Attention Kmart Shoppers!

Today's special is one crispy-fried mojo, found under the blue light on aisle 5.

My mojo is FOUND, baby. Turns out I had it all along. I stuck it in the pocket of an old pair of jeans I put on the other day and left the poor thing in there with the jean lint and a wadded chewing gum wrapper. Silly me. It needs a little love, some wiping off (lint is clingy), and maybe a big hug, so we're only focusing on the positive and all the changes that are forthcoming.

Change #1: Not really a change so much as a refocus...competition for July 29th is officially ON. Saturdy puts me at 16 weeks out. May the running, dieting, and obsessive-compulsive supplement taking, regimently scheduled eating and associated semi-crazy behavior begin. Forgive me if my posts begin to take on a drill sergeant-esque flavor. I have to be very determined and purposeful if this is to happen the way it should. I have two friends competiting as Pros, and Karen working her ass off with me, so this is a very good start.

Change #2: I'm looking at UGA's website, and as soon as we return to Athens I'm picking up a few classes. Specifically creative writing and magazing writing, and probably a few others. Since I'll be 30 soon and all, it's probably time to pick a career direction and stop fucking around. I may continue my current path until I can safely pursue another, though. And damn, I really wanna teach some day. So, writing and teaching, but first, whatever pays the damn cable bill and lets me continue to game.

So, the picture is becoming clearer. Change is afoot. And I really hate Kmart. Don't ask what prompted the blue light special. Maybe I need retail therapy.

Oh, here's a bit of progress on the Prairie Tunic.



About six more repeats of the pattern and I can start the shaping for the top section and start working on the front!

And the scarf I started in NYC, now officially called the NYC Scarf, is finished, but I am too lazy to put it on and turn the camera around for a self portrait. Trust that it looks smokin' on me.



Oooh, yummy purples. So pretty it kinda makes me tingle.

Lost: One Honey-Dipped Mojo, Reward if Found (intact, please)

Oh kids. It is one screwy day here in the Land of Lotus.

I'm fresh out of mojo today. Maybe it's allergies. Maybe it's that my sleep is being all wacky again. Maybe it's that I hate this town and I'm ready to move some place entirely more interesting. Bet on a combination of those things and you'd probably win some cash, baby. A virtual scratch and sniff lotto ticket! Smells like honey, win phat lewt! Add in too much caffeine, and you have a wild slurried Melanie cocktail.

My give-a-shit factor is usually pretty low anyway (minus my weird OCD things...shush about that, they are hardly relevant), but recently, it has careened into the negatives. Going to the gym? Blah, some other day. Running outside in the gorgeous weather? After my nap. Blogging? Ok, but it's going to take 3 days to put together a post. I do have the energy for gaming though. But only the chatting part. Keep your group alive? Maybe. If I'm not typing. And yes I'm auto-following you, please don't drive me off a cliff. That would really mar my conversation.

Feeling like this makes me very introspective. I'm slowing down and refusing to focus on everything outside, and really staring hard the things that make up my thoughts. This usually leads to a lot of writing, tears, more writing, silence, and finally...action. Cause I'm a woman of action, ya'll. Sure it takes me a while to make up my mind about something, but once I do, get out of my way, I have something to accomplish. I can already tell the direction this particular process is going to go, so expect big things soon. Big.

Since I'm lacking in pictures lately, this is a photoshopped-like-mad version of my pretty lotus tattoo found on a rather large section of my lower back, and this blog's namesake. The color is pretty true, the crackliness not so much, but I figured a straight up shot of my back is kinda tacky. Maybe it's not, but still. And no I can't fill in the white. I'm not that cool. And I don't care, clearly.



"You must be a lotus, unfolding its petals when the sun rises in the sky, unaffected by the slush where it is born or even the water which sustains it." ~Sri Sathya Sai Baba

Tammy Faye stole my grocery money

I am the debt slayer. Bow before me, my minions.

A few months ago I consolidated all my credit card debt to one account but left my cards open until all the balances got paid. Then I decided to buy junk. With those credit cards having zero balances. Stuff like plane tickets, hotel rooms, and shoes (they were important things! I swear!). Oops.

However, the checks are in the mail (seriously) and all balances are returning to zero post haste. Accounts are being closed asap. And now my checkbook says OOOWW. Surely I can live on $100 till payday right?

All of this to lessen my 'potential debt' as viewed by mortgage type folk so I can buy a house. My 'potential debt' (and I use quotes because, really, I would never ever max out all my credit, jeez) is around $25k. Credit card companies like me, ya'll. Actual debt is more than $8k, but less than $10k, if you don't count my car (please don't count my car). I *should* have closed all these accounts months ago, but I digress.

What's foremost on my mind is my rent (hence the twitching for a house). I'm tired of neighbors who stomp like no one lives below them and scream at each other at all hours. Mostly the "oh god" variety of screams, but that's a bit disturbing to my psychological health (I have an astonishingly active imagination, and I don't need any help fueling it, thanks. I also have a photographic memory, but that's a topic for another day.) and is not exactly my preferred method of being awoken at 3 am, if you gather my meaning.

