Quick Like a Bunny...

(though probably not a Zen Bunny. They don't seem that quick to me.)

...'cause I have to go get a dress for the Brown Palace thing tonight, though I'm not sure why I'd bother since I'm going stag.

Ah, well. Maybe breakfast in bed tomorrow.

In my king bed.

At the Brown.

By myself.

But yesterday was lovely, and I got a truly spectacular package from Secret Pal.* Pictures to follow -- maybe Sunday or Monday.

The 40 days/40 nights continues...


*FOOTNOTE (asterisked, if you can imagine): Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!

40

39

39

39

Oh, For...

Fuck's Sake!†

Since y'all are commenting, I assume you can see yesterday's post. Perhaps you can even see yesterday's post with the proper spacing, since I tried so hard to fix it and maybe I did but how would I know because Blogger is (once again) playing peek-a-boo with my posts.

Sometimes I can see yesterday's Feelings post, sometimes not. I still have never seen my little note to the DK Nation, so I have no idea if it's floating around there in the unseeable ether, or if it's firmly anchored to every version of the Innernets but mine.

It makes me cranky, not seeing what you're seeing.

And just a little jealous.

[SUMMARY: Blogger... it sucks you in and spits you out.]

I bought a bazillions dollars' worth of patio stuff for the big shindig Saturday. A ten-piece patio furniture set (plus umbrella!‡) and a big ol' fancy gas grill. I know I'm going to get a lot of use out of this stuff, but spending upwards of $500 at my GROCERY STORE is a little weird.

Dad brought his big, black truck to move stuff. The patio furniture (some assembly required!) was mostly packed in one, brick-like, 200-lb box. We began rolling it, step by step, to my front door,§ when a very nice young man (New best friend Vincent, you rock! Katie, take him home to meet your parents!) offered to help. Moments later, Dad hurt his back.

Oh, the daughterly guilt.

And Dad says, "It was in no way your fault."

"Well, except for the needing patio furniture and asking you to carry it."

Then we went for Thai food and ice cream and it was better. And by that, I mean, "Certainly better than pushing giant, heavy boxes up stairs."

I hope Dad's back heals right up. I don't like it when my last remaining parent show signs of being out of warranty, y'know?

Despite all this drama, I will give major points to the manufacturer. The instructions for assembling the chairs were written for English speakers, by English speakers. The illustrations are clear. Best of all, all the hardware required for each individual chair is blister-packed together with its own allen wrench, so there's no counting out 24 of the cross-bar bolts and 12 of the back bolts and keeping them separate and all... just open each little package as you build the chair and when all the pieces are gone... voilá! Done!

[SUMMARY: I still get excited by little things.]

This weekend? Oh, yeah...

Friday: drinks with Kelley and The Boy,¶ knit on Green Gables at Favourite Bar, met a boy, got a hickey, lost my cell phone.

Saturday: thespian reunion,# bought a new cell phone, dinner with Dad (and Grandma and Aunt Teri), forgot how to do the magic cast-on (so didn't knit), cell phone found by kindly neighbour (New best friend Jim, you rock! You and Vincent should start a band!), new boy called (said he was bringing a bottle of wine, brought vodka and KOOL-AID, got terribly drunk, expressed several sexual ideas WAYYYYY out of my purview††)

Sunday: brunch with Kelley and The Boy Sunday, golf, beer, collapsed into bed, filthy and exhausted.

[SUMMARY: Whirlwind! Shitstorm!]

I didn't get my laundry done this weekend.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Which brings me to a funny "here, now, the news": A court in Sweden has determined it is a convicted rapist's right to read porn in prison. RIGHT. And I'm using that both as a very baffled "a just claim?!??" and a very sarcastic "yeah, sure." In any case, it gives new meaning to the phrase, "for fuck's sake."

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Plus umbrella stand! Which is separate! For why?

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): There are a LOT of stairs in my home life. The living room is a storey off the street. Everything that comes in the house has to be carried up a full flight of stairs. At least. In retrospect, rigging some sort of pulley system to the deck might have been worth the effort.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Yeah, I know.

Kelley went to the bathroom and The Boy leaned over and said, "So you and Kel OK?"

I said, "I guess."

He said, "She does this all the time. Sometimes I'll call and she won't call me back or she'll get pissy and I just leave her alone for a couple of days, then we go grab a beer and it's like nothing happened."

I said, "Good to know. And if you think of anything else that would save me some grief, you just pass it right along, OK?"

He laughed.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I highly recommend this form of reunion. As my high school drama teacher/director said about class reunions vs. the thespian reunion, "Yeah, those guys are just your classmates. This is family."

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): You didn't know that was possible, did you? Forgive the crudity, but any boy who says, "I'm going to Atlanta on Thursday. Are you going to fuck anyone else while I'm gone? Doesn't matter... I'm going to have to fuck the shit out of you Wednesday night," and, "You like ass-play, right? I brought anal beads," loses me quickly and completely. He was honestly bewildered when I told him it was time for him to leave. And he left his beads behind -- no pun intended.

Note to Drunken Knitters

If you're out there, I still don't have my cell phone back, so I don't have (for instance) Steph's number.

I am planning on being at Patrick Carroll's per usual, but possibly a little later than usual (someone's takin' me out to an early dinner... probably). If I get the cell back, I'll send the normal text message, but if not, know I will be there.

Feelings, Nothing More Than Feelings...

First, I still have nobody to take to the Brown Palace. What is up with that?

[SUMMARY: feeling unpopular...]

Second, I golfed this weekend. I love hitting balls. I love that whistling swoosh, then the satisfying *thwock* when I hit a good shot. I even love whiffing the ball and being able to say, "I came up on that one. Again," like I know what I'm doing. I love my little golf glove.

