Sam, while watching Into the Wormhole:

“Dark matter… it’s the butt hole of the universe!”

With all of my free time lately, I’ve been knitting like a mad woman. Though I’ve yet to pick up my 2-years-and-counting Central Park Hoodie that has sat in Time Out for the past month, I did eventually grow bored after knitting my fourth dishcloth in a week.

During my short dishcloth obsession, something strange happened — I fell in love with cotton.

Normally, I detest knitting with dishcloth cotton as it does feel a bit brash, especially compared to my undying loyalty to the 8th wonder of the world — the unbelievably soft Malabrigo wool. But somehow, my fourth dishcloth left me wondering if cotton could be softer; maybe a cotton blend plied with a much softer fiber.

Before picking out which cotton yarn to try, I decided on a cute lace tank top, the Heart Lace Top. (*FREE knitting pattern altert!)

I ended up buying 3 skeins of Lion Brand’s Cotton Ease (a cotton/acrylic blend; significantly softer than 100% cotton), and so far I’m impressed. Though the color is less than what I was hoping for — I’d have loved a dark, rich purple like the photo on the pattern page — but it was the best of the choices at hand. Because I don’t normally wear such light colors, I plan to knit or crochet a black border along the bottom and I’ll knit the bodice and straps in black as well.

My progress photo doesn’t look like much, but I’ve knit another inch or two since last night when the picture was taken. My goal is to finish the tank by the end of our next race weekend in a few weeks.

I don’t have a great track record when it comes to finishing new projects in a timely manner, but a girl can hope… right?

I’m usually not a fan of domesticating what would otherwise grow up to be a wild animal. That being said, my girl Kristin (whom, ironically enough, actually looks like a chipmunk today) linked me to this blog post where a hiker stumbled upon a newborn chipmunk. The hiker nursed the baby chipmunk back to health and has since built a 3-story cage for the animal to live in. The chipmunk is completely hand-tamed and, of course, as cute as a button.

You can read the amazing story here, complete with tons of pictures of the little guy (or is it a girl? I can’t tell). I’m unclear if the writer of the story is the owner of the blog, but I felt compelled to share such an adorable story with all of you. I bet you’ll find it as freakin’ adorable as I do!

[Picture borrowed from the original post on WebOfEntertainment.com]

I’ve recently found a delightful makeup blog and I’ve now spent hours delving deep within it’s posts and pages. If you haven’t yet read Doe Deere Blogazine, it’s absolutely worth the click. Within seconds of finding her blog, I found myself falling in love with her quirky style and phenomenal makeup — she even has tutorials.

Yesterday, she asked the question “What’s in your purse this week?” after displaying the contents of hers. Inspired, I’ve decided to show what’s currently living in mine.

What’s in my purse:

• Knitting bag
• Clutch/wallet
• Cell phone charger
• Car Keys
• Glitter hair bow clips by Hot Topic
• Remember Me? by Sophie Kinsella
• Buxom lip gloss byBare Escentuals in Ginger # 1018902

So, what’s living in YOUR purse?

A coworker (we’ll call him TC) went with me yesterday to run an important errand on our lunch break, as he had some business of his own to take care of. The over-friendly, flirty cashier at the bank forced small-talk on us, asking where we work and what we do. The conversation went like this:

TC: It’s an aftermarket parts retailer and tuner shop.
Cashier: …a what shop?
TC: A tuner shop. We make BMW’s go fast. Really fast.
Cashier: Oh. Can you make my car go fast?
TC: Well, do you own a BMW?
Cashier: I can’t afford a BMW!
TC: Well, then no. We only work on BMW’s.
Cashier: But you make cars go VROOM VROOM… right?
[imagine a grown woman making child-like car noises - loudly]
TC: …….Um, yeah….. I guess we do…
Me: [stifling laughter]

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the highlight of my work day.

A few minutes ago I was sitting here cracking out on Facebook when I heard the closet door rattle. I went back to updating my status for the eleventy-hundredth time today until I heard another rattle. I then somehow convinced myself that the rattle wouldn’t possibly continue, and went back to my updating.

Less than a hundredth of a milisecond later, I heard RATLLE RATTLE SCRATCH RATTLE coming from the closet. I couldn’t take it any more. I had HAD it with these motherfucking rattles in this motherfucking closet.

