What is (are) your favorite place(s) to knit? and What supplies (besides yarn & needles) make the setting perfect for knitting?
First question:
I love to knit at the bars.† There's beer‡ and company and the distraction of dinner and beer.
I love to knit in my recliner in front of the TiVi. I saw a brain-scan study once where they showed a person's brain doing some puzzle activity,§ then that same person's brain watching TiVi,¶ then that same person's brain watching TiVi while knitting.#
I rest my case. I don't watch too much TiVi, I'm fighting brain rot on a daily basis.
And I particularly love knitting during football season. Curled up for hours in front of the TiVi, often with beer and company and the distraction of dinner and beer. So the best of all possible worlds.
Second question:
I'm going to have to say, "Beer and TiVi," Bob.††
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Patrick Carroll's and now the re-vamped Billy's Inn, new home of Cute Christopher. The lighting's better, the food is better, but it's a longer walk home from Billy's than Patrick's and Billy's isn't right across from Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack. So for now we're splitting our time.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Can substitute wine, vodka or hard cider.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Red and active!
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Dark and cold!
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Even activer than doing a puzzle!
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Didn't see that one coming, did you?
Showing posts with label Patrick Carroll's. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Patrick Carroll's. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Las Arañas en la Pelicula Bailan
Or, as we say on Thursdays here in Piglatnia, "Oslay Rañasay enay alay Eliculapay Ailanbay."%
The other day, I dropped off a couple of NPR maps for my dad and one of his little girlfriends.† Heading around the corner to the back, I saw a mass of yellow speckles wafting in a spider web on the downspout of his rain gutter.
At first I thought it was pollen, and I blew on it a little to see if it would fall out of the web and it started crawling.
Spiders.
Tiny yellow spiders.
Hundreds of 'em.
Now, I am just this side of terrified when it comes to spiders, but I think they're elegant and beautiful creatures, so I watched them for awhile then went home, skin crawling all the way.
Hi, Mom!
[SUMMARY: I am a complex and unpredictable creature. Or maybe just weird.]
*************
Hans pointed these ladies out to me. I'm waffling between them being exact negative images of each other or could-they-be-more-different, but they do have similar metallic purses.
[SUMMARY: It is our similarities and not our differences that bring us together.‡]
*************
There are many vintage Guinness posters on the walls at Patrick Carroll's. The knitters were in the back room§ last week and sat right across from this one.
We all took it to mean there was a Guinness hidden picture game in the offing. We spent a fair amount of time going, "Is that a Guinness there... in the lobster tail? Wait! Look at the crab's claw..."
I have since decided the crab and the lobster are just really pissed at the fish for bringing a zucchini instead of a Guinness.
[SUMMARY: Who the hell mistakes a zucchini for a Guinness?]
*************
I was at Target the other night. This goose just stood there and watched me¶ put my new summer bedding# in the car. I thought that was worth a photo.††
[SUMMARY: I may be running out of viable infotainment already.]
*************
When I walked over to Sylvia's Tuesday night, pre-Drunken Knitting, I saw this:
It made me sing‡‡ that song from Sesame Street. You know...
♪One of these things is not like the other.
One of these things just doesn't belong.♪
Can you tell me which thing is not like the other
before I finish this song?♪♪
[SUMMARY: ...black ...black ...black ...purple! run! run!]
*************
As your reward for putting up with this lame and disjointed pig-licking, I now give you a movie short.§§ It's the AntiM Productions classic, "Dance of the Crawly Scourge."
[SUMMARY: Ang Lee, eat your heart out.]
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Admit it... Spanish translated to Pig Latin is going above and beyond the call of duty. And so multicultural, it's practically a petrie dish.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Not snarky. OK, a little snarky. Hey, give me a little buffer. Some of you are used to your parents dating. I'm not even used to my dad having *friends*.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Later, when I say, "opposites attract," I'd like you to look the other way.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): With the pool table, the shuffleboard and the oddly obnoxious people.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Until I grabbed the camera to take his picture, then he turned his head as if camera shy. Really, though -- before he turned his head he was so perfectly symmetrical and so still, I almost thought he was a decoy or some sort of plastic garden decoration.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): There's a story. Isn't there always a story? And aren't I usually more than willing to tell you? Anyway... I have the big fluffy comforter covered by the rosy-pink duvet...
...but it's getting too heavy for the weather.^ This was not a big surprise, as it happens every year, but last year I bought a thin little quilt from Target. It was rosy-pink and had ecru crewel jigsaw stitching all over it (so I thought) and I thought it would be perfect with my existing stuff. Only I got it home and unrolled it from its sleeping bag-like state and found it had a BRIGHT orange stripe in the middle. I lived with it for a summer, but hated it with a passion. So I decided to go for something new this year and donate the BRIGHT orange stripe to a worthy charity.
^FOOTNOTE WITHIN A FOOTNOTE (careted): Considering we had two days of spring this year. Seriously... it snowed and snowed and snowed, then it was 70 degrees for a couple of days, then *bam!* 80! 90!
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And I'm sure the half-dozen bemused shoppers watching me take the picture agreed.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Sometimes I don't think, I sing. It's charming. I'm sure the half-dozen bemused bikers listening to me sing agreed.
§§FOOTNOTE (what a tangled web): Sometimes I take movies of odd things. It's artsy. I'm sure the half-dozen hundred yellow spiders agreed.
The other day, I dropped off a couple of NPR maps for my dad and one of his little girlfriends.† Heading around the corner to the back, I saw a mass of yellow speckles wafting in a spider web on the downspout of his rain gutter.
At first I thought it was pollen, and I blew on it a little to see if it would fall out of the web and it started crawling.
Spiders.
Tiny yellow spiders.
Hundreds of 'em.
Now, I am just this side of terrified when it comes to spiders, but I think they're elegant and beautiful creatures, so I watched them for awhile then went home, skin crawling all the way.
Hi, Mom!
[SUMMARY: I am a complex and unpredictable creature. Or maybe just weird.]
*************
Hans pointed these ladies out to me. I'm waffling between them being exact negative images of each other or could-they-be-more-different, but they do have similar metallic purses.
[SUMMARY: It is our similarities and not our differences that bring us together.‡]
*************
There are many vintage Guinness posters on the walls at Patrick Carroll's. The knitters were in the back room§ last week and sat right across from this one.
We all took it to mean there was a Guinness hidden picture game in the offing. We spent a fair amount of time going, "Is that a Guinness there... in the lobster tail? Wait! Look at the crab's claw..."
I have since decided the crab and the lobster are just really pissed at the fish for bringing a zucchini instead of a Guinness.
[SUMMARY: Who the hell mistakes a zucchini for a Guinness?]
*************
I was at Target the other night. This goose just stood there and watched me¶ put my new summer bedding# in the car. I thought that was worth a photo.††
[SUMMARY: I may be running out of viable infotainment already.]
*************
When I walked over to Sylvia's Tuesday night, pre-Drunken Knitting, I saw this:
It made me sing‡‡ that song from Sesame Street. You know...
♪One of these things is not like the other.
One of these things just doesn't belong.♪
Can you tell me which thing is not like the other
before I finish this song?♪♪
[SUMMARY: ...black ...black ...black ...purple! run! run!]
*************
As your reward for putting up with this lame and disjointed pig-licking, I now give you a movie short.§§ It's the AntiM Productions classic, "Dance of the Crawly Scourge."
[SUMMARY: Ang Lee, eat your heart out.]
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Admit it... Spanish translated to Pig Latin is going above and beyond the call of duty. And so multicultural, it's practically a petrie dish.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Not snarky. OK, a little snarky. Hey, give me a little buffer. Some of you are used to your parents dating. I'm not even used to my dad having *friends*.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Later, when I say, "opposites attract," I'd like you to look the other way.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): With the pool table, the shuffleboard and the oddly obnoxious people.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Until I grabbed the camera to take his picture, then he turned his head as if camera shy. Really, though -- before he turned his head he was so perfectly symmetrical and so still, I almost thought he was a decoy or some sort of plastic garden decoration.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): There's a story. Isn't there always a story? And aren't I usually more than willing to tell you? Anyway... I have the big fluffy comforter covered by the rosy-pink duvet...
