What A Day!

Ever have one of those days? Ye gads, I'm happy to be home. I knew it was going to be one of those days, too. I knew when I walked out the door and it was so sunny. I hate driving to work on sunny days. Why? Because I am five feet tall. The visor in my van is frackin' worthless to a five foot tall woman at 7 am. Here's what I see when I am driving to work:

Here's what I see for the first five minutes after I go inside the building:

I need one of those visor extenders to keep from going blind. (Auto Zone says, try WalMart. And Wally World says try Auto Zone.)

Anyway, I slip on the shades and try to sit taller in the seat to deal with it. And of course, traffic sucks. But I don't let that worry me. What worries me is that, by the time I reach the skeezy part of town (which I normally just drive through), I realize that I have to pee. Oh yes. Like have to.

So my choices are, stop at a gas station in a skeezy part of town or piss my pants in a skeezy part of town. It was a tough choice, really. When I get to the gas station, it's "For Customers Only." So I buy some gum at the skeezy gas station.

How do I know it's a skeezy gas station? Because they have a security guard there to keep all the drug dealers and hookers in line. How do I know they have a security guard on duty?

Because the bathroom door wasn't locked.

I'll just let that sink in for a moment. Yeah.

Back on the road, I pass the accident I could've been a part of, if I had not stopped at the gas station. And I get to work late. Which would've been okay, if I had not looked down.


Yes. Those are my feet. Those are the shoes I wore to work today. All day. Notice they are not only different shoes, they are different colors. The rest of the day consisted of poking my thumb through my pantyhose, losing a filling in the skeezy gas station gum, Blamey throwing a blueberry muffin at my head (because I gave some National Guardsmen her phone number at the job fair I worked yesterday), and getting stuck in traffic on the way home.

I'm thinking this is probably not the night to work on Chaos. Maybe I will just start a new project... M wants a shawl to wear over her prom dress. Any suggestions?

Est-ce une pomme frite dans votre poche, ou etes-vous heureux de me voir?

I have neglected you for too long, dear readers. Here I am with my head hung low in shame. Forgive me, please.

Much of my shame stems from the fact that I have not done much knitting lately and I am sure the question of my productivity is bound to come up, since this is a knitting blog. I'm just a little self-concious about standing here, soul-bared, and admiting that I am, in fact, a non-finisher.

It may actually be more accurate to say that I am an almost-finisher, as I did quite a bit on on the Blue Lace Shrug. (That's what I'm calling it this week, the Blue Lace Shrug. I want to call it Snowflake Shrug, since the lace pattern is Snowflake Lace, but I'm using dark blue yarn and I don't want anyone to be confused about what winters are like here in Indiana.)

Here's the almost-finished product. I have a few more inches to knit and then seam up the sleeves. Maybe put a little crochet trim around the edge if I'm feeling crazy. Who knows?

Some of you have bitched asked about my new job. I'm happy to report that it is going well. I am not fracking things up too badly doing a good job so far. And so far, my boss and my co-workers haven't caught on to me seem to be pleased with the work I'm doing.

BTW, give a big shout out to my friend and co-worker, who is reading this blog for the first time today. She will not be happy if I publish her name on the internet, since she has a number of obsessive stalkers after her. Let's just say that her name starts with an A and rhymes with Blamey, okay?

I don't want to embarass Blamey too much, even though that is great fun. So I won't tell you about all the wild stuff she does. She can start her own blog and tell you all about How To Keep The Stalkers Interested.

Speaking of stalking... I've not heard from Adam in a while now. But I did find this, while looking for porn. If you send him a Bat Mail, tell him I miss him, okay?

I Can't Help Myself!

Yarn porn!

I got all of this at Dollar Tree. You know I'll buy anything for a dollar.


I'm thinking, this sleeveless cowl for the peachy color Bernat Frenzy. And something similar (but not a cowl) for the blue. And, yeah, that red is a little bright, but that's the appeal, I think.

My old job was at a bank, so I had to dress very conservatively. Well, okay. I didn't have to, but if I wore my red suit or the African print skirt, they gave this weird look like I'd just grown another head. The head of a giant fuschia dolphin.

