Still Monkeying Around in Utah

Yes, People! It is me, your favorite Traveling Monkey. I tried to send you more love (and another cry for rescue) from the Great State of Utah but the free Wifi and internet access went wonky so you are going to have to pretend that I am not back home, safe and sound.

Pretend I am in Utah, the state where you have to become a member of a club to get a drink because there are no "public" bars! And let me tell you, when you are vacationing with a woman who takes you on chair lifts to ziplines and then on the ziplines themselves, to freestyle ski jumping swimming pools, or plonks you down on a curling thingamajig for a picture and then forgets you are in there and walks away until she hears some random child ask his parents why there is "string on the granite," or loads you into a bobsled ...





... well, you need a bar. Pronto. And, sure, there may be a joke about a sock walking into a bar and asking for a drink, but that joke, it didn't happen in Utah!

Crazy traveling knitter mom, she tried to butter me up with some food at the Sundance Resort Deli (which was quite fabulous), and she tried to butter me up some more by working on me while lounging on the Sundance patio (also fabulous, that whole being creative in a mecca of creativity thing) but then she ruined it with yet another height defying chair lift and then a long ass drive to Moab, Utah. A long ass drive where, I might add, she did not knit on me at all because she was looking at scenery or some other bogus thing!



Moab has Arches National Park. A really pretty place.



But it's not so pretty when the dumbass your with decides to take a hike for "prime picture taking opportunities." Her pictures of her and her husband on the rock came out fine, but when it's my turn, she leaves my knitted sock bit at the top with my ball bit next to it not thinking about the fact that hello, you left me on an incline with a piece of my anatomy being a ball, a round ball which rolls.



She is holding my ball part (and just so you know, constantly talking about "my ball part" makes me feel kind of funny) in her hand and my sock part is way up there, the speck on the rock in the picture. It is kind of hard to make out because she was LAUGHING AT ME while she was taking the picture! Yes, she laughed as I rolled down a VERY HIGH rock. She found it hysterical that I almost careened to my death. Bitch!

Monkeying Around in Utah

Dear Soon-to-be-Mom,

My birth mom, she is a crazy biatch! First she drags me on a plane and starts knitting away in public, while sitting in the middle seat and endangering those next to her. And, while she was knitting away she never noticed that she DROPPED MY BALL. Of course it rolls down a few rows and under some seats. I was so embarrassed. She had to CRAWL UNDER A STRANGE MAN'S LEGS (!!) to retrieve me. I thought that would take the cake, but no!

Once we got to Salt Lake City, she decided to take me to the Great Salt Lake.



Have you been to the Great Salt Lake? Sure it is pretty and beautiful and all that stuff, but, hello, salt smells. I fear I do too! I see a bath in my future. Grrr.

From there she took me and my smelly self to the Black Sheep Wool Company yarn store. This was really cool. It is a yarn store formerly owned by Nancy Bush. Yes, the Nancy Bush of sock pattern fame. It was like some sort of cosmic sock thing. I felt the good juju. She bought some of Nancy's local yarn which made me a little nervous since, yo, I'm not done being knit yet, but it needs bigger needles and she didn't bring any, waahaahaa!



She tried to class me up and get me some edumucation at the University of Utah (which some dummy tried to say was the real U but everyone knows there is only one U and it sure as shit ain't in Utah!).



Then she tried to get me some religion. This turned out to be a total dud. Sure, the temple and tabernacle were pretty, but all the scriptures about gays being bad and so forth got her TOTALLY hot under the collar.

When we left Salt Lake City, I thought I would be in for a break. Maybe even a nap. There is this whole time zone change thing goin' on that has me mentally messed up. But no. Turns out the big ole lush wanted a cider and a buffalo burger. That's right, buffalo.



I'm not sure how much more of this I can take. This woman, she is crazy! She is threatening to take me on a bobsled or a zipline. Her husband, he seems opposed, so I am hoping he wins this one. Yah never know what could happen to a poor little defense lil' Monkey when she's flying down a friggen bobsled with a lunatic!

Best Wishes,
Your Monkey

Answers

Every now and then I get random questions in my comments or e-mails. The e-mails I can answer, but because blogger won't let me ask for a commenter's e-mail address ... well, I can't write a commenter back (damn you Blogger!). So, here are some answers, observations, and such which may or may not have been in my comments.

• The pligg and ravelry buttons in my sidebar ... I copied the pictures (the pligg from Alison's blog's front page and the ravelry one from the somewhere in the ravelry website) on to my computer, futzed with the size in my picture editing software, loaded them up into photobucket, and then linked to them on my sidebar. Easy peasy!

• My Pal's Monkeys' in progress. The yarn works up really nicely. Surprisingly nicely.

• My ball winder does in fact have a little bump which you can push the metal bar thing over to lock it into place. All of my drama and contortions were totally unnecessary, had I actually looked closely at the thing. One hundred percent user error.

• My vacation (or, Are you really so snotty that you only go to snobby stores?) ... We are going to Utah, Colorado, and California. The impetus for this trip was the Yankees' away schedule. My husband lured me in with tales of Olympic bobsled rides, alpine slides, and ziplines. Then he snuck in the baseball stuff. Not that I object to watching hot men in tight pants flex their muscles and prance around, because I so don't, that is always a good thing. In between death defying rides and scenic drives (Pike's Peak, Moab, and so on), we will be watching the Yanks play the Rockies as well as the Giants. I am hoping that Barry Bonds has some major home run karma goin' on so that there is a possibility that one of our games could be the one where he breaks Hank Aaron's record. Not because I like Barry (I don't and would prefer that he not break the record, but my preferences mean squat), but because we could totally sell our tickets for some major moula because YES! I am totally that snobby and superficial and would love all of my souvenirs to come from Louis Vuitton. And, should Barry Bonds screw me over (like how his home run hitting is all about me?), then I am looking forward to oogling A-Rod's butt and grabbing some garlic fries.

