Having said that...

I love Larry David.

There, I said it.

Tonight, though, was the last performance the world is likely to see of his. Tonight was the final episode of HBO's Curb Your Enthusiasm, which was, in effect, a Seinfeld reunion (or the closest you'll get to one).

Having said that, it was classic.

------------------------------------------

In other news, I have a lot of sisters.

I was born into a big family, and there were already three girls, but it seems as though I tend to accumulate big sisters. Most of my friends are over 30, and quite a few are near, if not over 40. I respect all of them. That's kind of a prerequisite for friendship in my book.

I am still friends with a lot of the women I used to work with. I look up to them, I take their advice. I didn't realize how much they meant to me until I noticed that I pinned a note one of them wrote up on my dresser. It was one of those encouraging things that a person might give to you when you're going through a strange, difficult time.

It's still up there, even as I'm making my way to the other side of that terrifying time. It still means something. I still know she's there.

That's what a sister is, right? Someone that will tell you that you are better than that. Someone that will keep watch over your standards and never let you accept less than your best. Someone to help you pick up the pieces.

I am really blessed to be so flush with sisters.

Reasons why I can't get on the skinny jeans bandwagon

1) I live in Texas. It never really gets cold enough to tuck skinny jeans into UGGs. The people that do this during one of Dallas' 70 F winter days deserve universal disdain.

2) I have a rather large posterior. I did not look good in the 90s style tapered leg jean. I will definitely not look good in a ultra-tapered, ass-and-thigh hugging pair of stretchy jeans.

3) Tunics make me look pregnant. The only way I would be able to wear skinny jeans is with flats and a tunic.

Friday comes fast

I don’t really remember ever being this happy about having a job.

Nix that. I don’t have a job.

I finally feel like I have a career, which everyone knows is more than just a gig that pays the bills.

To say that this is exactly what I needed would be an understatement. I know a lot more about myself and my goals now than I did four years ago from the vantage point of a newbie corporate serf. I know now what it takes to be dedicated, what it’s like to grow, and what it means to take advantage of an opportunity and not letting the opportunistic take advantage of you.

That’s not to say that I have it all figured out. I know for a fact that I do not. I’ve just grown enough to see that no one else does, either.

Regardless of all that, today capped my first full week of full employment. A lot of people asked me what I thought about my new position and if I feel OK in my new job. In as many words, I told them that I was pretty confident that I was made for this job.

But there’s something that still eludes me.

I doubt myself a lot, and I think that has a lot to do with my hearing loss. I’ve learned a lot about being humble and embracing the other things that make me special, but I always feel like I’m missing something by being partially deaf.

But I learned this week that even that might be temporary.

Next week I start steroid therapy for my hearing loss. I will get 3 cortico-steroid shots in my eardrums in a 10-day period. My new otologist feels that this might be the first step in getting some of my hearing back.

So, maybe soon I won’t have to rely so much on my other charming qualities. Maybe soon we can sit and chat and I won’t miss a thing. Hopefully you won’t, either.

Games People Play

Dave and I have this little game that involves a small plastic civil war figurine and a modified game of hide the saltine.

Here is the guy:



Here are the rules:

1. On your turn, you must hide the guy in plain sight (cannot be behind anything).

2. The guy must remain within the boundaries of the house.

3. You must acknowledge finding the guy before it is your turn to hide him.

This has just been a fun, cute little game between Dave and I. We both wonder where the guy will turn up next or where he will be perched, however precariously.

I was waiting in an exam room of the otologist's office and I was very shocked to see this:



Looks like someone plays the workplace version of hide the guy.

My first day, second-first day and learning the difference

I remember my first day at my new job just like it was yesterday.

That's because it was. (Well, it will be for about 5 more minutes.)

I was hoping to hit the ground running and start learning a new work platform and new programs. That would have been a good start. Only, I didn't have a computer on my first day. Urgh.

I did, however, have lunch at Carmine's. Best New York-style pizza in Dallas.

I then filled out an assload of HR paperwork.

And then I played Doodle Jump on my iPhone and checked my e-mail and facebook a gazillion times and then twiddled my thumbs until I could go home.

And then, when I got here this morning, still no computer. Urgh.

So I borrowed the computer from a person who was out today. Hopefully she wasn't out sick because I gave her iMac a big sloppy kiss for being so fast. The computers at my old job were allergic to fast. You had to wait 5 minutes to read a plain-text e-mail.

