So J is still walking around with multiple dpns in her hat, and one of the needles she's using is a circular one. I just don't understand.
Did you know that if you google "invisible cast on," the majority of the links refer to a provisional cast on?
And, finally... I took CV's Clapotis to knitting last night where we had a couple of newbies. And as one of them, CO, was just oohing and aaahing over the Clapotis, I heard a question that I'd never heard before. "Is there a video that shows me how to drop a stitch?" Now, that was the actual question, although it was phrased as CO was fondling the dropped stitches and the phrasing was asking if there was a video showing how to make those huge ladders that make the Clapotis the beautiful thing that she is. Me being me and not in the mood to suffer anyone gladly, I stated that there were 15,000-20,000 of them out there and if it was that hard, there wouldn't be nearly as many of them. So now CO will be all paranoid if she can't figure out how to drop a stitch.
Eh, such is life.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Monday night knitting
I really should behave myself here, but it's me so I won't.
There were two new people at knitting this past Monday, J & D. J is not a new knitter, but she's a tad... ummm... off. Instead of putting her project onto a circular needle when there were enough stitches, she just added in another DPN. Now, that's all well and good... but... when one of the needles you're using IS a circular and you've got five or so DPNs hanging in the project, I'd think it would be obvious, especially since those DPNs were pretty loaded up with stitches.
Then there's D, who took up knitting after breaking up with her boyfriend. She needed a substitute for him, which probably means she'll dump knitting as soon as she finds a new boyfriend. So there the poor child is, wielding 14-inch metal straights for a 20-stitch scarf. And completely did not get the idea of circulars. If she drops a needle, she could lose the whole scarf... so I handed her my luscious knitting (Lisa Souza Cashmere Silk) on circs and told her to drop one of the needles. You could see the fear on her face that she was going to lose some of my stitches. In fact, I even pulled out my usual line of "You cannot possibly screw it up so badly that I cannot fix it." She didn't believe me. When I finally got her to drop one end of my circulars, the look of wonder on her face was a sight to see.
It was a tad strange to see newbies questioning my abilities, but then again, they also didn't want to fondle my yarn. Poor, broken newbies.
And then there was an orphan!!! She was running around the Panera, screeching at the top of her lungs and I hauled out Mark's old line of "It must be an orphan because children with parents don't act like that." I don't know if they heard me or not, but, suddenly, there was a parent (both of them were actually present) chasing after the child, who was only a couple years old and really needed some very close supervision. Then again, why wasn't the child home in bed at 8:30?
Now I know why I never had children. Oh, wait, my children wouldn't have behaved like that.
There were two new people at knitting this past Monday, J & D. J is not a new knitter, but she's a tad... ummm... off. Instead of putting her project onto a circular needle when there were enough stitches, she just added in another DPN. Now, that's all well and good... but... when one of the needles you're using IS a circular and you've got five or so DPNs hanging in the project, I'd think it would be obvious, especially since those DPNs were pretty loaded up with stitches.
Then there's D, who took up knitting after breaking up with her boyfriend. She needed a substitute for him, which probably means she'll dump knitting as soon as she finds a new boyfriend. So there the poor child is, wielding 14-inch metal straights for a 20-stitch scarf. And completely did not get the idea of circulars. If she drops a needle, she could lose the whole scarf... so I handed her my luscious knitting (Lisa Souza Cashmere Silk) on circs and told her to drop one of the needles. You could see the fear on her face that she was going to lose some of my stitches. In fact, I even pulled out my usual line of "You cannot possibly screw it up so badly that I cannot fix it." She didn't believe me. When I finally got her to drop one end of my circulars, the look of wonder on her face was a sight to see.
It was a tad strange to see newbies questioning my abilities, but then again, they also didn't want to fondle my yarn. Poor, broken newbies.
And then there was an orphan!!! She was running around the Panera, screeching at the top of her lungs and I hauled out Mark's old line of "It must be an orphan because children with parents don't act like that." I don't know if they heard me or not, but, suddenly, there was a parent (both of them were actually present) chasing after the child, who was only a couple years old and really needed some very close supervision. Then again, why wasn't the child home in bed at 8:30?
Now I know why I never had children. Oh, wait, my children wouldn't have behaved like that.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Dilettantes and Tonsil Hockey
You might not think those two subjects are related, but, well, they are.
Two people showed up last night at CV's gig (god, I love going to listen to her) wearing hockey jerseys. Since one of them was on my very favorite player in the league (Brooks Laich, who my sweet <cough> Bill is named after), I had to go say something. So, one was wearing Brooksy's jersey and the other was wearing an Eric Fehr jersey. Yeah, Eric Fehr who was traded to the Winnipeg Thrashers. (Yes, they are. I don't care that they've resurrected the name, their history is of the Thrashers and that makes them the Thrashers.)
I considered it a good trade since Fehr is, as usual, on the injured list.
Of course, these are also the two women who complained about spending $110/seat for seats that are FIVE rows from the ice. Yes, FIVE rows. I'd kill or die for those seats, but, then again, I'm actually a hockey fan.
Making conversation as they left, I commented that tonight was the battle of the unbeatens and I was informed that Thursday night was that also. Ummm, no. And I said so and the idiot in the Fehr jersey argued with me. Not smart. I am a woman who knows my hockey and I had looked it up when we were 5-0 to see how many undefeated teams were left and there were exactly two: the Caps and the Wingz.
So let's examine that little hockey oddity, the record: Caps are 6-0-0 and the Wingz are 5-0-0 going into tonight, which makes them undefeated in every sense of the word. The Phlyers, however, were 4-0-1 going into Thursday, which makes them not undefeated, in every sense of the word. You see that '1' on the end? That's an overtime loss. And a loss is a loss is a loss.
Moral of the story? Don't argue with people who know more about hockey than you do. It makes you look like an idiot. Then again, if the shoe fits.....
And that leads me to T, who was wasted last night. She asked me about half a dozen time what I was working on (because I brought my knitting), despite my having given her the information after she asked the first time. In fact, I wrote it down and gave it to her so her sister could make it for her.
I was fine with that although about the third time she asked, I was getting annoyed (yeah, you get to ask twice, but at number three, I will still tell you to take notes.) There was this guy (C) in the bar who was not as wasted as T, but he had had tee martoonis. I actually decided to stick close to T, in case she needed a safe harbor because I don't like men who hit on women who are actually too drunk to consent in a meaningful way.
My bad! CV is up there belting out "Let's Get It On" and T and C were playing tonsil hockey. I'm good with tonsil hockey (see, there was a tie in), and I was cracking up during "Let's Get It On" and the subsequent "Pink Cadillac." When T left with C, I really wanted to ask her if she was sure she wanted to go home with him because she didn't know him and I thought he was kind of slimy, especially since his hand kept wandering up her skirt right there at the table. But I knew that my asking that would make her definitely go with him even though she was acting like it was a bad idea. This was after she accused me of acting like her mother and kept accusing me of judging her.
I still don't deal with drunks well. And I really hope T is okay.
Two people showed up last night at CV's gig (god, I love going to listen to her) wearing hockey jerseys. Since one of them was on my very favorite player in the league (Brooks Laich, who my sweet <cough> Bill is named after), I had to go say something. So, one was wearing Brooksy's jersey and the other was wearing an Eric Fehr jersey. Yeah, Eric Fehr who was traded to the Winnipeg Thrashers. (Yes, they are. I don't care that they've resurrected the name, their history is of the Thrashers and that makes them the Thrashers.)
I considered it a good trade since Fehr is, as usual, on the injured list.
Of course, these are also the two women who complained about spending $110/seat for seats that are FIVE rows from the ice. Yes, FIVE rows. I'd kill or die for those seats, but, then again, I'm actually a hockey fan.
Making conversation as they left, I commented that tonight was the battle of the unbeatens and I was informed that Thursday night was that also. Ummm, no. And I said so and the idiot in the Fehr jersey argued with me. Not smart. I am a woman who knows my hockey and I had looked it up when we were 5-0 to see how many undefeated teams were left and there were exactly two: the Caps and the Wingz.
So let's examine that little hockey oddity, the record: Caps are 6-0-0 and the Wingz are 5-0-0 going into tonight, which makes them undefeated in every sense of the word. The Phlyers, however, were 4-0-1 going into Thursday, which makes them not undefeated, in every sense of the word. You see that '1' on the end? That's an overtime loss. And a loss is a loss is a loss.
Moral of the story? Don't argue with people who know more about hockey than you do. It makes you look like an idiot. Then again, if the shoe fits.....
And that leads me to T, who was wasted last night. She asked me about half a dozen time what I was working on (because I brought my knitting), despite my having given her the information after she asked the first time. In fact, I wrote it down and gave it to her so her sister could make it for her.
I was fine with that although about the third time she asked, I was getting annoyed (yeah, you get to ask twice, but at number three, I will still tell you to take notes.) There was this guy (C) in the bar who was not as wasted as T, but he had had tee martoonis. I actually decided to stick close to T, in case she needed a safe harbor because I don't like men who hit on women who are actually too drunk to consent in a meaningful way.
My bad! CV is up there belting out "Let's Get It On" and T and C were playing tonsil hockey. I'm good with tonsil hockey (see, there was a tie in), and I was cracking up during "Let's Get It On" and the subsequent "Pink Cadillac." When T left with C, I really wanted to ask her if she was sure she wanted to go home with him because she didn't know him and I thought he was kind of slimy, especially since his hand kept wandering up her skirt right there at the table. But I knew that my asking that would make her definitely go with him even though she was acting like it was a bad idea. This was after she accused me of acting like her mother and kept accusing me of judging her.
