Blogger Ate My Blog

Ack!

Since Google took over Blogger the comment setup is requiring everyone to get a Blogger/Google account or be Anonymous. I am not a fan of requirements of any kind to be involved in my blog conversation (except the requirement that you be a real person and not a spambot), so I decided to install Haloscan. Of course, having the non-updated version of Blogger's template I couldn't install the darn thing until I upgraded to the fancy-schmancy version that some of you have and enjoy. So I upgraded.

Now my blog looks like poo, half my links are missing, and I'm grumpy about it.

And, in yarn-related grumpiness, my kitchen scale (similar to this one) tells me lies about the weight of my yarn when I wind it up:


It's my Fearless Fibers Kildare, and I am going to be making two different sized socks from it.

Revenge of the Snowed-Upon

Take that Winter, you bastard!

(It's a bad cellphone pic of me, kicking snow. Yes, I am twenty-seven years old and mature beyond my years.)

The Universe Slaps Me Down

Just a short post to let the internet know that I can't write a decent post right now. This week is not going my way in so many different ways that it's hard to know where to start the story of how I hate it. I'll give you a list, because as Femiknitter knows, there are few things I like as much as a good list.

1. It freaking snowed last night. Ugh. Winter is starting to act like the scummy, needy ex-boyfriend who won't leave you alone and leaves notes for you on your doorstep and slowly creeps into stalker territory. Winter is a stalker. Go away, Winter, you bastard.

2. I can't count. I have now put the heel in one of my socks twice, and both times I have had either too many stitches or too few. I have temporarily banished them until I have my wits about me. This may take a while.

3. I don't know what month or week it is. Seven times this week (and keep in mind that I'm writing this on Wednesday morning, so that makes it "in two days") I've thought that it's either next week or 5 weeks from now. Seven times in two days. I need more of something in my diet. Probably more vacation.

4. The software switchover at work is not. going. well. Day one? 1500 errors from the offline/back up system we were using last week. Day two? Staff records still not uploaded. What could day three possibly bring? My money's on a plague of toads. Toads or book-eating locusts.

5. I had ten people clamoring to get into my beginner knitting class, and I could only take eight, and ONLY FOUR OF THEM SHOWED UP LAST NIGHT. I could spit nails. And one of the four women left right away. She already knows how to knit (using a spool to make i-cord) and just wants to know how to bind off (she'll come back on the last day). Another woman just could. not. get. it. I felt so bad for her, especially after a 7-year-old girl came up to us while I was helping her do the long-tail cast on (she was trying to use two needles; she never did get it), and told us she learned to knit when she was five years old. After a while this woman just sat and cackled and tried to knit with three straight needles (I honestly have no idea). I don't know how to help her, especially as I've already put my hands on her hands and demonstrated the knit stitch and she still did not get it. Fortunately the other two women took to knitting like ducks to water and are even knitting continental (yes!). Only one of the four people who showed up actually brought the yarn (Cascade 220) that I put on their required materials list.

And now I have to get ready for work (deep sigh). I wonder how this day will go.

Laughter makes the cramps go away

Dude, go here.

And know that though I am not posting about knitting (again), I have a doctor's note to hide behind. I've been told to lay off the knitting for a little while, because it's screwing with my wrists, shoulders, neck, the state of the spotted owl, and the weather.

Apparently knitting is that powerful. (Although I suspect my physical issues have more to do with my sitting in front of a computer for 40 hours a week, it's difficult right now to say I can't work, and easier to set aside the non-income part of my daily life. If "easier" means "more financially sound," and it does right now.)

So please, bear with me as I post very little about yarn and the looping of it over the next few days. I hope to get back to it soon. Before I really start getting cranky.

How Cold Is It?

It's so cold that there is no moisture in the air anymore. Everything is drying up and freaking out. I live in fear of the inevitable bloody nose, my hands appear to have aged 75 years in the last week, my hair is static-y and clinging to my face and neck which is making me want to just hack it all off with a knife, and the snow makes this annoying squeaky-squeaky sound when one steps on it.



