Sock it to me

Socks. I learned to knit my first pair of socks within the past month. Unfortunately the only creature/human that they will fit are: a) a yeti b.)Bozo the clown. Somehow I managed to knit some gigantic socks that would apparently do well for a diabetic, fluid-resuscitated transplant patient whose feet are so big that they require a separate bed.

So... what do I do next? Why, start knitting a second pair of socks of course.
I am using an unidentified sock yarn, maroon in color w/ silver sparkles. It is not as stretchy as the Madtosh and should knit up much tighter. Should being the key word. I am also using the correct size needles.

In other news... I would be remiss in not mentioning the "Blizzaggedon" or whatever the hell they are calling the snowstorm. I could go on and on about how completely ridiculous and horrible the plows were (still are) in Baltimore and how it seems completely unacceptable that 2 weeks later the roads are still not plowed and will probably never be, or how the plow drivers apparently missed the class on how to plow properly, how idiotic people are when they drive in their giant SUV's and Hummers one block to the store to get beer despite a driving ban so that people could actually shovel w/o having to stop every minute to let the assh*les who decide to drive around for no reason, but I won't. And the chair in the parking spaces is unbelievable. I don't remember ever seeing chairs in spaces in the 30 some odd years that I lived in Rochester. Oh, but see the plows actually knew what they were doing and so the streets were actually cleared properly. Baltimore is pathetic. The city cannot even handle a snowstorm, so I can only imagine what would happen during a terrorist attack or natural disaster. I really really need to move. I have never lived in a place that I despised so much. Ok maybe I need anger management.

My wild cowgirl beagle AKA Sally Ann Brown is going to class! I am taking a 6 week training class from Bmore Charming School located at Howl in Hampden. It will be a group class so I imagine I will have a horror story or two to tell. Sally needs to learn that attacking other dogs is not ok. And dragging me down the street howling and on the scent trail is not ok as well as running out the door and galloping down the street. I would also prefer she not eat cat poo or poo in general but I doubt that they will teach her that.

Oh and I have to mention the anal gland "incident" that occurred two nights ago at 3am. Several years ago I was delegated the "anal gland person" for the dogs after my mother learned that we could learn how to do it ourselves instead of going to the vet every 4 weeks at $20 per dog. When I say "we" I really mean ME. I had to learn how to express anal glands with non-compliant dogs with one hand while managing to hold a muzzle and lift a tail without having my face ripped off. I had to learn how to "inject" antibiotics into anal glands in order to clear up horrible infections with pus and god knows what else pouring out. Have you seen an anal gland? Of course not because they are located INSIDE the dog's rectum. Can you imagine trying to find the microscopic opening to inject antibiotic cream in under a minute before the dog goes ballistic? If there is such a thing as "Master anal gland expresser" I am it. So... back to the Sally incident. I was laying in bed, wide awake as my mother gasped and snored the night away in the room next door (still no results from sleep study) around 3am. Sally started scratching and licking (ugh) and I got up to wipe her, um, private areas with some baby wipes to stop her from licking and to make sure she was clean. Not sure what happened next as it is still a blur from the PTSD I suffered, but I can piece together enough to know that when I wiped her anal gland exploded all over me, my hands and the bed. Yes, exploded. I guess when she licked or scratched it opened things up to the point where just a slight touch caused detonation. I really didn't go back to sleep after that. I had to wash with clorox, change the sheets, clean the dog, and take some klonopin in order to calm down. If anyone has smelled the remnants of anal glands you know that it is tantamount to necrotic bowel. My room stank. Sally stank. I stank. My sheets stank. It was horrific. Katy ran like a bat out of hell and cowered in the corner thoroughly shell-shocked.

AND FINALLY....

It was my birthday on February 5th! I am no longer a soon-to-be 41 year old!

Cake, cake and more cake.