I know there's not really such thing as WTF's Wrong With Blogger? Tuesday. Seeing that Every Day is WTF's Wrong With Blogger? Day, that would be redundant.

Today's WTF Blogger Du Jour: Okay, We'll Give You a 10-minute Window to Load Pictures, But You're Not Going to Like It. Comes with a side-dish of fucked up margins when you use italics.

Here's a Trudie Jacket sleeve that is now prit near done.



I'm not getting much knitting time these days. And it feels like I'm never going to finish this sweater. I think I need a weekend at the cottage.

Oh, did I mention I'm rambly today? Or is it gassy?

Anyway. I still haven't found my autumnal schedule sync. It seems that every night after work for the past two weeks, there's been something I gotta do, or some place I gotta go.

Last week Tuesday was a cut-n-color. ::I went back to my natural state of un-bling.:: While there, I found out that my beloved stylist ::I lurve her.:: has been seeing another school soshul werker behind my back. From a rival school. I even know her. She a B. With great body. She showed up a little early for her appointment, an act I'm sure was fully intended. They were soo busted. My girl couldn't look me in the eye and was totally off point on the final spritz.

Thursday was the Carnival at Cakers' school. Oy. Remember the days of school carnival? The ol' Fishing Booth with poles made up of dowels and string and clothes pins? The ol' Ring Toss? The Cake Walk? The Dig For Quarters in Mr. Pzyrski's Pocket?

Well, let me tell you. This carnival was not my daughter's mother's carnival. This carnival had a climbing wall. You needed 47 tickets, to climb. And a helmet. And a harness. And a signed waiver of liability. For a four-year-old.

And there was The Inflatable Bouncy Basketball Court of Death, where more heads were bounced than balls or ass. And there was a D.J. playing children's dance music, like the Chicken Dance and Macarena. I hope someone dropped a bug in this guys' ear that just because Pass the Dutchie is sung by kids, doesn't make it a kids song.

My very most favorite booth was the Bobbing for Ritalins. Having a psychiatrist for president of the P.T.O. can be annoying at times, but it definitely has its perks. Especially for those of us with limited capacity for watching tiny children fall from heights of 30 feet, or so.

From the carnival we went to a Kindergarten Graduation open house at Cakers' former daycare. That was a snotfest. I could hardly speak most of our time there, from looking at all the babies that have come into the home since; replacements for my baby-now-so-grown. It just goes so fast. I wanted to yell at their parents "Beware of the climbing wall! It cometh! Fasteth!"

It was a long ass night.

Remember, I warned I was rambly.

And, I can't even remember what we did over the weekend. Something. I know.

And last night was the Open House at my school, so I worked from 7:30 a.m. to 9:00 p.m. Last night my husband went to a Roger Waters concert in Detroit. Last week I had this terrifying vision that my husband died, so was convinced it was going to happen on this trip. He told me he was so worked up and anxious about going that he thought of driving off an overpass just to get it over with. But damn if I wasn't happy to see him, this morning.

And tonight was the Open House at Cakers' school.

And...and...I just ran out of gas. Or is it rambles?

I guess I'll wrap this worthless post with a little Frosting on the Cakers.

Two nights ago at dinner, while speaking to my husband, I noticed The Cakers repeating everything I said, in that annoying way that kids do. I stopped the conversation with my hub and entered another:

You can play the repeat game with your friends, but you should never repeat after adults like that. It's disrespectful and bad manners. Okay?

Okay.

Thank You.

Thank You.

I know. We're in trouble.

I know. We're in trouble.

Labels: Knit In Progress, What the Hell and Oh Yea