Now I Know What 50 Feels Like

What a past couple of weeks.

I always wondered, "What is (fill in the age) supposed to feel like?" I think I have a pretty good idea right about now. It could also have to do with the fact that I've been working literally around the clock and only taking naps. I had the best of intentions this morning. I was going to go to bed. I woke up with my face smashed in the keyboard again. Sigh. In fact, I sat down at around 4:00 p.m. to begin typing this. Two and a half hours later, I woke up. This wasn't done yet. So much for knitting all afternoon.

My body has finally yelled "ENOUGH ALREADY!!!" and shut down. Just like that. One minute, I was packing orders. The next minute, I was on the floor. I navigated through all the tissue and ribbons and tape to the Monster. And there I sat for pretty much the entire weekend. I got some knitting in, but for the most part, I slept. I had to cancel my prison visit (I haven't seen my boys in over a month now - the last time I was there, they went into lockdown) because there was no way I could make it. It was a good thing, too - I slept all Monday morning. Mark couldn't wake me up, so he let me sleep until noon. At least I'm getting things done. It takes me a while, but they're getting done.

To all of you who just placed orders in the past couple of days, they've been mailed off. I'm finding my way through all this and getting into a routine. It's all falling into place. We've been open two weeks now (I still can't believe it), and I'm convinced that I have the best customers and vendors in the world. Everybody has been so patient with us while we fix things, improve things, mail things, blah blah blah. It truly warms my heart. Thank you.

For the rest of the shop news, go to:

http://yarny-goodness.blogspot.com

For the life of me, I can't remember how to make that a link. Hubster is gone at the office, so I can't pick his brain. I know it's simple, but I forget things from one minute to the next. That's most inconvenient, especially when I'm doing a lace pattern.

I want to say something about my two lovely swap pals, Tara and Martha. They both read this blog {{{waves}}} and know who I am. They've both been extremely accommodating, allowing me to mail their packages VERY late because they both knew what I was going through. I love them both and am so very blessed to have them in my life.

Enough sappy shit. The bitch is in the house.

So last night, Hubster and I go to the office supply store to buy padded envelopes (it's a waste to put a few small things in a big envelope, so I wanted to get the small ones with the bubble wrap in them). Then came the nightly question: "What do you want to do for dinner?" Since we were out, we decided to go to our favorite Chinese restaurant. I've been going to this place since they opened back in the 70's. The food is still the same, the staff is still pretty much the same, and the only difference is that I had hair back then.

So we drive out to Dublin, which is about 15 minutes from our house (although we were in Fremont, so it took just a little longer), get to the place, go inside, greet everyone, and get seated. I don't have a very sophisticated palate, and I'm the first one to admit it. I always get the same thing - potstickers for an appetizer, BBQ pork (to bring home when I can't eat all of it), pork fried rice, and for a change(!), we shared shrimp in lobster sauce. That's about as adventurous as I get. My ex used to eat all kinds of weird shit - we had canned octopus in our pantry, and he put caviar on everything (the man was filthy rich - what can I say). I can't eat hot and spicy food because of my illness (and I don't like it anyway), so I always eat Cantonese or Mandarin. Hubster loves the hot stuff, but I guess he didn't want his asshole on fire the next day this time. So we're sitting there eating, and I get the bright idea to use chopsticks.

You have to understand that the last time I successfully used chopsticks was when I was a kid; my next-door neighbor (who was a Coast Guard guy and had learned in Japan) taught me how to do it. Hubster uses them all the time and has been egging me on to use them. "C'mon!", he'll say. "You use those tiny needles and hooks and make these incredibly intricate things, and you make socks - you can use these big sticks!" I think that was the problem right there. The chopsticks are larger than my knitting needles, so I'm not used to it. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

So he was delighted when I picked up the sticks of doom and prepared to use them.

I realize now that I should have practiced at home, but I hadn't even thought about it. I'm one of those spontaneous types who will do anything on the spur of the moment and regret it later. So I decided to try and grab a potsticker first. They're a good size; I could spear the thing if I had to. No problem, right?

Wrong.

I finally got the damn sticks just right in my fingers, went to grab a potsticker, actually got it in the air - and it shot across the table and landed right in Hubster's cup of tea.

At least it was his tea. He plucked it out, dried it off, and ate it anyway. Why waste a perfectly good piece of food, especially when you're hungry?

With his encouragement, I decided to try something smaller. Rice was out of the question. But I did have that pork. Yeah, that was the ticket. Nice sliced pieces of wonderfully tender and very messy pork. No problemo.

Once again, I picked it up, got it in the air - and it shot out from between the sticks, went straight up in the air, and landed on top of my head.

Shit.

Of course, the only other diners in the entire restaurant were seated behind us and to the side. Of course, they were Chinese and probably had been eating with chopsticks their entire lives. There I sat, with BBQ sauce beginning to run down the side of my head with a piece of pork perched on top like a little bird turd. I was mortified. Hubster sat there trying not to laugh. I heard the people behind us gasp and then start to titter. That was all Hubster needed. He began to laugh so hard that he was crying. One of the waiters came over, removed the pork, and wiped my head with a hot wet towel. I just sat there and wished I were anywhere but there (like those Southwest commercials). Finally, everyone had their fill of fun at my expense and went back to eating their dinners.

I asked for a fork.

In the end, everything was okay. We finished our meal, got the rice and pork boxed up to take home (guess what I'm having for dinner tonight?), and I knitted for the rest of the evening.

I just called Mom's house to see if Hubster was still there (his meeting was supposed to end at 5:00 p.m., and it's 6:30 p.m.), and he just got there. It took him an hour to make a drive that should have taken 20-25 minutes tops. Traffic. Anyway, I got to say hi to my pumpkins. Lily just sort of grunted into the phone (they both think that when we talk to them, we're inside the phone), but Daisy got on and said, "Hi!" clear as a bell. I asked her how she was, she told me fine; I told her I loved her, and she said "I wuv you Gramma!".

I'd gladly wear a pork hat again just to hear that.