I'm not overly good at golf, but I seem to have a knack, so I figure a little practise and I'm ready for the pro circuit.

[SUMMARY: feeling delusional... and, frankly, a little stiff in the back today.]

Third, I got really yummy yarn† from the eca this weekend. Lookie!‡

Yarn too sexy for this blog, too sexy to frog...

[SUMMARY: feeling special...]

There's LOTS of the gorgeous purple sock yarn, so now I must find a good pattern§ for it. I am paralysed by the sheer force of the options available and the responsibility I feel to the yarn to make it into the best socks possible to show off all its attributes. Am I a dork or what?

[SUMMARY: feeling pressure...]

Fourth, I got the 2007 Food & Wine Annual Cookbook from my aunt and grandmother Saturday.

[SUMMARY: feeling domestic...]

Lastly, and this won't mean much to many of you, but I went to Jay's Patio Café Friday afternoon before I got my hair cut (4" off the length... FOUR INCHES), sort of late for lunch, and when I sat down with my sandwich, I noticed that the large-ish party next to me was none other than George Karl and most of the Denver Nuggets's front office discussing who they wanted to pick up in the draft, who they wanted to trade, movies, how AI would work with that NCAA problem child, self-help issues, the prevalence of high school players in sports media, food, Kobe Bryant...

I had knitting patterns with me (no lie -- lace socks. Two of 'em.#) and I pretended to be very, very interested in every little nuance of my knitting patterns as I leaned over and eavesdropped. And tried to figure how to surreptitiously photograph them. And how to surreptitiously call my brother so he could come listen.¶

[SUMMARY: feeling privy...]

Happy Monday. As always, the weekend update tomorrow. And trust me, with a reunion and a dinner with Grandma, you don't want to miss all the excitement!

[SUMMARY: feeling... well, Monday...]


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): For those of you scoring at home, it's from Fearless Fibers on Etsy. It's boingy, it's over 500 yards (which means I can knit almost any socks in the world, and even knee-highs and any variety of lace or cables... *breatheinthebag* ...so many choices) and it's PURPLE.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Pay no attention to the blur! And pay no attention to the fact I deleted the big shot where you can see the label and everything! I'm a wreck! Take my car keys! Be my new best friend! Go to the Brown Palace with me!

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Who am I kidding? I must find the PERFECT pattern. Any ideas? Bueller? Bueller?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Two sock patterns. Not patterns for two socks. Y'all know. But I can hear my snide little brother saying, "Um... aren't socks usually in twos?"

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And maybe translate.

Blogger will not let me fix the spacing. I've tried. On behalf of Blogger, I'd like to apologise. I, personally, would never do this to you.

Holy Schroedinger's Cat, Batmarin!

TTHFCIF

My friend who works for the IRS† took me to dinner and a movie for the 40 days festival. We saw Ocean's Thirteen,‡ which, as a strong proponent of style over substance, I must recommend.

Line for which I was the only one in the theatre who laughed:

Setup: the Malloy brothers are in the bowels of the casino. Virgil is trying to hack an FBI transmission revealing the faces of all the compatriots.

Turk: Are you in yet?

Virgil: I hate that question.

Still a pervert, still twelve. Happy Friday, ev'rybahdy.

Aren't paper lanterns festive?

Downtown, everything's great when you're downtown...

This may not trip your trigger the way it tripped mine,§ but I have to share.

Now, when you look at the picture below, you may think to yourself, "Self, this is a knitting blog (sort of . some of the time. well, she *says* it is.), so maybe that's... a moth egg?"

Nope. If I'd had the cat at the office, I'd have used him for scale. As it was, I had to use this pen. That tiny blue (yes, it is) blob is a perfectly formed dwarf Jelly Belly.¶

Awwwww... wookat da jelly bean!

And, by request, the bat tattoo. It is very difficult to take pictures of your hip.

Maybe I shouldn't paint us all with the same brush: it was very difficult for me to take a picture of my hip.

And I couldn't tell if it was focusing, so it isn't. And I couldn't use the flash (too close -- it looked like a scene out of Close Encounters of the Third Kind when I used the flash) so it's all orangey from the hall light.

Trust Marin, I'm not nearly this tan.

Finally, I'm leaving you with this:

If you haven't discovered "I can has cheezburger?" you may be missing a lot of time-killing goodness. This cat came from there and I think it's hysterically funny.

This weekend? Housecleaning. Golf. Reunion. Waiting on boys.

You know. The usual.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Don't hold it against her. Hold it against her that she's a LAWYER and works for the IRS. Although the poor girl is going to Houston next week, so she may gain sympathy points.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Corner Bakery for dinner. Salad trio, if you must know. The mixed berry salad contained eleven strawberries and one blueberry. "Mixed berries" strictly in the technical sense.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): As always, this would be a saving grace for you.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Daquiri flavoured.

Pop-Ups They REALLY Need...

I read it as "Mega-Breasts."

Photographic Evidence

I believe there are more footnotes than post today.

If you have any truck with independent bookstores, you may have heard of the Tattered Cover in Denver.

The Tattered Cover has a long and storied (hahahahaha!) history, and publishers, readers and writers† recognise it as a Mecca for small publishers, niche writers% and independent-thinking literary-minded types all over the world. I know many people (and have overheard others at the airport) who specifically arrange long layovers in Denverish so they can visit the Tattered Cover when they travel.

