1 for Socktober

I thought I might have time to post today, no such thing.

And now I'm being whisked off to Mexican food, ole!

But look! Socks!

Dublin Bay
Made from Fleece Artist sock yarn. Green.

I'm rushing, can you tell?

They took forever, they feel so comfy. Happy me.

What a Difference the Color of a Room Can Make

Not the best at keeping up with the blog these days, mea culpa.  So a super-long post to appease the masses!

 

I do have a rather valid excuse for the absence though...it hurt too much to blog.

 

So I am on cipro for the next...8.5 days now.  Urgh.  They'll know exactly how bad it is on Monday or Tuesday, but the immediate results were that I have some kind of kidney/bladder/tract infection.  FUN TIMES!

 

Yes, I did indeed venture forth to find a new doctor in these here Pacific North West lands, and find one I did! 

 

So now I guess I can tell my nightmare doctor story:

 

I would like to preface this with:  I DID NOT just open the telephone book and blindly choose a random doc with a female name.  I asked my pharmacist, whom I THOUGHT I was developing good rapport with, for a local doc who she'd heard good things about.  This was how I got the name.  AND I called the office WEEKS before the actual need for the appointment (for a yearly), and spoke at length with the receptionist and tried to get a feel for the doc.  I got good vibes from her though there were a few weird things I really should have considered before proceeding.

 

20/20 hindsight is a beautiful thing, isn't it?

 

First: I couldn't just make a "meet and greet" appointment where she would get to know me and treat me for something minor, say checking on my skin condition and refilling my migraine medicine, etc., you know, an easy appointment, low stress, etc.  I was told the doctor made all new patients do a full "whole nine yards" physical as the first appointment.

 

Second:  I had to have $200 cash to pay/as the down payment (?!?) for the appointment, as physicals are uber expensive, and would have to be prepared to pay the balance due before I left the office.

 

So that would be the week we found out the car was DYING, yes?  Let's say it was not a stress free, well-rested night.  I woke up late, felt miserable, was not allowed to drink my morning tea, and, thanks to misunderstood directions, "No food or drink after 8PM, brushing your teeth is okay though,") I was really thirsty.  (Really though, when they say "brushing your teeth is okay though" doesn't that make it sound like NOTHING TO DRINK means water too, right?  Whatever, if I'm naive I'm naive.

 

So I get stuck in traffic and am going to arrive later than the "show up 10 minutes early to do paperwork" so I call them.  I'm told that if I don't show up in the next 5 minutes they will cancel the appointment and bill me. ?!?  I was about 2 minutes away and the appointment wasn't for another 8 minutes...so that was weird...besides that, how exactly were they going to bill me if they hadn't taken anything more than my name and home telephone number? 

 

Right, so I was obviously in the best state of mind for the appointment. 

 

I run in and...wait.  There is a LINE of people in front of me.  They are all either 20+ years older, or 30+ years younger than I am. 

 

Then I get the paperwork -- all I am asked to fill out are two sections: who I am stuff, and who is going to pay for the appointment stuff.  NO MEDICAL HISTORY stuff.

 

Again, that 20/20 hindsight...

 

As soon as I sit down I'm whisked into the area and follow the nurse down this long skinny CROWDED hallway to the room where I drop my stuff and then follow her almost all the way back to get weighed and measured, then we go all the way back for my blood pressure reading.  Sure, have a patient RUN back and forth and find out how much she WEIGHS, then take her blood pressure.

 

I think their machine is broken...but the first reading was astronomical, something in the HIGH 140s over 100-something.  Shouldn't I be dead?  So she writes it down and I say I usually read high the first time, and added to that I'm super nervous, can she take it again later?  All she answers is that she'll have to ask the doctor, but such a high reading was a bad thing.

Really, do you tell someone with high blood pressure that it's a bad thing in such a situation?  I'm a bad first appointment patient, but this is ridiculous!  So she leaves me to get undressed and wait for the doc in THE ROOM.

 

It was a dark turquoise...like it needed a new paint job about 5 years ago.  Shiny near the ceiling.  But the walls were covered in paintings/pictures/clocks, etc.  It depressed me.  It did not calm me.  It reminded me of the puke colors my elementary school was covered in.  I hated my elementary school.

 

So in storms the doctor telling me (actually, pontificating at me would be a better description) about how my high blood pressure was extremely dangerous and who was treating me before her and etc., but not actually letting me answer any of the questions.  When I did try to say that no one was treating me as I did not have high blood pressure she gave me a "look" and said, that's obviously not true, and then continued to say things that did not apply to me because I DON'T HAVE HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE!!!

