She's Going For Speed

I've started knitting another scarf and I hope to have it done by New Year's. I suspect this short timeline is what's causing the musical loop in my head of Cake's song The Distance. Fortunately I like cake ... both the band and the food, so it's all good.



The scarf, Argosy, is being knit in up with another bit my summer vacation yarn, some Artfibers Basque. I think it's been discontinued since it's not on the Artfibers website (and it also is listed as discontinued on Ravelry), which is a shame because I really like it. Well except for the fact that the dye is rubbing of on everything.



And I do mean everything. It's gotten my fingers, my clothes and the needles. I kept laughing at the perfect red line on my little finger where my yarn rests. I'm not too worried about the dye transfer since it washed off of my fingers with no problem ... and no elbow grease. Just a little soap and I was clean, clean, clean.

Recovery

Hope y'all are recovering from Christmas (or from the extra time off, if you just, you know, celebrate not working) and getting back to work this morning didn't kill ya. Wait, what? You have today off too? Assholes! Obviously, I do not. And let me tell you, it sucks. As an aside, let me share with you my belief, a belief that I think you will take and adopt as your own ... People should have the day after a holiday off (so that they have time to recuperate from all the fun in which they partook when they were off), instead of the day before the holiday. People like the day before the holiday off so they can prepare. But! They had tons of time to prepare for the holiday, it didn't sneak up out of nowhere. It makes more sense to enjoy the day after in peaceful revelry and to give your mind (and maybe body if need be) recovery time. Think about it. It works for a lot of holidays ... Christmas, New Year's, Fourth of July, Memorial Day, etc. This is my belief, so sayeth The Jenna.

Anywho, me, working today. Not only am I missing AMAZING BARGAINS ... RIGHT NOW! it was hard, damn hard, to wake up this morning. It could be because I stayed up late playing blackjack. Blackjack fueled by 'nog where Boo, BiL5 and I all took turns being the dealer and yet I was the only one who ended up broke. Had we been playing for real money, I would have lost $950. It didn't help that the blackjack was a failed attempt to cheer me up after getting my ass kicked (twice) at Don't Quote Me (preferably said like the guy that says, "Don't tase me bro!" and said repeatedly until someone says, "Say that one more time and I swear on the New York Yankees, Miami Hurricanes and anything else you hold holy that I will tase you into silence bro" and pulls out a Tasemaster 2000) and Rummy 500. It seems my game juju of late has been, well, nonexistent. Which is okay, because it is not whether you win or lose, it is how you play the game. Blah blah blah. Though, to be honest, I might have cheated at Rummy 500 there at the end. But my cheating was also a dismal failure, so it shouldn't count.

Other than the bad game juju, Christmas was wonderful. Good fun, good times, good people, good gifts, and good food. Every year we have Christmas brunch. We have a routine and a game plan. This year, however, we decided to mix it up a little. We deep-sixed the china and nice linen and lox. Yes, the lox was left out intentionally; the cheesy grits and the blueberry french toast, left out not so intentionally. Whoops!

Even with the omissions, we were all well fed and I still managed to do all right with my bagel abd lox, cream cheese, tomato and onion ... hold the lox.



There was also some finishing going on over here at Chez SPR! I finished Branching Out! Once BiL5 vacates our guestroom and quits sleeping on my 'blocking board,' I'll have Branching Out blocked and ready for a proper photo shoot. In the meantime, here's a little taste ...

Mama's Little Girl

First, she guarded the presents under the tree ...



Then she guarded the good stuff ... for a little while. Turns out all that guard dog stuff is tiring!

T Minus 44 Minutes and Counting

She. W'ont. Leave. Me. Alone. Merry. Fucking. Christmas. Eve.

