A reason, a season, a lifetime

On Monday, I was hunting through the garage for Genevieve's mouse costume. When we made it last year (and by "we" I mean "mostly Mom"), we purposefully made it larger so that it could be a play costume and maybemaybemaaaaybeee fit her for another Halloween.

Halloween 2012

In a bin of miscellaneous stuff (from Mom's house), I came across this photo:

Halloween 2001 (Pardon the photo of a photo)

(The blonde is ChrissyG, my best friend through high school and college. Shortly after Andrew and I got married in 2005, ChrissyG and I stopped speaking. Why? That's not the point of this story. The point is that for eight years, there was a ChrissyG-shaped hole in my heart and life.)

I was getting my shownotes together for the podcast after getting Genevieve to sleep for the night, and with my laptop right there, I thought, "I wonder how ChrissyG is doing. I'll just google her."

In three clicks, I found her Twitter stream and her Instagram profile. For two hours, I fell down a rabbit hole of catching up with her life, 140 characters and a thumbnail photo at a time.

Over eight years, I had thought about her a lot. About her kids, about how she was doing. I missed her like crazy. I had even talked about mourning the loss of our friendship with Dr. Boyband, YEARS after the fact. The loss of a friendship like ours is one that is mourned for a long time; and like with any loss, you never really get over it.

I didn't want to intrude in her life if she didn't want me in it, because hellooooo, boundaries. But I couldn't stand at *least* letting her know I was there, just in case.

When I woke up the next morning, I saw a tweet from ChrissyG to me, saying she had looked for me under my old handles from high school, but, YAY that I had found her. (I paraphrase.)

I shot her a message with my phone number, and we texted throughout the morning, until Genevieve went down for her nap. Then we talked on the phone for an hour and a half, catching up on what eight years of separation had robbed us of.

We made plans to see each other, and she came over the next day. The superficial stuff had changed, her hair, her clothes, but there she was. My best friend.

ChrissyG was always the cool one, knowledgeable, doing her own thing and not caring what other people thought. She was smart, funny, and stylish. I am pleased to report that in these respects, the important ones, she hasn't changed a bit.

When she came in, Genevieve was immediately comfortable with her. (This is a big deal.) We spent the morning together, chatting about where our friends and acquaintances have been up to, talking about our kids, and the usual stuff.

It was great. We have both grown up, mellowed, and become more of ourselves than we were before, and the best thing is this: where some folks become different people over time apart, we're like a stream that got separated in the middle by a rock and met up again on the other side.

Treasured trinkets

My mom has always said that there are different types of friends; friends for a reason, friends for a season, friends for a lifetime.

Let's never be apart again, ok, ChrissyG? I'd hate to make a liar out of the dog tag.

A formal "thank you"

I am incredibly fortunate to have awesome people in my life, whom I am even more fortunate to call my friends. I know that they're my friends, because they do things like weave scarves for me, wave them around all weekend while I'm lusting away after them. This forces me to fight the urge to knock them to the floor and steal the aforementioned scarf off of their bodies until they are done teasing me and bestow Things of Beauty upon my completely undeserving self.

Like this one.

Scarf woven out of Abstract Fiber Matisse on a Schacht Flip Loom

The picture doesn't come close to doing the scarf justice, but it's the first picture I've taken of a scarf I've had for over a year. I've been wearing it at every opportunity, and I loveloveLOVE it. I love it so much that I match my eyeshadow to it. (You can't really tell in the photo.)

I'm ashamed to say that I simply forgot to send a "Thank You" card to the charming and talented creator of my favorite scarf. I was remiss in my manners, and for that, I am utterly mortified at my own boorishness. I blame the bright colors for distracting me, you know how I am.

 Dear Evil Jasmine,

Thank you for my beautiful scarf. I love it and wear it all the time.

Love,
Wicked Jasmin

To Miss K, with love

Dear Erin;

Happy belated birthday! As your BFF, it's my responsibility to make sure that your birthday is awesome. We've both been very busy, and due to shortages in materials, your birthday gift was delayed.

Before we talk presents, let's talk about you. You're smart, gorgeous, talented, and HILARIOUS! You are always up for a crazy adventure, a creature feature, and the occasional accidental adult zombie flick. (I'm still sorry about that one.) You're always a good sport, and you make me smile even when I'm in the middle of a bad mood.

More than that, you are a good friend to me - the best! I love that you've offered to menace people at the wool auction on my behalf, and offer to shank people who make my life harder. You're the O'Brien to my Bashir. The Chakotay to my Janeway.  The Picard to my Riker. The Spock to my Kirk. You get the picture.

