Happiness?

I've been thinking a lot lately about happiness. As in, what makes me happy and what doesn't? And how often do those things change? And if I'm unhappy, why? And what can I do about it aside from being very destructive (what's wrong with a little destruction?) in some way in order to make myself feel something other than this pervasive angst that has been slithering around in my brain for some time now, coloring everything that used to make me happy this weird darkish conglomeration of colors rather than the usual happy, positive (and brightly colored) me-ness that used to exist (and still does, she's re-emerging slowly)?

See, now that I'm on the other side of the Funk of '06, I am looking back and analyzing the hell out of it in order to find some purpose and learn from everything that was involved.

In my contemplation I'm realizing that my recent walk down the path of frustration/apathy/irritation/anger (and many other screwy emotions contributing to my general funkiness) has one real root cause.

This town sucks. It sucks so hard that I can feel it on my skin when I wake up in the mornings. And after work when I run. And especially in the summer when the humidity is so horrible you sweat as soon as you step out of your cold shower, and again when you open the door if you dare to leave the house.

This is the kind of place that verbally calls you out if you're different, instead of embracing the "live and let live" ideology. And ya'll, I might be southern in that I love sweet tea and a good BBQ joint, and I use my accent to get what I want in places where southerners are rare, but philosophically I have very little in common with your typical southerner. The people here will stop you in the grocery store parking lot after seeing the Kerry sticker on your hybrid and ask why you voted for "that baby killer". I shit you not. Twice this has happened to me. TWICE. I've also almost been the victim of vehicular homicide by some jackass in a huge truck he doesn't need (clearly making up for something, no?) with his W stickers on the front AND back shouting obscenities at me (through his good teeth) and giving me the finger. So. Much. Class.

Clearly, I do not fit in, nor am I really welcome (totally fine, I could so care less). So all efforts outside of work are to get 1.) a job elsewhere 2.) a place to live, again elsewhere and 3.) to get myself back to school and become someone who makes a difference in this fucked up world. Being an office manager does not cut it for me. It pays the bills nicely, but otherwise, I don't think about it much. Other than some days it challenges my will to live, but I think that's probably true for everyone.

So what can I do in the meantime to please the part of my soul that is screaming for some sense of a peaceful revolution?

1.) Paint my toenails. Mmm hot pink.



2.) Go black. You know what they say...



So black it's almost blue, though you can't tell so much here.

3.) Eyebrow maintenance.







This is all superficial, however, and only barely scratches the surface of what I need, but it's a start.

Lots of reading, writing, resume revising, running and knitting are on the way to fill my brain and make me feel useful and like I'm progressing toward something relevant and meaningful. My school options are still pretty open. I'll either check out some creative writing classes (put my Journalism degree to use maybe?), get certified to teach, or go to some technical school and get a nursing or radiology degree. I always loved the medical fields but was too afraid I'd kill someone. Same with teaching or having kids...surely I will screw their lives beyond repair. But after living here, I see that they could do MUCH worse than me, so I'm reconsidering.

I'm also letting The Cure, the White Stripes, and Tori Amos have their way with me today, and that sort of orgy always leads to good things.

Prairie Tunic, the saga continues

Maybe not so much a 'saga' or an 'epic' as an 'adventure'.

Hmm...'adventure' is even perhaps too exciting a word. It implies that there was mortal peril, jeopardy (I'll take The Films of Pauly Shore for $1000, Alex) and perhaps a touch of fortune, and divine intervention lending a hand in my survival. 'Tale'? Yes, 'tale' fits nicely. As does 'yarn'. But that would mean I just crossed another line toward my eternal damnation as a nerd.

Good thing I like nerds. And hellfire makes me hot.

Forgive the crap quality of my pictures. I was rushed and didn't bother to color correct or even attempt to make them pretty. Just like me. Every. Morning. The two most common words out of my mouth at 8 am? "Fuck it". Now you know.

The back piece is finished, washed, blocked and very soft and pretty. I'll weave in the ends once I put the whole thing together and wash it. Part of my problem with the Picovoli was that I washed and dried AFTER I had weaved in the ends, and they were a bit too short and therefore unraveled when the cotton bloomed. Grr. Argh. Won't make that mistake again, I tell you.


Full shot of the back piece blocking. Yes on a beach towel. I have no taste, and I'm ok.


Detail of the top triangle. Ooooh geometry. Obtuse or Isosceles? Equilateral or Scalene? Bueller?


