Rules of the universe

On Monday, I ended up with a "bacterial situation" in one of my eyes, that resulted in my right eye being painfully swollen shut and a trip to the ophthalmologist's office.

Sam, kudos to him, came and got me from work, and stayed with me until Andrew got home to take me to the doctor. Andrew, to his credit, offered to come into the exam room with me. I told him that I was a big girl, and if I needed him, I would call for him. (Really, all I needed was a ride to the doctor.)

I almost made Andrew take a picture of it, but he suggested that I do an artist's rendering of it, for the weak of stomach.

Jasmin, on a normal day:

Jasmin, on Monday, with her Freak Eye:

The resemblance is uncanny, right? In any case, the way the universe works, the worse I look, the better looking the firemen/paramedics/ or in this case, ophthalmologist is. Smokin' hot. Seriously.

(He was also incredibly good at his job, and had a sense of humor, which is important when you're dealing with someone like me. It seems that hiring wicked hot, super-good doctors is the trend with Kaiser. It gives all new meaning to "Thrive".)

The exchange went like this:

Dr. EyeCandy: Well, I've got good news for you.
Me: I get to keep the eye?
Dr. EyeCandy: You get to keep the eye.
Me: Sweet.

He then prescribed my FAVORITE prescription to date- to go home and lay on the couch with my eyes shut. I may have professed my undying love for him. Two rest days, a few cold compresses, and some ointment later, my eyes are almost the same size and color again.

(By the way, I love ointment. I love that they're a historic cure, I love that there's an ointment for all that ails you, and most of all, I love to call 'ointment' 'oinkment'. Shades of my pig-loving childhood.)

Forgive me readers, for I have sinned.

It has been 16 days since my last post. I confess; I have been knitting. I have been spinning. I have been finishing. I have dyed. I have knit in public. I have even been (gasp!) hand processing wool.

I have finished my Wool Peddler's Shawl, except for the blocking:

(Notice the Swarovski crystals in the edging:)

I have finished not one, but TWO pairs of show notes socks. Here are the Andrew's Vanilla pattern in Abstract Fiber's "Newport":

I finished my Abby, which Kalendargirl says makes me look like Ginger Rogers:

I have cast-on, ripped out, cast-on, ripped out, and cast on my Sunshine Socks:

And now that Chloe has set in the sleeves and seamed the shoulders, I'm THIS CLOSE to finishing my Katarina:

So, I leave you with pictures, and I assure you, there are stories to go with these pieces. As my penance, I have been tasked with knitting a 5" garter collar and cuffs (with US 3/3.25mm needles) on the Katarina.

My cup runneth over!

There is no TV event I look forward to more than the Tony Awards. I'm a giant geek, and while I completely understand that they aren't really representative of the whole New York theatre scene, it's a taste of fresh theater.

I love it. They also pick the HUNKIEST hosts, including my one and only Wolverine (Hugh Jackman), and this year, my first love (Neil Patrick Harris) will be hosting. Neil Patrick Handsome- I mean, Harris - is the origin of my affinity for spiky, "sticky-up" hair.

My six-year-old crush on him was the reason my parents let me stay up past my bedtime to watch Doogie Howser, Md. Though, in retrospect, I think it may have been my parents, telling me from an early age that marrying a doctor was all right with them. In any case, NPH has always held a special place in my heart, and now he's hosting the Tony's.

I have a morbid curiousity about "Shrek: The Musical", but my instincts warn me that where all the good books become mediocre movies, all good movies will become cheerful, sanitized, simplified musicals.

(Legally Blonde, anyone? Ok, short rant: they made Elle stupid in the play as a plot device to give Emmett the opportunity to tutor her, which COMPLETELY missed the spirit of the story. In case you weren't paying attention, the point is that she always WAS smart, just perceived to be otherwise.)

Where are the original thinkers? What's with all the revivals?

Ahem. But, I digress.

Neil has got some big shoes to fill - and you know what they say about guys who wear big shoes - and long legs to keep up with.

Stunning, long, keeping-up-with-the-Rockettes-in-a-kick-line legs.

Yesterday's conversation

Me: [Spills drink.] Crap!
Work Husband Mike: What?
Me: I just spilled my drink down my sleeve. [Look down.] And down the front of my cardigan.
Work Husband Mike: What was it?
Me: Club soda.
Work Husband Mike: Quick! Pour more club soda on it! It'll keep it from staining.

So, a nun walks into the vet...

No, really. Except, that's not where my story starts.

On Saturday, Andrew and I loaded the dogs into the car to go get their shots updated. When we got there, the office wasn't busy and didn't close for over an hour, so we let the dogs sniff in the ivy around the office (Elphie's favorite thing to do, for the record).

Niki decided that he was done sniffing and was ready to go into the clinic, so Andrew took him in. Elphie, who experiences the world one blade of grass at a time, took a little longer. As Elphie was finishing, and started to head towards the clinic - no joke - out walks a nun. In a habit.

I was a little surprised; I've never seen a nun in person, and here was a nun, in the wild. I smiled, because, never having attended Catholic school or church, I don't have a Nun Thing.

"What a pretty dog," says Sister Mary Nun-in-the-Wild, "It looks just like another dog in the clinic."

"He's mine, too," I answer, "They're a matched set."

"Poor things. My dog shakes like a leaf when we come to the vet," says Sister Mary Nun-in-the-Wild, "She must be so nervous."

"Nope; my dogs don't mind coming to the vet," I say, as Elphie is pulling on the leash to go INSIDE, "Happy vet visits make all the difference."

"Happy vet visits?" asked Sister Mary Nun-in-the-Wild.

