••• Monday, March 24, 2008


I finished the Kipling last night, amidst the chaos of hosting Easter Dessert for my family of origin.

Here's a normal view:

Here's the Tool view (observation courtesy of College Boy):

Here's the specs:
Pattern: Kipling

Yarn: Cherry Hill Cotton

Notes: Cute sweater.Quick knit.Confusing directions at times, but we appeared to have all survived, didn't we now? I skipped the turned-up, whip-stitched hems and performed some ribbing instead. I also skipped the short row cap on the sleeve because I couldn't figure out how to divide the cap into five evenly spaced segments and I wanted to finish the sweater before the recipient hit puberty.

It is a very fast knit and cute. Ree. Cute.
And it goes something like this: Last Wednesday I was up late preparing for my turn to lead the Brownie session on Thursday. Thursday I lead Brownies. Friday was the day before Cabana's birthday and a huge ass blizzard, which provided the worst commute home all season. Saturday was Cabana's birthday and High School Musical on Ice and Sunday we had dinner at In-laws, then my family over for dessert.

I didn't sleep well all weekend in anticipation of a hugely stressful meeting today, which went worse than I obsessively imagined.I am now kicking myself for losing the sleep, because it got me nothing but tired. Tuesday is Cakers' Student-Lead P/T conference, Wednesday is the first night of the school play and the second showing is Friday.

So, this is probably about all you're getting outta me this week. For the record, it's taken me about 7 minutes to write these last two sentences.

But that's not stopping me from writing...

An Open Letter to the Lady With the Bodacious Booty, Who Was in Front of Me at the Grocery Check Out.
Dear Lady as Mentioned in Above Title: Yes, your ass is fine. But I'm pretty sure you already know this, seeing as how you repeatedly shifted your weight from one bodacious cheek to the other, while trying to catch a glimpse of it from the corner of your eye. And yes, that is some amount of Bodaciousness, that can be seen peripherally, with one's own eye.

Anyway. Lady. What I really want to know is what did you think was going to happen at the end of the seven or eight minutes that it took the cashier to ring up and bag your groceries? That the Hand of the Lord was going to swoop down from above and pluck a sweaty wad of 20's from your Living Bra and hand it to the cashier?

Instead of popping your Lady Humps for the duration, do you think that that your time in line would be better spent by you digging in your bra/boot/snatch/purse/cigarette case in search of a method of payment? And what about how you stared at the cashier like she was speaking Cotton-Ease, when she repeated the grand total for the third time?

Dear Lady. Never mind. I don't want to know.

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