You'll always share a good story, chores, or a bowl of pho with me. You're willing to try my culinary experiments, and you're always very encouraging.

I know that you feel overwhelmed by your stuff right now- that's normal during and after a move. I wanted to do something for you that would be clutter-free, special, and a little decadent.

These are made with Jackie's secret cupcake recipe

I managed to talk Jackie into giving me her ultra-secret perfect chocolate cupcake recipe. It's a totally from-scratch recipe, and in my opinion, the best cupcake ever to pass my lips. I wanted a spectacular base for the main part of your gift, the blue whipped cream roses.

I was going to do blue gumpaste roses, which I found a few months ago. I hunted everywhere, and there was no gumpaste to be had in all the land. I ended up at Barbara of Pauline's (in Willow Glen), and Barbara herself took me in the back and taught me how to make whipped cream roses.

(Quick segway- Barbara of Pauline's reminds me of one of those yarn shops that's been open for 40 years, where they teach you what you want to learn then and there, and they have Definite Opinions about how Things ought to be. Barbara has a wealth of knowledge that she shares; she was patient with my uncoordinated self, and was able to isolate my technical issues and explained clearly how to fix them.)

You read about how I practiced making the whipped cream roses, and that was so that yours would be beeeautimous. I used food coloring to make your roses blue (your favorite color of rose), and I also used just a tiny bit of rose water in to give them a faintly rosey smell. Mom and Laura helped with putting the green on the cupcakes, and we all ended up faintly Smurf-colored by the end of the night.

I hope this year is a great one for you with plenty of time for you to do the things that you want, lots of fiber, and projects that turn out perfectly.

Love,

Your Feffalina

You can't always get what you want

Dear Cece;

I miss knitting on you. I know that when you arrived in the mail, I (practically) tore through the Tyvek envelope with my teeth to free you, balled you up immediately, swatched, and cast on within the hour. There is just one thing keeping me from you, and we both know what that is.

Sweater Swap 2010: A Twist Cardigan for Meghan, from the Stitch It! Podcast.

Meghan's sleeves. I honestly don't remember the sleeves on my own Twist taking this long. I blame the fact that Meghan is taller than I am, Cece. Every row on this pair of sleeves is like an eternity away from you.

What I'm saying, Cece, is that while knitting cables feels more appropriate for the practically Canadian weather we've been having in California, I'd rather be knitting you.

But I will tell you one thing, Cece. If your sleeves take HALF this long, you're going straight to time out. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Love,

Jasmin

...with liberty and libations for all!

Today kicked off the Tour de Fleece. After careful consideration, and much debate, I found my goal. I'm going to ply up all the projects that have been sitting, resting indefinitely, which include:

- 25 oz of Tallulah, to be knit into a Mariah:

- 4 oz of Redfish Dyeworks 80% merino/ 20% tussah silk, in the Mango colorway, spun for lace knitting.

- 4 oz of Crown Mountain Superwash merino in "Albatross". Spun for socks for Andrew. (Side note: Crown Mountain had a sale last week, and I totally resisted the urge to purchase.)

But alas, as the race kicked off, guess who got a flat tire? Yours truly. I start plying up the mango colored laceweight, and my Woolee Winder refuses to draw in. So I oil everything (because that's the first step in fixing any spinning issue. Yes, the bobbin is new, so it needs to be broken in. But alas, my Woolee Winder needs to be cleaned and tightened. My pit crew (Andrew) has been informed.

Lest you think I spun alone today, I was joined by some of my closest friends, and their families. What started as a casual day of sitting around, watching movies and spinning turned into a full-out pot-luck style barbeque. I haven't had this much fun on a Fourth of July in ages!

When we served dinner, we packed a dozen people into our living room, tossed in 1776 - which might be the best movie EVER, second only to Xanadu - and watched William Daniels declare independency for the United States. Sure, it was a tight fit, but we still had a great time.

So, I close with some self-evident truths:

- Where there is a fire pit and s'more components, fun will be had.
- Getting into a hammock can be a challenge, but well worth it.
- Friends come to party, real friends help with the cleanup. Mine are the best!

No longer shall I be oppressed!

On Friday afternoon, Chloe taught me how to drive a stick shift. Despite the fact that I have been driving for more than ten years now, I never was taught how. I asked, but various circumstances prevented my learning. And so it went.

When I realized that Chloe drove a stick shift, I responded with my trademark unbounded enthusiasm. So, at the end of business on Friday, Chloe came over (freshly blond-ed!) with the express purpose of teaching me The Stick.

