I can't tell you how sorry I am the camera wasn't handy when Cat for Scale got his head stuck in the empty† kitty treat bag last night. Cruel entertainment. You would have loved it.
[SUMMARY: Slapstick is never more funny than when it happens in your own livknitting room.]
Drunken Knitting was a roaring success last night, with the Sis-in-Law and Liza-Spelled-Lisa joining us in an unprecedented expansion of the ranks. A good time was had by all, even though there was a really, really funny bit (brought to you by Red) that inspired Bag Lady Kathryn and I to clink glasses and laugh out loud for minutes on end, but neither one of us could remember a half-hour later.
Oh, yeah, and sitting next to excitable Genius Sarah... well, it'd help to wear body armour. You've been warned.
Cute Christopher, bar manager extraordinaire, noted the group seems to be growing. I'd like to think it's always been his fondest dream to manage a knitter bar. And I helped!#
[SUMMARY: Drinking and knitting: two great tastes that taste great together!]
Speaking of drunken knitting (and I wasn't even drunk at the time), I cast on for the Girl Colours Big Baby* last night. I knit through two pattern repeats and was feeling all smug and self-satisfied and then I realised I was supposed to knit 16 rows of garter stitch to start and I spent a fair amount of time squinting at what I'd done hoping it'd be OK to leave the garter stitch out, but feather-and-fan when not corralled properly goes wild, goes haywire and so I have to frog and go back and do it right.
I also realised I have to correct my FO stuff from the other day to show I used size 13 needles for the Big Baby blanket. And to tell you I only used slightly less than four skeins on the Green Gables (pattern calls for five) and slightly less than eight balls of Big Baby on the blanket (pattern calls for nine).
Keep in mind, I knit pretty tight.@ Your results may vary. But I do like to know how the actual yardage called for in a pattern, so the least I could do is provide you with the information I'd like to have.
When I remember to, I mean.
[SUMMARY: See! Knitblog!]
I have eight tix for the Colorado Rockies's Stitch 'n' Pitch July 28, but I may only have three or four people actually going. If you're interested, or know someone who is, you know where to find me.
[SUMMARY: Nobody ever goes hungry at AntiM's. I tend to overprovide.]
Speaking of where to find me, I'm actually going to the Lake tomorrow. Yippee! My biggest chore left? Figuring what knitting to take. Y'all know.
[SUMMARY: Knitting: adding a new dimension to my travels since 1977.]
Brother left a comment on a recent post that reminded me of a story y'all might like.
About three years ago, I went on a mission to knit a scarf for just about all the major holidays‡ for eBeth, the sis-in-law. I was knitting a horizontal§ scarf for Halloween out of black and orange and green wool and a fun fur novelty yarn with green and orange laddering stuff in it. Tallest, Hairiest Nephew sat on Grandma's couch and watched me for, oh, about 15 minutes. Then he spoke up.
"AntiM, if I had a scarf like that, I would wear it every day."
"Do you think I should knit you a scarf?"
"Yes!"
"I know your favourite colour is red. Would you like a red scarf?"
"How 'bout rainbow? Just like Mom's. With the furry part and the stripes."
So I invested in six skeins of Plymouth Encore in a crayon-box rainbow palette¶ and coordinating Lion fun fur and knit the Gay Pride Weasel. Which had to be repaired within its first month of life for having been used as a whip. A Gay Pride Weasel Whip.
Outstanding.
So the orange-fuschia-purple pom-pon scarf is really a big step up, macho-wise, for Tallest, Hairiest Nephew's taste in scarves.
[SUMMARY: Four-year-olds have very little sense of sexuality vis-a-vis colour and toy choices, as any father who has tried to talk his son out of a Barbie knows. Nature vs. Nurture?]
Seriously, how many knitting projects do I need? What would be appropriate for sitting waist-deep in lake water? How sick will I be of knitting socks by Sunday? Even sock whores have limits, you know.
[SUMMARY: Oh, yeah. I'm going to lose sleep tonight over which knitting to take on vacation. I may forget my toothbrush, but I'll have plenty of yarn!]
My preferred waxing place has grown by leaps and bounds since I started going there, and has really outgrown themselves. I can no longer get an appointment in less than two weeks and their online booking system, while fabulous in theory, has never once worked for me.
Yesterday marked the THIRD TIME my appointment was completely fucked up. The big difference is that on prior fuck-ups, they could get me in anyway. They had no appointments at all for a week, which doesn't really mesh with my need not to look like I'm smuggling tarantulas over the Nebraska border in my swimsuit.
So I knocked on the door$ of every spa and salon betwixt downtown Denver and home, finally stopping into the Hair Shaft just a few blocks from Chez Barfly. They were able to get me in right away, and the cost was fairly reasonable, but -- oh, mama! The final product!
I got a half-leg, modified Brazilian and underarm. Ladies, there's a lot of stray hair left. In some places, it looks like she somehow managed to leave every fifth hair intact.
And the blood blisters on my tenderest places.^
And the fact that the "modified" part of the modified Brazilian is an inch-wide strip of hair (the totally bald look... ick) slightly but noticably off-centre.
I suspect this is too much information on anybody's body hair (or Brazilian bits) but your own, but it's definitely girl talk. And we're mostly girls here, I suspect.
Well, Brother and possibly Doc and whomever of the guys% I've hipped to this blog.
Besides, maybe one of y'all can tell me if I'm going to kill myself (or want to) if I shave my legs to get rid of that every fifth hair.
[SUMMARY: Body hair. Not just for breakfast anymore.]
Huh. You'd think I could leave you for four days on a more... wholesome note.
Keep your feet on the ground, keep reaching for the stars. Check local listings. Follow your dreams. You can reach your goals. I'm living proof. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. In the summertime, when the living's easy... It just don't get any better'n this. And, darn it! People like me! Like a rock. For external use only. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. This is not my cow! Be excellent to each other. If ever, if ever a wiz there was... One horsepower is the amount of force it takes to lift 500 lbs exactly one foot in exactly one second. Go toward the light!
[SUMMARY: Sugar and light, that's your dear ol' AntiM. Have I made up for the body hair segment yet?]
