Sweaty? No Problem!

Just because I know you can't live without it, how about another picture of my fabulous new kitchen? Huh? Kitchen of the Future!



Here's a view of the living/dining room from the front door:



And here's a view of the fabulous entryway:



I thought I might jazz up this post with a little contest. Here are the rules: 1)pick which bathroom fixture is from our current apartment, and which comes from The Duplex, 2)Choose wisely, and remember - appearances can be deceiving. Also remember - there's a second half of this contest to be run tomorrow, even harder than the first. The first person to get both of them right will win a prize!

Fixture #1:


Fixture #2:


Prize: To be determined, but it will undoubtedly have monetary value of some sort. This means you have to guess. Why wouldn't you? It's just so fun!

On the knitting front, I've got some progress to show you on my Hourglass Sweater from Last -Minute Knitted Gifts. By the way, awesome book. I'm already thinking on the short term for two other projects. The timeliness they give aren't to be trusted, and the yarn they use is pretty preposterous on my budget, but substitutions are possible, and the pictures are to die for. Even new janitor's will be able to appreciate this book. Shameless plug over. Here's a freaking sleeve!



That's my scary face. I was channeling Mr. T.

Seriously, though. This is something I thought was way out of my league. Gauge? Sure, I use gauge. I've used gauge before, like on my socks and mittens. But a sweater? That's some serious mathlete time. Not that it has to be, mind you, but my gauge is way off for this yarn, which is - dare I say it? TLC ESSENTIALS, which is essentially pure plastic. It is, however plastic that I've had in my stash for longer than I should rightfully have had a stash. I've had this yarn since before I knew what knitting really consisted of. I have about 8 skeins of it - I think I had hopes for a blanket or something - and so far I'm pretty sure I'll only use part of one of those skeins for a whole sleeve. You know what that means? I'll probably have enough for at least another sweater out of it. Hurray!

Here's the sleeve with sexy Johnny Knoxville.

And really, I'm not at all opposed to acrylic. After all, some people can't wear wool. Like people who are allergic to it. (I'm not.) Like people who live in the hellish weather that is southern Missouri. And I'm reasonably sure that if I get too warm in this sweater, there will be no sweat soaking through the sweater. And also? I'm not a high-maintenance sort of chick. I barely ever get around to doing laundry. What sort of sense would it make to knit a fabulous sweater that will never be washed? It'd just get stinky. Hand washing? I think not. Not yet, anyway. I'm sure that someday when I reach a higher standard of knitting, I might consider hand washing. Not yet.

I will never ever reach such a high standard of knitting that I shun acrylic yarn, however.

Forward, to the Future, Not Past, to the Back

This is the kitchen of our soon-to-be past:



Sure, it all looks ok until you realize that 5 inches from Bruce's butt lies the refridgerator. That's how tiny the damned kitchen is. And we have 8 cupboards. 8 teeny tiny cupboards.

This is the kitchen of our future:



More pictures to come, but I think that sums things up nicely for the time being. We are most pleased. Wouldn't you be?

See This?

Photographs may or may not have been altered to spare y'all my leg stubble. Just cause I love you.

Yeah, the bottom one's a little bit sprained.

I know what y'all are thinking, and yes, it was an incredible thought. I know you wouldn't believe me if I told you, but I totally gave myself a mildly sprained ankle just so that I wouldn't have to move so much crap. Yessiree, I thought to myself, "Self?" I thought, "Self? You know what would be awesome? If you would totally step off that last step without realizing there was a bigger drop than for the other steps, and totally sprain your ankle."

Anything can be accomplished through the miracle of higher thinking. I'm tellin' y'all. It's true. Work hard, and one day you might be as evolved as me.

Comment on So Close

Assholes don't care about any feelings but their own, assholes don't think about anyone but themselves when they're making a decision, and assholes will put you down every chance they get - whether they realize it or not.

I had a friend who was an unintentional* asshole in high school, and I told her the truth many times before it got through to her. I felt I owed it to her, because she was my best friend, we had an unexplained connection, etc. V. good friend of mine. When I told her, she was sorry, and cleaned up her act for a while. But after behaving for a little while, she started up with the same sort of behaviour, and that's when I cut the cord. I didn't have any contact with her for more than 2 years.

