Rinse It Under Cold Water

Oh dear.  Look who has been the worst blogger ever.  Me.  It was me.  I apologize.

I can only think of one reason for why I haven’t blogged in an inordinate amount of time, and that is that I feel like I should write an update on Shelly’s Printed Silk Cardigan.  The problem with that is that I only have so much patience for that sweater, and all of that patience has to dedicated to the actual knitting of it, rather than talking about it, or else it won’t get done in the month that I have left before I head off to Dream School.

As I mentioned before, I was having severe problems reading the chart for the embossed diamond portion of the pattern.  I went on the Ravelry KAL group for the Printed Silk Cardigan, and posted about the problems I was having.  Within a matter of hours, a very kind Raveler provided me with an answer that helped me understand, not only this pattern, but reading charts in general.

But understanding how to do something is entirely different than actually doing it.  Just because I know how to do it does not mean, by any stretch of the imagination, that it is easy to do, especially when my brain has proven to me time and time again that it just does not work technically enough to grasp how something will work before I actually do it.  Hence, sucking at chart reading.

But, Shelly spent a lot of money on the yarn, so even though this may be the pattern that kills me, I will finish it before dream school.  I’m done with the back, and am nearing the end of the left front piece, and once I am done with the entire sweater, it will be followed with several instant gratification projects.

Moving on to a topic that I find considerably less aggravating:

Last Tuesday, Boyfriend and I had our three year anniversary.  We spent the day at a popular tourist location near the undisclosed location where we live.  Normally, it’s too crowded during the summer to want to think about going, but since it was a Tuesday afternoon, it wasn’t bad at all.

When we left in the morning, it was cloudy and threatening to rain.  I am usually good about wearing sunscreen, as skin cancer is preventable, but it didn’t even occur to me to wear it.  Of course, this meant that I disregarded the idea that it could get sunnier later on in the day, which it did, or the fact that you can still get burned through clouds, which I did, and that burns are worse when you’re near the water, which we were.

I am now a lovely shade of peeling, and have crazy tan lines.

I should also mention, on a completely unrelated note, that I am the worst gift giver ever.  So much so, that I have given up on giving gift, and now people receive gift cards for any gift worthy occasions.  I find that this works out nicely, except for when it comes for Boyfriend.

Boyfriend is not a fan of gift cards.  He finds them impersonal.  Which I can understand, especially since I can’t exactly be like, “Here you go Boyfriend.  Here’s a Target gift card, to celebrate how we’ve been together for three years, and I still don’t know what you want.”

So, instead, I racked my brain, and remembered him saying that there was a new series that he wanted to read of those Japanese manga books that you have to read backwards and that I don’t understand.

And so, Little Buddy and I headed off to the book store, because even though I didn’t know the name of this series that he wanted, I figured, how many could there be?

Oh, a lot apparently.

First off, I have nothing against these books, I just don’t get the attraction of reading a book backwards, and having pictures be part of the story.  If I’m going to read a book, I feel as though the words should paint the picture for me, and pictures shouldn’t be necessary.  Plus, even though Boyfriend has explained to me that the pictures don’t all look the same from series to series, I have to disagree.  I see no difference.

Anyway, at the book store, Little Buddy refused to even go down the aisle with me, apparently scared of hurting his street cred.  He chose to spend the duration of our time there flipping through an Eric Clapton biography, providing no moral support for me, which I desperately need when I pick out gifts.

There I am, in the manga aisle, faced with at least twenty different series, none of which I have ever heard Boyfriend mention before.  There were some that I could quickly rule out (like the one with two cartoon guys kissing on the cover.  Boyfriend likes to read about ninjas.  This didn’t seem to involve ninjas in the slightest.).  I flipped through some of them, trying to find the flap that had the summary on it (it’s on the back flap, not the front one.  I probably should have guessed that.), all the while, a bunch of guys standing next to me, looking at the books like they know what they’re doing, and totally laughing at me in their heads because I clearly had no flying clue.

I finally picked out two books from different series that seemed like something he might enjoy (fighting, weapons, ninjas, no one kissing, that kind of thing.).  I got to the cash register, pissed off because I get intensely grumpy when I don’t know how to do things, like chart reading or picking out manga for Boyfriend.  The lady who rang me out said, “Did you know if you buy four manga books, you get one free?”  The thought of picking out two more of these books, just to be rewarded with getting to pick out another one, almost put me over the edge. 

