Ain't I Cute? :D

Sock of Doom has left the Building

The SoD have been mailed (and delivered by now. I love you UPS!) and I can now resume normal life until one of two things happen. I could a) get more socks from my target to finish and mail, or b) get killed off by my assassin. I think the smarter among you will hope for option B, as it means you only have to hear about this crazy frigging war one more time. I'm hoping for option A, since now that I've killed someone, I want to kill more. This is getting fun, y'all! Anyway, a funny thing happened on the way to mail the socks. I was so obsessed with getting the last 7 rows done, I uh-huh'ed myself into taking my neighbor to the convenience store. She came over and found a crazy person mumbling to herself about ribbing and mail options. Since she desperately needed milk (or something, my memory is a little fuzzy here), she got my kids shoes on, herded me into the car, and drove us to the store. She went in to do her shopping, and I sat in the car knitting and bitching about how long it takes to switch between knit and purl stitches (it makes a difference, really). We were on the way to the Pack and Mail when I came out of my fog long enough to moan that I forgot my camera and would have no pictures of the finished socks for my blog. I made that poor woman drive me home (hey, it was my car!) and sent my long-suffering oldest son in to get the camera while I started binding off. This is the same precious boy who asked me what I was making for breakfast yesterday morning and was told to make himself a peanut butter sandwich because "mommy needed to finish killing someone." I will be taking donations for his future therapy bills as soon as I figure out the whole PayPal thing. With camera in hand, we were on the way to the Pack and Mail once again. I finished the bind off in the parking lot, to the tune of whining from the backseat (something about hungry, bored, and alpaca fuzz) and laughter from my driver (she crochets, so she doesn't quite get it).

I made the neighbor model the socks before I stuffed them in an envelope. She now wants a pair.

The cashier at the Pack and Mail either thinks I am a terrorist, or a harmless lunatic. If the feds show up at the door soon, we'll know which. And in case you were wondering, this is the aftermath of frantic knitting and lunacy on the car dash.

I'm spamming myself

Take the quiz:
What Stock Character Are You?

The Hooker with the Heart of Gold
"I appreciate this whole seduction thing you've got going on here, but let me give you a tip: I'm a sure thing." - Pretty Woman You know what your good, er, points are and you flaunt them! But deep down (or as deep as a screen writer can dig in 90 minutes) you're much smarter/shyer/sweeter than most people suspect. You just want to do right by your man/God/your bastard children. Sometimes you get the man. Sometimes you die. It's a toss-up with you.

Quizzes by myYearbook.com -- the World's Biggest Yearbook!
Um, yeah, I'm baffled by this one too. Although I do appreciate the Julia Roberts reference.

Well, Rats

You Are 58% Evil

You are evil, but you haven't yet mastered the dark side. Fear not though - you are on your way to world domination.

How Evil Are You?

Well, I guess I'm not as evil as I'd like to think. The socks of doom are clicking right along, I've just turned the heel. It's a short ankle sock, so I should finish tonight. In more good news, I recieved my dossier and confirmation my target is in the game. K2-P2, your days are numbered. I'm having some family worries, but I don't want to say anything solid until I have more information. Let's all just send good thoughts in the direction of Newton, KS, and hope the test results for a certain grandma are good. Wrist break is over, time to get knitting to kill.

Hahahaha......Dumbass

Hey, wanna hear something really funny? Remember that great red sweater I started for my oldest son? The one I was so excited about? That's the one. Guess what? I frogged the whole thing! No, it wasn't a pattern problem. Yes, he still loves the yarn. It was a attack of the stupid. I carefully measured my son, looked at the pattern, chose a size, ordered the yarn, measured my son AGAIN, then carefully cast on a knitted two inches of THE NEXT SIZE DOWN!!!!! Yup, after all the careful planning and work, I was betrayed by no one but me. As I ripped the sweater from the needles, my precious son asked if he was still getting a sweater. My reply: "Yes, honey, your mommy's just a dumbass."

Return of the Knitter

Yeah, remember that sick from a couple posts down? Well, it got worse. I had tried for a couple days to get an appointment for some antibiotics, but those same day appointment go fast, and if I actually made an appointment it would be in about 2 months. Not good. So Friday rolled around and I decided I could stick it out for the weekend and try again Monday. It didn't happen that way. What did happen was a trip to the Emergency Department and a diagnosis of not only strep, but a serious double ear infection that was screwing with my balance. Y'all, I was so miserable, I didn't even want to touch my knitting. After spending Saturday cowering in my bed, contemplating puncturing my eardrums with a size 0 double point to relieve the pressure, and chugging antibiotics, I think I'm on the road to recovery. Here's the proof:

The Socks of Doom. These are a boring knit. I mostly worked on them this morning, but I kept dozing off sitting up. I'm not sure how much of that had to do with recent illness and how much was pure, boring ribbing, but it did impede progress. I'm knitting these two at once toe up on two circular needles. Not my usual method, and I'm not sure I like it. Seems to take some of the danger out of knitting.