*I have to believe it was unintentional.

Recently, about two years ago, she called my house. She hung up. Now, we don't have caller ID at my parent's house, and I hadn't talked to her in more than two years, but I just knew it was her. (We apparently still have that unexplained connection.) I looked in at my mom in the next room, said, "They hung up, but... I think it was Jackie!" She called back a few seconds later and we talked for a while. I was v. cold to her at first (self-preservation, don't ya know), but eventually agreed that we could meet up and get some drinks. I wanted to give her another chance, I guess.

Though the course of the night, it became completely clear that she was just the same as she'd always been, and I spent most of the time at the bar talking another aquaintance that happened to be there. I don't regret it at all, however. It gave me peace of mind to let her have her say. I think everyone deserves a second chance.

So Long, Farewell!

So long, lovely apartment. You've treated us well. Actually, you're only the second place I've lived at for over a year. (My parent's house would be the first.) I've got many good memories of you. I've got many shitty memories of the stupid management. It's all for the best, apartment. Just think of it this way, the next people won't try to contain an angry cat within your bathroom walls for hours at a time. Probably.

Hello, DUPLEX! HURRAY!!!



Yeah, that's OUR HOUSE, on the left. 1200 sweet square feet of freedom. I didn't bring my camera yesterday when we went on the second tour, but you guys will see enough of the place to make you sick anyway. You should feel lucky. Seriously, though, it's fantastic, and it's real, and it's ours. We signed the lease yesterday, and paid the deposit. Now all we have to do is move in. (Well, and figure out what to do with the apartment we don't want to have to give notice for...)

Dear Mr. (supposedly gay) Man.

If you are not sure of your sexuality, please do not tell people that you are. When you do so, and then make out with a girl and tell people that you "really liked it", you tend to make the gay men who are interested in you feel bad. Don't do that.

Especially to my brother, because I will Beat You Down and attempt to show you how excruciating [Censored] can be if it is not prefaced with foreplay and kind words. [Censored while not over the limit on boxed wine.] Yes, the straight sister of a gay man can, in fact, be so cruel. Keep this in mind.

Love,
Sunny
________________

Dear Brother,

There is nothing you could ever do to convince me that you are not the perfect man. As I told you tonight, the only reason I married Bruce is because he is the closest thing I could get to you. Also, he is not my brother, which would be gross.

If a) you were attracted to the female form, and b) you were not my blood relation, I would totally have married you, because you are the most awesome guy I can think of. Thank you for telling me tonight that that is the best compliment ever. I meant every word of it. I Love You*.

* (ILY)

Love,
Sarah

Internet Repairman: My Hero

This is the hole above the open-air hallway* outside our apartment into which workers disappear when they are trying to fix something.

And that is what one does if one wants to fix the broken fucking wireless connection himself, instead of waiting 24 hours as we have done aproximately ELEVENTY-MILLION TIMES THIS WEEK.

*Hallway? In whose world is this a hallway? It's freaking OPEN AIR. I call it a hallway for the simple reason that I cannot think of a more appropriate term. This is where I live now. These people have no idea what cold is. They think they do, but they don't. I wear shorts in their motherfucking "cold" weather. And I die repeated deaths in their "warm". It's a trade-off, really.

Also, this Internet Repairman who lives in our house now? If there are any single girls out there who've had it up to HERE with guys who talk talk talk and apply no action to their lives, this particular Internet Repairman is entirely different. When the internet went down today, he took out the trash. Let me repeat that, he TOOK OUT THE MOTHERFUCKING TRASH.

For serious. Best Internet Repairman Ever. I can totally hook you up.

Photo Friday: Masculine

I've joined a new group that B told me about a few weeks ago - Photo Friday. He used to get emails from Illistration Friday and thought this version would be right up my cup of tea. Indeed, it is.

Beer is very manly to me.

A Little Time on my Hands

I've been having a freaky week. Most of you who know me will testify that at one point a few years ago (stay with me, I know some of you didn't know me a few years ago), I was more fond of drinking than I was entirely comfortable with. Since moving down here, I really only drink when the mood strikes or when we go out for some weekend fun. Apparently when we have a houseguest, the mood strikes me... a lot. I'm going to have to seriously slow down, though, because I'm feeling like crap. I just don't like that whole not-sure-what-I-bought-on-Ebay feeling, you know?

