Ravel Me At Ravelry
Natalie WouldCompleted in 2007 and 2008
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Completed in 2004-06
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I love my City Knitting
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Blog Design by The Fabulous Gibknits
••• Friday, April 30, 2004
When your swatch gets out of order you have a choice of two things to do: throw it in the fire or take it to the swatch-tinker. The former is the quickest.- A Knit-twitted Perversion of Mark Twain
On my recent day
With hurly girly,
I had the chance
To knit and purly
Between green gills
And belly cries,
I swatched until
I crossed my eyes.
I have some friends,
(My blog they read)
Sayin' "Boss the swatch,
"Until you bleed."
Alas, no piece
Was meant to be.
Alas, no peace
Was meant for me.
Then deep I dug,
Within the bin
Of perfect skeins
(Oh, Perfect Sin!).
Ideas soon gathered,
To have a party.
They yelled "Jetez!
For Annie's Cardie!"
So another project
Was now beholden,
To another swatch,
On Viscose golden.
But in wee hours,
When one should sleep.
I frog once more,
Before I weep.
The whole kaboodle
Was put away.
Malignant shame
Now rules my day.
Poetry Interpretation:
I tried the lace swatch again, and it worked. I cast on for the lace cardigan sweater and it didn't work. And it didn't work again. So I swatched for a couple different lace patterns, but either I couldn't get gauge or I didn't like it.
Then I dug out this vintage viscose cotton stuff (in a fleshy color I can only describe as Bernadette Peters). Swatching gears altogether, I set my sights on Annie Modesitte's Ballet Neck Cardie from Interweave Knits. I cast on all 170-something stitches, gartered two rows, found a garish, lumpy thing in my cast-on row, cussed like an abandoned Anchor's Aweigh project, ripped it out and went to bed.
I've now developed that manicky, panicky, suckity knitattitude that I get now and again. It happens when I have too many projects going on, both in and outside of my brain. For me, too many projects begets thoughts of too many more projects, which begets thoughts of, well, I think you begetting the idea....
Just like my teen and my toddler and even my husband need ever now and again; I need to be reined in.
Action Plan:
Tonight, I cast on for the back piece of the Anchor's Aweigh. I will not start any major projects until I am done with that sweater. I do, however, reserve the right to make my mother a Booga Bag for Mother's Day.
"Would you like to go upstairs?"
"Is there a TV up there? I like to Swatch......" -A Knit-twitted Perversion of a line from Being There
On my recent day
With hurly girly,
I had the chance
To knit and purly
Between green gills
And belly cries,
I swatched until
I crossed my eyes.
I have some friends,
(My blog they read)
Sayin' "Boss the swatch,
"Until you bleed."
Alas, no piece
Was meant to be.
Alas, no peace
Was meant for me.
Then deep I dug,
Within the bin
Of perfect skeins
(Oh, Perfect Sin!).
Ideas soon gathered,
To have a party.
They yelled "Jetez!
For Annie's Cardie!"
So another project
Was now beholden,
To another swatch,
On Viscose golden.
But in wee hours,
When one should sleep.
I frog once more,
Before I weep.
The whole kaboodle
Was put away.
Malignant shame
Now rules my day.
Poetry Interpretation:
I tried the lace swatch again, and it worked. I cast on for the lace cardigan sweater and it didn't work. And it didn't work again. So I swatched for a couple different lace patterns, but either I couldn't get gauge or I didn't like it.
Then I dug out this vintage viscose cotton stuff (in a fleshy color I can only describe as Bernadette Peters). Swatching gears altogether, I set my sights on Annie Modesitte's Ballet Neck Cardie from Interweave Knits. I cast on all 170-something stitches, gartered two rows, found a garish, lumpy thing in my cast-on row, cussed like an abandoned Anchor's Aweigh project, ripped it out and went to bed.
I've now developed that manicky, panicky, suckity knitattitude that I get now and again. It happens when I have too many projects going on, both in and outside of my brain. For me, too many projects begets thoughts of too many more projects, which begets thoughts of, well, I think you begetting the idea....
Just like my teen and my toddler and even my husband need ever now and again; I need to be reined in.
Action Plan:
Tonight, I cast on for the back piece of the Anchor's Aweigh. I will not start any major projects until I am done with that sweater. I do, however, reserve the right to make my mother a Booga Bag for Mother's Day.
"Would you like to go upstairs?"
"Is there a TV up there? I like to Swatch......" -A Knit-twitted Perversion of a line from Being There
••• Wednesday, April 28, 2004
What's Upchuck?
No time to write
About knit and purlin'.
'Cause I carry the bucket
For the girl who's hurlin'.
I was home from work today, but needed to stay within bucket reach of my toddling, intestinal infortitude.
So I bring a mid-week filler that I picked up down by the blog trough.
Which Princess Bride Character are You?
this quiz was made by mysti
I found this site while yarn shopping. I couldn't stop playing with those hairy angel balls! Where I can I get some of those?
Does it mean anything if every ceiling corner of a room contains a spider? I think it means they're planning a war, on us. My husband thinks I'm a bubble shy of plumb. ::Ever hear of those Mexican jumping spiders? If they are up on the ceiling or high wall, and you look them in the eye(s), they jump on your face. For that reason, I never give a spider on the ceiling more than a passing glance. ::
No time to write
About knit and purlin'.
'Cause I carry the bucket
For the girl who's hurlin'.
I was home from work today, but needed to stay within bucket reach of my toddling, intestinal infortitude.
So I bring a mid-week filler that I picked up down by the blog trough.
Which Princess Bride Character are You?
this quiz was made by mysti
I found this site while yarn shopping. I couldn't stop playing with those hairy angel balls! Where I can I get some of those?
Does it mean anything if every ceiling corner of a room contains a spider? I think it means they're planning a war, on us. My husband thinks I'm a bubble shy of plumb. ::Ever hear of those Mexican jumping spiders? If they are up on the ceiling or high wall, and you look them in the eye(s), they jump on your face. For that reason, I never give a spider on the ceiling more than a passing glance. ::
••• Monday, April 26, 2004
All Along the Swatchtower
As weekend's go, this past had a low-grade, stealthlike suckinola thing going. Nothing significant to overdramatize or reenact. Just a low grade suckiness that didn't really hit me until I was getting ready for bed last night.
I didn't get much done in knitting. Nothing to show anyway. Last week I bought a gorgeous black chemise for work. Because it has tiny blue polka-dot-esque threads running through it, I thought it could be casualized with my new jean jacket. I thought wrong.
