This first step is admitting there is a problem.
Gather 'round children, and listen to the tale of my addiction.
Yesterday I got off work from job 2 at 3 p.m. I drove home in the gloomy fog, looking forward to going grocery shopping and zoning out in front of Invader Zim for awhile with a small project. When I got to my apartment, I realized (and this will come a total shock to those who know me personally) that I had forgotten my apartment key. Totally out of character, I know! I buzzed at the door but there was no answer, so I decided to rest my head against the cool glass and daydream until the door opened. Shortly afterwards one of the frat style boys on the second floor took pity on me and came down to let me in. Apparently a whole bunch of them are moving in, because there was an awful lot of furniture going in and out of their balcony door. There were people standing in a truck bed handing up shelving units. All of the boys look exactly alike. Almost all trendy Ohio boys between 19 and 30 have a certain look. You know, nylon track pants with a side stripe, a grey hooded sweatshirt advertising some Ohio college, athletic shoes or Adidas slides, and a $50 haircut carefully styled with gel AFTER getting out of the shower to look as though it hasn't been styled at all. (I would not doubt these guys were dating the girls who get up, shower, blow dry and straighten their hair, apply full faces of makeup and earrings, and then get back into hoodies and athletic pants with ass-writing.)
Anyway, they were very polite and even kicked the beer and mountain dew cases out of the way to let me in, which I greatly appreciated. I made it past the rubble to my door where I knocked and knocked. There was no answer, so I called Bryan on my cell phone, where I learned that he was actually in Cleveland with Harrison "the Stallion" Ambs, and would not be home for 20 minutes. They both advised me to do something "hot."
I thought about it for a minute, considered taking a nap in the hallway, and then realized that I should be working away from hobo behavior instead of embracing it. So I went to the Yarn Barn in Avon's historical district.
Let me explain Avon's "historical" district. There is a "historical" shopping center that was erected three years ago. The antique store is noveau. I live in an area where people try to reproduce "quaint" with money and crappy construction. This is called old-world charm, and all of the parking spots are made for compact cars when 90% of the residents drive SUVs. It's laughable. The yarn stores are nice havens in the middle where people are fully willing to embrace their nerdiness. The Yarn Barn is not actually called the Yarn Barn, but is rather a group of two buildings, one of which is actually a barn. I walked into the smaller, an old cottage which I believe is probably the only authentic historical building in the city limits. I walked in and said I wanted sock yarn and needles. The clerk held up a bag next to my ear and shook it, and a faint tinkling sounded from within. Sock needles! Perfectly sized for making an elegent merino blue pair of dress socks, thin enough for spring but warm enough to keep out the damp! I purchased them, along with some gorgeous cobalt yarn that matched the fog outside. I was charmed.
I drove home, was buzzed into my apartment at long last, and found the most gorgeous pattern ever. I learned how to cast on toe-first! No sewing! I learned how to cable (thanks in part to a brief lesson weeks ago from a Miss Jennifer Williams) and the finest, most delicate socks I'd ever worked on were taking form under my hands. I went to put tip protectors on the ends of one, so that none would fall off and botch my work...when one of my sock needles SNAPPED. It snapped in two pieces. I was HORRIFIED! Now, on the weekend when this is my only time to knit...no! NOOOO!
It was too late to do anything. So this morning, I got my ass up, cleaned the apartment, bought toilet paper, and set out to find a replacement. After much driving around I realized that no one in the immediate area carried them, and I didn't have the time nor money to go to the yarn barn.
So I'm pissed. Shocked and pissed. How can knitting stores not carry size one sock needles?! Socks are fundamental! They're classic! How can they not stock them??
In the midst of my horror and anguish I realized that most people don't stand in retail outlets, mouths agape, cursing everyone who doesn't knit socks. This is not normal behavior.
I think I have a problem.
I mean, aside from the problem of not having a damn sock needle. I NEEDED that one. I'm doing CABLES for crying out loud!
Right. Not normal behavior at all.