You're welcome. Back on Sunday afternoon.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Clearly, he didn't realise it was empty. His little kitty brain, size of an edamame, can't quite process the reasoning necessary to determine that 1) Just because it smells like kitty treats doesn't mean there is necessarily more than kitty treat scent involve, 2) Mom never leaves open bags of kitty treats lying around, and 3) particularly not in the trash can.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded. Yeah, it's out of order. We're all out of order.): And for those of you scoring at home, I'm channeling the little southern girl on the Shake 'n' Bake commercials from years back.
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked. Will wonders never cease?): Nine! Pounds! Six! Ounces!
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Somwhere, Red and Genius Sarah are laughing, but you should also keep in mind I made the sleeves on Green Galbes each twenty rounds longer than the pattern dictated, and also made the body a couple of inches longer, so I don't think your results will vary THAT much. Robin knit this -- Robin, hi, how did your yardage work out on the Green Gable?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I did manage to skip the 4th of July... not for possibly obvious reasons (like the stupidity of knitting a scarf -- or two *coughcough* -- in the dead of summer), but because it gives me something to look foreward to.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): You know... like the kind where you cast on 180 stitches, then only knit 20 rows. Horizontal.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Did you know that "pallette" (with two Ls) is a piece of armour? And darjeeling means "land of the thunderbolt." You're welcome.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Figuratively.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Which is what I did to myself when I decided to try waxing at home. It's why I pay the professionals: to avoid blood blisters in sensitive areas.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Sorry Steve! Sorry Jeff! Sorry Brad! Sorry if I've missed you in my sorries!
Showing posts with label Green Gables. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Green Gables. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Lookie What I Did!
I'm doin' a little FO dance. Won't you join me?
Scarf for Dr. Doom:
Yarn: Muench Big Baby in Purples colourway
Needles: US11 (or maybe 13?)
Pattern: Illusion Rib (I think),† which goes like this:
[SUMMARY: One! One FO!]
Scarf for Tallest, Hairiest Nephew:
Yarn: Crystal Palace Popcorn in Oranges-Cherries colourway
Needles: US11
Pattern: Plain ol' garter stitch, though I seriously considered cabling.‡
[SUMMARY: Two! Two FOs!]
Baby Blanket for Jeron, who was due on my birthday and didn't show up for weeks:
Yarn: Muench Big Baby in Primary School colourway
For those of you scoring at home, the ball band on Big Baby says to wash it cold, delicate cycle, don't put it in the dryer.
I say, "Throw that sucker in the wash in cold water and dry it on low to your heart's content!"
I couldn't believe they'd make baby yarn that couldn't be puked on (and it's 100% acrylic microfibre -- GOOD acrylic, mind you, but definitely should be washable/dryable/pukable), so I used Dr. Doom's scarf as the guniea pig. It's just lovely after washing.
[SUMMARY: Three! Three FOs!]
Waist shaping, just 'cause it fascinates me like a shiny object.
Sweater for your dear ol' AntiM:
Yarn: Brown Sheep Cotton Fleece in Lilac Haze¶
Needles: US7 (maybe 5?)
Pattern: Green Gable
Speaking of, I bound off the left arm a little tighter than the right and if I put the sleeve where the sleeve is supposed to be,# I look like a sausage. If I put the sleeve where the sleeve fits, I get a fairly wide boat neck which is not at all unattractive. I'll have to think about whether I want to undo and re-do or just pretend I meant to do the boat neck all along.
Besides, it's a teeny bit tight (*ahem* 40 days and 40 nights = 10 lbs) so I may just use it as my measure for slimming progress.$
Did I mention I went to the gym?
[SUMMARY: Four! Four beautiful FOs! Mwahahahahaha! *ccchrrshccrrhshshs* *eeEeEEeeEEe* &]
Green Gables has the distinction of both being my first sweater and the first thing I've ever knit for myself. Secret Pal -- oops! I mean, Danielle -- sent me the yarn and the pattern and it's the coolest thing ever. I think it has the same cachet for me as the mystery projects: someone is leading me and I'm going willingly into that sheepy fog.
For the record (and I think Red said the same thing about hers), if I knit this again, I'd probably carry the filet at the neck down further. It's cool and it just looks like there could be more.
Cat for Scale is very fond of Big Baby.^
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go cast on my next Big Baby blanket (please ignore the fact that I still have 14 projects on the needles) for Dave's new daughter (finally! Girl colours!) who was ALMOST born on my birthday.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Kathryn, take notes -- this is the pattern from the Estes Wool Market you wanted.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): No, I really didn't. Remember the part in "Dressed to Kill" where Eddie Izzard says Englebert Humperdink just died in a car accident that very day, then proceeds to confirm and deny it for several minutes? If you do, that's where I'm going here. If you don't, how many times have I *told* you to get the DVD? Go on. I'll still be here when you get back. And you'll understand me, Red, jam, babies on spikes and Slap Benwalla so much better.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Also, I can't recommend *enough* giant yarn in a simple, interesting pattern for a baby blanket. Hey, even an dumbass like your dear ol' AntiM can learn when being whacked with the rolled-up newspaper that was Stupid Blanket.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I know. Purple went bye-bye. Lighting was bad. Too excited about FO to wait for the morning light.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): As opposed to, say, where a handcuff should be.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Yeah, I'll go a long way to avoid fixing my errors. Sing with me: Justifi-CA-tion!
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Those last two were thunder and bat sound effects, in case you were wondering. And if you're ever around me when I do this, you probably won't be surprised to find I actually do the full-on show, thunder and bats and all. There are hand gestures. And special faces.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): It's chewy.
SEE! I *TOLD* YOU IT WAS A KNITBLOG!
Scarf for Dr. Doom:
Yarn: Muench Big Baby in Purples colourway
Needles: US11 (or maybe 13?)
Pattern: Illusion Rib (I think),† which goes like this:
- cast on a multiple of six stitches
- RS: k3 p3 all the way across
- WS: k1 p1 all the way across.
[SUMMARY: One! One FO!]
Scarf for Tallest, Hairiest Nephew:
Yarn: Crystal Palace Popcorn in Oranges-Cherries colourway
Needles: US11
Pattern: Plain ol' garter stitch, though I seriously considered cabling.‡
[SUMMARY: Two! Two FOs!]
Baby Blanket for Jeron, who was due on my birthday and didn't show up for weeks:
Yarn: Muench Big Baby in Primary School colourway
Needles: US13
Pattern: Feather and Fan, with a garter stitch border.§
For those of you scoring at home, the ball band on Big Baby says to wash it cold, delicate cycle, don't put it in the dryer.
