BRRRR Baby It's Cold Inside

WHN left my camera in his shorts and washed them. The camera still turns on, but it does not take pictures. Nice. So until I replace it, cellphone pics if pics at all!

December has been weird. The past 2 weeks I have been trying to talk WHN into going to see the 10 minute fake snow storm that Las Vegas Town Square puts on at 7pm nightly. WHN is not enthusiastic about driving to a mall, parking, wading through the crowds to get a good spot to wait for a fake snow storm. What a killjoy. Pretend climate changes are things I love about Vegas. I thought we could make a night of it and go see the new revamped fake volcano in front of Mirage too. Normaly the valley doesn't get snow snow-- maybe for a few minutes here and there. Yesterday, however, Vegas, got a real snow storm and we had 3-5 inches. Yes WHN was quite smug to have his own storm.

Personally December has been weird too, and I can't quite put my finger completely on it. We never turn the heat on in the house. Historically this has been because Petunia hated a warm house. She loved to sunbathe in 100+ weather, but the house, ALWAYS had to be cold. WHN said growing up in Ireland they never used the heater either. Not like I can fact check that tidbit, but I find it kind of doubtful, but for Petunia, if we were told to bring blocks of ice in, we would have. As for Ireland, they didn't have a microwave either, so anything is possible.

But now with Petunia gone, I still can't really bring myself to demanding we have heat. It's freezing inside believe you me, but just like I don't like to admit that it is kind of nice sometimes to not have to rush home to let her out, I don't want to be in a warm comfortable house thinking, "oh this is nice now." Don't get me wrong, I am complaining about the cold on a daily basis. I am huddled under my electric blanket, but I can't bring myself to demand we have the heater running. I realize now that I don't want to benefit from her absence.

Ironically, the month without a camera, is the month that I have had some major knitting output. Items to my non-knitting friends, I haven't sent yet because well... let's say that yes they do actually take pictures for me even though they don't really understand why I want pics of my work. I can really only get pics of them in it and not say a cool close up picture of it. I'll say that I want close-ups so I can document the yarn or the stitch, but you and I know that it's so I can be impressed with myself. Ah well, I need to put ego in check and send the stuff. Thankfully I have made a couple items of late that are going to a fellow kniter who will be quite happy to take pics.

I'm not sure what else is making December weird for me. I just know this month has been unsettling for me. I'm going to go with it and ride it out.

Kraft Mtn Loop

Just outside of Red Rock Canyon Park is Kraft Mountain which obscures probably one of the most spectacular Nevadan desert areas. Once past the first steep uphill mile, a whimsical color-filled area of yellow, red, purple striped and polka dot boulders.







Though there is no scrambling really, there are three areas where you have to sit and slide 15 feet down boulders. The first 2 slides, I was fine.


Slide 1- about 15 feet of FUN!


Second slide, look at that soft landing!

The third... OY! This one had an "ass groove," however, I had to sit to the left of the groove and leaning forward, push to the right to actually get into the groove. I know hard to picture. The groove provides a slide, but outside of this groove, it's a drop.

My arm wasn't as long as it should have been, but I did make it into the groove, but the shorts I was wearing rode, and now half of my right butt cheek is now at the Kraft Mountain Loop. Lovely.

I was going to warn about the nudity, but eh.



The combination of the intense colors and patterns with having to use rock slides, makes this hike magical (except for the ass part. That wasn't so magical inasmuch as painful.) Instead of being 20 minutes from The Strip, I felt like I was walking in the land of Lorax.

Mitchell Caverns

I haven't had the desire to go out or once out go home, but thankfully I've got some friends forcing me out and then distracting me once home.

Recently, I explored Mitchell Caverns about 2 hours away in California. Fascinating little story of how they became a tourist attraction. Basically some guy named Mitchell moved his wife out to the middle of nowhere CA to start a tourist site. I'm not sure how enthusiastic his wife was about the idea because as soon as he died, she sold the caves.


