Woolstock

First and foremost, if the Yarn Harlot is within shouting, rock-throwing, driving (and I'm talking a couple or three hours here) distance of you, GO.

Stephanie is a terrific speaker, no matter the impression you may get from her blogaccounts of her book tours. She's even funnier and more thoughtful in person than on paper, and that's saying something.

Anyway, as always, the photography leaves something to be desired,** but here's the scoop:

I arrived at 4:00-ish and found Red (remember Red? I told you you'd be reading more about Red) from the Posh SnB. It's hard to miss Red; she's a redheaded whirlwind of social energy and funny phrases. And she spins in public, which -- let's be honest -- is probably a step beyond knitting in public. My picture of Red? Alas, too horrible for posting. I did meet some other nice knitters, like Anna Liza (you can find her in the comments and once I'm caught up, I'll post her blog link) and her daughter, the Nameless Knitting Sprite.**

Anna Liza and Nameless Knitting Sprite, who offered to kneecap any bad boyfriends free for knitters (everybody else has to pay). See? There is a multitude of perqs for being a knitter.


I also met Red's friend, Jenny, who sported a very cool skull belt buckle and necklace and invented pedicure socks before Knitty published their pattern. Only she calls them "Heels," which I really like.

Jenny, knitting a Heel


When the line was still reasonably managable, the Pizza Fairy (I think her name was Lisa) took money and orders for pizza. It was a fine example of the comeraderie and companionliness of knitters, because my measure of the world has always been that ordering a pizza with more than two people is a pain in the ass because everybody has SOMETHING pizza-friendly they won't eat (except me. I'm easy. I even like anchovies. Invite me for pizza.). However, thirty knitters happily ate what was put in front of them and we all sang Kumbaya and it was like Woodstock.

Woolstock.

One shining moment, the duplication of which I highly recommend to anyone attending one of these things: knitbloggers were exchanging Harlot books to write their URLs in the back. It was like a grown-up, knitterly version of yearbook signing and a very cool and apt way to commemorate the event. I like that Stephanie's autograph is in the front of my book and all my new blogfriends' addresses are in the back.

Take a pen.

Work let out and it wasn't long before the line was down the hallway...



...and around the corner...

...and all through the second storey of the Tattered Cover. One woman (and, yes, she was first in line) showed up at 7:30 that morning. That's dedication. Did I mention TOTALLY worth it?

Sylvia (from Posh, my homeLYS)showed up and I got several really shaky pictures of her.

They let us in around 6:45 and much knitting and reciprocal blogging ensued. The chick with the camera is Amber, another friend of Red's and a people from my neighbourhood. I mean my real neighbourhood, like where my house is.

I'll take your picture if you take mine.

Let's see... the nice man knitting the yellow thing and the nice lady in lavender next to him were in Denver from Alaska. If you look right between them? In the white shirt with the red stripes? That's Red. And if you look over Alaska Man's right shoulder (his right, not yours)...

...you see Fascinating Punkboy Knitter. With the Socks that Rock (I think) penis sock.

There were luminaries in the crowd. Red's archnemesis** and creator of the Print O' the Wave Stole that sits in my living room in its yarn and separate needles stage, Eunny Jang (possibly more noteworthy that she's the new editor of Interweave Knits. Hey, it's my world and the sun revolves around me so I went for my own personal knitting project).

Amy Clarke, editor of Spin-Off Magazine with Red on her left (her left, not yours), who was drawn to Red's SIP (spinning in public -- y'all got that, I'm sure) and cultivated her to write an article.

Red made out pretty well in this thing, networking for fleece and writing gigs. See, not only was Amy Clarke into the idea of her writing, but the Pizza Fairy is a veterinary student at CSU and told Red they have sheep they use for pain studies (don't dwell on that) from whom (are sheeps "whom"?) they shear the fleeces, then THROW THEM AWAY.

Red's trying to do something about that.

[SUMMARY: Knitters. Everywhere.]

Ah. Finally. A Harlot sighting at the hall bathroom** (I'm sure she'd be thrilled to know how excited we were to see her going into the loo). Then the long (it really wasn't, but like December 23rd when you're a kid) introduction by Tattered Cover staff, as she looked on...

...and we're off (with the comment from her, "Apparently I'm still short," as she adjusted the mic)

Of course, the sock needed its photo taken.

Then she talked. Beautifully. Funnily. Thoughtfully. Occasionally poignantly, with perfect timing and delivery. Complaining of the altitude all the while.

One of my favourite bits from her presentation was entwined with her discussion of the community created on the Internet. To paraphrase, she said knitters are like flocks of birds. Have you every watched how they'll take off and fly and suddenly all turn left at the same time? And knit Clapotis?

Yeah, it's a niche joke, but a big funny for those in the know. A little like the "All Your Yarn are Belong to Us" shirt, but more so.

After she was done speaking, we got in line for autographs and face time. I was TENTH in line, thanks to Red. (If it makes you think better of me, I would have been 25th in line without Red, so it's not like I changed the fabric of the time-space continuum with my line-jumping).

I brought the Harlot a gift of Lonesome Stone sock yarn. I told her I was hoping to bribe her into taking a picture with me and my sock. She said, "I'd do the picture anyway, but I like the way you think. And see this?" she asked, pointing to some random chocolate I'd tossed in the bag for good measure, "Dinner."

Now, Red took the cross-sock Harlot-AntiM picture with her camera, as mine was acting up. I will get it from her one of these days and if I'm not sporting too many chins, I'll post it. In any case, I'll probably be sleeping with it under my pillow for quite some time.

The Bohus? Soft as a kitten and apparently knit on fishing line. Tiny, little stitches. Y'all gotta see it to believe it.

This account is probably anticlimactic after all the fussy teasing this weekend, but it was too full and too complete an experience to describe adequately. Every time I've tried, it's been like trying to tell someone about a strange dream you had; you miss bits and get enthralled with bits only a witness could appreciate. And nothing is more boring than listening to an account of a dream that goes like that.

Let me just say it was like the Beatles for knitters. Our Mecca. Our Ark of the Covenant. If you've never seen 200 knitters vibrate, needles and all, it's an awesome thing to behold.

Oh, and Denver? Had enough chairs.

[SUMMARY: THE Knitter. Here.]

*************

On a more personal knitting front, I cast on and got well underway with the Bellocqs for the sis-in-law. We did a mass measuring during family Easter brunch, but -- check this -- the pattern doesn't ever call for the measurement of the length of the foot. While I appreciate their confidence in my ability to figure that out on my own, I draw their attention to the fact that I used their measurement chart as a checklist, therefore had nothing to check off for foot length and didn't realise until I got to the place in the pattern where it says "repeat five times, or until pattern measures two inches shorter than desired length."

