Saturday, August 06, 2005
Oy Vey!
What a time I've had of it the last few days. It's been long periods of utter hysteria broken by even longer periods of really good stuff.
I'm so exhausted I think I need a vacation to recover from my vacation.
Thursday, we got up, got all ready to go and let me be a faithful little Harloteer, got half-way to the border and then realized that although we had been long-sighted and had packed for every possible combination of weather and/or social occasion, had packed almost the entire bathroom and, somehow, at least eleventy-seven knitting projects and books:
(and I wondered why my bag was so heavy?)
that we had somehow managed to neglect packing the birth certificate of Her Surreal Highness, without which we would not be allowed out of Canadia and into Americaland. Although I argued long and hard with my husband that really, we could leave her at the border and just pick her up on the way back, that she was small and wouldn't eat much at all and that they really couldn't possibly mind, he talked me into coming back to the house and getting it, by which time we hit the rush hour traffic and although I drove like the Assbeagles of Acrylic were chasing me, we showed up at the Weaving Works 45 minutes after Stephanie had started talking, by which time she was into the question and answer period.
I suppose he was right, as although the wedding wasn't really heavily into the smiting part of god's agenda, I think we all know exactly where I would have been spending eternity should I have deprived gramma and (now) grandpa of the cutest flower girl in all the world.
So anyhow, I sneak into the exceptionally overheated meeting room, to join the 70 other people there (oh, yes, and I was scared I'd be all alone?), sit down elegantly and with a minimum of cussing on the floor near the door, and whip out the Dreaded Green Dishcloth on which to knit while listening to Stephanie explain all about Memphis (really, you've got to hear it from her, I almost peed!) and how the fibre for Joe's gansey is somehow possessed as it never decreases in volume no matter how much she spins, etc.
After we all stood up to go downstairs for some gorgeous cake, delicious iced lemonade and a little book-signing action, I introduced myself. Well, I thought I did. "Hi, I'm Janice," says I. "Hello," says Stephanie. "I'm sorry I was so late, but we had, well, issues getting here," I explained, red-faced. She asked me what those issues were, I explained, she forgave me and we went on our merry way. I was sort of startled -- she seemed a little off-hand or perhaps preoccupied, and of course we all know this whole gathering was all about me. I went downstairs and bought the bookbookbook, and then stood in line patiently to get it signed, while chatting with those around me. After a while we all put on name tags, so that she would know who to make the signature out to. Instead of "Janice", I wrote "Rabbitch" on mine, and then all of a sudden all of the ladies around me were saying, "Oh you're Rabbitch! Stephanie was looking for you at the beginning, asking if you were here and if you'd made it down; we're so glad you got here!
It finally sunk into my little noggin that very few of the people I've met online think of me as "Janice". Obviously I'm a total dork, and should have said "Rabbitch" right off the top. Heck, even the stalker I went out for drinks with (Hi Suzanne!) called me Rabbitch as we were drinking and knitting.
When I finally got to the front of the line Stephanie looked at the post-it note I had stuck to the front of the book and looked at amazement at this twit who had introduced herself by the wrong name, told me how glad she was that I had made it there after all and signed the book. I got the very nice lady who was in line behind me to take a photograph of us:
The two very nice ladies who were in line in front of me were also in that picture but I cut them out because I don't know who they were (even though one who was very cute and who was knitting a very nice sock was kind enough to be my moral conscience and refused to let me buy yarn) and I don't have their permission to post their pictures. (Hi nice ladies! If you read this, I have a good picture of you that I'd be happy to post if you say it's ok! Thanks for not letting me go mental and spend all of my money on yarn!)
I will point out at this time that the nice lady who was behind me was also assigned to be my moral conscience, as I know I'm weak and need at least two people to save me from wanton excess, and although she understood completely that my husband is overweight and I would actually be performing a service both to him and to the healthcare system in general if I spent all of the money for his next month's food on yarn, she also refused to even let me look at the silk that was calling my name from the shelves near the front of the room. Thank you other nice lady who likely isn't reading this, because although I told you I blog about knitting I did also warn you that I cuss like a trooper and that this isn't exactly a family-oriented blog.
Anyhow, due to the twisted sense of humour of the fates, I got to spend oh, at least a minute and a half with Steph, so now we're of course bosom buddies. I was so flustered by the lateness and the misunderstanding and all, I actually forgot that I had brought her a present. I snuck back when she was talking to someone else and tucked the morally-bankrupt little skein of purple yarn beside her camera on the table, so I hope she took it with her rather than thinking it was some sort of horrible joke that someone had given the store as a sample and leaving it behind.
I didn't have the courage to give her one of the dreaded green dishcloths, one of which had quite a good time driving around Point Defiance the next day.
Pictures of water and birds and the dishcloth to follow. No more pictures of the wedding as, although I was "the official photographer" and got quite a lot of gorgeous shots, it isn't my day to share and I have at least a tiny bit of propriety left to me.
Tiny bit.
Tomorrow I shall share my theory of how if you feel like reading a book and drinking some beer and if all of your family is asleep and you're sharing the same hotel room, that it is perfectly acceptable to put a pillow on the bathroom floor and sit there and have a couple of drinks while reading the entire book and trying not to laugh loud enough to wake your kid.
I have class. Who cares if it's mostly third?
# posted by Rabbitch @ 11:57 PM 
Comments:
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Yeah you met the Harlot. And of course since she knew who you were, you will be friends for life. I am sure once she gets to settle down from her race around the globe, she will be able to tell you so.
:)
:)
My daughter and I managed to get to the Vancouver based Harlot gathering and enjoyed it very much. Unlike you, we weren't able to wait around long enough to become her Bestest Bosom Buddies. We did get photos for a decent blog entry though. ;-)
This is 'the very nice lady who was behind me in line' in Seattle. See, I DO read your blog now that I know it exists. Even with the potty mouth. Gotta have something good to laugh about (besides YarnHarlot).
# posted by 
: 11:09 AM
: 11:09 AM
Hallooo Rabbitch,
It's Pooh Bear, I'm here to destroy your garden....
Wait, wrong story.
This is one of "the two very nice ladies who were in line in front of me," the one with the sock.
Go ahead and put the other half of the picture up. It was lovely meeting you.
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It's Pooh Bear, I'm here to destroy your garden....
Wait, wrong story.
This is one of "the two very nice ladies who were in line in front of me," the one with the sock.
Go ahead and put the other half of the picture up. It was lovely meeting you.
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