Poor Monday! It seems rather unfair that one day of the week get so much grief. If Corporate America suddenly gave off Tuesday and Wednesday, would Monday become the new Friday?

Generally, I do not curse Monday, but yesterday was a right and true stinker. Dismal weather not withstanding, I awoke to the sort of heartburn that leads one to believe that they could be having a heart attack, which is something to dismiss less and less as I age. Thankfully, I do not suffer this malady often, but when it hits, my toes curl as if my body were experiencing rigor mortis. My brain aches as if it might explode.

I was more tired than usual, as I had worked Sunday (back-to-school is not very fun at 7:30 am) after a week of rather poor sleep. The powerful combination of my cosmetics schooling and my cosmetics bag of tricks was not powerful enough for my under eye circles and bags yesterday, and I had foolishly agreed to cover a cosmetics counter in the evening.

I had assumed that at least the scale would bring me good news, based on a sneak weigh-in on Saturday. Well, what a shocker! I managed to gain an entire 5lbs. in less than 48 hours. How is this possible? I did not spend the weekend consuming vast quantities of alcohol, pizza and snacks; quite the contrary. Please tell me it is too much sodium. Please tell me it is PMS. Please tell me I can take a "pass" and weigh in again tomorrow or Thursday -- after I dedicate my life to drinking gallons of water.

I am splitting my knitting time between Molly Ringwald and French Girl's Brigitte. For the life of me, I am unable to embrace knitting in the round from the top down. The magic that happens for other knitters does not happen for me with this technique. The process of trying on the garment results in lost stitches, misplaced sleeve markers and no good sense if the blasted garment will actually fit.

Frustrated, I threw caution to the wind, did two more increase rounds and then joined the body of the garment. Hopefully, Brigitte will be transformed by blocking and wearing. Presently, it looks as fetching as my heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes.

When I was sixteen and learning to drive, a neighborhood boy was kind enough to teach me how to drive a manual. I never learned how to "drive a stick", and I am certain that boy was disappointed in more ways than one. If I wasn't grinding the gears then I was stalling the car entirely.

This is not completely unlike my knitting. If you are a knitter, or if you visit here often enough then you know multiple projects is a knitting habit. Personally, I have three garments in progress at present. I also have two different sock projects in progress, but I sort of forget about those until I rediscover them at the bottom of the knitting basket.

With summer slipping quietly away and three substantial projects on the needles (CeCe, Tubey and Molly Ringwald), starting a most decidedly a summer project seems a most foolish choice. I know what some of you are thinking. "Philistine! Three projects? Pffffft...That's nothing!" Indeed, compared to many knitters, my three projects are very near knitting monogamy.

Apparently, my urges for streamlining and voluntary simplicity are nothing compared to my urges for new patterns and new projects. I had completely forgotten that I had ordered three patterns from Jimmy Beans Wool nearly two weeks ago.

Blue Sky Alpaca: Cropped Cardigan

French Girl Designs: Oceane

French Girl Designs: Brigitte

I had enough Rowan Cotton Braid, so I cast on for Brigitte immediately, and I was stalled like a car on the third row. No US 13 circular needle in the house? I hunted around for my Denise Interchangeable Needles, but somehow, I managed to lose them in the mini bout of organizing early last week.

Although I did not find the Denise set, I did find...(prepare yourself)...the Moleskinne planner that I lost about one month ago. At that rate, I should find the Denise Needles by the Autumnal Equinox.

My Thursday night Yarn Central knitting group is a loosely structured combination knitting class and knitting circle. Theresa is our teacher/leader, and the rest of the group is a mix of long-time knitters Anneliese (20 years) and Mardel and newer knitters, such as Sharyn and myself.

Quite often, Thursday night knitting is a bit of a child's fantasy of getting locked in a candy store at night, only our "candy" is wool, silk and cotton. Last evening was much like that. Fall yarns and patterns have been arriving, and we were moving around the store in wonder as we petted and squeezed all of the new arrivals. Not a ball of yarn nor a pattern book was untouched by any of us. Theresa and I had our eye on the same yarn, and since she was poised with needles in hand to cast on for a particular project, I was only too willing to save my yarn money and turn my attention back to Molly Ringwald.

Lest you think I was a woman of strength, I did succumb to the lure of the pattern book. We decided, as a group, that although none of needs to buy one more pattern in our lifetime, they are impossible to resist because of the promise of they hold.

Lopi volume 25

I would never have imagined that I would buy a Lopi anything; however, they seem to be addressing a slightly younger, and more shape conscious audience. Surely, this will piss off some cranky I've-been-knitting-since-my-finger-buds-formed knitters, but for those of us who make the distinction between what we are able to knit versus what knitwear we would choose to wear, a more fashion-aware Lopi is most welcome. Although I am appalled at the notion of a Lopi dreadlock hat (#23).