Last Saturday, we went to a neighborhood bar. I should almost say, The Neighborhood Bar, because the rest of the bars in this godforsaken no-good place are not really bars. They are restaurants for alcohol. You sit at tables and consume your goods without much interaction with anyone other than your waitress. That, in my mind, is not a bar. I don't know what it is, but I don't like it. That's for sure.

TNB is totally different. It's over thirty years old, and apparently it kept it's ideas about how a bar should behave well in check over the years. It's decorated in all the standard bar ways (and a few not-so-standard ones, too). Check it out:



Nice, right? Yep, those things on the ceiling are what you think they are. T-shirts! From god-knows-when! That would totally stand up on their own if they ever got down! We had a good laugh about them on Saturday, imagining that the ceiling would peel off with them if you ever took them down, and the skylights that would come in handy and such. Some of them are at least 20 years old, from the looks of things. Nasty.

They've also got all sorts of beer lights that I would kill for. That giant glow in the picture is a Miller Lite sign dating back to pull-tabs. Yes, that's right. I remember those tabs with great fondness - pulling them out of the river when I was swimming, ill-fated barefoot campground walks, the list is endless. Man, those were fun. What ever happened to those? This is the sort of sparkling conversation one can have with one's neighbors at the bar. This is why we have a bar, people of Springpatch - so that lonely people can sidle up, order their favorite brew, and reminisce with their new (also drunk and therefore usually more friendly than usual) friends. Your piss-poor excuse for cheese I can live with (barely). Your attitude towards bars, however, is driving me over the edge. After all, who heard of a restaurant-style beverage intake facility cheering on a fellow while he does this?:

And then he puked. He had chicken for dinner. I know, because I was drunk, and I asked him. Mac and Bruce and I were all drunk. It was fun. They didn't ask anyone about their dinners, to the best of my knowlege.



I guess that particular setting on my camera makes you really feel like you're there and drunk as well. Good to know. If only I remembered which setting it was.

________________

And hey, I'm just sticking this up here for fun, because who doesn't like to be compared to Fred and George?


Harry Potter Personality Quiz by Pirate Monkeys Inc.
________________

Dear New Internet Explorer thingy,

I love the new look! It's fantastic how you've integrated some of the best features of Firefox, while still retaining your ease of use. I particularly enjoy your new icons, and having less words on my brower menu always pleases me.

I do, however, have one major complaint. Whenever I try to post a picture to my blogger account, things go well for the majority of the upload - I can see it going through the process of loading just fine - until the very end. When all of my hopes and dreams for my blog post are flushed down the motherfucking toilet by the screen saying that it "cannot find the page I was looking for". Motherfucker, I was looking for the page with the DONE button on it. That's the only page I care about. And this business with it working 10% of the time is utter bullshit, as well. Y'all know there are some terrifically optimistic people out there (like me, for example), who will try it every single time with your browser (which, by the way, is fantastic in every other concievable way), just because ONE TIME it did what I wanted it to do.

Thanks to your shitty design flaw, I am forced to write my blog posts in your browser, pray to the god of boxed wine that it will go through, and then scare my husband with my terrible cursing when it doesn't work. Then I am forced to space out my paragraphs with spaces where the pictures should go and labels of the pictures I had wanted to use there (ie: [pictures of fellow drinking pitcher]), save my post as a draft, and then open it up and edit and post it through Firefox.

I am disappointed, New Internet Explorer Thingy. I had such high hopes for you. I will continue to use your browser because I happen to hate new things, and refuse to upgrade to the more efficient Firefox. I'm a pansy, and sometimes I act like an old lady. Please fix your problems.

Love,
Sunny.

PS: If you had a mouth, and I had balls, I would so totally be telling you to suck them, New Internet Explorer Thingy.