Path to the cavern


Inside

One of the rooms inside the cavern was used by Oliver Stone in The Doors to replicate a cave in New Mexico. Stone asked the park service if he could put cave paintings inside as the caves did in NM. Though he was told NO, he had them painted anyway. After the shoot, his efforts at cleaning the walls, made the paint sink in and deepen in color. The CA Parks Service demanded that he get the paint off the walls. Stone gave the same company that screwed up the first time a 2nd chance. They tried to sandblasters, but were caught and promptly banned from the caverns. So now one of the caverns is permanently marred with faux cave paintings.



This formation is called the organ, but oddly....


This is called the gnome. Whatever.

I've been looking to make a homemade face exfoliant for super dry skin. I found this one from beauty.about.com

Ingredients:

* 1 bag cat litter (must be marked '100 Percent Natural Clay')
* Water
* Drops of your favorite essential oil

Preparation:
Mix in a couple tablespoons of the cat litter with water and drops of oil (we find the oil helps make the experience somehow less kitty litter-ish)
Apply mask to face
Wash off after 15 minutes.

Getting by

Thank you so much for your condolences. The comments, emails, and calls meant so much. I really appreciate the support shown to me. I have to admit that it is still rough. I've avoided blogging not just because I haven't been in the mood because I've been sad, but I feared every post would be a treatise on it. Suffice it to say, the best way that I can describe how I am doing is if I have an overall bad day I think AND she's gone, and on good days I think, BUT she's gone.

However, I am working on it, as are the animals. Fred, who probably had as much of a hand in raising Petunia as we did, immediately became more needy with me. I don't know if he was mourning too, or if he saw an attention vacuum open and seized it. Sprinks new hobby is catching lizards to bring inside to torture and kill. MARVELOUS! So much for raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, Maria VonTrapp.


I recently cleaned out one of the ferret stashes, which is underneath the bottom drawer of a chest. Tif snagged all the fiber related things.


The silverware, baster, insole and razor "belongs" to Babette. I'm not sure who stole The Method cleaner, but good for them for going green. They were not in Mexico as the postcard they stole depicts. The candy could be either.


In the "what's new that's not depressing" and in the "HAH I told you knitting would get me places" departments, I was recently hired by the wardrobe department for a Vegas show currently playing on The Strip. (I could figure out how to say Strip show without meaning, stripshow, something completely different.) I've mentioned before that I have weekly midnight knitting with members of the wardrobe department from the show. They like spending these Thursday nights with me so much, they wanted even more me time. So to all the people in my life (like my in-laws) that thought my knitting, stash, and drinking for that matter, was a waste of time, suck it. I got an iconic Vegas job through knitting (and drinking)!

I leave you with Tiffany who has been absent from the blog for awhile. Don't tell Babette. They're competitive.

Farewell Petunia.

A rare picture of Petunia outside. Later she would refuse to pick up the ball on the ground because it was touching the ground.

Today part of me died along with my ever faithful Petunia. She went swiftly-- a quick seizure, and she was gone. I am still processing it. So much of my life was wrapped into the 40 lbs (yes, she had dropped the weight) of one neurosis after another.

Originally from Florida, she was meant to be a show dog, but because she didn't "thrive," she was taken to the vet who explained to her breeder that this puppy had to be on the only puppy in the house. We were happy to take and dote on her. She didn't like to go for walks, unless it was at the mall. Restoration Hardware, Pottery Barn, Pier One, as well as boutique stores and a few restaurants that I won't name welcomed her with open arms. Five years ago on the first night of Hanukkah, I was sitting with her at The LA Farmers Market (we were getting her Santa pics done) and a minion, converted her to Judaism. I doubt they were converting every dog they saw, that was just her hold she had on people. Everyone from tourists to paramedics abandoning their patients to local gang members we encounter at Pink's Hot Dog Stand wanted to take pictures with her.

One time someone asked me why almost all my pics of her were on a bed. The answer was because that was her favorite place. She never had a wanderlust. She was my little crazy canine Howard Hughes. She only liked to be outside if she could sunbathe or get attention from people. If it wasn't at least 90 degrees out, she would go outside for the bathroom, and immediately run in like the dog catcher was coming for her.

