Stop Me, I'm Crazy

My best friend Sasha called me yesterday. She's one of the most fun people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. We were sorority sisters and then roommates at UGA, in a big loft room living above truly crazy people who had their parents buy the condo we shared AND give them allowance money to blow on beer every week, while Sasha and I worked two jobs and busted our asses to afford our rent and cars. She's half Puerto Rican, half German, and full blooded vegan/hippy/liberal-Republican/wild child. She's quite the anomoly, and this is why I love her.

She called to ask the most random of questions: would I sky dive with her for her 30th birthday, and then go smoke some weed. My immediate reply was, "Call me for the weed". But, after further consideration, I don't see why I shouldn't jump from a plane with nothing to catch me if my parachute fails. Fear of heights? Pish posh. I can surely get over that, right?

Can I have the weed before we jump? Please?

On second thought, with my luck the jump would go smoothly until time to pull the cord. I'll get a bug in my throat and be so distracted that "EW! Bug in my mouth!" is all that consumes me, and I'll plummet to the ground in a very ugly fashion. And still have the damned bug in my throat. And probably some grass too. I realize this is a fairly irrational fear, and that's what makes me occasionally (really, really) neurotic. I use it as comedy. Work with me here.


Oh! This is Picovoli, in progress. I've finished just one row past the sleeves and I think she looks pretty good so far. The yarn is so soft and easy to work with, and I love love the color. I'll be working on it today to get some shape into the bust so I can try it on and see if it fits! If it doesn't fit, there will be much cursing, ripping back and adding increases (along with the requisite wailing and gnashing of teeth). If it does fit, I should be finished in another two weeks.



While working on this at lunch yesterday, the sweet looking lady next to my table took interest. I always wonder what people think when they watch me knit in public. It makes me a little self concious, really. I forget that knitting at your restaurant table is not quite normal behavior, so I'm checking my teeth for salad bits, my shirt for globs of dressing or diet coke while simultaneously wondering, "Do I look like hell today? Did I get dressed in the dark? What the hell are they staring at?!".

Then I remember. I'm a knitting freak invading their comfortable lunch space. And they are fascinated and afraid.

So this woman gets up from her table and walks over to me. I'm fully aware that I have two pointy objects to defend myself if required. She asks if I'm knitting (no, I'm trying to start a fire!), and then wants to see the pattern I'm working on. "Ok, sure, fine," I think, "she's just curious." Then she says the dreaded six words, "Do you knit for other people?". All I can think is "Oh gods, this woman wants a knee length fair isle jacket in tiny itchy mohair!!". So I cautiously replied, "Not really". She smiled and handed me her card and explained that she's opening a doll shop down the street and wanted to know if I would want to knit doll sweaters and jackets.

I don't really do dolls, per se, but it's something to consider. At least it would be fast knits, maybe two hours each, and maybe some money, not that I care about that.

And thank god she didn't ask for a fair isle sweater. I might have cried. And there's no crying in knitting!