Among the many sweet details that make the Tattered Cover what it is:

1. Chairs and sofas.
2. A coffee shop in every store (until just a few years ago -- maybe 12 -- there was only one store in Cherry Creek).
3. A "stay as long as you like, read as much as you want" policy.
4. A strident stance against the turning over of customer purchase information to the government.
5. A box of index cards and a cup of pencils in the cookbook section so you can copy a recipe if it strikes your fancy.
6. An abnormal number of author appearances.
7. Staff that reads... *really* reads. Reads-with-a-capital-R Reads.
8. Wood floors, wood shelves.
9. A vast and varied newsstand.
10. MiniCooper.

I was perusing the Tattered Cover website to find out (first) when the LoDo‡ store opens in the morning (6:30 am, for those of you scoring at home), and (second) seeking "Dyeing to Knit," since I never start a new hobby without books,§ and, you know, two dye kits, miles and miles of naked, waiting, willing yarn...

mmmmmmmmmm...

Sorry. Reverie.$

Anyway, to make a long story short,¶ when I went to the TC website, I happened to catch the right portion of the slide show in the upper left hand corner and, lo and behold, there is my Mini Cooper, from last summer, parked outside the Highlands Ranch Tattered Cover.

I remember the guy taking pictures. I joked with him about upping the cool quotient on the Tattered Cover# by including the MiCo in the shot, and... there she is. The Cutest Little Car in the Whole Wide World.^

You can see for yourself by going to the website and watching the slide show. CLCWWW is the ninth photo,†† right after the two little blond kids reading.

What does it say about my book problem that the Tattered Cover captured my car for its website? What do you suppose are the odds?‡‡

I'm so proud. The rest of you can stop laughing now.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Like the Yarn Harlot, to personalise it for y'all.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): As I read that, it sounds (reads?) like it's some freaky-deaky little place. They do carry all the bestsellers and trite beach trash, but it all feels like quality literary material when you put it in real wood shelves over real wood floors, adjacent to antique couches and good coffee.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Lower Downtown, the hip and happening portion of downtown Denver that was re-engineered from a slum that made us feel mad, bad and dangerous to know in high school to the home of trendy, expensive restaurants and bars in the late 80's. And the LoDo Tattered Cover is about four blocks from the office.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Often many, many books. You shoulda seen the stack when The Boy wanted me to golf with him last summer. Potential for Humiliation + Potential for Learning + Opportunity for Book Procurement = Serious Book Problem That Makes Family and Friends Laugh at Me.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Hahahahaha! Too late!

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): You needn't ask if the reverie is over yarn or sexual reference. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Seriously, that's funny too. The Tattered Cover is the height of cool to the hip and/or literary around here.

^FOOTNOTE (carated): Do you think this is how photographers flirt? Do you think the photographer would like to go to the Brown Palace with me next week? Do you think he'll be my new best friend?

††FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): OK, she's technically IN the ninth photo, but for me, she IS the ninth photo.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): In case you're not my sister-in-law, I'll give you a hint: the odds are WAYYYYY better if you're at the Tattered Cover an obsessive number of times in any given week. Like four or five.

*FOOTNOTE (unmarked): Is it kinda funny that the title of this post is "Photographic Evidence," but I have no actual photos to post in the post? Tomorrow I will have at least a picture of my bat tattoo, by request.

Why...

...is this book not coming out until November?

Super Zen Bunny Shibui Much Happy Sock!†

So I noticed this last Thursday on the way to Knit Therapy:

Dude, I got this new tattoo. It's Japanese for, "All your bunnies are belong to us."

The Zen Bunny Fountain.

Awwww... wookat da widdle plastic bunnies!

Invasion of the Bunny Snatchers

I will give all my carrots to the Reverend Sung Myung Moon...

I like to think the neighbours that display this are hip and ironic and find plastic bunny zen fountains as funny as I do, but I'm pretty sure they're serious.

I can't quite decide if that's tragic, or if it just makes it funnier.

[SUMMARY: You're no bunny 'til some bunny loves you... you're right, it's not a summary, but I had an overwhelming desire to get that cheesy line in.]

So, meanwhile, back at the Brown Palace... You remember this thing at the Brown Palace? I invited The Boy. I sent him an actual paper invitation. OK, so I copied the engraved invitation they sent me and mailed it to him with a note§, but an actual paper invitation with actual handwriting on it.

He called this morning to decline.

The story goes (and yes, I believe him) he tried to get the day after off so he could, but the guy who covers for him is on vacation that day. Since it's so unlike him to call at all, ever, I was touched he called. Since he hates to talk on the phone, I was pleased he continued conversing for a half-hour after turning me down.

I also asked him if there was a reason Kelley was pissed at me, because when I'm not four, I'm apparently in middle school.

He said she told him I'd left a message, but she didn't really say what was up. He also said he'd asked her Friday if she'd talked to me. And asked her Sunday if I was going with them... wherever they were going.

One hand: Not a lotta help on the Kelley front.

Other hand: Asked about me? He asked about me? He wanted me to go with them?

I'm such a stupid girl.

I have no plans to get any smarter.

I do have a list of boys, in order of preference, to invite to the lap of luxury. I'm not sure exactly what it says about me or them or nothing at all that the boy least likely to say yes was the first boy on my list... and it just follows on down from there. The guy who will definitely say yes? He's the last guy on my list.

[SUMMARY: Stupid as a blanket, sneaky like cactus.]

Yarn P0rn, anyone?

You really, really want this yarn. Now, I haven't knit with it yet, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say it will be simply *outstanding* for lace knitting, because it's sososososo boingy and crisp. And the pretty, pretty colours.

Shibui!‡

Y'all think I've gone over the edge now, just wait 'til Red leaves for Tobago and loans me her Crock Pot. I'm talking thousands upon thousands of yards of hand-dyed yarn that I will make you look at every day.

