••• Monday, January 31, 2005

I've Seen Better Days
Where the hell've I been?
Here. That's where. Sickern a dog.
Everything hurts. My head, my throat, my skin, my teeth. Even my breath, so I've been told.

It's probably just the flu. And no. I didn't get a flu shot. Every year, right outside my office door, the health department holds their little vaccine clinic. And every year, I decline. So, at my work place, whenever anybody gets the flu, the first question asked is "did you get a flu shot?"

It's bad enough to have to feel like shit for three to five days. Do we really need to add insult to injury by blaming the victim?

Knitting Knews
I did finish my Blaze sleeve.

And, as promised, Blaze was set aside, so I can finish me Must Have cardie.

After seaming the shoulders on the Must Have, I went to fetch my size 6 circulars. I knew just where they were, too, still attached to my Blaze sleeve.

Wrong. Still attached to my Blaze sleeve was my size five circ. I forgot to change to larger needles after the ribbing. Which means that I did the entire sleeve in a too small needle. I'm not sure what I'm going to do about it. The thought of having to start anew does not inspire.

I have made some progress on my Must Have.

The neckline is done, and one sleeve set, which I immediately commenced to seam up. When I was nearly finished with it (using mattress stitch)I noticed it was pulling funny. Upon further investigation, I realize that I tacked the sleeve to itself in three different spots. Definitely a hazard of the mattress stitch, in the hands of one too goofy for description.

I was too tired and too woozy to do anything about it last night. I'm kind of feeling the same right now. Flu blogging takes it right out of a person.

Nap time.

P.S. I'm running way behind on my blog ketchups and email correspondence. sorry.

••• Thursday, January 27, 2005

The Midgina Chronicles:An Introduction
About a year ago, I started a post in response to Mattel announcing
that, after 40 years of couplehood, Barbie and Ken were breaking up. My initial response to this news (national news, mind you. WTF?) was Who the hell is Mattel to be dictating whooze zoomin' who (I know, it's whom. But when Aretha cares, I'll care.) in the privacy of our homes?

It was then that I had the idea to tell the real story. About Midge and Ken. In 1968. Together. All stiffy and shit. In my very own living room.

Almost tandem to Mattel's proclamation (which made the national news. wtf?), this
story was building steam. Of course, I then felt compelled to incorporate the political into the personal, with rather bad results.

Bringing in the political, caused me to first lose my focus, then my inspiration.
And back in February of 2004, my original intent in writing about life with Midge and Ken and Francie and Casey and Skipper and Scooter (okay, I didn't have Scooter)and Tuti and Todd (okay, no Tuti. Or Todd.) was the same as most of my other posts. I just wanted to tell a story.

That being said, The Midgina (like vagina, with a Midge) Chronicles are not yet ready for publication. In fact, it's taking me some time to cut away the crap and recapture the original spirit of the post. In other words, I'm starting over, from scratch.

However, the act of getting this little introduction (complete with links, no less) out of the way, has helped organize the story-line-boarding-dock that lives in my brain.

My-tinerary This Week
(Yeah, I'm ramblin'. And whining, too.)
1)Monday: Work, go home,workout, fix dinner, do dishes, play with The Cakers, knit a bit, go to bed.
2)Tuesday: Work, get hair cut and colored, go to basketball game, knit a bit, drink a bit, go to bed.
3) Wednesday: Work, go home, workout, fix dinner, do dishes, bathe The Cakers, decide I’m sick of my current knit project, drink more than I did yesterday, go to bed.
4)Thursday: Work, attend meeting after work, drive (rush) cross town and be late to a varsity basketball team dinner I’m co-hosting, go home, think about having a drinking problem drink, knit a bit, go to bed.
5)Friday: Work, Go to eye doctor, go home, work out, attend basketball game...well, you can guess the rest.
That's my life this week, so far. Minus the drinking. No, really!

::Although last night I did think about it. Since I was out of the Vernors half of my fav, Vanilla Rum and Diet Vernors (it’s Michigan's favorite ginger ale.) I went straight to bed.::

Have Cardie. Must Finish
I didn’t do any knitting last night. This was partly because I went to bed early. (Well, I went to bed on time, which is early, for me). But I must admit, I'm suddenly sick of knitting the Blaze.

Maybe it's motion sickness.
With all that round and round.
And round.
Some more.

So far, I am satisfied with the sleeve adaptations for the ¾ length, even though it may be a smidge wide. In case anyone is interested, for the ¾ length adaptation, I cast on for one size smaller, then added one increase round, at prescribed intervals.

While knot knitting and rifling through drawers and cabinets and garbage bags and kitty litter, and the trunks of cars in my neighbors' drive, in search of just one little splash of diet Vernors, I heard a voice inside my head say: "Have Cardie, Must Finish. And the Vernors is gone, you pathetic sot. Get your sorry ass to bed. On time. For once. "

::I know what you're thinking. That I have a writing-about-drinking-problem. Well, you're wrong. I can stop any time. ::

And thus, a knitversion (like a diversion, but more knittery) is born.

