Or...How the Prodigal Blogger Exploited the Completion of a Simple Spring Scarf So As To Give the Appearance of Having Written a Real Post, Suckass Photos Notwithstanding.

I've sprung Spring from the needles.

So let it be written.

So let winter be done.

::I know, I just screwed us, weather-wise, jinx-style. Although I admit that the first turn of the jinx screw was when I washed my summer shorts two days ago. Before they were out of the dryer, the temperature dropped 20 degrees.::
It appears that my lens was incapable of appreciating Spring's sheer magnificance. I was more than a little disappointed at how these turned out.

Here's a shot with emphasis on texture:



Here's the color gene pool angle:



And some fringe relations I'd invite to the reunion, any day.



I had hoped to get a nice picture of me and Spring and my Spring-Matching-Spring-Coat, out on the porch. Unfortunately, Cabana Boy is suffering from a case of Cabanukka Letdown, and has been spending afternoons pandering for loose change and used birthday candles, so was unavailable to provide the most essential Cabana Boy Photo Service.

Just another Cabana Boy Birthday Blunder, for which we all must suffer, through casting our eyes upon this:



I'm sorry. k?

Buttholes Are Like Excuses
I've been brain-weary and bone-tired the past two weeks, and unable to access two brain cells at the same time, so as to form a coherent thought. Despite that, I stayed up late last night, fringing Spring, so I could wear her on this most brisk Early Spring Morning. I'm here to say, finishing the job was definitely worth the risk of sleep-deprivation-induced-psychosis.

For I Love This Scarf.

::The above statement is in no way an admission or denial of guilt, as to the alleged allegations that a middle-aged woman was observed humping a magnificent scarf, early this morning, in the staff parking lot of a suburban high school. Alcohol was not considered a factor in this event, although it may be relevant in the telling. But I'm not one to gossip. So you didn't hear it from me.::
Tomorrow is the first day of Spring Break, and hopefully the first day of a sorely needed Textual Healing.

That being said, I have no idea what the hell is up with the contrived use of caps in this post, but my fingers seem to like them and my brain has no power to stop them.

And now I'm done.

Oops. Now I'm Not Done.
The specs. I Forgot the Specs.

Damn the wine.
And the grapes.
And the vines upon which they grow.

But not too much, with the damning.
For I Love The Wine.

But I Will Not Hump The Wine in a Parking Lot.
Ever.
Anywhere.

That's Just Crazy Talk.

Uh...where was I? Oh yeah.

Pattern: Amy Singer's Mimi Long Scarf, or something like that. ::Pattern is no longer available at her blog.::

Yarn: Lorna's Laces, Lion and Lamb, ::And a lovely look at alluring alliteration.:: in Glenwood.

I used 3 skeins, plus Some Extra Love, care of The Boys. ::smooches::

.

Labels: BUI, Knit Done

Okay. Maybe not so sordid. Or not at all. Even.

On Friday, I walked into the post-hack debris of a co-worker, who had COWOCOed ::Cough-WithOut-Covering:: just a few steps in front of me.

Within seconds of the airborne interlude, I knew I had conceived.

And now I got it bad.

So if this post feels a little hacked and stuffy, there's good cause.

Will's Step Bro
Feeling under the weather has at least provided me with some knitting time.



I'm up to the armhole shaping on the back, and am quite enjoying the ride. I love knitting cables, especially since I learned how to do them without a cable needle. I still haven't decided what I'm going to do with the collar. I'm thinking I might want to keep the contrast colors at the bottom of the sweater and cuffs, and will just do a simple rib in the main color for the collar.

Or maybe I should wait until I'm off of the Dayquil-Ritalin-Coffee cocktails before I make any rash decisions.

Went-A-Walk-Walk




I haven't been able to post my mileage progress at Run-a-Go-Go because I accidently deleted my password and have been too busy/tired/lazy/ovulatory/premenstrual/postmenstrual/lazy to figure out how to get a new one.

I now impose said progress upon you, my faithfully quiet readers.

Lots of people at Run-A-Go-Go have been sharing pictures from their run/walk routes. Because I've mostly been A-Go-Going on my elliptical machine in my bedroom, the only pictures I'd have to offer from that perspective would be the T.V. or our master Room-A-Go-Go.

Last weekend at the cottage, I commandeered The Cakers' pocket-size camera and with it, went all A-Ga-Ga on the Go-Go.

This here is a snow drift, Northern Michigan style:



Some rusted cans, blowing in the wind:



I'm not sure of the purpose of the rusted cans blowing in the wind, although if it's a tool devised to keep away the walking paparazzi, um, I think they're going to need a bigger can, 'cause I walked right up on the thing, without the remotest sense of disquiet.

For those of you who don't get out much, these are windows. For those of you who don't count much, there are two of them.



Red door on a cottage. Just one.



