A Walk Down Memory Lane

September 2, 2011

I’ve mentioned how much I am enjoying spending time with my son since he moved home with me full-time. It’s a joy getting to know him as a young man, a joy that I never expected. Sixteen-year-old boys don’t “share” a lot with their moms, and he probably wouldn’t either, except that we are thrown together (with no escape from each other) by the fact that I have to drive him to and from school daily, a forty-five minute jaunt each way. A lot of times I listen to an audiobook, and especially in the AM he will snooze on the drive, but occasionally even in the mornings we will have good talks.

In the afternoons though is when we really get a chance to talk–and he seems delighted to do so.  Our conversations are wide-ranging and his opinions about things are interesting to me. He’s much more gregarious than I ever knew, and, in some ways, much more a “typical” teen: moody at times, opinionated, very sure of his own rightness and immortality, snarky and sarcastic at times, very dramatic at others. It’s odd, since neither the Eldest or Missy were what I’d call typical in that regard, and I really hadn’t spent enough one-on-one time before now with The Boychild to realize all this about him. It’s like I am getting acquainted with my own son–and in the process, also learning to mother him in a way that is healthy, effective, and good for us both.

One of my favorite things that he does spontaneously is to introduce me to music he enjoys. Oftentimes when I am listening to an audiobook, he will tap me on the shoulder if music comes on that he knows I like, or that he thinks I might like.  And then, if it is a song we both know, oftentimes we will sing along to it together. Yesterday he tapped me when a song that he really likes came on:

“Oh my god,” I said, “you like this?”

Yeah, he said, and started to tell me all about what he likes about it.

I just grinned and grinned, and when he was done, I said, “Do you want to know how old that song is?”

And then I proceeded to tell him how that was the first song my first husband, his older brother’s father, and I had listened to together. I’d met him in an 18-plus dance club (he was only 17 at the time but got in anyway because he looked like he was 24–and lied to me too about his age as well, btw) and offered to drive me home. Of course I couldn’t know it at the time, but it wasn’t his car he was driving, and he didn’t actually even have a driver’s license. (More bits-o-history: the car was an El Camino, the same kind of car that is parked in the condo complex with a For Sale sign on it. When The Boychild started oohing and ahhing over it recently, I told him about how my first Ex’s best friend had driven one, and how he had been the sweetest boy, and had had a crush on me, but that I’d gone for his “bad boy” best friend. And what a mistake (except for getting my eldest son out of the deal) that had been.)  Anyway, “Jump” by Van Halen had been on the radio when I’d hopped into the car to get a ride home from the dance club.

And the very next song that came on was:

I could not believe it. That song was the one that was playing the first time my very first boyfriend ever kissed me. I had to tell him that story too, and in telling confessed to having first gotten into D & D with that boyfriend and his group of nerdy friends–the game that he is now heavily involved in with his “Nerd Club” after school club. He was amazed that I had played D & D, and laughed his ass off when I told him that of course those stupid boys had had a lot more fun abusing my half-elf/half-human character Chya than actually fighting the monsters–that was until I clawed my way up to a high enough level that I could kick their asses back (and I did!)

After he caught his breath he looked over at me. “That’s my Mom,” he said.

Thinking about all that I’ve learned about him recently, looking at his mohawk (now blue) and listening to his sometimes-cocky, sometimes-still-heartbreakingly-innocent monologues on life and music and love and sex and growing up and his father and friends and school and what he wants to be, I just have to nod.  That’s my boy.

Life just gets better and better.

 

 

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Random Bits of Happiness and Pleasure

August 23, 2011

So, after my mini-meltdown last week, and my subsequent “Hold it together girl,” chat with myself, it turned out that my fears were all out of whack with reality.

No, really.  I know that surprises you. (Can anyone say “hamster-head?”)

Anyway.  I have had a completely delightful two weeks since this new schedule has happened. Surprisingly, utterly, delightful.

First was the unexpected pleasure of a night with the Boychild, completely on our own.  Ad got called away to KC for the night, and whereas in the past I would have taken my happy butt over to W’s (and enjoyed myself) of course I can’t do that now.

I’m a parent. I have responsibilities.

So instead I took the Boychild out for dinner at the City Diner and then to the ice cream shop and we meandered down Kingshighway, looking in storefronts, eating ice cream cones, and talking about school, and life, and how he wants a job and–oh yeah–how he has a new girlfriend. A 19-year-old girlfriend.  I’m not actually too distressed about this (yet.) She doesn’t have a car, he doesn’t have a driver’s license, they met at Shakespeare Camp and haven’t seen each other since then, only communicating via text, Facebook, email and phone.  But now I know why he’s so hot to get a job.

