Okay, maybe it's just me, you might not think that is too loving, it is, however, the norm.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Okay, maybe it's just me, you might not think that is too loving, it is, however, the norm.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
What, you ask, could the apple have done to make you sick? Well, you see, I don't like apples. They taste good but they do something wrong in my mouth. That crunch squish noise they make? Nails on a chalk board. Makes the hair on my arms stand up. Every apple season, Mr. Cool goes apple picking and for like three torturously long weeks, he gives me an apple a day. He also eats at least one apple a day and I have to hear his crunch squish. Argh! Welcome to my hell.
Now, it is really sweet, this apple a day thing, except for my disdain of the apple. I am, unbelievably, too polite to tell him that yes, I appreciate his thoughtfulness, but me no like the apple so thanks, but no thanks. Instead of putting an end to my torture, I keep them and try to choke em down by sucking on teeny tiny pieces until it is mushy enough to swallow. Can you tell I was Catholic for awhile? I've tried smuggling them out of the office and making Boo eat them but he won't bite (hardy har har). The apples end up going bad and I feel double bad because I am squandering the nice thought and wasting food. So back to trying to choke them down I go. In any event, yesterday Mr. Cool gave me the first apple of the season. A firm crispy specimen that any apple lover (but clearly not me, the ungrateful bitch) would enjoy.
I used a knife and cut it into tiny pieces and then I started the suck/mush/swallow routine. It was awful. I swallowed large chunks. Some might still be lodged in my esophagus. About halfway through, Mr. Cool gave me ANOTHER apple since I was almost done with the first (that sound you heard, my head connecting with my desk, repeatedly). Today, there was a new one, so that make two apples I have to deal with. I think, that the apple, in an attempt to up its torture of my soul, has made me sick. An apple a day keeps the doctor away my ass! The apple, it gave me avian west nile flu plague. And, it flashed my ladies to the meter guy. And, it made me so miserable last night that I was TOO TIRED TO KNIT.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Please forgive me. I am so sorry I flashed you earlier this evening. You see, I had too much perfume on, and that combined with the flora and fauna, caused my allergies to go nuts ALL DAY LONG. As soon as I came home, I whipped off my lovely green sweater and washed down my cleavage (the place where my perfume resides) but before I could put on a clean shirt, Baby Girl asked to go out. You know my yard, it is full of trees. Nary a neighbor to be seen. I was absolutely certain none of the neighbors would see my bra-clad-boobs and I felt good about walking out topless. I was wrong. Though you are not a neighbor, you were there. You were subjected to my heaving bosoms. I am sorry. If Baby Girl had not been pooping at the exact time we made eye contact, I would have run away sooner. Again, I apologize. And, if I may be so forward, I would suggest that you might want to whistle while you work or hum even. It might forewarn people of your presence and prevent such occurrences from happening in the future. Just a thought.
The Girl With No Shirt and A Pooping Black Dog
Note these shirts were all folded using the Amazing Laundry Voodoo technique. And, yes! More sockage! I know.
I should try something different. I only have like a bazillion things I want to knit. But the socks thing? It is addictive. I've decided that I should always have one pair of socks OTN and since I enjoyed the toe-up ones from my class, I figured I start another pair. Also, this seems (somewhat) fiscally responsible since I am actually using the knowledge I learned in my class (compare this with law school ... just kidding!).
These babies are being knitted with Koigu, as opposed to the Lorna Laces. I am hoping that they will feel as divine on my feet as the others do. And, like last time, I am doing them at the same time: toe/toe, foot/foot, heel/heel, and leg/leg. This system seems to work for me. It means the socks look more like a pair - remember the red ones that I did individually? Oy!
So, I sat down to start my green socks, and I first had to ball my yarn (booooo, hissss). I did the first one by myself and enlisted Boo's help for the second. He was not really into it. I tried to keep him happy, "Look babe! I'm a baller! Um, get it? Yarn - baller?" My jokes, they were not funny. Nonetheless, it went much quicker with human help, even if said help was not thrilled to be helping. So, now that I had my yarn all balled and ready to go, I whipped out my needles - and this is where the weird thing happens. Remember how I bought four sets of Addis so I could work both socks at once ...
One from one shop and three from another? Well, they all say size two on the packaging:
See! We agree, those are definitely twos -2's- on the labels yes? So why, when I measure them, are they ALL threes?