• Some of the random searches that have landed people here ...
  "fuking in publick park" What is with the pub-lick? Lick, is this some sort of pun?
  "southpark sock my balls" I am thinking this person was looking for some ball sUcking - not sOcking. What a disappointment my site must have been. Nary a ball is sucked.
  "bad septic system, cant afford a new one" Dude. I am with you. I feel your pain.
  "boring republican idiots" Did you run out of interesting republican idiots?
  "world biggest booboo turd" Ummm ???

• My Sidewinders ... They are on the back burner because I am an idiot and do not know how to follow directions. I need to rip out my toe shaping and start all over. Since I am going to have to do that, I am thinking about ripping back my heel too. Basically ripping back everything, right to my crochet cast on, which, if I may say so myself, is perfection!

• The Crazy factor at work ... No, it hasn't gotten any better. In fact, I was just commenting today that it seems to be ramping up. We are at Delta Force Five, Code Orange. We've been treated to an entire day of crazy because someone had the unmitigated gall to (finally) change the batteries in the fire alarm in front of the bathroom, right before Crazy had to use the bathroom, causing her a delay of seven seconds. Obviously treatment like this requires the hurling of obscenities and a trail of tears.

Ziggily Zaggaly

I think I may have mentioned that my Chevron Socks were finished despite lack of photograph evidence, yes?



Well here ya have it! These were a quick, fun, particularly painless knit ... once I found the right pattern for the yarn. Yarn which was a very nice gift from my SP9 Pal (someone I still don't know who was ... who were you SP9?!?). Even though the yarn was suppose to be a practice pair of Monkey's, something that just look gawd awful and almost made me quit the Monkey pattern all together, I still think these are happy socks. Not socks of DOOOOM! And even though they were frogged seventy gajillion times, the yarn held up nicely.

When I finally settled on Charlene Schurch's Chevron pattern, and got to knitting, the socks flew off the needles. The pattern is particularly quick to knit. I modified the sock pattern itself to work better for me and my idiosyncrasies. The leg is shorter because the yarn was thicker and I didn't want it all that high up on my leg. I made them toe-up, because, well, I am partial to the toe-up formula. And, I used the Queen Kahuna gusset and heel. That is really a pretty little gusset and heel, if you are one that likes gussets. If you aren't well then, no matter how pretty, you wouldn't like it so much.



I have one change/idea for the next time I use this gusset and heel, but I sitll like them as is and I'm glad I decided to use it on these guys. I think it works really nice with the pattern and yarn.

Overall these were a fun and quick knit.



Yarn: Two Waters Fiberworks, Merino Sock
Needles: Addi Circs, size 2.5 mm (US 1)
Pattern: Chevron Socks, Sensational Knitted Socks. Modified to be toe-up with a Queen Kahuna gusset and heel.
Time: 13 days.
Care: Hand wash cold, dry flat.

Priorities

My husband and I are going on vacation next week. He's planned our flights, hotels, transportation, entertainment, and such. He's printed out our itineraries, tickets, confirmations, and directions. I, on the other hand, have printed out the address and store hours for all of the local yarn stores, Louis Vuitton stores, and Tiffany & Co. stores.

Tick

Since eight o'clock this morning, I have listened to the chirp of the smoke detector. Apparently two of the ones in my office need new batteries. Not just one, but two. Instead of addressing this incessant (one chirp every five seconds) chirping right now (or anytime in the last few hours), someone has decided to just leave the matter be. Several people complained. Nothing is being done. I offered to climb the chair and change the batteries myself, but I was told no. I'm developing a facial tick. My eye is twitching.

I called to complain to my husband about this. When he answered the phone I asked how he was doing. He replied, "I want to punch some people in the head." I took that to mean he wouldn't show the proper outrage over my chirping problem so, being the supportive wife that I am, I offered to punch some people for him. But only if I could start with some of the folks in my office.

Am I On Candid Camera?

Ummm ... what the hell?



I know I can flake out at times. My mind wanders and I am totally lost in Lala Land. I got it. But how the hell did I miss this? Last night I was winding the yarn for my Pal's second Monkey. Everything sounded like it was going smoothly but at one point when I looked down I noticed that something was HORRIBLY wrong. I've never seen anything like this nor have I heard of anyone doing this. I believe this puts me in the running for '07 Bonehead of the Year. My husband was down stairs working on work, work that like, maybe pays our bills. But that didn't stop me from dragging him away to come help me unmess my mess. It took the two of us twenty minutes, but we got the thing unwound and back on the swift.

He left and I started to ball it again and things were going smoothly until, thwack! It happened again. Fortunately, I saw the first little bit go haywire, so I stopped and undid it. It took me several tries and some luck, but I finally figured out what happened. The metal bit you feed the yarn through was swooped around front (I assume because I had the ghetto tiny table, mini-swift, ball winder set up going on in full effect), which caused the yarn to feed into the winder wonkily, which then caused the yarn to wind around the winder itself. So, if the metal bar thing was pushed out and stayed there, things went fabulously. Which was fine and dandy, but since the metal bar wanted to come forward, it was not so fine and dandy.



In the end, I had to use my heel to hold the bar back (I'm telling you, it is nothing but class at Chez SPR). Fortunately my contortions worked so that I had everything ready to roll in time for The Sopranos.

