One More Month...

Racing season starts in a month, and I'm wondering if I'll be able to separate my seasons like I thought I would. I've grown considerably more addicted to the knitting over this nearly-past winter. The weekends that it's not my turn to drive the truck, I'm usually takin' a nap in the back because layin' down and not looking around is the easiest way to avoid that sick-ish feeling from riding down the highway when I can't see out. The knitting addiction has me seriously considering a Dramamine habit so that I can knit during the hour's worth of travel time.

I've read a couple books lately that have made me kinda ballsy; they say that all knitting is composed of only two stitches, the knit and the purl; and if you can do those, you can knit up anything. After alternating my "down time" between actual knitting and reading about knitting, I'd come to the conclusion that I'd about as well take a shot at some fascinating pattern that looked almost out-of-reach. I still really want to try my hand at a Boobie Scarf (like the ones that Robin made), but even with one to look at, I can't quite make sense of the printed pattern just yet. I found another interesting scarf that looked really cool and had a pattern that looked like something I could follow.

Or, well, it looked almost easy enough once I'd finally convinced myself that I don't have the skills to read all the K4, sl1, p3's and picture what the scarf should look like and that I should just get started, follow the directions, and watch it all unfold before my eyes... Yeah, right, like anything is ever that simple.

So, after several read-through's, I decided to cast-on those twenty stitches and see about gettin' started. I ended up casting-on three times all together; which may have been a sign of things to come. The end starts with a triangle pattern; and though I was following the pattern of knit-turn-slip-purl, I lost count once and started all over, then I wasn't sure if I'd lost count or not and couldn't tell how to figure it out, so I started all over again. On the third try, it worked out alright and I have this hangin' on my needles:



Once I'd convinced myself that yes, that was what it was supposed to look like, I moved on to the next section of the pattern, which involved the words "Break Yarn..." Gasp! Seriously? Okay, maybe I am a little up-tight, maybe I do border on OCD; the feeling I got from being told to "Break Yarn" was akin to being told to rip pages out of a book! After reading that I should "be brave" and not worry about making mistakes and to just try it; I cut off the blue-green yarn just like that.

I knew that I'd picked a pattern that took three different colors of yarn; but still, maybe the act of cutting the yarn without tying any knots was what shorted my circuts... The first step in joining in the new strand of the other color was a "pfb." Now, when I was sittin' here at the computer, at work, with no yarn and no needles anywhere nearby and just reading through the pattern, I had a perfect mental picture of how "purl into front and back of stitch" would work. I'd read a little bit about it in one of those books, I had a stitch dictionary where I could take another look, but I really thought it would be no-big-deal once I had the needles in my hands.

That was about nine O'clock.

Shortly after the ten O'clock news had finished up and Letterman had been on a good while, I was still fighting with it. One little increase of a stitch, and it was kickin' my ass. I don't have a clue how many times I tried to make it work; I either ended up with three or four loops on the right instead of two, or dropping the whole thing, or thinkin' I had it and then it would all come apart when I tried to move the needles. I was seriously considering just giving the whole thing over to the cat, since she could thrash up the yarn just the same as me, when I realized it was after eleven and I still had to work the next morning.

When I was finally irritated enough to put it down and go to bed, I had one wore-out loop of blue-green yarn and about six inches of worn-frazzled yellow yarn, and I'd probably screwed up one corner of that triangle I was so happy to have accomplished. I wish I had somebody who could just lean over my chair, rest their arms on my shoulders and "pfb" right in front of my face a few times so I could see how it's supposed to go in real-time; but I don't think I know anyone who'd do that (or anyone who lives close enough, anyway).

I Googled for it this morning as soon as I got to work, and I found a site with some really nice big pictures -- so now I'm itchin' to get home and try it along with the pictures and see if I can make it work now. I'll probably be useless at Church tonight 'cause I can't get it off my mind, and I've thought a time or two about gettin' some twine off the shipping rack and tryin' it with some pens or pencils or somethin'.

That's how bad the knitting addiction is; I guess it's a good thing I never tried any kind of drugs.