She was allergic to grass and 27 other items including cats. She snored incessantly, and she NEVER woke up in the single digits. People always commented that she didn't understand that she was a dog. She did always seem baffled and a little offended when other dogs wanted to sniff her. I tried for awhile to make her more dog-oriented, but I grew tired of being in a pack of dogs in the dog park just to look back seeing her sitting on the people bench with the other owners.

Her favorite thing in the world was to play with tennis balls- and only tennis balls. She could catch as good as any dog with a snout-- except she would only play inside-- for hours and hours. My fingers would pickle throwing some mangy ball. And if a ball went out of her reach she would growl and bark until I got the ball for her even if meant dislocating my shoulder, because whatever ball she picked up for the day, she insisted on sticking with it.

Tonight for the first time I can ever remember, we don't have the A/C on. We always kept the house at 62 degrees because that's the temperature she seemed happiest at. I miss having my teeth chattering while she pants because I tried to move the temp up to 63 degrees, just to have her stop as soon as I would turn it back down.

I miss her and everyone of her little idiosyncrasies... I love you, my sweet Petunia.

Hat Attack 2

I am such a follower sometimes. The knitters at my bar knitting were in the original Hat Attack, and though they were all killed off in the first round, they not only wanted to join HA2, but wanted me to also.

For those that don't know, Hat Attack is just like Sock Wars, but I think with more smack talk. My target is a LYS owner in Florida. My assassin is in San Francisco. I am basically dead knitter walking.

The "LV Assassins Guild" decided to have a knitting party the day the pattern was released (yesterday). As the back window will show, we were knitting for A LONG TIME. Not to go into gory exact times, but we watched Practical Magic, The Simpsons Movie, The Family Guy Movie, and Best In Show.


Emily, Jessica, Stefanie knitting start and end. Stefanie started with her hat from HA1 on for luck or inspiration or because it's great to wear a wool hat in 90 degree Vegas weather.


cupcakes baked by Stefanie

Because my assassin is a mere state away, my death is imminent; however, my tenacity would not allow me to go down without a killing:

Traveling rib= pain in my ass. I hate ribbing, so a completely ribbed hat, UG. However, if you want to make a ribbed hat, the pattern is free Ravelry download via Hat Attack search.

I want to say NEVER AGAIN, but I probably will be stupid enough to torture myself again for HA3.

Knitting Emergency

We got free tickets through House Seats to Showtime Boxing out at State Line (I know I know, PRIMM) at Buffalo Bills. WHN loves boxing, and I can veg and knit, so I don't mind so much going. I do get quite a few odd, look at the sociopath looks while a knit and watch the pummeling.



I love knitting measuring things. I can never have enough measuring tapes or rulers, and this was so true Friday night because I didn't have a thing to measure with!! I search through my bag a million times as if my thoughts would create one. I'm near a point at a change in the pattern, so I am getting desperate. I look for something I could use that I knew the measurement of, and WHN suggests a dollar bill.

I ask WHN if he knows how long one is? He says 6". I ask how does he know? He replies, "What's 6" and makes a woman happy? A 100 hundred dollar bill" As much as I would like to rely on a old chauvinistic joke, I think I should confirm this source. I search through my phone list with the criteria 1) knitter so would understand and probably near knitting so near tape measure 2) even if thought was a pain in the ass, would still measure a buck for me 3) my time zone. Dani fit all these criteria! She came through too, and I could fold up the bill for smaller measurements. She totally saved my cookies! Now if she could just teach WHN a better dirty joke.


I think I am going to measure everything that I keep in my purse and label the measurements and stick on the objects.

We had 7 matches. Some quicker than others.


One was a female match for a belt. Melissa Hernandez vs Ella Nunez. Melissa enters the ring to Michael Jackson and dances for a few minutes which I think random, but her opponent is not amused.




Don't hit me!

Thanks Dani, you saved my night. Not knitting at boxing, would have done in my head.