Now I need a little sweater to complete my little chemise-chemise cocoa bop. Something brief and light, with appropriate context. Something like this cover piece from Rowan 25, which is also offered in my current fave pattern compilation A Treasury of Rowan Knits
The pattern calls for a cotton 4-ply (I know, yuck) which I ended up getting in Jaeger. I bet I swatched for this pattern 9 times over the weekend. I wasn't even swatching for gauge, yet. In fact, I never even put a measuring tool to any creation. I never measured one freakin' stitch. It took me 9 times just to get the pattern right.
When I finally got it, I didn't even know. It was late Saturday when I finished quasi-swatch #9. Then I went to bed. A sight with sore eyes, all yarn-weary and lacey-brained.
When I picked up the swatch again come Sunday morning, I had every intention of smiting it mightily, with a final vengeance. Until I saw that I that I had, indeed, got it. "Got it" as in got it right. Correcto Mundo. Superb. Parfait. Crap. I sez.
You see, I had already abandoned the project in my mind. It was undoable. Now that it's once again doable, I had to make a choice. I hate choice. In a situation such as this, I prefer hopeless and dead-end despairity to highly possible given the right amount of attitude/skill/ balls/booze/ignorance.....
Part of me said I should proceed with the pattern because I have the yarn, I now have the pattern down and it's the perfect sweater for my specific need.
Another part of me then perpetrated a colossal smack down upon that self-righteous, super-egotic, sniveling know-it-all and went online to order a white crocheted number from Eddie Bauer.
Now what the hell am I gonna do with 9 skeins of white four-ply cotton? yuck.
As weekend's go, this past had a low-grade, stealthlike suckinola thing going. Nothing significant to overdramatize or reenact. Just a low grade suckiness that didn't really hit me until I was getting ready for bed last night.
I didn't get much done in knitting. Nothing to show anyway. Last week I bought a gorgeous black chemise for work. Because it has tiny blue polka-dot-esque threads running through it, I thought it could be casualized with my new jean jacket. I thought wrong.
Now I need a little sweater to complete my little chemise-chemise cocoa bop. Something brief and light, with appropriate context. Something like this cover piece from Rowan 25, which is also offered in my current fave pattern compilation A Treasury of Rowan Knits
The pattern calls for a cotton 4-ply (I know, yuck) which I ended up getting in Jaeger. I bet I swatched for this pattern 9 times over the weekend. I wasn't even swatching for gauge, yet. In fact, I never even put a measuring tool to any creation. I never measured one freakin' stitch. It took me 9 times just to get the pattern right.
When I finally got it, I didn't even know. It was late Saturday when I finished quasi-swatch #9. Then I went to bed. A sight with sore eyes, all yarn-weary and lacey-brained.
When I picked up the swatch again come Sunday morning, I had every intention of smiting it mightily, with a final vengeance. Until I saw that I that I had, indeed, got it. "Got it" as in got it right. Correcto Mundo. Superb. Parfait. Crap. I sez.
You see, I had already abandoned the project in my mind. It was undoable. Now that it's once again doable, I had to make a choice. I hate choice. In a situation such as this, I prefer hopeless and dead-end despairity to highly possible given the right amount of attitude/skill/ balls/booze/ignorance.....
Part of me said I should proceed with the pattern because I have the yarn, I now have the pattern down and it's the perfect sweater for my specific need.
Another part of me then perpetrated a colossal smack down upon that self-righteous, super-egotic, sniveling know-it-all and went online to order a white crocheted number from Eddie Bauer.
Now what the hell am I gonna do with 9 skeins of white four-ply cotton? yuck.
••• Friday, April 23, 2004
I went to my first local Knit Meetup Wednesday. It was fun. Just four of us. I was clearly the eldest, by about a generation (or so), but it was good people, interesting conversation and knitting (of course), all in a hip, urbanly revitalized locale. I'll definitely do it again.
I've moved on from poopa bag to booga bag. Many thanks to Robbyn, for playing along and Ryan for the poop plug. These two must be some well-read bloggers because my site hits more than doubled from their referrals. Like flies on....rice?
The booga bag body is done and I'm currently working on my very first I-cord, for the handles. And I'm liking it. It's oddly satisfying. Addicting. Naughty even. Whatever it is, it seems to be striking a cord with me.
In fact, I am a bit worried that I might not be able to stop I-cording when it's time. While working along, I've been experiencing an uncontrollable fantasy of knitting my entire yarn stash into one I-cord, then rolling it into a huge ball. (Okay, for you Protectors of the Sacred Stash ::POSS?:: said fantasy does not include Indulgence.)
This is a picture of Booga Bag, when nearly complete:
Ad Hoc Commentary
Some TV ads have recently grabbed my attention. Last night I saw the one for Pepto- Abysmal. Anyone seen this? Where the office workers are all standing in a line, dancing the Macarreah? Oh my gawd. I guess one might consider it clever marketing because it gives me the Nausareah just to watch it.
Pass the pink.
And do ya think the actors in this are taking any calls from friends and family? ....Yeah, Grandma! That's me, dancing and urping and holding my butt crack to keep from crapping myself.
The Target ad with the kids appearing to jump on dishes of blue jello is catchy. But my current fave is for a new car model (I think it's new). The car is being driven through a residential neighborhood. As it drives past the houses, the garage doors open and close, implying an invitation to enter. The only soundtrack is Rick James' "Give it to me Baby."
Racy, yeah. Subliminal? Hardly.
Ever wonder what our culture would be like had Freud died a Jung man?
I've moved on from poopa bag to booga bag. Many thanks to Robbyn, for playing along and Ryan for the poop plug. These two must be some well-read bloggers because my site hits more than doubled from their referrals. Like flies on....rice?
The booga bag body is done and I'm currently working on my very first I-cord, for the handles. And I'm liking it. It's oddly satisfying. Addicting. Naughty even. Whatever it is, it seems to be striking a cord with me.
In fact, I am a bit worried that I might not be able to stop I-cording when it's time. While working along, I've been experiencing an uncontrollable fantasy of knitting my entire yarn stash into one I-cord, then rolling it into a huge ball. (Okay, for you Protectors of the Sacred Stash ::POSS?:: said fantasy does not include Indulgence.)
This is a picture of Booga Bag, when nearly complete:
Ad Hoc Commentary
Some TV ads have recently grabbed my attention. Last night I saw the one for Pepto- Abysmal. Anyone seen this? Where the office workers are all standing in a line, dancing the Macarreah? Oh my gawd. I guess one might consider it clever marketing because it gives me the Nausareah just to watch it.
Pass the pink.
And do ya think the actors in this are taking any calls from friends and family? ....Yeah, Grandma! That's me, dancing and urping and holding my butt crack to keep from crapping myself.
