I started a knitted purse on Saturday night, and all I did was BITCH BITCH BITCH. It’s a kit from Habu Textiles & you carry one strand of linen (tight, twisted little bitch of linen, but I like it) and one strand of linen PAPER (crazy, insane, keep thinking it will rip) and you create a very unpleasant fabric if you were wearing it as a shirt, but since it’s a purse, it’s fine, rather interesting, and threatens to be gorgeous.

So it’s clear I’m having a nasty Angelina-Jolie-Flirtation with this yarn, so let’s talk about the directions for knitting. They’re done in the “Japanese style” with numbers and dashes, and you read them from the bottom up.

8-1-6
5-1-4
1-1-1
(+11)

This means you’re increasing a total of 11 stitches. The first row, you increase one, one time. The next is every FIVE rows, increase one stitch, do this a total of four times. Next is every eight rows, one stitch, six times. Sure it makes a shitton of sense now, but Saturday night I was cursing a blue streak. And then? Apparently drawing hair-thin arrows pointing to both sides of the diagram meant “INCREASE ONE STITCH ON BOTH SIDES YOU IDIOT” which means 22 stitches, DUH, why don’t you intuitively read the Japanese instructions, Jennifer? So I ripped out my crazy dangerous yarn and did it correctly.

Knitting with wool is just so much easier. This is going to be my “interspersing” project while I work on other things. And? The song in my head for THIS project, of course, would be “Turning Japanese” …… every few rows a little chorus in my head goes, “I really think so…. da de da daa da da ” Got me a case of The Vapors, I do!

I have just woken up cranky the past two days. Not good! As if that weren’t an obvious observation. I’m out of sorts, I can’t make up my mind on what I want to do, and am generally behaving like a sullen teenager. Wahoo! Don’t you want to come sit by me on the bus?

I went in to Kristin’s office yesterday and said, “I am being a PILL. I just want you to know it has nothing to do with you.” which of course, she already knew. But it’s always good to put things on the record. And then I proceeded to say something to the effect of since I was already in a bad mood and out of sorts, why NOT wear mohair? It’s kind of a hair shirt for me, the mohair. That insane clown posse scarf I knit? Mohair. I will admit, this mohair is not too bad, in that it really doesn’t itch much, if at all, but psychologically, I know I’m wearing mohair, it’s a pain in the ass to knit with to begin with, why WOULDN’T you just complete your cranky-mood day by wearing a mohair scarf? If only I’d thought to wear the underwear that bind & bunch! It could have been a whole outfit tailored to irritate and accentuate discomfort.
Now, I’m out of sorts because I’m hungry, I need to go to Costco but I don’t wanna, I need to do a lot of things, I don’t wanna – hey? remember that crazy accomplishing-everything-and-exhausting you Jennifer from a week or so ago? She’s buried in the back yard. Wrapped in a shroud of mohair.

I was randomly taking pictures yesterday, because I was driving, so of course, I should take pictures to document the fact I was up & driving at 7 a.m. (I even took one of the mo-fo who cut me off, hope you saw the FLASH and felt bad, asswipe!). We drove up to Omaha for a new biz visit, convinced our boss & co-worker (male) to go to String of Purls, where they felt uncomfortable (they were only in the store two minutes, you would have thought we were in a adult bookstore, the way they acted), and then hauled ass back home again. Left home in the waning darkness, got back home in full darkness.
Here’s Kristin, about to enter the yarn shop:

Big sky & geese on the return trip ….

And you know how I love using the rearview mirror as a “device” in pictures… our co-worker, driving us home:

Yesterday was a looong day. I think there are people who love the feel of the road or the earth or the water moving under them – those people become truckers, pilots or sailors. I prefer solid ground beneath my feet, for 6+ hours in a car numbs my butt & when I went to sleep last night, I could still feel the phantom sensation of being in a car. I did, however, get a lot accomplished on the Icehouse Clapotis (THANK YOU to Lyn for the “Electric Blue” song reference) and we had a lot of laughs on the ride. The weekend is nearly upon us, and I’m glad glad glad of that!

I feel a little like tiny Tim (from Scrooge, not the ukelele player) when I wave my coffee cup at you at all and shout, “Happy Friday, Everyone!”

Yeah, so I write some of my blogs ahead of time. Usually the night before, and because I’m on this free lame-ass blog publishing format, I have to come back in & actually publish on the day it is supposed to appear. In discussing my pre-writin’ skeeelz, JWo responded with a Kanye-West-flavored shout out, “We want pre-write! We want pre-write!” because Gold Digger was on the MTV2. I’ve noticed as I get older, I have started to speak as the old people before me spoke, and I’ve started with putting the “The” in front of the Nouns. Excellent! Soon I will proclaim I wash my hands in the Zink.