I still don't deal with drunks well. And I really hope T is okay.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Oh, please, not me
But, yes, it was me. I just had to get to Panera early yesterday. I did it mostly because I wanted to have some dinner in peace, reading my book, enjoying being out. And people were sitting at either end of "our" table, which was actually okay, too, because there was another fairly large area that was empty, so I went over and spread my stuff across half a dozen seats to save them and went to the counter.
The counter was fun. Turns out the woman taking care of me was a knitter and we had a lovely conversion. Plus all the cashiers were telling me that someone had come in and asked when the knitting group met (like they actually keep track of us). I told them that we were a Monday night, 7-9 crowd. Then I followed the nice woman over to where she was making my chair tea latte (I am so hooked on those things.)
While I was waiting, I turned around, saw our area, and immediately tried to figure out how I could get my stuff and get out of there without being seen. So I kept talking to the wonderful woman making my latte and finally had to look at her and whine that I didn't want to go sit with the crazy lady and I needed rescuing.
Yes, the crazy lady from much earlier this year had shown back up. And she immediately started grilling me, which I hate hate hate hate hate. What was the name of our group? How did we know each other? How did we know when to meet? There had to be a formal name, what was it? Well, fine, then she'll just email Jamie, because Jamie's the go-to person and entirely too nice. Who was in charge? Who should she ask about the formal name? How did we know each other on Ravelry? How did we know who to friend on Ravelry?
Yes, I was VERY cranky at that point and she asked what my problem was. I managed not to say that she was, but told her that I was giving her the only answers I had and she just kept asking the same questions.
Good one was when she said that she'd seen that Jamie had moved to San Fran. Ummm... no. Jamie moved to Kansas. Last I heard they were two entirely different places.
And all this time, I'm texting Jamie and Britta telling them the crazy lady was there and I needed rescuing. And Britta came to my rescue, at which point I started talking to Britta and trying to ignore the crazy lady, although I did occasionally direct a remark in her direction. As I already knew, I really don't want to talk to people I don't like and go to any number of lengths to not talk to people I don't like.
And why don't like I like her? She's one of those people who wants something for nothing, to the point of wanting you to give her things that you've paid for and when she saw someone's stitch markers, talked about how pretty they were and how she couldn't afford pretty stitch markers. Yeah, the last set I bought was on Etsy and cost me less than $12 (including shipping) for 20 of them. It's just like I say about yarn. You can buy cheap yarn from Knit Picks or you can buy good yarn cheap from Lisa Souza.
Now that the crazy lady has moved to the area, I won't be going to Panera early on Monday night any time soon.
The counter was fun. Turns out the woman taking care of me was a knitter and we had a lovely conversion. Plus all the cashiers were telling me that someone had come in and asked when the knitting group met (like they actually keep track of us). I told them that we were a Monday night, 7-9 crowd. Then I followed the nice woman over to where she was making my chair tea latte (I am so hooked on those things.)
While I was waiting, I turned around, saw our area, and immediately tried to figure out how I could get my stuff and get out of there without being seen. So I kept talking to the wonderful woman making my latte and finally had to look at her and whine that I didn't want to go sit with the crazy lady and I needed rescuing.
Yes, the crazy lady from much earlier this year had shown back up. And she immediately started grilling me, which I hate hate hate hate hate. What was the name of our group? How did we know each other? How did we know when to meet? There had to be a formal name, what was it? Well, fine, then she'll just email Jamie, because Jamie's the go-to person and entirely too nice. Who was in charge? Who should she ask about the formal name? How did we know each other on Ravelry? How did we know who to friend on Ravelry?
Yes, I was VERY cranky at that point and she asked what my problem was. I managed not to say that she was, but told her that I was giving her the only answers I had and she just kept asking the same questions.
Good one was when she said that she'd seen that Jamie had moved to San Fran. Ummm... no. Jamie moved to Kansas. Last I heard they were two entirely different places.
And all this time, I'm texting Jamie and Britta telling them the crazy lady was there and I needed rescuing. And Britta came to my rescue, at which point I started talking to Britta and trying to ignore the crazy lady, although I did occasionally direct a remark in her direction. As I already knew, I really don't want to talk to people I don't like and go to any number of lengths to not talk to people I don't like.
And why don't like I like her? She's one of those people who wants something for nothing, to the point of wanting you to give her things that you've paid for and when she saw someone's stitch markers, talked about how pretty they were and how she couldn't afford pretty stitch markers. Yeah, the last set I bought was on Etsy and cost me less than $12 (including shipping) for 20 of them. It's just like I say about yarn. You can buy cheap yarn from Knit Picks or you can buy good yarn cheap from Lisa Souza.
Now that the crazy lady has moved to the area, I won't be going to Panera early on Monday night any time soon.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Random Acts of Kindness
In honor of the 10th anniversary of 9/11, I decided to participate in Random Acts of Kindness Day. I kept a friend from buying yarn; I held doors; I smiled a lot; I chit chatted with my cab driver and gave him a very nice tip; I even (wait for it) told a man at Five Guys that he had delightful children.
So I'm on my way home and I'm sitting outside Huntington Metro because my knee is rather screaming at me (two hours in a very uncomfy chair) and because there's no rush to get home and I'm enjoying the weather. A young Indian woman comes up and sits next to me and asks if she can borrow my phone. I'm engaging in RAOK, so I hand the phone over and she makes her calls.
I'm still enjoying the breeze and the day and I'm feeling really good emotionally, so I start to chit chat with her and she asks about why I'm sitting there and I tell her that my knee hurts, so I'm sitting for a bit. Yeah, mistake. Big mistake.
Her response: "You're very fat. Is that why you have trouble walking?"
Let me get this straight. I hand over my phone and let you use it, so now you think it's okay to be too rude for words and insult me. I told her I had arthritis and then she decided to fix my diet. I got up and started walking home.
And then we come to either a RAOK or a kidnap attempt. I'd like to think it was a RAOK, so that's how I'm going to look at it.
I'm limping down the hill (really, screaming knee) and this Honda CR-V pulls up beside me and the young man (probably in his 20s) asks if he can drop me anywhere. Now, I appreciate the thought. Really. But anyone who thinks I'm getting in a car with a stranger is stark raving insane. And as I watched him drive down the hill, I just hoped that he wasn't one of the guys from upstairs who I hadn't recognized. Since he didn't turn into the complex, I'm thinking I'm okay.
Howcver, all in all, the rude woman was my only speed bump. And if I only have one speed bump today, I think I'm doing well.
Off to make some tuna noodle casserole!!!
So I'm on my way home and I'm sitting outside Huntington Metro because my knee is rather screaming at me (two hours in a very uncomfy chair) and because there's no rush to get home and I'm enjoying the weather. A young Indian woman comes up and sits next to me and asks if she can borrow my phone. I'm engaging in RAOK, so I hand the phone over and she makes her calls.
I'm still enjoying the breeze and the day and I'm feeling really good emotionally, so I start to chit chat with her and she asks about why I'm sitting there and I tell her that my knee hurts, so I'm sitting for a bit. Yeah, mistake. Big mistake.
Her response: "You're very fat. Is that why you have trouble walking?"
Let me get this straight. I hand over my phone and let you use it, so now you think it's okay to be too rude for words and insult me. I told her I had arthritis and then she decided to fix my diet. I got up and started walking home.
And then we come to either a RAOK or a kidnap attempt. I'd like to think it was a RAOK, so that's how I'm going to look at it.
I'm limping down the hill (really, screaming knee) and this Honda CR-V pulls up beside me and the young man (probably in his 20s) asks if he can drop me anywhere. Now, I appreciate the thought. Really. But anyone who thinks I'm getting in a car with a stranger is stark raving insane. And as I watched him drive down the hill, I just hoped that he wasn't one of the guys from upstairs who I hadn't recognized. Since he didn't turn into the complex, I'm thinking I'm okay.
Howcver, all in all, the rude woman was my only speed bump. And if I only have one speed bump today, I think I'm doing well.
Off to make some tuna noodle casserole!!!
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Don't touch me!!
The day of the earthquake, I had the joy of hearing someone complain that the pregnant woman took forever to get down the stairs at work. Today, I have my own pregnant woman complaint.
In the grand tradition of Metro, the middle escalator going to the south entrance of Huntington Metro was out, so they had one escalator heading down (the mini one on the left as you're looking at the escalators) and the other mini escalator was turned off. Yeah, if you couldn't walk up the escalator, you had to wait for the incredibly slow elevator. One person suggested that they should have turned the escalator heading down in the opposite direction, but that wouldn't have worked. Knowing people and their incredible talent for being inconsiderate, if one of the mini escalators had been heading up and the other was turned off, you'd have had people like me on the moving escalator and people on the unmoving escalator who either wanted to walk or were too impatient to wait and people trying to get onto the train would have been out of luck unless they wanted to wait for the elevator, so I really do understand why they did things the way that they did.
So, yes, I waited for the elevator (which is partially why I'm still awake at 2:15 a.m. because my knees are screaming at me). Yes, four extra strength tylenol pm, four aleve, six salonpas patches, and my usual Parkinson's meds and my knees are still screaming at me.
There were too many people in line ahead of me on the first trip for me to make it onto the elevator, which is what I expected, so I had to wait for the second trip. By the way, that elevator redefines slow. Even I could have walked up the escalator in the time it took for that elevator to arrive. But if I hadn't waited, I wouldn't have my rude pregnant woman story.
