Happy Anniversary, Me.

Hi there. I hope you had a nice holiday and that you're busy gearing up for some kind of New Year's Eve fun. We are old people so our fun consists of cooking something fancy and drinking sparkly wine that isn't actually champagne. We might also play with our new Wii and probably won't stay awake until midnight.

I'm still on vacation (from everything, including this blog) but I couldn't miss my five-year blog anniversary! That's right, kids. My very first entry was written out of temp job desperation. It can be found here.

It's not much of an entry but the months I spent temping had to be documented - you can't make up shit like that. Anyway, go have some fun and I promise I'll be back to updating in a couple of days. Whee.

Happy New Year!

The Final Countdown.

I have about an hour and a half of work time left before I'm set free for eleven days. This is so fantastic I can hardly wrap my brain around it. The week has not been without the annual Family Drama Email Parade, complete with a solid page's worth of guilt-text from my mother. Lord above. I'm hoping we can all just get tipsy and let the shit goooo. That's my plan, anyway. That, or just running away and changing my name.

Otherwise, things are fine. I still have a pile of gifts to wrap (ugh) and the tree is still sans decorations (oops.) It'll all get done eventually. Or not. I've been busy this week with other things, things like trying to find something on TV worth watching. It's been a horrible TV week and my lack of DVR (Hi, honey!) means that I have to watch an infuriating amount of diamond commercials. I think diamond jewelry commercials are sincerely my most hated ever. I had a little chat about it with a friend who was nice enough to buy earrings from me in an attempt to gift someone with "non-Zales" jewelry. Here is the rest of the exchange:

me: I hate those diamond commercials like poison. I was actually thinking of writing a blog entry about how much I hate them.

Friend: Seriously, I fucking hate them too. They make me want to stab someone violently.

me: YES. I hate the one with the wishbone and the shrill little girl, "WHATS THAT, MOMMY?"

me: THAT'S A GUN, KID.

Friend: Exactly! "Oh, I think I already won!" BARF!

me: GGGGGGGGGAHWskfhwq;oWEHATES

I think more than I hate the commercials, I hate what they imply: gifts = love and if you really, really love the person, diamonds = TRUE LOVE. It's impressively awful and the diamond jewelry that's being pushed is mostly very hideous. And the commercials make me want to die inside. In my world, every kiss begins with SUCK IT.

You want to show her you really care? Buy her a pony. Works every time, I promise.

Here, catch.

A few days ago Essaywriter posted this and made me laugh:

Not to be cynical or anything, but sometimes I wonder why we just don't sit around and throw twenties at each other.

I KNOW. I was doing fine for a while but the last few days of last-minute-gift-scramble and the frustrated realization that I have to give the new temp a gift has made me feel like flinging money at people and screaming, "HERE, TAKE IT. JUST TAKE IT ALL." I really do like the holidays but I hate that weird pressure that what you've bought or made isn't enough and MORE IS REQUIRED. OH, AND IT BETTER BE THOUGHTFUL.

Wah! I think I'm pretty much done. I don't really want much myself this year, though a "thank you for the new brakes" card from my car would be very much appreciated. Speaking of cards, last night I got the card I wait for all year! It's from our ex-landlord and she does a photo card of her pet rabbits. The card is from all of them, which I appreciate. The photo card of my nieces this year was pretty great too, but sorry kids, the rabbits totally win.

Anyway, here's a short list of what I want this year:

- a pony, even if it's bitey and eats dog houses.
- for my mom to email me or call me and NOT assign a task.
- world peace! Ha, not really.

The Reason for the Season = SUGAR.

This week has been such a pain in my ass because it's totally in the way of all the good shit which comes down starting this weekend and right through next week. Next week is one of those work weeks where it's all long lunches and office parties and then it's the weekend before Christmas! And I love me some Christmas in the same pagan/secular way my sister does. Fuck all, can't I love the tacky lights, the tree, the awesome food and the cheesy songs without having to drag Jesus into it? I SAY TOTALLY YES.

One thing I really hate, though? Wrapping gifts. If I had a pet helper monkey the very first thing I would teach it to do is to wrap all my gifts so I never have to. HATE IT. This year I've at least got a proper table at which to work and I think if I have a big glass of wine next to my sissors my wrapping won't suck quite as much. I know most people love it, but me? Not so much. It just seems so fussy to me, what with all the angles and corners and ribbon and shit. Beh. Next year I'm wrapping everything in brown paper lunch bags. Stapled at the top.

But, that's pretty much the only thing I don't like about the season.

I'm generally not much of a baker, but Kate and I get together every year and do a crazy all-day baking session (which will be this Sunday). This is maybe our fourth or fifth year and it's so much fun, except for two years ago when I had a terrible cold and Kate ended up doing most of the work while I sat there stuffy and spaced-out and tried not to infect everything. That kind of sucked.