I say, "Throw that sucker in the wash in cold water and dry it on low to your heart's content!"
I couldn't believe they'd make baby yarn that couldn't be puked on (and it's 100% acrylic microfibre -- GOOD acrylic, mind you, but definitely should be washable/dryable/pukable), so I used Dr. Doom's scarf as the guniea pig. It's just lovely after washing.
[SUMMARY: Three! Three FOs!]
Waist shaping, just 'cause it fascinates me like a shiny object.
Sweater for your dear ol' AntiM:
Yarn: Brown Sheep Cotton Fleece in Lilac Haze¶
Needles: US7 (maybe 5?)
Pattern: Green Gable
Modification: Much longer sleeves than the pattern called for. Those of us with fat little arms don't like tiny little cap sleeves.
Speaking of, I bound off the left arm a little tighter than the right and if I put the sleeve where the sleeve is supposed to be,# I look like a sausage. If I put the sleeve where the sleeve fits, I get a fairly wide boat neck which is not at all unattractive. I'll have to think about whether I want to undo and re-do or just pretend I meant to do the boat neck all along.
Besides, it's a teeny bit tight (*ahem* 40 days and 40 nights = 10 lbs) so I may just use it as my measure for slimming progress.$
Did I mention I went to the gym?
[SUMMARY: Four! Four beautiful FOs! Mwahahahahaha! *ccchrrshccrrhshshs* *eeEeEEeeEEe* &]
Green Gables has the distinction of both being my first sweater and the first thing I've ever knit for myself. Secret Pal -- oops! I mean, Danielle -- sent me the yarn and the pattern and it's the coolest thing ever. I think it has the same cachet for me as the mystery projects: someone is leading me and I'm going willingly into that sheepy fog.
For the record (and I think Red said the same thing about hers), if I knit this again, I'd probably carry the filet at the neck down further. It's cool and it just looks like there could be more.
Cat for Scale is very fond of Big Baby.^
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go cast on my next Big Baby blanket (please ignore the fact that I still have 14 projects on the needles) for Dave's new daughter (finally! Girl colours!) who was ALMOST born on my birthday.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Kathryn, take notes -- this is the pattern from the Estes Wool Market you wanted.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): No, I really didn't. Remember the part in "Dressed to Kill" where Eddie Izzard says Englebert Humperdink just died in a car accident that very day, then proceeds to confirm and deny it for several minutes? If you do, that's where I'm going here. If you don't, how many times have I *told* you to get the DVD? Go on. I'll still be here when you get back. And you'll understand me, Red, jam, babies on spikes and Slap Benwalla so much better.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Also, I can't recommend *enough* giant yarn in a simple, interesting pattern for a baby blanket. Hey, even an dumbass like your dear ol' AntiM can learn when being whacked with the rolled-up newspaper that was Stupid Blanket.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I know. Purple went bye-bye. Lighting was bad. Too excited about FO to wait for the morning light.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): As opposed to, say, where a handcuff should be.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Yeah, I'll go a long way to avoid fixing my errors. Sing with me: Justifi-CA-tion!
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Those last two were thunder and bat sound effects, in case you were wondering. And if you're ever around me when I do this, you probably won't be surprised to find I actually do the full-on show, thunder and bats and all. There are hand gestures. And special faces.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): It's chewy.
SEE! I *TOLD* YOU IT WAS A KNITBLOG!
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
...or Wednesday...
Happy Fourth, ev'rybahdy!
Let's see...
Got a spectacular dress for the Big Brown Shindig,† got my first little blue Tiffany box at said Shindig,‡ danced like a fiend, got to the office at 7:30,§ had an 80-minute massage at 10:00 and went home.
And got ready for the giant cap to the 40 days and 40 nights, which required a LOT of shopping¶ and cleanup. And building of patio furniture.
But I got it all done, despite all procrastination efforts to the contrary.
Many, many people came, there was more than enough food, I was loved and didn't drink much at all. How in the hell did that happen?
Sunday was our family dinner to celebrate my birthday. Sis-in-law not only purchased a large quantity of yarn from my gift registry# at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack, she shepherded two very ill-behaved, very destructive nephews†† through the yarn buying process. I maintain the yarn fumes got to them.
Sis-in-law told the boys to pick out yarn they would like for a scarf and AntiM would knit the scarves for them.
Crystal Palace Popcorn in Oranges-Cherries
Sis-in-Law got me ten balls (all Sylvia had) of this:
Louisa Harding Fauve in #3 Ecru
With the welcome disclaimer that I could switch for a different colour. 'Cause AntiM don't do white all that well. It'd get all grubby while I was knitting it, then I'd get ketchup on it seconds after finishing the sweater. I'm thinking a pretty teal.
Louisa Harding Kashmir Aran in #6 Grass Green
Yummy, yummy, softsoftsoft. And such a pretty green.
Funny little side story: I wore just about nothing but black for, oh, fifteen years. I can still hear my college boyfriend saying, "It wouldn't hurt you to wear a colour once in awhile."
"What, you want me to wear a fuzzy pink sweater?" (utter disdain of all things pink and/or fuzzy in my tone.‡‡‡)
"Pink would be nice!" (exasperated)
Ah, if he could see me now.
Anyway...
Adding to this my personal procurement based on the giant bonus I got and my birthday discount from Sylvia, and I may have, in the last week, reached SABLE point.
No. NO. NONONO!!!
What am I saying?!
Not for years.
Or many more balls of yarn. Hanks of yarn. Skeins of yarn. SCADS of yarn.
That was just the FORTY talking.
You can stop laughing now. I may be old, but I'm not deaf yet.
I told you last week I got the lovely, lovely package from Crafty Fool, my beloved Secret Pal, and here it is:
Love the card:
Love the package (including, L-ish to R-ish: a brown photo album embroidered with paisleys perfect for project photos, CHOCOLATE,§§§ "Punk Knits," [long on my list], grow-your-own-vacation, YARN, patterns, Purell-on-a-keychain, a rose pendant and magnetic paper clips and notecards.)
Let's zoom in on a couple of items, shall we?
