PlazaJen: Passion Knit

So, I am one cranky-ass bizotchy. Yes. I just made that up, because I don't think there's a single word in the human language to fully capture how mothertrucking irritated I am, and I have had approximately 54 hours of said irritations.

Let us start with the Wedding Caravan, which inofitself was nice, and seeing my hubby in a tux was a pleasant treat. I was Le Photographerrrre Extraordinaire, which meant I was carrying the bridal couple's enormous Canon Rebel around my neck, complete with a humongous flipping lens. Did you know I know very little about Le Photographie? Yes, indeed, and thank god the camera was digital. I was sweating like le swine in le mud pitte, and running up and down the gravel path as though I had become the wedding co-ordinator. Snappy! Snap! Many pictures, hopefully some of them will be treasures, and my biggest memory (apart from the Wo in the Tux) will be the parakeet-sized mosquitos that feasted, nay, bellied up for the BUFFET that was my body. I react pretty strongly to bites, too, so I have these quarter-sized lumps on the backs of my legs, on my ankles, tops of my toes - and they all itch like madness.

Then we have Sunday, and I'm not even getting into the debacle which has been my father's medical care, but keep in mind that is all just swirling along in the background/forefront throughout everything else. (They have screwed up his meds more times than I can count now, which results in him suffering swelling in his brain which in turn lends him to sounding as though he has dementia. Change the meds and he's back to his normal self. Enraged doesn't even begin to capture it.) Back to Sunday. I go and get my eyes examined, and that is mellow and fine, but suddenly they declare my insurance does not cover it. Wha? But I checked? And the lackadaisical attitude does nothing to assure me that anyone even called. Eventually, Don and I determine we will just wait & he'll follow up today. Don could be Michael Jeter's long lost cousin, which, if you were a big Evening Shade buff, might not instill the greatest sense of faith here. Don informs me he'll be working until 2 p.m. on Monday; when I call at 1 p.m., he admits to not having time to get to it. No biggie, Don, I'm not buying glasses until they go back on 50% off. He agrees with me, and even tells me when that sale starts again. Redemption, through the irritation.

I then came home from kickin' it with Michael Jeter & finished up my Chicks with Sticks bag, and what then ensued was such a disaster, I'm so pissed I'm not looking for a link. The third color of yarn didn't felt at the same rate as the other two - so much so, I would have sworn it had a different fiber content - and my efforts of copious knitting were in effect, ruined. The bag looks horrid, it will take a rather-large sewing & scissoring re-design to even salvage what did felt properly, and I haven't had a response from the yarn store I purchased the kit from, because you KNOW I sent an email immediately. Knowing them, they'll offer 20% off my next purchase. Uh, yeah, that's adequate compensation. It's not like I'm a new knitter here, and there's obviously something wrong with the yarn - and since they also screwed up once before, sending me two different dye lots (which I didn't notice until the very end of knitting a sweater), I don't have a lot of faith in their ability to handle this to my satisfaction. In other words? NOT ORDERING FROM THEM, EVER AGAIN.

Today? Was one cluster after another of pus-filled bags of non-joy. Sorry for the icky imagery, but hey, it's appropriate. I'm itchy, on edge, clients are being insane, some co-workers have become unhinged, deranged, or worse, both. Yeah, and the internet was jacked up, so I got to wait until I had an entire day of itching, bitching, and being irritated to get home and post a proper blog.

All I can say is, come on Tuesday. Bring it, bitch. You WILL be a better day when I get through with you.