What is it about me and pressure? Deadlines? Requirements? Commitments?
Yeah, I know. I suck at all of them. It's embarrassing to say, but it's true.
For instance, it's wonderful to have a blog. Absolutely freeing to know I have an open place to lay it all out, write about whatever's on my mind, without any pressure to write. Just write when I feel like it, don't when I don't.
Believe me, if someone said, Woof, You Must Write 500 Words Every Thursday, I'd be running in the other direction. Because, I guess I'm commitment-phobic.
(I'm pretty sure that Mr. Pug would agree with this. And, okay, anyone who's viewed all my projects-in-progress could have told you this as well--it's not exactly a secret after all!)
So, why, why, why did I think that this year, unlike 2007 and 2008, I would be able to handle Nanowrimo? What? You haven't heard of Nanowrimo?
Simple enough. All over the world, professional and pre-published writers (I hate the word "amateur" in this context--it makes me think of being the last child called for the team in school) commit to try to write a 50,000 word novel during the month of November.
Thought I'd do it in 2007--failed. Thought I'd do it in 2008--failed. As for 2009--no chance at this point.
Let's do the math. 50,000 words divided by 30 days (remember 30 days hath September, April, June and November?) is 1,667 words a day. How difficult could that be?
And they don't even have to be the right words--the idea is to produce a first draft that you'll finalize later. The idea here is to get your novel down on paper in some form or another, or at least 50,000 words of it.
So, following the math example above, my word count for 11/20 should be about 66.67% complete, or 33,333 words. Reality: 3,088, 5.52%. Not even 10% of the partial goal. (Can you tell that I'm a data cruncher in my other life? Would you like to see the Excel graphs demonstrating my failure? Nah, I didn't think so.)
Want to hear my excuses? Again, I didn't think so.
I think I'm going to declare a new individual, personal challenge, to try to get something in written form by the spring. Then I'm going to try to get to Malice Domestic the last week of April. (This could be a stretch given that Stitches South will be here the week before--I'm going to have to save some serious moolah but at least I have a place to stay at MD--someone in my old neighborhood would put me up, I'm sure.)
But it would be put me in the DC area at Maryland Sheep and Wool time. Hmmmmm.
Okay, so work, family, holidays--those damned holidays!--pugs, work, knitting, work -- no problem!
Notice how I'm already making excuses for why I can't make the new challenge?
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
OMG ... Did They Say "Nether Regions"?
From Eat This, Not That, under "8 Foods You Should Eat Every Day":
Spinach
It may be green and leafy, but spinach is no nutritional wallflower. This noted muscle builder is a rich source of plant-based omega-3s and folate, which help reduce the risk of heart disease, stroke, and osteoporosis. Bonus: Folate also increases blood flow to the nether regions, helping to protect you against age-related sexual issues. And spinach is packed with lutein, a compound that fights macular degeneration. Aim for 1 cup fresh spinach or 1/2 cup cooked per day.
Okay, what are the odds on finding this term in my email a day after I use it in a blog? Incalculable.
Darn you, Debra.
It may be green and leafy, but spinach is no nutritional wallflower. This noted muscle builder is a rich source of plant-based omega-3s and folate, which help reduce the risk of heart disease, stroke, and osteoporosis. Bonus: Folate also increases blood flow to the nether regions, helping to protect you against age-related sexual issues. And spinach is packed with lutein, a compound that fights macular degeneration. Aim for 1 cup fresh spinach or 1/2 cup cooked per day.
Okay, what are the odds on finding this term in my email a day after I use it in a blog? Incalculable.
Darn you, Debra.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Reader, Writer, and Knitter, of course
If I had to describe myself in a few words--not so easy for someone as wordy as me, as you know!--three of those words would be reader, writer, knitter. And, of course, parent, grandmother, dog lover, semi-spouse. Yadda, yadda. The list goes on and on.
We're all complex creatures, of course, and that's what has always fascinated me about people. When I was appraising real estate, I loved to go into someone's house and try to identify what the owner was passionate about. Most of us are passionate about something, whether it's a craft, reading, or collecting some arcane object.
(Frankly, if you're not passionate about something ... well, shame on you.)
Anyway, I'd wander through someone's personal space, all in the name of business, of course, and while I was taking notes on square footage and condition of the appliances and carpeting, I'd be checking out the shelf space. I would see the most amazing things--at least they amazed me.