For anyone thinking of participating in the Secret Pal thing, I highly recommend the pattern and yarn thing. It's certainly not how I shop,¶¶¶ and that in itself makes it novel. But it also compels me to try new stuff (like knitting sweaters, which I'd always wanted to do but stalled out until Secret Pal sent the Green Gables kit my way. Yes, I'm still knitting it. Sleeve one is almost done and sleeve two shouldn't take too long. I know this is a very long parenthetic phrase, but I'm starting to get embarrassed over the state of my footnotes).
And for those of you scoring at home, Bag Lady Kathryn of the Drunken Knitters was with me when I met my NEW NEIGHBOUR today. I am SO EXCITED! Know why? That's right! 'Cause she's NOT THE MALE LADY!
Welcome to the neighbourhood, Nicki. Don't ever let anyone tell you you aren't the most beautiful thing in the townhomes.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (triple double!): For those of you Buffy fans out there, kinda like when Bizarro-World willow came to Buffy's Sunnydale and when she saw Willow's pink daisy sweater, she said, "Oh, look. I'm fuzzy." Same tone.
§§§FOOTNOTE (can you handle the curves?): Um... there used to be much more chocolate, but, um... well, I had a lot of housecleaning and patio furniture building and sometimes that goes smoother if I have a Scooby snack now and then. *ahem*
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (dear gods, when will the paragraphs end?): How I shop for knitting usually takes the form of either, "Ooooh! Pretty book! Buy! Find yarn later!" or "Ooooh! Pretty yarn! Buy! Find pattern later!" While the former certainly works better than the latter (and facilitates LYS gift registry), neither one makes me make girl noises the way having the yarn and the pattern show up together does.
('specially my darling Canadians. Just 'cause you don't celebrate for the same reasons doesn't mean you shouldn't celebrate the 4th of July. Or Wednesday. Go have a drink.)
Let's see...
Got a spectacular dress for the Big Brown Shindig,† got my first little blue Tiffany box at said Shindig,‡ danced like a fiend, got to the office at 7:30,§ had an 80-minute massage at 10:00 and went home.
And got ready for the giant cap to the 40 days and 40 nights, which required a LOT of shopping¶ and cleanup. And building of patio furniture.
But I got it all done, despite all procrastination efforts to the contrary.
Many, many people came, there was more than enough food, I was loved and didn't drink much at all. How in the hell did that happen?
Sunday was our family dinner to celebrate my birthday. Sis-in-law not only purchased a large quantity of yarn from my gift registry# at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack, she shepherded two very ill-behaved, very destructive nephews†† through the yarn buying process. I maintain the yarn fumes got to them.
Sis-in-law told the boys to pick out yarn they would like for a scarf and AntiM would knit the scarves for them.
Tallest, hairiest nephew picked this§§:
Crystal Palace Popcorn in Oranges-Cherries
It has been weird to knit so far. The ball band says, "wide range of gauges alone or as a knit-along yarn." Thinking I was being smart, I chose a needle about the same size as the popcorn bits.¶¶ I cast on until it looked... well, it looked like it was going to be about six inches wide, but I was using size 13 needles and there were already twenty stitches, so I threw caution to the wind and started swatching.## And ended up with something that appeared destined to slipcover the Mini. So I frogged.
Frogging popcorn? (*snarf*) Not so easy. Basic physics.
So I changed to size 11 needles and cast on ten stitches and swatched for a bit and came up with something that appeared destined to slipcover a toothpick. So I frogged.
No easier the second frog around.
The Popcorn rests for the moment. I will cast on fifteen later today and see how that pans out.
This is the yarn Dr. Doom picked out:
Muench Big Baby in Rainbow
Though Sis-in-law confided she wasn't sure it was actually his *favourite* per se, she was pretty sure it was the one he tore apart so she had to buy it so that's what his scarf would be made of.
Lucky Dr. Doom. It just so happens my friend Dave became the proud father to a (Nine! Pound! Six! Ounce!) baby girl (though with those stats, she may be older than we think) and I've dearly wanted to do the Big Baby feather-and-fan in those pretty girl colours for so long... so I told Sis-in-law I'd simply buy the appropriate number of rainbow balls††† for the new baby girl and find a more masculine colourway for Dr. Doom. I got him purples:
Sis-in-Law got me ten balls (all Sylvia had) of this:
Louisa Harding Fauve in #3 Ecru
With the welcome disclaimer that I could switch for a different colour. 'Cause AntiM don't do white all that well. It'd get all grubby while I was knitting it, then I'd get ketchup on it seconds after finishing the sweater. I'm thinking a pretty teal.
DK nation got me ten balls of this:
Louisa Harding Kashmir Aran in #6 Grass Green
Yummy, yummy, softsoftsoft. And such a pretty green.
Funny little side story: I wore just about nothing but black for, oh, fifteen years. I can still hear my college boyfriend saying, "It wouldn't hurt you to wear a colour once in awhile."
"What, you want me to wear a fuzzy pink sweater?" (utter disdain of all things pink and/or fuzzy in my tone.‡‡‡)
"Pink would be nice!" (exasperated)
Ah, if he could see me now.
Anyway...
Adding to this my personal procurement based on the giant bonus I got and my birthday discount from Sylvia, and I may have, in the last week, reached SABLE point.
No. NO. NONONO!!!
What am I saying?!
Not for years.
Or many more balls of yarn. Hanks of yarn. Skeins of yarn. SCADS of yarn.
That was just the FORTY talking.
You can stop laughing now. I may be old, but I'm not deaf yet.
I told you last week I got the lovely, lovely package from Crafty Fool, my beloved Secret Pal, and here it is:
Love the card:
Love the package (including, L-ish to R-ish: a brown photo album embroidered with paisleys perfect for project photos, CHOCOLATE,§§§ "Punk Knits," [long on my list], grow-your-own-vacation, YARN, patterns, Purell-on-a-keychain, a rose pendant and magnetic paper clips and notecards.) Let's zoom in on a couple of items, shall we?
For anyone thinking of participating in the Secret Pal thing, I highly recommend the pattern and yarn thing. It's certainly not how I shop,¶¶¶ and that in itself makes it novel. But it also compels me to try new stuff (like knitting sweaters, which I'd always wanted to do but stalled out until Secret Pal sent the Green Gables kit my way. Yes, I'm still knitting it. Sleeve one is almost done and sleeve two shouldn't take too long. I know this is a very long parenthetic phrase, but I'm starting to get embarrassed over the state of my footnotes).
