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).

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?

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.

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'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!

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?

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." 

A tribute to my boy

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.

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?