And serendipitously thus, today I happen to click over to Norma's place (so glad you’re feeling better darlin'. I’ve been meaning' to drop ya a line! :-P ) and see that the Must Have Cardie Knit-Along has been reprised.

I know that there are several participants from the the original "Must Have" Knit-Along, who have not yet finished. And at one time, I thought about starting up a "Must Have" Finish-Along. But that's about the time I was introduced to the pleasures of writing about Bicardi.

Anyway, a "Must Have" Reprise-a-long works just as well, if they’ll have me. I mean, all I have left to do is block, seam and rib. (How pathetic, is that?) I even blocked it once, already.

So, skip that. Jack.

This is an old shot of my Must Have. I took some updated pictures a couple weeks ago, but evidently didn't load them. For anyone interested, the yarn I'm using is Elann's very own Peruvian Collection worsted.

The Dearth of a Meme
La announced last week that she will no longer do the weekly Meandering MEME. And just today I noticed I haven’t done one in a couple of weeks. While the omission was unintentional, on a conscious level anyway, I think I’m joining La in only participating in this one when it’s particularly interesting. The last few seemed kind of lame (limpy)(gimpy)(pulpy) (fiction)(friction) to me, anyway.

..to those of you who offered to help me with the remodeling job. I wasn't really expecting anything like that. At all. You guys rock!

My main interest, at this point, is to develop a new mascot, icon (button!) and related banner. Please know that it's very, very difficult for me to ask friends and family for help, let alone near strangers. That being said, I may be taking some of you up on offers, eventually. But I Must Have a Cardie to finish.

Here's another sample from my draft bin (btw, I can't even remember how I did this. I know it was with the Microsoft Paint that came with my computer. I could't duplicate it to save a pig's life):

••• Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Lookin' Hang Blogged
This month, around the knit blogosphere, there's been a notable theme of renewal and change. Specifically, there’s been a lot of talk about taking stock of stash, as well discussion and examination of a variety of approaches to yarn consumption (yarn diets, yarn diet backlash, or the anti-yarn-diet diet, healthy yarn consumption in lieu of diet, Yarn for Sex programs, etc.).

Regarding my own yarn use, in the upcoming year I hope to make a considerable dent in my stash, a la my Operation: Bust My Balls program. But I’m not making any promises. My goal is to reduce my stash, so as to reduce the stress I experience when I look at my stash.

I initially considered a yarn diet, but decided that the "withhold" approach (i.e. No buying shit, to not knit) doesn’t work for me. So I set a positive, measurable goal: Knit the shit I got. Besides, I'm kind of oppositional and don’t take well to direct orders and/or moratoriums(Yes I do. No I don't), self-imposed or otherwise.

One of my other goals for the new year is (was) to overhaul my blog. I want a completely new look, from snout to short and curly (Pig’s tail, ahem. And while I’m parenthesizing…have you seen Kim's new digs? I’m lovin’ it!) But I have no idea how to do it myself, or where to go to find out.

A smaller item on my New Year agenda was (is) to clean out my Blogger Draft bin, which I’m in the process of doing. Just as I did with my WIP's a while back, I’m going through the draft bin to decide what's selvagable, and tossing the stuff I will never use (i.e. boring topics, unused MEME’s, and one sentence fragment, context unknown). I did find a couple of concepts that I will attempt to reprise for publication. Although it may be hard to recapture the original spirit of intent.

There is one post, however, which will be redeemed and published, hopefully soon. I started this one last February, in response to the publicized breakup of a high profile (although stature-ally challenged) public couple. Since last February, let Mattel ya, the story line has taken a few twists and turns. So if ya Ken, hang on just a sMidge longer. Because this story, well, let's just say, you won't wanna Skipper.

Whatcha Think?
One of the draft posts under review contained a couple of my own pathetic attempts at “do it yourself blog décor” (It’s amazing what you can/can’t do with a little Paint . Program.).

New Purls icon?

Or a round of Lithium?

Okay, she’s horrid. But kind of growing on me…..

(She sort of looks like my PE teacher from High School. Crazy. Sexy. Pig. Like.

••• Sunday, January 23, 2005

Snow Ho
Here’s the view that greeted me, first thing Saturday morning. (This is a patio table on the deck off my bedroom):

While such a sight may quite delight a knitter (or school personnel, had it been a Monday!) it was quite a heartbreaker for my little Stumblelina, whose dance class was cancelled, on account. Of course, she insisted on wearing the garb-a-tard, all day.

And even if she’s not the lightest feather in the cap, this sweet lummox will always hold first position in my heart.

My husband went up north snowboarding this weekend, leaving me snowbound with a snowbored toddler. Between reading book upon book, piecing puzzle upon puzzle and unpeeling and repeeling a ballerina in and out of her ‘tard, in the WC (or, as we say in ballet circles, “dubya vay say”), I had little time for solitary recreation.