And for those of you scoring at home, Bag Lady Kathryn of the Drunken Knitters was with me when I met my NEW NEIGHBOUR today. I am SO EXCITED! Know why? That's right! 'Cause she's NOT THE MALE LADY!
Welcome to the neighbourhood, Nicki. Don't ever let anyone tell you you aren't the most beautiful thing in the townhomes.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): 1) if I do say so myself, and 2) I call it my Hogwarts dress because it was way bigger inside than out. When I saw it on the hanger, I knew it was a size four they'd accidentally mis-marked. It not only fit, it was comfy.
Oh, and I bought a pair of Cole Haan peep-toe pumps with Nike Air technology in them. Gravity still wasn't on my toes's side, but they were ridiculously comfortable for all that.
And kinda "fuck me."
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I always figured my first Tiffany box would come to me either from the hands of a passionate suitor or via one of those "fuck you, I'm doing for me," right-hand ring acts of self-congratulation.
I never figured it'd be at a corporate dinner.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): It was so quiet even the crickets were listening for crickets.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): What do you do when you've filled up one shopping cart at Costco and you still think you need more?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): All LYSs should have gift registries.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Sorry Sylvia! They're usually pretty good! Even Dr. Doom!
§§FOOTNOTE (very curvy): I stole all the yarn pictures off the web. My camera battery just died.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (how many paragraphs does one footnote need?): I may not be able to count to four, but I like to think my grasp of basic physics is pretty solid. Solid! Ha! Pun!
##FOOTNOTE (pounded all to hell): The kind of swatch that becomes a scarf if it turns out OK. Y'all know.
†††FOOTNOTE (triple-crossed? Really? Is this a record?): Rainbow balls. Heheheheh. I'm four and I'm a pervert.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (triple double!): For those of you Buffy fans out there, kinda like when Bizarro-World willow came to Buffy's Sunnydale and when she saw Willow's pink daisy sweater, she said, "Oh, look. I'm fuzzy." Same tone.
§§§FOOTNOTE (can you handle the curves?): Um... there used to be much more chocolate, but, um... well, I had a lot of housecleaning and patio furniture building and sometimes that goes smoother if I have a Scooby snack now and then. *ahem*
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (dear gods, when will the paragraphs end?): How I shop for knitting usually takes the form of either, "Ooooh! Pretty book! Buy! Find yarn later!" or "Ooooh! Pretty yarn! Buy! Find pattern later!" While the former certainly works better than the latter (and facilitates LYS gift registry), neither one makes me make girl noises the way having the yarn and the pattern show up together does.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
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.
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?
[SUMMARY: Math Dorks in Paradise. I crack me up.]
Dad opened his lovely pair of knit-with-love socks.¶¶
- Size: Men's 13
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:
[SUMMARY: Fibre obsession: Nature? Nurture?]
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
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 (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 (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.
[SUMMARY: Holy fucking cats, that's an assload of footnotes!]
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.
- 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:
- This is very cool and he would just as soon I do the same thing for him for Christmas.
- Silk is very tempting.
- It's still no to lace socks
- 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!]
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
"The Time Has Come," the wombat said...
"...to talk of many things."
...happy birthday, dear BROOOOOOTHER... happy birthday to you
With Red's permission, I shall brief you (pun intended) on her date Monday.
I had the honour of being Red's bail-out and safe call on a semi-blind date Monday night. She provided me the location, boy's phone number & name† and strict instructions to call at 9:00 to see how she was doing and possibly provide a graceful out. We devised an Izzard-based code word system‡ and we were ready to go.
Actually, there was a whole scenario under which I would show up at the date site in pajama pants and curlers with a little water splashed on the front of my shirt to mimic the look of an uncontrollably lactating woman, brush my hands clumsily down my breasts a couple of times and sniffle, "When you coming home, Red?"
It was REALLY funny at Goosetown Friday night.
Things were going well enough halfway through that she called to tell me they were switching locations and the 9:00 call was unnecessary.
She called at 10:30 to tell me she got home safe and, well... things went a little downhill from the mid-date call to the safe-home call.
Besides some inappropriate touching, Inappropriate Remarks Boy (as he will forever be in my mind) used the word "babble" at least three times. Not good.
The crowning jewel of his inappropriate evening, though, was when he told her, "I didn't think the date was going to go anywhere when you showed up with visible panty lines."
When Red relayed that to me, my first thought was, "Is this guy gay? Do men even notice -- or worry about -- panty lines?"
I've always suspected that the mere thought of panties, the sheer concept of panties, the presence, hope and promise of panties is enough to carbonate most boys' brains beyond the noticing of panties.%
[SUMMARY: Panties. Panties, panties, panties. Pantiespantiespantiespantiespanties. This is now a companion piece to Roger Clemens's groin.]
Taking the concept a little further, I thought, "Maybe he's a fashion snob and was saying he'd never date a girl who subjected him to the horror of panty lines."
I mulled for a second more.
It finally hit me.
"Was he saying you didn't care enough to dress properly for him, so he figured you'd already written the date off?"§
Apparently, yes.
Girls think so much about every little detail (so the story goes) that if they show up with panty lines, well... apparently it's the next generation's version of not shaving your legs and wearing ratty underwear so you don't accidentally sleep with a boy on the first date.¶ And Inappropriate Remarks Boy was pretty well convinced he'd cracked that code.
Wonder what he would have done with "babies on spikes."
Poor Red. It gets funnier every day, though she had a little setback into bitter some time between Dairy Queen last night and comments this morning. Squint, Red. Squint and turn your head to the left and maybe you can pretend I'm talking about someone else.
[SUMMARY: boys=dumb]
Here's a funny thing I got in my email Sunday:
That's from the Canadian Housing Association.
Ally? Anything you feel you need to tell me?
Or maybe the CHA just goes through the blogiverse looking for fond mentions of Canada and British spellings.
[SUMMARY: I love Canadians and now Canada wants me to live there.]
Meanwhile, back at the knitting...
I cast on for the fourth and final border bit for Stupid Blanket last night. We are talking mere hours from complete satisfaction of the obligation and frustration that has been Stupid Blanket.