Standing in line were three metro workers (one of whom ended up walking up the escalator) and their cargo -- a money cart. We got onto the elevator and then they decided to see if they could get the cargo onto the elevator. We crowded onto one side, then one metro worker got on, the money cart was pushed on, the second metro worker got on, and then decided that we had room for the third metro worker, which, honestly we did.
Except, oh wait, we had a pregnant woman on board. And I'm betting you think you know where this story is going, but you're wrong.
The second metro worker on the elevator asked if we could squeeze in a bit so the third metro worker could get onto the elevator so a couple of us scooted where we could so that we would have room.
Except the woman behind me says, "No, don't squeeze me! ! I'm pregnant!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
In fact, she was so pregnant that if she hadn't pronounced it to the world in a state of "Oh, my god, strange people will touch me," I wouldn't have noticed because she wasn't that pregnant. I'm telling you, I had to look down twice after we got off the elevator to figure out that she did, in fact, have a teensy little pooch. Because, yeah, not big enough to even be called a baby bump. Honestly, you need to play the card when you need to play the card because you will end up with people like me looking at you at some point and informing you that pregnancy is not a disability and you should suck it up. And then you have people like MSB who should have been playing the card and wasn't and is now in the hospital on bed rest waiting for her babies to be born.
No, I didn't say a word; the filter was on.
Oh, and for those who noticed, no, I don't have Parkinson's. I have restless legs, but the meds are the same.
In the grand tradition of Metro, the middle escalator going to the south entrance of Huntington Metro was out, so they had one escalator heading down (the mini one on the left as you're looking at the escalators) and the other mini escalator was turned off. Yeah, if you couldn't walk up the escalator, you had to wait for the incredibly slow elevator. One person suggested that they should have turned the escalator heading down in the opposite direction, but that wouldn't have worked. Knowing people and their incredible talent for being inconsiderate, if one of the mini escalators had been heading up and the other was turned off, you'd have had people like me on the moving escalator and people on the unmoving escalator who either wanted to walk or were too impatient to wait and people trying to get onto the train would have been out of luck unless they wanted to wait for the elevator, so I really do understand why they did things the way that they did.
So, yes, I waited for the elevator (which is partially why I'm still awake at 2:15 a.m. because my knees are screaming at me). Yes, four extra strength tylenol pm, four aleve, six salonpas patches, and my usual Parkinson's meds and my knees are still screaming at me.
There were too many people in line ahead of me on the first trip for me to make it onto the elevator, which is what I expected, so I had to wait for the second trip. By the way, that elevator redefines slow. Even I could have walked up the escalator in the time it took for that elevator to arrive. But if I hadn't waited, I wouldn't have my rude pregnant woman story.
Standing in line were three metro workers (one of whom ended up walking up the escalator) and their cargo -- a money cart. We got onto the elevator and then they decided to see if they could get the cargo onto the elevator. We crowded onto one side, then one metro worker got on, the money cart was pushed on, the second metro worker got on, and then decided that we had room for the third metro worker, which, honestly we did.
Except, oh wait, we had a pregnant woman on board. And I'm betting you think you know where this story is going, but you're wrong.
The second metro worker on the elevator asked if we could squeeze in a bit so the third metro worker could get onto the elevator so a couple of us scooted where we could so that we would have room.
Except the woman behind me says, "No, don't squeeze me! ! I'm pregnant!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
In fact, she was so pregnant that if she hadn't pronounced it to the world in a state of "Oh, my god, strange people will touch me," I wouldn't have noticed because she wasn't that pregnant. I'm telling you, I had to look down twice after we got off the elevator to figure out that she did, in fact, have a teensy little pooch. Because, yeah, not big enough to even be called a baby bump. Honestly, you need to play the card when you need to play the card because you will end up with people like me looking at you at some point and informing you that pregnancy is not a disability and you should suck it up. And then you have people like MSB who should have been playing the card and wasn't and is now in the hospital on bed rest waiting for her babies to be born.
No, I didn't say a word; the filter was on.
Oh, and for those who noticed, no, I don't have Parkinson's. I have restless legs, but the meds are the same.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Vindication!
Several weeks back, I wrote a post about how I'm always the bad guy. I feel I'm acting in a perfectly reasonable manner and, somehow, the person who's minding my business gets all offended when I fail to react the way they want me to react. The specific incident that inspired that post was a woman with a four-year-old who was offended because I failed to recognize how "special" her son was after he grabbed my hand in a Chicken Out. My friend, CV, was with me on that occasion and was gobsmacked that the mother had attacked me instead of apologizing.
Well, I have been vindicated! Not only did the unknown woman who observed the incident come down on my side, but, apparently, so did one of the mother's friends. CV has a cousin who's a child expert and saw my response to CV's post on facebook and figured out from the small amount I said that I was the "bad guy." It turns out that a friend of the cousin's went to dinner with Mommy Dearest (MD) that night and MD was all up in how horrible I was to poor little Future Axe Murderer. I was informed yesterday that the cousin's friend had told MD that she was wrong and I was right and came home and unfriended MD on facebook because MD was all offended when she should have been apologizing.
Besides, MD should be happy I said "excuse me!" instead of "WTF."
Well, I have been vindicated! Not only did the unknown woman who observed the incident come down on my side, but, apparently, so did one of the mother's friends. CV has a cousin who's a child expert and saw my response to CV's post on facebook and figured out from the small amount I said that I was the "bad guy." It turns out that a friend of the cousin's went to dinner with Mommy Dearest (MD) that night and MD was all up in how horrible I was to poor little Future Axe Murderer. I was informed yesterday that the cousin's friend had told MD that she was wrong and I was right and came home and unfriended MD on facebook because MD was all offended when she should have been apologizing.
Besides, MD should be happy I said "excuse me!" instead of "WTF."
Monday, August 22, 2011
My ex-wife
Well, really, my late husband's ex-wife, but, hey, I still claim her!
I drove down to her house this past weekend to drop off a wine rack that was gathering dust and taking up space that I needed to Bill's crate. I loved her attitude, which was if I'm home, I'm home, if not, leave it on the porch. The perfect recipient of something free.
She lives in a subdivision of cookie-cutter houses. Well, not entirely cookie cutter, but they really do look an awful lot alike. They tend to have apartment size decks (despite being distinctly house-sized houses) and very little personality in the way of decorations or what not.
Not her. Her house has personality and if you pulled into her court and all you knew was that her house had personality, you'd be able to find it in a heartbeat. Plus her house-sized house actually has a house-sized deck, which I think is absolutely wonderful.
So here's to the woman who's a chocolate-covered strawberry in the midst of a bunch of sugar cookies.
Way to go, KT!
I drove down to her house this past weekend to drop off a wine rack that was gathering dust and taking up space that I needed to Bill's crate. I loved her attitude, which was if I'm home, I'm home, if not, leave it on the porch. The perfect recipient of something free.
She lives in a subdivision of cookie-cutter houses. Well, not entirely cookie cutter, but they really do look an awful lot alike. They tend to have apartment size decks (despite being distinctly house-sized houses) and very little personality in the way of decorations or what not.
Not her. Her house has personality and if you pulled into her court and all you knew was that her house had personality, you'd be able to find it in a heartbeat. Plus her house-sized house actually has a house-sized deck, which I think is absolutely wonderful.
So here's to the woman who's a chocolate-covered strawberry in the midst of a bunch of sugar cookies.
Way to go, KT!
Friday, August 19, 2011
Blog fodder
This post has been brought to you by <blank> <blank> Washington National Airport where I picked up a rental car yesterday. I'm spending $29/day for a... Crown Vic. I had reserved a compact car and was expecting a Hyundai Elantra and I, obviously, got an upgrade that I darned near tried to give back because it's a boat.
The <blank> <blank> is because I will not mention that name foisted on us by Bob Barr of Georgia, which is completely contrary to the wishes of the man to whom it belonged. Besides which, it strikes me as a tad insensitive to name an airport after the man who broke the air traffic controllers union. Then again, Bob Barr. Need I say more?
So I'm walking over to counters where the rental cars are and I'm on the outside part, which is covered by an awning, for lack of a better word. It isn't as fluid as a sidewalk is, because there are walls on either side and there's only so far you can move out of someone's way. And, yes, you know what happened.
I was on the righthand side, walking along, and here comes a man with his suitcase, barrelling down the walkway on the lefthand side (that would be his lefthand side). He's very busy watching the sidewalk, looking up now and then. Fortunately for him, he looked up at the right time to avoid hitting me when I stopped walking and said, "You know, I'm allowed to use the sidewalk too." He just swerved around me and then right back to barrelling. Yeesh.
Then the rental car company had three people who were high maintenance, which left one person for the rest of us (I was 6th in line and it expanded behind me) and slow computers. Fortunately, they called a couple of people down to help and once they got rid of one high maintenance person, they started plowing through the rest of us. But fun things can happen when you're in line.
Like the man in front of me, with a groupon, who wanted to know if he really had to stand in line and was told that, yes, he really did. He was also wearing a PBR hat and he was from Texas. Once I got my car, it turned out he was in the car right in front of me in the garage and he had to turn on his bright lights despite the car not moving. Tons of fun. Plus he and the woman ahead of him had to fawn all over the good-looking guy in front of them. Now, when I say good-looking, I mean absolutely drop dead gorgeous. Most definitely drool-worthy. As long as you didn't look at his clothes.
