Dan Quayle?

Nope.

Turns out "-es" is an acceptable plural of tornado.

*whew*

Two Days of Spring and Now This...

TORNADO WATCH OUTLINE UPDATE FOR WT 334
NWS STORM PREDICTION CENTER NORMAN OK
1125 AM MDT THU MAY 22 2008
TORNADO WATCH 334 IS IN EFFECT UNTIL 800 PM MDT FOR THE
FOLLOWING LOCATIONS
COC001-005-013-014-017-031-035-039-059-061-063-069-073-075-087-095-115-121-123-125-230200-/O.NEW.KWNS.TO.A.0334.080522T1725Z-080523T0200Z/CO.

COLORADO COUNTIES INCLUDED ARE
ADAMS
ARAPAHOE
BOULDER
BROOMFIELD
CHEYENNE
DENVER
DOUGLAS
ELBERT
JEFFERSON
KIOWA
KIT
CARSON
LARIMER
LINCOLN
LOGAN
MORGAN
PHILLIPS
SEDGWICK
WASHINGTON
WELD
YUMA

Tornadoes east of Boulder.

Hey... I'm east of Boulder.

Los Arañas en la Pelicula Bailan

Or, as we say on Thursdays here in Piglatnia, "Oslay Rañasay enay alay Eliculapay Ailanbay."%

The other day, I dropped off a couple of NPR maps for my dad and one of his little girlfriends.† Heading around the corner to the back, I saw a mass of yellow speckles wafting in a spider web on the downspout of his rain gutter.

At first I thought it was pollen, and I blew on it a little to see if it would fall out of the web and it started crawling.

Spiders.

Tiny yellow spiders.

Hundreds of 'em.




Now, I am just this side of terrified when it comes to spiders, but I think they're elegant and beautiful creatures, so I watched them for awhile then went home, skin crawling all the way.

Hi, Mom!



[SUMMARY: I am a complex and unpredictable creature. Or maybe just weird.]

*************

Hans pointed these ladies out to me. I'm waffling between them being exact negative images of each other or could-they-be-more-different, but they do have similar metallic purses.




[SUMMARY: It is our similarities and not our differences that bring us together.‡]

*************

There are many vintage Guinness posters on the walls at Patrick Carroll's. The knitters were in the back room§ last week and sat right across from this one.

We all took it to mean there was a Guinness hidden picture game in the offing. We spent a fair amount of time going, "Is that a Guinness there... in the lobster tail? Wait! Look at the crab's claw..."

I have since decided the crab and the lobster are just really pissed at the fish for bringing a zucchini instead of a Guinness.




[SUMMARY: Who the hell mistakes a zucchini for a Guinness?]

*************

I was at Target the other night. This goose just stood there and watched me¶ put my new summer bedding# in the car. I thought that was worth a photo.††




[SUMMARY: I may be running out of viable infotainment already.]

*************

When I walked over to Sylvia's Tuesday night, pre-Drunken Knitting, I saw this:




It made me sing‡‡ that song from Sesame Street. You know...

♪One of these things is not like the other.
One of these things just doesn't belong.♪
Can you tell me which thing is not like the other
before I finish this song?♪♪

[SUMMARY: ...black ...black ...black ...purple! run! run!]

*************

As your reward for putting up with this lame and disjointed pig-licking, I now give you a movie short.§§ It's the AntiM Productions classic, "Dance of the Crawly Scourge."





[SUMMARY: Ang Lee, eat your heart out.]


%FOOTNOTE (percented): Admit it... Spanish translated to Pig Latin is going above and beyond the call of duty. And so multicultural, it's practically a petrie dish.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Not snarky. OK, a little snarky. Hey, give me a little buffer. Some of you are used to your parents dating. I'm not even used to my dad having *friends*.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Later, when I say, "opposites attract," I'd like you to look the other way.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): With the pool table, the shuffleboard and the oddly obnoxious people.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Until I grabbed the camera to take his picture, then he turned his head as if camera shy. Really, though -- before he turned his head he was so perfectly symmetrical and so still, I almost thought he was a decoy or some sort of plastic garden decoration.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): There's a story. Isn't there always a story? And aren't I usually more than willing to tell you? Anyway... I have the big fluffy comforter covered by the rosy-pink duvet...