So I await word from sis-in-law on how long her foot is so I may continue the Bellocqs. The Sparkle Socks continue. The Stupid Blanket continues. Pink Magic languishes. The Heathers ("You wanted to be a member of the most powerful clique in school. If I wasn't already the head of it, I'd want the same thing.") got scant attention.

Give me points, though. I undertook to tame the living room on Saturday, and that mainly consists of taming the knitting. I gathered, untangled and wound stray yarn balls from all over the (tiny little) living room. I put project-oriented yarn in separate ziploc bags with the operative patterns and needles (where I could) and filled a really large laundry basket with everything to go upstairs to the yarn room (yes, I have a yarn room. What do you use your spare bedroom for?) The only ( ! ) items left in the living room are the above-mentioned projects, as well as the stuff for the Print O' the Waves Stole. Everything else? To the yarn room!

Here is the progress on the Bellocqs. Note the pasty, um... creamy, um... dead white of the skin in the sock. I like to keep my skin lily white to help set off the lace pattern... who am I kidding? I couldn't tan with a bottle of brown shoe polish.

[SUMMARY: Wow. And more knitting.]

Apropos nothing, this is the pattern graphic on my favourite pajamas.

There was minor drama this weekend. Oh! And Wednesday, out with Megan-from-Work. Oddly, with Kelley not talking to The Boy, things have gotten much quieter. And Sex Toy? Too quiet. There was also shopping, encompassing cute purses, cute knitting tote and the crushing of one man's political symbology through sheer dorkitude. And it fucking snowed all weekend.

[SUMMARY: Finally! Ooey-gooey stuff! The fibre was clogging my sinuses!]

We'll chat about all that another day.

Happy Monday.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Honestly, really and truly, I think there's something wrong with my camera. Actually the battery. The flash is all wonky half the time, and it's always on the verge of empty battery, even when the battery's been on the charger all day. I think a lot of my bad shots (really! truly!) have at least as much to do with the wonky battery as with my lack of skill and occasional cocktailing (the flash and the autofocus just don't work very well on low battery). I have really crappy pictures of very lovely people (Red, Sylvia from Posh, several Harlot pieces, the nice couple from Alaska, the Pizza Fairy...)

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Funny, a bunch of us went to a restaurant/bar just down from the Tattered Cover after Woolstock, and we were talking about being in a group -- knitters, for example -- where you can talk for ages about your common craft and never get a name. At some point, you probably have that thought that you wish you knew this nice knitter's name, but it seems weird to do the name exchange AFTER you know each other's life stories and straight-vs-circular needle biases. Ironic, then, that I never got Nameless Knitting Sprite's name.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Red doesn't personally know Eunny Jang. They didn't vie for the same job, same man, same sale yarn... The most succinct reason for Red's unflagging venom is, "She steeks for fun." While I stand fast by my admiration for Eunny's craft and will be knitting at least two of her patterns in the next year, I also offered Red garden space to plant her, should she (Red) ever need to bury the body. That's the kind of friend I am.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): You knew it was a knitting event when nearly 200 women were vying not for the stalls, but for sink space to wash the pizza off their hands before they got back to their knitting.

Just a Tidbit

Y'all have seen the Harlot's "All Your Yarn are Belong to Us" shirt, right?

Brilliant.

There was another at the Harlotfest, sported by a lanky, gawky boy:

k2 p2 k2 p2 k2 p2 k2 p2
k2 p2 k2 p2 k2 p2 k2 p2
k2 p2 k2 p2 k2 p2 k2 p2
k2 p2 k2 p2 k2 p2 k2 p2
k2 p2 k2 p2 k2 p2 k2 p2
ribbed for
her pleasure
k2 p2 k2 p2 k2 p2 k2 p2
k2 p2 k2 p2 k2 p2 k2 p2

Shhhhhhh...

wait for it....

Club Level Beverage Station

Happy Harlot Day!

Kelly-with-a-Maren? Just-the-Rockies hammered the lowly D'Backs, 11-4. Keep telling yourself, "It's only the Rockies... It's only the Rockies..."

Check this: a *seven* point eighth inning, with the rotation lapping itself. It's not rare-rare that a player bats twice in an inning, but it's rarely a good sign for the defense.

[SUMMARY: Nyah-nyah-nya-nyah-nyahhhh]

Client's office is six blocks or so from Coors Field. We had a nice lunch at Il Fornaio (including wine) and trotted up to the field.

I'm tempted to leave out the part where, two blocks from the stadium, Cindy said, "I better check for my ticket. Do you have your ticket?" and I realised immediately I'd left my ticket in the stall in the bathroom at Il Fornaio.

Also? This may not be the time to mention I left my wallet at home yesterday morning -- AGAIN -- and had to go all the way back to get it because, well... it's much easier to get out of the parking garage if you pay.

[SUMMARY: What is wrong with me? And why hasn't anyone taken my car keys away?]

Anyway, once the ticket crisis was averted, we trotted (once again) up to Coors Field.



The crabapples are blooming. For those not in the know, those pink trees on the left are crabapples.



The Player is poised and ready to serve.



The girls were poised and ready to be served beer. And baseball. Let's not forget the baseball, what with all the beer flying around.

Since you asked... Cindy, Patti, Jo


Patti (who made this all possible and spent the day saying, "It's on me.") has her own brick on the walk in front of the baseball arch. Her husband bought it for her (that's the date of their wedding). Never was there a more deserving brick owner.



Welcome to Coors Field, Home of the Colorado Rockies.



You may note how subtly I slip in with this next picture that we weren't just right off home plate, but in CLUB LEVEL. We had the Club Level Beverages to prove it.



Scoreboard with the Rockies Clock.



The boys of summer.



The Rox bullpen.



And the sparkle sock takes a page from the Yarn Harlot book and gets her photo taken on my seat (Seat 8, Row 8, Section 227, didImention Club Level). FYI? Knitting in Ballparks (KIB, too) can cause the man next to you to move down a seat so he doesn't have to either acknowledge your knitting or break his neck trying to ignore it.

Knitting toe-up socks around girls on the loose from the workaday world and buzzing on multiple Club Level Beverages can bring up all variety of contemplation for the use of the work in progress.

My best story about the sock: I'm just looking for the man who needs it for a, um... cozy. It's a hope chest, if you will.



[SUMMARY: Life is good.]

Sentimentality Alert (if you're having a really good day and don't want to come down, avert your eyes)!

This one, chronologically or just logically, maybe should have gone in the beginning as an entrance to Coors Field. It's the Ball Arch (that's my name -- it may very well have its own name) and it's very cool. This is the second time I've taken a picture of it.