I'm not guaranteeing it will be scenic, I'm only guaranteeing it will be here.

[SUMMARY: Let there be yarn!]

Happy hump day!¶

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): A first! Footnoting the title! Anyway, all credit to Sarah, whose "super fun times homeowner purchase!" inspired me to both spit coffee out of my nose [speaking of, do any Drunken Knitters remember why I nosed my Strongbow last night? I thought it would be a funny story, but then, juvenile-onset Alzheimer's... please remove me from my car keys] and indulge in the sincerest form of flattery.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Now I want to go read Shibumi. And I want to call the yarn "Shibumi." Check this:

• Nicolai Hell was born in the turbulent China of the First World War, of an aristocratic mother and a mysterious German father, and educated in the spiritual gardens of a Japanese Go master. Surviving the destruction of Hiroshima he appears as the world's most consumate and artistic lover - though better paid as an assassin. Genius, mystic, master of cultures and languages, Hel's secret is his determination to reach that rare personal purity and state of perfection known as Shibumi. Living in an isolated mountain stronghold with a beautiful Asian companion, he meets his most sinister enemy, a vast monolithic spy organisation. The battle lines are drawn: merciless power and corruption on one side, and on the other...

Dontcha wish your sock yarn was Shibumi like mine?

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Proud of the note. Said I have no intention of spending that night on my own, want someone who knows his way around a woman's body, think he'd be a lot of fun in this capacity... but he should RSVP ASAP as I would be inviting someone else if he wasn't coming. Sarah may be a genius knitter, but nobody puts it on the table like I do.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Seriously, it would be a lot happier if there was some actual humping involved. It may be crude, but I'm just sayin'.

Sunday, Woolly Sunday

There are a LOT of footnotes on this post.

It appears I'm partial to goats. I think it's the horns. I've always been partial to horns, which explains my lifelong big band fixation.†

Now, Red has these same goats on her blog. Probably the *exact* same goats. But while she calls them by their proper names, I prefer to think of them as curly goats and sleek goats.

Curly goat - my people! Um... my goats!

Sleek goat... verrrrry suspicious of your dear ol' AntiM

Alpacas have a lot of neck.

Vampire dreams and fibre things

While it looks like the 'paca on the right is giving the 'paca on the left a kiss, we should restrain ourselves from anthropomorphising too much; he's actually eating his pen-mate's chin strap.

Tell me you love me

You can anthropomorphise on this one, though. The goat on the left is *clearly* whispering to the goat on the right about the quality of spectators at this year's market.‡

If can't say anything nice, come sit by me

Turns out that, much like my new-found jones for Latino men, I have a thing for spotted animals. If anyone is getting me a pony for my birthday, I'd really like a pinto.

I will love him and feed him and name him Spot

[SUMMARY: Going to the dogs... er, sheep. Um, GOATS.]

Yes, I did buy some yarn. Going to the Market on Sunday rather than Saturday was really good for my budget, as there were several yarns I would have bought by the caseload for sweater patterns I have lined up, but there wasn't enough of any single dye lot to make a sweater. Yea, bank account!§

Remember how in the last couple of weeks I've purchased my own weight in yarn? Well, I've lumped all the stash enhancement at the end of the post. But let's continue with Sunday, shall we?

After all, Sunday wasn't just about curly sheep and dusty feet... Sunday was about my sister-in-law abandoning me to single-handedly feed and fete the fathers in my life while she cavorted in Cancun at Math Dorks in Paradise.

Question: why do math dorks have to go to Cancun to talk about imaginary numbers? Couldn't they pretty much email each other and say, "Hey! I nuzzled¶ the best imaginary number today! Guess what it is...?#"

[SUMMARY: Math Dorks in Paradise. I crack me up.]

Anyway, while I basically just threw money at dinner,†† I spared no personal comfort on the cherry pie$ I baked on the 94-degree day in the already-84-degree house. I love my father and my brother (and, apparently, my sis-in-law) THAT much.

After dinner‡‡ we opened presents. And cards. And really enjoyed the musical card that played Johnny Cash. Over and over and over and over and over again.§§

Dr. Doom meets The Man in Black

Dad opened his lovely pair of knit-with-love socks.¶¶

- Size: Men's 13

- Needle: US5
- Yarn: Plymouth something-or-other I bought three years ago and lost the ball band. Superwash, though, and green, yellow, navy and white.

- Method: toe up, two circulars, two socks at once (and I can't express how cool that two-at-once thing is)

- Socks are for: Dad (Father's Day)- Finished: June 17, 2007

FO!

There's a funny story about Brother's present.

See, one day, Brother was doing his pre-workout regimen (stretch, hydrate, put a DVD in to watch while you ride the bike) and as the previews came on to Shaun of the Dead, he heard a familiar voice. Minutes later, he was on the phone to me.

"Tell me there's a good reason you didn't tell me Hans starred in a movie called Drunken Jackass: the Quest."

I did have a good reason. I didn't know.

Brother and I work## with Hans. We like Hans. And we feel comfortable enough with Hans that we would surely dish out a ration of shit for this little piece of his near-past. You can imdb.com this movie if you 1) don't believe me, or 2) want more information.

The problem with Drunken Jackass (other than the obvious) is that it has never been released in the US. Like David Hasselehoff, Hans is very big in Europe. So way back in May I started my own quest to find a copy for Brother for his birthday.

Birthday came and went.

So I tried for Father's Day.

Last week, Hans informed me that there were no strings to pull, it just isn't available in American coding.

[SUMMARY: Sometimes it pays to know people in high places, sometimes, not so much.]

I was left without a Father's Day present for my brother.