As you can see, I measured with two different thingamajigs and got the same results. This is so weird to me since they were not even purchased at the same place?!? This is the oddest damn thing. I just don't get it. And, I KNOW that those are the right packagings because a) I have no other small Addi's (in fact, I only have one other pair, a size five) and b) I keep all the packaging together with my project and these are the packages that were with my yarn. I really am stumped. Stumped, but using the needles anyway! Sockward, ho!
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Actually, to be honest, these slouch socks are more early 90's to me, but you get my gist, yes? In any event, I really don't care because I totally love em.
In fact, I love them so much, I already wore them out!
Is it just me, or do I look a little bow-legged in that picture? Anywho, yesterday morning I tried casting them off at my morning SnB but I was not so pleased with the results. They were rolling. Me no likey. There was talk of blocking. Me really no likey. I ended up going to the LYS that I took the class at and working with the owner on how I should cast them off. She was very nice and helpful and she ended up teaching me a new way to cast off and doing it TWICE because the first time it wouldn't fit over my big fat foot. As soon as I got home I cast off the second one. I immediately put them on and wore them around the house. JJ and I went out to dinner (yum, pad thai) and I wore them out with my ratty ole sneakers.* These socks felt fantastic on my feet, despite being a little too big. They reminded me of these Brooks Brothers cashmere socks I purchased several years ago (in a fit of lunacy because hey, $40 for socks is great because they are half off! I should buy two pair! It's like I'm getting one pair for free!). I am thinking that I need to invest in a pair of cool sneakers ... like some Chuck Taylors.
I mean after all, these are HAND KNITTED socks, don't they deserve something better than some dog-chewed sneakers?
*Did you know sneakers were given the name "sneakers" because the rubber soles allowed people to quietly walk, or sneak, up to people? Actually, I just totally made that up. But wouldn't it be neat if it was true. I wonder why they really are called sneakers.
Yarn: Lorna Laces, Shepherd Sock (color 112, Sand Ridge, dye lot 9126), 2 skeins
Needles: Addis size 2
Pattern: Toe-up on 2 Circs, from my Gazzillion Dollar Sock Class, with a stockinette ribbing for the leg.
Time: 4 weeks
Care: Machine washable
Friday, September 22, 2006
BOO: [giggle] Two guys masturbating. Heh! What would they name of that show?
ME: [giggle] Beats me!
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
I told Cat that he was being a cliche, but he didn't seem to care. I was surprised by the fact that Cat had any interest in my knitting when it was not moving. Had I been knitting and the yarn moving all about say, like a cat toy, it would have made sense. But it was just sitting there. I am an idiot.
And, in other news of idiocy (idiocy that was NOT mine) ...
- My local Attorney General has had the Charo Geico commercial banned because it was misleading. Is it just me or is this a colossal waste of time? Because, really, despite the fact that it was a commercial trying to sell me something, with Charo no less, I took each word as gospel.
- The Democratic candidate wants to limit which candidates get to participate in the gubernatorial debates. Isn't this in opposition to what the Democrats are all about? I thought the Dems were suppose to be all inclusive.
* After Cat smelled the yarn (and I took a picture or two), I quickly removed him from my finery to prevent a recurrence of The Mess.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
You know what that is? Besides a crappy picture of a tree taken through my windshield at high speed. That is a sign that fall is coming. Do you see the red leaves? Awesome! Fall! YEAH! Cooler weather. I can't wait.
Do you know what this is?
This is what an old married couple does while waiting for their dinners at a restaurant instead of making conversation!
Monday, September 18, 2006
A friendly piece of advice, if you see a cute train conductor on the train who is stamping tickets, and you want to scare him to death, and make him shake his head vehemently, put his hands up as if to ward you off, and back away as quickly as possible, I suggest asking him to hold and pose with your knitting for a picture. Once you scare him away to the amusement of other passengers, you can just take a picture of your knitting on the train, which will really not look like anything special but will fulfill your need to take a picture of your knitting on the train for your blog.