“I need money to take her out on a date, Mom.”

“Oh? And am I going to pick her up and drive you both to the theater, like I did when you and your last girlfriend were fifteen?”

I predict this lasting about until she starts college this semester.  Which, oh, is this week.  We’ll see.

On the other hand, the Missy is quite in her stride with her guy-she-likes-to-hang-with-who-isn’t-a-boyfriend. As I was getting ready for bed she was getting ready to go out.

“Where you going?” I asked.

“Over to H’s,” she says.

“Isn’t it kind of late?”

“He just got off work.”  When I raise my eyebrows she continues. “Don’t worry, I asked him if he’s too tired.”

Eyebrows raise higher. “Too tired?”

She gives me a cheeky grin. “Gotta get me some, Momma!”

I shake my head.  Gotta love that girl. “Be careful,” I say, because what else can I say?

“I always am.” She kisses me on the top of my head (cheeky-ass girl.) “You raised me right.”

And I think I did, and am. I’m not making a hash of this motherhood thing. At least not yet.

Oh, and PS? The Girl started her own blog.  And sent me the link, because she wanted me to read it.  She wants me to read her blog. “Only if you promise not to censor yourself,” I told her.  And then said that I’d only peak in once in awhile.  Which is all I’ve done. But seriously–she’s freakin’ hilarious! The girl can write, and she has her timing down in telling a story. I am bowled over, awed, and just so proud to be her mom.  But the eggs? I swear they didn’t expire back in May.  She’s making that part UP.

I’m quite enjoying spending time with the kids, being home, cooking dinners. I adore those two knuckleheads, and they seem pretty fond of me back. The Boychild still hasn’t reconciled with his father, but I can’t do any more than I have done already. It’s up to him (the Ex) to be the adult and make it right with his son. I make sure to insert my opinion (that they do need to reconcile) into my conversations with the Boychild, but I can’t really do more than that.

This being home stuff is good for Ad, too. He loves having me here every night, and it seems to be helping his mood quite a bit.  Maybe it will be good for both of us, too, if I can get him out of his funk. Me being here seems to help with that, although I warned him that sitting around every night is not going to cut it for me. So we’ll see if he can motivate himself off the couch.  Meanwhile, I have my weekends with W (which I talk more about on PoJ.)  And much upcoming travel! I go to Las Vegas in early September, Twisted Tryst in WI (and meeting W’s mom and brother!) over my bday weekend, then Baltimore for a work thing at the end of the month. Later in October, if all goes well, I will be hitting Chicago for Kinky Kollege, and somewhere in there I need to schedule a trip to visit some new kinky friends in Des Moines.  And then, it’s Puerto Vallarta in November with the Missy and possibly Spokane to visit my son, daughter-in-law and new grandbaby over Christmas.

Thank god I got a raise, huh?

So yeah.  Things are good.  And yeah–I love my new schedule.

So far.


Playing Martha Stewart

August 16, 2011

I can do this.

After my morning temper tantrum, and a somewhat drama-laden email to W in which I decided I wanted to quit everything, my hormones settled down to a dull roar and I was able to see things a bit clearer.  You know, able to see that though my wings have been clipped a bit, tho I don’t have the freedom to do what I want, when I want and how I want, it’s not the end of the world.

And benefits like I described in my previous post might even make up for it.

Maybe it was reading W’s emails throughout the day as he described the process of replacing his hundred-year-old bathroom sink that made me stop and remember to take pleasure in the satisfaction of doing my work well; maybe it was Carrie’s post over on A View from the Floor that reminded me to be grateful for small things; maybe it was my dear friend Julian Arancia‘s comment on my post on PoJ that reminded me that in the grand scheme of things, this is only a minor bump.

I actually enjoyed being a little domestic tonight. The Boychild and I stopped at the grocery store on the way home and shopped for dinner groceries, something I don’t think he and I have done but maybe a handful of times in the past.  On the way home from there, he and I went over his list of vocabulary words, testing me to see how many of the 50 I knew (all but 3) and competing to see who could make up the best sentence for each.  A voracious reader, he has developed a vocabulary almost as good as mine, and just as large a love for words, something I would didn’t realize.  For supper, I baked potatoes, made a green salad with candied pecans, dried cranberries, diced apples and croutons, and set out crumbly Stilton cheese with crackers–all while still wearing my heels. There was no one to see, no one to care, except me.  I thought about cooking for W in heels and chains, and smiled a bit.

