Socks For November

Mismatched On Purpose Socks
As the Montreal cold sets in, a new pair of socks is always appreciated. These came from the yarn my fabulous sockpal sent for me. They're from the Regia Kaffe Fassett line that came out a few months ago, though they've been hibernating all lonely and unphotographed for a while. They're rather lovely, but the pattern is just the old stockinette standby with short row heel and decrease toe. Seriously, only two things make these worthy of mention. The fact that they're most assuredly not knit to match (one's Landscape Fire and one's Mirage Fire), and the lovely colours- that Fassett fellow sure knows colour. I do think I like the stripe versions of the colourways better though- they seem to become muddier when variegated.

As for the situation I mentioned a few posts back? That whole affairs of the hearts thing? Sweet Christ on a cracker, is that ever a disaster of DeMillean proportions. At least I have ascertained that I do, in fact, have a thing for him. However, I have also ascertained that I should not. I have also annoyed all of my friends by bombarding them with neurotic ramblings on this topic. Here's a sample conversation between the roomie and me:

"We're so awkward! He talks to me and never says anything about it! Then he doesn't talk to me at all! Then we have awkward, feeble conversation. But then we also have really interesting ones, too. I can't do this! I must delete AIM from my computer entirely so that I'm never encouraged to speak to him again. What am I doing? I can't concentrate on my studying! Why don't we have more alcohol in the house? Please, shoot me in the head, fearless roommate.
So.... enough about me. What's new with you? Wait, has he said anything about me?"

So, I have come up with an easy, three-step plan to end the madness.
1. Join more clubs and games. The brain can't obsess when it's listening to someone whinge about CKUT funding!
2. Hang out at places that are related to things I enjoy. At best, I can find someone cute who likes those things too. At worst, tomorrow I'll have some shiny new reading material from the Drawn and Quarterly store.
3. Bar it up. In spite of my looming financial insolvency, I can't think when I'm drunk. Plus, the potential for amusing, but poor, life choices is high.
In the event of none of these steps working, we move to the fail safe.
FS: I shoot myself in the head.

SuperSocks To the Rescue

I came home from work to the most wonderful package. My sockpal socks had arrived! Here are a few reasons why my sockpaller, Rae, rocks:

1. These socks are absolutely gorgeous. Look at that lace! And beading too! These socks are a lot of "firsts" for me. They are my first pair of lace socks, since I always guilted myself into knitting socks that were supposedly more practical. I was wrong- beauty is completely practical for the soul. They're also my first beaded knit, and my first pair of purple socks. I can't get over how lovely they are, and I wore them for the rest of the day, August be damned.

2. They fit perfectly. I gave her wacky measurements, because I may or may not have been drunk. Or terribly stupid. But she realized my error, e-mailed me, and then knitted them to fit instead of writing me off as a terminal idiot.

3. She owns a yarn store in Lansing, MI. The awesome factor of being a LYS owner needs not be explained. However, she is even more awesome because she lives in Michigan, home state of one of my Dad's favourite college sports teams. Every year, the Wolverines and the Penn State Nittany Lions battle it out for my Dad's heart. I'll see to it that U of Mich wins it this year, although since she is in Lansing maybe I should push for Michigan State.

4. Two words: sheltie. puppy. The big dice in the sky works in mysterious ways, and so the owner of adorable Robin became the sockpal of Smitty's food dispensing unit and playtime fun machine. Sheltie owners are better people. It's science. And in another strange coincidence, the name of her Sheltie is the same as the first name of Smitty's breeder. Creepy!

5. In a display of generosity, she sent me sock yarn for more socks. And not just any sock yarn, but one ball of Mirage Fire and one ball of Landscape Fire, from Kaffe Fassett's new Regia sock yarn collection. She must have creepy voodoo powers, because I was drooling over an ad for the Fassett sock yarn in the newest Interweave. Not only that, but Fire was my favourite colourway.

Seriously, Rae, you rock but I'm putting my tinfoil hat back on now. The coincidences are too uncanny. I've also decided that my fabulous sockpal recipient deserves new yarn of her own if I do. So, watch that mail, Jill B.!