Sometimes the things people collected were pretty run-of-the-mill. Pottery or a particular kind of glassware or cow creamers--yes, I do remember someone who had hundreds of cow creamers. Very Bertie Wooster, that. I saw more doll collections than you can imagine, which only tells me that someone's spending way too much time with the shopping channels. It's only my opinion, but there's something just a little creepy about all those Marie Osmond dolls staring blankly out from behind the glass cabinetry.
One time I went into a very ordinary house in the F... M ... subdivision of Herndon. House was ordinary, owner was ordinary, nothing special one way or another. Then I got to the master bedroom. Over the bed was a huge, and I mean VERY LARGE, oil painting of Fabio on horseback riding through the woods, that long shiny hair flying in the wind, teeth glistening, and a sensuous look on his face. He looked like he was coming right toward me so he could ... well, let's just say that I got a twitch in a few unbusinesslike parts. What I once heard a romance writer call "the nether regions," although I'd have to look up "nether" to see if that's an accurate use of the word.*
Once I recovered my equilibrium, I asked the owner, "uh, not to be too personal, but ... uh ... what's the deal with Fabio?" Because let's face it. I'd seen a bunch of stuff, but Fabio hanging over the bed? I don't know what I thought the explanation would be (it was before the days when we were used to hearing about erections that last more than four hours and personal lubricants), but I was unprepared for it.
Turned out, she was a romance writer. She showed me a bookcase of her books published by Harlequin Books and the oil painting was the original art for one of her book covers. She said she wasn't sure which was the greater thrill--knowing her books were being read by thousands of horny women throughout the world, or knowing that Fabio was on the cover. Well, that was in Fabio's heyday--I'm assuming that by now he's just another long-haired wrinkly old dude, but I got her meaning.
I'm digressing again, aren't I? Well, not surprising. That's what I do.
Anyway, I've been a reader since I was very young. I was an only child until I was nine, and life in those days was ... let's just say, I spent an awful lot of time alone, and I read, all the time. And reading is still a huge part of my life ... everything from the daily paper to The New Yorker to knitting magazines to novels to histories to ... well, you get the idea. I'm one of those people who reads billboards and cereal boxes and yarn ballbands and other people's blogs.
And I also write, mostly for myself, but that's okay. I'm my own best fan, so why not? And of course, I knit. Well, we knew that, didn't we?
So, who cares? What's this all about? Glad you asked!
First of all, you all know that Wednesday is Noble Knitters night, right? Yup. That's the once-a-week knitalong that makes Hump Day bearable for me. Our group has been meeting at the Barnes & Noble at the Avenue in Norcross for a couple of years now and has grown from a few people to a pretty steady 10-20 folks. It's become an oasis of knitting camaraderie in what is often a fairly stressful workweek for me, and it's pretty much what held me together when I was ... between jobs. (And, believe me, there's NOTHING more stressful than that!)
So I wasn't all that excited about having it disrupted by a book signing, even if the book was knitting-related. Because here's the ugly truth: I'm not all that crazy about knit lit. I've enjoyed the Monica Ferris stories but have been pretty disappointed by some of the others, especially that one lady who keeps claiming that, soon, very soon, any minute now, just wait, Julia Roberts is going to star in her new movie and the one who keeps telling me to find Jesus in the stitches. Frankly, I'd rather see a vampire movie.
But, it should be interesting to meet someone who's probably not too unlike the rest of us around the table, except that she's found a way to make a living doing what we do for free. (Free? Who am I kidding? We're paying for this stuff!)
And Bill and Elyse from Only Ewe and Cotton Too were doing door prizes! You just can't improve on that!
Terri Dulong was so delightful! Turns out she's a transplant from the blustery northeast to Florida, which, even if it really isn't The South in the way that Gawga is, is still southernish. She's a former RN who's written several books that most of us haven't heard of, but hit the big time with her novel about Cedar Key, FL and a series of knitting heroines.
And, needless to say, she's a Reader, a Writer, a Knitter. Yeah, yeah ... I know her book has "spinning" in the title, which is why I walked past it when I saw it on the table at B&N the other day. I mean, I'm as much of a fiberista as the next person, and I do have several spindles hanging out at home in a mug waiting to spin up something wonderful, but, nah, I'll wait for it to turn into yarn, thank you very much.
