R Will NEVER Let Me Live This Down.

Someone found my blog searching for Renaissance Fair Geek.

Random Photos and Updates.

I love having a camera in my phone. I also love having unlimited text messaging, but that's not what this post is about.

Check out what Tito wrote, with no help from me or anyone else:



It says "I HATE RYAN." Ryan is Pie, by the way. As in, Ry the Pie.

I guess I should be happy that Tito is practicing his letters.

Let's see, what else can I show you. Remember the lunar eclipse last week, I think? It was cool.



And remember me and the Ice Queen? Did you think I'd given up? HA! Far from it. Except that one of my Apes (whose initials are TITO) found my row counter and clicked it a few dozen times, so I had no idea where I left off. Grrrrr.

I just started knitting and I was flying through it like a hot knife through buttah, and then I realized I forgot to put the beads where they were supposed to go for a few rounds. Whoops.



So I think that Ice Queen might not be the right name for what I'm making. I think maybe Ice Bastard-Child-Of-The-Queen's-Half-Uncle's-Stepbrother might be more appropriate. Whatever.

RED CARPET GLAM!!

Check out my sexy ass on the Red Carpet, bitches!



Yeah, I'm a party girl. Only I drank too much when I went out. And the bar we were at put fuckin NASCAR bullshit on instead of the Red Carpet! SERIOUSLY! Oh, I was pissed.

So we went home. And here's me when the Best Picture Oscar was awarded. Pic taken by the man who didn't cut me off after four beers in less than ninety minutes. No, no. Here, honey, have another...



Kudos to Pam for her sexy Red Carpet Photo:



Thank you for your declaration of undying love on your blog, too, by the way. If I ever get to go to the Oscars (y'know, when I eventually write the screenplay of the story of my life - and I swear to God I'll fuckin do it), you can totally be my date. I'll even let you decide if you want to be Ellen or Portia.

I was hoping for some Red Carpet Glam from Cool Kevin, but instead he sent this little banner he found. Scary, no?



And speaking of scary, next comes my Red Carpet Snark! Sadly, there were only a couple of dresses that I found truly disastrous. I was hoping for more.

I think the worst dress by far was Jennifer Hudson's.



I know a lot of people liked Cameron Diaz's dress, but I really didn't.



I respect Diablo Cody's boldness, but I'm not sure I was 100% on board with the amorphous animal print.



Is it me or does Renee Zellweger have a look of perpetual confusion?



And my opinion of Marion Cotillard's dress changed from different angles. It looks fantastic from a distance. And in profile. Full on, though, it's kinda weird. Maybe I'm just jealous that I can't wear a scaly form-fitting dress like that.



Jessica Alba is beautiful. Really. And I thought her dress was stunning, apart from the feathers (I'm just not a feathers person), but as a matter of principle, I think a pregnant woman needs to rethink the long train on her dress. I have this horrible vision of her tripping and landing on her belly and her baby squirting out into Gary Busey's arms.



Johnny looked ah-maaaaaaaay-zing.



Tilda Swinton, not so much.



And it just wouldn't be Red Carpet Snark if I didn't make fun of Hilary Swank's horsey teeth and her bizarre rigid posture.



Here are some of my favorite dresses:

Kelly Preston's was my favorite. And I like her hubby, Vinnie Barbarino, but he just gets puffier and puffier.



I loved Diane Lane's dress. I want to look like Diane Lane.



Or Laura Linney. She's beautiful too.



I liked Calista Flockhart's dress. And I think it's sweet that she takes her dad places.



I thought Jennifer Garner looked fantastic.



But the name of the game at my Online Oscar Par-tay is to guess as many right as you can. I had 22 entrants this year - a new record!

EDIT: And yes, Poops, there are eleven categories. Why? Because it's one BETTER than ten, isn't it? (name that movie!)
Ok, really, it's because I wanted to include both original and adapted screenplays. That's why.

R took the liberty of adding up everyone's correct answers. And let's just say Price Waterhouse Coopers, he AIN'T. And lemme tell y'all what else he ain't. He AIN'T gittin any for a while. My reputation as Online Oscar Party Hostess Extrordinaire is tainted.

THERE HAS BEEN AN ERROR. Minor, but an error.