T Minus 2 Hours and Counting

It turns out we are working a half-day today, which means we'll leave at noon. Which also means that the next two hours will be the longest two hours in the history of mankind. This is contrary to the rumors from when I was in law school that Business Associations with Prof. Larson was the longest two hours of any day, ever. In fact people joked that if they were diagnosed with a terminal disease they would sign up for that class to prolong their lives for as long as possible. To those jokesters I say, come on over here, feel what tedium is really like. Watching the clock is now a sport unto itself. And it's not just me. Everyone is kind of antsy, counting the minutes, planning holiday festivities, or lack thereof, and generally doing anything possible to avoid working. Including Crazy.

Yes, Crazy is one of the people watching the clock, looking for entertainment and she keeps seeking it in my office. Add to that that this year is the first year in the past five that she has decided to give me a Christmas gift and well, I feel like this is a form of torture the CIA needs to investigate, it leaves no external marks and is not fatal ... yet. And, in case that slid by you, yes people, Crazy gave me ANOTHER gift. If these keeps up, I might have to get a restraining order by the time Lady Bean pops out. Anywho, Crazy has given me a Christmas gift and wants me to open right now. Like now. This minute. Under normal circumstances, I prefer opening my gifts on Christmas. In these circumstances, i.e., unknown gifts from Crazy, gifts that she has already provided disclaimers for (e.g., if this one looks banged up, it's not, it's handmade), I definitely want the comfort of my own home, and maybe a bracing shot (or six) of Belvedere. I also want Boo and BiL5 as witnesses in case the whole damn thing is an incendiary explosive device. So far I have been able to put her off. We'll see how long that lasts.

After reading the last two paragraphs, I think I've just landed myself on some DHS watch list ... CIA ... torture ... incendiary explosive device. Mazel tov!

Halfway There

So I was knitting along on my scarf, when what did appear? A knot!



This always pisses me off something fierce. I made an executive decision to cut the yarn and start on my second skein. There didn't seem to be enough yarn left on the first knotted one to make the extra ends weaving worthwhile.

Gimme That!

Another year, another successful SnB holiday party/swap.



Only ... new! And improved! With more snow! And more swapping! Seriously. Last year there was no threat of death by steep snowy driveway. Which as the owner of the driveway and a lawyer, I found EXTREMELY comforting. This year, not so much. We got more than a dusting of snow during the party. Enough that I held my breath and chanted "Good Driveway Karma! Good Driveway Karma!" over and over again until every last person left. It seems to have worked. No one fell and I wasn't greeted by a marshal and a summons at my door this morning. I consider this a huge success and another point in favor of invoking karma when need be. For those of you that don't know, one of my law school ladies would chant "Good Parking Karma" over and over as she pulled into a parking lot and inevitably she'd get great parking spots. It was crazy, but I tried it and it worked! You can't invoke the Good Whatever Karma all of the time, but if you use it sparingly, it really does work. I now sound like some new age freak. I'm okay with it. The Good Driveway Karma might have also been helped along by the fact that I forgot to buy some wine. I'm going to assume that it was a fortuitous oversight and not a hostess mishap and move on!

So our swap is of the "Yankee Style" which means you can steal the gifts of the people who have gone before you. None of the Northerners seem to see the slight in the "Yankee" label, so sayeth this very amused Southerner. But whatever, it is great fun. Last year we only had one person loose her gift. Granted, she lost gifts three different times, but she was the only loser. Ironically, she is the only one who didn't lose a gift this year.



Last year's lack of serious swapping made it easy for me to photograph. This year, not so easy. I have forty-four pictures of people losing their gifts and taking another gift only to lose that gift too. I can't figure out who lost what. I know I missed a few picture opps which means that somehow thirteen people swapped gifts about fifty times. There were turns that took ten minutes because there was so much swapping and grabbing going on. It was bedlam.



I will admit to being one of the people who contributed to the bedlam.