My mom did watercolours. She was good at copying things and was always looking for something to paint for me (is it any wonder I rarely knit for myself when my gene pool so clearly revels in the gifting of creative endeavours?) and after hearing how cool the Ball Arch was for the fiftieth time, she told me to get a picture of it so she could paint it.

Two seasons and about 14 games later, I finally took the picture. I don't remember if I ever gave it to her. To be honest, her enthusiasm for creative giving was a little overwhelming at times and I often felt... unworthy? Time consuming?

I so wish I'd realised she wanted to paint for me (and everybody else) the way I wanted to knit for her (and everybody else).

I never finished the scarf I started for my mother the year before she died. She never painted the Ball Arch for me. Both of these minor tragedies are my responsibility.

I know this is uncharacteristically maudlin of me, but the oddest things and the oddest times bring Mom roaring in. Today, the Ball Arch did it for me.

So hug your mom. Get on top of those little obligations that are hanging out there. Trite as it may be, once you've lost someone to the wilds of mortality, you can't overemphasise the fleeting qualities of time or the pain of opportunities lost forever.

This has been a public service announcement from your dear ol' AntiM.

Now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

**FOOTNOTE (unasterisked): Is Steve Finley related to Chuck Finley whose video vixen wife, Tawny Kitaen, beat the snot out of him with a high-heeled boot ten years ago? Now, woman-on-man domestic violence is probably no more laughing matter than man-on-woman domestic violence, but can you imagine the shit Chuck got in the locker room when the newspapers splashed the story that he had to call the police to protect him from his wife?

**FOOTNOTE (unasterisked): I made someone snork a mini-Snickers out her nose yesterday when I went to retrieve a Diet Pepsi from the freezer. I said, "I like my Diet Pepsi like I like my men: dark and ice cold." Thought I'd share, 'cause you're just the crowd to appreciate that.

Kitty Toys

1 Day to Harlot

Yesterday, I went to see Sylvia and bought this:



To make this:**



For Krista, whose due date is my birthday. Not that that will happen, mind you, but at least I remember her due date. Like I *didn't* remember my wallet this morning, but for a better reason.

[SUMMARY: How much yarn is too much yarn?]

I had a little soreness in my left hand all day yesterday. You know how I stare at an envelope for ten minutes trying to suss out who it's from or what it is rather than just opening the damned thing? I didn't look at my hand until about 10:00 that night and saw this:



Of course, I leapt out of bed, flinging the Yarn Harlot book at the cat, and ran dowstairs to take a picture. 'Cause I know y'all wanted to see. See that purple band at the first knuckle of my ring finger?

Here, let me get closer for you:

This is a knitting injury. I tend to be intense with my hands, but this is a new high. Or low, depending on your perspective.

I've heard it said, but it bears revisiting: it is hard to take pictures of your hand by yourself.

This morning, the injury has blossomed into a double rainbow of bruising above and below the joint. I do wonder what I did different to cause this new twist in my knitting life.

[SUMMARY: How much knitting is too much knitting?]

Today: baseball.

I'm out...**

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Isn't it pretty in girl colours? Why are none of my friends and family having girls so I can make the Easter egg-coloured blanket?

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): ...and hopefully the DBacks are out. A lot.

Picky Knitter, Sticks are for KIBs

2 Days to Harlot

After careful perusal of my financial sitch (not to be confused with "stitch," though I often do), I find my thriftiness** of the last couple of months has paid off (pun!) and I have more money than I thought. How do we celebrate "extra" money? Make a large contribution to the IRA!

Haha! Just kidding! We indulge our knitting problem and our book problem and become our own best enabler!

Besides the trips to B&N and Showers of Flowers yesterday, I came home to find BOTH my packages from Knit Picks had arrived yesterday. I'm assuming the post office has a policy that they save up packages until they have enough to fill the box before delivery.

This is what it all looks like:

















From top left corner (clockwise): a bit of my purple couch, Vogue Very Easy Knits, Lace Style, Kertzer Butterfly in black and blue to make the Diagonale purse from knitty.com, Knitting Design, Knit Picks Shadow in Jewels Heather** to make the Eunny Jang Print O' the Wave stole, Domiknitrix, Knit Picks Gloss in Cocoa to make the Stitch Diva Bellocq stockings, Martin Dresser: Tale of an American Dreamer by Steve Millhauser** (the next Book Club book -- let's see if I can hang on to this one), two size one Addi circs, Knit 'n' Style, and peeking out middle-ish is the Diagonale purse picture and pattern.

First, I'd like you to notice how cool that pseudo-wrapped text is. I'm not a complete Luddite, but the html/blogcode continuum is still a bit of a mystery to me and I'm very proud every time I solve a tiny little piece of it. [NOTE: Once it got to the blog, it didn't wrap anymore. I'm still proud I discovered the possibility.]

[SUMMARY: Dork? Check. Book problem? Check. Knitting problem? Check.]

I got the Addis because I originally got Crystal Palace bamboo needles for the Sparkle Socks, but I hate them. The bamboo itself is nice -- all bambooey, as it should be -- but the join... well, it's that put-my-head-through-a-wall thing. I was taking more time sliding my stitches back and forth than it was taking to actually knit a row. And I was in danger of shredding my stitches clean off with every round. So no more Crystal Palace bamboo.

I got the Domiknitrix because... do I really need to tell you why I got the Domiknitrix? No, no, I really don't. What I need to do is ASK y'all why nobody ever told me there was a Domiknitrix. And a blog. A Domiknitrix blog. I visited, and I have a love/hate relationship with it right off the bat.

Love the concept. Love the book. Love the skull. Love the look.

BUT... there are Domiknitrix tshirts for sale and y'all know I NEED one. Not want. Need.

Hate the fact that all the coolest tshirts (i.e. - all but one) only come in junior sizes, and according to the size chart, the bust measurement on an XL junior is TWENTY-FIVE inches. Either that's a typo or these shirts are only suitable for the Kate Moss heroin-chic crowd. When the Kate Moss heroin-chic crowd were 12. You know, before they developed.

[NOTE: Dear gods of fashion and all that is holy... I lied. The 25" measurement is the LENGTH of the shirt. The bust measurement is NINETEEN inches. That has to be a typo. Tallest, Hairiest nephew's chest is bigger than 19" and he's a six-year-old BOY, for fuck's sake.]

I petitioned the Domiknitrix for real shirts for real people. I really want the blue one, but I'd like to use it for more than an iPod cozy.

OK, back to Marin's world.