"Yeah, Dr. Johnson suggested them. The dogs come in, get weighed, get a cookie, we go home. All positive experiences, so they don't mind coming here," I answer.

"For Heaven's sake," says Sister Mary Nun-in-the-Wild, "What a good idea!"

[At this point, I giggle - on the inside- because somehow I find it POSITIVELY HILARIOUS that a nun would say "For Heaven's sake."]

We part ways, the dogs get boostered, everything goes smoothly, and I got to leave with a nun story. Winners all around!

At the end of a long week

At the end of a long week
Originally uploaded by cuteknitter2000

Sometimes you need giant margaritas and some killer company.

Congrats on your BA, Tika!

Sometimes Vulcans wear ugly sweaters, too.

So, it's been more than a week since the new Star Trek was released. Before I say anything else, it is only fair to say that I LOVED this movie, I think it was brilliant, witty, fun, and Zachary Quinto plays one hot Vulcan.

I think what I might have liked best about this movie was that we get some interesting alternate exposition. We see Spock as a child, and later, as a young adult. We learn that despite logic, even a Vulcan has to wear the Ugly Sweater.

We all know the Ugly Sweater. The one that some well-intentioned family member (or family friend) made for you. The one that itched, or grew, or had some dorky intarsia. Since none of the other Vulcans in the film wore ugly, ill-fitting sweaters made of acrylic (Homespun, anyone?) over their beautifully tailored outfits, I can only deduce there is one person to blame.

Winona Ryder. Aka, Mrs. Sarek, Amanda Grayson, and most importantly, Spock's Mom. She strikes me as the Ugly Sweater knitting type. (Would it be cliche to make a joke about her shoplifting something better for him than ACRYLIC?)

Poor Spock. As if he wasn't a pariah enough for being half human; now he has to don the Ugly Sweater of Half-Human Shame that his mother made for him. Nobody spoke up for him.

My mother saved me from an Ugly Sweater (which, by the way, would have been the autumn-colored, cardiganed sister of Spock's USoHHS) in high school. I saw the end result, which the offending relative decided to make for herself and it was a crime against knitting. A CRIME!

Someone needs to stop the madness. If you happen to witness a crime against knitting, please call the [fictional] Crimes Against Knitting Hotline: 1-800-STOP-THE-ACRYLIC.

Efficiency, thy embodiment is Jasmin

You know what's awesome? Excel. PivotTables rock my world in ways that you can't even BEGIN to understand. (Unless you know the love that is Excel, of course.)

PivotTables have taken a task that was previously done by hand and - WHOOSH! - with a click and a couple of drag-and-drops, we have data. Highlight the table and we have graphs. (I love graphs.)

Alas, there must be balance in the universe, which is why we have Devil PowerPoint. I find it singularly frustrating that gathering the data in Excel is a breeze, but putting it in a simple PowerPoint presentation is enough to make me tear out handfuls of pink, curly hair. I know that it's purported to be simple enough that six-year-olds can use it; but I'll tell you, I've met some wily six-year-olds.

Maybe THAT is why people have kids. Hmm...

Well, she's no Tallulah...

So, there has been knitting, and there has been spinning. I've finished my Abby, but haven't taken any FO pictures because (a) I haven't been wearing makeup and (b) the ends remain unwoven.

But. I have finished the Impulsive Geoff scarf. This took me a week to knit, and I enjoyed every minute of it.

I maintain that there is no cure for knitting ennui like cashmere.

I've also been spinning. I've spun and plied the Crown Mountain "In the Air Tonight", finished the spinning on Tallulah, have spun half of the "Crocodile Walk", and started spinning Lina.

Ah, Lina. Lina is a chocolate brown merino hogget fleece that I got at the spinning day at the Retzlaff winery from Janet Heppler last year. Shari processed it, and Lina sat in my office, cleaned and pin drafted, waiting to be spun. She's a lovely fleece, a little heavy on the Veggie Matter, but alas, she's no Tallulah.

The VM makes the spinning a little slower, since I'm pulling it out as I go. I'm breaking in the Schacht-Reeves with Lina, so moving a little slower isn't exactly torture. (By the way, I'm running the Schacht-Reeves on scotch tension, and I run Lancelot the Matchless on double drive.) I'm enjoying Lina, but not in that obsessive way that I enjoyed Tallulah.

This whole thing reminds me of something that happened a few years ago. Andrew and I were in New York, and we were in the audience for Avenue Q. At intermission in the row behind us, we overheard this:

Person A: "So, what do you think of the show?"
Person B: "Well, it's no Wicked."

That's kind of how I feel about Lina. So, appropriately, I think that she's going to grow up to be a Wicked.

Abstract and weird, yes. But really, it's my knitting. So neener-neener.

Just call me Braggatha

This morning when I left the house, Our Favorite Electrician came over. While the dogs were at their Auntie Colleen's house for a marathon playdate with their favorite Akita cousin, Hana, and I was at work, magic was happening at my house.

After work, I picked up two VERY tired dogs, and came home. The change in our home is amazing. Our Favorite Electrician installed canned lighting in our living room and dining room, and Andrew mounted the speakers to the walls. I can comfortably knit with JUST the lights on, no extra lamps are necessary. A-MA-ZING. (Also, the surround sound is AWESOME.)

I haven't tried knitting with black yarn, which will be the real test of how fabulous the lights are, but I'll do that.

Between the lights, and the new-and-improved closet, I am SO pleased with the work we're getting done on this house. I'm so pleased, I'll walk into a room, turn the lights off, and then turn them back on. It's like when I would stand and admire my new closet. (I'm still doing this, by the way. It's that good.)

Not to brag, but I might be married to the best man EVER. Now, what to get him for his upcoming 30th birthday...