Where was I? Oh yeah, rent. Sorry, distracted myself with the neighbors and...wait...ok..rent. Whew. Ok, really, RENT! Our complex got bought last month and the first thing they did was raise the rent. As of April 1, it is a full $200 more per month than it was when we moved here two years ago. $200 in two years in this area is a LOT people. And when I went to pick up a package today (yarn, no doubt), I discovered that Tammy Faye (I swear, it has to be her!) is now working the front desk. And driving a shiny new Cadillac. Ah, so THAT'S where my extra cash is going.

They try to call their demand for more cash 'staying competitive in the market'. Ya'll, I worked in the property management biz for a long time, and on that side of the fence, it's called 'bullshit'. It is also often referred to as 'we just paid 2 million more than this place is worth, and it's coming out of your ass, beotch, now fork it over'. So don't send me your grammatically incorrect letter informing me that my rent is going up AGAIN so you can pay for the new golf cart and your Caddy, Tammy Faye, and then smile at me and say how much you enjoy me being a resident. Of course you enjoy me. I paid your mortgage this month for your posh house on the island. Keep your plastic smile, face lift, eight inches of makeup and AquaNet hair (circa 1983) on that side of the desk and use fucking spell check next time you send out a letter to EVERY resident in the joint. Seriously. It's not that hard.

(Tiny disclaimer: I don't regularly lay into someone like that because I don't usually care that much. However. This woman is That. Fucking. Obnoxious. And my rent just went up. Again.)

But I'm letting it go, because I'm buying a house, damn it. And because I have better, more entertaining things to share.

I'm marinating in My Chemical Romance this week, particularly Thanks for the Venom. Such a fun song, with a 'throw all your shit at me, I can take it, but I might not give a damn' vibe. I even bought the CD, which is not something I usually do.

I like such a wide variety of music though, that I'll be over them by April. Or not. I can never tell.

I was also reminded recently of the most wonderful song by the late great Athens band Dreams So Real, who I happen to love. Click on "Melanie" (of course!) and listen with rapturous joy. Probably requires RealPlayer, but I know not how those things work, oops. This song is totally about me (don't believe that).

DSR should have been huge. Just like Dayroom. Sad, really.

See? Way more fun than that bitch Tammy Faye. I'm gonna go let the air out of her tires for shits and giggles. Muahahaha.

Prairie Tunic Rocks!

What a fun little knit this Prairie Tunic is turning out to be! Let's hope I'm doing it right, mkay? The pattern starts with the back piece of the tank, and it happens to be my favorite part.



Love the shaping and the shoulder baring-ness of it.

Here's my progress so far, from Saturday. I'm about twice as far in today.




Look at the cute lace stitches!



Definitely going to have to find some contraption to wear underneath. Pasties? Stick-on bra? The ponderation begins. Hmm...wonder how my tattoos will look under this all this pink laciness? The picture from the magazine is not well lit and the model is a good bit browner than I, so it doesn't *appear* to be very see-through, but ya'll, it is. And I want to finish it while the weather is still relatively appropriate. Spring is definitely here (as noted by my insane asthma attacks and inability to stay well for 3 straight days). In about a month it will be too hot for clothes of any kind. But running around naked is frowned upon in the Bible belt (along with having an opinion differing from that of the good ole boys, yeehaw!, but I digress), so I'll be wearing this top instead.

I won't, however, be wearing the Picovoli.



She was finished, washed, blocked, worn, photographed and loved. She then began to unravel and come apart in unsightly places. She declared herself my enemy and refused to take to any sort of re-stitching remedies. So I exclaimed with a heavy sigh and quietly, swiftly took the crochet hook and scissors to her. Poor girl never saw it coming.


But Murphy did, and he did his best to save her. To no avail.



She is now several balls of pretty hot pink yarn. To be recycled into something newer! better! neater! wow! Or just admired in the basket and bins of stash. This yarn's destiny has yet to be determined, stay tuned.

In other news, the purply Manos yarn I bought at Purl is becoming a scarf. And it is very happy to do so, I might add.



Easy, mindless 1x1 rib with a garter stitch border. Perfect for knitting on the plane, over dinner, at the movies, in the bathroom...you know, wherever the mood strikes. Purple scarf is soon to be about 4 feet long and have fringe. Cause everyone needs fringe. Shameless modeling is soon to follow. But I will not subject the dog to the model torture again, as he has yet to recover emotionally and still has hives.

NYC, Part Deux

Continued from some other day...Saturday in NYC. Shopping, flirty text messages and crazy phone calls. It wore us out. We spent the rest of the evening knitting, watching TV and relaxing (read: falling asleep at 11 pm). Also, Saturday was 3/11. 311 DAY ya'll. And I should have been in Memphis at the concert. I will go next year, mark my words. I will not be deterred or distracted.

Sunday was wet and a little chilly. Well, the natives were bundled, so at least they thought it was chilly. Stacy and I had breakfast at Hot and Crusty. That should describe our bagles, not us. We are the hotness. I will neither confirm nor deny the presence of crust-like substances.



Had to have a pic of the sign, because I take pics of things that amuse me.

