Archive Page 3 of 24

Like This Mohair Boucle, My Weekend Was Wild And Crazy

mohair boucle

I have many tales to tell of this years Madrona Winter Retreat but until I get some sleep this mohair boucle will have to tell them all.

Conversation With Man

The scene: My bathroom with me in the shower, complete with weird cat who stared at the curtain the entire time*.

Me (being rudely interrupted): What do you want?
Him: REI is having a sale right now.
Me: I know.
Him: It is the .83 sale.
Me: I know. And you are telling me this why?
Him: I don’t know. Just in case you want anything.

(It was at this point the poles shifted, hell froze over, and Clinton dropped out of the race for president. You get the idea.)

Me: Why, what do you want?
Him: Oh, nothing.

And he leaves the room.

Internets, I tell you this because I will find something I like. And I will be told, “Oh, not right now,” or, “Do you really need another pair of shoes?” (The answer to that is yes, by the way.) Just let it be known that he told me to go look, and in fact encouraged it.

*Seriously. Can’t I just have one normal animal?

New Week, New Socks


Bonus points to the person who can point out the pattern I am working.

Phoenix Socks

phoenix socks

Diamante by Deb Barnhill, Fall ’06
Needles 32″ Addi Turbo Lace needle, 2.5mm (1 US)

I changed the pattern from a gusset heel to a short row heel and used every last bit of yarn I had. When I bound off the second sock (for the third time, le sigh) I was left with just over a yard of yarn. These socks were my first experience with the Addi lace needles and I love them in a way that is both and unnatural and illegal in 13 states. Since these were finished I snagged a 47″ version of the same needle I can use the Magic Loop method to do two toe-up socks at once.

Asleep At The Wheel

Those socks? Yeah, they’re coming, just as soon as I can find a minute so I can find the battery charger for my camera. Someone (not me, for once) left the bloody thing turned on. The same someone (again, not me) also can not locate the charger. Good hired help these days is so hard to find.

105% of my time has been consumed by school. My statistics class is fierce at it’s best, and the only bright spot in my writing intensive film class is that I get to pick what I want to watch, review, and write about. I never expected that my college education would become a great excuse to finally get a Netflix account, but it has. This week has been all about Little Miss Sunshine. Next week it is Forrest Gump, which is good because that is about the time my brain is going to melt due to my stats class.

And just to prove that my family can not stay out of the hospital, my Grandmother is having a heart valve replaced this week, at the age of 82. She is extremely healthy for her age, and coupled with the fact that the women in my family routinely live longer than 95 years they’re giving her a wicked carbon fiber replacement. The downside of this is a week long hospital stay and that, you know, it is major surgery. All this is also going down at the same hospital my Darling Little Big Brother spent his time at. Given that we sport a very uncommon last name I am sure the nurses will wonder if our family has any luck other than the bad kind. As for me, this just means I will be spending some more quality time in the ICU waiting room. Which is good, because it is quiet and conducive for studying statistics.

Skinny Legs And All


By god, I finished something. More on this knitting miracle tomorrow soon.

Double Point Ninny

When I am Queen, it will be illegal for only one double point needle to go missing. It will have to be all or nothing, thereby making the purchase of a new set of needles justifiable.

This proclamation has been brought to by Grumperina’s Jaywalker, A Swell Yarn Shop’s Skinny Duet, and a lone missing 6″ Crystal Palace size one US DPN.

Unlike Disneyland, It Wasn’t The Happiest Place On Earth

I’ve spent the past five days pondering how to write this post, how to delicately say that my brother could of died without emergency surgery on Sunday.

In a move that only proves how related we are, The Tallest Little Brother (henceforth referred to as TTLB) fell while exercising in his living room, rupturing his spleen when his left elbow was shoved into it as he hit the floor. Somehow he managed to drive himself to an urgent care clinic where he was then placed in an ambulance and rushed to the ER of a local hospital. Three IVs, two rooms, and one CT scan later, a surgeon was called, our parents arrived, and we waited. Stints were placed, trips to the ICU were had, and yesterday evening after three days on his back he was released into the care of our mother, the lucky SOB.

Through it all he somehow managed to not lose his sense of humour. A good thing when you’re so doped up and in shock that you think the lamp across the hall is somehow moving up and down the wall. I’m not sure which one of us was more horrified when asked if I was his wife by the attending ER doctor. And of course, I have now seen enough of his bare white ass to last me the rest of my lifetime.

When it all ends, he will be okay. His spleen will fully heal, he’ll invest in non-skid socks, and he might even get the bills paid off before he dies (the joys of not having health insurance in the ole’ US of A). For him life will go on, fancy stint and all. Now he’ll just be more careful about where he works out.

Token Cat Picture


I haven’t got a thing to write about so have a cat picture instead.

To The Opinionated Boob At The Counter

Dear Sir,

While eating my breakfast this morning I, along with the rest of the cafe, couldn’t help but overhear your complaints on the state of politics today. I am sorry that in 1977 the DOT knocked over your mailbox while clearing off the road. However it is no longer 1977, it is 2007, and perhaps it time to let that go.

Also, while you did not vote for Christine Gregoire, there are hundreds of thousands of us who did. Judging by the escalating sound of your voice while you repeated that over and over, I am sure she heard it in Olympia too. It does no good to refer to her as, “that bitch and her wussy husband,” I can assure you they don’t give a shit.

In passing, if life here is so bad, move. Get into your “big ole truck with its 40 bells and whistles” and get the fuck out of town. The only person who may miss you is the waitress you leave that 9% tip to, because she doesn’t deserve more than God. Until then, I will be busy thanking God, Allah, and any other deity I can find that my vote cancels out yours.