...but it's getting too heavy for the weather.^ This was not a big surprise, as it happens every year, but last year I bought a thin little quilt from Target. It was rosy-pink and had ecru crewel jigsaw stitching all over it (so I thought) and I thought it would be perfect with my existing stuff. Only I got it home and unrolled it from its sleeping bag-like state and found it had a BRIGHT orange stripe in the middle. I lived with it for a summer, but hated it with a passion. So I decided to go for something new this year and donate the BRIGHT orange stripe to a worthy charity.

^FOOTNOTE WITHIN A FOOTNOTE (careted): Considering we had two days of spring this year. Seriously... it snowed and snowed and snowed, then it was 70 degrees for a couple of days, then *bam!* 80! 90!

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And I'm sure the half-dozen bemused shoppers watching me take the picture agreed.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Sometimes I don't think, I sing. It's charming. I'm sure the half-dozen bemused bikers listening to me sing agreed.

§§FOOTNOTE (what a tangled web): Sometimes I take movies of odd things. It's artsy. I'm sure the half-dozen hundred yellow spiders agreed.

Aw, C'mon... Just a Little Slurp

I have some pig-licking good tidbits today... and a whole slew† of pig-licking photos for tomorrow!

[SUMMARY: You are so excited!]

*************

I heard a stoopid classic on the radio yesterday:

The news break on The Ride Home‡ included a story about how an advocacy group is calling the US Mint discriminatory against blind people because all US paper currency is the same size.

There was a sound bite from a spokesperson explaining that the US is the only country with prejudiced paper money.

Then the news caster said,§ "Proposed changes include making bills differents sizes and different colours."

[SUMMARY: Revel in the bad joke.%]

*************

Patrick Carroll's, current home turf of Drunken Knitting, is under new management.

Cute Christopher left at the end of April to assist with the opening of a bar for which he'll be general manager and part owner, leaving Shylin in charge of the PC.

Shy sat down with me for a moment last night and told me she's thinking of making Tuesday Ladies Night.

I suddenly feel very powerful.

[SUMMARY: Continuing delusions of grandeur.]

*************

When I was just a little girl, my mother caught me talking to myself¶ in the corner of our empty dining room# one day.

"What's your name, little girl?"

"Marin."

"Marion?"

"No. Marin."

"Marilyn?"

"No. Marin.

"Mary Ann?"

"No. Marin. Rhymes with Sharon and Karen."

"Oh... Marin! That's a pretty name."

"Thank you."††

I still go through a small version of this now and then, but the current version is people who pronounce it Mahrin‡‡ even though they've never seen it in print.

Think about it: if you meet me, and our mutual friend Sue introduces us...

"Dave, have you met Marin? Marin this is Dave."

And then you never got an email or a letter or saw me on the wall in the post office or anything and suddenly started calling me Mahrin... why? Why make the giant leap from the phonetics you know to the wild and unexplored land of potential spellings and BACK to a mispronunciation?

[SUMMARY: Dave's birthday party was hard on me for more than just flirtopause.§§]

*************

Thanks to Mary Kay, I am now aware of a Canadian game show¶¶ for kids called "Don't Lick the Pig."

[SUMMARY: There is nothing new in the world.]

*************

From Google Analytics keyword searches:

billboard installation
carry-on snakes
landmanning
pillars of the earth sex scenes
sick and twisted blog
compulsion by calvin klein
where is the tuaca bar located at the pepsi center

[SUMMARY: I'm clearly out of content here.]

*************

I'm out. Happy Wednesday, ev'rybahdy!


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Slough?

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): With Dave and Lois.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I am not making this up.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): If I may be the voice of reason here (shut up), all stupidity around the colour issue aside, how long would it take to get all the current homogenously-sized currency out of circulation? I'm not unsympathetic, but blind people have been coping with this one way or another for ages and there is just no practical solution on a US Mint kind of level. Think of how much it would cost us taxpayers to put such a measure in place... only to have it largely useless until all the old currency is gone.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Two thoughts: If it had been twenty years later and if my mother had been so inclined as to keep up with horror movie trends, she might have had some concerns of a sort of Damien/Poltergeist/Village vibe with a tiny blonde child talking to the corner of a room. Second: You may draw your own conclusions from the fact that Mom wasn't actually worried about me talking to myself, just curious what I might be saying.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Until about 2000, we never had anything in our dining rooms except the piano. We ate in the kitchen. In 2000-ish, Mom found a table on sale at American Furniture Warehouse that she simply couldn't pass up, so the dining room got a horizontal surface on which to store books and clothes and stuff.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Note how polite.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): As in "mar." As in "scar for life."