It's the same look they would give me when I cracked a joke or made any type of literary or cultural reference.
(Okay, if you take attendance on a conference call and the person doesn't answer, even though you call their name a couple of times... Isn't it funny to say "Bueller...? Bueller...?" Well, maybe not hilarious, but I shouldn't have to explain it, right?)

Bankers. Sigh. They aren't actually required to have their senses of humor surgically removed, but they don't really have much of a chance of getting a corner office with their funny bones intact.

Anyway, when I worked there, it was black suits, navy suits, grey suits. Maybe the occasional brown suit, if I really felt like a wild woman.

That's the origin of Patwoman, I think. She was born out of a severely stifled need for color... texture... personality. And now that she's loose, Mwah-ha-ha-ha!

She will never be contained again!


Batman: Hold it right there, Patwoman!

Patwoman: What? Batman? You again?

Batman: Yes, Patwoman. As long as evildoers abound, there will always be a need for Batman.

Patwoman: Sure. Sure. But I wouldn't say I was necessarily an evildoer. I'm more of a mischief maker. A trash talker, if you will.

Batman: Same diff. Now, are you going to come quietly, or do I have to break out the Bat Cuffs again?

Patwoman: Oh, Adam. I wish I could quit you.

Tales From Pat's Mailbag

Happy Monday. I know. You're thinking... Is that sarcasm? Hmm...

My goals this weekend were:

• Taxes (done)
• Grocery shopping (done)
• Easter Dinner (done)
• Catch up on laundry (eh, that's never done)
• Finish my UFOs (OMFG! I think I hurt myself laughing)

Obviously, if I'd finished all those things, I wouldn't have wasted the first two paragraphs of my blog telling you about all that other crap, would I? You'd be looking at lovely digital pix and admiring my knitterly skills.

So, since I am a total slacker about finishing things, but blogaholic enough that I still want to make a post today, I decided to just answer some of your questions. That's right, folks. These are questions you have sent me over the last several weeks of blogging. They are in no particular order, I printed them all off and I'm just answering them as they come off my DeskJet 970Cse.

Dear Pat,
I notice the completion graphs on your sidebar never seem to change. Once you complete a project, you really should mark it done or take it off. The way you are doing things now, it almost makes it seem like you never finish anything.

Dear Reader,
Is there a question in that?

Hey Pat,
What's up with you and Adam West? Isn't he, like, a million years old by now? What you're doing is just... Ew.

Dear Reader,
Just because there's snow on the roof...

Dear Pat,
I really liked the Fuzzy Sexy Lingerie. I'd like to make it soon, since I own no lingerie that is guaranteed to tickle both of us at the same time, but I really want some. When are you going to post a pattern?


Dear Reader,
Soon. Patience. I just started a new job, remember? I'm a little overwhelmed.

Hi Pat,
Are you really having an affair with Adam West, John Mellancamp, Sting, and Jason Bateman? What does T think about this?

Dear Reader,
Yes, no, no, and no. He thinks I'm just joking.

Dear Pat,
What happened to the Isabeau Purse and the Self Designed Shrug? Weren't those supposed to be your "quickies," to take the stress off of so many long-term UFOs?

Dear Reader,
Yes. Thanks for bringing that up.

Dear Pat,
The advent of cellular phones has revolutionized the way we communicate with one another. What do you have against cell phones?

Dear Reader,

Hi Pat,
When are you going to finish the Chaos Sweater for T?

Next question.

Hey there, Patwoman. Did you know that bats are nocturnal? Does that turn you on?

Uh... Adam? Is that you?

Same Pat-Time... Same Pat Channel

If you remember, a few posts ago, I was telling you about my adventures with Batman. I had to explain to some of you (by private emails for your privacy, of course) that this was merely a fantasy. Of course nothing happened with me and Batman.

Are we okay now, Adam? (Jeez!)

Anyway, I found this interesting:

You Are Trinity

"Touch me and that hand will never touch anything again."