The Target ad with the kids appearing to jump on dishes of blue jello is catchy. But my current fave is for a new car model (I think it's new). The car is being driven through a residential neighborhood. As it drives past the houses, the garage doors open and close, implying an invitation to enter. The only soundtrack is Rick James' "Give it to me Baby."
Racy, yeah. Subliminal? Hardly.
Ever wonder what our culture would be like had Freud died a Jung man?
••• Tuesday, April 20, 2004
Sac La Poo!
Go see what's hatched over at Robbyn's place. And I'm telling ya, she had this thing designed, knit and photoblogged while the steam was still rising from yesterday's morning doo.
Tuesday Triflin'
I cast on last night for a Booga Bag for my sister. I decided to save the French Market Bag fixin's for my mother-in-law (with a new cottage, she's gonna need a nice beach bag.) Besides, I need a break from blue yarn.
I'm getting more and more weird search hits in my sitemeter. Over the past two days, I've had two hits for "cat beheaded in car sunroof." I know. Other cherches des weird (please pardon the French): "Hickies in weird places" and "Troglodyte dental formula." I wonder if it's one of the Butt Sisters?
Go see what's hatched over at Robbyn's place. And I'm telling ya, she had this thing designed, knit and photoblogged while the steam was still rising from yesterday's morning doo.
Tuesday Triflin'
I cast on last night for a Booga Bag for my sister. I decided to save the French Market Bag fixin's for my mother-in-law (with a new cottage, she's gonna need a nice beach bag.) Besides, I need a break from blue yarn.
I'm getting more and more weird search hits in my sitemeter. Over the past two days, I've had two hits for "cat beheaded in car sunroof." I know. Other cherches des weird (please pardon the French): "Hickies in weird places" and "Troglodyte dental formula." I wonder if it's one of the Butt Sisters?
••• Saturday, April 17, 2004
The Poop Scoop
I live in a pet poop-scooping community. Around here, bagging the boogy isn't just neighborly relations protocol, it's a way of life. And it's the law. At any schoolyard or public park, you'll find doody "free" bag dispensers. And throughout the city, along the streets, are signs warning dog owners of a $500.00 fine if caught flying the coop without scooping the poop.
Thursday I set out to walk The Cheddar (with bag in tow, of course). The weather was perfect. Neither hot or chilly. Sun was shining. I felt upbeat and energized.
I'm a city girl. It's in my blood. I love my little town because it offers some amenities of the city (for me that means sidewalks, sirens and 7-11's) but with suburban quality schools. And neither do I mind the city-sized traffic that runs the major road, just a half block from my house. ::I grew up in a house one block from the expressway. The sound of traffic has always made me feel oddly connected to the rest of the world. In fact, I still miss the whistle of a passing semi, on a hot summer night.::
But now I'm off topic, without purpose...
Anyway. On the return loop, Cheddar took a poop. A healthy sample, I must say. Poo usual, I picked it up with a plastic grocery bag. It looked just like the picture. ::I know, ew. But you can't say you didn't have warning::
We've had Cheddar for nearly five years, which means I've carried bag-o-poo-aplenty. But on a beautiful spring day, it somehow feels wrong to openly carry said cargo de caca. I mean, I'm walking down a busy street, on a beautiful day, with a hunky blonde, swinging dog shit in a white, opaque grocery bag. It's just wrong.
As I approach my home, a neighbor drives by, his hand raised in greeting. I don't live in the most friendly of neighborhoods, so I typically suck up to any gratuitous gesture offriendship neighborliness recognition. So as not to look the stuck-up that most of my neighbors are, I quickly responded with a wave in kind. My left hand held a leash attached to a ninety pound dog, so I could only raise my right hand, which held the poup de jour.
The quick motion of the wave impromptu, caused me to thwack my head with the bag of poo. And just as the crap hit the head, the neighbor and I make eye contact. At that very moment, I realized the neighbor was not waving to me, but was reaching for the garage door opener on the overhead visor.
Bagging it Up
Here's my challenge to all designers: Gimme a knit bag to hide the sh*it bag.
I'm stinkin' serious.
I live in a pet poop-scooping community. Around here, bagging the boogy isn't just neighborly relations protocol, it's a way of life. And it's the law. At any schoolyard or public park, you'll find doody "free" bag dispensers. And throughout the city, along the streets, are signs warning dog owners of a $500.00 fine if caught flying the coop without scooping the poop.
Thursday I set out to walk The Cheddar (with bag in tow, of course). The weather was perfect. Neither hot or chilly. Sun was shining. I felt upbeat and energized.
I'm a city girl. It's in my blood. I love my little town because it offers some amenities of the city (for me that means sidewalks, sirens and 7-11's) but with suburban quality schools. And neither do I mind the city-sized traffic that runs the major road, just a half block from my house. ::I grew up in a house one block from the expressway. The sound of traffic has always made me feel oddly connected to the rest of the world. In fact, I still miss the whistle of a passing semi, on a hot summer night.::
But now I'm off topic, without purpose...
Anyway. On the return loop, Cheddar took a poop. A healthy sample, I must say. Poo usual, I picked it up with a plastic grocery bag. It looked just like the picture. ::I know, ew. But you can't say you didn't have warning::
We've had Cheddar for nearly five years, which means I've carried bag-o-poo-aplenty. But on a beautiful spring day, it somehow feels wrong to openly carry said cargo de caca. I mean, I'm walking down a busy street, on a beautiful day, with a hunky blonde, swinging dog shit in a white, opaque grocery bag. It's just wrong.
As I approach my home, a neighbor drives by, his hand raised in greeting. I don't live in the most friendly of neighborhoods, so I typically suck up to any gratuitous gesture of
The quick motion of the wave impromptu, caused me to thwack my head with the bag of poo. And just as the crap hit the head, the neighbor and I make eye contact. At that very moment, I realized the neighbor was not waving to me, but was reaching for the garage door opener on the overhead visor.
Bagging it Up
Here's my challenge to all designers: Gimme a knit bag to hide the sh*it bag.
I'm stinkin' serious.
Labels: Boobs and Pee and Poo
••• Friday, April 16, 2004
Is There a Draft in Here?
The preceding post ohno non grata was not intended for public consumption. I loaded up the pictures early this morning, but thought I had left the whole shebang in "draft" formation.
I thought wrong.
Then I hit publish to correct a couple bad links. To complicate matters further, I couldn't access my blog all day because my server at work is now filtering all blogspot.com sites. I had no idea I was left holding the bag, all day, with but one word of support.
So, 1,000 pardoh-nee-mwahs. I guess I'll just leave the early one up for now. Otherwise this post would be all the more confusing.
