And This Just In:June 30, 2005
Spain ROCKS. Amazing.
21 posts from June 2005
Anyone want to work at the magical, amazing, one-of-a-kind Artfibers? Here's what Kira would like to tell you:
Artfibers of San Francisco is looking for a part-time sales/customer service person for our retail store at 124 Sutter Street. Preference will be given to those with retail/customer service experience. Hand-knitting skills and experience must be at the intermediate to advanced level with emphasis on sweaters. Familiarity with Artfibers brand yarns is a plus. Attention to detail, reliability as well as good listening, learning and people skills are important. Work schedule is 12:00 - 4:00 Monday through Friday (may be negotiable). Wage is $12.00 per hour plus great yarn discounts to the right person. Must be able to start immediately. See our website: to learn more about our company. Call 415.956.6319 to schedule an appointment for an interview.
I am pleasantly surprised and terribly anxious all at the same time. DJ, the new owner of the upper unit got hold of J, the guy who just sold it to her. And he's being very, very cool. He showed up yesterday afternoon when he told me he would, and he had his plumber guy with him, and they went into my bathroom and listened to the upper unit leaking above our heads. Man, I've never whipped a bra off a shower rod that fast before. Nothing like two males in your bathroom gazing up at the ceiling to make you realize your lingerie is probably dry.
They hemmed and hawed and knocked and said okay, they'd be back the next day.
"Oh, you're going to work up there tomorrow?" I ask, still blissfully naive.
"Yes. Down here. What time's good for you?"
"For the work."
"Because you need access to my unit?"
"Yeah. For the work."
"What work, exactly?"
"Ripping out the ceiling."
I mean, it's good in the long, dry run. Even though he doesn't own it anymore, J's going to take care of it all, and it sounds like they probably know what they're doing, although his plumber is definitely an under-the-table kind of guy. (J is probably scared of a non-disclosure lawsuit, I'd imagine.)
But lord, where am I going to pee for those long hours of work? The neighbors won't be home, that's already established, and I don't really want to leave my house full of strangers who might let my cats out (oh, please, not that). Must. Not. Drink. Coffee.
I have to tell you, the new owner is being great, too, all apologies and extremely nice. I think maybe she was in shock from everything else breaking this week. She just looked overwhelmed. I honestly like her personality, very much. This is just a speed-method for getting to know my neighbor.
Well, I'll take trial by water over trial by fire any day.
The unit above mine sold! It sold to a very nice-seeming single lady, for thirty grand more than I bought mine for, eight months ago. Them's ridiculous numbers, people. I'm not complaining, but dang.
So the nice-seeming lady moved in over the weekend, and so far her electricity has been shorting out, her dishwasher has blown up, neither her range nor her refrigerator worked right, and yesterday morning at six-thirty, when she was taking her shower, it started raining in my bathroom.
I exaggerate, perhaps. It wasn't dripping from the ceiling, rather, I could HEAR it dripping from her bathroom to my ceiling, an ominous fast trickle, and it was raining down my wall from the window all over the toilet and floor, which means that lots more water was running inside our wall.
Now, the unit up there has been vacant since I moved in, so this was, as far as I know, the first water that had run up there in eight months. The last owners had to replace the entire bathroom in the unit that is now mine (hello, clawfoot tub), and when I ran upstairs to tell her that my floor was flooded, this is what I had in mind. Her bathtub falling into mine. See Anne for scary ceiling details.
Strangely, the new neighbor took more than 10 minutes after being told about it (through her cracked bathroom window) to come down, fully made up and dressed. I woulda put on a robe and flown downstairs. But people react to situations differently, I suppose. And when I explained about the last time and suggested she not shower again until the plumber came, she seemed very against this idea. She said she HAD to shower every day. Well, okay. Some do. But maybe somewhere else? Or get the plumber the same day? Again, people react differently than I do. But I would have been freaked OUT if my tub was leaking into the downstairs unit. Her dime, I suppose, in the long run. (And mine, in terms of dryrot.... Erp.)