Have y'all noticed I have a lot of things in the works and nothing finished? Yeah, me too. I was wandering around Showers of Flowers yesterday and realised there is enough on my plate that I'm not even that turned on by the prospect of new yarn. I think I'm more turned on by that hot tamale, Jason... oops. Did I say that out loud? What I meant was I'm more turned on by the prospect of knitting some of these fabulous projects than new yarn.

Could someone please feel my forehead?

[SUMMARY: Still a little bitchy as always, but losing interest in yarn? A sign of the apocalypse?]

As you may have gathered, last night was an important basketball night. Big picture, I mean. In my realm, college basketball died in November with Duke's suckitude, but really crashed and burned when both Kansas and NC went out in the Elite Eight, crushing my brackets into useless spitwads.**

Non sequitur? Not really. While I really am dying to get to the Print O' the Wave and the Bellocqs (and even the Stupid Blanket, now my most constant friend) and have the yarn to do it, I didn't think either was suitable for knitting in bars (a/k/a KIB), and bars are where I like to watch my sports when I'm on my own with them. The sports, I mean.

So I went to Other Favourite Bar, 'cause it's more a sports bar than Favourite Bar, parked myself at a table, ordered supper and started in on the Sparkle Socks. The waitress said, "I think Christopher's mentioned you. Is he trying to get you to bring your Stitch 'n' Bitch group in here?"

"Yep. That's me."

Turns out I was talking to Christopher's wife, Nikki (I have no idea if I'm spelling that right. It's all the Motley Crue I absorbed in the 80s). I think it's very cool to be recognised by people who have never met me. I think it's very cool that Christopher mentions me at home.** Making an impact for something other than wildebeesticide is a good thing.

[SUMMARY: KIP, bold and cool. KIB, even cooler.]

A big yee-ha to Florida. I don't have much love for Florida sports in general, but it's historical for a school to win both back-to-back basketball championships and a football AND basketball championship in one year. Witnessing history is also a good thing.

[SUMMARY: Go Florida. Take California with you.]

Tonight? Drinks with Megan-from-work, cast on the Bellocqs, maybe cast on the Print O' the Wave, commune with Stupid Blanket.

Tomorrow? Client-sponsored goof-off at Coors Field. My current biggest client is taking me to the Rockies' game. That would be 1:00 in the afternoon. That would be RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WORK DAY. The company's buying lunch, we're sitting right behind home plate and they're paying me for the whole day. Let me repeat: I'm being PAID to go to the BALLPARK and sit in the BEST SEATS IN THE HOUSE. And FED. I'm begin FED. And probably DRINKED a little, too.

[SUMMARY: You want my schedule.]

I've waited my whole working life for this moment. I'll take pictures.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): I know you wonder how I can call thrifty when I've been barring half the nights of my life, but my pathological overtipping really pays off in free shots and bartender-sponsored rounds of drinks at a time like this. Besides, what do you think happy hour is for?

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): I know it's not THE Heathers, but it's Heathers, right? "People will look at the ashes of Westerburg and say, 'Now there's a school that self-destructed, not because society didn't care, but because the school was society.' Now that's deep."

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): By the way, if you go to B&N and you can't find the Book Club book and they look on the computer and see there are several copies, be sure to check under "Martin Dressler," even though that's the title and not the author, since that's where all seven copies at the downtown Denver B&N were. I note the CSR who dug it up for me did NOT move them to reflect Steven Millhauser as the actual author.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): You don't make spitwads from your cracked brackets? What on earth do you do with them, then?

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Pretending here Christopher mentions me at home *without* using words like "freak," "psycho" or "scary."

Dork Like Me

3 Days to Harlot

My weekend?

Let's see...

I went to a (pretty bad) music festival at the very local Oriental Theatre Friday night with Kelley.

In all fairness, we only stayed for the first band and the music was just irritating. Also? Nobody who gripped a mic that night had the slightest stage presence or poise or any idea what they wanted to say. And they all thought they were funny. Don't you hate it when people think they're funny? (*ahem*)

It was like a high school talent show, only more so.

Fortunately, they had some cute purses and jewelry, so the music was forgiven. I met the Vamp Bags girls, Deanna and Tara (Kelley already knew them. Kelley is SO *connected*). Deanna and Tara? My kinda chicks.

There's going to be a full-on accessories festival at that same Oriental Theatre next Saturday.** Kelley and I are going, of course. I may pay loads of money for a cute purse before the onset of the next work week.

[SUMMARY: Cute purses are a force for good in the world.]

After giving up on the music portion of the evening, we headed, of course, for Favourite Bar. The Boy was there, talking to Male Lady and Sex Toy.

[SUMMARY: My world is getting wayyyyy too small.]

Kelley and I took our drinks out on the patio, where it was cold, but relatively Male Lady free.

The Boy doesn't quite get the Kelley not speaking to him thing. In his *hammered* state Friday, he kept talking to us like nothing was up, which caused Kelley to get madder and meaner. I get it. If you tell someone you're mad at them and they kind of pat you on the head and say, "So what do you want for dinner?" it's condescending. Discounting.

On the other hand, I really think The Boy just doesn't get it.

He's not trying to piss Kelley off further. He doesn't want her to be mad at him. He just doesn't get it.

He's all bewildered and oblivious because he can't quite grasp how frustrated Kelley is with his lack of balls. He compounded it by not picking up the little signs (like "I've had it. I want a break. Have a nice summer."), then adding shit to shinola (yes, I know that doesn't make much sense, but if you haven't figured out by now that I'm an exercise in style over substance, you're missing a very important aspect of my personality) by ignoring the very direct direction, "Please get out of my face. Go back inside. Leave me alone. No, I won't move over for you. No, you can't sit down here. Go back inside!"

You know how a rattlesnake rattles to warn you you're about to get bit?

From there, it devolved into a vitriolic spew in which the Male Lady became a wildebeest (no news to y'all, that's a gnu), the wildebeest was The Boy's little girlfriend, The Boy was getting his dick sucked by a wildebeest...

[SUMMARY: Stupid boy.]

Is it too bad to feel sorry for The Boy? Just a little? I think Kelley's more hurt than mad, but you know strong chicas who think they don't cry over boys can't just be hurt; we gotta front bitchy to maintain our reputations (my sister-in-law would laugh over my use of the word "we." She watched me launch a veritable snotfest one night over The Boy, but you know what I mean).

I spent all weekend fighting the urge to call that little red, blinking beacon of a number stored in my cell phone since the Passive Aggressive Phone Act of 2007.** Part of me wants to hip him to the idea that he can't just pretend nothing's wrong and wait for it to blow over, he's gotta do something ACTIVE. He's gotta FIX it.

Sheesh. I still miss The Boy. I'm getting overer him all the time, but...