I’ll see W on Thursday, when I work from his house, and hopefully stay over Friday and Saturday with him.  The Friday-to-Saturday morning thing will be different.  We’ve done it a couple times, but far more often I am either home Friday nights or he stays here occasionally. In all my pissing and moaning I sort of forgot that this change means getting to spend the whole weekend with him.  And next week I start classes again.  Just a Tues/Thurs gym class, but that will be good for me, and I won’t feel like I’m vegging out every night on the couch.  I plan to add an additional workout class on my own at my gym as well, or perhaps a walk or hike during the week. Maybe I can get the boys to accompany me, who knows.  I’ll get back into a schedule.  It won’t be the same schedule, but I’ll make it work.

So, looks like things will be okay. Hormonal fluctuations aside.


Insomnia, Schedules, Motherhood & Mohawks

August 15, 2011

Insomnia sucks ASS. I may have mentioned this before.

It’s 5am, and I have to be up in 45 minutes, but I’ve been awake since 3am. No reason that I can think of, except that, you know, once I woke up my brain wouldn’t shut off. Blueberry flavored bite size Shredded Wheat almost makes up for it though.

Almost.

I have a first date tonight. Don’t know if I’ve mentioned it over on PoJ, but I’m back on OkCupid. Revamped my profile a bit to reflect my situation and what I am looking for a little more accurately: ie, not a “relationship.” What I’m seeking now–there or anywhere–is not another full-on poly relationship, or even “dating,” if I’m being perfectly honest. “Casual encounters” of the type that W and I prefer are what I’m after, and maybe someone to flirt with & go out with one in awhile.  I do love the flirtation, the anticipation, the getting-to-know someone phase. But I just don’t have the time, energy or desire to pursue anything more than very, very sporadically.

And no vanilla sex, although, by placing W’s special twist on things, the vanilla could become definitely twisted, and in that case, would be acceptable.

So, I’ve made that pretty clear on my profile, and…it’s been pretty well-received. I have had several interesting inquiries into what exactly “W-type” encounters are, forwarded a couple of them on to W after some back and forth clarifying the concept, and had a couple more emails from guys that I actually might be interested in for the “flirting/occasional date” category. In fact that is what my date is tonight.

So, of course, I’ll be running on short sleep.

The Boychild goes back to school this week.  And, since he’s moved in with me full-time, that means that I’ll be driving him back and forth to school daily. UGH. It really fouls up my routine. Not to mention when I start back to school–I am not even sure how that’s going to work!  For instance. Not remembering that he starts school today (yeah I SUCK as a mom) I made my date for 5:30 tonight.  Ummm…I get off at 4:30 and have to pick up the Boychild from school and drive him all the way home to South County before coming back to meet the New Guy back here in the city. There’s no way I could make a 5:30 date. So (for the second time) I had to beg his patience and ask him to reschedule–at least this time it was just for a later time.  But still. This whole being a full-time mom stuff is HARD.

Okay, I’m being a little facetious. A little.

It is a rude fucking awakening though, having to be responsible for and thinking about someone else’s schedule all the time.  At least when he was at his dad’s he was able to get back and forth to school without interfering in his dad’s work schedule. So it’s a lot more cumbersome for me than it was for his dad (and thus why he was at his dad’s during the school week in the first place.)  And also? I think it is one reason his dad was so “accommodating” when the big split happened two weeks ago and the Boychild decided to move in with me.  I suspect a smirk behind his gracious attitude (“Just see what it’s like, you’ll send him packing within a month!”)  And who knows, maybe it will be a failed experiment, this full-time motherhood thing. I’ve always been upfront about the  fact that I am great part-time parent.  But full-time? I dunno…

Except that…I am loving having him around. Oh, we don’t hang out and yak like The Missy and I do.  He’s much more social than she is, has a wide circle of friends that he keeps track of online, and is a gamer as well, but…I get little snippets of him that I didn’t have before. Like when he wanted his hair dyed pink (after he’d got the mohawk) and I did it for him.

Is it freakin' awesome, or what?

