Archives for September 2006

Been hanging out with the girls today. Well, I do that a lot, actually. Digit, my cat, is part of my soul, but dogs are somehow more companionable, aren’t they? They’re pals. My cats aren’t pals. Digit is sticky and prickly and offended most of the time, but we still sleep together. We hold hands. Here he is, almost-sleeping next to me:

Oh, he’s my heart. Really. Adah is a peach, and sweet as all get out, and we like to see each other, but Digit is my main man. Several people have commented lately that they find it funny that in the Hehu House (our last names, combined, in a joking way that seems to have stuck) we have two women, three female dogs, a female cat, and an ex-male cat who has had his male part removed due to a urethra-crystal emergency some years ago.

So today, even though it’s been a Take Care of Crap kind of day, the day that you make all the phone calls that make the world go ’round, all the phone calls that you’ve been putting off, HOA stuff and plane reservations and doctor’s appointments and crap, we’ve still had some fun. Went on a long-ass walk over at Pt. Isabel, Miss Idaho getting out for the first time since her surgery. (BENIGN, by the way. Woot!)

I tell you what, there is nothing in the world as cute as a chihuahua with a cone head. I told people it was her cuteness amplifier, and that we were going to leave it on permanently. Some laughed. Some just gave me a look and walked their pugs quickly in the other direction.

(You can see my knitting behind old Miss ID. A sweater soonish, promise.)

A happy blurry dance. This is what Clara usually looks like. However, I did get her to pose for you earlier today. She would like you to know that she is dignified.

See? She is the picture of dignity.

Until she burps.

Just finished watching Saving Face. What a sweet little lesbian romance. And clean enough to watch with your mom. Go Netflix it now.

Welp, the music festival was fun. The Whoreshoes rocked out, but they weren’t well attended, being the first band of the day at 1pm. But those who were there loved ’em. Old Crow Medicine Show were fabulous, very tight. Ozomatli were also tight, but by then I’d had a visual migraine that very shortly turned into the real-deal migraine (they’ve never happened together, and it was a very weird, very painful migraine, so that was unpleasant) so I went out on the field and just stayed in one spot until Lala brought me cotton-candy. Hey, it didn’t hurt the migraine, and certainly made ME happy. The sponsors set us up right, though, with plenty of free food and beer and candy, and I got all the benefits of being in the band without having to do anything but carry a case or two.

They are all so damn cute, really. New CD! Out soon! And it’s rad, you’ll love it. I’ll let you know when it’s available.

The Old Crow boys had an emergency with their bass (read: broken) so they restrung Diana-of-the-Whoreshoes’s bass, which was pretty cool. Sounded great, too. As seen here:

The Dyl-pickle god-baby man-child future-rockstar ate as many All Access passes as he could. Start ’em early, we say.

For once, he’s not looking at my chest. Up here! Eyes up here!

Note his CASH guitar bib. From us, yep.

He danced all day. Really.

And then there was this cutie:

End report. I’m off to sew, perhaps. Or read. Or watch TV and knit. It’s a Day Off, and I’m doing nothing responsible. Good thing, too, since it’s almost 1pm and this is all I’ve done today…..

Okay, Emily’s done it again. I don’t always blog my friend’s patterns, even if I heart them. That’s mainly because I just forget. But dude, go look at her sweater. If I wasn’t loving knitting cables again, good old sturdy cables, I’d cast on for that, like, now.

Also, Nathania mentioned in Emily’s comments that Emily looks like a Vermeer painting. I think that’s just right. Isn’t she purdy?

However, right now? I need big cables! I have lost patience for all else! It’s the only kind of knitting making me happy right now. All this more than 5st/inch…. ack. Gives me a headachle. (Heh. Typo, but I like that.) Come spring, though, I’ll be all over the fine knitting again, and I’ll make Emily’s lovely sweater. Something about fall approaching makes me want sturdy yarn, good definition, and no more than 4.5 st/inch. I’d admit to preferring 4st/inch, but that would make me look lazy, wouldn’t it?

I wasn’t really going to write about knitting. Whoops. What I meant to write about was going to the beach the other days with the you-know-whats.

There was this woman there, a nice, older woman. A sensible looking woman. Nice looking dog with her. My dog Clara ran up to the lady and said hi. She gave Clara a carrot.

NO! No feeding my dog without asking! And even then, I’ll say no, because she’s turned, recently, into this huge beggar dog, the annoying kind that smells a treat in a stranger’s pocket and stands there, looking and demand-sitting, then nuzzling and pushing with her muzzle. Extremely not-okay behavior in my dog, so now no one is allowed to give her treats but me or Lala.

So this lady gave her a carrot. And then looked at me. I said,  "Thank you, but no more, please."

She said, "Why not?"

I could have gone into the above discussion with her, how I don’t want a dog that begs because that’s a horrid trait, but I was feeling anti-social and didn’t want to interact with humans. So I said, "She’s allergic."

She said, "She can’t be."

I said, "Carrots make her sick."

"That can’t be. How is that? I don’t believe that."

By then, of course, I was deeply invested in and believing my own lie, and offended that she would dispute the absolute truth I was making up. "Carrots give her diarrhea. She gets very, very sick. Violently ill." (This WAS just after Clara’s mystery illness, and I was treating her tummy very carefully. That part is true.)

"No, they don’t."

"Even one carrot will do it."

"No."

"Yes."

Then she shrugged, and I humphed, and we pretended to be polite about each others’ mangy curs. I felt vaguely guilty about my lie.

It wasn’t until much later that what I was feeling wasn’t really guilt, but irritation. How are you gonna argue with someone about what their beloved pet is or isn’t allergic to? Huh? I think I’ll try that soon with a kid allergic to peanuts. I’ll tell mom that the kid can’t be allergic, that she must be wrong. That’ll go over well.

This soccer-dog mom thing is making me protective. Grrr.

https://rachaelherron.com/okay_emilys_don/

Holy COW am I sleepy.

Two things this early morning: One, if you’re in the area of Tahoe this weekend, come see The Whoreshoes play the Sugarbowl Festival. Dude, they’re playing with the likes of Ozomatli, and The Old Crow Medicine Show. Oh, yeah.

And two, yesterday I was at the dog park, right? Sitting on a chair, knitting, watching the dogs gambol. Something bit my neck, hard. I thought at first it was a wasp, but when I hit it away, it was a ladybug! Ladybugs bite? Quel horror!

I was offended that the old girl didn’t remember how many times I’d talked her into going home and rescuing the kids.

https://rachaelherron.com/holy_cow_am_i_s/