 

Whenever I tried to give her my 2 cents she would act affronted and tell me to stop interrupting her because she was trying to give me information that could save my life!  And then someone knocked on the door.  

 

The doctor finished whatever she was saying, I'd stopped listening and was planning my escape by then...so she gets up and walks out, LEAVING THE DOOR WIDE OPEN.   I'm sitting there in that "gown" thing and she leaves the door open?  That was it.  I reached over and slammed it shut, jumped off the table and started to get dressed.  She came back in as I was pulling my pants on and was all, "What are you doing!"  So I told her this was not going to work, I wanted a doctor I could communicate with and not be treated like a child by.  Or words to that effect.  She responded with a fine(!) and tossed the file aside as she reached in and grabbed her instruments in such a way that I actually thought, 'she thinks I'm going to steal them...or vandalize the place, where the hell am I!?!?!?'

 

I was so proud of myself though, I didn't break down and start crying until she closed the door and I could sob and wipe my nose on the gown.  As I was leaving the nurse said I could pick up my "co-payment" and I was all, NO F-ING DUH!  (And that's another question...co-payment?  Did she mis-speak?  Or was I going to have to plop down $200 in cash for every visit?  Not that I'll be finding this out or anything.)

 

Which brings me to:

The new doctor's office is very bright, and there's carpet in every room.  Oh, and the rooms?  They're pink.  I don't do pink, but it is amazing how much nicer it is than greasy turquoise.  Oh, and my blood pressure?  120/80 thankyouverymuch.  That would be WITH my kidney trying to kill me. 

 

I didn't get my yearly, the kidney bit would have probably thrown all the blood tests, so we'll do a "take three" later, instead I had a "get to know you"/make the kidney stop hurting appointment.  It was very calm and I was encouraged to knit on my scarf while I waited for doctors and nurses and/or my UA to be looked at, and etc.  I could put the whole appointment on my credit card and no one looked at me as if I was going to steal the instruments or said I was interrupting if I answered a question. 

 

It really is the little things that count.

Mental Note To Self

DRINK WATER. OFTEN.
Especially when you are training people to do your job. You tend to
talk, a lot. It takes way more energy than sitting there doing
nothing. The super air-conditioned spot where you sit has the "added
advantage" of wicking all tell-tale moisture off you before you
sweat. DRINK WATER. The goal is 1/2 a liter here, you failed,
MISERABLY. FOR TWO DAYS.

If you go without enough water for a couple days your kidney will
wake you up around 12:30 AM to let you know YOU HAVE BEEN BAD ABOUT
THE WATER.
Your insides will remind you what you felt like 11 years ago when you
thought you would die BECAUSE YOU WERE NOT DRINKING ENOUGH WATER and
FENCING!

Jill would have called you a "dumb ass" by now. AND SHE'D BE RIGHT.

DRINK WATER!

All Quiet on the Non-Rhinebeck Front

No, my absence does not mean I'm frolicking with fiber lovers wherever Rhinebeck is being held. But now that I've caught up with all my blog-reading again, it seems a grand chorus of the knitters I stalk will be gone for longer than the weekend. Isn't that nice? For them? Right.

So I am on the ultimate yarn diet. Not that I have a roomful of stash--this is where a picture would be handy, but I'm lazy too--or have been spending my life-savings in the yarn store. See, what with A BRAND NEW CAR winging it's way to Seattle, I'm gonna be strapped for cash until I get myself a real job.

I did it. I signed my life away and will be the very nervous new owner of:

A 2007 Toyota Matrix

But mine is in some color called "Phantom Grey Perl" or whatever. Lightish Gray people. Whatever, it means I get to give Toyota money weeks before I see the car...scary scary, and call me silly/lame/or stupid, but according to the poll I took at work the next day, it's how it's done now. Even in the big ol' city of Seattle, dealerships ONLY have small quantities of cars in stock/on display in the most usual colors and models, I could have walked--driven away with a black one...but somehow...you know? I'm pretty much over my black phase I guess. You won't see me in bright orange or anything (well, until I finish those socks...) but I can start with grey.