§§FOOTNOTE (I am SO confused): Yes, Ange, that is a white girl problem.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two mints in one!): Allie, I'm disappointed. As my number one Canadian, I count on you to educate me about these thing.

Sylvia, Big Time

Did you see today's Yarn Harlot?

Did you see the lovely scarf she made?

Did you happen to notice the yarn for the lovely scarf came from my dear friend Sylvia,† of Posh, a Yarn Boutique (bka Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack) fame?

I get a degree closer to Kevin Bacon every day.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Love you, Syl! *mwah!* Have your people call my people!

What Hill? Where? I Don't Remember Any Hill...

It appears I have reached an interesting new phase of life.†

Saturday was Dave's 40th birthday.‡ I like Dave. Besides, I'd long heard rumours about wild ice luge shot fests at Dave's birthday parties, so I said I'd go.

Several of the Coral Room crew were going to be there -- I figured I'd have someone to talk to.

[SUMMARY: Good figuring.]

I showed up about 9:00,§ handed Dave a bottle of gin and a crossword puzzle book¶ and grabbed a beer.

And stood in the corner.

By myself.%

Quietly.

[SUMMARY: Hell freezes more often than you think.]

See, no matter what you think you know about me, I'm shy around people I don't know. Some of that is just my personality, some of it is a well-founded fear that I may make wildly anti-feminist remarks or use the word "fuck" inappropriately.#

So when one of the revelers in a very vocal group gathered 'round the tiki bar caught my eye and said, "Hey! I'm James! What're you doing over there... taking notes?" I welcomed the chance to no longer be a stranger.††

I bellied up to the bar and we chatted and we got some flirt on‡‡ when a chick started rooting around in a barrel of ice in front of the bar, and then James said, "My wife -- that oompaloompa there -- hates it when I get fast."

"Well, James, you may not have gotten the memo, but 'fast' isn't on the top of your wife's honey-do list."

And it was funny and we all laughed.

Similar scenarios played themselves out over the next couple of hours, with some guy coming up and putting an arm around me and introducing himself and that some guy flirting a little and that some guy laughing at my back-at-you innuendo and that some guy introducing his wife.

I'm safe.

[SUMMARY: No longer a threat to others, only a threat to myself.]

Apparently, I have reached a place in my life where I am no longer the slightest threat to the sanctity of marriage.§§ It was fun, but I feel like I have to re-learn all the rules. I can't bank on eye contact and touch and sexy little suggestions being *flirting*. They may just be... banter.

[SUMMARY: Life is just a game of Calvinball.]

I guess I'm in a place where I'm technically fertile, but nobody wants to test the theory.

I'm in flirtopause.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Like 40 and single with a cat wasn't interesting enough.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Dave was supposed to be my competition in the spelling bee, but got his head stuck in a bottle of Cuervo and didn't make it.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Dave greeted me by telling me the last wave of kids had just left. My timing was excellent.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The gin? Bombay Sapphire. The crossword puzzle book? Because Dave brings the Onion crossword to the Coral Room most Saturdays and he won't let me help him. "Dave. Hey, Dave... are you stuck, Dave? Can I help you out there, Dave?"

"Leave me alone. I don't need your help."

I picked a random crossword puzzle from the middle of the book and worked it -- in pen -- with a note on the top of the page that said, "I helped!"

I think I'm funny.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I don't know if I can give you the full scope of how pathetic it was. Almost everybody was standing around in groups of 4, 5, 6, talking merrily away, but there was one guy all by himself. I think I may even have met him once before -- he looked familiar. About the time I settled on my place to stand, he was getting food, so I decided not to interrupt his dinner. Then he was throwing his plate away, so I decided not to interrupt that. Then he was sitting, staring into space and I decided not to interrupt that. Then he got up and walked into the house and I stood there, a pitiable wuss.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): If you don't think there's an appropriate use for the word "fuck," you are at the wrong blog.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And test the waters on where to appropriately use "fuck" with a new friend.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Casual, funny flirting involving a bunch of double entendre revolving around the word "fast"

§§FOOTNOTE (twisted. Sick and twisted): Not that I ever really was anyway, 'cause... y'know... saint and all that.

Where Do You Want to Go Today?

TTHFCIF

Remember the good old days† when there was a crane out my window and arms on the 1999 building?