It was originally announced that Chris and Nell won with 6 correct answers each. Poops had 7 correct when I re-read her emailed guesses, and she quite rightly objected. So then I went through and double-checked everyone's answers. Then I checked my husband's math. He had Poops down as having 5 correct. I added the tallies up again.

Chris and Nell still win, with 8 instead of 6 correct. And Pam also had 8 correct, so she wins too. Apparently R didn't scroll all the way to the top of the spreadsheet when he added. R won't be asked to participate again.

Anyway, Pam, Chris and Nell, please email me your info and I'll pop a sexy prize in the mail to you tout de suite. And Poops, I will have R send you a personal note of apology.

In case you missed it, here are the winners in the various categories we used in our little game:

Best Picture
No Country For Old Men

Best Actor
Daniel Day-Lewis

Best Actress
Marion Cotillard (If you haven't seen La Vie En Rose, you really should)

Best Supporting Actor
Javier Bardem (a gorgeous, gorgeous man)

Best Supporting Actress
Tilda Swinton

Best Director
Joel Coen and Ethan Coen

Best Costume Design
Elizabeth: The Golden Age

Best Original Song
Falling Slowly (From the ONCE soundtrack - toldja it was good!)

Best Foreign Language Film
The Counterfeiters

Best Adapted Screenplay
No Country For Old Men

Best Original Screenplay
Juno


Many thanks to all who played along!

The Clock Is Ticking!

C'mon, you guys!!! I've only had two entries. Just cuz you haven't seen these doesn't mean you can't play the Online Oscar Party Game. I haven't seen most of them either. Throw a dart, take a stab. Your guess is as good as anybody else's.

Here, again, are the nominees. Email your guesses to me at pennykarma at gmail before the show starts tomorrow, and if you are so daring, submit a pic of yourself in silly Red Carpet Attire too, just for fun.

Please play with me. I'm lonely. (sniffle)


Best Picture:

Atonement

Juno

Michael Clayton

No Country for Old Men

There Will Be Blood


Best Actor:

George Clooney
(Michael Clayton)

Johnny Depp
(Sweeney Todd The Demon Barber of Fleet Street)

Daniel Day-Lewis
(There Will Be Blood)

Tommy Lee Jones
(In the Valley of Elah)

Viggo Mortensen
(Eastern Promises)


Best Actress:

Cate Blanchett
(Elizabeth: The Golden Age)

Julie Christie
(Away From Her)

Marion Cotillard
(La Vie en Rose)

Laura Linney
(The Savages)

Ellen Page
(Juno)


Best Supporting Actor:

Casey Affleck
(The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford)

Javier Bardem
(No Country for Old Men)

Philip Seymour Hoffman
(Charlie Wilson's War)

Hal Holbrook
(Into the Wild)

Tom Wilkinson
(Michael Clayton)


Best Supporting Actress:

Cate Blanchett
(I'm Not There)

Ruby Dee
(American Gangster)

Saoirse Ronan
(Atonement)

Amy Ryan
(Gone Baby Gone)

Tilda Swinton
(Michael Clayton)


Best Director:

Julian Schnabel
(The Diving Bell and the Butterfly)

Jason Reitman
(Juno)

Tony Gilroy
(Michael Clayton)

Joel Coen & Ethan Coen
(No Country for Old Men)

Paul Thomas Anderson
(There Will Be Blood)


Costume Design:

Across the Universe
Atonement
Elizabeth: The Golden Age
La Vie En Rose
Sweeney Todd The Demon Barber of Fleet Street


Original Song:

"Falling Slowly" - Once
"Happy Working Song" - Enchanted
"Raise It Up" - August Rush
"So Close" - Enchanted
"That’s How You Know" - Enchanted


Foreign Language Film

Beaufort
The Counterfeiters
Katyn
Mongol
12

Adapted Screenplay

Atonement
Away From Her
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
No Country for Old Men
There Will Be Blood


Original Screenplay

Juno
Lars and the Real Girl
Michael Clayton
Ratatouille
The Savages

Lest Y'all Worry...

I survived Camille's visit, and I managed to maintain minimal contact with Swamp Thing. I even timed it so I arrived a little later than I'd told her I'd be there, knowing it would render Camille anxious to leave and Swamp Thing equally anxious to be rid of her, and hopefully Swamp Thing would throw Camille out the door without a word.

So Camille gets in my Sexy Minivan and immediately comments that it's messy.

