If My Toes Are Blue . . .

. . . it must be the start of summer.

While I would never paint my fingernails blue, I'm happy to add my favorite color to my toenails. I tried to pick a teal shade this year after reading about Teal Toes, an organization that works to raise ovarian cancer awareness.

The color of the polish looks more teal in this photo than it does in real life, but I still love it. Thanks for tolerating this picture of my ugly feet with my wacky little sideways toes.

Here's the progress on my Grown-Up sweater. As I planned yesterday, I finished the body and started the first sleeve. (Please don't ask about the other things on my to do list. I didn't even watch Juno yet.)

I'm nervous. I'm really intimidated by the idea of picking up stitches around the front and the neckline. The pattern tells me to use a smaller needle and pick up 2 out of every 3 stitches and knit, then knit a 2 by 2 rib for an inch. I'm so afraid that I won't be able to make it look neat. I'm thinking of putting the sleeve-knitting on hold and attempting the big pick-up. Face my fears.

I've decided to keep my Smock-a-Ruche Scarf as it is, allowing it to remain in its natural, un-dyed state. Although 54% of voters encouraged me to dye it, the voices of the 46% who told me to leave it alone or didn't want to get involved were a little louder. Okay. I'm a chicken. Too worried that I'll ruin it. If I really want a bluish-purple Smock-a-Ruche, I'll have to knit one with pre-dyed yarn. I've put it on my list.

Do any of you have the same problem that I'm having lately? It's hard for me to admit, but it's been said that coming to terms with the fact that you have a problem is half the battle in overcoming it, right?

I've become . . . um . . . addicted to this:

It's embarrassing and humiliating, but I'm afraid that one day soon you're going to see me sitting on the curb outside of Stop & Shop eating this stuff out of the can with a plastic spoon. What's wrong with me?

This Chef Boyardee thing started within the last few weeks. I saw it on the grocery store shelf and before I knew what I was doing, I'd put two cans in my cart. When I checked out, I stared at the cans, wondering how they'd gotten there, but I allowed them to be scanned and paid for. When I got home, my fingers found themselves pulling the lid off the can and dumping the mushy contents into a bowl. (Thank goodness I remembered to throw a napkin over the top of the bowl before I microwaved it. Major splatter issues.) I ate it all within minutes. And I liked it.

Now I buy it every time I go to the store. Any store. Wal-Mart. Target. Any store. I look for it. I know I can't be the only person who eats this. There must be others. Any advice for me? Any recovering canned pasta addicts?

Even Emmie likes it.
That's her egging me on to open another can.