So I'm practicing patience. I've been told when they redid my bathroom, they put in green-something, hardie-board, which should resist water. But what about upstairs? Who knows? The old owners of both units are shadier than the current administration, so I don't trust a word.
I don't want to have to repaint. Or pay for repairs, of anything, since even with my recent financial improvement, I still ain't got a dime extra right now.
It's interesting, though, this home ownership thing. Happy, happy, happy to have such problems.
And this: Yay, Canada! Once again, they prove smarter than us.
I had the most knitty weekend. Oh, wait, it was Pride, right? That, too. Proud gay knitting, that's me.
Okay, that kind of is me. Eeep.
I went to the Dyke March (yes, you can call it that, since that's its official name), and saw all of the people that I wanted to see, and none that I didn't, so that was really good. I watched the bikes go (O, the bikes....), and then walked to where our party place is at Dolores and 16th, where we drank and danced and watched the March go by. Lazy marcher, me. There were a lot of women who looked REALLY cold, if you get my drift. Me, I was warm. Most of the time. There may have been a breeze once, but it didn't last long, and although I've heard there was photographic proof, I haven't seen it, so we're all right. There WAS a woman in a window above us who was so well endowed that every time she hung her torso out the window to the cheers of the marchers, I thought she was going to topple out. I couldn't watch. That much.
I didn't ride in the march, but I was on the back of Geena's bike, dammit! Halfway to my goal....
Sadly, my rockstar girlfriend (she rocks out) was recording and missed the march, but I collected all her friends like any girlfriend should, and we ate massive veggie burritos and then drank beer at the Lex, where we watched all the young hip lesbians flirt. I *so* don't have the right glasses. But I really liked the person I was sitting with, you know?
That was Pride. I didn't go to the parade, I wasn't that proud. I was sleepy and stayed in bed, instead.
Then the Strizz had a little informal thingie at her house, where I knit for like, six hours. That was really nice.
Ask me for names and links. Lazy.
And today, my girls Kira and Rachel came over and we sat at a local cafe (World Ground on MacArthur) and knitted for another few hours.
Much progress was made on my first Lara sleeve (from homespun!) but none to show, because I am, as I have repeatedly stated, lazy.
And now I'm hungry, and laziness is driving me to go out to my car and go to Taco Bell. That's terrible, isn't it? Oh, yum. Bean burrito, no onions, sour cream. The perfect end to a fabulous, relaxing weekend. (Even if I wasn't in Brooklyn. Humph.)
Whew. It's sure a good thing that I hopped on that supersonic jet this morning when I got off work. Otherwise I'd still be in Oakland for Pride weekend in the Bay Area, and we all know how AWFUL that can be. Dreadful. All those proud people. Humph. We sniff.
Well, shoot. (I did however, answer my wonder-some phone while in front of Trader Joe's last night, and talked to all three of my gorgeous ladies. All in the same country! Who would have ever thought?)
Where's that plane ticket? I know I left it lying around here somewhere.
Good thing I still got my Pride.
I just totally stubbed my toe. On my ankle. While lying asleep in bed.
I so win. (But if you can top it, let me know in comments, please.)
This is Pride weekend, y'all! While I don't plan on hootin' and hollerin' at the parade, because I'd honestly rather sleep in on Sunday morning, you all know I LOVE the Dyke March on Saturday night. Love it. Love, love, love it. Love the women, love the safety in numbers, love the clothes or lack thereof, LOVE the motorcycles. There will be photos, probably edited for content.
So please, think good thoughts for this year's event. Last year, a friend of mine was bashed just outside the Lexington, one of the only lesbian bars in town. He broke her nose before three people ripped him off her. Amazing that something like that could happen in San Francisco, on Pride weekend, but really, it's just amazing and horrifying that it could ever happen, anywhere, in this reasonably educated society.
