You have to understand, during an Olympic fortnight, all I do is watch this stuff. I present, under the “So bad it’s freaking AWESOME” category, Khokholva and Novitski. They are the gift that keeps on giving.

THIS IS HOW YOU SKATE TO FIREBIRD. Like the ghost of Stravinsky himself just lit a fire and stuck an Anton Chigurh cattle prod up your ass.

Please know I am not serious, in that I heartily approve of the gold medalists, but I do love this horrific shite and it amuses me to no end.

In other news, if I don’t get a job soon, bring on the food stamps and government cheese. Does it matter that I’m lactose intolerant?

I thought not.

FRONT PAGE OF ETSY, BABY I MADE IT!!

In case you haven’t seen these yet

Please, to enjoy the Norwegian curling team’s PANTS.

Sorry I have been so quiet; sorry, Bonnie, the sad German clowns creeped you out. Usually she is much more orange than that; she has her Mystic Tan turned up to 11, but the sad clown program necessitated white face paint.

La, but this Olympics is sort of a FAIL, what with the torch lighting FAIL, the speed skating rink with the ruts, the start time fuck ups on the cross country course, and that poor Georgian luge guy dying. I mean, that’s a major FAIL.

That’s why we all need Mr. Sassy Pants himself, Johnny Weir, winking, flirting, and blowing kisses as us. Is it the best skating I’ve ever seen? No. Was it good, considering it was Ass Over Teakettle night? Yes. Should he be higher in the rankings? A leetle. Is Screamin’ Scottie Hamilton pissed that Queen Diva is even out there, rockin’ it Gaga style?

Oh, hear the disdain drip. Here’s a link.

Gotta run, I have a lot of knitting to do before the end of March, and a lot of job hunting to do before my unemployment runs out in April. I am so depressed about that bummer situation.

So today the first thing I saw on the Internet was the news of Alexander McQueen’s suicide and I was all “Wha?” and “Wha’happen?”
I guess we’ll never know. I for one don’t want to listen to all the “last days of his Tweets” and other nonsense of the days to come, all I know is the world got a little less…interesting. Funnily enough, I’ve had this slide on my desktop for a few weeks now; was going to build a post around it. Basically, if I ever make Jon a sweater (we both need to lose some weight before I start making body-hugging knits again, and we aren’t buried in Snowpacolypse like most of you, either), it would be a copy of this recent McQueen beauty:

It’s just…whoa. You know how I feel about grey, to start with. I think Jon could rock that.

Okay, I skipped yesterday. Skating. Mens. Look. Jeffrey Buttle RETIRED ya’ll! My reason for watching figure skating is GONE! What more can this poor girl say. He done won his world championship in 2008, and left me, bereft and stuck with these youngsters and oldsters intent on coming back (Yes, Plushenko and your fucking mullet, I’m looking at YOU).

What am I saying? I have no horse in this race. I detest current world champion and U.S. hope for a medal Evan Lysacek. He’s dumb as a box of rocks, conceited, don’t get me started on all he…conceals, and he skates like Jack Skellington on Ice. GAG.

Current U.S. champion Jeremy Abbott is okay. I guess.

I kind of like former Japanese powerhouse Daisuke Takahashi, but he’s recovering from injury. And he loves him some bedazzler.

So what are we left with? Well, all I can say is I hope you’re watching Be Good Johnny Weir on The Sundance Channel. Johnny may not be your cup of tea, but he’s mine. He says what he likes, even if it gets him in trouble. He’s funny, he’s bitchy, he’s pithy, and you know what, he’s great with kids. Seriously, watching him give clinics to young girls in Long Island and say to a tall girl, “It’s okay, you’re one of the tall girls, and it’s harder to do a double axel. I was a taller girl once, too,” is just PRICELESS. Not because it’s funny, but because he says it to the girl with real heart.

He’s an underdog and the chances of him medalling are not hot, but let’s be frank: He’s rocking the Rodarte knitwear in this NY TImes piece.

As David Bowie said, FASHION.

Not Torquemada.

So, I’ve been doing a lot of cleaning, cleaning out of closets, and knitting. I haven’t had time to take photos. It looks like I DIDN’T get that job.
I have kept applying at other places. I haven’t got any calls.

Moving on!

In honor of only FOUR MORE DAYS until figure skating starts (I could seriously pee myself), I will do a different discipline each day. Today, ladiezzzz. Yawn. Ladies bore me to tears, esp. this year. U.S. ladies are untested. Rachael Flatt, our champion, is as exciting as a dirt sandwich, has to be pushed to gain momentum, and sports a Big Love bump in her hair-don’t.

Youngster Mirai Nagasu is more entertaining, but needs to correct her jump technique, and seems to be undergoing that time-honored sorority hazing test of skating to Carmen.

Check, please!

So we are left with the Asian invasion, and a few also rans, including Joannie Rochette from Canada, who my husband can manage to have a crush on if the mood strikes him. If the stars don’t fall from the sky, South Korean Yu Na Kim will win. But if politick and ugly conspiracy rears its head, or if she falls, and if I were in Vegas and wanted to make some book, I’d put my money on Miki Ando of Japan to spoil. And I hate her skating, so I’m just saying.

Here’s a great New York Times video on Kim and her triple-triple jump technique. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to cover 25 feet of ice like that. Whee!

I’m in my first ever Etsy Treasury – so excited! Go look and see – my Bullseye Beret is in the top right corner:

Many thanks to Giullauna of Bits and Beads for making it!

I think there’s an old song that goes like that. Anyway. Sometimes I get quiet for a bit, and this time, it’s because I’ve been riding around in my automobile. It’s pretty basic. Here’s a snap:

The 2009 Kia Rio. Used. Hey, if it has A/C and an adapter for my iPod (as well as all working parts) I’m happy. I think I forgot just how much I listen to music WHILE DRIVING. I’ve really missed it.

And we went to the South Florida Fair on Sunday. Where I swore I’d eat my weight in Fair Food, and pretty much did. If they could bottle the smell of the midway and put it in a perfume atomizer, it would be MY pheromone kryptonite. Ah, the heady mix of corndog batter, cotton candy, gasoline, cheap liquor and cigarette smoke. Yum. My husband swears there’s a little bit of redneck in me, and he’s right.

And also, BUNNIES!

You might be a teenage rebel if:

I remember when I was in grade school, going to the fair for field trips and “sneaking” on to the midway, seeing these shiny shit booths whilst they played Molly Hatchet for that ride that went round and round in circles
(The Vomit Slinger?).

I remember in high school, going on to the midway with some popular girl in too much eye makeup and too tight jeans who befriended me for the night, seeing the shiny shit booth yet again, whilst they played “Erotic City” for the ride she forced me on that went up, down, and round in circles (DEFINITELY the vomit slinger). That friendship didn’t last the night.

I’m glad to see some things have stood the test of time, even in this age of iPads, Tweets and the like. Oh, and I think that white-trash ho Ke$sha was blasting from the Vomit Slinger this time. Awful, but what an earworm!

See you tomorrow!