That's how cold it is.

I am pretty much done with winter, thank you.


Oh, and the vegan bechamel sauce? Right. The other night I had a taste for pasta with leftover vegan sausage (it tastes amazing and very much like sausage, because sausage tastes like spices), and thought I'd make a white sauce to go over it. In my mind it was going to be a lot like biscuits-and-gravy, a very savory white sauce full of pepper and goodness.


Did I go to the computer and look up "vegan white sauce" or "vegan biscuits and gravy"? Of course I didn't, for I was feeling cocky and oh-so-capable and full of my ability to MAKE FOOD OUT OF NOTHING! So I just grabbed a non-vegan cookbook full of pasta sauce recipes, found one that resembled the concoction in my brain, pulled out my vegan ingredients, and went at it.


My first red flag should have been the quantities called for. Six tablespoons of butter (I used Earth Balance... mmm)? Some flour... three cups of milk (soy milk)? All this wasn't really necessary -- it was just Nick and me. Did I stop and reconsider? Of course I didn't, for I was feeling cocky, etc. It was only after I'd added everything together and tasted it that I realized what was certainly obvious to Nick (who was humoring me in the cutest way): it was wrong on many, many levels, not the least of which was the fact that it tasted like a damn sugar cookie.

We had marinara with our pasta and sausages that night.

My-graine, Mee-graine

It's all the same stabby pain. It's like I've got a whole set of metal size 0 double-pointed needles stuck behind my right eye. But without the fun yarn possibilities.

My family is prone to migraines (except the middle sister and my mother, curse them) and I got my first migraine at the tender age of one year, and pretty regularly throughout my (almost) 27 years. Thanks go to my Dad, who realized that I was having a migraine before I could say "Dear god, why does it hurt so freaking much!!!" in actual words. Dad gets migraines too, and my sisters and I grew up knowing that "Your father has a headache" means "Shut up and don't make noise" or "Go outside, preferably to your Grandma's house" or "We're all going on a car trip to let Dad sleep." Happily, Dad got his headaches mostly under control by the time I was 12 years old, and has been a lot more involved ever since.

Today I got a migraine at work and tried to deal with it by taking the sort-of-effective painkillers I have here, and by putting on sunglasses. That threw off my co-workers a lot, but it makes the little kids at the library look all bug-eyed and giggle when I make faces at them. What cracks me up about this migraine is that it's making my language skills go completely to hell. I can't think of simple words (more than usual, I mean) and my typing is damned funny. Really, if there was no backspace key (which apparently I think is spelled "qackspage") this post would be ... something. Something I just can't think of.

I don't know what to blame this one on. I have some food allergies, but I ... wait, I ate some peanuts last night. Huh. Okay, maybe I do know what to blame this headache on. Or it's the fact that the vision in my right eye is getting worse. Or it's the weather. Or it's my ghastly hormones (what with the period and all). Or it's divine retribution for not posting any knitting content here in such a long time.

Up to here

I am upset.
I am just about ready to scream highly offensive things at inappropriate times.
I am close to saying Just Fuck Away Off You Damned Inconsiderate Bastard to several people (or groups of people) (or my own body).
I can't do this because these are people (or groups of people) (or body parts) with whom I must share some part of my life or space or time, and can't afford to anger them in the way that would please me most.
The weather (grey and dreary and unseasonal) isn't helping.

Dare I knit? It soothes the savage beast, but will the savage beast scare the stitches into tiny shrunken unusable versions of themselves?

And of course this whole rant was just made to sound WAY more pathetic and whiney by a co-worker who dealt with four very pleasant people at the Reference Desk just now, and whose mood was vastly improved because of it. Dammit.

Why I Hate The Deer

Yesterday was the first day of firearm deer hunting season in this part of Illinois (possibly for the whole state. I don't know.). It is also mating season for the deer. This combination of sexy hormones and un-sexy fear makes the deer go completely batshit crazy.

Just how batshit crazy do they go?

Well, one went so batshit crazy that it attempted to LEAP OVER MY HUSBAND'S CAR while he was driving 65 miles per hour. And missed.

