Feathered and Fanned

My first pair of socks with Socks that Rock yarn - fini! I really liked this yarn. I know many people find this yarn to be the ultimate in sock yarn, and though it was soft on the fingers and has a really nice sproinginess to it, it didn't bring me to orgasm. Unfortunately. Because let me tell you, THAT would be one hell of a selling point!




I did really like the yarn though. It is, for my fingers, comparable to Lorna Laces. And, like the soft squishiness of the LL, the STR totally pooled. I prefer for my stripes to line up, but it doesn't drive me to drink if they don't. So I am okay with the mismatched pooling stripes. Though it is a little sad, because the pooling really mutes the color variation.





These socks are the first pair that I've knit that truly fit well. Sixth time the charm? These guys fit perfectly. They slide over the heel with no tightness and fit my tootsies snugly. A-friggen-men. I divided my hank of yarn and knitted these socks toe-up to maximize my yarn yardage. But I still had a decent amount leftover. Sweet! Overall, these were nice to knit and should be nice to wear.


Though I was not moved to sexual gratification from knitting this yarn, I did like it and am now fighting the strongest compulsion to buy MORE MORE MORE! You see, there is this chevron scarf that she started, and then she started one, and now a bunch of other people are making them, and I LOVE THIS SCARF. But I don't need another scarf and I certainly don't need any more yarn, but damn, if it isn't just calling my name.



Yarn: Socks that Rock (Lemongrass), 1 skein, perfectly divided into two balls.
Needles: Addis, size 1
Pattern: Feather & Fan, modified by me to be toe-up.
Time: January 26, 2007 - February 12, 2007.
Care: Machine washable, though hand washing in warm water with mild detergent recommended.

Today Was a Snow Day

So Cat played with this:




(Yah, he is still a Florida kitty. That is the only explanation for his unhealthy obsession with the heat vent).

Dogbert played with this:





And I played with this:



Good times all around!

Knitting Library

I've been meaning to send a big THANK YOU to Patty, my Secret Pal 9 hostess. She sent me a very handy little book, The Knitting Answer Book. This book is especially neat because not only does it have lots of useful info, it is small enough to fit in my regular knitting bag. As you can see, it is my only reference book, so I am sure it will get some major usage. Again, thank you Patty!

D'oh

We're sittiing on the couch, watching the Grammy's ...
ME: Hey babe, what is the name of that movie with Marky Mark?
BOO: Huh?
ME: You know, that movie where he is a rock star in a rock band?
BOO: hahahaheeeeehahahahaheeee
ME: Shut up! It's a real movie. Seriously, you know that movie. Marky Mark was the singer in a cover band but then he makes it into the real band and becomes this huge rock star and then quits at end during the middle of a song?
BOO: heeee! heeee! Can't breathe! heeeee!
ME: Come on. I think Jennifer Aniston is in it. She was his girlfriend but then dumps him because he is all into his rock star persona.
BOO: HAHAHAHA. Stop it. You're killing me. HAHAHA. HEEEE.
ME: ??
BOO: Rock Star, Homer, the movie is called Rock Star.

In other news, yesterday afternoon I took a finishing class at a LYS. While using one of the techniques, we had to pick up stitches. I am watching the instructor and she is doing something I have NEVER seen before. I said, "Wait! Stop! What are you doing?" She said, "Picking up stitches. We have to pick up stitches first." And it was at that moment I realized why I HATE picking up stitches ... I have been doing it WRONG all along.

At It Again

I received a memo. My office is having a Valentine's Day brunch. I thought it was a joke. Wrong. Not only will I have to work V-Day evening at a career fair, I'll have to socialize with the group of mindless crackpots that are my co-workers. It really is one more poke of the stick that has already put a crimp in my V-Day plans. So stay tuned. There has only been one memo, but I am sure more will follow with rules on how one may touch food, and what one may do with left overs. This memo was concluded with a request for suggestions. I offered up Bloody Marys and Screwdrivers. Mr. Cool asked for some Valium, or in the alternative, a Hooters Girl. This should be fun

Asked and Answered

Yesterday I asked, what do the two things in this picture have in common. And today, gentle reader, I am going to tell you. (Did you like that "gentle reader"? So Victorian.)





1) Both are Swatches. Swatch watch and yarn swatch.
2) Neither does what it was designed to do. The Swatch watch, it doesn't work. Why do I keep it? Because I am a pack rat. Moving on. The yarn swatch was suppose to tell me my gauge was right on. It's not. As feared the skinny bits are throwing me off about three-quarters of a stitch. Asshole skinny bits!
3) Both are kind of blotchy. The watch's band is blotchy and discolored from old age (I believe I bought this in 1990ish). The yarn's color way is kind of blotchy (though this is a good thing since I DO. NOT. WANT. CAMOUFLAGE.)

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?

Good Stuff

I started writing this really philosophical post about how for all the bad luck I've had, I've also had some good luck. But, blech, who really cares about that? People,

My grievance was DISMISSED!
The panel found no probable case!
Grievant = ass hole!

Okay, maybe the ass hole part was my spin. That may have not been in their letter of dismissal. A non-appealable dismissal. But yeah! I am so happy I did a little dance. I did keep my clothes on. Barely. Actually, as a matter of full disclosure, I did loose a shoe during my shimmying gyrations. Nekid foot! Nekid foot! If you have ever seen me dance, you'll know it looks more like a seizure than a dance. But I strongly believe that what I lack in rhythm, talent, and skill, I make up for in exuberance. See, missing shoe above. I am so pleased. If I had a horn, I'd toot it.

I'm also pleased about my WEBS trip. On Saturday afternoon, five of my SnB'ers and I went to WEBS for some SEX. Wait, I think I used that acronym wrong. You get my drift though? I had a list that some might call "crazy," though I prefer the term "fun."




