Disappointed by Love ... Again (or, The Sock Who Loved Me)

I'm the first to admit that I don't always make the best choices where love is concerned. There's a reason that I am still single--or to be more exact, single again, and if you want to be most clear, single again and again. I don't know where the fault lies--with me or with the love object--but I've pretty much come to terms with the fact that love doesn't love me.


So why am I disappointed to realize that once again, I've been deceived, let down, cast aside, and all those other cliches that go with love? And why am I surprised that it's a love that has let me down, etc. before? After all, don't they say that the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over and expecting different results?


Here's a picture of my seducer:



Yes, it's that notorious toy boy, Noro Silk Garden Sock. You can probably tell that by the big knot in the foreground. Probably thousands of knitters have suffered at his hands but somehow I thought I could tame his wild ways and be the one he settled down with. It didn't work out that way. But, oh, it was good at first--it always is.


I saw NSGS across a room at a guild meeting, lying coyly on the Main Street Yarn table in a come hither pose. At first it was his color that attracted me--it always is with the Noro boys. They draw you in with their promise and then ... well, you know the story. But it was my fingers that betrayed me in the end, when I drew them lovingly across his beautiful lime pelt. Unlike the other Noro boys that I've been seduced by, NSGS was surprisingly soft--no hint of the scratchy, VM-laden harshness that leaves their lovers with splinters under the fingernails and an itch that won't quit.


No, NSGS was softer than I expected--the silk in his background, I suppose--and green with a hint of gray or black under the surface. I knew I was lost at that moment. I grabbed him from Ruth and wrote a check. He would be mine, damn it! I had to have him, and I could hardly wait to get him home to my bedroom to have my way with him.


Okay, you're right. Yes, I'd heard all the stories about his older brother, Kureyon Sock. I knew that better women, and some men, had succumbed to Kureyon's promise and been disappointed. After all, when the best that can be said about someone is "it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be--no, really, it was ... fine," you know there are some bitter knitters out there. But I honestly thought that Silk, as I called him for short, would be different with me. I thought ... well, it really doesn't matter now. Let's just say, it didn't work. It's over.


What went wrong? What didn't?


Was it the pilling? The knots? His bipolar nature--thick one minute and then as fine as a spider's web? Or simply his puny yardage? Yes, I'm embarrassed to admit--I'm that shallow. Size DOES matter. And he just doesn't have the yardage I need to be satisfied. In retrospect, though, I think it's the color. I hate to say it in this historic election year, and I don't want you to think less of me, but let's face it...this yarn is more black than anything else. It's BLACK with a few hints of green and some blue still hiding in the skein. So I guess it's the same old story--seduced by Mr. Green, and left holding the sock with Mr. Black.


So, let's review:


First, I have a mostly black sock. It's pilling and I haven't even worn it yet. It's got that odd Noro body type--thick and thin--that means there's no right needle size. I'm using a size 2 and 56 stitches because a larger needle would have made a loose, holey fabric, but I'm dying when I hit those giant blobs of thickness.





Second, I'm only an inch and a half above the ankle and I've already used up 35% of the skein. At this rate, this sock is going to have a 4 inch cuff, max. Stunted, stubby, out of proportion.


And third, did I mention the blackness? Well, grayness if you want to be super-specific, but close enough! It feels like I've been knitting since the last ice age, and it's still black. Oh, yeah, I can see some blue on the skein, but bottom line--the sock is black. Still.


Damn you, Noro Silk Garden Sock! The next time I buy you--and let's face, there will be a next time--I can no more resist you than I could resist that Krispy Kreme bread pudding my boss served for lunch one day--you'll be a diagonal scarf. But wait, I hear you asking: why aren't you just frogging that bad boy and starting a sock with yarn that will be faithful? Well, it's because ... the Blue is Coming, the Blue is Coming. And I can't help but think that maybe this time it will be different. Maybe this time the sock will love me.

Arg, Avast Ye Mateys, and all that stuff

It's National Talk Like a Pirate Day and it's strangely quiet in the blogosphere. Here's how to join in: http://www.talklikeapirate.com/piratehome.html

Okay, my work here is done.

A bullet dodged ...

See the gray Altima on the left? That's my baby, all 116,000+ miles of her, and since I still owe an unconscionable amount on her, she's not going anywhere any time soon.

See the tree limb on the right? When I looked out my office window yesterday, my heart gave a little uh-oh jump. But when I got out there to check on the damage, all I found was a few acorns on the windshield and some broken branches and leaves on the hood. No damage at all!

However, since there was a large chunk of tree hanging off the power line right over the car, I moved it quickly. Today the whole tree is gone--that'll teach those trees to mess with me!

Now, given that whole chunks of the United States are fighting off hurricanes and tornadoes, this probably looks trivial to you, and probably it is. But in my world, it's all about me, and I'm grateful not to have to spend another dime on car repair. This hasn't been a good year for that, what with three separate repairs to Mr. Pug's car on my time.