My brother and Andy convinced me I'd be happier with a new car. I've never ever ever owned a new car before. I decided that if I could get the dealer people to give me a reasonable monthly payment plan (i.e. less than one weekly paycheck's worth) I'd do it. I almost got them to go down to 1/2... 60-some percent actually if I did the math right. No I'm not gonna double check, cuz if I'm wrong my blood pressure will shoot through the roof, we really don't need that at Casa de Tactless. But this gives me the chance to afford insurance...and nothing else...sniff...

So yep, my days of champagne and caviar (yes I'm laughing) are over. Okay, Sushi maybe once a month, and eating in 99% of the time...that's more my style anyway. If it hadn't been I'd have never saved up for the down payment to begin with!

Sadly, however, I'll have to delay adding to my sock yarn collection for a few months, until I'm used to the new "money-flow" schedule (ALL OUT, nothing to the savings account...eep, I need a real job). Not a biggie, I've got hats to knit, and more socks than I can count...and, maybe later this week I'll take a picture of my dad's scarf. I think I'm almost done, a few inches to go...It will need blocking though, which is why I'm not showing it now.

How long should men's scarves be? Is it the same rule as women's scarves? I.e. their height? Must look that up.

What Makes You Delete It?

It's not just me is it?

I write out a long email, or even a post, explaining, describing, going on and on...and then I select big chunks, and press the delete key, ON PURPOSE.

I just did it now, well, not now-now. I wrote to a webmaster to report broken streaming links in the archives of This American Life, I won't say I was devastated, but "upset" would be a good descriptor...I'm a bit on the edge...long story, maybe later when it hurts less. Anyhow, I'm a HUGE fan of that show. My first year teaching advisor turned me on to it back in 1998 and I listened almost religiously until 2001, when I sold my car and 90% of my possessions, and took off to Mexico, and parts elsewhere.

The other day I was listening to the NPR station in the car (yes, the dying one) when a commercial for This American Life came on!!!! I was so excited and told Andy I was going to go out and buy a radio just to get that show! (Addict, I know.) I also bemoaned about all the years I missed out on Ira Glass's very distinctive and eerily soothing voice.

Andy gave me this weird look, hopped on the internet, and found me ALL THE SHOWS. Right there, all mine for the free streaming...aaaahhhhh, heaven. Except now, like the 90% of things surrounding me, this too has gone all wrong.

So I wrote and mentioned the links and could they please be fixed...and then kept writing, about my love of the show and the happiness I felt finding it and the utter sadness of it being broken, and how my life right now...well, kinda what I just wrote above to the world...except this was being addressed toward Elizabeth, the webmaster. I knew she didn't care; she just wanted to know the errors so they could be fixed; my life is not anywhere near her radar. Yet, I could not stop myself! I wrote and wrote until I got it all out...and then I reread it, fixed a few lines, saw it was good, then selected all but the first bit about the broken links, and deleted it. Again, on purpose.

Elizabeth could care less that the 'rolla is on it's last breaths; that it was far too rainy and icky to go out and find a new car tonight; that the doctor I went to yesterday was a NIGHTMARE and so bad that I walked out in the middle of the appointment; that everyone on the interview committee for the position I'm temping for is avoiding me because they are interviewing someone this week...and it's not me; that listening to the archives bring me a sense of what and who I was back when I was younger and so much less jaded; that I will be so utterly inconsolable if I can't get my dose of a This American Life archive stream on a regular basis until I've caught up again.

It's been a trying week, can you tell?

I guess I really really really needed to get that out, somehow, at least once. You know, have it "said" and acknowledged (at least by me) and then there is no need to actually send the information on to anyone else. Didn't we all do similar things like this as kids? Say, write out letters and them BURN them? (Please say you did stuff like that last bit too, sometime in your youth. I feel crappy enough as it is.

That's probably why the woman who was covering the desk for me yesterday morning let me rant about my awful awful doctor's visit. It was the first step in dealing with it. Or something...

Bedtime calls, but I'm not selecting and deleting, at least this time.

I Need to Buy a Car

Like yesterday.

I'm about to lose my wheels, which I've been expecting for eons really. What kind of car should I get? Anyone have any favorites? Me? I've only ever owned two cars, ever. My first, a 66 Mustang, is still sitting in my mom's car port.

My second, an 89 Camry, Edgar...is tooling around the Santa Cruz/Moss Landing area with a good friend.

I've been beg-borrow-or stealing since...but it's time.

Any suggestions?

Too Much Going On!

Let the randomness begin:

I feel like my Saturday has officially been sucked out of existence. Especially as it's almost 7PM and I just don't feel like I've done all that much "weekending" yet. I hate that feeling, it really blows.