So, here it is, a pre-write published the night before, because I’m going on a road-trip new business adventure with three co-workers (the lovely miss K included…we’ll be the dynamic duo in the back, knitting.) I’m bringing my camera, because this should be entertaining. We begin at 7:15 a.m., so please, feel sorry for me in an outpouring of flowing sympathy. Welcome to Screwsville! Population Moi!

In any event, I wanted to post a shitton of finished knitting & the current WIP. Because every day, every day I knit the yarrrrrrrnnnnn.

Here’s the finished result of my handpainted yarn, knit up in a fishtail lace pattern. I need to block the finished scarf, but it’s very vintage-y feeling, the colors are softer in real life.

I dubbed this scarf the “Insane Clown Posse Scarf”, because at the end, you have over 1,200 stitches on your needles. DO YOU KNOW HOW INSANE THAT IS? Certifiable. That’s how insane. Oh, and a good refresher course in just how much I dislike the mohair.

This is the hat & muffler I knit for JWo to keep him warm on his hunting expeditions. It’s a cammo color of Lorna’s Laces worsted, and super soft.

I liked the yarn so much, I’m making a Clapotis in the same yarn – but the colorway is “Icehouse”. Tell me you aren’t trying, right now, to remember what in the hell that band’s big song was. Because it’s been bugging me for 5 days. Kind of like having an itch just out of reach in the middle of your back. Just now? I have been Googling & searching, and yes, I can find album information, but no song snippet to finally jar ye olde memory out of slumber. ARGH.

If you click on through to the Flickr site, you’ll also see the finished hat, mittens & scarf sets I made for Roger’s niece & nephew, and another picture of the fishtail lace.

So, the date says Thursday, but I’m sending this baby out early – just like I have to get UP early. Have I ever mentioned before how un-morning-person I am? The Jennifer, she likes to sleep in.

9:20 p.m. UPDATE: I am hot on the trail of an official Icehouse site. No promises (that was also one of their hits!), but the site is here.
9:26 p.m. UPDATE: FU*K! That had nuthin. This is totally why I pre-write! Sweet Cracker Sandwich, praise the VH1. No Promises was the big song. Very Ah-Ha sounding. God, 1986 was a long time ago. Back when we played the cassettes. ;)

That Tom Cruise is a Nutjob.

NUTJOB PROOF

Good grief. Yes, I read about it earlier, but now that they’re saying HELLO, Top Gun, you can’t operate one of these safely, I think it’s safe to say, Tommy has lost all his marbles. All of ’em. Yes, Madonna, I am judging him. Fix your accent and put some clothes on.

Oh, and I am pre-publishing all OVER the place tonight. Mmmhmm!

Yesterday morning, I got up early & made a double batch of banana chocolate chip muffins. 12 muffins, and 5 mini-loaves. Mmm-hm! Even as I was making the batter, I was skeptical of the recipe – it seemed to thick. And, sadly, it was. Too much flour, and I’ll never use that recipe again. They were a little more like biscuits. I had one muffin, and JWo had one & a half mini loaves. We joked that they were probably “dog treats”.

Oh, how true it is when you have a black lab in the home….

Yesterday afternoon, a certain Miss Polly Purebred snuck off from the computer room, and ate ALL BUT FOUR MUFFINS. That means she had 7 muffins, and 3 & 1/2 mini loaves of bread. Like, over 3 cups of flour, some eggs, almost a bag of chocolate chips, a cup of sugar – hey! It’s not exactly the BARK diet, but it was homemade! James saw her skulking back in, and thought, “oh, noooooo….” and the fact that she wasn’t keyed-up dancing and asking for dinner. Turns out, she’d helped herself to a li’l dinner, right off the kitchen counter. That dog loves to stand up like a freakin’ kangaroo, and she’s not afraid to exploit her skills to serve her better! James was worried the chocolate would affect her badly, and I said, “Oh, hell, Ashley’s dogs have eaten entire bags of Hershey’s chocolates & been fine.”

The baking plans I have for this weekend? Will be CLOSELY MONITORED. I’m not planning on making any more DOG TREATS. Y’hear that, Miss P?

You are Woodstock!