Not Every Girl

Not every girl is the sort of girl I am. I understand this. There are many things, and unique situations, that made me into the woman I am today: responsive, perceptive, sensitive, giving, nurturing. Perhaps someday I will tell you of all the things that made me into the woman I stand as today. The important thing for today's post is, however, that it takes a unique blend of person to be the sort of girl I'm interested in becoming friends with.

Not every girl will listen to the stories that surround your life without interjecting her own space upon you. There is a special, wonderful sort of girl who will listen when it is your turn to talk, and help you through your rough times. There's a special sort of girl who will buy you a shot when you need one, instead of bemoaning her own issues and trying to show you up.

Not every girl can put out her faults for all the world to see, and expect the worst in the people who reply. Even if she can, not many girls can accept the criticism that comes from making her faults known. Some girls can't acknowledge that the things they say might not be appealing to the whole world. The girls I choose understand that. They know the thoughts and feelings they have might not be the same as the thoughts and feelings of the rest of the world, but they put them out there anyway. They know that to the few that do care, reading about it will be worth it's weight in gold.

Not every girl will sit and chat away about the nothingness that is prime-time TV. Special few are capable of totally disconnecting and talking about the shows they watch and the reasons they love them completely without talking about themselves for a few minutes.

Not every girl is capable of looking at your life and realizing that while it's completely different from her own, there are things she can do and caring that she can apply, to make another girl's life worth it. Every second worth it.

Not every girl automatically cares. Some will analyze, interpret, and decide whether it's worthwhile for them to invest themselves or a bit of their heart. Those girls aren't of interest to me.

Not every girl fully understands themselves. Some girls know who they are and have gotten there through much fire, only to become more true to themselves and full of life, and will deny they suffered at all. Some girls go through only mild heat, claiming to have suffered the blinding heat of hell, and come through with the opposite. They end up full of themselves. This is not even close to what I'm looking for.

Not every girl can take the heat. Too few and far between are the girls who will willingly roast their cheese sandwiches on the fires of criticism and willingly embrace the toasted goodness that comes from the controversy. It takes a special and highly evolved woman to understand that she is capable of rising up through the conflict into higher glory.

Not every girl can take that conflict and turn it into something more. Some special girls are able to look at the darkest night and see a dawn. Some special girls will take your nuggets of truth to heart, and further themselves in their field through your suggestions. Not every girl, but some.

Not every girl is made of steel.

Not every girl will burn through the semi-soft exterior to red-hot iron. But those are the girls I choose to be my friends.

And, damn it, not every girl is a cushion of pure feathers, meant to blow away in the breeze if the slightest wind should blow. Not every girl will dissolve in the slightest warmth like candle wax. Not every girl is built around a solid core of rancid bitterness. Not every girl is incapable of love. Not every girl is incapable of friendship with a female. Not every girl is a bitch. Not every girl lies to get ahead in life. Not every girl will steal from you - whether it's your heart or your cash. Not every girl will use you to get ahead. Not every girl will fake an orgasm. Not every girl needs a man to show them how to live their life. Not every girl will take advantage of that man. Not every girl lives for making other girls feel bad.

Not every girl is confident in herself as a person. The ones who are can afford a friendship with another girl, not ever feeling second-best or better or judged. There are fine girls out there who can look at a girl and see nothing but a sister under the skin. No competition, no bullshit, no snide remarks. A few wonderful girls can look at a friendship with another girl as that - a friendship. And as a friend, they will never look at you in envy, only ever with the joy that true friendship will bring.

These are the women who have stood by me, as my friend. Choose your own, and choose well. They will guide you and nurture you. As a true friend will.

Blue & Mirrored (Part 1)

Last week, I went to Hobby Lobby for some... hell, I can't think of a viable reason for going. I wanted to buy some stuff, ok? So I went, and I bought myself some stuff. It was great.

I got some beads for some yarning project(s) - in a light green and a light blue. I think they're glass, and they will look fantastic. What project(s), you ask? Maybe Hanging Garden? Maybe Odessa? Perhaps gasp both? Stay tuned!



I also picked up a neat little mosaic kit. I've always loved mosaics and wanted to try them out, and what better way than with a kit? I bought the one for coasters. Not that I don't love the coasters Bruce gets from the beer factories, what with the cardboard and the nifty slogans, but I thought these could be our "company" coasters. You know, for fancy people.