Lace detail. Probably blurry or at least not very crisp. But look! Holes! Where they're supposed to be!


Edging detail. Slip stitch yumminess. Looks like I'm a pro (at what is officially up for debate).


And a hint of work on the front piece. Twice the lace, twice the fun!


I might be a smartass about my abilities (wipe that mock-surprised look off your face), but I'm really proud of the way this is turning out. The pattern is easy, the edging looks professional (when done right. ahem.) and the fit will be just the way I like it. Maybe if I'm feeling wild and crazy, I'll break out my TopStick double-sided, sticks-anything-to-you-and-hurts-like-a-bitch-to-remove tape and adhesify (a word? who can say) the thing on my back for some choice entertainment.

Also, I want a cookie. Any kind will do. And a new hair color. I'm thinking Dark & Sinister.

Happy Places & Prizes

Oooh. Prizes. I love prizes!

I got this lovely package in the mail this week....




My Secret Pal is so very sweet! AND..she's a gamer too (Happy Place #1)!! Our hostess did a great job matching us, and then matching me with Jenny, ANOTHER gaming chick. The three of us could totally be the Charlie's Angels of gaming. Bet our virtual asses are that hot too. I know mine is. Rawr.

There are two skeins of sock yarn (*drool*), dyable wool from Knit Picks (koolaid incoming), Sensational Socks book that I've had my eye on for some time now, some Bert's Bee's Lemon Cuticle stuff (for my hands after knitting. eww.), and some ADORABLE knit kitty toys stuffed absolutely full with cat nip!

The kids (er...kitties) loved the toys so much, they almost had the box open before I did. Then all hell broke loose followed closely by kitty nirvana, as witnessed here:



Molly: "Ha ha! I have killed it!"



Murphy: "Give me the nip now!"



Tristan: "I will shred you if you take this from me, beotch."



Sydney: "Just need one more sniff, just one...really, I'm not an addict. It's cool."

Thanks Tina for making SP7 so much fun! And thanks so much for the card! You made my day!


And for an update on me...after emotionally beating my head against a wall (not recommended for the faint of heart) and functioning on very little sleep, I've discovered through long conversations with Pete the Philosophizer and Loren, the Obi-Wan to my Princess Leia, that I am in fact normal (in most ways) and I am not going to die (slightly over-dramatic, sure, and to be confirmed by doctors on Tuesday).

As a part of my recovery, I am throwing out the My Chemical Romance CD because it has served its purpose and I'm tired of them. Told you guys it wouldn't take long. I've moved on to the new Lacuna Coil CD, Karmacode (Happy Place #2).



Ya'll. Go get it. The cover of Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence" is so good it's painful.

Pete the Philosophizer is very good at snapping me back to reality when I'm feeling particularly hideous, loser-esque, and like the world might END if all the Diet Dr. Pepper in the world are not delivered unto me post haste and by a very hot man of any nationality, but preferably Antonio Banderas. With. A. Spoon. Ya'll.

My weekly reality check from Pete went like this:

"wake up sweetie. you are fuckin awesome. i mean jesus christ on a skewer...you have a great hubby (granted it isnt me but still a good guy who loves you), i love the ever-loving shit out of you...you are intelligent, gorgeous....you are the queen of the positive outlook...you dragged me back from my senseless funk a year ago....so i know its in you. you are the optimist here...your personality is one that goes out and gets shit done, right wrong or indifferent... you are headstrong and possibly one of the most stubborn people i know. so cut out the bullshit and be who you are...the girl i and everyone else adores. also, i will beat you if you don't start being you soon."

Thank you, Petie (omg he'll smack me just for typing that! muahahaha). I made the big ugly cry face after this, you know. Big. Ugly. But, everyone should have such amazing friends, and I'm incredibly grateful for mine.

And should I feel icky again anytime soon, I'm totally going here to Happy Place #3 and leaving everyone and everything but my knitting and some CDs behind. I might do it anyway just cause my soul aches for this kind of place.



And now, there's an awful lot of this...



Sort of a smirk, but also a smile. I'm mysterious like that.

Recidivism

Recidivism is the word of the day.

Repeat Offender. That's me. And a few of you others out there. But I'm not naming names because that's your problem, not mine.

As Duckie says in "Pretty in Pink"...Do I offend? Oh, yes, and how.