It started out on one pink post-it note and grew. It was long, but I was good. Spendy (my alter-ego who thinks that, and shops like, I am a billionaire) was restrained. I did not even get half of the stuff on my list. I was tempted though, especially in light of my cohorts' purchasing. Exhibit A:




This is a shopping cart of ML's stuff. Just her stuff. That's it. Not a ball for anyone else in our group. She had the WHOLE cart for her stuff. It was AWESOME. I had such fun looking at all of it. I lived vicariously through her! In fact, it was almost like a store inside the store. While I was in the checkout line, two women saw her cart and were whispering about the cost and speculating that it would be over a grand. This inspired the rest of us to start a pool. I was the closest to the cost and won $5! Woot! Woot! Now, Exhibit B:




This is all of my stuff on top of all of TWG's stuff. In one hand basket, not even a cart. I picked up yarn for one sweater, a book, and a ball winder. I did not get the $300 worth of yarn for the dragonfly sweater. I'm going to do it, but not just yet. You see that yarn in the bag on the top? Here:



That is my soon to be sweater. It shall be knit traditionally, in pieces, with seaming, Belvedere help me. It is a cute pattern with a hood and a front pocket, so we'll see. I shelved the top-down one for the time being, since I am not into it, I figure I will wait until inspiration strikes. I do fear that there is definite potential for this WEBS yarn sweater to turn into an ugly camouflage thing, but I love the colors, despite their similarity to camo. I went back to that yarn, in that color, a dozen times. I took that as a good sign that it was meant to be. Kismit? We'll see.

After we shopping, we went to Viva Pasta Fresh for some, pasta friggen yum. I started with a salad and some sock knitting.



I know BeFri likes the food shots, and she doesn't consider salad a food, and certainly not a food worthy of a photo - but look at the pretty green salad and the matchiness to my sock. How can you resist? Our side of the table was constantly trying to fight the sun beam that was intent on zapping us, hence the sunglasses on the sock. It was amusing to me at the time. Anywho, I didn't get a picture of my meal. I inhaled that puppy so fast I don't think my camera has a shutter speed that could have caught the food as it flew of my plate into my belly.

True or False

George Michael's album Faith is a good album to blare on long car rides. FALSE. It is a GREAT album to listen to on long car rides. Yes, yes, I know, BUT ... "I'm talking it back to the old school / 'Cause I'm an old fool who's so cool" - Tag Team, Whoomp There It Is

I cannot knit a sock without having to rip out some part of it at least once. TRUE. I did a new type of short row heel on my Feather & Fan sock and hated it. I've ripped it out and am considering my options.

It takes two hours and forty-five minutes to drive to central Jersey from central Connecticut. FALSE. It takes my husband two hours and forty-five minutes, it takes me two hours and ten minutes.

If you are my "boss," you are an asshole. TRUE. Denying someone pay for bereavement time because 1) she just took two days bereavement time a few months ago and 2) it was an in-law that died, is assholeian. Extra so, in light of the fact that YOU took/received a bereavement day when your boyfriend of one minute's mother died. She was NOT related to you at all, not even by marriage and you knew her for like, a month, as opposed to fourteen YEARS. And the same thing about your neighbor's mother's dead boyfriend. You had NEVER EVER met him. If you get the time, so should the rest of us. Asshole.

Eating asparagus can make your pee smell funny. TRUE. This is because of the way the sulfur containing amino acids in the asparagus break down during digestion. But this smelly phenomena doesn't happen to everyone. In case you were curious.

If you normally drive sixty-five miles per hour but decide to take a walk on the wild side and ramp it up to seventy, you are now entitled to drive in the fast lane/left lane. FALSE. Seventy is still too slow. And, you're an asshole. Do I work for you?

If you make a detailed list of things you want to look for during your very first ever trip to WEBS, and you believe you are totally ready for your shopping spree, you will find at least one new project that you MUST make tout de suite that will end up costing hundreds of unbudgeted dollars. TRUE. See Dragonfly Sweater. (Note that this is especially distressing because I didn't even know I had some freaky fondness for the dragonfly until I saw this sweater. What else is lurking inside of me that I don't know about? Besides asparagus, I know about that one.)

If you refer to you female dog as your dog-ter (a play on the word daughter) and comment on how much you love her and are looking forward to driving with her for hours, some might think you have an sick warped unusual fondness for dog turd. TRUE. Dogter sounds a lot like Dog Turd. Dogbert, Dogalina, Baby Girl, or that-bitch-that-chewed-on-my-sneakers she shall be.

It is not weird to stop a microwave with seconds to spare because you do not like the beep-beep-beep it makes when it finishes naturally. TRUE. It maybe be annoying to the people who have use the microwave after you and have to clear out your leftover seconds, but it is not weird. It's not!

Buying a Louis Vuitton because you're sad, not because you need it is totally reasonable. TRUE.

Making an "X" out of honey-mustard sauce on your White Castle chicken sandwich over the ring or "O" of chicken and saying, "Awww, I hug and kiss you sandwich" as you shove it full-on into your mouth, is proper food etiquette. FALSE. But is sure is fun!

Knitting for half of a day at your desk, instead of working, is bad. FALSE. This is totally cool if your evil boss is out for the day and you completed an appropriate amount of work earlier.

As the Swift Turns

In December my SP9 gave me some STR yarn which I have been itching to use. I had a big old hank and I wanted to divide it into two balls because I wanted to make sure I could get optimal use out of all of the yarn. I wasn't quite sure how to get two even balls though so I asked my SnB knitters for some help. TWG stepped up. She had a yarn baller, swift, super-scale and a plan.