Like my feet. Well my shoes.



Yay! Comfy shoes!



Oooh....aaaah...new shoes! New shoes with Velcro. Don't hate on the Velcro.

We decided that since it was our last day, we should soak up some culture, or at least do something that made us look like we'd had a profoundly interesting experience. Like seeing some art or visiting a library. Turns out, most museums are closed on Sunday. Except for the Museum of Sex, which boasts the slogan, "Because you don't think about Picasso seven times a day".

Damn straight.

Not at all what we thought it would be. But it was educational, enlightening and very cultural. Mission Accomplished.



You can guess what I bought, but you'd be wrong.

The most amusing thing in the MoSex?



You know it. A Jenna Jameson bobble head doll. How appropriate.

Sunday night was the best by far. Stacy and I made our way back to the Lower East Village for Indian food with Tash and Joey. Hot, spicy, and yum. I'm so glad I got a chance to meet these two, for they are awesome beyond compare, and if they don't hate me for being such a total goofball, we might be friends for, like, evah.

Then on to Karma for lots of smoking, drinking, shooting the shit and laughing. A LOT of laughing, ya'll. I think Joey called us a gaggle of fucking bad geese. Right. On.



Tash and I. Isn't she lovely? And insanely sweet too. Love the red. Rawr.



Me and Joey. More sweetness. But he needs a new knit hat, and I think I just volunteered.

See the knee highs sticking out of my boots? They are the new object of my desire. I bought at least six pair at various places in NYC and now I'm wearing them for absolutely no reason other than I like having them on. My gray and white striped pair with the pink skulls around the top make me giggle like a little kid hopped up on Pixie Stix and Mountain Dew. Mmmmm.

This concludes our commentary on the whacked out trip to NYC. There will be more pictures to come, but I'm on hold waiting for them to be emailed to me, so they'll probably just appear with a quick caption and no story. Cause I'm mysterious like that.

Oh and I'm officially taking up more bandwidth yo. You may now find me at MySpace in addition to this blahg. Karen made me do it. We love her, man.





Tristan says "Wow that was some long ass posting. We should take a nap. And please don't put me on a diet, cause you know you love my snuggly belly. You're getting veeeerrrrry sleepy; your eyes are closing. You need some Bear belly snuggles. Yeah, that's better. Psst...I rule this chick with my cuteness. Don't you forget it."

Gah! I knew it!

You Should Be a Film Writer

You don't just create compelling stories, you see them as clearly as a movie in your mind. You have a knack for details and dialogue. You can really make a character come to life. Chances are, you enjoy creating all types of stories. The joy is in the storytelling. And nothing would please you more than millions of people seeing your story on the big screen!

What Type of Writer Should You Be?

I actually majored in that. Journalism, emphasis on Radio, TV and Film. All writing classes. And how to run a camera, not that I'd ever remember anything other than to NOT trip over mass tangle of cords...again. Damn, what the hell am I doing with my life?


And from the Department of: It's St. Patrick's Day and this guy makes me wanna pull out my hair. Each strand. Individually.

"Alberto! Fire up the bong!!"

NYC...Part 1 of 2 (I hope it's only 2, jeez)

It's just as gray, dirty and less-than-impressive as I remember from my trips as a teenager. Not to be insulting, I don't mean that. It's just not the place for me.

But I can navigate the subways, damn it.

Except for that one time (not at band camp) when I had to ask a super cute MTA guy, and he thought my southern accent was so adorable that we talked for like five whole minutes. Which is forever in NYC time, ya'll. Three whole trains had gone by. People panic if they miss a train. Panic! At the Subway! Screaming and running amuck!

I also knit on the trains. Yarn bought at Purl in Soho. Mmmm.



Makes it look like I'm a native. Eleven people asked me for directions, I swear. I counted them. And I laughed, and said "ya'll do NOT want directions from me". And then they knew by the "ya'll" that I was clearly not the person to be asking.

Want the play by play of four whole days in an overcrowded city? Well, you're getting it anyway.

Thursday I arrived early (and reluctantly) as I was furiously knitting Stacy's hat and was sooooo close to being done. Finally finished as she was walking up to get her baggage an hour after my flight arrived. Checked into our hotel on the Upper West Side and took a short nap. So tired from waking up at 3 am. Went to lunch down the street and met Adrian Grenier. So sweet, and far more beautiful than TV can portray. Holy damn, green/blue eyes for DAYS. I was too shy to ask for a pic opportunity, so I just smiled, nodded, and said "hi". Damn my shyness! Damn my politeness!

Spent the rest of the day figuring out where the hell we were and where we wanted to be, then hopped a train to Times Square, shopped and got silly drunk. Went back to the Days Broadway, took another nap, got pretty and went back out for dinner and more drinking. We abused the hell out of our waiter at dinner. He kinda seemed to dig it though. And he made sure we were appropriately trashed upon our exit. Wish I could remember where we ate...oh well. I'm sure my credit card statement will remind me.

Friday was Tourist Day. We rode the train all the way to the World Trade Center stop and stood aghast for a good 20 minutes. Walked around the site and took pics. Tried not to cry. Was not successful. Sunglasses hide such things though. Made our way over to the ferry and went to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.