And yes, I did pull a similar Barney boner just a few weeks ago. Difference then was that I caught it relatively early in the day. This poop's been rotting out here, unattended, since daybreak.
And yes, that is a bag of poop. Actually, it's a reenactment of a bag of poop. (Before anyone gets their personal pile in a DQ twirl, please know that no fecal matter was harmed or otherwise abused in this underdramatization.) Today's poop was portrayed by a frozen, overripe banana. Busted in two.
There was supposed to be crappy little story to go along with the bag. Yesterday it seemed kind of interesting. Maybe even thought-provoking. The whole point was to propose a (perhaps) novel pattern idea, for any interested knitwear designers. Now...I don't know what I was thinking.
The other shot, of course, is my Anchors Away sweater back. The linked image is of me (in all my midlife, frumpling glory) holding up the sweater piece, to demonstrate how long it is. Funny. I don't feel that frumpy. I guess Denial really is my friend.
Well friends, this one was soooo goofy, I can't even muster up a fret.
Maybe I'll finish the story later this weekend. Maybe the story is already done. I do have a brand spanking new laptop that needs to be broken in. While it's very snazzy, right now it looks and feels strange to write with. Like I'm wearing someone else's snazzy new underwear. And they ain't quite fittin'....yet.
The preceding post ohno non grata was not intended for public consumption. I loaded up the pictures early this morning, but thought I had left the whole shebang in "draft" formation.
I thought wrong.
Then I hit publish to correct a couple bad links. To complicate matters further, I couldn't access my blog all day because my server at work is now filtering all blogspot.com sites. I had no idea I was left holding the bag, all day, with but one word of support.
So, 1,000 pardoh-nee-mwahs. I guess I'll just leave the early one up for now. Otherwise this post would be all the more confusing.
And yes, I did pull a similar Barney boner just a few weeks ago. Difference then was that I caught it relatively early in the day. This poop's been rotting out here, unattended, since daybreak.
And yes, that is a bag of poop. Actually, it's a reenactment of a bag of poop. (Before anyone gets their personal pile in a DQ twirl, please know that no fecal matter was harmed or otherwise abused in this underdramatization.) Today's poop was portrayed by a frozen, overripe banana. Busted in two.
There was supposed to be crappy little story to go along with the bag. Yesterday it seemed kind of interesting. Maybe even thought-provoking. The whole point was to propose a (perhaps) novel pattern idea, for any interested knitwear designers. Now...I don't know what I was thinking.
The other shot, of course, is my Anchors Away sweater back. The linked image is of me (in all my midlife, frumpling glory) holding up the sweater piece, to demonstrate how long it is. Funny. I don't feel that frumpy. I guess Denial really is my friend.
Well friends, this one was soooo goofy, I can't even muster up a fret.
Maybe I'll finish the story later this weekend. Maybe the story is already done. I do have a brand spanking new laptop that needs to be broken in. While it's very snazzy, right now it looks and feels strange to write with. Like I'm wearing someone else's snazzy new underwear. And they ain't quite fittin'....yet.
••• Thursday, April 15, 2004
Just Some Snippets
Okay. I really do want to know where the eggs go after a tubal ligation.
I hardly ever get interesting searches showing up on my site stats but yesterday I had these two: pissing before puke and sane are the people. Are these searches related?
This morning I peeked in on The Cakers before leaving for work. I opened the door just enough to catch a glimpse. I had hardly a chance to focus on her when I heard "I'm Ana!" Startled, I quickly shut the door (I was expecting a sleeping babe).
I'm Ana?
Maybe she's talking in her sleep. So I pop in again, as a test.
"I'm Ana." Again. Chipper.
Has she been introducing herself to strange visitors while we sleep? Alien visitation would explain a lot, actually. ::don't get me started on what's been going on around here::
Well, if the nocturnal visitors are reading this and planning a return visit anytime soon, any chance of putting a trim to her toenails on the left foot? I can only keep her still two toes at a time. With the reptilianesque digits she's sporting, in combo with new b*alls mccalls 'tude, I fear she'll be up a telephone pole quicker'n you could point a finger and say home phone.
I finished the back of the Anchors Aweigh. I think I know how it earned its moniker. If you went overboard wearing this piece, you'd go like a stone. It's long, loose and heavy. I'll try to have a picture tomorrow.
I'm not terribly eager to cast on for the front of this sweater. I'm thinking my rope-burned fingers might need a little break from the fiber friction. My sister has a birthday next week. ::eek:: I'm considering a French Market Bag from Must Have leftovers.
Final snippet: Do you think a name can influence behavior?
Lorena, bob it.
Okay. I really do want to know where the eggs go after a tubal ligation.
I hardly ever get interesting searches showing up on my site stats but yesterday I had these two: pissing before puke and sane are the people. Are these searches related?
This morning I peeked in on The Cakers before leaving for work. I opened the door just enough to catch a glimpse. I had hardly a chance to focus on her when I heard "I'm Ana!" Startled, I quickly shut the door (I was expecting a sleeping babe).
I'm Ana?
Maybe she's talking in her sleep. So I pop in again, as a test.
"I'm Ana." Again. Chipper.
Has she been introducing herself to strange visitors while we sleep? Alien visitation would explain a lot, actually. ::don't get me started on what's been going on around here::
Well, if the nocturnal visitors are reading this and planning a return visit anytime soon, any chance of putting a trim to her toenails on the left foot? I can only keep her still two toes at a time. With the reptilianesque digits she's sporting, in combo with new b*alls mccalls 'tude, I fear she'll be up a telephone pole quicker'n you could point a finger and say home phone.
I finished the back of the Anchors Aweigh. I think I know how it earned its moniker. If you went overboard wearing this piece, you'd go like a stone. It's long, loose and heavy. I'll try to have a picture tomorrow.
I'm not terribly eager to cast on for the front of this sweater. I'm thinking my rope-burned fingers might need a little break from the fiber friction. My sister has a birthday next week. ::eek:: I'm considering a French Market Bag from Must Have leftovers.
Final snippet: Do you think a name can influence behavior?
Lorena, bob it.
••• Tuesday, April 13, 2004
It's Filler Time!
Over break, I accumulated a fine cache of post fillers. I apologize to whomever I stole this one from...'cause I can't recall.
Which Weird Latin Phrase Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Well, since you asked...I am Weird Latin Phrase:
And for the record, I'm no Star Wars Geek.
Yikes!
In comments, Greta wondered if I had a Cakers in the oven ('cause I wasn't feeling "right.") Well, Greta, let's just say there better not be or there's gonna be some tubal litigation. You see, my OB got a little snippy last time in.
By the way, what happens to all those little egglets after being cut off from a view to the womb? Are they forever damned to their own tubular hell?