But she did show us her knitting, and unless she picked it up in a dark alley from a half-completed-knitting dealer, I assume she actually knit it. Actually, I sort of like that concept--the darkly beautiful knitter of a certain age--a redhead, of course, because they're ALL redheads--who hangs out at Michaels to get knitting wannabes hooked on that famous gateway drug, merino wool. She sells them a partially complete sock on double points so they can flash it when they go into a real yarn store and gain acceptance. Now there's a character you could build a novel around! Can she gain redemption taking acrylic to the homeless?
Back to Terri. She had some great stories, both about her life and her writing. (It was worth the price of admission just to see our own Scarlett O'Haras giggle over the way Terri said "scawf." Wow! Don't you just think it's hysterically funny when people have regional accents? Amazing!)
So, hang on to your hats for a review, coming soon, of Spinning Forward. My hopes are high--I enjoyed the parts she read to us and hearing about the book and the ones to come. And she inspired me--I swear, next year I'm going back to Malice Domestic with a manuscript to show around.
And, did I say? I met another reader, writer, knitter who's got a writing group! Woo hoo! (Hi, Cheryl!) I was floating, all the way home.
_____________________
*neth⋅er /ˈnɛðər/
–adjective
1. lying or believed to lie beneath the earth's surface; infernal: the nether regions.
2. lower or under: his nether lip.
Origin:
bef. 900; ME nethere, OE neothera, nithera, deriv. of nither down (c. G nieder), lit., further down, equiv. to ni- down + -ther comp. suffix
We're all complex creatures, of course, and that's what has always fascinated me about people. When I was appraising real estate, I loved to go into someone's house and try to identify what the owner was passionate about. Most of us are passionate about something, whether it's a craft, reading, or collecting some arcane object.
(Frankly, if you're not passionate about something ... well, shame on you.)
Anyway, I'd wander through someone's personal space, all in the name of business, of course, and while I was taking notes on square footage and condition of the appliances and carpeting, I'd be checking out the shelf space. I would see the most amazing things--at least they amazed me.
Sometimes the things people collected were pretty run-of-the-mill. Pottery or a particular kind of glassware or cow creamers--yes, I do remember someone who had hundreds of cow creamers. Very Bertie Wooster, that. I saw more doll collections than you can imagine, which only tells me that someone's spending way too much time with the shopping channels. It's only my opinion, but there's something just a little creepy about all those Marie Osmond dolls staring blankly out from behind the glass cabinetry.
One time I went into a very ordinary house in the F... M ... subdivision of Herndon. House was ordinary, owner was ordinary, nothing special one way or another. Then I got to the master bedroom. Over the bed was a huge, and I mean VERY LARGE, oil painting of Fabio on horseback riding through the woods, that long shiny hair flying in the wind, teeth glistening, and a sensuous look on his face. He looked like he was coming right toward me so he could ... well, let's just say that I got a twitch in a few unbusinesslike parts. What I once heard a romance writer call "the nether regions," although I'd have to look up "nether" to see if that's an accurate use of the word.*
Once I recovered my equilibrium, I asked the owner, "uh, not to be too personal, but ... uh ... what's the deal with Fabio?" Because let's face it. I'd seen a bunch of stuff, but Fabio hanging over the bed? I don't know what I thought the explanation would be (it was before the days when we were used to hearing about erections that last more than four hours and personal lubricants), but I was unprepared for it.
Turned out, she was a romance writer. She showed me a bookcase of her books published by Harlequin Books and the oil painting was the original art for one of her book covers. She said she wasn't sure which was the greater thrill--knowing her books were being read by thousands of horny women throughout the world, or knowing that Fabio was on the cover. Well, that was in Fabio's heyday--I'm assuming that by now he's just another long-haired wrinkly old dude, but I got her meaning.
I'm digressing again, aren't I? Well, not surprising. That's what I do.
Anyway, I've been a reader since I was very young. I was an only child until I was nine, and life in those days was ... let's just say, I spent an awful lot of time alone, and I read, all the time. And reading is still a huge part of my life ... everything from the daily paper to The New Yorker to knitting magazines to novels to histories to ... well, you get the idea. I'm one of those people who reads billboards and cereal boxes and yarn ballbands and other people's blogs.
And I also write, mostly for myself, but that's okay. I'm my own best fan, so why not? And of course, I knit. Well, we knew that, didn't we?
