Tuesday, December 06, 2005

 

Assault and Batteries, or Lack Thereof


No, I haven't been assaulted, relax. I also have no batteries (unless I choose to take them out of the Battery Operated Boyfriend and I think we all know how soon that's going to happen, don't we?) so there will be few, if any, photos in this post.

The assault to which I refer is the assult to my senses caused by the great pot of fleece soaking stenchfully in my bathtub. MAN, that stuff was DIRTY! The first wash, when poured down the drain, resembled nothing more than tea with milk in it. That's pretty dark, so I think you can imagine the odor. Not all of that brown was from spilled milkshakes, people!

It's in its third bath now and most of the brown (and most of the lanolin) is gone. I had to wash the last several laundry-baskets-full so quickly that I was only able to give them two washes and they're still pretty stinky, so I'm determined to do the rest of it slowly and thoroughly.

No matter how bad any of it smells, I have a feeling it will not reach the heights of reekage attained by The Harlot's friendly goat.

It's amazing either of us have any friends left, judging by how we smell.

Anyhow, this is some of the wool that was outside my front door and which got drenched. I didn't manage to wash all of it, as a) it was a monumental task and b) I'm a great big slacker. (I would also like to note here that I haven't received one word of apology about the soaking. I do believe my new landlord is some sort of ass-flavoured epithet, which is a dreadful pity after starting out so well. Maybe it's contagious or something.)

I had, of course, no intention of washing wool tonight. I had the evening all planned out; spin some more chunky wool and finish the hat that isn't going to fit me, spin some of Kermit:




Card and start spinning the glorious kid mohair I have earmarked for a couple of cabled headbands:


it's actually purple

and start on some handspun for Ann.

I'm thinking I might have some sort of "I can't actually do it if I've planned it" disease. Is it just the start to the Christmas season or am I an asslemming?

Don't answer that one.

Comments:
Dude, asslemming is the best word ever. Right up there with fuckmuppet :)

Oh, and Yarn Harlot gave me a friggin heart attack by mentioning Christmas is 2 weeks away.

I'm wasting good knitting time at work :(
 
ummm...is an asslemming a lemming that falls into your ass? Or out of it? Or is it a lemming that falls over a the cliff ass-first?
 
Oh, you still have friends. We can't possibly smell you all the way here in NY.
 
Perhaps an asslemming is the very *first* lemming off the cliff - you know, the one completely excited to be first for ONCE, "look at me! I'm ahead of everyone!"...then whack, the distant, very solid ground prevents any more gloating.

Not that I have any experience of any kind with this phenomenon. Nope.
 
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