Yarn-grubbing, ye gods
Friday, Jan. 27, 2006 at 8:31 a.m.
So my disc 42nd Street Forever was well over 2 hours of trailers from the most horrific, sleazy, bizarre, and laughable films I have ever heard of. Star Chase, Ginger, The Green Slime, CreamPuffs, et al. Some of them I had seen, like The Undertaker and his Pals, albeit an edited version from the dollar store. Others I remembered vaguely from The Playboy Channel when my parents still had that. But most of them seemed so gloriously bad, like Boss Nigger and The 3-Dimensions of Greta, that I wrote down most of the titles with the intention of looking them up on IMBD and Blockbuster, and I promptly left the list on the couch. If my Hubster was thinking, he�d throw the damned list away. However, I have the disc in my bag with my knitting and I fully intend to pop that baby into the CDRom and rewrite the list.
Gads, I�m lame.
Anyhoo, I�m off for a holiday to Idaho Saturday. I hear the snow pack at the ski lift is 110 inches and there�s 40 inches on the ground near the cabin. Augh. I�m a Florida girl who�s emigrated to the desert, what the hell do I know about snow? I fully expect to: bruise the hell out of my ass ice-skating, twist my ankle or break a wrist skiing, and see this:
But I�ll get some knitting done. And the Hubster�s family is a completely cutthroat bunch of cards players, so we should have some fun. Have I packed? Hell no. I haven�t even finished the laundry. Heh heh.
So I�ll be gone for a week and then 10 days after that I�m going under the knife to remove my diseased and growth-laden internal girly bits. People have been asking me what they can do for help, and then they�re shocked when I actually tell them. There�s that whole thing there, isn�t there? You ask what you can do, the other person freaks out a little bit and then says, nothing, and you�re relieved and the other person is relieved because you�ve both been let off the hook. Not me. I tell people that I don�t want flowers, bring me a casserole. Or a sandwich. Or little bottles of water that aren�t heavy. Check in on me during your lunch hour (if you�re nearby). Bring me nifty yarn. Vacuum my house. Walk my dog. Get me that remote, would you? I am recovering from a hysterectomy and I am currently the queen, my minions!
Seriously, who wants to give me yarn? I know most of you have some stashed in the house. Send it to me and maybe I�ll make something for you. Mind you, I�m still a knitting novice. You might end up with nothing more innocuous than a coaster or a potholder, but hey, you got the yarn out of the house. Keep in mind also that my 35th Birthday is coming up on February 21st and I will have to spend it on a recliner under pain killers as opposed to drinking heavily and making a fool of myself playing pool and volleyball. Bung me an email.
Gads, I�m also completely shameless.
Ta, kiddywinks, see you in February!