What Superheroine Are You?

That really shocked me, because that's actually pretty accurate. I mean, I don't wear black pleather outfits or anything. And I would have a lot of trouble kicking someone in the head. (Unless they were laying on the ground. I could manage it, then.) And I'm pretty sure that I'm not trapped in some kind of... what's the word I'm looking for? Like a computer... oh... uh... Matrix.

But the whole sexy, tough, badass type of...

Oh never mind. That's actually not very accurate, after all.

You Are Fun Sexy

You're funny, quirky, cute, and sassy. Guys always have a great time with you, and that alone is sexy. You've got an upbeat, optimistic spirit that totally shines through. Any guy would be crazy to turn you down!

What Kind of Sexy Are You?

Yeah. We did have some good times, didn't we, Adam?

But now, look at this:

Your 80s Heartthrob Is

Jason Bateman

Who's Your 80's Heartthrob?

Honestly, I have to tell you that I never even met Jason in the 80's. He was too young for me back then. Of course, now that Arrested Development's been cancelled, Jase probably has some free time...

Driving Lessons

So, I have commuted back and forth to work for 4 days now and I have come to one conclusion:

Most of you drive worse than I do.

And that's sad, people. Very sad. Because, where I don't drive well because I don't wear my glasses most of the time, a lot of people don't drive well because they are dumbasses. So, I am taking it upon myself to give you bad drivers some tips. Don't think of this as "Oh, Pat's going to vent all her road rage off onto us now." Think of it as "Oh thank you, Pat, for helping us to become better drivers with your helpful driving lessons."

Lesson 1: You are not invisible.
I can see you. I can see you when you pick your nose. And examine the booger. I can see you when you pick your ears. And examine the wax. I can see you when you pick your teeth. And examine the brocolli. You see where I'm going with this? You may have some purely scientific goals... research, or something... to be mining all your head cavities, but it's grossing me out.

Ditto the people who drive without clothing. No kidding. I don't think I should even have to mention this, but... sigh.

Oh, and those other things you do when there are two people in the car... Those are okay. You know, when the downtown traffic is like a parking lot, that kind of gives me some new scenery to look at.

Lesson 2: Drive the car.
Don't talk on the phone, put on your make up, put the last minute touches on this morning's presentation, or beat your kids. Just drive, okay? Seriously... do you think behind the wheel of a 2 ton SUV that is going 75 mph down the highway in morning rush hour traffic is an appropriate place to eat cereal? From a bowl? With a spoon? What could possibly go wrong with that?

Lesson 3: The Car Is Not A Singles Bar
I'm driving home, right? And I stop at this light and just turn my head - you know how you look left and right at an intersection? - and this guy is in a convertible next to me and he looks at me with one of those "Hey baby" looks.

WTF???

Okay, right now, scroll up and look at my profile pic. I'm *coughcough* years old, people. I was parked at a light in a 10 year old Chevy Mom-Mobile. Was he making fun of me? 'Cause I don't find that sh*t amusing.

Lesson 4: 2 Fast 2 Furious Is A Fictional Movie
Not real life. So don't drive like that in your '72 Pontiac, okay?



Oh yeah. The knitting content for my knitting blog...

I'm liking the snowflake lace on bigger needles. I hope to finish the shrug this week. I also want to get some of these other UFOs off my unfinished pile. That's going to be my goal for the week. To finish all my unfinished projects.

Ha! Ha! Ha! I crack myself up!

Hell Comes To Frogtown

No, not the Roddy Piper movie (in which Roddy is the only potent male in a world of women... Hey, who wrote that crap? Roddy Piper?). I'm talking about all the frogging I've had to do lately. Just about everything, as a matter of fact.

Okay, so the experimental dark blue shrug just didn't look right. I was trying to do this weird thing with the sleeves and, well okay. It just didn't look right. So I frogged it out.

Then I picked up the VooDoo yarn to frack around with it. Remember, that's the yarn that's eight inches of braided cord, then 4 inches of fringe, then braid, then fringe? When I went back to the Dollar Tree, they had it in that deep burgundy color that I love, so I got some of it.