+
= a diabolical sushi deprived pregnant woman on a mission

Or rather, a diabolical sushi deprived pregnant woman on a mission to corrupt others to do her bidding! In other words, I created of the Triumvirate of Evil. A triumvirate whose sole purpose was to ensure that its three members got the gifts they wanted when all was said and done. Some might say this wasn't very sporting. I say, pushaw! Cheaters never prosper, but schemers do!



In my defense, I was destined to have the present that I wanted. We were like star crossed lovers. Being preggers I can't have sushi. I LOVE sushi. The lack of sushi in my life makes me sad. And irritable. So, being a bitch, I declared all sushi banned from the party. Well someone was a smart ass and figure out a way around my declaration and the ban and my sushi deprived brain said MUST HAVE! Not only was the wrapping paper me, me, me. The book and the serving dish were too! Speaking of dishes, I again forgot to take a "before" food picture for BeFri, so I only have one of the carnage.



This year I wised up and used paper plates and cups. The china is sturdier and much prettier but the hand washing part is way suckier. I didn't have the pleasure of pain pills this year as an excuse to get my husband to do all of the dishes, so I made sure there were a lot less.

When all was said and done, a fun evening was had. I cleaned up and Cat reclaimed the living room as his personal domain.



My husband helped with the clean-up, but I still ended up going to bed hours after my bed time. In fact, I am so tired that I told my husband this morning that I was the tiredest person the WHOLE WIDE WORLD. And you know what he said? He said, "Baby, I am so sorry. Why don't we both leave work now and meet at home so I can rub your feet until you slide into blissful slumber." Actually that is not at all what he said. It was more like, "Dexter, tonight, 7pm, no excuses." Fucking Dexter. I love that show but it was getting too good. Each episode was giving me arrhythmia. I convinced Boo to wait until we had the final two episodes DVRd and could watch them at once. I figured it would be easier on my adrenal system, kind of shoot my adrenalin wad all at one time and be done with it. It was a great idea until now, when Dexter is DVRd and looming over my head. I'm totally going to have to take a nap.

Which I won't be able to do under my desk this afternoon (goddammit!) since we just had our office holiday lunch and people want to ... socialize. Unlike years past, no one seemed to throw a fit during this holiday lunch. In fact, I'll go out on a limb here and say that this was the best holiday lunch we've had thus far. There were several incidents of people trying to insulate the food and utensils from Mr. Smellypants and for the most part they were successful. He never coughed on the food or licked something and put it back. So yeah office lunch!

And, not apropos to anything else ... Funniest line of last evening: Why does A. have a Pooh hanging from her butt?

>

Your Very Own Granny

This is making its way around the blogosphere, so you may have already know about this it, but just in case you don't, I had to share ...

If you are behind on your holiday knitting, and worried you just won't get everything done in time, you can hire a Swiss granny to knit up some socks for you at Net Granny. All you need to do is select a granny, and then select the size and color of the socks and viola! Done! There is even an option where you can ask the granny select the color and surprise you! On the left is picture I swiped of Granny Agnes, tell me she doesn't look like she'll kick some sock knitting ass for you! This granny will totally get your socks done in time.

Some of the grannys will knit "muffs" too. Heh.

And, as an aside, check out how much these grannies charge. I want to be a Net Granny!

Poison

This past weekend we were subjected to a Nor'easter. It was the most pansiest of Nor'easters ever and was basically rain. Nonetheless, my husband being, well himself, decided that I was not to leave the house in case some real weather happened. I'm 32 years old and I was grounded. Like a snotty teenager. This was very bad for my holiday shopping, which can only be described as "Not Done, So Not Even Close To Being Done" but very good for my knitting. Sort of. I haven't gone back to the sweater or the socks I was working on before, but I have started a new project and am one sixth of the way done. Haha, one sixth, I'm a dork.



I've started Branching Out. An easy peasy lace scarf. I'd be more than one sixth done if I hadn't run into gauge type issues. The top picture is good for giving you an idea of the yarn's awesome color. I think the yarn might be a tad bit brighter. Just a tad. The bottom picture gives you an idea of my gauge problem. Specifically using the yarn's recommended needle size made the fabric too loose to get good stitch definition. I couldn't see the pattern in all the mess.



