sign me up

i've recently joined a club.

a very exclusive club.

one that grants me access to heavenly joys of unfathomable proportions. and a $70 bill, but let's put that aside for a minute.

let's shall.

these are my brand new 2.5mm, 8" signature dpn's, which i lovingly allowed myself (read: my visa) to purchase. because i totally deserve all the crazy-ass hi-fi knittingy gadgets out there.

because i just do.

you may well ask, "what the hell is all this brouhaha about signatures? they're just needles, for pete's sake."

in short, they're long and pointy. and sharp. so sharp, in fact, that they'd gone straight through the fancy little pouch they came in. i thought my suzanne ebonies were sharp, but these babies are so much sharper. they tore my left index finger right open when i first swatched with them, that's how sharp we're talking about.

dear ebony--consider yourself usurped

but sharp is good, and pain is better. blood and blisters are a small price to pay for catching stitches more perfectly than jesus himself ever could, and i bet jesus was a really awesome knitter. of course eventually i'll develop a calice the size of texas on said finger, which not only makes knitting even more pleasurable, but also attracts guys like a freakin' cock magnet.

what's possibly even more important is that they have the perfect grip. and i do mean perfect. if you've ever knit with them ponies or pretty much any metal needle (except kollage squares, who's my five-headed lesbian mistress) you're familiar with the distinct 'cling' sound you get when the needles slip off from the stitches, and also the 'fucking fucking fuck' sound which inevitably follows.

signatures are textured ever so slightly at the shaft, rendering all such traumatic experiences null and void. no more clings and fucks, just an adorable, cheerful wooshing sound as you gently move the stitches towards the tip. "ribbed for her pleasure", as knittersreview affectionately wrote--which not only provides the singularly most awesomest selling point for knitting needles anywhere, ever, but also proves once and for all that i'm not the only one with a warped mental connection between knitting and sex. fancy a threesome, clara?

you can't see it but it's there--also applies to my lady bits

they're also pretty. very, very pretty.

see? pretty.

add to that all sorts of hi-tech industrial newspeak, a lifetime warranty and an awe-inspiring balance between weight and material, and an apparent care for the environment too-- i don't know how exactly, but they use words like 'brite dip', 'anodizer' and 'EU directive RoHS', which simply must mean they're saving our fragile little planet one fossil-fueled machine-carved needle at a time--and i'm completely sold.

so in total, signatures are the perfect combination of snooty exclusiveness, outrageous pricing and humbling precision that inevitably, irresistibly makes me want to throw my money at them like it was burning a searing hole in my butt pocket. bob's scolded me on such behavior before, but i don't care. even the fact that you have to pay an extra $10 to get the fifth dpn (which by any other standards would qualify for the biggest douche of the universe award) somehow seems totally reasonable when you're convinced you're on the brink of the greatest discovery ever recorded on the history of mankind.

of course, you're not. they're just needles, for pete's sake.

but they're pretty fuckin' cool nonetheless. and fuckin' cool is plenty.

terminally happy

continuing where i left off last time, i've been in a terribly, terribly good mood lately.

(i'm also aware that my updates have become increasingly infrequent. in my defense i can only say that it seems i've actually gone out and got myself a life. good news for my social life, bad news for writing pseudo-witty rants in the dark. also, my camera is a complete shitsack, which prevents me from snapping the artistically pleasing photos that form the foundation for this fine blog.)

i've been waking up to an odd feeling, one that makes me think things are somehow gonna be fine. that i have the potential to overcome anything life and bob decide to throw at me. that despite whatever may or may not happen, i'll eventually emerge as someone who's not entirely broken down in body and spirit.

fuck the illness. fuck work. fuck the financial crisis. fuck them all right in the ear. seems like nothing can penetrate this armour of maniacal contentment that's somehow hovering around me right now.

of course this could all be just a symptom of some deadly brain tumor ticked off by the MRI i had last week. MRI number 8, to be exact, in 34 months, also to be exact. what a profoundly useful way of spending both time and money. probably some kind of a world record, especially with the zero findings there's been so far. i'm probably infertile now too, because of all the radiation. oh well. at least i'm not claustrophobic. au contraire, i'm flaky enough to actually enjoy being there. what a strange person.