Then the crane started to sink and the arms disappeared.




For awhile, the crane hid behind the building on the Broadway side and I saw it every morning on my way in‡...




...but couldn't see it from my window anymore.

Now it's just a bunch of armless, craneless buildings and I have to amuse myself watching the parking lot attendant and billboard installations.




[SUMMARY: Tears in my ears.]

Speaking of...

We had another whirlwind billboard swapping a couple of weeks ago. Remember when this went up, mere days after the Think on Your Feet billboard?




Well, it was replaced by this§:




Less than a week later, *that* was replaced by this:




Hans and I agree this is our favourite billboard yet, and probably the most effective.¶

[SUMMARY: Apparently I'm not *that* busy.]

Man. Wahoo's Friday can't come soon enough. I missed dinner last night# and I'm starving. Further updates as the situation warrants.

Meanwhile, you have a lovely weekend.

Don't forget to eat.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Last week.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Rush hour travellers love it when you stop to take pictures at an intersection. And by "you," I mean, "I."

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Hans and I figure this brilliant (I'm being sarcastic -- I think if you want to get across the idea of "adventure," you don't post a billboard full of plants in neat rows) ad was probably put forth by the same marketing company that came up with the slogan for Mesa County (of which Grand Junction is the county seat) "Many faces, many places. One community ~ Mesa County." Hans and I figure we could open our own marketing firm and take Mesa County by storm. We couldn't do any worse.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Though it does seem to feature a heart fashioned out of spattered blood or maybe an exploding heart, which you'd think wouldn't be that compelling.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): The wine might have had something to do with that.

Babel-Fished

You Are 36% Evil

A bit of evil lurks in your heart, but you hide it well. In some ways, you are the most dangerous kind of evil.

How Evil Are You?

I could've told you that.

Cop-Out Thursday

Or, if we're going with Pig Latin Thursdays: Opcay-outay Ursdaythay.

Ouyay Aray 36% Vileay

A itbau ofay vileay urkslay inay ouryay earthay, utbay ouyay idehay itay ellway. Inay omesay aysway, ouyay aray etahy ostmay angerousday indkay ofay vileay.

Owhay Vileay Aray Ouyay?

2% of Your RDA of Fibre

I love this hat. I want to make my own version.




That dip in the bottom is a brim.† Pat says it keep it from pushing his glasses off his nose.‡

Mostly I like the zig-zag of the columns of stitches. Anybody know how to do that? Do you suppose it's like single-stitch cables where you knit the second stitch, then the first stitch?




[SUMMARY: Pat's hat. Flat hat. Hat off Pat. Pat that hat.]

Guess what I'm doing this afternoon?§

I'm helping Sylvia with a needle felting class at Posh.¶ The Front Range Knitting Guild or Group or something like that is coming on a field trip and I'm going to help.#

[SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!]


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Now, now... don't call Pat a dip. He's not even *wearing* the hat.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Pat also didn't bat an eye at me immortalising his hat. He fully gets that I want to make my own. Yay, Pat.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Go on, guess. I'll wait here.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): You know... because of my mad needle felting skillz.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Well, I plan to help. I may be no help at all. I may be useless. Worse... I may just get completely in the way. But I certainly intend to help. Ah, the road to hell...

p.s. --

It's snowing today.

Silver Lining

Literally.

You may remember last year's Fashion Denver, um... palooza... at the Oriental Theatre.†

You may remember my little slurp of the Vamp girls.‡

Well, I didn't slurp nearly hard enough.

I completely failed to mention how their totally sweet purses are eco-friendly,§ how the company is owned and operated by women,¶ how they're all handmade right here in Colorado,% how Deanna and Tara are warm and friendly and fabulous and they believe in cocktails.#

[SUMMARY: *slurp!*]

And now I can add that they fed my knee-jerk love of all things exclusive and limited this weekend.

Fashion Denver 2008 was May 10.

I got this:




Meet Vickie.††




Note Vickie's lush curves^...




...sleek rings and grommets@...




...and her optimistic‡‡ silver lining.

[SUMMARY: There's something about Vickie...]

You may wish to find your own Vickie, a Vickie you can bring home with you.

You can't have your own Vickie.

[SUMMARY: Nya-nya-ny-nya-nyah§§]

Not yet, anyway.

