A couple of months ago, Leon and I went shopping with friends to Oakland Nursery (I know, right? Move from 10 miles north of Oakland, clear across the country to Columbus to shop at… Oakland Nursery…) and we picked up a bunch of plants. I just transplanted the last of them today. We’ve had everything to do so, but, well, we were lazy. So into their new homes they went.

Among these was an aloe plant. I love having aloe around. It’s wonderful for burns, sure, but more than that, it reminds me of growing up. (My mother, for all she professes to be a strong Lutheran (and she is, don’t get me wrong), taught me more kitchen witchery than anyone else in my life, books and pagan teachers combined. Come to think of it, so does my dad. He cooks by feel, and it always comes out amazing. I hope to be as good at that craft as those two. It’s no wonder they raised one full pagan and three half-pagans.) In any case, Mom always had aloe around, and usually, we have anywhere in the neighborhood of fifteen to twenty aloe plants at any given time.

So, in the course of the last two months, this aloe plant has been… indiscriminate, evidently. I now have three aloe babies. I’ll be gifting one of these to some friends, but if anyone local would like one of the remaining plants, I’ll gladly gift them out as well, as I’m sure that I’ll have more sooner rather than later. And plants, especially aloe, are good to have around. And these don’t take much upkeep.

My knitting has slowed WAY down lately. I’m working on the second of a pair of socks for Leon, and a mesh market bag for us to use. There’s a store a block away that, in order to keep consumer costs down, sells their plastic bags at a dime each. We have far more plastic bags than anyone really truly needs, and they’re clogging the landfills at an astronomical rate every day, so with my vast stash of cotton yarn (yay for Sugar ‘n’ Cream!) I’m knitting up mesh bags. I’m just doing a basic garter lace (row 1: k2tog, yo, repeat to end of row; row 2: knit) and I started with a modified toe-up cast on that took me a while to figure out, but one of which I’m proud. I think I’ll have to go back to Joann or Hobby Lobby or Michaels and get more of the colors I have, since I’m sure it’ll take more than two skeins to finish each bag. It’s cheap, though, so I’m happy. I prefer to use the more eco-friendly bags than the crappy plastic anyway. And what ever happened to “Paper or plastic?” anyway? Responsibility goes right out the window, evidently.

Jobhunting continues. I interviewed with Adecco on Thursday, and got to actually sit down with the rep who handles the admin positions at Limited Brands, where Leon works. She’s the same awesomeness who got him his job at Victoria’s Secret. I’m hoping she can work the same magic with me. There are two positions for which she’s submitting me: one is a temp data entry job and the other is a temp-to-hire position at Bath and Body Works. That’s the one I really want. The extra money that it has over the other one is just a bonus, really. Being able to get in there and maybe make a difference in the company is what I really want. I haven’t said anything about it because I wanted to continue to process about it, and I really don’t want to jinx anything. So here I sit, quietly praying and hoping.

JaguarMoon’s class period started at the beginning of the month. I’m still learning some of the pieces of what we’re doing (from the technical side of it; I’m the coven’s technospecialist as well as the webweaver, and there are new things we’re working on for the tech side), and it’s caused some snarls that we’re getting unsnarled. We have what seems like a good group of women this year. Note that I said “women”. We have zero men in the class, and that’s stressful and saddening to me.

It gets hard being the only guy in the picture, and while I know that my covenmates are supportive, sometimes they just don’t get it, y’know? So many women tend to get into Wicca because it’s a goddess religion. They promptly forget that, to paraphrase my friend Toby’s email .sig file, a religion without a god (as well as a goddess) is halfway to atheism. Male energy is just as important as female energy, and sometimes, I just really feel marginalized in my faith. I work with Bast and Hecate on the Goddess side, and Pan, Neptune, Lugh and Coyote on the male side. I’ve always been more male-centric spiritually, and I feel it’s because I’ve got to have that balancing force with all the female energy around me so that the male energy doesn’t get ignored or pushed away.

I have some really wonderful friends. In the last week, I’ve gotten “because I love you” care packages from Theo (she sent me Taming the Tiger Within) and Lisa (she sent me a few body products from Magickal Realism, a book that I’ve been wanting to read and review [Faith and Magick in the Armed Forces] and SEVEN Inkubus Sukkubus CDs.) as well as a bunch of email and support from so many other people. I can’t express my gratitude enough. I really can’t. It’s kind of overwhelming sometimes.