of course it could just be the spring. watching fresh green leaves pop out. feeling the gravel in my terminally worn-out summer shoes (which i refuse to retire because i got them in canada). wearing t-shirts outside, for god's sake. hope smells a lot like rain and earthworms.

but of course i know it all comes down to being at the right place at the right time, seeing and hearing the right things, being completely and overwhelmingly encompassed with something you can't explain but what makes you swoon and pant and giggle like a little girl anyway. or someone with a fatal aneurysm.

either way, i'm happy enough. anyone planning on raining on my parade right now.. well, i'd just like to see you fucking try.

winner & a rant

time to play god again and reveal the new owner of my birthday giveaway prize. to all of you gasping in horror how i can let go of such a beauty, i say, well... i'm guess i'm just cool like that. you might wanna start making friends with me right about now.

according to an all-knowing, all-singing and all-dancing random number generator, the lucky winner is...

papayamaya, with her comment number 6!

congrats sister! i've sent you a message with more info.

thanks to everyone for the good wishes. here's to another year of obsessive hoarding, failed (and occasionally successful) knitting projects and, most important of all, reporting about said activities in the form of long, incohesive, psychotic rants! chi-ching!

speaking of psychotic rants... i'm currently stuck in some kind of a knitting limbo. it's something that inevitably happens whenever i fail to program my knittings into a smooth schedule that glides effortlessly from one project to the next. such overlapping range of simultaneous knits is vital for my well-being because it ensures i always have something to do. if i get bored with one thing, i'll toss it aside and knit something else for a while. and when that one thing gets finished, there's another thing already waiting in line.

but such an ingenious plan is statistically doomed to fail every once in a while.

first i made cutesy. as soon as that was done i moved on to gyllis. at the same time i was making both bedford and twenty-ten. once gyllis was done i made wurm and two ruffle necklaces, and then went back to finish bedford. while bedford was blocking i picked up twenty-ten and got that done in a couple of days (photos to come at some point). but after that...

nothing.

there was no semi-finished project waiting, because, being a crazy person and thus unhealthily obsessed with my (supposedly) messy raglan increases, i had frogged my otherwise well-off still light a little earlier. so there was nothing to glide effortlessly to. i had no idea what to do with myself, so in terror i picked up a skein of heritage silk and began frantically knitting a sock, fully realizing it would be a mere comfort project until i managed to find a proper one, but not realizing what a mo**erf***ing pain in the poohole that yarn is. (feel free to disagree, but i'm never, ever, EVER making socks with that yarn again. slippery son of a bitch.) so the skein flew out the window and my fragile sanity went even fragilerer.

and now i can't seem to knit anything, because the knitting part of my brain is in complete lockdown state to keep all further unpleasantries away.

so i'm watching hour after hour of air crash investigation instead. normally i would knit something at the same time, which sort of softens down the horror, but now i just stare blankly at the broken-off tail fins, flaming fuselages and weeping mothers, whose kids weren't even supposed to be on that flight.

bob, please come back.

friday is the cruelest day

bob: get a hold of yourself, woman.

liisa: whatever do you mean?

bob: i know it's friday and all, but sheesh.

liisa: i haven't done anything.

bob: really?

liisa: really.

bob: haven't done anything?

liisa: uh-huh.

bob: so what you're saying is you didn't set the alarm for the 9am wollmeise update, race through the stock list like a rabid dog and get three 100% superwash colorways, only one of which being a colorway you ever  intended on purchasing in the first place, and none of which you actually need or have any plans for?

liisa: well...yeah.

bob: and i suppose you didn't stalk the 4pm handu update either, right?

liisa: obviously.

bob: you do realize i can see everything? and by that i mean i know you're lying?

liisa: umm... uh..

bob: what a sad, lonely, obsessive little person you are.

liisa: well look here now--

bob: just because it's friday and the supply is there doesn't mean you need to go out and buy everything you can get hold of.

liisa: but i really really want to.

bob: well sure, because you're such a hysteric hoarder. and easily fooled by group mentality. but it's not like the world's gonna run out of yarn, you know.

liisa: i'm terribly afraid it does.