The car caught the buck in the ribs, its head caved in the windshield (but did not go through), its hind end hit the driver's side window and shattered that entire thing, and rolled up over the roof.

Nick is fine. He has a lot of superficial cuts on his face, but he's fine. The car is less fine, but is getting taken care of (hello insurance! I love you!).

He called me just after 11:00am yesterday, while I was on my break at work and (oddly) in the middle of writing another blog post. An ambulance came out (really, he's fine -- it's just procedure) and took him to the closest hospital and I left work as soon as I found out where he was going.

Have any of you (my three readers) had to do something like this -- drive somewhere unfamiliar in a stressful situation? I had no idea where I was, but I was watching for those blue "H" signs that directed me to the hospital. I had no idea where I parked, or how I got in the door. My mind wasn't really on those unimportant details.

When I got there and saw him kind of bloody (superficial cuts to the head generally bleed more than you think possible -- think professional wrestling), I lost my cool for a moment and cried, but recovered because really, he was fine and he was hugging me and it was all okay. Then I helped him get the glass off his head and clothes, and kept wanting to hug him every 30 seconds. We waited a long time for the doctor (another, more urgent case was helicoptered in) and I knit on the only thing I had in my bag, the candy striped sock, to keep myself from flipping out (because even though I knew everything was okay, and he was okay, and I could see him in front of me being very visibly okay, I was still dealing with the adrenalin and what-could-have-happened. Fun!!).

Of course, for the life of me I couldn't remember how to make the pattern when I pulled out the sock. It just went completely out of my head. What was I going to do, not knit? I just knit plain around, because I think I forgot how to purl as well.



Everything is okay. Nick is okay (two stitches, which I watched with much fascination and enthusiasm, for which I felt only slightly guilty), the car is being taken care of, and I have my husband (of three months) home with me and I can hug him whenever I want. So it's all okay.

And that, my friends, is why I hate the deer.

Dear Midwestern Interstate Drivers

I know it's been a while since driver's ed. for some of you. I know that it's hard to remember all the various piddly laws and bylaws and social mores and the common sense that makes driving less of a giant freaking headache for everyone. I know it's especially hard to remember all that and maintain a constant speed when you're busy talking on your cell phone, listening to your favorite song on the radio, navigating an unfamiliar turnpike system, yelling at your obnoxious children, getting road head, or whatever.

All I ask is this:

If you're in the left lane you better be going at least 15 miles per hour over the speed limit, passing someone, or about to take the weird exit on the left. Because if you're just hanging out in the left lane enjoying the pretty scenery, making a point about how no-one really needs to drive that fast, or passing someone with infinite slowness and care, I am going to ride your ass, flash my lights, and honk my horn at you for being such a damned idiot. I may also give you the finger.

Because I am done, people. I am done with Midwesternly holding-my-peace. I am done putting up with damned idiots on the interstate who can't maintain a consistent 70 miles per hour (it's a little slow, but I'll take that over the pride drivers who start out at 65mph but who speed up when I try to pass them. Are they threatened by my Ford Contour's weeny appearance? Do they have to prove that their car is better than mine? The mind boggles.), and who can't seem to understand that THE LEFT LANE IS FOR PASSING AND FOR THE SPEEDY.

Gah!

In better news, we spent the weekend in Ypsilanti (god, I love typing that word) Michigan with Mark & Amy. We had a great time and ate astonishingly well (much vegan and vegetarian-friendliness there), and enjoyed seeing our friends and their cats. It was, sadly, a picture-less visit, though not for lack of fodder from the kitty quarter. Knitting content to follow in a later post. I am tired.

So. Annoyed.

For the following in-no-particular-order reasons:

1. Our intardnet connection at home decided to seize up, so we are paying Comcast about $2.00 per day for nothing at all. It could be the modem, it could be ... not the modem. Nobody knows. But it would cost us $75 for some dude to come out and tell us one way or the other, and then probably $60 or more for a new modem. Effing machines!