If you go to the Vamp Bags site and look at their bags, you will note not a Vickie in sight.¶¶

See, Vickie's part of the new line. Vickie was available for pre-ordering. When I went to pre-order my very own Vickie, it turned out they had one extra sample.

And they sold it to me.

So I currently have the only Vickie (2008) in the wild.

Vamp Bags are showing up on the red carpet, on Joan Rivers,+ generally on the fashionista radar. My complete Vickie collection could be big some day. Sotheby's will court me, my retirement will be secure, I will finally be acknowledged as the advance troop& on the leading edge of fashion.$




[SUMMARY: Sucker for elitism, active fantasy life.]

Some day, I will tell my grandchildren about this.##


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And if you don't remember, I'm happy to get all self-referential on your ass.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): ibid.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I didn't mention this even though I know how it warms the cockles of your liberal little hearts.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): ibid.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Y'know... think globally, shop locally.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Oh, clap your hands, children! Clap with all your might and say, "I do! I do believe in cocktails!"

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Funny little side story: the Vamp bag I bought last year was also Vickie. Vickie the First. Vickie I looks like this:




Only mine is green. Apparently, I have more of a thing for rings than I thought. Some day I'll tell you the "I don't like diamonds and I swallow" story and you'll understand what a revelation this is for me.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): I like to pretend Vickie and I have a lot in common.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): ibid.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): OK, OK... so I'm pushing the metaphor. I *like* the metaphor. But it's also practical. I love purses with light-coloured linings so I can see my stuff when I open them.

§§FOOTNOTE (ring around the Vickie): sp?

¶¶FOOTNOTE (one foot in front of the other): Keeping in mind that if you're reading this in 2012, there may be a hundred Vickies at the Vamp site. But rest assured, on May 12, 2008, there was just my Vickie and a sample. Nya.

+FOOTNOTE (plussed): To-may-to, to-mah-to.

&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): One. One troop.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

##FOOTNOTE (pounded like the point... I'm driving that point right home): Well, I'll tell *your* grandchildren. I won't have any grandchildren. But won't that be fun? "I dare you to knock on door of the old AntiM house. Legend says she comes to the door all dressed in black and makes the little children listen to stories of purses and cocktails..."

Someone Has a Case of the Mondays

Entertain?

Amuse?

Write?

Don't wanna.

Go read this.

Um...

Monday was the day the lawyers came. And the engineers. And one guy I think may have been a geologist.†

The HOA for my little corner of heaven is suing the builder of my little corner of heaven for a myriad of sins, so they had to do inspections of the decks, drywall, garages, windows.‡

Most of the house was oddly presentable,§ but the yarn room/library needed help.

[SUMMARY: *ahem*]

I put together some of those wire cube things from Target and set about organising the yarn. I have one bin for yarn to dye, one for leftovers and orphans, one for projects,¶ one for two-skein sets. Two for sock yarn.

The sock yarn overflowed.

I know common wisdom says, "Sock yarn isn't stash."

"I'm on a yarn diet, but sock yarn doesn't count."

We think of sock yarn as safe and inconsequential because it is slated for that particular project: socks. You don't have to buy ten or twelve balls.#

But I really think my sock yarn has gotten out of hand.

My next project will be six socks at once -- different lace patterns. I figure I already did the four-at-once with different sizes. After I finish the six, I'll do eight all the same size and pattern and it'll feel like a brain vacation.

[SUMMARY: The best-laid plans...]

I also have moths.

Before you gasp,†† I can't see that the moths have done any damage to my yarn. I personally fondled and dug through every single ball, skein, hank and wad of yarn in the yarn room and, while there are bug carcasses, there are no chewed spots.

I don't know how to take this. I should be more upset. But I can't see where these particular moths have done me any damage.

Honestly, if they ate a little sock yarn, it might be a blessing.

[SUMMARY: It's early. I may not have had enough coffee.]

We had a lovely dinner at The Palace Arms. I've wanted to go there for years. It's on my list% right next to Africa of places I want to go and may never get. The meal was superb, the service warm and impeccable,‡‡ we women got roses and salted chocolates§§ at the end of the meal. When I had to go to the restroom, one of the servers escorted me like we were going to a debutante ball.

[SUMMARY: *le sigh*]

Now I have to go meet with the client and get actual work done.

[SUMMARY: Different kind of sigh.]

Could be worse. Could be raining. Oh, wait...




