- It's not "rock seals and planes," it's "rocks, hills and plains."
- Page views go up every time Tommy makes an appearance.
- Never knit a baby blanket in linen stitch.
- Expired license plates are serious business.
- Estrogen is my friend. Sometimes friends abandon.
- Judy's Magic Cast On is... magic.
- Smile for the camera.
- Life is too short for bad friends, bad yarn or bad wine. Bad boys are another issue entirely.
- There is a fine-line difference between rap and hip hop, but I have to be in a room with you to explain it to you because there are hand gestures.
- You can never have too many T-pins.
- There is a Law of Conservation of Patience in my realm: patience can neither be created nor destroyed, only transferred. Thus, all the patience I may have exhibited in teaching Brother and Father to knit was eventually counter-balanced by an irrational blow-up at a customer service agent.
- No matter how much I pare back the nephews' gift list, I always end up getting them too much.
- Champagne can be a harsh mistress.
- Nothing bad ever happens to clean people (OK, I've known this one for years, thanks to my friend who works for DPD, but it bears repeating).
- Cars are cuter when they're clean.
- No matter how much you pay for kitty toys, they always play with the boxes. Figuratively speaking.
Showing posts with label The Fling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Fling. Show all posts
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Things I Learned in 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
...and Darn It, People Like Me!
I started out having an off day.
First I forgot to rinse the conditioner out of my hair. Got all the way out of the shower, had dried most of the body off and... *wham!* Realisation! Once I'd accomplished that monumental task, I forgot to put petroleum products back in my hair. I'm all fuzzy.†
I used a LOT of four-letter words driving in this morning. I mean more than usual. I don't know that people were actually driving any worse,‡ but I sure was feeling every bump in the road.
Everything about my job right now makes me feel incompetent.§
I have had no sex of the flesh-and-blood variety for 27-days-but-who's-counting.¶
Oh, yeah, this day definitely started out on the wrong side of my emotional bed.
I see no reason to let it continue this way.
I am eating the best apple in the world (it's a Honeycrisp. If you haven't tried Honeycrisp apples, you really should).
Muppet fur is a delight to knit and goes very quickly.
Nephews.
I have all the knitting books, and I know how to use them.
The sun is shining and the air is clean and fresh from all the rain.
Christian Bale.
There is a crane right down the street and I can see it from my window.
Skulls are in. I can buy skulls at Kohl's, they're so ubiquitous.
Dark chocolate.
I remembered to bring my lunch today.
The new TiVi season is underway and Ted got a butterfly tattoo on "How I Met Your Mother" last night.
Cashmere.
There's a Mini Cooper down the street with my name on it.
I have food, shelter, yarn, a job, friends, family, Colorado, freedom of speech, football, my sense of humour, a good mattress, the right to vote, a SPECTACULAR apple, my cat, this lamp...
Aw, fuck it.
I'm going back to Ravelry.
Ravelry.
Ooooooh... I have Ravelry!
Hearts and flowers, la la la
Happy Tuesday, ev'ry-bahdy!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Could be worse; could be raining.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Why, oh why would anyone go five miles an hour UNDER the speed limit with nobody in front of them and clear roads? If they're younger than 70? Driving a late model Honda Civic? There's no excuse.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I know the files are bad. THEY know the files are bad. But every now and then, the bad conspires to make me think it's my own lack of mad landman skillz.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I know, I know... but I was starting to get used to it and now I'm cranky.
TOMORROW: Summaries!
First I forgot to rinse the conditioner out of my hair. Got all the way out of the shower, had dried most of the body off and... *wham!* Realisation! Once I'd accomplished that monumental task, I forgot to put petroleum products back in my hair. I'm all fuzzy.†
I used a LOT of four-letter words driving in this morning. I mean more than usual. I don't know that people were actually driving any worse,‡ but I sure was feeling every bump in the road.
Everything about my job right now makes me feel incompetent.§
I have had no sex of the flesh-and-blood variety for 27-days-but-who's-counting.¶
Oh, yeah, this day definitely started out on the wrong side of my emotional bed.
I see no reason to let it continue this way.
I am eating the best apple in the world (it's a Honeycrisp. If you haven't tried Honeycrisp apples, you really should).
Muppet fur is a delight to knit and goes very quickly.
Nephews.
I have all the knitting books, and I know how to use them.
The sun is shining and the air is clean and fresh from all the rain.
Christian Bale.
There is a crane right down the street and I can see it from my window.
Skulls are in. I can buy skulls at Kohl's, they're so ubiquitous.
