The runaway iPod

An ex-boyfriend once told me: "You must have the bladder of an infant!"

Why is it that I'm such a target for publicly humiliating situations?

I always wear my iPod around campus. It keeps me occupied while I'm sipping coffee and chain-smoking, impatiently waiting for my next class to start. Well, I really had to pee during my philosophy class, but there were only fifteen minutes left and I forced myself to hold it until class ended. As soon as it was over, I threw my headphones on, grabbed my purse and backpack, and sprinted for the door. Just as I thought I'd successfully made it out of the classroom, my headphone cord caught itself around the doorknob, yanking me backwards so fast I thought I was going to fall. There was no running this time. I had no choice but to stand there for about thirty seconds, trying to unravel the cord from the knob. Meanwhile, my classmates were giggling and pushing past me. I finally untangled the cord and sped out the door, forgetting that I hadn't yet put my iPod back in my pocket. It swayed south like a pendulum, disconnected from the cord, hit the floor, and slid about five feet ahead of me. So I scurried over to it, bent over to pick it up, and felt my pants sliding loosley past my hips. I'd forgotten that I discreetly unbuttoned my jeans during class to take the weight off of my bladder. I quickly grabbed my iPod off the floor, held my pants up, and ran. To the bathroom. Not just to pee, but to hide.

Tonight I plan on making much knitting progress. Pictures will shortly follow!

Total hypocrite.

An ex-boyfriend once told me: "The South Beach diet, huh? Let's see how many hours you'll be on that!"

I enjoy reading blogs. I enjoy them SO much that when I wake up in the morning, I don't even pee until I visit my bookmarked blogs. But nothing is worse than checking a favorite blog, only to find that no new entry was made....for days on end! It makes me angry. I mean, how SELFISH could that blogger be for not writing anything new?! What...you're too busy to write something today? Can't even type out a single sentence to let your dear readers know you're alive? That's just effing rude.

So, here it is. I gone n' dun it too. And I apologize. See, blog authors have much more pressure to keep an "audience" than a book writer. We write our "novels" in tiny pieces, which means readers only get one page at a time. How frustrating is that? If someone handed me one page of The Witching Hour by Anne Rice per day, I'd go nutso. So, to make up for my asshole-ishness, I've knitted some goodies for your visual pleasure. (Side note: I had three tests and a paper due last week, resulting in a temporary loss of "writing mojo")

My ballband dishcloth (now complete): yes, I cheated and did it all from the same ball of yarn. I'm a busy girl, mkay?

Puppy paw dishcloths. Can't really see, eh? Let me try again.

I really need to start taking photos in natural light.

Remember my creepy carnival yarn? (Say hi to June, hiding in the back of the picture) This will be a simple stockinette purse, although it looks like a crafty kindergartner just glued a bunch of fruit loops together. I chose this yarn because I'm too scared and stubborn to use the pretty/expensive bit of my stash.

What? The Shaded Tweed Tunic? I have no idea what you're talking about.

The moral of the story, ladies and gents, is that my blog ain't no fad. I'm sticking to it!

Bad "penmanship"

An ex-boyfriend once told me: "Jade, what did you do with my dry-cleaning pile? Oh no..."

I just learned that it is a bad idea to use a bleach pen on a purple shirt with white stripes. The stains went out, for sure, but I must warn everyone that squeezing too much bleach out will result in bleeding. I now have a purple and orange-pink shirt with pristinely white stripes.

Shh...

(a post not worthy of an ex-quote)

I do not want the smiting yarn gods to catch wind of this, and I know I'm taking a risk by letting this piece of knowledge venture beyond my thoughts, but I can't help myself.

I'm... on... row... 8!

Ribbit.

An ex-boyfriend once told me: "Whoa. You freak out way too easily."

I have been a self-taught knitter for 4 months, and I'm sick of garter and rib stitching. I'm sick of my oversized, 14" Silvalumes. I want to conquer knitting with circular needles, and make something that is not square or rectangular. Since I cannot afford an interchangeable needle set, I have to work with what I've got (29" circulars size 8, 9, 10). By some miracle, I found a sweater pattern that called for a circular needle size that I owned, and not six different needles/cable lengths. It is the Shaded Tweed Tunic from the January issue of Creative Knitting.

Do you want to know how many times I've cast on for that sweater in the past two months? Not once, not twice or three times, not even four or five times. Six is getting warmer. I tried a seventh time tonight. It was when I failed at my eighth attempt that I threw my needles down, stomped out of my room, and chain smoked about as many cigarettes as my tally of failed cast-ons. And Creative Knitting had the AUDACITY to label the skill level "Easy." Eff you, Creative Knitting. Eff you.

So, is it my fault that my stupid How-To knitting book said that a yarn over was bringing yarn forward followed by knitting a stitch? No wonder I ran out of stitches early on the second row. Twice.

And how can I distinguish between a YO stitch and an unfinished purl? Talk about DROPPING stitches on row three.

