I can't tell you how sorry I am the camera wasn't handy when Cat for Scale got his head stuck in the empty† kitty treat bag last night. Cruel entertainment. You would have loved it.
[SUMMARY: Slapstick is never more funny than when it happens in your own livknitting room.]
Drunken Knitting was a roaring success last night, with the Sis-in-Law and Liza-Spelled-Lisa joining us in an unprecedented expansion of the ranks. A good time was had by all, even though there was a really, really funny bit (brought to you by Red) that inspired Bag Lady Kathryn and I to clink glasses and laugh out loud for minutes on end, but neither one of us could remember a half-hour later.
Oh, yeah, and sitting next to excitable Genius Sarah... well, it'd help to wear body armour. You've been warned.
Cute Christopher, bar manager extraordinaire, noted the group seems to be growing. I'd like to think it's always been his fondest dream to manage a knitter bar. And I helped!#
[SUMMARY: Drinking and knitting: two great tastes that taste great together!]
Speaking of drunken knitting (and I wasn't even drunk at the time), I cast on for the Girl Colours Big Baby* last night. I knit through two pattern repeats and was feeling all smug and self-satisfied and then I realised I was supposed to knit 16 rows of garter stitch to start and I spent a fair amount of time squinting at what I'd done hoping it'd be OK to leave the garter stitch out, but feather-and-fan when not corralled properly goes wild, goes haywire and so I have to frog and go back and do it right.
I also realised I have to correct my FO stuff from the other day to show I used size 13 needles for the Big Baby blanket. And to tell you I only used slightly less than four skeins on the Green Gables (pattern calls for five) and slightly less than eight balls of Big Baby on the blanket (pattern calls for nine).
Keep in mind, I knit pretty tight.@ Your results may vary. But I do like to know how the actual yardage called for in a pattern, so the least I could do is provide you with the information I'd like to have.
When I remember to, I mean.
[SUMMARY: See! Knitblog!]
I have eight tix for the Colorado Rockies's Stitch 'n' Pitch July 28, but I may only have three or four people actually going. If you're interested, or know someone who is, you know where to find me.
[SUMMARY: Nobody ever goes hungry at AntiM's. I tend to overprovide.]
Speaking of where to find me, I'm actually going to the Lake tomorrow. Yippee! My biggest chore left? Figuring what knitting to take. Y'all know.
[SUMMARY: Knitting: adding a new dimension to my travels since 1977.]
Brother left a comment on a recent post that reminded me of a story y'all might like.
About three years ago, I went on a mission to knit a scarf for just about all the major holidays‡ for eBeth, the sis-in-law. I was knitting a horizontal§ scarf for Halloween out of black and orange and green wool and a fun fur novelty yarn with green and orange laddering stuff in it. Tallest, Hairiest Nephew sat on Grandma's couch and watched me for, oh, about 15 minutes. Then he spoke up.
"AntiM, if I had a scarf like that, I would wear it every day."
"Do you think I should knit you a scarf?"
"I know your favourite colour is red. Would you like a red scarf?"
"How 'bout rainbow? Just like Mom's. With the furry part and the stripes."
So I invested in six skeins of Plymouth Encore in a crayon-box rainbow palette¶ and coordinating Lion fun fur and knit the Gay Pride Weasel. Which had to be repaired within its first month of life for having been used as a whip. A Gay Pride Weasel Whip.
So the orange-fuschia-purple pom-pon scarf is really a big step up, macho-wise, for Tallest, Hairiest Nephew's taste in scarves.
[SUMMARY: Four-year-olds have very little sense of sexuality vis-a-vis colour and toy choices, as any father who has tried to talk his son out of a Barbie knows. Nature vs. Nurture?]
Seriously, how many knitting projects do I need? What would be appropriate for sitting waist-deep in lake water? How sick will I be of knitting socks by Sunday? Even sock whores have limits, you know.
[SUMMARY: Oh, yeah. I'm going to lose sleep tonight over which knitting to take on vacation. I may forget my toothbrush, but I'll have plenty of yarn!]
My preferred waxing place has grown by leaps and bounds since I started going there, and has really outgrown themselves. I can no longer get an appointment in less than two weeks and their online booking system, while fabulous in theory, has never once worked for me.
Yesterday marked the THIRD TIME my appointment was completely fucked up. The big difference is that on prior fuck-ups, they could get me in anyway. They had no appointments at all for a week, which doesn't really mesh with my need not to look like I'm smuggling tarantulas over the Nebraska border in my swimsuit.
So I knocked on the door$ of every spa and salon betwixt downtown Denver and home, finally stopping into the Hair Shaft just a few blocks from Chez Barfly. They were able to get me in right away, and the cost was fairly reasonable, but -- oh, mama! The final product!
I got a half-leg, modified Brazilian and underarm. Ladies, there's a lot of stray hair left. In some places, it looks like she somehow managed to leave every fifth hair intact.
And the blood blisters on my tenderest places.^
And the fact that the "modified" part of the modified Brazilian is an inch-wide strip of hair (the totally bald look... ick) slightly but noticably off-centre.
I suspect this is too much information on anybody's body hair (or Brazilian bits) but your own, but it's definitely girl talk. And we're mostly girls here, I suspect.
Well, Brother and possibly Doc and whomever of the guys% I've hipped to this blog.
Besides, maybe one of y'all can tell me if I'm going to kill myself (or want to) if I shave my legs to get rid of that every fifth hair.
[SUMMARY: Body hair. Not just for breakfast anymore.]
Huh. You'd think I could leave you for four days on a more... wholesome note.
Keep your feet on the ground, keep reaching for the stars. Check local listings. Follow your dreams. You can reach your goals. I'm living proof. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. In the summertime, when the living's easy... It just don't get any better'n this. And, darn it! People like me! Like a rock. For external use only. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. This is not my cow! Be excellent to each other. If ever, if ever a wiz there was... One horsepower is the amount of force it takes to lift 500 lbs exactly one foot in exactly one second. Go toward the light!
[SUMMARY: Sugar and light, that's your dear ol' AntiM. Have I made up for the body hair segment yet?]
You're welcome. Back on Sunday afternoon.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Clearly, he didn't realise it was empty. His little kitty brain, size of an edamame, can't quite process the reasoning necessary to determine that 1) Just because it smells like kitty treats doesn't mean there is necessarily more than kitty treat scent involve, 2) Mom never leaves open bags of kitty treats lying around, and 3) particularly not in the trash can.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded. Yeah, it's out of order. We're all out of order.): And for those of you scoring at home, I'm channeling the little southern girl on the Shake 'n' Bake commercials from years back.
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked. Will wonders never cease?): Nine! Pounds! Six! Ounces!
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Somwhere, Red and Genius Sarah are laughing, but you should also keep in mind I made the sleeves on Green Galbes each twenty rounds longer than the pattern dictated, and also made the body a couple of inches longer, so I don't think your results will vary THAT much. Robin knit this -- Robin, hi, how did your yardage work out on the Green Gable?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I did manage to skip the 4th of July... not for possibly obvious reasons (like the stupidity of knitting a scarf -- or two *coughcough* -- in the dead of summer), but because it gives me something to look foreward to.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): You know... like the kind where you cast on 180 stitches, then only knit 20 rows. Horizontal.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Did you know that "pallette" (with two Ls) is a piece of armour? And darjeeling means "land of the thunderbolt." You're welcome.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Figuratively.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Which is what I did to myself when I decided to try waxing at home. It's why I pay the professionals: to avoid blood blisters in sensitive areas.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Sorry Steve! Sorry Jeff! Sorry Brad! Sorry if I've missed you in my sorries!