december baby

So tomorrow is my birthday. I am turning the big 2-3, which, to me, is a lot more exciting than 22. There seems to be nothing exciting about 22, it's the let-down of the early twenties. I mean, 19 you're legal to drink [haha American teensters], 20 you've left teenagehood, 21 you're legal in every country of the world and 22.....nadda. At least at 23 it's the milestone of being halfway to 25 which is halfway to 30 and therefore officially exiting "young adult" and just being an "adult". Exciting! [I already feel like I'm in my mid-twenties rather than still in the beginnings of them, which probably also contributes to my lack of excitement for 22; thank gosh it'll only last for one more day!]

Thus tonight a bunch of my favourite people and I are going out for dinner. And tomorrow night my absolute favourite person [Kyleman, duh] is taking me out again. I am spoiled with lurve.

Before being spoiled with lurve though, I've been spending my afternoon making some gingerbread deer.

I had fun experimenting with icing and facial expressions appropriate for deer. Including a Harry Potter deer.

[his scar got a little less lightning mark like due to the slight liquidy property of my fly by the seat of my pants icing]

Also also I've almost finished my Christmas knitting. The only thing left is some ribbing on Kyleman's sweater. Due to the fact that it's a pattern from the 70s and I wasn't thinking that I should block it before seaming, the length worried me a bit and so I made him try it on early. Which I'm glad I did as it'd really only be perfectly long enough if he wore higher pants. Unfortunately he is a modern man and wears low slung everything [don't worry I'm not talking about wigger-style; his boxers are always covered!] and therefore I was forced to add on a couple extra inches of ribbing along the bottom. Le sigh. Well better now than on Christmas day in front of all our family.

-aholic

While going into the library yesterday to drop my mum off a coffee, I ended up coming out with six enormous books. Well, two of them are only semi-enormous. And while Kyleman looked about ready to keel over from the sight of wee me looking about ready to keel over myself under all these books, my mum barely batted a lash and stated, "she's been doing this since she was little".

It made me slightly proud inside.

Apparently even though I've never been a big biography person, most of the books chosen yesterday were in that category: Spencer Tracey, Gene Kelley, Agatha Christie, Stephen Fry and Katharine Hepburn. God, I love Katharine Hepburn. I started hers last night, unable to resist the calling and man she's fabulous.

If anyone still needs to get me a Christmas present, please please please buy me The Philadelphia Story or Guess Who's Coming to Dinner. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner is just a triple hitter: Hepburn, Tracey AND Poitier!?!? Someone pass me my smelling salts!

mugs

I am beginning to realize that I actually might just be a bit of a bad blogger. Oops.

In other news, I am slightly very bored at work today. I've officially started my full contract position and almost officially over my cold if I could ever get this phlegm to leave my body.

I've learned that my favourite mugs at work are the collection we seem to have of ones with faces on them with noses that stick out and make wonderful finger rests and pseudo-handle grips. The one I am rocking today is the sick one that has a thermometer sticking out of it's mouth. I would have used it earlier this week and last week but I only discovered it today in the back of the cabinet.

I've also mastered stranding knitting in the last little while. Okay, maybe mastered is a little too strong a word. However, saying that I have gotten good enough at it to make people ooh and aah and not notice the little occasional puckers from still learning how to balance out floats across double-pointed needles is definitely true.

Yes, I made that. Unfortunately after reading multiple comments on ravelry about how the mittens are mostly too long for people in the fingers, and worrying about what I was going to do to make them fit my slightly un-naturally small hands, I ended up misreading/assuming I knew how the pattern went from the thumb up and forgot a repeat of the pattern which made the mittens a tad bit too small. Which is why I'm blocking them, which will hopefully stretch them enough to allow my fingers at least to be able to wiggle straightened rather than curved at a 45 degree angle.

Otherwise I am set for a good old Canadian winter. Well, at least my hands will be.

[note: mittens are made from the Tiffany pattern on Knitty.]

One for the Canadians

I don't know how Americans last until November to have Thanksgiving. I am a serious turkey-er and by this time of the year I am yenning the works so hardcore that when my mother even suggests we go to Swiss Chalet for our Thanksgiving dinner [well, to give her -some- credit, she is still recovering from a hysterectomy AND they left for Italy tonight so...yes] I'm almost in tears for fear of one less turkey.

Maybe that just shows how pathetic I am. Anyways.

I love Thanksgiving, it probably comes in second to Christmas for me mostly because I love food and at Easter people seem to favour ham, which I do not.

And to go along with the whole food topic, Kyleman and I are in hot debates on air-popped vs. bagged popcorn and whether the different types of pasta [ie. spaghetti, linguine, bow-tie, penne, etc.] actually matter, especially when it comes to sauce. I personally think they do, Kyle does not. He never seems to get cravings for certain pastas, where as I'll get a penchant for bow-ties or penne vs. a longer noodle - this is especially put to practice when debating whether I want a tomato sauce, a meaty tomato sauce, an alfredo sauce, rose....the list goes on and on.

 It so totally matters.

And with that, said sauce needs a'stirring.
Happy Canadian Thanksgiving to all!

on demand

I've worked all weekend doing this:

In case anyone is wondering about the slightly old school fabric covering my lap, well, it went very well with my old school costume of Victorian wear. Oh yes, rocking it 1850s style.

wedding speeches.

It's here. The final week before the final bridesmaid wedding of the season.

And it's making me go, "AAAAAAH!"

 Especially right now as I'm trying to write a suitable wedding speech. Most of my thoughts revolve around individual sentences; even the story I am trying to throw in it [I was forbidden to tell any embarrassing stories about the bride, I can't think of any embarrassing stories about the groom that don't involve the bride and well, wedding speeches suck without one embarrassing story] seems to be an entity of its own.

In other non-brain-melting news, today's weather was refreshingly fall-like which let me whip out one of my favourite light sweaters and jeans and not feel like a knob wearing a sweater in the summertime. I like sweaters.

thunderstorms and P&P

I've been a very naughty blogger. Obviously I am very bad at updating and although I could blame it on the fact that my life has seemed a frizzy little blur does not seem like a good enough excuse.

I have, however, fallen back in love with Pride and Prejudice [not that I ever fell out of love in the first place; more just a re-acquaintance with an old lover]. After picking the book up for a more literal emotional pick-me-up, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy have once again become my favourite love story. Especially now that I have watched [by force] The Notebook [note: I did not particularly like it. James Garner was the best part/person of the entire movie]. It is so wonderful and lovely and....lurvealicious.

But then again, Jane Austen does that to me. Some people critique her books because all of them end in marriage. But what is so wrong with marriage - the moral of the story is true love that happens to end in the standard of today. I'm sure if Elizabeth and Darcy lived today they really would be more of a Bridget Jones and Mark Darcy combination [which is, in case you haven't noticed, a parallel to Pride and Prejudice]. Alongside the fact of it being social standard for marriage, every "happily ever after" marriage Austen ends the story with is one of true loves: if you met your true love, wouldn't you want to be married to them if you couldn't live with them otherwise?

But that is just my opinion.
I think I shall reread Emma next.

Unfortunately for me, I seem to be gaining a cough. It started out as a once in the morning thing only now to be coughing every couple minutes as I lay in bed. Oh dear. As my mother is on medical leave from work, I as her nurse [hehe] should not be getting sick. Especially as I would still be the one expected to get up and get things.

On an ending note: I think someone should bring back the curtsy.  Just sayin'