Or are they living it up, drinking....
And smoking....
And fighting over the last sperm?
Or maybe planning the big breakout from the ova orifice....
Such are the things of which I wonder.
Anchor Rancor
That dang sweater is growing into a dress. I sure hope it shrinks as promised. I did wash and shrink a swatch, but didn't take before and after measurements to accurately determine the shrinkage ratio. (C'mon, we're talking about the Barney Fifedom, here.)
I sure miss Amy.
Post edited for clarity at 12:00pm est
Over break, I accumulated a fine cache of post fillers. I apologize to whomever I stole this one from...'cause I can't recall.
Which Weird Latin Phrase Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Well, since you asked...I am Weird Latin Phrase:
Postatem obscuri lateris nescitis or "You do not know the power of the Dark Side." There are two possibilities: you are a Star Wars geek, or you are unreasoningly scary.
And for the record, I'm no Star Wars Geek.
Yikes!
In comments, Greta wondered if I had a Cakers in the oven ('cause I wasn't feeling "right.") Well, Greta, let's just say there better not be or there's gonna be some tubal litigation. You see, my OB got a little snippy last time in.
By the way, what happens to all those little egglets after being cut off from a view to the womb? Are they forever damned to their own tubular hell?
Or are they living it up, drinking....
And smoking....
And fighting over the last sperm?
Or maybe planning the big breakout from the ova orifice....
Such are the things of which I wonder.
Anchor Rancor
That dang sweater is growing into a dress. I sure hope it shrinks as promised. I did wash and shrink a swatch, but didn't take before and after measurements to accurately determine the shrinkage ratio. (C'mon, we're talking about the Barney Fifedom, here.)
I sure miss Amy.
Post edited for clarity at 12:00pm est
••• Sunday, April 11, 2004
When I was going to Junior College, I left a package of two chocolate love bunnies (they faced each other in loving, candy-button-eyed gaze) for my boyfriend in our locker. Throughout the day, I repeatedly returned to the locker, to see if he had found them yet. But time and again, I found the unopened box just as I had left it.
After awhile, I grew impatient. And after another while, hungry.
Finally, in a fit of chocolate-love-bunny-desperation, I ripped open the package and devoured the ears of both rodents. Ashamed and panicked, I quickly put them back in their little packaged cut-out, to resume their loving, candy-button-eyed-now-earless gaze. Maybe he won't even notice, I thought to myself. Ha. Four years, I never lived it down.
::sigh:: Remember Bunny Love? Fast, furious and desperately sweet.
Knitting Aweigh!
Here's a pictorial update on the Anchors Away back. I'm actually about 3 more inches into it than what is shown here. The stockinette is sailing along, although it's quite drapey. My swatch tightened up well under wash and dry, so it should be okay.
(And yes, Maggi, they'll be no anchors in the sleeve. But the road is loooong...with many a winding turn. That leads us to whooooo...knows where...?) Anybody know what 70's group did a cover of that tune for the B side of a 45 hit?
Yesterday I had the full color/bling treatment at the salon. It was a nice 40-minute treat of near solitude. Just me and my knitting and my evil thoughts, under lofty layers of tin foil. Cozily safe from prying, telepathic forces.
Thanks to all for the words of encouragement. I'm still feeling "not quite right." Well, beyond the normal not-quite-rightness of me. Might be some bug. I feel like sleeping all the time, which is not me at all.
Jen and La: I'll work on reducing my Big Button for yaz. In fact, I'm posting this directly from the elliptical!
My Spring Break is officially over.
And it's a holiday.
And for the first time in weeks and weeks, my husband is not spending a Sunday in front of his work tube.
Therefore, fair bunnies, I must bid thee all adieu ....with this special Spring Holiday blessing:
May your eggs all peel easy,
For the egg salad maneuver.
May no plastic grass tangle
In the wheels of your Hoover.
••• Thursday, April 08, 2004
Spring Broke
I am very grateful for the ice cream smackin' and caddy-shackin' weather we've enjoyed this week. Last year over Spring Break, we had a colossal ice storm that left most of our community without power for several days.
Some folks around here are now complaining about the recent downward turn of temperature and the anticipation of snow showers early next week. I don't know why Michigan natives get so upset about snow in April. It happens every year. I've seen blizzards in April and ice pellets in May. When it snows in June, maybe then I'll cry.
When the Barney is Ready...
...Sheriff Taylor will appear.
Of course, in today's dramatic presentation, Barney is being played by yours truly. The role of Sheriff is being performed by Robbyn.
Robbyn recently (April 3?) posted a stitch-by-stitch docu-drama, reenacting the apprehension, arrest and rehabilitation of one good cable, gone bad. I was faced with such a cable last night. Well, it hadn't gone bad, exactly. It had actually gone straight because I forgot to twist it during the last cable row. I didn't notice, however, until it was time to twist again.
Loathe to unknit four rows (this heavily "yarned over" pattern does not frog well), I remembered seeing Robbyn's excellent little tutorial at her blog a few days back. So I returned for a review.
I'm happy to say, the cable incarceration and rehabilitation was a success. There was one minor hitch, related to the yarn overs before and after the cable section of the pattern. This hitch resulted in one lacey hole being a bit, ummm, holier than thou others. Considering it's a holy week for many, I decided to let it be.
Thank You Robbyn!
::The Barn tips his hat to yet::
The Uncleaning Woman
I super-cleaned my bedroom yesterday. It went so well, I decided to tackle the walk-in closet. From the closet, I pulled shoes and yarn and underused clothing to sort for charity. I vacuumed nooks and crannies and dusted shelves. While I was patting myself proud for not getting distracted by the yarn bins and the jewelry box, my husband came in to invite me on a walk. On a gorgeous spring day, I couldn't refuse.
One day later, to the minute: My super-clean-for-about-seven-minutes bedroom is strewn with shoes, piles of underused, unsorted clothing and a yarn packed storage bin.
I'm the only person I know who can make a bigger mess outta cleaning.
A List Undone.
Over this break, I had hoped to do some blog-cleaning as well. I've been itching to write more from the Girl With Gum in Her Hair, but for some reason I feel uncomfortable bursting into her voice on a knit blog. It's inhibiting somehow.
Because The Girl might be more comfortable with her own bedpost to stick her gum upon, I was thinking of creating a separate blog for her, linked from here. This task was on my list for the week. This task is yet undone. And this week is no longer young.
Lately I've been in a bit of an overall funk and feeling kind of insecure about what I'm doing here. I'm sure every blogger faces that issue now and again, but still, it can be aggravating.
Just today I was over to Rachael's and reminded (once again!) of the gift she has. She doesn't just write for us to read, she takes us along. She makes it seem so effortless. I love that about her. I envy that about her.