The first couple of attempts at first gear were not stellar, but warranted cheering from the neighbor kids, who watched the car have a seizure (and heard me shriek), and then yelled "THAT was AWESOME!" (Note: It was not so awesome from where I was sitting.)

Through failed attempts, a few successes, and a few stalls at lights, Chloe kept her cool. She was encouraging, kind, and calm. (My parents could have taken a lesson in teaching driving from her.) She gave praise regularly, and assured me that I am NOT stupid for not figuring it out in ten minutes.

She also Kinneared me, as proof:

(Photo courtesy of Chloe Sparkle)

After about an hour behind the wheel, I was EXHAUSTED, but encouraged. Chloe went off to work, and Andrew and I traded his car for his brother's, which is a stick. I drove to Purlescence that night, and to Los Altos on Saturday. (YAY! Fifth gear!) One stall per trip, that's all.

And Chloe? Sorry about the whiplash. First gear is tricky.

...Wow.

Tika has the best taste in movies, EVER.

I invited her over for some impromptu wine drinking, and introduced her to "How I met your mother". In exchange, Tika shared the GEM that is Xanadu. (It's on "instant watch" on Netflix, so you don't even have to waste a disk rental on this one.)

During the course of this film, we discover that Gene Kelley does a montage of EVERY movie he has been in, which is awesome. (The conversation went like this: "Gene Kelly brought back dance." "Baz Luhrmann brought back the musical.")

Both of us would also turn down a lap dance from Hugh Jackman for the opportunity to dance with Gene Kelly.

In other news, I am NOT smarter than Cat Bordhi, and have now ripped out my Coriolis again. Thank goodness I had the forethought to do my first adult sized tester in worsted weight yarn (from Fancy Image Yarns) on size 3 needles.

I'm IT!

I was tagged by Nathalie, and, lacking any real content (because I am SWAMPED with getting ready to take time off of work).

What I’m supposed to do is find the 4th picture folder on my computer. I’m to put the 4th picture from that folder on my blog and tell 4 facts about it.

Fact 1: This is Mt Rushmore on July 3rd, 2004.
Fact 2: It started raining shortly after we took this picture, and didn't stop until July 5th, 2004.
Fact 3: Showing up early to Mt Rushmore means avoiding the crowds.
Fact 4: I told Andrew that day that I thought I would look positively fetching memorialized in stone. (Notice that there's space for me to GW's left.)

I'm tagging Chloe, Lisa, Kathy and the Undyed Vampire.

Rock stars!

This year I decided to host an impromptu Halloween shindig. We all came dressed as rock stars and played some Rock Band in the front room. The neighborhood kids got a huge kick out of it, and looked who joined us:

(Photo courtesy of Tika!)

Dolores! She took time out of traveling the campaign trail to visit us, and play a few tunes with our band, Fyrewyre. It wasn't as eventful as a night at the Lucky Horseshoe, but she seemed to have a good time.

Despite the rain, we had a good turnout of trick-or-treaters, and I think one of the little boys from across the street invited himself over to play sometime.

I guess that's the sign of a good party, right?

Tika's Hot Brother

On Sunday, we were invited to join Tika, ManCandy, HeteroLifeMate Jordan, and Tika's Hot Brother for brunch and the new Indiana Jones movie (skip it). We arrived on time, and since Ms. Tika was still in bed, we made the all-neccessary coffee run.

Upon our return, I noticed that Tika and I have read loads of the same books. This is really unusual for me. I pointed this out, and she walked me to her "fiction" bookshelf- in the TV room. We were chitchatting about books (I think), when this rockin-hot-stud walks into the room, wearing nothing but a towel. Slightly damp. With spiky hair.

(Spiky hair is a weakness of mine, starting back in the first grade, when I had my first crush on Doug A. As a child I referred to it "sticky-up hair". In high school, Doug A. and I were supposed to go to a winter formal together, but he ended up canceling due to a hockey game which he was playing in. He's now a cop in Oregon with adorable sticky-up hair.)

"Do you want us to get out, so you can get dressed, THB?" Tika asked, getting up to go, "This is my brother, THB."

I managed a "nice to meet you", and wandered out of the room, jealous that random hot men don't randomly appear in my TV room wearing nothing but a towel. It turns out, that other than being really hot, THB is charming.

To thicken the plot, AllyTheSingleFriend, was supposed to join us, to soak up the THBness. Some parental interference kept AllyTSF from joining us, so I texted her:

"Tika's brother is smoking hot."