Dark chocolate.
I remembered to bring my lunch today.
The new TiVi season is underway and Ted got a butterfly tattoo on "How I Met Your Mother" last night.
Cashmere.
There's a Mini Cooper down the street with my name on it.
I have food, shelter, yarn, a job, friends, family, Colorado, freedom of speech, football, my sense of humour, a good mattress, the right to vote, a SPECTACULAR apple, my cat, this lamp...
Aw, fuck it.
I'm going back to Ravelry.
Ravelry.
Ooooooh... I have Ravelry!
Hearts and flowers, la la la
Happy Tuesday, ev'ry-bahdy!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Could be worse; could be raining.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Why, oh why would anyone go five miles an hour UNDER the speed limit with nobody in front of them and clear roads? If they're younger than 70? Driving a late model Honda Civic? There's no excuse.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I know the files are bad. THEY know the files are bad. But every now and then, the bad conspires to make me think it's my own lack of mad landman skillz.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I know, I know... but I was starting to get used to it and now I'm cranky.
TOMORROW: Summaries!
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Reality Check
The bottom line about this weekend:- Friday: Devised workable method of shortcutting workload by taking a box of folders home, a couple of snakebites† at Patrick Carroll's, a tarot reading, a little art, a sudden realisation that while I had devised a workable method of getting ahead on the Everest of workpiles, I left the box of folders at the office,% went downtown at 7:00 to pick up box,
returned home for a little TiVi catch-up while knitting, a lot of quality sleep
[SUMMARY: Pretty pictures don't erase dorkdom, but they help.]
- Saturday: Up at 7:30, notary skills applied in Littleton and check picked up, followed by trip to bank (where they had doughnuts and coffee),‡
ESPN-XM on the way home, a productive two work hours, lunch, five more hours of work (slogging along, but making progress), TiVi and knitting -- all laundry done during work and folded during TiVi breaks, a little more art, a little wine, a surprise appearance by various relatives and an outstanding massage.§ No sex.
[SUMMARY: At least I caught on to that laundry issue before it was too late.]
[SUMMARY: A win is a win, no matter how ugly.††]
Now I should go perform ritual hair removal and shower so as to be presentable in public.
Thank you for your continued support.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Dork, dork, dork...
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Half Strongbow Hard Cider, half Harp's. All yummy and refreshing.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Nobody at the bank even asked why I was taking pictures of their doughnut table.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Not Fling. A massage therapist at the art show.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): which I had to use as a decoy for Cat for Scale so I could get anything at all done on the Girl Colours Big Baby, and it (Boy Colours Big Baby) is now covered in kitty snot and wild hairs. Don't tell Christa. It'll be clean before her little darling sees it.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Which, frankly, if Mom wasn't already dead, this game would have killed her. I *screamed* at the end. I made girl noises. At football. That's just wrong.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Y'all get that I'm not just talking about the Broncos, right? That it's a metaphor for my weekend and I think I'm clever and this is probably one of those style-over-substance things I corner myself with so often?
Friday, September 7, 2007
Three Things
TTHFCIF
1) Here is the layout of my life for the next week-and-a-half:
This is a lot of words to gain your compassion and let you know that blogging may take a back seat next week.
[SUMMARY: Shameless shilling for sympathy.]
2) The Onion† has a Shattered Expectations fantasy football league. You don't have to draft teams or anything.
In short, you pick two QB, two RB, two WR, one kicker and one defense from a set list every week and whomever screws up the most wins. There are legitimate prizes from The Onion, but mostly there's the fun of playing. If any of you is interested, sign up before Sunday at The Onion Fantasy Football Shattered Expectations.
Our league is Shattered Elks, our password, Elway.‡
3) My fantasy about this weekend:
[SUMMARY: Monkeys soaring out of my butt.]
The probably reality of my weekend:
[SUMMARY: Well, I'll laugh my ass off. At least I have that going for me.]
4¶) Look what I found!
Guess what I want for Christmas?
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Which ranks right up there with The Daily Show as my main source of news.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Don't hate me 'cause I homer.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Pronounced "Corral" by those in the know. snobsnobsnob
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The cell phone equivalent of checking for dial tone.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): You didn't really think I was going to stick to three things, did you?
1) Here is the layout of my life for the next week-and-a-half:
- I have a huge, looming deadline that was Friday (the 14th) but I think I can push it to Monday, which is scant comfort because...
- I have the Rocky Mountain Mineral Law Foundation Mineral Title Examination all day Thursday and Friday so I can't really work on said deadline either day, and...