Yeah, that's right, I haven't even made it to row four yet. And the thought of counting out 57 cast-on stitches a ninth time is nauseating. But you know what? I'm going to knit that damn sweater. Hell, I'll make two. I don't care how long it takes me.

NO MORE SCARVES!

Say what?

An ex-boyfriend once told me: "I can't believe we've been dating this long and I haven't heard you fart yet."



To begin, I'm a pretty private person in real life. But -- heaven forbid -- If I do something embarrassing, the only thing that makes me feel better is, well, telling someone. Or lots of people. As many as it takes to make me feel less embarrassed. So, on this day, I'm telling all of you what humiliating, slightly psychotic thing I got caught doing (and I can only hope that the shame that is rumbling in my gut will subside after this confession).



To back track a bit, I need to explain the way that I communicate with my dog. Most people are known to speak motherese to their pups and kittens in high-pitched, cutesy tones. Well, I do it slightly differently...I say ridiculous things, except I use my normal voice. In my opinion, this makes me sound crazy, as though I'm expecting my dog to talk back. I've never worried about it though, considering I only do this when I'm alone with Dominick. HOWEVER....



I was walking him last night, and he caught a scent of something, probably the trail of a cat or another dog. As it is a beagle's custom, he will follow that scent until A) it dissipates, or B) he finds that dang animal. This also means that he will not poop or pee until either A or B is accomplished. At that point I was cold, wearing pajamas and high heels (they were the easiest close-toed shoes I could grab), and I had finished my cigarette several minutes beforehand. So with one hand on the leash and the other on my hip, I firmly exclaimed, "Dominick, I know that you have poopy-butt. I'm not going to stay out here all night, so you'd better make a stinky or else you'll be prairie-doggin' it until morning!!"



Was I the only human within earshot of that less-than-sane comment? Of course not. In the corner of my eye, I spotted my cute neighbor relaxing on his back porch, about ten feet away from us. My immediate reaction was to pretend that I did not notice him, and run. Run fast. While dragging an apprehensive dog still trying to follow a scent. In my pajamas and high heels. The damn clacking echoed in the parking lot until I'd gotten us safely inside.



You know what? I feel much better now that my story is on the world wide web! I will end this post so that I can cuddle with my stinky-butt poopy mutt (you got it, that's his nickname -- and you're the only ones that know).

Caution: XXX (or should I say YYY?)

An ex-boyfriend once told me: "Cute needles, grandma!"

I absolutely love WEBS! (http://www.yarn.com/). Here's my damage:

Aaaaaaaand some close-ups. C'mon now, it's yarn porn. Don't judge me.

Cascade Bollicine Victor - Sweet Lime

Cascade Bollicine Victor - June. The colorway is a bit more "creepy carnival" than I would have liked, but I'm sure I can make use of it somehow.

Ella Rae Classic Print - Fuschia/Grey/Gold. LOVE IT!

Araucania Nature Wool - Light Purple

Knit One Crochet Too, Angora Soft - Chocolate

I'm curious to see if I'll actually knit with any of my new yarn. As of right now, I just want to look at it!

For the love of yarn!

An ex-boyfriend once told me: "Why do you own a camera? You never use it."

I cannot help but share how my darling puppy has grown to love yarn as passionately as his mother does. I was taking a few pictures of a scarf I had finished over the holiday break when Dominick decided that he wanted to be included in the festivities. So I let him.

At first, he just wanted to sit next to it. But then, he wanted to try it on. So I let him.

I took the picture, removed the scarf from my little model, rolled it up, and was about to put it away when Dominick huffed, "Where do you think you're going with my scarf, bitch?"

Well, no child of mine talks to me that way, so I reached for the scarf, and Dominick went into full defense-mode.

What can I say? I'd do it too, if someone attempted to take yarn away from me. My baby makes me proud!

Dominick

An ex-boyfriend once told me: "Your dog is just that -- a dog. You should try giving humans that much love and attention every once in a while."

Last night, I took a 30-second break from knitting to hop downstairs and grab a bottle of water. When I returned to my room, I saw my darling puppy lying on my bed, cradling what used to be my glasses between his paws. His head was cocked to the side as he gnawed away at the frames. As soon as he saw me, he quickly jumped off the bed, sat in front of me, and met my eyes with an apologetic, Puss in Boots gaze. That little bastard. I yelled, but he already knew he'd done wrong. There goes $350, down the drain. That is the SECOND pair he has snacked on since the fateful day I adopted his ass.

But guess what? I love him more than anything else on this planet. Adopting him has significantly changed my life, and you couldn't pay me enough money to take this experience away. Owning a dog requires time and sacrifice that most would find unappealing at this age. Me? I don't mind a bit. No, I can't get wasted and crash on a friend's couch. I have to get home to let the dog out. Sure, I'd love to spend my work tips on a big ol' basket of yarn, but I have to buy dog food. Sorry, I can't spend the weekend up in Georgia. Gotta take care of my pup! He's the best thing that has ever happened to me in this lonely, cruel world.