Yeah, I know.

She and Pie chatted a bit on the 2-minute ride home, and what does the child say upon entering my house?

Sarah, your house is really messy!

Ok, FIRST of all, ya little snot, that's MRS. KARMA to you. And second of all, so the fuck what? I really didn't even think it was that bad, really. Then, she says...

Well, I could help you clean it up!

It was sweet of her to offer, and for a minute I entertained the thought of taking her up on it, but then I realized how fucked up that was for a kid to offer to help me clean my house instead of playing with her friend like a kid is supposed to. I thought it would be more fun to throw her little 6-year-old universe out of balance and introduce her to the fact that NOT EVERYONE HAS AN IMMACULATE HOUSE.

Your mother is not normal, sweetheart. It's time you knew.

I said, "No, Camille, it's okay. Why don't you guys just go... be kids."

And they played all day, which was great, and then I took them to school and didn't have to deal with the Swamp Thing. Bravo, me.

That was Wednesday. Thursday was Valentine's Day. I know R can't do anything for me, really. It's all right. I just don't let it keep me from doing something for him. I got him a Sting CD called Songs From the Labyrinth. And I asked him to pick me up a bag of caramels. And Tito made me a pin and a key chain.

The real drama of Thursday was when I took Pie to swimming. When we got there, we realized Pie didn't have his swimsuit. He looks forward to swimming all week long. This swimming class is run by the group who did the camp that he loved so much last year, the one I drove 45 minutes each way every day for two weeks - one week in West Jesus and one week in South Jesus.

So of course I couldn't stand to see Pie cry, and as it turned out, it wasn't his fault. He had packed the swimsuit in his bag and for some inexplicable reason Tito took it out before we left. So we went home to get it. It should only have taken us 20-25 minutes, max, to go home and back. It took over an hour.

By the time we got back my gas light was on, and they were into the second session of the class. They let Pie swim anyway, which was nice, but that meant I didn't get home until an hour later than usual, and R had to make his own dinner on Valentine's Day. I felt horrible about that. Plus, I was starving and all they had in the vending machine at the YMCA was health food. Don't give me that shit, give me a fuckin Snickers, for cryin out loud.

Friday I had an ASSLOAD of shit I needed to do. The first thing I had to do was drop Tito off, then hope against hope that I had enough gas to get the Sexy Minivan to QT. Then I had to go to the bank, the post office, the other bank, something else I'm forgetting - oh, the grocery store, and Walmart and I only had 3 hours to do it all. Then I had to get a baby shower gift for one of R's cousins that we see about once every three years, but not the one who stares at my rack all the time. She's in Hawaii.

Anyway, I busted a nut running around, came home and realized I needed a gift bag for the party the boys were going to at Anti-Stella's. I knew Anti-Stella wouldn't care if I didn't have a gift bag, but you know me. I got home with about 30 seconds to get everyone in the Sexy Minivan and leave for the party at the time that we were supposed to be there. And it was a really great party. The boys loved it. Kudos to Travis!

Then after that, all five of us went to the mall to look for a baby shower gift. I was thinking I was so bloody tired I wanted to go to bed and then go shopping in the morning, but R quite wisely reminded me that I would be under tremendous time constraints tomorrow since I was meeting MIL and Mrs. Aldi at The Aldi's house at 12:30.

We got some cute little baby clothes at Old Navy. And no offense to the pregnant people who don't want to know if they're having a boy or a girl, but it's a pain in the ass to shop for you. And I guarantee, you're gonna be so sick of yellow and green within about two weeks, you're going to puke.

Anyway, Saturday was the Baby Shower. I offered to drive everyone in my Sexy Minivan. The thing I hate most about hanging with the inlaws is that NO ONE knows how to carry on a conversation. That's FIL's fault. He lectures while everyone else smiles and nods. I'll even say that my own husband's not exactly a converstionalist with anyone but me. And you know what a chatterbox I am, right? It's hard to talk to someone who doesn't know how to converse. You'd probably hate to sit next to me on a plane; I'll try to get you to talk to me. Yes, I'm THAT person.

Oh, and get this shit - I show up, and once MIL arrives, Aldigirl gets up from the sofa and puts her jacket on like she's coming with us. Um... I didn't bring MY kid. The invitation didn't say "Sarah and Beebie". Not that I think anyone would care, really, I just couldn't believe it when Mrs. Aldi asked MIL,

Oh, do you think it would be ok if Aldigirl comes too?

