I finished the Cursed Sock! That's right, baby, I made a pair. When I finished I immediately turned them into the Floppy Earmuffs of Joy, shaking my head back and forth and shrieking "they're finished!" Garvin took them from me and did a little dance, waving them about. I think maybe puppet shows and dancing should become a new finished object tradition.

I'm also taking Vikki's birthday present off its needles right now. Two finished things in one weekend? Unheard of!

Today while cleaning the apartment, I found a large array of unexplainable junk. Now, I've been pretty good lately about not keeping things around for ages (such as receipts and bills from February that I technically paid online before they were even due) but I think the vast ocean of clutter from times before is starting to wash over me, as if to remind me of my weird accumulating past.

I'm not entirely sure were some of this crap even CAME from. Here we go:

1. A "sandwich maker" that I've never personally used. This is not MY junk, for the record. Most of our kitchen junk came from someone else who happens to live here, someone who also has a french fry maker with parts we're not even sure BELONG to the french fry maker, and a lot of pie pans. Neither of us bake, so I'm not sure why we own pie tins, but we do. (I like pie, I just hate baking. Plus I sort of think flour is evil. Neurotic, I know.)

2. A veritable assortment of old toothbrushes. I can understand ONE for cleaning baseboards and the crack between the stove and the counter, but SIX?? Geez. I've had one toothbrush for the whole time I've lived here, so I have no idea when the others showed up.

3. Womens' pants that aren't mine or his. Seriously? Weird. (And yes, he does own one pair of ladies' pants. It's sort of a long story.)

4. A thousand beer bottle tops that have been squished into little football shapes. I'm pretty sure I know where those came from. The question is: why?

5. AARP magazines. A whole stack. They keep sending them to me, although that doesn't explain why I've chosen to keep them in the apartment.

6. One 20 pound barbell circa 1972.

7. A Domino's Pizza "heat wave" thermal pizza transportation pouch.

8. Keys for cars we no longer own. Also, keys to the propane cabinet at a home improvement store where I worked when I was 16. The store is no longer in business. Still---if any time travelers need propane and feel like searching for it in the past, I've got the key for that.

So, yeah. Today was a good day to get out the garbage bags and go through some things. I'm a little afraid of what's going to happen when I venture into the spare closet. Maybe I'll have a drink or four before I try that.

(P.S.--I also found a hard hat that says "Alltel" on it. Who works for Alltel? We don't even have a house phone!)

Oh laptop, you tease
My cursor it flits gaily
Almost at random

Fie! Peripheral---
I shall toss you to Louise
She pounces! Bad mouse.

Room full of hardware
Strewn across the carpet, yet
Still no parts I need.

Labels: computers

Before I post the story of the blue sock, I'd like to explain where my post entitled "People are Fickle" went. It appears that Google has taken to indexing posts VERY quickly, because when I came home from Ethan's 3rd birthday party, I saw that I had received several (unmoderated) comments that were pretty much environmentally based (not all of them were, just some) and I had explicitly stated that I didn't want anyone's opinion about the current situation. The post was merely pointing out that we'll do anything that is trendy, regardless of whether or not the behavior should be modified based on personal health and/or beliefs. It wasn't a post about the environment or your personal thoughts on it. Look, dudes. Any readers out there who are actual scientists or economists, raise your hands. Anyone? Anyone at all? No, I didn't think so. Please keep your fighting on your forums and off my blog, thanks. This is no the place for intelligent debate, because there is no way to moderate the quality of the arguments. I am a paper pusher, not a biologist. Take it elsewhere, thanks.

I deleted the post and all of the comments, even Scooter's on how peoples' motivation can be largely based on money, which is also a good point. It's sort of part of the Trend Theorem, in which TV=people will mindlessly do it=lots of money. I imagine this is how Beanie Babies got so popular back in the 90s.

In the future I am going to make a better effort to avoid topics that could lead to soap-boxing in the comments.

Please, read a post in its entirety before you decide to mouth off.

In an effort to skip to a topic so obsessively nerdy that I imagine you will all leave in droves, I am going to talk about the socks I am knitting. Excited? Ready to give your uninformed two cents? Get ready, because this next paragraph is about wool and superstition.