And for some reason, today was a long day. Both days, though, were awesome. Wouldn't trade them for the world.

The end of "funemployment"

Texas has an unemployment rate of 8.2 percent, and in September alone, 44,700 people lost jobs. According to the Federal Reserve Bank of Dallas, for every 5 unemployment claims in the D/FW area there is one job opening.

If you're unemployed in Dallas or Fort Worth, or even Texas, you better just get used to it. The average length of unemployment is 6 months, which I attribute to the crazy amount of competition for the very, very few job openings.

I was laid off from The Dallas Morning News on April 7, 2009. Yesterday, Oct. 29, I finally got a job.

Not only that, but I found my dream job.

No matter how much I may gloss over my time at The Dallas Morning News, I knew that there was a ceiling on my professional growth (and salary growth, too, considering that about two years into working at The News there were two layoffs and a salary freeze). I started in the Editorial Department at age 22, fresh from graduation, and promptly went to work with a staff that was mostly twice my age. I only had one peer in the office, and she eventually buckled under the strenuous demands of daily deadline work.

And yet, I loved working there. I loved the sense of tradition and respect that working for a Texas legacy carried with it. My parents were ridiculously proud, too. Anytime anyone that knew of me would come into the Drivers License office to get a new photo or renewal, my mom would tell them that her youngest daughter ("You remember her, right? The storyteller?") was working for The Dallas Morning News. She expected them to be VERY IMPRESSED. If they weren't, then they were just ignorant.

When I lost my job, I lost a little bit of that pride and confidence. It took a big chunk from the armor of my ego. In truth, though, it was a good for me. It really helped me figure out what I wanted from my next job.

I thought that I might have found it a couple times in between April 7 and yesterday. I interviewed once with a local university's publications office, and when he told me that over 100 people had applied for the job within the first few days of its posting, I was more than a little disheartened. That is way too much competition. I made it to the first interview round, which was roughly 10 percent of the applicants, but I wasn't chosen. That's OK, though, because the commute to Arlington is a BITCH.

I also learned that I have a whole system of support in my family and friends and former colleagues. I really wouldn't have held up so well without them. The Editorial Department of The News is full of great people with big hearts, bright minds and great ideas. I feel so privilged that I got the chance to work with them. My mom and dad were there to help and just to talk, and of course to tell me that I needed to visit more. My in-laws helped to lift us up when we were down, too. My brother and sisters and their spouses always lended an ear. There are too many people to thank, really, but they all know that I love and appreciate them.

This has a happy ending, though. For that I am so thankful. I start my new job Monday. I get a chance to start over, too.

Stiff competition for worst day ever.

If I don't put too much effort into considering it, today very well qualifies as the worst day ever. Worse than the early-morning, guerilla-style move from my ex-boyfriend's shitty apartment. Worse than the day I found out that my boyfriend threw a kegger in his dorm room and hooked up with the local slutface.

It's been awful.

I woke up a menstrual case today. Emotional, defeated, in pain and tired from a night of tossing and turning. Then I went outside to check on the chickens only to find out that my favorite girl, Jane, wasn't handling her molt so well and needed to be brought to the chicken sick bay (the shower enclosure in our bathroom) for some warm feed. I though that maybe the day could be salvaged, so I took the dogs on a walk.

I came home, let the rest of the chickens out of the coop and started cooking dinner. Soon after that a wave of nausea hit me like a string of tequila shots, and I spent a good 10 minutes dry heaving.

Folks, it gets worse from here.

So, I make dinner, we eat and watch game one of the World Series, and Dave suggests that we should pick up the remaining chicken feed and close the coop for the night, and I obliged.

I went out there only to realize that we were missing a chicken. Effa Manley, one of my favorite girls and the flock's benevolent dictator, didn't make it back that evening. We searched all over the yard and there was no sign of her.

Then, while I'm crying about Effa and trying to floss, my temporary crown pops off.

Now it's raining, there's still no sign of Effa and I can't drink any liquids because it fracking hurts my exposed tooth.

Worst. Day. Ever.

Update: Effa turned up this morning. Thanks for scaring the living daylights out of me, bitch!

Being missed

Once upon a time, I went to yoga class four days a week. I was comfortable in the fact that a dedicated practice would help me grow, that it could help me be the person I wished to be emotionally, spiritually and physically.