Speaking of which, can I just take a moment to say how conflicted I was with the ending. I mean, I know Six Feet Under set the bar WAY high for series finales, but come on. I wanted more Soprano mafia stuff. They did a great job in creating tension in that last diner shot. I think everyone was on the edge of their seats waiting for something, anything, to happen. Well anything other than the screen going blank. There were so many great bits to that episode (FBI guy sleeping with FBI girl to get info for Tony, how awesome was that?!?), that it sucks that there was not something a little more in the way of the mafia stuff. I mean, I get it. All that shit with Bobby and Sil and Phil, it was di rigeur mafia life, but come on. I wanted more.

What AM I doing?

So, first, proof. I really did start my Pal's Monkey's and I am soooo loving them. The yarn is working up beautifully thus far (as you can tell by the picture, NOT!). My Pal wrote me back and mentioned that she loved the Monkeys with a picot edge. So this is good, and bad. Because I am me, I had already completed the ribbing and a pattern repeat before I read her response. So I am feeling a little bad that she isn't getting the picot edge. Maybe these socks will fly off my needles and I can make a second pair for her with the picot edge? Yah, who am I kidding? I've already got my second project in the works.



I will openly announce to one and to all that I am a big ole cheater. I am making my Sidewinders in the form of a ped so I can make them fast, fast, fast. And, I am using the left over yarn from the last pair of peds I made which means I am using them for my gauge swatch. Heh.



To take my totally punk-ass-cheater self to the next level, I am changing sizes to account for my gauge being wrong. Yah, this could go badly. My notes read something like, "rows big, sts small, more rows = bigger width and less stitches = shorter length." This could be false. I dunno. It's all good though. I have faith in the good sock karma. I figure I am do some!



I do have one suggestion for those making Sidewinders and that is to make sure you really tighten up the double decreases of the heel. I didn't do that, even though someone else told me to do that (a totally blonde moment if I may say so myself), so I have a little bit of eyelet action going on.

Oh Yah!

According to my informal polling the green & purple yarn wins by a landslide. Jungle Boogie indeed! So now it is simply a matter of digging out my modified Monkey pattern and casting on, which I'll do tonight. I am hoping these Monkeys will be met with pleasure and enthusiasm so I hedged my bets and followed the advice of Figino in my comments. I sent my pal a note asking her if there was anything she hated or anything she loved. Hopefully she won't announce a hatred of the Monkey!

I've also made a very impromptu decision. Because I am wild and crazy like that. I am going to ... wait for it ... make two different pairs of socks ... at once ... oh god! Crazy! I'm going to cast on a pair of Sidewinders for myself!

In case you didn't know, I had a total love affair going on with the sideways sock. When I ordered my Opal Hundertwasser, it was because I wanted to make the sideways sock. I saw that yarn, in that pattern, and fell in love. So when I finally decided to make a test pair (because I was not going to use The Yarn for it) and the test pair was a knitting abomination, well, I was destroyed. I tried over and over and over again and in the end, I gave up. I even gave the test yarn away. I was very sad, and also maybe a little angry and said, "Fuck!", and, "Fucking fucker fuckity fuck fuck", and, perhaps, "Go fuck yourself fucking fuckers." Like I said, a little angry.

So it was with both great optimism and skepticism that I approached the Sidewinder. Several people gently nudged me over to nonaKnits to see if I would crack. I didn't. So then a few of my SnB peeps decided to knit them, and some even cast on earlier this week, while I was watching. And I was so envious and wanted to start right then, right now, now, now. But I said to my self, "Self, don't be an asshole. Finish your chevron socks and then do your sockapalooza socks and then you can do your sidewinders. Patience is a virtue." Well patience be damned! I want to do the sideways socks so I am going to do 'em! I have a plan to try to finish them before I go one vacation so that I can concentrate on my sockapalooza socks while traveling.

Speaking of the chevron socks, they are done! Pictures to come. They are very warm and not summery at all, so it will be a couple of months before I can wear them. But that is okay, they sure are pretty.

Ghettofabulous

So my office isn't very big and I am constantly tripping over my purse or my brief case or the myriad of crap that I drag to work day after day. It is annoying, and considering my coordination, or lack thereof, dangerous. Also, my bags tend to be pricey (much more so than the stuff inside which I am sure doesn't say good things about my personality but oh well) and it irks me to drop them on the floor. So, I had me a dilemma. I could continue to trip and contaminate the bottom of my bags with inmate cooties, or I could hang my stuff on the hook behind my door give up the easy access. But then inspiration struck. I went in search of a hook on a door that no one used, and when I found it, I took it and ta da. Now many would say it is ghetto-as-hell to hang your purse on the wall behind your desk. But I say, no hater, it ain't ghetto-as-hell, it is ghettofabulous!

Pick A Yarn, Any Yarn

Holy crap I haven't blogged in awhile. I wish it was because I was traveling Europe or something else exciting, but no. That's not to say life at Chez South Park has been boring. No siree, it's not. Let me tell you, I've done tons and learned lots! I've discovered my head for spirits has turned to zero (oh tolerance, where art thou?). I've learned that I may be a miserable bitch, but I can in fact survive and entire holiday weekend without air conditioning. I've learned that Ben & Jerry's Half Baked frozen yogurt really does taste like ice cream. And um, I've learned some other stuff too, I'm sure. It just fell out of my head, along with all things funny and interesting. But maybe, if I ramble on enough, I will remember something funny or interesting I can share. So forward, ho!