We weighed the hank so we knew how heavy we wanted each ball. We then counted the total number of strands in the hank. We figured we would ball half the hank by counting out the tuns of the swift and then weigh it to see if it was half of the total weight. We put the hank on the swift and the yarn in the baller (heh) and went to town. TWG balled and I monitored the swift. After one or two turns we realized that I needed some sort of marker to make sure I was counting the swift turns right. We used a ribbon on one end. Ever try to watch the individual blades on a ceiling fan go round? Yah, my eyes were crazy. I may have started to laugh inappropriately and uncontrollably. Crazy eyes I tell you. After we counted out have the strands we put the ball on the scale for weight. We ended up being half a turn light. Amazing!

We took turns between being the winder and swift monitor after the first ball. I think we did double work as we could have used the weight method or the count the strings in the hank method and got a pretty good estimate. But, I now know that I have EXACTLY half in each ball, which, when you are an anal-retentive twit like me, is very comforting. Also, I apparently have stress or something because I turned my ball much tighter than TWG. My ball was noticeably smaller. I didn't know this was possible and would have sworn we screwed up had I not had the two totally scientific counting and weight method to assure me we did it right. Bigger and smaller, it doesn't matter, they sure look pretty huh?

They are now on their way to becoming a pair of Feather and Fan socks. I have modified the pattern to make them toe-up so this could go the way of my last socks (i.e., try, try and try again), but I am feeling good about them.

Back in the Saddle

Before I begin to prattle on about socks (because boy, I am about to prattle), I want to thank y'all for the kind wishes. I loved my father-in-law very much and the last week has sucked a big bag of dicks. The notes, calls, messages, flowers and such have helped it suck a little less. That being said, to the anonymous commenter who left a new comment on an old post and indicated that liberals hate me, thanks! You're all class. Nothing like telling someone she sucks when she is grieving. Like you couldn't bookmark my site and save the hate for next week? Hope you feel good about yourself. Why don't you learn what the term South Park Republican means (try a simple Google search or check it out on Wikipedia) before you decide to hate someone. Fucker.

And, um, now back to the thanks. To the (unknown to me) person who sent me a subscription to Bon Appetit, Thanks! I got the first issue and read it on the drive to Jersey. Loved it.

So, socks. Oh socks. I think I may have mentioned awhile back my sock longness issue. I shall now share, via a photo-essay, what I did about it. Or, in other words, I shall now share why I need a new job since I have way too much time on my hands at work.

As you know, I have ripped these babies back to ridiculous lengths and yet they still seem to grow and grow.



Do you see the size of that gusset and heel flap? That bitch is longer than the foot part of the sock!!!



I know, I shall start to rip from the toe so I do not have to re-do the heel crap flap a fifth time.



Wait, this is taking way too long. The tail is getting tangled because I am ripping from the "wrong" end and I can't pull it through. Hmmmm ...



Shit! Maybe I should have had caffeinated Diet Coke. It is obvious lack of caffeine convinced me to CUT MY SOCK!



Oh well! In for a penny in for a pound.



I guess it really is too late to turn back now.



You gotta be fucking kidding me! That wasn't enough? It is STILL TOO LONG?!?



Fine, I'm resigned. Universe you have beat me down. I shall cut and rip some more.



Great, now I have needles at both ends. I don't know if I am coming or going.



Okay, toe knitted, kitchenered and done! Back to the leg.



Wait, I have to do this on the other sock now! Wash, rinse, repeat. Oy!

So, it is after many froggings and way too much time, that I present to you my Finally Finished Toe-Up Jaywalkers. Ta-da!



I got to tell you, I am disappointed in these damn things. They don't have a lot of give and are a little hard to get over my heel. If my feet swell up, I am in trouble. They are not as soft and yummy as my other Koigu socks. And, they are also a little short for my preference. Had I not been picky about the length of the foot, I wouldn't have had enough yarn for even half of the leg length. As it is, I barely had enough yarn left to weave in at the end. But it is all good, they are done.



Yarn: Koigu, KPPM (dye code P525 dye lot 40), 2 skeins
Needles: Addis, size 1
Pattern: Toe-Up Jaywalkers
Time: Forever. I started one toe in October 2006 and then put it aside. I started them again as a side project and worked on them here and there until recently.
Care: Hand wash, dry flat

Sadness

My father-in-law passed away unexpectedly of a heart attack Friday morning. He was 76 years old and in good health. It is such a shock and just so damn sad.

I first met my father-in-law the month I turned eighteen. Boo and I had been dating for several months and I flew up to spend winter break with him and his family. It was my first trip to New Jersey. The second day I was there, Boo had to work for a few hours. Dad, trying to help entertain me, asked if I would like to go to the library. I said, "Sure!" He then said, "Great, I'll drop you off and then later I'll give you a ride half way home." Half way home? I started to get nervous. Wow, he must really not like me. Does he want me to get lost and wander back to Florida? Is he hoping I'll get hit by a car. Is this a test of my mental prowess? Hoping I must have misunderstood, I let him take me to the library. I concentrated on the route with every fiber of my being, and after the third turn, I knew I was screwed. There was no way in hell I could find my way back to the house. This was back before cell phones so I had no way to call Boo and say, "Help!" When I watched him pull away from the library I thought for sure I was in trouble. I sat and read, for what felt like days. I couldn't concentrate because I was so worried about never leaving the Metuchen library. Dad showed up later and ask if I was ready to go home. I said yes. As we walked toward his car, my stomach in knots, I worried he might be planning to toss me out of the car somewhere along the road. It turned out that he did only give me a ride half way home. You see, Dad, he liked to walk. So he had parked in front of some random person's house, midway between the library and his house. We had to walk, half way home, to reach the car. As we approached the car, he smiled at me and winked. My father-in-law was truly a lot of fun to be around.