1. I got a second (ahem, third) parking ticket this week. Oops. Good thing they're only $10 each. Still, I should try to rectify my need to park directly in front of my building. Must be because I'm always late or something.

2. I'm always late. If I arrive early, people think I'm sick or there's something devastatingly wrong with me. "You're on time?!? Do you need to see a doctor? Is someone dead? Did you run out of ice cream?" I stopped making excuses for being late a long time ago. No point in lying about it. There wasn't any traffic, my dog/cat/grandfather/fourth nephew is not sick, and my clothes did not get burned in the dryer. I'm just late.

3. I have a habit of "just going to look" at expensive things, and suddenly making a fairly major, life altering purchase. Specific cases: 2002: my Civic Hybrid, 2004: my insanely expensive engagement ring (I got to pick it and all, you know. And yes it was the most expensive thing in the store. I'm evil. And yet somehow he still loves me. Clearly, he's insane. And I am awesome.) 2006: Nate's brand new Toyota Matrix. You can sorta see the butt end of my car on the right. It's not near as clean and new car smelly, but it's cute (and liberal, yay!)!



Maybe in 2008 it will be a house. Cause that is officially on the back burner, thanks to Purchase 2006. But we needed a new car because that old Jeep was on its last wheel. Poor thing. I think I got a little teary over trading it in. Nobody loves your old piece of shit the way you do. Ya'll know. Also, you know my head is fucked when my retail therapy session is a $20k ding. What? I'm totally fine.

4. Flaking on my competition. Nicole and Pete are going to kick my ass, literally. This makes about the 7,438th time that I've flaked. I think it's cool and I would look really amazing and I have so much admiration for those who can do it, but I just don't have the determination and give-a-shit to diet that hard for 4 straight months. That, and I'm too easily upset and ice cream is my savior. Amen. Praise the Neopolitan Dynamite.




But it's really sad when the Ben & Jerry's gets melty. I didn't even have the stomach to eat it. Also, hello messy desk from hell. I take notes on everything and I never throw any of it away.

5. I'm compulsively honest. Which is sometimes considered offensive. Not that I can't lie and get away with it. But I prefer to lay things out on the table and make people look at stuff. It might be my stuff, and it might be theirs. Funny how most people don't like being called on their shit though. And sad really, because you can't deal with the issues you're facing if you don't LOOK AT THEM. Hiding behind a false reality is the coward's way out (Yet, I know, sometimes the only way to deal with some shit. But still). So instead I'm honest about who I am and what I'm going through (except for right now, cause um...I gotta get through it first, then we'll talk). And I gladly and willingly offer up my shit to be called upon. I kinda dig it, because it means you care enough to say "Hey! You're being a total fucking idiot!". Thanks for the love.

So in conclusion, I repeatedly offend on many occasions and I'm ok. And CAP was right about my horoscope, which is not something I ever believe in, but is a good way to make me giggle. In March, she was dead on: There has been a lot of chatter in your life, and almost none of it has been true or real (how sad). April too is correct: Your month is going to really suck.




Good thing I have sweet animals to keep me in bed and make me sleep. Murphy likes to snuggle so close that I get hot and have to stick my feet out of the covers. Then he plays "Chase The Toes" with his claws. Taylor just likes being on the bed, and Molly is only here because she loves that dog. Still, I am asleep, so all is right with the world.



Also, all my pillow are belong to Tristan.

Swear to Shake it Up...

Hmm. I don't seem to have much to say lately. I keep waiting for my life to get interesting.

Guess I'm going to have to force it and make things exciting on my own pretty soon. I don't do stagnation. I also don't really do change, but I prefer it over drooling in my oatmeal every morning. If by some strange chance you think I'm interesting already, be glad you don't live inside this head. Shit. Is. Dull.

But, my mind is occupied with scary things. I like lists, so I made one. A list of those scary things, for you ADD folks who got lost already. You know who you are. Or do you?

1. Competing in July (there's a whole other blog for that, but sorry, it's private).

2. The thought of being pregnant (ok dreams, you may stop now, I'm still not interested, but the little girl you keep showing me is very pretty).

3. My in-fucking-sane sex drive. Ron Jeremy could not keep up with me, seriously. Not that I would want him to try. Eww.

4. This yarn porno. The busty nurse totally got the shaft. And I don't mean the fun way. In all porno realism, he'd have had her too. That's the way porn works. I'm just sayin. (Not actually scary, but on my mind nonetheless.)