Come play! Or be Proud where you are.
Well, mostly better. Fever still lingers a bit, but only in that drive you crazy am-I-feverish-or-not kind of way. Not enough to cramp my style, or prevent me from going to work tonight, although I slept almost thirteen hours last night and just got up from a three hour nap this afternoon. Well prepared for a night of sitting on my ass, I think.
So I have nothing interesting to say, having done nothing in the past three days. So I'll give you a couple of pics of the most interesting things around me recently (sadly, La's been super-duper busy, so I've been amusing myself with movies and cats and spinning).
How I spent last night:
And yes, that ball of wool is bigger than Adah. She weighs more, though. It's destined to be Debbie Bliss's Lara, I think, if the gauge comes out. Just what I need. Another sweater in California. But at least the nice thing is I seldom wear a coat here, just sweaters at night, so I actually get use out of them....
And it's spinning up (two-ply) into this:
It's rather uneven, and I'm really struggling with it. It's a stubborn Rambouillet from A Touch of Twist out of Schenectady, obtained in Maryland. Drafting more is helping, but it's still aggressive and jumpy. I think I'd gotten used to the nice merinos and this is hard for me. But it's a good challenge.
Also, I just saw this in my living room. I love my house. (And my Treo, for taking the picture. Not bad for a phone, no?)
Yes, I took that last wee post down. It felt passive-aggressive, and I hate being that, although I've been known to be good at it.
Still sick. Stomach flu with fever, and I thought I was getting better this morning, but as the day wears achingly slowly on, I feel worse, so I'm staying close to the bed, drinking a lot of fluids. And sleeping a lot.
I'm never sick. Unless I have something terrifically big, like that pneumonia last year, but I don't get the flu.
BORING. There is nothing more boring than writing about being sick, and it's tedious to read, too.
So instead, go visit my friend Anne at her new blog, just up, Paper Tiger Knits. Yay, Anne! And because there are SO many cool Ann(e)s in the world (and it's my favorite name, you know), you should go visit Ann of the Alpacas. She sent me some fiber a few months ago, just 'cause, and it is the SOFTEST stuff. Really. Go gitchoo some of this at Maplecorners.
Con: I'm still sick. It wasn't the tequila, alas. Indeed, the tequila didn't do anything to kill the little germ that's attacking my innards and doing a Mexican Hat Dance in there.
Con: Doc barely looked at me, implied it was the flu, and didn't even bother with trying to help my migraines, just wrote a referral to a neurologist.
Pro: Discovered the fasting blood-work that I've needed for more than a year could be done in the office right across the very hallway in the building where my realtor is, and realized that with the flu, I had been fasting, all right. Got that done.
Con: The lady didn't do very well drawing the blood. Nope. Ouch.
Pro: Walked out of the realtor's office with checks to pay off ALL my credit cards, thanks to a refinance and the fact that the creeks didn't rise (LA Times article notwithstanding). The cards have been around my neck for about thirteen years. It feels amazing.
Con: Walked in the house and destroyed the venetian blinds by foolishly trying to open them. Silly of me, that.
Pro: I fixed them and now feel like a big stud.
Con: Still have a germ doing a manic little dance in my tummy, now to a Gloria Estefan cha-cha. No one's happy in there, man.
Going back to bed now. Exhausted. Hope you're well.
Bleah. I'm feeling just the littlest bit queasy, and my stomach is upset. I'm not sure what to chalk it up to: It may just be that I'm tired, even though I got plenty of sleep. We had a great day yesterday, lying in the (really hot) sun in Stern Grove in San Francisco, listening to Lucinda Williams and John Doe play a concert for FREE. Well, I'm sure they got paid for it. But we didn't pay, nope.
And man, were there a lot of people. Luckily, we knew friends of friends of friends who got there at ten in the morning for the two o'clock show, and got great seats. We brought things to do:
That's the Herron Mandola, the mandola that my dad manufactures. Anyone interested, let me know and I'll put you in contact with him. It's got a sweet, sweet tone....