***

Andy and I went out for Indian food yesterday. Usually, almost religiously, I order the Palak Masala Paneer. Ummm, Spinach Curry with Cheese for those translation-seekers :). Usually Tim is with us and he gets this yummy orange colored curry with peas and cheese. I know, sounds yummy, but it really is. I usually am able to sneak a taste or swipe some with the naan and I am good for another couple three weeks and happy with my spinach.

Well, I was really craving it last night so I ordered my own serving. I really was in heaven it is yummy! But the restaurant was SO CROWDED it got to the point of being hard to enjoy. Then the Spinach found out I was cheating on it, I swear, cuz my dish met my pea coat and favorite pair of jeans...so not happy.

We did have left-overs though and I had 'em for lunch today, and yes sir, that fork FLEW out of that bowl and spilled on the table! The Spinach has farther-reaching powers that we give it credit for, really!

***
My father's birthday is coming up faster than I anticipated. (i.e. I forgot about it until this morning...) I don't know what to get him. Andy joked that I should buy him beer. Ha ha...that triggered a memory: my older brother and I wrapped up his 12-packs for xmas one year. "Do No Open Til' Xmas" or something right on the package. We had Christmas early that year.

So yeah, ha. Ha.

I'm thinking he needs a scarf. I just don't think I'll be able to pull it off in time. I literally fell asleep while knitting it just a few hours ago. I've got weeks to go, it's not until sometime in the second? week of November...must check the dates, several are floating around in my head.

***
Did I ever mention my family is REALLY BAD at remembering dates? I think it extends to the furthest reaches of all cousin-dome, really. The only reason I've ingrained my mom's birthday and mom's day into my head is so the rest of the people sharing her house-space might GET A CLUE when the package arrives and go out and get her flowers, or something.

***
Last one:
I've found that I try to limit my commenting to like one comment per week per blog...Which is super weird...I only just noticed this about myself today as I finally caught up with everyone's posts. I totally limited my comments. Even if I agreed...Mostly, I think, as I'm commenting on things that they wrote about DAYS ago.

I mean, I don't mind, especially if I've actually posted more than once a week, to have people comment on things that happened days ago. But I did get an email not too long ago about my second or third post, like ever? And that threw me into a time warp of sorts. I had to go reread it to see where they were coming from. As this is my main journal now, it's funky to see where my head was back then. It's even more funky to think that if someone reads my blog from start to today they'd get some sort of big picture of who I am right now. I do tend to leave out big swaths of my life, but there is definitely me staring back at me when I go through my old posts.

---
Okay, if I want any sort of Saturday that does NOT include the sound of the dryer in the background, I should go now.

Just Call Me Sucker...

I should not be thinking this way, I really shouldn't. I want to believe that I can create a reality where I'm not jaded, bitter, and use sarcasm to hide my true feelings. Auuuuummmmm.....

But try as I might, I keep hearing my "bad me" no matter how much I try to "let it go" and "move on" and only listen to "good me"--or at least as much "good me" as I can stomach.

I will paraphrase so that I can not be too incriminating...
SIL's email: It would be so nice if your brother and my children had beanies made by you! Cuz nothing could be nicer than having something made by their auntie and his sister protecting them from the arctic LA morning weather (I did mention sarcasm, yes?)

Good me: (to myself) Oh! She wants me to make hats for my uber cute (to me) niece and nephew (cuz everyone's baby nieces and nephews are uber cute to them.) Awww can you see it now? 3 matching hats, complementary color schemes...(Good me thinks in pastels with lollipop trees and chocolate streams sometimes...eep)

Bad me: (who ALWAYS sees the negative side of the picture, always.) Ya, okay, so what about the ones you knit for these people LAST year? Remember what happened at the birthday party? We saw HANDFULS of beanies and not a bloody one was one you knit for them. NEVER AGAIN, remember???

Good me: But she ASKED this time. Remember that bit too??? Only if they ask!!! She's asking!!! Let's go to the yarn store! No harm in looking. Maybe we won't find the perfect shades of pinks for little A, and maybe some grays for baby B, and a big daddy hat with both colors combined!!! (I sometimes make myself sick, yes.)

Bad me: This will all end in tears, I just know it.