“No thank you,” I told her.  “I don’t want to get my boyfriend five books that he’ll probably hate.”

Because this is part of being a neurotic gift giver.  Convincing yourself that after spending a decent amount of time picking out a gift, the recipient will hate it.  You should be taking notes.  This is valuable info.

Boyfriend is kind-hearted enough to know that I feel this way, and therefore never ever tells me if he hates a gift that I give him, regardless of how many gift receipts I provide him with.  This time, though, one of the two books was the one he was looking for (yeah!), and the other was acceptable for his reading purposes.

Someday, when I’m richer than he is (because that’s my life goal, to be richer than the man I am with), I’m just going to buy him a car.  All guys like cars.  Cars don’t come with gift receipts.  The only nerve wracking part about picking it out would be what color, but I think I could handle that.

Or I could just get better at picking out gifts.  Whichever.

Song of the Day:
“I just poured my heart out.  There’s bits of it on the floor.  And I take what’s left of it and rinse it under cold water, and call him up for more.” -Maria Mena, “Sorry“

 

A Fantabulous Night

I killed a spider last night.  Which, for anyone who doesn’t know me, is kind of a big deal.

I hate killing spiders.  It makes me sad, and then the popping sound they make makes me want to throw up.  What I usually do, upon finding a spider, is grab two of those bathroom size Dixie cups, trap it in between them, then set it free in my front yard. 

But last night, it was around midnight, and this guy, whom I found on my bureau, was a jumper.  By the time I would have gotten those cups, he wouldn’t have been there anymore, and I would have spent the whole night thinking that he was chewing on my toes.  Not to mention that even if I could have gotten them in time, everyone else in the house was asleep, and I would have woken them up by opening the door to set him free.

There was a paper towel just sitting on my bureau, and it was just too easy…

Only this spider was clearly trained in combat.  He anticipated my every move, and dodged me accordingly.  He scurried under things, and jumped around things, and just evaded me every way he could.  His one mistake, though, was running into the middle of an open space, where I squished him, muttering “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over again, so that I wouldn’t have to hear him pop.

I felt really bad though.  I’m no killer.  I’m a lover, not a fighter.  I make love, not war.  Well, I don’t make love either, but that’s another story for another day.

After that, every noise I heard was a whole gang of angry spiders coming to seek their revenge on me.  I kept feeling little pinpricks all over me that I assumed were spider bites.  And what this taught me was: a) I’m even more neurotic than Boyfriend tells me; and b) I shouldn’t have watched the Harry Potter movie marathon with Little Buddy over the July 4th weekend.

Song of the Day:
“Well, its a marvelous night for a moondance with the stars up above in your eyes.  A fantabulous night to make romance, ‘neath the cover of October skies.” -Van Morrison, “Moondance”

* I can’t find a video for this one.  Geez!

 

See the West Wind Move

I’ve always avoided patterns that have charts in them.  It’s not that I can’t read charts, it’s just that I would so much rather see it spelled out for me.

“K3, p7, k2tog, stop being special and just read the chart, k3″

But, in the case of Shelly’s Printed Silk Cardigan, the chart is necessary.  When I started it, my thought process was that I know how to knit cables, lace, and a little bit of fair isle.  The next step should be chart reading.  Which I know is a little out of order, but then again, everything I do is out of order, so that comes as no surprise.

I’m doing surprisingly okay with the chart so far, and it’s going fairly quickly (though not fast enough for Shelly, who likes to sit next to me and say, “Susan, I can’t help but notice that you are not done with my sweater yet.”) 

But I’m now stuck on a row where I have to increase two stitches and include the two new stitches into the pattern.  Which is all well and good, but I don’t know where to start on the chart now.  Where do the two new stitches come into play?  Isn’t that going to make the diamonds look funny?

I turned to my Ravelry comrades in the Printed Silk Cardigan KAL, in the hopes that they can be as helpful as those who told me that I put the sleeves on upside down on my Summer Cardigan.  And, if all else fails, I’ll just dig out some Red Heart that survived a massive room cleaning solely for the purpose of helping me figure out problematic parts of patterns.

I think from now on I’m sticking to my no charts rule.  Shelly’s lucky I like her.

