Sign

In a couple of weeks I'm going to Atlanta to celebrate a friend's birthday. The planning has been, well, um, retarded? We have multiple factions with multiple ideas which lead to forty emails in my inbox during a one hour period. Who jumps out of the cake? Is Trader Vic's kitschy cool or tragically dated? Who is paying the strippers? Where can we go that has 10 Cane rum? Do we get girl strippers or boy strippers? Should we wear matching pantaloons? What about a keeping B & J a secret? Oh the decisions. I decided to take the high road (or the easy, I'm a lazy bastard road) and proclaimed, "I have decided that I want nothing to do with the planning. This way, if it sucks, it is someone else's fault, not the lady from Connecticut wearing comfortable shoes and cat hair." But guess what. Even after I removed myself from the role of planner to the role of sarcastic commentator of the planners and their plans which aren't really plans because no one is making a decision and everyone is getting irked at everyone else, the stress was just as, well, stressful. Crazy, huh? I think I may be a bit of a control freak. Who knew? But it is ok. Now. Now, I'm relieved. I received a sign. A sign that all will be perfect for my friend, Miss Lambert's partay. You see, my brand new knitting book has an entire chapter titled "Miss Lambert" !!! Profound, no? Miss Lambert here, Miss Lambert there, everywhere a Miss Lambert having fun. And if she isn't? It isn't my fault. I didn't plan shit. I'm just half of the "secret BJ."

In other news, I still have The Dinner this weekend and a trip to Miami to get through first. I have managed to block my shawl and it is ready for pictures. Note to self - take pictures! Also, I only have the ribbing left on my Anastasia socks. This is both exciting and nerve wracking because I need another project for next weekend when I fly to Miami. Because you know I am not bring my big, bulky, hot ass wool sweater down to friggen Miami. But what to choose ... I dunno. Maybe I'll receive a sign.