- I would come in to work all this weekend, but The Client is playing musical offices, having just remodeled an entire new floor to accommodate the growinggrowinggrowing company and I'm moving from my cozy little cubicle on 13 to my very own office on 5, which sounds nice but means I can't work between 4:00 today and 2:00 Sunday afternoon which is killing me because two weeks ago I said, "Yeah, no problem, I'll have this done by Friday the 14th," with utter arrogance and hubris despite the fact that...
- I now have approximately 50 hours worth of work to do to finish this.
This is a lot of words to gain your compassion and let you know that blogging may take a back seat next week.
[SUMMARY: Shameless shilling for sympathy.]
2) The Onion† has a Shattered Expectations fantasy football league. You don't have to draft teams or anything.
In short, you pick two QB, two RB, two WR, one kicker and one defense from a set list every week and whomever screws up the most wins. There are legitimate prizes from The Onion, but mostly there's the fun of playing. If any of you is interested, sign up before Sunday at The Onion Fantasy Football Shattered Expectations.
Our league is Shattered Elks, our password, Elway.‡
3) My fantasy about this weekend:
- Friday: Devise brilliant method of shortcutting workload by taking two folders tonight to work on at home, a little art, a little wine, a lot of quality sleep
- Saturday: Up early (not too), notary skills applied in Littleton and check picked up, followed by trip to bank (where they have doughnuts and coffee), my favourite song is on the radio on the way home, then I experience unbelievably productive (but surprisingly short) work hours, a little more art, a little more wine, a surprise call from the Fling wanting to rub my feet tonight and cook me breakfast in the morning. Sex.
- Sunday: A happy morning snuggle, a cheery drive home in soft sunlight, two hours of insanely productive work time (while the laundry runs), a couple of hours of knitting and
TiVi catch-upETA: Broncos! (while laundry finishes), call Kelley and tell her I'll pick her up at 5:15 for dinner reservations at Vesta and Lavell Crawford, eat a lovely dinner, laugh our asses off, nightcap at the Coral, home to bed at a reasonable hour, happy in the knowledge that I only have about ten hours of work left on the deadline.
[SUMMARY: Monkeys soaring out of my butt.]
The probably reality of my weekend:
- Friday: No brilliance, no art, a lotta whine, an ill-conceived late night at the Coral,% lack of quality sleep.
- Saturday: Up at the crack of 11:30, notary skills applied in Littleton and check picked up too late to deposit, the National Weather Service issues a tornado warning on the I-25 corridor for the next six hours on the radio on the way home, get a ticket for expired plates three blocks from home, no phone calls - check dial tone, experience unbelievably frustrating work hours, check for dial tone, forced death march to cousin's studio for a little more art, cheap wine, call Brother on pretense of checking... something§..., collapse at home, check for dial tone, bed at 1:00. C-batteries dead, damnit.
- Sunday: Cat nose in my ear at 5:15, realise because of undisciplined dumbassedness on Saturday I can't just roll over and go back to sleep, hours of insanely disorganised but frantic work time, ETA: Broncos!, call from Kelley saying she's picking me up in 45 minuts for dinner at Vesta and Lavell Crawford, realise never did laundry, haven't done laundry for three weeks, put together weird retro outfit from items in back of closet, eat a lovely dinner, laugh our asses off, nightcap at the Coral, home to bed at midnight, tossing and turning with worry over the massive amounts of work left to be done by next Monday.
[SUMMARY: Well, I'll laugh my ass off. At least I have that going for me.]
4¶) Look what I found!
Guess what I want for Christmas?
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Which ranks right up there with The Daily Show as my main source of news.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Don't hate me 'cause I homer.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Pronounced "Corral" by those in the know. snobsnobsnob
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The cell phone equivalent of checking for dial tone.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): You didn't really think I was going to stick to three things, did you?
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Watch Me Wiggle
The age-in-dating issue really strikes a chord for some of you.† Lights a bulb. Sets off a nuclear device betwixt the ears.
*sigh*
OK, for the second time yesterday,‡ I was dead wrong. Dead. Wrong.
Let me take you back sixteen years to when I was 24 and was dating a 39-year-old man with two ex-wives and three ex-sons.
I was not interested in men my own age, primarily because there *were* no 24-year-old men in my radar. There were only 24-year-old boys. Gross, hedonistic, sexually irresponsible, emotionally retarded, alcohol-soaked, financially untenable boys.