I'm so sick of Mrs. Aldi's complete and alarmingly consistent lack of fucking manners, I said, YES I SAID -

Well, I obviously didn't bring Beebie...

I don't even know why Aldigirl wanted to go, and I couldn't believe that her mother wouldn't try to discourage her. I mean, hell, it's a bunch of old women eating quiche and spinach salad and carrot cake and swapping sordid tales of colic and explosive diarrhea. I didn't even want to go, and I can appreciate a good poop story.

But MIL, in her infinite sweetness, said that she was sure it would be okay if Aldigirl attended the shower. What the fuck ever. So we went. And there was a disturbing lack of liquor. I mean, what, because the guest of honor can't drink you can't put out Mimosas for the rest of us? Shit, you don't even have to go that classy, I'll take a fuckin Jack and Coke at this point, seriously. But I hung out with R's cool catty cousin Nita so it was okay.

Sunday was Pie's birthday party. The theme of the party was Gross Stuff. We had cups in the shape of trash cans, barf bags for party favors,

a pinata in the shape of a runny nose,



dirt cups with gummy worms,



and a kitty litter cake!




I had two games planned. One involved pulling rubber worms and lizards out of a bowl of cold, wet, Rice Krispies and the other was a Fear Factor Food Challenge.

Everybody liked the first game, but I guess I thought more kids would do the food challenge. It was basically Pie eating a bunch of shit. He ate a Vienna Sausage, cold cream corn, and a beet, but he passed on the sardine packed in mustard.

My 3rd Annual Online Oscar Party!

Ok, kids, here's how it works. Below are listed Academy Award nominees. Mostly, they're are the major Academy Awards, but I added a few more to make it interesting and to make the math easier for me (ie. howevermany out of 10). Your job is to pick who you think will win, submit it to me via pennykarma at gmail by Noonish, Central Time on Sunday the 24th, and whomever gets the most correct will win a semi-fabulous prize.

And, because I know there are non-knitters among My Vast Readership (although I prefer to think of you as "not yet knitters"), I promise it will be a prize that can be appreciated by knitters and non-knitters alike.

Additionally, on Oscar Night, please submit a picture of yourself in your Red Carpet Finery, and I'll post them on my blog the next day, along with my Celebrity Red Carpet Snark that you all love so much. I won't make fun of you if you're brave enough to send me a picture. I'm actually quite nonconfrontational. I only bash the celebs because I know they probably won't call me out. Seriously, I'm a total pussy.

Anyway, best of luck to all, and don't forget to watch the Oscars on Sunday!!!

Best Picture:

Atonement

Juno

Michael Clayton

No Country for Old Men

There Will Be Blood


Best Actor:

George Clooney
(Michael Clayton)

Johnny Depp
(Sweeney Todd The Demon Barber of Fleet Street)

Daniel Day-Lewis
(There Will Be Blood)

Tommy Lee Jones
(In the Valley of Elah)

Viggo Mortensen
(Eastern Promises)


Best Actress:

Cate Blanchett
(Elizabeth: The Golden Age)

Julie Christie
(Away From Her)

Marion Cotillard
(La Vie en Rose)

Laura Linney
(The Savages)

Ellen Page
(Juno)


Best Supporting Actor:

Casey Affleck
(The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford)

Javier Bardem
(No Country for Old Men)

Philip Seymour Hoffman
(Charlie Wilson's War)

Hal Holbrook
(Into the Wild)

Tom Wilkinson
(Michael Clayton)


Best Supporting Actress:

Cate Blanchett
(I'm Not There)

Ruby Dee
(American Gangster)

Saoirse Ronan
(Atonement)

Amy Ryan
(Gone Baby Gone)

Tilda Swinton
(Michael Clayton)


Best Director:

Julian Schnabel
(The Diving Bell and the Butterfly)

Jason Reitman
(Juno)

Tony Gilroy
(Michael Clayton)

Joel Coen & Ethan Coen
(No Country for Old Men)

Paul Thomas Anderson
(There Will Be Blood)


Costume Design:

Across the Universe
Atonement
Elizabeth: The Golden Age
La Vie En Rose
Sweeney Todd The Demon Barber of Fleet Street


Original Song:

"Falling Slowly" - Once
"Happy Working Song" - Enchanted
"Raise It Up" - August Rush
"So Close" - Enchanted
"That’s How You Know" - Enchanted


Foreign Language Film

Beaufort
The Counterfeiters
Katyn
Mongol
12

Adapted Screenplay

Atonement
Away From Her
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
No Country for Old Men
There Will Be Blood


Original Screenplay

Juno
Lars and the Real Girl
Michael Clayton
Ratatouille
The Savages

A glutton for punishment, I am.

