I read somewhere that it's its itz international delurker week. So, here I am.

I really gotta make this short. Or if not short, at least quick.
Because I'm tired, because:

1)I've spent most of the week trying to slay the Family of Slugs That Live in My Nose and Adjoining In-Law Apartment.

2)The rest of the week I've spent preparing for a hugely big-ass important meeting, which was scheduled for first-thing this morning. At this meeting I had to present a case to an intake committee of people unknown to me. I had 30 minutes to make a cohesive and coherent and utterly on-point presention from about 10 school-years-worth of material. I had to dance it and sing it and profess its every relevance. And I couldn't be late for the bell. Da pipples were depending.

The meeting was not at my workplace so I had to bring the 8 chunky referral packets home with me. I set two alarm clocks and woke up every two hours all night long, to double and triple check the alarms and obsess on whether or not I really packed all the packets. And to pee.

I arrived at the meeting a little early and warmed up to the crowd with some inane banter ::the stuff my hate is made of::. When it was time to start I was really nervous, which made my hands visibly shake as I passed out the packets. Once I got started,my ears turned beet red. Then my face. But my voice never once quivered or cracked. I made my presentation from the heart and not the prepared outline, which is why, I think, it went very, very well, monkey-ass-red ears notwithstanding.

Once I was finished, I was really glad to get out of there and into the lady's room to relieve some nervous pee. After I washed my hands, I did the perfunctory glance at the ass in the mirror and was muchly alarmed to see a quarter size blob of aqua-hued toothpaste on the right butt-cheek of my pants. The same butt cheek that several times faced the crowd in the crowded room, as I unloaded my workbag at the beginning of the meeting and reloaded it at the end, then turned to talk to the guy next to me, which means my butt cheek was ass to eye to the person behind me. Not that I think every body looks at my butt, but it was a small conference room and aqua on khaki is kinda hard to miss. But I still felt good about the meeting, minty-fresh-ass notwithstanding.

3) While I was out slaying mucous slugs and flashing my minty fresh ass to professional strangers, my caseload was conspiring yet again. This time they did something surprisingly clever and rustled up some former caseload. Caseload I believed to be lost and gone forever, to a district far, far away.

But you know what they say.

The Contest
The correct answer was The Battle Hymn of the Republic, but I also accepted The Battle Hymn of the Burning of the School, or whatever, since I tossed it in as a clue.

Using a random number generator ascribed to all correct answers, I hereby announce Amy from Amy’s Blog . Congrats. I'll be emailing you.

I’m sorry, but the 2007 Prophesies will have to wait another day. Or two. It’s time to put on my jammies, take my Nyquil, floss and brush my ass, and get to bed.

Labels: Contest

When I started Thursday's post, I had no intention of starting a contest. But as soon as I typed the sub-title Mine Eyes Have Seen The Glory, a song started marching through my brain. Initially I couldn't put my finger on the title of the song, but I recalled singing it as a child. At school and at church.

Later in my childhood a lyrical bastardization was applied to this very tune. This version was a call to arms, if you will, against the dictatorial habits of educators. And rulers. Also in that sordid version there was mention of rotten fruit and a legume, of sorts. And there was violence. Lots of violence.

But why, mother, why?
Why this song with that hat?
That hat we call The Republic?
What is the connection?

I can't tell you that.

But I can tell you the non-connections.

It's not about the big ass. ::Okay, it's ALWAYS about the big ass, except for today.::
It's not the button.
It's not the orange.
It's not pop, rock or country or contemporary, period.

Let's review Thursday's Lead-in:

Now, let's say I'm at this dead president's funeral, and some guy comes up to me and tries to take my hat, but I hold on to it, but the guy won't let go, and pretty soon we're fighting over the hat, pulling back and forth, and pretty more soon a crowd gathers to watch ,and after a few minutes the crowd starts singing a song about what we were doing. The song is a tribute. To the fight. Over my hat. My orange hat, with the Big Ass Button.

A Mulligan
In fairness to the people who have already submitted answers to the contest, sans the bounty of heretomentioned clues, I am extending the contest deadline to January 14, 11:59 p.m., EST.

Those who have already submitted may resubmit and are encouraged to do so given the new set of clues. ::Ahym::

Reprizal
Prize is yarn on the right. Pink alpaca, lace weight. Enough to web a small nation. It suffers from factory oil-itis.



Lame Blame
Cabana boy is on a much deserved ski trip with some fellows, which leaves me Chief Listener of The Cakers. In his absence, I was kind of imagining a bit more time at the blog and needles, what with no need to worry about my husband worrying about my priorities, including what's for dinner and when.

Evidently I was being over-imaginative.
There will be No Great Posts This Weekend.

You seee, my girl has needs. Needs which require full-scale, rapt adult attention. To not hang on her ever word, I run the risk of inadvertently granting permission for her to superglue Cheddar's ears together atop his head or agree to drive a band of rogue kindergartners to Chuck E Jesus for a sleepover. ::Gawd, just jokingly thinking about sleeping on those floors makes me want a skin transplant.::

So I gotta.
Real post coming soon.
I have no idea what that means, or if it's even true.
It is Lie Like a Shitbag Saturday, after all.

P.S. Email contest submissions c/o Marcymayy at AOL the dot the com. Put Contest in the subject line.

