As seen on this poor, innocent vehicle in ViHi, spring in Atlanta means a nice coating of pollen on anything that sits outside for more than ten minutes. It reminds me of the volcano back home and the layer of ash it laid on Anchorage…except more offensive and not really a solid excuse to not do stuff. Like drive. Or breathe outdoors without a mask.

Fellow Metroblogger Will did it justice:

Standing on the porch, she looks back at the footprints left behind in the green silt. Cat’s paws, men’s boots, women’s dress shoes. It’s all decorated with the little wormy things that have been coming off the trees like rats off a sinking ship.

“Ugh,” she says.

“What?”

“It’s so gross. It’s like the trees are basically having sex all over us.”

“No it’s not,” I say. “Please don’t say that.”

Blech.

Monday night marked the final evening of my “learn to knit” class at Knitch, which means that everyone is getting really heinous handmade gifts for the holidays this year. Yeay!

Remarkably, three women gave up on knitting prior to the third class and one actually dropped out during the third class, letting her needles fall out of her hands and heavily onto the table and saying “I just don’t get it.”

Nine women enter, five women leave.

So what I have to show for it is this little picture of some poopy pink yarn made into a coaster with eyelets which on a larger scale could also supposedly be a washcloth or a baby blanket or a tarp for a house being exterminated. What I also have to show for it is a hobby I adore which could garner me honorary grandma status if I ever pick up crochet and macramé to round out my repertoire.

So to summarize, I’ve finally made it beyond the basic garter pattern scarf and have mastered: CO, K, P, YO, PO, K2TOG and BO which probably means jack squat to you but to me and a set of circular needles it could mean a hat or socks or a nice warm afghan.

I dream of felting.

He’s had the machiine for who knows how many years and had never. Changed. The bag.

Hurling summary: 1 supreme ass kicking complete. A more robust report will be filed when my hands uncramp.

P.S. Happy Birthday to J.

Because with a face like this, surely you’d want to.

We’re doing this whole put-yourself-out-there thing as a society and with all the websites and the passwords on top of the accounts and the profiles for work, for play and for my alter ego I’m wondering just how long before my head explodes. Or yours. I vote for yours first.

My point to all the rambling is that as much as I tried to censor myself here I didn’t do a great job. Seems I had an issue a while back where someone deduced where I worked, called the main switchboard and managed to be transferred to my desk. They also read through a race results site until they found me (based on blogging about a 5k like 2 years ago) and my last name. Completely not a fan of that.

So as some kind of proactive spin type mindfug here we go, links to all kinds of my info assembled neatly in one little list because I’m the person on the playground who likes to tell all the other kids that Santa is a fraud. I’m going to take all the fun out of stalking me. See also: WP Ban

Atlanta Metblogs
MySpace (God help me)
Flickr
Yelp!
Twitter (sans friends)

IM:
ICQ 5484074
AIM MaighHB
Yahoo princessmaigh
MSN maigh@mindspring.com (that’s not my email addy)

Syndicated blog feed at http://atlbloggers.net when the site is actually up.

There ya go. Knock yourself out.

Life feels a lot like water aerobics lately.

I’m in the water and I’m pushing and running and kicking and flailing against this weird resistance and it doesn’t make any sense at all why I’d do this to myself and I just want to get out of the pool.

Ever have that?

I’m goin’ out, kids…wish me luck.

http://atlantagaa.org/hurling.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hurling