I gutted up and did the noble thing: I let him loose in my sock yarn stash (NO GREATER LOVE HATH A SISTER) and told him I would knit ANY OF MY SOCK YARN (even the stuff I was saving for Cookie A) into socks for him. I let him loose in the silk, I let him loose in the wool. I let him loose in the Rabbitch hand-painted, which means I let him loose among the rare and wonderful one-of-a-kind yarn.

So there's this giant bag of yarn. Paralysed by indecision, overwhelmed by choice, he began to separate the yarn into yes and no.†††

[SUMMARY: I let him TRAIPSE through my STASH. *breatheintothebag*]

The discerning fiber palate...

...gives way to the mine!mine!mine! mindset

Brother has expressed the following:

1. This is very cool and he would just as soon I do the same thing for him for Christmas.
2. Silk is very tempting.
3. It's still no to lace socks
4. He may come and steal some sock yarn.

Yeah, that last one is going to earn him a poke with a sharp stick... and I got sharp sticks, baby.‡‡‡

[SUMMARY: Fibre obsession: Nature? Nurture?]

So are you ready for some quality Yarn P0rn?

Huh. I've somehow misplaced the big picture of the stuff I bought at the Wool Market. Here are the close-ups, though.

100% alpaca, shot through with glittery stuff that makes it look rainbowy-coppery

The cream-coloured sister of the yarn above. The glittery stuff gives this one a delicate pastel sheen I just wish you could see. And it's not nearly this green.

Brooks Farm Yarn's Acero, 60% Super Wash Wool / 20% Silk / 20% Viscose -- totally glowy-slinky

Brooks Farm Yarn's Duet, 55% kid mohair / 45% fine wool

And all this came in the mail last week (along with my Louets dye kit from Purl Soho and a complete fuckload of undyed yarn of varying weights and varying fibres from varying sources):

Knit Picks Gloss in burgundy and woodland sage, Knit Picks Essential in African violet and dusk and Cherry Tree Hill in peacock

Let's take a closer look at that Cherry Tree Hill, shall we?

And this is all my Noro for the Lizard Ridge. I think I may even have someone to knit the Lizard Ridge for, which is comforting.

I had one skein of vintage Noro in my personal stash (I think the colourway has been discontinued), I got four skeins at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack and the rest is mail order, mostly courtesy of poor, Noro-allergic Hazel (a moment of silence, please).

You may now cease your silence and do the happy dance with me.

I still need one skein...

When I checked the mail this morning (the mail man is coming really, really late, but as one of the Drunken Knitters pointed out, at least it's not a male lady), I had two skeins of Shibui sock yarn (if you get Knitter's Review, you want it too) from Knit Purl§§§ in Pagoda and Blossom. I also had my nice dye kit from Hello Yarn.§§§

There. I think I almost qualify as a knitblog again.

Tomorrow I may even be able to show you another FO, in the form of the Green Gables -- I bound off the body part last night and tried it on (form-fitting, oh yes, but the decrease under the boobs was magical -- thanks for the encouragement, Juno!). All it needs now is sleeves, and I'm guessing that won't take too long.

[SUMMARY: Let there be knitting!]

Katzen in Himmel, I'm down below the 14-project mark. I must cast on something new, and quick!

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): *rimshot* I think I'm funny!

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Is it paranoid to think the little monster is whispering about my outfit? Note to goat: it was hot. And dusty. I was going for comfort and washability. At least I didn't have alfalfa hay in my hair. So there.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Who the hell do I think I'm kidding? If Kelley had let me know she was blowing me off for Saturday, I could have had my nosed pressed to the... to the... well, the split-rail fence around the fairgrounds when the Market opened and I could have HAD MY WAY WITH THE YARN. I did save money, though. I'm a lucky, lucky girl... just keep telling yourself that, Marin. I'm a lucky, lucky girl. There are children in Third World countries with no four-ply alpaca... I'm a lucky, lucky girl.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I have no idea how math dorks express their love of their numbers. I'm just assuming it looks a lot like fibre geeks at a yarn festival. Nuzzle, nuzzle, nuzzle.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): 1) isn't it funny (not funny ha-ha so much as funny coincidence) that one of the math dork footnotes comes after the number symbol? and 2) I think it's wildly funny (totally funny ha-ha) for math dorks to play guess-the-imaginary-number.

††FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Cheese and crackers and fruits and vegtables and hummus... cold, finger-ready and already cut up at the store.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): By the by, I promised Susie, the Naughty Librarian I'd bake her a cherry pie for her birthday. Brother would like to join Knit Therapy, if only for a day.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Much to Dr. Doom's chagrin. Dr. Doom is firmly in the camp of opening presents -- anyone's presents -- as soon as possible. In fact, he tried to get me to open several of Dad's presents as soon as I walked in the door.

§§FOOTNOTE (too, too curvy): Dad tried to sneak out of the house without taking the musical card. Brother tackled him on the front walk and shoved the thing in his gift bag.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two turntables and a microphone): Do the cuffs look short to you? I think the cuffs may be too short, partially a function of my inability to judge what 10 inches actually looks like (and I hold the men in my life -- though not my father and brother... that would be icky -- personally responsible for that spatial failing) and partially a function of madly k1p1 while the cherry pie cooled and just hoping the get them *finished* by the deadline.

##FOOTNOTE (totally pounded): Did I ever mention my brother and I work together? Well, the same guy signs our paychecks in any case -- we're rarely traipsing about Wyoming together.

†††FOOTNOTE (the judges give it a perfect three crosses!): The pile on the table in front of him represents only the yes pile. Did you think I had that little sock yarn? Silly wabbits...