Eep! A touristy shot! With the obligatory strange-yet-nice guy holding the camera!


Oh, and lookie! Ancestors! Don't google me like that ya'll. You won't find anything but a wedding gown designer and a dance teacher.




Stacy and I make bad tourists. Barely any pics. And nary a moment of milling about. "Got your picture? Good, let's go find food."

Friday night SLAM! Poetry Slam that is. At the Nuyorican Poet's Cafe. So. Much. Fun. We met Ove and Queen Sheba, two incredibly gifted poets who warmed up the mic for the competitors. The 5 of us (me, Stacy, Jenna, Karen and Jen) got to judge the 4 slam competitors, and man were we tough critics. Three literature/journalism majors make a difficult crowd. But we let them all live, leaving no visible scars.

Saturday. God Saturday might have lasted forever. Shopping Day. No sitting allowed. Ever. We began in Soho at Purl.



Yarn. Yum.

Then walked over to Little Italy for lunch. More yum. Lots of street vendors and stopping to look (Stacy) and chat/text on the phone (me). Thanks Joey for the hilarious and...um...entertaining texts and conversation!! The laughter was good therapy.

Oh, but look! My favorite shoes EVER. John Fluevog. And. They have HEMP SHOES. I could die happy, and I must have some.



It got really crowded so we grabbed a train to 5th Avenue. For more shopping of course. And gabbing. This time in actual stores. We only stopped for food and beer. Mmmm.



The dark one is mine. It was a lovely chocolate-honey flavor and I almost drank it all.

That's enough for now, I'm so tired of typing.

To be continued....

My SP Rocks!

Look at the drool-worthy stitch markers!!





My sweet friend Denise created these for my SP and brought them to me last week, just before I got on a plane to visit America's Dirty City...ahem...I mean NYC.

These are sooooo super cute!! I've already started using them on the Prairie Tunic I started on my plane ride home. I'm in LOVE. With the markers, of course.

Thanks SP!!! <3

Ch-ch-changes!

Bear with me, I'm messing around with my templates.

I think I prefer the black. The pink was making me wanna vomit just a little. It was just...too much. And pink. Black is better.

If you're here out of boredom, check out Lacuna Coil. Classified as "Doom Metal", whatever that means. I always prefer my Doom with a healthy dose of Gloom.

And leather and lots of piercings and tattoos, but hey, that's just me.

Home Sweet Home, part 2

Ah, Athens. How I love thee.

For the randomness of running into your old friends at a sushi bar while intending to meet new friends. Forgive the blurry pics, still getting used to the ultra-sensitive and tiny camera. Blame the waitress.



Alliene, Andrea, Drew, Karen, moi, Bryan, and Jack. All blurry, as it should be.

Karen and I just chatted with those friends.

We actually had sushi with these friends:



One very newly 25 Ben and his flambe fried birthday thing, and the lovely Brooke. The same Brooke who says things like "Oh my, there's rice in my arm hair. What an unfortunate sentence to have to utter." Indeed, how unfortunate.


One must also love Athens for the way it compels one to buy hot clothes and go downtown to drink. I did not own anything truly sparkly until this top. Karen made me do it. There are also knee high black boots and a dead sexy black skirt to match. Saving those for a night upon NYC. Look out ya'll.




Truly swoonable is The Grit for the morning after the Cosmo and two White Russians (seriously, what was I thinking?). Complete with coffee, cheese grits, and biscuits with white 'sausage' gravy. The best breakfast in town. Mmmmm, carbs. Yum.




Carbs were necessary so I could hit my knitting class, and produce this stunning piece of work. I'm a lace knitting genious, seriously. Forget the pattern in the background, you don't see that. Ok, ok, actually this is my knitting, but it's Annie's brilliance in the pattern not mine. The linked post will also make me famous and junk.



Moi and the Goddess herself. See the hat? That's proof of her divinity. Annie is just great, and her class was so much fun (after the first hour of my own blurriness and a few diet cokes). Pretend I'm wearing makeup and have had a shower.



Blurry. The buzz word of the weekend.

And then there's me and Ashley, doing our stunning (fuzzy) rendition of Gone With the Wind. Kinda makes a Northerner's trip to the south complete eh? The Scarlet hat was just icing.



And finally I love Athens for this little cute house currently on my home radar.



It's bigger than it looks, needs lots of work, is affordable and is in a good neighborhood. Who's up for a painting party? We can even knock down some walls if we're feeling frisky!

Challenge #2 and the TMI Quiz

I'm calling the Child's First Sock pattern Challenge #1, just for the record.

I have gorgeous pics of my progress, and lo and behold I can acutally knit a pattern (and it fits, oh my god!!). However, those pictures are on a deadish camera. Whose battery charger thing has gone into seclusion and can not be coaxed back into the light. So sad. But the good news is that I can knit a pattern, repeatedly, and it looks like it should. After I go back and fix a few funky stitches, but still, it can be done. Besides, what would my knitting be without some funky stitches?

