••• Saturday, December 17, 2005

From The Asses of Cats. Or No. 

It was truly my intent to pull the contest winner's name out of a cat. Unfortunately, detailed planning is not my bailiwick, unless it's regarding an escape. From reality. But I digress.

Here's the deal: I'm at the cottage. The cat is home, with her college boy (and hopefully a few dead mice. That's a story for another day.) I thought to pull something out of either the ass of a dog, or the brain of a husband, but both ideas were truly, too frightening.

So,I assigned all contest finalists a playing card, thusly and so:

Then I went down to the local tavern for a cupla brewskys (in Small Town Northern Michigan, there are no bars. Only taverns) and found this guy, who I easily lured home with the promise of indoor plumbing, cable TV and a tubal ligation, still under warranty.

Initially, I was impressed that he was drinking single malt scotch. From a bottle. In a bag. Secondly, I was impressed with his beefy mitts. Oh, how me loves a beefy mitt. Thirdly, well, okay, you got me. That's really my husband. And I didn't pick him up at a tavern. Well, at least not today.

Let's get on with it. Shall we?

From the beefy mitt...

...I pulled a card.

For Juno. Yay!

Thanks to the rest of you, for showing up and showing interest. Juno, I'll contact you offline to get your mailing particulars.

From the Mouths of Babes. No, Really.
On the ride to the cottage, last night, The Cakers threw up, into her hand, a neat pile of macaroni and cheese. ::Nice catch, honey!::

While I frantically (in vain)searched for a napkin, or something, (Anything!), Cakers closely examined the near-perfectly formed pasta, resting in her palm*, then announced, with utter amazement "Look Mommy! It looks just like what I had for dinner! Even the apples!" Once I got over the dry heaves, my heart filled with pride at her acuity. I see the directorship of a CSI agency, in her future.

*It's a well kept secret, amidst the working motherhood class, that children raised in daycare don't chew their food. It's evidently a psychosomatic response to the trauma of separation and being raised by heartless strangers. The sociologists and born-again-through-a-real-tiny-ass-hole moral judgmentalists don't know about this yet, so let's just keep it under the shit in our hats. k?

Get Your Knothin' for Somethin'. Chips For Free.
I have spent considerable hours on this horizontal scarf. It's been fun. Really. But then again, not so much. Even though it's not requiring more stitches to knit than if I had knit it the regular way, it seems like it's taking for-fucking-ever. ::According to Jean Piaget this frustration might be indicative of delayed cognitive development.::

But, here it is, so far. For what it's worth. It has been fun to see how the colors play out. I haven't been totally random in selecting colors, but somewhat. Even more fascinating, to me anyway, is how the addition or substraction of just one row of a specific color, can make a significant difference in the look.

Coming Soon...A Story
If You Give a Mouse an Ugg...He's going to want the bare foot of a soon-to-be-foreverly-traumatized-woman to snuggle. ::What's that? Did ya feel a little shiver? Well, you should.::

See Biscuit
Have you seen the works of this Knittin' Biscuit? Just scroll down. No explanation necessary. Some people are just too cool. ::Be sure to read the posts for November 7 and 18.::

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