I fear that I will forever be the tortured soul who does what's right even at the expense of her own sanity. I don't normally talk spirituality on here, but recently I've been making a concerted effort to find my inner stillness - to consciously still my heart and allow myself to be guided in my decisions by my sense of what's right. I am really trying. And I think I've done fairly well, even though sometimes I want to kick myself.

Remember how, in a panic, I told Swamp Thing I'd pick Camille up and let her play with Pie on Wednesday? That was last Friday. As of 3pm yesterday I hadn't heard from her. And I had to make a decision. Do I -

A) Assume Swamp Thing forgot and figure I dodged a bullet, or

B) Remain true to my word, call and remind her that I was planning to have Camille over for the morning, or

C) Get in the van, drive as far away from here as I can and begin a new life under an assumed identity so I'll never have to deal with her again?

I've found that the right thing to do is rarely, if ever, the easiest of all the choices before me. I chose B because it was the right thing to do. And get this, she had totally forgotten about it. Fuuuuuuuuck. I apologized to her again that Camille was upset on Friday, even though I know in my heart I didn't do anything wrong.

I hope I don't regret doing the right thing. Because if I do, there's a whole bunch of philosophy I'm going to have to trash.

GAAAAAH!!! Margie Returns! (WARNING: F-BOMBs GALORE.)

Maybe I'll just call her Swamp Thing so that future sequels will have titles which invoke an appropriate amount of terror. And today I'm going to bury Swamp Thing in so many F-Bombs she won't fucking know what the fuck fucking hit her.

Fire in the hole! FUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!

I'm pretty sure Margie ranks even higher than FIL when it comes to people who drive me to unleash my fucking F-arsenal. You might refresh your memory of my previous run-ins with her HERE, HERE and, most recently, the best one, the one that's still freshest in my mind, HERE.

And let me preface this entire sordid tale by letting you know that it took me about 40 fucking minutes to settle down just so I could even start writing. I was pissed off to the point of absolute fucking speechlessness.

I volunteered to attend a field trip with Pie's kindergarten class today. The kids were going to see a stage production of the classic kids' book, Go, Dog, Go. I will admit to you that the only reason I agreed to go was because I love that book and I wanted to see how they could possibly make a play out of it.

Incidentally, in an ironic bit of foreshadowing, I played NWA "Fuck Da Police" in my van on the way there, since I didn't have any kids with me, for once. Cuz ain't nuthin' sexier than a 37-year-old woman in a minivan blaring Gangsta Rap.

Pie's friend Camille was in the group of four (including Pie) entrusted to my care. I informed my group that today was their lucky day because they were in The Coolest Group. The play was very cleverly done and the kiddos liked it.

Earlier this week, Pie's friend John's mom (who is cool) called to ask if Pie could come over for a play date this week. We kinda putzed around with the dates and finally I said, well, I'm going on the field trip on Friday, I'll be up there at the school anyway, so John can just come home with us and hang out for a while. Perfect. We had a plan.

Cut back to today, when I'm picking up both Pie and John from the classroom. This is the first time in his life Pie's had a friend over all to himself, and he and John are tight, since they ride together on the bus to the Gifted building. John's no slouch. The two of them were so excited to leave together, they were hugging and jumping up and down. It was so sweet.

And guess what? Somebody's little princess had her feelings hurt.

And she went and told her Mommy on me.

So 40 minutes ago, while Pie and John were playing Wii in the living room and I was making lunch for them, my phone rings.

It's Margie.

Say it with me, kids: FUCK.

"Hi, Sarah, it's Margie. Look, I know you've got a play date going on over there, and I was just wondering if it was an 'ALL-BOYS THING', or if maybe Camille could come over and play too..."

I. SHIT. YOU. NOT.

Can you EVEN FUCKING BELIEVE???