I've gone down two needle sizes and viola, we have a discernible pattern. We also have one sixth of the repeats done. It takes me seventeen minutes to do a repeat. I know, that is a weird thing to know. I don't normally time these type of things but I was trapped inside while a cold wet misty drizzle fell from the clouds. I had time on my hands. I timed the repeats.

I Drive No Good

This morning I crashed into a snow bank. This has absolutely nothing to do with anything else in this post, but really, how often do you get to say you crashed into a snow bank? One might say it was totally my fault as I didn't really closely examine the amount of snow and ice the plow folks deposited at the bottom of our driveway. I say it was not my fault (though who was at fault is not exactly what you might call clear if it's not me, the one who was driving) because our driveway is too long and steep for me to tell these things without, you know, walking down to the bottom first, and jeez, that is totally ridiculous when the temperature is in the single digits. But then again, I wasn't the one who suffered shower-interuptus and had to go outside in those single digit temperatures, while still damp, to dig my spouse's car out of, or off of, the snow bank. If I was the digging out spouse, maybe my position on blame would be different. Anyway, there you have it, backed onto a snow drift, got stuck, whoops!



In other news, the PT socks (i.e., socks for my personal trainer) are done! Finally, a finished objects in these parts! It was hard to photograph them without putting them on my feet. Since they are a size or so smaller than my foot, it was ugly when I acted as the model. Think sausage feet. Eek. I don't have sock blockers either. Which kind of sucks. I did try to whip up a pair out of card board, and the result was uninspired. I didn't have any metal hangers lying about, so there yah have it. Socks looking funny for pictures.

As you may recall, TWG made matching mittens. Unfortunately, the two pairs have not yet been united so there is no photographic evidence of their matchiness. Which is just fine, and not all that unfortunate, because the mittens, they outshine the socks. So better keep 'em separated.

I really like the contrasting color bits and think they match quite nicely, but not too much. The socks were a delight to knit, though weaving in all of the ends sucked big fat rotten eggs. Me no likey the weaving!



These socks are fun socks. They like to play and party and attack small plastic animals. Animals that were one of the gifts from Crazy. Speaking of gifts from Crazy, today I found this on my desk ...




Another day, another gift. I will say that thus far, this was the best of the lot. It is a box of three Gorham teddy bear ornaments for Lady Bean. Weird, as the Lady Bean still has to cook a whole hell of a lot more. Also, I really feel slightly stalked. But this is a nice thought. At least that is what I am telling myself.




Yarn: Socks That Rock, medium weight, colors Tanzanite and Nodding Violet (actually I'm not sure about the Nodding Violet, that is a guess), 1 skein of Tanzanite and half a skein of the other. Left overs of each.
Needles: Addi Circs, size 3.0 mm (US 2)
Pattern: Monkey
Modifications: Removed four stitches from the pattern bit to make 'em smaller. Knit them toe up.
Time: 12 days.
Care: Machine wash, dry flat.

Isn't It Ironic

On Wednesday I broke down and ordered some UGG snow boots. They are "technically" a men's style, which could mean they look a little butchy. I'm going to pretend, however, that they look cute and fashion forward. In any event, I ordered them using overnight delivery as it was suppose to snow (lots) Thursday afternoon and evening.

12/14/2007 4:19 A.M. OUT FOR DELIVERY
12/13/2007 8:03 P.M. DESTINATION SCAN
12/13/2007 6:36 P.M. ADVERSE WEATHER CONDITIONS CAUSED THIS DELAY / THE MOVEMENT OF THE PACKAGE WILL RESUME AS SOON AS THE WEATHER CONDITIONS ALLOW
12/13/2007 6:14 A.M. OUT FOR DELIVERY
12/13/2007 5:35 A.M. DESTINATION SCAN
12/13/2007 5:32 A.M. ARRIVAL SCAN
12/13/2007 3:51 A.M. DEPARTURE SCAN
12/13/2007 2:08 A.M. ORIGIN SCAN
12/13/2007 9:05 P.M. BILLING INFORMATION RECEIVED

This backfired! Snow delays delivery of snow boots! Heh.