And here we have Uggs on Dayquil:



These boots were made for walkin'.
And that's just what they gofer.
On this day these boots are gonna
Walk all over to the sofa.

Labels: BUI, Cottage, Knit In Progress, Pho-Ho'

...I Can Braise Your Eyeballs With Shots of Charity Knitting if I Want To.


Other choices I considered for the title of this post included: When Good Cold Medicine Happens to Bad Knitters and Not Your Mother's Acid Reflux

Seriously. I love this scarf.

I know that many of you will not.

I know that many of you are shaking your properly reared, high browed noggins in disgusted amazement, and wondering if I need a medication adjustment.

I know that a few of you have already fired up the IM's for a mandated dish session with like-dishing cohorts. ::For you, I offer this further fodder: It's Cotton Ease. You're welcome.::

I know these things to be true.

Yet unrepentant I remain.

The Thing Is
I had an urge to knit a Red Scarf, for a cause.

A Big But
This is the part where I was originally going to defend my choice of colors and yarn through detailing, ad nauseum, the fruitless stash dive at home, followed by the uninspiring trip to the yarn store, where I found many appropriate and mutedly hued yarns which SCREAMed to me: Staid. Settled. All-Grown.

Hello, Kitty.
I heard a whisper in my ear.

Muted Schmuted.
These are college students.
If you knit it, they will scream.
In delight.
Besides, their youthful eyeballs can tolerate quite a bit more than the eyeballs of the aged likes of you, without permanent damage.
But I'm not one to gossip,
So you didn't hear it from me.

So I did As Whispered.
I knit this crazyasswhimsical scarf for an orphan in college.

And I love it, so.
And I have a really, really strong feeling that the recipient is going to love it

Too.

This Random Header Shit Is Fun.
Isn't it?

Are You Thinking What I'm Thinking?
I should do this more often.

Anyway
Yeah.
The pattern is 300 stitches of garter, changing color as whispered.

Fringe
Pending.

Is it Just Me, or is it Getting Old in Here?
Thank you all so kindly for your lovely birthday greetings. And a special thanks to my Westward Sweetheart Miss Kim ::smooch::, for sending you all my way.
And if my typing seems a little, well, slurpy tonight, that's because, well, it is. For my birthday dinner I had me one of them there Applebee's Perfect Margaritas.

Mmmm. How I love me some Applebee's Perfect Margarita.

And Chicken
Whatchu think? That I drank my dinner?

So yeah, I'm 48. I do have some thoughts on that. One such thought was inspired by an incidental event that occured just today.

A thought I have about 365 days or so to ponder.

I'll Keep You Posted
Whatever.

Last week the candle factory burned down. Everybody just stood around and sang Happy Birthday. - Steven Wright

P.S. Happy Birthday today to Judith from NYC. And Prince Charles. Let's hear it for The Scorps Corps.

P.P.S. Note to self, no more tequila on weeknights.

Labels: BUI, Charity Knits, Knit Done, Now You're Whining

I should soooo not be doing this. But here's the deal: I may be a bit hepped up on some prescription medication that I took at rather unfortunate intervals (i.e. I might have taken one but before it could kick in to help me remember that I already took it, I took another. Maybe. Hey. Things ain't been right up there for a coupla days...just sayin.)

Anyway, whenever I sit down to study, I can't. The words swim, my heart races and I end up plucking imaginary chin hairs with my bare fingernails and dreaming of better days, like all-day root canals and Vagnitis on a Hot August Night.

To distract myself, I thought I'd check my email and maybe a couple blogs. So I just happened over to Crazy (my ass) Aunt Purl's place, and read the cool story about a boyfriend she had when she was 19 years old. At first I happened to be jealous that she had such a cool boyfriend-at-19 story to tell.

But then I said "hey!" and then I happened to remember a boyfriend-at-19 story of my own. That's right.

When I was 19, my boyfriend peed on my mom's chest.

In the living room.

It was antique. The chest.

He was drunk. The boyfriend.

When I saw what he was doing, I screamed and ran to the kitchen and grabbed some Bounty. Then I screamed some more and ran back to the stream of the crime, and held the Bounty under the pee, like a safety net.

How did it work, you ask? Well, let's just say that there is a reason the marketing people over at Bounty have never used the image of a weeping, drunken 19 year old holding a sheet of their paper towel under a hot, beer-fed peefall. It did not go well.

Fortunately, beer pee doesn't smell much and my mom was never the wiser. I might tell her, someday.

My boyfriend's story was that he usually peed off the front porch, into the bushes. My mom had a dried flower arrangement on her chest. He thought he was on the porch.

Now I gotta go. If any of any of you of the psychic persuasion have any advice for my face to face with the big fat testie tomorrow, now is the time.

Otherwise, I'm good.

::No proofing on this one. As Is only.::

Labels: Boobs and Pee and Poo, BUI, Yore