Good Night, Gracie

I miss my kitten.

She was a total nutter and would go completely insane when freed from her daily confinement of our upstairs bedroom when I got home from work.

For at least two hours she would run and jump on everything that would or wouldn't move. The two older cats would be subjected to her Napoleonic, leopard-like pounces.

It killed me the way she would hop on their backs and then crisscross them while they were trying to get back down the stairs and under the dining table, where they (wrongly) thought that they would be safe. Gracie would just hop onto the dining chairs and then bat them from above their heads.

Personally, I was very amused.

What I will miss most, though, is the way that - once she got tired and wanted a snuggle and a nap - Gracie would walk along the back of the couch and climb down me like I was steep hill. Half of the way down, she would stop and lay on me. It was like wearing a warm, purring boa.

I'll miss the way she would gently touch my face with her paw.

I always imagined that she was telling me something sweet, telling me about her day and about all of the crazy stuff that she saw from her upstairs window-ledge perch. She was probably just saying, "Thanks for the food, Lady. Don't forget to give me some more tomorrow." Cats are like that.

Anyway, I'll miss her. She was a joy and a crackup to have around. She went to a good home, with good people who will love her and care for her. She'll have another cat to play with; she'll have the run of a Zen Garden and a dog to pick on; she'll get to sleep in the bed with mom, dad and her new sister.

I was only her surrogate mommy for one month, but I loved her nonetheless.

Bye-bye, Gracie. Keep your box clean.

The Art of Complaining

As an update to my last post, the knitting store redeemed itself by responding to my complaint email by refunding the money I paid for the two classes (the horrible one that I took and the one I cancelled because of the horrible one that I took) and they're sending me a gift certificate.

Ah, the beauty of a well-crafted complaint.

Credit where credit is due, it was pretty good customer service.

Crabby McGrumpypants

I was crabby on Saturday. Crabby, crabby, crabby. I blame it on the awful knitting class I went to in Saratoga.

Two things can put me in a bad mood like no other two things on this planet - a bad breakfast or a bad class.

I don't just like breakfast, I LOVE breakfast. I am a breakfast person. I'll never know why people invite me to brunch because I am never gonna eat any damned lunch when I can eat breakfast. Call a spade a spade and invite me to breakfast, because that's what I am going to eat.

Now, if I've had a bad breakfast... woe to all who meet me that day. There is no saving grace for anyone who crosses my path on a day when I have had a bad breakfast. And if that bad breakfast was in a restaurant and I had to pay for it... Well, let's just say that on those days I go home and sit on the couch with my little hands clinched into little fists and stare at a wall and don't dare go outside for fear of the havoc I will wreak on an unsuspecting public. Husband gives me a wide berth, slowing down occasionally to throw raw meat and/or caffeinated beverages in my direction (always remembering to tuck and roll).

This is precisely the mood I end up in when I have to sit through a bad class. And if I had to pay for that bad class...

That was me on Saturday, little fists clenched, staring at a wall and then I decided to go to the mail box to pick up the post. And what should I find waiting for me but a lovely present from my loverly Secret Pal! Awww. The box was stuffed with teas, sock yarn (Rowan Cashsoft among them!) and one that looks like my SP took the time to mix a few yarns together to make me a sock yarn. Let's not forget the maple candies and the "Hello Kitty" Pez dispenser (nice!). The icing on the cake, though, was the copy of The Twisted Sisters Sock Workbook, which was on my Amazon wish list and a book that I really, really wanted. It changed my whole perspective on the day. It put me in such a good mood that I was able to go out on Saturday evening to Game Night at a friend's house and have a great time. Until I got the package, I was dreading the thought of going because I was sure I would be a huge buzz-kill.

Thank you, Secret Pal!

The world thanks you, too.

The Scarlet Letter

Friday. A full two weeks back at the Scarlet Letter after my 7-week hiatus. Oh, how I miss the carefree days of not coming into the office. The halcyon days of not having people throw their cars at me from the wrong direction up the aisles of the parking lot, of not having my fellow co-workers position their caffeinated, jerking fingers over the Close Door button in the elevator as soon as the damn thing stops on my floor.

For the love of god, let me off the elevator before you request that the doors fling shut so that the elevator can hurtle you on your way to... well, nowhere.

It's short-timers. I just know it. My ability to gladly suffer fools, never the kevlar-coated stuff of a Jane Austen herione, is now gossamer thin and littered with holes. I will not make it to my anticipated quit date. I will be in a federal penitentary long before that date arrives.

Right now, I am a worthless amalgamation of red blood cells at work. I can't concentrate, I can't get motivated, I can't do anything that would require me to do anything that would resemble work. I wish that someone would lay me off so that I can avoid making the double-bird jesture as I tell them that I quit.

Two days. Two days to adjust my attitude and suck it up for the next few months.

Wish me luck.

This is NOT news, not even Entertainment News

It is a slow day in the Universe when this is what passes for a news story, even if it is on the Entertainment Tonight website.

The Knitting Olympics is news, however. It made Will Femia's Clicked column on the MSNBC web page.

In the spirit of the Knitting Olympics, along with Emy, I have decided to tackle my AbFab Throw kit by Colinette. I am going to make the Scallops throw. Though it's not the easiest one to make, it's supposed to be really easy. We'll see. I have started this kit many times now and keep stopping and starting over because my damn brain refuses to count to 122. Shut up, brain! I am going to start this throw and finish it for the Olympics. I was going to give it to my sister, but as it will now be my trophy for the Knitting Olympics, it may have to stay with me.

Photos of Gracie

These are photos of the kitten that we rescued on Christmas day.

Koigu Krazy

I decided to get off my candy ass and go outside today, refusing to spend it entirely indoors with only the cats to talk or kvetch to, so I went over to Commuknity and the very lovely Lolly was there with two skeins of the most beautiful, girly-pink Koigu for me. Lolly is an absolute doll. She was my teacher for Sock School and made it easy to see how a novice like me would be able to (eventually) make a pair of socks that didn't look like a cack-handed monkey had made them. Strangely, I always feel better when the things I make don't look like a cack-handed monkey was involved in any way. I'm just egotistical like that.

Bringing home my gorgeous new yarn inspired me to inventory and chronicle my stash, notions, bags, baskets and works in progress.

What's worse is that I made a spreadsheet in Excel that lists not only the colours and numbers of skeins of all of the yarns, but the yardage, weight, fiber content, weight class, gauge, lot, needle size and care instructions for each as well. I made separate tabs for needle conversion/needle inventory and weight standards for yarn as well.

What's worse than that is that I feel that I've left something out of the spreadsheet.

As my friend's boyfriend would say: nerd, nerdy, nerdly nerdliness.

The truth is that I will sleep much better tonight knowing that it's all organized (much the same way I sleep when I know that all of my shoes are facing the right way and touching in my closet at night). Besides, I couldn't just shove my scrumptious new yarn into a drawer full of mismatched skeins and balls of random yarn, now could I? I'd be thinking about it while I was at work on Monday, planning how I could come home and put it all in order...

Thank heavens I can use the United Behavioral Health part of my company benefits to talk to a therapist.

To Blog Or Not To Blog

A blog? Start a blog? To say what? And to whom? What is there for me to say to the world?

Well, I guess that it's time that I found out.

I have to confess that I am starting this (mostly) because I joined Secret Pal 7 and it was one of the requirements - having a blog. It's meant to be a way for me to communicate my likes, dislikes, wants, needs, desires, rants, raves and prophecies.

Why on earth would anyone want to read about that?