And a big WELCOME BACK to the Fischer Price Camera Pictures. I know you missed seeing fuzzy images on this blog, I try to oblige all my readers. I'm starting with Daddy's Hat. That would be the blob in the center, in black. The pinks (and maybe a little red) will be Little A's Hat. The grays (and maybe a little black) will be Baby B's Hat. It's Falk Dalegan SUPERWASH yarn. They are indeed size US 3 needles. I'm playing with a 4x2 ribbing pattern.

Yes, I know, I sign up for Socktoberfest and then cast on for a hat. I'm good that way.

I have cast on for socks...Lemme think now...about 7 times in as many days. It's just not happening. Either the needles are wrong, or the SELF PATTERNING (urg I thought it was self-striping) is wrong or the pattern I want to try (Pomatomas anyone?) is all wrong for me.

I'm trying yet again tonight...Some cotton/wool socks for mom. In Sockotta with "mostly" blue (but lots of primary green, yellow, and egads, even pink...you know, to match her granddaughter's hat, yes, that's it.) Maybe 8th time's the charm, or something.

So...do you think I can get away with a little bit of pink in Daddy's hat??? Hmmm, didn't think so...

Remember When I Used to Have Pictures?

The wireless mouse upstairs needed AAs STAT! So I stuck my camera batteries in there until such a time as more appropriate juice providers can be procured. Besides, it's not like I took a picture of the green socks all finished or anything...cuz they're not. They have some toe-grafting-goodness that I really must get to so I can start wearing them. It's chilly in the evenings, to say the least.

I was going to answer the "sock history" dealie from Lolly's Socktoberfest idea-fest...but I'm not in the right mind-frame to go digging up and dusting off both memories and pictures. It's not like I've got much of a history...as my first socks were finished this year and all.

Speaking of socks, and some of the first that I knit up...I think I need to find someone with more narrow ankles who wears an 8.5 ladies. My "Classy Slip Ups" really are a bit tight under the Dock Martens. This blows, but meh, yet another excuse to knit up the pattern, which I did like. But now the quandary, how do you go about giving away a pair of socks you've worn twice? Kinda sticky situation there. I'll have to mull it over more. I KNOW they are too big for my mom. I suppose I could GAK, take the toe apart and shorten them...but I'd rather not.

Any suggestions? I'll take any suggestions on stretching them out that have worked for others as well. They were knit on 68 stitches and I've come to realize 72 is my magic number...sucks to be me, I know. Such is life.

Workin' It Nun-Style

It was recently brought to my attention...by my "inner Sybil" more than anyone, that I have hit the nail right on the head if I wanna be chillin' it Nun-Style with the threads, if you know what I'm sayin'.

I dress like a nun.

I really do. By choice, this time, it would seem.

Sad, really, but so very glaringly true as I sit here and watch the fashion show that goes on every morning in this place. If they don't hire me? It'll be cuz of my wardrobe, I swear. I mean, what kind of hip biotech company is gonna want a nun at the front desk?

Before? When I had hair long enough to wear in a bun? Yup, school marm. I just needed the really itty-bitty metal framed glasses like the teacher on Little House on the prairie and I'd so bust out with the gingham. With the shorter 'do I tend to clasp half of it back in a barrett...so it's still pulled back, only now it almost looks like I'm, yes, wearing a habit.

Yep, that's what greeted me in the bathroom just now; so I have literally just let down my hair. The conservative black sweater and scarf? The drab dark pants and plain white blouse? The Venetian glass that looks like a crucifix? "Hi Sr. Mary, how's it kickin'?"

I just don't think I can pull off the bright orange scarves I see cruising by, or the OH MY GOD THEY ARE POINTING AND HURTY LOOKING high-heeled shoes the other admins are clunking around in. Or even the cute little crochet-looking/open-lacework knitted-looking little cardigans some of the scientists sport. It's just all so "fashionable" and "in." As it's women's fashion in particular, it's probably just "in" for the season as well. Momma didn't raise a fashion-conscious daughter, uh uh. We live in "durable" land here. How many years will this work? Not how many weeks.

How did I make it through 18 years of LA-livin'? Very simple really. My mom, being the "po' messican cleaning lady" at the ritzy high school was yearly given BAGS AND BAGS of cast-offs by the secretaries, teachers, nuns, and even students. Really. 99% of my wardrobe came out of those bags. I sometimes wish I had been a more out-going popular kid, I could have started the "retro" movement decades before it happened. DECADES. There were complete outfits that could have brought back the 60s, 70s and sometimes, even touching on only a few YEARS behind the current style. My mom would pin and hem and down-size the most hideous and fabulous things out of those bags. If it fit, she didn't care WHAT shade of avocado green it was, it fit!