...but it's getting too heavy for the weather.^ This was not a big surprise, as it happens every year, but last year I bought a thin little quilt from Target. It was rosy-pink and had ecru crewel jigsaw stitching all over it (so I thought) and I thought it would be perfect with my existing stuff. Only I got it home and unrolled it from its sleeping bag-like state and found it had a BRIGHT orange stripe in the middle. I lived with it for a summer, but hated it with a passion. So I decided to go for something new this year and donate the BRIGHT orange stripe to a worthy charity.
^FOOTNOTE WITHIN A FOOTNOTE (careted): Considering we had two days of spring this year. Seriously... it snowed and snowed and snowed, then it was 70 degrees for a couple of days, then *bam!* 80! 90!
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And I'm sure the half-dozen bemused shoppers watching me take the picture agreed.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Sometimes I don't think, I sing. It's charming. I'm sure the half-dozen bemused bikers listening to me sing agreed.
§§FOOTNOTE (what a tangled web): Sometimes I take movies of odd things. It's artsy. I'm sure the half-dozen hundred yellow spiders agreed.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Aw, C'mon... Just a Little Slurp
I have some pig-licking good tidbits today... and a whole slew† of pig-licking photos for tomorrow!
[SUMMARY: You are so excited!]
*************
I heard a stoopid classic on the radio yesterday:
The news break on The Ride Home‡ included a story about how an advocacy group is calling the US Mint discriminatory against blind people because all US paper currency is the same size.
There was a sound bite from a spokesperson explaining that the US is the only country with prejudiced paper money.
Then the news caster said,§ "Proposed changes include making bills differents sizes and different colours."
[SUMMARY: Revel in the bad joke.%]
*************
Patrick Carroll's, current home turf of Drunken Knitting, is under new management.
Cute Christopher left at the end of April to assist with the opening of a bar for which he'll be general manager and part owner, leaving Shylin in charge of the PC.
Shy sat down with me for a moment last night and told me she's thinking of making Tuesday Ladies Night.
I suddenly feel very powerful.
[SUMMARY: Continuing delusions of grandeur.]
*************
When I was just a little girl, my mother caught me talking to myself¶ in the corner of our empty dining room# one day.
"What's your name, little girl?"
"Marin."
"Marion?"
"No. Marin."
"Marilyn?"
"No. Marin.
"Mary Ann?"
"No. Marin. Rhymes with Sharon and Karen."
"Oh... Marin! That's a pretty name."
"Thank you."††
I still go through a small version of this now and then, but the current version is people who pronounce it Mahrin‡‡ even though they've never seen it in print.
Think about it: if you meet me, and our mutual friend Sue introduces us...
"Dave, have you met Marin? Marin this is Dave."
And then you never got an email or a letter or saw me on the wall in the post office or anything and suddenly started calling me Mahrin... why? Why make the giant leap from the phonetics you know to the wild and unexplored land of potential spellings and BACK to a mispronunciation?
[SUMMARY: Dave's birthday party was hard on me for more than just flirtopause.§§]
*************
Thanks to Mary Kay, I am now aware of a Canadian game show¶¶ for kids called "Don't Lick the Pig."
[SUMMARY: There is nothing new in the world.]
*************
From Google Analytics keyword searches:
billboard installation
carry-on snakes
landmanning
pillars of the earth sex scenes
sick and twisted blog
compulsion by calvin klein
where is the tuaca bar located at the pepsi center
[SUMMARY: I'm clearly out of content here.]
*************
I'm out. Happy Wednesday, ev'rybahdy!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Slough?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): With Dave and Lois.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I am not making this up.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): If I may be the voice of reason here (shut up), all stupidity around the colour issue aside, how long would it take to get all the current homogenously-sized currency out of circulation? I'm not unsympathetic, but blind people have been coping with this one way or another for ages and there is just no practical solution on a US Mint kind of level. Think of how much it would cost us taxpayers to put such a measure in place... only to have it largely useless until all the old currency is gone.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Two thoughts: If it had been twenty years later and if my mother had been so inclined as to keep up with horror movie trends, she might have had some concerns of a sort of Damien/Poltergeist/Village vibe with a tiny blonde child talking to the corner of a room. Second: You may draw your own conclusions from the fact that Mom wasn't actually worried about me talking to myself, just curious what I might be saying.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Until about 2000, we never had anything in our dining rooms except the piano. We ate in the kitchen. In 2000-ish, Mom found a table on sale at American Furniture Warehouse that she simply couldn't pass up, so the dining room got a horizontal surface on which to store books and clothes and stuff.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Note how polite.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): As in "mar." As in "scar for life."
§§FOOTNOTE (I am SO confused): Yes, Ange, that is a white girl problem.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (two mints in one!): Allie, I'm disappointed. As my number one Canadian, I count on you to educate me about these thing.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Drop In, Opt Out, Co-Opt
Once again, I have almost nothing to say.
No wisdom to impart,† no sex,‡ no knitting.§
[SUMMARY: This could be a long post.¶]
I don't have wisdom, sex or knitting, what do I have?
I can lick the pig.
I take comfort in the thought that no matter how bleak things get, I can usually scrape together enough bits for a respectable pig-licking.#
[SUMMARY: I have a dream...]
*************
First, remember how I wanted to go to Slovenia?%
The fact that there is a Slovenian Pig Stamp doesn't make me want to go any less.
*************
Next, in a long-awaited update to the office trash situation,†† we did finally get our "piggy backs"‡‡ for our trash cans. The trash portion of the system is smaller than a ream of paper. Apparently they haven't seen my trash after a yarn shipment.
[SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!]
Anyway, I've already thrown my kleenex in the wrong bin twice.
Further updates as the situation warrants.
*************
Now for the co-opt portion of our program:
This is not my story, but Mary Kay doesn't have a blog, so it's not so much *stealing* as it is giving an outlet for Mary Kay's wonderful world.
See, Mary Kay is a Drunken Knitter and shows up at Patrick Carroll's on Tuesday nights with some regularity, but she's a double agent.
A group of acedemicians, of which Mary Kay and her husband (The Professor) are members also meets at Patrick Carroll's on Tuesdays. So Mary Kay rides the fence, spending some time fiber-geeking with us and some time science-geeking with the other crowd.
So last Tuesday, Mary Kay had the most wonderful story, a story whose punchline has innumerable potentials.§§
See, a good friend of The Professor has a .45## in his house for protection.
Now is the time I introduce you to the concept of Ninja Monkeys: "Ninja Monkeys" is a blanket term¶¶ for any threat from assaulter to zombie that may beg the presence of a firearm.%%
So this guy became concerned about what might happen should Ninja Monkeys attack while he's in the shower. His hands would be wet. The gun might slip.
He did what any respectable denizen of the 21st century would do: he Googled aftermarket grips for his gun and came across a saying I'd like to have emblazoned across my boobs:†††
Tacky Even When Wet
And I want to translate it to Latin and use it as part of a coat of arms for the Drunken Knitters.
And Mary Kay and I started using it as a call and refrain@:
AntiM: Tacky...
Mary Kay: Even when wet!
[SUMMARY: Oh, the places you'll go!]
*************
I just cashed in a whole pile of Kharmic Green Stamps on titanium sporks.‡‡‡
When Dad took me to the Flyfishing Film Fest, they had a bunch of raffle prizes. I was totally hoping I'd win the titanium spork. Unfortunately, it went to the obnoxious, ungrateful wretch behind us, who (besides being loud through the whole event) did nothing but complain that he got a stupid titanium spork.
Some people don't know a good thing when they have it.
I decided it would be a funny and -- probably -- even useful gift for my father for his upcoming birthday, so I Googled it. REI has a flagship store really close to me, so I checked to see if REI carried such a thing.
Their online store has several.
As you may remember, Shane turned 40 recently.§§§ And Hinch is turning 40 soon. And I got it into my head that a titanium spork would be a perfect gift for a 40 year old guy. And I really want one too.
So I need at least four titanium sporks, an errand I haven't yet accomplished.
