Yarn-A-Go-Go

Recap

Golly. This past weekend was SO busy and SO much fun. Of course, now I'm exhausted and I'm about a week behind in email (forgive me), but I'm happy-tired.

Lala's show on Saturday was great -- it was held down by the water on the embarcadero in Oakland, in one of those in-between spaces -- not really legal, no one really minding except for the city council every once in a while, but then the city forgets again they're there. People live on their boats and in old warehouses, and every once in a while throw a great big party like they did on Saturday.

The Whoreshoes were up first, but they were missing their fiddle player Joni, a resident of the marina, so people stood around and drank beer and barbequed what they'd brought. Janine and her husband showed up and we sat knitting on the concrete, watching the people. It was a good mix of adults, kids, and dogs, but while I'd warned Janine it might be a lot of hippies, turns out I was wrong, and it was a lot of hipsters. (Janine confided "we probably would done better with the hippies....") I didn't quite fit in, either, but thank god I was wearing my new shirt.  

The fiddle player finished her boat race (they lost, thus the lateness). The band was great, as usual. The crowd dug 'em. Of course. They're hot. Afterward, a group of us trooped down to the water to see Joni's new little yacht, which was lovely. Made me want to live on a boat, just for a moment. I love that rocking, that moment of finding the place in your knees where they turn to mercury and move with the water. I'm good on water (which is why I don't understand why I get so carsick, but there you go).

When we got to the boat, there were already people playing: two fiddles, a stand-up bass, and two guitars. Lala boarded with her banjo, and I boarded with my knitting. Yes, I felt a little funny about that, but I offered contralto on "I'll Fly Away," so I called it good and kept knitting.

The sun went down. We watched the pelicans dive. Music drifted over the water. It was gorgeous.

And I really like this one:

Apart from that night, though, I got precious little knitting done, and NO SPINNING. There. Aren't you sad for me? Tragic, yes. But Wednesday afternoon, I should get a little in. I hope. I've also agreed to train for the SF Half-Marathon (that Mariko may be cute, but she's RUTHLESS), so I have to get a run in too. Lord. Spin or run? What would you pick? I can tell you which one I like best. Bet you can guess.

Also

Two observations that I made when I got home this morning:

Eight = the total number of squares of toilet paper that I had left in my house when I entered carrying the new pack I bought last night.

That kind of GEENYUS was quickly snuffed out as I put the last little bit of Chubby Hubby Ben&Jerry's in the microwave for ten seconds to thaw it a bit, started to count to ten (since it's on an old dial and I have to set it for one minute), and then forgot completely (I'm pretty sure I got to three) and wandered away to look at the pretty, pretty yarn in my bedroom. I now have ice cream soup. And it ain't half bad.

To bed!

Happy Friday

I wish I had a picture for you, but I don't, but I want to show you the socks I'm making out of some Cormo handspun.

Dude. I spun wool and now I'm making socks. That's WILD. (What is that the Yarn Harlot says about our obsession? At least we're not this obsessed with cabbage. Thank god. It could be so much worse.) And I spun it so fine that even double-plied it's about DK weight. Maybe a tad heavier.

And that Cormo is soft. I was skeptical while spinning, because it was such a pain in my arse, sticky and short, just at the edge of my spinning ability, but knitted up it's pretty dang fine. (But I can't think about Cormo without thinking P0rno, which is what Lala heard when my friend Deanna and I raced off to track it down in Maryland. The P0rno fiber. Oh, yeah, baby.)

This weekend: The Whoreshoes are playing the 5th Ave. Marina at the Oakland Embarcadero on Saturday afternoon. Come on by if you're in the area, and hoot and holler a bit. I'll also be relaxing. It's been a long week, and I some TiVo to catch up on. Can't WAIT. (Originally typed Can't WATI, which is accurate. I don't think I can wati at all.)

And I wrote. Woot!

See? I wrote.

Hooray!

