Everything in Its Right Place

There is the most giant stack of boxes behind me, oh my.

You see, I got up at nine a.m., which is a rare occurrence for me as I work nights. But yesterday, I fought off a wobbly, eye-blinking drowsiness at nine p.m. and decided to fuck it and just go to bed. Fast forward to to ten in the morning, with two cups of coffee in me--man, oh man, was I ready.

I was a mad man. I tossed all the living room into half-organized bins, shoved the furniture to one side of the room, swept and mopped, and upon drying, I did the same with the other side.

When you have hardwood floors and three cats, things get gross. Cat hair everywhere: under things, on things, forming a near carpet on all your linens... I managed to move an antique 8 ft tall secretary desk with a heavy glass-doored hutch all by myself. We call it "The Big Kahuna." My dad restored it, and it ended up in my Mom's house.

Heavy. As. Fuck.

I ended up with an entire bankers box of candles. I thought to myself, "How does that happen?" I shortly realized that I had bought most of the candle holders. Oops. That's just facilitating candle-shopping addictions.

I guess the living room is clean for now, but the displaced items, like refugees in Darfur, cannot be forgotten. We must persevere. A glove with strips dangling from the ends with feathers for the cats to play with, those need a place. My knitting books, having taken over the living room, those need a place. My pointless knick-knacks, those need a place.

It's 8 p.m. and, while I know things need a place, I just can't be bothered.

Maybe I'll put up the Christmas tree. Atleast I know what place that goes in.

Late Night Sleep Time

Heeeey-Oh!

It's late. Like, eleven in the evening late. I was snoozing from five to six in the p.m., but before that, I managed some wink eye from three a.m. to four a.m.

No one cares about any of this bullshit.

Basically, I can never sleep. So that's a thing.

(I'm convinced my boss can see every facebook login, every phonecall, every sign language motion to my partner in crime, Big Brother is watching.)

I've got party planning on the brain, so... notepads of things that my job can't see.

I'm planning a baby shower. I've never been to one, so that's cool...

WtfamIdoingwithmylife.

Fuuuuuuuuck.

(JK I'm pretty ecited.)

I'm Drinking Christmas.

No, seriously. Christmas. In my mouth.

Back in my late teens, my good friend Haley and I would go to a lot of scene kid parties. Our drink of choice was oftentimes "Christmas." Basically we'd just buy a half-gallon of chocolate milk, dump a lot of it on the lawn outside of the party and fill the container up with Ice 101 or Peppermint Schnapps.

Classy, I know.

I'm older now (23, in fact), but I still enjoy a mug of Christmas. The boyfriend and I are drinking chocolate soymilk and peppermint schnapps, out of his pretty gold cracked-foil tea mugs. Eighteen or nineteen seems so long ago sometimes, though it was only a few years. He's organizing his bell jars while soaking asian energy drink bottles for an art project.

Yes, we are adults now.

(But not really.)

It's been a week since Thanksgiving, but the green bean casserole in the oven doesn't know that, so we aren't going to tell him. I bet by now he knows that we used soymilk instead of real milk... He'll just have to get over how runny he is. Its like he's adopted or something, geez.

Also, fakebeef stroganoff is bubbling on the stove. My hetero life partner is a vegetarian, so we crumbled up some Morning Star sausage pattie things and sauteed them with onion and mushrooms. Red onions because the yellow onion we had on hand has started to grow significantly. I'm talking half a foot of growth here, people.

Of course, instead of throwing it out, the boyfriend ran downstairs and planted it. Weirdo. It's one of the things I love about him though. He gets excited about the dumbest shit, running about like a chicken with its head cut off, sorting through his collection of Polaroid cameras, organizing his back issues of GQ by month.

We are some strange, strange people. Oh well.

Happy Christmas!

When Will I Sleep Grown Up Hours?

Dear Sleep Schedule,

Consider yourself fucked.

Regards, Work.

It's five in the morning, I got home at about 3:45 a.m. I got promoted, and have taken over inventory at work. Combine that with a midnight showing of Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part 1, and you get a ten and a half hour shift, filled with numbers and shouting at grown ass women for running through our halls to get good seats.

Oh, I work at a movie theatre, so you know. And yes, it's "theatre." Cause we're pretentious. Largest screen in North America with a working curtain, Egyptian marble, and the highest grossing IMAX theatre last holiday season. How do you like them apples?

Blah, blah, work, blah. I'm sure no one cares. But the sun will come up soon, and I'll be sitting here staring at cooking blogs and yearning for darkness and normalcy.

So here are the things:

First off, I'm finally reaching out to fellow ICT knitters for help on my holiday yarn bomb. I've been planning this for like two years. Our downtown is covered in random statues of people and animals. I just want to blanket them in knitted goodies. So, I'm taking the proper steps, and hopefully, December 2012 will bring about a wonderful Christmas wonderland of yarn and warmth. With a political undertone of raising awareness for the homeless of Wichita, because that's something I'm passionate about.

Secondly, Julie, the writer of one of my favorite knitting blogs is pregnant. It sounds creepy because I don't know her personally, but my oldest friend is expecting and I'm excited for all the baby knits she'll have on her blog. The little bundle of joy is named Temperance Paige, which is no random choosing, as my name is Paige. I'm going to be the best fake-aunt ever, and cover this child in stitches of love and awesomeness.

Okay, let it be said, I'm on glass three of wine. So there's that.

Thirdly... Do I have a thirdly? Is that even a word?

Fuck it. Thirdly, it's almost Thanksgiving. Being on the lowest end of the managerial totem pole, I'll have to work that day. But I'm still excited, because it means poor people food. Food with a poor people background is the shit. Stuffing and ham and mo-fucking corn and hawaiian rolls and awesomeness. I love holiday food.

Fourthly (yeah, I'm rollin' with it), The Boyfriend has never had green bean casserole. Really? How? We live in the Midwest, which is Casserole Country. I must introduce him to this awesome poor people dish, complete with fried onions. So good.

I'm going to stop here because I'm convinced Fifthly is not a word. I'll try to cling to sleep now. And do it all over again tomorrow.

So it goes.

Bring On the Coats and Red Wine

(Haven't updated in over a year, lawlz)

Tonight will be our first freeze of the season. I don't understand why Kansas has decided to completely ignore the best seasons. Fall & spring = awesome. Record-breaking summer heat & scary death fog of winter = shitty.

Come on now, Kansas. Help a brother out.

Oh well. Winter means knitting. And never, ever, ever updating that knitting blog you thought was a good idea while you were drinking that one time. :P

Perhaps I'll become some sort of Jekyll and Hyde knitting monster. Sober me can be normal and boring, and wine-crazed me can become a scary blogging beast.

I just got a promotion and this has somehow translated to FOUR days off this week. Four? The fuck else am I doing with my life? It's going to pick up as Oscar season approaches, but man... Lazy.

I learned to cable? Finally, after six or seven years. So that's something.