Jo Sharp Knit - Issue 1

Admittedly, it seems if you own one Jo Sharp pattern book, you do not need to own a second, and this book is no exception. It is nice collection of slightly re-worked, previously published patterns. The designs seem the very definition of elegant simplicity.

The shopper's remorse is already setting in, and I may well bring them back to the store (one of the small perks of being sometime-staff: home previews). I could rationalize the purchase quite easily, as I "bought" them against my store credit. Deep inside, there is that niggling feeling that my credit is better used on yarn, given that there are a number of free pattern sources, not to mention I already own a fair amount of knitting patterns and magazines.

Are any of you compulsive pattern purchasers?

Last evening, I had driven roughly halfway home when I realized that my knitting bag was not in the car. I distinctly remembered carrying it (and two small shelving units) from the office. I panicked, and many thoughts rushed through my mind. Could I have left it in the parking lot at work? Would anyone return my knitting bag (with my second Moleskinne Planner too boot!)? How could I justify the purchase of another planner on work's dime? What the hell would I do with my hands during Project Runway?

Certainly, CeCe or Tubey could use some attention, however, I managed to fill the void without knitting. Rather, I made a whipped-up dinner of leftovers and food nearing its expiry, as well as loading the shelving with all manner of crafty goodies and books. Things are starting to look tidy and organized in LumayLand.

As it turned out, my knitting bag was in my boss's car. I had parked at the athletic facility, and he was kind enough to drive my bags, my shelves and me to my car .

Geminis get accused of many things, and one of the most common is the frequent exercising of the change of mind/heart.

On the heels of my musings on fashion vs. voluntary simplicity/ethical spending, I found myself in a department store, tempted by the that most heinous of four letter words: S-A-L-E. Hypocritical? Indeed, but do not let it be said that I am not honest about my hypocrisy.

I am also honest about my ability to rationalize nearly all bad behaviour (of my own) -- inlcuding the purchase of madras plaid shoes for $9.99 (before my employee discount, thankyouverymuch!). You have all agreed that a key component to Dump the Frump is great shoes and accessories. And while I would typically dismiss a madras plaid garment as too preppy for my taste, I find these shoes to be the perfect blend of whimsy and irony!

So I lay my sinful soul before my fellow Wardrobe Refashionitas, my fellow Frump Dumpers, and my fellow Voluntary Simplifiers and ask, not only for forgiveness for, but for an understanding of my wicked ways at the sale rack.

What is that parable about not judging a person until you have walked a mile in their shoes? Just try not to scuff the heels or dirty the fabric -- you know the shite shoe repair shop situation in these parts. Thanks.

Cross posted here.

One of my guilty pleasures is buying the September fashion magazines. Those double-sized issues are filled with prettiness and promise. I also enjoying reading Style Bubble and Bits and Bobbins (creator of that wonderful time-suck Wardrobe Remix) for fashion information and inspiration. Style Bubble’s recent posts about the lovies and the cogs of her style had some readers responding with their own style cogs. Further tickling my fashion brain was her post on why she loves Isabella Blow.

In spite of feeling anything but fashionable at present, I do love fashion. However, I have a bit of guilt about this love. First off, fashion seems rather frivolous, and when examined through the lens of practicality, I have to ask:

• Where is the line between fashion risk and fashion ridiculousness?
• When does clothing become costuming?
• When is a woman “too old” for certain style choices?

But my university education has taught me that clothing is an expression of self, a non-verbal communication of identity. Whether we wish it, clothing, tattoos and music do speak to who we are -- if only partially.

Further, when fashion is examined through the lenses of sustainability and voluntary simplicity (see Worsted Witch), more questions are raised:

• How does one reconcile their hunger for fashion with their desire for voluntary simplicity?
• How does one become a conscious consumer in an age of mass production and mass consumption?
• Can one acquire fashionable (per the magazines and trends) clothing while maintaining a commitment to reduced retail consumption?

I know that I do not always feel as if I am on the cutting edge when I select a knitting pattern, but lately, I have been making a concerted effort to knit with stash yarn and to knit patters that manage to be timeless classics with a nod to current trends. Naturally, neither of those parameters matter if the pattern fails to speak to me and to my mixed-up fashion sense.

Molly Ringwald is speaking to me, and she is telling me that I will not pick up Tubey next. Too many consecutive ribbed projects (Ribby Shell, Molly Ringwald, Tubey) may drive me to the nuthouse.

