And you're wondering to yourself, "Has that ever stopped her before?"
OK. It's 7:27 by my computer clock right now. I'm just going to leave this open and type in as things strike me. Maybe something will happen or something will hit me and I'll develop a viable theme. Maybe I'll just come up with a whole slue† of random thoughts.
Maybe you'll never see this.
Brother came to Stitch Therapy at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack last night. Well, sort of. But there was a funny moment when he did that big-eyes thing and said, "The actual Sylvia? Of Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack?"§
My brother is starting to understand the impact of imaginary friends, though he pointed out that imaginary friends you can actually meet are a big step up for me.‡
Oh, how we laughed.
Brother really came in to buy yarn for a top-secret holiday project.¶ He didn't stay for wine and tidbits and uterine dialogue. He did get the Posh bag with the pink sheep on it. I also made him carry a Little Mermaid bag home to Tallest, Hairiest Nephew and Dr. Doom.
[SUMMARY: Don't fuck with the HKIC. She can slash your street cred rating faster than you can tie your shoes.#]
Lizard Ridge is currently kicking my ass. It may have something to do with not being able to count to four, but I cast on THREE times†† before I concentrated on the project more than on Angel reruns and actually did the short rows right.
Then I ended up with what I thought was the wrong number of stitches and couldn't get the math to come out right,‡‡ so I frogged the whole thing and decided to start again at Stitch Therapy last night.
Then I woke up in the middle of the night, realising I was doing it right all along, I just had to carry on with the pattern.§§
Then there was too much conversation at Stitch Therapy last night and I was right back to that, "OK, I just knit five, so I need to purl four... what the hell? I'm supposed to be knitting even numbers and purling odd numbers and where the *fuck* are my wraps!?"¶¶
Because I can't quite wrap my head around how the short row stuff pans out yet,## I can't effectively tink, so I frog. Sometimes all the way back because I get overzealous.
And Noro falls apart in places. It's lovely to look at, but it falls apart sometimes.
I have faith. I shall persevere. This shall NOT be Stupid Blanket II.
I can tell it's going to be pretty if I ever get it.
This has a learning curve, right? Everybody is frustrated with Lizard Ridge in the beginning, right? I'm not just a big ol' dork, right?
[SUMMARY: Validation... anyone? Bueller? Bueller?]
When I'm sitting eating dinner, the cat always wants in on it. Doesn't matter if it's tomatoes or chicken. He apparently can't distinguish food by smell when he's all excited that someone's eating something that's not in his food dish.†††
Come to think of it, he treats beverages the same way, vis-a-vis his water dish.
Anyway, I generally offer him anything I don't think he'd like, hoping it will sink in that this is not kitty food and he will go lick his privates or claw my doorframes or whatever his latest hobby is.
This practise has led to, well... I'm sure you can see it's led to begging at the dinner table, but it's also led to the discovery that cats (or cat, as the case may be) will eat things you'd never think descendents of sabre toothed tigers would lower themselves to eat.‡‡‡
List of weird foods my cat likes§§§:
- Almost any fruit, but especially peaches and grapes
- Diet Pepsi
- Noodles (plain)
- Anything salty
- Dead plants, but not live ones
- Black beans
I'd also like to note he won't eat a spider. It's the primary reason I got cats in the first place: spider control. No interest.
In fact, his sister -- rest her furry little soul -- could (and did) watch spiders for hours, only involving herself if the object of her affection stopped moving for too long. Then she'd ever-so-gently tap it with a velvety paw and set it on its way.
[SUMMARY: Holy fucking cats.]
Told you I had nothing to say. And it only took me 1,016 words and four-and-a-half hours to do it.
[SUMMARY: Y'all better hope I have sex this weekend or this could be the foreseeable future of the Rickety Blog.]
Happy Friday! Please come back some day!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I looked it up. It's spelled just fine.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Sylvia is having website updates. She's even going to have an online STORE. So for those of you who have asked, you will soon be able to shop Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack in your underwear and purchase those delectables that populate my stash and are not so much available at your LYS.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): For the record, no, I never had any imaginary friends that I recall. I had a piggy pillow, but no imaginary friends. Brother was just being funny. Hahahahaha.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): So don't tell anyone, K?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): The fact that Brother ASKED for the pink sheep bag and that his shrugging off the pretty turquoise Little Mermaid shirts does nothing for my story. You knew this was how it was going to come out, Brother, right?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Note: not four times. I can't count that high.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): And why did I even try?
§§FOOTNOTE (swervy-curvy): Duh.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed. twice.): I was getting all wound up. Pun! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh, I think I'm funny...
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like ): See: think I'm funny
†††FOOTNOTE (oh, so cross): She's not seriously talking about this, is she?
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (too cross for words): Really? There has to be a point here somewhere...
§§§FOOTNOTE (loop-d-loop-d-loop): Holy fucking cats. She's listing cat snacks. What's going on over at Aunt Purl?