Song of the Day:
“See the west wind move like a lover so, upon the fields of barley.  Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth, among the fields of gold.” -Sting, “Fields of Gold”

 

Something on the Side

As promised…

 

 

I’m in love with this sweater, especially the yarn.  I didn’t expect to like Lion Brand Cotton-Ease as much as I do because I got it at Michael’s and I was being a yarn snob.  But it’s soft and looks great, and I just want to hug it.

Sometimes I do.  Don’t judge.

The pattern was surprisingly easy to understand, considering it’s a Drops pattern, which are translated into English, and even at that have to be translated into Susan language.  But it went off without any major hitches, minus the time that I put the sleeves on upside down, and couldn’t understand what I did wrong until I talked to several people from Ravelry who had already made the sweater, all of whom were incredibly friendly and helpful.  Both sleeves are now firmly in place and right side up.

Another classic case of Ravelry saving the day. Oh, and also CatusGabrielis, kidknits, and bee-mee.

Now for my next trick…

Shelly fell in love with the Printed Silk Cardigan the first time she saw it in my copy of Interweave.  So, we headed on out to the yarn lady.

Previously, I’d only been to see my yarn lady with Boyfriend, which is nice and has its place.  But going with Shelly?  That was an experience that I am more than willing to repeat.

Shelly is a grown-up, and therefore can afford yarn that I, as a not-quite-yet grown-up, cannot.

This yarn, King Tut, is so shiny and beautiful.  It knits up silky and soft, and is perfect for this project.  I am a little in love with it, though I am starting to realize that I love whatever yarn I am working with at the moment.  Which probably isn’t a bad thing.

Song of the Day:
“Now you think that I will be something on the side.  But you got to understand that I need a man who can take my hand.” – Duffy, “Mercy“

 

You Bleed Just to Know You’re Alive

Okay, so I keep putting off posting until I take a picture of my Summer Cardigan, which for some reason I just keep putting off, but I feel the need to blog about this:

Did anyone watch The Secret Life of the American Teenager on abcfamily?

I just finished watching it on abcfamily.com, and all I have to say about it is that it is freaking hilarious.  I don’t think that it’s supposed to be funny, but it is just so drastically unrealistic that I can’t take it or its messages seriously.

My favorite line of the whole show was “I’m fifteen and I’m still a virgin.”

Um, what?  How horrible, to be a freshman in high school and still be a virgin.  And apparently, that’s all the freshman in that high school are doing.  And the one girl who is not having sex and wears a promise ring that her parents gave her to “remind others of the promise she made” to herself and God not to have sex, has a boyfriend who is having sex with the girl who’s having sex with everyone else.  Then, he’s crying about “Oh no, we sinned.  Now we have to pray.  God will forgive us.”  Which, granted, He will, but I’m not sure that it works exactly like that.  Especially considering that he went right back to kissing that girl after he said this, until his chaste girlfriend’s brother caught them and yelled for his sister until the whole school ran out of the party they were at in the church gymnasium.

Yeah.  I kid you not.

I also didn’t know that sex was all families talked about at dinner.  Seriously, there was not one scene in this whole show where sex was not mentioned.

And all of that does not even begin to cover all of the bad decisions that were made, including making bets on “getting laid,” and sleeping with a jerk, getting pregnant by that jerk, dating a nice guy, then formulating a plan to have sex with the nice guy and tell him that you’re pregnant with his child so that you never have to deal with the jerk who really got you pregnant.

I love this show.  Like I said, it’s hysterical.

Shelly just looked over my shoulder and added that the people who made this show and 7th Heaven (the same people) are all bible thumping Christians who think that anyone who is not a Christian is a whore.  I can’t help but agree.  I’m Catholic and I don’t believe in premarital sex, and I know plenty of people who are Christian whores, and plenty of non-Christians who are non-whores.

I swear the next post will be knitting related.  Really.

Song of the Day:
“And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming, or the moment of truth in your lies.  When everything seems like the movies, yeah you bleed just to know you’re alive.” – Goo Goo Dolls, “Iris“

 

The Music’s All Right

Stealing this from Knitting Lemonade, because it’s my favorite meme yet, and also I’m trying to stall until I post pictures of my now completed Summer Cardigan.

