Nine has been my favorite number since the 5th grade. I like it because it's odd, and three squared, and it has two "n"s in it. For ages, I thought I liked nine because I'm the 9th grandchild on each side of my family, but then I realized, a few years ago, that I had counted wrong. I'm the 10th on the Johnson side, and the eleventh on the Johnson side. Oh well.
Needles: aside from the occassional nasty accident, needles are my friends. My sewing machine uses them to magically help me make stuff; my sister knits wonderful things with needles; I love the smell of pine needles underfoot. Certainly one of the most useful of inventions. When I made my quilted duffle bag, I broke ten machine needles in the process: a clear record for me. My sister pointed out that it raised the cost of the final product considerably, but by the time I finished my sixth bag, I had only broken three more, so I think it will even out in the end. In related news, I'm wondering if I should get a serger. Any thoughts?
Nasty is one of my favorite words lately. "The dog smells nasty," "those shoes are nasty," "that is one nasty show." None of this is meant in any semblance of a positive way, unfortunately. "Just nasty." "Don't be nasty." Nor is this intended to incite the ire or praise of Ms. Jackson. It's just surprisingly fun to say, with the n and the ass and the tee. Try it. You'll feel better.