bob: look. you know anything about marketing tactics? stuff that's elusive, seemingly unique and in limited quantity creates hype around itself that makes it seem way past its original value. it first creates artificial needs by making exclusiveness a virtue and a point of social reference, and then forces people to grab whatever they can for whatever the price before it sells out. so in effect morons like you make hasty decisions based on false needs and still somehow come out thinking they've made a really good deal. i'm not saying that wollmeise shit ain't pretty goddamn awesome, but don't go foaming in the mouth at every update unless there's something there you really like. by all means buy it if it genuinely makes you happy. but keep in mind that buying stuff just because you can is stupid. and the colorways, they're all more or less repeatable. they're not forever lost once the update's through. it's all in your head. you don't need to buy that 21€ skein just because it's there.

liisa: but i like getting expensive yarn online because when it arrives i get to make myself pretty for the postman and then i can arrange the skeins in perfect little piles and sing to them and pet them and rub myself against them and then we can all have a little tea party where i'm queen fluffalot and the skeins are my royal court. and the postman's the chambermaid.

bob: you serious?

liisa: uh.. the thing is.. i, uh.. yeah.

bob: well i've seen all kinds of shit in my time, but goddamn.

liisa: i know i need to change but i'm not sure i want to.

bob: suit yourself, then, as a lazy tailor would say. i'm done watching this horseplay of yours. bob out.

liisa: don't leave me, bob.

bob: you've made your choice.

liisa: you can't do this to me.

bob: i already did. get over it.

liisa: well fuck you too, bob!

bob: ..what did you say?

liisa: oh god. no. wait. wait--

on the kindness of knitters

the doorbell rang this morning.

having just come out from the shower, i was naked. completely, utterly naked. i cannot emphasize enough how naked i actually was, because nakedness was crucial to the unfolding of events.

i figured it was the postman trying to deliver me something that wouldn't fit the mail slot. usually i'd just open the door and see what he wants, but, as it's been established, i was naked, and getting dressed fast enough was quite impossible.

at this point i realized i was not expecting any packages, because the 80€ yarn shopping spree i had conducted two days earlier surely wouldn't have its goods delivered so soon.

for a moment there i thought whether i should just let him come back another time, or open the door in some type of "why mr. postman, do you have a package...for me?" routine.

my dirty thoughts were cut off by the sound of the package being forcibly forced through the slot. it made a horrible screeching, ripping and twisting sound as it was squeezed through inch by inch. all i could do was stand by and pray for the packaging to hold up and protect whatever was inside.

eventually it came through and i leaped like a hairless panther to open it. a very inconspicuous package it was, but my heart started to pound when i noted the sender was familiar. and that it came from canada. because nothing but nice pretty things comes from canada.

my heart began to race even faster. the contents felt soft. could it be..?

OHMYFUCKINGGODITSSWEETFUCKINGGEORGIA

in finnish there's this word called 'ilopissa', which roughly translates as 'being so convulsively extatic with receiving unexpected free stuff in the mail that one loses control of his/her bladder, speech and consciousness'. after realizing this ridiculously gorgeous skein really was for me, and for no other reason except the giver being endlessly benevolent and the recipient having once lobbied (apparently very successfully) for the acquisition of said skein, i went ilopissa all over the place.

melissa, i love you, i will marry you, i will dress up like tinky winky and do the hula if you want me to. bob bless you and your futile attempts to rid you of your stash.

oh, and...

have you ever noticed.. that bob.. is bob.. spelled backwards?

go ahead & panic

so i'm making this cardigan.

313 yoke stitches per row.

with three alternating skeins of the same yarn, because it's hand-dyed and i want to avoid pooling and other color-related disasters. 

my hands hurt and my already crippled back is twisted into some kind of contortionist nightmare.

i think, "gee, i hope i don't screw this thing up, because frogging into three live skeins at the same time is surely not a pleasant thing to do".

i also think, "nah, i'm not going to count the stitches at this point where the correct amount of stitches is a matter of life and a supernova-type death, i'm sure the number is right".

so i go ahead and knit one row. purl one row. knit. purl. knit. purl.