Seriously. Would you EVER???

"Camille kinda came home with her feelings hurt..."

Ok, I really do understand that. The boys were a little overt and in-your-face with it. They were excited. But tough shit, Camille. And tough shit, Margie. Grow some balls, be the fucking parent and explain to your kid that THAT'S LIFE. Sorry, kid, but yeah, life fucking sucks. And trust me, it doesn't get any better as you get older.

But is that what I said? Of course not. Once again, y'all, I am TOO FUCKING NICE.

(Excuse me while I reload.)

Um, well... I think it might be more fun if we had Camille over another time so it could just be her and Pie...

And she didn't say anything. She obviously wasn't going to let it go. So I thought maybe if I committed to a date and time, that would be enough for her.

How about I pick her up Wednesday after I drop Tito off at 9, and then she and Pie can hang out in the morning and I'll take them both to school after lunch?

You'll notice that I didn't say come drop her off. I said I'll pick her up, meaning SO YOU CAN STAY HOME. Plus, I arranged it so Margie doesn't have to come get her at my house, either. I think I did a pretty fuckin brilliant job of minimizing Margie contact, especially when I had about a half a fuckin second to come up with something to shut her the fuck up.

Would I shit you, My Vast Readership? My hands are still fucking shaking, my jaw is still fucking clenched, I am choking back tears even now, I am SOOOOOOOOOO FUCKING PISSED.

I am just in utter... fucking... disbelief.

I feel like I just want to climb into a scalding hot shower and scrub my own skin off.

Oh, FUCK yeah, she's Swamp Thing from now on. Got that, everybody? Fill in the substitution on your score card, if you're playing along at home. Swamp Thing in for Margie.

Oh, yes, I'm packin major F-BOMB heat in these Power Panties. I think maybe R needs to get me some Power Panties in a lovely shade of Camouflage for Valentine's Day.

Or, I guess I could always Go Commando.
Nah. I like the idea of Camo Power Panties.

More Caulk Talk!

The plumber we had out here recently left me quite dissatisfied, apart from the fact that he giggled at my dumb caulk joke. And as much as I appreciate a little dampness down below (c'mon, who doesn't?), it seems his anemic caulk job was apparently not enough to fix the leak in my basement.

So I had this great idea to greet the guy at the door in a robe and a martini glass - or better yet, two - and ask him why real life is never like Penthouse Letters.

Instead, I decided on wearing this shirt:



My logic, of course, was that if the man was gonna whip his caulk out, it would be really funny if I had a

(ahem)

Heart.

On.

Read it out loud if you didn't get it.

But as it turned out, the guy that showed up this time was a different guy than before, and, sadly, far less of a conversationalist. He ran the water in my bathtub and went downstairs and found nothing. Then he splashed the tile on the wall where the spout and the dial are, and - AHA! There's the problem.

There's not enough caulk surrounding my spout.

How many times have I heard that before? Ok, never.

Plumberman then proceeded to tell me that fixing the problem would be something that my handy husband could probably handle. I couldn't decide whether to go with "Well, actually, my husband's not into handling caulk, if I'm readin' ya right, but I'm sure he'd be flattered" or "Oh yes, my husband is QUITE talented with his caulk". So I just chuckled to myself and played it off like I was coughing. Damn straight my husband's caulk'll do the job!

R was delighted to hear that his caulk was more than enough to satisfy my dampness.

Later, as I was making beef stew - craving something meaty, I suppose - my adorable Pie walked into the kitchen... with his pants down. I knew he wanted me to act all shocked and freaked out, so instead I very calmly said,

Pie, please put yer Junk away.

Yes, I call it their Junk. I think it's hilarious, personally, to hear a little kid call his privates his Junk. I also think it would be funny to hear a little kid ask where his bitches were at, but perhaps that's a bit too edgy for school.

And Pie said,

Mom, it's called a Wiener. And YOU WILL RESPECT IT.

Kevin's LYS Adventure!

This may the first time my blog entry has been written by someone other than myself. Kevin has his own blog, and it's great, but this story fit better on my blog than on his so I offered to let him type it up and I would post it here. Plus, Kevin's mom reads his blog, and while Kevin and I are truly friends and only friends (I promise), we understand that some people (our parents, in particular), might have a problem with a married chick being friends with a soon-to-be-divorced guy. And if she knew said married chick was making him buy pink yarn, we don't even need to go there.