If I knew then what I know now, I might have spent less time looking for a meaningful relationship and rode out my twenties on a wave of blissful sexual excess.
[SUMMARY: And my 40s and 20s would be different... how?]
Instead, I hooked up with Rich. Rich was in Vietnam when I was eating paste in pre-school. Rich was starting his first family when I was starting middle school.
We could *not* agree on a radio station. Not for long, at least. He liked the classic rock station,§ which I could go with as a novelty, but my heavy metal/goth sensibilities needed feeding too. Looking back, it feels like Rich and I spent all our time together twitting each other about our musical/movie/TiVi taste and trying to find something we could both listen to/watch.
Because of that, I'd written a rule for myself that anyone who wasn't in high school when I was in high school probably can't talk to me. That doesn't mean everybody who was in high school when I was in high school *can* talk to me, but at least it eliminates a whole area I saw as a known and avoidable problem.
[SUMMARY: Dead. Wrong.]
The Fling (your Bachelor #4) is fine. He isn't immature. He doesn't twit me about my age. He is attentive, accommodating, present, loves my body, has a big dick and we can talk. Not that we talk a lot, but we always do and I suspect if this were all about sex, we wouldn't want to.
Part of me is uneasy about admitting all this (to y'all or to myself) because I don't want to be caught in yet another web of emotional hope and disappointment and it's easier to play cool% if I can casually say, "Yeah, I'm just in it for the sex."
Besides, if we ever have a Talk or he tells me about some other girl he's falling for$ I can more easily bounce into the fun fuck-buddy role and lick my wounds in private¶ where they won't embarrass me.
[SUMMARY: I'm human. And I was wrong.]
Besides, the rug burn? Totally worth it. And a funny story: when he saw the rug burn yesterday morning, he made a big show of matching it to the couch, the recliner, the stairs... to determine exactly where it happened.
"I watch a lot of CSI," he said, "and I'd say from the angle and the trajectory that this came from the couch. Definitely the couch."
[SUMMARY: She had sex on the stairs?]
Onward to the Yarn P0rn!
[SUMMARY: Fibre photos make everything better.]
The Seven Deadly Sins Sock Club from Fearless Fibres kicked into gear late last week.
Here is the first shipment:
Nice feet
Gluttony and Wrath
The true colour (at least on my monitor) is somewhere between the wide shot and the close-ups, leaning a little toward the close-ups.
I'm ever-so-slightly disappointed in the colours. I have a gorgeous hank of purplepurplepurple sock yarn from Fearless Fibres that eca-elf sent for my birthday. The colours are rich and saturated, ranging from almost-aubergine, through royal and right into a deep reddish purple.
Lust may look very like that purple colour to me.
Shouldn't sin be rich and saturated? If your sin is kinda medium to faded, you're not getting enough out of it. Or you're Catholic, but that's another issue.
Gluttony is billed as being rich shades of caramel and chocolate, which I get in theory. I don't see much of what I would call chocolate in this. I think there should be much more dark. I think the caramel is gorgeous, but against the middling mutt browns,# it just looks yellowy.
Mostly, it looks like a Milky Way to me. Nothing wrong with Milky Way, but...
Wrath is pretty. It should be scarier. Wrath is scary. It's the only of the seven deadly sins that eats other people, not just the sinner. It should be redder. It should be angrier.
I don't dislike either yarn out of context. But deadly sin is mythic and disproportionate. These are just too nice.
[SUMMARY: I ain't selling my soul for a Milky Way.]
Huh. I'd swear I uploaded pictures of the bonus gift tags Fearless Fibres sent. They're cute. I like them. I'll use them. I wish I had a picture to show you. Besides... bonus gift? Right in the category of Goody Bag and Limited Edition in AntiM's rickety world.
[SUMMARY: Old. Feeble. Gullible. Check.]
I almost hate to do this to you, 'cause WIP pics are frequently dull. 'Specially fingering-weight size 12 (men's) socks.
The girl version of Big Baby is coming along swimmingly. I have less than two-and-a-half balls left to knit. For some reason, this one seems to be taking way more yarn. The boy version I knit a couple of months ago called for nine balls and took just over eight. This one looks like it might take all of ten.
Go figure.
Lizard Ridge is such fun.
Seriously, how many of those have you seen? But this is *my* Lizard Ridge. It's special.††
[SUMMARY: blahblah Lizard Ridge blah...]