I decided to knit some wool socks. I picked out a gorgeous pattern, a pattern with some interesting things I'd never attempted. The wool was beautiful, and I cast on with high hopes. As with most first attempted, I made some mistakes. The socks moved slowly as I mastered toe-up, short row heels, and intricate cables. Then, one day, Stephen Tyler Jr. stole the sock. He chewed up the skien and spit it out looking like a heap of noodles. I laughed, I cried, I mostly yelled a heck of a lot. I kept going. I knit along, untangling yarn as I went until one day I stretched it out to admire it, and what did I see? I'd totally screwed up the whole damn thing. Cables were cabling everywhere. Somehow the sock was one size at the toe and another at the heel. I cursed and ripped the little bitch back, thus losing my place in the pattern.

"No problem" I told Mr. Action Figure Stepho, who was watching me rip and curse and shake my fist with an expression I like to think was respect (although horror was probably closer to it.) "I will just start the second sock, now that I know what's happening, and pick this one up when the other one is at the same spot."

I did! I knit the second sock, and it's beautiful. Virtually problem free, even. I thought maybe the curse had been broken.

I then picked up the first one to carry on, thinking it would be as easy as your mom.

I realized very shortly that the sock curse had not been broken. I swear that particular sock has it out to get me. The damn thing has been dropping stitches, pilling, fuzzing, splitting, and cables have been crossing madly with no regard for common sense. I pushed through. I set GOALS. Today I triumphantly announced to Jenny that I was just about ready to finish it. I started the ribbing at the top and left the table where we were knitting for a minute. When I got back, she had the two socks lined up. "Are you sure your math isn't wrong?" she asked. Despite measuring and counting, that first sock was two inches too short! What the hell?? I'd even double checked. I can only assume that the first sock had shrunk while I had my back turned.

I picked it up and ripped the ribbing back, cursing some more. Then, after I'd gotten it back on the needles to work on it, one of the needles slipped out and clattered on the ground, loops of yarn popping out everywhere, just waiting to unravel. Shit. So I picked it back up, managed to dig the stitches out and get them back on, and thrust it into my purse, declaring that I was done for the day and it could sit there and learn its lesson.

When I got home I took it out of my purse, to place it on the table so it could see me working on other more behaved projects. Do you know what happened? I pulled that damned needle out AGAIN! Yes.

The other sock has been finished (problem free) for days, so I can only imagine that it's this personal sock which is out to get me.

That's OK. It's still summer. I'll finish it before fall. Still, I wonder what it will take for me to be able to finish this stupid sock? Clearly it has it in for me. Maybe I'll spray it with some fabric refresher or something to appease it.

Any ideas?

The Rules:

1. Add a direct link to your post below the name of the person who tagged you. Include the state and country you're in.
2. List out your top 5 favorite places to eat at your location (locally).
3. Tag 5 other people (preferably from other countries/states) and let them know they've been tagged.


My Eateries:

* Aroma (Avon Lake, OH)-Amazing Italian style food. It's a little pricey, but it's very intimate and the food was delicious.
* Zachy's (Elyria, OH)-Greek themed deli. Excellent prices, authentic food.
* Johnny Malloy's (Avon Lake, OH)-Yes, I know it's a bar chain, but the food is pretty good for bar food, and since we know all of the bartenders our bill is often suspiciously low.
* Some Mexican Restaurant that Always Changes Names-(Avon Lake, OH) I love this place. Strong margaritas and huge entrees. Delicioso.
* Karl's Inn of the Barristers (Cleveland, OH)-My favorite lunch spot.


Previous Players:

* Nicole (Sydney, Australia)
* Velverse (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia)
* LB (San Giovanni in Marignano, Italy)
* Selba (Jakarta, Indonesia)
* Olivia (London, England)
* ML (Utah, USA)
* J (California, USA)
* CuriosityKiller (Hong Kong, SAR)
* Shelli (Minnesota, USA)
* Bluepaintred (Saskatchewan, Canada)
* Avitable (Florida, USA)
* Heather (Ohio, USA)
* Robin (Massachusetts, USA)
* Frankie (Massachusetts, USA)
* Luin (New York, USA)
* Scooter (Ypsilanti, MI, USA)
* Joe (Detroit, MI USA)
* Stepho (Avon Lake, OH, USA)

I'm not tagging anyone because Joe C tagged the people I would have. If you want to do this, knock yourself out.

I've had writers' block for awhile. At first I imagined that this block started a few months ago when I was working two jobs and got out of the habit of blogging so I started posting pictures and surveys as a way to not actually have to write anything with actual content. After careful reconsideration I've realized that I've actually had this problem for the better part of a year and I'm not exactly sure what happened.