Besides scaring the pants off (I wish!) of the cute train boy, I did manage to get some knitting done and talk to some nice people. Due to train malfunction, we had an unexpected train change, and I ended up sitting next to three people total. The first two, a middle-aged woman and a college-aged woman, were very nice - they asked questions about the socks, but then left me alone to knit. The third woman, an older grandmotherly lady, killed several stereotypes. Not once did she ask about my knitting (thus disproving that all old ladies love to knit), she never once smiled at me or acknowledged me in anyway (thus disproving that little old ladies are sweet), except as we were about to stop. As we arrived at Grand Central Station, she said to me, "Miss, you might want to learn to sit with your legs closed, like a lady." To which I replied, "Lady, you might want to learn to smile, like a human being." Ok, that last bit was totally false, but she did give me a dirty look when I sat indian-style-cross-legged so that my yarn had a clear path for knitting so I gave her a big ole shit-eating grin. She sniffled at me.
Despite the last woman on the train, my socks were not going to hide in their bag. They next came out on the bus.
A bus, which I had not planned to ride, but did after waiting 35 minutes for a taxi and not moving up one inch in line.** I again was forced to take a nondescript picture of the socks because the bus driver was a bit scary. He told me I was putting my money in wrong (you dump it all in at once and pray that it processes correctly and doesn't say, get gummed up so that the machine eats a quarter and you become screwed because you don't have anymore change and people are getting mad at you while you look through every nook and cranny of your purse praying that a quarter escaped the confines of your wallet and is sitting in the bottom of your bag waiting to become bus fare) and he told me to pay attention for my stop because he wouldn't point it out. Um, ok. I met a nice older lady who admired my sock and explained the wonder of the NYC transit bus system and made sure I didn't miss my stop. FYI, they stop about every two blocks so don't ring the bell too soon or you will depart at the wrong place.
After the bus, my knitting relaxed in the nice hotel. The hotel which provided a complimentary toothbrush:
and really good air conditioning:
Sweet! After a restful evening, the socks were ready to tackle the NYC Knit-Out. To get to the Knit-Out, the socks took a cab.
The cab driver was crazy and tried to scam the system by not turning on the meter and keeping the fare for himself - weenie! - and I think he got secret pleasure in my mumbled curses when his crappy driving made me drop a stitch. Needless to say, the stitch was recovered and the socks were put away. Bad Driver! Bad! Anywho, the socks and I arrived at the Knit-Out in one piece (good thing I had a crochet hook or we might have arrived in pieces).
Praise Jebus it was HOT! The socks saw little action during the fashion show as I was too busy fanning myself. Speaking of which, check out this little knitted gem:
Do you see the HUGE knitted circle on her head?!? Halo? I dunno. The outfit had other rings attached to it, but I was struck stupid by the outfit and couldn't gather my picture taking wits until it was almost too late.
The socks were also amazed by the HUGE lines of people waiting for free wooden needles. It went on:
These people waited for hours for WOODEN needles. Not even, like, expensive Addis. Needles that would cost maybe $7. Unbelievable.
In any event, after the fashion shows, the socks, and my SnB buddies, went in search of sustenance. We found some yummy Mexican food, where Ernesto made guacamole at the table. He went from this:
The socks enjoyed some guacamole and beer with another sock and a fingerless glove.
Good times were had! The socks finally made it home, where they are relaxing from their adventures in the city.
* The Gazillion Dollar sock class turned out to be a fun experience. It was pricey, though not as pricey as what I thought it was going to be, but worthwhile. I learned a new technique which I will use over and over (if I make more socks, which I am sure I will) and I feel like I can now ask two people in that shop for assistance if I need it. The owner is still a bit weird to me, sometimes nice sometimes cold, but I think it is her personality and not her dislike of me. I would take another class there if it was within my budget.
** For the first time in my life I claimed to be "from Connecticut." For some reason I have always avoided that; when asked I say, "I live in Connecticut but I am from Florida." While in the taxi line from hell, however, I claimed Connecticut. A little Public Safety Officer was asking people where they were going so that he could help them get there faster since the taxis were all MIA. I told him where I was going but he had nothing for me, until thirty-five minutes had passed. He said, "I don't know how you feel about buses, but that M104 is going right to where you need to be." I replied, "I feel good about buses, heck, I'd feel good about sprouting wings and flying at this rate, but I am from Connecticut and don't know what you have to do to ride a bus. In Connecticut we drive cars." Um, WTF? Too much information! He laughed and was helpful, but I walked away shaking my head at myself.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Sunday is the NYC Knit Out & Crochet. A group of us are going to check it out. It should be fun, I think, um, actually I am still unclear as to how it works, so I am trying not to think. And, because I am nice like that, I have spread my confusion around. Now other people are asking, "Yah, I don't know if we need a blanket to sit on. Does anyone know if we need blankets?"