And if the Drunken Knitters tell you I told them I fondle Stupid Blanket every night and think of it as a little miracle of textile goodness, I'll deny it to the ends of the earth.
Green Gables is in the final stretch... and that may be an apt phrase. I read Enchanting Juno's account of short-row shaping for us boobalicious gals and thought I'd try to wing that.
After a couple of hours of basically knitting heels into the sides of the sweater and ending up with completely backward darts on one side and something resembling a pockmarked caterpillar on the other, I gave up, frogged and decided to follow the pattern. If it's too wonky to wear happily, I'll make the next one better.#
[SUMMARY: Short row takes practice. Tailoring takes engineering.]
The toe-up, two-at-once socks have reached the heel(s) and I'm trying to do anything to avoid a lot of wrapping and turning. Anybody know a good, readily available (i.e. -- I don't have to order a two-year-old issue of Interweave Knits to get it) toe-up heel pattern that doesn't require a lace needle and double-joints to pick up wraps?
[SUMMARY: Lazy much?]
And last on our list of promised topics for today: Strings.
I just happened to discover destash.blogspot.com yesterday and showed up just moments after lovely Hazel posted her Noro Kureyon. Seems she was all excited about Knitty's Lizard Ridge^ but then found she was allergic to the Noro.$ So I got ten skeins of Noro and a damned good start on my own Lizard Ridge, after which I've been lusting,& for $70.
Not a huge savings, I know, but all that Noro, all at once, and THROUGH THE MAIL. I love yarn that comes in the mail. Well, as you know, I love anything that comes in the mail that doesn't have an obligation attached.
[SUMMARY: NORO!]
For whom shall I knit Lizard Ridge?
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Much like you are in charge of giving the police my blog as a record of hostile Male Lady activity should I be found dead in a ditch, I was in charge of making sure justice was served should Red meet a similar fate at the hands of Inappropriate Remarks Boy.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Jam = good. Babies on spikes = bad.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): It's why lingerie is not such a big deal to most men. As Steve once said, when asked if matching bra and panties mattered to men (I think I phrased it, "Doesn't it impress you when a girl's bra and panties match?"), "Marin, if I'm seeing panties, I'm not much worried about what they go with."
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Serious re-engineering of the conversation. I spat out a bunch of words that eventually got across the *idea* of "Was he saying...?" My gast was flabbered and I wasn't speaking so good.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Yeah, it didn't always work for me either.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): By this, I mostly mean I'll actually look up directions and not count on my own engineering and math skills (hello?! FOUR!) to apply advanced tailoring techniques to my knitting.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Thus:
...happy birthday, dear BROOOOOOTHER... happy birthday to you
With Red's permission, I shall brief you (pun intended) on her date Monday.
I had the honour of being Red's bail-out and safe call on a semi-blind date Monday night. She provided me the location, boy's phone number & name† and strict instructions to call at 9:00 to see how she was doing and possibly provide a graceful out. We devised an Izzard-based code word system‡ and we were ready to go.
Actually, there was a whole scenario under which I would show up at the date site in pajama pants and curlers with a little water splashed on the front of my shirt to mimic the look of an uncontrollably lactating woman, brush my hands clumsily down my breasts a couple of times and sniffle, "When you coming home, Red?"
It was REALLY funny at Goosetown Friday night.
Things were going well enough halfway through that she called to tell me they were switching locations and the 9:00 call was unnecessary.
She called at 10:30 to tell me she got home safe and, well... things went a little downhill from the mid-date call to the safe-home call.
Besides some inappropriate touching, Inappropriate Remarks Boy (as he will forever be in my mind) used the word "babble" at least three times. Not good.
The crowning jewel of his inappropriate evening, though, was when he told her, "I didn't think the date was going to go anywhere when you showed up with visible panty lines."
When Red relayed that to me, my first thought was, "Is this guy gay? Do men even notice -- or worry about -- panty lines?"
I've always suspected that the mere thought of panties, the sheer concept of panties, the presence, hope and promise of panties is enough to carbonate most boys' brains beyond the noticing of panties.%
[SUMMARY: Panties. Panties, panties, panties. Pantiespantiespantiespantiespanties. This is now a companion piece to Roger Clemens's groin.]
Taking the concept a little further, I thought, "Maybe he's a fashion snob and was saying he'd never date a girl who subjected him to the horror of panty lines."
I mulled for a second more.
It finally hit me.
"Was he saying you didn't care enough to dress properly for him, so he figured you'd already written the date off?"§
Apparently, yes.
Girls think so much about every little detail (so the story goes) that if they show up with panty lines, well... apparently it's the next generation's version of not shaving your legs and wearing ratty underwear so you don't accidentally sleep with a boy on the first date.¶ And Inappropriate Remarks Boy was pretty well convinced he'd cracked that code.
Wonder what he would have done with "babies on spikes."
Poor Red. It gets funnier every day, though she had a little setback into bitter some time between Dairy Queen last night and comments this morning. Squint, Red. Squint and turn your head to the left and maybe you can pretend I'm talking about someone else.
[SUMMARY: boys=dumb]
Here's a funny thing I got in my email Sunday:
That's from the Canadian Housing Association.
Ally? Anything you feel you need to tell me?
Or maybe the CHA just goes through the blogiverse looking for fond mentions of Canada and British spellings.
[SUMMARY: I love Canadians and now Canada wants me to live there.]
Meanwhile, back at the knitting...
I cast on for the fourth and final border bit for Stupid Blanket last night. We are talking mere hours from complete satisfaction of the obligation and frustration that has been Stupid Blanket.
And if the Drunken Knitters tell you I told them I fondle Stupid Blanket every night and think of it as a little miracle of textile goodness, I'll deny it to the ends of the earth.
Green Gables is in the final stretch... and that may be an apt phrase. I read Enchanting Juno's account of short-row shaping for us boobalicious gals and thought I'd try to wing that.
After a couple of hours of basically knitting heels into the sides of the sweater and ending up with completely backward darts on one side and something resembling a pockmarked caterpillar on the other, I gave up, frogged and decided to follow the pattern. If it's too wonky to wear happily, I'll make the next one better.#
[SUMMARY: Short row takes practice. Tailoring takes engineering.]