I cared. Maybe just a little. Maybe just enough to always dive deep in those bags and only choose the really dark and plain colors. That must have stuck with me more deeply than I cared to admit. Now that there's no "bag" to dig things out of I try to find the "timeless" outfits I can get away with wearing for years and years...so not the fashion queen.

I really should have known I did the nun thing for forever though. As I sat here and began this entry I remembered a story. It's not a happy story. I'm trying to make sure I remember and tell it just the way it happened. This would classify as a "horror of horrors" moment:

I was in high school by then, the same one where my mom cleaned the toilets for a living. Had I a tatoo that read, "Yes, I am the janitor's daughter," I would never have had to open my mouth or nod that first year. Ah that first year...so I was in the school choir. On the day in question we were singing at a mass/tea. We had to appear in black skirts and white blouses for the horrific event of my recalling. I had plenty of white blouses. A mountain of them, I had about 5 or 6 of the same style even, but various sizes. (Some of you know where this is going already, don't you?)

Right. So after the performance we were asked to go into the dining room and mingle with the guests (we were trying to get some donations or something, I've blocked that part out). One of the nuns comes up to a group of us, a group I'd just really started relaxing around, maybe even considering myself, oh I dunno, LIKE them. Sr. Celine finishes telling us how wonderful we were when it happened...One of the girls raised her hand and whispered behind it to one of the other girls, there was a deft but unmistakable pointing to the Sr., and then to me...and giggling. Oh how I hated the giggling. I looked over to Sr. Celine and wished I could disappear. She was oblivious and had started to turn away, but (and of course it was me) she had been patting my arm, near the wrist, and it was there that I saw the matching edging. I looked up the arm at the blouse itself, we were wearing THE SAME BLOUSE. In fact, ha ha, ha ha, we can all laugh about it now, yes? 18 years on? Because not only was I wearing the cast-off of one particular nun, OH, NO, no no no no. My eyes had jumped to all of the nuns scattered around the room in a very "Carrie" moment, Under blazers, or staring right back at me from each and every one of those nice little nuns...the same blouse. I was wearing part of their old "dress" uniform (they didn't wear the penguin suits, but they still wore a kind of uniform).

The rest is kinda fuzzy.

I did not burst into tears. I did not break into a run. This much my mother can attest to...I do know I did turn very very very red and maybe had a hard time breathing. I know that the the first chance I got I snuck into the big school kitchen and sank down on my favorite chair and imagined all the different ways I could get out of returning to the school, ever.

Right. That was not going to happen. What did happen? Hmmm, obviously not traumatic enough for me to remember. Or maybe so bad I don't want to remember? 18 years is an awfully long time. I know one girl stopped speaking to me. She had this knack of pretending I didn't exist, you know, if someone was standing behind me she'd talk to them "through" me? What fun.

I also know my mom and I went shopping for a white shirt of my own.

----

Hmmm, I'm wondering if I go for the dark unassuming outfits now cuz I don't ever want to be pointed-out like that again? Doubtful. I didn't stop dipping into those bags until I pretty much left LA. And boy did I go hog wild and pull out some bright red blazers and OH-HOW-VIVID "hawaiian-esque" blouses. I found it much easier to go "goofy" with the clothes than to hide under a rock. These were free, afterall.

Ah, there it is. I can't afford to be goofy with the fashion. So I guess I'll keep dressing like a nun until my pocket-book runneth over, or something. I'll try to refrain from quoting too much scripture in anyone's direction.

Peace out!

Socks Anyone?

Yeah, yeah, you knew I'd sign up, didn't you?

I'll be working my hardest to finished socks I've been bad at finishing...these fine fellows:
Started back in, um, May wasn't it? Yup, the one on the right is the same one the Yarn harlot herself held while still in progress. Yes, I've hidden the un-woven ends. Yes, I will be washing it :). I'm down to only a few rows before decreasing for the toes on it's partner. I'm having a hard time not starting a new sock. Would that be SSS trying to catch hold? The fight goes on.

The black and grey booties have become the "computer waiting socks," so I'm in no rush for their end. Besides, now that the weather is turning, there's no need for ankle-lengths, now is there?

After these I'm starting another pair for my mom. Another cotton combo. She seems to like those. With my super jet-fighter speed at knitting, ha ha, I think if I'm planning any xmas knitting I should start those ASAP.