Knitting Nightmares #1

When I first learned to knit I taught myself. It was prescribed as physical therapy after having a cystotomy in my wrist. After just a couple of months I was back to full flexibility, able to touch my thumb to my forearm.

I learned to knit by watching Knitty Gritty on the DIY Network. Apparently I didn’t watch close enough. For the first 6 months of my knitting career I was always knitting through the back loop. I was apparently also wrapping the yarn backwards when purling. So you’d think that with the twisting of the knitting and the twisting of the purling they’d cancel each other out. But noooo, not the way it works.

I couldn’t figure out why my knitting was so damned tight. My fabrics didn’t move the way they were supposed to. They just sat there like hard little lumps. Like some sort of cyst. See what happens when you try to do something for yourself? I was about to give up then I found my LYS and a very helpful women.

She told me about her beginner’s knitting class and it wasn’t until I took that class that I realized what I was doing. Even then it took the instructor looking at my knitting to tell me. I still have that little bright pink baby sweater. With the first half of the back with twisted stitches. I’m such a perfectionist that if I did it now I’d rip it out and start over. However it was my first ever piece of knitted clothing and it will stay with twisted stitches forever, and probably unseamed as well.

Questions?

Said in the voice of a 5 year old. "Intraweb...Can I ask you a question?...Can I have a hug?"

Bastille Day 1996

In 1996 I tested out of high school. I only stayed long enough to go to my senior prom, what a nightmare but that's another post. I was going to college at night and high school during the day and had been for 2 years. I was sick of school.

As a graduation gift to myself, and ostensibly to earn more college credits, I took out a student loan and spent a month in Paris. I have lots of stories to tell and lots of things I miss.

I went with a group from my local community college and lived in the dorms at La Citè. We attended classes at the Sorbonne. We all know the real reason to go there was to party like it was 1999. There were many nights where we didn't get back to the dorm until 3 or 4 in the morning. Hey! I was 17 and in a foreign country with no parental supervision. I was going to study?

We went during the month of July. I missed my favorite holiday. The 4th. But I was in Paris for Bastille Day. The 14th. Bastille Day is France's independence day. It is so called because in 1789 the French proletariat stormed the Bastille, Paris's main jail, which they felt was a symbol of the corrupt political system. It was the beginning of the French Revolution and the beginning of the downfall of the Monarchy.

The entire city shuts down and huge parties are held everywhere. Even along the banks of the Seine River that runs through the middle of Paris. My two best Paris buddies and I found ourselves along the banks of the Seine partying all night long. We danced and drank cheap French wine and ate good food and had a huge blast. One of my friends, Anastacia, was a line dancer back home in LA. She would go to cowboy bars and dance several times a week. She knew them all. The Achy Breaky, The Boot Scoot Boogy, and most importantly the Electric Slide.

Lily and I didn't know any of these dances. Stacia decided to teach us the Electric Slide since it was the easiest. So there we were, three american girls that spoke bad French at best, on the banks of the Seine river in Paris at a huge party doing the Electric Slide. We were having fun and ignoring everybody else. After about 5 minutes of us doing this constantly, the music never stopped, we started to gain an audience. People were noticing we were doing the same moves, in unison, and too the beat.

I don't remember how exactly it happened but our audienced eventually turned into students. We were teaching the young, what we thought were the cool, French how to do the Electric slide. By the end of the night we had about 200 people behind us doing the Electric slide along the banks of the Seine to European techno music. We only stopped when we were about to fall down. This was about 2 am. We'd been dancing since 4 pm.

The thing that really makes this story great is the fact that we missed the last Metro to La Citè by about 15 minutes. So we had to walk. At 2 AM. Through the middle of Paris. In our "Party Clothes". Three young, attractive, American girls walking through Paris, half-drunk, trying to find our way back home. Needless to say we found we didn't find La Citè. We DID find an all night Mickey D's and a phone book to call a cab. Which only cost us about $10.

So not a bad evening. I'm surprised I can remember most of it. come back tomorrw so i can tell you more tales of my exploits in Paris. Like the time I was walking around on the 4th story ledge of my dorm.

Questions?