Right now money is very tight, and I'm having to take the ultimate step--no more yarn purchases for awhile. (Note that "awhile" is relative. Hopefully, it will be easier to stay on a yarn diet than my recent food diets.)

In fact, one of the things I need to be putting money away for is $1000 to take a dead tree out of the back yard. Do you think this is a sign?

My daughters don't read this ...

But if they did, one of them would get a big birthday wish today. Kelly, on the right, celebrated yesterday. Jennifer, on the left, had her birthday a week and a half ago. Look at them--don't they look innocent, like they're not plotting? Don't be fooled!

Happy birthday, Kel! You changed my life forever, and I'll always be grateful.

We Hate These Socks

And when I say "we," I mean, of course, my sister Debbie and me. We, the collective, universal, royal We, hate these socks. These hellish, tiny, microgaugish things are the Ravelry Mystery Sock for July, and, in a burst of sisterly love and affection, I talked Debbie into knitting them together, 600 miles apart.

Sorry, Debbie! I'm an idiot. Even if you don't hate them, and you might not, because you're a lot farther along on them than I am, I'm still sorry.

Yeah, she's farther along because she didn't tear hers out three times because (1) there was a glitch in one of the increase stitches on one side that, let's face it, no one would ever see unless I have the misfortune to get mixed up with a foot fetishist; (2) the middle size was going to be WAYYYY too big for my size 10s at 84 stitches; and (3) I can't even remember why I took it out once but I know I did. Just got a wild thread up my sock, probably.

I hereby promise you that I'll never again suggest that it might be oh, so much fun to knit a pair of socks on size 00 needles using thread and insisting on 10 stitches to the inch. Of course, poor eyesight runs in the family, but it really wasn't necessary for me to encourage the two of us to go blind together on this wicked sock. I'm picturing us, dark glasses and white canes akimbo, sitting in matching rockers in The Home, knitting garter scarves with bulky yarn on Size 17s because that's the only size we can manage.

On the other hand, Debbie, check out the Arrow Tip Lace Knee Highs in the new Cast On. It's toe-up, lace, and you certainly wouldn't have to knit the whole thing--I can tell you right now that I'm not wearing any knee length socks but it's really pretty ....

And, by the way, let me say it's not that easy to knit a teeny tiny sock when you have cactus spines stuck in your thumb, so whine, whine, whine.

But, speaking of funny socks and being totally out of the loop--well, I think it's obvious that I'm out of the loop, that's not exactly news--Thong Socks, AKA Flip Flop Socks. Here's a fun pattern by Sivia Harding in case you're as OOTL as I am. Once again the Lovely and Talented Debbie knew about this before I did--she reminded me that only Old Ladies (which seems to include me) wear hose these days.

Finally, Ms Packrat was kind enough to comment about my rather frightening car trunk. But how scary is it that Ms Packrat, who is evidently a woman of Great Knowledge of Weird Things (and we really like people like that!), knows what month Amelia Earhart and Jimmy Hoffa disappeared? Ms P, do you feel a conspiracy theory coming on? I think there's a short story in there somewhere.

And to think I wanted to live in Arizona ...

Haiku:

Dumb southern gringa
Thought cactus was her friend. No.
Tweezers please now. Ow.

Is It Any Wonder I Never Finish Anything?

One of my goals for this weekend is to clean out my car--well, I'm not going to get it all done because the trunk is horrific! But I got a good start and it's been an amazing view into My Life And What's Wrong With It.

Somewhere in the southeast quadrant of my trunk, I saw what appeared to be a project bag--not one of my favorites or I'm sure I'd have missed it long ago. Inside: one almost complete sock, instructions for said sock, yarn for the second sock, two sets of DPNs, and a book.

Anyway, back to the sock. It's gorgeous--how could I have forgotten it? It's obviously Mountain Colors and only needs the toe kitchenered. Then the other sock needs to be knit. All the size 1 and 2 bamboo DPNs are there, unscathed, which is a miracle in itself. More to the point, the pattern, almost pristine except for a few wrinkles in its plastic sleeve, includes all my careful little notes about how I changed the pattern:

The sock is Jeanie Townsend's Cascading Leaves pattern. The yarn is gorgeous, the pattern is there, the needles are with the project. Anyone want to take odds on whether I ever finish this pair of socks?

Ever done an archeological dig? I took a couple of archeological history classes in college and one of the things you learn is that you can date the age of an unknown object by the things around it in the same strata. For instance, a penny with a date on it of 1924 means that the piece of pottery buried next to it probably probably wasn't buried before 1924. Anyway, the book contains a receipt (for sushi at Ru-San's if it matters) dated 1/14/06.

This sock has been sitting in my trunk since January '06. I'm so easily distracted that, in all that time, I've never once thought to myself, "wonder whatever happened to that Mountain Colors sock?" Until today, I'd completely forgotten it.

Oh, my. Wonder what else I'll unearth? Hope Jimmy Hoffa and the Lindbergh baby aren't in there somewhere....