Honestly, I wrote so much that I'm almost out of words. Okay, there are a few left, I think. I wrote when I woke up, as soon as I woke up, coffee in hand (and it was hard -- I could see all those nice email comments waiting in the inbox, and I just wanted to click and read but I knew I'd never get back to writing).

Then I wrote at work, too, and got a lot done. Hot damn.

Well.

Yep. Words all gone. Whoops. Done spent 'em all. Shoot.

So here for fun is another 911 story. This one is great, and it was sent to me simultaneously from Christy and Jon:
Woman Calls 911 With Pizza Complaint.

On Writing (Again)

Let's write about writing, shall we? And how lately, I just haven't? You've heard it before, I know. And in my defense, I'll tell you that I wrote an article for a local rag last week, and I've got an article due next week for a national one.

But to the real writing: The Big Book and the little book and the one that's germinating and about to poke a green tendril out of the ground.... That's a lot of writing to be doing, and a lot of writing that I've been avoiding.

Honestly, it's not even like I've been actively running away. It's just that when I'm home and alone, I'd rather be spinning, because it's the new addiction, don'tcha know. I could and should write in the wee hours at work. That's always my goal. I get a forty minute break and I could get a good chunk of writing done then, but I haven't been taking my break lately. I could get out my computer right now. It's hiding below my work terminal and I just stubbed my toe on it. But every night, zero-dark-thirty rolls around, and it's finally quiet, and I'm finally off the police radio, and my brain is zapped and I gape at the work screen instead.

Yeah, I guess that's running away.

It is, isn't it? Grrr.

Oh, my lazy, lazy self. And I think I've recently figured it out -- I always do consider myself lazy even though god knows most wouldn't. I knit a lot and I spin a lot and my house is always neat and clean (sick, yeah) and the bills are paid and usually I run some during the week, and heaven knows I sneak Lala in wherever/whenever I can. But when I don't write I'm being lazy. It's what I love best, what I want to do most. When I write, I can lie on the couch doing NOTHING and feel happy about it. When I write, I'm less driven in all other areas, and that can be very useful. Dust bunnies are our friends.

I used to get my writing done when I woke up. RIGHT when I woke up. I'm talking coffee in hand, computer on, tapping out words before the brain screams NO! Okay. I should listen to myself. Today, this afternoon, after my day-sleep, I'll do that. No email, no blogs until the work is done. And I'll tell you if I did or not. Damn, I should make a little chart with boxes or something and check them off on days I Really Write. Shame is a seriously strong motivator, indeed. I'll use anything at this point. Only I don't know how to write that kind of code.

Or I'll just keep rambling on and on and on in blog-format and call it writing, which it kind of is, and kind of isn't. Y'know?

Babble-off.

Late Sunday Afternoon

It is such a nice afternoon. I woke up early with Lala and took her to BART so she could go into the city and be all Buddha-ey, and I went home. I had all intentions of spinning, of cleaning, of organizing.... Lala and I have so little time together that we really try to spend the weekend together, which is fabulous for two lovebirds. Couldn't be better. But the loner in me loved the prospect of a whole day alone in my little house.

So I got home, ate some raisin toast, drank a cup of coffee, stared out the window, and then fell asleep. For two hours. I'm not a napper, but I love those rare naps that sneak up on you and hit you in the back of the head with a heavy-ass skillet. I woke to the phone ringing -- a pal wanted to go to brunch and to shop for a while, so I met her at La Med in Rockridge, where the mochas are to die for, and the brunch is surprisingly wonderful.

I've been living in this short wraparound skirt for two days now, loving it, and I think it would be easy to copy. So we went to Stone Mountain & Daughter, a big ole fabric store and got a couple of yards of orange and green fabric. I'm going to try a new latch mechanism -- my old sewing machine (circa 1941?) doesn't do buttonholes (doesn't do anything but forward and, haltingly, back), and I thought about snaps or hooks, but rejected them for something I saw in their notions area. Bra hooks. What do you think? They come as if you'd cut off the last two inches of each end of your bra, and I think they'll be easy to sew in by hand, and they'll be industrial in strength. I always worry, wearing a wraparound. Not a time to go commando, if you know what I mean.

