We are here, the movers are not.  And Hermie, who has suddenly become a people lover, is biting me because I’m typing instead of petting her.

Moving sucks a big, rotten one.  We hate living this sparse existence.  Convenience foods (can I just say thank fuck for Kashi and Amy’s?) and fast food, sleeping on an air mattress, granted, it’s a really nice, thick one, but it’s still a fucking air mattress, and not knowing how to find the fucking gas station is all grating on my nerves.  Jat tried to calm my ire and frustration by buying me Spore for the DS.  Thank fuck.  I needed a distraction and since my yarn and dyeing equipment hasn’t gotten here yet, I can’t do any work, between that and living in this dark fucking house, a girl could go crazy.

I tried venturing out yesterday and got lost as fuck.  I had Jat’s GPS, but the fucking whore kept trying to send me down this dead end road that, as it got toward the end, became less and less paved and the trailers on the sides of the road got thicker and thicker.  I kept expecting either or both a shotgun barrel to appear out a window or banjo music to start up.  We are in the sticks, y’all.  The nearest gas station is 15 minutes away and with my useless wandering I’m not entirely sure I have enough gas to make it to the gas station.  I kept driving yesterday thinking I’d hit a gas station eventually.  Ha, we’re not in Ga anymore, babe.  The closest thing I found to a gas station was a car dealership, not quite what I was needing.

We have at least one big fat groundhog that lives in our back yard.  I tried to get pictures of him but he took off before I could.  He’s huge, probably bigger than Spanky.  I had no idea they were cat sized gerbils.  I thought they were slightly larger than your common squirrel.  Whatever, that fucker could take me down.

Rhett has been delightedly eating all the fallen apples and pears on the ground in the backyard.  The fact he hasn’t had an assplosion of shit is a testament to his steel lined stomach.  He usually comes in at night with at least one in his mouth so he can munch in leisure.

Here are pics of the house and the yard.  I can’t get this shithole primed fast enough.  The house is great, but the paint makes me fucking hate it.

We really did.  We made an offer on this one.  It’s perfect for us.  The basement has almost the exact same square footage as the house does.  And a sink, a big one.  I’m going to have one hell of an art studio.

It sits on a little over 2 acres.  On one side is corn.  On the other side is mountains.  The yard has apple and cherry trees and is beautifully landscaped with lots of flowering plants and vines.

I’m going to get to have chickens.

There is a hot tub on the back deck.  Did I mention you can’t see any neighbors from the back and only one neighbor’s yard is visible from the front yard?  Privacy, I haz it.

The house was built in 1982, but I didn’t hear the first creak on any of the floors or on the steps going down to the basement.

The woman who painted it was apparently fucking color blind.  That will be the first thing I do.

Riding around looking at houses is more exhausting than I realized.  I’m still brain dead.  I went to the grocery store today to pick up bachelorette food and couldn’t figure out why the damn place was so fucking crowded.  It wasn’t until I was checking out and heard a cashier wish a customer a ‘good weekend’ that I realized it was Saturday.

Jat is in VA now, he starts his new job Monday.  He’ll be working a 4 on/4 off schedule, which will be nice, because that means he’ll be home more.  I stayed up as late as I could stand it last night because I hated the idea of going to bed alone for the first of many nights.

I miss my husband.  Damnit.

I hope they accept our offer.  I really do.

It’s happy crazy funtime around here lately, kids.

First, I’ve been spinning and knitting like a bat out of hell lately. I dyed this with Paas egg dye tablets and it’s spinning up really pretty. Pastels, which are so not my thing, but I’ll probably ply and knit socks out of it anyhow.

I’m also working on socks for Mom. It’s her Mother’s Day present. I let her pick the yarn and the pattern and they’re coming along nicely. I have about twice as much done as the photo shows. I need to get a new photo.

The yarn is Plymouth Happy Feet and the pattern is from Charlene Schurch’s More Sensational Socks. The stitch pattern is the Stansfield 14 from that book. I’m knitting them on 2’s.

I’ve also got a surprisingly hopping little business going on Etsy. I started making and selling snag-free stitch markers for knitters, but most specifically for sock knitters. We need us some tiny st markers, so I made a bunch and they’re selling well as is my sock yarn, surprisingly. I’m selling there to earn money for SAFF. I have a room booked through Knitch for the whole weekend. I’m sending in my registration to take Schurch’s Sock Options class. How awesome to meet the woman herself. I will be all fangrrl and ask her to sign my book, yes I will. Kelly is going with me, so that’ll be fun. We’ve asked to room together. Knitch rented out the entire Inn for the weekend, so it’ll be nothing but fiber folks running around high on wool fumes all weekend.

Since SAFF is still months away I’ve taken this month’s profit and sunk it back in for more supplies so I can have more stock and make more money. I plan on having a hellafun time at SAFF and spending recklessly without guilt.

We also had some nature visits lately. First I caught a huge garter snake in the backyard. I took him in so he could stink all over Jat. Then we let him go. We also had a pair of cardinals build a nest right next to the front porch. I got pictures of the baby right after he hatched.

I cut a small hole in my porch screen so I could stick my camera lens through it and get some decent photos. Lot of fucking good it did. Turns out it doesn’t matter. I went out there to check on him yesterday and he was gone

I ended up picking up my nephews at the bus stop on their last day of school Friday. Poor Ben, he was sobbing like his little heart was breaking. I asked him what was wrong and he said, through sobs, “I’m going to miss my teacher and my friends and I don’t want school to end!” We made it a little better with lemonade on the way home, though. I’m still shocked at how small he is. When I see him from a distance I always wonder, “Who is that 5 year old with no supervision??” It takes me a few seconds to realize it’s my 7 year old nephew. How sad.

In my studio class we’re doing digital ink and paint.  It’s a lot of fun, I’m using the hell out of my graphics tablet (about time) and having fun.  It’s probably fun because I have good equipment on a good computer and I’ve been fucking around with digital art for over a decade now so I already know a ton of tricks.  We’re developing a character.  I kind of like my little guy.  We’ve only just started adding color, so that part looks like shit.

In other news, we may be moving to Virginia. Jat is interviewing for a cushy fucking job up there in a couple of weeks. We’d have to buy a house, who the fuck would rent to us with all these animals other than my own mom? No one! We’d have to MOVE ALL OUR SHIT! That is an overwhelming proposition to consider. I’d be moving all 12 animals up there myself. That is also a daunting thought. I’m a ‘go with the flow see where life leads you’ kind of person, so I’m open to the possibility, but I don’t want to go. Everything I know is here. I’ve lived here practically my entire life, all my friends are here. Friends I’ve had since high school for fuck’s sake! My knitting/spinning groups are here, I have a happy knitting home not 5 minutes from my house. I’d have to start over with everything. I’d have to find a new internist who understands PCOS. A new stylist! Ack! Oh fuck, I’m going to have to ask my colorist to come with me though. It took me a while to find her and I don’t want to lose her. Shit, the same could be said for my stylist. Goddamnit.

But, stepping out of one’s comfort zone is how one grows as a person, or some shit. I know it’s good for me to expand my horizons, but that doesn’t mean I have to sing and dance through the process.