Also, every year since I was thirteen my dad and I get together and make peanut butter & chocolate fudge. It's pretty much the only father/daughter tradition we have. We use the same outdated recipe every year (4 1/2 cups of sugar! One jar of marshmallow fluff!) and every year it's like the first time we've ever done it. Someone will get burned, something will go wrong, hijinks galore. Weeks in advance we joke about the freight train necessary to bring in enough sugar. Dad will call me and leave a message like this,

"Well, it's your father. I just wanted to tell you that the train arrived today and unloaded the boxcar full of sugar. I think it should be enough. I'll go down to the depot this weekend with a pickup truck to get it and then bring it to your house. Do you have a shovel?"

Man, I love Christmas.

Everything sticks like a broken record.

God, how did I do this every day for an entire month? I am wracking my brain for something pithy or witty to talk about. I mean, y'all are pretty simple, really, as flying grits eye trauma seemed to amuse you plenty. Good luck with that.

In lieu of any kind of real entry, I feel instead that I need to address a very important comment made recently pertaining to my last entry about Pushing Daisies aka the BEST SHOW IN THE WORLD. This comment distressed me deeply:

I've been watching, but I don't know that I can continue... it seems so fruitless.... although I love the characters, the pie maker and the girl CAN NEVER BE TOGETHER!!!! It makes the will they won't they pointless and I feel sorry for the other girl pining (pineing?) away for a guy that doesn't even know she exists. It's actually quite depressing when you boil it down to the actual facts. I think I'm done with the daisies....

Oh yeah, I'm calling you out, Jen. I totally don't get this because, dang, there have only been eight episodes! How can you just give up and assume they won't find a way? This show is all about innovation and quirkiness and un-reality. Hell, we don't even know WHY Ned has the powers that he has, so we don't know that there's no way around it. Plus, last night a cheese ball turned into a little crab.

I think that needs repeating: A CHEESE BALL TURNED INTO A LITTLE CRAB.

Sheesh. In other news, Project Runway is just so great this season! I will be the first to admit that Christian is my favorite because he's such a bitchy monkey. A monkey I can keep in my pocket for when I need to snark about someone's bad outfit. I'm sure he's getting a lot of hate but I like him. His outfit was great this week too. So there.

Custom Made for Me.

Grits insanity aside, I had a pretty fantastic weekend. It was busy and exhausting but ultimately successful. I took Friday off work to get ready for the 3rd annual Richmond Craft Mafia Handmade Holiday sale, at which we kicked ass. I think it was our best holiday gig yet. As part of the who thing, I got interviewed by a local PBS television show and might end up on TV. I can hardly bear the thought of what my weird face is going to look like on TELEVISION, but I'll keep you posted.

On Saturday we did a local street fair/show and did well there too, but that's not important. What's important is that there was a group of kilted bagpipe players AND a bunch of folks dressed up as Star Wars characters. And, before I could even voice the hopeful thought in my head, the two groups merged! The Star Wars theme was played on bagpipe and a bounty hunter did a little jig. I was breathless and yes, I took pictures. Pictures you will just have to wait for because I forgot to upload them. SORRY. There was also a very rotund fellow who walked by our table wearing a pair of insane holiday-themed pants. I turned to Kate and said,

"Where would you even go to buy pants like that?"

She thought about it for a second and replied,

"Maybe a Big & Tall Clown store?"

True Grits.

It was one of those incidents that you replay in your mind over and over again. How could it have been avoided? What could I have done differently? Why the hell does Rachael Ray have it in for me? Here's what happened:

I decided that for dinner Thursday night we needed good southern Shrimp and Grits. Comfort food! I found the perfect recipe but it required ONE HOUR at least in grits cooking time. I don't have that kind of time for a weeknight dinner and anyway, I only have instant grits in the cabinet. I checked the Food TV site and found a RR recipe that was Shrimp and "Grits". Oh, Rachael, why do you have to be like that? Why do you want me to use Polenta for the grits when all I have is GRITS? Fuck her, I substituted grits for the "grits" and got to cooking. That's when the bitch got her revenge. My grits were boiling madly and as I took the lid off to stir them a wad of molten hot grit insanity flew out of the pot and landed a millimeter from my eye. I was like that dude at the end of Indiana Jones when he looked at the Arc and his face melted off. You want to know what came out of the Lost Arc? GRITS. Those little fuckers fly and they stick and they burn your face off. I remember clutching my face and screaming like a girl. Hell, I'm lucky I didn't lose an eye! Do you know how embarassing it would be every time someone asked, "Hey, why are you wearing that eye patch" and you had to answer, "grits"? That would SUCK.

Anyway, I have a gross little blistery burn right under my right eye and it's all Rachael Ray's fault.

"It was the grits that done it."

Hey, at least I'm not telling you about the dream I had.