Since I am adverse to leaving a post without a picture, I will leave a before of The-Not-A-Mess-Anymore Scarf.
We'll see how much I get done at the Knit Out.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Remember how I loved the IG/BC brownies? Well, I decided to give her chocolate chunk cookies a whirl.
I got out all of my ingredients.
I opened the box and carefully read the instructions.
As instructed, I cut up the room temperature butter and put it in a mixing bowl.
I creamed the butter with my hand-held mixer.
I added a portion of the cookie mixture to the butter and mixed. Then, I added the egg and the rest of the cookie mixture and mixed some more.
Something went wrong though because the batter turned to glue and stuck to the beaters and the knife I was using to scrape it off the beaters.
I decided to keep going so I added the chocolate chunks and stirred them in by hand.
I used my scooper to make similarly sized cookies and loaded up the cookie sheet.
I baked them and let them cool, as directed, while I waited with my milk.
I expected my first bite to be heaven. It wasn't. They were okay, but in then end, I was not impressed. Don't get me wrong, I still would have eaten them but fortunately Boo brought them to work and his peeps ate them without complaint.
And, in other news, there are a few more things that I've eaten that could have killed me - or at least made me really ill:
- salad with bagged spinach from Earthbound Farms a/k/a E.Coli Spinach
- NYC street vendor hot dog
- pumpkin spice muffin with cream cheese of questionable freshness
- two day old room temperature pizza
Thursday, September 14, 2006
I'm a team player, so I was a-okay with this. Since my paper and a pen didn't make the move, I went inside to get them. I can only assume that Mr. Cool was so excited to get rid of me, that he dropped his socks, soles, and water bottle as he raced inside with joy.
Um, seriously folks, what kind of ghetto ass office do I have that this type of crap appears overnight?
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Dear Mr. Drug Buying Man:
I'm sorry I almost hit you at lunch time today while you were buying drugs in the middle of Homestead Ave. Not good. Squashed druggie = bad. Did you want to get run over by me? I don't think so. Please allow me to offer the following suggestions so that we can avoid these types of incidents in the future.
- When buying drugs, you should pick a side street or alley which is not a main thruway. Less traffic = less chance of getting squashed.
- You should be sober when buying drugs on a main street during the day so that if you stumble and almost fall over in the middle of the street while walking to your dealer's car, you have some wits about you and are less likely to do something that will get you runned over. Sobriety = better walking skills = less chance of getting squashed.
- When buying your drugs, you should dress appropriately; that is, you should wear two shoes not just one. They should match. Wearing two matching shoes makes that whole walking thing a little easier. This, combined with the soberness mentioned above, will drastically lower the "getting hit by a car" factor. Two matching shoes = better footing = better walking skills = less chance of getting squashed.
- Should you only have one shoe and be high as a kite, and still need to buy your drugs, you may want to cross at the cross-walk, at the intersection, or at least wait until there are no cars. Walking at cross-walk with white flashing hand = permission to cross street = less chance of getting squashed.
And, in the spirit of Christianity and helping thy neighbor, I would also like to offer a few suggestions on what not to do when buying your drugs so as to avoid detection by law enforcement.
- You may want to carry your money in your pocket as you approach your dealer's car and not hold it in your hand with bills sticking out between your fingers all willy nilly. This would lower the chance of catching the eye of a random passer-buyer who would then watch to see what you were doing and then call the police. No one sees money = no one interested in your life = no one sees your drug deal = no one calling police.
- Should you trip in front of a car as you walk to your dealer's car, don't shake your wad of money at the driver who almost hit you. This leads to that seeing-the-money phenomena discussed above. No waving fist full of money at oncoming traffic = no staring at you over the hood of her car opened mouth in shock = no one sees money = no one interested in your life = no one sees your drug deal = no one calling police.
- Buy your drugs at night. Night = less light = can't see you buying drugs = no one calling police.
- Buy your drugs at some place other than a main road. Drugs bought in secret = no one seeing you buy drugs = no one calling police.
I hope that you find this information helpful Sir.
Your Future Attorney.