So, who cares? What's this all about? Glad you asked!
First of all, you all know that Wednesday is Noble Knitters night, right? Yup. That's the once-a-week knitalong that makes Hump Day bearable for me. Our group has been meeting at the Barnes & Noble at the Avenue in Norcross for a couple of years now and has grown from a few people to a pretty steady 10-20 folks. It's become an oasis of knitting camaraderie in what is often a fairly stressful workweek for me, and it's pretty much what held me together when I was ... between jobs. (And, believe me, there's NOTHING more stressful than that!)
So I wasn't all that excited about having it disrupted by a book signing, even if the book was knitting-related. Because here's the ugly truth: I'm not all that crazy about knit lit. I've enjoyed the Monica Ferris stories but have been pretty disappointed by some of the others, especially that one lady who keeps claiming that, soon, very soon, any minute now, just wait, Julia Roberts is going to star in her new movie and the one who keeps telling me to find Jesus in the stitches. Frankly, I'd rather see a vampire movie.
But, it should be interesting to meet someone who's probably not too unlike the rest of us around the table, except that she's found a way to make a living doing what we do for free. (Free? Who am I kidding? We're paying for this stuff!)
And Bill and Elyse from Only Ewe and Cotton Too were doing door prizes! You just can't improve on that!
Terri Dulong was so delightful! Turns out she's a transplant from the blustery northeast to Florida, which, even if it really isn't The South in the way that Gawga is, is still southernish. She's a former RN who's written several books that most of us haven't heard of, but hit the big time with her novel about Cedar Key, FL and a series of knitting heroines.
And, needless to say, she's a Reader, a Writer, a Knitter. Yeah, yeah ... I know her book has "spinning" in the title, which is why I walked past it when I saw it on the table at B&N the other day. I mean, I'm as much of a fiberista as the next person, and I do have several spindles hanging out at home in a mug waiting to spin up something wonderful, but, nah, I'll wait for it to turn into yarn, thank you very much.
But she did show us her knitting, and unless she picked it up in a dark alley from a half-completed-knitting dealer, I assume she actually knit it. Actually, I sort of like that concept--the darkly beautiful knitter of a certain age--a redhead, of course, because they're ALL redheads--who hangs out at Michaels to get knitting wannabes hooked on that famous gateway drug, merino wool. She sells them a partially complete sock on double points so they can flash it when they go into a real yarn store and gain acceptance. Now there's a character you could build a novel around! Can she gain redemption taking acrylic to the homeless?
Back to Terri. She had some great stories, both about her life and her writing. (It was worth the price of admission just to see our own Scarlett O'Haras giggle over the way Terri said "scawf." Wow! Don't you just think it's hysterically funny when people have regional accents? Amazing!)
So, hang on to your hats for a review, coming soon, of Spinning Forward. My hopes are high--I enjoyed the parts she read to us and hearing about the book and the ones to come. And she inspired me--I swear, next year I'm going back to Malice Domestic with a manuscript to show around.
And, did I say? I met another reader, writer, knitter who's got a writing group! Woo hoo! (Hi, Cheryl!) I was floating, all the way home.
_____________________
*neth⋅er /ˈnɛðər/
–adjective
1. lying or believed to lie beneath the earth's surface; infernal: the nether regions.
2. lower or under: his nether lip.
Origin:
bef. 900; ME nethere, OE neothera, nithera, deriv. of nither down (c. G nieder), lit., further down, equiv. to ni- down + -ther comp. suffix
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
And I was just going to dress up like a witch ...
I love Halloween. I always wear my pumpkin sweater on Halloween, unless I wear the one with the witch hitting the wall on her broom -- depends on how formal the occasion is, ya know?
But I usually confine my celebration to putting a pumpkin on the porch and buying a big bowl of candy, preferably candy that I won't want to eat. Kit Kats are good for that ... NO CANDY CORN!
But here's a church in North Carolina that really knows how to throw a Halloween party!
You've just got to love a religious body that thinks that burning the works of Mother Theresa will improve the world, don't you? Even Oral Roberts and Billy Graham are too wicked for these folks!
In case you're looking for something a little less ... frickin' weird ... you can knit your cat a witch hat. (I can tell you right now: No self-respecting pug would wear this hat, and most cats have too much dignity, but maybe ... I dunno ... an American Girl doll?)
