Annoying People Suck

Hey, you know what my new pet peeve is? People (machines) that leave comments that have nothing to do with your blog. What a bunch of lame ass losers! I would argue that while blogging itself is a bit loserly and dorky it is FAR BETTER than leaving comments how rocking your own blog is on someone else's blog.

What a bunch of goobers.

Knitting is Fun

Here's something new . . .I don't know how accurate it is, but what can you do?

You appear to be a Knitting Guru. You love knitting and do it all the time. While finishing a piece is the plan, you still love the process, and can't imagine a day going by without giving some time to your yarn. Packing for vacation involves leaving ample space for the stash and supplies. It can be hard to tell where the yarn
ends and you begin.

http://marniemaclean.com
What Kind of Knitter Are You?
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Clown Frenzy

So, Wende (my partner) and I went to my parents’ house for Fathers Day earlier this year. At lunch, my brother, a 23 year old college student who is totally full of shit most of the time, tells us that a friend of his from school had called him a few weeks ago at like 2 in the morning to tell what had happened to her that night. She was baby-sitting for her aunt and uncle and was having a hard time putting the 6-month-old down for the night. Eventually, she called her aunt to see if there was maybe something she could do to help keep the kid from waking up every five minutes. During the course of the conversation, Nick’s friend mentions that she thinks the clown doll might be freaking the kid out. The aunt tells her that they don’t have a clown doll ((dun dun dahhhhhhhh)). Nick’s friend hangs up, runs up the stair, gets the kid, leaves the house, and calls the police. The police come and they find that the clown doll is actually the next door neighbor who had spent the last seven hours in the nursery dressed up like a clown so that he could be closer to the baby.

OK, so OF COURSE this is an urban legend and neither Wende nor I believed the story. We even went on-line and found about 40 hits when you search google for “babysitter” clown. There are several versions of the story--one of my favorites is one in which the freaky neighbor disguised as a clown doll is replaced by a clown statue that is actually a "schizophrenic midget in a catatonic state." Seriously. Still though, this story creeps me the hell out. I find myself thinking about it throughout the day and each time I get all freaked out. And I keep thinking of all the pictures I’ve ever seen of an evil clown—by bedtime I have worked myself in to a frenzy—I am SO FREAKED OUT that I couldn’t go down the hall to the bathroom because I would have to pass the door that leads to the attic and I am afraid that a clown is going to jump out at me. I had to make Wende check the closet to make sure there wasn’t a clown in it—I wanted her to go through the whole house, but she wouldn’t do it because she’s was all certain that there was no homicidal clown in our house. I ended up trying to call Karen, my best friend from high school who had sent me a birthday card earlier this year with a picture of a clown on it and the inscription "because you're never too old to be creeped out by a clown." She shares my gift of getting worked into a terrified frenzy for no good reason. But she wasn’t home to comfort/freak out with me. So I just kind of laid in bed, wide eyed and terrified by every sound I heard until somehow I eventually fell asleep . . .

The next morning, Wende made fun of me to all of her friends and co-workers. She even conspired to further freak me out by offering payment to one of her student workers if he would agree to dress up as a clown and sit on our couch until I got home. Lucky for her, she decided against it. She was afraid if I walked in and saw a scary clown sitting on our couch I would have a heart attack and (a) die or (b) survive and divorce her. She was, of course, correct.

To read the urban legend and see the evil clown picture that freaked me out the most, check this out. erg

Holiday Snow Stories (alternate title: I Was a Dumb Kid)

It seems only appropriate that I post a photo of myself. This was taken several years ago on Christmas Eve. I was a miserable graduate student who couldn't afford the plane ticket home for the holidays (or the time away from the computer). My good friend Kara was in the same situation, so we went out for a wonderful meal at the local Indian restaurant. It snowed really hard that night and we almost didn't make it home from dinner because there was so much snow in the parking lot . . .

Other holiday snow memories: when my brother was a few months old my family was driving to visit my grandparents. They lived on a farm that can only be reached via a dirt road about three miles off the main highway; their closest neighbor (at that time) was about two miles away). As we rode along the weather started getting kind of crappy; once we finally turned on to the dirt road that led to the farm, the weather was absolutely foul. A trip that normally takes seven minutes (I've timed it), took three times that, until finally our hunk of junk car became stuck in the snow a little more than a quarter mile from thier house. My dad decided to just run down the hill and get my grandparents. Did I mention that it was snowing? Hard? Well, the usual five minute jog turned out to be a lot longer since it was (1) freezing, (2) dark, and (3) in the middle of a blizzard. It took him probably half an hour to get to the house and it took our rescuers another ten or so minutes to get one of the cars started and up the hill to save us.

Holiday snow memory #2: When I was in the second grade, my dad took a job in Wyoming. After we had lived there a little while, my mom and dad discovered skiing and liked it very much. They decided that the best was to share their new hobby with me was to buy me a pair of plastic skis for Christmas. I was SO excited when I opened them up and figured out what the two long planks and two spiky sticks were! I demanded that we postpone the rest of the opening of presents so that I could try out this new sport--something I was sure I would master in a very short period of time. So, my mom got me all bundled up and my dad walked outside with me and helped me get the skis on. There was a good bit of snow on the ground and it was frigid outside. After my dad explained the basics of skiing to me, I sent him away as I was sure I did not need any further assistance. So after about two minutes of cross country skiing, I decided that cross country skiing sucked; it was far too slow and far too much exercise. So, I made my way to the back yard, where there was a very steep hill. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and pushed off. I soared down the hill and straight into the fence that ran between the area that we lived in and the next subdivision. To say the very least, I was disappointed in skiing as a whole. I decided, after experimenting with both cross country and down-hill that I would never ski again. With that, I turned to climb back up the hill. But I couldn't move. I tried again, but was still unable to propel myself up the hill. It was clear to me at that point that I was going to die. I started to cry, knowing that not only would I never see my parents again, but that I wouldn't even get to open the rest of my presents. After three minutes of crying, I started to yell for help. I was convinced that this was a waste of time as the wind was very loud and my voice was very soft, but after what I assumed was fourteen hours, I was rescued by my father. He laughed the whole way back up the hill, while I continued to cry, sure I was going to have limbs amputated because of the cold. Note: It turns out I was only stuck at the bottom of the hill for five minutes and I did not, in fact, loose any limbs. I think I used the skis one time after that.

Holiday snow memory #3: I started kindergarten in 1979. It was a rough winter (as so many in the Midwest were and continue to be) and on the last day of school before winter break, a blizzard hit. The fine educators and administrators at Helena Elementary were ready for it though. They decided to close the school and send us all home early. So, I got all bundled up and started to walk the short way home in the cold. The cold got colder, with the wind howling and snow starting to fall. Long story short: I walked home from school in a blizzard. My face was all red from the cold and I was mad as hell when I finally made it home. Only my mom was there when I finally arrived; my dad was at the school waiting for me so he could drive me home.

I am cool

My friend Allyson has challenged me to write a 50000 word novel between Nov. 1, 2005 and Nov. 30, 2005. I think that should be cool. Once that's done, I'll probably change my name from erin_rach to yarnwhore and start a whole new blog about knitting. Because I am THAT COOL.