Why do they put the ashtrays at 7-11's right by the propane exchange tanks? For that matter why do they even have ashtrays at gas stations? It's almost like they're encouraging you to smoke and blow up the corner.

Questions?

Does laughing at someone else's misfortune make you a bad person?

Highlander

I just watched Highlander again last night. Haven't watched it in a long time and thought it might be fun. I wasn't right. Oh. My. Fucking. God. There was alot of sword fighting. Like 75% of the movie.

I know. It's a movie about a bunch of men trying to cut each other's head's off. Of course there's going to be sword fights, but can't we have a little bit more story.

AND. What did I ever see in Christopher Lambert? The scenes where he's in a kilt with the long hair and clean shaven not too shabby. But the scenes in the 80's where he hasn't shaved in a week and his hairs a mess and he just basically looks dirty. Blech!

Now Sean Connery on the other hand. I still fuck him given the chance. I know he's old enough to be my grandfather and all that. I just want to hear him whispering my name in my ear in that oh so wonderful accent of his. Getting "happy" just thinking about it.

Questions?

Why doesn't Utah weather make up it's mind?

Pink Scarf

Back in January I made a comment about some yarn being repurposed from one project to another. I said that would be a story for my other blog. Well since there is no longer an "other blog" I've decided to post it here.

When I was working for one of the world's largest hotel chains in their reservation center I made a friend. We had some past in common. We both worked in the complaint department. We had both been in Guest Relations for Disney. Me in Cali her in Florida. We were both comfortable with ourselves as far as our sexuality was concerned. Or so I thought.

We were constantly "flirting". Blowing each other kisses. Smacking each other on the ass. Groping each other. Granted all of this was out in the parking lot, the break room, or at each other's houses. Never on the call floor where others might be offended and get us in trouble for sexual harassment. The kind of stuff women do that their men hope would go further but never does. We were friends. I taught her how to knit.

One day when I was at a LYS they had a bunch of balls of different textured pink yarn in their dollar basket. I bought them thinking to make her a fun fashion scarf. Shortly after purchasing the yarn she was moved laterally from Guest Relations to a department that made reservations direclty for the hotels when they had groups coming in. After that happened she all of a sudden thought she was better than anyone else there. I didn't quite realise the change in her until it was too late.

One day I was walking past her on my way back to my desk after a smoke break, I used to smoke but quit just over a year ago. As per our established pattern I smacked her on the ass on the way by. She said nothing. Just ignored it and we both went about our days. A few days later I get called over to my supervisors desk to find out that she had made a sexual harassment claim against me. I was needless to say very angry. It was something mutual that SHE STARTED. I was just going along with it. It didn't bother me in the slightest as I am secure in my sexuality.

Nothing ever came of the claim as I explained the back story to my supervisor and he basically ignored it. What really pissed me off is that she didn't even have the balls to come to me and say somthing like, "I realize that this is something that we used to do in the past but I am no longer comfortable with the situation and would prefer if it wouldn't happen again." Granted I would have been confused but I would have said okay and that would have been the end of it. The fact that she went to my supervisor and bitched only made me lose all respect for her. Never spoke to her again after that and boy am I glad I'm out of that hell hole of a job.

Dancing and the Martial Arts

Being a martial arts instructor I know a lot of male martial artists. While their moves in the sparring ring might be something to make you panties wet I have to say that not a one of them can dance. As evidenced by this oh so wonderful clip of Jean Claude Van Damme.



That has got to be the funniest thing I've seen from Youtube in a while.

New Subtitle

I know! I know! This is supposed to be first and foremost a blog about my knitting. However I have found myself with less and less knitting to blog about and more and more life to blog aobut. That's why the switch around in the subtitle. Now I'm going to have to go change the category I'm in at BlogHer. Hopefully that isn't that difficult.

Meanwhile I'm plotting all the wonderful nefarious deeds I can do and stuff I can buy with my new found fame. I have a new reader! Welcome Pamela. Did you bring any friends? I hope so. If not how do you expect me to become rich and famous like Heather Armstrong? Able to live off my blog and my husbands love. Oh yeah, and my kid and two dogs, which I don't have. And the daily posting. Have to get working on that.

I am going to make you all a promise. I will post everyday before I go to bed. If I don't you can call me and ask me where my post is.