No matter how many Lizard Ridges you've seen in your Innernets travels, I bet you've seen more of these:
I do love this little sweater. It took about... four hours? five? to get this far, which puts it in the realm of something I could knit easily in a weekend if I needed a last minute gift. Particularly since I don't intend to have to frog the first two colours for having forgotten the seed stitch when I do the next one. And I won't have to read the instructions next time.
It's that easy.
I have since done the seed stitch border on the left front and applied i-cord all the way down the left and around the corner to pick up the bottom to i-cord.
[SUMMARY: blahblah Tulip blah...]
Knitting pictures to make you feel better, crane picture to make me feel better.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Also maybe the vicarious prurient joy y'all are getting from my current sluttastic lifestyle.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Ally very thoughtfully (as only Ally can) corrected the error of my ways in literally judging a book by its cover in the comments on her post yesterday.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Which at that time, boys and girls, did *not* play 80s music. "Classic rock" meant mostly 50s music.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Like when the cat falls clean off the dresser and just pauses right as he landed to lick the body part closest to him like it was all part of his grooming strategy.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): No, it's not a normal topic of conversation, but we have rolled out little bits of our love lives on occasion. I can see it happening. Suddenly I'm in some weirdly incestuous relationship where I'm playing big sister in one room and Penthouse Pet in another.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Except for, y'know, the handful of dearest friends and family to whom I whine and obsess endlessly in these cases. The more I love you, the less exempt you are.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): When Red and I were speculating on what colours we would use for which sins (before we received our yarn), I said I'd probably make sloth brown (not unlike this, but with less caramel) simply because... well, sloths are brown.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Hey, I just sold my soul for a Milky Way. Humour me.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): On their way to SafariLand (not necessarily its actual name), they were arguing about whether they were more frightened of lions or monkeys. After much hilarity involving sign language to illustrate monkey teeth vs. lion teeth, they boiled it down to "would you rather be locked in a phone booth for a half-hour with a lion or a monkey?" One guy stuck to monkey, the other two stuck to the lion.
When they got to SafariLand, the lions were too busy making little lions to even pay attention to the mini-van with the chewy centre, whereas the monkeys attacked the vehicle and eventually rode it all the way to the edge of the park.
Monkeys: 1
Lions: 0
There's a Matt Millen joke in there, I just know it.
*sigh*
OK, for the second time yesterday,‡ I was dead wrong. Dead. Wrong.
Let me take you back sixteen years to when I was 24 and was dating a 39-year-old man with two ex-wives and three ex-sons.
I was not interested in men my own age, primarily because there *were* no 24-year-old men in my radar. There were only 24-year-old boys. Gross, hedonistic, sexually irresponsible, emotionally retarded, alcohol-soaked, financially untenable boys.
If I knew then what I know now, I might have spent less time looking for a meaningful relationship and rode out my twenties on a wave of blissful sexual excess.
[SUMMARY: And my 40s and 20s would be different... how?]
Instead, I hooked up with Rich. Rich was in Vietnam when I was eating paste in pre-school. Rich was starting his first family when I was starting middle school.
We could *not* agree on a radio station. Not for long, at least. He liked the classic rock station,§ which I could go with as a novelty, but my heavy metal/goth sensibilities needed feeding too. Looking back, it feels like Rich and I spent all our time together twitting each other about our musical/movie/TiVi taste and trying to find something we could both listen to/watch.
Because of that, I'd written a rule for myself that anyone who wasn't in high school when I was in high school probably can't talk to me. That doesn't mean everybody who was in high school when I was in high school *can* talk to me, but at least it eliminates a whole area I saw as a known and avoidable problem.
[SUMMARY: Dead. Wrong.]
The Fling (your Bachelor #4) is fine. He isn't immature. He doesn't twit me about my age. He is attentive, accommodating, present, loves my body, has a big dick and we can talk. Not that we talk a lot, but we always do and I suspect if this were all about sex, we wouldn't want to.
Part of me is uneasy about admitting all this (to y'all or to myself) because I don't want to be caught in yet another web of emotional hope and disappointment and it's easier to play cool% if I can casually say, "Yeah, I'm just in it for the sex."
Besides, if we ever have a Talk or he tells me about some other girl he's falling for$ I can more easily bounce into the fun fuck-buddy role and lick my wounds in private¶ where they won't embarrass me.
[SUMMARY: I'm human. And I was wrong.]
Besides, the rug burn? Totally worth it. And a funny story: when he saw the rug burn yesterday morning, he made a big show of matching it to the couch, the recliner, the stairs... to determine exactly where it happened.
"I watch a lot of CSI," he said, "and I'd say from the angle and the trajectory that this came from the couch. Definitely the couch."
