oh something won't let me go to the place where the darklands are

So I'm on IM with mouse and we were talking about how I'm drinking this kickass beer I got tonight (Brooklyn Black Chocolate Stout) and watching House and knitting my Eowyn from Rowan thirtysomething (okay, maybe we weren't talking about that last thing, but I was doing it and fucking a I hate when I'm drinking how many typos I come up with and the tv software program I use to watch tv on my computer when I'm in DC just crashed so there's weird silence instead of tv background noise going on right now) and mouse asked if I was going to drunk blog again (which I guess I kinda am now huh) and I said that nobody, but NOBODY had commented on my semi-drunk post from last night and she said that said post hadn't shown up on her bloglines so I checked my bloglines because I am such a lame fucking loser that I subbed to my own blog and yeah, it was there and then I noticed that I had 5, count 'em, 5 whole subscribers to my blog, that's fucked up thought I, statcounter says I have many more people coming from bloglines, so I did a search for my blog name in bloglines and it comes up twice, one with 5 subscribers and one with 192 subscribers, and last night's post doesn't show on the 192 subscribers bloglines feed yet, and why am I on there twice anyway? And I remember checking last week and discovering this same thing that I had forgotten all about now, because of the whole drunkenness and shit, and there were over 200 subscribers to that weird second feed (because the one I'm on is clearly the right one, by merit of my being on it) and mouse thought that maybe I lost some people who were friends with Frieda and yeah, maybe, and it got us to kinda wondering who judged that contest anyway? And I have been thinking since then that the woman had to fucking crochet her entire afghan and in like plain single crochet and then cross stitch the thing and that's, well. I knew someone once whose mother would buy a teaset made of iridescent orange beads and safety pins, no lie, and her mother would say, "But just look at the craftsmanship!" And that's my only comment, think of the craftsmanship that went into crocheting in what has to be the equivalent of stockinette stitch, or maybe even garter, and then cross stitching a cowboy pattern on top of that.

Well, I was gonna write more, but the beer is making me tired and I have sitches to go before I sleep, stitches to go before I sleep.

And I forgot what I was saying. What was I saying again?