Yardstick

Some people measure snowfall by, you know, normal means, like inches or meters, me and the husband, we use the dog. When he asked how much snow we had at the house, this was my reply...

Today at 3:00 p.m.:


Snow to upper leg. Snow is fun play toy. Must lick snow.
Come play with me mom!


Today at 7:00 p.m.:


Snow to chest. Snow sucks. Do not know how to pee.
Hate you mom, don't make me come out here again!

J is for JustDecideOnANameAlready

The last few days have been ... eventful.

I've been the recipient of several gifts from Crazy. It is hard to talk about this without sounding ungrateful so I've been unusually demure of late in my rants about her and the office, but jizzy friggin krizzy, this gift thing has to stop. It borders on creepy stalker. It is weird enough that she keeps giving me things EVERY SINGLE DAY for, like, the ENTIRE LAST WEEK. But it is especially weird in light of that fact that we were mutually ignoring/not talking to each other the week before last. There have been magazines, books, white cocoa powder, figurines, a bag, and on and on and on. I seriously believe that her intentions are pure and nice and some of the stuff has been for Lady Bean but nonetheless IT MUST STOP! I am totally not digging on this. We slipped over into WhatTheFuckville and I want out! It just must stop.

I've been rear-ended by a child. A child born in 1990! How is it possible that someone born in 1990 is old enough to drive? I was so pissed when it happened, but I didn't want to call her a dumbass because she was a kid. A kid who would have burst into tears. A giggly kid who wouldn't stop giggling and apologizing and who's car was insured by her parents and who assumed that mine was too since it had both my and my husband's name listed and I apparently look like a high schooler. Both Lady Bean and I are fine, my bumper is not as fine, though a little botox and it should be fine too. In an attempt at optimism, I am saying it was all cool because 1) she thought I was still in school and living with my parents so I must look really young, 2) we got an extra sonogram of Ms. Lady Bean, and 3) we had a preview of the Labor & Delivery area of my hospital and its very nice nurses ... good stuff right?

I had my first ever bout of morning sickness which involved stomach bile and one lone diced tomato from dinner the night before. All I can say is I am one lucky bitch that this has only happened once. How do people deal with puking day in and day out (and yes, it was "productive" as I felt better afterwards, but still!)?

I've had the hardest time doing a heel in contrasting colored yarn for my PT socks. I finished the gusset and tried several heels with crapatastic results before I saw this over at the Yarn Harlot's. Seems I should have done a short row heel. Which I HATE. So, I made up my own thing which is not as cute as Madam Harlot's. But whatever. It is acceptable. I now have the legs to do and I am done. D - O - N - E, done! I hope to finish one sock tonight at SnB, but I am being an optimist (again) and bringing both.

I've been making my husband spew and choke, because, well, it is fun for me (or because I might be the tiniest bit of an asshole). Anywho, all of the women in my family have had names that start with J. Well, when I say all of the women, that would be me (now) and my mom and my aunt (before). We're a small people, but we made up for it in character. In any event, being that we are having a girl, I thought a J name would be nice. In theory, so did Boo. In reality we can't seem to agree on a name. Truth be told, we haven't tried too hard since we have an eternity to decide. We did agree that come March we would swap a list of names and battle it out then. In the interim, we've been using various, random, bad J names. Well that, and "the bean" and the new and improved "Lady Bean." In any event, it appears that my husband has issue with the name Joyce. If I want to make him choke, laugh, and spew anything in his mouth, I just have to say that Joyce this or Joyce that and BAM. This amuses me.

