Archives for May 2006

for the fantastic comments. I do love that sweater. I love mostly how it’s acrylic and I didn’t overheat in it as much as I do in wool or cashmere or alpaca, my favorite fibers. And it’s cute! It doesn’t show things that I don’t want to show, which with knitting, you’re never that sure of until you put the garment on. That was an awkward sentence. But you get what I mean.

Anyway. I’m in the middle of a 70-hour work week, and I’m strung out on coffee and chocolate. Apparently I’m too lazy right now to make myself a sandwich, so dark chocolate-covered pretzels and Trader Joe’s Cheddar Cheese Squares seem to be working for me. Don’t mind me if I’m quiet for a bit. Conserving brain cells for 911 calls featuring people who don’t know where they are (KNOW WHERE YOU ARE, PEOPLE! All the time!), driving (on roads filled with people who don’t know where they are — at least know the HIGHWAY you’re driving on), and clicking the TiVo button. Now me, I know EXACTLY where those buttons are…… Shhhhhhh…..

See what patience gets you? A coupla photos or three.

Ecco la:

    The Double-Barrelled Em. (click for big)

    The Oh Jayzus I Hate Back Pics Pose

    The I’m Seriously Out Of Good Ideas – I’m A Little Teapot Pose.

My camera is giving up the ghost, finally, but you can see more of the detail here. Also, you can see the coffee-table, where I’m deciding what to make now! That’s the best kind of decision making. Usually I have tons of things lined up to make, and right now I don’t. I got to flip through all my books and mags, and have decided on the Corset Pullover from IK of yore (Spring 2003, to be exact). More to follow as I go.

Specs:
Pattern: Vogue 2006 Spring Summer, from Roman Holiday section. Watch the chart, it’s kinda ballsed-up in a few places. Use common sense.
Yarn: Sirdar Snuggly. Don’t laugh. It’s washable and cool, yo.
Size: Largest size, 44 bust I think. I’ve forgotten already and I’m too lazy to check.
Needles: 4US
Mods: I didn’t add that twee little collar, because while on twiggy there in the mag it looked great, my cleavage needs no further attention drawn to it.

Conclusion: I love it! It’s lightweight, comfy, and cute. I’m gonna get a lot of mileage out of this one.

You know what is freeing in this blogland of ours? Going to your bloglines account, clicking on that underlined number of feeds on the left side, and watching them ALL clear and fill in on the right. Then you skim all the blogs in your seriously-more-than-a-thousand unread posts, and your eyes are free to land on what’s really important — pictures of new knitting, announcements of impending marriage or babies, someone being REALLY funny.

Then it’s clear and that weird small guilt is gone. I have, it’s true, recovered from most of my blog guilt. I used to think that people would be mad at me if I didn’t comment. Isn’t that stupid? Yeah, I know it is. Then I realized the truth — when people I adore comment on my blog, I’m thrilled to hear from them! Yay! But when they don’t, it never crosses my mind that they didn’t. I don’t sit around and wonder why Blogger A and Blogger B haven’t commented in a while, so I finally figured out the truth — no one else does, either.

Which is good, because I’m a crap commenter. If I’ve EVER commented on your blog, it’s probably in my bloglines. (If you don’t have an RSS feed, I probably don’t read you, sadly, because my brain is completely and totally unable to remember things like that on its own.) And if it’s in my bloglines, I read you (okay, sometimes I skim. But I get the highlights).

Then, at least three or four times a week while I’m reading, this happens: I’m moved by something someone says, I open the comment box, I have something vaguely in mind to say, something that will be both pithily trenchant and achingly witty, I start to type, and then I go, eh. I shrug. Close the box. Wonder about my motivation. Then I get annoyed by my wondering. I move on to the next blog.

That’s okay, really. I don’t comment much. I get behind in blogdom. But you know that I LOVE being here. My blog passport is well stamped. It’s an amazing, loving place to be, and I’m glad.

And dude, I finished that blue sweater! It looks great! Lala likes it, which means it’s maybe a little form-fitting, and she said I have to blog it ASAP, but that means taking photos and posing and I’ve been LAZY about things like that lately. I have one day off this week, and that’s it. And on that one day, I’m not doing much of anything. I will definitely try to get you a pic, though. I’m proud of this one.

It has come down to this: I am a fancy cooker. Lala is the good cook — she cooks everything well. Not well-done, mind you, but done well. She knows how to make things taste good, using their natural tastes and herbs and spices and things like that.

I want to wear a fancy apron and do a little dance with the cocktail shaker. That’s the way it goes. We got a LOT of gifts for the wedding that support me in that.

Wedding gifts I’ve used in the past two days:

Cowboy print apron with pink pleats and yellow fringe.
Kitchen-Aide mixer for mixin’ brownies (from SCRATCH).
Food processor for chopping up strawberries
Red blender for mixing cream and sugar
Ice cream maker for freezing cream and said strawberries
Electric ice cream SCOOP for scooping out ice cream (did you ever? I never did).

That’s my kind of cookin’, baby. Lala made a lovely mahi-mahi and potatoes. I made caprese, with real buffalo mozzarella, basil, roma tomatoes, and olives. Lala cooked. I threw together, my lipstick matching the wine’s blush. That’s the point, y’see.

Have I mentioned my Dyson before? Do you have ANY idea how much I love my Dyson? Seriously, if I wasn’t married to Lala, I marry it. (That’s just around the corner, you know. If they make gay marriage legal, what next? It’s pretty reasonable to think that people will be marrying their vacuum cleaners next. I know I would.)

Not to go all product placement on you, but seriously, that thing works. (I just have the low-end yellow one.) It sucks EVERYTHING up, all this hair and white dust-skin-looking stuff and things you wish you didn’t know about. It WHOOOSHES up into the clear bucket, and sometimes I stop myself from looking at it while I’m vacuuming, just to save the thrill for the very end. I take the canister out and run at Lala: Look! Dude, check all this sh*t OUT! That’s from US! I like the squawk she makes when I do that.

Earlier, while I was vacuuming under the bed (yes, it’s still a new-to-us house), I vacuumed up a kleenex. Now, that’s power. Nothing like it.

I do think, however, that I killed the bathtub in my eagerness. It’s been looking dingy, and there’s always been a crack in the bottom that looks EXACTLY like a spider. So I went at it with SOS (the box SAID I could), and everywhere I rubbed turned a grimy grey. I think they must have done that tub refinishing paint stuff on it, and I think we need to do re-do it. I hate looking at it, though. It looks dirty, when it’s perfectly clean. Ew.

I do like to clean the house. I love that feeling after you clean and after you shower, when you walk the floors in bare feet and you pick up nothing at all.

Bleah. I have a weird tummy-thing going on recently. I’m going to relax now. I just made some Moosewood Cookbook (the new one) brownies, and Lala’s in charge of dinner, so I’m going to go watch Oprah. I took some pics of the tub, but pics of a tub are really, truly boring, so here’s some of my recent knitting:

    Note the tongue.

It’s a sleeve from the newest Vogue Knitting (the green one in the Roman Holiday series, done in blue Sirdal Snuggly, I kid you not). And you know what? I’m working the last sleeve, and it seems a little small. Oh, wells. It’ll fit someone, right?

And this is how Harriet helps:

Okay. Oprah now. Have a good weekend, all!

Yesterday, when I was driving home, I passed one of those road signs — the big light-up kind where they can print sentences telling you when to merge and what to watch out for.

The one I passed just said:
YES.