I brought knitting, and only knit about three rows. It was so friggen HOT. Lala was happy, cold-blooded thing that she is. I was pretty happy, but for a little while I was miserable and went into the shade to cool off. I run so much hotter than most people, and I don't like getting overheated. That's why I think my general malaise today has something to do with yesterday. Plus I believe there was a bottle of hot tequila being passed around. Note: Tequila should be warm at most. Hot is just asking for trouble.
So I'm off to laze about some more. One more picture for your WTF file:
It's seriously a book of short linked period romances, with the same cats romping through each story. As near as I can tell, that is. Did you ever?
Can't stop listening to The Ditty Bops.
They are so CUTE. Go look at that site. And listen here. Seriously, they are the cutest sound around right now, even though they talk about things like mucus. You can't tell they're talking about things like that (and don't be scared, mostly they're not) because they sound like they're wearing pink pinafores and sitting in oversized porch swings, drinking spiked lemonade before they go out in the roadster to the jitterbug over in the next lane.
Lala found them on a fluke when we went to Hear Music in Berkeley (which she had been all excited about, and which I didn't get. For some reason I thought they were where you went to listen to and buy music produced by Hear, the Starbucks division. Have you seen the pictures of their new group, Antigone Rising? That is a SCARY looking photo, I don't know why, it just is (and the sound ain't that good, either). So I didn't jump up and down for joy. But then we got there, and while yes, it sells Antigone Rising and other coffee compilations, it sells all sorts of everything else, and there are tons of listening stations, and I lost her completely for a while as we went our separate musical ways.)
You will like them. Really.
You bluegrass lovers, you MUST get your hands on the Lonesome Sisters. Not available many places, but I got mine from CDBaby, and they were super quick-like, which is good, since I'm a huge fan of the instant gratification of iTunes. Buy both of them. I mean it. Just do it. You don't even have to listen to them, but if you want to, you can give 'em a spin here: Lonesome Sisters Clips. Oh, the way their voices blend is incredible, and I love the way they can move from the traditional really old stuff to songs about the bar. Nothing finer. (Maggi, this is SO for you, babe.)
Remember ole George at my old house/La's current house? Remember when Em met my pal?
And I told you how he's flowering, right?
Yo. Flowering ain't the word. You can't even see the top of it in this photo because of the brightness of the sky, but it towers over the roof of the house. (Lala's standing on a raised section of the neighbor's garden.)
Also crazy, but this is all mine: Last night a woman called, stating that there were miners drinking in front of her house. My brain just froze. Miners? All dirty and coal-scuffed, with pick-axes and bronchial coughs?
Jaysus. MINORS. As in juveniles. As in the type of call, word for word, that I get every night. Why my brain made it miners, I'll never know. Apparently I am ready to live in the 19th century. Spinning wheels and banjos, baybee.
Say hello to my little friend.
Of course, I only got one (the silver one). I suppose I only need one, eh? I spent pretty much all of last weekend playing with it. Thank god Lala geeks out as hard as I do -- she got my old phone when I upgraded, so we spent hours just mucking about in the new programs. So Palm Treo 600 users: Any tips? Programs that I should get? Any info on free ringtones? (Why are they so hard to find for this phone? Dude.)
It's amazing. It's now carrying my full schedule, and my work overtime balances, and my phone book. It takes photos. It tells me what time it is, everywhere in the world (why that one thrills me so much, I don't know. But it does). I bought a little fold-out keyboard, and it's carrying in memo form the writing I'm working on right now. So in my little black purse, I can fit my writing AND a sock-in-progress. I'm dying here. Watch me fan myself.
I lurve me some technology.
Did I mention it takes photos?
Adah in low light:
And in really low light in a local dive bar:
That's my favorite graffiti, ever.