Just last year he and my mother-in-law came up to help us re-wire a bathroom. He had a lot of electrical knowledge from his work and was more than willing to help his youngest son out. While mom napped and Boo finished some work on the computer, Dad and I plotted our project. I was thanking him for coming to help us with the wiring when he stopped me to tell me how proud he was of Boo and to explain that Boo's talents and in his career were just important and impressive. That was typical.

My father-in-law had that unique ability to value any skill, whether it common or complex, and never disparage someone because they were different than he was. That sounds so awkward when I type it, but it wasn't awkward in real life. He was a genuine person. He lacked artifice and pretense.

"They" say that it is natural for a parent to pre-decease a child. I (still) say it fucking sucks. It never gets easier to loose someone you love. I'll miss you dad, have a piece of celery for me.

It's Here!

Hel-lo Winter!



Finally, our first snow of the season. This morning was the first time I've had dogbert out in "real" snow and by real I mean it actually coats the ground. Not just a dusting. She went out once in a flurry but that wasn't real snow.



She kept lifting one paw up as if she was trying to touch as little of the snow as possible. Mind you, she took twice is long outside as normal because snow flakes, apparently each one doesn't just look unique, it also smells unique.

Minutes Schminutes

Last night we got to talking about SnB meetings and taking minutes. I read out in the blogosphere how one group keeps very funny minutes for those who missed the gathering. This somehow mutated into me being told to remember "the minutes." Except, my memory? It sucks. Yah, in 1993 if I convinced you to ream out the valet parking guy at a Marlins game because some valet employee was chilling in you car, eating cookies, and jamming to your stereo and then left his cookies IN YOUR CAR. And I got you to slam those damning cookies down on the valet podium/key holder and bitch bitch bitch and then it turns out that this was all wrong and in fact the cookies were not some punk's leftovers but instead were a complimentary gift for VIP valet parkers, I might remember that. Or, if you proposed to me on top of the Empire State Building, I am all on that, well at least I remember it happened, even if I don't know the date. But regular stuff. Not so good at the memory. My memory of last night's SnB was something like this ...

Hi new British ladies! Yeah, you're back.
Must find book on GRE.
Must get coffee.
Yeah KAT is here. And so is .... (insert people)
Hey, does anyone know how to figure out the area of a triangle?
Yum, coffee.
Instructed on how to find area of a triangle by high school student/knitter.
OH GOD, I can't take the GRE.
More coffee, must have more coffee.
Area of a triangle my ass. Screw this, I'm knitting.
Knit sock top.
Beatrix embarrassed to steal chair from café; convinces TWG to go with her.
ropa interior = underwear
Another new person, yeah!
Pass C's new Knit Picks catalog around.
Bitch because sock too big.
Ropa Interior, rrrrrrrrropa interior, rrooooooooppppaaa interior, hehehehe
Show high school student/knitter how to cast-on stitches when work is already in progress.
Preen because hey, did you see that, I just taught someone something.
Laugh because I should not be teaching anyone anything. Area of a triangle?!? Shit.
Did y'all know there is a secret lake in Secret Lake?
Ponder ways to shorten sock.
Don't. Want. To. Rip. Sock. Again.
KAT named mostly likely to cut handknit item.
Hey! Someone else is frogging.
Damn, I am a bitch. I don't need solidarity in frogging. Bad Jenna!
Discuss types of coconut milk and the virtues of each.
Rrropa ... ha!
Rack brain for where I saw something about this coconut milk thing.
Start to "shorten" sock.

I could go on. These are not minutes. These are snippets of the internal dialogue of a crazy person. Also, I can't remember any of the good stuff. Mere hours ago (wimper I need more sleep), and I already have forgotten.

Office Supplies Gone Wild

Since I have taken today as a day wherein I share my flakiness, I thought I would show you what I did to my hair earlier. As you may have noticed from the picture of my winter gear in the previous post, I wore a hat this morning. Said hat caused hat hair. Hat hair flopping in my eyes. I didn't have a clip in my desk (which is HIGHLY suspect because I ALWAYS have a three or four hair clips/barrettes/ponytail holders/chop sticks) so I had to make do. Normally this means a pencil. But, because of the hat, I was a little more staticy that normal and that was no good. So, I used a binder clip. I binder clipped the mop out of my eyes.



I can't decide if I should put this in the "I'm White Trash" column or the "I'm Bloody Friggen Brilliant" column. Either way, please forgive my unusually white pallor. I believe it is a side effect of the brown paneling surrounding me. In any event, I also have another little gadget that I use that is brilliantly white trash. I call it "Zipper's Little Friend." Actually I don't. I just made that up on the fly (get it? fly? zipper? I am so pun-ny! Not!). Anyway, it has no name. I have some jeans that I love, but the fly, it does not love to stay zipped. My fly is always down. I could relegate the jeans to the charity pile and let some other unsuspecting fool mess with it, but that would be mean, plus I love these jeans, they are comfy. One day I rigged the zipper with a black ponytail holder and it worked fabulously. Much more fabulously than the safety pin which had come undone and jabbed me in my white fleshy underbelly. Bastard safety pin, I hate you! I digress. Shocking right? So, the zipper. From that moment on I have used a black ponytail holder to keep my zippers up by looping the ponytail holder through the hole in the zipper and around the button. The ponytail holder stretches so you have some give if you need it, but not so much so that you show your girlie bits.



Since I don't have a black ponytail holder (as evident by my hair accessory du jour), I have used a rubber band to illustrate the soon-to-be-patented Jenna zipper thingamajig. Ya know, me and the office supplies, we might just give McGyver a run for his money.