So, I was thinking, what about something like a boatneck shell or a scoop tank? I could wear it under my suit jacket at work. The fringe would give it some interest. You know. It would make it seem funky and edgy and... Oh well. Look at it.

Like Elmo with mange.

Back to the dark blue shrug. I was thinking that snowflake lace pattern I was using really didn't look bad. It was the shaping of the sleeves that bothered me. I could just rip out a few rows and continue on. Unfortunately, I'd already ripped it all out.

So I cast on again. This time, I used larger needles, to give it a lacier effect. You can take a look at it here. This is about 2 repeats, I think. I'm liking it okay, so far. But I'm not opposed to sending it to Frogtown. (Like how I brought that back to Roddy Piper?)

Hell Comes To Frogtown is not great art. I'm sorry, Roddy. I know I said I was going to stop saying that, but I just can't lie to these people. (That's actually why we broke up, folks.) The director is trying to make some kind of statement about the misuse of technology, the evil of nuclear war, mankind as the instrument of its own demise... Or maybe he was just jumping on the "Post Apocalyptic Movie" bandwagon of the 80s.

Whatever. There is a part in the movie in which Sam Hell (Roddy P) has to sleep with a frogwoman. (Yeah, don't ask me. For some reason, there are hot/skanky looking women in the world and there are frogwomen like this.)

He puts a bag over her head.

You know, I don't know about you, but I've never asked anyone to put a bag over their head. It's just... I don't know... rude, isn't it?

UFOs and 90 Second Mistakes

I started something new again today, folks. It's a design-as-you-go shrug. That means, I haven't quite decided yet what the finished product will look like, only that it will be a shrug.

And dark blue.

I'm doing a lace pattern over the body of the shrug, because I see this as not so much a wear-in-the-cold-weather sort of shrug as a wear-when-the-AC-is-up-too-high sort of shrug. I mentioned that I made a quick shrug last year to combat the chill in some of the convention rooms I was in, right? Well, I also have that problem with movie theaters (which are usually the temperature of Pluto at night) and some restaurants.

Now, before you start heaping the guilt on me... I am out of die rolls for the Chaos Sweater, so I am waiting on T to roll them. (Remember the chaos must be keyed to his personal chaos.) And I am purposely setting the Boobholder (another opportunity to say it) aside for now because I am going to knit from this point on along with another knitter. (Can we all think of a naughty name for a Boobholder Support Group?)

Oh, speaking of knitting... I started my new job today.

Yes, I know. That has nothing to do with knitting. But I'm a little tired and couldn't think of a good transition.

So, new job. Now, some of you may know I have Road Rage issues. I have spoken about it in other forums and at least one of you has had occasion to witness the fruit of that tree. You know who you are.

True story: one time I got a very good job reference from a colleague, who then told my perspective employer "Just don't get into the car with her." In fairness, let me tell you that I have never hit another car and have only hit a person once. Okay, twice. But only once was on purpose.


So, it's kinda sucky that I have to drive 30 minutes to my new job. In rush hour traffic. Sucky for the other drivers.

Luckily, I had no issues with that today. I had a little Van Morrison going on the drive in and a little Ringo Starr on the way home. It could have been a nice time.

Unfortunately, I am not well known for my driving skills. Or my ability to follow road directions, if they are not told to me as you would tell your moron pet monkey. This tends to compound the Road Rage issues, as you can imagine.

Oh, but I had a plan today. You see, to get to work, it's left out of my driveway, then right, left, right, left, right, left, then right. Easy, peasy, mac and cheesy, right? So, I go left, right, left, right, left... And when I get to my next right....

WTF????

Oh yeah, did I mention downtown Indianapolis is the Crossroads of America? Know what that means? That means every frackin' street is a one way! Going the wrong way!

*Insert your favorite swear words here.*

So, I gotta call T. He's the only one I know with a sense of direction who is not going to be worried for my mental health when he hears the rambling, 100 mph way I relate to him the situation. He's the only one who won't mock me mercilessly for it. (That's what you get, I guess, when you train your friends and family by example.)

