The socks I don't want to knit

I don't want to knit these socks. Not because they are a boring color, crappy yarn, or anything along those lines. I bought the yarn months ago knowing exactly what I was making and who I was making it for. And why.

A very special friend will be leaving soon due to work. Communication would be at best, intermittent and eventually we will lose touch all together. I know this. I've known this since the on-set. There will literally be oceans between us. Not so bad you say? There is always the internet. Except where he will be, it is not feasible.

I am going to make him socks to take with him as a memento of our time spent together. And as a joke, since where he will be, wool socks would be ridiculous and utterly un-usable.

So I bought the yarn. I picked out the pattern. I even managed to do a swatch. I got feet measurements.

And I have continued to put it off. Because that would mean we are getting closer to that day. The one involving the airport. But time is officially starting to count down. And finally I cast on the sock.

And it is now real. He will be leaving, on my birthday, taking a piece of my heart with him. And a pair of wool socks that will be knitted with my love, blocked with my tears and always carry a part of me. A bit of knitting magic to keep him safe and loved on his adventures.

EEWWWEEE!

So after a year of living in this rental house and scrubbing the kitchen and bathroom floors on a regular basis and not managing to get it to look clean in the slightest, I have decided to take drastic measures. This was one of those things were I knew before I even attempted it, it was going to be a sitcom episode.

I decided what I really needed to do was to strip the floors, re-seal them and re-wax/finish. This process would remove all the years of really bad grime and mop n glo from the no-wax vinyl floors. I decided to start small and do the bathroom first. Here are some things that I learned about stripping the floor in your ONE AND ONLY bathroom:

Make sure your neighbor is home, knows the circumstances and it isn't midnight when you do this.

Make sure that you watch what you eat for the day. Excessive dried fruit and caffeine should be avoided.

Girls, check your calendars to see if Aunt Flo might possibly be visiting!!

The next day, start extra early with the kitchen. 4 hours of sleep is plenty. Remeber that it is only 3 steps. Strip, seal, finish. Easy. HA!

First of all, for the kitchen I had to strip twice. I have to say that washing fresh raw wool was less disgusting and had cleaner wash water than stripping the floor. Both times. It was black. I almost tossed my cookies. I clean the floor every 2 weeks with good old fashioned pinesol detergent or straight bleach. This muck was from layers of dirt that the previous tenants just waxed over.

While it does look better, let me say this: Did I really think I was going to un-earth marble? The vinyl is not a color or pattern I would choose and nothing will make that to my liking, no matter how clean. The dark marks around the toilet did not come up one bit and after examination I understand why. The are not the result of paint, dye or water/mold damage. They are burn marks. My therory is the former disgusting hick tenants at one point blew up the toilet and it was replaced with out replacing the flooring.

I'm not actually surprised about this.

A Snake, a Sock, a Mailbox and a Flip-Flop

Everyone has a special talent. I have one friend who can recycle anything, one who can turn garbage into art, one who makes everyone feel thought of, one who can make you giggle, and one who can organize the next Super Bowl with out breaking a sweat.

My special talent? I can turn every-day, ordinary tasks into a comedic sequence that screen writers couldn't dream up. Really.

Today for example: I slipped on work flip-flops, put on my new hat, grabbed my iPod and a sock that I'm knitting and went to get the mail.

You see, I need to practice walking and knitting at the same time for the upcoming charity walk that I am participating in. I thought a walk to the mailbox would be good practice. So I walked along the gravel drive at work to the mailbox, enjoying the day, listening to my ipod and knitting my sock. Blissfully unaware of the upcoming danger.

I reach the mailbox, and with one hand holding my knitting, use my free hand to open the door to get the mail.

Well, I really can't blame the snake as he was just trying to enjoy the sun before the storms rolled in, and looking for a place to shelter down when they would come. I can't blame the mailman for not shutting the mailbox all the way tight as it is a new mailbox and he is still getting used to having a door on it at all. And I certainly can't blame the other inanimate objects involved as the flip-flop did not intentionally jump off my foot, the sock did not intentionally mean to unravel, tangling around me.

But there I was by the side of the road, startled out of one shoe, forgetting I had knitting in my hand, hopping on one foot, scooping up the dropped shoe while keeping shoeless foot(and leg) in the air, wrapped up in yarn due to some bizarre pirouette that got the yarn hooked onto the mailbox and me, trying to keep my hat on, taking the loose flip-flop and banging the hell out of the side of the mailbox while trying not to fall over in an attempt to scare a pathetic little garden snake all the way out of the mailbox and away. All the while cars are passing watching my "snake dance". Time span: less that 1 minute.

You know that snake took one look at the crazy lady and "ran" for it.

Memo for next 3 day weekend

For any future three day weekends I have, no guests unless they have their own lodging or are willing to do something of mutual interest. The weekend started okay with weeding and an art festival that got cut a bit short.

It then turned to hell in a hand basket. With a side of torture and a helping of becoming a social outcast.

It got better when I did finally get to escape my "house guests" and attend a friend's bbq where I could knit, cry, knit, act goofy, laugh, knit and actually be accepted and loved for being myself. It didn't hurt that my friends, upon hearing the drama, determined that I was normal and being nice and considerate and the other party needs extensive therapy.

