Greatest meeting ever.

As I sat on my couch, knitting yet another mitten, I stared at the TV in a mixture of shock, horror and just a little bit of intrigue.

Jackass II was playing.

I cannot say that I have ever really been a fan of the Jackass franchise, but I will admit that there was a brief period of time (specifically the fall of 2002) when I had a small crush on Partyboy.

For me, most of 2002/2003 was spent in my friend Rob's basement, sitting on a couch with a bunch of twenty-year-old dudes while they drank beer and played video games. I learned a lot during this time in my life, like how to shotgun a beer, that Snoop Dogg had his own pornographic video in which he did not actually engage in sexual relations with anyone but did often offer commentary on the sexual escapades of others, and that twenty-year-old guys will have sex with pretty much anyone/anything at any given time.

But I digress... This post is supposed to be about midgets (only you don't know that yet).

So, as I sat there (on my couch... knitting a mitten... watching Jackass II), Weeman appeared on the screen, naked and drinking a beer. He entered a room where some sort of business meeting appeared to be taking place, climbed up on a table, walked across said table, climbed down off of the table and then exited the room.

"I wish that would happen at one of the meetings I go to," I said out loud to no one. "I would like to be the one taking minutes when something like that happened."

2:00 pm - Meeting begins.
2:03 pm - Gordon suggests seeking new donor engagement opportunities that contain more of an interactive educational component.
2:07 pm - Naked midget enters room and climbs on to table.
2:08 pm - Naked midget exits room.
2:10 pm - Susan suggests cutting department costs by eliminating hard copies of newsletters aimed at younger demographics and sending electronic copies only instead.


I also am really into loose leaf tea now...

Lately, I have been knitting like a mother fucker. Actually, truth be told I do not know how a mother fucker knits. It would be rather insensitive of me to assume that all mother fuckers knit or that all mother fuckers have the same level of skill when it comes to knitting, so I really should have thought more about my word choice in that first sentence.

Let's start again.

Lately, I have been knitting like an individual who has very clearly defined goals when it comes to what they hope to accomplish through their knitting and semi-specific ideas about the timeline that they would like to accomplish these goals within.

There. That's better.

I was inspired to take up knitting when I was forced to discard a pair of mittens that had been purchased  by a friend on a trip to Poland and gifted to me upon her return. My mittens were made of big, scratchy wool and smelled vaguely of kielbasa. I loved them immediately.

Parting with those mittens very nearly broke my heart, so I vowed to find a way to fill the void they left.

Or maybe I just got bored one day and decided that knitting seemed like a neat thing to do and that I should give it another shot. I can't really remember, but the end result is that I knit now.

To date, I have completed one pair of mittens (that may or may not look like they were made for someone with severely misshapen hands), 1/6th of a scarf and half of a second pair of mittens (with marked improvement when it comes to craftsmanship).

I have zero ambition to move increase my range beyond mittens, scarves and maybe hats. 



I once woke up in the middle of a dream about zombies to go pee and spent the next ten minutes sitting on my toilet trying to decide what my best course(s) of action would be if I suddenly found myself in the midst of a zombie attack.

"Wait a minute," I said to Hudson as he lay sleeping in the bathtub, "zombies are not real. Why am I sitting here trying to come up with a legitimate plan for a zombie attack?" He groggily lifted his head up and stared at me suspiciously before sighing.

"Whatever, Hudson. Who are you to judge me?" I asked him. Hudson pees on himself practically every time he goes to the bathroom and still runs into walls when he gets excited. Also, his favourite place to hide is under a glass table, so I am guessing that any plan he'd come up with to escape a zombie attack is probably not going to be that successful.