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (triple-double!): For those of you scoring at home, Brother has selected the Arrrgyle in blue, grey and purple. I charted it out last night and will cast on... soon. After Green Gables. Just 'cause Green Gables is *thisclose* to done. This should in no way reflect a propensity for procrastination or a measure of how much I love my brother.

§§§FOOTNOTE (so, so curvy): Knit Purl was lovely. The yarn was neatly wrapped in tissue, sealed with a Knit Purl sticker and there was a personal note inside not only wishing me happy knitting, but telling me the Pagoda is a great colour that looks good on a bunch of people. I love personal service, don't you?

Hello Yarn also put in a handwritten thank you note and some very pretty yarn postcards. With all the grungy customer service I get, little things like that totally suck me in and keep me coming back.

p.s. -- go back and check out the pictures of Dr. Doom and Brother. Further proof that cute skips a generation.

My brother is flipping me off even as we speak...

[SUMMARY: Holy fucking cats, that's an assload of footnotes!]

Skate On With Your Bad Self

When was the last time you went skating at Skate City?†

It's just exactly like you remember it, only they're playing more Green Day and less Heart.

Not surprisingly, they're playing the exact same amount of Michael Jackson.‡

I don't know if I've mentioned this, but back in January, I decided to do a 40 days and 40 nights celebration for my birthday, seeing as I'm turning 40. It started May 20 and is culminating in the big birthday thing at my house on June 30.@

I put it out there to my friends and, well, they've come through, some in bigger and/or weirder ways than others.

[SUMMARY: Follow your dreams. You can achieve your goals; I'm living proof.]

Matt (Laurie, of Suburban Sedation Crew fame, her husband%) set up a big Skate City bash for the EIGHT June birthdays^ (including yours truly and his wife and both of his kids.) out of my school crew.

So anyway, there I was at Skate City, all deer-in-headlights with clonky brown-and-orange skates,§ stuttering and stumbling my way around the rink (the flashing lights and gobos, while festive in a Donna Summer kinda way, DON'T help). However, I got many compliments on my ongoing weight loss (Jen is my new best friend!), which I attribute primarily to the illusion created by the super-model height lent me by the skates.

For the record, I went around the rink a grand total of 3.1 times.& My hips were still sore last night. It's a hell of a workout, skating. Remember when you used to fly around the rink for two hours and be all disappointed and shit when they told you to exit the floor and turn in your skates? Good times, good times...

[SUMMARY: Skating: not for the faint of hip.]

Most of my pictures from Skate City suck¶ but I did get this utterly adorable picture of Dance Machine C (Jack's son -- you may remember Jack from poker night). Kid's got rhythm. I suspect he got it from his mother.

Dancing to Michael Jackson. Seriously.


I have long been fascinated with the carpets in casinos and movie theatres.# I was unaware (or perhaps had blocked it out) that Skate City gets their carpet from the same colour-blind clip-art dizzy junkies who make casino carpet.

My next remodel will look like this.


[SUMMARY: Skate City: still cheesy after all these years.]

After Skate City, we headed to Legends (of Aurora!) for beer and wings and stuff and I dragged out my knitting.

[SUMMARY: This is still sort of a knitblog, right?]

Of course, y'all know I'm never averse to knitting in public or even knitting in bars (perhaps *especially* knitting in bars), but I was among non-knitters and did get a little dose of grief. Jen, who was so kind to tell me how skinny I was, kept poking at me about my knitting.

"What, are you on a deadline or something?"

Well, yes, I was on a deadline, but I made sure Jen knew I would probably have been knitting anyway. Just to uphold the KIP/KIB tradition. Y'all know.

[SUMMARY: Jen, no longer my best friend. How quickly the fickle winds blow wonky...]

After Legends (of Aurora!), we headed to Laurie's and Matt's for drinks and, apparently, bathrooms. Several people had apparently expressed a need to pee, so Laurie said, "My house has three bathrooms!"

Off we went.

Unfortunately, Matt had Laurie's keys, so when we got to the house, with several adults (kids have no problem peeing at Skate City or in bar bathrooms) doing the pee-pee dance on the front lawn, we couldn't get in.

And Matt wasn't showing up.

And there were reports from reliable sources that Matt hadn't even made the turn to come home.$

I said, "Does Matt have his phone?" and Laurie dug in her purse, only to find, "Matt has MY phone!" Laurie didn't know Matt's phone number, so I called her phone and Matt answered, "I have Laurie's keys!"

Meanwhile, it had been determined that with... well, with a certain amount of effort, a small child could break into the house and let everyone in.

Plan B


Austin got through the window just before Matt showed up with the keys.

B&E


Once Austin went through, all the kids wanted to do it. Some even got back in line to ride again. So when Matt pulled up, all the moms were inside peeing and the kids were streaming up the ladder and into the window like ants to a jelly spill.

[SUMMARY: In the suburbs, they make their own fun.]

I gotta say, those suburban family folks know how to set up a birthday. I got three bottles of vodka and a bottle of wine (not to mention the cookie mix, which is, you know, separate from the alcohol thing, but at least as exciting).

And the sky was really pretty.

[SUMMARY: I'm a lucky, lucky girl. Just keep telling yourself that, Marin... I'm a lucky, lucky girl.]

Guess what I have on deck for you tomorrow? KNITTING PICTURES! Well, one knitting picture, but a whole array of Yarn P0rn and some very funny Boys-with-Fibre stuff.

Stay tuned!

[SUMMARY: AntiM: Still trying to suck you in with the cliffhanger.]

