Crossed Cables

I finished a blanket that I started in the summer. I knit in the evenings while we watch TV and usually I give the stuff I make away, but I decided I wanted to make something for us to keep.

It was finally done, so I bound off and shaped it. Then, the first time I used it, I saw this:

Gah!

Matt says he doesn’t see what I’m talking about and that I’m the only one who will notice… but damn that’s annoying.

Oh well. It’s soft and mostly purdy. Almost as purdy as my pumpkin colored toes.

The pattern is the “Cross Roads Cable Knit Blanket” by Gayle Bunn. I think I found it on Ravelry, and I’m pretty sure it was free because I’m cheap like that.

The Perils of Being a Knitter’s Dog


    Especially the kind who reaches for their camera before saving you…


    An Evening With Ira

    Tonight, I told Ira Glass that I have a dog. It may have been the shortest interview that he ever conducted, but I feel that my entire life has been validated. This happened; I may now die without regret.

    ~

    Ira: Okay, you: you get the last question. 

    Me: I just want to know how Piney is doing. 

    Ira: Piney??? (There was no recollection on his face… I thought I got the name wrong.)

    Me: Your dog?

    Ira: I know who Piney is. I assume you are asking because you have a dog?

    Me: Yes.

    Ira: What kind?

    Me: Yorkshire terrier. 

    Ira: Has he ever bitten anyone?

    Me: Yes (are we seriously still talking?! Or is this like that time I dreamt I was friends with Tom Hanks’ mom?)

    Ira: But he’s small so it isn’t a big deal…?

    Me: Yes, that’s true. 

    Ira: Well… (turns to the audience) Just to explain, I have a pitbull… (Proceeds to re-cap entire episode from the dog’s emotional issues down to the search for kangaroo meat in NYC, then turns back to me.) But anyway, yes: Piney is fine. 

      

    Snowballs

    I need someone to do some research on why it is impossible to get snow off of a terrier. I finally gave up and put him in the tub to thaw like a 12 pound turkey. 

       
       

    Working From Home

    I’m transitioning from working in an office to working from home. Right now it’s a few days a week, but I will soon work from home full-time. 

    I know this sounds like a dream come true for most people. But I am afraid that for me, the transition from semi-adjusted introvert to total shut-in will be an effortless one. 

    Exhibit A: The other day I forced my dog to pose with the Yorkie socks that my Mom gave me for Christmas.  (You must admit, the resemblance is striking.)

      
    It was only after I posted the photo to Facebook that it occurred to me, “well, that was a weird fucking thing to do.”

    It was something one of *those* people would do. Those sad people who need to reach out and talk to people so badly they post photos of their socks and winter white calves on the internet. 

    I must be more vigilant going forward.  I am developing a test that I must pass prior to repeating this error again.  I will ask myself, “If this thing I am about to post was not my photo or thought, but a story someone tried to tell me on public transportation… would I change my seat? If not, post away. If so, time to get out of the house.”

    On Having a Small Dog in the Snowy Mountain West: A Haiku by Rachel Lewis

    There’re turds on my deck.

    They are melting now, slowly.

    I must fix that soon. 

    (PS I know “they are” is technically two syllables, even if you contract it. Don’t email me.)

    Happy Halloween

    My dog has a condition that makes his trachea collapse when he gets excited. Like… Say… When the mailman comes. Probably to murder us. All dogs know that mailmen are evil and have a freak out but mine does that and then spends fifteen minutes trying to get air back in his lungs without sounding like a Harley Davidson.

    Once or twice a day, no biggie. Halloween? Nightmare on Elm Street. (There are a lot of elm trees on my street, but that’s not really what it’s called.)

    So I’m opting out.  I feel badly about it. Sort of. But this is what I’m doing this year. Candy is candy, right? Getting me to open the door is the least fun part. 

      
      

    My Handsome Hound

    They say that dogs don’t have the ability to recognize themselves in a mirror, but I’ve caught my pooch gazing at his reflection so often, I am convinced he gets it. I am also convinced he is just a little vain. 

    But look at this darling mug. Can you blame him?

     

    This…

    is what throw pillows are for.  

    

    And one from the side…