Better In My Head

Sometimes when I am driving to work, instead of paying attention, my mind wanders. And, sometimes it wanders into little ideas and rifts that I think would be brilliant and funny and great to share with the internet in a fun blog post. This is not one of those posts. Sorry. It is, however, packed with photos.

The first photo has nothing to do with anything, except that Dogbert was being exceptionally cute. See,


Cute Dogbert. Now that we've got that out of the way, let's talk about knitting, or more specifically why I need to remodel my home in order to become a better knitter.

After C'mas, I bought a ball winder and swift on uber sale. It was such an uber sale that I never got the ball winder because they were sold out. I did get the swift, which I immediately wanted to mount and play with ... mount on a table, not in some sort of Debbie Does Dallas way, pervs. Anywho, I searched my house for a suitable table and repeatedly struck out, until I reached the basement. Our basement, our very cluttered, messy, but dry basement has a work bench that was perfect. Zip ahead to me getting a ball winder and wanting to ball some yarn. I bring the winder to the one place the swift will work and lo and behold the work bench is too think for the winder. Now do you see why I need a remodel? I need a room suitable for a table with a ball winder and swift, and a few scantily clad studly men. Fortunately my basement is messy and has things like random pieces of scrap wood sitting around (though it does lack studly scantily clad beefcakes). I attached the winder to the wood and was off. Well, I was off after I read the directions, because geez, I really wasn't sure what I was doing despite seeing it done over and over and over and even participating once.


When all was said and done, or wound in this case, I decided that my picture of the whole first time alone winding kind of sucked, as well as revealed that anal-retentive little ole me is really a piggly wiggly slob. So, I picked up a picture frame that was down there to be glued (the picture is BeFri and I at the ripe ole age of about 15, in around 1991, out at Stiltsville), and posed the yarn with it.


The picture, like this post, was much better in my head. I thought it would be artsy. I thought wrong. The only thing that this picture shows is that 1) there is a reason I had skin cancer by the time I was 20, and 2) BeFri can catch the shortest fish in the bay.

So, after winding my yarn, I decided to swatch it. I was a little nervous because the thin bits of the yarn looked thinner than my sweater could handle and might mess with my gauge. After swatching, I took another picture (that was also much better in my head) and now I ask you, what do these two things have in common?