And in reference to the dead camera, lucky me has another one coming today, just in time. My very own itty bitty camera. A camera that is not as big as my head, that has features I can figure out, and that does not require a camera bag larger than any purse I've ever owned (knitting bags do NOT count). Granted the Complex Camera is very cool and records to CD and stuff, but if after 3 years I still can't figure the damned thing out, it's time to officially hand it over to Tech Boy.

Challenge #2 comes in the form of Shedir, best seen here knit by Eunny. I'm using Elsbeth Lavold's Silky Wool in a chocolate color that I bought a few months ago. It's very similar to what Eunny used, it's even a similar color. Totally a coincidence. What's not a coincidence is that I'm using her pattern modifications. I have a pretty small head, so most hats are way too big on me. I'll be doing the braided cables for 3 repeats instead of 5, while trying it on to make sure I don't need to do 4 just in case.

The challenge part is here: 1.) I detest cables and 2.) I want to finish this by around noon next Thursday so I can wear it in the cold. So, speed knitting on something I don't enjoy (don't forget to toss in the knitting ADD). I'm working my zen here though and I will either love cables by the end of this hat or at least have a healthy respect for them enough to stay away.

PS...I have not forgotten about the Prairie Tunic! I just got my IK mag from Denise the other day (thanks D!!), and I'm even more in love after seeing the back of the top! Major drooling over here. The issue is, the Bamboo I bought is not going to work, and I don't like the way it knits up AT ALL. I've ordered the recommended yarn from The Knitting Garden, but it's on back order, and won't be shipped until probably next week. So I wait. In breathless anticipation.

And now for Too Much Information. I took this quiz out of boredom the other day. It says way too much, but I share damn near everything, so here, feast your eyes.

the Romantic

you chose BY - your Enneagram type is FOUR. "I am unique" Romantics have sensitive feelings and are warm and perceptive. How to Get Along with Me Give me plenty of compliments. They mean a lot to me. Be a supportive friend or partner. Help me to learn to love and value myself. Respect me for my special gifts of intuition and vision. Though I don't always want to be cheered up when I'm feeling melancholy, I sometimes like to have someone lighten me up a little. Don't tell me I'm too sensitive or that I'm overreacting! What I Like About Being a Four my ability to find meaning in life and to experience feeling at a deep level my ability to establish warm connections with people admiring what is noble, truthful, and beautiful in life my creativity, intuition, and sense of humor being unique and being seen as unique by others having aesthetic sensibilities being able to easily pick up the feelings of people around me What's Hard About Being a Four experiencing dark moods of emptiness and despair feelings of self-hatred and shame; believing I don't deserve to be loved feeling guilty when I disappoint people feeling hurt or attacked when someone misundertands me expecting too much from myself and life fearing being abandoned obsessing over resentments longing for what I don't have Fours as Children Often have active imaginations: play creatively alone or organize playmates in original games are very sensitive feel that they don't fit in believe they are missing something that other people have attach themselves to idealized teachers, heroes, artists, etc. become antiauthoritarian or rebellious when criticized or not understood feel lonely or abandoned (perhaps as a result of a death or their parents' divorce) Fours as Parents help their children become who they really are support their children's creativity and originality are good at helping their children get in touch with their feelings are sometimes overly critical or overly protective are usually very good with children if not too self-absorbed

Tragically Destined for Failure...Or Not?

I'm one of those people who pick up some hobby, look through books and find the coolest (read: most complicated) thing they could possibly create with said hobby, and then attempt to do it, all while still learning the basic techniques and throwing themselves into frustration when they can't figure it out. Stubborn and impatient, huh? Who, me?

Ha. That barely scratches the surface. Add fiercly independent, horribly indecisive, and easily frustrated, and you've got the start of my list of Damning Character Traits.

Thing is, I'm convinced I'm a prodigy of some sort. I'm brilliant at something, damn it. Oops, add semi arrogant to the above list. I just have to find what that thing is. By trial and error, of course.

The list of things I am NOT a prodigy at is long and boring. I've tried a LOT of things. For five minutes. Some lasted a little longer. Knitting and lifting seem to have lasted the longest. I actually get results from those things. Wouldn't call myself a prodigy of any sort with either, however.

This week I decided to tackle my nemesis: the sock. For the record, socks have previously kicked my ass. I know they're not hard, but my brain makes easy things seem difficult sometimes.

And reading two patterns at once tends to complicate your stitch count and screw things up so that your sock becomes big enough for a small child to crawl into. Watch out for that mistake. Only I would do that, of course.

Still, consider yourself warned.

Have I chosen a simple sock pattern? One would think I might actually LEARN from my mistakes and choose something easy with a little ribbing at the top, and plain stockinette all the way throughout. BUT NO!!! I had to flip through Knitting Vintage Socks, and choose something complicated.

I cast on Child's First Sock, as seen here completed by Grumperina. Not the easiest thing in the book, to say the least. But I've gotten through the first round of repeats (barring some dropped stitches angrily picked up) and things look good. It might actually fit. Someone. Somewhere.