And this morning when I helped him spike it up for his first day back at school.  He and I in the bathroom at 6AM giggling about his hair and what his schoolmates are going to think.  And then on the ride in, when I asked him if he wanted to listen to the radio (enabling me to do my usual, listen to a book-on-tape on the drive in) he said no, he’d rather talk. And then he did!  Talked and talked and talked about school and acting and the tattoos he wants to get when he decides on his career (after he turns 18.) And the symbolism of each. And on and on about everything under the sun…

So. There’s a good side to this motherhood thing too. I could almost get to like it…

If it didn’t mess up my schedule so much. ;-)


Lies & Infidelities

August 14, 2011

I just got back from staying over at my mom’s house.  I love hanging with my mom. She’s getting more and more…addled…finally, at 75, beginning to show her age, but she is sweet, and kind, and loving, and every time I am there I wish she lived right here in our condo complex so I could see her more often.

Instead, she lives in the subdivision where my sister, T, lives, one block away from her, her husband and their little boy. My mom is lucky if she sees T once a month, and usually it is only an obviously obligatory visit.

My sister is not kind, or sweet, or loving.

Lately when I talk to my parents, I have been deliberate in bringing up W in the conversation. Not in an “in your face” way, but just as I do in every day conversation with anyone else. I don’t insert him into the conversation, but if it is natural to mention him or something he and I have done, I don’t circle around it, I don’t equivocate.  I say his name, I mention whatever-it-is and I move on. I want them to get used to hearing about him, and to begin seeing him as a part of my life.

This weekend, while out with my mom, I finally came clean on who this “W” fella really is to me.

My mom knows I am poly, and has known since I told her during my split with my Ex.  I knew that she had a lot of admiration for the Ex and liked him a lot, and I didn’t want our breaking up to destroy that. It’s too easy to want to attach all blame for a break-up on the partner that isn’t your family, and, especially as it was me that precipitated the split, I didn’t want my mom to think badly of him. So she knew that Ad and I have an open relationship, but she never met any of my other partners, or even heard about them. Why should she? I didn’t have any committed partners before W.

But it’s been three years now with W, and, frankly, I just wanted to not to have to mince around who exactly this “W” person is in my life. I wasn’t committed to telling her this weekend, I didn’t head out to visit her intending to come clean, but, when the opportunity accidentally presented itself, I took it.

Here’s the deal. My sister’s marriage is falling apart. Or has already, and the only reason they stay together is because they “can’t afford” to split up. Meanwhile, they buy cars, go on separate vacations, presumably drive up their credit card debt–and live in a  state of barely-concealed warfare, sniping and biting at each other, visiting petty cruelties upon the other and crowing about it behind each other’s backs, all the while acting like they are being “civilized” and doing it all “for their son’s sake.”  It’s enough to make me sick. It makes me so sad to see my sister so bitter and unhappy and to see that same resignation and joylessness reflected on her husband’s face.

And yet.

This is the sister that, when my marriage was ending and I told her about me being poly said to me, “Why do you always have to do things your way, Jade? Can’t you just be like normal people? Can’t you just have an affair??”

She truly thought that having an affair was morally superior to being in an open marriage or relationship. She also thought it was a lot smarter, since everyone knows an open relationship can’t work–and wasn’t I proof, as my marriage was a failure because of it?  (I could never convince her of the wrongness of that statement: I never considered my marriage a failure.  But that is perhaps for a different post.) Stay married and have an affair, and you don’t have to give up your big house, your fancy cars, your credit cards–your things.  But what about your soul? What about love and joy and morality and ethics and your sense of decency?

Uh-huh.  I see how well that worked for her.  Because that is why she and her husband are in the place they are.  She had affairs, he found out. She went to “counseling,” confessed her sins, swore never to do it again…and smirked about pulling the wool over his eyes as she headed out to another of her trysts. Well, it didn’t stay pulled, and now they are in the situation they are in.

What a sad, ugly life.

But what really bothered me was my mother going on and on about what a bastard my sister’s husband is for “throwing her out of the bedroom,” for “cutting her off” financially (he split the bills and she has to pay her own bills and he his) and for treating her “unkindly.”

Look, the guy is no peach. I couldn’t live with him. But I didn’t choose him. He never lied to her or cheated on her.  He may be as slow and dumb as a box of rocks, but he took care of her, he bought her ever-increasingly larger houses and nicer cars, he moved clear across the country, away from a hometown he had loved and never wanted to leave to be with her.  He gave what he had to give.  And she chose to lie and cheat and laugh at him behind his back when he didn’t see it.  And when he did see it, and he still wanted to be with her, to work it out, instead of either a) owning up and changing her behavior, or b) letting him go so that maybe he could find happiness with someone else that could be happy with him, she lied again and started it all over. Only this time she despises him for taking her back, as well; for allowing himself to be used.