And I know it's Thursday...but it feels more like a Maunday for some reason. Anyone else?
Apolitical Aside: It's an image of a circus parade, with the usual players. Clowns. Apes. Barkers. Elephants. And piles of shi*t. At the very end of the parade, is a lone woman pushing a broom at the giant, stankin' elephant turds. She works with duty and diligence, yet falls further and further behind. She has no idea that behind her, a parade of another sort is rapidly bearing down....
Run Condi, run.
I am very grateful for the ice cream smackin' and caddy-shackin' weather we've enjoyed this week. Last year over Spring Break, we had a colossal ice storm that left most of our community without power for several days.
Some folks around here are now complaining about the recent downward turn of temperature and the anticipation of snow showers early next week. I don't know why Michigan natives get so upset about snow in April. It happens every year. I've seen blizzards in April and ice pellets in May. When it snows in June, maybe then I'll cry.
When the Barney is Ready...
...Sheriff Taylor will appear.
Of course, in today's dramatic presentation, Barney is being played by yours truly. The role of Sheriff is being performed by Robbyn.
Robbyn recently (April 3?) posted a stitch-by-stitch docu-drama, reenacting the apprehension, arrest and rehabilitation of one good cable, gone bad. I was faced with such a cable last night. Well, it hadn't gone bad, exactly. It had actually gone straight because I forgot to twist it during the last cable row. I didn't notice, however, until it was time to twist again.
Loathe to unknit four rows (this heavily "yarned over" pattern does not frog well), I remembered seeing Robbyn's excellent little tutorial at her blog a few days back. So I returned for a review.
I'm happy to say, the cable incarceration and rehabilitation was a success. There was one minor hitch, related to the yarn overs before and after the cable section of the pattern. This hitch resulted in one lacey hole being a bit, ummm, holier than thou others. Considering it's a holy week for many, I decided to let it be.
Thank You Robbyn!
::The Barn tips his hat to yet::
The Uncleaning Woman
I super-cleaned my bedroom yesterday. It went so well, I decided to tackle the walk-in closet. From the closet, I pulled shoes and yarn and underused clothing to sort for charity. I vacuumed nooks and crannies and dusted shelves. While I was patting myself proud for not getting distracted by the yarn bins and the jewelry box, my husband came in to invite me on a walk. On a gorgeous spring day, I couldn't refuse.
One day later, to the minute: My super-clean-for-about-seven-minutes bedroom is strewn with shoes, piles of underused, unsorted clothing and a yarn packed storage bin.
I'm the only person I know who can make a bigger mess outta cleaning.
A List Undone.
Over this break, I had hoped to do some blog-cleaning as well. I've been itching to write more from the Girl With Gum in Her Hair, but for some reason I feel uncomfortable bursting into her voice on a knit blog. It's inhibiting somehow.
Because The Girl might be more comfortable with her own bedpost to stick her gum upon, I was thinking of creating a separate blog for her, linked from here. This task was on my list for the week. This task is yet undone. And this week is no longer young.
Lately I've been in a bit of an overall funk and feeling kind of insecure about what I'm doing here. I'm sure every blogger faces that issue now and again, but still, it can be aggravating.
Just today I was over to Rachael's and reminded (once again!) of the gift she has. She doesn't just write for us to read, she takes us along. She makes it seem so effortless. I love that about her. I envy that about her.
And I know it's Thursday...but it feels more like a Maunday for some reason. Anyone else?
Apolitical Aside: It's an image of a circus parade, with the usual players. Clowns. Apes. Barkers. Elephants. And piles of shi*t. At the very end of the parade, is a lone woman pushing a broom at the giant, stankin' elephant turds. She works with duty and diligence, yet falls further and further behind. She has no idea that behind her, a parade of another sort is rapidly bearing down....
Run Condi, run.
Labels: Girl With Gum in Her Hair
••• Tuesday, April 06, 2004
Dam-N-It
I cast off the last sleeve for the Must Have Cardie. I haven't blocked it yet, because I'm going to clean my bedroom. No really. I am. Any day now. Heck, any minute even.
What does cleaning my room have to do with blocking the block? Well, long ago I realized that innocent little sweater pieces pinned to my bedroom floor can become easy, hapless scapegoats in my quest to avoid housework.
But that hasn't stopped me from moving on to my next project. Before Sunday's roadtrip, I cast on for the Anchor's Aweigh from the Spring Knitters.
Here's a visual on my progress, as of about 3 minutes ago.
You might recall that I am not using the Rowan Denim for this pattern. I instead went with a close facsimile (isn't that redundant?) from Elann, known as Den-M-Nit. While I wish I could give this stuff a jaunty, seaworthy endorsement, I can't. Truth be, I'd really like to see it anchored away. Far away. In the Deep Indigo Sea.
So what's wrong with the Den-M-Nit? Why do I be Dam-N-It?
Oh, I don't know. I guess I find it kind of stiff and sinewy. And tough and chewy. Not so bad, if you like knitting with a luxurious, 12-ply beef jerky.
It probably hasn't helped my tactily chagrined attitude that I've had trouble finding a good needle match. My Denise and Turbo circs were too slickery for the yarn, so I had to resort to my straight bamboos. I haven't knit on straight needles for months and months so they felt awkward and my hands ached at the end of the first day. Today I bought some bamboo circs, and after three rows, I'm liking the feel of the yarn a little better. Just a little.
The pattern is easy enough but the yarn over element in every row of the cable pattern makes the simplest do-over a Barffok waiting to happen. While I like the way the cable ribbing looks, I very much look forward to getting on with the stockinette. I'm just five cable sets from hitting the knit stitch highway.
Spring Breaking my Balls
I'm finishing up day 2 of spring break, and I've accomplished nothing on my "to-do" list. Actually, I only have one thing on my "to-do" list right now; "Write 'to-do' list for spring break." It kind of bugs me that I've been so...so...uninspired, but when I consider that 75% of the people from both my home and work communities are currently enjoying real spring break vacations, I don't feel so bad. Besides, my husband is currently pulling 12-hour work days (at least!) so this week I'm living the life of a stay-at- home single mother, with the additional responsibilities of feeding and clothing and cleaning up after and listening to another adult. A crabby adult, even (okay, cute. He's cute.) zoom, baby
What the Al is Wrong with Me?
I saw Al Green on Letterman last night (I think it was Letterman) promoting his new album. I don't know why, but when I heard his voice I had to keep myself from crying...how wierd is that?
And my son has been in Gulf Shores, Alabama for two days now without calling....grrr.
Regional Trivia: Al Green is from my hometown but he denied it for years and years. Pissed off many a folk 'round here.
