I started a post, but Blogger ate it. Which, considering the trouble I'm having getting a picture to upload, is not surprising. Let's try this again.....
I've got a picture here of the yarn I bought for my very firstiest sweater ever:
Isn't it pretty? The picture I'm seeing is quite blue, but in actual real-life, it's more purple. I need to test it for color fastness (which should take all of three seconds) but I'm hesitating. I'm hesitating on starting the sweater itself, too. I'm a chicken when it comes to my knitting, and since a) the sweater is so very, very pretty and b) the yarn is so very, very pretty, I'm hesitant to screw it up. But there's a big part of me that just wants to start it already. Sigh, I'm so torn!
I'm actually supposed to be going to my knitting group tonight, but today was the second day of my "baby-brand-new" gym habit, and my trainer wiped the floor with my weenie a$$. She's far better, and has more finesse than our last personal trainer (my place of employement, while not paying me fair market value for my services, does offer beautiful freebies, which probably more than makes up the difference--we've got a gym and personal trainer, yoga, pilates and a step class, mostly paid medical, fully vested 100% matching up to 100% of our salary 401(k), etc.) who, being a 300 lb former Marine didn't appreciate that, as a female, I sit to pee, or, more precisely, I have to stand up again to get out of the bathroom, and therefore didn't understand that several sets of 75+ speed squats were not a good idea. She modified my workout today to compensate for the fact that I hyperextend my knees (ie, bend them backwards when I lock them). Of course, "modify" does not in any way, shape or form imply she "simplified" or "made it easier"--to the contrary, I got double the ab work today. I almost puked, but my knees aren't sore.
Anyway, I just have to brag on my Nieceling. Four weeks ago, I purchased a book for her in New York City as part of her "Auntie Went On A Trip" swag. It was new. Brand new. Sparkly, even. I asked her to borrow it (I got her Golden Compass, a book I'd always thought of reading but didn't want to buy it for myself), so last Saturday, my father comes in and drops a book on the counter saying "here's the book --insert Nieceling's name here--said you wanted to borrow." I didn't even recognize it. Why, you ask?
Someone done read this one hard, y'all.
At least I know it's been read, LOL! Actually, I don't mind. There's something about a delicately curled and skinned book that speaks of a wanton, voluptuous enjoyment of the contents. This is the bibliophilic equivalent of what happens to Michel Cluizel 98% Dark Chocolate squares when I'm around. I can practically hear her little eyes licking every last word from the page. Another little pervy bibliophile in training. E-eexcellent. *tents fingers and taps them sequentially* Nephew is just as bad, only he tends to be easier on the covers, which is, frankly, surprising. For a little baby linebacker (actually, he got moved to center, which makes sense because in Pee Wee Football terms, hitting Nephew is a bit like ramming a cement wall; ain't nobody getting to the QB with him in front) he's awful delicate with his stuff. It's kind of cute, actually. Although I see it becoming obnoxious and tiring as he gets older. Sigh, fussy men are so...irritating!