I promise to post an FO soon, but I've been busy. Today I started a shawl using this formula and my single skein of Brown Sheep Wildfoote Luxury Sock Yarn in Forest Fog. Due to the single-skein syndrome, I will definitely end up using another yarn with it. Currently, I plan to include this handspun yarn I bought at the Eugene Saturday Market. It's really quite beautiful, with these lovely subtle reds and greens. It will lend itself quite well to the shawl, because it (the shawl, not the yarn) has this "spiderweb-made-by-a-drunk-spider" look to it, which I enjoy.
I also have stalled production on my bell-sleeved shrug. I just can't take all that stockinette. Miles and miles of stockinette. Mind-numbingly dull until I get to the decrease section, which feels as though it's waiting for me off in Uzbekistan. I'll finish it soon, but not too soon. It was boring me, and I needed a change. Also on the needles are some fingerless gloves from a post on Craftster, made using my dyed Cascade 220. I messed up on the bind-off for the first one, though, so I'm going to have to frog, frog, frog. Ugh. I hate frogging. The name makes it sound fun and cheery, 'cause frogs embody those qualities, but it's really quite dismal to watch your work unravel.
In other news, the dear boyfriend/manfriend has officially moved off to New York City to attend NYU. Although video chatting with him is far superior to sending letters by mule all the way across the nation, it certainly does not substitute for actual physical contact. I want so much just to run into the screen and hug him, but all that would lead to is a broken MacBook and an embarrassing story. And nobody needs that.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Down the Raptor Hole
Yesterday, I got my wisdom teeth removed. Yes indeedy. That sure was an experience.
To begin this foray into my oral surgery, I must set the scene. My dentist/oral surgeon is truly a skilled and lovely man, thoroughly efficient while maintaining care and kindness. He is also a Korean immigrant who has a love of karaoke and singing along with the radio station broadcast into the building, bringing you the greatest hits of the 70's, 80's, and 90's. Throughout my visits I have witnessed him singing "Dream Weaver" and having extremely frank conversations with the dental hygienists concerning man-thongs. Quite simply, there is never a boring visit.
Now, for my extraction the usual anesthetic (administered by my dentist who always asks "Are you hurting?" with each injection) was aided by that most glorious of gases, nitrous oxide. Oh sweet Lord. As the dear doctor cracked jokes about nitrous parties and slit open my gums, I was encased in a world full of unicorns and fluffy white clouds. Everything, and I mean everything, echoed. I was traipsing the battlefield of love, waking up before you go-go, rock and rolling all night, and partying every day, totally fine with the fact that, undoubtedly, my mouth was stained with blood and my one bone-set tooth was being popped out of its happy little home. For clarification, the other tooth that was removed was in soft tissue, and therefore did not produce such interesting noises, such fascinating sensation.
Had I not been on the nitrous, I would have kept my eyes open, thinking that being aware of everything instrument and every move would be somehow beneficial, that I would be in control of the situation. But, I was on the nitrous, in an eye-shut dreamland. The world could have gone into a complete Jurassic Park raptor attack, and I would have been cool with it. I might have even tried to talk to one...
Raptor: *shrriiiieeeeek*
Me: Oh heeeeey, man! Have you seen my narwhal saddle? I need to go take a moon-trip!
Raptor: *shrriiiieeeeek*
Me: Y'know what? I haven't looked in the fireplace. Thanks, buddy!
And then I would either get eaten, or become the Raptor Queen. I'm betting on the latter.
All was fine and dandy until I got home. Gauze had been placed on my freshly-stitched gums and it was quickly soaking up with blood. The nitrous oxide had worn off, but my lower jaw, tongue, gums, and lower lip were still number than a paraplegic's calves. Around noon, I felt the need to change the gauze, which led to one of the most disgusting experiences of my life, one which made me yearn for the delightful gas. My saliva was sticky with blood, and I couldn't help drooling the goopy substance as I painfully attempted to navigate new gauze into my mouth. A pamphlet I was given told me I should stop bleeding after about two hours. In reality, I filled gauze pads for about five hours, each being more painful than the next as the gargantuan amount of local anesthetic I was given wore off. I cried, I drooled, and I was hungry.
Although the removal occurred only yesterday, I am beyond tired of yogurt, pudding, little slices of hard-boiled egg, and applesauce. The TV commercials for normally unappealing greasy burgers are now tempting and alluring. Even my cat, munching on her kitty kibble, inspires jealousy. Sure, I have an excuse to nom nom nom all the ice cream I want, but what I really desire is a turkey sandwich. My molars yearn to chew, but my surgical wounds inhibit them.
On the bright side, this gives me lots of knitting time, and my dear boyfriend will be visiting me in my fragility. And, I had something interesting to write up into a post. Oral surgery, you have yet to best me. Ha HA!