Finally! Something to Say

And it's about the weather (exciting? not so much). So, it's friggen cold, yo! I've been bemoaning the lack of winter and the lack of snow when holyfukinhannah it was below zero with the windchill this morning. And it was windy. Yesterday and today. What the hell? Is this Chicago? I had a rather dicey moment yesterday at the courthouse when I plopped my legal pad, with all of my client's original documents tucked in between the pages, on the hood of my car while I fished for change for the parking meter. Every last document blew away, all originals, none copied. I was able to track down all but one, the one that was the most important and the reason I had to drive over 50 miles to go to this court. I couldn't find 'em anywhere, but I could hear them flapping in the breeze. I think they were taunting me. Flap. Flap. Flap. About ten minutes later I spotted them - under my car, but under enough that I couldn't reach them. Trust me, I tried, despite wearing heels and a suit. I am sure my rump poking out form under my car was a sight. Think Winnie the Pooh, bottom up, looking for honey in a hole in the ground. I'm a class act. In any event, I couldn't reach them without moving my car, but I was scared to move my car because I thought they would blow away. Fortunately for me, there was a teenage girl on her cell phone walking by who agreed to help my by grabbing the papers as soon as I moved the car. Her phone conversation was something like, "Hold on yo'. This woman wants help wit some papers and a car. I don't know if she crazy. Yah it weird. Just hold on yo'." Nice. I freak out teenagers. It worked out and I got my papers and all was well until I did the exact same thing at work this morning. EXACT. SAME. THING. Legal pad on roof - whosh! Again I lucked out and was able to find everything, but WTF? Why is there so much wind? And, yes, I am blaming this on the wind. Anyone could have made that same mistake twice. Once in the afternoon and once the very next morning. It's not that I am a moron. But then again, maybe it is.

You see, this morning, when I got dressed and ready to leave, I put on two scarves. Not just two scarves, but two totally different in every way possible scarves. One is fat and fluffy red. The other, a more streamlined blue. Red is fluffy and bundles me up to my ears. It was crocheted for me by my Jesus-loving-praying-for-my-pour-going-to-Hell-soul SiL. I think it is Wal-Mart yarn. Blue is sleek and hugs my neck. I, an atheist, knit it with the good expensive LYS yarn. There is just no excuse. I'm surprised they didn't fight it out on my neck.



How did I manage to grab two scarves and put them both on? It's not like they were close in color and it was dark. I had blue wrapped around my neck and red on top. Just in case. I'm not sure of what. I never even noticed until I got to work (having chased down my papers while freezing my arse off) and started to disrobe. I took off my coat and hung it on the chair, then took off my scarf and hung it on top, then I took off my scarf and hung it on top, wait, didn't I just do that? Why yes, yes I did. Moron.

I may be a moron, but I am also a wild, wacky, wonderful woman. Didn't you see that on my door mat? Here, let me give you a close up.



BeFri and I have a tradition where we re-gift each other with our worst, oddest, WTFiest C'mas gifts, hence the rug/door mat. I won't share what I re-gifted on the off chance that my gifter could find out, but I will share what I got. Yah baby! Love me some rug-age. I can't wait to bring it home tonight and put it at our back door, the door we use every time we come and go. I am wondering if Boo will notice and if so, if he will question who the rug is referring too.

Pathetic!

I have no funny (or Crazy) anecdotes to share and no interesting knitting to report. Well, there was this thing at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse. It was crazy, not Crazy. A middle-aged white woman named Wheezie was celebrating her birthday and an old guy two tables away yelled that she was "too pale" to be named Wheezie and then asked if she was "moving on up" where upon another customer walked over a threw a drink in his face and called him a dick. And though it was all very, "Oh Hell No! That did not just happen!" it didn't make a good or particularly interesting post. Especially since I had to make-up the drink throwing dick part; Wheezie and the other diners, us included, just kinda stared at him all goggle-eyed. The food was good though! As for knitting? Boring. The socks are plugging along ridiculously slow and the sweater has been swatched. Other than that? Nada. I don't even have any cute pictures to share. I could tell you how I watched the two day premier of 24 and don't like this new softer, sweeter Jack Bauer. I want my Jack Bauer to be the one shivving people in the knee caps, not the one puking in the lawn. When Fox recaps an episode with "Jack becomes emotionally distraught", you know things are going down hill. Hell, they might as well just bring back Kim and the cougar.

So, since I have nothing to tell you, I thought I would share.

"What Kind of Yarn Are You?"


You are Cashmere.You are sophisticated and luxe. You can often be found in high-end boutiques and hobnobbing with the upper crust. You are one of the beautiful people and you don't let anyone forget it!
Take this quiz!

I'm not a huge fan of the blog-quiz, but cashmere? Me, hobnobbing? Yah, I had to share. Funny!

I've Been Thinking

Yesterday afternoon, after spending three hours working on socks that were too damn long and having to rip them back a third time, I decided that they were not meant to be; the greenish-brownish-orangish socks were done, fini, caput. So I took them home (yes, the three hours working on the socks was done at work, not at home, and yes, it was better than actually working at work, but still, it was for naught, I was ticked) and began to frog. But an odd feeling crept over me when I was ripping and I realized I couldn't rip the whole thing out. This is the second time that has happened. The second time I've realized a project was screwed, but I couldn't give up. I don't consider myself as someone with a whole lot of stick-to-it-ness. In fact, I find that I am pretty good at moving on when something doesn't suit me. Self-centered? Fickle? But with knitting, it seems, I am different. Not-so-fickle? So, in the end I ripped back until I had only five inches of foot (which seems ridiculously short for a ladies size ten foot) and started on the gusset. Again. I am going to do the entire gusset and heel on one sock before I move to the other one. Just in case I have misjudged. Again. I really wanna finish these stupid things though because I've got me some ideas!