Let's look in on Hans.
Hans had his golf clubs stolen right out of his car recently. When his insurance company asked for receipts or photographic evidence that he'd ever actually owned golf clubs,¶¶¶ he found... he couldn't prove a damned thing.###
So he has to get an affidavit from a friend saying he golfs and had golf clubs.
Said friend is meeting him at REI.
I asked him to check and see if they have titanium sporks in stock.
Who knew the theft of Hans's golf clubs would turn out to be so beneficial to me?
Oh, yeah. I won't get a good parking space for weeks for all the Kharmic Green Stamps I've cashed in.
[SUMMARY: Somewhere a Buddhist rolls in his grave.]
*************
Oh, cripes. The boss just called and one of my clients%%% is flying in from Houston at 6:00 tonight and is staying at the Brown Palace. She wants to have a business dinner at 7:00 at the Brown to get a head start on tomorrows round of meetings.
Fuck.
Y'all know I love me some Brown Palace. What's not to love? It's elegant, well appointed, upscale, cosy, well executed, helpful, has the best spa in the city and they feed and water me about once a month.
But tonight is Drunken Knitting night. And I'd like to have more notice. And I have to go home and change and put on war paint. And I just don't want to.
This is what Ange calls a White Girl Problem.
[SUMMARY: You'll note it's still a problem.]
*************
UPDATE: Hans JUST came back and REI does, indeed, have titanium sporks in stock.
*************
Damnit.
With the Brown Palace field trip tonight, I doubt I'll have the time or inclination to offload my camera. I have such splendid out-my-office-window pictures too...
*************
Dang. You know it's a bad blogday when the footnotes outnumber the actual texts.
I better get laid soon or y'all will never have anything good to read again.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Duh.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Trust me, this hurts me more than it hurts you.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I actually have been knitting. Some. But how many times can you see the same 4x1 red silk rib before you give up on me entirely?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Not long like my usual prolixity (look it up), but long like watched-pot-not-boiling long.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Heheheh. What do you suppose "respectable" means in terms of pig-licking?
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Oh, and I still do!
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I think I should get credit for the fact that the last office trash story was also under a pig-licking and I didn't try to make it a full post all on its own. I may get writer's block* now and then, but at least I keep office trash politics in perspective.
*FOOTNOTE WITHIN A FOOTNOTE: Thinker's block?
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Note the clever pig tie-in.
§§FOOTNOTE (dizzy... confused...): Can potential be plural?
##FOOTNOTE (numbers. We are talking numbers here.): Or a .44. Or a Glock something millimetre. Doesn't matter. For our purposes, a handgun. Can you tell I'm not much of a gun buff?
¶¶FOOTNOTE (why not just club them?): And one that might not be capitalised in anyone else's world.
%%FOOTNOTE (2 percent!): This was superfluous but so much fun. After all, I could probably do this whole story without ever saying "Ninja Monkeys," but why on earth?
†††FOOTNOTE (cross me again...): Not directly on my boobs, mind you. In fact, it would *have* to be on a t-shirt to be really funny, wouldn't it?
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Kinda like an adult beverage version of Marco Polo.
§§§FOOTNOTE (put a foot on the floor and it will stop spinning): You think I just took a total left turn, don't you? You may even think I've forgotten what story I'm telling. A good pig-licking always contains an element of surprise. Or confusion.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (one iron! three iron! five iron!): You'll love the fact that not only was his insurance agent the one who left his car window open so his golf clubs *could* be stolen, but the dink called him a couple of days later to ask him to go golfing.
###FOOTNOTE (triple pounder. With cheese.): Let this be a lesson: make sure you have a picture of you golfing. Even if you're drunk and have that smeary look on your face. You may be called upon one day to prove you had clubs.
%%%FOOTNOTE (3 percent!): I only have two right now, so every client is a big client.
No wisdom to impart,† no sex,‡ no knitting.§
[SUMMARY: This could be a long post.¶]
I don't have wisdom, sex or knitting, what do I have?
I can lick the pig.
I take comfort in the thought that no matter how bleak things get, I can usually scrape together enough bits for a respectable pig-licking.#
[SUMMARY: I have a dream...]
*************
First, remember how I wanted to go to Slovenia?%
The fact that there is a Slovenian Pig Stamp doesn't make me want to go any less.
*************
Next, in a long-awaited update to the office trash situation,†† we did finally get our "piggy backs"‡‡ for our trash cans. The trash portion of the system is smaller than a ream of paper. Apparently they haven't seen my trash after a yarn shipment.
[SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!]
Anyway, I've already thrown my kleenex in the wrong bin twice.
Further updates as the situation warrants.
*************
Now for the co-opt portion of our program:
This is not my story, but Mary Kay doesn't have a blog, so it's not so much *stealing* as it is giving an outlet for Mary Kay's wonderful world.
See, Mary Kay is a Drunken Knitter and shows up at Patrick Carroll's on Tuesday nights with some regularity, but she's a double agent.
A group of acedemicians, of which Mary Kay and her husband (The Professor) are members also meets at Patrick Carroll's on Tuesdays. So Mary Kay rides the fence, spending some time fiber-geeking with us and some time science-geeking with the other crowd.
So last Tuesday, Mary Kay had the most wonderful story, a story whose punchline has innumerable potentials.§§
See, a good friend of The Professor has a .45## in his house for protection.
Now is the time I introduce you to the concept of Ninja Monkeys: "Ninja Monkeys" is a blanket term¶¶ for any threat from assaulter to zombie that may beg the presence of a firearm.%%
So this guy became concerned about what might happen should Ninja Monkeys attack while he's in the shower. His hands would be wet. The gun might slip.
He did what any respectable denizen of the 21st century would do: he Googled aftermarket grips for his gun and came across a saying I'd like to have emblazoned across my boobs:†††
Tacky Even When Wet
And I want to translate it to Latin and use it as part of a coat of arms for the Drunken Knitters.
And Mary Kay and I started using it as a call and refrain@:
AntiM: Tacky...
Mary Kay: Even when wet!
[SUMMARY: Oh, the places you'll go!]
*************
I just cashed in a whole pile of Kharmic Green Stamps on titanium sporks.‡‡‡
When Dad took me to the Flyfishing Film Fest, they had a bunch of raffle prizes. I was totally hoping I'd win the titanium spork. Unfortunately, it went to the obnoxious, ungrateful wretch behind us, who (besides being loud through the whole event) did nothing but complain that he got a stupid titanium spork.
Some people don't know a good thing when they have it.
I decided it would be a funny and -- probably -- even useful gift for my father for his upcoming birthday, so I Googled it. REI has a flagship store really close to me, so I checked to see if REI carried such a thing.
Their online store has several.
As you may remember, Shane turned 40 recently.§§§ And Hinch is turning 40 soon. And I got it into my head that a titanium spork would be a perfect gift for a 40 year old guy. And I really want one too.
So I need at least four titanium sporks, an errand I haven't yet accomplished.
Let's look in on Hans.
Hans had his golf clubs stolen right out of his car recently. When his insurance company asked for receipts or photographic evidence that he'd ever actually owned golf clubs,¶¶¶ he found... he couldn't prove a damned thing.###
So he has to get an affidavit from a friend saying he golfs and had golf clubs.
Said friend is meeting him at REI.
I asked him to check and see if they have titanium sporks in stock.
Who knew the theft of Hans's golf clubs would turn out to be so beneficial to me?
Oh, yeah. I won't get a good parking space for weeks for all the Kharmic Green Stamps I've cashed in.
[SUMMARY: Somewhere a Buddhist rolls in his grave.]
*************
Oh, cripes. The boss just called and one of my clients%%% is flying in from Houston at 6:00 tonight and is staying at the Brown Palace. She wants to have a business dinner at 7:00 at the Brown to get a head start on tomorrows round of meetings.
Fuck.
Y'all know I love me some Brown Palace. What's not to love? It's elegant, well appointed, upscale, cosy, well executed, helpful, has the best spa in the city and they feed and water me about once a month.
But tonight is Drunken Knitting night. And I'd like to have more notice. And I have to go home and change and put on war paint. And I just don't want to.