[SUMMARY: Stupid girl.]

Sex Toy? A little flirty Friday night, but backed off. Could be punishment for the turn-down on Thursday.

Kelley and I went shopping, wine tasting, dinner, then Favourite Bar Saturday. Sex Toy was very cuddly and I got a nice back rub and some purr-worthy fondling out of the deal, but Kelley and I left and were home in bed by 9:00 (not together, mind you. We were being good girls, not porn stars), so... I may have to rename Sex Toy "On Hold."

Still looking for the Jason Hot Tamale hookup.

[SUMMARY: Stupid sexless girl.]

Remember how I left my camera at Book Club? Here are the pictures I took. I know they're old news, but I'm projecting. See, I like blogs that have pictures so I can put faces and places to the words I'm reading. Therefore, I think *you* want photos so you can see who and where and what I'm talking about.

[SUMMARY: I think you want to be me. Allow me my delusions, please. It was a partly stressful, wholly sexless weekend.]

Anyway, when there are babies on the way for Book Club members, we have a potluck dinner book shower, wherein everybody brings a kids' book for the mother-to-be. I like the tradition. It's clever and useful and fun. This was Tani's book baby shower:

Tani and Annie, of Pomegranate Martini Shindig fame

Mira, who thinks I'm a complete idiot, and my sister-in-law, who probably doesn't

Ashlee, who's cool and Julie, who's cool -- and getting married in August

I had a picture of Jeanne with Katy-did, but I was apparently caught in a localised earthquake and the camera shake was fierce.

On a brighter, knittier note (and with better pictures), I cast on for my first 5280 sock (and learned how to add buttons to my website! I think! We'll see when I try to add the 5280 button to the side bar!).

Knitters: I used the COOLEST cast-on ever. Check out the Magic Cast-On from Judy Becker on knitty.com. Seamless, no grafting, cool, cool, cool, *MAGIC.* Did I mention no grafting?**

Of course, I just got the hang of the Kitchener's stitch, which puts it in that category with Stupid Blanket and ex-boyfriends as something I got in touch with just in time to miss it.

My First 5280 Sock, by Fisher Price (a/k/a "Sparkle Socks")

Another April 1 happening: I joined (because I'm such a joiner) Run-a-Go-Go. I consistently walk a mile a day, easy, so I'm setting my goal at 200 miles between April 1 and July 4. I have a cool (when I say "cool," consider the source) ticker with bats that I'll post when I actually have something visible ticked on it.

You want to be me in all my blogdork, joiner, bandwagon glory.

Dontcha wish your blogdork was a dork like me?

Dontcha wish your blogdork was a joiner like me?

Dontcha?**

[SUMMARY: Even when I get in touch with my inner Pussycat Doll, she's a complete frickin' dork.]

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Oh! And DISCO NIGHT on Friday. Kelley called last night and said she isn't planning on going out Friday, but can probably be persuaded. I must remind her of Disco Night.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): That would be The Boy's number. The one he told Kelley to give me. Just in case I outclevered myself on that reference.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): How much more a dork can one be than to get one's panties all moist over a cast-on? None. None more dork.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Up until some time last week, I thought that song was called something like "Hot Like Me." Forgive me, Robin Antin, I know not what the hell I do.

Nuttin' But Knittin'

Knitting stuff that's come under my radar in the last couple of days. OK... it was yesterday. It just sounds so much better to pretend I had some sort of plan.

1. Interweave Knits Knitting Daily eNewsletter. You get two free patterns when you sign up (Caspian Socks and Comfort Shawl -- you can see a picture on the home/sign-up page).
   
   Heaven knows I need the Caspian Socks to do my part for the 5280 Sock Challenge.
   
   Not to mention I want to knit all the yarn and all the patterns.
   
2. Stitch Diva Stunt Knitter Program I got my application. It'll be interesting to see if my "bird by bird" soapbox moment holds up when I'm trying to figure out how to pick up left-leaning increases from purl bumps three rows down.
   
3. Bellocq Stockings KAL, and just in time to kill two birds with one stone and get the stockings going (with a little help from my KAL pals) and dive needles first into the 5280 Sock Challenge. Oh, and a third bird to kill with that wooly rock: a gift for my sis-in-law. OH! BIRD NUMBER FOUR!** My brother is almost as psyched about thigh high lace stockings for his wife as he usually is about ugly socks for himself.**
   
4. And for Secret Pal 10, we have our first contest.
   
   My favourite yarn is anything I'm working with right now that doesn't split, shed or hurt my hands. At the moment, I'm going to have to go with Cascade 220 (I'm knitting my Heathers** [actually Knitty's/Sarah Smith's Wavy pattern] in the Cascade 220 Heathers... hence, the name). It's smooth enough to work the needles well and slip through my fingers. It's sleek enough to provide great stitch definition (OK, the Heathers doesn't have a lot of call for stitch definition, but I *know* it would be fabulous for cables). It doesn't shed. It's a little springy and a little bouncy and I wish I knew what "hand" is so I could tell you what a fabulous hand it has. It comes in all kinds of colours, so you could do almost anything you want with it. Whatever else comes up (alpaca? qiviut? cat fur?) I know I'll be using the Cascade 220 again.
   
   For the record? I *LOVED* knitting with buffalo yarn, but it's so very expensive and way too warm for any but the smallest garments or most serious climates.
   
   Least favourite? It's a toss-up: Lion Brand Microspun is so soft and so shiny (machine washable, too), but it splits like a banana and I wanted to put my head through a wall knitting chemo caps with it. I actually have the warped idea in the back of my mind to make a pattern that INCORPORATES split stitches so I can make use of the 20 or so balls of various colours of Microspun in my stash.
   
   The other in the toss is Berroco Cotton Twist, which comes in beautiful colours and I thought it would be great for a baby blanket (not realising cotton isn't necessarily washable/dryable). So I knit a checkered pastel rainbow for Jeanne's daughter, Katy-did, and wanted to put my head through a wall. It split some (not as bad as Microspun, but worth mentioning), but the unforgiving, unbouncy, unstretchy nature of cotton made my hands ache. I'd be up in the night with the sort of pain I associate with my growing pains days. I'm 40. I shouldn't have growing pains. And I suspect the hand on the Berroco Cotton Twist sucks.
   
   Now, both yarns were lovely knit up, but I hestitate to work with the Microspun or any cotton because of these experiences.

[SUMMARY: Hey! Who put all this knitting here? Where's the vodka? Where's the sex? Where's the soap opera shit storm? WHERE IS KELLY? When did I sign on for KNITTING?]