Post-Cakers bedtime, however, I was able to flicker my way up a Blaze sleeve.

I’m making the sleeves ¾ length, instead of short, and am winging the adaptation. Given my history with such things, it will no doubt head south at some point. To Mayberry.

Pacifically Speaking…
Thursday, the mailman delivered a special package all the way from California. JenLa contest booty. Payment for cryptic (i.e. not well thunked thru) participation in a recent contest.

The yarn is Brunswick’s “Rio”, a cotton blend. The camera can’t do the tasty colorway much justice. The best way to describe it is “Themes of Mocha Latte.” I also received a special bonus gift, these “nadorable” marker charms (which The Cakers promptly absconded with.)

I’m not sure what the yarn will grow up to be, but there is plenty for a little summer tee or maybe a lacy wrap.

In the Village of the Illiterate...
....The Ho' with Spellcheck is Queen

1001 apologies for the typo/grammo riddled post of yore.* It seems that when I over-obsess, I tend to over-edit, which creates more problems than I started with. In the most recent example, every correction I made seemed to cause yet another grammomaly, unbeknownst to me. I missed the new errors, until I reread the post just yesterday. Even my husband noticed the mistakes. And HE DO'NT NO GRAMMER NOR SPELLING FORM A WHOLE IN THE GRUND. PLUS HE ONLY RIGHTS AND TYPES IN CAPS. (hI hONEY. oLIVE oIL!)*

I hope I didn't cause permanent damage to anyone's rhetoric sensibilties. I fully understand if I make the grammar avengers hit list. Again. For my punishment, you are hereby invited to Eat, Shoot and/or Leave me.

*First time he told me that he loved me, he mumbled it and I thought he said Olive Oil. Olive Oil?
**I fixed as many as I could.

••• Friday, January 21, 2005

Post Prologue:I'm sorry about the blog lag this week. It's been a weird one. And while I've been busy, I've also been obsessively trying to finish a post I started on Tuesday. A post that was meant to be a recap of last week's events and included several vignettes. All stories I really wanted to tell.

Somehow, I got stuck on one story. Thursday. Somehow this story grew from vignette to a short story to a novel. Evidently, when a blog post contains a novel, it can take up to a week to write. And it ain't even all that good. Even though it's all that long.

The novel is about little trip to the laundry mat, where 50 minutes of Downy soft hell, grew into a several day cycle of write-rinse-write-some-more agitation.

Because I've devoted half my life this week to writing and shrinking the story (yes, it was even longer) I'm posting the mutha fucka, regardless of length and quality. So, if you're short on time and/or literary benevolence, you might want to move on.

So, without further adoo, following is the Post Meant for Tuesday, finished just this morning. Friday, right? Well, it's sort of finished, since I haven't performed my usual, pre-publish compulsive rituals and several cycles of post-publish corrections. Did I mention it's long?

Stale Toast Post
In comments I had a request for a recap of The Cakers first Dance/Stumbling class. Well, how can I say no to that? Unfortunately, my post topic lineup functions kind of like a the intestines (you have my permission to take that analogy all the way. Just remember to wipe front to back and wash your hands.) It comes out in the order it went in; the closest to the hole is first in line.

Last Week In Review; Abbreviated. Sort of. Okay. Not Abbreviated. But Dammit if I didn’t Try
Tuesday: My son was in the starting lineup, first time. And I missed it. Evidently he was not prepared for this lovely turn of events and choked. We arrived about 5 minutes into the first quarter and he had already been in and out.

Wednesday: Dryer breaks.

Wednesday night: Cakers wets the bed for the first time since becoming toilet competent.

Thursday: Outside temps drop from 50’s to teens in matter of hours. Momma takes Cakers bedtime soggery to a local laundry mat, across the street from daddy’s office. You know, where the cows used to hang. It's an urban neighborhood, slightly decayed, but on a fast track renewal plan. That's what they say, anyway.

Initially concerned that I'd be fighting the after work laundry crowd, I was relieved to find only one other customer in the place; a woman and her preteen son. I hadn't been here for a couple of years and was sad to see that the place had not been kept up. It stinks of mold and several machines bear "Out of Order" signs.

In a cubby off from the main room, the laundry mat attendant is on the phone, talking/laughing loud. This woman has a pleasant laugh (what some might call infectious, the thought of which makes me wanna rinse my ears with Listerine.) and her voice is a dead ringer for Wanda Sykes, whom I love. But I find the loud, on-the-job phone chatter, rather annoying.

The washing machine I’m loading is just feet away from Wanda's desk, which puts me front and center to her verbal epicenter. By the gist of the convo, I gather that Wanda is speaking to a friend with whom she’s not spoken since Christmas. Further gist from the grist implies that one of these women has had mucho fucko in recent days/weeks/months. Good stuff, too.