To begin this foray into my oral surgery, I must set the scene. My dentist/oral surgeon is truly a skilled and lovely man, thoroughly efficient while maintaining care and kindness. He is also a Korean immigrant who has a love of karaoke and singing along with the radio station broadcast into the building, bringing you the greatest hits of the 70's, 80's, and 90's. Throughout my visits I have witnessed him singing "Dream Weaver" and having extremely frank conversations with the dental hygienists concerning man-thongs. Quite simply, there is never a boring visit.
Now, for my extraction the usual anesthetic (administered by my dentist who always asks "Are you hurting?" with each injection) was aided by that most glorious of gases, nitrous oxide. Oh sweet Lord. As the dear doctor cracked jokes about nitrous parties and slit open my gums, I was encased in a world full of unicorns and fluffy white clouds. Everything, and I mean everything, echoed. I was traipsing the battlefield of love, waking up before you go-go, rock and rolling all night, and partying every day, totally fine with the fact that, undoubtedly, my mouth was stained with blood and my one bone-set tooth was being popped out of its happy little home. For clarification, the other tooth that was removed was in soft tissue, and therefore did not produce such interesting noises, such fascinating sensation.
Had I not been on the nitrous, I would have kept my eyes open, thinking that being aware of everything instrument and every move would be somehow beneficial, that I would be in control of the situation. But, I was on the nitrous, in an eye-shut dreamland. The world could have gone into a complete Jurassic Park raptor attack, and I would have been cool with it. I might have even tried to talk to one...
Raptor: *shrriiiieeeeek*
Me: Oh heeeeey, man! Have you seen my narwhal saddle? I need to go take a moon-trip!
Raptor: *shrriiiieeeeek*
Me: Y'know what? I haven't looked in the fireplace. Thanks, buddy!
And then I would either get eaten, or become the Raptor Queen. I'm betting on the latter.
All was fine and dandy until I got home. Gauze had been placed on my freshly-stitched gums and it was quickly soaking up with blood. The nitrous oxide had worn off, but my lower jaw, tongue, gums, and lower lip were still number than a paraplegic's calves. Around noon, I felt the need to change the gauze, which led to one of the most disgusting experiences of my life, one which made me yearn for the delightful gas. My saliva was sticky with blood, and I couldn't help drooling the goopy substance as I painfully attempted to navigate new gauze into my mouth. A pamphlet I was given told me I should stop bleeding after about two hours. In reality, I filled gauze pads for about five hours, each being more painful than the next as the gargantuan amount of local anesthetic I was given wore off. I cried, I drooled, and I was hungry.
Although the removal occurred only yesterday, I am beyond tired of yogurt, pudding, little slices of hard-boiled egg, and applesauce. The TV commercials for normally unappealing greasy burgers are now tempting and alluring. Even my cat, munching on her kitty kibble, inspires jealousy. Sure, I have an excuse to nom nom nom all the ice cream I want, but what I really desire is a turkey sandwich. My molars yearn to chew, but my surgical wounds inhibit them.
On the bright side, this gives me lots of knitting time, and my dear boyfriend will be visiting me in my fragility. And, I had something interesting to write up into a post. Oral surgery, you have yet to best me. Ha HA!
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Yarn Pr0n
Tasty. Here's the freshly-dyed yarn I promised yesterday. I was going to re-skein it, but that didn't seem worth the trouble. All 220 yards? I really don't think so.
This picture is the most accurate depiction of the colors. I accidentally bought a bunch of blue packets, thinking that the Kool-Aid inside was blue as well. It turned out to be red Tropical Punch. That's what I get for not reading.
Oh, the drama!
One more, for emphasis. You know you want some.
This picture is the most accurate depiction of the colors. I accidentally bought a bunch of blue packets, thinking that the Kool-Aid inside was blue as well. It turned out to be red Tropical Punch. That's what I get for not reading.
Oh, the drama!
One more, for emphasis. You know you want some.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Eat my pretention
I really ought to post more. Perhaps I shall put up some scandalous yarn pictures. I dyed a skein of Cascade 220 with Kool-Aid, and from that smelly endeavor emerged a BUTTERFLY!
Saturday, June 28, 2008
I'm Feelin' Charged
Well, I certainly neglected this little blog for the year. September through mid-June is a hellish time for me, and I let my corner of the internets slip between my fingers and into the electronic haze (see the "about me" section). But never fear! I am here. Again. Bitch yes.