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): OK, these four birds? They're not related to the bird-by-birds at ALL, see, 'cause the four birds are dead birds killed by a single stone and the bird-by-birds are a device to connote the taking of a task one step at a time. Dead birds. Rhetorical birds. Totally different breeds of birds.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): If you'll visit the comments from yesterday, said brother has eloquently expressed his love of ugly socks, offering yarn and presents of all sorts to the cause of sock knitting... I imagine in the hopes that some of the 5280 pairs of socks will come his way.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): "Grow up, Heather. Bulimia's so '87"

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): I wanted to put a little four-letter word in there to hold you 'til Monday, but it seemed so... contrived. I suspect you think this generally isn't a problem for me (given the Gnu Herd schtick from yesterday), but even I have my limits. Anyway, I promise to distill the drama of the weekend Monday. Oh, yes, there is drama. When is there not drama?

I don't just knit socks, folks, I can knot up multi-act human relationship extravaganzas given the right pointy sticks.

Thought: the pen is mightier than the sword. Where do knitting needles fall in that spectrum?

Here Now, the Gnus

Did you know a gnu and a wildebeest are the same thing?

Yep, it's one a them educational Fridays. Maintain your brain.

We got gnus, we got news and we got knews. Two kinds of knews.

First, because it covers two bases and MLB opening day is Monday, so in honour of, um, second base... do y'all ever get worn out with the stream-of-consciousness of AntiM World? Anyway...

News: Kelley is not speaking to The Boy. In the fifteen years they've been best friends, they've feuded more since the Male Lady hit the scene than in the rest of the time combined.

After she called me the other morning, she decided she'd had enough of his passive aggression; not just that, but that he relies on her to provide the aggression and gets mad when she doesn't.

This is my interpretation. Her version goes more like, "I've had enough of both of them. I just said, 'Have a nice summer.'"**

I figure anyone who won't take action on a stalker, expects his best friend to provide the bitch in the equation (not to be anti-feminist, but what kind of man asks a woman to do his wet work for him? He's either enlightened or a pussy. Guess where I'm placing The Boy) and asks a friend to give a girl his phone number (OK, that's the self-centred portion of our program. It still nibbles at my innards that he couldn't just give me his number himself or -- heaven forfend -- get my number from me. Or even Kelley. And call me his damnself)... well, that Boy is a boy and not much of a man.** Until The Boy grows some sack, he's without his Kelley.

This also counts as knews, as in, "So long for now, Boy, we hardly knew ye."

Gnus news: The plural of "wildebeest" is either "wildebeest" or "wildebeests."

Knitting Knews: Joanne Conklin, who sells lace weight qiviut (I feel that should be capitalised: Qiviut... or perhaps there should be a chorus of angels embedded in the link somewhere) and is on my Denver Knits Yahoo group (yes, I'm just that kind of dork), has started a Mile High Sock Challenge (my title, not hers). The text of the challenge is at the bottom of the post, for those Denver knitters who are interested.

Since I have the sis-in-law Bellocq (hereafter known as "Lacy Racy Bellocq") stockings (if the yarn ever comes), a pair of toe-up (just because I've never done it before) sparkly socks (hereafter called "Sparkle Socks") for Lorree in NYC and a pair of Knitty's/Aija Goto's BMP socks (hereafter called "Invasion of the Socks") for Jeff in NYC (Jeff and Lorree are enabling... um, FACILITATING my pilgrimage to Rhinebeck this October. They deserve socks) on deck (ha! Baseball reference!), I'm all about contributing my two socks' worth to the 5280** cause.

[SUMMARY: In keeping with our theme (one of them), links are very educational. Maintain your brain. And remember: if the gusts of words leave you weak, you can always skip the stuff in the parentheses. This public service announcement has been brought to you by the number four.]

More Gnus: The name wildebeest originates in the Dutch words "wild" and "beest" which, together, mean "wild beast". (Can I just say here: duh?) Although the name is derived from the Dutch, the name wildebeest doesn't officially exist in the Dutch language. Gnu is from the Khoikhoi language, in which they pronounce the G, much like I do when I think I'm cute.

Weird News: Did you see this?

It's a giant cane toad, purported to be "the size of a small dog," or in Knitter's Measurement, the size of three hanks of Interlacements Toasty Toes, the eight ounce kind.

Personal Knitting Knews: In my ongoing vendetta against the number four, I erroneously reported that I was more than halfway through the Heathers ("Chaos was what killed the dinosaurs, darling."). There are nine repeats on the pattern and I finished the fourth last night, proving once again I can't count to five.

I also did FIVE rows (maybe. Could be four. Could be six. Can't trust your ol' AntiM to count to five) on the Stupid Blanket. It seems the Stupid Blanket and I are coming to terms just in time for me to finish it and miss it terribly when it's gone. This is familiar territory, being how I work with most of the guys I date.

Did I mention I still don't have my Gloss from Knit Picks? Did I mention this makes me crazy -- not just for the normal reasons** -- because I have the worst mail carrier on the face of the planet?

Last Little Bit of News: The boy from last week? The one that caused the highly unnecessary sex post on Sunday? Shall we call him Sex Toy? He got my number from Kelley and called last night. I do believe I have received my first booty call. Points for me!

For those who need to know (and possibly to ameliorate the "This is NOT little brother approved" comment winging my way), I said, "Not tonight dear, but don't count me off your list."

I do have *some* self-control.

Last Little Bit of Gnus:

"Did you see that herd of gnus?"

"Heard of what?"

"Herd of gnus."

"Of course I've heard of news!"

"No... a gnu herd."

"A gnu?"

"Yes, a gnu herd."

"So what if a gnu heard? Who's he going to tell?"

[SUMMARY: I still think I'm funny. And I think homophones are funny.]

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): And she said I'm a breath of fresh air in her life. Poor girl. More like a hurricane. Hurricane Marin.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Yes, I still kinda like The Boy. But Kelley's here with me and asked for my phone number her ownself and talks to me and stuff, so I tend to be a Kelley Supporter in this battle. Besides, if she hooks me up with hot tamale Jason, I suspect I've traded up from The Boy or my Sex Toy. More than you needed to know? Maintain Your Brain!

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Two socks' worth. WAHAHAHAHAHA! Get it? Two socks? Like two cents' worth? I crack me up.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): You know, normal crazy, like Obsession, Compulsion, Nymphomania, Senility and Fourophobia.

**FOOTNOTE (unasterisked): While I'm a little better than I was yesterday, I forgot this morning how I like my coffee. I got the coffee, got to my desk. Realised there was no cream. Went and got...

...wait for it...

...a STIR STICK.

Went back to my desk. Considered drinking coffee black. Took a stand against Juvenile Onset Senility. Got cream. Drank lukewarm coffee.

