How a Geek spends a Friday night

• Come home after yet another twelve hour day bearing Boston Market salad, drop salad on the kitchen floor and fling myself on top of it in an effort to prevent the lactose intolerate westie from scarfing down blue cheese.

• Realize there's more then enough salad left for dinner, breathe a sigh of relief but become leary of fluffy westie's intent stare.

• Sort through a whole week's worth of mail while eating. (Salad dressing on credit card statements are almost like flipping off the credit card companies so I decide not to worry about it.) Mumble obscenties about all the cash advance checks sent through the mail that I'll never use and make an extremely large pile of junk to shred. Out of twenty pieces of mail, there are only three I will keep. Mumble obscenties a little louder this time.

• Shred cash advance checks. Momentarily forget that the sound of the shredder works westie up into a complete tizzy. Remember this when he comes bravely charging toward shredder with plushie gingerbread toy and bumps the basket. Decide to put him outside because the combination of shredder and doggie can't be good.

• Start taking pictures of socks for blog. Get distracted, go upstairs. Realize after twenty minutes the westie is still exiled to the frozen tundra named Michigan and briefly panic. Realize that for the amount of lettuce he managed to procure during the salad debacle, an extended potty break might not be a bad thing.

• Decide to retrieve westie before he becomes a doggie popsicle. Note that he throws me a filthy look when he trots into the house. Think to myself, Tough. Feel smug because I told the dog off in my head. Wonder if that's normal.

• Realize that after a week of overtime, my mind is turning to goo. Decide to tinker with socks since these came in the mail today.
  

• The sock yarn on the left is for Leann's sox. (That's how she spells it.) Wonder how many knitters get to actually choose yarn for gift socks that match the recipient's hair. Giggle snort because the yarn is named Twilight Zone and couldn't be more appropriate.
  

• The yarn on the right is for mom's socks. Its called Frog in a Party Dress and came from here. Worry because I am strangely attracted to this colorway. It contains evil pink and I must resist.

• Realize at the rate I am going in terms of sock knitting, it could be summer by the time I finish socks for Leann and mom. This is bad. This is wool yarn. Maybe winter will last into July.

• Comprehend that Leann will curse me for life if winter lasts that long. Decide they'll just have to wait until I get the damn things finished and they'll like it. So there! Take that!

• Review progress on first pair of socks.
  

• Frantically search for sheet that shows how many more rows of gussets I need to do because I did all this on tuesday night and my memory for things not involving springs and plastic molded parts have gone to pot. Twist face up when I realize the sheet is in the book I photographed the sock on top of. *sigh*

• Decide that sock now looks like a snake with its mouth open rather then a gutted fish.
  

• Watch mom trying to get the ornaments off the Christmas tree. Yes, she's taking it down now. Yes, its mid-February. Yes, I don't care.

• Get phone call that I missed my hair appointment tonight. That means no cut or color. That means I'll be shaggy and have blond roots by the time I get around to going. I don't care.

• Get excited when I realize the latest Project Runway episode is being re-run again. Realize this only further enforces my geekdom that it makes me excited.

• Inwardly sob when I look at the clock and see that I'll be dragging myself off to bed in another hour and a half since I'm working tomorrow as well. *sigh* Decide I don't care.

• Shriek at the westie because he's hopped up next to me on the sofa and is licking my arm and I can't type anything without having to go back and fix the spelling. Decide I don't care.

• Now the dog is sulking, mom is cussing at the Christmas tree because it won't let go of the ornaments, I'm looking at the socks and wondering if they will be finished in this millenium and feeling gross because I can't stop thinking about what I need to do at work tomorrow. Decide I don't care about any of it and I'm going to stop typing and watch Tim Gunn. Make it work.