Picture this: gorgeous, hot, lovely man wearing a light blue button-down shirt (losing points for the shades tucked down the front of it), navy blazer and khakis. Then I looked down. Yeah, khakis. Khaki shorts, no socks, and topsiders.
So the two people ahead of me are trying to figure out who this man is. PBR asks if he's a television anchor on that show and the jerk says, "What show?" PBR says that he's seen the guy before and they talk about where PBR from (how I found out he's from Texas) and the guy says he's been in Dallas/Fort Worth a couple times and maybe that's when PBR saw him. At that point, I'm rolling my eyes and I really want to tell them that if he was really "someone," he wouldn't be in the line with the rest of us. But Mr. Khaki Shorts is really enjoying getting one over on these two and all I wanted to do was smack him and telling to stop playing with the stupid people.
Hmmm... that makes me nearly as bad as he was.
The <blank> <blank> is because I will not mention that name foisted on us by Bob Barr of Georgia, which is completely contrary to the wishes of the man to whom it belonged. Besides which, it strikes me as a tad insensitive to name an airport after the man who broke the air traffic controllers union. Then again, Bob Barr. Need I say more?
So I'm walking over to counters where the rental cars are and I'm on the outside part, which is covered by an awning, for lack of a better word. It isn't as fluid as a sidewalk is, because there are walls on either side and there's only so far you can move out of someone's way. And, yes, you know what happened.
I was on the righthand side, walking along, and here comes a man with his suitcase, barrelling down the walkway on the lefthand side (that would be his lefthand side). He's very busy watching the sidewalk, looking up now and then. Fortunately for him, he looked up at the right time to avoid hitting me when I stopped walking and said, "You know, I'm allowed to use the sidewalk too." He just swerved around me and then right back to barrelling. Yeesh.
Then the rental car company had three people who were high maintenance, which left one person for the rest of us (I was 6th in line and it expanded behind me) and slow computers. Fortunately, they called a couple of people down to help and once they got rid of one high maintenance person, they started plowing through the rest of us. But fun things can happen when you're in line.
Like the man in front of me, with a groupon, who wanted to know if he really had to stand in line and was told that, yes, he really did. He was also wearing a PBR hat and he was from Texas. Once I got my car, it turned out he was in the car right in front of me in the garage and he had to turn on his bright lights despite the car not moving. Tons of fun. Plus he and the woman ahead of him had to fawn all over the good-looking guy in front of them. Now, when I say good-looking, I mean absolutely drop dead gorgeous. Most definitely drool-worthy. As long as you didn't look at his clothes.
Picture this: gorgeous, hot, lovely man wearing a light blue button-down shirt (losing points for the shades tucked down the front of it), navy blazer and khakis. Then I looked down. Yeah, khakis. Khaki shorts, no socks, and topsiders.
So the two people ahead of me are trying to figure out who this man is. PBR asks if he's a television anchor on that show and the jerk says, "What show?" PBR says that he's seen the guy before and they talk about where PBR from (how I found out he's from Texas) and the guy says he's been in Dallas/Fort Worth a couple times and maybe that's when PBR saw him. At that point, I'm rolling my eyes and I really want to tell them that if he was really "someone," he wouldn't be in the line with the rest of us. But Mr. Khaki Shorts is really enjoying getting one over on these two and all I wanted to do was smack him and telling to stop playing with the stupid people.
Hmmm... that makes me nearly as bad as he was.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
I have two babies!!!!!
And without further ado, this is BL.
As you can see, he is black, brown, and a touch of white. He's probably about 13 months old and he no longer suffers from testosterone poisoning. Isn't he a beautiful boy?
Sasha's nose is a bit out of joint, but considering that she gets to do things that he doesn't, I don't have a problem with that. Besides, she's getting all kinds of mommy love.
And, because she's just so darned cute, here's my sweet girl.
Vintage Sasha.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
BL has come home!!!
Yes, it's a small pic and it isn't very good, but it's all I've got for now. BL is part Australian Cattle Dog and part Australian Shepherd and he is absolutely beautiful. He's also a project dog because he's very shy, very timid, and about afraid of his own shadow. But, somehow, he grabbed me and Sasha's being very possessive of me right now, clinging more than usual and really wanting lots of love (and she's getting it too!)
His name is BL, after Brooks Laich, who is my very favorite hockey player and I even threatened to become an Oilers fan if the Capitals let him go and Edmonton signed him.
So now I have two dogs with hockey names: Sasha after Sasha Semin and BL after Brooks Laich.
More pics as soon as I can coax him onto the balcony.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Adoption
Marlowe died four weeks ago tomorrow. Sasha misses him and I miss him, but we decided it was time for a new one.
And we found one. He's afraid of his own shadow and he likes Sasha because I introduced them today. She stood there like the trooper she is and let him smell all over her, then he ran off like a crazy dog, only to come back and sniff her again, which she tolerated again.
By this time tomorrow, I may be the mommy to two shy, timid dogs. Who'd have ever thought that?
And we found one. He's afraid of his own shadow and he likes Sasha because I introduced them today. She stood there like the trooper she is and let him smell all over her, then he ran off like a crazy dog, only to come back and sniff her again, which she tolerated again.
By this time tomorrow, I may be the mommy to two shy, timid dogs. Who'd have ever thought that?
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Signature Needles
I know that some people just fall all over themselves talking about how wonderful and fantastic Signature Needles are.
Not me. Especially not after Monday.
In my time, I have purchased eight pairs of Signatures. I have five left. Yes, because three of those eight had the cord snap. Now, granted the company will replace them, but when almost half of your total have the cord snap, why would I want to?
I have never had a cord snap on a pair of Addis, or on a pair of HiyaHiyas, or a pair of Clovers, or... well... you get the picture. So while I would say it's me, I think I'd have problems with other brands too, and I don't.
Why is it the most expensive of the needles that gives me the most agita?
Not me. Especially not after Monday.
In my time, I have purchased eight pairs of Signatures. I have five left. Yes, because three of those eight had the cord snap. Now, granted the company will replace them, but when almost half of your total have the cord snap, why would I want to?
I have never had a cord snap on a pair of Addis, or on a pair of HiyaHiyas, or a pair of Clovers, or... well... you get the picture. So while I would say it's me, I think I'd have problems with other brands too, and I don't.
Why is it the most expensive of the needles that gives me the most agita?
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Orphans
Mark always had a line he used when talking about children who didn't behave in public. He called them orphans, because children with parents didn't act like that.
Well, I met a couple of orphans last night and I believe I convinced Ms. B that there really is such a thing. Apparently, the so-called mothers, were sitting chit-chatting, not that there's anything wrong with that because I do it well myself sometimes. However, they let their two daughters run wild through the restaurant while they did. Running wild meant chasing each other around the furniture by the fireplace (and someone pulled a Carol on them by sitting in one of the armchairs, thus foiling their plans to chase each other around the fireplace and climb all over the chairs). It also meant getting one of the nice people who work there in a bit of trouble because they decided to make lemonade. They had their little water glasses and they got lemons and sugar from the soft drink area and proceeded to make a mess all over one of the tables, which someone else, of course, had to clean up (the nice lady who was told that she had to make sure the tables were clean). And, naturally, when the girls saw the adults gathered around their mess, they stopped and avoided it.
I kept waiting for one of them to run into B and then I was going to cut loose. As it was, I was ready to go to the manager about the little brats, but he'd already curtailed some of their activities.
Orphans, I swear. Because children with parents don't act like that.
On an unrelated note, it's amazing what a change in management makes. I tried to get a railing for Mark on the bottom steps to our condo and was told no. I told them that I had issues on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays because Fastran picked him up for dialysis and was told too bad, so sad, they were going to do what they had to do and they couldn't (wouldn't) cater to anyone who was handicapped. So now a downstairs neighbor asked for a railing and guess what was installed this morning. I don't begrudge him the railing for a minute because he really needs it. However, it does anger me that his request was considered while mine was shut down before it even got moving. Of course, we also have a different property manager now and that could most definitely be it. (And I'll admit to using the rail this morning too!)
Well, I met a couple of orphans last night and I believe I convinced Ms. B that there really is such a thing. Apparently, the so-called mothers, were sitting chit-chatting, not that there's anything wrong with that because I do it well myself sometimes. However, they let their two daughters run wild through the restaurant while they did. Running wild meant chasing each other around the furniture by the fireplace (and someone pulled a Carol on them by sitting in one of the armchairs, thus foiling their plans to chase each other around the fireplace and climb all over the chairs). It also meant getting one of the nice people who work there in a bit of trouble because they decided to make lemonade. They had their little water glasses and they got lemons and sugar from the soft drink area and proceeded to make a mess all over one of the tables, which someone else, of course, had to clean up (the nice lady who was told that she had to make sure the tables were clean). And, naturally, when the girls saw the adults gathered around their mess, they stopped and avoided it.
I kept waiting for one of them to run into B and then I was going to cut loose. As it was, I was ready to go to the manager about the little brats, but he'd already curtailed some of their activities.
Orphans, I swear. Because children with parents don't act like that.
On an unrelated note, it's amazing what a change in management makes. I tried to get a railing for Mark on the bottom steps to our condo and was told no. I told them that I had issues on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays because Fastran picked him up for dialysis and was told too bad, so sad, they were going to do what they had to do and they couldn't (wouldn't) cater to anyone who was handicapped. So now a downstairs neighbor asked for a railing and guess what was installed this morning. I don't begrudge him the railing for a minute because he really needs it. However, it does anger me that his request was considered while mine was shut down before it even got moving. Of course, we also have a different property manager now and that could most definitely be it. (And I'll admit to using the rail this morning too!)