Like the blogging, the knitting has been somewhat slow. Last time I checked in I had set my monkey free, and was trolling for patterns. Why does the word trolling make me feel dirty? Like patterns is really a synonym for hookers or smack? I dunno. Does anyone do anything legit when they troll? I mean I've heard of trollers, the fishing boat kind, but now that even seems tainted in my head. Like hey, we're trolling for mahi mahi, and a piece of ass.

Anywho, I was looking for a pattern and decided on going with Charlene Schurch's chevron pattern in Sensational Knitted Socks. Initially I decided to go with this because I actually own the book and it seemed like a good idea to use a pattern in a book I've purchased instead of another freebie on the internet because if the freebies are so great, why am I buying books? But that aspect of my psychosis can be saved for another time. In the meantime, my socks. In the time that it took me to get my butt to the blogosphere this I went from this:*



to this:



Oh sweet progress, how I love thou. Also, I love the pattern. So easy and quick, assuming you actually sit down and knit. This is shaping up to be a great project to knit, and if I can just turn some heels (wouldn't that be nice if the boss lady left early today and I could close my door and knit in oblivion for an hour or two?), the socks would be done in a flash. Which is good, assuming I can get it done because hello, my name is South Park Slacker and I have done squat in the knitting-socks-for-my-sockapalooza-pal department. Eeek!

I have narrowed down my yarn choices to two. One was stashed and waiting for a project and the other was purchased for my sockapalooza pal but I still like the first one so I am undecided.



Thoughts? Remember, my only guidance is, "I like everything, especially bright colors." I've also narrowed down my pattern choices to ... yah, back to where I started. I have my notes on how I was going to modify the monkeys to make them bigger, so maybe I'll stick with that.

*The first "progress" shot on the left implies that I was magic looping these socks. I was not. At least not on purpose. Apparently my tolerance for the wine is so low that if someone next to me drinks it, I muck up my knitting.

HeHe! That Tickles!

I was tagged by Nicole for the Seven-Random-Things meme. Which is very good, because I have nothing interesting to report. I ripped out the Monkey and have maybe four rows of a toe done. I think I might make it into a chevron sock, but I’m not committing to anything yet. I’m not going anywhere this weekend and don’t plan on doing anything exciting. I’ve had a spate of weird interactions with mother nature (bird falling out of sky dead at my door, mouse crawling into my garage to die, chipmunk trying to attack my dog) which are interesting, but not really blogworthy, so ... here are Seven Random Things About Moi!

1) I don’t eat or drink anything blue. Blue foods and drinks skeeve me out. Blueberries and blue corn chips are not actually blue, so they don’t count and I eat them with pleasure (and also with ice cream and sour cream, respectively).

2) I’m very good at copying handwriting. When our boss was out of town and we needed his signature, I was the go-to gal. If I was ever going to become a master criminal, I would be a forger.

3) I don’t really like cats. Except my own (whom I love more than most people) and one or two others. I feel the same way about kids. Well, I think I will if I have my own.

4) I love to eavesdrop. It’s not even intentional. I think it might be because I was an only child. Sometimes I forget that I am eavesdropping and will comment on a conversation I overhear.

5) I love to color in coloring books.

6) I cry at everything and anything. If I’m sad, I’ll cry. If I’m laughing, I’ll cry. If you are crying, I’ll cry. If I eat something super spicy, I’ll cry. If there is someone six states away crying, I’ll cry.

7) I’ve never met a vegetable I don’t like. Brussel sprouts, okra, lima beans, spinach, rutabaga? Yum, yum, yum, yum and yum!

I seem to have a lot to say about food here. Can you tell it’s dinner time?

Chillin'

What do we have here? Why yes, that is my new personal office air conditioner. I have to tell you that this thing is ginormous. Every time I look at it I laugh. Even Mr. Cool giggles when he sees it which should tell you something because he is not a man prone to fits of giggles. Based solely on appearance, this is going to exceed any of my personal cooling needs. Even I, Senorita Overheat, don't get that hot. In fact, right now it's been on for mere minutes and I am a bit chilly. I had to put on some socks, my Queen Kahuna socks, to warm up the toesies. Not that this is bad. I now have the option to be cold and this is good. I don't want people to think it wasn't necessary and take Mr. Amana away. We're just getting to know each other. That would be horrible. Since it is so cool, I pulled out me wee little Monkey thinking that some strenuous knitting might get my blood flowing. But, eh, not so much.



There might be some subversive reason that the knitting didn't make me all warm and fuzzy. I have a confession to make. I'm just not in love with my monkey. In fact, I am thinking about taking George Michael's advice and setting my monkey free. Don't get me wrong, the pattern is fun to knit and I am liking the creative process. But the result? Pfiffle. I find that I like the monkey socks better when the are only mildly stretched. Just barely blocked out. Not totally stretched like they are on a foot. This monkey that I am working on is plenty big this go around, so it's not as if it has to stretch to within a millimeter of its life or anything. It's just that when I put him on ... not so much. It might be the stripeyness of the yarn. It might be something else. I dunno. So I fear that I am back to the drawing board when it comes to socks for my pal. But I'm not gonna sweat over it. Heh.

Holy Crap

Yet another fun memory for the "Why My Office Parties Often Require SWAT Team Intervention" scrap book. My boss just decked our dear departing LC. Hard. I mean Crazy totally hauled off and hit her. That sonic boom you heard about twenty minutes ago, the smack. I, sitting next LC when the assault occurred, think I am suffering from emotional distress.

Abunai!

I just wrote a post which was a psuedo-fictional letter to Vonage wherein I used the word fuck seventeen times. I ripped the customer service for making me call twice and wait over 25 minutes total, just to tell me that they don't know if I am telling the truth when I say I never opened an account so the fraud department has to investigate as to whether it should close an account I never opened. Hard to follow? Yah, I thought so too. Let's just say Vonage = asshole. Needless to say all seventeen fucks were warranted. I could probably even justify another five or six.