This is what Ange calls a White Girl Problem.
[SUMMARY: You'll note it's still a problem.]
*************
UPDATE: Hans JUST came back and REI does, indeed, have titanium sporks in stock.
*************
Damnit.
With the Brown Palace field trip tonight, I doubt I'll have the time or inclination to offload my camera. I have such splendid out-my-office-window pictures too...
*************
Dang. You know it's a bad blogday when the footnotes outnumber the actual texts.
I better get laid soon or y'all will never have anything good to read again.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Duh.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Trust me, this hurts me more than it hurts you.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I actually have been knitting. Some. But how many times can you see the same 4x1 red silk rib before you give up on me entirely?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Not long like my usual prolixity (look it up), but long like watched-pot-not-boiling long.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Heheheh. What do you suppose "respectable" means in terms of pig-licking?
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Oh, and I still do!
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I think I should get credit for the fact that the last office trash story was also under a pig-licking and I didn't try to make it a full post all on its own. I may get writer's block* now and then, but at least I keep office trash politics in perspective.
*FOOTNOTE WITHIN A FOOTNOTE: Thinker's block?
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Note the clever pig tie-in.
§§FOOTNOTE (dizzy... confused...): Can potential be plural?
##FOOTNOTE (numbers. We are talking numbers here.): Or a .44. Or a Glock something millimetre. Doesn't matter. For our purposes, a handgun. Can you tell I'm not much of a gun buff?
¶¶FOOTNOTE (why not just club them?): And one that might not be capitalised in anyone else's world.
%%FOOTNOTE (2 percent!): This was superfluous but so much fun. After all, I could probably do this whole story without ever saying "Ninja Monkeys," but why on earth?
†††FOOTNOTE (cross me again...): Not directly on my boobs, mind you. In fact, it would *have* to be on a t-shirt to be really funny, wouldn't it?
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Kinda like an adult beverage version of Marco Polo.
§§§FOOTNOTE (put a foot on the floor and it will stop spinning): You think I just took a total left turn, don't you? You may even think I've forgotten what story I'm telling. A good pig-licking always contains an element of surprise. Or confusion.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (one iron! three iron! five iron!): You'll love the fact that not only was his insurance agent the one who left his car window open so his golf clubs *could* be stolen, but the dink called him a couple of days later to ask him to go golfing.
###FOOTNOTE (triple pounder. With cheese.): Let this be a lesson: make sure you have a picture of you golfing. Even if you're drunk and have that smeary look on your face. You may be called upon one day to prove you had clubs.
%%%FOOTNOTE (3 percent!): I only have two right now, so every client is a big client.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
I Could Just Dye!
This book...
...has a recipe for dyeing yarn with a faux ikat technique to make it look like clouds when knitted up.†
Now, the way Ms. LaBelle does it, she gets two skeins of yarn: one she dyes solid blue, the other she reskeins into a giant loop and wraps plastic wrap around bits of it at random intervals, tying either side of each piece of plastic wrap with lengths of acrylic yarn to seal off the ends. When you dye that skein, you get white bits where the plastic wrap was.
In her world, you then knit two rows with the solid skein and three rows with the ikatted skein. Theoretically, this gives you that cloud pattern.
In her world, you also use kool-aid.‡
In her world, you also knit mittens.
Welcome to Marin's world.
I figured§ with the very cool peg board dyeing rack Father made me, I could forego the separate skeins and just set it up so I would, in effect, knit two blue rounds and three whited rounds.
I also figured I'd knit socks¶... for Father, to show him the good use his gift was going to.
I also wanted to make sure the toes and heel were solid,# so I dyed some tiny little blue skeins separately so I could be sure to get that effect.
I also used Jacquard Acid Dyes. No pussy kool-aid shit for this dangermouse.
I wound the nude skeins of yarn†† into balls so I could work with them easier, with less entanglement.‡‡
So, anyway... I knitted a little more than a toe to gauge a couple of things:
Having determined a round was approximately 32", I proceeded to wind three 32" diameter bits, followed by two 32" diameter bits. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Only now that I type that, I think I should have wound 16" diameter bits. Now I'm questioning my methods in a big, bad way.
Did I measure a round or a row?
Should I *ever* be allowed to do my own math?
Huh.
So, anyway... I wound them up...
...then I put the plastic wrap resist on the appropriate portion...
Cat for Scale helped.§§
I tossed the yarn in to soak...¶¶
...and mixed some dye. The directions say a teaspoon of powder dyes four ounces of fibre a nice, deep colour. I assumed I had 50 or 100 grams of fibre. I had no idea how that translated,## so I decided a teaspoon of dye powder was the way to go.
I thought I purchased a sky blue dye, but it turns out I just had blue. Like crayon blue. So I used about 3/4 tsp of blue and 1/4 tsp of yellow.
Then I dipped a napkin in to get an idea of how it would look on the yarn.
"Keep in mind," said the book, "your yarn will be darker..."
So I decided to use only about half the dye, since I was going for sky-at-10:00-am rather than sky-at-10:00-pm.
Can I just tell you how magic it is when the dye exhausts? I've read and heard dozens of casually tossed "when the dye exhausts..." or "my dye didn't exhaust this time..." and it all seemed so blasé, so take-it-for-granted.
It's not. It's pure magic.
You have this big ol' pot of blue kool-aid lookin' stuff and your yarn is getting just a little blue††† when you toss in a glug of vinegar. Within minutes, the water is clearing to a pale, swimming pool blue. Then *poof!* No colour. You have blueblueblue yarn swimming in crystal clear water.
Magic, I tell you.
Then I found there were some white areas in the yarn, so I decided to add a bit of dye and a bit of vinegar, which worked really well, only I dumped the dye over on the kitchen counter. Turns out Barkeeper's Friend scrubs the dye right off.
So, anyway... I let the yarn sit overnight and rinsed it in the morning.
Then I hung it up in the unused mystery bathroom to dry.
See the ikat resist?
Because I wound it in twos and three around two pegs, it was still a pain in the ass to wind up, though not full yarn barf.
Here are my blue balls§§§:
And here is the beginnings of the Sky Sox. I actually thought of a really clever name for them as I was drifting off to sleep last night, only I can't... WAIT! Mare's Tail¶¶¶ Socks! That's what I thought of.
So, anyway... here are the beginnings of the Mare's Tail socks. The little pagoda toes are because I did a round before beginning my increases accidentally. If you put them on your feet, they smooth out fine and look like normal socks.###
Close up so you can see the tiny, wispy bits of cloud.
Next time:
Next time, I will only do one big wind, not the twos and threes.
Next time, I will go for more white.
Next time, I will do very few white bits shorter than two inches, because I'm developing an inordinate number of single-stitch clouds as the socks progress.
Next time, I will be wind the ikat plastic looser, because it doesn't have to be airtight and you### can accidentally cut your yarn while trying to remove skin-tight Saran Wrap†††† with scissors.
[SUMMARY: How educational, AntiM.]
So, yes, I believe there will be a next time.
A NOTE TO THOSE OF YOU IN THE GREATER DENVERISH AREA AND OUTLYING COMMUNITIES:
Tomorrow night is Bobmas Eve, the celebration of the anniversary of Ravelry. We will bedrinking celebrating from 6:00ish to 9:00ish (pm) at Patrick Carroll's, 3963 Tennyson Street, across from the inimitable Posh, a Yarn Boutique. It is rumoured Sylvia might be moving Thursday night Stitch Therapy across to the bar in observance of the holiday.
Join us!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Theoretically.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Or food colouring, maybe.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): No good ever comes of me figuring.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I'm so torn in the naming: Sky Sox or Tiny Fluffy Clouds? Both have the benefit of being obscure references. Maybe Sky Sox for Dad's and make myself or Brother a pair under the "Little Fluffy Clouds" banner.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I love that look -- like the stockings hung by the chimney with care in every holiday colouring book I had when I was a kid.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): You think I'm going to say something saucy about "nude," don't you? Nope. Just here to tell you it's a superwash merino silk bamboo blend that's really lovely and soft and 100% machine washable AND dryable. How often does that happen? About as often as you find a man who's the perfect mixture of gentleman and pervert, that's how often.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Less entanglement. Heh. You'd think that'd be my watchword, both in yarn and in life. That's pretty deep for a footnote.