Which brings me to now -- I'm supposed to pick up La off BART anytime now, and I was in the area of her place, so I came here instead of going home. I'm stealing her internet connection, and borrowing her dogs for company. I cleaned up the back yard, pulling out tons of nasty ivy and refilling the fountain. I cleaned off all the outdoor chairs so that people can come and visit. Maybe a barbecue sometime? I can feel that it's almost summer, and while I'm not that big a fan of summer (too hot, too busy), I do love the warm nights on the back porch swing, looking at the flowers and tomatoes (I have four big ripening tomatoes on my sunny front deck, and Lala has five or six little green cherry tomatoes).

So now I'm listening to the birds sing, the traffic hum very far away. When I lived in this apartment, I loved the peace that it came with. My new home is peaceful, and I like to open the sliding glass door sometimes to the air, but with it open, the freeway roar is deafening. Here, it's just calm. I do realize that I got nothing I meant to done today. I'm tempted to lie down again, but I'm so sleepy, that skillet might get me again. I'm waiting for Lala to call so I can pick her up and then go to my house, where we have last week's Lost to catch up on. I like that we have two homes.

Yawn. Enjoy the rest of your weekend....

Knitted Dinosaurs

Have you seen these? Screw baby sweaters, I'm making THESE now for the preggers moms in my life. So cute I can't stand it. I like Bronty the best.

T-Tired

Lala is funny today. She's funny everyday, ackshally. Today I am not funny, mostly because I'm Tired. Not little t-tired, but Big T-Tired. Cats who keep their gals awake during the day when it's time to sleep should at least be able to do dishes. Instead, Digit's great talent is to throw up in dark corners where it won't be seen until I tread in it going to the bathroom for the fifteenth time since lying down.

Yawn.

There. Did you? That's a sign you're probably not schizophrenic by the way. In case you were wondering.

But the good thing is is that I'm going to pick up Lala from work now, since apparently she's NEVER getting her car out of the shop and I get to steal a couple of hours with her before I go to work. Worth being tired for, I tell you. Maybe I'll get more coffee out of the deal, too.

Pink

That, dear readers, is the front of a cardigan that I'm making for myself out of handspun, hand-dyed yarn that I made myself.

Woot! (Maybe I like that word so much because it typo-es as wool.)

I used kool-aid to dye it, black cherry, hoping for a deep red, but I've been too impatient to let the wool cool in the hot water, and I realize my microwave's power is puny compared to most. So I'm getting a (mostly) consistent watermeloney pink that I love. I don't want it too consistent; I want to be able to say "I made this!" and for the listener to say "I can tell." I think that would be keen. The white/pink ball really is rather a mistake -- forgot to turn the yarn while cooking it, but I like it so much I might use it for some kind of striping somewhere.

There's just something so playful about using kool-aid, isn't there? Even though you still shouldn't breathe it in, and it stains everything it comes in contact with (how DO mothers use it for kid drinks?), it still seems so light-hearted. Perhaps I should buy gloves, though. My hands have been pink under the nails for days.

And I realized after I did a gauge swatch and cast on for the front that I had NO idea what I was making, really. I think I just wanted such a basic sweater that I forgot to think about a pattern. I'm doing raglan sleeves and a zipper, that's all I know. Maybe a rolled neck. We'll see. I hope it turns out. I remember once when I was a kid, I was lying in bed imagining a dog. I could see all sides of this dog, and it was so cute, and I just knew that when I got out of bed, I'd be able to draw it. I got up, put pencil to paper, and drew a stick figure that looked more like a building. I could see so clearly the lines I wanted to draw, but I couldn't make them come out of the pencil. I've done that in knitting before and it's one of those terribly disappointing moments. I'd rather not have another of those, thanks.

But this is terribly fun. Innit?

Presenting

No time or energy to blog much today, so I'll use Em's 10 minute method.

New socks! Aren't the best color? And know what the best part is? I didn't make them! Lala did. And my feet love them. Happy, happy feet dance....

