Yeah, sure, blame it on the sunspots…

It has been a sad week.  The shooting in Colorado hit me sort of hard, because MY OWN kids were at a midnight premiere for The Dark Knight Rises, and I was struck to the bone with how easy it could have happened here.  A friend of mine–an e-buddy, it is true, but still, someone I have learned to care for–has lost a dear friend of his, and he is heartbroken.  There is funk and drama going on in the cyber world, and once again, I am contemplating being a voice of reason, and unsure if anyone would be willing to hear me.  And I’m not going to dwell on any of that right now, because I haven’t processed it, and sometimes, sad is just better kept under wraps.  Instead, I’m going to kvetch about little, pain in the ass stuff, and remember that it IS little, and little is do-able.

So on the little, pain in the ass realm?  Uhm, yeah.  Not my set of days.  Let’s start with getting gas, shall we?

No, not stomach gas, although we have to keep telling Zoomboy it’s not polite to fart on people, and it’s REALLY not polite to keep making evening announcements about farting and then grunting to make them louder.  I told him today that just because he was an eight year old boy that was no reason he had to be gross in front of ME.  Why couldn’t he just be gross around the other eight year old boys?  His response was that Sam was nine.  My response was that nine year old boys were gross too, and they could be gross together, but please, not in front of me.

He said fine, and then walked away farting, leaving me in his vapor trail.


Okay– now let’s talk about real gas, and the clusterfuck at the AM/PM.  (BTW?  For my story Do Over  I originally set Engall’s first death at the AM/PM.  My editor’s couldn’t figure out what the official logo/name of the store was, so we settled for the Circle K.  After all, Lynn told me soberly, “Strange things were afoot at the Circle K.”  Bill and Ted fans should now be doubled up in laughter, and I have done my job.  Everybody else, carry on.)

Anyway, it took forever.  The line of cars was not moving, and I had about to seconds worth of gas in my car.  So finally, FINALLY a spot opens up and I find out why the line of cars was not moving.  The stupid kiosk where you pay was not registering that you paid and you had to go inside.  I went inside to pay, came out–now keep in mind, the kids are IN the car and it’s 105 OUTSIDE the car–and started to pump gas.  At six gallons, the pump stops.  Just stops.  NO reason.  I go back inside and say, “Look–I’ve got kids in the car, and they’re dying, can I just get my change and go?”

I get my change and go (only thing the clerks did right was just throwing that my way) and then go to the yarn store, where I realize my cash card is bye bye.  Gone.  NOt anywhere.  Gone to visit my socks (next story)– you know.  Just gone.  The next place was the yarn store, where I bought yarn to make Stanley’s pop-your-cherry-red scarf.  THAT was fun, and fortunately she took a check when I couldn’t find my damned card, but still… *fume*  Gah.  Lost card. No gas.  *funk*  Blargh.

So, uhm, about the socks…has anybody seen this sock? Now see, isn’t it pretty?  I was knitting it for a friend of Mate’s, whose wife was having a baby.  I loved it, but it was taking FOREVER.  An interesting thing has happened with this latest batch of kids.  They have refused to grow out of my lap.  I couldn’t figure out why knitting and crocheting was not continuing at much pace at all, and then I realized it was because I had around 130 lbs. of grade schooler in my lap every time I sat.  Now, I seem to have broken Chicken out of this habit by around the third grade, and Big T was just too damned big to add HIS mass to the equation.  But with one kid on my lap I can knit or crochet.  With TWO?  Well, between that and the funked up angle of the couch which pinches a nerve in my shoulder, let’s just say that sock took me a very long time.

So when it disappeared?  Yeah.  I was unhappy.

But that was okay, I figured.  That was just fine.  I had a half a sock already finished–you know, to complete the pair, and I would just simplify the lace pattern, so it was just the cuff, and then I could finish both socks in short order.

And then that disappeared.

I don’t think the house ate them– these were traveling projects.  They just travelled beyond my purview, but the upshot is, it’s taken me a month to knit a sock and a half and they’ve both jumped ship.  I’m going to have to sit down with a bloody, gory, scary movie and another ball of yarn (I’m going with the idea that this one is cursed) and I’m going to sit down and knit two regular plain baby socks and hope the girl doesn’t remember that I promised her lace.  *sob*  Then I’m going to finish Mary’s blanket, and CHICKEN’S SWEATER WHICH I PROMISED HER, and THEN I’m going to make Stanley’s pop-your-cherry-red scarf.  And then it’ll be time to knit for Christmas, and your guess is as good as mine.  And don’t even get me started about the shawl I wanted to wear to GRL so I could appear all sophisticated and shit.  Alas.  Not enough time to knit.  Dudes… I know I’ve got twenty-five days to make a hard deadline, and I’m only 35K into a full length steampunk novel, but… I’ve gotta sit down and make some baby socks, STAT!

Okay.  So, done kvetching about the small shit.  Now I’m gonna remember why it IS small.  And for cryin’ in my soup, I’m gonna make some baby socks, dammit!  *shakes head*  And if you find my socks… be kind.

Oh– and Big T just send me the following, for anyone left with the burning question Why Batman?  I loved this btw– good symbolic shit to know.  

0 thoughts on “Yeah, sure, blame it on the sunspots…”

  1. B Snow says:

    Everyone seems to be having an awesome week….but as you said, it's little stuff compared to what was and what could have been. May your farty kids stay safe! 🙂

  2. roxie says:

    The cash card is missing?Have you notified the bank? The vanishing socks are a mystery, but the cash crd could be a tragedy.

    Isn't there a charter in Hitchchiker's Guide called Slarty Bartfast? Sounds like we have a new name for der Zoomster. He isn't lactose intolerant, is he? For God's sake, don't tell him about lighting farts. He'll burn the place down!

    When the socks do turn up, you'll be that much further ahead on a new gift. It's all good.

  3. Galad says:

    Thankfully plain baby socks are a quick knit. As Roxie said, when the others turn up, you are ahead for the next baby 🙂

  4. Going by the picture, those socks are the perfect size for a cat toy. Look in likely places they would be hidden by the cats and I'll bet you find them. Either that or they went into the black hole that is hidden within the couch crevasses.

    And sister, I hear your pain about the farting. My brother is 41 years old, and he will come in the room, back his ass up right against me, and rip a nasty one. I've just about had to call the cops for attempted murder on several occasions. I've also contemplated purchasing a gas mask, not because I live about 30 miles from an Army Depot gas/bomb disposal center either.

  5. I get annoyed when I have eight pounds of cat in my lap, 130 pounds of kids would kill me.

  6. Donna Lee says:

    What color are you planning to wear that you might want to wear a shawl? I may have one you can have and that would make you feel all sophisticated.

    I got the most amazing and wonderful card for my brother. In beautifully curly cursive it said "Happy Birthday to someone who loves to fart" and then went on from there. It was perfect.

    As for the Batman tragedy, there are no words.

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