Foggy with a chance of exhausted

The other night, I dreamt that we had another baby. Not that I was actively *having* it, but that - boom! - we had a second baby.**

I woke up, looked around, saw Genevieve, but not the other baby. I panicked.

"Andrew," I whispered, so as not to wake Genevieve, "Andrew!"

"What? Is she wet?" he asked, only partly awake.

"Where is the baby?" I asked, insistently. When he looked at Genevieve, I hissed, panicking, "The OTHER baby."

Andrew looked around, worried, then got up and started pulling the sheets off of the bed, looking for the missing baby as if it had slithered to the bottom of the bed like an errant sock.

After the bed was thoroughly checked, Andrew looked at me.

"Wait," I said, "I think we have just the one baby. We just have one baby, right?"

Andrew paused for a moment. "Yeah."

"Ok." I sighed, relieved, and we went back to bed.

Just the one baby.

The best part of this? Genevieve stayed asleep through the WHOLE thing.

**KidBrother Sam pointed out that this would be quite a feat, considering that Genevieve just turned eight months old on Monday.

Bourdain, beets and bed

Since Monday night, I have been doing a fabulous impression of a zombie. I came down with the flu, and like every other time I get sick, I *might* have been a little melodramatic.

I *might* have told Andrew, "This is the one that kills me. I just know it," to which he lovingly responded (while rubbing my back and fetching and carrying for me) with something like, "That's okay, go into the light. I'll catch a new wife with your stash."

In any case, when I'm sleeping, I'm incredibly suggestible. Meaning, if I fall asleep watching The West Wing, I dream I'm working for President Bartlet. This goes doubly for when I'm sick. If I'm watching the Food Network, I dream about cooking, and if the stupid TiVo flips over to a show with zombies in it, I have wicked awful zombie nightmares.

Recently, I've been watching a fair bit of Food Network, mostly because of Laura'nge, the Joy of Cooking Fairy. Good Eats, Chopped, Cupcake Wars, Ace of Cakes, and No Reservations are all on the TiVo. Mom happened to be watching No Reservations, which is a great show, whether you're lucid or not.

In my case, I have been falling asleep to a No Reservations marathon (thanks, Netflix Instant Watch!) - which is not a comment on Mr. Bourdain's charisma or content, more a comment on how utterly wiped out I have been. I have had dreams of incredible foods in incredible places I have yet to go, usually with Tony. This is odd, since my chef of choice would ALWAYS be Richard Blais. (I *heart* his mohawk! And his mad skillz in the kitchen. Molecular gastronomy is the next thing I try.)

In one of my fever dreams, I was in Eugene, Oregon (one of my favorite places in the whole world), picking beets off of trees next to a stream with Anthony Bourdain. I know that this is a deeply flawed dream, the first issue being that beets don't grow on trees. Chances are also good that they don't grow by streams. And that Anthony Bourdain wouldn't be using kitchen shears to cut them down, even if they DID grow on trees.

But who knows? Maybe in a world where beets grow on trees, I'll be cutting them down with Anthony Bourdain. In my dreams, at least.

A contest of EPIC proportions!

The other night I had a dream that I met Barack Obama, and asked him to pose for a picture with me and my sock. In my dream, he was totally cool about it.

Also, he smelled amazing. This dream was so real, I woke up and checked my computer for my picture to post on the blog.

But alas, it was a dream.

That’s the last time I fall asleep with The Daily Show running. Maybe.

Part of me thinks it would be super-cool to have a presidential candidate sock picture. Sounds like time for a contest.

The Contest:

Get a picture of one of the candidates, a sock, and you. (Photoshop does not count.) Your pictures should look something like my picture with Taylor Swift, Patton Oswalt, Maria Bamford, Cat Bordhi, or Stephanie Pearl-McPhee,

If you’re a non-knitter, a regular store-bought sock will do. Please tell them that it’s for a knitting blogger- I don’t want you to get shot by the Secret Service.