[SUMMARY: She had sex on the stairs?]
Onward to the Yarn P0rn!
[SUMMARY: Fibre photos make everything better.]
The Seven Deadly Sins Sock Club from Fearless Fibres kicked into gear late last week.
Here is the first shipment:
Nice feet
Gluttony and Wrath
The true colour (at least on my monitor) is somewhere between the wide shot and the close-ups, leaning a little toward the close-ups.
I'm ever-so-slightly disappointed in the colours. I have a gorgeous hank of purplepurplepurple sock yarn from Fearless Fibres that eca-elf sent for my birthday. The colours are rich and saturated, ranging from almost-aubergine, through royal and right into a deep reddish purple.
Lust may look very like that purple colour to me.
Shouldn't sin be rich and saturated? If your sin is kinda medium to faded, you're not getting enough out of it. Or you're Catholic, but that's another issue.
Gluttony is billed as being rich shades of caramel and chocolate, which I get in theory. I don't see much of what I would call chocolate in this. I think there should be much more dark. I think the caramel is gorgeous, but against the middling mutt browns,# it just looks yellowy.
Mostly, it looks like a Milky Way to me. Nothing wrong with Milky Way, but...
Wrath is pretty. It should be scarier. Wrath is scary. It's the only of the seven deadly sins that eats other people, not just the sinner. It should be redder. It should be angrier.
I don't dislike either yarn out of context. But deadly sin is mythic and disproportionate. These are just too nice.
[SUMMARY: I ain't selling my soul for a Milky Way.]
Huh. I'd swear I uploaded pictures of the bonus gift tags Fearless Fibres sent. They're cute. I like them. I'll use them. I wish I had a picture to show you. Besides... bonus gift? Right in the category of Goody Bag and Limited Edition in AntiM's rickety world.
[SUMMARY: Old. Feeble. Gullible. Check.]
I almost hate to do this to you, 'cause WIP pics are frequently dull. 'Specially fingering-weight size 12 (men's) socks.
The girl version of Big Baby is coming along swimmingly. I have less than two-and-a-half balls left to knit. For some reason, this one seems to be taking way more yarn. The boy version I knit a couple of months ago called for nine balls and took just over eight. This one looks like it might take all of ten.
Go figure.
Lizard Ridge is such fun.
Seriously, how many of those have you seen? But this is *my* Lizard Ridge. It's special.††
[SUMMARY: blahblah Lizard Ridge blah...]
No matter how many Lizard Ridges you've seen in your Innernets travels, I bet you've seen more of these:
I do love this little sweater. It took about... four hours? five? to get this far, which puts it in the realm of something I could knit easily in a weekend if I needed a last minute gift. Particularly since I don't intend to have to frog the first two colours for having forgotten the seed stitch when I do the next one. And I won't have to read the instructions next time.
It's that easy.
I have since done the seed stitch border on the left front and applied i-cord all the way down the left and around the corner to pick up the bottom to i-cord.
[SUMMARY: blahblah Tulip blah...]
Knitting pictures to make you feel better, crane picture to make me feel better.
[SUMMARY: blahblah Crane blah...]
In culinary adventure news, in eating my own weight in sushi last night, I tried sea urchin for the first time. Bleagh. OK, it tasted fantastic, but I couldn't quite get past the texture. Runny fish pudding... it just ain't right.
[SUMMARY: Some things just shouldn't go in your mouth. Shut up.]
In TiVi news, Fling and I rested with some BBC the other night and caught Top Gear. Have you seen this? If you like MythBusters, I think you'll like this. Two (maybe three) British guys race cars with celebrities, then trick out cars and perform experiments on them as dictated by... the producers? The viewing audience?
Like this:
Monday's episode featured a Chevy... um... it looked like a Cobalt. A bunch of aging musicians and soccer players dropped by the track and raced it, trying for the best time.
Meanwhile, the hosts drank tea from china cups near the track (Fling and I both agreed they were at least as death-wishy as the people taking a Chevy Cobalt to 160 mph, sitting that close to the track. Also that most of the people appeared to be hammered). The aging musicians had a keyboard jam while a soccer player took his turn.
It was slightly less surreal than it sounds.
Next, they drove what I think was a Porsche. I thought it was a 959, but it clearly wasn't once I got a good look at it. One of the celebrity guest drivers lost control and drove it to the infield, leaving a trail of tires and bits all the way.
After the break, they came back and turned a mini-van into a convertible, after which they had to perform three tasks with it:
- Take it up to 100 mph and have nothing fall off.