Okay, back to playing with my device....
Hey, you know what's not fun? Working 911 in a bay-side town that's at sea-level during a tsunami watch. Nope. Thank god it was cancelled (but not before we fielded many, many panicked calls). Sigh. All's well.
So, hi! How nice to see you! Did you miss me? Just a little? Where do I start? Here's the answer: I don't. I can't catch y'all up on the vacation's doings, because there were just too many of 'em. And they were good, and fine, and fun, and all of that, but you know how it is. You're driving down the road on a lovely sunny almost-summer's day, and you think, I'm going to blog this. I'm going to remember the smell, and the way I feel, and what it means to be right here, right now.... And then it never comes back, does it? Same with all writing, isn't it? You wake in the middle of the night and have those words in your head -- better get up and write them down, lady, 'cause they won't be back to visit later.
What do I remember? I'll just list them as they come to me, shall I?
(Ooooh -- I missed you!)
Driving to my mother's house for her birthday: They pointed me through the Oakland airport lot, past all the big kiosks for Dollar, Enterprise, Budget. I trudged until there were no more kiosks and very few cars, carrying my bag and spinning wheel (of course) and presents for the little mama. I walked until I found a little sign that said "Fox Rentals," and found a very small man vacuuming a car. He nodded and pointed me to my car, a Honda Civic Hybrid (score! they had run out of regular economy vehicles), but it was banged UP. I had no idea how a car with less than 10,000 miles on it could be in such bad shape, but there were dents on all sides and the right side panel flapped in the wind. I made great sweeping motions to show him where to mark "damaged" on the checkout slip, and he nodded and chirped at me. As I drove away, he said with passion, "Thank you for taking this car. Thank you. Oh, thank you." It wasn't until I was ten minutes away that I noticed the ants.
Ants. Filling the car. Not just a couple of ants, but swarming ants. How do you get an ant colony in a car? It is an impressive mark of my inherent laziness that I did not turn around. I noticed that while the ants walked freely everywhere in the car, they weren't on the seats. I guess ants don't like faux velour (think about those two words), and they remained on the doors and sills and most annoyingly, the windows. I could block out thoughts of the ants until they meandered through my line of vision. But they were okay. We cohabited the car. Dude, it was fourteen bucks a day. What were my options?
Also, just because your rental goes way faster than your every-day eleven-year-old car, please remember that it's a hybrid, and not meant to race a BMW and a Mercedes. Just sayin'.
Dad and I took the little mama out for a good Italian dinner and then Mom and I went shopping the next day. Now, I'm not a shopper. But apparently I got shop-happy that day. Really shop-happy. I can't remember ever buying that many pieces of clothing in one day in my whole life. But have you noticed the prints that are out there? Sweet dresses and cute cotton skirts, all retro prints and just the right shape for me, too: lots of low vees and hourglass curves. Since this whole running madness, I've become more amenable to showing off what I've got. Really, at the age of 32, I'm happier in my skin than I've been since I was maybe 22. I don't think that my body shape has really changed, but my confidence level has. It's fun. Good stuff.
I signed up for the first half of the SF Marathon, and I've been training again. I ran six miles last week, which in and of itself isn't a big deal. After all, in the last year, I've run at least eight half-marathons in training for the big one last December. But when you relax back into nice little 3-milers, even four is a jump. And the six? I realized when I was done that it was the farthest I'd ever run by myself. All those long runs were with other runners, with the encouragement of the AIDS Marathon staff. So six miles by myself felt great. I went from the Berkeley Marina down to the Emeryville Marina, all around the Watergate condos and back. I could have run farther. Gazelle day.
Then today I did a four-miler, and thought I was gonna die. Dude. Rhino day. I can't figure it out. Okay, it could have had something to do with the fact that yesterday I ate Taco Bell for dinner and had two beers, and then got up and ran with no coffee and only cookies for sustenance, but then again, maybe not. Yay, sugar high! Boo, sugar crash. And I forgot sunscreen for the first time this season and have a smart pink burn on my shoulders. I hate that. I'm usually very good at sunscreen, too. Grrr.