Slowly over time, I let other obligations eclipse my yoga practice. Sometimes I wouldn't have enough time to make it to Tuesday or Thursday classes. I'd admonish myself for putting work before my personal health, but at that time I was so scared of losing my job that I was willing to make myself unhappy twice-over to keep it.

In April, the job dissolved. Surprisingly, so did my yoga practice. I sunk into a depression, and tried to get myself together in fits and spurts, but ignored the fact that I knew what was missing. I knew that my regular yoga practice made me happy and helped me hold the pieces together before.

It wasn't until last night that I realized what I had been avoiding. To me my absence from class had been shameful. I had no excuse except for my own emotional withdrawal.

One of my Iyengar teachers saw me after my Tuesday Iyengar class and was very shocked to actually see me alive. She asked, rather puzzled, "Where have YOU been? We've missed you!"

I didn't know exactly how to answer that question. I just told her that I'd had a rough bout of adjustment after being laid off, but I'm just now finding time to come back to my regular practice. I told her that I was thinking about striking out on my own. Come to find out, she was doing the same thing after a job loss.

How ironic is it that the one person I had been afraid of dissappointing in this whole dynamic, the one I'd been avoiding, was the person that could understand my situation the most?

Needless to say I'll be coming to class more often. And I'll let go of the shame that doesn't belong.

I am not a morning person ...

... and I don't think I ever will be. However, my sleep schedule is out of control. Today I woke up a little late for a week day. How late you ask? Not telling. That's how embarassing it is.

I think sleeping late runs in my genes. My B-I-L Brent says my sister Sara is half woman, half mattress. Then again, Brent wakes up early on weekends only to crash on the couch after breakfast to take a two-hour nap. It's not like half man, half couch is without precendent.

But lately, the late sleeping has gotten worse. I think it's mostly because my alarm clock is too ambitious. It rings even before Dave's does, and that mofo has to get up and go to work by 8 a.m.

I'm going to try to set it later, and maybe even follow a schedule so that I can stop feeling as if I'm spinning my wheels.

Good news, though, is that I'm making headway in crafty endeavors. I made a pretty awesome knit cardigan yesterday (I've already had three requests for said cardigan!) and my holiday knitting/crafting is shaping up. Thank God I started early, right?

And, in a couple of weeks we're going to Houston to visit my family and go to the Texas Renaissance Festival in Plantersville (Side note: if you've ever made the drive from College Station (Texas A&M) to The Woodlands, you've driven by Plantersville and my favorite speed trap, Montgomery).

I haven't been to RenFest since college, so it should be fun to take Dave. Although, there are some pretty interesting people at RenFest, so it might be eye-opening for him.

Also, I just put some late-season veggies in the ground and some winter crop seeds, so here's hoping we have plenty of veggies!!! In other gardening news, we fixed the compost container last weekend so that I can turn the compost more easily, but the pile quickly became a bug buffet for the chickens. The've been digging through the pile for three days and are still finding yummy insects (never thought I'd use those two words in the same sentence!).

All in all, things are great here at the casa, but if Santa is listening, I hope that bastard knows that I need a MacBook Pro like, yesterday, buddy.

From the Mississippi, with love

Dear Dallas,

I hope you know that I thought about you a lot when I was on vacation in New Orleans last week. I thought about what the weather might be like where you were, and how the house was doing. I tried to not miss you, but I did a little, and on the drive home up I-49 through the most boring and beautiful parts of Cajun Acadiana, I couldn't wait to see your skyline and know that I was almost home.

But I'll be honest: Rarely do I consider myself at home in your arms. Dallas, you can be downright inhospitable. From the searing heat to the fricking terrible drivers and endless strip malls, most of the time, you aren't much to look at. You're no city on a hill, that's for sure.

And yet I live with all of your flaws, and I'm happy to be home after a great week in The Big Easy. I saw a lot of things that you don't have, like a kickass Audubon Zoo and Aquarium and a downtown that people actually flock to after hours. And, get this, people actually USE PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION in New Orleans in lieu of driving. Why? Becuase there are things to do and wonderful bars and eateries in the places with rail access. What a novel idea!

I bet it would be a sore subject to talk about the fact that there is not just one major university in New Orleans, either. In fact, there are THREE!

And then there's the local cuisine. And the plethora of cute French cafes on sidewalks, which are perfect for people-watching, because, get this, THERE ARE PEOPLE AROUND.

But, Dallas, I'm glad to be back home. I have puppies and kitties and chickies that all need me to be here, and a garden that needs to be tended. This is all just constructive criticism, of course, and perhaps you should take it to heart.