During a mini de-cluttering session last week, I came across a frightening item -- my senior prom photo. Layered hair, pink sequined gown (looks better than it sounds), and white pumps (looks as bad as it sounds)! I was a colorful girl before I went off to college and embraced my inner sulky goth.

Those black clothes and scowl served me well when I relocated from Happy Valley to Manhattan. As easy as the Manhattanite uniform is, it gets a bit...boring, frankly.

My friend Moji, always looked spectacular, and she had a wonderful habit of wearing the most intriguing combinations of color and texture. Her secret? Color Me Beautiful.

At her suggestion, I arranged a consultaion , and I walked away with a color palette of the most rancid collection of rotting vegetation and appallingly autumnal fabric swatches. Rather than finding comfort in the uniqueness of looking good in a color that could only be described as Baby Poo, I was disheartened.

Over time, I embraced the wilted salad palette, but I relied too much on the neutral tones. As such, I challenged myself to branch out and explore the softer and more "feminine" colors in my palette. I promised to wear less green(s) and to start wearing purple (the song is nothing if infectious -- I cannot stop myself).

Behold the purple glory of my final One Skein Swap! My pal, Laura of The Continuing Drama, knitted a beautiful gift that is a triple threat.

1. It is purple!
2. It is a handbag, which is part of my Dump the Frump Campaign -- to carry snazzy jazzy handbags over the bulky utilitarian ones. I'm already carrying a knitting bag, so that can hold the non-essential/overflow items.
3. It requires lining (and she sent two gorgeous lengths of fabric for the task) which means that I will be sewing. Any input on machine vs. hand sewing for knitted bag lining is greatly appreciated.

The bracelet, knitted from Noro Daria, is so sweet. Some of you already know that I have a penchant for small, precious items. Laura, thank you so very much. You have been a wonderful secret pal. You have spoiled me.

Years ago, I landed a dream job: producing events in the music industry. The dream was quickly shattered, and I beat a hasty path to the door of Corporate America. It seems I was wildly out of place in an office that condoned pot-smoking in the conference room, sending interns out for drugs, and a tired leader fond of catnapping.

What sort of napper I was as I child, I do not know, but as an adult, rarely I have experienced the wonder of the afternoon nap. Teenagers and phones and a mother-outlaw and a doorbell do not make good bedfellows with a nap. On that rare occassion when the house is empty and no bells (be they door or phone) are ringing, I don my sleep mask and settle in for a quick snooze.

I read recently that napping is beneficial,and prime nap time is 20-30 minutes between 2:00pm and 4:00pm. To nap much later than longer and/or later than that starts to toy with the body's circadian rhythm. Yesterday I napped after work, and those 20 or 30 minutes were just enough to perk me up for twirling around the house (click Start Wearing Purple).

Pattern Specifications
ChicKnits Ribby Shell (flat front version), 37"
4 balls Rowan Calmer, #484 Lucky
US 8 and 5 KnitPicks Options needles
8 August - 15 August 2006

It seems both late-day napping and watching The Breakfast Club will have their effect on the body and mind. This is my only explanation as to why I was prowling around the house at 2:00am. While I was awake and restless, I put the time to good use by casting on for, what else, Molly Ringwald.

I could never determine if I am a morning person or a night owl. It seems that I can go either way when it comes to sleep patterns, unless the early morning wake-up comes at 5:40 for the purpose of working out. Then, I am most distinctly not a morning person. I am less so when I discover that it is pissing down rain, which is a more reliable sleep-inducer than any amount of warm milk or valerian root.

A bit of coffee would certainly perk me up on these early mornings, but I am not inclined to wake any earlier for the sake of caffeine, nor am I inclined to bring a coffeemaker into the house. It would be one more space-taking countertop appliance and a license to indulge my caffeine addiction at all hours.

But I got a rather alarming wakeup call today when I sloshed out to the car, juggling three bags and an umbrella, to discover that I had left my windows down all night! Thus, I hauled my fat, soggy ass to the gym to meet a co-worker who has no business being as perky as she is at such an ungodly hour.

While I'm on the topic of soggy bodies, can I just say that a morning jog in the rain is more foolhardy than driving in the teaming rain for the sake of a workout? I applaud the unshakable commitment to fitness, but it is barely light, it is foggy, and it is raining -- you are near-invisible to drivers. Your reflective gear gets lost in the blinding combination of dawn's early light and the parade of commuter headlights.

The ChicKnits Ribby Shell is finished, and is sure to get a good deal of wear. I had hoped to finish it Sunday in order to debut it Monday, and I seriously toyed with the notion of staying up until I completed it. Commonsense and sleep prevailed, and I completed this morning during the time between post-gym work preparations and the official start of the business day.