I cast off the last sleeve for the Must Have Cardie. I haven't blocked it yet, because I'm going to clean my bedroom. No really. I am. Any day now. Heck, any minute even.
What does cleaning my room have to do with blocking the block? Well, long ago I realized that innocent little sweater pieces pinned to my bedroom floor can become easy, hapless scapegoats in my quest to avoid housework.
But that hasn't stopped me from moving on to my next project. Before Sunday's roadtrip, I cast on for the Anchor's Aweigh from the Spring Knitters.
Here's a visual on my progress, as of about 3 minutes ago.
You might recall that I am not using the Rowan Denim for this pattern. I instead went with a close facsimile (isn't that redundant?) from Elann, known as Den-M-Nit. While I wish I could give this stuff a jaunty, seaworthy endorsement, I can't. Truth be, I'd really like to see it anchored away. Far away. In the Deep Indigo Sea.
So what's wrong with the Den-M-Nit? Why do I be Dam-N-It?
Oh, I don't know. I guess I find it kind of stiff and sinewy. And tough and chewy. Not so bad, if you like knitting with a luxurious, 12-ply beef jerky.
It probably hasn't helped my tactily chagrined attitude that I've had trouble finding a good needle match. My Denise and Turbo circs were too slickery for the yarn, so I had to resort to my straight bamboos. I haven't knit on straight needles for months and months so they felt awkward and my hands ached at the end of the first day. Today I bought some bamboo circs, and after three rows, I'm liking the feel of the yarn a little better. Just a little.
The pattern is easy enough but the yarn over element in every row of the cable pattern makes the simplest do-over a Barffok waiting to happen. While I like the way the cable ribbing looks, I very much look forward to getting on with the stockinette. I'm just five cable sets from hitting the knit stitch highway.
Spring Breaking my Balls
I'm finishing up day 2 of spring break, and I've accomplished nothing on my "to-do" list. Actually, I only have one thing on my "to-do" list right now; "Write 'to-do' list for spring break." It kind of bugs me that I've been so...so...uninspired, but when I consider that 75% of the people from both my home and work communities are currently enjoying real spring break vacations, I don't feel so bad. Besides, my husband is currently pulling 12-hour work days (at least!) so this week I'm living the life of a stay-at- home single mother, with the additional responsibilities of feeding and clothing and cleaning up after and listening to another adult. A crabby adult, even (okay, cute. He's cute.) zoom, baby
What the Al is Wrong with Me?
I saw Al Green on Letterman last night (I think it was Letterman) promoting his new album. I don't know why, but when I heard his voice I had to keep myself from crying...how wierd is that?
And my son has been in Gulf Shores, Alabama for two days now without calling....grrr.
Regional Trivia: Al Green is from my hometown but he denied it for years and years. Pissed off many a folk 'round here.
••• Monday, April 05, 2004
Sunday Drive
Yesterday we dropped off The Cakers at her grandparents' and took us a little drive to the Michigan North Country. We were checking out the cottage my in-laws are purchasing on a lake at the southernmost edge of my most favorite place in the world, Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore.
The cottage is on one of several inland lakes in the area, and only minutes from the azure waters of Lake Michigan . In fact, one can canoe or float a tube from our lake to the Big One via the crystal clear (seriously..clear) Pla*tte River. ::for those familiar with the area, the cottage is on Big Pla*tte lake, near Honor and Beulah...And don't you just love saying Beulah?::
Here's a view of the Sleeping Bear Dunes from the local beach.
This is a view of "our" lake from the front of the cottage. That black stuff is a temporary result of the lake's annual spring cleaning, when it reportedly "turns itself over." Yesterday's weather was very windy and cold (about 10 wind chill). The sunshine only served to tease.
Also minutes away, is this vestige of American culture (and one of only 8 remaining in Michigan), The Cherry Bowl Drive-In Movie Theater.
And what would a Drive-In be without the Hefty Hot Dog, the Back Seat of a Chevy and the big white....ummm...
....rooster?
Summary of Review: At the The Cherry Bowl Drive-in Movie theater, I saw the back seat of a car, a whopping weiner and a cyclopean co*ck.
Tomorrow: Some nice, clean knitting updates. Promise.
Cock-a-Freakin'-Doodle-Doo!
Yesterday we dropped off The Cakers at her grandparents' and took us a little drive to the Michigan North Country. We were checking out the cottage my in-laws are purchasing on a lake at the southernmost edge of my most favorite place in the world, Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore.
The cottage is on one of several inland lakes in the area, and only minutes from the azure waters of Lake Michigan . In fact, one can canoe or float a tube from our lake to the Big One via the crystal clear (seriously..clear) Pla*tte River. ::for those familiar with the area, the cottage is on Big Pla*tte lake, near Honor and Beulah...And don't you just love saying Beulah?::
Here's a view of the Sleeping Bear Dunes from the local beach.
This is a view of "our" lake from the front of the cottage. That black stuff is a temporary result of the lake's annual spring cleaning, when it reportedly "turns itself over." Yesterday's weather was very windy and cold (about 10 wind chill). The sunshine only served to tease.
Also minutes away, is this vestige of American culture (and one of only 8 remaining in Michigan), The Cherry Bowl Drive-In Movie Theater.
And what would a Drive-In be without the Hefty Hot Dog, the Back Seat of a Chevy and the big white....ummm...
....rooster?
Summary of Review: At the The Cherry Bowl Drive-in Movie theater, I saw the back seat of a car, a whopping weiner and a cyclopean co*ck.
Tomorrow: Some nice, clean knitting updates. Promise.
Cock-a-Freakin'-Doodle-Doo!
••• Friday, April 02, 2004
I removed some content here because of my filters were keeping me out.
The Spring Knitty is out!
Here are my picks so far:
-T3 (I'll be covering my button, though)
-Knitsmith Alison's Rosebud
-The Party Apron (This number made me think of Mariko, for some reason.)
I also liked that jewelled tank, but I don't think that look works well over an orthopedic bra. The poncho is intriguing too, but I'd probably go for toned down hues. The hunter orange/camo look is a little too Michigan Militia for a resident of the Mitten state.
Well, I've got a computer hog hoovering near (Mispell intended. Inside joke. Dam funny one too.) and it's a beautiful day and I'm on Spring Break...and I'm outta hee-ah!
The Spring Knitty is out!
Here are my picks so far:
-T3 (I'll be covering my button, though)
-Knitsmith Alison's Rosebud
-The Party Apron (This number made me think of Mariko, for some reason.)
I also liked that jewelled tank, but I don't think that look works well over an orthopedic bra. The poncho is intriguing too, but I'd probably go for toned down hues. The hunter orange/camo look is a little too Michigan Militia for a resident of the Mitten state.