God, I love my friends!

So, some worlds I have been forbidden to walk in. Fortunately, I have my world. With knitting, chocolate, shoulders to cry on, hands to pull me up, and friends who are more dear to me than they will ever know.

My world ROCKS!

I give up.

On the Lace stole?

No.

The Albatross Sweater?

No.

Being a good little employee?

Yep!

The top two items have been driving me bananas for quite some time. And, truth be told, so has the third.

Here's the thing that is making me nuts. I have been painstakingly following the instructions on the patterns so that they will come out absolutely perfect for my sister. The Albatross is no longer going to be worn by her, but it will still go to a good home. After all, it's not mine or the sweater's fault that my sister lost weight and now looks like a skinny leggy super-model. Why punish the sweater? So it will go to a good home elsewhere.

The stole has a long time to be completed. Since I am currently only working on the prototype that I will be wearing, I am using it as a learning experience so when I do make her stole, I won't be screaming and cursing at it, thus imbuing it with negative vibes.

I'm being patient. I'm following the rules. These are good things correct? I should at least get a pat on the head, if not a cookie.

At my job, I pointed out some discrepancies between two reports. I didn't say anything, one way or another. Just let the boss know that perhaps things aren't adding up and he might want to keep an eye on things. He asked another employee why his report was so different from the system's.

The other employee basically threatened me. That I "better watch it." And that he was going to "mess with my shit." I should "fucking stay out of (his) business".

I relied the conversation and my ensuing concerns with my boss and he basically told me to just play nice and "(I) have to just figure out how to work with (the other employee)"

???!!!!

So, if my mutilated body is found in a ditch somewhere, or I seemed to have over dosed on pesticides, or ran over with a bob cat or lawnmower, I'm posting this blog so that at least my parents will know that I wasn't suicidal, wouldn't get in front of a huge nasty piece of equipment willingly, or put my person in danger in any other way.

I was actually just doing my job.

Those Jeans

You know those jeans. The ones that live in the back of your closet or the bottom of a drawer. The ones that will fit you when you loose 5 pounds, and then will look so hot, that traffic sill stop, men will faint, your boss will give you a raise, and they discover how to make your favorite confection calorie-free. The jeans that will bring ecological harmony and world peace when you wear them.

Just 5 more pounds.

Well, I have a pair of these jeans. And I've dropped 15 pounds so these suckers should fit beautifully. What a load of horse pucky! If I loose any more weight, I will officially be pushing too slim and just be considered bony. So the jeans should fit right? When I bought them I was larger than I am now and they still don't fit, which makes me think.

I don't think I've actually ever worn these jeans. I think I looked at the size (which is one up from what I'm currently wearing), grabbed them and bought them, with out trying them on, because I needed a pair and was heading somewhere. I'm also beginning to think that they are junior sized. Because let's be honest here, I have no ass. Never had one, never will-it's genetics. My hips aren't overly broad either, and this is where these "jeans" don't fit.

I have come to the conclusion that short of shaving bone from my pelvis and hip joints, these will never fit me. Ever. And do you know what I almost did? Fold them up and put them back into the drawer. No, no, no!

So I stayed my hand and instead, started a pile. And the jeans led the way. Followed by turtlenecks (I really can't explain how horrific I look in those), cap sleeve shirts ( I already have the shoulders of a linebacker, do I really need to point that out?!), and every button down shirt and cardigan that I can't actually button.

I feel better already. And I'm going shopping for jeans this weekend to fill the gap in my wardrobe.

Spring is here!

Spring is here and it is official. Do you know how I know? I had to mow the lawn.

All up and down my street today, the residents in my fair little shire broke out the hats and sunscreen. Grabbed the keys to the shed, and dusted off ye ol' lawn mower. Across the realm could be heard the sweet buzzing of bees, the chirping of birdies and the whirl of mowers and trimmers. You could smell the fresh cut grass and almost taste the victory lemonade.

And then there was my house. The sounds of which should not be repeated. But I will confess to swearing in three different languages and would have added more had I known them. My mower would not start. After extensive kicking an cussing, and with the help of a nail file, I got it started, mowed the frippin' grass, locked the damn thing back in the shed until next week and headed in to take a shower and cool down and recompose.

Better, yes? Birdies are chirping again, the windows are open and the cat looks dreamily out at the aforementioned birdies. Ahh. Then I pick up my knitting.

On the needles I have : one lace stole, three 2nd socks, a tank top out of sock weight aptly named "frogged camisole", a tweed sweater 3 sizes too large, an albatross for my sister she will get when she's 80, and the beginning of another tank in 100% cotton, because I want to see if it works before wasting good yarn on the pattern.

If you are not a knitter, you may not understand the list. You might say something silly like, why so many projects? If you knit, you understand and groan in sympathy. All are time consuming pains in the a$$ that are currently ranking with the lawn mower.

My solution? Make lemonade, eat ice cram and ignore knitting until next weekend. Then put knitting and Mower in the "Rabbit Cage o Rage" and see which one comes out in the end. That or the garden which needs to be plowed eats them both.

Brilliant, yes?