My snow boot/winter boot search has been directed to the UGG. Egads! I sought the advice of Joan, shoe connoisseur extraordinaire (usually, except for an unfortunate pair or two back in the 90's of which we shan't speak). She said she is thinking UGG because of practical purposes, but is resistant due to hate. I know EXACTLY what she means. I don't want to go ice climbing and hiking (shocking eh?), so I don't need something fancy and high tech. But, I am gravity challenged under the best of circumstances, rearrange my weight distribution, throw in some ice or snow, and it could get ugly. Like the boots. Which I am looking at with a (semi) open mind.

It Is Contagious

I lie here prostrate, under the demoralizing two game loss of Trivia Pursuit. Somehow the planets aligned in such a way that Pookie and Shorty creamed Boo and me at TP. It was ugly. It was violent. It was an ass kicking of the highest order. Though I later had a flourish of trumpet, bankrupting all of the other players at Monopoly, the victory was hollow since I had already pulled my poor unsuspecting husband into the Trivia Pursuit losers pit and contributed to his "Worst Gaming Night In The History of Forever." I suspect this is why I will not be enjoying impure carnal privileges of marriage, foot rubs, or dinners out for the next week or so. I am used to getting killed at TP. I don't like it, but I am use to it. My husband though, he was unprepared for the trauma. He never loses when it comes to the Pursuit of Trivia. He was so verklepmt, later he wouldn't wheel and deal with me during Monopoly. I felt so bad that I was going to give him two, not one but two properties, for free, so he could have a monopoly. He refused.

Last night was a marquee night, not only because my suckdom at TP spread to Boo, or he who   never   rarely loses at TP, but also because it is the first time I have ever requested "the darkest table in the restaurant please" for dinner. I'm not sure why Pookie was seeking the darkness, but as the hostess with the mostest, I tried to meet his every whim (and that must be why we tanked at the TP, as hosts it was our duty to lose, and it is a duty we took very seriously). In any event, I think it will be awhile before we return to the dinner establishment as I am sure they thought we were drinking goat's blood and swapping kidding porn at our dark table.

With all of this darkness and gaming, I'm sure you think I have not been knitting, nor have I decked our halls. But you'd be wrong. Wrong! WRONG! So very wrong! I have completed the gussets on both socks and now I just need to turn a little heel or two and I will be rolling up the leg. I should be done by Friday. I also have the halls decked but for a tweaking of the fireplace garland. I may suck at TP, but I am on the ball when it comes to ... something. I was going to say the holidays, but since I haven't started my holiday shopping, I shan't say that.

The Porcupine Sponge of Goodness

I openly embrace my dorkiness. I'm not ashamed of this. I've shared stories about flashing random strangers and making silly bets. I've told you about my scientific study regarding the quantity of salt and pepper in the little packets and the food on my face. I'm not exactly shy when it comes to admitting that I am a eccentric, or a dork (depending on the day and my audience).

So, it is with great joy that I share my latest trip into overenthusiastic dorkdum. It all started with a water bottle, as so many stories do. I had purchased a water bottle while on vacation because, 1) I liked the picture of a black dog on it as I have a black(ish) dog and, 2) it was Nalgene and people in the know had told me this was The Water Bottle Brand of Choice. So being a sheep, who likes pretty things, I purchased my water bottle and I used it. And I used it some more. And then, I used it some more. Each night I would swish soapy water in my pretty bottle to clean it, but after time this method of cleaning was insufficient and a haze started to coat the inside of my bottle. I was not pleased.

I decided I would actually scrub the inside of the bottle, but with the mouth opening bit so small, the what part of how I would scrub the inside was issuematic. I tried a wadded up paper towel mushed around with the handle part of a wooden spoon, it was no good. I tried to use the wooden spoon handle method with a dishrag. A little better, but still no good. I tried jamming a sponge in there. Still no good. I bought a brush specifically designed to clean bottles and this was not only No Good, it was the worst of the lot as it left little streaks in the haze showing the few random bits it had cleaned. But then it hit me, I needed a sponge on a stick. You remember these little doohickeys from yesteryear? The sponge that were porcupine-like on long plastic sticks? This would be the PERFECT device for cleaning my water bottle.