1. Black-eyed Susan, 2. Moonstruck chocolates, 3. Time…, 4. Pawnee Pink Sherbert Sunset, 5. Daniel Radcliffe, 6. water droplets in the shower – o.k. bokeh, 7. Picturesque village Vernazza, 8. homemade berry ice cream, 9. The Writer, 10. Gizmo, 11. Prenent un Bany. Taking a Bath., 12. 100_0287

Q’s and A’s:

1. What is your first name? Susan
2. What is your favorite food? chocolate
3. What high school did you go to? That’s undisclosed, instead I offer you a picture of a random building.
4. What is your favorite color? Pink
5. Who is your celebrity crush? Daniel Radcliffe.  Shut up.  I can’t help it.
6. Favorite drink? Water
7. Dream vacation? Italy
8. Favorite dessert? Ice Cream.  Duh.
9. What you want to be when you grow up.  Writer
10. What do you love most in life?  Puppies.  Well, not really, but for the sake of conversation.
11. One Word to describe you. Awesome
12. Your flickr name. susanwritesandknits.  No pictures come up for this, though, so I offer you Marshmallow in a hat.

You do one now:

a. Type your answers to the questions in the Flickr search box.
b. Pick an image from the first page only.
c. Copy and paste the image URLs into fd’s mosaic maker.

And now, as I am stuck in bold for some unknown reason, it is time for me to bounce.

Song of the Day:
“‘Cause she’s playing all night, and the music’s all right.  Mama’s got a squeeze box, Daddy never sleeps at night.” -The Who, ”Squeeze Box“

 

 

 

It’s a Tie

The new Knitty is up, and, per usual, there are several patterns that I like, but will never get around to making, being a slow monogamous knitter with an already expansive queue.

Sidenote: I just had to open a new Internet tab so that I could go on Ravelry and look up how to spell “queue.”  Even though I look at it almost every day, and should know how to spell it.  Go Susan!!!

Anyway, back to the Knitty patterns I like:

Shetland Shorty: This is a really cute pattern that looks just challenging enough to keep me entertained without making me so frustrated that I have the sudden inextinguishable urge to throw my needles across the room, only to then be yelled at by Shelly, adding to the frustration.  As a general rule, I try to avoid patterns that might result in that.  You know, on principle. 

Then again, I’m kind of over boleros.  I had a whole bunch of them a few years ago, but I’m bored with them now.  I’d rather wear a whole sweater.  Boleros make me think that someone got bored before they had the chance to finish it.

Inverness: I don’t know what it is about this sweater that’s calling to me.  I really don’t.  It’s not particularly attractive and it doesn’t look like it would be flattering on me.  Maybe there’s just something about big comfy sweaters that I’m incapable of resisting.  Because you can’t look at that sweater and say, “Gee, I’d like to make that but it just looks like a pain in the neck to wear.”  No.  It looks so damn soft that I’m a little happier just looking at it.

This is a pattern that I’ll have to wait and see how other people’s turned out.

Thira: This is another one that I don’t know why I like.  I think that it just appeals to my attraction of impractical summer knitwear.  Like Summertime Tunic.  It’s summertime, and I’ve yet to wear it.  It’s too damn hot for a sweater, with or without sleeves.

Seascape:  You know what, I feel a rant coming on that’s going to require a whole new paragraph.

I think lacy stoles are gorgeous.  Ever since I saw the Bleeding Hearts Stole in the spring issue of Interweave, I’ve had the hankerin’ to buy some lace weight yarn and make one.  But here’s the thing: whether it’s Seascape or Bleeding Hearts or any other stole, where am I going to wear a lacy stole?  I’m all for impractical knitting in the sense of tank tops and camis, which are fun to make but in reality will probably never be worn.  But a lot of work goes into enough lace to make a stole.  And for what?  Never in my life have I seen someone wearing a stole.  I don’t even know where it’s appropriate to wear one, or how to wear one, or when to wear one.

It’s probably one of those things where I’m going to have to wait until I’m old to make and wear one, when I’m at the point where I don’t really care what I wear in public and I can be like, “Screw you dumb ass, I’m wearing my lacy stole!”

Yeah.  I can’t to wait to be old and say anything I want to say.  The possibilities are endless…

On another note…

My Summer Cardigan (not to be confused with the impractical and rarely worn except in the winter, irony of ironies, Summertime Tunic) is 50 or so rows from being done!!!  Yeah!!!