I followed the pattern for the plain front version, and I made only one modification. I chose to secure the arm straps with a three-needle bind-off rather than seaming. I used the longtail cast on, and I am not entirely pleased with the ruffled effect. I meant to use a ribbed tubular cast on -- my first attempt -- but it is a bit like rolling up car windows -- there is a huge difference between thinking and doing.

Prior to my life with Joe, I was a bit of a nomad. While I enjoy the balance I now have, there are times when I get a bit restless, and I feel the need to "escape". Thankfully, Joe is prone to this as well, which explains why we drove to Narragansett, Rhode Island for the day.

Oh yes, my friends...in an act of sheer impulse, we drove 168 miles each way for a few hours of beach time and a meal at Crazy Burger, home of the best sweet potato fries and homemade ketchup I have ever tasted.

We were less adventurous and impulsive Sunday; we drove to Beacon. While Joe was at yoga, I explored Main Street and both local coffeehouses: Chthonic Crush Coffeehouse and MuddyCupp. Visiting two coffeehouses in two hours may be excessive, but I am starved for coffeehouse culture. Not to mention I walked from one to the other. I was in heaven.

The walking must have offset the sweet potato fries (and then some), as I lost 2lbs. this week. My goal of 10lbs. by the end of August seems well within reach. As Steve would say, "Bully for me!".

When you think of your life in a media format, which format do you prefer? Please do not tell me that you have never had a moment in your life that you did not imagine turning it into a movie, book, or television show. Even if you say it, I will know in my heart that you are lying. At any rate, the mediated version of my life, is most definately a movie, and most likely a musical.

Have you even seen the original film trailer for Breakfast at Tiffany's? It is fifteen minutes of various shots of Audrey Hepburn and George Peppard flitting around Manhattan and partying. The twinkling background music and the voiceover just add to the carefree air of whimsy of days and nights in old New York. If that trailer does not make you wish to go tripping around Manhattan and trying on Halloween masks at the five-and-dime then you are too sullen.

But I have always wished I could interject a bit of background music over the loop of life -- just to deepen the mood of the moment. Think about it: wouldn't a dance number during that dull department meeting really pep things up?

At the end of my sentence at Penn State, I worked the counter at Kinko's, along with an equally morose and gothified boy named Jerry. Truly, the place was a cast of characters: the minister with a very ambiguous sexual orientation, the embezzling manager, the frat boy with a smile so sexy and a style so messy that he was nicknamed Freshly-F**ked, a cat with one fang and a clipped ear, the dreadlocked rasta vegan white chick, the Born Again Christian with a mohawk -- just to name a few.

There was so much drama that my only coping mechanism was to break out into song and dance. Thus the idea for Copy! The Muscial! was born.

I had not given much thought to those days until today when I donned an outfit worthy of some background music. A petticoat.

My fascination with the petticoat is purely the influence of the very clever Petula*Darling. After reading her Petticoat Adventures, I was so charmed that I started scouring the town for my own.

My poor petticoat is not quite as full and fluffy as I had desired, but I think Wardrobe will have that sorted before my big number at the photocopy machine.

Married people are supposed to experience The Seven Year Itch. Now, I suspect that this particular sort of itch strikes both the married and the unmarried. Sadly, I am fairly certain that this itch can strike much earlier than seven years into life with the "ball and chain". If any of my friends treated their partners the way I treat my knitting, I would have none of it; s/he would hear a thing or three from me.

We have to face it, we knitters are a promiscuous sort. Yes, there are some project monogamy freaks out there, and while I support your lifestyle choice, I cannot personally embrace it. I am a wanton (or wonton depending on the hour) woman. For all of the fidelity I bestow upon Joe, my knitting gets the inverse proportion.

Last night's Urge to Purge (clutter, not meal) revealed three knitting projects (Glampyre Mini Sweater, late 2003, ; heeled heeless sock, spring 2006; Fixation ankle sock, spring/summer 2006) forgotten as I turned my knitter's gaze of love to CeCe, Sizzle and Tubey. So far, I am one for six. Not good odds, are they?

And I think you know where I am going with this...
Hello ChicKnits Ribby Shell!

Generally, I like to think of myself as a good sport. I have a self-deprecating sense of humour, and I am the first to laugh when I trip or make some sort of gaff.

We are rarely afforded the opportunity to see ourselves as others do, and when that opportunity is presented -- hearing yourself on tape or seeing yourself on television -- is it better or worse than you expected?


Photo courtesy of Darryl Bautista/Poughkeepsie Journal.