Well, I've got a computer hog hoovering near (Mispell intended. Inside joke. Dam funny one too.) and it's a beautiful day and I'm on Spring Break...and I'm outta hee-ah!
••• Thursday, April 01, 2004
Note: Excuse this post...I prematurely published and it aint quite ready for human consumption. Unfortunately I don't know how to take it back without losing it...yeah I'm a goof. So I'm fixing it as you read this.
Post Note Note: Okay, I fixed it up a bit, but I can't do any more today.
In the Shake of a Lam's Tale
I wanted to put out a quick post to put the gabagoo on rumors that I've been on the lam. :: Okay, so "gabagoo" is an Italian ham. I just wanted to use it in a sentence, context notwithstanding.::
I'm still without full rights to my computer. I could easily write several paragraphs of dedicated bitchinmoanin about this. But I won't. Okay, I will. But then I'll erase it before publishing.
But I have been knitting out of harm's way (i.e. Barney's way) and have the second Must Have sleeve about half done. I guess a perk of having no computer is that I can avail myself of my other addictions, both old and new. The old being the knitting, and the new being The Sopranos.
The latter addiction, however, is proving to be a problem. First of all, I'm what I might call Vernacular Intolerant. This means I can't listen to regional dialect, cultural vernacular or otherwise accented (to me anyway) speech patterns without it taking over the voices in my head. That means, for me, watching back to back episodes of the Sopranos before bed can make for a night of fitful sleep and F-infused dreams.
I've had this vernacular sensitivity since I was a young girl. I grew up in an urban mid-to-lower class, blue-to-no-collar neighborhood. While we had mainstay households on the block, there were also a few rental units, which meant there was at least one transient clan coming or going at any given time. Many of these families were fresh from the South and heavily accented.
After a day of hanging with the new kids, I was likely to return home with a new pattern of patter. Invariably, a rude sibling would say "Why are you talking like that?" and I'd return to my native nasal. Even now, if I read a stretch of Buddy Don before bed, I'm almost certain to dream in sweet southern font.
The Sopranos have another effect on me. They seen to bring out a certain attitude. Aggression, even. It's like in my head I'm continuously braced to not take crap from anybody. It's a "you talkin' t'me?" kind of thing, even when there's no one around to be talking to me.
In specific settings, I can cuss like a Denis Leary. Otherwise, I don't consider myself gratuitously foul. But this morning, after pouring Sweet Bella her breakfast-kaboodle and before I could stop myself, I said to her sweetly, "There ya go, ya fat little f*uck."
Poor Boosky. I mean, I know she has put on a few El-Bees over the winter, but that was way out of line.
Overall, I'm not totally hating this evolving persona, but I must be careful. While watching an episode last night, I impulsively parroted an impressive string of hurls, courtesy of Carmela. ::sometimes a girl just has to try it on for fit:: I thought I was alone until my son says from behind, "Mom! Did you just say the f-word?" ::f-sputter:: "Does that mean I can say it too?"
I expressed embarrassement. I apologized. I said it was wrong. I explained that I thought I was alone and it wouldn't become a habit. And if I ever heard him talk like that I'd kick his effing a*ss.
Spring Break starts tomorrow. Whee.
Well, this premature epublication thing is bugging me. Its like I was showing some naughty bits. Like that dream where you show up to work in a nice sweater and heels, but no pants. I do feel better, now that I have my pants back on. But it still seems like there's something amiss, something awkward, like my zipper won't stay up. But I don't have time to figure it out. 'Cause I gotta get.
Post Note Note: Okay, I fixed it up a bit, but I can't do any more today.
In the Shake of a Lam's Tale
I wanted to put out a quick post to put the gabagoo on rumors that I've been on the lam. :: Okay, so "gabagoo" is an Italian ham. I just wanted to use it in a sentence, context notwithstanding.::
I'm still without full rights to my computer. I could easily write several paragraphs of dedicated bitchinmoanin about this. But I won't. Okay, I will. But then I'll erase it before publishing.
But I have been knitting out of harm's way (i.e. Barney's way) and have the second Must Have sleeve about half done. I guess a perk of having no computer is that I can avail myself of my other addictions, both old and new. The old being the knitting, and the new being The Sopranos.
The latter addiction, however, is proving to be a problem. First of all, I'm what I might call Vernacular Intolerant. This means I can't listen to regional dialect, cultural vernacular or otherwise accented (to me anyway) speech patterns without it taking over the voices in my head. That means, for me, watching back to back episodes of the Sopranos before bed can make for a night of fitful sleep and F-infused dreams.
I've had this vernacular sensitivity since I was a young girl. I grew up in an urban mid-to-lower class, blue-to-no-collar neighborhood. While we had mainstay households on the block, there were also a few rental units, which meant there was at least one transient clan coming or going at any given time. Many of these families were fresh from the South and heavily accented.
After a day of hanging with the new kids, I was likely to return home with a new pattern of patter. Invariably, a rude sibling would say "Why are you talking like that?" and I'd return to my native nasal. Even now, if I read a stretch of Buddy Don before bed, I'm almost certain to dream in sweet southern font.
The Sopranos have another effect on me. They seen to bring out a certain attitude. Aggression, even. It's like in my head I'm continuously braced to not take crap from anybody. It's a "you talkin' t'me?" kind of thing, even when there's no one around to be talking to me.
In specific settings, I can cuss like a Denis Leary. Otherwise, I don't consider myself gratuitously foul. But this morning, after pouring Sweet Bella her breakfast-kaboodle and before I could stop myself, I said to her sweetly, "There ya go, ya fat little f*uck."
Poor Boosky. I mean, I know she has put on a few El-Bees over the winter, but that was way out of line.
Overall, I'm not totally hating this evolving persona, but I must be careful. While watching an episode last night, I impulsively parroted an impressive string of hurls, courtesy of Carmela. ::sometimes a girl just has to try it on for fit:: I thought I was alone until my son says from behind, "Mom! Did you just say the f-word?" ::f-sputter:: "Does that mean I can say it too?"
I expressed embarrassement. I apologized. I said it was wrong. I explained that I thought I was alone and it wouldn't become a habit. And if I ever heard him talk like that I'd kick his effing a*ss.
Spring Break starts tomorrow. Whee.
Well, this premature epublication thing is bugging me. Its like I was showing some naughty bits. Like that dream where you show up to work in a nice sweater and heels, but no pants. I do feel better, now that I have my pants back on. But it still seems like there's something amiss, something awkward, like my zipper won't stay up. But I don't have time to figure it out. 'Cause I gotta get.