Yesterday I got off work from job 2 at 3 p.m. I drove home in the gloomy fog, looking forward to going grocery shopping and zoning out in front of Invader Zim for awhile with a small project. When I got to my apartment, I realized (and this will come a total shock to those who know me personally) that I had forgotten my apartment key. Totally out of character, I know! I buzzed at the door but there was no answer, so I decided to rest my head against the cool glass and daydream until the door opened. Shortly afterwards one of the frat style boys on the second floor took pity on me and came down to let me in. Apparently a whole bunch of them are moving in, because there was an awful lot of furniture going in and out of their balcony door. There were people standing in a truck bed handing up shelving units. All of the boys look exactly alike. Almost all trendy Ohio boys between 19 and 30 have a certain look. You know, nylon track pants with a side stripe, a grey hooded sweatshirt advertising some Ohio college, athletic shoes or Adidas slides, and a $50 haircut carefully styled with gel AFTER getting out of the shower to look as though it hasn't been styled at all. (I would not doubt these guys were dating the girls who get up, shower, blow dry and straighten their hair, apply full faces of makeup and earrings, and then get back into hoodies and athletic pants with ass-writing.)
Anyway, they were very polite and even kicked the beer and mountain dew cases out of the way to let me in, which I greatly appreciated. I made it past the rubble to my door where I knocked and knocked. There was no answer, so I called Bryan on my cell phone, where I learned that he was actually in Cleveland with Harrison "the Stallion" Ambs, and would not be home for 20 minutes. They both advised me to do something "hot."
I thought about it for a minute, considered taking a nap in the hallway, and then realized that I should be working away from hobo behavior instead of embracing it. So I went to the Yarn Barn in Avon's historical district.
Let me explain Avon's "historical" district. There is a "historical" shopping center that was erected three years ago. The antique store is noveau. I live in an area where people try to reproduce "quaint" with money and crappy construction. This is called old-world charm, and all of the parking spots are made for compact cars when 90% of the residents drive SUVs. It's laughable. The yarn stores are nice havens in the middle where people are fully willing to embrace their nerdiness. The Yarn Barn is not actually called the Yarn Barn, but is rather a group of two buildings, one of which is actually a barn. I walked into the smaller, an old cottage which I believe is probably the only authentic historical building in the city limits. I walked in and said I wanted sock yarn and needles. The clerk held up a bag next to my ear and shook it, and a faint tinkling sounded from within. Sock needles! Perfectly sized for making an elegent merino blue pair of dress socks, thin enough for spring but warm enough to keep out the damp! I purchased them, along with some gorgeous cobalt yarn that matched the fog outside. I was charmed.
I drove home, was buzzed into my apartment at long last, and found the most gorgeous pattern ever. I learned how to cast on toe-first! No sewing! I learned how to cable (thanks in part to a brief lesson weeks ago from a Miss Jennifer Williams) and the finest, most delicate socks I'd ever worked on were taking form under my hands. I went to put tip protectors on the ends of one, so that none would fall off and botch my work...when one of my sock needles SNAPPED. It snapped in two pieces. I was HORRIFIED! Now, on the weekend when this is my only time to knit...no! NOOOO!
It was too late to do anything. So this morning, I got my ass up, cleaned the apartment, bought toilet paper, and set out to find a replacement. After much driving around I realized that no one in the immediate area carried them, and I didn't have the time nor money to go to the yarn barn.
So I'm pissed. Shocked and pissed. How can knitting stores not carry size one sock needles?! Socks are fundamental! They're classic! How can they not stock them??
In the midst of my horror and anguish I realized that most people don't stand in retail outlets, mouths agape, cursing everyone who doesn't knit socks. This is not normal behavior.
I think I have a problem.
I mean, aside from the problem of not having a damn sock needle. I NEEDED that one. I'm doing CABLES for crying out loud!
Right. Not normal behavior at all.
posted at 9:18 AM
2 Comments:
Knitting... it's a good thing, but I don't have the patience to learn. Still, if I did, I would need to bulk up so that I look like Sylvester Stallone in "Demolition Man", otherwise, I would be a skinny dude knitting while reading blogs and stuff...
And that's just too much like a stereotype...
If it helps, I have complained before about our lack of variety in double-pointed needles. We have 4 sizes. I agree that this is unacceptable.
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