After getting my peeload in the washer, I look around for a good place to sit and knit. There are only three chairs in the place, so I choose the one by the door. Even though it’s colder there, the spot provides an excellent position for people watching and elbow room for knitting. With only two other people in the room, however, it looks like the human interest factor will be low. :: How unimaginative of me. ::

“That’s okay,” I think. I can use a little down time. I’ll just get out my Blaze and sit and knit. Round and round.

Several feet away, under his mother’s tutelage from across the room, the boy loads up a machine and kerplunks some coinage. “It won’t start."

From where she stands, the mother recites a washer-malfeasance-quality-assurance checklist, not unlike the drill one might hear at the local Stop-n-Lube. In response to each item from the mental checklist, the boy responds "Yes, maam.” When the drill is over, he says “Can I get some gum? It’s only a quarter.”

His mother says nothing.

Out of view, Wanda Ondaphone lets out a whoop to wake the dead....cows hanging.

Me, I just sit and knit. Round and Round.

Again the boy asks if he can get some gum. For just a quarter. Mom nods toward the cubby and says, "Get her.” After a momentary balk, he shuffles toward the source of the omnivocal debauchery. The Wanda.

I just sit and knit. Round and round.

In the meantime, enter two short guys. Both are wearing t-shirts and Levis and one of them dons a bad-ass pair of cowboy boots, with silver trim, toe to heel. A quick smile reveals a matching set of silver teeth, top to bottom.

The boy shuffles back, with Wanda almost right behind. At the machine, Wanda wiggles and jiggles some things as she puts the young man through the same drill his mother had, just minutes before. As Wanda turns to leave, the boy asks, “Are you getting my money?” To which Wanda snipes “Yeeah I’m getting your money! You think I want your money?!”

After Wanda mutters herself out of view, the mom says to her boy, “You’re just a child. She can’t talk to you like that. All you did is ask for your money. This is Boolshit. We’re leaving.” She snaps open the just loaded machine and begins to unload the still dirty clothes into a black garbage bag.

In the meantime, Boots and Buddy are having an issue with their machine. They’ve loaded it, put in the money, but it won’t run. And they can’t get the door open to get their clothes out and into a different machine (or laundry mat, I’d recommend at this point). They each take a turn wiggling the door, followed by a peek into the window of the front loader. (I’m not sure what they’re looking for in there. Disembodied Bovine Spirit?)

But I just sit and knit. Round and round.

When Wanda returns with the boy’s money, the mom is on her like a bobcat on a 6 pack of Thumbelinas. “He’s just a child….You have no right to speak to him like that….If you have something to say, you talk to me, his mother....This is some kind of Boolshit….”

Evidently, (Not-So-Fonda) Wanda takes no crap from no body.
Evidently, at this fluff-n-mold, the customer is always squat.

Before the mom can finish, Wanda commences to lose her mind. From behind a row of super load washers, she raises her arm over her head and points down on the mother (What the hell is that?) and starts screaming. I don’t even know what she says, because it was some crazy ass shit. Almost instantly, the mom is screaming back, over the washers (but not over Wanda).

Me? I’m just shittin’ sittin’. No knittin’. But The Momma and the Wanda, they go round and round.

As quickly as it started, it stopped. And Wanda goes off to her cubby.

Boots and Buddy, still trying to unlock the secrets of the universe through the window of a front load washing machine, stand up, look at each other and bust out laughing. Nearby, Mom and son don’t appear to notice.

As for me, I just sit and knit. Round and round.
And idly wonder if I pissed my pants.

From his post at the defunct machine, the young man asks his mom if he can get some gum. It’s only a quarter. Mom does not respond.

After a minute or so, Wanda returns to the scene of the crime and gives the boy his refund. She then approaches the mom, to explain what the problem was, with the machine. The mother appears to accept this rear entry apology. She benignly responds to the boring tale by reloading the recently unloaded load.

The boy then joins forces with Boots and Buddy, and takes his turn pounding, wiggling and jiggling the door, followed, of course, by a peek into the window to (or from?) hell.

After Boots applies a steel-toed kick to the appliance, Wanda emerges to see what’s going on. After hearing the tale, she takes her turn at pounding, wiggling and jiggling the door. Then she peeks into the window.

Boots asks for a crowbar, and Wanda quickly obliges. Seeing Wanda return from her cubby carrying a weapon, sends a little chill up my spine. I can't help but wonder if the mother is having a similar thought.

The crowbar is ineffective, as are the post-pry peeks into the abyss; one per person.

Eventually Wanda proclaims that she’s calling the owner and leaves the room.

I sit and knit. Round and round.

Wanda soon returns and announces that she can’t get ahold of anyone and doesn’t know what else to do. Evidently, the last 30 minutes of employment has sucked the life out of what remained of her vocational soul, and she announces to Boots and Bud that they’ll have to come back tomorrow for their clothes. With a silver laced grin, Boots says “No. We stay.”

Buddy plops himself into chair number 2, as a supportive gesture.