- Drive it through an animal preserve featuring African animals.
- Take it through and automated car wash.
They weren't allowed to fix anything between challenges, so the frame of the convertible top was all wonky when they went to the animal preserve.‡‡ After monkeys rode it all the way through the preserve, poking and peeling the canvas top, they took it to the car wash. At night. And bailed when the roof collapsed.
They peeked around a wall to see smoke pouring out of the car wash.
HOST1: It's on fire.
HOST2: Fire?! It can't be on fire.
HOST1: RUN!!!
Yeah, like teenaged boys after being caught in an ill-advised egging, they took off, leaving the smoking wreck of the converted mini-van for the owner of the car wash.
Good TiVi. I highly recommend it. Besides, Ewan McGregor is going to be on next week.
[SUMMARY: Boys doing dumb things are irritating in your living room, but funny on TiVi.]
Now go have a happy Wednesday.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Also maybe the vicarious prurient joy y'all are getting from my current sluttastic lifestyle.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Ally very thoughtfully (as only Ally can) corrected the error of my ways in literally judging a book by its cover in the comments on her post yesterday.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Which at that time, boys and girls, did *not* play 80s music. "Classic rock" meant mostly 50s music.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Like when the cat falls clean off the dresser and just pauses right as he landed to lick the body part closest to him like it was all part of his grooming strategy.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): No, it's not a normal topic of conversation, but we have rolled out little bits of our love lives on occasion. I can see it happening. Suddenly I'm in some weirdly incestuous relationship where I'm playing big sister in one room and Penthouse Pet in another.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Except for, y'know, the handful of dearest friends and family to whom I whine and obsess endlessly in these cases. The more I love you, the less exempt you are.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): When Red and I were speculating on what colours we would use for which sins (before we received our yarn), I said I'd probably make sloth brown (not unlike this, but with less caramel) simply because... well, sloths are brown.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Hey, I just sold my soul for a Milky Way. Humour me.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): On their way to SafariLand (not necessarily its actual name), they were arguing about whether they were more frightened of lions or monkeys. After much hilarity involving sign language to illustrate monkey teeth vs. lion teeth, they boiled it down to "would you rather be locked in a phone booth for a half-hour with a lion or a monkey?" One guy stuck to monkey, the other two stuck to the lion.
When they got to SafariLand, the lions were too busy making little lions to even pay attention to the mini-van with the chewy centre, whereas the monkeys attacked the vehicle and eventually rode it all the way to the edge of the park.
Monkeys: 1
Lions: 0
There's a Matt Millen joke in there, I just know it.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Initiation
Well, one of my almosts (Labour Day weekend fling) called, came over, stayed, helped put calendula on my rug burns this morning.† We're not flinging so much this weekend,% as he has a gig DJing a wedding in the mountains, but we may have Sunday dinner.
So wholesome.‡
[SUMMARY: There is more to life than fibre. However, it better come with a paper umbrella or a lively tongue.^]
I did take pictures of all sorts of fibre-related stuff, but The Fling¶ called just as I was finishing the photo shoot and I had to do a quick sweep (literally and figuratively) to bring Chez Barfly up to code.
Thus, I didn't have time to upload pictures.
And I was running a little later than usual this morning.
So maybe tomorrow.
[SUMMARY: Buck up, little blogketeers -- knitting pictures will make it all better.]
As I initiated him (hence the blogtitle) into the concept of KNITTER!!! yesterday evening... last night... this morning...
(sorry)
...there were little knitterly somethings that came out of the evening§ I know y'all can appreciate:
First, The Fling is very, very impressed with my knitting. He asked, so I showed and eventually he was digging through my pile of knitting asking about various projects. He cooed over the Tulip Sweater# and is in awe of Lizard Ridge ("No way! You did this?"). Points for The Fling.
Second, The Fling is a little frightened at the quantity of yarn,$ but generally seems to see it all as potential knitted goods, which is better visualisation than I can crank up for much of my stash. His overall support and faith gains extra points.
Third, I think he may have hinted for a scarf. We were lounging on the deck this morning just before he left and he said, rather out of the blue, "I'm looking forward to snow. I like the clothes. I like jackets and mittens... all of it. Scarves. I *really* like scarves."
[SUMMARY: Four out of five knitters surveyed prefer fibre-friendly men for their bodies that want men.]
While I know that most of y'all voted for me to stay home with the rice-eating cat until something better came along, I think you can see why The Fling was an excellent (if interim) second choice.
