On Monday, I ended up with a "bacterial situation" in one of my eyes, that resulted in my right eye being painfully swollen shut and a trip to the ophthalmologist's office.
Sam, kudos to him, came and got me from work, and stayed with me until Andrew got home to take me to the doctor. Andrew, to his credit, offered to come into the exam room with me. I told him that I was a big girl, and if I needed him, I would call for him. (Really, all I needed was a ride to the doctor.)
I almost made Andrew take a picture of it, but he suggested that I do an artist's rendering of it, for the weak of stomach.
Jasmin, on a normal day:
Jasmin, on Monday, with her Freak Eye:
The resemblance is uncanny, right? In any case, the way the universe works, the worse I look, the better looking the firemen/paramedics/ or in this case, ophthalmologist is. Smokin' hot. Seriously.
(He was also incredibly good at his job, and had a sense of humor, which is important when you're dealing with someone like me. It seems that hiring wicked hot, super-good doctors is the trend with Kaiser. It gives all new meaning to "Thrive".)
The exchange went like this:
Dr. EyeCandy: Well, I've got good news for you. Me: I get to keep the eye? Dr. EyeCandy: You get to keep the eye. Me: Sweet.
He then prescribed my FAVORITE prescription to date- to go home and lay on the couch with my eyes shut. I may have professed my undying love for him. Two rest days, a few cold compresses, and some ointment later, my eyes are almost the same size and color again.
(By the way, I love ointment. I love that they're a historic cure, I love that there's an ointment for all that ails you, and most of all, I love to call 'ointment' 'oinkment'. Shades of my pig-loving childhood.)
It has been 16 days since my last post. I confess; I have been knitting. I have been spinning. I have been finishing. I have dyed. I have knit in public. I have even been (gasp!) hand processing wool.
I have finished not one, but TWO pairs of show notes socks. Here are the Andrew's Vanilla pattern in Abstract Fiber's "Newport":
I finished my Abby, which Kalendargirl says makes me look like Ginger Rogers:
I have cast-on, ripped out, cast-on, ripped out, and cast on my Sunshine Socks:
And now that Chloe has set in the sleeves and seamed the shoulders, I'm THIS CLOSE to finishing my Katarina:
So, I leave you with pictures, and I assure you, there are stories to go with these pieces. As my penance, I have been tasked with knitting a 5" garter collar and cuffs (with US 3/3.25mm needles) on the Katarina.
There is no TV event I look forward to more than the Tony Awards. I'm a giant geek, and while I completely understand that they aren't really representative of the whole New York theatre scene, it's a taste of fresh theater.
I love it. They also pick the HUNKIEST hosts, including my one and only Wolverine (Hugh Jackman), and this year, my first love (Neil Patrick Harris) will be hosting. Neil Patrick Handsome- I mean, Harris - is the origin of my affinity for spiky, "sticky-up" hair.
My six-year-old crush on him was the reason my parents let me stay up past my bedtime to watch Doogie Howser, Md. Though, in retrospect, I think it may have been my parents, telling me from an early age that marrying a doctor was all right with them. In any case, NPH has always held a special place in my heart, and now he's hosting the Tony's.
I have a morbid curiousity about "Shrek: The Musical", but my instincts warn me that where all the good books become mediocre movies, all good movies will become cheerful, sanitized, simplified musicals.
(Legally Blonde, anyone? Ok, short rant: they made Elle stupid in the play as a plot device to give Emmett the opportunity to tutor her, which COMPLETELY missed the spirit of the story. In case you weren't paying attention, the point is that she always WAS smart, just perceived to be otherwise.)
Where are the original thinkers? What's with all the revivals?
Ahem. But, I digress.
Neil has got some big shoes to fill - and you know what they say about guys who wear big shoes - and long legs to keep up with.
Me: [Spills drink.] Crap! Work Husband Mike: What? Me: I just spilled my drink down my sleeve. [Look down.] And down the front of my cardigan. Work Husband Mike: What was it? Me: Club soda. Work Husband Mike: Quick! Pour more club soda on it! It'll keep it from staining.
No, really. Except, that's not where my story starts.
On Saturday, Andrew and I loaded the dogs into the car to go get their shots updated. When we got there, the office wasn't busy and didn't close for over an hour, so we let the dogs sniff in the ivy around the office (Elphie's favorite thing to do, for the record).
Niki decided that he was done sniffing and was ready to go into the clinic, so Andrew took him in. Elphie, who experiences the world one blade of grass at a time, took a little longer. As Elphie was finishing, and started to head towards the clinic - no joke - out walks a nun. In a habit.
I was a little surprised; I've never seen a nun in person, and here was a nun, in the wild. I smiled, because, never having attended Catholic school or church, I don't have a Nun Thing.
"What a pretty dog," says Sister Mary Nun-in-the-Wild, "It looks just like another dog in the clinic."
"He's mine, too," I answer, "They're a matched set."
"Poor things. My dog shakes like a leaf when we come to the vet," says Sister Mary Nun-in-the-Wild, "She must be so nervous."
"Nope; my dogs don't mind coming to the vet," I say, as Elphie is pulling on the leash to go INSIDE, "Happy vet visits make all the difference."
"Happy vet visits?" asked Sister Mary Nun-in-the-Wild.
"Yeah, Dr. Johnson suggested them. The dogs come in, get weighed, get a cookie, we go home. All positive experiences, so they don't mind coming here," I answer.
"For Heaven's sake," says Sister Mary Nun-in-the-Wild, "What a good idea!"
[At this point, I giggle - on the inside- because somehow I find it POSITIVELY HILARIOUS that a nun would say "For Heaven's sake."]
We part ways, the dogs get boostered, everything goes smoothly, and I got to leave with a nun story. Winners all around!