Saturday, July 30, 2011
And sometimes, everything works out just right...
I answered a question on Ravelry earlier today, giving someone a different way of looking at something. I know that we all get stuck in how we look at things and just can't get past our absolute certainty that A + B = R - S * Z even though we know that that couldn't possibly be correct.
So, someone was stuck on a stitch count between markers when I gave her a different way of looking at the relationship between markers and increases. I helped her see that A + B = C and nothing more.
That very simple explanation has turned into an absolutely lovely conversation and, if I ever go to Ireland, I'll be making sure I stop and meet this person.
It's been a good Saturday (so far).
So, someone was stuck on a stitch count between markers when I gave her a different way of looking at the relationship between markers and increases. I helped her see that A + B = C and nothing more.
That very simple explanation has turned into an absolutely lovely conversation and, if I ever go to Ireland, I'll be making sure I stop and meet this person.
It's been a good Saturday (so far).
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Renting
I've been chewing this one over for a few days now and I really need to state my opinion on this one.
If I have until the 5th of the month to pay my rent without incurring a late fee, then that's when you'll get your rent. And, by the way, most landlords would be more than happy to receive their rent on the 5th rather than later because it's still cheaper for them in the long run. You don't get to whine and piss and moan because your renters never pay the rent until the 5th. Be grateful they're paying it at all and that they haven't skipped out on you entirely. Oh, yeah, and their checks haven't bounced.
I actually had the sublime joy of hearing someone complain about how he wasn't going to give his renters a good reference because they never paid on the 1st of the month when the rent was actually due. And then I got to hear him complain again that he went into his renters' abode, without their knowledge, and for no particular reason and they had left dirty dishes in the sink over the weekend.
The horrors.
All landlords should have it so rough, ya think?
If I have until the 5th of the month to pay my rent without incurring a late fee, then that's when you'll get your rent. And, by the way, most landlords would be more than happy to receive their rent on the 5th rather than later because it's still cheaper for them in the long run. You don't get to whine and piss and moan because your renters never pay the rent until the 5th. Be grateful they're paying it at all and that they haven't skipped out on you entirely. Oh, yeah, and their checks haven't bounced.
I actually had the sublime joy of hearing someone complain about how he wasn't going to give his renters a good reference because they never paid on the 1st of the month when the rent was actually due. And then I got to hear him complain again that he went into his renters' abode, without their knowledge, and for no particular reason and they had left dirty dishes in the sink over the weekend.
The horrors.
All landlords should have it so rough, ya think?
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Why, yes, I "work" for the state
And I'm incapable of reading what's at the top of the form because, heaven forbid, someone should just hand me a form and expect me to know what to do with it. This despite the words "Replacement or Supplemental Title" written across the top. Because, apparently, that isn't descriptive enough. At the DMV. Couldn't possibly apply to a car now, could it?
Reminds me of when I had to submit my paystub to prove that I should be paying the highest amount for Mark's Fastran ride to and from dialysis. No, they couldn't take my word for it, and, no, I couldn't just volunteer to pay the highest amount. I had to actually prove that I was supposed to pay $5 each way for his ride.
Your tax dollars at work.
Reminds me of when I had to submit my paystub to prove that I should be paying the highest amount for Mark's Fastran ride to and from dialysis. No, they couldn't take my word for it, and, no, I couldn't just volunteer to pay the highest amount. I had to actually prove that I was supposed to pay $5 each way for his ride.
Your tax dollars at work.
Heat Stroke
So I had to tell a couple people last night that my sweet (but very rambunctious) Marlowe had died two weeks ago from heat stroke. I also stated my very firmly held opinion that people are more important than dogs. Yes, they are, don't even try to tell me they aren't.
I had the joy of sitting with someone who feels that dogs are more important than people are. Same person also informed me, obliquely, that she knows more than vets do about heat stroke. In fact, if we'd just called this person two weeks ago, she could have saved Marlowe!
Of course the vet couldn't save him and the vet, in fact, was the one who recommended putting him down (and did it gratis). I already knew that Marlowe wasn't going to make it and I was the one who had already originally it up. But, yeah, way to be incredibly sensitive, telling me that she could have saved him because she knew what to do.
Seriously pissed me off. My solution last night? I just stopped speaking to her. My solution next time? Yeah, watch me keep my mouth shut twice. Not gonna happen and then I get to go all whackadoodle on her.
I had the joy of sitting with someone who feels that dogs are more important than people are. Same person also informed me, obliquely, that she knows more than vets do about heat stroke. In fact, if we'd just called this person two weeks ago, she could have saved Marlowe!
Of course the vet couldn't save him and the vet, in fact, was the one who recommended putting him down (and did it gratis). I already knew that Marlowe wasn't going to make it and I was the one who had already originally it up. But, yeah, way to be incredibly sensitive, telling me that she could have saved him because she knew what to do.
Seriously pissed me off. My solution last night? I just stopped speaking to her. My solution next time? Yeah, watch me keep my mouth shut twice. Not gonna happen and then I get to go all whackadoodle on her.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
I've been robbed!!!
The whackadoodles are back in full force and, Ms. Thomas, this post is mostly about you. Because you're the one who stole my frozen strawberry lemonade and showed no conscience and no remorse about it. You stood there like you hadn't a care in the world and you had done nothing wrong except I ended up with your cup that had your name on it and, yes, I know what your name is, don't I, Ms. Thomas?
And we'll add a little soupcon at the end of your name... Ms. E. Thomas, Thief (and not a good one since I looked right at you, knowing instantly that it was you.)
That said, the wonderful manager made me a slightly bigger one to make up for Ms. Thomas' thieving ways. So, now you know, check the name on that drink before you take it.
Then there was the mother whose child was not yet a toddler and would have needed a booster seat in any case, but probably really needed a high chair. Of course, she tried to just sit said child in a regular seat at a regular table and said child immediately grabbed the edge of the table and tried to stand up. Yeah, *I* was ready to grab the child and tell the mother that she was trying to kill her child. Fortunately for both of us, she decided a booth would be a better option.
And, finally... leggings should not only be opaque, but they should not be close to the color of your flesh because they make you look naked. Now, that may be what you want and, if so, I'm sure there's a red light waiting for you somewhere but, if not, look in the mirror and try to judge yourself as a neutral party. Please look for flaws. And, btw, it is me calling the kettle black or it would be if I looked in a mirror first.
Stay cool, people!
And we'll add a little soupcon at the end of your name... Ms. E. Thomas, Thief (and not a good one since I looked right at you, knowing instantly that it was you.)
That said, the wonderful manager made me a slightly bigger one to make up for Ms. Thomas' thieving ways. So, now you know, check the name on that drink before you take it.
Then there was the mother whose child was not yet a toddler and would have needed a booster seat in any case, but probably really needed a high chair. Of course, she tried to just sit said child in a regular seat at a regular table and said child immediately grabbed the edge of the table and tried to stand up. Yeah, *I* was ready to grab the child and tell the mother that she was trying to kill her child. Fortunately for both of us, she decided a booth would be a better option.
And, finally... leggings should not only be opaque, but they should not be close to the color of your flesh because they make you look naked. Now, that may be what you want and, if so, I'm sure there's a red light waiting for you somewhere but, if not, look in the mirror and try to judge yourself as a neutral party. Please look for flaws. And, btw, it is me calling the kettle black or it would be if I looked in a mirror first.
Stay cool, people!
Learning to read
Really, I try to say what I mean and I do my best for it to make sense. I've had issues in the past with forgetting to move yarns from my For Sale or Trade tab to the Traded/Gifted/Sold tab, so I've been moving them these days as soon as I get a serious interest in the yarn.
So, imagine my surprise when someone messages me about yarn that was mailed last week and then, when I try very gently to point it out, informs me that I must have made a mistake.
No, the yarn was sold last Thursday and I mailed it out on Friday. I didn't make a mistake.
With this kind of start to my day, is it safe for me to show my face at Panera at all?
So, imagine my surprise when someone messages me about yarn that was mailed last week and then, when I try very gently to point it out, informs me that I must have made a mistake.
No, the yarn was sold last Thursday and I mailed it out on Friday. I didn't make a mistake.
With this kind of start to my day, is it safe for me to show my face at Panera at all?
Friday, July 22, 2011
Online whackadoodles
At the risk of said person seeing this post and going off the deep end...
I got a message last night asking how I stored my yarn. Not "I'm interested in A, B, or C and I'd like to confirm that it's been stored away from dogs, smokers, etc." but just "How do you store your yarn?"
I had to think about the answer because my first response was that it wasn't any of her business. I compromised and told her that if she was interested in purchasing yarn, it was stored in bins, but if she wasn't, it was strewn about the house.
Turns out she didn't like my picture-taking. One skein looks rough, which it really kind of is, but the remaining pictures are of utterly pristine yarn. Apparently she's one of those people who only sees the bad and doesn't care to see the good.
To quote someone from several years ago, "No yarn for you!"
And I didn't even mention that she then wanted to know what "3" meant under the "Stored in." Okay, she didn't specifically ask, but she looked at it again and then informed me that it said "3" under "stored in."
I got a message last night asking how I stored my yarn. Not "I'm interested in A, B, or C and I'd like to confirm that it's been stored away from dogs, smokers, etc." but just "How do you store your yarn?"