Labels: Contest

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.::

Labels: Beefy Mitts, Contest

I've been busier than a one-legged junkie at a habit kicking contest. And there will be no end to this life-sucking extravaganza, until late Friday evening, when we arrive at the cottage for a relaxing, pre-holiday escape and vacation celebration (Two weeks. Thank You, Baby Jesus.)

The First Cut is the Cheapest
Okay, right now, I have about two brain cells to rub together, so I need to make this brief.

The correct answers to the contest are 1983 and/or 1984 and FingerHut. And yes, Ann, I remember towels, and that they were ree-ree small.

For the sewing patterns, I had a hard time selecting which ones to highlight for the contest. For a couple of years, back then, I was, how you say...Sew Busy?

Here are a couple more favs from that era:


I made at least two copies of the Gawdawful dress pattern, and five of the top. I haven't touched a sewing machine in years. Maybe a good thing?

Enough of this triflin'. I have not been able to determine the final winner of the contest, but I do know she will be selected from the following list: Bron, Juno, Anne, Natalia, Sejal, Ingrid, Carole,
Kelle, Kelly O., Sandy, La and Janine.

I apologize for the delay in pronouncement, but I've been busy, and there have been unforeseen complications ::Is there such thing as a foreseen complication?::

On the topic of complications,Lisa, it wasn't a problem getting the names into the cat. However, the name stuffing process seemed to be a bit much for the ol' girl, and she done run off, before I could make my draw.

As soon as Bella returns home with the slips, the final winner will be determined. In the event of a foreseen uncircumstance, I'll figure something out. It's what I do. It's a gift.

The winner will be announced no later than Saturday night. Promise.

Have I mentioned that I'm having the The Week from Satan's Ass?

New Knibs on the Blog
Queer Joe is hosting a Knit Blog Award-a-thon. Looks kind of fun. Check it out here

Knew Knits on The Blog
I've been desperately seeking closure on my holiday gift knitting. Here is a shot of my current project.


It's a scarf, knit in the vertical gartercal, using what's almost left of the Mission Falls cache. I stole the pattern idea from Kerstin. The difference in my scarf is that the yarns are from the same source. (where the hell did she go?)

I really need to get to bed. So I hereby declare this a Clever Closing Free Zone. G'nite Gracie.

P.S. I'm hitting the publish button without consideration. i.e., I'm not proofing. Or Poofing. Or Proffing.....adiew

Labels: Contest, Yore

A Contest
First of all, please excuse the filthy appearance of my knife and related surroundings. I took the picture while in the middle of a Snow Day Soup Creation. And that's parsley on the counter. Not rat shit.



k. The contest.

I've owned this steak knife for over 20 years. I was married to another man, when I bought this knife through a catalog vendor. I had ordered a cheap-ass, flatware set, which included a free set of steak knives, as a bonus. The flatware had the same wooden handles as this knife, which caused the pieces to roll onto their sides when placed on the table. The bowls on the t-spoons were flat as a spatula, which rendered them useless for eating cereal, but quite handy for squashing ants, two at a time. The fork prongs bent if you looked at'em sideways.

Long story moderately shorter, I gave/threw away the flatware,but the steak knives became my main kitchen squeeze. Then, one-by-one,the knives warped,splintered or otherwise degraded themselves out of my life.

All but this little guy. My kitchen soul survivor, who single-bladedly serrated me through a marriage, the birthin' of baby boy, graduate school, a divorce and relocation, a new beau, a dumped beau, another new beau, another marriage, another birthin' of a baby and two more relocations. And two cats. And a dog. ::I really had intended on this presentation being a bit more on the clever side. But I'm tired. And damn, if clever don't hurt on a day like this.::

So, back to the contest:
1) In what year did I buy this knife? ::I'm not sure of the exact year, because I only remember where I was living when I bought the set. And I only lived in this particular apartment for one 12-month period, in 19-blahblah and 19-blahsieblah. So yes, what I'm telling you is that the correct answer will be one out of two possible.::

Hints for the time frame:

I was doing her.....



I was making these....




On the radio I heard....Donna Summer, Eurythmics, Police, Men at Work, Prince, Duran Duran, Violent Femmes, David Bowie.

On TV I watched....St. Elsewhere, Hillstreet Blues, Falcon Crest, M*A*S*H (for a little while, anyway.)

2) From what mail order catalog did I purchase the flatware and steak knives?

Hints: The mail order catalog is still around today. Of course, they have a website. On a given Sunday, you might see them in a Parade. Back in 19-Blahblah or 19-blahsieblah, this company sold everything on "time," or credit. I paid about $4.99 a month for this stack of shit (not talking 'bout the steak knives, of course), over the course of a year. Interest was about 20%. Gave me a good credit rating, though. And a really pissed off anal-retentive-control-fuck hubby ::Is steak knife supposed to be a compound word? It seems like it should be, but all those K's together, in the middle, kind of scare me.::

The Prize: Two skeins of Wool-Pak, 8-Ply in Periwinkle. 250 grams and 525 yards a piece. ::Yes, there is only one skein featured. I have another. No, really.::



A review: To win, you must correctly identify, in comments, one out of the two possible years in which I bought the knife set, and the mail order catalog/company I purchased it from. In the event of a tie, I will draw names from a cat.

Again, submit your answer in comments. Contest deadline is Wednesday, December 14, 11:59 p.m. EST

Labels: Contest, Snow Day