§§FOOTNOTE (wind the yarn over and over and over...): This picture is a stunningly accurate representation of what happened. I turned my back for a moment as he was delicately pawing the yarn on the floor. When I turned back, he was scarfing down yarn as fast as he could stuff it in his mouth. He has never eaten yarn in the entire time I've known him, but it was clear he knew he shouldn't be and was going for maximum broke before I would turn around and stop him.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (like pegs on a pegboard): Note the seemingly excessive number of yarns. I used red bits for the ikat thing, and used orange to keep the skeins orderly. Lots of orange. I've heard too many horror stories about cheerfully dyed yarn that came out yarn barf.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like the pavement): Hell, I had a 100% margin of error on how much I was dyeing. It's a lead pipe cinch I wasn't paying that close of attention to my numbers.
†††FOOTNOTE (there's that hill I can never say right): Aw, it's OK, little yarn. Spring is here. The flowers will be up soon.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (surgery!): Which I'm not sure you have to do with superwash. My impression is that you don't want to shock or felt your yarn by changing temperatures drastically, and there wouldn't be a worry of that with the superwash. But I followed directions like a good girl anyway.
§§§FOOTNOTE (...and over and over and over): If you didn't snicker at that, please turn in your Brainless Twelvehood card at the door.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (three socks? Why?): Mare's tails are wispy little clouds that look like horse tails blowing in the breeze. My dad told me many years ago they signal good flying weather. As the girl who is storing "Darjeeling means land of the thunderbolt" as her death-bed statement, I retained that. One day last summer, we were taking a break from landscaping his yard and I looked up and said, "Mare's tails. Good day for flying." Dad looked at me in wonderment.
"You *do* listen when I talk."
"Sometimes!" I replied, cheerfully, and went back to looking at the clouds.
###FOOTNOTE (poundpoundpound): And by, "you," I mean, "I."
††††FOOTNOTE (how many crosses does one blog need?): There! I said it! Damn the tyranny of the brand name two-step! Saran Wrap! SARAN WRAP! Ahahahahahahahahah!
...has a recipe for dyeing yarn with a faux ikat technique to make it look like clouds when knitted up.†
Now, the way Ms. LaBelle does it, she gets two skeins of yarn: one she dyes solid blue, the other she reskeins into a giant loop and wraps plastic wrap around bits of it at random intervals, tying either side of each piece of plastic wrap with lengths of acrylic yarn to seal off the ends. When you dye that skein, you get white bits where the plastic wrap was.
In her world, you then knit two rows with the solid skein and three rows with the ikatted skein. Theoretically, this gives you that cloud pattern.
In her world, you also use kool-aid.‡
In her world, you also knit mittens.
Welcome to Marin's world.
I figured§ with the very cool peg board dyeing rack Father made me, I could forego the separate skeins and just set it up so I would, in effect, knit two blue rounds and three whited rounds.
I also figured I'd knit socks¶... for Father, to show him the good use his gift was going to.
I also wanted to make sure the toes and heel were solid,# so I dyed some tiny little blue skeins separately so I could be sure to get that effect.
I also used Jacquard Acid Dyes. No pussy kool-aid shit for this dangermouse.
I wound the nude skeins of yarn†† into balls so I could work with them easier, with less entanglement.‡‡
So, anyway... I knitted a little more than a toe to gauge a couple of things:
- How much total yarn does a toe take? (so I can dye some solid-coloured toe and heel yarn)
- How much yarn in one round? (so I can determine how to get three rounds then two rounds to mimic the pattern put forth in the book)
- Also? Gauge. I gauged my gauge.
Having determined a round was approximately 32", I proceeded to wind three 32" diameter bits, followed by two 32" diameter bits. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Only now that I type that, I think I should have wound 16" diameter bits. Now I'm questioning my methods in a big, bad way.
Did I measure a round or a row?
Should I *ever* be allowed to do my own math?
Huh.
So, anyway... I wound them up...
...then I put the plastic wrap resist on the appropriate portion...
Cat for Scale helped.§§
I tossed the yarn in to soak...¶¶
...and mixed some dye. The directions say a teaspoon of powder dyes four ounces of fibre a nice, deep colour. I assumed I had 50 or 100 grams of fibre. I had no idea how that translated,## so I decided a teaspoon of dye powder was the way to go.
I thought I purchased a sky blue dye, but it turns out I just had blue. Like crayon blue. So I used about 3/4 tsp of blue and 1/4 tsp of yellow.
Then I dipped a napkin in to get an idea of how it would look on the yarn.
"Keep in mind," said the book, "your yarn will be darker..."
So I decided to use only about half the dye, since I was going for sky-at-10:00-am rather than sky-at-10:00-pm.
Can I just tell you how magic it is when the dye exhausts? I've read and heard dozens of casually tossed "when the dye exhausts..." or "my dye didn't exhaust this time..." and it all seemed so blasé, so take-it-for-granted.
It's not. It's pure magic.
You have this big ol' pot of blue kool-aid lookin' stuff and your yarn is getting just a little blue††† when you toss in a glug of vinegar. Within minutes, the water is clearing to a pale, swimming pool blue. Then *poof!* No colour. You have blueblueblue yarn swimming in crystal clear water.
Magic, I tell you.
Then I found there were some white areas in the yarn, so I decided to add a bit of dye and a bit of vinegar, which worked really well, only I dumped the dye over on the kitchen counter. Turns out Barkeeper's Friend scrubs the dye right off.
So, anyway... I let the yarn sit overnight and rinsed it in the morning.
Then I hung it up in the unused mystery bathroom to dry.
See the ikat resist?
Because I wound it in twos and three around two pegs, it was still a pain in the ass to wind up, though not full yarn barf.
Here are my blue balls§§§:
And here is the beginnings of the Sky Sox. I actually thought of a really clever name for them as I was drifting off to sleep last night, only I can't... WAIT! Mare's Tail¶¶¶ Socks! That's what I thought of.
So, anyway... here are the beginnings of the Mare's Tail socks. The little pagoda toes are because I did a round before beginning my increases accidentally. If you put them on your feet, they smooth out fine and look like normal socks.###
Close up so you can see the tiny, wispy bits of cloud.
Next time:
Next time, I will only do one big wind, not the twos and threes.
Next time, I will go for more white.
Next time, I will do very few white bits shorter than two inches, because I'm developing an inordinate number of single-stitch clouds as the socks progress.
Next time, I will be wind the ikat plastic looser, because it doesn't have to be airtight and you### can accidentally cut your yarn while trying to remove skin-tight Saran Wrap†††† with scissors.
[SUMMARY: How educational, AntiM.]
So, yes, I believe there will be a next time.
A NOTE TO THOSE OF YOU IN THE GREATER DENVERISH AREA AND OUTLYING COMMUNITIES:
Tomorrow night is Bobmas Eve, the celebration of the anniversary of Ravelry. We will be
Join us!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Theoretically.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Or food colouring, maybe.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): No good ever comes of me figuring.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I'm so torn in the naming: Sky Sox or Tiny Fluffy Clouds? Both have the benefit of being obscure references. Maybe Sky Sox for Dad's and make myself or Brother a pair under the "Little Fluffy Clouds" banner.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I love that look -- like the stockings hung by the chimney with care in every holiday colouring book I had when I was a kid.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): You think I'm going to say something saucy about "nude," don't you? Nope. Just here to tell you it's a superwash merino silk bamboo blend that's really lovely and soft and 100% machine washable AND dryable. How often does that happen? About as often as you find a man who's the perfect mixture of gentleman and pervert, that's how often.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Less entanglement. Heh. You'd think that'd be my watchword, both in yarn and in life. That's pretty deep for a footnote.