But I am not an angry person (ha!) so I decided to shelve the venom. For now. We'll have to wait to see what "the fraud department" does. In the meantime, I am preparing for a party. An office party. Yes my lovlies, it is one of those times when the moons align, the stars part, and the sun sprinkles its kisses ... it is time for an office par-tay. This party is to wish our Law Clerk sayonara. For the record, and for your Japanese language skills refresher, I initially typed konnichiwa which is wrong, wrong, wrong. Konnichiwa = Hello. Sayonara = Goodbye (long term). Since LC is never coming back, she is sayonara. If Vonage keeps up its crap customer service it will be sayonara too.

Nothing To See Here

There is absolutely no knitting content in this here post. I got exactly one set of the repeats done on one sock. I got exactly zero new yarn because some people were yarn commies and wouldn't go to the yarn store that was mere minutes from where they lived. Pinko bastards! They even like Jane Fonda. 'Nuff said!

Though there is no knitting to speak of, there are other things to talk about, I think. I mean, most of the trip cannot be recounted because what happens in Hotlanta stays in Hotlanta. But I am sure I can tell you something. Like about the funny boy who sat next to me on the flight out, "swinging richards," sleeping with Hannibal Lecter, and forty-two inch men. Oh, and the state of rectal health care in the greater Atlanta area. These are the things I can tell you about.

Since I just told you that I had a nice seat companion on my flight out (he was all cute and nervous about this meeting of a potential beau for the first time in real life and so we talked the entire flight and I neither knit nor read), let's start with food. Actually I could have stared at the liquor store because that was the very first stop we made. Surprise the Birthday Girl? Nah, lets get some booze first! We are GREAT friends. Or I could have started off with Henri (said with a french accent), BG's dog and by far the most cutest smartest dog in Georgia (so there Mr. Babies)!

Anywho, there is a great little Italian place, Sotto Sotto, that has some yummo food. They have a great scallop appetizer which everyone, even vegans, enjoy. There was other food that was yummy too. I think. Much wine was consumed at Sotto Sotto. Red wine. That was good. And didn't taste like trees like most red wine does. Much wine was also spilled by Shorty. *



So much so that our wine bill, excluding the food and the regular liquor, was $253. Let me say it again, $253, for the wine. Only. As a Boone' s Farm kind of girl this was a lot to me. But (did I mention?) it didn't taste like trees, so there you have it. There was some concern, the next day when it was too late to look into this, that we were charged for an extra bottle of wine. This could be because our English waiter was tired of being accosted by six drunk folks and repeatedly explaining that no, really, he was not Irish. NOT. FROM. IRELAND. But that's just my guess.

I sobered up after dinner, having spent all of my cash on our first stop. This was a wise decision as I could then recount the rest of the evening in minute detail the following day much to the mortification of my friends. Hi, I am the guest from out of town and your are making me the designated driver in your brand new huge pimp mobile car. You bet your ass I am going to make fun of you falling out of chairs and giving me a tour of the same room three times!

But I digress. After wine dinner, we went to a cigar bar where more employees were accosted. This time it was an owner. Not a regular old employee. We're kuh-lassy like that. He was in the middle of calling his bookie after seeing something very important on the ESPN Bottom Line when Shorty started caterwauling at him. Shorty swears it was singing. It was not. He also swears the owner was flirting with him. And I suppose he was, if saying, "Yah, I'd like to put a dime on the Braves" into his mobile phone while standing ten feet away and staring through a window at a television is considered flirting. In any event, the owner having been tonally accosted then decided to tell Joan that he didn't like her as much as he liked everyone else. His like for Joan fell somewhere between having his eyeball repeatedly pierced with rusty metal that had been lying in a roach and rodent infested crack house and sliding down a razor blade into a pool of alcohol.

It was sometime after this that the drunk boys thought it would be a brilliant idea to go to home. Home it seems was really a metaphor for Swinging Richards. So while BG and Joan chilled at the bar with the owner that did not like Joan, me and my three gay men went to a male strip club. A full on, full nekkid, no clothes on the dancers (do you get what I am telling you here?) strip club. It was truth in advertising. There were a lot of swinging richards. There was also more accosting of bar staff. I shall speak no more of this. I was traumatized. I may need therapy.

Considering the large amount of alcohol consumed by my peeps, I was pretty pleased that there was no blood shed (little did I know what was to come). Saturday was filled with bad noises, hangover food, protein smoothies, naps, hornet attacks, fun stories recounted by yours truly, and the stalking of Anderson Cooper.

As you may recall, I had suggested that we capture Anderson Cooper and love on him for a little bit while we were in Hotlanta. I had no idea that this would actually become a real item on the agenda. Opa, having been dragged into a world of salacious sin the night before, became somewhat fearless and decided to track down the poor Mr. Cooper at a book signing. The only things I can really say are that Opa was not arrested and he did manage to get the number of some other random boy at the bookstore.

While Opa was engaged in his activities, Joan was lying paralyzed on the couch. Apparently a hornet had taken up residence in Chez Henri. Joan later composed a song about The Battle of The Hornet, but I have been told not to publish said song as it is a violation of her copyright and she shall have me prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Bitch. It wasn't a very good song anyway so y'all are not missing out.

Saturday night was very low key though there was some interaction with a mid-operation transvestite (another fun item I suggested we could do that I had no idea would become fact). In a weird twist of something or other Mr. SPR and I, separated by thousands of miles, both fell asleep that night watching Casino Royale. Doesn't say much for the movie, huh?