The Prizes:

Knitter prize: 4 oz of handspun. Your choice of colors. If you’ve seen it on my blog, flickr, or ravelry already, it’s very likely I haven’t knit it yet. Or, I can get more and spin it for you.

Non-Knitter prize: A custom iPod sock.

BUT WAIT, there’s more!
If you get all three major candidates (McCain, Clinton, Obama), you get the Hat Trick Prize. My duplicate copy of the very Out Of Print “Sweaters for Men” by Alice Starmore. (Non-knitters, sell this on eBay.)

Remember to tell them Jasmin sent you.

Knitting = Danger?

I've posted before that I have vivid and realistic dreams. Last night, I had a dream that ended with Jason Isaacs (the bad guy in the Patriot, Lucius Malfoy in the Harry Potter moves) trying to assault me. With antique knitting needles.

Now, I know I'm stressed. But, come on! I know that some people theorize that dreams are only a person processing and working through things, but I can't really be that stressed out about my knitting!

So, while I've been writing this post, I've been processing what the dream could mean, symbolically. So here you go:

Jason Isaacs = knitting

Knitting = fun, then overwhelming, then stressful, then dangerous (?)

Weird, huh?

Dogs, Dreams and Babies

I dreamt last night that we had four dogs. When I sat down on the floor to play with them, somehow, they turned into small children. Toddling, talking and articulate children.

I was overwhelmed, the whole time. How do you get four kids on one lap? Simultaneously read four bedtime stories? I was overextended.

Every time that I have too much going on in my life- I have a baby dream. I have had dreams where someone hands me a screaming baby and runs away, dreams where I have a dozen new infants in my care and not enough car seats or food for them.

This is the first time where they haven't been squalling infants, or where it was manageable, but hard.

I know what it all seems to represent: responsibility. People handing me babies and running away is when people dump unwanted responsibility on me, having too many kids in my care represents having too much on my plate. It's all very clear symbolism.

So this? No big. It's going to be hard, but manageable.

But just for safety, I'm not fostering any dogs for the time being.

I dream in color

I dream in color. My dreams are always vivid, whether they're really fun or absolutely terrifying.

I had this awful dream that we were transporting this woman to a battered women's shelter, and there were like 10 cars driving there (so that we could lose her husband on the road, she could switch cars, etc). But the van I was driving died. So I had to pedal to get this huge van to move, and I could see her husband in the rear view mirror. So I am pedaling (like a bicycle) to get her to the rendezvous point (a bubble tea restaurant in Oakland), where I sit with the Saturday knitting group and have a leisurely tea.

As the husband was walking in to intercept us, I wake with a start. To find Niki sleeping LENGTHWISE in my spot, head on my pillow and EVERYTHING. And then he yawns in my face with butt-breath. Blech.

So, I cuddle up to Andrew, hear my radio turn on (because the buzzer startles me and gives my morning a harsh start), and think to myself, "Just 5 more minutes…"

I overslept. By about an hour. So much for what I thought was 5 minutes.

Anyway, I was only 20 minutes late to work. Explain how I could manage to get myself out the door in 7 minutes when it normally takes five times that long.

In other news:

My [allegedly] paternal grandmother is having alleged cardiac problems. There is true and reasonable doubt on both counts. Here is why:

(a) My aunt and uncle joke that they found my father in a shoebox on the front stoop. They treat him like it, too.

(b) He doesn't look like ANYONE in his family. No resemblance AT ALL. Sam and I look like him, but he is the odd one out. If I get around to it I'll scan the "family" photo that we all took when we went to Iran in 1991. Sam, Dad, and I all stick out. And nobody looks like us.

I also doubt that she is actually having cardiac issues NOT ONLY because I am admittedly an evil bitch, but also because my grandmother is a hypochondriac for attention. If one person is sick and getting attention, so too is my grandmother. Insensitive of me to say so? Yes. True? Also yes.