I pull over to a fast food place that I have been in and know has a payphone and hey look, has an empty parking space right in front. (No, I don't have a cell phone. Cell phone drivers fuel my road rage. You only think you can drive and talk on the phone, but I'm telling you, Sweetie. You can't.) Rush in. Call T. Ninety seconds, tops.

Rush out...

...and he actually looks up, sees me coming (and my pleading, frantic face "Oh no! Please! Please! No!" .... Okay. You know what I really said. Insert that here.) and then he starts keying in the info even faster! Like he's hurrying to get the damn ticket written before I can get there!

Twenty dollars!!! Twenty frackin' dollars so I can make a ninety second phone call! What, are they like the meter Nazis? There were other spaces, you know. I wasn't keeping somebody else from being able to park.

T said, "You should have put money in the meter." Yeah, okay. Maybe I should have. But I grabbed change for the phone and that was it. Then R said, "You should have gone to the meter and turned the knob so it would look like you put money in it."

For all my faults, I've raised a child both practical and devious. And, to top it off, he laughed at my ticket. A chip off the old block.

Guilt

Oh sigh. I am wracked with guilt these days. I think Jung would say that I am in a state of re-evaluation. New job and all. It's making me review past actions and pass some sort of judgement on them.

Of course we know what Freud would say, but we're not going to go there tonight, folks. Well, not just yet, anyway. First we talk about the knitting.

Here you see the pieces of Chaos and the pieces of Textured Raglan (with one sleeve on and one sleeve off). I... cough cough... couldn't find Style, it's been so frackin' long since I've touched it. I thought maybe if I laid these pieces out for you to see you might be able to ridicule encourage me to finish them. As you can see, I am very close on both of these.

I need your guilt trip, people. I've never been able to do anything without guilt. (I blame my early Baptist indoctrination.) Even when I quit smoking all those years ago, I had to tell everyone I spoke to that I had quit, so that I would feel too guilty to ever start smoking again.

It's worked so far. (But is that really a fear of guilt or maybe a fear of failure? Hmmm. Dr. Freud?)

This Startitis is getting a little out of control. I started Isabeau, knitted the whole bag, then ran out of steam yarn with only the handle to do. I started the railroad yarn tank/shell/failure about fifty-four times and frogged it out each time.

And I started this, a Boobholder. Yes, you were waiting for that word to come up, weren't you? Perv.


This goes quickly, though I may have exaggerated slightly when I said 60 seconds. I've done two skeins worth tonight. It has a little shine to it, when the light hits. Like those baby yarns that have the shiny thread in them? Only this shiny thread kind of sticks out. That gives it a sort of crunchy hand while you're knitting. But, it seems to feel softer once it's knitted. Of course, this yarn is never going to win the prize for Softest Yarn, but it is pretty.

And it's better to look good than to feel good, my darlings.

I'm also feeling somewhat guilty about things that I did a long time ago...

Like, all those times I dumped Tide in the city fountain in high school. Oh, and the fountain at the college, too. Jeez, you would not believe how much foam is created by just a small box of Tide.

Okay, that was funny. I'm not really sorry about it.

I am sorry about all those times I changed the letters around on those flashy arrow signs outside businesses. But, really, if they didn't want me to come around and change their messages, they shouldn't have made it so easy for me. My favorite switch was outside a beauty parlor. The sign originally read "PERMS $40". I merely moved the S from the end of the word to the front.

Oh wait. The statute of limitations has run out by now, hasn't it? Yes? Well, then I'm not really sorry about that, either. (Unless my kids are reading this. Then, I'm really sorry. And, uh... That's very bad behavior. I'm so ashamed.)

Yes, and ashamed of my Batman fantasies. And the Supernatural guys. Oh, and the Prison Break brothers. (Oh yes. I need to be really ashamed of those thoughts.) And, of course, Beastmaster.

I actually met Marc Singer at a convention last year. I won't go into it. But, let me just say that we don't mention the name "Beastmaster" around this house any more.

