If you're not knitting, the terrorists win

(My mostly on-topic ramblings about knitting. And life in general. My life in specific.)

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Location: Indiana, United States

I'm a middle aged mother of 2 grown children and wife to a man who doesn't seem to mind my almost heroin-like yarn addiction. I spend my time writing, knitting, and generally stressing out.

Friday, March 15, 2013

Beware The Ides Of March

Especially if you're Roman and you've pissed off your friends by being too successful, like Caesar. But, if even if you're ordinary like me, you've still got to watch it. People get crazy.

Traffic was stupid on the way in to work. People drove like jackasses and then blamed me for it. Hey, Dickwad, that mirror is there for a reason. Use it.

And somebody bashed my car. Not a ding. Not a nick. Not "Oops, I miscalculated how far that door would open and bumped your car." No, this was a bash. Like an "I think I can back out of this parking space okay. Hey, what's that noise? Sounds like metal bending. Oh. Oops. No I guess I can't back out okay. Oh well. If Patwoman didn't want me to hit her car, she shouldn't have parked it next to an empty space."

Okay. I don't know if that was what actually happened. But that's the scene I've been able to extrapolate using my forensic skills.

I also burned the Sweet Jesus out of my arm. Turns out, you can't put the underside of your arm on a hot cookie sheet, even for a second. The shitty thing about this (besides burning myself) is that this is the second time I've done this exact thing.

Plus, people just wanted to argue. About things that don't need to be argued about. Like:

Person: Reset the router. I can't get on the wifi using that password you gave me.
Patwoman: Are you entering a 01 at the end?
Person: Yes.
Patwoman: A zero? Not a letter O?
Person: Yes. Reset the router.
Patwoman: And not just a 1?
Person: Yes. Yes. Yes. I'm doing it exactly like you said.
Patwoman: Because nobody else has had a problem with it. And I can't reach the router without standing on a chair or something.
Person: Well, it's the wrong password.

Patwoman: (Spells the password out.)
Person: That's what I entered. Reset the router.
Patwoman: It's up high. I'll need to get a chair to do it. Let me just check.(Pulls out iPhone, changes to wifi setting and signs on immediately, using the password.)Try it again.
Person: (Sighs condescendingly and then enters the password incorrectly.)
Patwoman: You have to add 01 at the end. Zero-one.
Person: That's what I did.
Patwoman: No, you just typed 1.
Person: I did not. (Tries it again. Enters it correctly.) Oh. I guess it's fixed now.

Seriously. By the end of the night, I was thinking about ignoring the soothsayer's advice and heading over to the Theater of Pompey, in the hopes that someone would stab me and get it over with.


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