Treats! From Nurse Knitty Wendy, knitting pencils, GORGEOUS stitch markers, and best of all, CCEggs! I can't thank you enough. I may make it to next Easter now.

Okay. My tired ass needs more coffee in prep for the week starting tonight. Where do weekends GO, anyway? Coffee, coffee, coffee.... (and chocolate!)

At Least I'll be Regular

What with all this fiber, you know.

So begins the fiber confession. I have to admit that when I bought the bin at Target and loaded it up, I was slightly horrified.

It's ginormous. And as we travelled home and it sat on the floor for a day while I worked too much to open it (isn't that the saddest thing you ever heard?), it grew in my mind, bigger and bigger, until I thought I had the biggest stash in the world (I don't, by the way. That would be Amy). I was terrified to open it. You know, the whole exploding thing.

Wednesday afternoon, I opened it. And honestly, it's not that bad. Comparatively. (Let me have this dream, please.)

See? Could be worse, right? (Adah shown for scale.)

Want a close up of some of the colors? Not like I remember what kind of fiber they are (most should have tags/receipts, but I wasn't religious about it), but I just LOVED this colorway, actually went back for it and bought it at 5:02pm on Sunday:

And this, I believe, is merino with a bit of mohair, but who knows?

I got enough different batts to make four sweaters, and a few smaller amounts of fiber just to play with, some of that luscious Cormo, and a mohair ball or two, along with some Targhee (is that right?) in crazy colors.

And of course, the prized object was my Joy (sleeping Adah in the background):

Yes, she's that purdy. I love her. The thing is, with a double treadle you can stop the wheel with your feet, allowing you to be able to sit back on the couch. No hard high-backed chair for me now. Now I can semi-cuddle while spinning. Very important, that. Also, when I got her out of the bag yesterday, a Milky Way Dark jumped out at me from the second pocket. I think she likes me, too.

Happy weekend, all!

How I Keep All the Fiber For Myself

Or "Rachael eats the other bloggers."

Proof that y'all usually only see the good pictures, since my camera is the only one that takes decent pictures of me. But this unflattering one that Lala took? Too good to pass up. This is how I got out of the festival with all that fiber for myself. Don't tell, but I knocked over several of the smaller bloggers and ran off with their fiber, too.... Doesn't Carrie look scared?

New York!

I know, I'm taking my time showing you the Haul. I'll get around to it, I promise. But first I want to tell you about Monday. Yeah, Thursday's a good time for that, isn't it? Man, I've been busy lately.

So Monday we wake up, clear out the hotel room (why is there something so cool about just leaving the keycard in the room and not having to check out at the desk? Feels like a dine-and-dash might, all "let's go!" and burning rubber), get in our PT Cruiser and head north. Or we assumed it was north. Later I gave Lala my compass wristband I got in my Wendy's equivalent of a Happy Meal, and it was confirmed that yes, New York is north of Maryland, but until then it was only an assumption.

(Note on the PT Cruiser: Lala likes them. She has tried to rent one before, only to be thwarted by the gods that rule rental car agreements. When we picked up the car at the Dulles airport, her eyes widened as we got close to our spot. Yes! That's ours! The Cruiser! That moment would have been a totally great moment to nod and murmur, "Yes, I got it just for you." Instead I gave up the goods and admitted I had no idea how we ended up with it, just get in! Let's go! Burning rubber....)

We headed north, our map in hand. We ended up on the New Jersey Turnpike, which is kind of thrilling somehow. Looking into the trees, I tried to catch a glimpse of Tony Soprano-ish houses, but couldn't see much. People drove very considerately at first, at a constant rate, all polite 'n' stuff. It was unnerving. Closer to New York City, the traffic got heavier and ruder, and I relaxed. I'm used to jerks on the road, and I have to admit I can get all passive-aggressive and enjoy pissing people off by leaving large gaps and slowing when someone drives up my tailpipe. But those truck drivers! The east-coast truck drivers are something else. They're just mean. I stayed out of their way.