1a. Because of the intardnet non-connection, I can't show you pictures of happy new yarn, or my oh-so-close-to-being-done Tempting sweater, or the crazy huge granny square I crocheted on accident, or the strange new way Nick is using my giant knitting needles. (Get your mind out of the gutter--I heard that!) All those pictures are on my home computer, and not here. Effing machines!

1b. I am blogging at work, because this internet connection is working properly. I keep having to hide the blog Create Post page behind the circulation module or something.

2. Work level this week: much higher than usual. Stress level: much higher than usual. So I guess I don't feel too badly that I'm blogging while at work on a Friday afternoon.

3. Nick's car decided to part ways with its radiator hose on Wednesday night. This is costing us an amount which, while not extreme, is still uncomfortable. The car is on its last legs (rims?) and we're starting to think about a new-to-us car. Ack.

4. We're planning a trip to The House On The Rock with our neighbor friends, and I just checked out the admission prices. $26.50 per person. (And here is where I start to sound like an old curmudgeon...) When Nick and I went there last, and granted it was 8 years ago or something, the prices were a much more reasonable $17-ish per person. Now it's fifty-three dollars just to get two of us into the place which is very awesome and totally stunning, but fifty-three dollars people? Come on! Plus the gas to get up there, plus we might be renting a car (what with all the car death going on), plus food.

So yes, I am annoyed. But it's Friday afternoon, the sun is out, and this little guy just stopped by again:

...
... or not. Blogger, you asshat.

Effing machines!

ETA (at 1:15am): #5. Apparently an ex-boyfriend (from HIGH SCHOOL, no less!) has located my other email address (not the one I have up on this blog) and has sent me a truly strange email in which he assumes he is "#1 in [my] heart" and professes to "love [me] always." Oh, and he also included his high school football jersey number. I really really want this to be spam, but all signs point to genuine ex-boyfriend-asshattedness.

If, by this point, you have assumed that things ended weirdly or that he was the emotional troll named Brian mentioned here (scroll down to the paragraph in parentheses), you would be correct. Of course, he may not be a complete fuckwit these days, but one must make assessments based on one's own experience, no?

Next year, I'll just leave town

CornFest is still going strong. And by strong I mean obnoxious. And by obnoxious I mean the shitty cover-band stage is half a block from my apartment.

This afternoon the downtown area of DeKalb was subjected to a medly of --and I use the term loosely-- song including "Baba O'Reilly" (Teenage Wasteland) by The Who, "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen, and "Walking on Sunshine" by Katrina and The Waves. In one big cacaphonous blob.

Ugh.

Yesterday we had plans to celebrate birthdays with my family at 5:30pm, and we would have been at my parents' house at like noon if Nick hadn't had to work until 2:30. All morning I cleaned and did crazy amounts of chores just to keep my mind off the hell that was the "music" coming from CornFest. I couldn't even knit, because the awful noise just sinks into my bones when I sit still. Closing the windows doesn't help, either.

To counteract the deep and abiding hatred I have for CornFest (they moved the craft market far far away from downtown this year, and are charging a $1 admission to even enter! Bastards! The one thing that sort of kind of has a wee bit of redeeming value!), I am posting knitting progress pictures.


I have started the back for the Wee Baby Maggie cardigan (link to pattern in sidebar). I'm making a few changes, particularly in the area of color. The 5-row garter stitch border/hem is in Jelly Belly and the body is in Grape Berry (colors here). I'm not a fan of one-color baby clothes, and I'll do all the borders/hems and button bands in the multi. I was thinking of adding a 4-row stripe, but I think I'll put in a purl stitch heart or something on the back between the shoulders and on the front somewhere. We'll see. I am definitely loving the boring stockinette, as I can work on it while hanging out with friends or while drinking the beer...


It's the only thing keeping me from attacking the music stage with a pickaxe right now. My absolute favorite beer is in the center, Fiddler's Elbow from the Wychwood Brewery, and it is amazing. Go try it.