I got some small square mirrored tiles as well. Because I can't just live with what people give me, I've got to spend four extra dollars on modifications, make sure it looks a little teensy bit worse than what they originally planned for, and then spend the life of the object telling people that, "I made it."



In this case, though, I think it's going to turn out well. See?



This is before the glue came into the process. I was just trying to see if they would look good at all. They did, so I started gluing pieces to the coasters - I put coats of glue on both the coaster and on the piece I wanted to secure, because that's what the instructions said. However, I believe the reason the instructions said that was because they expected me to paint the whole coaster with glue, then paint the individual pieces with glue, and then put them on, one by one.



My method involved finding what I believed was the best pattern and used up the most of the blue tiles without wasting any and then taking off the tiles one at a time, putting glue on the tiny section of coaster they would be on, putting glue on the back of the piece, and then trying to somehow maneuver the tiny sliver of blue tile into the equally tiny sliver of space between previously-glued blue tile, while trying not to disturb the other previously-glued blue tile, and also trying to get it into the exact position I had it in when it was unglued.



I'm sick, aren't I? In my mind, this was an hour(!) well-spent.



Coming soon, grout! Mmmm! Bet you can't wait!

Damned Blackness

So, yesterday I was a little boredish. I knew I wanted to knit, but I wasn't really feeling the knitting bag. (Bye-bye, olympics, I pretty much give up - does anyone know how long the Special Olympics run for? And does having Knitting ADD qualify me?) So of course, I took a gander at the gasp snow outside, and felt inspiration.



This is what I had to get through to start.



This is what it looked like after 30 minutes.



This is what it looked like 30 minutes ago, a mere 24 hours from start to finish. (And hell to the no, I was't knitting the whole time.)



Bruce seems to be overjoyed. There was much bitching (from me) about the boring, invisible stitchy-blackness. And the plain. That didn't go over too well (with me), either. He's been wearing it since the last loose end was woven in, though. So I think he might keep it.



Stats:
Pattern? London Beanie
Yarn? Wool of the Andes in "coal", 2 skeins. I held the yarn doubled throughout. No stripes. Apparently, stripes aren't manly to my husband, either. Damnit.
Needles? Boye Needlemaster things, only I bought them all seperately. And bamboo DPNs when it got down to the knitty-gritty decreases. (I'm so punny. I suck.)
Alterations? Well, I knit this pattern for my little (big) brother back before Christmas, and I modified it by casting on six more stitches than called for. It turned out fabulous, and both big-headed me and big-headed Bruce liked it roomy. In fact, if you remember correctly, when I first finished the hat for Robby, Bruce tried it on and said, "Hmm. Maybe you could knit me one of those? Only black?" Eventually, I got around to it. I used the same mods on this one.

Johari Window

If you would please click here and follow the instructions, I would be most pleased. Thank you.

In the meantime, here's a pretty picture of me and my son, as Lisa calls him:

Today is a New Day

Hello! I have a new book! I've been reading the book, and the book is good. It has many many wonderful pictures and stuff. I want a sweater. I want a sweater just like this sweater and like this sweater. I think I want mine to be more of a paprika color, though (orangish, not greenish) although I love the greens those girls were knitting in. I know they live, in all reality, many miles from me, but some part of me thinks that they will both feel like three green hourglass sweaters from Last-Minute Knitted Gifts will, in fact, be one too many, no matter how far away I live. Because I'm paranoid like that. You know me. Plus, I have a feeling that the reason I love the sweater in green so much is that there are two already, and I love the sweaters and how they look on those two people. So orange it shall be! Eventually. I will be using Paton's Classic Merino, just like Carrie did, although my large will probably take more than her small did, hahaha.

Here's the book:


And it is fantastic.

Lookie here:



We have a houseguest! Welcome, Mac!

Notice how the Linus automatically gravitates to sniffing shoes. It's like a Linus' version of sniffing a crotch.

He's not too excited about the book, though.


I care not for your bookish delights.

Also, here is the duplex that we're praying (to the Gods of Boxed Wine and Keystone Light) for:



If you feel generous, you can pray to your various Gods for us, too.