§§FOOTNOTE (wind the yarn over and over and over...): This picture is a stunningly accurate representation of what happened. I turned my back for a moment as he was delicately pawing the yarn on the floor. When I turned back, he was scarfing down yarn as fast as he could stuff it in his mouth. He has never eaten yarn in the entire time I've known him, but it was clear he knew he shouldn't be and was going for maximum broke before I would turn around and stop him.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (like pegs on a pegboard): Note the seemingly excessive number of yarns. I used red bits for the ikat thing, and used orange to keep the skeins orderly. Lots of orange. I've heard too many horror stories about cheerfully dyed yarn that came out yarn barf.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like the pavement): Hell, I had a 100% margin of error on how much I was dyeing. It's a lead pipe cinch I wasn't paying that close of attention to my numbers.
†††FOOTNOTE (there's that hill I can never say right): Aw, it's OK, little yarn. Spring is here. The flowers will be up soon.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (surgery!): Which I'm not sure you have to do with superwash. My impression is that you don't want to shock or felt your yarn by changing temperatures drastically, and there wouldn't be a worry of that with the superwash. But I followed directions like a good girl anyway.
§§§FOOTNOTE (...and over and over and over): If you didn't snicker at that, please turn in your Brainless Twelvehood card at the door.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (three socks? Why?): Mare's tails are wispy little clouds that look like horse tails blowing in the breeze. My dad told me many years ago they signal good flying weather. As the girl who is storing "Darjeeling means land of the thunderbolt" as her death-bed statement, I retained that. One day last summer, we were taking a break from landscaping his yard and I looked up and said, "Mare's tails. Good day for flying." Dad looked at me in wonderment.
"You *do* listen when I talk."
"Sometimes!" I replied, cheerfully, and went back to looking at the clouds.
###FOOTNOTE (poundpoundpound): And by, "you," I mean, "I."
††††FOOTNOTE (how many crosses does one blog need?): There! I said it! Damn the tyranny of the brand name two-step! Saran Wrap! SARAN WRAP! Ahahahahahahahahah!
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Nizards to the Left of You...
Nizards to the right.
Nizards gonna gets you,
Cuz nizards likes to fight.
-from the Lobotomy Club Hymal†
Look! Camera and computer, together again!
Which is nice 'cause then I get credit for a thousand words per picture‡ and it's like I baked it all from scratch.
First, I have for you pictures of a vast raft of rampant consumerism. OK, you've seen worse.§ You've seen worse from me. But it's basically stuff I bought that came in the mail.
And first among mass consumerism is something I didn't actually buy, but in fact WON, which makes at least ten times cooler than if I'd bought it.¶ It's a SplitYarn case from Caro Sheridan, my reward for carrying the I'm a Square Rhinebeck Bingo bag all over the Dutchess County Fairgrounds.
I do have one a lot like this, only a slightly different size and red and pink. I love these colours.
[SUMMARY: I'm a winner!]
I also got my limited edition Ravelry shirt# and my limited edition Skull-a-Day shirt.††
Note the ongoing "limited edition" theme.
[SUMMARY: Sucker!]
I also got my Moo cards, which I dearly love. See, I have business cards, but there are some situations‡‡ under which I don't want to give my address or even my last name to someone.
I'm making this sound all logical and stuff, but really they're just cuter than Disney.
All of them have my phone number and email addy on the back, and most of them just say "Marin" on the front. If you look closely, though, you may be able to see such provocative covers as "don't lose this number," "for a good time," and the wildly saucy "you + me?"
Oh, yes... so practical.
[SUMMARY: Justifi-CA-tion!]
The Moo people got me for life, though, with this receipt:
And now, fellow fibre freeks, the Lizard Ridge update that prompted the ritual singing of the Nizard song at the top of this post:
7 & 8
9 & 10
16 & 16.5
[SUMMARY: Pretty Nizard... and I'm sure there's a Chameleon joke in here somewhere too, for those of you playing along in the comments.]
For your knitting entertainment, Brother joined us at Drunken Knitting night. The emotions ranged from
to 
If you think those are disturbing, you should see the look I got right after the flash went off.
[SUMMARY: He can't hit a girl.]
And they were hanging Christmas lights downtown. Christmas light-hanging guys don't use cranes, but they do have colourful ladders.
And apparently some of them are hams.§§
[SUMMARY: And the gods bless us, everyone!]
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): That's not a misspelling. Not anymore.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Let's see... nineteen pictures at one thousand words per picture... ought plus ought, carry the ought... ow! my brain! three... four... many... an assload...
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Oh, American guilt.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The fact that I actually have purchased one of Caro's cases at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack should in no way influence the cool factor of also having won one.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Where My Stitches At?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Mostly involving alcohol or dim lighting.
§§FOOTNOTE (two hurricanes fighting under a blanket): Note the guy in the navy blue sweatshirt taking a break from untangling strings of lights to get his picture took.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (three wood, five wood?): No, seriously, I would have taken him anyway. In fact, the appointment was originally at 8:00 in the morning and there was no lunch involved. I'm just a good daughter. But he's still going to feed me.
Nizards gonna gets you,
Cuz nizards likes to fight.
-from the Lobotomy Club Hymal†
Look! Camera and computer, together again!
Which is nice 'cause then I get credit for a thousand words per picture‡ and it's like I baked it all from scratch.
First, I have for you pictures of a vast raft of rampant consumerism. OK, you've seen worse.§ You've seen worse from me. But it's basically stuff I bought that came in the mail.
And first among mass consumerism is something I didn't actually buy, but in fact WON, which makes at least ten times cooler than if I'd bought it.¶ It's a SplitYarn case from Caro Sheridan, my reward for carrying the I'm a Square Rhinebeck Bingo bag all over the Dutchess County Fairgrounds.
I do have one a lot like this, only a slightly different size and red and pink. I love these colours.
[SUMMARY: I'm a winner!]
I also got my limited edition Ravelry shirt# and my limited edition Skull-a-Day shirt.††
Note the ongoing "limited edition" theme.
[SUMMARY: Sucker!]
I also got my Moo cards, which I dearly love. See, I have business cards, but there are some situations‡‡ under which I don't want to give my address or even my last name to someone.
I'm making this sound all logical and stuff, but really they're just cuter than Disney.
All of them have my phone number and email addy on the back, and most of them just say "Marin" on the front. If you look closely, though, you may be able to see such provocative covers as "don't lose this number," "for a good time," and the wildly saucy "you + me?"
Oh, yes... so practical.
[SUMMARY: Justifi-CA-tion!]
The Moo people got me for life, though, with this receipt:
And now, fellow fibre freeks, the Lizard Ridge update that prompted the ritual singing of the Nizard song at the top of this post:
7 & 8
9 & 10
11 & 12
Huh. Where did my pretty picture of Strip 2 go? Would y'all check under the bed and behind the fridge and let me know if you see it?
Anyway...
Strip 3
13 & 14 & 15
13 & 14 & 15
16 & 16.5
[SUMMARY: Pretty Nizard... and I'm sure there's a Chameleon joke in here somewhere too, for those of you playing along in the comments.]
For your knitting entertainment, Brother joined us at Drunken Knitting night. The emotions ranged from
to 
If you think those are disturbing, you should see the look I got right after the flash went off.
[SUMMARY: He can't hit a girl.]
And they were hanging Christmas lights downtown. Christmas light-hanging guys don't use cranes, but they do have colourful ladders.
And apparently some of them are hams.§§
[SUMMARY: And the gods bless us, everyone!]
Leaving to take Dad to the eye doctor. He promised to feed me, so I gotta do it.¶¶
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): That's not a misspelling. Not anymore.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Let's see... nineteen pictures at one thousand words per picture... ought plus ought, carry the ought... ow! my brain! three... four... many... an assload...
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Oh, American guilt.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The fact that I actually have purchased one of Caro's cases at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack should in no way influence the cool factor of also having won one.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Where My Stitches At?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door.
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Mostly involving alcohol or dim lighting.
§§FOOTNOTE (two hurricanes fighting under a blanket): Note the guy in the navy blue sweatshirt taking a break from untangling strings of lights to get his picture took.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (three wood, five wood?): No, seriously, I would have taken him anyway. In fact, the appointment was originally at 8:00 in the morning and there was no lunch involved. I'm just a good daughter. But he's still going to feed me.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Hey, Kids! Do You Know What Time It Is?