5. Big mosquitoes. As big as my fist. In flocks. Hovering over my head as I run, waiting for me to have an asthma attack or my shoe to come untied so that I have to stop and they can swoop in and carry me off to somewhere icky and slimy. That's what I get for living in the swamp in south Georgia. Yay. Mosquitoes.

Hmm. I'm fairly disturbed by that short list, let's move on.

Well, here's something. Last month CAP said this for us loony-ass Libras:

Resist the temptation to get bitchy this month. Do not give into your inner horndog. Break out the halo and be on your best behavior, because someone is eyeing you closely for a leadership role, or a promotion, or some added responsibility you've been asking for. Maybe it's just that your character has come under scrutiny lately, and you don't want to give them fuel for the fire. (There has been a lot of chatter in your life, and almost none of it has been true or real.) Whatever the case may be, think angelically and picture yourself with wings. Libra, ya'll need to move from wild child to angel in 30 days or less! If Drew Barrymore could do it, so can you.

I can't, I won't and I didn't, in no particular order. There are no wings, but I did get a 69 cent halo, is that good enough? (Shaddup.)

For April, CAP says:

Your month is going to really suck. I mean, ya'll, seriously. Just go home right now and start eating the ice cream. Do they make wine ice cream? Oh Libra... ya'll! I'm just kidding! Truth is, this was a learning experience. See? Any old Joe can give you some wrong advice. You might want to re-consider who you're taking prophecies from these days. After all, the last psychic I visited told me I'd be doing charity work involving water... which, had I followed her advice, would put me wading upstream while begging for money for other people. Not a pretty vision, eh? This is a good time to be careful whose advice you heed. You don't want to end up the proverbial creek because of someone's off-the-cuff armchair mentoring this month, no matter how well-intentioned it may be.

And she tags this onto Cancer's (yes I read them all): Maybe all our old fears will get bored in the waiting room of April and go haunt someone else, like the Libras for a change.

So, I'm going to be paralyzed with fear (see above list, again if necessary), and I shouldn't take advice from anyone. Yay. Fending for myself. I can do that. Just keep the mosquitoes away from me and I can do that. Really. It's not my preference, mind you. I PREFER to be loved, adored, and protected from such things, being a diva and all, but alas. As with most everything, I'll be doing it myself. (Shaddup.)

Maybe someday I'll be just like Ferris. "Oh, he's very popular Ed. The sportos, the motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, waistoids, dweebies, dickheads - they all adore him. They think he's a righteous dude."

A girl can dream.

29.5

April 1st. April Fool's Day. A day of elaborate practical jokes and general tomfoolery. Annually celebrated by me as the day I call my mom and tell her I'm pregnant. Some day I'm sure it will bite me in the ass. Such is karma. Assbiting. Dirty bitch.

This particular April 1st is different though. It is my half birthday. And I am 29.5. The last six months of the downhill slippery (gooey?) slope to 30. The last six months of my twenties. (Pause for dramatic sigh) Shall I mourn thee? Shall I compose gentle words of bittersweet sorrow? Um...sorry, I don't do poetry anymore. How about some cake? Pie? Cookies?

And does this mean I have to grow up? I asked that when I turned 22 also. And then I cried. Because I wasn't 21 anymore, and the next big birthday is...30. However, my 21st birthday was an incredibly fun occasion, and my 30th will be as well. Hell or high water, damn it. If you are with me, you WILL be having fun or I will douse you with something alcoholic and make you dance for me. Some of you might dig that. I certainly will. Whether or not you're clothed is by my choice at that moment.

I'm convincing myself that it's fine though. 30 is cool! 30 is rad! Did I just say rad? Oh my god, I'm so old. Hmm...if my twenties are any indication, my thirties should be a fucking blast.

Let's review shall we?

Actually, let's not. There are a lot of great things there, but there are some sad things too. No need to be bringing up old shit. Roughly translated: We'll do that another day, mkay?

On a lighter note:

You Are Miss Piggy

A total princess and diva, you're totally in charge - even if people don't know it. You want to be loved, adored, and worshiped. And you won't settle for anything less. You're going to be a total star, and you won't let any of the "little people" get in your way. Just remember, piggy, never eat more than you can lift!

The Muppet Personality Test

In conclusion, I'm a nearly old, demanding diva. I can accept that.

Now, where is that house boy? It's time for my feeding.

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!