These may look like successful projects...

But don't be fooled. They hate them. Please kill me before I knit for these devil children again.

Not so lame cross stitch

I dislike cross stitch. I mean, what a lame ass, fake brand of textile art. There are exceptions, as always. Really tiny cross stitch done on a large scale scenic textile can be beautiful. But the ordinary, every day variety is, to me, one step above plastic canvas. And, wow, do I loathe that shit. I keep and cherish the cross stitch birth samplers and blankets-you -must-never-use from my grandmothers for my kids, and I use the tea towels from my step-dad's old battle ax of a mother and am glad to have them. But don't tell me it's an art or even much of a craft.
However. Subversive Cross Stitch is something I can get behind. Bring it on.

Cursed knitting

It's a wonder I ever complete any damn project at all. Almost everything I start goes unfinished because of some fatal error in planning, swatching, yarn choice, whatever. Usually, I'm philosophical about it. Each experience, I tell myself, means I'll be wiser the next time. And I guess it's true. I now understand fully that doing a real swatch saves ripping out hours of good knitting. I swatch, I wash, I measure, I measure again, I count and double count. Stitch and row gauge. I have learned the hard way that flat stockinette and knitting in the round give me completely different stitch counts despite using the same yarn and needle size. I knitted an entire sock only to find it was too small for the intended wearer and she's the smallest person in the house, so no carrying on and making the next sock for someone else. I have several single socks, not because I never get round to the next, but because the first one was so fucked up there was no point. They sit on my desk and mock me. I've started using them as gift bags, just so I don't have to look at them.
So, trust me when I tell you that when I planned my own first sweater I was careful. It's a big deal that I've given up on waiting until I'm a smaller size. It's a big deal that I've learned no one appreciates what I make as much as I do (and other knitters, of course). I bought patterns, I cruised the web for free ones, I kept looking for the perfect pattern for me. I made false starts with patterns that I finally had to admit were not going to suit me. Recently, I realized I had to design my own pattern and make all that effort to do the math and risk having to restart a few times, maybe at every step. I mean, just getting the width to cover my ass is only the beginning. What about when I get to the armholes? I have very little experience with those... but I decided to go for it anyway and I swatched, washed, measured, multiplied and divided. I changed the ribbing on the bottom to a rolled edge followed by some reverse stockinette. I added side slits, which I double knit for stability and a hemmed look. I cast on 113 stitches and counted them twice. I got used to purling across that wide expanse every other row (oh how I love the no-purling of circular knitting). I enjoyed the mindless stockinette and thought I might make this thing up in time for next winter, past history not-withstanding. I couldn't find my measuring tape and kept thinking I really should, so I don't knit past the 7.5 inch mark, when I'm supposed to start decreasing for the waist. This morning I finally remembered we have that big-ass tape measure in my office (yeah, I knit when I should work. Don't you?) and I found I was only at 6 inches, not a problem, so I sat down to do a couple more rows before, you know, finding some work to do, and then I thought, "Oh yeah, I wanted to measure the width. "

32 fucking inches. WHAT?? But I checked my gauge! I am a master of gauge! I am all about GAUGE! So, I checked my damn gauge, I redid the math. My gauge is right on, so WTF? Finally, I counted my stitches. 123. 10 more than I was supposed to cast on. No, 9, because I remember in a fit of superstition I went for 114, rather than 113. Or, at least I thought I had. Apparently I had a seizure that lasted while I cast on and the two times I counted to be sure.

Motherfucker.

Needle Gauge Necklace

Found at Schoolhouse Press:

" Handmade, by artist Erica Schlueter, from Sterling Silver and textured with varying knit fabrics, these necklaces are both functional (for measuring needles size 0-11) and decorative."
No more digging around and searching for the migrating needle gauges. This one stays right where you need it.