I walked in the AIDSWalk Central Ohio yesterday. It was a great way to start the morning, but I was kind of disappointed with the ending. It was a 5k walk, and while the beginning was very upbeat (well, except for the frickin’ Wilson Phillips CD on repeat), but once we got to the end, there was nothing. Just “you’re done, go home”. Kind of odd and disturbing. I guess I’m just more used to more pomp and revelry in my AIDS walks. And, um, not one drag queen. NOT ONE! What the hell?? An AIDS fundraiser without queens? What good is that?

Then Leon and I went to see Hancock. Fun show, with a great take on the Generic Superhero mythos. It’s good solid entertainment. We ran into friends between the walk and the movie, and have decided that next week, while half the damn country is at Dark Knight, we’re going to see Hellboy 2. Anyone else want in?

Happy Coming Out-iversary, ME!

14 years ago yesterday, I came out to pretty much everyone I knew except for my family (though, if you ask my awesome friend Breeder Jeanne, she’ll tell you I did a kickline out of the closet in full pink chiffon and feathers with sequins and glitter. She over-exaggerates more than anyone else in the universe).

I haven’t looked back since. Celebrate our victories. Our voices win freedom. Every voice counts.

Happy Pride, y’all.

Note: This is the writeup I did for the LiveJournal Knitting community about the Devil Irish Diamond Shawl.  Some of you have seen this. People who read my blog but not my LJ haven’t seen it. I’m proud of this, and I felt I needed some good things in my blog after the last crushingly depressing post.

Pattern: Irish Diamond Shawl from Cheryl Oberle’s Folk Shawls
Yarn: Harrisville Designs New England Shetland, 7.5 skeins
Colorway: 12 - Seagreen
Needles: Knitpicks Options, size 7
Dimensions: 48″ square
Started: March 5, 2008
Finished: June 12, 2008

Details: I got Folk Shawls as a Christmas gift and knew that I’d knit at least one of the patterns out of it. I drooled over this one and knew that my mother would love it, but with the yarn requirements and the tight budget we were on, I figured it’d be a while before I got the chance to do it. My birthday rolled around, and my big present from my partner was a trip to the yarn store. I’d been making noises about wanting to get yarn and start a big project to enter in the state fair, so I decided on this one. We went to the store, and I got 11 skeins of the New England Shetland in the only colorway of which they had enough yardage.

Changes in the pattern as written: None. I’m a big baby that way. I was petrified to change it. I thought about adding the corner yarnovers all the way out to the edge, but decided against it when it came time.

Things I learned: Lace is not for the faint-of-heart. It’s not a “Let’s watch TV and knit” project, nor is it a KIP/knitting group project, until you’ve done much more of it. Yes, this seems like a “duh” thing to learn, but after knitting Branching Out a couple of times, I figured (mistakenly) that I’d be okay. The inner repeats of the pattern were easy to memorize while I was knitting them, but I was surprised at how easy it also was to get off track and miscount. I learned very early on to love lifelines (by the end of it, I had about 20 lifelines in the shawl; I had dental floss at work, at home, and in my knitting bag at all times). I also learned to read my knitting and, more importantly, how to tink my knitting. Sl 1-k2tog-psso is easily un-knit when you see the construction and deconstruction at work.

This was a very humbling project for me. I was confident enough in my knitting skills to get the thing done, but it also took me a month longer to knit than I wanted. The deadline for registration for the Ohio State Fair is next Friday, the 20th, when I’ll be taking it in. I’m scared to death about that part, but if something gets judged higher, there was either something wrong with my construction (which I’m hoping they’ll tell me) or the other project just absolutely deserved a better score (in which case, I’ll definitely congratulate the knitter).

I’ve been a monogamous knitter for the last 3 months, and I’m ready for a little break before my next project. My mom has already shown the pictures to half of the courthouse where she works, and she’s also gone through a dozen Kleenex while crying.
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Having burned itself out, as usual, my rage and frustration at things in my life that I can’t change has turned to maudlin, melancholy depression.

I’m 35 years old. What do I have to show for it? The only thing worthwhile in my life, evidently, is my relationship with a man who stays with me for gods-know-why. No degree, and nothing on the horizon to improve that, and $8000 in student loans to show that I started something that I didn’t come anywhere near finishing. A job that I’m trying to refrain from talking about, and nothing in my sights for anything better. Very few social connections of which to speak. 1500 miles from my family. Deeper in debt every day and approaching serious financial hardships, up to and including not attending BTW this year. Fifty pounds overweight.