I had to think about the answer because my first response was that it wasn't any of her business. I compromised and told her that if she was interested in purchasing yarn, it was stored in bins, but if she wasn't, it was strewn about the house.
Turns out she didn't like my picture-taking. One skein looks rough, which it really kind of is, but the remaining pictures are of utterly pristine yarn. Apparently she's one of those people who only sees the bad and doesn't care to see the good.
To quote someone from several years ago, "No yarn for you!"
And I didn't even mention that she then wanted to know what "3" meant under the "Stored in." Okay, she didn't specifically ask, but she looked at it again and then informed me that it said "3" under "stored in."
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
This week
The shutters are closed, the cupboards are bare. Marlowe is waiting for Sasha and me on the Rainbow Bridge and we miss him desperately.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Really, I am a fashionista
So, while I was at Chicken Out, with CV, we saw a fashion faux pas that would apply whether you're large, small, or somewhere in between, which is why I feel free to remark on it.
Leggings are not pants.
What? You didn't hear me the first time? I'll repeat myself.
Leggings are not pants.
In other words, wear something over your leggings that covers your rear end, especially if you're squeezing said rear end into leggings that may be just about three sizes too small for you. Okay, maybe only two sizes.
Oh, and when you wear your leggings and show us your rear end, look in the mirror first. I do not want to know that you're wearing granny panties under your leggings and I really don't want to know that you're wearing white granny panties under your black leggings. (I guess I should be happy she wasn't wearing pink polka dots.)
In fact, while you're at it, forget the leggings and just wear pants. Really, we'll all be much, much happier.
And, while I'm at it, who knew there were as many whackadoodles at Chicken Out as there are at Panera?
Leggings are not pants.
What? You didn't hear me the first time? I'll repeat myself.
Leggings are not pants.
In other words, wear something over your leggings that covers your rear end, especially if you're squeezing said rear end into leggings that may be just about three sizes too small for you. Okay, maybe only two sizes.
Oh, and when you wear your leggings and show us your rear end, look in the mirror first. I do not want to know that you're wearing granny panties under your leggings and I really don't want to know that you're wearing white granny panties under your black leggings. (I guess I should be happy she wasn't wearing pink polka dots.)
In fact, while you're at it, forget the leggings and just wear pants. Really, we'll all be much, much happier.
And, while I'm at it, who knew there were as many whackadoodles at Chicken Out as there are at Panera?
Thursday, June 30, 2011
It's not me, it's you
I seem to always be the bad guy. Apparently I'm not supposed to say what I think and I'm supposed to just smile no matter what kind of abuse I receive. Keeping sweet is not part of my religion.
Several years ago, I went to Costco and bought some stuff. Some was regular stuff that I had to go through the regular cashiers to pay for and I also had one carton of cigarettes. Now, at the time, you had to pay for cigarettes before you ever left the cigarette cage and the cashier would tape the receipt right to the carton. So I buy my carton there and then head to the regular lines in order to check out. As I'm standing there, having put my stuff on the conveyor belt, the woman behind me decides that I'm obviously too stupid to live or else I'm trying to pull a fast one and she says, "Excuse me, I think you forgot to put this other item up there." I, being me, said, "No, I didn't." Then the woman behind her commiserates with her saying, "Some people...." So I was the bad guy despite being the victim of someone being unable to mind her own business.
The next time I got to be a bad guy was when Knit Happens was closing and I had a pile of some seriously luscious yarn next to me while I thought about what I wanted to do with it. A little girl, who had been behaving beautifully in a store with way too many people in it, came up and started to grab my yarn. I said, "Please don't" and her mother took exception to that, informing me that she could touch it if she wanted to. I told her that no, she couldn't, because it was mine. She made some other comment and I told her that that was why I had said please, because I really do try to be very polite and considerate of less-than-fully-grown humans. Mom looks at me and says that I'm not a very nice person.
Are we seeing a pattern here? And, yes, I was starting to think that it really was me and not them. But what am I supposed to do with the Costco woman? Say, wow, you're right, I did forget that, thanks for pointing that out to me and then still not put the cigarettes on conveyor belt? No win situation here for me. And it turned out that they were intimately acquainted with the woman and her antics at Knit Happens. Of course, the thing that really peeves me is that I then try to "prove" that I'm not the bad guy and I really am a nice person.
Always a mistake.
Today, I was at Chicken Out with my friend, CV. We had had our dinner and were chitchatting, again minding our own business when a woman walked in with her young son, who I was later informed was four years old. He was climbing up on the counter, he was running around, and he ran by CV and me a couple times before coming over and grabbing my hand. BTW, I did admit to his mother that he only grabbed my hand, but it could as easily have been another other body part. He grabs, I jumped and semi-yelled, "Excuse me?" and he let go right fast. Personally, I think this is a good thing because it might teach him not to grab strange women, especially since I know I'm not the strangest woman out there.
That got Mom's attention and I told her that he'd grabbed my hand and the first words out of her mouth were, "He's only four." So what? It's okay if he grabs me as long as he's only four? What happens when he's eight? Or twelve? Or older? My response was vintage Carol when I said, "I don't care." Once the exchange was done, I looked at CV and told her that I was going to be the bad guy. She tsked at me and told me that I was wrong.
Nope. Mom came back holding said small child and informed me that he was a very friendly little boy and just wanted to say hi, and that I had scared him. I said, "Good" and she informed me that I wasn't a very nice person. CV's jaw had dropped because she really didn't believe that the woman wasn't making her son apologize. CV looked at me and just said that she couldn't believe I was right and we continued our conversation.
Then, out of the blue, we hear someone say, "I don't think she was out of line at all." The woman who had witnessed the entire incident was telling the mother that I wasn't the bad guy. Vindication in the form of a completely uninvolved spectator!
Let me tell you, I know four-year-olds who wouldn't dream of doing that, one of whom I'm actually willing to babysit. And I do adore my GGMM, MsJLK.
Several years ago, I went to Costco and bought some stuff. Some was regular stuff that I had to go through the regular cashiers to pay for and I also had one carton of cigarettes. Now, at the time, you had to pay for cigarettes before you ever left the cigarette cage and the cashier would tape the receipt right to the carton. So I buy my carton there and then head to the regular lines in order to check out. As I'm standing there, having put my stuff on the conveyor belt, the woman behind me decides that I'm obviously too stupid to live or else I'm trying to pull a fast one and she says, "Excuse me, I think you forgot to put this other item up there." I, being me, said, "No, I didn't." Then the woman behind her commiserates with her saying, "Some people...." So I was the bad guy despite being the victim of someone being unable to mind her own business.
The next time I got to be a bad guy was when Knit Happens was closing and I had a pile of some seriously luscious yarn next to me while I thought about what I wanted to do with it. A little girl, who had been behaving beautifully in a store with way too many people in it, came up and started to grab my yarn. I said, "Please don't" and her mother took exception to that, informing me that she could touch it if she wanted to. I told her that no, she couldn't, because it was mine. She made some other comment and I told her that that was why I had said please, because I really do try to be very polite and considerate of less-than-fully-grown humans. Mom looks at me and says that I'm not a very nice person.
Are we seeing a pattern here? And, yes, I was starting to think that it really was me and not them. But what am I supposed to do with the Costco woman? Say, wow, you're right, I did forget that, thanks for pointing that out to me and then still not put the cigarettes on conveyor belt? No win situation here for me. And it turned out that they were intimately acquainted with the woman and her antics at Knit Happens. Of course, the thing that really peeves me is that I then try to "prove" that I'm not the bad guy and I really am a nice person.
Always a mistake.
Today, I was at Chicken Out with my friend, CV. We had had our dinner and were chitchatting, again minding our own business when a woman walked in with her young son, who I was later informed was four years old. He was climbing up on the counter, he was running around, and he ran by CV and me a couple times before coming over and grabbing my hand. BTW, I did admit to his mother that he only grabbed my hand, but it could as easily have been another other body part. He grabs, I jumped and semi-yelled, "Excuse me?" and he let go right fast. Personally, I think this is a good thing because it might teach him not to grab strange women, especially since I know I'm not the strangest woman out there.
That got Mom's attention and I told her that he'd grabbed my hand and the first words out of her mouth were, "He's only four." So what? It's okay if he grabs me as long as he's only four? What happens when he's eight? Or twelve? Or older? My response was vintage Carol when I said, "I don't care." Once the exchange was done, I looked at CV and told her that I was going to be the bad guy. She tsked at me and told me that I was wrong.
Nope. Mom came back holding said small child and informed me that he was a very friendly little boy and just wanted to say hi, and that I had scared him. I said, "Good" and she informed me that I wasn't a very nice person. CV's jaw had dropped because she really didn't believe that the woman wasn't making her son apologize. CV looked at me and just said that she couldn't believe I was right and we continued our conversation.
Then, out of the blue, we hear someone say, "I don't think she was out of line at all." The woman who had witnessed the entire incident was telling the mother that I wasn't the bad guy. Vindication in the form of a completely uninvolved spectator!
Let me tell you, I know four-year-olds who wouldn't dream of doing that, one of whom I'm actually willing to babysit. And I do adore my GGMM, MsJLK.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
I'm not invisible after all
There's a reason why I keep saying that whackadoodles love me.
A little background on this entire story. In Virginia, when it snows and people dig out, they will remove every single ounce of snow from their parking space. Yes, if there's been 30 inches, they will dig 30 inches down to the asphalt. I kid you not. Several years ago, people who were parked in unnumbered spaces here would dig their cars out and then place a lawn chair in the space to "save" it. Of course, someone would just get out and move the lawn chair and then take the open space, forcing that person to find a different one. Oh, well, no good deed goes unpunished.