I'm also using the Magic Loop technique. So yeah, throwing caution to the wind, yet again. Tempting fate. Daring the sock demons to eat all my yarn and throw back a wadded mess of expensive fluff. Bring it, I say. Bring it.

I have Addi's and cashmere. I can do anything.

Karma Police!

Arrest this girl...

She's vile and vicious, and while you're at it, call PETA.



Woman. Could you emasculate me any further? I am a dog!! I do not wear hats. Or sweaters for that matter, don't you even think it. I will gnaw on your toes while you sleep and poo in your bed when you're at work. And I growl at you until you take off this hideous monstrosity. Oh, god, you're getting the camera? I hate you. Oh fuck, now the cats are watching too. I will never live this down.




So Odessa is finito. And she's CUTE! I was too lazy to get a pic of myself, so I put the hat on Taylor. He still hasn't forgiven me. But I firmly believe that you should humiliate your dog at every opportunity. This one in particular is neurotic, so it's easy. He's trying to dial PETA as I type.

I used Rowan Cashsoft, and some beads from Renee, alternating dark brown and a light amber color, cause I like to shake it up and get freaky. And well, I don't like to be like anyone else. So there.

Hmm. Not as difficult as I thought it would be, that Odessa. Not much of a challenge for myself for the Knitting Olympics. Next time I'll try something bigger like a sweater. But I did learn something new and I did have to restring those damned beads three times, so definitely something gained in the process. Yes, I can be taught. Woot.

I'm kinda bored today. So here are some songs I'm loving right this very second:

Karma Police ~ Radiohead (hence the post title, which is pretty appropriate)
But It's Better If You Do ~ Panic! At the Disco
Such Great Heights ~ Postal Service

I am loving some indie rock lately. Is it too obvious?

Beautiful Disaster

Ah, a week of motivated knitting. Well, some moments anyway.

I finished Picovoli, finally. Washed, dried and blocked. It's cute, but it's still too short for my taste, so I'll probably rarely wear it. Not sure I'm prepared to call it a success because of some finishing issues on my part, but hey, it's done. Maybe I'll add a few inches to the bottom, who knows.

Caution: I'm rebelling and refusing to shower, put on makeup, do anything to my hair, even take off my glasses from scouring bodybuilding mags all day. Deal with it.

I'm gross, and I'm ok.






A close-up. Warning, boobs ahead.





Almost finished with Odessa as well. Really easy pattern that only looks complicated. And with brownish yarn and beads, also sorta resembles a bee hive. In my crazy mind anyway.

Exhibit A:



I have about 5 rows left on the decreases and then I will wear my little brown beehive with obnoxious pride. In 75 degree weather. Because I'm bold and daring like that.


For my next trick, I'll be attempting the Prairie Tunic from IK.

I bought some gorgeous red Bamboo yarn for the tank at Wild Fibre,




but after lots of contemplation I decided to just order the specified Jaeger yarn and know that I'll love it. Any comments on color before I order the Chili (red)? Phlox or Seaspray maybe? I love the bamboo...but...I just can't do it. Not entirely sure why, beat me for it later Denise.

I will also be trying out the Child's Sock from Knitting Vintage Socks. I confiscated Renee's copy and size 1 Addi's (omg, a size ONE?!!?) and brought out the yummy, drool-worthy Richesse et Soie.



I know I know. The yarn will probably pill. You don't have to remind me. But provided I can get them both off the needles, I will wear them until they fall apart. I swear.


Finally, in other news, my competition date is July 29th in Augusta, Georgia. This is in stone, no getting sick, no backing out. My friends Nicole and Kelly will be competing in the pro division, while I am but a mere amateur. I said screw the May show because 1.) I don't really care about it, and 2.) It's not the federation I wanna mess with anyway. I could definitely get there figure-wise, plenty of time, but then I won't have time to build for the next show. I'd rather rock out in July. Cause I'm gonna win, see. So I'm devising my building plan, and oh my god how I love to lift heavy. I can hardly wait. 10 weeks of building, followed by 13 weeks of running my ass off.

Good times, yeah, good times.

Women...oh, and the Day of Doom

I'm not really a fan of women. Generally I mean, not specifically. Salma Hayek, though, is exempt from any and all dislike of women. She is a force of nature. Unstoppable. And before you ask, yes I would...

I have no sisters. Well, step-sisters, but we have absolutely nothing in common (one has ten kids, the other is 8 years old, you do the math here).

Sure, as a kid all my friends were girls, because boys? Just...eww. Germs and sweat and dirt and GI Joes ripping the heads off my Barbies. Boys were rude and smelly. And blew up my dollhouse with their chemistry sets. That's what you get with brothers, and I have three. Blown up life-sized dollhouses. Literally, blown to bits. Except the roof, since it sailed about 50 feet into the air. But still.

As I got to middle school, I realized it's the girls who are actually the rude ones. They'll try to kick your ass just for smiling at the guy they like (but are not actually going with). We learn early what pouty lips and a certain look can do. And if you are the one wearing said look and lips, that chick who's glaring at you from across the hall wants you dead. Meet her on the playground when the bell rings, bitch.

