Monday, March 15, 2010

I'm An Hour Off

With a party-filled weekend and a time adjustment, the past 3 days have been a discombobulated mess. It's amazing what a single hour and grey drizzly weather can do. I'm blaming everything on the time change.

I'm blaming it for the crappiest pizza I have ever made. After watching a show on pizza wars, NY vs. Chicago (NY being my pizza of choice) I went out to the kitchen and created a dough "thin enough to read the NY Times". I plopped the toppings on, cranked the oven to 500 blasting degrees, slid it in. I watched carefully so as not to burn the cheese (something did set the smoke alarm off) and removed for a short cooling. THE WORST. Blech. First time I have thrown pizza out. May have something to do with the show's 900 degree oven to my 500 degree. D*$#n time change.

I'm blaming the time change on my lack of motivation, my inability to form simple words into a sentence, and my bad hair day.

I'm blaming it for my brilliant idea of mixing a lime Airborne tablet with a cup of green tea and having it taste like...wait for it....chicken. Chicken? I was trying to get warm and de-stress in one application. I'll try orange Airborne next time. Stoopid time change.

On the knitting side of my life I'm finishing my Stashbuster sweater--buttons and blocking required--the stash drawers are empty, vacant, with more than 2 weeks to go before my annual pilgrimage to WEBS annual anniversary sale. Not that I couldn't go before hand but why pay full price when all those goodies will be on sale? Logical, yes?

I'll take that back, I did venture to Keene, NH with a Christmas gift certificate in hand to redeem at a teeny yarn store. Fortunately they carried Cascade 220 (limited supply) which I snagged the largest amount of an acceptable color and headed for the checkout counter. For a bit of background, I'm not a fan of teeny yarn stores though the hostess was quite pleasant unlike many small yarn shops in my own territory that in the past have made me feel unwelcome. You know who you are....brutes.

The second reason I wanted to flee? A group of knitters in a circle just off the checkout area with that One Token Person who gets asked a perfectly simple yes or no question and it launches into their life history with all the gory details that no one asked or wanted to know about. I'm a private, solo, get out of my zone  knitter. No knitting groups for me thankyouverymuch. No talk, more knit. I don't need to know your "stuff".  Though of course, when the pleasant lady asked me how I constructed the sweater I was wearing you might of thought E.F. Hutton was going to give out stock secrets. Dead Silence from the Knitting Group. Gah! It's just me but  I hate that. Felt like my sweater and all other articles of clothing had been stripped and I was left there standing in my gauchies (that's undies for translation folks). I briefly (no pun intended) explained The nice lady oohed and acknowledged that as she owns the yarn shop she should probably know how to do a steek but does not. Dead Silence continued. Okee Dokee it's really hot all of a sudden. Can I have my clothes, yarn and slither out of here please? Thanks. What should have been a quick in quick out shopping transaction once again became yet another uncomfortable small yarn shop experience with the lady who was  nice. I can just imagine what the Drama Princess in the knitting circle would have done. Hours of blah, blah, blah.

'Kay, where was I? Yes, yes, wrapping up that diatribe brings me to six hanks of a reddish solid worsted weight wool. I'm thinking of making another version of the sweater I was wearing at the yarn shop (see "Gold Standard" by following The Done Stuff link in the right column). This should tide me over until the BIG SALE. And coincidentally, my income tax return came--just in time. No, no it won't all become yarn. Wish it could!

I could always dig out the drop spindle and practice but with that whole hour changey thingy....

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