Much love and stuff,

Miss Dallas

When hot coffee is welcome

Dave and I drink coffee every morning. We make 12 cups from fresh-roasted Sumatra beans every day (sometimes twice a day on weekends) and we drink it as quickly as possible.

But, in the summer, that scalding cup of coffee makes sweat bead up on my forehead. I drink it anyway.

But something remarkable came with all of this rain we've had lately. While we were doggy paddling to stay afloat here in North Texas, Mother Nature granted us a meteorological reprieve with stunning results: It was 72F in the house last night and all we did was leave a couple of windows open.

This morning, the cool temperatures are sticking to my skin, making the first cup of hot coffee seem so teriffically indulgent.

Karma's balancing act

I find it easy to relate to Buddhist principles. After all, the teachings aren't all that different from Christian principles, the most obvious dichotomy is that Buddhism puts the burden on the individual, while Christianity often puts the burden on dogma or the Messiah.

But the thing about Buddhist and Hindu philosophies that many people understand is Karma, or the idea that good or bad acts will be returned to you, respectively.

I totally believe in Karma, but I am having a hard time figuring out where my Karma is balancing right now.

I may seem like a total misanthrope, but there are a lot of good things happening in my life right now:

-My niece just learned how to walk

-I am almost finished with my first shawl

-I have plenty to eat (maybe too much, in fact)

-Dave found the perfect bottle of red wine (Twisted Old Vine Zinfandel)

-I quit biting my nails

-I had my first of two major dentist appointments, so I'm halfway through remodeling my mouth

-I'm feeling more connected to my yoga practice

-I have decided to get a hearing aid

-I'm about to go on a trip for my THIRD ANNIVERSARY! (Can you freaking believe that I've been married for THREE YEARS already? I CAN'T!)

-We've been on the receiving end of a lot of rain, which means that cooler temps have come with it, and, thusly, I wore a sweater yesterday

-I have a great husband, a wonderful family and some kickass friends.

So, all of these things are good things. These are things that, by no small measure, make me happy to be alive. If you were to read this list without any context, you would think that Karma is paying me back for good deeds. I would think that, too, except:

-I am about to reach the 6 month mark of consecutive unemployment

-I have very few job prospects

-I miss my sisters, sister-in-law, brothers and brothers-in-law

-I miss my mom and dad

-I am a big steaming pile of lazy and depressed

Although I feel that the second list, which is really short, is outweighed by the first, I just can't shake the horrible feeling that hangs out in the back alley of Club Jobless: Lack of worth.

It's a good thing that I have a husband that really tries to support me. I know it's hard for him, because feelig this way for what has become half of a year can't be easy for a chronic optimist.

In any case, I hope that I get more hits in the win column soon.

When the time is right

If there is one thing that is true about life, it is that you cannot rush it. God knows I've tried. God knows, too, that I've failed. Everything happens for a reason, and good things will come in time.

Which brings me to my most current realization: Every job that I apply/interview/audition for will not be the right fit. Only one of them will.

I just have to make sure that the right job and I find each other.

I also may need to work on toning down my language. I just noticed how many F-bombs I dropped in the last post. Good thing my mom doesn't read this blog. Not that she would be offended, but she would definitely say, "You're better than that," or "Try harder."

And she's right.

This situation I'm in reminds me of a visit I got from my mother when I was in my second semester at A&M.

It had been a really rough semester so far, and I was flat broke after buying books and replacing some boots that got screwed up in a particularly heinous rainstorm. I also lost my graphing calculator, and didn't have the dough to replace it. So my mom drove up to College Station to spend some time with me and to help with taking care of my situation. She took me to lunch to cheer me up, too.

My mother's visit had been just the intercession I needed to pull myself out of my funk. She didn't know it, but I had been seeing a therapist and was treating some pretty severe depression after I lost my only uncle the previous October.

We had so much fun hanging out with one another, and my mom did something she doesn't do very often, which is surprise me with something she knows that I want, but don't need.

I had coveted a little plush Reveille VII, and my mom presented it to me that day just to cheer me up. It was like there was a light at the end of the tunnel after that. I knew that everything was going to be OK because I had people in my life like my mom.

It was time for my mom to make the trip back to the Houston area, and I gave her a kiss and a hug before I exited the car. As I was hoisting myself from her sedan, the littlest bit of my first tattoo peeked up from my pantsline.

