Where's my MoJo?

The knitting mojo: où est-ce? What's my deal? I have lots of fab new yarn, some ideas with a lot of potential, but I turn my nose up whenever I look at my needles. Then again, these days that means looking at Orangina, with her tiny hand-hurting cotton and her miles and miles of to-be-completed 3x3 rib.

Should I inter the evil slag - I mean - Orangina in la chambre de morfondre*? Go ahead and cast on for those other progects? WWSRD? Well, Skinny Rabbit is having a mojo decrease, and she's casting on! I'll show pics of some swatches TOMORROW. I like, vow and other solemn promise words.

In lieu of knitting content, I bring pics of wild furry beasts. Our neighbors are in the States on vacay and we're watching their little shih-tzu Pittzy. Pittzy is one duplicitous little dog, by friends. Take a gander:
She appears all cute and fluffy, as if she were saying "come pet me, I'm so sweet..."

What she really means by "come pet me, I'm so sweet..." is "Fingers = Vienna Sausages. Do not look at me, do not touch me, do not try to untangle the leash from my legs, do not eyeball my food, do not pass within 4 feet of my bed/lair/pit of despair**, in short: do NOT piss me off." Need proof? Here's a pic of her next to her Star Wars toy. Notice the matching eerie glowing eyes. This is without the flash...just kidding.


How does Barley feel about having another pooch in the house?

Poor guy!

*I want to take a french class this fall, so I'm getting ready Eloise style, baby.

**I was going for the Princess Bride reference here. Do NOT google that term. 'Nuff said?