I'm Frackin' Psychic

I think I am causing things to happen. Listen, the other day I blogged about Batman. And Friday, the original Batmobile broke down on an Oklahoma highway. And before, I blogged about The Marx Brothers and Duck Soup, and guess what was on TCM Channel yesterday? But I guess About.com was a little off base with their "don't say crazy things on your blog if you want a job" comments. I got a call. I accepted an offer. And I will rejoin the ranks of the employed this week.

Speaking of unemployed... Take a look. This is a building in downtown Indy. Apparently it was hit by strong winds last night, pretty much right after John's concert. People were still around and saw it happen, even. (I was relieved to know that Johnny was okay.) You can see how the glass is falling out still, and the insides of these offices have just been sucked right out. They've shut this whole, 36-story building down and blocked off the surrounding streets. Stuff is still falling off and out of the building. How messed up is that?

You can see more here.

I'm okay, though. Some of you have sent emails asking. Thanks, all. Really, I think my tomato took the worst of it. (And T, but he was covered with a laundry basket.) Hope all of you are doing okay. Kim, you've had some of the same bad weather come your way, haven't you?

On to the knitting. (You'll have to excuse me tonight. I have a little problem with attention deficit dis--hey, what's that?)

Here's a skein of the Ping Pong I got the other day. I've got 16 skeins of it. So that's like 928 yards. I can do a whole lot with 928 yards of bulky yarn, right? I went back and forth on what to do with it. I love bulky yarn because you can make a whole sweater in like, 60 seconds. But, sometimes bulky yarn makes a bulky sweater, which makes a bulky Pat. And believe me, I don't need any help with that.

I had planned to do maybe a simple v-neck, with a big honking cable down the front. But, frankly, I've made 3 of the same sweaters in the last year and a half. One has 3 cables on the front. One has one cable and a v-neck. One is just a regular pullover. But it's all the same sweater, if you know what I mean.

Then I found a nice cardigan pattern in the four foot high stack of patterns I've printed from the internet. (I love the internet.) But I just couldn't make the guage fit without doing some kind of algabraic alchemy. You know, like with percents and ratios. And, remember, I promised Mr. Leach that I would never use math in the real world.

Then I remembered Stephanie Japel's Minisweater/ Boobholder. (Ha! It's fun to say boobholder in regular conversation, isn't it?) I've made two of these already. One for M, who is perfectly shaped for almost any item of clothing. And one for me, not so perfectly shaped. (Unless you have a thing for slightly chubby middle aged redheads... Call me.)

I dropped the poofy sleeves on both versions because I don't like poof much. And I also dropped those pointy things Stephanie edged hers with. I've got enough stuff that I don't need a bunch of triangles pointing the way, if you know what I mean. For M, I knit the rest of the pattern as written, because... see above. She makes everything look good.

For me, I lengthened the waist to a cropped length to cover my pudge. I'm thinking, for this new version, that I will make long or 3/4 sleeves, too and belling them out a little.

So, I guess this Boobholder won't bear much resemblence to the original. I just like saying Boobholder.

Take a look at this. It's some of the yarn I got from the Dollar Tree. I love the color, especially for spring. But the texture is weird. It's like a railroad yarn with only one rail. I knit a swatch and it looked similar to something like Matrix. So I went to the Bernat site and looked at the Matrix patterns. I saw this one, which I pictured under my cream colored suit at my new job.

So I fracked around with it. Had to adjust needle size and number of stitches to get guage, because the yarn's not a great substitution. And then, I decided you couldn't see this stitch texture anyway, because the texture of the yarn overpowers. But you know, with me, patterns are more like guidelines than law. So I knitted a couple of inches.

And then I frogged it out.

I don't know what I'm going to do with this now. I've got 6 skeins of it. Oh well, not like I don't have other yarn in my stash that hasn't told me what it wants to be yet. Ha! Most of it, in fact, is silent.

It fears me, I think.

Oh, Hail No!

Ha! I'm so clever. Because there was a storm tonight. And it was hailing. And... Oh, never mind.