Off to Target I went. Only to find none of what I was looking for. They had the wiry brushes on a stick and the big triangle sponges on soap-dispensing sticks, but not the good porcupine-sponge on a stick. Well, to make a long story less long (I think we are past the point of no return on making this story short) after trips to several grocery stores, Wal-Mart, Bed Bath and Beyond, and Walgreens, I was still no closer to my porcupine-sponge on a stick. Knowing that I was beat, I decided to think outside the box. Which basically means that I asked BeFri to keep a look out. She lives in Florida, Florida has more old people, old people use to use the porcupine-sponge on a stick, therefore the porcupine-sponge on a stick would be easily found in Florida. This was my thought process. A thought process which totally paid off. Because guess what I got for my birthday. A gift that made me squeal out in delight! A gift that sent me running upstairs to use immediately! That's right, BeFri found a porcupine-sponge on a stick. It is modified to have the wiry bottle brush bit on the bottom, which I don't really care for (see the above-referenced streaky line thing), but the porcupine-sponge bit makes up for it.

Who Moved My Cheese?

My office had no internet access until three friggen o'clock this afternoon. Do you know how wrong that is? Expecting me to work, without e-mail and porn breaks? I mean, dudes, I need to be on top of the NFL, there is a football pool to win. I don't have time for this no-internet shite. This internetlessness, it is inhumane I tell you. In. Hu. Mane. I might just might sue.

In other news, I was perusing my calendar last night when one thing lead to another and I realized that I have one week less that I thought I had to finish my PT socks. This is not heart stopping, as I hope to have them done real-quick-like, and in plenty o' time, but still, I feel gypped, I lost a week. I did get another Monkey repeat in, and worked on my other toe, so I'm going to be fine. Really. No need to panic.

Speaking of panic, I believe the dog and cat are planning my untimely death. Should this be my last birthday, you'll know who to look to. THERE ARE NO NATURAL CAUSES! Don't let the big brown eyes fool you. Last night I woke to the cat plastered across my lower legs and feet and the dog standing on the bed, looming over me, smelling my nose and licking her lips. Dogbert was all, "What? Nothing to see here. Just wanted to check you out. Had a midnight snack, it was delish." But I'm not fooled. This, I believe, was a practice run. If Boo doesn't return toute suite, Cat is going to hold me down while Dogbert ... kills me with her kibble breath? Drowns me with slobber? I dunno, but it can't be good. I reminded them that Daddy would be home tomorrow. That he was not dead, rolled up in carpet that (classily) is sitting on the side of the house. But I'm not sure they believe me. I may have to rent a hotel room tonight just to be safe.

My Education Pays Off

Husband (calling from Ireland): Dinner wasn't bad. I had some good chicken. Though the potatoes really sucked.

Me: Yah. I could see suckey potatoes ... you know, that whole potato famine thing.

Me Cook Pretty One Day

I'm continuing to make the best of my alone time ... by cooking. I know. It's not really the same as crack and hookers, but for a pregnant married lady, cooking can be pretty daring. Two nights ago, I roasted some of these with garlic and onions:



To make a perfect dinner like this:



Also known as the dinner in which my husband would only eat the meat. Sweet potatoes? Rutabega? Brussel sprouts? Roasted garlic and caramelized onions? He'd rather lick dirt, thankyouverymuch. Interestingly, I heard a radio news report that suggested women eat things like brussel sprouts and broccoli when they are pregnant as it supposedly ups the chance of the child liking them. If there is any truth to this, then this baby is going to be a veggie lover.