With no one currently looking into the front loader, I fight the urge to take a peek. Unlike my co-goofballs, however, I know who I'd be looking for. Ashton Kucher; the only plausible explanation for how the last 45 minutes of my life became Saturday-Night-Live-Meets-Sartean-Existentialism-Meets-Punked

That the serendipitous timing between a broken dryer and the innocent misfiring of a toddler’s bladder could lead me into this tiny slice of hell, was difficult to wrap around my brain.

But I don’t get up and look into the window. I just sit and knit. Round and round.

Enter Wanda, with a phone and the cure. After fussing at the back of the machine, as instructed, she announces to Boots that he should be able to open the door in about two minutes. Two minutes later (I’m only guessing, because there no clocks in hell.) The gates to/from laundry purgatory spring open.

And for just an instant, the entire cast of this laundrodrama, myself included, leans in a little, to sneak a peak into the gaping, no longer black, hole.

No angry, disembodied bovine spirits.
No ancient Chinese secrets.
No Ashton Kucher.

Wanda disappears, but I hear her laughing, somewhere.

The mom returns to her post by the washer, lights a cigarette and gazes out the window at the blizzard stricken, 5 o'clock traffic.

Right next to me, the boy is moving the handle on the ancient Pac-Man game, pretending to play. “Can I get some gum? It’s only a quarter."

Boots and Buddy, having loaded a new machine, head for the bar across the street.

Me? I just sit and knit. Round and round.

Friday: I get to my son's basketball game a little late and see they are losing to one of the worse teams in the league. Down by 20 points. Cam is still in his sweats and ends up sitting the entire first half. At halftime they are down by 24 and Cam hasn't even played. I feel like I'm going to throw up. He's gone from starting the last game to benching. And they're behind.

After the half, Cam goes in and has the half-game of his life. His ass is on fire. In one play, he makes a steal and sets up a shot to a guy who dunks and hangs from the rim. The crowd goes crazy. A few minutes later, Cam makes two baskets, back to back. One is a three pointer. The student section is on it's feet. Yelling my baby's name. He plays the entire 2nd half, minus a brief break. When he took that break, he received a standing ovation. The other team only scored 3 times the second half and we scored lots. We won by several points in the biggest comeback in the high school's history. Wee doggies.

Saturday:The Cakers Dance/Stumbling Class....coming soon.
Epilogue: I'm going to hold off on Stumbling class reports until after tomorrow. This post is too long already* and after tomorrow morning, she'll have attended her second class and maybe I'll have more inspiration (or at least, more material. Bloggers always looking for material. heh.)

Also, coming up, some knitting updates (started a Blaze sleeve!), including coverage of a special delivery all the way from Cal-Ah-FOR-neye-aye!

*I know what you're thinking. That the post wouldn't be nearly so long if I didn't take up so much font space talking about how long the post is.

••• Monday, January 17, 2005

Spanking Kevin Bacon
While channel surfing over the weekend, I came across the VH1 special on the making of the movie "Animal House." Just as I happened upon the channel, I hear the actor who played Nedermeyer say..."spanking Kevin Bacon."

The words hung with me all weekend, like bad pork. Thus, a post was named.

I've been busy. As in one-legged-man-in-butt-kicking-contest busy. As in three- varsity- basketball- games-two-trips-to-the-laundry-mat-dance/stumbling-class-for-The-Clodhopper-Cakers-all-in-one-week, busy.

Lots of stories behind the above paragraph. I'm not sure, however, if any will be told, as this week is looking a bit perturbed already.

I do have something for Glow-and-Tell. My Blaze.

One more inch on the body and I'm ready to move on to the sleeves.

Did I mention how I love this pattern? With this yarn? It's kind of calming, to go round and round. Soft and soft.

And please, no spanking the bacon on this, but I believe that I have mastered the anti-needle cable.

I know it's not like me to be so brief, but I am.

Have a Monday.

••• Friday, January 14, 2005

My Girl Fried, Eh?
This is my brain on Mondays.

This is my brain today.

This is a scarf I'm knitting from yarn my husband purchased for me at a tea shop in the building where he works which used to be a meat packing plant and where there are still cow-hanging hooks from which the current property owners hang lovely begonia plants in the summertime.

I believe that because I received as a gift yarn purchased from a tea shop which is housed in a building where dead cows once hung from hooks from which now hang flowers (but not now exactly because now exactly it's between 800 to 847 fucking degrees below zero), a hex has been perpetrated against my household, the full ramifications of which will likely be unrealized for generations. Or at least March.

These are some cones of baby alpaca.

I practically stole them from here.

These are some cones of baby alpaca which will never amount to anything because the yarn is dirty and needs to be skeined and washed. By me. I knew the full extent of these post purchase responsibilties pre-purchase. I'm sure this turn of events will be perceived as being unfair by baby alpacas and their supporters everywhere. All I can say to them is just be glad you're not a cow. Well hung or otherwise.

I bought the book Eats Shoots and Leaves. For some reason I want to call it Eat Shit and Die .

Or is it Eat, Shit, and Die?

Or Eat. Shit. And. Die.