Is there a point? Why is this worth it?

I need a vacation from my life.

As I was walking to work this morning, I was crossing a street where I’d never seen a car driving. This morning, however, was an exception: I almost got run over. The guy didn’t even look at me as he came roaring to a stop, then blazed on through the empty intersection. I finished crossing while looking after him, arms in the ‘What the fuck?!” position. He went to the next intersection, where I saw him turn down the street and out of my sight.

Anyone who’s read my writing for a good long while knows that I’ve done an extensive amount of walking where there are cars, and one of my biggest pet peeves in the whole world is motorists who seem to think that the price of the car includes owning the road as well (though, admittedly, I’ve seen that most from BMW and Mercedes-Benz owners; that’s why the prices are so high, you know). Every state in the country gives pedestrians the right-of-way. Every. Single. One. Which is why it blows my mind that people behind the wheel of a car will be so ass-headed fucktarded blind when it comes to pedestrians. I’ve gone so far as to stop walking when someone honks at me for walking across a street, in a crosswalk, with the light. Trust me, your life is not so important that you can not wait five seconds for me to walk across the street in front of your car.

So, imagine my surprise when, a few seconds later, the same car pulls up driving the opposite way I’m walking. The driver rolls down his window and says, “I just wanted to swing around and apologize for almost running you down. I completely misjudged your walking speed, and I need to watch that. It was important for me to come back and apologize. I’m sorry.” I was so shocked — shocked! — to have a driver do that that the only thing I could do say was, “Thank you,” smile and wave to him as he took off again. Wow. A tiny, glimmering hope for humanity.

Row 158 of 184 done. Twenty-six more rows. Dear gods, my pinky fingers hurt. HURT! But it’s looking fabulous, and the last few rows should just fly on by. Well, as fast as rows with 700+ stitches can fly. I should seriously forget how a calculator works. It makes my brain hurt just thinking about the sheer number of stitches I have left. I have to have everything done and have it delivered to the state fair by June 20. I’ll be delivering it in person on the 20th. It’ll cost me $11 to enter with the max amount to win of $15. Plus, you know, the braggin’ rights. Hardly seems worth it, but I’m also sending Mom a contract that says that until one of the other kids does something of this magnitude (you know, like pooping out another grandchild), she has to tell everyone that I’m her favorite. You laugh. She and I both know I’m not joking.

Going camping this weekend and gonna work my ass off doing it. There are a few projects for us to do at Wisteria to prepare for Between the Worlds and Cornstalk. I just hope we get some downtime, too.

And yes, I know I’ve been silent over here for the last two or three weeks. I discovered something about myself this week. I tend to not post when I’m down. I’m not really depressed, just a general sort of slight melancholy that I didn’t want to deal with and didn’t want to say anything about. It’s still on its last gasps, but I’m better.

The Irish Diamond Shawl for the State Fair and The Mom goes well. I’m about two-thirds of the way through my fourth skein (of eleven), but I think I’m only probably going to use seven or eight. It’s being less hateful lately, and that makes me happy. According to my progress meter on the left, I’m on row 117 of 184, which puts me about 68% of the rows done. However, that’s a little misleading, since the rows get bigger every other row. Hell, at this point, each section is almost twice the size of the first cast-on row. I just watched Just Like Heaven (1 hr. 35 min.) and I got two-and-a-half rows done in that time. So, slowly but surely. I’m hoping to be mostly done by the time my guild meeting hits on the 15th so I can show it off a little before it gets packed up and sent to the fair. I’m also hoping to have it completely done and blocked by Memorial Day so that I can see if I can get Charlene at Wisteria to model it for me so I can take pictures. I’ve been taking pix when I add skeins, but it’s not showing much, just a bigger pile of fabric. And this thing is gonna be heavy and warm. Mom’s gonna love it, and the women at the office and at church are gonna eat their livers out of jealousy. Though, Val could teach her boys to knit, too, and then it could be Dueling Needles. What do you think, Val? Would your ex-douchebaghusband handle that well? *cue banjos*

I’ve been on a downward slide with WoW lately. Not sure why. I got keyed for Karazhan, and then stopped playing. Nobody seems to want a Demonology specced warlock for their runs. Which means I get doodly and squat for gear to make myself more effective. I suppose I could do some serious farming for cloth and primals so I can make myself the stupid robes and be better equipped, but I frickin’ HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE farming. Ah well. We’ll see what happens. Mario Kart Wii has my face right now.