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Or whatever it is in your neck of the woods. If it's less than 10 years, you're either too young to be reading this blog (go ask your mom what "holy fucking cats" means), you have small children or there's something suspect about your hobby scheme.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): One song. "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough"

@FOOTNOTE (atted): The fact that a 40-year-old is far too old to party for 40 days and 40 nights is no longer lost on me. It's a good thing I have a vacation coming up after this debauchery.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): It's funny to put it that way, since I've known Matt for 25 years and I've known Lauries since she started dating Matt. But, anyway, Laurie's husband Matt...

^FOOTNOTE (careted): I'm telling you, September is the sexiest month.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Yes, they still have the same skates. Probably the *exact* same skates.

&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): The point-one was when I agreed to head out with Laurie and darlin' Mary, datesake of my heart, and the lights came up roughly point-one into that round and they announced they were going to play "Red Light Go, Green Light Stop" and I beelined for the exit, knowing anything that required me to start or stop at will was a losing proposition and mostly an opportunity for mass hilarity on the part of the spectators.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Don't be mean. I *know* you want to say all my pictures suck. This time it's because of the wonky lighting, not because of my anti-mad* photog skillz.

*FOOTNOTE (inside a footnote): No, AntiM isn't short for "anti-mad," no matter what my brother may tell you.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): The world is my kitty toy.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Matt, a good father, had headed to Walgreen's to get sunburn spray for his hurting son, unaware he was the linchpin on which Operation Adult Pee hinged.

sky candy

TTHFCIF

From my front porch last night

Doesn't get out much

Good things that happened yesterday:

1. The arrival of several skeins of Noro and a big ol' hank of Cherry Tree Hill sock yarn from the The Yarn and Fiber Company


2. Good lunch with a good friend who hugged me in person, which, even on a good day is a lovely proposition


3. Discovering a new sock yarn


4. Discovering my neighbour's zen bunny fountain


5. Knit Therapy at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack... with really, really, really good margaritas provided courtesy of Susie, the Naughty Librarian


6. Look up. Did you see that sky?


7. Knowing I'd wake up and it would be a new day. Specifically, Friday.‡

Thank you so for jumping in on the desperate request for hugs yesterday.

You know, some days just suck -- little stuff, big stuff, stuff that isn't even yours† to worry about but you have to anyway, tiny little things that (in the mirror) are larger than they appear, someone dies, you stub your toe, nobody wants to warm your bed or hold your hand, the sock yarn hank is all wonky on one side and you really need it to be perfect, someone else dies, allergies are acting up, tragedies not yours still traumatise you, your forgot your fucking wallet again, you're hormonal, someone is Diagnosed-with-a-capital-D, you have more friends absent than present, what the hell is up with your hair, the yarn from Canada STILL hasn't come... and there just aren't enough C batteries or bottles of Grey Goose in the world to take the knots out of your mind and your soul and your heart and your neck and your babymaker -- and there's not much you can do but ride that sucky, sucky wave and let it take you on to the next good day.

Estes Park Wool Market is this weekend. Just guess the good day...

I love you all. Have a splendid weekend.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And by "yours," I mean "mine."

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Don't cry for me, Blogentina

Hug Me?

It's a bad day.

The universe may owe me for this day.

It's a betrayal day.

It's a day of winged spiders.

My head hurts.

It's a reminder day.

It's flag day and I forgot to put my flag out.

My heart hurts.

I got Noro in the mail (and Cherry Tree Hill sock yarn) and I still don't feel much better.

It's a funeral day.

It's a sunny day, but I don't have any windows in this office.

My eyes are all buggy and watery.

Can I have a hug please?

[SUMMARY: Did I mention "bad day"?]

I'm a Believer

Can you believe I forgot some semi-useless Male Lady updates yesterday?†

1. I came out of my house some time last week and the For Sale sign was gone from the neighbours' house. That evil bitch (Male Lady, not the neighbour) has too much hold over me when a lack of sale sign makes my heart thud like a jackhammer thinking she may be the cause. Turns out they were just lowering the price again, but still.
2. The Boy joined Kelley and I at Favourite Bar before he went to play softball Friday evening. I got home and -- you guessed it -- a call from the Male Lady at 6:11, about twenty minutes before The Boy left.
3. Kelley and I had drinks at Favourite Bar Saturday night and the Male Lady came in and sat with us. Now, Favourite Bartender was working and Auxilliary Favourite Bartender was hanging out at the bar and both set up a bitch about Male Lady (who we've now dubbed "Wilda," as in "Wildebeest"). When she came in, though, everybody said hi, even HUGGED her.
   
   I maintain that if everybody acted like they hated her half as much as they actually do, she might stop sticking her beastly nose into our world.‡
   
   Personally, I give her an icy cold shoulder and don't ever talk to her.§ I think I've got it right.
   

[SUMMARY: Stalking makes the rockin' world go round.]

Can you believe I forgot to mention my great good fortune with the Fancy Feet book?¶

See, over at Nicomara's place, we were discussing Anna Zilboorg's sock book and, well, I had just leafed through it at an LYS that morning, so I called and asked them to hold it for me since the only available copies I found online were running upwards of $100 and I went to pick it up Saturday morning and it was $18.95 and they gave me a 30% discount because the paper dustjacket was torn and taped and so I got it for $13.27.

I may be jealous of the autographed copy, but I only paid $13.27 for mine.#

[SUMMARY: Or maybe socks make the rockin' world go 'round.]

Can you believe I forgot to tell you I ordered my own weight in yarn last week, probably in response to getting MY OWN MONEY back from the IRS?%

[SUMMARY: Or maybe just yarn makes the rockin' world go 'round.]

Can you believe I forgot to tell you about the shindig going on at the ever-popular Brown Palace for my billion-dollar-with-a-B clients and their closing?

p.s. -- they're picking up the tab on hotel rooms for the night along with dinner and cocktails.