Or...Shit. Never mind.

Shit, never. Mind?

Shit. Never. Mind.

Shit? Never! Mind?

Shit never mind.
Really. It don't.

••• Tuesday, January 11, 2005

Keeping Abreast
I don't know where to start.

I've read that our poor tiny earth continues to vibrate in response to the recent, massive earthquake. I'm wondering if all this subliminal wiggling is taking a psychic toll on my home collection of beasts and children.

At 4 a.m. this morning The Cakers woke up, ready to greet her day in the usual way: Watching toonies in bed with daddy.

She didn't take the rejection well.

And bless my husband's fineassed soul for being the first responder to our little nocturnal emission. But sometimes that sweet man-o-mine is just a little too sweet.

At four in the morning, you don't open a can of delicate negotiation when dealing with a toddler. At four in the morning, ya need a can of whoopass. Of da momma variety.

Outta my way, I snarled past my bewildered, beboxered hunk.

Momentarily silent, The Cakers tried to stare me down.

It’s bed time. Lay down.


I’m going to turn off your night light and shut the door. Let me know when you're ready to lay down and be quiet.

After 30 seconds of wailing, the sweet plea was heard and peace prevailed.

Back in bed, just moments after I fell back to sleep, I woke to the sound of Bella the Cat plucking her way across our box spring, downunder. This was followed with a quick "pluck around the world” along the box spring parameter, just before she jumped on my head to poke her nose in my nostril and breathe me deep.

After I got the plucky little furbitch settled ,The Man Who Lives in Cheddar’s Mouth* started up with the Babylonian baloney. Evidently the The Man Who Lives in Cheddar’s Mouth chattered to Cheddar that if he licked his empty ball sockets for 17 consecutive hours, his balls would grow back.

Evidently Cheddar believed him. Starting...now.

The subsequent hushing of the dog and entourage woke up the Bella, who required a couple sips from my left nostril before going back to sleep.

Clock says 5:15.
I say fuck.
30 minutes to liftoff.

Once up and showered, I was faced with the task of finding an appropriate costume outfit into which I could handily stuff my ever burgeoning breastial units.

Seriously. It's a daily enterprise. My D cups are now D lids. And I’m running out of things to wear. If I go slightly loose and drapey, I look, well, slightly loose and drapey. Like a cute little training tent from L'Ecole d'Omar.

Form fitting looks best these days, but then I feel like I’m bringing the kids to school for show and tell.

Today I went with a tight, black v-neck sweater and flouncy skirt.

Show and Tell meets Booby Tuesday.
Goodbye Booby Tuesday
I could hang a coat on you.
Seems you grow with every new day.
Are they real, or tissue?
Tuesday's Child is Full of MEME
I found this over at the Queens of MEME. While there, I was also able to preview my recent comment contest winnings (item 2, I presume?), the arrival of which I eagerly await. And yes La, it does pay to be a smart ass. And I suspect we have both earned a good wage over the years.

1. Marcia
2. Marcy
3. Mom

1. GumInHerHair
2. RubbitsTummy
3. DeadSeaSquirrels

1. Humor
2. I smell dead people
3. Good instincts

1. Disorganized
2. Easily suspicious
3. That my boobs won't stop growing

1. Dutch
2. Irish
3. Pig Latinese

1. Spiders
2. Mothers of spiders
3. Passing semis on the freeway

1. Knitting
2. Eyebrow tweeze time
3. Coffee

1. Sweet Honesty
2. Smartass grin
3. Minimally effective minimizer Bra

1. Van Morrison
2. REM
3. Counting Crows

1. Into The Mystic - Van Morrison
2. Under Pressure - Queen and David Bowie
3. Drop it Like its Hot-Snoop Dogg

1. To finish a sweater, and like it.
2. Not be such a loner
3. Gourmet cooking class.

1. Trust
2. Reciprocation
3. Foreplay. Lotsa.

1. I redated and subsequently dumped every longterm bf who dumped me.
2. First Lady Betty Ford came to my high school graduation, apparently intoxicated.
3. I love watermelon.

1. Left Butt cheek
2. Right Butt cheek
3. Smile

1. Go to bed on time
2. Stop worrying that I have OCD
3. Get the laundry done.

1. Knitting
2. Reading
3. Skiing

1. Have a week all to myself.
2. Lose 15 pounds.
3. Tweeze my eyebrows (I lost my favorite tweeze and can't stop touching 'em)

1. Crossing guard
2. Hoochy Coochy girl
3. Queen

1. Cornwall
2. Paris
3. Bahamas

1. Duncan
2. Jackie
3. Ivy

1. Learn to play the piano
2. Visit Stonehendge
3. Figure out if you're trying to tell me something here.

1. I leave laundry on the floor, next to both hampers.
2. Preoccupation with my large breasts
3. Not a big snuggler.

1. Love to cook.
2. Analyze things to death
3. Total athletic klutz

1. Andy Garcia
2. John Cusack
3. Usher

*Sometimes at night, a noise emits from Cheddars mouth that sounds exactly like a little man speaking a foreign language. It's both frightening and uncanny.