†FOOTNOTE (crossed): He kept commenting on my rocks. Yeah, I said that for the benefit of the Brainless Twelvehood that lies within you.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I'll take "things that may crack or leak or sink" for $500, Alec.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Odd to me.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Believe it or not, I have whole projects with the needles, pattern and all the yarn bagged up neatly and ready to go. I fondly refer to it as my retirement plan.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I got tired of saying "skeins." I'd rather say "balls."

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And possibly inhale a moth.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I've found you often have one, but not the other.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): WAS... was on my list. Crossed that off last night.

§§FOOTNOTE (all in a whirl): I'm looking at you, Sarah.

I'm Laughing

I went to a linguistics site to translate "tacky even when wet" to Latin. I figured "tacky" would be a relatively contemporary word, so I started with "sticky even when wet." I got this:

lentesco vel ut madidus

I also figured I could reverse-engineer it to fine tune if the Latin-English translation turned out to be wonky.†

So I plugged the Latin back in and here's the English translation:

to become soft or when wet

I don't need to explain why I'm laughing. You feel me, right?‡


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): You know... if the website version of "sticky" turned out to mean "branches" or something.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Not *literally*. Trust me, I'm a little oversensitive. If you literally felt me, it'd be the high point of my week. I'd celebrate with champagne and send you a thank you note. Maybe a fruit basket.

Drop In, Opt Out, Co-Opt

Once again, I have almost nothing to say.

No wisdom to impart,† no sex,‡ no knitting.§

[SUMMARY: This could be a long post.¶]

I don't have wisdom, sex or knitting, what do I have?

I can lick the pig.




I take comfort in the thought that no matter how bleak things get, I can usually scrape together enough bits for a respectable pig-licking.#

[SUMMARY: I have a dream...]

*************

First, remember how I wanted to go to Slovenia?%

The fact that there is a Slovenian Pig Stamp doesn't make me want to go any less.

*************

Next, in a long-awaited update to the office trash situation,†† we did finally get our "piggy backs"‡‡ for our trash cans. The trash portion of the system is smaller than a ream of paper. Apparently they haven't seen my trash after a yarn shipment.

[SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!]

Anyway, I've already thrown my kleenex in the wrong bin twice.

Further updates as the situation warrants.

*************

Now for the co-opt portion of our program:

This is not my story, but Mary Kay doesn't have a blog, so it's not so much *stealing* as it is giving an outlet for Mary Kay's wonderful world.

See, Mary Kay is a Drunken Knitter and shows up at Patrick Carroll's on Tuesday nights with some regularity, but she's a double agent.

A group of acedemicians, of which Mary Kay and her husband (The Professor) are members also meets at Patrick Carroll's on Tuesdays. So Mary Kay rides the fence, spending some time fiber-geeking with us and some time science-geeking with the other crowd.

So last Tuesday, Mary Kay had the most wonderful story, a story whose punchline has innumerable potentials.§§

See, a good friend of The Professor has a .45## in his house for protection.

Now is the time I introduce you to the concept of Ninja Monkeys: "Ninja Monkeys" is a blanket term¶¶ for any threat from assaulter to zombie that may beg the presence of a firearm.%%

So this guy became concerned about what might happen should Ninja Monkeys attack while he's in the shower. His hands would be wet. The gun might slip.

He did what any respectable denizen of the 21st century would do: he Googled aftermarket grips for his gun and came across a saying I'd like to have emblazoned across my boobs:†††

Tacky Even When Wet

And I want to translate it to Latin and use it as part of a coat of arms for the Drunken Knitters.

And Mary Kay and I started using it as a call and refrain@:

AntiM: Tacky...
Mary Kay: Even when wet!

[SUMMARY: Oh, the places you'll go!]

*************

I just cashed in a whole pile of Kharmic Green Stamps on titanium sporks.‡‡‡

When Dad took me to the Flyfishing Film Fest, they had a bunch of raffle prizes. I was totally hoping I'd win the titanium spork. Unfortunately, it went to the obnoxious, ungrateful wretch behind us, who (besides being loud through the whole event) did nothing but complain that he got a stupid titanium spork.

Some people don't know a good thing when they have it.

I decided it would be a funny and -- probably -- even useful gift for my father for his upcoming birthday, so I Googled it. REI has a flagship store really close to me, so I checked to see if REI carried such a thing.

Their online store has several.