I have taken up knitting over these past months. It's fun and exciting! If you're on Ravelry, look me up. I'm yzezzy over there. We can talk about...yarn. YARN! Oh Lord, how I love yarn. What beautiful fibers and colors! What varied textures and weights and purposes! I going into one of our local yarn stores (or LYS, for those in the know) and I nearly have a yarngasm. In many cases, I do, but I try to keep that between myself and the sexy, luscious silk alpaca blend I hold in my hands, cascading over my curves, my thighs, my...
...
That's just nasty. Trust me, I don't do that with yarn. At least not often.
Currently I am in the cast of a production of the musical "HAIR". Although I may do a write-up about it soon, I must say now how much I love it. It's an extremely liberating experience, one which has bred such closeness between my castmates and I. Sure, I may be the baby of the cast, but I feel a sense of equality and camaraderie which makes the entire thing just so gosh-darned fucking great.
And it's pretty darn sexy, too. All that sweaty gropey goodness. Ow ow!
I have taken up knitting over these past months. It's fun and exciting! If you're on Ravelry, look me up. I'm yzezzy over there. We can talk about...yarn. YARN! Oh Lord, how I love yarn. What beautiful fibers and colors! What varied textures and weights and purposes! I going into one of our local yarn stores (or LYS, for those in the know) and I nearly have a yarngasm. In many cases, I do, but I try to keep that between myself and the sexy, luscious silk alpaca blend I hold in my hands, cascading over my curves, my thighs, my...
...
That's just nasty. Trust me, I don't do that with yarn. At least not often.
Currently I am in the cast of a production of the musical "HAIR". Although I may do a write-up about it soon, I must say now how much I love it. It's an extremely liberating experience, one which has bred such closeness between my castmates and I. Sure, I may be the baby of the cast, but I feel a sense of equality and camaraderie which makes the entire thing just so gosh-darned fucking great.
And it's pretty darn sexy, too. All that sweaty gropey goodness. Ow ow!
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Twinkle, Twinkle
The first words out of my mouth as I walked outside this evening were "Holy shit!"
I know, terribly eloquent, right? Well, you would have said the same thing if you had seen what I had seen. Right as my eyes hit the sky, I was treated to the most fantastic cosmic display I've witnessed since my days in Girl Scout camp. It's one of those frighteningly perfect nights, clear and crisp as if all the clouds were taken hostage and put into nuclear missile silos, or perhaps forced into North Korea (since even clouds can't get out of there), so that they don't ruin the delicately pinholed velvet majesty of the night. All the stars that I could possibly see tonight were showing their bright, shiny faces, sending their light directly to me from years ago. Sure, I know that, those years ago, the stars did not know that they were going to be seen by me, but it somehow comforts me in a vain way to pretend that they did.
This is the kind of night you spend walking, jacketless, down the street just to appreciate the greater picture. This is the kind of night you spend on the roof with some friends lighting incense, or anything else for that matter (I'm not particular). This is the kind of night during which you allow yourself to stray from the streetlights just to be able to view the full spectrum of what is, or was, out there, to marvel at how small you are. This is the kind of in which you step outside, look up, and say "Holy shit" because that's all there is to say.
I approve.
I know, terribly eloquent, right? Well, you would have said the same thing if you had seen what I had seen. Right as my eyes hit the sky, I was treated to the most fantastic cosmic display I've witnessed since my days in Girl Scout camp. It's one of those frighteningly perfect nights, clear and crisp as if all the clouds were taken hostage and put into nuclear missile silos, or perhaps forced into North Korea (since even clouds can't get out of there), so that they don't ruin the delicately pinholed velvet majesty of the night. All the stars that I could possibly see tonight were showing their bright, shiny faces, sending their light directly to me from years ago. Sure, I know that, those years ago, the stars did not know that they were going to be seen by me, but it somehow comforts me in a vain way to pretend that they did.
This is the kind of night you spend walking, jacketless, down the street just to appreciate the greater picture. This is the kind of night you spend on the roof with some friends lighting incense, or anything else for that matter (I'm not particular). This is the kind of night during which you allow yourself to stray from the streetlights just to be able to view the full spectrum of what is, or was, out there, to marvel at how small you are. This is the kind of in which you step outside, look up, and say "Holy shit" because that's all there is to say.
I approve.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Scrub a-dub-dub
For my introductory post, I am not going to write anything amusing, entertaining, or even moderately intelligent. Instead, I shall pose a question:
What is going on in this picture?
A bizarre bathing ritual? Infant swim lessons? A growing underground aquatic sport, gambled upon by high-ranking business men and international royalty?
I suppose I should be introducing myself, giving a sample of my writing style, but this is a pressing issue. I am concerned, confused, and rather bamboozled by the event recorded in this image. Unfortunately, all of my Google searches for things such as "Asian babies in sink" or "watching floating infants" have proved to be fruitless. If you have an explanation, I beg you to post it. You may be the one to stop this madness.
Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope.
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