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••• Monday, January 10, 2005

Blog Post Backblog
Yikes! Monday morning already? Where have I been?
1. Knitting like a

2. Doing laundry.

3. Cooking for my family

4. Cooking for my freezer.
::I have this obsession with preparing meals and putting them in the freezer for future use. It makes me feel good. It relieves me of midweek meal prep pressure. Unfortunately, I have an equally prevalent aversion to using said food. It’s kind of like those people who put plastic on their living room furniture, to save it for company. Except they never have company. For these people, the thought of pristine furniture is more important than the practical application of having it. For me, the thought of having the food in the freezer is more important than the practical application of eating it. The food in my freezer is the ultimate comfort food. The mere existence of it comforts me. The thought of eating it, however, takes my breath away. Back to therapy?

5. Basketball Jonesin' :: My son’s team made the state top 10 AP ratings in its class.::

6. Exercising. ::With the onset of winter, I've been struggling to transition from daily walks to indoor events, such as the elliptical machine. I'm proud to say that I've cardioed four out of the last four days. I've also been using the Ab Lounger I bought my husband for Christmas. And is ab lounger a stupid name for exercise equipment, or what? And after four consecutive days of ab lounging, my stomach definitely looks smaller and feels tighter. But I'm more than a little sore. In fact, right now I'm kind of worried that I pulled something. Like a spleen.::

7. More knitting like

Speaking of Knitting and Fire...
....I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot....-Jack London

Thanks to those of you who provided feedback on Blaze. After stepping away from it for a day, I decided that, aside from two truly fugly rows, I was overreacting a bit and that I really love this pattern, with this yarn. So I proceeded, without ripping a stitch. Thanks Norma, Staceyjoy, Margene, et al, for the collective reality smackdown upside my head.

A Very Special Thanks to Marcia C, who suggested that I try twisting the stitch following the loopy cable as a remedy. It definitely made a big difference. Another weird thing, it appears that the bad rows have corrected themselves a bit, as the garment has grown. Whether it’s a real phenomenon or an optical illusional gestalt-like figment of my imagination, who cares?

Here's the latest shot. But please be warned. Because I wasn't happy with the color results, I enhanced the color. Or overenhanced. ::Yes Pamela A, there is such a thing.:: So, to protect the delicate inner machinations of your vision system, please don't gaze the Blaze for more than a few seconds at a time.

Edit note: I was able to doctor the color after all. Not great. But not toxic.

In the meantime. Have a Monday.

••• Thursday, January 06, 2005

Blazing Addles
Here's the latest flicker from Blaze.

As of 10 minutes ago, I've been fighting overwhelming thoughts of an alpacan arson nature. I'm not so hot on this piece. The spark is gone. I don't like the way it looks. Flat out...er..Round out.

From the PU Swhine Newscenter: The Society of Benevolent Meteorological Confluences has officially bestowed a Snow Day upon Miss Marcy's here-to-now, meteorlogically unbenevolated (aka Unsnowdayed) ass. We now return to our regular broadcast.

Evidently the issues I was having with the left shot cable were not related to my needle free cabling. They were somehow related to me. My leftward cables look like delicate, raw hamburger twists.

I'm incabable. And it burns. Baby. Burns deep. Like the third day of bladder wrack. Untreated.

From the Smaller Font News Alert Addendum Center: Previous statement should read ..."meteorlogically unbenevolated and mighty fine ass."

I'm thinking of ripping it back to the beginning of the first round of left cable. I fear, however, that if I go down that fire lane, I may just keep going. Right on to the shit can.

I think I'll let the embers burn a day or so before making my decision. One goal I have this year is to take the suck out of unsuckcessful knitting.

But yeah, it burns. Baby.


  1. Newspaper:: Headlines
  2. DVD:: Underwear
  3. Resolution:: Talkin' 'bout a..
  4. Intimate:: Whispers
  5. Song:: Swan
  6. Essential:: Ingredients
  7. Whistle:: While you work
  8. Glass:: Houses
  9. Countdown:: To summer
  10. Child:: My love

••• Monday, January 03, 2005

Shameless Plug. No, Really. You'll see
I am honored to have received not one but two mentions in at JenLa's Best of.. list.

If you're new here and looking for the second shameless post on bodily functions, I assume the knotty girls are referring to On With the Flow, September 16, 2004. Sticking with the theme, you might also find some interesting crap on August 19, 04.

Ring of Fire
Thanks for the nice compliments on my Blaze. Also, thank you for not, to my face anyway, pointing out that the wribbing was, uh, wrong.

Here it is, uh, right:

I believe that I possess above average intelligence. I have a couple of college degrees (and contrary to East Lansing Lore, I did not spend that many of my undergrad years dancing to the beat of “Oh what a feeling, heels to the ceiling….” )

After I posted the picture on January 1, I experienced a nagging sensation of something amuck. Upon closer inspection of the actual piece, I noticed that the reverse side of the ribbing looked almost identical to the cable pattern.