And I ain't even gonna mention the hundred-and-sixteen skeins of clearance sale yarn that I've carried home in the last couple weeks; except to say that Clay's the best 'cause he doesn't say a single word about it. ;)

More later... _\,,/

About The Word...

Alternate Title: My Installment In The Vagina Monologues

Amazingly enough, not the same "The Word" that My Mom likes to pitch a fit about...

I'm not usually a big celebrity-watcher, I just have a hard time finding a damn to give. I do have this bad habit of using the sleep-timer on my TV at night though, and since the national news couldn't leave it alone, I did hear all about that one particular celebrity who got rid of all her hair the other night.

I also remember a nifty little SNL bit about "Deforestation" after the same celebrity bared her goin'-commando-in-a-short-dress hairless nether-region getting out of a car. I'd link to YouTube, but I searched several times and couldn't find the clip...

Earlier today, I read a blogger's post about the latest incident. She mentioned the earlier incident where this celebrity "exposed her vagina" and how this celebrity may have problems such as post-partum depression or some sort of chemical imbalance. I don't doubt it, I agree with the blogger who said that girl needs some professional help before the whole deal turns into a major tragedy.

I'm not here to rant about the celebrity though. What's on my mind is the part about "exposed her vagina..."

Did she really? Did she? I didn't see any of the film of her getting out of the car in her dress with no panties, but from what I know about human anatomy, it would be quite difficult to contort the body enough to expose one's vagina on the way out of a car. I've no doubt the whole world saw her ladyparts, her mound, her bikini zone, her beaver, her nether-region; but I doubt quite seriously that she exposed her vagina. Even if she had the most outrageous outie-cat-flaps in the world; she probably didn't expose her actual vagina as she was climbing out of the car.

I guess I'm a stickler for words; that's the "English Major" in me. I'm a stickler for human anatomy, just because PTA School will do that to a person. The "Vagina" part, well, that's 'cause I've got one of my own; and possibly partly due to the unusual number of 'em that I've been seeing in the browser history on the PC at work.

It takes a considerable leg-spreading effort to "expose the vagina," if a woman is standing in front of you naked with her feet flat on the floor, you won't just see her vagina. She'd have to strike a serious porno-pose for you to be able to see her actual vagina. That hairy (or hairless) spot that a bikini covers up is not the vagina; same as your navel is not your tits and your back is not your asscheeks. Nobody shaves their vagina, because the vagina is the actual hole, cavern, passage, or pooh-kah; and let's face it, you'd have to be a crazy bitch to stuff a razor up in there, even if you do happen to have a hair or two that grows from the inside toward the outside.

The main part of my rant is that too many people are using the word "vagina" as an all-inclusive term. You don't say "dick" when you're talkin' about a nutsack. You don't say "neck" when you're talkin' about your temples or your chin. You don't say "knees" when you're talkin' about ankles. If you're discussing a body part, you'd about as well be clear about it.

Exiting a car didn't expose her vagina, just like wearin' sandals doesn't expose my buttcrack.

Man-oh-man, I left out said celebrity's name to avoid the Google Phenomenon, but I used several other hot ones... I can just imagine the searches now; so I'd about as well toss in the rest of 'em -- Minge, Flange, Slot, Box, Axe Wound. There, Google-Away!!

More later... _\,,/

Disjointed Monday!

I had this huge, long, artistic, beautifully written text file on my desktop that I was going to tweak a bit and post yesterday, the 18th, except I didn't. I just couldn't talk myself into letting it out yet -- maybe next year.

Yesterday was somebody's 30th Birthday, I didn't forget, and I probably never will. I'd say I hope you had a Happy one, but I know you're probably not reading this...

--

I am becoming more and more of a compulsive knitter; Sunday I found a huge rack full of clearance-sale yarn for 99 cents a ball and all I can think about is that I should've carried home more than the ten balls that I got. Seriously, maybe I'll go back tomorrow and get the rest of it... Oh my, I really am gettin' just like the chick in the book.

