Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Housecleaning. Literally. Figuratively.

First, more camera. Here are last night's drunken knitters:

Sarah, genius knitter.

Steph, once knitted a Green Bay Packers bag for her m-i-l (Megan-from-Work in background)

Kathryn, knitter who doesn't want her picture taken, so this may be the last time you ever see her.

Megan-from-Work, novice knitter and eager to post this picture on MySpace to show she's out on the town, having fun, dudes. And it gave me a chance to check out the very special "night portrait" mode on the new camera.

Just to catch you up on the non-knitting news:

I texted (yeah, I know) Sex Toy Friday 'cause he'd mentioned the previous weekend that he wasn't working Saturday night and maybe we should get together. He texted back yes, Saturday, he'd let me know when.

So I went through this interesting (Is so. Shut up.) exercise Saturday. See, I always think there must be a way to hedge Murphy,so to that end, I carefully calculated how much cleaning and primping I should do.

I figured if I spent all day Saturday cleaning house, shaving legs, getting pretty, he'd never call. If I wallowed in my recliner, knitting, watching the TiVi and scarfing Cheetos,he'd call to say, "I'm on your front porch and I must have my way with your orange cheese grit-covered ass right now."

I sought a happy medium.

Mostly this meant me pacing around Posh (a/k/a Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack) for an hour-and-a-half§ until I felt I had reached optimum t-minus and counting.

I cleaned the master bath, vacuumed the bedroom, changed the sheets and arranged the KY artfully on the bedside stand. Skipped the flower arranging, dusting, clearing of dining room table, disappearing of stash.

I showered, shaved, lotioned and perfumed. Skipped the salt scrub, nail polish, eyebrow maintenance.

I put on an adjustable cleavage sweater,a whole realm of war paint and...#

...called Red and went to New Bar, where Kelly the Bartendress and her brother, Fast Eddie, were sadly lacking, but New Friend the Counselor joined us.

Red drunk texted a bunch of people from my phone (never leave your celly with a drunk redhead), I eventually took her home, had a brief visit to Patrick Carroll's to see Cute Jim (got carded! got drunk!) and went home to sleep alone.

Apparently, I shouldn't have shaved my legs. I'm pretty sure that's what put me over.

Being blown off? One of the itchiest, most uncomfortable, ego-blasting, hurtful, sleep-killing, nasty things a person can do to me. Just for the record.

Sunday, Red and I went to brunch, and I have a question for all y'all:

How can someone who purports to be allergic to eggs eat french toast?

There was a guy across the patio (I love patio season) saying he wanted the french toast breakfast, but he didn't want the eggs because he is allergic to eggs. The waitress tried to confirm he was asking his french toast be made without eggs, but no... he said he could have the eggs as presented on french toast, just not the scrambled/sunny-side-up/poached variety that comes along with the french toast breakfast.

French toast. Bread enrobed in eggs. Eggs. Allergy. Huh?

It bugged me all day Sunday. It's still bugging me.

Red is laughing her ass off somewhere right now.

Anyway, we went to Mount Falcon Park for the ill-fated Wreck of the Edmund Fitz-camera and sneaky cactus, discovered Troublesome Gulch, visited the new yarn store in Arvada (Knit Knacks, but I can't link them because they have no apparent website), got ice cream and went home.

I knitted a little.

Kelley called later that evening and took me out for drinks. She put her head on my shoulder and said, "I hope you're not mad at me. I feel really bad." I'm a forgive-but-never-forget kinda girl (as is Kelley, so she should get it), so we're mostly good. She's taking two weeks' vacation starting at 1:00 Friday afternoon. I'm taking off early Friday so we can get in some trouble. And get our feet prettied.

Monday happened.

Tuesday happened.

Happy Wednesday.&

FOOTNOTE (crossed): Once again, Murphy the Bastard Lawmaker, not Murphy the cute little doggy.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): You know that's a registered trademark of the (probably) Frito-Lay megacorporation, right? I've heard horror stories about people getting lawyer letters for using words like "kleenex" in their blogs without the proper legal trademark reference and I don't want to go down that slimey slope.

By the way, Kleenex is also a registered trademark. Not breaking any laws here.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Yeah, it seems excessive, but I can pace like a frickin' tiger, baby.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Zippered cardigan. Easy access, too.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Right about here in the schedule? Male Lady called. Yep, it's been over a month since the last time I heard from her, but she called at 7:22 MDT Saturday evening. Make note, body in ditch, she's still trying to buy the house next door. Could we take up a collection or something? I don't think we actually have to buy the house, just enough to bribe the neighbours not to even THINK of turning our block into a wildebeest preserve.

&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Tonight is Book Club. I have not yet lost the book. Yea, me!

Oh! Hey! Almost forgot! Anybody in or going to be in Denverish on July 28th want to go to Stitch N' Pitch at the Rox game? I'll probably get a block of tix next week, so let me know.

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