Prepare yourself for a tall glass of whine.
I’m in a mood. A bad one. Happens from time to time, this time, this day, it beyond sucks.
I have many a reason. My head hurts. I’m irrationally irritated at people who have the audacity to breathe my air today. I may have finally run out of blogging content (after only 2 months - horray!) or at least interesting blogging content. (Olaf warned me it would happen, I pshawed him- citing never running out of things to talk about EVER.)
Still no sign of the Baby Bobbi Bear pattern I ordered from kpixie.com freakin’ two weeks ago. I’ve refrained from mentioning the store outright because admittedly- I can be impatient. But now at the 2 week mark I have to tell y’all how I’ve been shamed by their customer service rep that stated that since I purchased only a pattern and not any yarn, it had to travel by special box that can only be hand stamped-(by pixies?) and shipped via what I can only assume must be horseback- from Maine to Georgia. Had I thrown in a hank of yarn, I understand, it would have arrived lightning swift. Now, I haven’t bitched about it yet to customer service, because it is a freakin’ pattern for-crying-out-loud and I loathe to be rude, and I am aware that my intense displeasure might be a slight side effect of PMS. Possibly. Maybe. Where are those chocolate Teddy Grahms I opened yesterday? I know they are hiding in my desk like little sweet, crunchy, refugees, dammit.So with the stealth knitting and no new pattern, and zero desire to work on anything else- I’ve got practically nothin’ to share with the universe of any knitting merit today. Poop.
Now I must vent about a personal issue. No names have been used to protect the terminally selfish. I helped a dear friend with a project recently (2 months ago?) -my creative services were solicited to assist in the creation of some hand-painted detailing for a very special 1st room- something I have done once or twice for special friends. In this particular case, the artful endeavor took many hours and was highly micro-managed by said friend. It wasn’t the most ‘fun’ I’ve had in a while, but in the service of a friend- I was present and accounted for and totally up to the task- although I did have other things that needed doing on that particular day that were put off until much later. I was very pleased- nae- proud- with my work- as I believed her to be, since, as previously stated, not only was the content and placement of said decorative painting carefully dictated, every color choice and brush stroke was painstakingly ‘managed.’ (I changed one particular color thrice- but who is counting?) Apparently a few days later, said friend tried to ‘fix’ something on this piece, they screwed it up, and painted over it entirely. Then at my last visit I was told that it “didn’t make the cut.” Holy ouch! WAY ouch! Before I could utter even one wavering note of displeasure to express the deepness of my hurt I was again told that “wasn’t it the time that we got to share so much more meaningful than the wall decoration itself?”
Well- um- since you asked- how about- No. I did what I was implicitly asked to do and didn’t deviate or express a modicum of artisitc individuality, not to mention the fact that it was an arduous day-sucking, micro-managed task from hell that I have nothing to show for but the pain of “it didn’t make the cut.” SO- how about a big fat-fucking-NO?
I haven’t been able to bring myself to call this person quite yet - I suppose I’m still a tad bruised pissed- not that they would notice right now.
Wow, I feel better already. I guess I had stuff to talk about after all.
Adieu.
Update: I’m probably just melancholy because TODAY is the 30th anniversary of Elvis Aaron Presley’s death. I’m going to have a peanut butter and nanner sammich and some antidepressants with a red wine chaser for dinner in honor of ‘the King.’ (Just kidding about the antidepressants, Mom.)