I have sweater ideas and sock ideas and some more sweater ideas and some more sock ideas and even a scarf idea and a wrap idea. Which reminds me, I have decided to gift (or re-gift since I gave it to myself first) the silk smelly wrap/scarf to my MiL. I've never gifted (or re-gifted) a hand-knit before. Actually, I've never gifted anything homemade before - with the exception of cards, which count but don't, yah know? I'm hoping she likes it. I'm also hoping she doesn't wear it in the rain. And, HOLY CRAP! Y'all, I have another idea which really should be the first of my random ideas because it is just so damn exciting.

You might now know this, but I've been known to hatch a few harebrained ideas in my time. But this one? So not harebrained. In my never-ending quest to find a job that I don't loathe love, I look at other non-legal jobs to see if I would like them more. Often the answer is yes. I assume this is because of the high suck factor of my actual job, and not my profession. This is the reason I can't kiss being a lawyer goodbye. I think I might like the law if I wasn't being beaten down by 1) crazy co-workers and 2) crazy clients.

I also think that I have stumbled on an idea which would be a lot of fun, get me out of my job and still let me use my law degree, while at the same time requiring that I go back to school to get yet another degree. I like going to school and don't mind this going-back-to-school thing at all, but our household budget would totally mind. Which is why I have spent an inordinate amount of time trying to convince Boo that getting an MLS, or masters in Libary Science, is Brilliant! Awesome! The Smartest Idea Ever!

Boo, he was not so convinced that this is The Smartest Idea Ever. Or that is was even a Good Idea. I had to bust out my secret skills of persuasion (not to be confused with my secret skills of perversion). Now, he is on board. Well, he isn't not on board. Actually he was all, well look into it more. So that is something I am going to do. Look into it, for real, not just as one of my fluffy ideas like researching the most winning lottery numbers and playing them religiously as "our numbers" to better our odds of winning.

Ya see, in my mind, I could be a Law Librarian. The nice lady that helps you find out whether having sex with dead animals really is illegal. The nice lady who explains the correct way to cite legislative history from 1897. The nice happy lady. The nice lady who spends her day working at a job she likes instead of:

• playing twelve games of free cell,
• reading all of her regular blogs (and checking back for updates),
• reading many new blogs (thank you webrings!),
• finding a pattern for her yellow/green STR yarn,
• researching local master degree programs,
• finding new shrimp recipes,
• writing three letters to three clients,
• thinking about organizing her top desk drawer,
• researching how to whistle really loud by using your fingers (without finding a way that works),
• figuring out what the GRE is, and how to take it; and
• moisturizing and trimming her cuticles.

Yes, I could be a productive person who uses her brain to produce something worthwhile for several hours a day. It boggles the mind!

Three Strikes and You're Out!

I have been working on these socks forever, it seems. And now, after already ripping them back twice because they were WAY TOO LONG, I'm going to have to rip them out a third time because they are still WAY TOO LONG. I've never had this happen (she says as if she has knit five hundred pairs of socks instead of four). I mean I am usually a little long in the foot, but this is friggen ridiculous.



I think these are getting ripped back ... back into the nothingness. Back into a nice little ball o' yarn. Assholes!

Sweater Contract

Here is some lawyerly, knitterly fun that a friend sent me. Good stuff!

I Didn't Have Ice Cream

Last night I organized my knitting needles.



I know! Exciting. Way more excitement than should be permitted on weeknight. But I am wild and care-free like that. It turned out not to be as daunting as I thought it would be. The hardest part had been finding the right sized container. I ended up with a C'mas basket. I bought it for function and not aesthetics. At some point maybe I will paint over the C'mas things, or maybe not.



Once I had the container, I had to get the stuff in numerical/size order and then propped up in there. I think I've probably got about a hundred circular needles, having incorporated my aunt's into my own. Her needles were deceptive because she would stick two or three of the same size in one package. So there might only have been one package of twenty-nine inch US fives, but there are three sets of needles in there.

There are a bunch of floaters that she had that I have to measure and put into their proper homes. I got some put away, but the rest will have to chill. You see, I kept getting sidetracked because some of her needles were just so damn old.



They may not be antiques or museum quality but they crack me up anyway.



They also disproved my theory that all material things from the '70's were burned or destroyed in an attempt to repress and forget that decade of polyester. In fact, my aunt apparently flaunted her love of that which was old by sticking her newer Addis in these old, yellowed packages. It made me giggle when I would see and Addi tucked in next to a 1950's dime store needle that cost one dollar.

I think I was driven to organizing the needles, not by a need to meet some resolution (because organizing kitting needles does not meet my "eat ice cream once a week" New Year's resolution), but by my need to play with pointy sticks in a safe and responsible way. In a way more responsible than, say, stabbing Crazy in the eye. That woman, she is, argh! Words, can not describe my thoughts. For example, yesterday afternoon ...

Crazy: Quit telling people I tricked you!
Me: Huh?
Crazy: I heard you talking to X, Y, and Z, and saying that I tricked you.
Me: You did trick me.
Crazy: No I didn't.
Me: Yah, you did. By getting me to commit to the career fair before telling me it was on Valentine's Day, you tricked me.
Crazy: I DID NOT TRICK YOU.
Me: [snort] Fine, then I rescind my agreement. I'm not going.
Crazy: NO! You have to go, you already said yes, HA HA HA.
Me: Get out of my face bitch before I slice you.

Ok, maybe I didn't threaten to slice her. I'm not so good with the blade anyway. But I wanted to say something mean. My Southern heritage and classy upbringing, however, taught me to always be a lady and respect my elders. Hey! Stop laughing! Did you just snort? Is that soda that just shot out of your nose? No really, though. I'm being nice. For now. I am playing with my pointy sticks at home. For now. I'm not letting her goad me. For now.