It feels good to be back to blogging. I missed it more than I thought I would. So hiya. How are you?
Not really off my vacay yet, so only a tiny little post:
My lovely friend Christina, owner of Article Pract in Oakland, is doing me a major favor, and I'd love to help her out in return. She needs help in the store (such a wonderful store....), about 24 hours a week, and I'd love it if a talented knowledgeable reader of mine ended up in the store. Pay depends on experience, of course, and the boss is GREAT! Give the store a call to see when she'll be there, and then bring a resume by in person. Yup. Tell her I sentcha, okay?
Mwah! More soon!
Pictures. Lots of 'em. I'm on vacation again (I like to split my three weeks up, one every few months....), and I don't like spending so much time on the computer when I'm on break.
Lala's party! (If you weren't invited and we love you, don't worry, we still do, but we had space restrictions, and I limited invites to Lala's friends Pre-Rachael (and my sisters, of course). Otherwise it would have turned into a knitting party, and you know what THAT'S code for. General debauchery. Can't have that, no.
There would never be debauchery at any of OUR parties.
No debauchery here, either. (Debauchery is just such a good word to say, innit?)
Oh, we GOT her. She was all tired and stuff, and I was all whiney after we went to dinner with her brother and sister-in-law, "But I wannnnt to see Spirited Away at their house.... Please? I know it's your birthday and you're exhausted from your day, but please....." So she was a champ and said okay, and we went up the stairs into the living room and SURPRISE! Oooh, she was a little peeved at first. Heh.
She is the violent Buddhist sort, you know, so I got shot:
But then she realized, hey! These people don't suck! I like these people! And then she had a great time.
And she got a sweater! (In June. I am Smart That Way.)
In fact, her head started to melt, she was so happy.
One of the best parts of the party was that we totally geeked out. La's brother Richard has a bunch of Rubik's Cubes. 2x2, 3x3, 4x4, and dude, the 5x5. He can solve them one-handed. I swear he peels the labels off faster than the eye can see and sticks them back on. So we were all kinda playing with those. And then someone dragged out my wheel (which I had brought, all ruse-fully), and everyone had a go on it. Man, I had some drunk tangles on there.
Behold, the Party Wheel:
I think a good time was had by all:
And not only that (there's more! fabulous prizes!), we went on a little surprise trip. She'd never been to Yosemite, so we had to go in the 'vertible (only way to go) and look at the sights.
I brought my knitting, of course:
Oh, and the Party Wheel:
Lala brought her banjo:
We so know how to party, yo.
(There was one fabulous moment when Lala looked up from the banjo, at me spinning, and said, "Oh, my GOD!" I thought a bear must be behind me or something. Then she said, "I just realized. We're HIPPIES!" She was completely horrified.)
(And no, we're not, honey. We're geeks, but not hippies. I wear lipstick and you wear leather.)
(Also, although I am usually terrific about keeping the camp clean (stayed in a Curry Village tent cabin) and scent free due to rampaging alcoholic bears, I have to say it's unnerving to wake up and realize that I left the trash bag with beer bottles and candy bar wrappers on the chair, and that the M&Ms I had hidden in the unused sleeping bag were on the floor, because it had become very cold in the middle of the night and I'd taken the sleeping bag out and spread it over us, and THEN, when we went to the car in the morning (I'd left the top down so that even if the bears smelled something (like the garlic-basil gouda we'd eaten on the road), they wouldn't rip open the top), we found we'd left an open HONEY STICK on the floor of the front seat. Yeah. Go to Yosemite and leave HONEY in your car for the bears. Sheesh. Kind of amazing.)
I am paranthesed-out. So just a few more, and then I'm on vacation, blog and email-wise, until next Tuesday.