I LOVE MY JOB! (Part 1,000,000)

A parade (15) hot firemen just strolled by my office. If they start dancing and taking off their clothes, I may never leave here. Ever. I am magnanimous enough to volunteer some stripper music (the stuff from the Full Monty will do, right?), if they're in a dancing mood.

Thought of the day…

There isn't a word in English for a man whom a married woman is having an affair with. I propose "Manstress". In Spanish, the term is "Sancho." Vote "yes" on "Manstress".

Facelift for my blog!

Not quite a facelift, perhaps more of a tummy tuck?

In any case, they should be quicker to load than the other icons, and despite the code being a little harder to scan, I think it's an improvement.

I'm working on a beeeeautiful golden yellow ribbon shell. It's getting lots of attention. The color is just striking. I think it would look better if I had a spray-on tan, but it's an extra expense so that's probably not going to happen. I'll take a picture, eventually. We all know I'm the worst knitting blogger and the worst dog mom because I'm lazy about taking pictures. It'll happen.

Weird dreams, part 3:

I attended a physics lecture by President Bartlet at a water park. The lecture was on a rapids type of ride, and President Bartlet was lecturing from an inner tube. It was AWESOME! The rapids were quick, and I was wrestling, high-school-flirting style with Josh Lyman in the rapids.

Except that the really cool part was that I am an ADULT in the dream, with my own place. So I say to Mr. Lyman, "You should come to my place." (I'm so bold in my dreams!) He agrees, and then I see the fin of a SHARK in the water.

I say, "Quick, we'll be safe on the linoleum!" and drag Josh into my kitchen. That's right, all of a sudden, the water park is the living room of my house, and LINOLEUM is the only thing that will save us. I'm bold, and a GENIUS in my dreams.

So, Josh and I are in the kitchen, with the dogs (whom I have pulled to safety from the carpet to the linoleum- and who are purebred chows instead of chow mutts), when I see the shark WALK THROUGH MY LIVING ROOM. ON LEGS. At which point I am so terrified of a shark that can mosey around my living room, that I wake up with a sudden start, expecting to see a shark with legs in my bedroom.

I am so amazingly cracked out, and I can't believe that my awesome Josh Lyman dream (in which I was so slick) was ruined by a damned land shark. GRR!

A feat of amazing knitterdom (and major FO)

Everyone knows that I knit in the dark. So, we went to see Brokeback Mountain, and I had Andrew's "Jeans" Lorna's Laces socks on the needles. So, in the dark, I knit the end of the cuff, turn the heel, pick up the instep stitches, and knit about five inches on the foot. ALL IN THE DARK! I'm pretty proud of myself. The world is mine!

The movie was sad, but pretty good. Not my favorite, but I have to say that watching Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhal get it on... pretty hot. But that's if you like man-on-man action. Which I do.

Making a complete 180, we've felt the knitting crunch, with Stitches West upon us. I finished my brown Tess ribbon shell, which is super cute. AND out of the UFO bin. That's right, out of my UFO BIN!!!

My dogs rule. They're super. I'm in a great mood, I've got a new job starting soon (woo!), and life is good. Except for having to stick to my budget at Stitches, things couldn't be better! (And it's about damn time!)

Awesome dream:

I had another sex dream about CSI's Nick Stokes. Obsessed? Maybe a little. But it's all about his man creases.

Reviews, dreams, and FO.

So, just for a quick recap for y'all, Arah's birthday was Friday, and we saw Lion King on Saturday. Lion King is a good show, if you're okay with the sets and costumes holding up an okay show. It was fun, but not my favorite show ever. Worth seeing once.

In it's favor, there was a preponderance of man creases onstage. Mmmm... Speaking of man creases, I've been having wierd dreams.

Weird Dream #1:

I'm pregnant with Nick Stokes (from CSI)'s baby. Grace says that this is from having unsafe sex dreams, and finally it's caught up with me. The weird part of this dream? My stomach feels like there's a tennis ball inside my stomach. Apparently, this is not what actual pregnancy feels like.

