Stitch & Sweat
They really should change the name of these get-togethers to accommodate the newbies. I was either channeling the spirit of Laurie, or I was extremely nervous, because I must have sweat off three pounds. (Which is how I justified the big bowl of French fries that I consumed in front of everyone.) I did have the forethought to use a fork so that I didn’t get greasy, because I knew at some point I would be inappropriately and without warning grabbing at someone’s WIP.
The Houston Stitch & Sweat, what a great group of pokers. Regina told me the other day that Knitters “needle” but I’m not sure I believe her, so I’m sticking with Knitters “poke”. Anywho, what a great group of pokers. As a dude I’m always amazed (and yep, a bit jealous) at how well my lady counter-pokers can simultaneously knit, show off other projects, read an entire Interweave Knits, drink iced tea (it’s the south y’all), talk about their wedding (past wedding, future wedding, wedding of their former friend Bridezilla), feel each other’s balls of yarn, and even translate a pattern from Japanese, without missing a beat. (Admittedly it was a nice pattern, but the chart doesn’t do much good if the measurements are in Japanese, does it?)
For the first hour or so I just sat there sweating and poking wildly at Aunt Purl’s Magic Scarf. I held my breath waiting for someone to say, “hey dude, you poke funny”. What kind of superstalker would I be if I didn’t knit combination-style like the goddess heretic Annie Modesitt? I even took my unsigned copy of Confessions of a Knitting Heretic with me to show everyone how super cool combo-knitting is, but alas, no one noticed. They were probably more interested in seeing how long it would be before the bead of sweat dangling on the tip of my nose got big enough to drop off. The last thing I needed was sweaty pokers.
It may be because I arrived late (and still was the second poker to get there). I grabbed what I thought would be the safest spot in case I had to make a mad dash outta there. Unfortunately it turned out to be a pleatherette booth-like seat underneath a 2,000 degree halogen spotlight, and I went from The Crochet Dude to The Sweaty Poker Dude in about 5 minutes.
I could tell the others thought I had incredible posture as I poked away, K10 P10, sitting up straight and leaning forward slightly. “Wow, look how well that sweaty poker dude sits up straight,” I’m sure the lady across the way was thinking. I was actually just trying to create some air circulation around my back. Next time I should take a beach towel to put over the seat first.
Anywho, that’s enough about my sweaty poking. Other than that I had a fantastic time! Pokers are great company and the conversation was entertaining. I didn’t talk about porn at all, and I only made the person sitting directly across from me jump once! Woo hoo!! (I was just trying to point at a sweater in the magazine she was looking at. I thought I was gently indicating said sweater with my size 9 ebony poker and instead I slapped the page down out of her hand. I’m not sure if she knew it was an accident or not. We’ll see if she ever sits near me again. At least she didn't yelp. I don't think I would recover socially from making her jump AND yelp. I would be known as The Sweaty Mean Poker Dude from then on.)
I can’t believe I forgot my camera… so sad. Next week I’ll take it for sure.