She deserves every bit of contempt he levels at her.  And he doesn’t deserve my parent’s contempt.

But they only see what my sister has shown them; they can only believe the sob story my sister tells them. It’s repugnant, and…I finally got fed up with it.  I did something I am sure I will regret: I told my mother the real reason their marriage is on the rocks. Oh, not the fullness of my sister’s lies and infidelities. In fact I made no mention of her continued affairs. I only said that perhaps B had a reason to be “unkind.”  That she had had an affair (“an” affair? try dozens) and he had found out. That maybe my sister was skewing the story a bit.

I’m not sure how the conversation went from my sister’s infidelities to W, but it did. Maybe I was trying to juxtapose what a farce her “arrangement” was with something healthy, and vital, and good. Whatever my original motivation was (okay yeah, my motives may not have been pure, maybe I did want to show her up a little) by spotlighting a lifestyle that, for a 75 yr old woman, would have to seem untenable at best, immoral at worst. But she took it all in stride (she’s something else, my mama.) I guess having softened her up 5 years or so ago with the confession of being in an open relationship in the first place made it not such a shock to her. The fact that it has lasted 3 years was a bit of a shock: “You’ve been with someone for three years and never told me, never introduced me?!?” So I had to take my lumps for that.  But for the most part, since I’m happy, Ad’s happy, my kids are happy and she assumes W is happy–it’s all good.

Oh, except for one more thing. When I told her W’s name, she said, “This is a man?”

I’d forgotten I had also confessed to being bisexual at some point a couple years ago.  Oops.


Mother’s Day

May 8, 2011

This is how I spent my Mother’s Day.

After an early breakfast, in the park with the kids…

And after a nap in the park, time getting to know my new Kindle–in a special cover that The Missy got for it, so I (hopefully) won’t leave it behind like I did my Kobo on the trip.

And then, after yet another nap (my late, drunken night of debauchery the night before necessitated many naps today) Ad and I walked the Cooper-dog up to the store to get ingredients for his (Ad’s, not Cooper’s) awesome chili.  And chocolate chip cookies for dessert.

A perfect Mother’s Day!

Here’s hoping that all of you out there had a wonderful Mother’s Day too!


Miscellaneous & a Task

March 26, 2011

So I have to post my notes about Task 5 here, because it wasn’t kinky at all, and was with my daughter, who I don’t like to blog about over there.  It was freaking perfect though, and funny as hell.

The task was this: Work the following words into a single vanilla conversation (not with anyone aware of the task project): penetrate; flirt; butt; engorge.  Bonus word – asparagus.

W had given me a deadline, which I had missed time and again.  Do you know how little conversation I have with non-kinky or non-aware people? I literally went 4 days without an opportunity to have a conversation such as the one outlined.

Tonight I sat down with Ad and my daughter and saw my opportunity.

Me to her: “So, did you like the asparagus the other night?”

No really, we had asparagus for dinner the other night, and no I didn’t buy it on purpose just so I could talk about it!  (I’m not that clever, unfortunately.  I swear!)

She could have just said “Yes,” and left me floundering for an opening in which to toss about “penetrate” and “engorged” (cuz you know those words come up in conversation every day.)  But no, even by accident The Missy is awesome.

“Yes–and I liked it even more because it made my pee smell funny!”  I paused a moment, then laughed. She was going to make this easier than I thought!  Thank you lord for an irreverent, goofy-ass daughter.

“Oh? And, um, how’d you figure that out?  Did you, uh, stick your nose down by your butt and sniff?”

She laughed. “No, Mom, it’s really obvious when you go.  Couldn’t you smell it?”

I confessed to not having noticed it myself. “Oh, well, that’s because some people don’t produce the enzyme that makes it smell like that…” she said.

“You mean the asparagus penetrates your pee?” I asked, being deliberately obtuse. I glared over at Ad when he snorted.  He knew about my task and had just realized what I was doing.

The Missy sighed. She loves biology and will take any opportunity to expound on it when she can. She then went into a rambling explanation of why asparagus makes some people’s pee smell bad–

I interrupted her. “Oh! So the pee cells get engorged with the asparagus enzyme–”

“No no no…you’re not listening.”  More scientific explanation that involved enzymes and substrate, and one of them consuming or overwhelming or engulfing the other.