The toe-up, two-at-once socks have reached the heel(s) and I'm trying to do anything to avoid a lot of wrapping and turning. Anybody know a good, readily available (i.e. -- I don't have to order a two-year-old issue of Interweave Knits to get it) toe-up heel pattern that doesn't require a lace needle and double-joints to pick up wraps?
[SUMMARY: Lazy much?]
And last on our list of promised topics for today: Strings.
I just happened to discover destash.blogspot.com yesterday and showed up just moments after lovely Hazel posted her Noro Kureyon. Seems she was all excited about Knitty's Lizard Ridge^ but then found she was allergic to the Noro.$ So I got ten skeins of Noro and a damned good start on my own Lizard Ridge, after which I've been lusting,& for $70.
Not a huge savings, I know, but all that Noro, all at once, and THROUGH THE MAIL. I love yarn that comes in the mail. Well, as you know, I love anything that comes in the mail that doesn't have an obligation attached.
[SUMMARY: NORO!]
For whom shall I knit Lizard Ridge?
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Much like you are in charge of giving the police my blog as a record of hostile Male Lady activity should I be found dead in a ditch, I was in charge of making sure justice was served should Red meet a similar fate at the hands of Inappropriate Remarks Boy.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Jam = good. Babies on spikes = bad.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): It's why lingerie is not such a big deal to most men. As Steve once said, when asked if matching bra and panties mattered to men (I think I phrased it, "Doesn't it impress you when a girl's bra and panties match?"), "Marin, if I'm seeing panties, I'm not much worried about what they go with."
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Serious re-engineering of the conversation. I spat out a bunch of words that eventually got across the *idea* of "Was he saying...?" My gast was flabbered and I wasn't speaking so good.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Yeah, it didn't always work for me either.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): By this, I mostly mean I'll actually look up directions and not count on my own engineering and math skills (hello?! FOUR!) to apply advanced tailoring techniques to my knitting.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Thus:
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): I know, I know. Breathe into a paper bag and pray for Hazel.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Yes, I know I just spent several precious words whining about wrapping and turning. I never said I was stable. Or logical. I've readily admitted to not being able to count to four. Somehow, miles of wrapping and turning...
...huh.
Did Stupid Blanket teach me NOTHING?
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
A Case of the Mondays... er, Tuesdays
What'd y'all do this weekend?
Friday, I took a half-day and met Kelley, who also only worked a half-day† and was starting her two week vacation. We had lunch, shopped a little, visited Kelly the Bartendress and Fast Eddie, popped by Favourite Bar and hung out with The Boy. And Sex Toy. Until the two of them got weird and abandoned us, so we went to Patrick Carroll's, which I liked a lot.
See, Kelley pretty much has Favourite Bar wrapped. Don't matter that I was there the second day they were open (not for the bar, mind you -- I used to get take-out elk medallions about once a week for dinner) and was a regular, known by name to several bartenders, for a year before I even met Kelley. Don't matter that I go in there all the time by myself. It's still Kelley's bar.
But Patrick Carroll's? Patrick Carroll's is definitely my bar. When Kelley and I walked in, the bar was crowded and we decided to walk down to see if there were two seats we could cobble together. By the time we got to the centre of the bar, Jim had shuffled a guy down and had my Smithwick's on a coaster and waiting for me.
It's good to be a rock star.
[SUMMARY: Do I think I'm a rock star AGAIN?]
Cute Jim, making Marin points on the evening.
Shylin (sp?) and Cute Christopher as well.
After a single, lonely beer and a shot, The Boy called Kelley and asked us to come back, so we did. Because, y'all know... I'm not quite over the whole Boy thing.
I may be an idiot. But maybe not.
[SUMMARY: Bars & boys & The Boy. Check.]
So we went back to Favourite Bar, where Sex Toy was adamant that we (he and me) should spend a little quality time when he was done for the night. Then he quit (his night job, suddenly, under a cloud of ill will) and was in a pissy mood, so said, "Not tonight, dear," and that was that. He promised to call Saturday.
Here's a fun little tweak to the weekend: The Male Lady showed up for the first time in weeks right about then, and Kelley decided she missed the Male Lady. She insisted that Male Lady is really a good person, that everything would have been OK except that The Boy fucks everything up, that Male Lady and your dear ol' AntiM would probably get along really well, but...
Robin, Denise, Gina, Kelley: VIPs
If you have a really good memory or a weird trick memory that holds on to odd bits (see: Darjeeling means "land of the thunderbolt"), you may remember Touch from St. Patrick's Day. He bought me a couple of drinks and presented each with a kiss... not because Touch (young, adorable Touch) is into AntiM, just because Touch is Touch.
This is what our corner of Le Rouge looked like at 9:30.
This is what the club looked like at 10:30
And these nice couples...
Couple #2
They also managed to knock over those drinks you see in the bottom left onto the table three times. I spent a lot of the night picking ice cubes out of my purse.
On the way home, Kelley got that old time religion and re-renounced the Male Lady with a hardy whatthefuckwasIthinking.
[SUMMARY: Bars & boys & klutziness. Check.]
[SUMMARY: Bars & The Boy & Knitting. Check.]
[SUMMARY: Knitting. Check.]
[SUMMARY: I still think knitting pictures make things better.]
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Can you say, "train wreck"?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): As in, he just became an uncle. Not that he just got an uncle. That would be weird and improbable.
+FOOTNOTE (plussed): The music was so loud my ass was vibrating. It made the garage door at the golf course look (feel?) like butterfly wings.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Kelley bone connected to the Gina bone, Gina bone connected to the Daddy bone, Daddy bone connected to the Le Rouge bone...
[SUMMARY: Yada. Yada. Yada.]
Friday, I took a half-day and met Kelley, who also only worked a half-day† and was starting her two week vacation. We had lunch, shopped a little, visited Kelly the Bartendress and Fast Eddie, popped by Favourite Bar and hung out with The Boy. And Sex Toy. Until the two of them got weird and abandoned us, so we went to Patrick Carroll's, which I liked a lot.
See, Kelley pretty much has Favourite Bar wrapped. Don't matter that I was there the second day they were open (not for the bar, mind you -- I used to get take-out elk medallions about once a week for dinner) and was a regular, known by name to several bartenders, for a year before I even met Kelley. Don't matter that I go in there all the time by myself. It's still Kelley's bar.