It's time to
LICK
THE
PIG!
Today, our blithe little tongues will be touching on the snouts of weather, sex with soldiers, wake up calls, and any of a number of other things floating around in my fuzzy head.†
[SUMMARY: Wait, did she say, "sex with soldiers"?]
*************
My car dinged at me this morning. I knew my seatbelt was securely fastened. I was pretty sure it wasn't time to change the oil. But you know that feeling you get -- the dash light goes on, the engine makes an odd noise, something dings at you. It's like when you see those red and blue lights whirling in your rearview. No matter how safe and good and careful you think you are, your heart does that little dive.
I'm a dork.
It's been so long I'd completely forgotten that the car dings to let me know when it gets to 37° because that's where the roads can start freezing and there could be traction issues.
So it's cold this morning here in Denverish. We may see some winter yet.‡
[SUMMARY: Warming up the audience (ha! pun!), talking small.]
*************
Up until last night, I thought the line in the song was, "...living in a pony keg and giving off sparks."
[SUMMARY: *dork*]
*************
Remember when I did the big book and author list§ awhile back? I found another glaring ommission.¶
If you haven't read Ken Follett's# The Pillars of the Earth, please go get a copy RIGHT NOW and read it.
I'll wait here.
I had read some of Follett's spy novels that were lying around my parents' house, but was largely unimpressed.†† So when my dad handed me Pillars and told me I'd really like it, I trusted, but cautiously.
It remains one of the best books I've ever read. In fact, I don't know how I missed it on my list because it's the one book that's been in my nightstand constantly since I got it.%
It is the story of a town/village (Kingsbridge) in Olde Englande. The characters are compelling, the research astonishing, the story a force of nature. Nine Hundred and Ninety-Two rapidly-flipping pages of history, architecture, theology, sociology, anthropology, knights, monks, sex and violence.
Well, after 14 years, Mr. Follett has brought forth the sequel, World Without End. I'm about a quarter through it. Not as compelling out of the gate as Pillars, but so far, so very good.
I'll keep you posted.
[SUMMARY: Meanwhile, go read Pillars.]
*************
I told Susie I'd make her a scarf for her birthday.
"What colour?" I asked.
"Um... rainbow."
"I can do rainbow."
"And I'm allergic to wool."
So now what am I going to do? Even the gay pride weasel has a bunch of wool in it.
[SUMMARY: Be careful what you offer...]
*************
Dad sent this to me last week. I told him it isn't funny at all. It's a fucking documentary. Right up to the baseball bat, this is EXACTLY how my every morning starts.
Usually at 4:30 or 5:00.
[SUMMARY: Every. Single. Morning.]
*************
Last year, before most of y'all knew me, I hooked up with a soldier home on leave for Christmas.‡‡ We had many drinks, a lot of laughs and a nice naked tour of the couch, the chair, the stairs, the bed.^
I was wholly surprised when he called me and we got together again before he left. I figured, "Hey, soldier home on leave. If he doesn't have as many girls lined up for the two weeks before they send him back to the sandbox as he possibly can, he's not smart enough or passionate enough to wield weaponry for my country. It's a NSA romp and I'm good with that."
I dropped him a couple of times in the last year. Surprisingly,§§ he even wrote me (unprompted) once or twice.
Friday, I was muddling through some boxes of work at home,¶¶ and the phone rang. It was a wireless caller, a number I didn't recognise, so I let it go to voice mail.
A little later, when I picked up the message, it was Soldier Boy, back from the war and wanting to touch base and maybe get together.
I called him a little later. We did a quick recon## and he asked, "Do you still go to that little bar?"
"Oh, yes. In fact, every Tuesday."
"Tuesday, huh?"
"Yes. We knit."
"What?"
"We knit."
"I'm sorry, I still didn't catch that. You...?"
"We *knit*."
"You knit? In the bar?"
"Of course."
*wild laughter*
"So you have a couple of beers and see if you can still knit one, purl two? Like that?"
"Ek-ZACKly."
He said he'd like to get together and catch up, I said that'd be dandy.
I imagine he might show up at Drunken Knitting tonight.
He's exuberant, funny, a little wild and he drinks like me.
I shaved my legs this morning.
[SUMMARY: Will wonders never cease?]
*************
Speaking of drinking like Marin,††† that's a phrase Bag Lady Kathryn uses and it cracks me up.
See, when I say, "Drink Like Marin" in that bumper sticker tone of voice, I know what y'all are thinking. However, Kathryn uses it to denote drinking a lot of water. 'Cause I do. 'Specially in the bar.
Hey, two glasses of water for every adult beverage and I've never had a hangover in my life.
So Drink Like Marin!
[SUMMARY: There should be tshirts.]
*************
♪Today you read this com-plete-ly.
You lick the pig so sweetly.
Today the light of duh is in your eyes...
Will there be rug burns tomorrow?♪
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Mostly this isn't a pick-and-choose thing. Mostly this is a "can I remember?" thing.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Says the girl who missed the first snow luxuriating in the sweet, lush atmosphere of autumn in New York.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Have I mentioned lately how much I dig self-referential linking?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I *knew* this was going to happen. Five years from now, I'll still be saying, "Oh... remember that list? I forgot something..."
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): OK, I just went to the Google toolbar to put in "Ken Follett" to make sure I had the right number of Ls and Ts and it DIDN'T COME UP. "Pillars of the Earth" (along with pillars of the earth sequel, pillars of the earth movie, pillars of the earth book, pillars of the earth review, pillars of the earth summary, pillars of the earth audiobook, pillars of the earth audio book, pillars of the earth: the videogame...) came up just fine, but not Ken Follett. This is a kind of Googlewhacking I'd never dreamed possible.
I put in "seven deadly sins colour" and came up with actual entries and there's no Ken Follett?
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which has NOTHING to do with the very hot, female-friendly sex scenes that could potentially, if I did that sort of thing, get me through some of the C-batterier of the C-battery nights.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Not Mr. Follett's fault. I grow quickly bored with most spy novels. I like them, but I get sick of the playboy-loner-dashing-gentleman-rogue persona pretty quick. As someone whose dated her fair share of self-romanticising loners with overblown egos, I can but take a "been there, done that (heh. done that. heh.)" attitude about the whole genre.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Courtesy, Yahoo Personals.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): This is how rug burns are made.
§§FOOTNOTE (sssssssssssss): See paragraph above. Honestly, I don't know why anyone puts up with me: I'm utterly surprised when anybody likes me, then utterly surprised if someone doesn't. Trust me, it's all sincere. I am a dichotomic dork.
(I feel I should also tell you I originally went with "dichotomous dork," which I think sounds like the plucky, anthropomorphised mouse peasant who saves the rodent kingdom in some fantasy novel. Or maybe the new teacher at Hogwarts.)
¶¶FOOTNOTE (little Mickey Mouse feet): I am a dichotomic dork who has a deep-seated need to show you how dedicated I am that I was home sick and still worked all day. Therapy, anyone?
##FOOTNOTE (double pounder with cheese): See? I hang around soldiers. I know the lingo.
†††FOOTNOTE (triple-crossed): Yes, we were.
LICK
THE
PIG!
Today, our blithe little tongues will be touching on the snouts of weather, sex with soldiers, wake up calls, and any of a number of other things floating around in my fuzzy head.†
[SUMMARY: Wait, did she say, "sex with soldiers"?]
*************
My car dinged at me this morning. I knew my seatbelt was securely fastened. I was pretty sure it wasn't time to change the oil. But you know that feeling you get -- the dash light goes on, the engine makes an odd noise, something dings at you. It's like when you see those red and blue lights whirling in your rearview. No matter how safe and good and careful you think you are, your heart does that little dive.
I'm a dork.
It's been so long I'd completely forgotten that the car dings to let me know when it gets to 37° because that's where the roads can start freezing and there could be traction issues.
So it's cold this morning here in Denverish. We may see some winter yet.‡
[SUMMARY: Warming up the audience (ha! pun!), talking small.]
*************
Up until last night, I thought the line in the song was, "...living in a pony keg and giving off sparks."
