I am the master of cable-age

I wrote a while back about how this thing was stinkin' up my apartment while I blocked it. It occured to me I should like, put a picture up of it or something.I cannot express how many terrible films went into the making of this scarf. It is filled with the cries of a thousand murdered harlots, I tellsya.

I did a swatch of this in a different yarn, and it's probably six inches square if I put a finishing border on it. I'm thinking of finishing it off and turning it into the fanciest dishcloth that I own.

A letter that isn't likely to be read, because I can't get to sleep

Dear whoever it was in front of me who really, truly wanted to go to Olive Garden,

I know how it is. Man, those breadsticks are fucking tasty. However, sometimes we all forget that the turn is coming up, and it's just unfortunate when you're starved for chewy Italian goodness, but you just have to keep going, make a couple of Michigan lefts, and try again with your head out of the clouds this time. It is not acceptable to decide you can take the turn if you just, you know, slam on your brakes and hope that the person behind you is paying attention.

I wasn't even the person behind you. I was the person three cars behind you, and luckily for me, I was listening when my driving instructor, my mother, my father, and Click and Clack told me about maintaining reasonable distances from the driver in front of me.

However, the recent drivers-ed graduates behind me hadn't had this drilled into their head yet.

Now, everyone was okay, and hell, there wasn't even any noticeable damage to my rear bumper, and I just had a ridiculous series of moments where I was thinking "Sweet I'm not going to hit the guy in front of me," glancing in my rear view mirror, and thinking "Wait maybe I am going to still." But it could have been worse, all because of your impatience for having a swarthy man point a peppergrinder in your face.

In summation, please try to take others in consideration when you're on the warpath for some parmesan goodness, douchebag.

-Sasha

Dear car-full of sixteen year olds,

Driving is, as we have just covered, a bit on the stressful side. You're just learning and it looked like you were still new to not having an adult in the car with you.

In the future, please keep in mind; at least one hand on the wheel at all times. I would've hated to tell the policeman that I saw you using both hands to light your cigarette when you should've been paying attention to what was going on ahead of you, or, you know, steering your car. Speaking of which, seriously. Knock that shit out already. I don't mean to sound like a PSA, but smoking is gross and makes you gross by association.

On the other hand, I'm glad you're okay, that your car was okay, that we were all okay, and I do appreciate your complimenting my pants. It was somewhat flattering to know that, even in a full-on panic attack, you could take time to check out my ass.

-Sasha

Score!

I drove to Belleville last night to pick up my new dining room table. It's freaking adorable.

There's only two issues with it that I can see off hand: a chunk of the veneer has torn off the side of the leaf. I may just strip that off and see if I can find some kind of replacement veneer for it.

Also, the swivel joints are CAKED with really heavy motor grease, so it smells faintly like garage when you're sitting in them. On the other hand, they definitely don't catch or squeak.

It was pretty hilarious trying to fit the whole shebang in my car; the table was deposted and in the back seat, there was a chair lying across it, two chairs in the trunk, and one chair riding shotgun with me. The seller helped me guide things in, but getting it out again to put into storage was an exercise in swearing and grunts.

Now all I need is to find an apartment to put it in.

I found it

If you have played Animal Crossing, you will understand why I want this table as hard as I do.