But Patrick Carroll's? Patrick Carroll's is definitely my bar. When Kelley and I walked in, the bar was crowded and we decided to walk down to see if there were two seats we could cobble together. By the time we got to the centre of the bar, Jim had shuffled a guy down and had my Smithwick's on a coaster and waiting for me.
It's good to be a rock star.
[SUMMARY: Do I think I'm a rock star AGAIN?]
Cute Jim, making Marin points on the evening.
Shylin (sp?) and Cute Christopher as well.
After a single, lonely beer and a shot, The Boy called Kelley and asked us to come back, so we did. Because, y'all know... I'm not quite over the whole Boy thing.
I may be an idiot. But maybe not.
[SUMMARY: Bars & boys & The Boy. Check.]
So we went back to Favourite Bar, where Sex Toy was adamant that we (he and me) should spend a little quality time when he was done for the night. Then he quit (his night job, suddenly, under a cloud of ill will) and was in a pissy mood, so said, "Not tonight, dear," and that was that. He promised to call Saturday.
Here's a fun little tweak to the weekend: The Male Lady showed up for the first time in weeks right about then, and Kelley decided she missed the Male Lady. She insisted that Male Lady is really a good person, that everything would have been OK except that The Boy fucks everything up, that Male Lady and your dear ol' AntiM would probably get along really well, but...
- Ship has sailed. There was a point when I was willing to go so far as to be civil to the Male Lady in public places and other people's houses for the sake of the comfort of others. Lookin' out for the world, that's just how I roll. That pretty much went out the window when she called me a fucking bitch and picked a fight at Favourite Bar.
- The Boy and I were getting along pretty well Friday. He's newly uncled‡ and I think the endorphins of delivery are still swimming in his veins, 'cause we talked a lot and he was all mellow and nice and wanted to be Marin's friend. Consequently, Kelley was in a down-phase with The Boy, 'cause if he and I are getting along, she's pissy about him and if I'm pissy about him, she defends him to the end of the earth. I'm not sure how much of that is by design. I'd really rather not think about it too much. In any case, I wasn't really down with the whole "Everything would have been fine if it wasn't for The Boy" path.
Here's a question I'd like to put out to the peeps: Do you think people are more honest when they're drunk?
[SUMMARY: Of course I have a reason for asking. And yes, cagey is my middle name.]
Then Saturday I kicked back for most of the day, did summa that knittin' stuff what y'all like so much, and got ready to go back out Saturday night.
Fuck me shoes. I remembered the heels being higher, but it's just as well they're not.
Kelley's friend, Gina, was in town from Texas for a few days, and her dad§ is head of security at Le Rouge, which is a pretty hip spot here in Denverish. Lines around the block, maddening crowds¶, outrageous drink prices... all the things that mark a truly hip venue.
Here are the girls at our reserved table.#
Robin, Denise, Gina, Kelley: VIPs
If you have a really good memory or a weird trick memory that holds on to odd bits (see: Darjeeling means "land of the thunderbolt"), you may remember Touch from St. Patrick's Day. He bought me a couple of drinks and presented each with a kiss... not because Touch (young, adorable Touch) is into AntiM, just because Touch is Touch.
Anyway, Touch tends bar at Le Rouge, so we got a photo.
Kelley, Touch, Marin... please don't aks me what was going on with my hair. Or chins. Both have become completely unmanagable in all the humidity.
This is what our corner of Le Rouge looked like at 9:30.
This is what the club looked like at 10:30
There were many pretty, pretty people.
And these nice couples...
Couple #1
Couple #2
...came to our table 'specially to swab tonsils and girl-swap. Seriously, they were practically in my lap, we could *hear* the slurping over the amazingly loud music+ and I would almost swear they switched partners a few times.
I would just flat out swear to it, but you may notice in the pictures the boys are wearing identical white polo shirts and the girls are wearing remarkably similar tank/cami tops, so I might just have missed the details that indicated who was who.
See? Same shirts.
See? Same shirts.
They also managed to knock over those drinks you see in the bottom left onto the table three times. I spent a lot of the night picking ice cubes out of my purse.
Of course, I went to the bathroom and knocked my own water glass over, so I can't say too much.
On the way home, Kelley got that old time religion and re-renounced the Male Lady with a hardy whatthefuckwasIthinking.
Sex Toy did not call.
[SUMMARY: Bars & boys & klutziness. Check.]
Sunday brought a phone call from The Boy#, a little KIP/KIB with Kathryn at New Bar% and dinner and drinks at Favourite Bar with Kelley and Jenny D.
[SUMMARY: Bars & The Boy & Knitting. Check.]
On Monday, I knitted.
And knitted.
And caught up on The Riches.
And Studio 60.
And knitted.
I F'd an O! Another cable clutch for Kelley's Bday (tomorrow -- I hope it dries by then). Took about half the time the first one did. I guess learning curves really don't mark the shortest distance between two events.
[SUMMARY: Knitting. Check.]
Here's a little WIP action to make this boring, boring post so much better:
L to R: Green Gables, Kelley's Cable Clutch, a to-be-felted bag, socks for dad (toe up! two at once!), a linen stitch$ washcloth, a drop-stitch scarf out of lavender-infused novelty yarn^
[SUMMARY: I still think knitting pictures make things better.]
DK nation meets tonight. Maybe they can fab me up a little.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Can you say, "train wreck"?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): As in, he just became an uncle. Not that he just got an uncle. That would be weird and improbable.
+FOOTNOTE (plussed): The music was so loud my ass was vibrating. It made the garage door at the golf course look (feel?) like butterfly wings.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Former DEA agent, all 'round nice guy, looks like a Soprano
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Kelley bone connected to the Gina bone, Gina bone connected to the Daddy bone, Daddy bone connected to the Le Rouge bone...
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I know the phrase is "Madding Crowd." I did "maddening" on purpose. And for good reason, though the crowd was probably madding as well.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded - again. What the heck is my fascination with the pound thing today? Don't answer that): I know. And I'm still processing some of this. Some day, maybe I'll have a story.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): ...who doesn't want her picture taken, so you'll have to look back at last Tuesday and just imagine her on the patio at New Bar, sipping a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and knitting.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Well, because linen stitch is SOOOOO money. *snarf*
^FOOTNOTE (careted): How much farther from wool can you get? None! None more farther!
[SUMMARY: Yada. Yada. Yada.]
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