I know I'm not a nice person. But I'm honest.

Margaritas are the new Prozac

I’d like to thank everyone who offered me emotional support the last few days. Rachel pinged me yesterday and determined that margaritas were a necessity, so on my way home, Andrew dropped me off at Chevy’s to meet her.

We ended up there during happy hour (woo! $3 margaritas!), and it was a very happy hour. We drank, discussed gender politics in the workplace, and ate pub grub.

After one margarita, I felt better. After the second, I felt AWESOME. I went home, sat at the spinning wheel for a while, and slept like a rock.

Today is looking much better. Thanks for sharing the love.

Orange you glad?

We have oranges. Lots of firm, round, oranges. You know you want some.

Instead of doing something organized and structured, let’s do this:

Call (or e-mail me) and I’ll give you our address. I’ll scoop the dog poop, you’ll pick oranges and take them home to your loving families. This is a Bring Your Own Bags arrangement (we’re running low, sorry).

You can find me at cuteknitterAThotmailDOTcom.

Bring on the fun.

Time off

I made the worst use of my time off from work over the Christmas holiday. I got sick. My time management skills really could use some work.

In any case, I didn’t get a fraction of the knitting and spinning done that I had intended to do. Ignore the housework and cooking that fell completely to the wayside; I did.

The box from Susan’s Spinning Bunny arrived, and as soon as I felt well enough to sit upright (Monday and Tuesday), I sat down at the wheel. I was too dizzy to knit, but not too dizzy to spin. I may not be logical, but at least I got a little done.

I chose to start here. This is her “Oriental Poppies” colorway. In an attempt NOT to end up with [yet another] interminable spinning project [that accidentally turned into a 4-ply laceweight], I measured my WPI.

So, we have (approximately) 62 WPI. If my math is right, this should end up a nice fingering weight with 3 plies. I’m consciously focusing on NOT spinning this cobweb weight

Ally and I had our dyeing day- which was on the small scale, but totally funl

Foreground: the dyed yarn and roving. Background: trash and recycling bins.

I overdyed two groups of yarn with black- they were originally a Kelly green, now they’re a deep forest green.

Ally meticulously planned out her dyeing, and mine sort of just happened. When she pulled her yarn out of the pot, I saw that a fair amount of dye was still left. I grabbed my ten pound bump of rambouillet, pulled off a length of roving, and dropped it in to exhaust the dye. There is too much of it to plan out my dyeing, and this was less daunting.

After a few minutes, I realized that I hadn’t exhausted the dye enough, so another length went into the pot. (With the green, several lengths were necessary to adequately exhaust the pot.) The exhausts should spin up as very pretty, tone-on-tone, tweedy yarn.

It’s worth mentioning that the Reduran dye remover does a terrific job of getting dye off of ugly, old, linoleum counters. Not so much with fingernails, but Andrew was pretty thrilled that we don’t have a tie-dyed kitchen. In my defense, tie-dyeing the counters can ONLY improve them.

She blinded me with electrical engineering

Good tools are worth their weight in gold. I am a firm believer in having the right tools for the right job. This is especially the case with spinning.

I bought the Fricke Heavy Duty Adjustable 4-in-1 Skeinwinder from Carolina Homespun a few months ago because I was spinning more and more, and mystery yardage doesn’t work for me. This is especially true if I’m spinning for a lace project. The skeinwinder has been worth it’s weight in gold.

Last year, I bought a Swedish Bobbin Winder and a gross of plastic bobbins so that I didn’t have to buy a million Schacht bobbins (which are $32 a pop). This has worked really well, and the SBW is a terrific tool.

That said, the downside is this: using it to wind 3488 yards of cobweb weight singles will result in some serous shoulder fatigue. I looked online, and there has been an eBay vendor selling the electric bobbin winders for about 1/3 of what Schacht is charging for theirs. This is tempting.

I e-mailed the auction to Colleen to see if he was asking an insane amount of money for the thing, and she confirmed that it was fine, and then proceeded to win the auction. She brought it over for me to play with, and it went at light speed.

Hm. Not good.

I called Colleen and let her know that it wasn’t working the way it should, and if she could find a fast/slow switch on the thing. It has a sewing machine engine, so there should be something, I say.

Colleen takes it home and has the resident Electrical Engineer take a peek. He switches it to “slow” mode, and now it works brilliantly. It’s much faster than the hand-crank tool (which I’m still using for small amounts of spinning), and it saves my back.