“DAMMIT, Gir! You’re going to make me get up, aren’t you?!”

I stood up, walked the entire three steps around the corner to the closet, and Franken-Stomped** our 15 pound cat away from the open door. Annoyed that I HAD to do something on the ONE afternoon I don’t have a single thing that I absolutely HAVE to do, I slammed the closet door closed and stalked back to the computer to continue doing mostly nothing.

“Ha ha, Gir! I’m human and you’re not. I win!”

I think Gir might understand English. Five minutes later, he crawled up the living room curtains, something he has NEVER done before and BETTER NOT ever do again. It took Sam two tries to peel him off without ripping skin or curtains. How exactly did he remove him? By GENTLY REMOVING Gir and his claws from the curtain fabric while going, ”Awwwwwwwwwww!” He then patted Gir’s back before scooting his chair over to allow enough room for the cat to fully enjoy the window view as if NOTHING had just happened.

Yep. Pretty sure I’m the only one wearing the Discipline Pants here.

*FTMFW: For The Motherfucking Win. The use of “motherfucking” in this instance is meant to express an extreme amount of excitement, passion, and emphasis behind the aforementioned win.

**Franken-Stomp: A phrase I just made up. Basically, it involves scaring the shit out of your cat by stomping up to him really loudly while yelling things like GOD DAMMIT! and I LOVE YOU, CAT, BUT KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF!

Sam is rummaging around in the cupboards trying to find a cake pan when this conversation takes place:

Him: Did you know that your ball winder is down here?!

Me: Yep. That’s where I keep it.

Him: …You keep your ball winder in the kitchen?!

Me: Well, yeah! That’s where I wind my balls!

Over the holidays, I received a gift card to Michael’s, also known as the Holy Grail of craft and art supply stores. Sadly, they don’t carry fabric, but after reading the Happy Knits’ post about abstract art, I was really inspired and felt ready to give painting another try.

Before I get ahead of myself here, let’s back it up a bit to the morning of this trip to Michael’s. It had snowed a bit two days prior, so I had gone two whole days without wearing my Heelys. [Read: Do your shoes have... wheels?! My Heelys Experience] Upon waking up for work and finding the ground still soaked with slush and rain, I couldn’t bring myself to wear BORING, NORMAL shoes for a THIRD day in a row, so I popped the wheels out of my Heelys, pushed the flat heel plugs in, and set off for work with the wheels tucked safely in my purse.

Fast forward to that afternoon. It was Thursday, the last work day before a 3 day holiday weekend, and everyone was going home a bit early in celebration. I decided to spend my extra hour or so at the Michael’s just a few blocks from work. They were advertising some killer New Years sales — perfect, I thought, to best utilize my gift card!

Despite the pouring rain, I pulled off both Heelys, took out the heel plugs, and popped in the wheels. After doing a few victory laps around the kitchen, the only non-carpeted surface in the office, I drove to Michael’s. In the pouring rain. With WHEELS in my shoes.

My trip went like this:

1. I jog safely into Michael’s, dripping wet from the short trek from the car to the front doors.
2. Two steps into Michael’s, I forget I’m wearing my Heelys and slip a wheel out, nearly falling on my face. To catch myself, I end up doing what must have looked like a sudden extreme leg lunge exercise in the middle of the beading section.
3. I recover my composure, grab a shopping cart, and heel my way to the art supply section. I pick out three stretched canvases, a few paint brushes and a box of acrylic paints, and carefully heel my way to the registers to pay for my loot.
4. While waiting in line for the next open register, I realize my gift card isn’t in my wallet. I sigh, push my cart to the side, and tell the checker that I will be right back — I just need to grab my gift card from my car.
5. I hurry outside to the parking lot, slip a wheel out, and fall HARD, arms and legs splayed in every direction, directly into a HUGE puddle. After muttering a few choice words, I pulled myself out of the puddle and limped the rest of the way to my car, soaking wet, carrying a soggy purse. I unlock the car, wring as much water as I can out of my pants and hoodie, grab the gift card I’d left on the seat, and practically crawl my way back into the store.
6. No more than 3 steps inside the store, I slip on the rain soaked linoleum and end up doing another strenuous leg lunge to keep myself from falling on my face. Seeing this, the checker shouts something like, “WHOA! Watch out, it’s slippery near the front doors!” in front of everyone waiting in the  checkout line. Thoroughly humiliated, freezing cold and dripping wet from my fall in the parking lot puddle, I retrieve my shopping cart and wait my turn in line.
7. The checker rings up my art supplies, and I apologize as I hand her the wrinkled, dripping wet coupon I’d printed out at work that had just seen the bottom of a huge mud puddle. She assured me that the soaked coupon wouldn’t be a problem, I paid for my purchase with my Christmas gift card, and that’s when she tells me she doesn’t have a bag big enough for my canvases.
8. I walk out of Michael’s carrying one small bag, and three really big art canvases.
9. No less than 5 steps from my car, I manage to drop all three canvases AND the small bag while searching for my car keys to unlock the door.
10. I finally get everything mostly dried off and into my car and leave the parking lot headed for home, shivering and completely soaked from head to toe from the combination of p0uring rain and an epic fall directly into a huge rain puddle, having left a significant amount of my dignity right there in the parking lot.