Some time ago, I was contacted by a writer at The Poughkeepsie Journal who was writing an article on the new face of knitting. She had stumbled across the blog, and I was only too happy to chat about knitting and the friends I had made as a result. Now, file this under me being a good sport. I also agreed to pose for a photo to accompany the article. I am a good sport, but I was not going this one alone.

Somehow, I managed to convince Sharyn to join me, which speaks more to how people go crazy from the heat than my powers of persuasion. At any rate, in the blistering heat of last Wednesday, we made the pilgrimage to the offices of the Poughkeepsie Journal, where our powder-craving faces were snapped.

To my horror, the photographer felt that we should stand (holding our knitting aloft) for the photos, rather than sitting and knitting. I had my reservations, but I was in no position to argue. Upon seeing the photo of a rather plump and sweaty me, I was hit with two thoughts: the "slow and steady" approach to dieting is bullshit, and that being a recluse is highly underrated.

Speaking of slow and steady, it looks as if this week the scale is holding steady. No loss, but no gain. I should be happy, but I am disappointed. I have that photo to remind of the food sins I have committed, and I want instant absolution. Can I say a few rounds of the rosary and have my old body back? I promise not to midnight snack again.

If you need a good laugh (or to feel better about yourself), feel free to enjoy my shiny face, my fizzled Sizzle and my fat knees. When you are able to catch your breath and wipe the tears from your eyes, do read the article. Alice put hard work into it.

As a testament to the tenacity and the commitment of knitters to their craft, I submit the following.

Yarn Central had to close early yesterday when the air conditioning failed. Undaunted, Mardel, Sharyn, Theresa and I decreed it mild enough to knit outside. We dragged out folding chairs and the sale display sale and sat around knitting and chatting.

Theresa gifted me with some worsted-weight cotton yarn from her stash. The yarn is called Bahamas, and it is a pretty copper/umber color. The internet offered no additional information about the yarn, but I am fairly certain that it is of an older vintage.

Knitting al fresco is a wonderful idea -- at least until darkness falls. Normally, mosquitoes are all over me like crows on road kill, but Mardel was luring them away. However, Mardel was prepared with a can of Off!, and once she covered herself in the cloak of citronella, I was doomed. I had to steal a few sprays for myself.

In spite of the few bites I received, it was well worth it to sit out in the cooler temperatures with some very lovely ladies and knit away. The only thing missing was either some gin & tonics or iced lattes. That would have been heaven.

Tangential Tuesday

Aristo-crap
Last evening, Joe and I watched the The Aristocrats.
Pulled from IMDB.com:
Plot Outline: One hundred superstar comedians tell the same very, VERY dirty, filthy joke--one shared privately by comics since Vaudeville.

If only they had kept the joke a private one amongst comedians...
I am not a prude. I am not offended by off-color language. In fact, I often engage in a fair amount of self-censure when it comes to swearing; I believe that the power of cursing lies in limited use.

The crux of the joke is a family act that engages in incest and bestiality (with some scatological comments thrown in for good measure). The punch line? They call their act The Aristocrats. Harhar! Get it? It is ironic.

Irony. It can be funny, it can be sad; however, in the case of The Aristocrats, it is utterly lame.

This brings me to: Movie Reviews
I should think that being a film critic is a pretty darn good job if you can get it (and apparently, you can if you are the son of a film critic), and who wouldn't want to unleash a little snark on the Hollywood Machine? I would be short on verbiage and long on snark:
Johnny Mnemonic Johnny Moronic
Unbreakable Unremarkable
Point of No Return Point of No Remake

I have not seen a movie in public in ages. Basically, I cannot tolerate ignorant buffoons who feel that having conversations (either with their movie partner or on their mobile phone) is acceptable movie theatre behaviour. This sort of rudeness pushes me to the brink of swearing a blue streak and suppressing the urge to kick some butt.

Kicking Butt
It is time for me to kick my own butt. I started swatching for Molly Ringwald in spite of the fact that Tubey is still hanging around. Never mind that poor CeCe is sitting in a corner somewhere wondering why I have forsaken her. I must get strict and finish my current knitting projects before I move to another.

Similarly, I must turn that unforgiving laser gaze to my body as well. I read the most amusing post some time ago at Knit Once, Purl Forever about giving oneself some tough love. Her thoughts on "careful clothing choices" and "covering my ass with a tarp" had me howling in laughter because I had been engaging in this very behaviour myself. I only wish that I had started my journey to Better Health in May. Alas, I will not undermine the work I have done in the past two weeks. My success continues in small, but appreciable, increments. I lost 2lbs. last week (for a total of 7lbs since July 17th); and once the weather breaks, I will exchange the ass tarp for workout gear and get moving.