I was lucky to have never gotten into a fight in school. But there were a lot of close calls because I was friendly to everyone, even while sporting my Metallica t-shirts, dyed black hair (cause yeah my black hair wasn't black enough already), and my oh-so-metal black nail polish. Girls usually hate "the girl who talks to everyone". Not that I'm a social butterfly, I just don't see the need to ostracize anyone because they're not 'just like me'.

The one girl who was most determined to kill me actually came to my house after school one day. She was mean looking and my little brother was terrified. He's a wuss, that one.

Instead of letting her nails leave permanent marks on my face and certain bald spots on my head, I got her a soda and we sat on the front stairs and talked. She soon realized that it was Bubba (given name, I swear to god) who sent me the "I like you, do you like me? check yes or no" note during English, and not the other way around. I told her even if I did like him, there's not a chance in hell I'd be interested, cause really...His. Name. Is. Bubba. Ya'll.

Even then I had standards. Aren't you proud?

So that's been my habit for most of my life. Make friends of anyone who thinks they don't like me. Unless I just don't care about what they think, which happens more now that I'm older. I'm still astonished when I run across the rare chick who absolutely detests me. I wonder what goes on in her head. For about five seconds.

Then I say, "eh, whatever", and usually something equivalent to "kiss my ass, bitch," with all the love I can muster, and the sweetest smile in the world.

Because there are few things I can tolerate less than superficial, bitchy women. And I steer clear of them like they might infect me and give me boiling, itchy, red sores with their diseased thoughts of, "Oh. My. God. That is sooooo last season!" and "Girl, if you even look at him....".

Honey, don't even. I do not care that much.

I've been wise enough though, in my increasingly older age, to begin cultivating meaningful friendships with several wonderful women who were carefully selected from a slew of applicants. I beat some of them off with a stick, I swear. I searched long and hard and finally found girlfriends who are not superficial at all (or I would have kicked ya'll to the curb, girls, don't doubt me, it's been done before).

They're all intelligent, independent, witty, funny, and determined. Yes, every one of them. With friends like these, who needs sisters right?

So for the dreaded V-Day of Doom...

This valentine is for my girls. I love every single one of you, for who you are and for who you are not. You are all perfect, special, and fantastic to me, and my life would not be the same with out you. *big hugs*

Knitting Olympics

I'm lazy. I'm slack. I'm forgetful. But I'm playing along.

I wanted to join the Knitting Olympics hosted by the illustrious Yarn Harlot, but I apparently let the Picovoli get to my head and I forgot. So I'm cheering from the sidelines and knitting along anyway. Seems some 4000 other people did NOT forget and get to officially be a part of the KO, but I can not count myself among their numbers, because my frontal lobe can only hold so much information and this piece slipped out along with my recipe for tofu Chocolate Chip Cookies (hey, don't knock it, they will kick your ass). Thankfully I wrote that recipe down...somewhere.

For my own personal challenge, I've selected Odessa, a super cute hat with beads. I do not need a hat, but I would wear this one anyway, because yes it's that cool. And I want to manage knitting with beads.

On a racier note, did you know that listening to Blackened (Metallica, ...And Justice for All album) can cause you to get a speeding ticket?! Who knew?

I love my Sirius radio because I get to listen to such a variety of music. I never thought it would cause me to break the law. Oops. Ok, ok, I got away with a warning. But that's because of my risque pink lipstick. And because I'm charming. But mostly because of the lipstick.

Oh. My. God. Ya'll.

I totally have to put on my Valley Girl accent now. Add in Southern twang where necessary.

OH MY GOD! YA'LL!!!

I totally just got a call from Main Street Yarns and like, they are so completely cool and nice and stuff, and um, they said that someone dropped out of Annie Modesitt's class in March, and seriously, oh my god, who would cancel a class with ANNIE! The GODDESS of Knitting (title bestowed by yours truly, but still)!! Anyway, someone canceled and I was FIRST on the waiting list, you know from last month when I went allllll the way to Athens and signed up in person? So, like, I am TOTALLY IN! I AM IN THE CLASS!!! WITH ANNIE MODESITT! OMG!!

Ok, whew. God I'm totally obnoxious. But I had to get that out, ya know?!

*drumroll*

I will be at this class:

Lovely Laces
Sunday, March 5. 1:00pm-4:00 pm
Annie will teach the basic theory behind knitting lace and will help students perfect their chart reading skills. Several lace panels will be knit and a more challenging lace pattern will be introduced.

And maybe this one if someone ELSE drops out (totally crossing fingers for a WHOLE day of knitting with Annie):

New Directions in Knitting with Color
Sunday, March 5. 9:00am-12:00pm
Learn how to read a color work chart in addition to changing colors within a row. Annie will also compare differing methods of carrying yarns in the back of the work.

These two classes are about things I want to do, but haven't had the guts to try yet, so I might have to bump someone off myself so I can get into the second class. Or maybe I'll just trip and break someone's needles and say "Oops, sorry, get out of the class now". Muahahaha.

Back to Athens in March! Woot!

Round and Round

Picovoli and I are no longer friends.

But that's not her fault. The blame lies solely with this knitter.