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But I usually confine my celebration to putting a pumpkin on the porch and buying a big bowl of candy, preferably candy that I won't want to eat. Kit Kats are good for that ... NO CANDY CORN!
But here's a church in North Carolina that really knows how to throw a Halloween party!
In case you're looking for something a little less ... frickin' weird ... you can knit your cat a witch hat. (I can tell you right now: No self-respecting pug would wear this hat, and most cats have too much dignity, but maybe ... I dunno ... an American Girl doll?)
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Stamp of the Chump
There's no secret to it--where men are concerned, I'm not a good judge of character. At least when it comes to spouses. My past track record speaks to this and needs no embellishment. If my heart and ... er, other parts of my body ... are involved, I can't pick 'em.
But that's only men who appeal to the ... love ... part of life.
I'm actually usually pretty good when it comes to men who don't spark any feelings of lust or love. In matters of hiring and firing and just plain sizing men up ... I'm a champ. I can spot a con man a mile away.
Even Mr. Pug agrees, although he might take issue with my statement about men and love. (Maybe I'm getting better? After all, we're still together after all these years ....)
Anyway, when he and I were in business together, we frequently disagreed about men we'd meet during the course of business. He'd introduce me to someone he wanted to hire, or someone who wanted to sell us something, and sometimes all the hairs on my body would stand up and I'd know ... he's a louse. "Get rid of him!" I'd shout. "Show him the door."
Usually Mr. P would tell me I was crazy ... until a later date when he'd admit, "whoops, hon, you were right ... I should have listened to you."
I'm also a champ when it comes to looking over my friends' and relations' spouses. When their ... love radar, let's call it ... would get in the way, I could check out the guy and know right away that the guy was a jerk. Not that anyone ever listened to me, because I'm known for my own crappy love radar when it comes to my own life. Poor judgement all the way ....
But this week, I've come to realize that my doctor radar is fatally flawed, too. At least, my Ob/Gyn Radar. Who knew? For awhile, I thought maybe it was just coincidence that there had been some ... er, failures of choice ... in my medical background. This week, all the evidence is in, and I'm Officially Unable to Select a Medical Professional.
Let's examine the evidence:
So, here's the point. This really points to a serious failure in my ability to find a good doctor. Why do I keep picking jerks? Or is the Mercedes the common factor?
From now on, I'm checking out the parking lot. If the doc drives a German car, and it's not a Beetle, he's off the list.
But that's only men who appeal to the ... love ... part of life.
I'm actually usually pretty good when it comes to men who don't spark any feelings of lust or love. In matters of hiring and firing and just plain sizing men up ... I'm a champ. I can spot a con man a mile away.
Even Mr. Pug agrees, although he might take issue with my statement about men and love. (Maybe I'm getting better? After all, we're still together after all these years ....)
Anyway, when he and I were in business together, we frequently disagreed about men we'd meet during the course of business. He'd introduce me to someone he wanted to hire, or someone who wanted to sell us something, and sometimes all the hairs on my body would stand up and I'd know ... he's a louse. "Get rid of him!" I'd shout. "Show him the door."
Usually Mr. P would tell me I was crazy ... until a later date when he'd admit, "whoops, hon, you were right ... I should have listened to you."
I'm also a champ when it comes to looking over my friends' and relations' spouses. When their ... love radar, let's call it ... would get in the way, I could check out the guy and know right away that the guy was a jerk. Not that anyone ever listened to me, because I'm known for my own crappy love radar when it comes to my own life. Poor judgement all the way ....
But this week, I've come to realize that my doctor radar is fatally flawed, too. At least, my Ob/Gyn Radar. Who knew? For awhile, I thought maybe it was just coincidence that there had been some ... er, failures of choice ... in my medical background. This week, all the evidence is in, and I'm Officially Unable to Select a Medical Professional.
Let's examine the evidence:
- 1971 - The wonderful Ob/Gyn who delivered oldest daughter is dying of heart disease, can't see me through pregnancy #2. He refers me to Bad Doctor #1. BD #1 comes with great references, is reputed to be Ethel Kennedy's doctor, has delivered some of her many children. I meet him, he has the personality of a speculum but not as warm, but seems competent. No sense of humor, but maybe that's not absolutely necessary. Then he shows up for Jennifer's delivery about an hour late, and drunk as a lord. Let's just say that no one that drunk should be trusted with a needle and thread. And less than a year later, he drives his Mercedes to Key Bridge, the connector between Arlington, VA and DC. Somewhere in the middle, he gets out and dives off the bridge, a suicide. Maybe he finally realized he was missing a personality!