It was a pretty flashy storm, though. Lots of lightning and thunder and wind. And hail. (That's where the "Hail no" comes in.) I guess I knew it was going to storm pretty hard. I did, after all, choose not to go see the John Mellencamp concert on The Circle because of it. (And you know, me and John used to have a thing... remind me to tell you about this later.)

But, as is my usual modus operandi, I waited until the last minute before bringing my houseplants back inside. Actually, I waited until the last minute had well passed. All of a sudden, it's hailing and I'm whining "My rubber tree! My pineapple! My tomato plant!" (Okay, tomato is not a houseplant, but I'd just put it out yesterday.)

So T, my hero, armors himself with a laundry basket over his head and goes out on the patio in the hail to save my poor plants. What a guy. Meanwhile, R is no help at all. He just watched, laughing at his poor dad, fighting the elements to make me happy.

Someday he will marry a crazy lady too. (He won't be able to help himself. That's how we crazy women snag the good guys. You know what I'm talking about.)

Look at my poor tomato plant. It looks like crap, even after I tied it back up to the stake. And it was only out in the hail for a few minutes. Think what would have happened if T had not saved it!

I probably should finish T's Chaos Sweater now. I mean, he went out in the hail and lightning...

I did knit today. Started an Isabeau purse. using Sugar and Cream cotton. I didn't realize that is such a small bag. No way will that hold all the crap I have to have. (Not to mention that M has her own purse and yet somehow she always hands me something "Here, hold onto this for me, Mom.") Even without her stuff, let's face it. The days of the cute little purse with some cash and a lipstick are gone for me.

The days of just a lipstick being enough makeup are gone for me.


So I frogged it out. I added another lace repeat to the width of it and then made it about twice as long. I think this will work. Here's a closeup of the pattern stitch, in case you're one of those who like closeups of the pattern stitches. It's okay if you are. I'm one of those who like to post a lot of pix, so we're pretty well suited in that area. Actually, the color is somewhere between these two pix.

The pattern is pretty easy to memorize, so once I'd done it a couple of times, I just let the brain go into beta mode (no jokes from you) and knit away while I was watching Sci Fi Channel tonight.

Yes, that's right. I stayed home and watched "Dark Kingdom" instead of going to see Johnny play live on Monument Circle. But don't read anything into that. I just didn't want to get caught in the rain. It has nothing to do with what happened the last time John and I met. What we had was so fleeting, and so long ago... It's better this way.

I was a young college student, working at my first television job. He was an up-and-coming pop star. When I learned he would be a guest star on the music video program our station produced, I begged to work the booth (the production booth). But no, they said. You're such a hick, Pat, they said. You'll just end up making a fool of yourself, they said.

And then, they kept sending me out on assignments! They made me do my actual job! Until it was so late, I was sure that John had left the building. Crushed, I gathered the tapes for the evening news broadcast and climbed the stairs to Production.

When... You know that funny move you do when someone is coming down the stairs right where you are coming up? And then you both move to the same direction? And then you both move in the opposite direction? And then again? And so you're kind of bouncing back and forth like a moron?

At that point, John stopped me. He gave me the kind of smile you give someone who bobbles back and forth in front of you like... I don't know... a stupid bobbly thing. He gave me a courtly bow and said "I thank you for the dance, ma'am."

And just like that, he was gone from my life... And I never told him how I felt...

It wouldn't have worked anyway. I was engaged. He was married. We'd never met... And then, of course, I would've had to explain myself to Sting.

But that's a story for another day.

Whoopsie!

Look at this, from an email newsletter I get from About.com:

To Blog or Not to Blog?
It seems like common sense, but it's worth saying: If you're looking for a job, or like having the job you've got, you probably don't want to start a blog dedicated to your satanic activities or proclivity for huffing paint thinner.
- Job Searching Guide Alison Doyle

Ha! So maybe it's bad to talk about Batman's tights?

I have no knitting content today, folks. I've been so busy getting high on paint thinner and then hitting a job interview or two before my ritualistic human sacrifice that I haven't knitted a stitch today.