Which Peanuts Character are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

So, last night, we went to the casino for dinner. They had a great shrimp (and prime rib, but I could give a rip about prime rib) buffet, and we had a yummy time. I don’t frequent the casinos much at all, so it’s like being in a foreign country for me. We decided to pool some money and play video poker. Of course we lost, and then JWo wanted to play some blackjack, so I idly lost more money in various slot machines in between wandering around and watching him play.

Here is my one succinct observation in a casino. If you walk around and say, “I lost it all!” even though you just mean the $10 you put into the nickel slot machine, people will jerk their heads around and look at you with abject fear in their eyes, fear you can spot clearly through the smoky haze. Because they think you lost your house, your car, your dogs and your mamma. I said “I lost it all!” quite cheerfully, about three times, to JWo, and by the third time, picked up on the fact that what I was saying was akin to shouting “Fire” in the movie theater. This reaction happened with men, women – all races, with the alarmed look and head jerk.

Which made me laugh, of course, because yes, I did not exit a winner, but I do not like to gamble, and once I’m in doing it, of course I’m sure I’m going to hit triple sevens on a progressive slot and get a quarter of a million dollars. But when my credits are done, so am I. I don’t keep feeding the machine, for Las Vegas doesn’t twinkle and shine because it was built on winners. And I AM A WINNER. If only in my mind. Now, if they had a slot machine that dispensed yarn? (Noro Slots!) I could seriously, seriously find myself putting the house on the line.
(just kidding, JWo!)

The internal phone ring at the Major Case Squad on Law & Order, Criminal Intent?

Sounds just like our doorbell.

I did not notice this similarity NEARLY as much as Miss Polly did.

BURF!

Unpack materials. Neatly stack non-recyclable parts of packing into one pile. Note one’s precision and feel smug. Find instructions. Read them, carefully & diligently.

Cut out template for drilling holes; ascertain you DO have an overhang style cabinet, tape template into cleaned out shelf.

Discover drill will not fit in shelf. Plan B. Tape template to underside of cabinet.

Attempt to tape template.

Attempt taping over and over again, for it seems there is a special non-tape-adhering style paint that has been applied and enjoy squishing your face underneath the cabinet. Despite the fact the template is hanging on by a thread, drill first hole. Template falls off.

Now, template must not only be taped up, but must match first hole.

Find bamboo skewer in drawer. Put through hole, tape into place on shelf surface, which does not posess the teflon quality paint finish as the underside.

Put template back in place, apply more tape & hastily mark holes with a brown sharpie.

Commence with the drilling.

Drilling sucks.

Scream at the dog to return to her pillow.

Get all four holes drilled, finally.

Locate correct size spacers to accommodate depth of overhang. Realize one is not a Hindu deity, and recognize at this point in the installation, it has become a job requiring approximately six hands. Extra hands are not included. Illustration neglects to show any hands at all. Burn hole in instructions with eyes.

Attempt to grow four more hands by staring hard at the tequila bottle on the counter. Fail.

Say a prayer to your other favorite goddess, Necessity, and assemble the following into a tower: One oval Calphalon roasting pan, One large can of Kirkland brand Columbian coffee, One Fanny Farmer cookbook, One dilapidated Moosewood Restaurant cookbook, and One box of Betty Crocker SuperMoist yellow cake mix. Set undercounter CD/Radio/Clock on top of this pile, discover box of yellow cake mix makes the pile too high, and position radio under drilled holes.

Discover one hole ain’t right.

Attempt to fix without drilling fourteen new holes. Or moving the Tower of Radio. Fail.

Lose temper. Consider drinking tequila and leaving project for husband. Note is only 9:30 a.m.

Begin tightening the three screws that do line up. Begin to think three screws are just fine.

Become incredibly frustrated drill/screwdriver has not magically grown smaller and (once again) will not fit in shelf, thus mandating all three screws will be tightened by hand.

As clock rises to meet the underside of counter, you will need the SuperMoist yellow cake mix. Jam box in.

Back left screw will continue pushing radio down. Jam half-empty bottle of margarita mix under radio. Note how it works just fine.

When all three screws are in, mutter many self-congratulations & replace the shelf liner & all the glasses. Plug in radio.

Set clock. Several times. Discover there is a military time feature. Turn off.

Wipe down all sawdust, put tools, tape dispenser, tower pieces & instructions away.

Note that headache has not gone away & in fact worsened through process.

Finally, put in new Madonna CD. Proceed to dance with your dog in the kitchen and feel very, very pleased. And know that if we ever sell this house, the $40 cd clock radio will be thrown in for $1,000. Extra. Because that’s what it will take for me to reverse this entire process.