Now... which of the boys should I invite?^

[SUMMARY: Sex. Sex makes the rockin' world go 'round.]

Can you believe I still continue to act shocked and surprised every time my brain goes haywire?


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And can you believe I wrote this on Tuesday and accidentally hit "publish" instead of "save" and in the seven seconds the post was up, Sarah-with-a-Murphy commented on it?

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And if The Boy would, y'know, not SLEEP WITH HER and shit.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And I never, ever sleep with her.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And further unwitting cashing in of Kharmic Green Stamps.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Nya-nya-ny-nya-nyah

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I'm thinking of selling tickets to my mailbox so the knitters can see the uber-bounty as it flows in over the next couple of weeks.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Hint: I've already offered first rights of refusal to one, but I kinda expect him to turn me down, so I'm prioritising the rest of them. Do I put them in order of likelihood to say yes, mad bed skillz or wardrobe?

Big FO... oh, and the weekend too

I'm too sexy for this yard.

First, CLCWWW† went to the MiniDoctor last week (as y'all know if you've been paying attention) and got a clean bill of health. And a bath. Look how pretty!

I know it's not really news, but it does give me a chance to post another glamour shot of my babycar.

[SUMMARY: Yeah, yeah, we know you have a Mini Cooper, Marin...]

Friday night was mild mayhem, starting with lunch‡ with Kelley, drinks with Kelley, more drinks with Kelley, pedicure and drink§ with Annie, drinks with Annie and a stupid, stupid round of waiting for a boy at Favourite Bar.¶

Saturday was perhaps a little more sensible, at least on the outset, as the Drunken Knitters (DK Nation represennnnnt!) took off for a field trip to the Bucksnort Saloon in scenic Sphinx Park, Colorado (yeah, none of us had ever heard of it# either and some of us have lived here for 30 years.)

You can see a picture of the four of us at Red's blog.^ A nice man was taking the group pictures for us and I didn't see a lot of point in making him spend his whole afternoon with our cameras. So I'll just crib off Red for the group shot, and this is what I got:

The menu

It was Worldwide Knit in Public Day, which, as Drunken Knitters, we pretty much call "Saturday." Anyway, gorgeous drive,†† OUTSTANDING (yes, I'm shouting. Trust Marin.) burgers, great bar, making bikers with braided beards stare at us.

Red with the menu

Sarah, Genius Knitter with funny part of the menu

Kathryn, camera shy Bag Lady, is off to my left. The Bucksnort was her idea. It was a good one. We're going back.

[SUMMARY: KIP, KIB. Check.]

After that, I had a family birthday party in Aurora. Oh, not my family, per se. Sometimes it's nice to be family with a family not your family.

Mick (you may remember Mick from poker night) and Tommy, his nephew

Laurie, ringleader of the Suburban Sedation Crew and Liam

Matt and Liam

Carrie and Liam

I imagine you're sensing a Liam theme right about now. Not only is he a frightfully cute little chunk of baby goodness, but he spent all day going from adoring adult to adoring adult. It was hard to get a picture *without* Liam.

*ahem*

Unless, of course, it had Tommy.

Now, I've known Tommy all but his whole life, so I'm not allowed to think of him this way, but there's no reason you shouldn't:

Smart Firefighter Hockey Player. With ink.

Wipe the drool, change your panties and let's talk knitting.

[SUMMARY: *gurgle*]

Guess what I finished? Yep, it's the FO to conquer all the freakin' FOs.

Stupid Blanket is DONE.

Stupid Blanket it stunning. It's lovely and once I washed it, it went all soft and drapey and... *sigh*

I'm going to miss fondling Stupid Blanket.

Damn. I forgot the wine bottle for scale.

Stupid Blanket:

Pattern: linen stitch... 40 acres of linen stitch (body) and Two Leaves from Nicki Epstein's Knitting On the Edge (border)

Yarn: Plymouth Encore Worsted (75% acrylic, 25% wool), Marls #9625

Needles: Addi Turbo, US9

Assisted by: Seth, Red, Sarah and the New Belgium Brewing Company

And here are some close-ups for the knit geeks who like this sort of thing:

40 acres of linen stitch, redux
Back of linen stitch
Edge

[SUMMARY: na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na, hey hey hey, goodbye...]

Ah, just in time to start Stupid Blanket II, the Sequel.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Cutest Little Car in the Whole Wide World

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I'm using the term "night" a little loosely here.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): At the Brown Palace. You remember the Brown Palace, don't you? The nice pedicurists asked if we wanted a cocktail and, of course, we did, so we ordered cosmos and a man in a tuxedo with a snowy white napkin draped over his arm brought them [new best friend!] on a silver tray with a rose in a bud vase in between them. He set the drinks down on the arms of our massaging pedicure chairs, then placed the rose between us and left. His shoes were *really* shiny.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Not The Boy, just another boy, one who called me at 1:00 in the morning Wednesday for a booty call. Unfortunately, I'm not too sharp when you wake me, so I didn't even realise that's what it was until about five minutes after we hung up the phone. Then I was all hot and bothered and couldn't sleep for awhile. He said he'd look for me Friday night at Favourite Bar. He didn't find me. Sometimes there just aren't enough C batteries in the world.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Sphinx Park, I mean. Everybody's heard of The Bucksnort.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): It should be noted, particularly since Red just called so I wouldn't have to wait all day to envy to the ends of the earth her new DPN case, that my Green Gables is SOOOOO much farther along than hers.

††FOOTNOTE (doublee-crossedd): Did I mention green?

Does anybody know why Blogger does this weird-ass thing with photos that makes the spacing on my posts (probably everybody else's too) all wonky? Is there any way to avoid it?