Even better- it smells like a sewing machine when it’s running.

Thanks, C-Dawg

This last year has been extreme. The good things were incredible, and the bad were terrible. When times are tough, I’m always thankful for good friends. This year has been so wrought with tough times that I’m surprised I have any friends left, to be honest.

One person stood out among the crowd for me- where just saying “thank you” didn’t feel like enough. So what did I do?

I knit a lace shawl. Well, half of a lace shawl. Ursula felt the same way I did, so she insisted on doing half, and was super-motivated and got her half done a full month before I finished mine. While my intentions are good, I am not a motivated knitter.

Thank you, Colleen.

Thank you for visiting Andrew in the hospital. Thank you for picking up and putting groceries (that I could eat) in the fridge while I ran around like a headless chicken dealing with Andrew’s medical stuff. Thank you for sitting with him while I went in to the Thankless Job in the mornings.

Thank you for all of your help with the townhouse. Thank you for all of the hours of manual labor, the staging, dealing with us being totally stressed out. Thank you for taking the dogs last minute when we were moving and our dog care fell through.

Thank you for always being willing to share the good stuff. I’m not good at sharing, but I’m trying.

Thank you for all of your help with disciplining the dogs. When I’m at my wit’s end, you always have an idea, and it always works, without fail.

Thank you for sharing your creativity with all of us. Those of us who lack that creative gene appreciate your out-of-the-hexagonal thinking, your color combinations, and your willingness to MacGuyver just about anything.

Thank you for standing up for me when my parenting was criticized.

Thank you for always being up for an adventure, a Costco run, or randomness.

Thank you for threatening to lay the smackdown on Andrew. That boy can get really uppity sometimes.

Thank you for being my roomie on the cruise. I’ll bring the necktie in the event of irresistible cabana boys.

A shawl isn’t really enough, I know. The list is abbreviated; I know there’s more, but for now, there’s a shawl.

Thanks, C-Dawg.

Jasmin’s 2006 Holiday Extravaganza

I like to organize shindigs. I'm an organizer and a list-maker, and I like to par-tay! I invited a handful of Minions my annual Holiday Extravaganza. So, here was my day:

6:45- Alarm goes off after about 5 ½ hours of sleep. Wish for a swift and immediate death. Immediately regret both the department party and the annual in-law dinner the day/night before.
6:55- Get in the shower. Panic that the party will suck, vow to never throw another party.
7:15- Get out of the shower. Get dressed.
7:20- Notice that Linda and Mom are wearing makeup. I blow-dry my hair so that I don't look like a wet rat.
7:30- 8:30- Run around the house trying to get stuff together, get a hold of late people, tell Katie to meet us at Starbucks.
9:00 – Assure the dogs that we are coming home, go to Starbucks.
9:15- 10:30- Gift exchange.

[Lots of excellent gifts were given, and mine was the best.

I got this:

(It had chocolate in it... but not for long!)

and this:

and best of all, these:

that go with this:

I hope Colleen draws me EVERY year. Muah ah ah!

10:30- 11:15: Drive to Carolina Homespun.
11:15- Park, walk to 755 Lisbon St. Knock on the door.
11:17- Katie points out that the address is 455 Lisbon St.
11:18- Decide to walk the three blocks to Carolina Homespun.
11:25- Mom has an asthma attack from walking uphill in freezing cold wind.

Here is the view from the top of the hill:

11:26- I feel guilty, and walk the rest of the way with her, making sure she doesn't die. Simultaneously feel like a dumbass for not thinking that walking in SF would be more challenging than in SJ.
11:30- Arrive at Carolina Homespun.
11:30- 1:00 PM- Shop. Cynthia bought a wheel, and I got a SCHACHT!
1:00- 1:45- Drive home, eat lunch
3:00- Decompress, nap.
4:45- Light the Hanukah candles. Erica sings.
5:00- Donna arrives. There are massages and Christmas music.
11:00 PM- Party is over.
11:00- 12:30- Cleanup, go to bed.

Giving Thanks and Stuff

Thanksgiving was great. I officially am awarding Cynthia the title "Hostess with the Mostess". There was wonderful company and great food- the two essential components in a great holiday.

I worked from home all of last week, which was nice. I sang karaoke with Joey on Monday night. It was moderately fun, especially with the drunk applause.

Due to the "working from home", I didn't get as much spinning as I would have liked to have done, however, I did complete "Crazy Love", which will be up on Le Blog once we have both a sunny day and I get home before dark. I may resort to bringing my yarn to work and photographing it during lunch on the lawn during the cafeteria.