Last night I made some curried chicken salad to put on top of a regular salad:



Curry being another no-no on the husband's food list. The random placement of the dried cranberries was most unfortunate. The entire meal reminded me of one of those optical illusion pictures. Sometimes I saw curried chicken salad, sometimes I saw curried chicken eye balls with a tomato smile, and other times I saw curried chicken boobs with cranberry nipples. Like I said, unfortunate cranberry placement. As the pregnant married lady, it was very odd eating nipples.

I've also been knitting while cooking, and I made some progress on the Monkey/PT socks.



Still loving the yarn. Still having impure thoughts about things I could do with the yarn (though the cranberry nipples might have inadvertently contributed to such thoughts). I am liking the modified Monkey pattern going on. It almost is cabley. I think the contrasting toe color is a bit long, but not so long as to require me to take a trip to the frog pond.

Should Have Bought Salt

It figures, when the husband, that is, he who deals with all things outside, like leaves and snow and ice, is away, nature attacks mi casa! We had a wind storm and our leaves (finally) fell. Then we had an ice storm which sealed in the leaves and created a luge course of our driveway. The one thing I know I can do and do well when it snows, fling that salt deicer stuff, is the one thing we don't have. In other words, we ain't got no deicer and I am royally screwed when I try to drive up the driveway when I get home. Dammit!



Despite the rockin' luge course coating the driveway, I manged to make it out of the garage and to work, on time and in one piece. I got here only to find that everyone called out but Crazy and me. Great. I've had to put on my happy face way more than anyone should and answer questions like, "Why isn't the ice melting? I just don't understand why it doesn't melt?" Um, science? Water freezes. Thirty-two degrees fahrenheit ... ring any bells?

I tried to escape my office by going to the post office. That was like jumping from a pond full of morons into and ocean full of morons. Same thing, only more of it. What I don't get is how these people survive day-to-day life without someone reminding them to you know, breathe. Also, if I was a postal employee and I had been working the counter today, there is a good chance you would have read about me going postal on some of these dumbasses. Props to the mail people for keeping their shit together and you know, not killing me, an innocent bystander, in the crossfire.

Moving on, I've started a new knitting project. Are you excited? No? Damn. I am. I know I should finish one of the two I'm already working. But. Isn't there always a but? But, somehow I roped myself (yah, I can't blame this on someone else it was all me) into knitting socks for a Christmas gift for my personal trainer. TWG and I have the same trainer and she is making her mittens and I am making her socks. In matching yarn. One of us is done with everything but the ends-weaving. One of us isn't. Guess which one I am. Ha! That whole she-is-done thing got me motivated to, I don't know, maybe start.


I am a toe, I come in peace.

I find myself falling in love with knitting again. This yarn, which did not move me so much in the past, has some special love mojo or something going on because I am having the best time knitting it. It just feels divine. If it wasn't intended as a gift for someone else, I'd roll around nekid with it. That is the kind of love I am talking about. Last night while watching two DVR'd episodes of the new season of Project Runway I knitted up two toes. I now have to figure out what I want to do with the pattern part of the socks. I was going to go Monkey, but my stitch count is off. For the pattern. Not my counting. Which happens. Frequently. But not this time. This time I counted right, the pattern just isn't working for me. So I've modified the pattern, again, only smaller this time instead of bigger, and am giving it a try to see what I think. I'm not holding my breathe though. Somewhere I have a knitting book which tells you patterns by stitch count and if I can find it, then I can look in there for something that works with thirteen or fourteen stitch repeats.

In the meantime, I am going enjoy my alone time. Oh and find some animal Valium in the hopes that I can drug the animals into sleeping through the night without their daddy around. It'd be nice so that you know, I could maybe sleep through the night. Any idea how much animal Valium is on the black market? Or, um, where I can find the black market?

Misses Her Daddy

The camera is in Ireland with my husband, so please forgive the
camera-phone quality of my pictures the next few days.