not quite 'tit's up'

Okay. I officially suck at this blogging thing. It seems I turn my back for uno momento and wham, another week has escaped. What the hell, huh? As it turns out, I do have an excuse... or a scape-goat, rather. Everyone, this is Kyle. Kyle, this is Everybody.
For those in the know, The Bresticles have had a trying couple of years. Six trying years, precisely. Six years of being reconstructed breast-bastards... six years of 'Frankenboobs'. Well, gentle readers, not anymore. I spent Tuesday night bare-chested in a somewhat clinical-looking chair while Kyle Hels tattooed my nipples back into existence. He was uber-professional about having a hausfrau in his chair, and seventy-five minutes passed by like nothing with fun, friendly bantering whilst he painted in the new 'details'. Under all that ink lurks the heart of a philosopher and healer, so if you've been considering a permanent addition, stop in and see him. You rocked the new nipples, Mr. Hels. Thank you.

I was quite well behaved, so those of you who were privy to the "grab an ink-artist in your thighs and squeeze him till you hurt" um, fantasy, need not worry. No tattoo dudes were injured in the making of my nipples. It wasn't even really painful until I got back home. Leave it to me to remember on the second Percocet that said drug winds me up just a tick. Two hours of barely unconscious rest was my punishment. The new nippies are doing great, however, and were graciously shared with all interested third parties today at the shop. The strangest thing is having to be aware of them at all. After six years of the silent treatment, having them rail for attention from inside my bra is a little disconcerting. (Apparently, those lil' chicas just like it rough. *snark*)

What's going on around here now? Book Two has made an appearance. I caught the author soaking in a foot bath at the nail salon and snagged my signed copy. I begged to help edit Book Three, and she accepted, so, if in fact I do get my hands on it, expect clearer sentence structure and zero typos.
This story moves along at a pretty good clip, and I didn't have to twitch too much over the weird punctuation. (Srsly, K. Book Three? Let me fix it.)

Gratuitous bloom shot for Miss Rob, who insisted I needed to put flowers on the blog. She takes a lot of medication, y'all. Don't judge.

I meant to at least get back around to lemon pound cake, but my ebullience over my new ta-ta accessories has me a kinda exhausted. C

just a tidbit

Yesterday turned out to be quite the day for interruptions, especially where the interwebs were concerned. Blogging from the haus has become a filthy nuisance, what with all the connection issues the air card has been experiencing. Blogging from Clementine's has been equally fraught with woes, but the alternative to 'interruptions' would be an alarming lack of patrons, so I'll gladly take the consequences.
I've been meaning to show y'all this, the 'Sun and Surf Halter', from Amy Butler, for a long while. Miss Gaylen made it as a shop sample for Clementine months ago. I was waiting until the weather was agreeable and the muses of creative displays made it possible to show it off to it's best advantage...

 

which, as you can plainly see, I was forced to give up on and just take some snaps of the thing. It's more charming on, and in person, and whilst it's gotten many oohs and ahhs in the shop, it isn't until people actually pick it up that the admiration for this simple summer top begins to build. Stunningly simple, and, according to some seasoned stitchers, not too much of a headache to build. You might just need one.

Today I am being visited by our dear Melly. She doesn't know it yet, but I'll be abandoning her to sneak off to a book signing for a wee bit. It would appear that the second book in the 'Sisterhood of Secrets' is now available. Even with lazy editing and a tragic lack of pronouns, there is no way I'd miss it! More later... C

hold that thought...

I'm not dead, just diverted. Blog-silence will officially be over tomorrow. Tonight is belly-dance class. Gotta get my jingles on...

and so, I leave you with a few words and phrases to consider until tomorrow. Ebullience. Tyranny. City parking. Sock knitting as anger-management. Polka dots. Lemon pound cake.
What does it all mean?
Careful. I might just tell you. Sleeping more than two hours a night again, so my brain and fingers may be able to make amends and allow a few stories loose for your perusal. Till Friday, then. C

socks and stuff

A new sock, in what's become an 'old standby' pattern: the 'mockery' sock. Gift yarn and needles courtesy of Miss G. (It's not further along, so my one-done-by-Easter plan is kaput.)

As promised, the custom colors have arrived. If you needed 'Air Kiss' or 'Smooches, Pooches', shoot me an e-mail at camillaknitsATgmailDOTcom and it will be on it's way to you super-quick. The samples are hanging in the shop... yes, one is still wearing it's needles, but the heel flap is underway. It's still fabulous.

More yummy yarn goodness. Most of you know I have a penchant for candy-colored anything, but the 126 colorway, aka 'Brachs' neopolitan' as we dub it, Is. In. The. Shop... Now. For how long, I cannot say. I only ordered the two bags. I guess I'm kinda bitchy that way, huh?

The latest additions to the line-up of Oliver + s patterns. All the gaps in stock have been filled, so if sewing clothes for tiny humans is on your to-do list, these are perfect.

Just yesterday I realized I hadn't done a proper job of being a prepared Easter Bunny, so I'm getting ready to remedy that this evening. Oh, to be sure, I medicated with Hershey's Kisses. One can't sugar-shop on an empty stomach! Have a restful rest of Good Friday, and a wonderful Easter/Passover week/insert pagan holiday of your choosing here. Spring is here and not to be denied. Oh, and The Fertility Goddess called. She wants you to eat a chocolate bunny. Now.

waiting to inhale

Another long blogging vacation. I couldn't locate the camera battery charger, but unable to blog anyway, what with the comment from the previous post sending me into repeated fits of giggles. Apparently someone hasn't a clue about my Lucifer reference, but those of you with triple digit I.Q.s got it, so it's all good. And I don't do 'thinly veiled' anything, so you can understand my lack of posting lately. Hard to type while holding my ribs, shaking with uncontrolled laughter.
Here's a smattering of the new Blank Quilting fabrics. Told you they were retro and kitschy-cute! There's more on the way... there seems to be no way around back-orders these days.

A little surprise in the birthday box from one of my imaginary friends. In light of me being a 'racist/bigot/homophobe', I shouldn't even show these to you, but the talented woman who made them for me is a dear, and these Mammies are so stinking cute. Won't they look fab hanging on the AGA... oh, wait... does that constitue a lynching? Oh dear...
While I'm on still on the soapbox, I think everyone has to stop using inflamatory words like mocha, chocolate, black, brown, mahogany... and I'm pretty sure Oreo cookies are off limits, too. Good God, leftists. Get a little Jesus. We're humans. All of us. The packaging doesn't matter. Content does. That's why the obamoron bothers me so. His skin tone has nothing to do with his ineptness. Geesh. Pardon my opinions...