I’ve been taught how to upload photos to my gallery, so I’ve added some photos I took at my friend Stephanie’s wedding last summer. Go, look.
Now I just need to get my computer back from the Apple store, unpack my scanner, and there will be a multitude of images for your perusal.
I’m off to the MCA to oogle art with Emma. Then I’ll come home, take a nap, go see some rock and roll, then go to a club to dance New Wave. Notjob is treating me right.
Hillary, the new patron saint of superfurry 13-year-old cats, came and decided to take the cat!
The cat has a new home with Hillary and her boyfriend, who will spend the day hanging out with her.
Let’s all take the time to remember the cat.
Ok, now, on with the show! Let’s remember, cats are for outside.
All of the tee shirts I purchased at the thrift store yesterday were too small for Jason. They all happen to fit me to a … um … a T. Ah well. Sorry,
there.
Hillary, the new patron saint of superfurry 13-year-old cats, came and decided to take the cat!
The cat has a new home with Hillary and her boyfriend, who will spend the day hanging out with her.
Let’s all take the time to remember the cat.
Ok, now, on with the show! Let’s remember, cats are for outside.
When your boyfriend packes and moves all of his clothes to Champaign, then drives back to Chicago, one wonders how he’ll dress himself.
Basically, he has two options. He can pick clothes from the pile of discarded clothes he had left to give to Goodwill. He can also purchase new clothes.
Having done both, he also can ask his supercool sig.oth. to go to the thrift store and find some neat t-shirts. Unfortunately, he is not a big fat guy, which means he doesn’t get these:
On the upside, he does get this:
Yesterday was wholly satisfying. While all of you were at work, I was puttering around Wicker Park buying guacaomle makings, and lazing about reading. Last night a bunch of us met up at Cleo’s to eat a very specific part of the chicken, the fabled wing.
Today, I plan on doing about the same thing. Someone is coming by to see the cat (please, please, please let her take the cat), and there’s going to be a showing of Party Girl tonight, but other than that, I plan on reading in the sun, going to the thrift store, and making chocolate chip cookies.
Oh, and Gina, thanks for the tip – I bought some Biosilk yesterday at Target, and already my hair is more luxurious and shiny.
I got my submission back!
No drumroll required – I didn’t pass outright. Most people don’t, so I’m not going to spend time moping about that. Most of my swatches passed, with the exception of the moss stitch (too holey), the lifted increase, the SSK, the YO SSK, and one of the cables. They weren’t thrilled with my blocking, but hey, neither was I.
I have to resubmit most of the questions – apparently I totally failed to answer some of the questions correctly. This is the part I stink at. I’ve never been good at writing succinct answers.
As for my blocking report, I seem to have used absolutely incorrect information. Yeah. Totally wrong. Cotton gets stronger when wet, I’ve learned, not weaker, as the resource I used says.
So mostly I need to get better at researching stupid nuance-y bits of information that I have a much more innate ability to understand but cannot put into words.
Generally, though, I’m pleased that I am on my way to being a Master knitter, and happy at how much I’ve learned thus far.
Jason and I have finally moved. Uhhh, I mean, we’re still hanging out in Chicago RIGHT NOW, but all of our stuff is in Champaign.
It took two days, and a million pounds of belongings. Luckily, we had Anton for the first bit. I’m really tired, and really smelly, but we’ve succesfully completed what ought to be the hardest part of moving in together: moving in together.
Now I just need to get my computer back, get interslice for the new place (um, and electricity and water), find the cat a home, unpack, and start learning how to be a hot librarian.
This is what it has come down to: a Craigslist plea. Even though the cat is ever-cute, I’m determined to find her a new home.
Here’s my plan for my last day at work.
Blog.
Read other blogs.
Knit and listen to iPod.
Go for hour-and-a-half lunch, make Steve buy.
Space out.
Crack dirty jokes with Gina.
Leave early.
I will update as needed throughout the day, so you know exactly what I’m not doing.
Last night I dreamed that I was doing laundry. I was doing load after load of laundry for superheros. Our fortress was being attached by detached heads of the Golden Girls, and my only defense was to spit at them as they floated around me menacingly. I’m usually quite a good spitter, but in my dream, I was getting drool on my chin. Yeah, so I was a bit confused when I woke up. Yes, I had been drooling in my sleep. All I can say is that Bea Arthur looks threatening when her head is angry.
I have but one day left at Abbott. Tonight we’re going out for drinks at Jesse Oaks, the most amazing biker/family/sportsbar ever. Hopefully I’ll have embarrassing photos of coworkers to show tomorrow. Against my better judgement, I’ve let the outsidcat out of the bag. Even my boss has my URL.
Like that stops me.
Just don’t tell my grandma, for fuck’s sake.