Weird Dream #2

I'm at the knitting shop that I spend every Sunday at, but it's set up and as big as a Walgreen's. I'm looking for the new Trekking that Cynthia told me came in, and I'm chain smoking. Why is this weird? I don't smoke, and this is my second dream where I'm a chain smoker. Oh yeah, and smoking around yarn ruins it.

FO's

I finished my Tuscany socks. Woo! I now own red socks. And if Joey would ever show up, I could finish his, too. I love knitting socks; they get done so quickly and I wear them every day. Wooo!

Wierd dreams, again, and inappropriate pictures

Last night I dreamt that I was in graduate school, getting some sort of advanced degree in English Lit. I was attending grad school at my high school and I couldn't remember my locker combination. I came home and gave birth after school.

Now, before everyone gets all excited because they think I'm prego, hold your horses. I'm not.

It was wierd because I gave birth, and then my STOMACH hurt, instead of my bits.

In other bits of offensive news, I checked my MySpace this morning and there was a message and friend request from a guy named William. I usually check their pages, and I don't add people who I don't know personally, but sometimes people I know have wierd pictures up as their little avatar thing. So I click "see my other pictures" and there are like 5 pictures of his penis. What exactly is this prince of a man seeking on MySpace? Sex with women who are willing to give it away.

Now, this definition is CLEARLY what I look for on MySpace (definitely not to reconnect with people I've lost contact with, no), but to add insult to injury, PenisPictureMan's message to me said that my smile lit up his room and he was hoping to get to know me better. He's in his 40's, which isn't a deal breaker for me (since I like older men), but is since I'm married (pesky husband) and how I'm not going to have free sex with men who post pictures of their penises on the internet.

It's one thing to sneak a picture of your boyfriend/lover/husband's bits when he's, say, washing the dishes naked and doesn't know you have the camera, but unsolicitied penis pictures are just tacky. I mean, ICK! My fault, I suppose for thinking it may be someone I know.

On this note, penises are not particularly photogenic. I mean, of all the "forbidden" parts, it's the most funny looking. Not that vaginas are much better, but they can look like flowers and stuff. According to Georgia O'Keefe.

I laughed at the inappropriate penis pics. What can I say? Genitals make me laugh.

Better baby dreams

The other night I had a dream that I had a baby. And that I was an actress. And that I was living in the dorm at Mills again. Strange stuff.

It was a handsome little boy, no name. Blue-green eyes, chubby arms and legs. He was very good natured, liked to be held. Good thing: I had no inclination to kill this child.

Went to Yoshi's last night, Arturo Sandoval was supposed to be there, but the hurricane kept him stranded in Miami until tonight's 10PM show. I had tekka maki and tempura last night. And this morning, I had food poisoning. Sonofabitch.

I had to send Andrew to work to pick up my notes so that I could continue working on the website between running to the bathroom to greet last night's dinner. Hopefully working on the website at home will count as telecommuting and they won't try to hose me out of one of my five sick days per year. Because I certainly DID work on the website.

It was a yucky day. I didn't get around to brushing my teeth until 3PM. Sat around in my pjs all day, working on the website until I got tired, then went and laid down again.

I enjoy commentary by the writers of television shows. Andrew and I started watching the CSI's with the commentary on after we watched the episodes for the first time. Unfortunately, the actors aren't nearly as smart as the characters they play, which is disappointing on a number of levels. I know they're actors but it's easier to think that people are somewhat like the characters they play. At least for me.

I'm looking forward to this weekend, Halloween in my Christmas. I have two costumes, pictures to be posted once they're, you know, taken.

Nightmares

I had some really bad nightmares the other night, one of which was that I was being chased by the Reevers (sp?) from Serenity. The other was that I had an infant that was scary looking.

Not just scary, but downright evil. Like Chucky. Nobody else seemed to notice that the baby was scary looking or evil. The whole time I thought, "I can't raise this child. I'm scared of it." And the overwhelming desire to just kill it quietly.

Scary. It's probably an omen of being a bad mother in the future. Just thought I would share.