(So I tell myself, because yarn can not be blamed. It's inanimate. Most of the time.)

We came to blows yesterday over her length. I knit through the pattern, got to the picos at the bottom edge and figured I should probably try it on and make sure it's long enough. Not exactly. In fact, it barely came past ye olde belly button, and it rolls because it needs the finishing touches, so, er...no, not long enough.

So I decided that I was smart and crafty enough to figure out how to insert my needle a few rows back, rip out the picos and just keep knitting. I consulted the instructions in my handy Knitting Answer Book, and proceeded to be super crafty and smart.

Picovoli, it seems, would have me know that I'm no where near as smart as I fancy myself, and thus set out to prove that I am in fact an idiot and I could not count rows if my life (and that of said Picovoli, who almost got her ass frogged, ie. killed, eradicated, assassinated, executed, bumped off, forced to swim with fishies, ripped into a million pieces and stomped on repeatedly, disassemble number 5'ed, etc.) depended on it.

To put it simply, there was much cursing, flinging of yarn, dropping of stitches and the requisite wailing and gnashing of teeth. Which is really not good for your teeth, by the way.

After about an hour, I did prove victorious, though I have a feeling this is not the end of my love/hate relationship with the Picovoli. Don't get me wrong, I don't HATE the thing. I'm just ready for something new and I have some finishing issues.



I'm going to knit about 2 more inches to the length today and then do the finishing at the bottom and the arms this week. She seems a bit on the small side to me, but it is cotton, so maybe there's a stretch effect after wearing for a while.

On the positive side, the negative ease on the bust is just right with the *appropriate* undergarments on. I made the 32" and I'm a 36". Four inches of ease sure seemed like a lot, but it works out well.

And this is not where I work.



Can you tell I'm bored today? Jeez.


And this is not my new knitting bag from Lantern Moon.



It appears I have a bag fetish folks.

Weekends are Sweet

Lots of thrilling things this weekend!

First, I trashed my prescription for the drugs. I don't need that shit. Melatonin is perfect if I find myself lying awake, and the cats are responsible for waking me up every morning at 4 a.m., not anything else anymore. Thinking is good, sleeping is better. Crisis averted because I'm smart and junk.

Saturday, I kidnapped Denise and we made Nate drive us to Savannah for some yarn shopping, petting, and drooling.

We made haste to Wild Fibre...which is an awesome shop, and if you live anywhere within driving distance of Savannah, you should make haste also...




...where we met shop owners Jennifer and Tom (who are so sweet and helpful, really some of the nicest shop owners I've met).



Yes, a man behind the counter who knows about knitting and yarn and...and...and...it's enough to make your head spin in a "Wow, I'm so stunned and impressed and are we sure he's not available? Cause seriously, Denise would take him home..." sort of way.

Men who knit are sexy. Enough said. No offense to Jennifer. She is also sexy.



(see the beer can cozy?!?! you too can knit boys!)

100% bamboo is also dead sexy (like only yarn can be). At $4.60 per ounce, that stuff is to die for. As soft and shiny as silk. I could barely keep my hands off of it. I can definitely see knitting something small and delicate with it some time in the future. And I don't mean a hat, kids.




Sadly, I didn't buy anything for myself this time around. I got a few things for my next gift for the Secret Pal. She's gonna love the stuff I got her! And now I have incentive to go back to Wild Fibre...must shop for self! And I know exactly what I want...

Oh, and psst...my next small project will be Odessa with my one ball of Rowan Cashsoft and these pretty beads. I'm getting bold. Beads. And yarn. Be afraid.





In other news, I appear to be down to 17.6% body fat. I got my measurements done this morning, but I'm not so sure I believe that number. I mean, I've been doing most of what I should be doing for the last four weeks, but I've also been incredibly slack. I have been doing cardio though, so maybe that's the answer. My eating has been at about 90% on. So in four weeks I'm down 1.5%. Well, if my goal was half a pound per week, and that's about half a percent each week, then I guess that's right if you add in the slacking.

Funny, it doesn't look as great as I thought it would. But what it does mean is that I can totally be 15% by March. And 15% does look good. Not sure why I think that's such a great number, but 15% is it. I think it will be a good maintenance percentage.

I had such a great run this morning. Went over to the island to run on the beach, but the tide was up, so I ran along the sidewalk instead. Listening to my running mix on the MP3 player, feeling the cold ocean breeze and just loving the sunshine. There's nothing like it. At one point I found a little stretch of sand, and I walked out to it and stood there gazing out over the water, the clear sky and the boats and I just breathed. I stretched and breathed some more. There are few things in life more perfect than that moment. It's what I love about the water...it's something that makes me feel so calm, peaceful, and happy.

One final word...can we please bring Janet and her boob back to the Superbowl? Paul McCartney (last year) and the Rolling Stones (this year) just do not do it. Where's the excitement? Where's the relevant music? Football is boring. We live for the half-time, and we deserve good half-time entertainment. Next year, I want the White Stripes. Of course.

(Oh, and yay Hines Ward!!! We went to college together and shared a few classes. Go Dawgs!)