Sunday morning I woke up to the dulcet tones of Hannibal Lecter whispering in my ear that he could smell ... stuff. A few seconds later Buffalo Bill asked if I was a size fourteen. I was not hallucinating. I was not dreaming. Turns out Shorty is a master of impersonation. It also turns out that fear for your life, or at least your skin, is a great way to jump start your morning. Once we verified that I was not having a heart attack and everyone else was awake, we made breakfast plans. The plans were to meet in two minutes. I was not allowed to shower but instead thrown out the door and shoved in the car.



During breakfast Pookie was possessed by the spirit of Bat Boy. Everything he ate turned into the shape of a bat. I wanted to sell these mystical items on eBay. Right after I showered. I was denied. Instead we saw the grave of Margaret Mitchell (did you know she carried a dagger with a mother-of-pearl inlaid handle) and Cyclorama (home of the forty-two inch man. Oh, and FYI, should you silently laugh so hard that you snort during the Cyclorama, the snort sound will be carried and amplified by the wonderful acoustics). By this time I was ripe, but I was still not allowed to shower. Instead I was brought to a restaurant with a make your own Bloody Mary bar.

Eventually we returned to Chez Pookie where I had six minutes to shower and pack before we needed to leave for the airport. Miraculously I did shower and pack and made it to the car unscathed and in a most timely fashion. I took a deep breath thinking that I would now be able to chillax. Wrong. As we were driving to the airport a bus passed us.

The advertisement on the side told us to "Prevent Fecal Incontinence" and "Protect Your Perineum From Deterioration." What the fuk? What the hell are the people of Atlanta doing to their asses? Why is it so bad that they need to advertise for some special anal medical device ON THE SIDE OF A CITY BUS?

After reading that little gem, I thought we were getting out of town just in time (who knows what nefarious plans were being made for our butts?) I thought wrong. Atlanta, wanting to give us one more thing to remember it by, spit some glass out on the floor of the airport security metal detector and attacked Joan's foot. Fearing gangrene, and a lawsuit, the TSA personnel whisked Joan to a chair and administered first aid in the form of a spray bottle full of the stuff used to wipe down the x-ray machines and metal detectors. Antiseptic? Pushaw. Alcohol? Bahh. Soap and water? Are you kidding. Neosporin? For wimps. Squirt, squirt, wipe, wipe, done. After her wounds were "cleansed," Opa deftly bandaged her foot (sealing in the gangrene for legal purposes I'm sure) and we were on our way.

I really thought that the weekend was over after this. What more could there be? What more could happen? As I boarded my plane, I thought, "NOW I can sit back and relax." Turns out that I was premature in my planned relaxing. It was actually my turn to accost a stranger and make him a little scared of me.

My plane was full and there were only two seats open for stand-by passengers. They were the last two people to get on. One of them was this really familiar tall muscular looking guy. Since he had pants on, I wasn't quite sure where I had seen him. As he made his way to the back, where I was sitting, people would say stuff to him about baseball and the NY Yankees as he passed. He got into a seat in the row behind me and the guy there said something to him about the Yankees. He responded by saying that he was really just hoping that the Yanks could make a run for the Wild Card. He wasn't even hoping for a division win. I, being 1) an asshole, 2) nosey, and 3) an eavesdropper, turned around and said, "Wild card?! Dude. 1978. The Yanks were seventeen, 17!!!, seven-frigging-teen, games back in July and managed to win the World Series. Bah. Wild card, schmild card." Though his lips gave me a half smile, his eyes shined with holy terror. I carefully turned back around and sat down. But I did not stop being an asshole eavesdropper and this is how I found out that I had just verbally flogged an ESPN on-air reporter and not a swinging richard. Woopsie!

*Pookie's boyfriend wanted to have a blog alias of Pookie Davenport. I vetoed this. I think there was a suggestion of Kitty McKinley or something else equally asinine. As I am dictator here in SPRland (which is minutes north of JoanisaC'ville), I choose all aliases and said boyfriend shall be known as Shorty because 1) he has a VERY short small dog (nicknamed Mr. Babies but actually named Texas. Texas. Can you say overcompensation? Next thing ya know the dog will be driving a Corvette ...) and 2) the man wears lifts in his shoes. One night he is like, my height (around five foot nine) and the next night he is six foot two and a half. Riiiigggghhhhttt. Like I wouldn't have noticed him towering over me the night before ... I mean, yes, he was often laying down and passed out, but still.

Smell Ya Later!

Watch out Hotlanta, here I come! I am packed (clean undies? check! yarn for the plane? check! antacids? check!) and ready to rock. Or, knowing my friends, ready to roll. I suspect that by night's end, someone shall take a spill. We have had a record number of people falling into bushes and such or running into parked cars. Good times! Mind you I took the biggest fall resulting in two surgeries (and I was sober at the time), so I should not be mocking the my bush loving friends.

I plan to knit on the plane, though I do have a back up book "just in case." It might have a over muscled, half naked man pawing a scantily clad woman clutching her bosom on the front, and, if I was flying with my husband, he might not want to sit near me when I read it, but that's all good. I find opening a romance novel with a very lurid cover to be one of the best ways to scare off seat mates. No one wants to talk to the woman who might be reading "women's fiction" in public. Except for the skeezy men, and for them, I pull out the knitting. Either way you are guaranteed a silent flight. This only back fired on me once when the man next to me passed out leaning half on my shoulder and breathing his boozy breath on me. I was on my way to Vegas to get married and it wasn't my husband that was all boozy over my shoulder. Moving on.