I've also been working on the Twisted Sock (see sidebar for pattern). I was working the whole thing on US 1 dpns, but then it was too small. I ripped it, and started working the whole thing on US 2 dpns, but then it was too big. Ripping #2. Then I worked the 2x2 rib cuff in US 1 and the body (the twists) in US 2, and then it was juuuuust right.


Although it's pooling something shocking.

I don't care. I'm enjoying this half-mindless, half-challenging project, and I'm certainly not ripping it out at this point. I wonder how the second one is going to turn out.

A close-up of the wee cables:

This one is the most accurate, color-wise, of the three pictures. On my monitor, at least. I am in love with these colors, and am desolate that KnitPicks discontinued them. Luckily, I got enough yarn for 2 pairs of socks before that happened. [smug grin]

In other news, I've changed my mind about the scarf for Laura, and the shawl for Margaret. Laura will now be getting the Penobscot Silk Scarf from the Sweet Somethings (.pdf!) article in Summer 06 Interweave Knits, because I think that pattern will suit the medium-weight Socks That Rock better than Branching Out would. And Margaret will be getting a warm alpaca scarf, design yet to be determined, and possibly a matching hat.

Oh good lord, Survivor is at CornFest. And they're playing Eye of the Tiger.

Send liquor.

In Which Alcoholism Begins to Look Good

This is all happening to me because I'm making a 13-pointed shawl to wear on my wedding day.

Last Thursday morning I mailed off nearly all of our wedding invitations. (Damn little bits of paper that we stayed up till 1:30am folding! Snarl! I love them!)


Right, so cross that off our (bloody massive) to-do list! Except no! We can't cross it off because on Saturday at my (blissfully) last bridal shower, some friends of Nick's Mom tell me that they got someone else's invitation (Name B with Address A) and it turns out the whole thing is my fault because I entered the information into my spreadsheet wrong (there go my aspirations toward a career in data entry... shucks) and now I am horrified and embarrassed beyond belief and wish the fates would see fit to strike me down with a bolt of lightning, or at least a deep 6-week long coma.

But that wasn't the worst part. After the shower I learn that this kerfuffle has deprived someone's relative of his/her invitation. This relative is ... sensitive to oversights and often takes such things very personally and has been known to be a tad unreasonable. Again I wish for that swift lighting bolt. I remain conscious and arrange to send out another invitation to this relative immediately on Monday morning.

Can I breathe easy now? No, absolutely not. Later on Saturday I realize yet another mistake: I sent an invitation (another Name B with Address A) to the home of someone who isn't invited! How stunningly brilliant! Hey, we cut you from the list and just to rub it in (even though you didn't know it) we're sending an invitation to your house addressed to someone else! Ha! Lightning bolt, you may fire when ready.

Perhaps the invitation situation has resolved itself? Not a chance. Sunday afternoon we get a call from Nick's Dad, who tells us that his brother hasn't gotten his invitation (okay, well, we just sent them out on Thursday...). We check the address, the address is correct. We send out another invitation to this brother who may now be getting two invitations. Where is that damn lightning bolt?

You would think by now everything that could go wrong has done so, but you would be wrong. Mercifully nothing happened on Monday, but on Tuesday (Mark-of-the-Beast Day, you know) I received two invitations in the mail, returned to me because there was no such name at the address. Of course, the addressee was my aunt and her family. Then I check my voice mail and learn that Nick's aunt hasn't received her invitation yet and was getting worried. Oh my god, just smite me now.

(And as I type this I'm getting a message from Blogger saying that "saving and publishing may fail" and I'm so tired of Blogger having its head up its ass, and I want it to go away.) (It eventually did.)

Whiskey, anyone?

How to Ruin a Perfectly Good Wednesday

1. Have the server that holds the circulation module for all the libraries (20+) in your system come crashing down sometime over the weekend. Do not attempt to solve this problem or even notify affected libraries until Tuesday morning.

2. As a library patron, refuse to believe that anything is wrong and take it out on the library staff. Because we only live to annoy. Alternately, call to ask what is wrong with your record and spend the next five minutes telling me that you won't keep me, that you know I'm very busy, and that you will check your record tomorrow. Repeat at least three times.