Burping Meat

I had lunch meat for breakfast this morning. It wasn't so much a dietary decision as a this-is-what-I-have decision. The lunch meat, BH Londonport Roast Beef yummmm, has been giving me the burps. It is a little disconcerting to be burping lunch meat at 9:00 a.m. Though I ate the lunch meat at 8:00 a.m., so it shouldn't be that disconcerting. Anywho, this burping of the meat, it seems to have thrown me off my game. Ya see, somehow I just got suckered into going to the career fair. It went something like this:

Me: [Burp.] [Hmm, I taste meat. Weird.]
Crazy: Hi!
Me: [Uh oh. Warning, Will Rogers! Warning! Too perky.] Hi.
Crazy: I need a favor.
Me: [FUK! NONONONONONO] Oh?
Crazy: I need you to go to the career fair.
Me: [FUKFUKFUKFUK] Is it at night again?
Crazy: Yep!
Me: Sorry. I can't go if it's on a Wednesday! Wednesday, no good. [Please let it be on a Wednesday, please, please].
Crazy: [Smiles.] [Looks evil.]
Me: Nope, Sorry. Have standing meeting on Wednesday. No can do. [Whew, I dodged that bullet.]
Crazy: It's JUST knitting.
Me: [GASP! Feeling light headed ... Deep breathes ... Burp ... Huh, lunch meat ... "Just knitting" my ass.]
Crazy: It's not fair that I have to go. I've gone two years in a row. This is a total lie. Moreover, she is the "managing attorney," why shouldn't she have to go and manage some career fair shit? I need someone to go and it's you.
Me: [Staring at her shaking head NO.]
Crazy: Don't you need some time off?
Me: I have standing plans on Wednesdays, I CAN NOT do it.
Crazy: Yes, but don't you have no time off left until May, I could give you a half-day off.

And this is where the meat must have messed with my head

Me: [Well, I would like some time off, and it is only two hours of work and I would be getting three and a half hours off so really I am making out on this because I am getting an extra hour and a half off. Humiliation be damned, this is a deal for me.] You'll give me a half-day off if I go to the career fair?
Crazy: Yes. But you have to take it that week.
Me: Fine [I am an idiot], I'll do it. [Pulls out calendar.] When is it?
Crazy: [Evil grin.] [Evil laugh.]
Me: [Fukfukfukfuk] What? When is it?
Crazy: Valentine's Day.
Me: NOPE! No way. No how. You can't do an end-run. I'm not doing it.
Crazy: Too late! HAHAHA! You already said yes! HAHAHA! [Starts jumping up and down/dancing.] You said you had knitting! No excuses! HAHAHA! [Throws pamphlet from career fair on my desk as she dances out.]
Me: [Thumps head on desk. Hard. Repeatedly.]

There are five people who could go for the office. Two are single, yet she tells me, one of the married ones, who likely has plans for Valentine's Day, that I need to go. So, I am "working" the public interest law career fair on Valentine's Day. And you know what, I am bringing my muthafuking knitting with me! I know that goes against the Yarn Harlot's "you shouldn't knit if someone is paying you to do something else rule" but, and there is always a but, we are the pariah of the career fair. We are generally ignored because we are known for our crazy-as-hell managing attorney. Don't get me wrong, we get law clerks because the job itself is pretty easy and they get paid even though it is public interest law, so it isn't too bad. That is, if you don't mind getting imprisoned in Crazy's office for hours on end while she pontificates on her blind cat, her amazing cooking, her great body, or her superb shopping skills. In any event, I hate going to the career fair because the other employers back away as if the crazy is contagious and the students, well they aren't much better. I start to get twitchy and sweaty. I went once (and I brought another attorney with me) and it was really bad (even with a person there to keep me company). I didn't know the crazy factor was known out in the world. I made pamphlets. I had a lot left. It was bad. I'd like to think that this career fair will be better and I will be able to network and find myself a new job and get the hell out of crazy land. Even though it is a new year and everything is going to be great this year, I'm not so sure that is gonna happen. It's kind of like winning the lottery. Nice to dream about, but unrealistic. So I'll bring my knitting. I'll make sure it is small so it can be done under the table. Hell, everyone thinks our office is staffed by whack-a-doodles anyway. Knitting can't hurt!

And all this meat burping as gotten me off topic too because I had a dream! A real dream, and I wanted to share! Lucky you! Heh. For real though, this is kind of neat. Miz Jones recommended I check out Elizabeth Zimmerman's no seam sweater and it got me to thinking. So last night I looked for one of her books that contained this at my LYS and found nothing. This could be because I was side tracked by my need to rip out four inches of one sock and another inch of the other because again my socks were coming out way too big even though they are for me and hello, shouldn't I know how big my own feet are by now? Anyway, I couldn't find any books that were by her and looked like they had this sweater pattern so I gave up and figured I would check in a book store later on. Well, it must have been on my mind because last night I dreamed that I had an Elizabeth Zimmerman top-down pattern book in my stuff from my aunt's.* And guess what? I do, sort of, maybe. When I woke up I remembered my dream and looked for the dreamed of book. I have this top-down book, though not Elizabeth Zimmerman, that tells you how to write your own sweater pattern!



I just wrote a paragraph telling you how odd yet cool I thought it was that the cover picture is of a man knitting. But then I realized that it was a woman, Lizbeth Upitis, so says the credits, and I felt bad about calling her a man. She probably is a perfectly nice, beautiful, feminine woman. The cover picture though? Not so feminine. A close look at the fingernails tipped me off. Then I checked the cover credits. So my bad. Sorry Lizzy.

Back to the book, I perused it and it seems like I can do this. Once I finish these now-less-long-but-probably-still-too-long socks, it will be on to sweater number two! I even have yarn. I think. I'll have to double check. Right after I take an antacid and stop these meat burps.