Three of us land with in minutes of each other (good plane karma!) and are being chauffeured to the birthday girl's new loft by our fourth. I suggested the three of us sit in the back seat and make Pookie were a suit and glasses and act the part of a real chauffeur but this idea was vetoed. Obviously I am going to have to remind my friends how to hoop it up. We're surprising our birthday girl and then have plans for drinks, food, and um, more drinks. There is a rumor going round that there might be bowling. So may I suggest to all the citizens of Atlanta that you avoid all bowling alleys for the next two days. Just to be safe. Me = 72 all time high score. Me = person who really has bowled in the alley next to mine, not on purpose.

Since it looks like we might have some free time between birthday events, I am trying to convince people to go on a yarn crawl. Thus far my plans have failed rather spectacularly. I've tried logic and the promise of fun. Surprisingly my argument of "Hello, you're gay boys and everyone knows that gay boys love yarn" was not persuasive. Neither was my, "You tried to auction me off like a hooker when we were in N'awlins. You owe me!" argument. Oddly enough, I'm having better luck trying to convince my peeps that we should track down Anderson Copper and love on him.

I should return on Sunday night. I expect I will have a higher blood alcohol level, some funny stories, and some funnier pictures. I hope to have some new yarn and at least one of the monkey socks done.

No Progress, Yet

I decided to take all y'all's (shout out to my southern roots!) advice and go up a needle size to US 2/3mm needles on the Messrs. Monkey. This will work for my current yarn because it is a bit thicker, but not so much for the Lorna Laces I picked out for my sock pal. Because I can't just leave things alone, and because I know I can't go up a needle size on my sock pal's pair, I also mucked with the pattern, adding a few stitches here and there. All of this would have been quite brilliant, if I had been completely sober when I started knitting all of my fancy new adjustments.


But you see, a friend was celebrating her birthday/big work project completion and I wanted to take her out for some wine (yah, and let's take a moment to note that I am a cheap hag who rolls two celebrations into one ... boo! bad me!). I arrived a little early and so I had a wee bit of wine while I waited and ripped out the too small sock, and then I had a wee bit more when she arrived, and then, next thing you know, my mad crazy math skillz were mad crazy gone. Some might argue that I have no mad crazy math skillz to lose, and to them I say, shut it!


It is almost embarrassing to admit that after three hours of SnB (and a latte and a liter bottle of water), I was finally able to, wait for it ... cast on the right number of stitches and get one, yes one, whole row of ribbing done! Am I a rockstar or what?

Monkey See, Monkey Do, Monkey Poo!

So I planned to join the masses (just call me a sheep ... bahhh bahhh) and make my Sockapalooza pal some monkey socks. I kind of felt bad about this, since it seems that this is what every one else is doing and it makes me a bit unoriginal. But I really liked them, and since everyone else likes them, it raises the odds that my pal will too. So there. It seemed like a good idea. Famous last words.

In any event, I decided to make a test pair to ensure that I knew what the hell I was doing. I went through my stash and picked out the yarn that my SP9 pal sent me awhile back.* The yarn was in one big hank and needed to be divided into two neat balls, so I whipped out my scale and got to calculating.




A little schmizzle zizzle and bam, two (almost) perfectly divided balls.** My pictures are kinda dark, but I think that you might still be able to notice that the table that I am using has a top that is about one square foot. Now before you laugh your self right off of your stool at my teeny tiny table, you should know that that I am a midget. No, I'm not. Just kidding. But the table still worked perfectly. I now have two swifts and two ball winders (this set being my my aunt's, found in the boxes from Miami) and this swift is small and dainty and it fit on the table with the scale and ball winder just peachily. Maybe I had to hold the table steady with my feet to prevent it from keeling over, maybe I had to pull the yarn out a bit from the swift and ball winder as I wound it so there was more drag (or less, or whatever, I'm not sure what the magic finger technique does to make the yarn ball better, but it works), maybe I had to fish my pen off of the floor several times because it was just too damn big for the space, but in the end, it all worked out.


I did the ribbing and a few pattern repeats on my double pointed needles and was really liking the monkey. I found, as I always do, that the double pointed needles were a bit unwieldy and were slowing me down so I decided to switch over to two circular needles. I had a safe needle transfer and did another row or two and was really pleased with how fast I this little monkey was coming along. There was a some color pooling that I would have preferred to not have, but overall I was pleased. But "pleased" always bites me in the arse. This is where things start to go down hill. Fast.



Pleased (ha!) with my progress and finished my third set of pattern repeats/rows, I decided to try the monkey on. Eeek! Nope! Not gonna happen. This little monkey won't go over my heel (well, without lube or heel lipo). Now being that this was my test pair and for me, this was problematic. Being that my sock pal's foot is bigger than mine and this was the size I planned on knitting her, this was catastrophic. Say it with me, GODDAMMIT! So now I am back to the drawing board. I haven't heard about anyone having size issues or read about anyone upsizing the little shits, so now I am going to have to look into it. Or, I am going to have to find another pattern. Again, dammit!


* Speaking of Secret Pals, my SP9 pal never sent me her 'reveal' or the last package she said she was sending. I know that she was preggers so it may be she had no time, but if she still reads me, please send me a hi and tell me who you are! I'd like to know.

** My second ball is slightly heavier and I seemed to have gained overall yarn weight. This is the second time this phenomena has happened. If you have x.x grams in one hank and divide it into two balls, I would think that when all is said and done you should still only have x.x grams when you add the two balls together. Is there some sort of weird energy transfer going on that I am to dumb to figure out? It is weird I tell you. Weird!

Fun

Remember the best play ground toy ever that has no name that I know? Well, I went back to partake of the unnamed equipment's fun and this time I had my camera.