This may shock and amaze you, but I used to write things that weren't merely shameless public posts for attention and possibly sex and/or money the express joy of becoming part of a bigger world. I used to write lots of things. Catty reviews. Scathing essays. Letters to people---real letters with handwriting and everything. Granted, none of it was great. Especially not the handwriting, which is pretty atrocious. I sort of have serial killer handwriting, not because I'm overly psychopathic but more because I'm a much faster typist (100 some words a minute) and handwriting pisses the holy hell out of me.

I've tried to inspire myself by focusing on such topics as current events and scientific discoveries, but frankly my main line of thought on those topics seems to be that most people will jump to vast conclusions based on almost no information whatsoever. And while that's a hell of a lot of fun, it doesn't really reassure me that the human race is at all superior. Sometimes I think that if cats had opposable thumbs they'd suddenly gain the upper hand take over the world and we'd spend our lives working in catnip mines deep below the surface of the earth, out of sight.

The point of this whole thing is to say that I may seem stupider than usual lately, and to that I suggest that you inspire me by sending me money and free food. I think that might help. Failing that, maybe you fellow bloggers could just offer up some topics to help me stretch my brain a little.

(But really...food, ok?)

As I sit here at work on this casual Friday, I can't help but compare what we choose to wear on our casual day with what we choose to wear for the rest of the month. Like most companies, ours has policies dictating what is appropriate and what is not. I've noticed that the casual day guidelines don’t vary too much from our normal business casual guidelines.

At first I chalked this up to the desire to maintain a professional image while still allowing a little freedom (and also a laundry day for those of us who don't quite have the system down yet.) I suppose the clothing we wear presents a message to society. "Look at me, I'm a professional on my way to an office job." Or "I'm a spontaneous, carefree artistic type." We choose what we like to wear, but what we "like" to wear always seems to fall into one category. You can tell instantly by looking at someone (be it casual day or otherwise) whether they're bohemian, preppy, trendy, etc.

With all the ranges of personal choice we have in all our categories of fashion, I wonder why we stick to ONE. Furthermore, I wonder exactly WHY we decided that certain things were professional and certain were inappropriate. For example, why isn't it considered professional for us to wear togas in hot weather? Back in Rome, the toga was THE must-have piece for summer. Flowey, in a range of fabrics and colors, it could denote class while still allowing freedom of movement and ease of usage. While women still have this option and can wear long flowing dresses, men are pretty much socially restricted from this. Isn't that silly? Why are those of us who are restricted to desk jobs still wearing pants?

Maybe if one of you men out there breaks the mold and wears a long skirt to casual day it'll catch on in corporate America. Maybe one day we'll see executives with briefcases wearing sandals and silk drapery on their way to Starbucks.

Let's bring back to the toga!

Labels: idiocy

Ali,
I dare your cats to beat this:

Yesterday I developed a brilliant get-rich-quick idea. Ready?

Step 1: Run for president. Now, if you actually "care" about your political "career,"
this step may be rather hard. You're going to have to actually voice legitimate opinions and try to kiss a lot of butt. Of course, if you don't care about re-election, you can run by pretty much saying whatever the hell you want. You could get up there and promise every household a pony and a stripper and then back out of it come your term in office. This is my plan. I will be the best candidate EVER! Instead of kissing babies, I will kiss old men. What am I going to do about global warming? Why, I'm going to pass out mojitos, for those who like to drink. For those who don't I will pass out organic lemonade. Free. I would declare my plans to make every Monday is free pie day. I will babble about firm convictions and freedom for Iraq while simultaneously talking about passing a bill to remove all the troops. I will promise tax breaks for all! Maybe I'd even appear at debates in an American flag bikini, complete with a crying eagle screen printed across the rear end.

Step 2: Get elected. I'd rig some votes if I had to.

Step 3: Take office. Here's the fun part. Once I took office I would IMMEDIATELY distract everyone from my shoddy election promises by throwing a free street party in DC. I would hire live bands to play atop the White House every night. I'd send them around to various hospitals and other sad places and become a beloved humanitarian, sort of like Jimmy Carter. Here's the beauty of my plan: whenever someone started bugging me about just WHEN I thought I was going to look at the Gun Control issue, I would retreat into my inner room, slam the door, and scream "not no, I have a belly ache!" Using this foolproof evasion tactic, I would manage to skate through four years of partying and bullshit, banking my money carefully and living off the perks of being president. Whenever asked by anyone what I "planned to do" about a certain situation, I would say "you're adults, handle it your damn selves. Now go run off and play!" Also, I would appear at all formal functions in some sort of super-hero costume.