It would also appear I'm back to my typical polyamorous relationship with Works In Progress. Stop looking at me like that. Nothing to see here.

This is the bottom of a River Forest Gansey from the book Handknit Holidays. It's a fun pattern, just enough going on to keep me interested. Red is perhaps not the best color to show off the pattern's charms, but it is the color that will be worn until the sweater falls off the back of my oldest son. You pick your battles.

Speaking of battles, I'm going to be fighting the battle for a clean house for awhile now. There is rampant evidence of two boys left to fend for themselves for a few days. (I was here, just not particularly useful.) There are many sticky surfaces, due to a discovery of a love for peanut butter and honey sandwiches. We have demolished 2 gallons of milk, a jar of peanut butter, half a honey bear, and three loaves of bread. Most inexplicably, it would appear every article of clothing they own is dirty. I'm not sure I want to know how that happened.

Sock of Doom

Y'all, I was crazy enough to up and join Sock Wars. If you haven't heard of it already, it's an international game of Assassin played with hand knit socks. I must have been out of my mind. I'm so gonna get killed off fast. For one thing, this is right in the middle of my Christmas knitting season, so I have more than enough to do. Then, there's the fact that even though I'm feeling better, my eyes still get tired very quickly, and I chose a dark purple yarn to work in. Ouch. I have the toes started, and am about an inch up the foot. The yarn I'm working with, Plymouth Yarn Baby Alpaca DK, is just lovely, so soft and warm. These are gonna be some fabulous socks. I just have to finish them. Forgive me if you don't gear from me for a few days. War is hell.

Sick

I have felt a little off the past few days. Not monumentally icky, just a little tired and sore, like maybe I should consider eating a few more veggies or taking a walk. I thought it might just be stress, after all, my husband is in a war zone, my oldest kid is on school vacation, the youngest is potty training, and on top of it all I have 4 sweaters and a wrap to finish before Christmas. Today I woke up and discovered I was wrong. The neighbors' kid gave me strep throat.

At least I assume it's strep. They are the only people I spend much time with anymore, and they've been passing it around for about a week now. What really cheeses me is the difference in our attitudes about helping when someone is sick. I was bringing chicken soup, lending thermometers, watching kids, basically doing everything I could to help them feel better fast and keep Mom from having a mental breakdown. They were over here all the time, bringing their nasty, germ ridden selves across the street for food or company or advice. Since I let them know I wasn't feeling well, I've seen them 3 times. The first time they brought over food and made dinner in my kitchen (I still have to do those dishes). They left soon after I nearly fell asleep on the table. Yesterday they waved as they drove out of the circle. Today I got a phone call asking if the boys and I would like to come over and ride bikes. I got the bikes out and hauled my stinky, tired and all over worn looking ass across the street. I was there for about 5 minutes before she sent me home. I had nearly passed out on her front porch. She was going to watch the boys for awhile so I could get some rest. Not even 5 minutes later the boys were home. She had to feed her husband and sent them home for lunch.

As I'm writing all this, it occurs to me that I come across as bitchy and demanding. It really isn't that way. I don't mind helping out a neighbor, and I appreciate the company. I just wish there was some reciprocation. I seem to draw these types of people, the ones who will drain you dry and never give anything back. I've only had two friends in my life who give as much as they get (you know who you are). So I ask you, why do I keep it up? Is bad company better than no company at all? Or am I just a colossal sucker destined to be taken advantage of my entire life? Discuss amongst yourselves. I'm going for the throat spray and ibuprofen.

Hi, I'm bored!

So, I have nothing new to share with you today. Well, not nothing, but not much at any rate. I went to the yarn shop today, and all i bought was two balls of DK weight alpaca in purple and two size 5 24" addi turbos (my ammunition for Sock Wars). The real excitement was taking one of my recent recruits to her first "real" yarn store. (Hint: A real yarn store is not located in a discount or department store and will not carry Red Heart.) It was like letting a 5 year old loose in a candy store. She tried to be everywhere, forgot what she came in for, bought something totally on impulse, and nearly cried from the joy of it all. I warned her about the pure sensory overload that is a good yarn store, but she didn't believe me. Guess that taught her.

Tomorrow will probably be a more interesting post, as I have decided to take your advice and make the SVfH jealous. I'll kill two birds with one stone and make some practice socks for Sock Wars. I'm trying two at once on two circs for the first time, so it could be time for another knitting related injury.

ETA: Andrea, the next purple alpaca socks are yours!

Where I've been

create your own visited states map

Here it is, as promised. This is exactly how much yarn an obsessed woman can buy in two months without supervision.

Wanna see a close up?

I think we may need a twelve step program for this.

This is between $300 and $400 worth of yarn. You see here 20 balls of chocolate alpaca, 20 balls of red alpaca, 20 balls of teal alpaca, 27 balls of grey superwash wool, 24 balls of green superwash wool, 8 balls of red cashmere laceweight, 5 skeins of red wool laceweight, 12 skeins of various sock yarns, 17 skeins of red merino wool, 7 skeins of blue superwash wool, 9 balls of red superwash wool, 3 skeins of peach alpaca silk blend, and 1 perfect skein of blue silk (the other is already on the needles).