It looks kind of innocuous yes? But it is so much more than the sum of it's meager parts. You must approach it carefully and coo it into submission. Once the beast is soothed, you gently mount the black disc. I find it best when you start at a squat and then gently stand up. Once you are standing you pat the pole, say a prayer (or an "Oh Shit" for us atheists) and lean to the side. Whammo! You're off. Gravity swings you around and hopefully some sort of muscle (stomach? back? leg?) will enable you to get the momentum and keep going around. Otherwise, you reach the halfway point and are flung back towards where you started and end up going only 180 of the 360 potential degrees. Even when you don't make it all the way around, it's great fun.

I find that a swing on the swing set is a great way to cool down afterward. Dogbert, however, disagreed. As Boo and I were swinging, she sat in the back seat of the car sending death rays our way.

No Beach For You

I'd like to tell you that the Joisey shore was wonderful. But it wasn't. No, the damn thing was closed ... for bomb removal. For real! Yah! What the hell is that all about? Apparently when they rebuilt/replenished the beach, they did it with old munitions. The whole thing is odd. I mean, do we have bombs along our entire coast? And also, I don't understand why the devices didn't detonate when they were drug up to shore to rebuild the beach. Anywho.

Even with out the ocean beachfront closed, we still had a nice time. Especially Dogert, who still managed to go for a swim ... in the bay. Which was not a pre-approved swim. She may have just taken a running leap and dove in head first. I may have stared at her in horror for a few minutes before ordering her out. Then I may have laughed. I might not be the best dog mom in the world. But, I am the best sock knitter in my family. Which I can say with the utmost sincerity as I am the only sock knitter in my family!

And, being my sock knitting self, I finished my Queen Kahuna socks while we were in Joisey. Kind of befitting, yes? The shore ... the beach ... Kahuna ... never mind. It works in my head. I had to use the directions to finish the second sock being that my memory, not so good. So it slowed me down a bit. That and the fact that I summarized the directions on a handy dandy post-it note which was only seventy percent legible. But they were still a quick knit, heck, they're only a footie/ped/ankle sock, there isn't much to 'em.



My favorite brother-in-law watched me knit and was horrified that it took me a WHOLE WEEK to knit a sock. I explained that if I didn't have a job, I could probably do a pair in a few days, but that was equally horrifying to him. He actually said, "Doesn't a real sock take only minutes to make." I think I blanched. I know I felt faint. He quickly said that he didn't mean that my socks were not real. That obviously my hand knit sock was real. "Just, you know." Yah, I know. But it was too late. He may be my favorite, but he's not getting any hand knit socks!

Which might not be a bad thing because I had an issue, an embarrassing issue, an issue that makes me feel a little dirty. I had a return of the ladders. On both socks! I don't know why. I used all of the tricks. But they appeared anyway. I haven't had a ladder in quite some time. I'm hoping this was just a fluke. The yarn, upset because I call it dirty-looking, decided to mess with me. Something other than I suck.



I asked Boo to come outside and take some pictures of my socks for me before we left (while everyone laughed at my request), thinking that the change of scenery in my sock pictures might be nice. My MiL has all sorts of pretty flowers and stuff in the back yard but the shadows turned out to be killers. Also, my family is a bit whack. The minute a camera is out, everyone wants to play and ham it up.


Needless to say, the sock picture taking quickly disintegrated into a picture free for all with cameras and cell phones and such. Which turned out to be amusing because in all of the pictures, I'm clutching my socks. So even though I was mocked (yah Favorite, I'm talking to you!) for taking pictures of my socks, everyone else took pictures of my socks too!


Which in a way is a kind of sweet revenge for having my ass handed to me at Rummy 500. You might have killed me at cards with your wonky scoring and strange rules that make NO SENSE because DUDE! This is rummy, not UNO, I don't need to tell you if I only have one card left. And I can pick up the one card at the end of the pile without using it right then. And if you laid down three of a kind, I can lay down the fourth. And ... I could go on, but I'll spare you. Just know that the Joisey rules for rummy suck balls. And if you are a rummy champ in normal circles, you won't be in those Joisey ones. Oh, and wine won't help make the rules more clear. Neither will a toasted almond ice cream bar. Nothing makes these rules not suck. But I digress. Where was I? Ahh yes, my revenge, ha! All of the pictures, the nice "family" pictures, have my socks in them. Front and center. Wah haha!



Yarn: Opal, Rodeo, Farbe 1154, Partie 3, 1/2 a skein
Needles: Addi Circs, size 2.5 mm (US 1)
Pattern: Queen Kahuna
Time: 11 days.
Care: Machine wash, dry flat.

Crafty Ho'

So you know how I am working on my Queen Kahuna socks? Well these suckers require that you use markers. Multiple markers. Which is great. Yeah markers. Except the majority of my markers just don't cut it for small needles. They are too fat or too heavy. I had a few tiny skinny plastic ones that worked alright, but they vanished. Turned to antimatter they did! I went to buy some more, but two, yes two, stores were out of the size I needed. And then genius struck. Sort of.



I think I might have seen something similar somewhere. And if I ripped this off from you, sorry! But, too bad. I really am pleased with myself. So I'm not getting rid of these fun stitch markers which may or may not be some type of trademark/ copyright/intellectual property violation.




I now have pretty, small needle size appropriate, stitch markers. They are light, pretty, and don't get tangled on the yarn. What more could you ask for? Well, actually you could ask for more colored beads, because I didn't have a wide selection and that made me kinda sad. Nonetheless, I still am sporting a grin that would fool the average person into think that I really invented something smart and impressive.