3. When you find and fix a problem with the ancient AC system in the library on Tuesday night (a problem due to which the AC has been turned off), neglect to turn the AC back on so that library staff are overheated and sweaty as they try to catch up with the backlog of books when the server comes up. Extra bonus points if the books start to mold.

4. As my co-worker, tell me "I'm not officially here" when I try to tell you, 2 minutes before your shift begins, what is going on with the giant mess at the circulation desk when I am trying to leave for my lunch break.

5. Ask me how my wedding plans are going. Beware the rusty knives I throw in your direction as I run screaming away from you.

6. Be sure to leave me the car with the least gas. Extra bonus points if the "low fuel" light comes on.

7. Skip your normal workout session because you have left all your wedding invitation putting-together-stuff till the very last minute. Grumble because you think your dress won't fit or that your arms will still have that tricep jiggle. Stop grumbling because really, this is your own fault. Remember that you are crocheting a shawl for your wedding day and it will hide a multitude of sins. Rejoice.

Edited to add:

8. Check out a book from us. Allow your cat to urinate all over it. Decide not to confess your blatant irresponsibility and own up to the fact; instead, cover the offending odor with equally offensive perfume. Hope we don't notice.

Cheer, in yarn form

It's been a rough week here at Chez HookOn.

(1) The bathroom smells like a drain and the toilet won't stop making weird hissing noises. It's hard to pee when you think you're going to be attacked by a feral animal. (Are there toilet weasels?)

(2) The caterer that was going to save our wedding budget, isn't. We were hoping to do two kinds of pasta dishes (cheap!) but the only red sauce they use has cheese in it (not compatible with the vegan theme). They're a grocery store, they carry many varieties of red sauce on their shelves that does not contain cheese, and yet. Grrr.

(3) Work has been hectic, with trying to design, order and receive posters in time for next Wednesday's board meeting. Also, communication still fails at some points, despite the recent HellBeast-ectomy. This is discouraging.

(4) Money. Ick.

(5) My second wedding dress fitting is tomorrow. I am still whatever weight I was last time, though I have been eating less (see #4). Despite my insurance covering half a gym membership, I can't join one until I get the anticipated raise which won't take effect until the end of this month (see also #4). And I've got the PMS, which is always a great help in determining the fit of a dress. The cursed Curse!

(6) The combination of numbers 1-5 made me wake up at 4:something this morning and I haven't been able to get back to sleep. Lovely!

To combat all this drear, I give you (and myself) yarny goodness.



My newest acquisitions, all together. Socks are next on my list (after the Tempting... and the Picovoli... and the wedding shawl)(pardon the lack of links, but it's 6am and I can't be bothered), so of course I must anticipate the frenzy and stock up.

The pink/yellow on the left is Sock Garden Stargazer Lily, which will hopefully be 2 pairs of socks (one for me, one for a gift); the multi in the middle is Dancing Tap (socks for me); the grey/blue is yarn with which to learn socks, because I don't like the colors much (maybe socks to give away?); the red/orange is Sock Garden Zinnia (socks for me to match my fingerless mitts); the purple is Sock Garden Pansy (fingerless mitts for Laura). All KnitPicks.



I feel better. Now to get a nap in before I have to wake up.

Stupid &*$#ing Daylight Savings Time!

I woke up when the bedroom clock said 10:19am. I walked out to the living room (where my phone lives) and my phone clock said 12:19am. Two hours? How did I lose two hours?

I thought I was going nuts. After fiddling with it, my phone then read 11:20am. I thought this was some elaborate April Fools Joke played by my Beloved or by my sneaky-pants neighbors. It didn't even occur to me that it was freaking Daylight Savings Time until I was almost late for work.

Stupid government time thing. Made me think I was losing my shit.

Snarky McCheerfulpants

I just looked out the window and it's snowing again. Yesterday it was 42 degrees. Today we're supposed to get anywhere between 5 and 7 inches of snow (do you remember that album by that one-hit-wonder rapper Snow? I just remembered that and instantly returned to junior high... ...and I'm back). March is such a schizophrenic month.

