Dashing Disappointment

Avoiding disappointment is something I've drastically improved at over the years. When I was younger, I learned that if you allowed your hopes anywhere near what you actually wanted, you were unequivocally setting yourself up for misery. And so I quit hoping. Suddenly, life seemed a little more realistic, albeit boring. Sure, some might think I'm not optimistic, but I beg to differ. I'm happy, and enjoy my life without getting hopes up. These disappointment "possibilities" range from monumental (I'm going to Europe!) to minor (is that letter coming today?). If I always prepare for the worst, I am guaranteed better. I find it's a good philosphy.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, I heard that my uncle was planning on marrying in Las Vegas, and was bringing his children with him for the wedding. My cousin, Kirstine, wrote that she would be coming to the states, but only for a few days. Quickly I worked out a plan. Could I come and see her? She's one of my favorite people in the entire world. I got the time off work, I talked to the right people, I looked up flights. I was going to see my favorite cousin.

I found out this morning that she wasn't coming. Brutally, I was pulled back into reality. "Stupid girl," I told myself; "did you really think she could come, and somehow you could pull off seeing your family?" Grimly, I remember my old credo of keeping low hopes, even (*especially*) when you think it's a sure thing.

One thing is certain. I haven't cried like this over a disappointment in several years.

The Library

The Moscow Public Library is pretty awesome. Given, its not the biggest, and it reeks of "old," but do you expect from a building built in the early 1900's? Today I took a little walk over there, and promptly fell asleep in the reading chairs (they were super-soft and had matching ottomans!)

You should try it sometime.

EmbawASSing moments

You know the moment you realize you've been trailing a ten foot string of toilet paper (perhaps with some leftovers)? OMG did everyone in the near vicinity just witness that... is the thought bounding through my mind. No worries, no worries, my story is far worse.

Since it's after labor day, I don a white dress to work. I look good.

On my way home, I sling on my back pack. Everything where it's supposed to be? Okay.

After walking a mile home in the boiling sun, bike in hand because I didn't want to muss my clothes (vain, anyone?) I clamber up the hill and reach back to adjust my pack. There's a lump in the way: my dress. To avoid any further embarassment, I tug quickly to cover my butt.

Did I just prance down Highway 8, the biggest and busiest street in town, with my ass in full view? It wasn't just in my skivvies; I displayed my sheerly clothed, mostly see-through *I aspire to be a grandma in the 1700's underwear* white butt. In all its jiggling glory. No support for this guy.

For obvious reasons, I am not about to post a picture.

Readers Beward: TMI

To those of you considering having a sex life: don't. Unless you have a burning desire to be prodded (yearly!!!) with medival torture devices and pricked in private places, I highly advise against it.

The Burly Bear Hat

Anyone who actually reads this blog already is already aware that I am a knitter. I'm destined to achieve arthritis at a young age, but I enjoy it. I recently discovered a pattern for a "utopia" hat, but decided to dub it "The Burly Bear Hat" because of its incredible density. Unfortunately, the photo is rather small, but it has 18 cables that mesh into one another, and it is made of heavy wool/acrylic mix yarn. Washable!!!
See for yourself! I'm hoping to sell at few at the Farmer's Market in a couple of weeks.