Warning - this post is full of Yiddishisms, Chicagoisms, and general crudeness.
Last night I went to my Wednesday night SNB with the girls in Tinley Park. Woo, that was a hoot. Perhaps someone was working with hemp yarn, and we were all getting a contact high. Theresa was the leader of the scandal, but I have to admit a great deal of guilt in egging it on.
Schlemiels on wheels
To start with, I arrived all in a shtuk. Usually, the drive from my very important government job to SNB takes about an hour. Maybe and hour and fifteen minutes. Last night the schlep took two hours! And it was all the fault of idiots! Idiots on wheels! There wasn't even rain! I mean I know that I live in Chicago, and we have shitty traffic. One traffic snarl up on a major road effects everybody commute. OK. OK. But this was re-in-donkulous.
First of all, there was a jackknifed semi on the Tristate Tollway (that's I-294 for non-Chicagoans) at 95th street that had things blocked up all the way to Irving park. This is at least 15 miles of traffic jam, and during the rush hour no less. The jackknifed semi was blocking the three right lanes right after the toll. Personally, I think that when a semi (this is a tracker trailer) jackknifes on the expressway (the freeway, folks), they should make everyone stand back while they blow the fucker up. In only a few minutes the flames and debris will be gone, and people can drive past. It would cause less delay and difficulty than the enormous process of righting the thing and towing it away. Besides, any trucker who manages to jackknife on dry pavement deserves to have his rig blown up.
So I heard about this mess and decided on the next best alternate way home. Illinois Rt. 83. Pshaw! That was backed up all the way from Roosevelt to the Eisenhower (I-290). I thought that the problem must be that so many people where using it as an alternate to the Tristate. But I was wrong. I got to the hugely enormous intersection of Rt. 83 and Roosevelt road to find that the whole mess was being caused by a stalled pickup right smack in the center lane at the intersection. Like he'd been waiting first in line for the light when he ran out of gas. Now, this intersection is very busy and hard to get through anyway. And this guy had been blocking it up for at least 25 minutes, because that's how long I was sitting in traffic trying to get around him. I have no idea what he was thinking, because he must not have called the cops. None were yet in site to get him out of there. I mean, if I were blocking that intersection during the rush hour, I'd call the cops straight away so that they could protect my life from all the commuters I was pissing off as a result of forgetting to put gas in my car.
Finally, I got off that road near my place and discovered that several of the north-south streets where closed off for a chemical spill! I'd been giving thought to skipping the Essing and Beeing in favor of a bath and TV after the driving ordeal. No such luck for MB! Basically, I could not get near my home. I found my way to LaGrange Road to start going south toward Tinley Park, and that road was all jammed up with idiots. As I progressed through the traffic jam, I discovered the reason for the problem. That's right. The reason was fuckall. It was just a traffic jam for good measure with no cause. Getting past that one, I discovered another on the Cal-Sag road heading east. But at last I arrived at SNB.
Theresa's new husband
Theresa made an announcement last night. She whipped out a cable swatch made of the yarn she bought on The Fold trip from two weeks ago and exclaimed "I love this yarn, and I'm going to have its babies." I'm so happy that Theresa has found her new mate, and we all had to admit that it was a very good choice. I'd definitely sleep with that yarn. And I don't even know it's name.
Theresa also saved the day by telling us that she read about a very good use for those tiny 20-yard balls of super nice yarn we all have and can't throw out. She relayed a story that she read about on one of her hard core knitting lists. Apparently, a woman made an angora willie warmer for her mister. Of course, being a man, he decided to slip in on under his pants one day so he could have a secret reason to smile. Well, it gets rather warm and moist in the nether regions of the pants - and oh, oh, you knitters know what happened next... Yes, the yarn felted to his pubes resulting in an involuntary Brazilian. Oh my. I needed that. You have to wonder about when it started pulling and getting tight, did he just think he was getting excited? I am also forced to beg the question, "Do willie warmers tempt the sweater curse?"
My last report on SNB last night is about one of the new ladies that showed up. I don't remember her name (sorry new lady). She is apparently taking a graduate class in anthropology and wants to do a study on knitters. Now I'm speechless.