Sunday, March 22, 2009


I speak Cat. Don't believe me? Say this to your cat, "Mrrrah meh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh." Cracks 'em up every time.

As a kid, our family had up to 7 house cats at a time. I knew all their personalities and senses of humor. We always had cats. And, oddly, I always had a cold.

Turns out, I'm allergic to cats. And dogs. And trees, and things that bloom. I took the allergist's prick test. I'm allergic to pricks, too. When my allergies hit, my eyes water, nose runs, and asthma kicks in. Many times I've run from a friend's house as if it were on fire so I can get some "fresh" air.

Anyway, my family is getting a puppy. She is a rat terrier my kid has named Chloe. I don't think he named her for the Paris fashion house. Nor for Chloe Sevigny. He got it from a dog movie I refuse to see. I wanted to name it Guinness, but I was told that wasn't a girl's name.

As I was saying, I'm allergic to dogs. We went out to meet Chloe's daddy in a parking lot, midway between Chloe's home and our house. I pet the dog, then wiped my face to test my allergy to his breed. I thought of wiping the dog all over my face, but that seemed rude. Maybe I should have greeted the dog in dog-language: sniff it's butt.

My allergies didn't kick off. True, a parking lot is well ventilated, but I thought I did pretty well! And, now my boy gets his dog. Chloe will show up sometime in May. My family has promised to bathe it weekly, and deal with any excretion mishaps to lessen the chance of asthma attacks.

But, I'm most afraid of the language barrier. I've tried to speak French, Spanish, Japanese, Chinese, American Sign Language, Tagalog-- shoot, I can barely understand Pig Latin. With foreign languages, I'm tongue-tied. Soon, I'll be living with something that only speaks Dog. Chloe will show up, and I'll just stand there like the cat's got my tongue. I'm sure there are certain growls, yips, snorts, and wags I should know. Does anyone have some colloquial dog expressions you can share? Do I greet Chloe with some hip hand gesture, and say, "Yo, dawg, who let you out?"

Geez. I hope she likes me.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Got My Knit On

Ooooooooh. It has been a long time since I've been excited by yarn. I had just cast off a pair of undulating rib socks that took two, maybe three months to finish. I just wanted them done. I almost bound off the second sock way too early and called it a Soda Can Cozie.

Then a few weeks ago, (been too busy to blog) I saw the yarn pictured here. The one on the far left is Last Call, and the nearest colorway is I Shaved My Legs For This. They are Politically Incorrect yarns from Sugarbee Studios. They are now waiting for me in my bucket o' yarn on my nightstand.

And, I'm FINALLY onto the Deaton sock pattern from PicnicKnits. I've been wanting to start this sock since September of last year.

AND, I had just spent a few hours with other knitters! Some knitters I knew, some I didn't, and some I hadn't seen in what seemed like forever. And, they were all engaging, and delightful and they all glowed with knitting essence-- or, maybe the room was well lit.

Anyway, I've been energized. I feel like a heathen with renewed faith in the Needles and Fiber.

Oh. If you're planning an engagement party, and need to hire a quartet, I know just the folks for you. They're spinners. Watching these folks spin wool can make even a room full of bellicose warmongers stop their foulmouthed diatribes and drift into a meditative swoon of elevated homespun consciousness. ... ... ...

Whoa. I slipped off myself just thinking of them. I wonder if they need a groupie.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Wisenheimer, Offend Thyself

So, I snapped out a crappy pun which played upon the obvious religious heresy of the stranger in the story being told. However, the pun was received as a hint toward sexual deviancy.

My head emptied. My mouth hung open, flapping gently on one hinge. There was a dry, gurgle in my throat. I could hear blood rushing past my ears to flush my face. My blinking was slow, and deliberate. Fog swirled around empty skull. Lightning was sure to strike me any second. As the topic was expounded a little, my gut twisted, and I began to sweat under my too-too jaunty cap. The pun's connection to sex was SO obvious! How come I didn't catch it before I said anything!?!

People will always say they have a sense of humor, and listen to a variety of music, and are not easily offended. People think a lot of themselves. Me, too. It has been awhile since I've been offended. I mean, I listen to Lily Allen: See! Sense of humor, musical variety, and not offended all in one!

It has been a long time since I remember being offended. But, in this case, had I REALLY been offended? What is being offended? What happens? I mean, I got over it. I don't think anybody in the room was out to get me, or any such nonsense. Everyone was very nice. I just felt very uncomfortable.

So, I got to thinking (I really ought to stick to knitting, though). Maybe feeling comfortable all the time is a bad thing. And, that's a wild thing for a meat sack of neuroses like me to be thinking. What is soooooo bad about being uncomfortable? Maybe I could pay very close attention to the uncomfort, and try to pin down just what it IS. Kind of an inner adventure. Or, just plain get over it and move on. Why dwell? If I get too uncomfortable, I can always grab a Guinness, my knitting, and an old movie.

And, to anyone who was in that room for my REALLY bad pun: Yeah, I thought it was a stupid pun, too.