**SPECIAL BASEBALL FOOTNOTE (unasterisked): As Kelly-with-a-Maren so adroitly pointed out in the comments, SUNDAY is opening-opening day. Monday is the ROCKIES' opening day.

*************

5280 FEET

OK, technically, we're looking at 10,560 feet, but you get the gist.

This is Joanne's message:

Here is a long-term project and challenge for you. How long will it take for DenverKnits knitters to make 5280 pairs of socks? One year? Two? Five?

Let's find out. And, I'm going to see if I can get donations from a number of sources so that the person who knits the 5280th pair will get a great gift basket of goodies.**

Here are the rules:

1. Knitting begins on April 1st, 2007. You can NOT count any socks that were started before then.

2. Each time you finish a pair of socks, send me an email: joanne@jconklindesigns.com with the word 5280 Challenge in the subject line. Tell me 6 things about the pair (note that I said PAIR, not single sock!!)

- Size (e.g. women's medium)

- Needle size used

- Yarn

- Method (toe up, toe down, magical loop, etc.)

- Who are the socks for (self, friend, family, charity, etc.)

- Date finished.

Only entries with answers to those 6 questions will be counted in the final tally and entered into the contest.

3. I will keep a spreadsheet and will report back to the group from time to time. At the end, I'll tell you the results of the survey questions.

4. Please DO report to the list any time you like about your progress and current finished sock. Tell us your blog name if you'd like us to check out progress and/or pictures.

5. I've created a database on our website where you can list your name and your blog so others can visit from time to time.

If anyone here is good at making blog buttons, please let me know. I'm sure that bloggers would like to be able to find you. The link can be back to the DenverKnits web page, or I'm open to suggestions.

Store owners, dyers, or anyone else who would like to contribute prizes for the final gift basket, please let me know. Keep in mind that the prize may not be given out for sometime, so if you're offering a gift certificate, make sure that it can be used far into the future. Prizes should be knitting related, but don't necessarily have to be sock related. Be sure to include something that will tell the winner who was kind enough to donate the prize. I will purchase a basket for the prizes... hopefully a very large basket!!

You might print out this email for future reference... just a suggestion.

Okay... dive into that huge stash of sock yarn. You know that you have one. Get out the needles.

On your mark.............

Joanne

http://www.jconklindesigns.com/keeptalking.htm

**FOOTNOTE (it's funny 'cause it's socks and feet like twelve inches... see the funny? And it is asterisked): Last I looked, Joanne had gotten Blue Moon Fibre Arts to donate some Socks That Rock yarn, so we're off to a good start.

Lost and Flounder

-Bought the Book Club book a month ago. Lost it.**

-Bought it again. Read half. Lost it.

-Called Knit Picks yesterday over "missing" yarn. Gave wrong order number. Confused hell out of nice CSR, particularly when I continued to argue for a good three minutes over the dates involved:**

"But it couldn't have reached Denver on the 22nd -- you just ordered it on the 23rd"

"I don't know what you're looking at. Mine says it arrived in Denver on Thursday. And delivered yesterday."

"But the order was just placed Friday."

"Why you wanna fuck with the HKIC?" (no, I didn't really. Good thing since I was so thoroughly wrong.)

-Was knitting (Pink Magic) in the blank spaces at work. Made the same exact, stupid mistake EVERY FLIPPIN' ROW. Had to tink two stitches EVERY FLIPPIN' ROW. Have been working this pattern for weeks, almost a whole ball of yarn and still made the same mistake EVERY FLIPPIN' ROW.

-Got home last night at 5:00. Found book. Went to Book Club. Left book at home.

-Decided to knit/TiVi until an hour before Book Club. Planned to leave at 6:30 to allow that hour to stop by grocery store for provisions and travel to Book Club destination. Was smug and pleased when leaving at 6:20. Realised en route to grocery store Book Club at 7:00.**

-Went to Book Club. Took pictures. Left camera.

-Got in the car this morning. Got to parking garage. Had no wallet. Had to go home.

-Realised en route never went to bank for boss yesterday as promised.

-Went to drive-thru bank. Drove off without receipt. Had to go back.

[SUMMARY: I'm losing it, whatever it is, literally and figuratively.]

And it's snowing like a mother (I know that phrase doesn't make any sense) in Denver-ish, so the Snow Guys will be out in full force tonight.

*brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.scrape.scrape.scrape.* "Hey, Manny, why do you bang a blonde in the cab of a backhoe?"

[SUMMARY: And it doesn't look like I'm finding it any time soon.]

please send vodka

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): If you look back, last month's book was also purchased twice. I purchased this month's book at that time, and have yet to find either original copy. Some people's socks go into another dimension. I apparently have book trolls.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): By the way, if you order from Knit Picks and obsess over your tracking information (*ahem*), when it says "DELIVERED" in big, scary letters (scary 'cause I know it *wasn't* delivered when it says DELIVERED), it doesn't mean delivered to you, it means delivered to your post office. There will never be an indication that the post office actually thinks they delivered your yarn to you. Yeah, I don't get it either. And I still don't have my yarn.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Book Club has ALWAYS been at 7:00.

**FOOTNOTE (unasterisked): I did knit seven rows on the Stupid Blanket at Book Club (in the midst of the traditional book shower for the mother-to-be for whom the Stupid Blanket is being constructed). I made a mistake on one end that I have decided to leave. It won't be that noticable, it will save Bert (the baby) from the wrath of angry perfection gods and it will save me from frogging four rows of 150 stitches and finally putting my head in the oven.

or chocolate

Titian ROFLHAO in His Grave

Once upon a time, when I was a theatre rat, I was in a play with a woman with a nine-year-old son. His name was Jakey Lee (like Jake E. Lee, the Ozzy Osbourne guitarist. And, yes, that was deliberate). Jakey came to rehearsals when his dad couldn't take him for an evening and we got to be pals because I get along with little boys in a totally non-creepy way.

One night, Jake announced he had to do homework, then went to find his backpack... which was missing. He came running to me, "Where's my backpack? I need my backpack? It's not funny! Where did you put it?"

"Jake," I said, "I don't have your backpack. I haven't seen it tonight. Why do you think I had anything to do with your backpack disappearing?"

The frantic, near-tears Jake wailed, "Because the redhead ALWAYS steals the backpack!"

Still one of my favourite phrases ever.

I still don't have my yarn and I didn't do a lot of knitting last night (two rows on the Stupid Blanket and four on the Heathers**). But I did gift you with the redhead saying. Use it! Love it! Amaze your friends!

[SUMMARY: Is this a record? Shortest. Post. Ever.]

