First of all, I should point out that the picture from Friday's post was of a BABY's butt. I got a scathing email about my site becoming a porn site and about my lack of morals (had she EVER read my blog before? morals be damned!) and seriously people, get a grip.
This game is courtesy of my kids. They found it for me and I played all night. Ok, I played for about 20 minutes, but that's a long time. Too much fun!
Dodging sheep poo. Unbelievably fun.
On knitting news, I have half of one sleeve completed on the SKB and on non-knitting news, Jeff is now a cowboy. He and a friend who has some land in southern KS went into partnership and they went and bought themselves 2 cows and 2 calves. Jeff spent the weekend fixing barbed wire fence and going to a cattle auction. They're putting a bull from the farmer across the road in with the 2 cows for a month and are hoping to grow their herd. I thought it was quite cute and fun and was SO freaking supportive.
Right up until about 45 minutes ago when as Jeff sat on the bed next to me rubbing my shoulder, I picked up his hand to kiss it and saw a FREAKING TICK CRAWLING ON IT!!!!!! OH MY HOLY HELL I hate ticks even more than BEES (which is way more than the spiders and moths I've had issues with in the past.)! It was a teeny tiny thing, but it survived a 30 minute shower to be almost crawling on me. He was smart enough to strip his clothes off in the laundry room (on the floor though) and I found ANOTHER ONE crawling on his jeans!!! Clothes are now boiling in hot water in the washing machine, floors and walls were vacuumed (I know this doesn't kill them, but it made me feel a little better), sheets, blankets and such were stripped from the bed and they're awaiting a good hot washing in bleach as well. I'm trying to figure a way to bug bomb the car so he doesn't bring MORE of the fuxxers each time he gets into his car. I then made the poor boy strip down and examined every inch of him while holding a tweezers with a double shot of crappy rum sitting close by to drop the fuxxers into (only alcohol we have left in the house since I just downed 2 mike's hard limeades FAST) and nothing seems to be crawling. He was nervous with me holding a sharp metal implement near his nether-regions but it was either humor the psycho chic or sleep in the tick car. I think he figured I'd just jump him with the tweezers again in the morning, so he gave up the fight. (Plus he's seen me after the moth came fluttering up out of the bag with my almost completed clapotis last fall and witnessed the crazy microwaving of the yarn after the crazy running around the house cursing and smashing a bug scene, so he knows it's a losing battle.)
I'm off to go pour what's left of the bleach all over the shower and on anything I think may be moving. I have to admit I totally freaked myself out a few minutes ago because I get those floaty things in my eyes and thought it was a swarm of ticks. OOPS. Ah well, the bathroom floor probably needed a good dose of cleaner anyway.
I'd even been trying to appease any strange bug mojo that may have been off. I let at least 3 bugs LIVE by nicely scooping them up on paper and dropping them NICELY outdoors in the last couple of months. If tick central is how I am rewarded, I'm about 1 limeade away from declaring outright war on anything creepy and or crawly. And I have big feet, so that means BIG SHOES to schwack things with. cripes almighty.