Yesterday, I told this story to Kristin, who listened to my every word like a true champ before going,

“Uh, we let our kiddo wear her Heelys in the rain all the time and she does just fine!”

to which I immediately planted my palm to my forehead and wished for the thirtieth time since buying Heelys for $15 at a discount store that I was as limber and nimble as a 9 year old girl.

It would be easy enough to conclude that the moral of this story is that Heelys just aren’t made for wet, rainy days. But I have disproved that assumption. I have now successfully worn my Heelys five days in a row during our typical wet Northwest January weather, with little more than a partial leg lunge now and then.

The moral of this story is that Heelys CAN be worn in the rain, but only if:

1. You have a fantastic sense of humor.
2. You have a considerable amount of self confidence.
3. You don’t give a damn what anyone thinks of you.
4. You don’t mind busting out a sudden, awkward, arm-flailing yoga pose in the middle of the grocery store.

Do I still think Heelys are totally worth it? HECK YES!

On August 10, 2009, I wrote an open letter to my cat. If you haven’t met him, his name is Gir and he’s huge. 16pounds of pure kitteh lovins, that’s what Gir is. With his jet black long, silky fur and his sea foam green saucer eyes, he can make you go from yelling,

“IF YOU TOUCH THAT ONE MORE TIME I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, GIR. I mean it - just ONE MORE TIME!!”

from one side of the house to the other, before turning around and getting down on all fours to kiss his forehead and apologize to HIM for yelling. (And then you’ll spend the next 2 hours of your life snuggling up with him while you try to watch TV. Seriously, I have no idea how he does this. I’d like to have his unparalleled power.)

But I digress; back to the topic at hand: Gir can’t seem to poop INSIDE the litter box. I cannot for the life of me understand why he chooses to stand sideways to poop, forcing his butt completely out of the litter box, but it has gotten to the point where I’m picking poop off the bathroom floor multiple times a week.

When this first happened a few months ago, I went out and bought the biggest litter box I could find. A huge deep dish box to make Gir Royal Highness more comfortable. That litter box now takes up a third of our tiny front bathroom, and it clearly isn’t making a lick of difference.

Fast forward to today: Sam and I are standing in front of the litter box aisle at PetCo. I’ll just go ahead and admit that he talked me into buying The Biggest Litter Box Of All Time. Seriously, this thing could be used as a child’s sandbox. It dwarfs Gir in comparison, as shown below:

I’m still working on accepting the fact that I’m going to lose even MORE of our tiny, tiny front bathroom. If this bohemouth of a  box doesn’t work, I see no other option but to fill the entire bathroom with an inch or two of litter. And that just wouldn’t be comfortable to stand on while I use the mirror.

So Merry Christmas, Gir. I hope you enjoy your new 20″ wide by 35″ long by 10″ deep litter box. Let’s see if you can keep it inside the box from now on, mkay?

Side note  about photo: Last year was our first year with the kitties and I started the tradition of getting them each a new collar for Christmas. This year, we chose a reflective collar for Gir so we can find him when he runs out the front door. :(

Instead of pushing his head through so he can see out the window, Gir is staring intently out the 1/8 inch crack between the curtains. He’s either lazy or way more ninja than I thought.