--

I found some fascinating things in the History files of the PC at work; apparently there was quite a bit of Googling going on while I was gone for Jury Duty. A lot of semi-literate Googling. A lot of I-can't-believe-this-fundamentalist-parent-is-HoMeSkOoLiNg-two-kids Googling. He actually did a search for, uhm, The Big O, as in for women; only he strung both words together and he couldn't spell "F-e-m-a-l-e," and couldn't spell "O-r-g-a-s-m" either. It's hilarious, but I'm afraid to share too much of it here because hey, if he's Googling for it, he'd probably find where I was makin' fun of the mis-spelling; especially considering the fact that somebody found me by searching for information about a poodle with a herniated disk. Poor little Poodle, wherever y'all are, I hope your doggie is feelin' better.

--

Speakin' of Jury Duty, did I mention how hard that sucked? I went into it thinkin' it would be interesting, but I got anxious about it anyway -- I guess the anxious part kinda cast a haze over the deal. It wasn't completely horrible -- there were at least a few friendly people there and I finished reading two books while I was sitting and waiting and wishing I could've been knitting or messin' with the computer. I just didn't think I could get my knitting needles through security and I didn't like the thought of my new MacBook goin' through the X-ray machine either. I got drawn for a judge (along with 39 other people), but didn't get drawn for questioning once we were all in the courtroom. We were told not to "do any research," like searching OSCN or drivin' by the gas station where the armed robbery took place. I was "good," I promise, I didn't look him up until after we'd all been sent home for good -- but I did look up the case and the "suspect" as soon as I got back to a computer. He totally freakin' did it. I don't see any chance he might not have, especially considering it wasn't his first arrest for that kind of crime. It also was not his second or third arrest for that kind of crime. Uh, gee, you robbed three other gas stations, but we're supposed to think you might not have robbed this fourth one? Whatever. When the judge asks potential jurors if they've "heard that the face of crime in America today is a young African American Male," things aren't lookin' good for the guy in the defendant's chair who fits that description.

All-in-all, it was a fascinating people-watching experience; from the crowded basement to the question-n-answer-n-blackball session in the courtroom, it was mildly entertaining. But only mildly. I was glad to have found myself a buddy to chat with in between courtroom sessions (sorry I didn't catch your name, but you're pretty cool, chick-built-like-me-who-was-embroidering-a-quilt-square, I enjoyed talkin' knitting/crochet/macrame/hair/computers/work/etc with you, it was nice havin' lunch with you on Wednesday, and I wish you blessings!), so it wasn't entirely bad; but I can still say I agree first-hand with all those people who say Jury Duty Sucks.

--

Oh, and I'm still seriously considering the declawing... Controversy or no, Hannah's tearin' my skin to bits. If there's a Vet or Vet Tech reading this, de-lurk for me, please?

--

I'm sure I'll think of something else I wanted to say, but for now, that's it. More later... _\,,/

When It All Comes Together...

Be ready, this one's a music geek post.

A few weeks ago, I happened onto a nifty little band on PBS's Austin City Limits. Anyone who knows me knows that happens a lot; PBS and NPR are my most-frequent answers to that question that several people who get in the car with me usually ask -- "Where do you find this stuff?"

Years and years ago, I remember hearing My Mom and one of her friends talk about Charley Pride, and how, "The longer he sang, the whiter he got..." The Gourds were like that for me -- the longer they played, the better-lookin' they got. They put on a pretty cool show; sounded familiar but didn't play anything I'd heard before. Their music was catchy, and I heard a song or two I wanted to hear again just because it was so wordy I wanted to be sure I was getting the whole point; that's why I promptly bought that two-disc live album off iTunes. It's a great album and I like it, even though it didn't have the same songs I wanted to hear again.

Last night, I fell asleep with "Hooky Junk" stuck in my head, even though I'm not quite sure what's goin' on there... I have that problem sometimes -- I'd known all the words to "Bat Outta Hell" for a good ten or fifteen years before it hit me what that was about; same with "He Stopped Lovin' Her Today." Duh. So, after lots of humming, I Googled for it. I found all sorts of answers from Heroin to Mushrooms to Baking Chicken Pot Pie -- But then I found the NPR Article and listened to the interview. Have I mentioned how much I love NPR lately?