Sandi was kind enough to loan me her Schacht wheel to try out- I have confirmed that I love this wheel and will (hopefully) purchase one in the next 12 months. Working on my own wheel afterwards is just not the same.

We attended "Christmas Dreamland" (review to come), which was quite possibly the most ill conceived show I have ever had the misfortune of witnessing. We made our getaway at intermission, but wanted to leave after the second number. Shows like this are the reason that theater in our area is in danger of going bankrupt and disappearing.

I'm thankful for too many things to list, so there. More later.

Yarn Drama and FOs!

I have been on a crazy finishing spree. I've stuck to my resolution. In a word, I rule. As ruler of this little domain (http://cuteknitter.blogdrive.com) I need to share a quick story.

Two of my knitting friends used to work at the same LYS (Local Yarn Store). One left because she needed a job that paid a living wage and benefits, and the other was wrongfully terminated. The circumstances of her termination are quite similar to when middle school girls pick one girl to exile to show their social power. But I digress.

I have been going to this particular LYS since I was six years old. I'm a bit older than that now, but that's not the point. When I went in as a child, they were unkind (and had a terrifying cat). When I started working for Karen, they were flat-out rude to me (16 years old at that point). When my two friends started working there, it was a relief to be able to make my purchases without being snarled at.

When the first friend left, I figured "Well, at least Friend #2 is still there." Bear in mind that the other employees (with the exception of ONE of the women, who is very friendly, but alas, not a real friend of mine) are all rude and brusque to me, despite the amount of money that I have spent there over the years. You know my shopping habits. Do the math. Not an insignificant amount.

I called Friend #2 in November and asked if it would be kosher if she ordered the Lorna's Laces Shepherd Sport for me (in the same colors that I had already bought), and if I could exchange the Shepherd Sock for the Sport. She asked the owner, it was totally kosher. Great! Sock yarn I've already bought turning into thicker yarn to be knit FASTER!

Last Wednesday (after Friend #2 was canned), I called to follow up on my order (ahem, 6 weeks had passed from when I placed it). I was told that my order had arrived that day. Great! Andrew and I went to pick it up and do the exchange promptly after work.

We get there and it turns out that I had some yarn on hold. Okay, I look at it, show it to Andrew, buy him two skeins (because when my friend was canned, I vowed not to spend money there, but my exchange and things I put on hold I felt obligated to buy/ exchange), swap out the rest (which was, ahem, marked up to $11 when everywhere else they're selling it for $10, same price as the sock yarn), pay the difference and go.

Guess what the snarky, bitch-ass owner does next? E-mails Friend #2 to say "Yeah, Jasmin came in and picked up her order. And returned an equal amount of yarn."

WTF?!

When Friend #2 recounts this e-mail to me, that was my response. "WTF?!!" This is why.

I never return yarn. NEVER. I just don't do it. I overbuy a bit, and the leftovers find a new home. This is the first exchange I've ever done of yarn, too. So, in theory, BitchAssOwner could look in his little computer and see "My, oh, my. She has never done this before." But I digress.

I told Friend #1 (who is temporarily helping out at the offending LYS) that I wouldn't be taking any of my business there anymore, since nobody there could be bothered to be polite to me. I also told her to pass on to the owners that their prices weren't competitive with online stores (same products... different prices), and the only thing that kept me going there was that my friends worked there.

So there, I'm a misanthrope (shocker). But at least I managed to swap out my yarn and they'll lose all my future business. And the business of my friends. Oh yeah... and the business of my CUSTOMERS. Muah ah ah.

Happy Anniversary and FO! Andrew socks!

As you can see on my little sidebar thingie, I finished a pair of socks for Andrew that I started in South Dakota during the summer of '04. I feel so accomplished.

Yesterday we helped Erica move, which was a day-long task. Fortunately, Eric, Sam, Chris, and Grace came over and helped for the better part of the afternoon. Without the extra hands, we would have been there all night.

Andrew and I are celebrating our anniversary today, one year since we threw the big wedding. Plans include dinner and fun of some sort. Fun TBA.

The Forbidden Undercurve

I was party to a rather interesting conversation last night between Chris and Andrew about the Forbidden Undercurve. For the contingency of people who are not familiar with this term, it refers to the curve that is underneath the breast- the curve that is rarely (if ever) seen, and rivals the nipple as far as forbiddenness is concerned.

So I reach out to whomever happens to stumble across my blog. Forbidden Undercurve- hotter than the rest of the boob? You decide.