"i don't see how this thing could go wrong"

seven hours and 8136 stitches later.

the yoke is done and i'm marking the stitches to separate the sleeves. front piece, sleeve, back piece, sleeve, front piece. but... the numbers don't add up.

terror fills my head and panic starts to tighten its death grip on me as i realize i've had too many stitches all along.

i failed to read the lace chart properly at the beginning, so i now have 26 extra stitches, which means the yoke is going to be way too big for me. i would have noticed this had i counted the stitches at the point where i knew i should have. but i didn't. and now it's too late.

the vision of frogging seven hours' work into three live skeins at the same time suddenly becomes very real.

bob, you fucking asswipe fartface. kill me now.

odds & ends

apologies for the radio silence. it's been a busy month. sort of. watching quality movies and eating chocolate has taken more of my time lately than expected. of course by quality i mean roland emmerich, and by chocolate i mean double-chocolate. blinding, searing, never-ending nerve pain does have some perks. i thoroughly recommend getting some, if you're into the whole get-all-the-free-time-you-want-but-cry-yourself-to-sleep thing.

anyway, like most of us in the knitting universe, i'm a TV knitter. i can't watch TV without knitting something. so thanks to classics like 2012, godzilla and independence day, i've been able to make a bunch of random things, of which a small selection thus follows.

the first one is another cowl made with the willow pattern. i made it with the same amount of stitches and decreases as the hemlock cowl, but the yarn (flavia baby - yes, again) was thinner so the end result is even snugger. i can barely ram it through my giant head, but once it's in place it looks and feels pretty good.

mom likes the socks i make, and will stop at nothing to get a new pair. so in order to avoid being disowned i made her a simple pair with the extra hank of knitpicks stroll i got from great british yarns. i'll be safe for another month or two.

then there was the suicide mission called trail socks. the yarn is gorgeous. and 20 euros a hank. and yet, only through sheer manic perseverence was i able to finish this pair. have you ever heard of a thing called pooling?

the first sock was perfect from the start. the yarn behaved beautifully and created an almost self-striping pattern. then came the second sock, and all hell broke loose. no matter how many times i started over (and believe me, it was lots) i couldn't duplicate the color flow. every time i ended up with dark splotches and light splotches. i tried different gauges, starting at different points of the yarn, but no. bob the saint (remember him?) wouldn't let me off the hook. and no, pooling is NOT something that makes hand-dyed yarn interesting and/or beautiful, it's fucking annoying, and if anyone tells you otherwise, they're probably on sedatives or have already died inside a little.

then, after five painful days, i threatened bob with a murder-suicide-scenario, and he finally caved. and now i have a killer pair of socks. with no pooling. thank's for playing, bob!

i also made some stitch markers. girly ones. because i'm a girl. i checked.

knitting-wise there's lots of other stuff going as well. there's another lace scarf i'm making, slowly but surely, and a mountain of baby clothes for a certain someone who's expected to pop into this world during the summer. before you ask, it's not mine. dear god, no. but more on those projects as and if they develop.

seven-day cardigan

so i made a cardigan. in seven days. you heard me. to the question, "have you no life" the answer is a loud and resounding "no". but instead i have a sweet cardigan, so, there.

the pattern is a simple top-down model with 13 buttons and some pleats in the front and back. i used a smaller needle and thinner yarn so went one size up to get a nice fit. in the end it took exactly five skeins of yarn, which is odd, because the plain and simple took seven and it didn't even have sleeves. bob, the patron saint of knitting, indeed works in mysterious ways.

georgia cardigan by jane richmond

ravelry link

size 32" to get 30"

grignasco flavia baby  (250g/2.5-3mm)

i had stashed the yarn sometime during the winter when there was a sale on my absolute all-time hands-down favorite yarn at a local shop. (the final tally came out at somewhere beyond 20 or 30 skeins but, you know, who's counting.) originally i meant to knit the thermal sweater with this color but at some point went "nah" and made this cardigan instead. in seven days. the phrase "zombie madman on acid" is once again a pretty accurate description of my person during that week.

but like most of the stupid shit i do, voluntarily i might add, it was worth it. it fits well and isn't too girly for my butch trucker lesbian style. the color is a bit hard to combine, seeing that i'm just now realizing it's the first blue top i've owned in a decade, but i'm pretty sure i'll find some use for it. if not, i can burn it in a ritualistic fashion and have my universally allotted moment's fun that way. and before you ask, no, i didn't run out of yarn. the sleeves are meant to be that short.

to the pattern designer i raise my proverbial hat for creating realistic proportions as opposed to idealistic. unlike garnstudio seems to believe, people slouch. thank you, jane, for realizing that the back piece needs to have more stitches than the front. and the fit at the shoulders really is freakin' gorgeous, don't you think? yes, you do.