Prometheus Bound

No, that's not the wine it took to get to bind-off. Not all of it. That's just wine for scale.*

Last night, after making some sort of Drunken Knitting error on Stupid Blanket; after realising I couldn't even figure out what the Stupid error was; after deciding the only way to fix it was to remove at least the last row-and-a-half of Stupid knitting... I made the executive decision to bind the sucker off and call it good.

There's still about 6 inches of border to be attached, so it won't be quite this paltry.†

No more stupid linen stitch. No more Stupid Blanket. Whatever will we do for entertainment now?

[SUMMARY: ding dong the witch is dead... la lala la lala la haha)

Meanwhile, back at the Male Lady...

As some of you know, the house next door to me is for sale.§

I took off a little early Friday and was sitting in the livknitting room, minding my own damned business and... well, knitting... with all the windows open and what to my wondering ears should appear? The screaming dulcet tones of one Roethlisbergerian Male Lady. Talking to my neighbours. About their house.

*coughchokecoughgagspew*

Maybe it's not her.

I can't go to the window, she'll see me.

It's probably not her.

Why would she even *pretend* to want to live next door to me?

So I ran into the neighbour Sunday afternoon and, yes, a Male Lady ("She works for the post office," said neighbour Jamie, cheerfully) was inquiring about the house.‡

My brother has suggested buying the property as an investment. After all, it would be easy to manage (and monitor) a property if you lived next door. And it would be easier to sleep at night if the Male Lady *didn't* live next door.

[SUMMARY: Lovely two-bedroom townhome, desirable urban setting, close to Starbucks, busline and drunken knitting, price just reduced, inquire within.]

Also? I was walking home from Drunken Knitting last night and she drove right by me, heading toward my house. I'm not saying she actually drove to or past or anything (cars are remarkably hard to distinguish once they're just a bunch of taillights in the distance), but she drove past and my skin crawled all over again.

I tell you, people, it's Kharmic Green Stamps. Things were going pretty well. I had Kelley to do stupid shit with, the Male Lady was still funny, it looked like The Boy and I might at least come to some detente, there were hops growing on the patio and orchids on the sill and the occasional hot young Sex Toy in my bed... and I got the gods all hubrised up one night and they threw up in my car.¶

[SUMMARY: My theology is pretty fucked up, my grasp of Murphy# is spot on.]

Smitten like a Pharisee, I'm off to work.



*FOOTNOTE (asterisked, oddly enough): The cat wouldn't hold still.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Let's see... about two wine bottles wide plus about two wine bottles tall... what? How do you measure baby blankets?

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): You can already see where this is going, can't you?

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I almost said, "Oh, please, for the love of all that is holy, don't sell the house to that wildebeest!" but I figure that's taunting the gods in an all-too mythical fashion. I'd not only end up with the Male Lady as a neighbour, she'd probably get pregnant by The Boy and have twins on my front porch.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): It sounded funny in my head. I think it may be funnier as "hubrissed." OK. I thought that was funny too. I'm going to stop now. This can only end in tragedy.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Not Sarah's dog, Murphy (because y'all would most certainly question where I was grasping the poor creature, and you'd have good reason) -- Murphy of "if anything can go wrong, it will" fame.

Hey, Sarah, that's my own little shout out to your very cute and personable little dog. Scratch his ears for me. Tell him I was thinking of him. Tell him to bite any big, burly Male Ladies he may see.

Tomorrow... "How to Make Grown-Up Friends: a fantasy" by Marin