First of all, dear readers, I want to apologize to those of you who read yesterday's post. I typed it in a moment of weakness. To those of you who were so kind as to leave comments and suggestions, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. However, I've decided to delete the entire horror story. It was just too depressing for words (no pun intended), and I decided that it had no place here. There is one thing I want to say about it, though, and then we'll move on to the fun stuff.
I am going to destash. One of my lovely readers suggested that I try and destash through my blog before I put them in my Etsy store, and that's what I'm going to do. I had a talk with Hubster, and he told me to only sell those skeins which I'll never knit. So today, we're going through the entire stash. I know, though, some of the yarns which are going to go.
As soon as I have a complete list of what's for sale, I'll list it here (hopefully by the end of the weekend). I can tell you, though, that I'm selling all of my Lorna's Laces Shepherd Sock, all of my Opal (including some old and rare skeins, as well as two complete Rainforest collections - the older and newer ones), all of my Schaefer's Anne, and any duplicates of indie yarns. I'll be keeping all the other indie yarn I've acquired because I love them too much to give them up. Hubster understands this and is fully supporting my decision. What I'll do is sell it on a first-come, first serve basis. If any of you have need for any of the yarn I've listed already, drop me a note at firstname.lastname@example.org. I'll be happy to take pictures and quote you a price. I'll be doing everything through PayPal just to make things easier, and the price I quote will include shipping.
That being said and done, I'm back to normal today. Last night was a good talking night interspersed with some slapstick comedy. More on that later.
I told you all that I had some yarn and other goodies on order. The Yarn Fairy was working today, so I hit the jackpot yet again. I had to take two pictures for your viewing enjoyment.
Here is the first picture.
Here we have Lovesticks Sock Yarn in "Vegas Baby!" and "Watermelon Slice (Dark)", Prairie Daisy Handspun in "Kaleidoscope", and My Small Wonders in "Camouflage" and "Earthly Goods".
Next we have these lovely creatures.
There is Gypsy Girl Creations in "Cotton Candy" and "Winter Solstice", as well as Perchance to Knit in "Hedera Helix", "Fragile", and "Mexacali Peppers". I do believe that "Mexacali Peppers" is a duplicate (you know you have too much yarn when you finally can't remember what's in your stash), so there's a strong likelihood that I'll be selling one of them.
Have you ever noticed that you seem to go in color runs when you select yarn? I didn't have a lot of blue in the stash, so I decided to buy some. All of sudden, I'm being bombarded with blues, blue combined with hot pink, blue with electric green, blue blue blue. No matter. It will eventually get knitted into something.
I also got my first shipments of the Art Walk Sock Yarn Club and the Woolgirl Sock Club. I won't show those because as usual, I don't want to be a spoiler. Let me just say that the yarns in both are gorgeous, and Jen did a kickass job of putting together a package. Too exciting! My sock and yarn clubs are things that I'm going to keep at all costs. They're just too much fun to get rid of.
Now for a bit of humor.
Last night after we saw the therapist, Hubster and I went to The Cheesesteak Factory for dinner. I knew it would be crowded, but I like their food and didn't want another English muffin. So we got our little mechanical buzzing thing and were told that it would be about 45 minutes to an hour for a booth (I hate tables, especially there - I always feel like I'm in a fishbowl). So we went outside, had a smoke, came back in, stood, sat, went back outside, had another smoke, came back in, sat, dozed, and well after an hour the buzzing thing FINALLY went off. So we went up to the desk and waited some more for the girl to take us to our booth.
We got down the aisle and she informed us that our booth wasn't bussed yet, so we stood in the aisle waiting. While we were standing there, we noticed (how could we NOT) a young couple sitting at the table right next to us. He had that dopey, sleepy-eyed look that young men (well, all men) get when they have a boner the size of Manhattan and was kissing her in an... um... rather inappropriate way. On top of that, he had his hand placed firmly on her boob and was caressing it. I couldn't stop staring and Hubster couldn't stop making remarks. Not that they would have heard us - it's amazing what a couple bottles of wine will do to people.
