The Box....

So, my Mom recommended this great site, packed full of pretty yarns that were relatively inexpensive.

I've been looking for pretty and cheap yarns for a while now, that weren't made of nylon or acrylic, so as soon as I had the money, I jumped on it. Called it my Christmas Present to Me. =)

This is what $50 worth of pretty yarn looks like:


Trust me though, the story of how it got here, is far more entertaining than the picture.

Anyways, I'd been stalking my tracking number awaiting the arrival of my pretty yarns. Of course, Niceguy was getting excited as well, because who knows what nifty things I might make for him with my new yarn. lol So, with the holidays, I expected to receive my yarn well after New Years. To my surprise, it was scheduled to arrive yesterday.

I continued to check the FedEx website, just in case there was a delay or a blessing and it would be delivered late or early. Monday, I noticed an odd update "Transferred to USPS location." Wait huh?

Apparently they do this. It's news to me, but okay. So instead of my yarn coming to my door, I'll have to wait for the mail dude. I can deal, but it says it can result in a 1-2 day delay. *sniffle* Okay..... But it still says "ON TIME." So yesterday, the site says "Out for delivery," and I'm camped on the couch, every 2 minutes or so looking out the window at the mailboxes hoping to see that familiar white truck. Just when I was getting frustrated and a little twitchy, the truck pulled up! I gave him the usual 5 minutes to unload his goodies, and threw on some shoes. As soon as he pulled away, I was off!

Down the stairs, around the bushes, through the rain, in between the buildings, to the mail boxes. I'm sure I was wearing some psychotic grin to go with my anxious speed walking. Now, Niceguy normally checks the mail, so this is actually my first time at these boxes. Find the number, find the number, find the number, YES! Open our little mail box, and there is a package key! I giggled a little. I pulled out the junk mail and key, then locked the box.

Attempting to look normal, I scanned the junk mail as I walked around to the back of the mailboxes, and began to shove it in the front pocket of my hoodie when WHAM! Graceful Jess is graceful.....

Concrete, meet Jess. Jess, Concrete.

In my excitement, and murderous giggling, I had neglected to remember the small curb I'd stepped up to get to the boxes. I ask you now, why do we have ankles? Are they really that necessary? Yea, okay, whatever.... So in a move that could have qualified for an Olympic upward sprinting event, I was up and smiling again. Pain? What pain?

So shoving the finger I'd taken a small chunk out of, into my mouth, I spend the next 15 seconds frantically trying to figure out how to get the damn key into the package mailbox lock. I think I let out some kind of eerie squeal at this point, because the man that walked up to check his mail stopped giggling at my concrete ballet performance, and gave me a slightly confused look.

"Go in the lock," I mumbled in frustration under my breath. For fear my excitement would result in my breaking the key and me not being able to get to my package and then the tears that would follow, I stopped. Stepped back and took a deep breath.

Placing the key on the edge of the lock, it slid in without any trouble at all. I almost celebrated with myself right then. There was a quiet giggle, a huge smile, and a small clapping motion as I damn near started jumping up and down like an excited child. Yes, I was THAT excited.

So anyways, I fumbled to the get the box out of this contraption that refused to give me my package. A square bin..... Why is this so difficult?! I'm telling you, this had to be the most frustrating 2 minutes EVER. Twist, turn, *growl*. Come out, come out, COME OUT! *Squeak* As the box slid out of the package bin, I again lost my balance, and in a move that should have received applause, spun around in a fashion that only Michael Jackson could truly appreciate, and landed squarely on my feet with box in hands.

*teehee!!!* Giggling like a maniac, I hurried back to the apartment. Taking great care to notice any abnormalities in the pathway to avoid a revisit with the concrete.

Running up the stairs, into the apartment, not noticing the cat following almost too closely at my heels, I stop in the living room. I was immediately rear-ended by a cat. I drop the box, to check on the cat that just had an unfortunate encounter with my ankles. Squatting down to offer some babying, I fall over with a hard thud and a loud "OW!"

Okay, so lets count. I have fallen twice now over this stupid box. To top it off, it's NOT EVEN OPEN YET! Okay, so back to it. So in my first fall, I had twisted my left ankle, pulled a muscle in my right thigh, and mangled my right pinky. In this fall, my body let me know the adrenaline was wearing off, and hey, you should know that something's amiss.

Well poop....... Niceguy has been waiting patiently for several minutes for me to return from my acrobatic endeavors, and to tell him what wonderful goodies the mail dude has brought. So stepping over the box(still not open), I let him know the box had arrived, I had introduced myself to the concrete, and I was going to open my box now. Grumbling slightly at the "lol" he responded with(although my explanation of the situation was probably amusing), I sat on the floor, box between my legs.

I almost cried when I saw the threaded packaging tape. ALMOST CRIED! Believe me, it'd been a hard 5 minutes. Springing to my feet, I grab the scissors from the kitchen, and carefully walk back to my box to ensure I don't further injure myself. Slowly open it, to avoid damaging any yarn.... My precious yarn, you have no idea what I had to go through to get you to this point.

Yea, so anyways, it's pretty. Going to make stuff. I'm happy, and now I'm also exhausted and in pain.

I leave the box where it sits, in the middle of the living room floor. I stand up to go get a drink, as for some reason the last 7 minutes has left me completely parched. I trip over the blasted box. Apparently I needed to smell the carpet. Which, for your information, smells like baby powder. Anyways, burying my face in the floor, I let out a frustrated scream, and flail my arms and legs for a second in yes, a 32 yr old temper tantrum.

At this point, I have vowed that I will not touch the box again until Niceguy gets home from work. Evil, evil box.

This has been a long story, but wait there's more. Yes, the box strikes again....

Niceguy gets home from work.... I show him the pretty yarn, and like an idiot, place the box in between the couch and the table. No room to maneuver around it, but it's not that big a box. Seriously folks, it's 9x12x10.

INCHES, not FEET!

H x W x D

9 inches high.

Why me?

So after placing the box on the floor, I am struck with a sudden urge. Yep, I gotta go. So standing, I attempt to step over the box of doom. It strikes again. Again with the acrobatic moves. How is it possible to be airborne, and propel yourself even higher to avoid catastrophe? I am not sure, but I'm positive Chris Angel would have appreciated it.

I hear a giggle behind me, and a "Be careful baby...." I snort in anger, and march away. Upon my return, I move the box to a location that will surely not result in bodily harm again and I can keep an eye on it. The middle of the living room floor. I avoided it for the rest of the night.

Niceguy wants me to start knitting again. With this yarn. Yea, um. Let me burn the box first, then we'll talk.

The box:


Love to all!

~~~