I nodded very seriously, while Ad, behind me, struggled not to laugh. “So,” I finally said, “eating asparagus you’re flirting with disaster–you could end up having weird smelling pee all the time!”  (Yeah, that was a stretch, but I really couldn’t see any other way to get from asparagus and pee to flirting.)

I looked at Ad.  “Was that all of them?”

He burst out laughing. “Yep.”

The Missy looked puzzled.  I told her we were playing a word game.  She rolled her eyes.  “You guys are so weird….”


I was just in the laundry room folding laundry that I had brought over from W’s.  Some mine and some his. It occurred to me that I almost never wash and dry, much less fold, Ad’s laundry. He wouldn’t want me to, I don’t think, and besides, our relationship is different. Where it wouldn’t feel right to let W do his own (I have done, but each time I feel weird and want to take over and do it for him), with Ad it would feel weird to do his laundry.  Invasive, somehow.  We are equals, and I certainly wouldn’t want him to do my laundry.

It felt nice washing W’s shirts and pants though, and folding them into neat stacks, hanging and buttoning the shirts, wondering if he gets any pleasure from me doing these things for him.


Work has been so damn busy, and yet rewarding at the same time. The Climb (our yearly sporting event/fundraiser for which I manage more than 90 volunteers) went off almost flawlessly, and the flaws that I did find I’ve already found solutions for, so that’s good.  And a load of anxiety off my back for another year.

I had a weird moment of feeling left out the Friday night before the event, when everyone got ready to leave the office to go have a beer and didn’t invite me, except as an afterthought. That…hurts.  But I had to accept that it is me that helps perpetuate that, as well: I live very differently than they do, I don’t go hang out with them after work, my own work is pretty solitary (and I like it that way) and I am in this weird “in-between” world in that on one hand we have these 30-somethings all getting married and starting families, these 40-somethings that all have young children and are wrapped up in that, and the twenty-somethings that go out partying. I just don’t fit into any of their little groups…

For instance. We were all talking about birth control. (Yeah you get an office full of right-at-that-age women and it’s an open topic for discussion.) I mentioned the possibility of changing mine (I have a five-year IUD that I may have to re-up soon) and the headaches (literally) that this causes (many BC pills cause me migraines.) “Well, Ad doesn’t want kids right?” one woman asked. “Right…” I said. “He should consider getting fixed then!” she said. “My husband just did it and it was no big deal and then you’d never have to worry about pregnancy again…”

Yeah, except Ad’s not my only partner. And no matter what kind of protection any of the men I sleep with use, I am the only one responsible for my sexual and reproductive health.  Period.  They couldn’t begin to understand that, and I wouldn’t expect them to. I did say that I believe my health is my responsibility, but even that drew blank, uncomprehending stares.  Just as they wouldn’t understand the laundry thing, this is just as much a mystery.

And so I remain…an outsider…in so many ways.

And, for the most part, I am okay with that.  Sometimes, though, I wonder what it would be like to just have girlfriends that I hang out with, go shopping with, lunch with.

Then I think about the time it would take away from the rest of my life and…I don’t think I am missing out on much.

Speaking of going out and such–I haven’t been. I’ve been pretty damn reclusive, in fact. I go through these periods where I am just done with social interaction, and then I pull away from everyone except the fam and Ad and W and concentrate on home and writing, reading, blogging & work for a while. That’s where I am now. It’s actually not a bad time to be here in my “social” cycle, because by the time we go on the cruise I will be back into my “extrovert” phase again, and ready to be out and about again.


Oh, and as I was just telling W in IM-it snowed here today. I almost put my boots away (before realizing that with my new awesome room-size closet I can keep them unpacked all year!)  Thank goodness I didn’t. It was funny crocheting a bikini in boots and a scarf though.

And yeah, you read that right: “crocheting a bikini.” I actually got the first cup done–omg it looks so cool! But when I went to try it “on” I realized it was WAY too small.  I deliberately made it a lot smaller than the pattern, a) because I want it to be skimpy, and b) because (in case you haven’t noticed) I got me some small titties! Apparently not as small as I think they are though, because “skimpy” didn’t BEGIN to describe it.  So…back to the drawing board. Or crochet hook. But I at least proved to myself that I can create at least one cup of the bikini top!

Okay, I think that’s all I gots for tonight.

Peace out.

PS – I got the bonus!