We drove over the Verrazano Bridge and into Brooklyn. We were driving in New York! This was awesome! We found our way to Cari's, and dumped the car in front. It was a close call, whether or not to leave my beloved spinning wheel in the car or not, but she lives in a nice neighborhood, and it was the middle of the day, and I could not see lugging that thing, small as it is, all over the West Village. So we walked up to the subway stop and trained into Manhattan. There is just something so satisfying about doing that, isn't there? It's different from BARTing into San Francisco. SF is fabulous, but it's small. You run into people you know. New York feels so big, and so fast, and so full of things that might happen. I love it.

    With the subway map. I'm a map dork.

Lala was meeting up with an old friend, and I wanted to let them have some time to themselves, so we parted ways at Washington Square Park, and I set off for a little ramble. I didn't get far, walked up a bit of 6th, and then turned around and came back and settled myself down at a sidewalk Mexican restaurant. I made friends with the bartender, we bonded over Bohemia beer, and I got out my knitting.

Lala and Moira picked me up from there and we walked to another sidewalk place where I got a salad that shocked my fried-food system. Good food, good talk, good afternoon.

And then back to B-lyn for the knitting! Cari invited some of my favorite people, and I flashed back on last year when I'd done this for the first time. And this year, even better. These are my girls, yo. And even better to have My Girl next to me for it this year.

    Iris, Lala, Cheb, Emily, Em, Anne, Cari, Cassie, Jackie

    Those are Lala's flying fingers in the foreground

    More flying hands


    Sorry, Emily, but this one of Cheb is too cute to resist.


    I love this picture of Cari!


    Dogs steal yarn, you know. But not Diego.

We had a marvellous time. Anne and I had been emailing for a while, and her path crossed with Cari's, and she ended up at the house to my pleased surprise. And I'd wanted to meet both Cassie and Jackie for a while, and I already knew Iris was awesome, and y'all know that I heart my Em.

New York is all right with me. Yep. And another thing that's all right is a portable spinning wheel:

I got some interested looks, and one guard came over and we discussed Indian charkas. Okay, I only mentioned the word and he looked pleased. My kind of discussion, baybee.

Tomorrow, stash! (Don'tcha like how I'm drawing it out, much like that long draw above? Blog fodder is not to be squandered.)

MSWF '05

Oh, boy. Where do I start?

Let's start with the plain facts:

1. We had a GREAT time.

2. I slipped, fell, and bought a CRAPload of fiber on the way down. There was none left in my wake. None. People cried. They saw me sailing through ahead of them, buying ALL the fiber at the festival, and they pleaded with me to stop, to leave them just a little bit, an ounce of roving, an inch of combed top, but no, I took no prisoners and left no survivors. There are way too many metaphors in this paragraph. Oh, well.

3. Lala is a really, really good traveling companion.

4. I'm tired. I left work Friday morning after working all night and flew in to DC (boy, were my arms tired). I got home Tuesday afternoon, had an hour at home, and came back to work. A full, four-day weekend, extremely well-worth it. But I'm sleepy.

5. I am organized. Before we left, I'd made a little packet. I was semi-embarrassed to admit it, but I'd gathered together our plane e-ticket info, rental car reservations, directions from DC to our hotel in Maryland, from the hotel to the Sheep and Wolf Estival, from the hotel to Cari's house, all put in order in a plastic sleeve as we'd need 'em. And the most amazing thing? The papers worked! On Monday, we woke up in the Maryland hotel, got in the car, and drove to Cari's. In Brooklyn. We had no real map, just verbal directions from Google maps (which were really good, btw), and we had no earthly idea where we were going, only that it was north. We didn't know which states we were going to go through (since we apparently both slept through all of Geography). And eventually, after driving a long time, we pulled up in front of Cari's very door. Amazing. But I get ahead of myself.