We finally got the all-clear and were seated at our booth. We hadn't been there for more than five minutes when a waitress bounced around the corner, scaring the shit out of us. She announced in a loud and happy voice that her name was blah blah blah (I was in shock) and she would be our waitress. Then she bounced away. That was the last time I spoke to her.
A few minutes later, Hubster pointed out that the tables next to us (all four of them, and they're long) were pushed together, which meant only one thing. Yep. A party. And here they came. It seemed like hundreds, but there were probably about 30 of them. All in their early 20's, all half in the bag, and all loud. Balloons. Gifts. And worst of all, cameras. I thought I was going to go blind from all the flashes popping. You have to figure that these people see each other all the time, yet they had to have pictures of each other standing there in the aisle. Go figure. And then I realized that 30 years ago, that was me with my friends (did I ever have that many friends?), looking at the old fucks sitting at the booths around the tables and thinking, "I'll NEVER be like that." Famous last words.
Then we were approached by a young man with some sort of weird splint on his arm. He proudly announced, "Good evening, guys! I'm blah blah blah and I'll be your waiter for the evening. Our specials are...". GUYS? I have the biggest tits of any guy I've ever seen. Now, I realize that being a bald woman sometimes confuses people, and I've been called sir a few times, but this guy was supposed to be paying attention to us. You could tell that as soon as he said it, he looked at me and realized his mistake. I'm not bragging, but Hubster bought me a rather large diamond ring (I don't recall ever seeing a man with a large marquise center stone on a wide band of diamonds) which you can't miss, especially when light of any kind hits it, tits that have to sit on top of the table because I can't squish them under (although without a bra, I can tape them to my knees), and somewhat feminine features. I kept looking at Hubster, he kept grinning at me, and at the end of the monologue, the waiter said, "And please allow me to apologize for my mistake." It would have been okay had he looked at me, but he stared at Hubster the entire time (Hubster is 6'4" and rather large, so maybe he was afraid Hubster would get out of the booth and beat the living shit out of him). So I looked at this young man and back at Hubster, and said in a rather loud voice, "See? I TOLD you we shouldn't have scrimped on the sex change and gone to Argentina!" I thought the dude was going to drop a load on the floor. He turned visibly purple, took our drink orders, and ran away. I was pleased with myself and couldn't stop giggling.
We ordered quesadillas as an appetizer, and since I can't eat anything hot, we ordered them without chiles. They arrived without the side condiments (guacamole, sour cream, salsa). I don't like them without sour cream, so I asked Hubster to please go find the dude and ask for the side dishes. He didn't want to do it (he being hungry and happy to eat them as they were), so I began to look for the blind bastard. I saw him walking rapidly away from us down the aisle. So I decided to go after him. And then it happened.
I had on my ratty old sandals with two straps going across the top of the foot. They tend to fall off sometimes. I slid across the seat as fast as I could (big flat asses are good for some things), planted my left foot in the aisle, and swung my right foot around in order to stand up. It would have worked just fine, except I was moving too fast. My shoe came off. I kept going. I literally fell out of the booth flat on my face with my ass sticking up in the air and wedged between the table and the wall.
Hubster didn't dare say anything or even giggle. Instead, he crammed a condiment-free quesa into his mouth and began to drink a lot of Coke. The party of young drunks fell silent as I lay there in the aisle, cursing like a sailor who has just been told that the whorehouse is closed for the night when he's shipping out in the morning. And then the second thing happened.
They took a picture of me.
I gathered what little was left of my self-esteem, picked myself up off the floor, brushed off my tie-dyed shirt, and hobbled down the aisle. The dude was desperately trying to not look at me. I made it up to him, told him that we were missing the condiments, and carefully walked back to where we were sitting. By this time, the party was in full swing again, and they were all waiting to see if I was going to offer a repeat performance. No chance. I carefully slid in the booth with as much dignity as I could muster, picked up my Coke to take a drink, and promptly dropped it on my shirt. The whole thing.
This time Hubster couldn't stand it. He burst into hysterics, got up, and went to the men's room. A few minutes later, he returned with a fresh Coke and a bunch of towels to try and mop up the mess. The only time I made a worse mess was in Reno when some clown unscrewed the top of the hot maple syrup container, and I poured the entire thing on my dress... after we had checked out. Argh.
Those English muffins are looking pretty good.