If I were in charge, I would give everyone ice cream

I am in a suddenly foul mood. I am pretty sure it is related to being too tired and an unsuccessful attempt to sew a seam together after an impromptu knitting exercise tonight. (It looks perfect on one side! Why is it not doing the same thing on the other side?! I think it has to do with the ribbing throwing the symmetry off, or something, but it's an even number of stitches and a 1x1 rib so I don't really get why it's doing it, or more to the point, how to sew it correctly. That's what I get for being so cocky about the seam on my baby bonnet.) Also, I need to cut my husband's hair before bedtime, and I already wish I was in bed. But I was in a good mood until half an hour ago, at least!

We ventured over to the other side of town tonight, otherwise known as "that place we don't go", to eat some dinner at a Mexican restaraunt we haven't tried. It was pretty good, actually. (Aranda's.) I might have enjoyed the entire experience more if Hilary hadn't taken over the bathroom, though. When you're drinking a case of water per day, you begin to have sympathy for the woman in the "gotta-go gotta-go gotta-go right now" commercials, that's all I'm saying. I can't believe I am writing this. Anyway, Hilary had stomach trouble, apparently, and probably was also awash in the glow of being gone from the table without adult supervision, because I know that she must have washed her hands for at least two full minutes, and then she washed them again for good measure when her mother (finally) came to check on her. And, why is there a so-pixelated-you-really-can't-see-who-it-is framed picture of some people standing vaguely in front of an unnamed but dusty Hard Rock Cafe beside the bathroom door? Is this a new trend, advertising another restaraunt inside your own? Although I guess most people in these parts don't flip a coin to decide between Mexican, or flying off to Mexico to have overpriced American food. (Don't I sound worldly and anti-establishment, and like I haven't actually had two very pleasant Hard Rock experiences? Oh, the cynicism is drowning me tonight.)

While we were there, we also made the obligatory stop at JoAnn's, because.. well.. I have been sick and unable to indulge in my craft-shopping fetish of late. Didn't buy anything, but found a book that made me want to learn to crochet, which sucks. (The afghan on the cover of this book.) I don't know why I'm resisting the crochet so hard.. I think it could be because I just haven't seen that many patterns that appeal to me. Honestly, I'm having the same trouble with knitting now that i've made a few scarves and trinkets. I guess it's just not my Thing. But, still, I guess I'll have to learn eventually. Especially since I want to make that stupid afghan. (I don't even like afghans.) And since that book seems to be out of stock, now I'm thinking, hmm, should I make an effort to buy it while I still can? But I don't want the darned book, because I don't crochet. Yet. It's a conundrum, really.

Frankfort is really weird, because it is as if there are two small towns, just grown a bit apart. These two small towns pretend that they get along, but they're not really the same. On this side of town, we have the WalMart and the home improvement stores and the chain restaraunts and the Starbucks (which technically, I suppose, counts as a chain restaurant, but it's nearly midnight and I'm sleepy; leave me alone). On the other side of town, they have.. lots of places that make M and I go "huh?" every time we go by. Like Evil Sizor's custom framing shop, which is a long building painted black with hot pink trim and huge letters, and a drive-through window. (HUH?) We think that surely it is not still in business, but we're never over there during business hours so can't prove this. But still--what prompted the black and pink at any point? And the name? And the drive-through window? It just doesn't make sense. And then we went into what has to be the crummiest Family Dollar in existence. After craft-shopping, my throat was desparately waiting for a drink, and we were hoping that there would be one of those little refrigerators by the register, and it was next door, so we hopped in. (No fridge.) Things falling from the shelves, which are slanted every which way, dirty and dingy and yuck. Not that it's all dirty and bad over there or anything, it's just.. well. Different. (The parts that aren't dirty and bad.. well, they aren't funny, either, so I won't mention the perfectly respectable establishments.) They do have a Penn Station, which inspires us to drive over occasionally. I think the biggest part of the whole thing is that it's so far, considering the relative size of the place, and the fact that you're either driving through downtown (yuck-o) or interstate (kind of out of our way unless we're out shopping already) or the connector, which consists of miles of nothingness except for several banks. (Why are the banks there? Why, I ask?) I just don't understand this place, perhaps that's the problem.

Not that I mean to be totally down on Frankfort. It's a nice town, kind of. It has this small town thing, but it's not really that small of a place, and there are lots of events going on during the summer and stuff. Not that M and I are really the joiner type, but we did go to a rather nice crafty festival last year. And parts of it are all picturesque and charming, and some of the houses scattered around are--or could be--incredible. (Occasionally, there is an unendurable stench from the bourbon distilleries, but one can't have everything, right?) If I could just move the whole place, I'd be a lot happier.

And maybe ditch Evil Sizor's. Because I don't think that will ever stop bugging me.

But at least my demands are reasonable.