Hell, my parents don't even know about Kevin yet (since I'm pretty sure my parents don't read my blog), and I don't even think I could explain it in a way that they could comprehend, but I assure you, R knows Kevin, and it's cool, so whatever. I really don't have to defend our relationship to y'all, do I? But I kinda felt obligated to say all that as a way of formally introducing him, seeing as how he's been commenting a lot lately as he's reading my blog through from the very beginning. Such devotion!

And, just for the record, I wanted to give him a task more complicated than simply Get Pink Yarn. I wanted him to have to ask for assistance, to get the full LYS experience. God forbid the man would come out with pink FunFur or something. And HE's keeping the yarn.

All that said, here's Kevin's SuperSecret Covert Blog Entry that his mother doesn't know about.


I walked into the LYS and was greeted by three ladies knitting at a table. One (the owner, I later found out) put down her knitting and asked if she could help me.

"Well, I'm on a mission," I said. "I lost a bet on the Super Bowl, so I have been tasked with obtaining a skein of pink or fuschia silk/merino blend." The owner looked through her shelves a bit, and then proclaimed she didn't have any silk/merino in pink.

The two other ladies had been paying a little attention and making some small talk here and there, but one of them (let's use some originality and call her Knitter 1) asked, "So who won?"

I was pretty sure that wasn't PK's usual LYS, but hey, who knows? This is PK after all, so with a short proviso of "I don't know if you know her..." I then dropped PK's name. In my head I imagined these ladies fawning all over me, saying things like, "Oh my god, you know her?" And the owner would press a button, music would play, and confetti and balloons would drop from the ceiling.

(cue record scratching sound)

"No, I mean who won the football game." Sorry, PK.

"The Jets," said Knitter 2. Oooh, so close.

The owner corrected Knitter 2, and then she and I swapped a little football talk, because she and her husband had watched the game too. (She was on my side. Her husband was rooting for the Giants.) Eventually the talk came back around to the bet. Well, the merino was not part of the original wager, so I said, "Well, she just said it has to be a silk blend. Do you have any silk blends in pink or fuschia?"

"I have a silk/wool blend in pink." The owner handed me a ball of faded pink yarn; I wasn't pleased with the color, but if that's what she had... "Or I have a bamboo/silk blend." Well, THAT set off some bells!

"Actually, I was also supposed to feel what bamboo felt like anyway."

"So you can kill two birds with one stone!"

"Exactly!" Well, just so I could say I've felt actual bamboo yarn, she let me fondle a skein that was roughly the color of a plantain. "Oh, I was also supposed to ask if you had any patterns or ideas for knitting some rope."

The owner tried looking for a pattern for me for an I-cord, but I told her that I was pretty sure PK already knew how to do an I-cord, since I've seen some purses of hers that are nearly identical to the ones hanging in the shop. So I bought the bamboo/silk blend and thanked the owner for her help, then walked out and sent a picture of myself in front of the yarn shop and a picture of the yarn to PK for proof of debt repayment. It occurs to me now that I should have taken a lot more pictures, with the help of the friendly knitters, to make this more of a photo journal. Sorry, PK.


Ok, and here's the best part. Afterwards, Kevin called me.

Me: Hello?

Kevin: WHO IS THE FUCKIN KING OF AWESOME??!!?

Yeah, Kevin. You're suuuuuuch a badass... as you leave a yarn shop with a pink silk/bamboo blend with a picture of Vickie Howell on it.

Tom Brady wears silky pink panties.

Ok, in fairness to Tom, I honestly have no idea if he wears silky pink panties or not. All I know is, had the Patriots won the Super Bowl, I would have had to go two full days without knitting a single stitch. And that would certainly have sucked.

But instead, my cool friend Cute Kevin's going to a yarn shop and picking out a lovely silk blend in his favorite shade of pink - because MY TEAM WON!!

WOO HOO!!!!!

I'm not a sore winner or anything.

Wii Knitting?

Wouldn't it be cool if you could get a couple of Wii remotes, go to a virtual yarn shop, choose your color and your fiber (bonus points for buying yarn on sale and double extra bonus points for using stash yarn), your needles and your pattern and just start doing the motions of knitting while your work emerges on the screen in front of you?