Excuse the excess explanation points.  Sometimes I like to pretend that I’m a regular girl who uses too much punctuation and dots her i’s with hearts and smiley faces, instead of a Susan who can’t walk in heels, doesn’t like to wear make-up unless she has to, only paints her toe nails when Shelly makes her, and has maybe two and half girlfriends, the rest of her posse is made up of guys.  The pretending doesn’t last long though, before I sicken myself with the exclamation points and come this close to deleting them before I stop myself and instead write up a paragraph much like this one in the hopes that readers might find it entertaining.  I’m probably wrong, per usual.  But at the very least, you just sat through that entire irrelevant paragraph, so I guess I win.

I’d show you a picture of the cardigan, only it’s so close to being done that I’d rather just wait until it’s finished so that you can see the whole thing, which is Susan code for I’m too lazy to take out my camera and try to take a good, not boring, photograph, which is not exactly my fortay.

Song of the Day:
“I don’t want to argue about who is the victim cause maybe we both got burned.  I don’t want to talk about who is the traitor cause both of our loyalties turned.  I don’t want to fight about who is the liar cause there’s too many ways to lie.  I don’t want to hear about who is the winner cause we both know it’s a tie.” -Pat Benatar, “Precious Time”

 

I’m Not Too Sure

Shelly and I went to Staples today to make copies for Pharmacy Pete, and it was here that I realized something about the behavior of women during the summer.

When it gets warm out (like it has around here; so hot in fact that local schools let the kids out early because it was too hot in the un-air conditioned buildings), women start to wear shorts.  And when they wear shorts, they think that it becomes socially acceptable to scratch their butts in public.

I can’t tell you how many women I have seen reach up the leg of their shorts and start scratching their behinds.  Like just because they can reach up there, they should.  No one will notice.

But I notice.  And I think it’s gross.  So, just to throw it out there, please don’t scratch yourself in public.  Save that for boys.  At least it’s expected of them.

Just kidding.  Kind of.

Song of the Day:
“Well, maybe I’m just too sure.Maybe I’m just too frightened by the sound of it.Pieces of note fall down.” – Better than Ezra, “Good“

 

Like a Memory

Wednesday night, or Thursday morning I should say, after prom, a group of our friends went to Boyfriend’s house to sleep in tents in his backyard.  One girl said to me, “I can’t believe that was senior prom.  I’ve been waiting forever for it, and I can’t believe it’s over.”

That’s the way I felt about it.  I had a lot of fun at prom.  Granted, I don’t dance, much to Boyfriend’s happiness.  But I’m friends with all boys, except for three or four girls, and none of the boys dance except for when those girls tell them to.  So we just sat around and talked.

Here is my prom conversation with Boyfriend:

Boyfriend (B): So… you probably don’t want to dance, right?

Me (M):  Hell no!  Why, do you?

B: No, just thought I’d check.

M: How very thoughtful.

(We pause to watch everyone else dancing.)

M: It would be one thing if anyone really danced, but they’re just kind of…

B:  Having sex on the dance floor?

M:  Basically.  The day I ever rub my butt on your gyrating pelvis…

B:  Yeah, I don’t know how I’d feel about it if you acted like that.  You want to make out?

M: Right now?

B:  Yeah.

M: Um… no.

I had a lot of fun at prom, but I feel as though I could have done the same thing in Boyfriend’s back yard.  I spent a lot of time getting dressed up to talk to the boys that I see every week at Boyfriend’s bonfires anyway.

But, it was prom, and now I can say that I went.  Woo hoo.

In other news…

This is the conversation that I had with my parents this morning:

Shelly (S):  Look!  I got my toes done today.

Me (M):  Pretty.  They’re very pink

Pharmacy Pete (P):  Like a hooker.

S:  They do not look like hooker toes!  I’m not a hooker.

M:  Yeah, I don’t crochet either.

S:  Not the same.

P:  I like Susan’s red toes better.

S:  MY TOES ARE PRETTY!  Susan, put it on your blog that my toes are pretty!

P:  Take a picture of her hooker toes!

S: No!  I hate pictures. I’m going to go clean the bathroom.

P:  No, I’ll do it so you want ruin your toes.  You look all pretty.

Then we fought about whether or not a picture would be taken, before she finally agreed to take one with me.

These are our toes.  Hers are the ones on the right.  You know, the ones that look like they belong to a hooker.

I’m just kidding.  I shouldn’t make jokes like that, or Shelly will stop reading.  Then I’ll be down to, like, no readers.