Maryland Sheep and Wool:

The people! The wool! The smell of those fried little cakey things that I can never ever remember the name of, have to think "bear claw" before I finally get to.... no, still don't have it.... Funnel cakes! That's it! Oh, just think of the smell of those wafting through the air, mixed with the scent of lamb cooking up, which is both disturbing and reassuring at the same time. To me, anyway. I can imagine how it could be only disturbing to others.

Best parts (becase apparently I am still in List Mode):

1. The people. I can't even begin to remember to list all the people I saw and hugged, so I won't. But I got to meet a bunch of readers, every single of them sweet and charming and funny and lovely. And I got to love on a lot of old friends, which did this heart right.

2. The fiber. I had to buy a storage tub from Target to get it all home (thanks, Claudia, for the idea -- I hadn't the foggiest about what I was going to do before you mentioned that). A storage tub! A huge one! It took all my body weight and a whole roll of strapping tape to get it closed. Then at the airport when the guy told me he'd have to open it, I said, "No, it'll explode if you do that!" That's not the right answer, if you were wondering. I managed to convince him that it was just a slip of the tongue before he evacuated the terminal, but it was close.

3. The wheel. Oh, yeah, did I tell you I bought a wheel? I was out of CONTROL, people. I bought the one I wanted, the Ashford Joy, from Morgaine at Carolina Homespun, like I promised her years ago I would do if I ever started really spinning. Yes, I went to Maryland to buy a wheel from a woman who lives fifteen miles from me. Oh, well. It has its own cunning little backpack, and I adore it. I might sleep with it. You never know. (I carried it on the plane with me, and when the security guy saw it on the screen, he said, "Whoo-ooh-oow." I agree.)

4. The food. We ate nothing that wasn't sugared or fried for three days. I am not exaggerating. It was like Disneyland, only you could get a coke for less than seven dollars. I feel like I have never run a damn day in my whole life.

Want some pictures? You've been very patient. I actually didn't take very many. Lala has the good ones -- I'll ask her to either blog them or send them to me in the coming days. But from my camera:

This lil lady has dreadlocks.

Lala's getting into it.

Okay, really into it.

Yep, there's my baby. The wheel, not the Harlot, although she is babelicious (you know you were thinking it). All that fiber in those bags?  Mine, also. But I lied through my damn teeth about it:

None of that is mine. I swear. Nope.
Also, speaking of lying to Stephanie, we pulled our very best prank on her -- Lala made me buy some cotton candy and put it right on the very top of all my fiber. "Just LOOK at this pretty roving!" Stephanie ooohs and aaahs and says it looks like the color of cotton candy. "It IS cotton candy!" Fits of giggles as Lala and I fall about, thinking ourselves the cleverest twelve-year olds at the Festival, Stephanie undoubtedly thinking it was high time to run for the hills.



There is nothing sweeter than a shorn alpaca. It's like when a three-year old cuts the whiskers off a cat, so wrong-looking and so funny.

 

Now that's cute.

 

Saturday night was a rare treat -- after an Indian dinner with Greta and Maggi (both of whom I'd been dying to catch up with and love on) and my fiber-genius friend Deanna and her cool friend Shelly, I got to meet Joan-in-Reno, one of my favorite readers. She was an absolute delight.

And our Maggi learned to spin! Greta was her teacher, and Mogs picked it up like nothing I've ever seen. Lala was impressed, as you can see.

Me, Nathania, and Wendy. All I can say is, what happens in Maryland, stays in Maryland. But I believe there was gin involved.

 

I got fiber and a wheel -- Lala got yarn and a hat. I know who scored more.

Tomorrow, some New York pics, as Maryland could not come to our girls, we brought Maryland to them.

Flame

And here you go!

Specs:
Pattern: Flame Cardigan from Vogue Spring/Summer 2005
Yarn: Old stashed merino/angora I think?
Gauge: 32st over pattern repeat
Needle size: 6US

And from the back:

I chose to not add that funky crochet bit between the ribbing and the upper pattern, and I lengthened the ribbing, 'cause I'm just not a cropped kinda gal. And you remember when I messed up that sleeve pattern? You can't tell. If you see me at the Sheep and Wolf Estival, you might pick it out, but not from a trotting horse. Or as Janine says, "If you're that close, you'd better be putting money in my garter belt." Or something like that.