[SUMMARY: Well done.]
*************
So I was at Sunflower Market yesterday, picking up some Olathe sweet corn to grill and some sundry food items, when what to my wondering ears should appear? The "Wear Your Love Like Heaven" song, which is insidious in the extreme, but I gave myself the gigglesnorts singing...
...you know it...
...sing along with me...
"Wear your duh like heaven."
[SUMMARY: Wham! Wham! Wham! on the dead horse.]
OK, now I can't get that fucking song out of my head.
Quick! Someone sing "My Baby Takes the Morning Train"!
Happy Tuesday.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Too much information? Sorry, I'll never mention my calendula addiction again.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): I almost had a fling for the holiday weekend...
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): As wholesome as rug burns get.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Get your mind out of the gutter. He's a particularly lively conversationalist. And his dick is *huge*.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): ...night... morning... oops! I did it again!
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I don't know how he could be anything but, really. He turned 33 a week after I turned 40. So young, so succulent, so inappropriate... *sigh*
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I know what you're thinking ('specially Brother, who has been witness to more than one closeted, repressed, that-river-in-Egypt gay boyfriend of mine), but he has a four-year-old daughter. He's allowed to coo over tiny little clothes.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Darlings, he only saw the small pile in front of the powder room and the projects on needles. He hasn't been in the yarn room yet.
Today's footnotes are brought to you by the letters X and Q, the number 4 and Chris's smartass comments.
So wholesome.‡
[SUMMARY: There is more to life than fibre. However, it better come with a paper umbrella or a lively tongue.^]
I did take pictures of all sorts of fibre-related stuff, but The Fling¶ called just as I was finishing the photo shoot and I had to do a quick sweep (literally and figuratively) to bring Chez Barfly up to code.
Thus, I didn't have time to upload pictures.
And I was running a little later than usual this morning.
So maybe tomorrow.
[SUMMARY: Buck up, little blogketeers -- knitting pictures will make it all better.]
As I initiated him (hence the blogtitle) into the concept of KNITTER!!! yesterday evening... last night... this morning...
(sorry)
...there were little knitterly somethings that came out of the evening§ I know y'all can appreciate:
First, The Fling is very, very impressed with my knitting. He asked, so I showed and eventually he was digging through my pile of knitting asking about various projects. He cooed over the Tulip Sweater# and is in awe of Lizard Ridge ("No way! You did this?"). Points for The Fling.
Second, The Fling is a little frightened at the quantity of yarn,$ but generally seems to see it all as potential knitted goods, which is better visualisation than I can crank up for much of my stash. His overall support and faith gains extra points.
Third, I think he may have hinted for a scarf. We were lounging on the deck this morning just before he left and he said, rather out of the blue, "I'm looking forward to snow. I like the clothes. I like jackets and mittens... all of it. Scarves. I *really* like scarves."
[SUMMARY: Four out of five knitters surveyed prefer fibre-friendly men for their bodies that want men.]
While I know that most of y'all voted for me to stay home with the rice-eating cat until something better came along, I think you can see why The Fling was an excellent (if interim) second choice.
[SUMMARY: Well done.]
*************
So I was at Sunflower Market yesterday, picking up some Olathe sweet corn to grill and some sundry food items, when what to my wondering ears should appear? The "Wear Your Love Like Heaven" song, which is insidious in the extreme, but I gave myself the gigglesnorts singing...
...you know it...
...sing along with me...
"Wear your duh like heaven."
[SUMMARY: Wham! Wham! Wham! on the dead horse.]
OK, now I can't get that fucking song out of my head.
Quick! Someone sing "My Baby Takes the Morning Train"!
Happy Tuesday.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Too much information? Sorry, I'll never mention my calendula addiction again.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): I almost had a fling for the holiday weekend...
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): As wholesome as rug burns get.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Get your mind out of the gutter. He's a particularly lively conversationalist. And his dick is *huge*.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): ...night... morning... oops! I did it again!
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I don't know how he could be anything but, really. He turned 33 a week after I turned 40. So young, so succulent, so inappropriate... *sigh*
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I know what you're thinking ('specially Brother, who has been witness to more than one closeted, repressed, that-river-in-Egypt gay boyfriend of mine), but he has a four-year-old daughter. He's allowed to coo over tiny little clothes.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Darlings, he only saw the small pile in front of the powder room and the projects on needles. He hasn't been in the yarn room yet.
Today's footnotes are brought to you by the letters X and Q, the number 4 and Chris's smartass comments.
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