Wow, thinks I. Jenna really dropped the skein on this pattern. If she would’ve put the inside of the ribbing on the outside, it would delightfully morph into the cable pattern.

I’m a genius.
I should tell someone.
About the pattern, that is.
The genius will speak for itself.
Says Barn.
Right, Ayng?

After reexamining the pattern instructions, however, I experienced that familiar wave of stupidity wash o'er my WaySorry MayBerryass.

4x2 ribbing was purl x knit. Not knit x purl.

In fairness to my inner Fife, the text of the pattern instructions calls for “4x2 ribbing.” Simple enough, k-4, p-2. Because it was simple enough, I didn’t refer to the stitch pattern glossary for the ribbing definition, which was squeezed to the left of Jenna's luscious profile.

I was distracted. Can ya blame me?

Besides, who needs a definition of 4x2 ribbing?

Evidently me and the Barn do. That's who.

This is not a hard pattern, but it is heavily encabled. As in every other row, every three (out of 230 something) stitches. Round and round. On and on.

The thought of ripping it all out (casting on and the first round was quite the bitch) and starting anew made me wanna drink cry. So I ripped back to the ribbing, flipped it, did a short row turn about and was back in the game. A momentary smackdown perpetrated upon the Fifester.

When I work with cables, I like to dry dock the cable needle between my lips. Because of the frequency of the cables with this pattern, round and round and on and on, the cable hook in the lips routine was giving me a headache and the taste of metal had set my fillings on high alert. So I thought to try the cabling without needles thing.

After shopping around for the best Fife friendly read (Robbyn, of course), I commenced on a self educatory knitting adventure. I caught on to this right off and thought it was going well.

About five rows into it, I stepped away for a bit. Upon returning to task, I noticed that things weren’t going well after all. My unneedled cables had developed an odd left loopy issue, which brought to mind the ears of Mr. Peepers or maybe a delightful French filigree pastry.

Both items have a place in this world. Neither of these places is in my knitting. Thank you very much.

So for now, I'm sticking with my cable in, cable out of the mouth routine. As you can see, I'm getting kind of proficient at it. Monkey Drool notwithstanding.

••• Saturday, January 01, 2005

Happy New Year!!

The Shit of Knit. Begone.
Over the holiday break, I had hoped to get some serious cleaning, clearing and reorganizing accomplished. Silly moi had even planned on a blog makeover. Insert loud snort.

I was, however, able to separate some shit from the knit, in both my real time work space and the cyber. The real time knit/shit separation was actually kind of fun, in a decadently wasteful, freeing kind of way. After (not so) judiciously selecting one or two unfinished projects to save, I simply threw the rest away.

Yes, I said I threw the rest away.
Away. As in in the trash.
Away. As in as is.
Away. As in The Shit Be Gone.

No unfinishable pieces cluttering my bin. Or my brain.

No piles of unraveled, bedraggled string, flagging failure.
Nagging for redemption.

No. None of it.
'Cause The Shit, it Be Gone.

On my side bar, there are changes to reflect my newly clean spirit. I've updated my project lists, and tossed out the tossable.

You may have noticed the “Operation Bust My Balls” logo. For 2005, busting my balls (yarn stash) will be a personal priority. Of course, I'm not making any promises.

Any project in progress (and any eventually completed, of course) which puts to use yarn I’ve owned for at least one year (=stash), will go under this sign. While I'm not on a yarn diet, per se, I'm definitely going to focus on what I have, before I pursue what I don't. Unless, of course, I do.

Finding The Lost Luggage of Great Expectations
While packing my knitting for the long weekend, I had great expectations of the accomplishment variety.

Number one on my list of knitorities was a pair of felted clogs for my father-in-law. An unfinished, er, unstarted Christmas present, turned New Years present, now, heh, Groundhog’s Day?

Unfortunately, I brought along the wrong needles for this project, and the local yarn store was bitterly unable to fill the bill.
::Says the knit hag to the hopeful, whilst waggin’ a finger at the barren peg board, “See that hook? It’s empty. If I had any 13’s, they would be right there. As you can see, (Jane, You Ignorant Slut), my needle situation is not good."

Neither is your PR, I might addi. And no bamboo? Shoot.::

So I moved on to the next of kin on my knit list, Knitty’s Blaze

The yarn is Cascade Indulgence, from my stash, courtesy of last year's preoccupation with hoarding as much of this stuff as I could get my grubbin’ mitts upon. A task to which my favorite Sugar Thread Bears were so willing to lend a helping paw.

So rarely do I use the called for yarn in a pattern, I’m feeling kind of superstitious about this one.

However, considering twas I who so handily put the suc(k)in Suckcessful Knitting, I've got nowhere to knit but up, right? S,lite.

Love Big.
Hate Wisely.
Blessings to You and Yours.