It's about Tom Waits, ain't that somethin'? All I could think was "Well, Duuuuuhhhhhh..." Why didn't I notice that? It's all references to Tom Waits songs!

Now, if I could just find the same kind of info for "Treat Me Like A Saturday Night."

More later... _\,,/

Did I Mention...

Jury Duty. Did I mention that's what I'm doing this week?

So, if the Blogger postings are thin, that's why.

I'm doing a lot of reading while I sit and wait; and right this minute, I'm writing from the Library on my lunch break.

I really really wish I had the patience (or the balls, whichever you prefer) to take my knitting in there with me, but I worry about elbow room, and I don't think I could knit comfortably in the smaller chairs when it's crowded. I'm just sure that if I did manage to snag a big soft comfy chair, I'd get lost trying to count while attempting to keep at least half an eye on what's going on around me.

More Later...
_\,,/

PS... If you'd like to leave comments, I'm okay with that. If you'd like to leave nastiness, especially if it involves a post from three months ago, just find something else to do. Seriously, calling me names because I got mad when I saw a foodservice worker eating in the prep area, with gloves on makes you sound like the kind of person who might, oh, I don't know, be willing to take part in such unsavory activities as eating in the prep area, with gloves on. Just because you think you might get away with it doesn't mean it's okay. It's still gross, it's still against health department regulations, it's still nasty, and I still haven't been back to that establishment since; not that location, not any other location of the chain.

I did not click the "publish" button on that particular comment (not yet, anyway), not because of the names this person called me, not because of the hostile tone, not because of the points this person tried to make -- I chose not to publish it because the person who wrote it posted under "Anonymous." Ah yes, this person did not value their own words enough to put their name on them; alas, if they don't value their words, why should I?

Like I've said before, This is My Ship, I decide who gets to ride and who gets thrown overboard.

I pitched my fit right here on My Blog with my picture and my e-mail address, right here amongst all sorts of other things I cared enough to write about. I post my opinions; I do not post anonymous insults.

Okay, now, I'm outta here...

Adjusting To A One-Cat Household...

It's been a week, and I'm handling it better than I thought I would. I miss him most at night, when he'd be snuggled up to me or kneading my side or my shoulder with his happy little claw-free paws. Oddly enough, I don't cry like I did when I was worried about what I'd come home to find -- it's comforting, in a way, to know that he's not hurtin' or slobberin' anymore.

There for a few days, I thought my Hannah kitty might have shifted gears a bit, maybe she wasn't going to be such a meanie once she noticed she was the only cat. That's only half the case though.

I'm pretty sure she knows she's the only cat -- she's taken over Shadow's duties of kneading with happy little paws, but she has no clue how sharp those claws are. She wants to be in my lap more and more; to the point that I've started keeping a pair of sweatpants handy in the bathroom so I can lay 'em across my legs when I'm "taking care of business." I've also learned the hard way to make sure I'm hangin' on to 'em when she jumps up there -- if she thinks she's sliding, she sinks the claws in to hang on; to me, not the pants.

She kneads, she purrs, she rubs her face on me, she does that classic cat-around-the-ankles move (something she's only recently started); and I love it when she's luvin' on me -- even if my shoulders and thighs feel sunburned from all the needle-sharp little claw-punctures. I'm seriously thinking about looking into a de-claw, but I know it's a controversial subject, and I know it won't solve the whole problem.

In amongst all the luuuuviness, she's still a mean little shit every now and then. I guess by "every now and then," what I really mean is "a couple times a day." She'll be actin' all sweet and cute and affectionate, and then she'll just suddenly snap and bite whatever's closest to her. Once it was my face, usually it's my hand, and last night it was my foot -- I'm talkin' about a bloody place comin' up on the top of my sock here... Yesterday morning, she growled at My Mom.

I'm not sure what to try to do about it, but I'm wondering if I've got a Psycho-Kitty on my hands.

I need to figure out something, I love my little Birthday Kitten, but she's Crazy.

Cat-People, de-lurk and comment, please!

More later... _\,,/