I'm a spoiled brat

On August 11, I was sitting with my family at the ancestral pile.

Mom was trying to get me to stop playing with Mini J, so that I could catch my bus home.

I, jokingly, told her that if she let me have her car, there wouldn't be any rush.

Well, I drove home. I'm certain a Greyhound bus incident had something to do with her sudden generosity (and there are reasons for her fear that are private and will not be explained here).

The justification was that I needed a car, temporarily, to have a wee bit of a holiday, do some winter stocking of the shelves (meaning, haul home 600 pounds of cat litter) and generally make the transition from summer to fall.

And, it has been really, really nice. I went camping with my girly pals, I scooted out of town to visit some friends that don't get near the attention they deserve. I've got about half the cat litter needed to supply my boys for the next year or so.

Also, not spending three hours on the bus to get to and from my weekly lecture has been really, really nice. Even though I don't like driving in the dark.

However, I have missed walking. Really, really missed it. Today, in fact, I needed bread and a few veggies, and I considered driving the seven blocks to the nearest grocery store, just because I have a car.

Yikes. That's a slide into laziness that is completely unacceptable. I purposefully strode out of the house with headphones in ears and walked.

It was a lovely little walk. When did fall arrive? I hadn't noticed, because I've been sitting in a car.

One of the signs of aging

is that a whole bunch of the songs that you found incredibly moving and powerful as a teenager are now part of a Time Life collection.

Helplessly, I watched the whole half hour. Tomorrow, I will wake up and find that I need a cane. I'm sure of it.

All the better to smack young men in the butt, I suppose.

The position is open, but I'm not accepting applications

I had an interesting experience at the watering hole, tonight.

As is normal, the usual suspects were there, and we were all laughing, talking and generally insulting each other. All in good fun.

I got a great deal of work done on a sock, and it was, all in all, a lovely evening.

Except for Jesus (note: not his real name. Duh. Merely a reflection of his looks. He has no saviour tendencies, whatsoever). He is an attractive man (meaning tallish, painfully skinny, dark-haired) who I have admired and flirted with for quite some time. Tonight, he made it clear that he was now unattached. And that he was perhaps looking to change that situation. He cleverly referenced previous comments I've made into our conversation (BTW, I'm even saucier than I think I am, if he is to be believed). And to make my knees even weaker, threw some clever insults and double entendres (damn, I wish I knew enough HTML to get the proper accents) into the conversation. I'm a sucker for witty conversation.

Well.

I have promised myself, repeatedly, that the watering hole does not equal intimate encounters. Whenever I've broken that rule, it's ended badly, usually making me look like a first class bitch. Which may be true, but that doesn't mean I want to be a bitch.

So, I finished my drink and paid my tab, saying something about an early start in the morning (which is completely true). Jesus paid his tab at the same time.... and walked me out... and stared at me as I walked away, not looking back.

Sigh. I could be having a lot of fun right now, with the devil to pay tomorrow. It's mighty inconvenient when my morals sneak up on me.

With a name like this, I had to buy it

Really.

Funky Llama. And, it's actually pretty good. Perfect for an evening of watching TV and knitting.

Dinner

Ingredients:

A piece of meat, sliced thin,
Vegetables, whatever is in the crisper, also sliced thin

Saute over medium heat, with garlic, worcestershire sauce and hot sauce.

Salt and pepper to taste.

Serve over rice. Add soy sauce if desired.

Yum.

Fat yarn makes fast socks

One week, start to finish (and they are big enough to fit me. Yay!)

I started these in order to have something simple to knit at J's wedding. She's a knitter. I had to knit at her wedding.

Regrettably, these are too big for her, but she's getting her own socks. Soon. I hope.

I am not known for my powers of observation

Yesterday morning, I notice an error made the previous evening (and I wasn't even drunk while knitting. For real): So, I drop the stitches, and work it all back up (any changes in stitch definition are fixed while blocking, I promise):
Later, I take my knitting outside, because it is a beautiful day, and I notice another mistake, near the border, six inches below.

Frog! Dropping stitches near the border is too fiddly. Even for me.
It's OK. If I rip, I just get to knit more.