Our roommate has a second job at Kaleidoscope here in Columbus. I mentioned to him the other night that Leon was going to hear Judy Shepard speak at lunch today. He told me that most of the kids at the center had no idea who Matthew Shepard was. I was shocked, appalled and incredibly saddened by this. He went on to tell me that they didn’t know who Harvey Milk was, and, the kicker, why Stonewall was important. One of the kids theorized that it had something to do with Stonewall Jackson. I couldn’t even formulate words. These kids have the Internet at their disposal, and yet most of them seem not to care about their history. I’m not talking about ethnic or national or world history; I’m talking about the history of their rights, and what it’s taken to just get them even this far. The hell of it is, I don’t even know how to go about helping them learn about it. Who do we have that should be educating our gay youth? Is it teachers? Gay youth centers? GSAs? How do we reach out to these kids and help them learn?

Hoo. That should tide me over for a while, I think. More later. Love you, miss you.

…(which is coming later, I promise. I have knitting to brag up), I present you this.

So, I’m about 50 pages from the end of Anne McCaffrey’s Crystal Singer. I wonder if the Paranoid Old Bitch understands that she actually needs to write out the entirety of the conversations and stories going on in her fucking Bouncy House of a brainpan for us to really understand the story. I swear to FUCK, it’s like watching Shatner’s Kirk performances, what with all the jumping around and shitty dialogue (and as much as I love The Shat now, I can’t watch TOS because of his performances).

And also? Why the hell do I do this to myself? Yeah, I like brain candy, for the most part, and I promised myself that one day I’d read this book, but good Christ, I know that she can’t write.

Anyone have any other suggestions of Shitty Writers To Stay Away From?

You know, I had this big long rant and explanation in regards to the puritanical, negative view of non-hetero-normative diad relationships among the gay community (”One man for me for the REST OF MY LIFE!”, as if it’s 1952 and we’re all Disney princesses. Or June Cleaver.), but really, it’s not worth it. People will be who they are and will follow along with what they want to do, regardless of how they really feel. And I have much more important directions to guide my energy than to deal with that. If someone comes into my life , if a hundred someones come into my life, who can deal with the fact that I have Leon first, well then I guess that’ll get dealt with at the time. I’m just really tired of having to explain to people who “want strings” that the possibility of strings is there.

*happy sigh*

I spent a good chunk of the evening talking with a friend who I don’t know very well. We must have spent a good hour talking about horses and rodeo and horse magazines and Baxter Black and cowboys and cowboy country. He’s moving to Columbus soon. We’ve already made a vow to make certain evil-ish things happen. I can’t wait.

A lot of people don’t expect me to be as into this stuff as I am. I keep it mostly quiet. I spent a few years running with the International Gay Rodeo Association, specifically with the Bay Area chapter of the Golden State Gay Rodeo Association. Hell, that’s where the ‘cowboy’ part of my online persona comes from.

I remember my first gay rodeo. Kansas City. It’s where I fell in love with my favorite bar in the world (and I know my KC friends are looking at their screens going, ‘WHAT?!’ It’s okay. I’m used to it.). I remember meeting some of the most awesome people in the world. I remember that they double booked the host hotel with the gay rodeo and the National Baptist Convention, and if you want to see some uncomfortable Jeezies, throw ‘em to a pack of homo cowboys. Hilarity ensued, all freakin’ weekend.

Several months after that, I went to the DFW rodeo. Keep in mind that for both of these, I was living in La Crotch Crosse, Wisconsin. We drove to both of them. So much awesome. The Will Rogers Memorial Center introduced me to my first indoor rodeo of any type.

Gods above and below, I miss rodeo.

Four months later, I was in San Jose, and I found the GSGRA and started helping with little things with them. I didn’t do anything major until the following September when I helped with Folsom Street Fair (link toooooootally NSFW). Ever spent 13 hours on your feet in bullhide Justin ropers, drenched to the calves and above in cheap beer, serving it to hot half-naked men? Yeah. I got kissed a LOT that day, especially because it was HOT and I had a bucket of water that was barely above freezing enough to keep it liquid and I’d put my hands on bare flesh and cool them down. Yeah. It was a GOOD day. Could have gone to see Toby Keith (let’s see what his webdevs say about getting THAT link, hey?) on the GSGRA as a thank-you, but had other stuff going on that weekend.