Over the past few days I've been feeling a wee bit schizoid myself. I've been kind of cranky about this crocheted baby sweater class, because I have to work on it, rather than on what I want to work on, namely:


The cast-on stitches for the Tempting sweater, which I worked while my wrists were recovering (because that was all I could do, and I needed to work on something. You know). This is the Malabrigo 100% Merino in "Tiger Lily" and I loves it. It's mine, my own, my precioussssss.

(Oh, and I've been re-watching Lord of the Rings extended versions with the extra stuff. In case you were wondering.)

Or, I could be working on this:


which is the wedding shawl in its larval form. Yes, I have yet to seriously cast on for that thing. I'm annoyed with myself and with my wrists and with the crochet sweater class and with the weather, which has nothing to do with my ability to cast on, but is easily blamed because it doesn't talk back. Much.

I'd also like to be working this stuff up:


This is recycled sari rayon, and I have it earmarked for a throw pillow. Maybe I'll get another ball or 3 and do matching pillows for the couch. (Our current throw pillows are in a bad way.)

I'd even be happy to work on this thing:


My first ripple afghan. It's freaking huge. Five-and-a-half rows of this stuff takes up ONE skein of yarn. I think I have 9 skeins. Fortunately it's Red Heart TLC Essentials in "Falling Leaves" and I can find it anywhere, really.

Pica said something in the comments the other day about crochet being worked with acrylic, and knitting not so much. I'm so with her. I never got snooty about fiber until I started knitting, probably for two reasons. One, I was introduced to more varieties of fiber as my experience grew. Two, (and I must stress that this is only my opinion, and you can't flame me for having an opinion) I think knitting is prettier and is a better setting for prettier yarns. That's what I think.

So, what was my point? Oh yes, that I feel schizo for some reasons which I am in the process of outlining. To wrap up the first reason, I would rather be working on anything you saw above than on this crocheted baby sweater. I won't even show pictures because it is just so boring. It's just squares so far, and it's been making me crazy. (although the pattern-clarification went pretty well, minus the sleeves which I still have to work on--aaargh!) But, as today is my day off work I get to stitch on the sleeve (shudder) AND on the sweater and the shawl. Hooray!

I was also snarking because I had this big bill to pay, and I didn't think I'd be able to pay it. Sad! But then I did some looking-into and whatnot and I can pay it! Hooray! Working lots of overtime and not going buckwild on yarn has paid off! Happy! Exclamation points!!

Reason #3: Work was starting to make me nuts. Our town turns 150 years old this year (a mere babe compared to towns on the east coast, yes, but a big deal to us) and the Library is involved in the kicking-off of the celebrations due to the time capsule being buried on our grounds. I've been busy making informational bookmarks, posters, brochures and many other semi-exciting things for this event, which is April 2nd. Busy busy busy. Sad! But then I heard that we are getting raises for the first time in two(? three?) years. And I couldn't be happier. Happy!

And the best reason ever to be happy, despite the snarky weather, is that one year ago today, Nick asked me to marry him. We were on the shore of Lake Michigan and it was beautiful, and when he asked me to marry him I burst into tears and burst out laughing at the same time. One of my prouder moments, really.

Today's meltdown brought to you by witless trolls

I was finally able to stitch this weekend (hooray! and thank you to everyone who wished me better wrist health!), and I had to crochet a baby sweater.

Ugh.

Not that baby sweaters (or crochet!) are bad, but it's not what I wanted to do. I wanted to knit on my "wedding season" top, or on the wedding shawl (still not cast on! We have 4 months to go! I love to live on the edge!), but I had to work on this baby sweater.

Why?

Because I teach a class on how to make a baby sweater TOMORROW NIGHT. Yes, Tuesday night. And I wanted to have the entire sweater done (all the pieces, anyway) to (a) show to my students who have not made a sweater before (yes, I know that I haven't either. Shut up. I'm a quick learner) and (b) have read through the pattern so I know it's not all bollocksed up.