I have eye issues. They are sad. And expensive. I went in for my regular exam and my unusually-attractive-for-a-doctor doctor** said that I had turned into a "real contact lens wearer." This was surprising to me since: 1) I have been wearing contact lenses for about the last (gulp) eighteen years. Holy Shizzle! When did I become old enough to do anything for eighteen years? and 2) I wear my contacts 98% of the time, all day every day. Always have. So it would seem to me that I have been pretty "real." I asked Dr. CuteStuff what did this "real contact lenses wearer" mean. He said that I have developed bleh bleh bleh (medical term with neo and itis and izzle and other, hard to pronounce, things in the middle there). It seems that my eyes are creating making growing (?) extra vessels ... um, I'm a freak.*** I also have some retina issue, which I have always had, that is exacerbated because my astigmatism is changing. The bottom line is that I have to wear my contacts less and my glasses more and I have to change contact lens type (back to the gas permeable which I had for about 15 years and totally liked just fine) which, in the end, is going to cost like, $1000 (gasp! sputter! shake!) and I have to have my eye, um, mapped. How ick does that sound? It takes "like ten minutes" to map the eyeballs so we'll see how that goes. In the meantime I have shelled out over $500 for a pair of glasses and a pair of sunglasses. RIDICULOUS. When I asked Boo how people who, unlike me, live within their means can afford this shit he said, "They go to Sears and buy Chester the Child Molester glasses and then they prey on small children."**** So, really, by racking up more debt I am doing the children some good. The last thing they need is some big ole' white woman looking to gobble them up. Mr. Smellypants has officially finished. Dirty Man! Dirty Dirty Man!
* This is actually not TOTALLY true. I know, can you believe I would fib? Hard to fathom. In any event, I did have fun at dinner with Boo and then later when we got home (Not that kind of fun! Pervy! We played cards and drank wine for a bit, or did we?).
** Who, as an aside, flirts with all of this patients, young or old, fat or skinny, black or white, male or female. This may be why when I asked people if they had an eye doctor they liked, three random, unrelated and unknown to each other people all recommended him. And, as an aside to my aside (because you can never have too many asides) the same thing happened with my dentist. Random unknown people all recommended the same guy. Though he is not a flirt or unusually attractive - though he is good looking - he is very popular amongst my friends.
*** This, unfortunately, is well documented and true. My body does it's own thing like rejecting metal used to hold bones together or rejecting anesthesia to keep me asleep during surgery or rejecting internal stitches that are holding stuff together and on and on it goes much like this post which lacks direction, or pictures, or fun.
**** I tend to be brutally honest with people, especially the ones I love, but I have lied to both Boo and Frito about their eyeglasses. Boo had the Chester's and Frito had children's glasses. Both looked ridiculous in their respective eye wear but I didn't have the heart to tell them. Boo still is ticked about it and says, "How could you let me wear them for years?" To which I reply, "We were at opposite ends of the country and I didn't have to look at them and you were BROKE. You could have done NOTHING about it but felt bad about yourself every morning when you put them on. So really, I was doing you a HUGE favor by keeping my trap shut." He does not concur. Frito did in fact return his kid's glasses (oral sex may have been involved as eye glass returns were unheard of at this time) and then chastised me for being less than forthright afterwards. I used the can't-return-so-you-were-screwed argument with him too. And, like Boo, he was not impressed.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
This entranced me. When I first saw it I thought, MUST FOLD SHIRT NOW. And, um, so I did. My own. Which was a huge lime green sweater and not a small tee shirt. Nonetheless, I think I have mastered the technique. And now, I am going to be the best shirt folder in the whole wide world. Or, um, at least at my house.
As I was stripping down, it did come to mind that I may need a better hobby, more engaging job, or a shrink.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Why yes, you're right. Those ARE the clean sheets, pillow cases, mattress pad and comforter I just put on the bed last night. Yah see, when I cleaned up this:
There seemed to be a lot of wood shards in comparison to the damage. Where could the other shoe be, I wondered. Under the couch? Nope! Behind the door? Nope. Hmmm, I guess I will look upstairs. Lo and behold, there, in the center of my nice clean sheets, was cat puke.
No sandal chewed or otherwise was found. It isn't possible for her to have EATEN the whole thing is it?
(These hands, they can untangle even the nastiest knot.)
(Look what I have!)
You take the bad ...
(Why is my sneaker in the middle of the living room?)
(What's that under your bed there Baby Girl?)
(Say it ain't so!)
(My poor sandal!)
(I think I threw up in my mouth.)
And there ya have, the facts of life.