As you may remember, Shane turned 40 recently.§§§ And Hinch is turning 40 soon. And I got it into my head that a titanium spork would be a perfect gift for a 40 year old guy. And I really want one too.

So I need at least four titanium sporks, an errand I haven't yet accomplished.

Let's look in on Hans.

Hans had his golf clubs stolen right out of his car recently. When his insurance company asked for receipts or photographic evidence that he'd ever actually owned golf clubs,¶¶¶ he found... he couldn't prove a damned thing.###

So he has to get an affidavit from a friend saying he golfs and had golf clubs.

Said friend is meeting him at REI.

I asked him to check and see if they have titanium sporks in stock.

Who knew the theft of Hans's golf clubs would turn out to be so beneficial to me?

Oh, yeah. I won't get a good parking space for weeks for all the Kharmic Green Stamps I've cashed in.

[SUMMARY: Somewhere a Buddhist rolls in his grave.]

*************

Oh, cripes. The boss just called and one of my clients%%% is flying in from Houston at 6:00 tonight and is staying at the Brown Palace. She wants to have a business dinner at 7:00 at the Brown to get a head start on tomorrows round of meetings.

Fuck.

Y'all know I love me some Brown Palace. What's not to love? It's elegant, well appointed, upscale, cosy, well executed, helpful, has the best spa in the city and they feed and water me about once a month.

But tonight is Drunken Knitting night. And I'd like to have more notice. And I have to go home and change and put on war paint. And I just don't want to.

This is what Ange calls a White Girl Problem.

[SUMMARY: You'll note it's still a problem.]

*************

UPDATE: Hans JUST came back and REI does, indeed, have titanium sporks in stock.

*************

Damnit.

With the Brown Palace field trip tonight, I doubt I'll have the time or inclination to offload my camera. I have such splendid out-my-office-window pictures too...

*************

Dang. You know it's a bad blogday when the footnotes outnumber the actual texts.

I better get laid soon or y'all will never have anything good to read again.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Duh.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Trust me, this hurts me more than it hurts you.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I actually have been knitting. Some. But how many times can you see the same 4x1 red silk rib before you give up on me entirely?

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Not long like my usual prolixity (look it up), but long like watched-pot-not-boiling long.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Heheheh. What do you suppose "respectable" means in terms of pig-licking?

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Oh, and I still do!

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I think I should get credit for the fact that the last office trash story was also under a pig-licking and I didn't try to make it a full post all on its own. I may get writer's block* now and then, but at least I keep office trash politics in perspective.

*FOOTNOTE WITHIN A FOOTNOTE: Thinker's block?

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Note the clever pig tie-in.

§§FOOTNOTE (dizzy... confused...): Can potential be plural?

##FOOTNOTE (numbers. We are talking numbers here.): Or a .44. Or a Glock something millimetre. Doesn't matter. For our purposes, a handgun. Can you tell I'm not much of a gun buff?

¶¶FOOTNOTE (why not just club them?): And one that might not be capitalised in anyone else's world.

%%FOOTNOTE (2 percent!): This was superfluous but so much fun. After all, I could probably do this whole story without ever saying "Ninja Monkeys," but why on earth?

†††FOOTNOTE (cross me again...): Not directly on my boobs, mind you. In fact, it would *have* to be on a t-shirt to be really funny, wouldn't it?

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Kinda like an adult beverage version of Marco Polo.

§§§FOOTNOTE (put a foot on the floor and it will stop spinning): You think I just took a total left turn, don't you? You may even think I've forgotten what story I'm telling. A good pig-licking always contains an element of surprise. Or confusion.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (one iron! three iron! five iron!): You'll love the fact that not only was his insurance agent the one who left his car window open so his golf clubs *could* be stolen, but the dink called him a couple of days later to ask him to go golfing.

###FOOTNOTE (triple pounder. With cheese.): Let this be a lesson: make sure you have a picture of you golfing. Even if you're drunk and have that smeary look on your face. You may be called upon one day to prove you had clubs.

%%%FOOTNOTE (3 percent!): I only have two right now, so every client is a big client.

I Lied

OK, not so much lied as jumped the gun.† I do have a little something to tell you, as it turns out. See, Hans was just in my office to show me something kinda funny.

A ticket.

You may wonder what is funny about a ticket.

[SUMMARY: Master of the obvious.]

Remember when my license plates were expired? For five months?

I don't know how it works in your state, but in Colorado, your license plate has a month sticker on one side and year sticker on the other and you have a month of grace period after the date represented on your plate to get good with the DMV.