The boys couldn't resist.

In other news, the knitting goddess has issued me a smackdown. Apparently, I was a little too confident in my last mention of the SVfH, and when I tried knitting on it last night I was incapable of remembering to decrease for the neckline. I am of two minds on how to proceed. My first option is to continue my unprecedented faithfulness to this sweater and hope the abusive relationship improves. Option two is to work on something else within sight of the SVfH and hope jealousy will cause a change of heart, and once it realizes it is not my only sweater it will behave more nicely. (The third and unspoken option of a ritual cremation is not being considered at this point. Christmas is coming, damn it.) Leave your votes in the comments. I'm going for the chocolate and wine.

An Update: SVfH

I am still working on the Sweater Vest from Hell. I have not ripped out the whole thing and lit a ceremonial bonfire in the backyard. It actually looks nice now. I feel the need to tell everyone this, because of a conversation I had with my Dad yesterday.

Dad: So, what are you doing?
Me: Knitting on your Christmas present.

Dad: How is that coming along.

Me: I just ripped it out the one time. It looks better now.

Dad: So are you about finished?

Me: Nah, about halfway. A couple more inches and I divide for the armholes.

Dad: Not gonna rip it out and start over?

Me: No, if this doesn't work out I'm gonna burn it.

So, an update for Dad. You still get a Christmas present. So far.

In other news, I talked to my Hubby today. He's still alive and in Iraq. He wants to spend money. I guess it's only fair, since he's earning it all. I am delaying sending a picture of all the yarn and stuff I bought. I'd like to still be married when he comes home. Just remember, honey, I'm knitting you a sweater! Next update: how much yarn can I buy in 2 months without someone to tell me no.

The Sweater Vest from Hell

Usually, I'm not the type of knitter that will frog a project. Ever. I consider anything short of a disastrous accident a "design feature," and I have gotten very good at fudging over little oopsies. So I was shocked to find myself not liking something so much that I frogged the whole thing and started over. I think I might have lost my mind.

It's Christmas knitting season, and because I love my family (and am perhaps slightly insane) I decided I should knit something for all my immediate family members. My first mistake was asking what they wanted instead of making everyone a hat. (Why do people always want sweaters? In Texas? I just don't get it.) My Dad, lord love him, did not know (or did not want to say) what he wanted. He doesn't wear hats, scarves, or gloves. He wouldn't use an afghan. I suggested a sweater, and he vetoed that as too hot. Lightbulb moment! How about a nice sweater vest? Perfect. So I go yarn shopping.

I thought I would order something grey and soft, maybe heathered. An understated yarn. I also remembered my budget, so I headed over to Knitpicks. Bingo. They had just added a new yarn, Shamrock, that was a heavy worsted weight (so it works up fairly quickly, my Dad is not a small man), wool, and looked like it had a lovely blue-grey color that would be perfect for him. Out comes the credit card, home comes the yarn. Mistake number two, the yarn is blue. Not blue-grey, blue. Hmmmm. Well, it's still a lovely color, and I think Dad will like it. Now for the pattern.

As I bop on over to Knitty, I'm feeling pretty good. I have dealt with the unexpected and rationalized my way to acceptance, and the first pattern I look at seems like a good fit. No, I'm not gonna tell you which one, I'm pouting and not likely to say anything nice. (Confidential to designer-who-shall-not-be-named: I'm sure most of the mistakes in the pattern are mine, not yours, but my experience has indicated that one of us cannot count. How did you do in math at school?) I cast on and worked. And kept working. And here comes big, honking, mistake number three: the thing looked terrible, but I wouldn't admit it. Denial ain't just a river in Egypt my friends. There's a big pile of it being unraveled stitch by stitch in my living room. The yarn was too busy for the pattern, or the pattern was too busy for the yarn, or the stars were out of alignment, I just don't know. In any case, I continued to knit on this monstrosity while ignoring the gagging sounds of all who looked at it for a week. I had it almost finished. Wanna see a picture?

Yup, that close to done. A few more inches of the front, bind off, and the edging around the neck and arms and I could have put it in the box of done stuff. But I made the mistake (number four, if anyone's counting) of reading a post on my friends list on LJ asking about this yarn (rough as hell if you were wondering), and I answered it. I was asked for a picture, so I took the one above, and while I was downloading it I thought to myself, "that thing is f*cking ugly." I had seen irrefutable proof of the ugly. I was doomed.

I tried for three days to just keep going. I was almost done. I would send it to Texas and see it once a year. I could live with it.

The lies were no longer working. I couldn't knit a stitch.

I really hate this sweater.

Totally Random

Yay! I have been named Fiborg Den mother! We are now officially in geekdom and way too cool to be understood! That is all.

I have given in and joined the masses. I now have a knitting blog! I will probably misplace it about once a week, nad never really learn how it works, but I will try to keep my ramblings amusing and figure out how to post pictures so you can laugh at my blockhead mistakes. I am a Flake. Keep that in mind if you keep reading.