And in knitting news, which I appear to be forgetting that this is what this blog is supposed to be about…

I have cast off for the arm holes in the Summer Cardigan.  I’m working on the sleeves now, which are kind of weird in that they are knit on double pointed needles, then the live stitches on the sleeves get put onto the circulars where I cast off for the arm holes, and all three pieces get knit as one.  I guess this is kind of nice, in that there is minimal seaming at the end, but I’m also really interested in seeing how it’s going to work out.  Hopefully well.

Song of the Day, Per Shelly’s Request:
“Here comes the rain again, falling on my head like a memory, falling on my head like a new emotion.” -The Eurythmics, “Here Comes the Rain Again“

 

If I Wanted Silence, I Would Whisper

The party store is not exactly the hub of life lesson learning.  Occasionally I learn something that I can throw into everyday conversation (like the fact that helium is a non-flammable gas, which I tried to explain to a group of boys at a bonfire who wanted to see a balloon explode.  I was ignored, as I usually am being the girl who consistently ruins fun with sensibility ((oh yeah, I know where I stand)).  I watched as they held the balloon over the fire, and laughed when they were disappointed because it only melted without even a little explosion.), but mostly I leave work every day with a head full of useless crap that I’m never going to need to know.  I did, however, learn this over the course of the 9 or so months I have been there: no intelligent person stays in a store past the time the store closes. 

There have been several people who, and I’m not sure if this is because they’re oblivious, inconsiderate, or just dumb-asses, have stayed in the store far past the 9 o’clock closing time.  They always come in before 9, so we cannot ask them to leave.  Since we are a party store, they are not our customers, but our guests.

I’m actually completely serious about that.  It’s in the training video.

Not one of those people have left me with the feeling that my life had been enriched by meeting them.  Never once did I think, “I’d really enjoy having a meaningful conversation with this person.”  Not once.

Instead, I end up hating the people who stay so late.  I don’t even know them, and I really dislike them because they are just so dumb.

One woman a while back asked me at 9:10 what time we closed, then proceeded to stay for another 10 minutes, then yelled at me about the prices of things in clearance before throwing wrapping paper at me.

I kid you not.

Or like last night, when two woman came into the store to purchase supplies for a graduation party at 7 o’clock, and stayed until 9:30.  They asked me what time we closed, and when I said, “Oh, about 10 minutes ago,” they didn’t seem to care and stayed for another twenty or so minutes.  This included the time it took them to rent a helium tank, which is kind of a long procedure.  On their way out, they said, “Sorry we took so long.  Thanks for being patient.”

What?  Sorry I took so long?  You’re not sorry.  If you were sorry you would have left.  Kiss my Portuguese/British/French Canadian/Native American/a little bit of Scottish behind and leave!

Though I guess that answers the question as to why they didn’t leave when they saw me walking around the store, huffing and puffing, looking at my watch, and thinking that, if they were party guests at my house, I would still kick them out.  They were just completely oblivious to common courtesy, and, well, just about everything else.

Also, I got home from work last night to find a series of small bruises up and down my right arm.  My left elbow, which I hurt 2 years ago and had to wear a brace on for months but has since stopped hurting unless I lean on it or whack it on something, hurt so bad that I had to find the brace and wear it for a few hours until it stopped.  And I don’t know how this happened.

It’s a running joke around the store that I hurt myself every time I’m there.  Which is true.  I’m pretty clumsy. But usually I know how it happened.  This time, I’m at a loss.

Boyfriend thinks that they took me out back and beat me until I couldn’t remember anything.  I told him that this is unlikely, as the injuries are pretty mild for that situation, and also the people I work with are nice, and not at all the beat-me-until-I’m-unconscious type.  More likely I just walked into a door, or carried a box the wrong way.

And in knitting news…

I finished the lace part of my Summer Cardigan, and started the endless garter stitch part.  Any photos would be redundant of what I’ve already shown you, but when I get further along, pictures will be in store. 

Also, prom tomorrow, so there will probably be pictures of that too.  Squeee!!!

That was an excited noise, in case there was any confusion.

Song of the Day:
“But if I wanted silence, I would whisper.  And if I wanted loneliness, I’d choose to go.  And if I liked rejection, I’d audition.  And if I didn’t love you, you would know.” -Maria Mena, “Just Hold Me”