I have made the following progress:
The back is completed.
One of the fronts is completed.
I have determined that the pattern is written by witless trolls who know nothing of crochet but have only heard somewhere that it is a fun torture device when applied properly.

So. Thanks to the witless trolls over at Lion Brand (I cease to publicly recommend their yarn & patterns here and now, though I'm stuck with this pattern of theirs as it's so late in the game) I have to rewrite the pattern for my students and myself (it says "work buttonholes spacing them evenly on front" but it doesn't say HOW to work the damn things--as part of the rows? as a separate element? after working the front do I reattach the yarn and work side-to-side? You bastards, tell me something useful!) and do it by 7:00 tomorrow night. I also have to create other class materials, but that's more of my own fault. I can't blame the witless trolls at Lion Brand for that, much as I'd like to.

(Did you see that run-on sentence? Holy hell, my high school English teacher would be appalled. But I find it cheering. I don't know why.)

Oh, and Saturday? First time I cried about the wedding planning. Because it's a freaking nightmare, people. Absolutely insane. Limited funds + exhortation to invite the whole family (including the completely awful ones) + exhortation to invite people we don't know = impossible & tears. Fortunately we may have a solution to the madness. More on that later. Because I must go crochet a baby sweater. Ugh.

Only four entire months of insanity left to go! Yipeee!

Escape from CornFest

It was a long weekend. Long and noisy and smelly.

Roads were closed, garbage was everywhere, and strange people invaded my town.

It was CornFest. [Shudder]

I'm guessing your town has its own annual YayForUsFest, in some incarnation or other. My actual hometown (the one in which I grew up) had Old Settler's Days, which celebrated the--yep--old settlers who settled the area. We generally celebrated with beer and funnel cake and oddly-named carnival rides (which, when combined, often resulted in the celebratory puddle of vomit). I, being 6 or 7 (high on cotton candy and not needing the beer), loved loved loved the bouncy castle. I could flip around and bounce really really high and it was the coolest thing ever. EVER! And the best thing about it was, because you were a little kid, you could totally crack skulls with another kid and there was no problem. You were having that much fun.

Well, now I'm old and crochety (and crochet-y! My god, I'm so punny) and I really dislike these 3-day long wacky-fests for the following reasons:
(1) The noise. It was a block away from my apartment. I could hear every darn song played by the goofy cover band (and the PA system). And the sound bounced off the surrounding buildings which really messed with my attempt to sing along with the cover of "Sweet Child of Mine." This happened at all hours (meaning, of course, 10am to 11pm). God, I'm old.
(2) The smell. I'm vegan, I haven't had meat since 1999, and the smell of roasting whatever-the-hell was completely disgusting. I nearly contributed to the celebratory puddle of vomit. Thank god I didn't, because I'm 25 and that would have been extremely embarassing.
(3) The people. There were new NIU students hoping to experience a slice of rural midwesternism (you suburban yuppies!). There were farm families here to experience a big town party. There were Army and National Guard recruiters hoping to entice anyone they could into a new t-shirt and a contract to fight to protect Big Oil Interests. There were too many people. I hid in my apartment and watched them through the blinds.
(4) The corn. Now, our town sits in the middle of a veritable ocean of corn. It's what we're known for (that and barbed wire). Ever drive past a field and see the little signs at the end of rows that say what hybrid the farmer is using (that's what the little signs mean, by the way)? You know the flying ear of corn with "DeKalb" on it? Yeah, that's from here. And CornFest is all about "hooray corn!" (because we must appease the corn gods, apparently) and the Kiwanis give out free corn to anyone who wants it. But the dumb thing is, THE CORN COMES FROM IOWA, not from the fields a half mile away. WTF?

And that's why I'm glad the weekend is over.

There are no pictures of CornFest because I only experienced it accidentally when Nick and I had to do laundry on Sunday and forgot that the landromat sat right across the road from the freaky carnival rides.

In other news, I just placed my first order to KnitPicks for some Merino Style and Wool of the Andes. It should be here in 5-14 calendar days, they say. I can't freakin' wait.