Step 4: Don't get re-elected: After getting 0 votes the next election, I would retreat to a cabin in Maine. I'd be such an outcast that no one would even WANT to talk to me. I'll become a recluse and start some internet rumors that I have gone insane.

Insane----but rich! I see no reason why I can't put this plan to use immediately. Maybe for my vacation this year I'll don some sort of headwear and head on over to Iowa.

Him: What did you have for breakfast, Lady??
Me: Cheese (averts eyes)
Him: (Raises eyebrow.)
Me: And tomato juice...and...a pie! (Collapses in a fit of nervous laughter.)
Him: (Laughing) Sounds like a good breakfast Lady. (Shakes head and mutters "cheese" under breath.)

Nongreasy? Hah! Nonshiny? Hah! SPF 70? As if!

Hair? Crazy. Shorts? Held on with a bungee cord as a belt. Bikini? Check! Strange unexplained bruises? Yes! Belly? Full and happy. A successful weekend, if I do say so myself.

I was also rather proud of myself for abstaining from mass quantities of alcohol. I came home with all of the alcohol I left with, bottles sloshing around in my duffel, hoping I wouldn't get pulled over and cited for open container. Yes, I was a Sober Stepho this weekend, although you wouldn't know it to look at the pictures. Or to look at my knitting which turned out...well...let's just say I gave that crooked washcloth to mom and dad, because as parents they are encouraged to display all of my shoddy handiwork proudly. Here's to hoping it's colorfast.

Tomorrow I will iron real pants and go to work. Sigh. Remember when summer was long and you could spend whole days lounging around outside?

Girls' Weekend is a very special time of year. It's a time of year when the women of my American Legion Auxiliary group get together at a campground and pretty much drink nonstop without the tiresome constraints of dignity or pants.

I plan on knitting without pants on, eating all the green jello-shots again (last year they were margarita flavored and surprisingly strong---a lesson I learned only after eating about a dozen.)

I also seem to remember an incident where my mother managed to almost drown herself in the freezing pond, and then two or three of us got stuck trying to wedge ourselves into a Little Tykes brand picnic table set.

I'm supposed to be packing right now, but I think I'll be OK. So far I have a bikini crammed into my tote, and some SPF 70, and my car is filled with V8 and nonperishable dry goods. What else could a lady need?

So recently I have been looking at this:

...and liking the asymmetry of the neckline more and more. I wondered if it would work in bubblegum pink:

I decided to cat-test it to be sure. Here are the steps to cat-testing a yarn and pattern. First, knit up a little gauge swatch to see if you can't manage to get the stitches to the right size for the pattern. I managed to find almost the right size needles without sitting on them or dropping them into the couch, and it just so happened to measure up perfectly. Both of these things were major accomplishments for me. Then, I took the swatch and placed it across Louise's paws. It looked pretty. I imagine that when she sprawls across it come this fall, it will be very picturesque. She seemed to like the wool, chewing on it and tossing it about. In fact, she and the puppy got into a little argument about it. So I think it'll work quite nicely.

I'll admit, a pink wool sweater is sort of...well...super girly. Almost mock-girly, if you will. Especially since I tend to wear mostly black, white and blue. Hey, sometimes a lady feels like wearing something pink. I will further admit that working with 100% wool in June is a little bizarre. I'm also working on those blue merino socks which are beautiful if not sometimes a little maddening.

To offset the wool thing, today I knit a dishrag in cotton. See? I can be appropriate! In fact, I liked it so much that I might make a summer top out of the rest of the cotton. But of course, since I'm backwards, I'll probably start working on that in November. If I don't get distracted first.

I don't know, Louise doesn't actually seem so fond of the cotton. I suppose I'll have to cat-test it on Jerome to be totally sure.

Because if it's not cat-tested, it's not Stepho approved.

I'm sorry guys (Jen, Ali and Scooter). I'll update my blogroll as soon as I have some coffee, call the transmission place and clean out my car. Oh, and also when I remember how to change the template that was set up for me while I paid absolutely no attention.

Yeah that's right. The car is not at the transmission place yet. This has come of several things (mostly finding one in the area) but also---if I'm totally honest--it's cause I need to clean out the car and I can't carry the box of random stuff myself. As strong as I am, the strength of my junk is mightier. And that terrifies me.

Ah well, off to wrangle myself some help.