard author Philip Craig.

Goddammit, I never did get to go surfcasting with him.

So I went up to the checkout melée, where a couple of recent-arrival ladies of leisure (watch for the sailboat-themed capri pants — dead giveaway) were standing, awkwardly, in the wrong place to actually be in line, exhibiting an equal mixture of embarrassment and angry frustration. 

Thoughtfully, the store had one of its managers posted at the head of the line to help just such ladies out.

A register would open up, and he’d gesture towards it with all the sensitivity and grace of George Clooney, saying Ma’am, Marie can take you now, right over there in the yellow shirt…

But of course we can’t let such incidents pass without comment, can we? Not when we are embarrassed and filled with fear and shame because we don’t know how things are done in our adopted home for all of 72 hours! 

Do you not know who we are?  We are ladies of leisure!  We must be self-assured at all times, even when the only way to do so is to place blame on innocent bystanders who are only trying to help!

So this one lady, she has a totally unfortunate squash-like face, like a squash that grew up all wrong cause it was all mushed up against another squash, maybe even a pumpkin, this one lady goes, she squinches up her mean little squash face and she goes

You really need a sign, you know

Because NONE of us get this!

She sort of says this to both the store manager and me, because we are standing near to each other, and because we are easily identifiable as not part of her tribe.

By this she is referring to how to take turns.

which I’m pretty sure has been covered somewhere in the standard curriculum.

Me, I’m standing there where I always stand, where this line always forms, and I am already perhaps a little tetchy.

I kind of gaze off into the middle distance, thinking about what it is I want to say, exploring rapidly all the good and humane reasons for not saying it, and then I smile.

and say


But this is how we do it all year!

smile gently again and then,


looking away,

I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it by Monday…

the store manager suddenly finds an open register and sends me right on over to it

and I take it

even though it is not my turn

because she is thinking about punching me

with her many diamond rings.

I am just glad she is not MY houseguest.  She would get NONE of my raw bar.

amuse bouche

It was another case of the Friday night crazies tonight, only this time it had a happy ending because this year I apparently have FRIENDS I can CALL and say LET’S PLAY and they say OKAY.

Which is all one ever really wanted, isn’t it?

So I got my car back last night and drove it to work this morning and let me tell you that new clutch is smooth as silk.  Or at least I am pretending it is so I can justify spening almost a grand on it. 

After work I wanted nothing more than to go joyriding and so that is what I did.   I got into my car and I drove until I hit the ocean, and then I turned around and drove until I had found a different part of the ocean and then  I did it again.

Then I refueled at the coffee shop and forced a perfectly nice couple to come out to dinner with me even though they had already eaten a whole pizza each and I had already eaten a very large cookie.

It was around this time that I saw a person driving past me wearing a full bunny suit. He was this tall guy all crammed into a little toyota camry or something, with the bunny hood pulled over his head and these huge ears flopping over his shoulders.

I secretly hope that he was NOT a magician or clown or something on the way to a gig, but rather just a person who feels that bunny suits are simply quite comfortable really and quite likely everyone would wear them if they only knew just how cozy a good pair of ears can be on a chilly day.

And then because I seem to love to bring myself into contact with People Whom I Have Worked For and Been a Bad Employee To, I brought my friends to one of my favorite restaurants, the restaurant owned and operated by a simply outstanding chef for whom I worked several years ago when I was still drinking and let’s just say that I was a very angry person back then.

She was very nice to me this evening for the few minutes that we socialized at the hostess stand and I tried hard to send her psychic airwaves that said I AM SORRY I WAS AN ASSHOLE I AM NOT QUITE SO MUCH OF AN ASSHOLE ANYMORE but I don’t think she heard me and I think she wished I would go away.


I am really not such an asshole anymore.  I am so sorry about that whole asshole episode I put you all through back there.

But I have no time right now for wallowing in the always satisfying and personally fulfilling Swamp of Profound Regret, much as I always enjoy myself there, for it is the weekend now.  It is the weekend in a manner in which it has not been the weekend in quite some time, meaning I neither have to (a) work, (b) do three mountains of laundry, or (c) nurse myself out of a stomach flu.

It is simply and only the weekend, and so I will knit and play and eat and nap.  And look for daffodil buds on the south side of the house.  And set the clocks forward.  And maybe go for a walk along the river.  And then nap some more.  And continue my streak of non-assholish behavior.  Let’s hope.