I went out tonight for dinner and had to drive around a one-way loop to get to the space that I'd just seen someone vacate. Except these two women go running (relatively speaking) across the parking lot to stand in the middle of that empty parking space. I suppose if I were a different person, I'd have let it go and just found another space, but I was right there and they were telling me that the car was on its way and they had to drive all the way around the loop and they were going to park there. Yeah, so did I. The only way you can park there without driving around the loop is by going the wrong way on a one-way street. However, being the incredibly tactful person that I am, I said, "No. I'm here now and you aren't going to get this space unless I move and I'm not moving." I knew I could win that fight and after a brief discussion, they decided to vacate the space.
So I go inside where the restaurant (Panera, of course, where all good whackadoodles go to find me) has a communal line. I like communal lines because they are incredibly fair. You don't have to worry about having picked the line with someone who wants three smoothies and four espresso drinks. A couple of people asked if that was the line and they were told that yes, it was.
So, this one woman (guess what, she was blonde!) wanted to look at the menu, which you really cannot see from the line. Again, this is not a problem. The problem came when she was standing in front of a cashier, station ostensibly reading the menu, and the woman came back and she attempted to place an order. Yes, attempted is the correct word because I wasn't in the mood (see two women who tried to make me hit them above). I looked over and just said, "Excuse me, I'm next in line."
I imagine she and the person she was with have decided that I'm the bad guy (as usual), but line jumping is not allowed and, yes, I will stand up for what I believe is right.
Sidebar: Apparently I write good e-mail because I wrote one around 2:00 this morning that ended up being discussed on the Power Play on NHL Home Ice this afternoon. I don't think I even edited it more than once or twice.
A little background on this entire story. In Virginia, when it snows and people dig out, they will remove every single ounce of snow from their parking space. Yes, if there's been 30 inches, they will dig 30 inches down to the asphalt. I kid you not. Several years ago, people who were parked in unnumbered spaces here would dig their cars out and then place a lawn chair in the space to "save" it. Of course, someone would just get out and move the lawn chair and then take the open space, forcing that person to find a different one. Oh, well, no good deed goes unpunished.
I went out tonight for dinner and had to drive around a one-way loop to get to the space that I'd just seen someone vacate. Except these two women go running (relatively speaking) across the parking lot to stand in the middle of that empty parking space. I suppose if I were a different person, I'd have let it go and just found another space, but I was right there and they were telling me that the car was on its way and they had to drive all the way around the loop and they were going to park there. Yeah, so did I. The only way you can park there without driving around the loop is by going the wrong way on a one-way street. However, being the incredibly tactful person that I am, I said, "No. I'm here now and you aren't going to get this space unless I move and I'm not moving." I knew I could win that fight and after a brief discussion, they decided to vacate the space.
So I go inside where the restaurant (Panera, of course, where all good whackadoodles go to find me) has a communal line. I like communal lines because they are incredibly fair. You don't have to worry about having picked the line with someone who wants three smoothies and four espresso drinks. A couple of people asked if that was the line and they were told that yes, it was.
So, this one woman (guess what, she was blonde!) wanted to look at the menu, which you really cannot see from the line. Again, this is not a problem. The problem came when she was standing in front of a cashier, station ostensibly reading the menu, and the woman came back and she attempted to place an order. Yes, attempted is the correct word because I wasn't in the mood (see two women who tried to make me hit them above). I looked over and just said, "Excuse me, I'm next in line."
I imagine she and the person she was with have decided that I'm the bad guy (as usual), but line jumping is not allowed and, yes, I will stand up for what I believe is right.
Sidebar: Apparently I write good e-mail because I wrote one around 2:00 this morning that ended up being discussed on the Power Play on NHL Home Ice this afternoon. I don't think I even edited it more than once or twice.
Monday, June 27, 2011
So here I sit
I got my hair cut late last week. In fact, it was so late that only two people have seen me since the not-so-long tresses were made even shorter. Neither one of them said a word.
And they're both women.
I like to think it's pretty noticeable considering it's about two-three inches shorter, but maybe not.
I also keep looking at my Amazon contextual ads and wondering why in the world I'm getting books about the Navy. I don't think I've mentioned sailing even once (oops, there it is.)
And they're both women.
I like to think it's pretty noticeable considering it's about two-three inches shorter, but maybe not.
I also keep looking at my Amazon contextual ads and wondering why in the world I'm getting books about the Navy. I don't think I've mentioned sailing even once (oops, there it is.)
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Frozen Custard
So yesterday I went to the Dairy Godmother and had a Door County Sour on Summer Pudding, which was massively, massively good. The only issue I had was the number of small children because, no, I don't particularly like small children especially ones whose parents think that everything they do is adorable because it isn't.
So there I sat, eating my sundae and reading my book and minding my own business and I hear not one, but three, "do you have to pee? Are you sure you don't have to pee? Are you positive you don't have to pee?" Can't you say potty? I can live with potty, but pee does not go with my sour cherries. And then, the first monster child actually comes over and sits at my table and starts asking me questions. I know some people would be thrilled and would just talk his ear off, but I was minding my own business, I was reading my book, and I was not gazing adoringly at said child.
When does my Molly return home?
So there I sat, eating my sundae and reading my book and minding my own business and I hear not one, but three, "do you have to pee? Are you sure you don't have to pee? Are you positive you don't have to pee?" Can't you say potty? I can live with potty, but pee does not go with my sour cherries. And then, the first monster child actually comes over and sits at my table and starts asking me questions. I know some people would be thrilled and would just talk his ear off, but I was minding my own business, I was reading my book, and I was not gazing adoringly at said child.
When does my Molly return home?
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
A little bit of everything
People come to DC to get the attention of the government and they seem to think that the best way to do it is to make a spectacle or block traffic or both. I was headed east on Rte. 50 yesterday and traffic in the right lane was NOT moving. At all. I managed to get into the lefthand lane, where traffic was moving marginally. And then I saw why. Someone decided to turn their wagon (a real, wooden wagon) into a covered wagon, complete with horses, and was headed east on Rte 50 in order to get the attention of Congress as to the plight of the small businessman. Amazingly, they stopped at the same IHOP where I decided to stop and have breakfast/lunch.
If you look closely, you can see that they had to correct the spelling of business from busin-ass to busin-ess. I felt the first spelling was rather appropriate, but then again, I'm still annoyed about the man who wanted to commit suicide by cop on the Wilson Bridge and that was 11 years ago.
Speaking of the Wilson Bridge, they've been doing beaucoup work on Telegraph Road as part of the bridge project and they've made a fascinating change as far as I'm concerned.
My complex is bounded by two roads: Huntington Ave and N Kings Hwy. Huntington gives entry to the lower part of the complex and N Kings gives entry to the upper part of the complex. Heading south on Telegraph, you would turn left at the first light for Huntington and left at the second light for N Kings. Part of the re-working was changing the exit ramps from the beltway and, they also included the intersections onto the two roads from Telegraph. So, now, I turn right at the FIRST light (rather than left at the second one) to get to N Kings Hwy and right at the SECOND light (rather than left at the first one) for Huntington. In fact, you have to get to the third light before they let you make any left turns at all. I imagine it'll make the intersection much safer when they're done.
However, I bet it's messing with lots of people are getting lost and that's pretty funny.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Silly Assumptions
So I had breakfast this morning at Panera around 6:30 a.m. I like the 6:30 crowd, it's very gentle. I'll have to try that again one of these days. Of course, it's easier to do so with my knees hurting. If you can't sleep, you might as well do something productive and this morning it was Icy Hot patches. I have never had such instant relief from pain as I get from those darned things.
Then there's my lovely knitting, which almost rated a rant yesterday. The free pattern for the Apple Blossom cardi was error free and turned out beautifully. The pattern I paid for had errata and I received an argument from the designer to boot. She insisted row 14 was a pattern row and I insisted that it wasn't. Guess who hadn't bothered to look at the pattern before telling me that and guess who was right?
Then there's my lovely knitting, which almost rated a rant yesterday. The free pattern for the Apple Blossom cardi was error free and turned out beautifully. The pattern I paid for had errata and I received an argument from the designer to boot. She insisted row 14 was a pattern row and I insisted that it wasn't. Guess who hadn't bothered to look at the pattern before telling me that and guess who was right?
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Manners on Television
As most people who know me are aware, I have recently become hooked on a couple iterations of Bravo's Real Housewives series. New Jersey is losing me, but NYC is going strong. So I just had to comment on two things that happened over the last two episodes.
As proof that having money and being part of 'society' doesn't mean having either class or manners, I present Alex McCord. (If you don't watch the show, here's the Wikipedia link and here's the Bravo link.) Now, I'm not Miss Manners and I don't play her in real life, on television, and definitely not on the internet. However, even I know that the rudest thing you can possibly do is to point out that someone else is being rude. No matter how rude they are, pointing it out trumps their rudeness. How's that for fun? So, Alex, I hate to tell you this (well, not really), but LuAnn was right when she said that it was none of your business what transpired between herself and Ramona and you trumped everything that LuAnn did by informing her that she was rude. Of course, I have now trumped both of you, but, hey, I never pretended otherwise.
I think my favorite housewife, though, is Kelly. And that was before I found out she was from Rockford, Illinois.
