Side Effects of Caffeine Noted In Jittery Fashion

Artist's Rendition Of Me Wearing The Cardigan. Note Cat Brooch.

Hello! I am SPEAKING IN CAPITALS AND EXCLAMATION POINTS because I've had lots of coffee today! Lots!
*crazy hands*
I've also guilted myself into posting again. I made a mental promise that I wouldn't until I had finally finished the coroner's report on the purple sweater fiasco, complete with photos. Unfortunately, it was just too depressing to take them. Pistache kept on wandering into the frame, and the combination of frumpy sweater+ diseased cat was just too sad to bear.

Also, I gave away my "extra" camera cord which turned out to be my "only" camera cord. And, where are my batteries for the camera? Honestly.

So, there would be the sad, sad, corpse of a sweater here. Yep, it looks so whole now. But its benign appearance hides its true nature. Put this on and I gain fifteen years and twenty pounds. So, I'm done. I've dumped it, and I'm already on the rebound with some unused balls. It's the Airy Wrap from Fitted Knits. My last sweater from that book turned out so well I'm sure the stars will finally align for this one. Granted, the Manos is more rustic than the airy mohair of the model sweater, which as a fellow knitter astutely pointed out, will mean that the ties will have to be re-engineered. I figure I have two options. I could decrease sharply and just knit a very thin tie for longer than the pattern requires, for a look I'll christen "granola bondage fetish." Or, I can shorten the ties, and incorporate buttonholes so that it can be fastened neatly at the side. I find this colour of Manos hard to match buttons to for some reason. Purple is just a colour that doesn't come naturally to me.

What else doesn't come naturally? Flirting. Trying to make. Hitting on people, and being hit on in return. Sexing... up. I could go on like this for some time, but my euphemisms would become increasingly obscure and disturbing. I mean, I currently have this weird thing going on with this guy B (much more on that later), but there's also an ever so adorable specimen in my Labour Economics class, who has me rather confused. I'm absolutely hopeless when it comes to telling if some one's hitting on me. Standard policy: everyone finds me repulsive, and are probably trying to con me out of my wallet as well. I was at a computer terminal in Leacock a week ago, idly scanning the Times, when the specimen in question (let's call him Frank) came to use another computer. We chatted about our class, joked about a comment I had made to the prof, and then I... fled like he had the plague. And he doesn't. Boyishly cute, Frank is! It's just that I hate being a bore, so I'll leave before the conversation gets to that awkward point when someone has to make up an excuse to leave. But then, I realized that... hey... he was talking to me. Joking. And smiling at me? Could he possibly have been flirting with me? Or had all the information on the wage gap caused me to lose all sense of perspective?

I've chatted with him twice since then, and I have no clue. But it's certainly a novel sensation.

Blah blah more pictures when I've solved The Mystery of the Missing Batteries, blah blah.