Stitch and Bitch

I thought the title of this post was quite appropriate since I plan to talk a little stitch first and then talk a little bitch!

On the stitch side of things, I've taken on a Christmas knitting project just when I said I would not!! I've decided that the nieces and nephews (who range in age from 4 to 9 years) just couldn't live without hand knit hats. I'm going to decorate them with some of those fancy buttons from Michael's. You know the buttons that look like flowers, or dinosaurs, or smiley faces? Those ones. I'm just trying to work out head sizes right now, and I can't well go calling the mothers and asking "would you measure your child/childrens head(s) please?" Well, I could, but then I'd feel pressured to finish these projects, and that's just all I need--more pressure. So...I'm going to trust Ann Budd and here Handy Book of Patterns to rescue me.

Let's move on to the bitch now, shall we? Out of respect of the tender constitutions of some of my readers, I shall try to keep the profanity at a minimum.

Have you ever noticed just how many *bleep*holes there are out there driving? I noticed quite a few on my relatively short (three hour) drive home from the beach today. I'm not talking interstate highway driving *bleep*holes but back country road driving *bleep*holes. You just expect to see more *bleep*holes on the interstate, I believe. I'm talking the kind of *bleep*holes who tailgate you because driving 60 mph in a 55 zone just isn't fast enough. I'm talking the kind of *bleep*holes who zooooom past you doing at least 80 in that same 55 mph zone (passing you on a solid yellow line section of the road most of the time). Shall we even get into the *bleep*holes who just tailgate you and don't have the decency to pass you? My question for all you who are in such a blessed hurry is "Why didn't you leave sooner if you need to get there so fast? Then you could slow down and not endanger those of us who just want to get home alive."

I wish I had a laser gun mounted on the front of my car. One on the back might be nice, too. If I had a laser gun, I'd zap these *bleep*holes into oblivion. It would also be nice to have a direct line to the cops so that I could call them and tell them about the insane driver in the high-dollar black car with Florida tags who's weaving in and out of lanes because he's so hot to pass the car in front of him, or about the blur in the silver bullet car who's going at least 80 or faster in a 55 zone. Maybe I'm doomed to hell for taking secret pleasure (or not so secret pleasure) in seeing said *bleep*holes pulled over to the side of the road chatting with the nice man with the blue lights mounted on his car. I hope he gives them a nice little piece of paper so that they can remember their journey for a long time to come.

The highways aren't the only place you'll find *bleep*holes, though. I know that they frequent my beach, because they leave their trash behind them. Pigs. No wait, I don't want to insult my porcine friends, so I think I'll stick with *bleep*holes to describe the beach litterers. Straws, bottle caps, beer cans, and cigarette butts are not naturally occurring items that you'd expect to find on the beach. Take your damned trash with you when you leave, you *bleep*hole. I get sick and tired of having to clean up after you. I happen to own a piece of this island, and I want it kept clean. More importantly than that, I realize that I share this planet with a lot more life than myself. I respect the turtles, the fish, the dolphins, the birds, and all the other life forms that call the beach and ocean home. I don't want a freaking *bleep*hole endangering the lives of these poor, innocent creatures.

End of bitching.

I want to end on a funny note tonight. Daughter and I were driving along yesterday when I noticed a dead deer by the side of the road. In usual fashion I said "Poor dead deer." Daughter didn't miss a beat before she replied "How much money does it have? Does it have a few bucks in its pocket, or was it robbed by racoons?" I asked her what she meant by this, and she replied "Well, you said it was a poor dead deer, so I just wondered how poor." Little smart ass. She's following in Mom's footsteps, I see.