Again, my plates were expired for FIVE MONTHS before anyone even noticed.‡

Hans's plates expired in March. So he had April to take care of it.

And he didn't.

And he got a ticket.

Yesterday morning.

[SUMMARY: Revel in the inequity, but wait for it...]

At 3:59 a.m.§


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Remember when jumping the gun was a fun thing you did in the back room at a Halloween party in college and vaguely regretted the next morning? Good times, good times...

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Yeah, there go all my kharma points. I also think this may be the equivalent of going to Bimini with a B-list model as far as my campaign for sainthood goes.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I envision some hypervigilant meter maid (I'm sure that's a politicially incorrect term... Ticketing-American?) dozing off at 11:37 p.m. on the 30th of April, only to awake with a snort at 3:57 a.m., gleefully writing the ticket before going home to bed.

Speechless

TTHFCIF

I really have nothing to say.

This doesn't mean I don't wish you well and want you to be happy. So go look at Tommy.

Here's another one.

Go Avs!

Take the Nuggets with you!

Monkey Days and Candlelit Nights

Do you want to block my monkey?†




Blocking is magic. Why have I been so resistant to blocking? I only do it when I absolutley have to,‡ but it's always such a thrill to see a wad of knitting go all smooth and competent.§

The Monkey Pack has this keen design element, kinda like racing stripes designed by Garanimals.¶

[SUMMARY: You say potayto, I say potahto.]




It has a lining. With frogs.#




Monkey Pack
Punk Rock Backpack pattern from Stitch 'n' Bitch (Debbie Stoller)
Elann Superwash Worsted in 3 moss green (wasn't quite enough), 1 each ivory, russet, rich chestnut and deep rose (which was more than enough -- I'm making mousies with the leftovers)
Size 4 needles (the yarn called for size 6, the pattern called for size 5, the fabric was just better tighter. And it was kind of an accident.)
Lined with frogs, which was a pain in the ass. The lining... not the frogs.
Zippered, which was scary. I've never done a zipper before. It's not so bad.
Serious modification: I knit for size, rather than stitch count, so I cast on 65 rather than 45 to get the right size.
Another modification: I didn't knit straps. I thought they would be too stretchy. So I went to my local Ross (dress for less!) store and bought a very small, very cheap backpack and cut the straps off of it.

Due to unforeseen sewing machine circumstances,†† I was more than an hour late and missed dinner.

I did not, however, miss cake.

[SUMMARY: Not rain nor snow nor vagaries of sewing machine...]




Or singing Happy Birthday. I like singing.

Throughout the construction of this backpack, I was worried it was too small. The finished size was supposed to be 9.5"‡‡ across, and when I stretched out the little snake sweaters, it was going to be right to scale, but it looked way small.

Dr. Doom pulled it out of the gift bag and the first thing he said?

"It's HUGE!"

[SUMMARY: Yeah, buddy... that's what she said.]

Turns out in all its lumpy, bumpy, dorky glory, it's perfectly Dr. Doom-sized.




And that's all I ever really wanted.§§


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): You couldn't have told me this earlier? I spent an hour and a half blocking the monkey. You could have saved me a lot of time.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Like when the Monkey Pack looks like a garter snake cosy and I have to explain to someone for the fifteenth time, while holding various resistant edgepoints out with my fingers, that it's really 10.5" and will make a fine small-person backpack.

(When I said 10.5", did anyone else get a little chill?)

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Despite its procedural pain in the assedness.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): We will continue to refer to it as a "design element" through all the nagging little voices in our heads trying to remind us we ran out of green yarn with *that* much left to go on the gusset.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And many hidden treasures in the form of jungles of thread loops where I didn't have the bobbin threaded correctly. Then I had the tension set wrong. Then I found out the bobbin winder isn't working and I had to wind all my bobbins by hand, just like they did in the old days. All this, buried between the wrong side of the knitting and the back side of the lining, lurking, waiting to pop forth and expose me for the hot mess I am.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Well, and issues of thinking I have superpowers and can line a backpack and set a zipper, even never having done these things before, in a couple of hours. See Hat Attack for delusional thought process.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): There's that chill again. Did anybody feel that?

§§FOOTNOTE (turnaroun): Well, that and a pony. And a Brasilian houseboy with very little chest hair and a knack with a refreshing rum beverage.