This morning, I decided to blog about my first knitting experience.
I like to try new things. Like, when I turned 40, I learned to play the violin. Badly. But I was able to play "Happy Birthday" to Hubby on his birthday. (Take that, Philadelphia public school system, who told me I was qualified to take violin lessons, but -- Sorry -- we have no violins.)
So, thirty-five years after my aunt promised to teach me to knit, then promptly passed away, I sat with a bunch of ladies and learned to knit. It took a few . . . okay . . . a lot of tries till I could do the basic stitch. (Kind of like learning to tie one's shoes.) After 1-1/2 hours of intense concentration and LOTS of mistakes, I had four lovely rows.
Even though I might not have "accomplished" much, I had a blast. My friend Nancy and I cracked up over our complete ineptitude. It was all a barrel of laughs until some pinch-lipped lady examined Nancy's work, shook her head and clucked her tongue. Who asked you, Judgemental Lady?! We're not doing rocket science here. We're making flippin' pot holders!
Well, I'm assuming that after much struggle and perhaps a little blood, there might be a flippin', lopsided potholder by, oh, 2012.
So I wanted to share the photo of my lovely four rows with you, but my new, much-loved Mac let me down. Iphoto didn't recognize my photo. What?! I know it was a paltry four rows of stitches, but not to even recognize it? Well, I never!
So . . . instead of spending the morning doing what I'd intended -- ahem, WRITING -- I decided I couldn't possibly pen a single word until I figured out why I couldn't upload my flippin' photo.
This landed me at the Genius Bar at the Apple store at the mall. Are they giving out free heroin there or something? That place was bursting with annoying customers, most of whom were both younger and smarter than I am.
But I was smart enough to make an appointment, so I had to wait only half an hour for a Genius. Thank goodness. Only half an hour to listen to an inane conversation about Lady Gaga that for some unknown reason, required the use of the F-word about four hundred and seventeen times.
Guess what? Turns out the Genius guy was not actually a genius. He was just a guy. And he was unable to capture my fabulous four rows of knitting. He said something like, "Third party blah, blah, blah. Can't read photo. Blah. You're screwed. Blah." Or at least, that's what I heard.
And because I HATE GOING TO THE MALL (I could not possibly make that font large enough), I never know where to park and ALWAYS end up on the exact opposite side from where I need to be. This meant I had to actually walk through the entire mall, which is only slightly less painful than getting root canal without anesthesia or listening to two potty-mouthed teens discussing Lady Gaga. I mean, who can stand all those mall people with their perfect hair and just-so makeup and spiky high heels -- and that's just the guys!
The whole experience sucked out a little piece of my soul. (I need a stroll in a forest to regenerate it.)
So, back home, when I should have been, you know, WRITING, I googled the problem and found it was probably just the card inside my camera. I'll need to reformat it, blah, blah, blah, Lady Friggin' Gaga, blah.
I popped out the card and took a picture with just the camera and -- Tah dah! -- it worked.
But I'm sort of pissed at myself for spending practically my whole precious day on this stupid problem, when I should have been, you know, composing the great american tween novel . . . or strolling in a forest . . . or cruising to Alaska with Paul Rudd. (And by Paul Rudd, of course I mean my most wonderful, excellent and exalted Hubby, who got to hear "Happy Birthday" on the violin one sorry morning.)
So, I hope you enjoy the photo of those flippin' four rows of stitches! I've gotta go now. I think I hear Paul Rudd calling. Oh nevermind. It's just my kids, screaming for dinner.
Hey, anyone want to buy a barely-finished pot holder? Yeah, I didn't think so.