My mother was furious. She said "Dammit, [Miss Dallas]! I thought you knew better!"

Even though the tattoo itself was a something I had done to have a permanent reminder of what my mom means to me, I felt ashamed. I felt like I let her down. I felt like all of my shortcomings were immediately transparent and that everyone could see through me.

My mom called me after she returned home and we both calmed down. Now, she still didn't understand the tatt, but she still accepted me. She let me know that it didn't matter what changed on the outside, but as long as I'm the same person on the inside, as long as I never gave up on myself, I would be OK.

I am hoping that this same attitude applies right now. I'm going through a difficult time, yes, but I've got people that I love and who love me back, and as long as I don't give up, things will work out for the better, when the time is right.

Working hard:Hardly Working, why my MIL puts me to shame and all of the ridiculous things that you see on 1980s exercise tapes.

First things first: I am back at work this week, but like the perennially resurfacing McRib sanwich, it's for a limited time only. I'm filling in, basically doing my Old Job back at The Newspaper. Geez I miss those people.

Now, don't anybody get your hopes up, but I am also working on getting a New Job. Hopefully I find one of those soon, because GOD KNOWS I AM SO FUCKING TIRED OF BEING UNEMPLOYED.

Seriously. I have become the laziest, most resentful, angry and onery human beings to excoriate a slow driver since Rush Limbaugh. Although, it was pointed out to me by some far-right-wing dillweed that he recently lost something like 80 pounds, so, good for him. Maybe he can shed a few more and, you know, maybe be less of a douchebag. THAT would be an improvement.

So, since I'm unemployed still (NOT FOR LONG, HOPEFULLY. Keep your fingers, toes and every thing else you can twist into an uncomfortable position crossed until I say otherwise), I keep comparing myself to other people. People with jobs, no less. I would say something cliche like "The grass is always greener," but the person I compared myself to the other day was my mother in law. Yeah. I don't want her job.

You see, she's about as close to a fucking saint as you can get and not have to bother with all that Catholicism crap. She is a special needs teacher that works with the kids that the education system considers "unteachable." The kids with no family. Kids with learning disorders. Kids with bad attitudes and/or dyslexia. Most of these kids are black. Several of these kids think that my mother in law is racist.

WTF?

She spends ALL DAY, EVERY FUCKING DAY, trying to give these kids what no one else wants to give them, which is an education, and they have the nerve to call her racist because she doesn't let their copious bullshit get in the way of their own education? RI-FUCKING-DICULOUS. You couldn't pay me enough to do what she does, and knowing that the school district pays her less than a prostitute with two teeth and a heart of gold makes the woman next in line for cannonizing in my book. Jeebus.

And, now for a Callanetics update:

My masochist friend and I just completed our fourth session. My ass is still a pear, my abs are sore and I'm loving the hell out of eating toast and jam after working out.

This also means that I am probably not going to look good in a swimsuit, like, ever.

MMF (My masochist friend) took some pretty crude video of one of our last sessions, and I am loathe to post it. Mostly because I look really masculine in all of the videos, and I prefer to believe that I am not as butch as I may look on camera.

Also, I am a fat ass and I tend to bitch a lot while working out. There are more than a few FUCK YOUs shared with the TV during the course of the Callanetics video, so the video is NSFW.

Also, the more I watch the tape, the less I like the before/after shots, which are DISGUSTING. MMF loves them. I always fast forward when she's not paying attention.

Callanetics: Day 2

Dear Callan Pinckney,

I just wanted to say a few words to let you know how I'm doing with your workout tape.

If you're dead, that's too bad. I hope I'm not disturbing your long rot in hell with this note. If you're not dead, you're probably busy seducing young boys in scrunch socks and matching outfits back to your lair to probe your perfect peach. In any case, we need to have words about your "health regimen," which can also be considered a "fact extraction technique." (I hear that's what Homeland Security is calling torture these days.)

After doing two days of Callanetics, I need to tell you something: You're a total fucking bitch. I would call you a sadist, but you do the "gentle movements" too, so I guess that makes you a masochist and me stupid. Also, I cannot stand your voice (or your face, or your really ridiculous leotard and wacked out hair).

And another thing: how did shots like this one make it into the final video:



Do we need to see that much vagina being suffocated by hideous shades of spandex? No, we do not.

Also, WTF?



And another crotch shot?



You really should've run a background check on that camera man.

Anyway, my ass is sore and I hate you.

-Miss Dallas

P.S. I wasn't joking about the "peach" thing.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP!