Weekly Digest

I grew a Jalapeño pepper. Gaze upon its spicy beauty!*

I. Sockapalooza Update
My sockpal, Two Sticks and Yarn, got her socks! My sockpal got her socks! SOCKS! PAL! VICTORY! Forgive me if I'm a little bit excited, but I spent the week since I sent them going over various horror scenarios in my head. The socks would get lost in the mail. The socks would take weeks to get there. The socks would be destroyed at the border as a national security threat to the U.S. Before you laugh at the last one, my roomie's grandmother sent her a crocheted blanket during first year. It was incinerated by some, shall we say, unhealthily dedicated Canadian border security. Or, they would get there but they wouldn't fit, or they would unravel. After seeing some of the other lovely packages, I was convinced she would bemoan my lack of classy packaging and tasteful bonus geegaws, and that Yarnstorm (incisively described as "the knitting Martha Stewart" by mote) would preside over my trial. But Jill B seems to really like them, so I'm both pleased and proud.
Read her touching write-up on my socks- I made everyone at work and in my family do so. Yay!

II. Roomie Update
My hetero wife and her family are all okay, but when I checked in last a boy from her little sister's class was still missing in the bridge collapse. It's been a while, and I know a lot of names have been taken off the list since I heard from her. I hope his was one of them.

III. Neglected Hillside Anecdote
I forgot to mention the best part of Hillside. My brother and I were down by the shore, trying to dodge hippie wang and bush in its natural habitat, when from behind the bend came the Pervatron in his pontoon. He wore tight cut-off chinos, no shirt, a life jacket, and huge early 90s sunglasses, striking the "Tino" as he sailed up. At first I was confused about what he was doing. He was slowly moving closer and closer to the shore, to the point where it was becoming alarmingly shallow for his boat. But then I realized he was on the hunt. The hunt for a group of nubile, skinnydipping Hillsiders.
First he purred:
"Helloooooooooo"
and then
"How's the waterrrrrrrrr"
As he passed the buffet of boob. He went a few meters further, not even to the next bend, when he swung around and did the perv loop again. And again. I'm sure he's still out there, forlornly calling "Helloooooo" to the void, wondering if he would ever know how the "waterrrrrrrr" was.




*Actually, I grew many Jalapeño peppers. If anyone in Guelph could give a few garden-fresh peppers a good home in some salsa, I can hook you up.

Happy Indepence Day, American Swine! Here are your socks!

Just kidding my Southern brethren, I love you all. Especially my most beloved Midwest room mate, who has sadly abandoned our continent to have fun in Europe. I'm not madly jealous, oh no. See, I even finished her socks, because I'm a nice person like that.

I also finished my Mom's socks, which, in spite of being lovely, foamy, soft things I grew to hate after the nearly two months (heh) it took me to knit them. They became my lazy project, the thing I did a few rows of here and there while watching a movie or going somewhere in the car. Which, would seem like a recipe for completion, but it's really a recipe for ennui. Anyway, belated Mother's Day present: finally completed.
On the needles: my much-delayed Sockpal socks. Brigit, in Colinette Jitterbug. Let's hope these go quicker than my Mom's socks, so I won't be known as a total flake. Although, I kind of don't want to part with these. The deep shadings of blue, the vaguely Celtic feel... No! I refuse to give in! The socks will go to my sockpal, and they better damn well fit. But maybe if they don't... would it be too outré to send a SAS envelope in the package, just in case?

So, at work these people bring around random crap every now and then for you to purchase. Usually it involves a mildly frightening singing stuffed animal. This month featured a canine Barry White in a cummerbund. You start ordering one thing, and then to get the special deal on the cheaply-made discount item, you get more, until you have the singing animal lulling you to bed with its tinny song. I know. It happened to me this month. It started off innocuously enough. I was still a little burnt out from spending Canada Day in London (Ontario, alack), and decided I wanted a Sudoku. And then I saw a gardening book my mother would like. And well, I was just a few bucks short of making the rolling cooler, apparently for those days when lifting mid-sized soft cooler just seems too damn hard.
So, I bought the "Mapquest" road map atlas. Now, my brain may be feeble, but road atlas of North America + rolling cooler= road trip, yes? My arithmetic is correct, no? Road trip to Mexico with friends sounds fun to me. Margaritas, ahoy.

Tomorrow: Misadventures in Spinning and the Tank Top Chronicles.