[SUMMARY: *dork*]
*************
Remember when I did the big book and author list§ awhile back? I found another glaring ommission.¶
If you haven't read Ken Follett's# The Pillars of the Earth, please go get a copy RIGHT NOW and read it.
I'll wait here.
I had read some of Follett's spy novels that were lying around my parents' house, but was largely unimpressed.†† So when my dad handed me Pillars and told me I'd really like it, I trusted, but cautiously.
It remains one of the best books I've ever read. In fact, I don't know how I missed it on my list because it's the one book that's been in my nightstand constantly since I got it.%
It is the story of a town/village (Kingsbridge) in Olde Englande. The characters are compelling, the research astonishing, the story a force of nature. Nine Hundred and Ninety-Two rapidly-flipping pages of history, architecture, theology, sociology, anthropology, knights, monks, sex and violence.
Well, after 14 years, Mr. Follett has brought forth the sequel, World Without End. I'm about a quarter through it. Not as compelling out of the gate as Pillars, but so far, so very good.
I'll keep you posted.
[SUMMARY: Meanwhile, go read Pillars.]
*************
I told Susie I'd make her a scarf for her birthday.
"What colour?" I asked.
"Um... rainbow."
"I can do rainbow."
"And I'm allergic to wool."
So now what am I going to do? Even the gay pride weasel has a bunch of wool in it.
[SUMMARY: Be careful what you offer...]
*************
Dad sent this to me last week. I told him it isn't funny at all. It's a fucking documentary. Right up to the baseball bat, this is EXACTLY how my every morning starts.
Usually at 4:30 or 5:00.
[SUMMARY: Every. Single. Morning.]
*************
Last year, before most of y'all knew me, I hooked up with a soldier home on leave for Christmas.‡‡ We had many drinks, a lot of laughs and a nice naked tour of the couch, the chair, the stairs, the bed.^
I was wholly surprised when he called me and we got together again before he left. I figured, "Hey, soldier home on leave. If he doesn't have as many girls lined up for the two weeks before they send him back to the sandbox as he possibly can, he's not smart enough or passionate enough to wield weaponry for my country. It's a NSA romp and I'm good with that."
I dropped him a couple of times in the last year. Surprisingly,§§ he even wrote me (unprompted) once or twice.
Friday, I was muddling through some boxes of work at home,¶¶ and the phone rang. It was a wireless caller, a number I didn't recognise, so I let it go to voice mail.
A little later, when I picked up the message, it was Soldier Boy, back from the war and wanting to touch base and maybe get together.
I called him a little later. We did a quick recon## and he asked, "Do you still go to that little bar?"
"Oh, yes. In fact, every Tuesday."
"Tuesday, huh?"
"Yes. We knit."
"What?"
"We knit."
"I'm sorry, I still didn't catch that. You...?"
"We *knit*."
"You knit? In the bar?"
"Of course."
*wild laughter*
"So you have a couple of beers and see if you can still knit one, purl two? Like that?"
"Ek-ZACKly."
He said he'd like to get together and catch up, I said that'd be dandy.
I imagine he might show up at Drunken Knitting tonight.
He's exuberant, funny, a little wild and he drinks like me.
I shaved my legs this morning.
[SUMMARY: Will wonders never cease?]
*************
Speaking of drinking like Marin,††† that's a phrase Bag Lady Kathryn uses and it cracks me up.
See, when I say, "Drink Like Marin" in that bumper sticker tone of voice, I know what y'all are thinking. However, Kathryn uses it to denote drinking a lot of water. 'Cause I do. 'Specially in the bar.
Hey, two glasses of water for every adult beverage and I've never had a hangover in my life.
So Drink Like Marin!
[SUMMARY: There should be tshirts.]
*************
♪Today you read this com-plete-ly.
You lick the pig so sweetly.
Today the light of duh is in your eyes...
Will there be rug burns tomorrow?♪
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Mostly this isn't a pick-and-choose thing. Mostly this is a "can I remember?" thing.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Says the girl who missed the first snow luxuriating in the sweet, lush atmosphere of autumn in New York.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Have I mentioned lately how much I dig self-referential linking?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I *knew* this was going to happen. Five years from now, I'll still be saying, "Oh... remember that list? I forgot something..."
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): OK, I just went to the Google toolbar to put in "Ken Follett" to make sure I had the right number of Ls and Ts and it DIDN'T COME UP. "Pillars of the Earth" (along with pillars of the earth sequel, pillars of the earth movie, pillars of the earth book, pillars of the earth review, pillars of the earth summary, pillars of the earth audiobook, pillars of the earth audio book, pillars of the earth: the videogame...) came up just fine, but not Ken Follett. This is a kind of Googlewhacking I'd never dreamed possible.
I put in "seven deadly sins colour" and came up with actual entries and there's no Ken Follett?
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which has NOTHING to do with the very hot, female-friendly sex scenes that could potentially, if I did that sort of thing, get me through some of the C-batterier of the C-battery nights.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Not Mr. Follett's fault. I grow quickly bored with most spy novels. I like them, but I get sick of the playboy-loner-dashing-gentleman-rogue persona pretty quick. As someone whose dated her fair share of self-romanticising loners with overblown egos, I can but take a "been there, done that (heh. done that. heh.)" attitude about the whole genre.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Courtesy, Yahoo Personals.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): This is how rug burns are made.
§§FOOTNOTE (sssssssssssss): See paragraph above. Honestly, I don't know why anyone puts up with me: I'm utterly surprised when anybody likes me, then utterly surprised if someone doesn't. Trust me, it's all sincere. I am a dichotomic dork.
(I feel I should also tell you I originally went with "dichotomous dork," which I think sounds like the plucky, anthropomorphised mouse peasant who saves the rodent kingdom in some fantasy novel. Or maybe the new teacher at Hogwarts.)
¶¶FOOTNOTE (little Mickey Mouse feet): I am a dichotomic dork who has a deep-seated need to show you how dedicated I am that I was home sick and still worked all day. Therapy, anyone?
##FOOTNOTE (double pounder with cheese): See? I hang around soldiers. I know the lingo.
†††FOOTNOTE (triple-crossed): Yes, we were.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Reality Check
The bottom line about this weekend:- Friday: Devised workable method of shortcutting workload by taking a box of folders home, a couple of snakebites† at Patrick Carroll's, a tarot reading, a little art, a sudden realisation that while I had devised a workable method of getting ahead on the Everest of workpiles, I left the box of folders at the office,% went downtown at 7:00 to pick up box,
returned home for a little TiVi catch-up while knitting, a lot of quality sleep
[SUMMARY: Pretty pictures don't erase dorkdom, but they help.]
- Saturday: Up at 7:30, notary skills applied in Littleton and check picked up, followed by trip to bank (where they had doughnuts and coffee),‡
ESPN-XM on the way home, a productive two work hours, lunch, five more hours of work (slogging along, but making progress), TiVi and knitting -- all laundry done during work and folded during TiVi breaks, a little more art, a little wine, a surprise appearance by various relatives and an outstanding massage.§ No sex.
[SUMMARY: At least I caught on to that laundry issue before it was too late.]
[SUMMARY: A win is a win, no matter how ugly.††]
Now I should go perform ritual hair removal and shower so as to be presentable in public.
Thank you for your continued support.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Dork, dork, dork...
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Half Strongbow Hard Cider, half Harp's. All yummy and refreshing.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Nobody at the bank even asked why I was taking pictures of their doughnut table.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Not Fling. A massage therapist at the art show.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): which I had to use as a decoy for Cat for Scale so I could get anything at all done on the Girl Colours Big Baby, and it (Boy Colours Big Baby) is now covered in kitty snot and wild hairs. Don't tell Christa. It'll be clean before her little darling sees it.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Which, frankly, if Mom wasn't already dead, this game would have killed her. I *screamed* at the end. I made girl noises. At football. That's just wrong.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Y'all get that I'm not just talking about the Broncos, right? That it's a metaphor for my weekend and I think I'm clever and this is probably one of those style-over-substance things I corner myself with so often?
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Miscellany
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!
[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!
Monday, June 25, 2007
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.
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.
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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