I'm sure that lots of folks thought I was dumb or silly for starting my Christmas knitting in August. These people are either in denial or non-knitters (sometimes both).

In any case, I started my first pair of Christmas socks a couple of weeks ago. Good thing, because now that I'm transitioning to the heel, I found that while I was drinking beer and knitting among friends on Saturday, I totally effing effed this sock up. Stitch counts on this sock are completely crazy pants. All over the place. Nuts.

So, I'm glad that I started early because, in most cases, a mistake of this proportion would mean a store-bought gift for the recipient so that I might salvage a few extra grains of sanity during the holiday season.

"The perfect peach"

It's amazing what you'll agree to after several beers. I've agreed to write a huge, in-depth magazine article about a subject that is so pervasive and difficult to fathom that no one wanted to talk about it. More recently I agreed to do a daily regimen of Callanetics with an also-tipsy neighbor.

If you follow the link above, you'll see videos of young, blonde, attractive women in modest exercise garb. That's not footage from the "Beginning Callanetics" VHS (!) that my friend procured at a thrift store. There is a lot of gratuitous lingering around the pubic areas on camera. The guy who filmed this was likely a lecherous weirdo.

Get a quick sample of the video:



In any case, there is a loyal and dedicated following of this crazy lady and her torturous regimen. So, my friend and I proposed an experiment: We'll do Callanetics every day for 14 days, mostly to see if this crazy bitch is right, and that after doing Callanetics I can transform my ass into "the perfect peach."

FREE DAY OF YOGA!!!

Just a quick reminder, Dallas yogis and yoginis! This Monday, Labor Day, is the National Free Day of Yoga. That's right: FREE YOGA.

To take advantage of the free yoga and meet new and interesting people and teachers, go to the Dallas FDOY site and take a look at the schedule.

Want to meet your dear author and indulge in some free yoga? I knew you did!

I'm probably going to go to three or four classes on Monday:

9 a.m. Tree Yoga in Highland Park: www.treeyoga.org

1 p.m. Dirt Cheap Yoga at the Trinity Audobon Center: www.trinityriveraudubon.org and www.dirtcheapyoga.com

6 p.m. Hatha flow class at Dragon Fire Yoga: www.dragonfireyoga.com

See you there!

Getting to know your adopted hometown

Dallas and I haven't always gotten along. Sometimes I hate this city. I usually feel this way after a municipal election or some kind of terrible political news. In any case, I could have put more effort in to finding new things to love about Dallas. That's where a few really neat Web sites come in, like the very spot that introduced me to Lee Harvey's: PegasusNews.com.

Another site that helps me find new ways to love Dallas: iliveindallas.com.

There are other ways to find out more about your communities, like interest groups and meetups. I guess I haven't put too much effort into exploring my adopted hometown. I'll get to work on that.

Little things, big joy

I've officially kicked off my 3rd annual Christmas Knitting Binge. The list is finalized, and if you didn't make it on there this year, you should try to bribe me extra next year if you want something beautiful, luxurious and handmade. Note: I like chocolate and jewelry.

This year, I actually feel like a real Knitter. Get that? A "capital K" knitter, as the Yarn Harlot would have it. I am actually making one wee gift from my own handspun yarn this year. Very exciting stuff. I have also caught the shawl bug. I have plans to make *cough*three*cough* for either myself or gifts.

Another thing that makes me feel like a knitter: I came home from my LYS (Shabby Sheep in the hizzouse!) with a few new treasures and some circular needles to more easily crank out the shawl madness. I really had a hard time narrowing it down, but I came home with a skein of Malabrigo sock, a skein of Misti Alpaca Baby Alpaca Chunky and a skein of Classic Elite Silky Alpaca Lace. Not a lot of yarn, but all of it is pure luxury, and is, therefore, not cheap. After hearing how much I paid for yarn, my muggle husband said, "OK, no more yarn shopping until after our anniversary." And a little lightbulb went off. This was the very first time anyone has attempted to rein in my yarn budget. I am finally a "capital k" Knitter.

You may also notice I'm starting my 3rd annual Christmas Knitting Binge much earlier this year. And they say I can't learn... You may remember what happened last year.

No more knitting marathons (only to then rip out an entire sock and half of my hair) for me. No sireee. I like my sanity intact, thankyouverymuch.

But, if I can help it, as many loved ones as possible will be keeping warm in handknits this winter. All two weeks of it.