The Pink Handspun Sweater:
It's Blue-faced Leicester, spun in soft singles, dyed with Black Cherry Kool-Aid (in a low-temp microwave, skein by skein, not left to cool) knit up on size 5US. Pattern is my own -- just kind of knit until I liked it. Raglan, done in pieces, since I really wanted to get different shadings in different areas. I had one mistake ball of white/pink speckles, so I used that for one sleeve edge and the zipper bands. Zipper from Zipperstop, totally fast. I had the zipper by the time I was half-way done.
Can I just tell you I *love* this sweater? I've worn it pretty much since I finished it, nonstop. (In the heavy mist of Bridal Veil Falls in Yosemite, I smelled a rising cherry fragrance.....)
I modeled it on those baby sweaters that you take off the needles and think, "Oh, I wish I had one of these for me, but big."
Adah likes it, too:
Okay. Have a good week, y'all! I'm off in the rain (weird) down the coast to celebrate Mom's birthday.
Oh, aren't you patient. Thanks for waiting while we traipsed around for Lala's birthday -- no time to really show you now, so a quick couple o'shots, and I'll try to round some more up tomorrow.
What Lala got for her birthday:
(Man, I'm going to shorten that collar. I tried to play it off like it was all vintage, but it's really just a collar that got away from me by two inches while I forgot to measure. It looks good like that in the back, but that's at the sacrifice of the front. It'll be better shorter.)
What I got for Lala's Birthday
(Oh, and that's the new pink handsupn, but more on that later....)
By the time this posts, Lala should have already received her gift, so I can set this to post later today.
First: Lisa? At blogdogblog? She's a miracle. I scoured the internet for a Mary Maxim pattern from the 50s that I wanted to make for Lala's birthday, and couldn't find it ANYWHERE. I turned the internets upside down and shook 'em, and nothing fell out but dust and an apple core. So I sent Lisa an SOS, and she said, "Hey, I actually have an extra copy." Now, who has an extra copy of the best pattern ever written? Lisa does. I aDORE Lisa. Always have.
And here's what Lala's unwrapping, maybe right now, all thanks to our Lisa:
And the back:
Woot! It's Mary Maxim's HoeDown (isn't that perfect?). It's a scream, innit? And I don't think she had any idea I was making it -- I got the yarn three weeks ago (I used Lamb's Pride Bulky on 10.5US (me! On 10.5s!), and worked solidly on it, while at the same time working on my pink handspun to throw her off the scent.
I hate intarsia, and I'm bad at it. You can't tell from the photo, but the people kind of pop out from the back, and I didn't have time to block it. It's almost a neat effect, though. Makes 'em look like they're really dancing.
Oh, I can't WAIT for her to open it. Wooooot!
You all know how I Don't Rip, right? Hate ripping. Rarely do it. Wate of time. Call it a design detail, and I SWEAR no one will notice, not even the best knitter. Promise.
But if you add a cute little rolled collar and it rolls to the INSIDE, people will notice, dude.
I ripped. Sigh. I told you I felt discombobulated, right? And I ain't even added the zipper yet. Sheesh.
Look! My first tomatoes!
Okay, that's not true. Two days ago, I had the first two, but they were almost identical to these little suckers. No way you'd have known that, though. Don't know why I felt moved to explain. I tell you, eaten over the sink, sprinkled with salt, nothing better.
Hey! It's Lala's birthday! I'm happy about that. I lurve birthdays and can't wait to celebrate it later with her.
I'm a little discombobulated this morning. I'm just about done with the pink handspun sweater, which I think is going to be nice. This in spite of the fact that I was making up the pattern as I went, and I apparently thought that my arms were a foot long. They're not, by the way. I ended up with three-quarter length sleeves, which I actually like better than full length, since I'm always overheated. I just need to do a collar of some sort (I'm thinking simple rolled edge) and a zipper. Yay!