I played cowboy for two more rodeos, even helping in the arena. Let me tell ya, setting up for a rodeo is serious work. Enough so that I ended up drinking beer afterwards, and I don’t drink beer. Hell, it was even *shudder* Budweiser. And it tasted good. Which is odd, because (a) beer, and (b) Budweiser. Not even Bud Light. Full-on Budweiser. Yucky. But when you sweat that much, anything to replenish a few electrolytes. Or as my father, the Poet Laureate of Boscobel, Wisconsin, would say, “Anything to make a turd.” Yeah. Classy, no?

What even fewer people realize is that if boys could have done barrel racing in regular rodeos, I would have been on the rodeo team in my high school, and probably would have gone to college on a rodeo scholarship. Sad, isn’t it, that speed and finesse events are girl events and brute force events are for the boys? I had a horse who was made for speed and finesse, and I couldn’t do it. Such wasted time. Such wasted dreams.

I miss the rodeo. Jesse and I are already plotting a roadtrip to see the gay cowboys. Philadelphia in May is probably out, but Chicago in August might work. Otherwise, we may have to wait until next year. Little Rock in April or St. Louis in May might be plannable. Hell, who knows? We may be able to get more folks to join us.

Mmmmmmm, bullriders…. Cowboy up, y’all.

First, some cranky linkin’: Douchebag.

Then, a minor geek-gasm. I passed that link on to Wil Wheaton, who responded within about an hour. That made me all kinds of giddy, much akin to a teenage Japanese schoolgirl. He passed along this glorious cockpunch.

Moving on.

I fixed my problem with the shawl. I tinked it back to where I needed to be and re-did what needed to be done. Then, about an hour after I fixed it, someone suggested I just go to the next edge stitches, then drop, unravel, and re-pick up the stitches with a tiny crochet hook, much like you would do if you dropped a stitch in the middle of any other project. Yeah. 800 stitches reversed, and I could have done it so much easier. Ah well; live and learn. So I’m back on track now.

I’ve felt a little… off… for the last couple of days (no big shock), and hopefully, I’ll be getting back to who I need to be soon. Because honestly, this is making me crazy, and I know it can’t be any easier on anyone around me. Because lemme tell ya, when I get this raw, my shields crumble and gods help you if you’re any sort of empath. I’m slowly working my way back to where I need to be.

I have a feeling that there’s a reason behind it, though. A couple of months ago, I was talking to my high priestess and we were discussing degrees. I actually said that I’m ready to pursue my Third. Hell, I’ve even got a timeline — 18 months. There are other things going on at the end of those 18 months as well, and things are coming through with an odd sort of synchronicity. Putting that kind of intent out to the Universe tends to make Them come up with one reaction: “O RLY?!” So, things will go the way they go, and we shall see what we see.

I’ve got two packages being delivered tomorrow to my office, both from Amazon. I’m a little like a six-year-old on Christmas right now. I don’t get a lot of packages, and I’m relatively certain that they’re both birthday gifts. I have a love/hate relationship with surprises. I hate them because GODS, I hate waiting, but I love them because it means people love me enough to send me fun stuff that will make me happy. Because I’m nothing if not a materialistic bitch to the consumer machine.

I’m still working my way — slowly — through Inner Temple of Witchcraft. I read through 7 Days of Magic and honestly, if you don’t own it, you need to. It’s such a basic book of things that every Witch should know — correspondences. It’s small, cheap, and very well written. Plus, Ellen’s made of Awesome Fabulosity. Evolutionary Witchcraft is somewhat on a back burner; it’s still on my bedside table, but I’m having a hard time getting into it. I’m still a very dedicated fiction reader, and it’s hard for me to push myself into the realm of non-fiction. I’m still trying, though, and I will get through it.

I’m also really enjoying this whole blogging-every-day thing. I’m having a good time getting my thoughts out, and getting my life out there. I’m not completely out of my comfort zone, but I’m starting to get there. The whole opening-up part of it is a little tough for me to get past, but it calms me and puts me in a much better headspace, allowing me to calm down enough at night to sleep easier, and that’s always a good thing.