- 1983 - Okay, I've recovered from the fact that I picked a really crappy Ob/Gyn. But now, I have a guy that I pretty much like. BD #2 is Iranian, and darkly handsome -- sort of like the hot Persian guys I used to meet at Dupont Circle in my wild youth or like the Shah before we knew he was torturing people -- and has a better personality than BD #1. In fact, he's actually kinda cute, which is probably a major warning sign in a doctor that you only see when you're wearing stirrups. Sometime that year he murders his wife, wraps her body in a quilt from their bed, and puts her body into the trunk of their Mercedes, and parks her and the car at Dulles Airport. Okay, another warning sign.
- 2001 - I move to Atlanta. After a few years of HMO doctors, I'm on my own again. Someone from the office recommends a doctor in Marietta and I start going to him. Again, no spark, but by now I've figured out -- I just want a doctor who can do a Pap Test, not a friend. But I'm vaguely uncomfortable with BD #3's office -- what's the deal with all the weepy women? Why do they all come with someone to drive them home? Whoops! I seem to have stumbled into someplace I don't want to be. Drop him ... and wonder if I might have misjudged him. Maybe he was really okay ... maybe ..... Until this week, when I learn that he's the jerk who got out of his Mercedes on I-285 and punched a female motorist in the face in a burst of gynecological road rage.
So, here's the point. This really points to a serious failure in my ability to find a good doctor. Why do I keep picking jerks? Or is the Mercedes the common factor?
From now on, I'm checking out the parking lot. If the doc drives a German car, and it's not a Beetle, he's off the list.
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Weekend with Candace
Every year the knitting guild brings in at least one "superstar" teacher for a weekend of classes and hopefully some fun. We've had some incredible people and some who were ... let us say, less than incredible ones. It's not an easy task to find someone who will challenge our most experienced knitters and not intimidate our less experienced ones.
It's also not easy to find a teacher with a variety of skills and techniques to teach. For instance, I'm a Sockie. I love socks ... every variety. But a weekend of just socks would only appeal to a very few of our members. Likewise, a weekend of all-lace. I'd be happy, but others, not so much. So, a teacher who's a "one-trick wonder" won't do.
Let's see. What else? Well, it helps if s/he has a book or two under her belt, or designs that folks are familiar with. But not everybody who can write a book or design a pattern can teach.
Which brings me to: Candace Eisner Strick. We had the MOST fun with her this weekend. She's an author, teacher, designer, yarn dyer, fiberista all tied up in one package. With a sense of humor. Here she is demonstrating a rather unique technique she called the "crotch cast-on."
Well, don't hold that against her! We didn't. We laughed and hooted and hollered and generally had a great time, while learning Austrian Twisted Stitches and the other eight of her favorite cast-ons and cast-offs. And she brought her fabulous yarns and patterns (check out her website for the incredible yarns she calls Merging Colors).
And I guess that's the essence of a perfect knitting weekend--knit with friends, laugh a little, learn a lot. And, now that we've met her, Candace is a good friend!
Thursday, October 01, 2009
New Sock OTN
Stop criticizing my ability to complete a project--now you're just being ugly, as we say here in the South.*
Anyway, here are Early Spring Socks, a Crystal Palace pattern by Janice Kang. The lacy pattern is easy to memorize and to read your knitting and that's a good thing.
You can get the pattern free on Ravelry and you'll see a much better picture of the lacy pattern.
But these socks are ... drumroll, please! ... Malabrigo Sock in the Botticelli colorway. Soft merino with wonderful stitch definition.
I defy any of you to turn down a chance to knit with Malabrigo. And, besides, they're my "home in the bed" socks to knit rather than my "take them anywhere in my purse" socks. And anyone who doesn't know the difference just isn't a sock knitter.
* I love it when I can adopt a Southern expression and pretend I'm a Southerner. Like when you tell a friend about how another friend wore a dress that was just plumb fugly--like Scarlett O'Hara on crack-- and you end the description with, "bless her heart." And I have learned over my eight years here in Gawga that you don't press down on the accelerator, you "mash" it, just like you do with the elevator button.
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