A pack of smokes and a grande coffee

An ex-boyfriend once told me: "It would be nice if you knew how to cook."

I had to share the wonderful little grocery shopping experience I had this evening. First off, I absolutely hate grocery stores. The aisles are big and scary, and the organization of those evil little places really pisses me off. Oh, sure, put the milk all the way in the back corner so I'm forced to walk down the candy aisle to get there. Great, you win; I now have a bag of Twizzlers in my cart. Oh, look, magazines and chewing gum conveniently located right at the checkout aisle! I was kinda wondering how Nicole Richie's newborn was doing. Ok, I'll buy it....and come to think of it, I do believe I chewed my last piece of Winterfresh yesterday. Anyway....to avoid said situations, I will put off grocery shopping until I'm so hungry that I contemplate nibbling on one of my dog's chicken jerky treats. I've never actually done it, but the thought has crossed my mind many, many times.

Preparation: I sat down with my thick, coupon-stuffed Sunday paper, wide-eyed, licking my lips, scissors ready. By the time I got through the whole thing, I only cut out about four coupons, three of them being discounts on dog-related items. But I did snatch a $0.40-off coupon for pizza rolls. Damn those greasy, pepporoni-filled monsters. They are contributing to the heart attack I so seem to want to experience in the future (side note: yes, I hate cheese, but Totinos knows that cheese is expensive, so the rolls are stuffed pretty much just with sauce). With the coupons clipped and ready to go, I headed off to that demonic, brightly-lit, food-filled hell.

I am SO PROUD of how frugal I was (mind you, I was starving, so EVERYTHING looked good).
I bought some Beefaroni (mmm, beefy noodles in a can), pasta sides, apples, two bags of pretzels, a couple cans of soup, more pizza rolls, four cinnamon rolls (for $1! They expire tomorrow, but I'm sure I can make them disappear by then), bottled water, and chicken-stuffed egg rolls. Then, at the checkout aisle, I picked up a much-needed bag of Sprees, the newest edition of People magazine (RIP Heath), and a pack of smokes. Ready for the total?

$31.08.

AMAZING! Think of how cheap it would have been had I not fallen for that evil place's marketing schemes. Then, when I looked at my receipt, I read that I had saved $5.46. How freaking awesome is that? That's like....two skeins of yarn, or a pack of smokes and a grande coffee, or 1.6 gallons of gas, or a squeaky toy for my dog. Maybe grocery shopping isn't that bad after all.

If you have not noticed, none of the above purchased items requires any cooking. I firmly believe in not cooking. Microwaves are a beautiful invention (although I have caused a few microwaving accidents in my day). So, gentlemen, if you're looking for a home-cooked meal, it sure isn't coming from me. I'll throw a salisbury steak TV dinner in the microwave for you, but if you want the real deal you can make it yourself. Who do I look like, Betty Crocker? Don't answer that. Now where on earth did I put those Sprees?

Numero Uno

An ex-boyfriend once told me: "Women only wear high-heeled shoes because the incessant clicking noise they make attracts attention."

Welcome to my blog. Just to let any readers know, I plan on beginning each post with a quote from someone I used to date. They may be good quotes; they may be bad. To be honest, I'm selfishly doing this as a reminder that it is O.K. to be single, and I cannot be expected to "pick a winner" at such a young age. Gross, huh? I'm sure all will eventually be unveiled for readers to understand.

About me -- My name is Jade, and I go to college full-time. On top of that, I wait tables part-time at a super-cool restaurant. I adopted a beagle mix from the pound almost a year ago, and he is the best thing that has ever happened to me! In my spare time, I read and knit (as I'm sure most other 21 year old college females do...especially on the weekends). I live in Florida, 1000+ miles away from my hometown in Pennsylvania. My best qualities include ingesting too much caffeine in a short period of time, thinking too much, and helping all the single ladies out there by scooping up the "bad seeds" and dating them myself.

Things I love --

Coffee, cigarettes, shoes, yarn, the color green, animals, Californication, newspapers, obnoxiously loud clicking HIGH HEELS (damn straight), knitting needles, bus rides, listening to music, sleep aids, working, Anne Rice, yarn, tomatoes, Muse, reality shows, knitted dishcloths, magazines, blogs, pasta, The Shins, nail polish, cutting coupons, home-made scarves, bookstores, The Comeback (Lisa Kudrow), European accents, sterling silver, knee-high socks....and yarn.

Things I loathe --

Reality shows (yes, I know they're in the "I love" list...I hate them just as much as I love them; if not more), being late, cold weather, Mariah Carey, cheese, college "poverty" (i.e., my inability to purchase mass amounts of yarn), football.
*I'm sure this list will grow as I have more time to think. :)

There is so much to say; but I may lose my sanity if I choose to write it all out at once, with no food or bathroom breaks. Alright, alright. The honest truth is that I just ran out of coffee and would really like a cigarette. I must succumb to my addictions.