As proof that having money and being part of 'society' doesn't mean having either class or manners, I present Alex McCord. (If you don't watch the show, here's the Wikipedia link and here's the Bravo link.) Now, I'm not Miss Manners and I don't play her in real life, on television, and definitely not on the internet. However, even I know that the rudest thing you can possibly do is to point out that someone else is being rude. No matter how rude they are, pointing it out trumps their rudeness. How's that for fun? So, Alex, I hate to tell you this (well, not really), but LuAnn was right when she said that it was none of your business what transpired between herself and Ramona and you trumped everything that LuAnn did by informing her that she was rude. Of course, I have now trumped both of you, but, hey, I never pretended otherwise.
I think my favorite housewife, though, is Kelly. And that was before I found out she was from Rockford, Illinois.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Brioche, it's not just for eating
There are some absolutely beautiful two-color brioche patterns out there and as soon as I finish my Apple Blossom Cardigan for little Miss Lilly Straney (in the colorway Leid' in Hawaii -- sensing a theme here?), I'm going to start on a scarf called the Leafy Lacey Brioche Keyhole Scarf. Now I just need to pick out yarn. Maybe a brown and blue combination?
In further whackadoodle sitings, I had two live ones yesterday, both vehicular. The first was terribly unhappy with me because I was refusing to turn right on a red light. Never mind that turning right would have gotten me hit by the oncoming traffic. There the jerk sat, behind me, leaning on his horn because I wouldn't move. Maybe he didn't mind if he got his POS cracked up, but I'd rather keep my car with only about 4,500 miles on it intact, thankyouverymuch.
The second siting was sitting on the stoplight at the corner of Telegraph Rd. and North Kings Highway. His truck had broken down and apparently those decorative items, also known as hazard lights, weren't working. We sat and sat and sat at that light before it finally turned green. And that's because the sensor wasn't being tripped due to the person with the nonfunctional car sitting in place at the head of the line. Now, I'm usually willing to make allowances because there but for the grace of the FSM go I, but, again with the hazard lights are supposed to be functional, not decorative. If they'd been on, I could have turned right and gone to a different gas station.
While I'm ranting, the City of Alexandria has a racket going on. But it's a racket that can also work in my favor and I like those kinds of rackets. We've finally entered the 21st century and now have the parking machines that take credit cards and issue receipts with times and dates on them to put on your dashboard. So, yesterday, I went to my LYS and paid my $3.50 to park and here's where the racket comes in at because I left after an hour and that extra hour couldn't be used by anyone else. No more meters with five minutes left on them. Plus the hours of parking are now extended by two hours to 7:00 p.m. and the city took away the two free slots on the corner on King and Fayette right outside the LeStar Bridal. So, no free parking, no riding another person's leftover meter time, parking is more expensive at $1.75/hour instead of $1.25/hour, and if I don't use all my paid-for time, too bad, so sad. BUT!!! There is a bright side here because I can take that receipt that's good for a full two hours and park somewhere else in the Alexandria without having to invest more money into my parking. Have I mentioned how much I love finding loopholes?
Okay, off to contact a friend for breakfast. It's my first vegetarian breakfast out and it could be interesting.
In further whackadoodle sitings, I had two live ones yesterday, both vehicular. The first was terribly unhappy with me because I was refusing to turn right on a red light. Never mind that turning right would have gotten me hit by the oncoming traffic. There the jerk sat, behind me, leaning on his horn because I wouldn't move. Maybe he didn't mind if he got his POS cracked up, but I'd rather keep my car with only about 4,500 miles on it intact, thankyouverymuch.
The second siting was sitting on the stoplight at the corner of Telegraph Rd. and North Kings Highway. His truck had broken down and apparently those decorative items, also known as hazard lights, weren't working. We sat and sat and sat at that light before it finally turned green. And that's because the sensor wasn't being tripped due to the person with the nonfunctional car sitting in place at the head of the line. Now, I'm usually willing to make allowances because there but for the grace of the FSM go I, but, again with the hazard lights are supposed to be functional, not decorative. If they'd been on, I could have turned right and gone to a different gas station.
While I'm ranting, the City of Alexandria has a racket going on. But it's a racket that can also work in my favor and I like those kinds of rackets. We've finally entered the 21st century and now have the parking machines that take credit cards and issue receipts with times and dates on them to put on your dashboard. So, yesterday, I went to my LYS and paid my $3.50 to park and here's where the racket comes in at because I left after an hour and that extra hour couldn't be used by anyone else. No more meters with five minutes left on them. Plus the hours of parking are now extended by two hours to 7:00 p.m. and the city took away the two free slots on the corner on King and Fayette right outside the LeStar Bridal. So, no free parking, no riding another person's leftover meter time, parking is more expensive at $1.75/hour instead of $1.25/hour, and if I don't use all my paid-for time, too bad, so sad. BUT!!! There is a bright side here because I can take that receipt that's good for a full two hours and park somewhere else in the Alexandria without having to invest more money into my parking. Have I mentioned how much I love finding loopholes?
Okay, off to contact a friend for breakfast. It's my first vegetarian breakfast out and it could be interesting.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Would you ask me that if I was a retailer?
Well, you might.
I have a bunch of yarn listed for sale on Ravelry. I should list more, like all of it, since I'm fully engaged in SABLE (Stash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy) and I've included shipping since I don't want to have to deal with calculating it and sending an invoice and everyting. Pretty nice, no?
I cannot believe the nerve that people have. I have some Blue Moon Fiber Arts Socks That Rock Lightweight listed at retail, which is $22. Now I'll be the first to admit that I probably didn't pay that much for most of it because I've been acquiring it over a very long time. In any case, I paid no less than $19 per skein for it and, trust me, Tina made sure I paid shipping. Now, I don't have a problem paying for shipping. My only complaint is that sometimes I want to choose UPS instead of the USPS and I'm willing to pay for the privilege.
Along comes the Ravelry users. One person wants to buy multiple skeins and, after telling me what she wants, asks if I offer a discount for multiple skeins. Ummm... no. I'm already tossing in shipping, so suck it up.Would you ask the nice retailer (Tina, mentioned above) if she would give you a discount for multiple skeins? Or if she would forego shipping? Probably not because she's a going concern and goodness knows that knitters want her to stay in business because she has a fantastic eye for color.
Then there was the woman who offered me $20, including shipping for a skein of yarn for which I was asking $22. Again, flat retail... what I paid... and I'm tossing in the shipping. And now you want me to take even more of a loss? The good news was that all I had to tell her was that the yarn had been sold, which it had been, and I'd forgotten to move it to my traded/gifted page. The bad news was that I really wanted to tell her where she could stick her $20. And I couldn't find a nice way to say it. Very, very, very annoying because I really wanted to tell her what I thought about her little offer.
That reminds me. I should probably put a line on my yarn for sale that says I'll give you a 10% discount if you don't make me deal with a post office.
I have a bunch of yarn listed for sale on Ravelry. I should list more, like all of it, since I'm fully engaged in SABLE (Stash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy) and I've included shipping since I don't want to have to deal with calculating it and sending an invoice and everyting. Pretty nice, no?
I cannot believe the nerve that people have. I have some Blue Moon Fiber Arts Socks That Rock Lightweight listed at retail, which is $22. Now I'll be the first to admit that I probably didn't pay that much for most of it because I've been acquiring it over a very long time. In any case, I paid no less than $19 per skein for it and, trust me, Tina made sure I paid shipping. Now, I don't have a problem paying for shipping. My only complaint is that sometimes I want to choose UPS instead of the USPS and I'm willing to pay for the privilege.
Along comes the Ravelry users. One person wants to buy multiple skeins and, after telling me what she wants, asks if I offer a discount for multiple skeins. Ummm... no. I'm already tossing in shipping, so suck it up.Would you ask the nice retailer (Tina, mentioned above) if she would give you a discount for multiple skeins? Or if she would forego shipping? Probably not because she's a going concern and goodness knows that knitters want her to stay in business because she has a fantastic eye for color.
Then there was the woman who offered me $20, including shipping for a skein of yarn for which I was asking $22. Again, flat retail... what I paid... and I'm tossing in the shipping. And now you want me to take even more of a loss? The good news was that all I had to tell her was that the yarn had been sold, which it had been, and I'd forgotten to move it to my traded/gifted page. The bad news was that I really wanted to tell her where she could stick her $20. And I couldn't find a nice way to say it. Very, very, very annoying because I really wanted to tell her what I thought about her little offer.
That reminds me. I should probably put a line on my yarn for sale that says I'll give you a 10% discount if you don't make me deal with a post office.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
First post
I've had a great number of eating adventures (and other adventures) since I've been out of work and I thought this would be a great place to start sharing them because, for some reason, I seem to attract the weird ones. They range from the short, drunk man who was ready to root for Boston with me (except I was rooting for Vancouver) even though he didn't know anything about hockey or even who the goalies were to the woman who insisted that the manager at Panera couldn't possibly know if they would be open on Christmas Eve. (She was an absolute trip.)
Then there's always the people who want to mind my business and, somehow, I'm the bad guy when I tell them that I don't need their help. I'm still working on figuring that one out.
Oh, yeah, and the occasional knitting and pug project because everyone who knows me knows I love my pugs. And orchids. I love orchids too!
Then there's always the people who want to mind my business and, somehow, I'm the bad guy when I tell them that I don't need their help. I'm still working on figuring that one out.
Oh, yeah, and the occasional knitting and pug project because everyone who knows me knows I love my pugs. And orchids. I love orchids too!
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