*************

For those in Denver-ish, two events at the Tattered Cover:

I know y'all know about the Yarn Harlot's maiden voyage to our fair city (KNITTAS REPRESENT!) on April 5th (LoDo Tattered Cover), but I just noticed Anne Lamott (of Bird by Bird) is going to be at that self-same TC on April 4th. I suspect she's amazing in person. She reminds me of a literary version of Ani DiFranco. And it's not just the hair.

[SUMMARY: Oooooh! Look how Linky!]

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): "Now Tracey, let's not rehash the coroner's report. Let's talk emotions." Still funny after all these posts.

Amphetamines Give You Wings!

Yesterday, my tallest, hairiest nephew (older, wiser brother to the inimitable Dr. Doom and son of my only brother**) learned the joys of french fries dipped in caramel sauce. He also dipped his McNuggets in caramel and thoroughly enjoyed it, but I hesitate to use the word "joys" with that one. It looked gross to me.

And the indulgent aunt? When he said "A ten-piece McNugget meal, an apple dipper, a yogurt parfait... is that too much?" said, "No, of course not. Whatever you want." Darned if he didn't eat it all, too, leaving only a bunch of fries behind.



He did some tree climbing



Then we went to Wings Over the Rockies, where my dopey nephew spent five minutes following a ladybug when there was outlandish aircraft to be perused. Ah, well... it was his day.

He was very impressed with the X-Wing and told me all about how Luke Skywalker flew it. I just let him talk. Why tell him his ol' AntiM was cool enough (or dork enough) to have seen Star Wars in the theatre the first time 'round?

We got all educational in the Radio Room, what with the telegraphs and the trainer (just so y'all know, the plane nearly crashed moments after this picture was taken, but Tallest Hairiest Nephew pulled it out just 12 feet from the ground. I know because he told me so).

Then I got all educated my damnself when I learned there were phones with memories in the SIXTIES. Is it weirder to see that plug-in punch card or a dial?

[SUMMARY: Wings Over the Rockies can be a really good learning experience, 'specially for the otherwise-indulgent aunt who spent all afternoon reminding exuberant nephew not to touch the planes, then woke up, bolt upright at 4:00 this morning realising... why the hell not? It's a flippin' airplane, not a Van Gogh... Don't touch the giant fighter plane? What was I thinking?]

We washed the MiCo. Before you call Family Services with tales of child labour violations, I'd like to stress that *he* made *me* wash my car. I did *not* make him wash my car. I tried to explain that my car wants to be a Jeep and really loves the mud and he solemnly informed me, "She does *not* want to be a Jeep. We should have a snack, but we should find a car wash first."

The middle shot of the before-during-after series? He is trying to lift both legs up, hoping the pressure of the hose will make him fly.

[SUMMARY: A nephew who proclaims the little car "probably the coolest car we'll pass all day" can still be embarrassed by an abundance of dirt.]

Then I went home and crashed, because kids are exhausting, even when you don't have to literally chase them all over the place.

Just wait 'til I take Dr. Doom to the zoo in the next couple of weeks. I may need a steady infusion of vodka and amphetamines for that.

In other news:

The Boy had a long talk with the Male Lady yesterday. Kelly called early this morning to impart the news. OUCH.

You know why that hurts so horribly? Because I was good to him. I was laid back and honest and receptive and warm and not pushy. I asked very little and demanded nothing. I drove all the best people in my life up a fucking tree with my neurotic obsession with him, but I left him out of it, and he just stopped talking to me (even though he promised he'd never do that to me). She's a fucking freak show stalker psycho bitch and he *talks* to *her*. He WORKS THINGS OUT with her.

Do boys really like psychos better?

Kelly's pissed 'cause he told Male Lady, "Kelly didn't want to be your friend, she just wanted to be civil," which was totally true, but it smacks of betrayal, Boy to Kelly, and... well, Kelly's pissed. A little hurt, too, if I'm reading her tone of voice right.

Kelly and I are going out Friday night. Do you think it would be too much to ask her to invite her hot tamale friend Jason along?

[SUMMARY: When I'm not just plain crazy? I'm boy crazy.]

I knit (well, *finished*) SIX ROWS of the Stupid Blanket last night watching Top Model. Now, I technically knit seven-plus rows, but something got wonky and I had to tink, then I found it wasn't wonky, it's just the way the linen stitch looks close to the needles and I tinked for nothing and almost gave up in disgust but pushed on through another two completed rows because that's JUST THE KIND OF FOLLOW-THROUGH I HAVE.

I'm so pissed about The Boy I'm yelling about my fucking knitting.

I'm halfway done with the Heathers ("Now I've seen a lot of bullshit... angel dust, switchblades, sexually perverse photography involving tennis rackets...").**

Get this: I ordered Gloss yarn (the Cocoa -- I think I'll use a pink ribbon) for the Bellocq Stockings from Knit Picks, where they provide package tracking numbers for your obsessive convenience (OK, my obsessive convenience) and I checked Friday and it said the yarn was in Denver! Hallelujah! And it wasn't in the box on Friday. And it wasn't in the box today. And I checked the tracking today and this is what it looks like:

March 26, 2007 - 3:00 AM - Sortation Center Departure - DENVER, CO
March 22, 2007 2:55 PM Sortation Center Arrival - DENVER, CO

You know the old saw about those who love law and sausages? Well, I'm pretty sure no mail-order afficionado needs to know her freakin' package gets to her house five days (or more; we'll have to wait and see if it actually shows up today) after it reaches her city of residence. Maddening! From now on, I don't think I'll look at the tracking unless something doesn't show up for three weeks. My new Gloss yarn is so close I can taste it... and nuzzle it and sniff it and...

[SUMMARY: Obsession can be an ugly thing in all its myriad forms]

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked. No, seriously -- way at the top of the post. You go look. I'll wait here.): Yes, brother, I noticed you added me to your bio (and for those of my loyal readers out there, don't y'all believe him -- I wasn't in the slightest bit ruffled when I WASN'T mentioned, he just wants to expand the myth of my lunacy that much further by saying I'd be very, very angry not to be part of his capybara-laden bio). I also noticed I'm now a link on his link list. The knitblog is a powerful tool in sibling relations.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Still funny....

**SPECIAL BASKETBALL FOOTNOTE (unasterisked): You'll note Tallest Hairiest Nephew is wearing a Kansas shirt. When I dropped him home, Dr. Doom was also decked out in Rock Chalk gear. Turns out the brother (he loves Kansas the way I love Duke, though he is less likely to sleep with one of the coaches) ordered shirts for the family with an eye to wearing them during Final Four activities this weekend. It's a perfect time to quote Sir John Vanbrugh:

"O, Fortune, Fortune, thou art a bitch."