Google-Mania

Someone found me through a google search of "fat ankles." I kid you not. Google "fat ankles" and you'll hit on me somewhere around page 8. Who knew?

Speaking of people finding my site, can I just give all my readers in Turkey a shout-out? Thanks for the continuing support! Not sure if you find me on purpose or because in Turkish "neighborknitter" means "perfect chocolate cake recipe" or "free money" or maybe "half-naked women." Either way, it's lovely to feel international!

I've been trying to sort out my yarn stash from taking over our living room and have paired it nicely down to this:




The rest of it is now here:



Or here in my yarn graveyard, waiting to be untangled and rolled into neat balls:



I discovered, the first time we moved, and our realtor told me to give the house a "good deep cleaning" I'm not so much a "deep cleaning" as a "shove it all under the bed or into the closet" type housekeeper. At some point, probably when we have no guest bed left, I'll be forced to sort it out into tidy plastic containers obtained from the Home Depot. That, or else good-bye home office.

I've discovered dozens of half-used and, worse yet, untouched balls of cotton all over the place. I'm dishcloth crazed, what can I say? I've developed a feeling towards my dishcloth cotton like a crack addict* to his crack- er, drugs. I think I don't want anymore, I think I can deny the itch, and then I find myself tossing a few extra balls of cotton into my purchases at my LYS, babbling about other projects, all the while dying to get home, log onto my Mystery Dishcloth KAL and start the newest project in the privacy of home, away from the prying eyes of the socks/sweater/hat knitting public. Maybe not exactly the same kind of addiction (I don't think there's any meetings for us dishcloth knitters), but I think it's clear I don't want to do it, I just can't help myself.

On that note, I think my Mystery Dishcloths are a little like those pictures that were so popular in the early nineties, the ones of thousands of colorful dots that if you do something with your eyes you're supposed to see a motorcycle. Remember those? I never could do it. I'd think I had relaxed my pupils, or whatever was supposed to happen, and instead I was just staring cross-eyed at a picture of dots, with tears of eye-strain starting to slide down my face, ruining my thirteen-year-old bright blue mascara. These dishcloths are the same to me, minus the turquoise Maybelline. So I ask you, are you callin' that a turkey?



'Cause I'm not seein' it.

*Do you think if someone googles "crack addict" "free money" or "half-naked women" they'll get my page? There's concern around Knitter house we're getting the wrong sort of reputation.