And the Iris:

This is, without a doubt, my favorite sweater I've ever made. And this is, without a doubt, the last post before the Big Event in Maryland, so MWAH! Happy fibering! We'll be back on Tuesday....

Rock Star

And for being so patient in waiting for the Flame pics, more photos for you, these from the Bolinas Whoreshoes show.

Silvia is rad:

And her date (bless me if I can remember his name - Pete?) was cool, too, although this shot doesn't show his best face. I love this shot, though. I hope he doesn't mind. (Silvia, tell me if he does.)

And then there's me with my girl:

And have I mentioned that my girlfriend is a Total Fucking Rock Star?

And here:

See, the one who is picked to take the photos, takes the photos of things she likes. Just sayin'.

Might I proudly add that while she got that fab suit off eBay, I found her the boots in a window in Berkeley. Oh, yeah.

And the sisters were there! In order, Bethany, Christy, and me.

I hate that picture of me (hellllooo, treble chin) but are they not the cutest?

Update

I swear, I took pictures of the new pink Flame sweater, but my internet has been intermittent at home, and lately more mittent than inter. I tried all day to fire up the computer, but nothing doing. So now I'm at work and have only time to show you a George update.

Remember what he looked like when I lived where Lala lives now? Now that crazy asparagus thing is sticking up like this:

 

This is how tall he is this week. Way, way over the rooftop:

And from a distance, his top disappears into the clouds over the rooftop. We're going to climb it and steal the giant's gold. Or his duck. I can't remember. Goose that laid the golden egg? Maybe that's it. Whatever, we're there.

Il Papa

My new favorite blog. Man, I dig the new Pope. And he's cute as a button:

Reuters photo, Alessandro Bianchi

Dr. Evil, anyone? Some believe he signals the end of the world. And this really might.

We Got The Knitter

From Christy:
The Knit Club

Oh. My. God.

Okay. Now I'm going to bed.

Early

Oh, my gosh. It's 3am, perhaps a little later, on Sunday morning, and I just got back from the greatest Whoreshoes performance. And know who was there? Our own pretty-pretty RedSilvia, that's who. It was so great to see her come through the door (and her date was cute, too -- go bug her for details).

The band was ON tonight, and the bar (Smileys, the oldest tavern in California, they claim) was hoppin' with mostly locals, a few wedding-from-up-the-road people, and one lady in a light pink pant suit who looked HORRIFIED anytime anyone danced in her direction. She didn't last long.

But my fabulous sisters did. They hung in the whole time, and they were awesome. And then Bethany did a great job driving us down the mountain, delivering bandmember Eve to her very door in SF. It was very, very sad that all of us, Christy, Bethany, and I, were ALL broke, not a penny left after Christy paid the now-exorbitant bridge toll, because I got in line at Tacqueria Cancun, the best veggie burritos in the whole world (really) and then had to get out of line because they don't take Visa. But now I have ice cream, and two happy cats, although I don't have a Lala, since she stayed in Bolinas for the night (they got the Swearengen room on top of the saloon). I could have Yoko'd it, but I don't sleep well with others (six in the room) on a night when I've been up for just about forever. (You'd think I'd sleep well, huh? Nope. Worse. Overtired stressful sleep.) And also, it was just nice to come down the hill with fun Christy and Bethany and Eve.

And now I get to watch a little TV (woot!) and maybe have a little snack (I'm trying hard to talk myself out of dashing back to SF for that burrito -- should I? I have enough quarters here in the house...) and think about how I'll show y'all the new pink sweater. For photos of tonight's show, go bug Lala. I took approximately seven thousand four hundred twenty-two photos tonight on her camera. I'm sure she'll show you a couple or two.

She's cyoote, by the way. As is every member of her band, but in a different way. If you know what I mean.

Oh! Sleepy! Goodnight.