* I also had a dream that involved A-Rod, whip cream, and the winning lottery ticket. Unfortunately, none of these things were in my family room this morning when I woke up.

Snow & Scissors

I'm blogging about snow. Not because I've seen it, in like a million years (because hello record warm setting December I thought I left your hot-ass temperatures back in Florida), but because I wanna win some yarn. Yes, mercenary is thy name, thy name is also foolish, because we know me and games of chance are incompatible. But we're talking Lorna Laces here and I am nothing if not an optimist. Stop laughing! Anywho, let me tell you that I love me some snow. I love me some snow and hope it does snow at some point before oh, I turn forty, because I have never been sledding but now I have a snow sledding device I would really like to use. A lot. So please, let it snow. Just once this winter.

Though I am a lover of the snow, I hate driving in it. Actually, that isn't totally true. It's more that I hate driving with snow-removal morons. Por favor, let me explain.

Some of you New England folks, yes I'll limit my complaints to the folks I see though I suspect this is universal, are lazy pricks. Shit, I am trying to win some yarn, maybe I shouldn't say prick, oh well, too late, I've thrown in a shit too. Anyway, pricks ... it snows and you have left your car outside. The snow stops and you have somewhere you want to go so it is time to dig out and clean off your car. For some reason half the people I see never clean off the top of their cars. WTF?!? Having grown up in the land of sun, I never removed snow from a car until I was nearly 30 years old. Nonetheless, I figured out that it is most efficient to start a the top - the roof - and work my way down. I am not that smart or intuitive. It is just common sense. You are less likely to dirty up what you have already cleaned. That being said, I am deducing that the people that don't scrape the snow off their roofs are lazy assholes. (Prick, shit, now asshole, I am so not winning this yarn!) Even if you didn't see the logic to being with, I know you dicks (this doesn't count dick = prick) have seen the results. You are driving down the road when the snow comes flying off of the roof of the car in front of you. Sometimes it has sat up there for awhile and has turned into ice. All of sudden you are no longer traversing the roads to get to work, instead you are dodging asteroids in the Millennium Falcon. There is NO EXCUSE! Scrape the snow off of the roof of your car you lazy fuk because next time I swerve to miss a ice missile flying of the idiot car in front of me, I might swerve into your lane and push your ass of the road.

So, that is all I have to say about snow. I do have something to admit about scissors though. See, I have some old scissors. They were my moms. Me = sentimental. Therefore, I must keep them and use them. The prick (I am on a roll) that is now the head of her old office, he replaced my aunt, found some of my mom's crafting stuff tucked into my aunt's stuff. So he kindly (no sarcasm, he could have pitched them and I would never have known) decided to mail them to me. In a stationary box. Not wrapped. Well it happened to deluge (no mere rainstorm was this) and the post office had issues. I got the box in a clear bag, misted on the inside, with a sticker of apology from the post office. The box, and its contents, were pretty screwed up and the scissors, they had some little rust spots. Now they were old to begin with, probably 20 years old or so, so they weren't in the best shape to begin with, I know this. But the new rust. It irked me. I wanted to get them sharpened and cleaned up but I wasn't sure where. This is when I had my own bright idea. Me, bright idea = World, beware. The internet, when I was looking for scissor sharpeners, told me I could sharpen my scissors myself. Humph. Color me MacGyver. Now, instead of actually reading how I should do this, I developed my own methodology which involved the scissors, an emory board/nail file and a buffing block. As a former nail tech, I felt comfortable with these tools. With these tools, I can give you sharp little daggers on your finger tips.

Needless to say, however, even a good file and a thorough buffing will neither sharpen scissor nor remove their rust. Just so you know. After filing away for oh, an embarrassingly long amount of time, I realized this and quit. Then I went back to the internet. It seems you can sharpen scissors yourself, with a special tool.

Next Up

My fingers been toiling away on some greenish-brownish-orangish toe-up Jaywalkers, but my brain has been plotting and planning. It is trying to find a new project. Like a sweater. A sweater that is done from the neck down where you pick up stitches to do the sleeves and don't have to seam them in and give your self angina. But then, there was this really simple sweater on Knitty Gritty which though it had seaming, looked easy peasy.

And before we get to the easy peasy sweater, can we take a moment to talk about Knitty Gritty? It bills itself as "the hip knitting show." I disagree. It should be "trying, trying hard, trying oh so desperately trying, to be the hip knitting show." I find this show painful to watch. In fact, it is so painful that I sat a bunch of my SnBers down and made them watch it so they could see how painful it really is. I am a good friend like that. Hey this sucks, wanna bite? Anyway.

The sweater. It looked simple, was light weight, and most importantly, it had easy seaming. At least on the show. Maybe seaming just gets more complex in my house. Maybe my house is like the poltergeist of seaming. In which case, any sweater requiring seaming is going to suck. So I am going to think on it. I'm also thinking about snow, Indian food, and when this day will end.

I really don't feel like being at work. I have much more interesting things I could be doing. Like flossing. Although. I do have floss here. So maybe I could floss and work, at the same time. It might be kinda gross. But I would be less bored. Or, I could just stare out of my office window and day dream ...



When she wasn't hiding under my desk or stashing kibble in various places in my office, Dogbert stared out of my office window longingly.

It's Okay

It seems I've had a moment or two of crazy recently. Over Thanksgiving, while in Florida, we bought a millionaire raffle ticket from the Florida Lottery. There were only a limited number of tickets sold and so your chances of winning were much higher than normal. I (foolishly) thought that since 2006 sucked so much, karma was going to give me a big fat winner and we would start off 2007 with winning a million bucks. In hindsight, this was crazy talk. Obviously, this did not happen. We are still po'. But that is okay. I still love you 2007.