I am full of ire because I did not sleep last night. Or, rather, I did not sleep enough. I went to bed too late after watching Project Runway and working feverishly on the jewelry inventory. I am super ridiculously stressed out about the weekend which I'm guessing didn't help, but when I finished reading my bedtime chapter, Chapsticked up and turned off the light, my brain kept on keeping on. And on. And on. I just lay there buzzing. I tried everything but I was just THERE. I think I did doze off for a minute because when I finally got up to seek out the Benedryl (bless it's cold, pharmaceutical heart) I was, for some reason, under the impression that I'd just walked through the web of a gigantic spider and shrieked out loud while beating it away. Nice! I enjoyed that extra little insomnia mind-fuck.

Then I didn't find any of the Sweet B so I went back to bed and Kenny, who is up half the time anyway, came and brought me some homeopathic hippie sleep pills which, I'm happy to tell you, didn't do shit for me. Finally around 3am, I dug some dusty Benedryl out of my purse and happily slept for the next three and a half hours. THATS IT. I've spent the entire day feeling like i was swimming in a sea of Jello. Slow and blurry is where it's at today. Sllooooow and bluurrrry.

Because you needed more proof that I'm a bad person.

From Yahoo:

Tiny horse has big heart

Thumbelina, the smallest horse ever, goes on a 40,000-mile tour to cheer sick kids.
Video clip


When I read this I rolled my eyes a lot. When I watched it, I rolled them even more. Not because I'm made of stone (lord knows I love a super cute teeny-tiny horse) but because if you watch the video, Thumbelina looks like she'd like to be anywhere else other than where she is and I think she is actually trying to bite that guy. I sincerely doubt that one morning she lovingly caressed his face with her tiny hooves and said, "let's go cheer up sick kids!" Mostly I'm guessing she would like a nice field full of clover. Alone. And to not be on TV.

In other unrelated news, last night I set the glass dome lid to my wok on the kitchen counter top and watched as if in slow motion as it slid off, hit the floor and broke into a thousand pointy shards on the kitchen floor. Damn cheap ass IKEA untempered glass. Stella, who was in the kitchen when it happened, immediately proceeded to prance through the shards before I could stop her. She was unscathed, thankfully, because she's a cat and that's what cats do. They prance through the havoc, whether they wreaked it or not.

This world is not set up for me.

Yay, look at me! I updated every goddamn day this month. EVEN WHEN I WAS PUKING. That is dedication, my friends. Thank you all for reading and for the many fine comments. I crave comments like candy. Delicious, self-affirming candy. I will probably be taking the weekend off, but I'll be back with a vengeance on Monday, now that I've gotten a taste for the daily blogging thing.

So, today on my lunch break I went to one of those Big Book stores to get a birthday present for my niece Dusty (of FreshHell fame). Specifically, I went to purchase this:


Here is the description from the Big Book Store's website:

Move over, guys; the girls' retort to The Dangerous Book for Boys is here. No callow imitation, The Daring Book for Girls contains oodles of information and instruction for tomboys and girly-girls alike. This handy 288-page fun tutorial teaches you everything from double dutch and cat's cradle to secret note-passing skills, making friendship bracelets and mastering a perfect cartwheel. It delves into higher mysteries like concocting science projects and deciphering the responses of boys. Novel, but not just a novelty; a bundle of practical fun.

Now. Where in the Big Book Store would you expect to find this book? This book that they have listed under -> Children - Social Issues on their website. I assumed, since it's a children's book, that it would be in the children's book section. Oh ho ho! I looked and looked and looked and looked. And looked. They had an island shelf full of SIMILAR books but not the one I was looking for. I finally and exasperatedly flagged down an employee and she said, "Oh! I know exactly where that is!" and led me out of the children's section and down towards the regular adult fiction section where there was a whole display of them. In.... fiction. This book is not fiction. It's definitely adult-friendly, in that, I think I would enjoy reading such a thing, but CLEARLY IT IS MEANT FOR CHILDREN.

I should add, this is the same bookstore that used to stock Henry James under Classics instead of Complete Crap, so what do they know.

Large Food. Good Times.

I went out for a work-event lunch today and we went to an emporium of Large Foods. The portions are so large that the weirdo waiter (who had a naaasty cold sore on his lip and was also nauseatingly polite) warned us that the portions were unmanageable. I just don't understand the whole quantity over quality thing, but okay. The lunch I got was fine and huge and afterwards their were giant slices of overly-ridiculous $7 cheesecake. Again, it was tasty and even I'm not so dumb that I'll turn away cheesecake even if it does have cookie dough and peanut butter and chocolate and whipped cream going on, but dang. Way Too Much. Why so much? SO MUCH.

Now I feel like I'm going to explode and lunch was hours ago. Dang it, Large Food.

In completely unrelated news: WHO'S WATCHING PUSHING DAISIES? If you're not, start. I mean, right now. Go to the website and watch the episodes online because it's the single best show on network television right now and you're missing it. It's good on so many levels and it's pretty much exactly my vision of... things. Basically, I want to live in an Amélie world and this show is pretty close to that world. Which is my ideal world. Also, Olive's cleavage is outstanding. Watch it just for that if you want, I don't care. Mostly I just want everyone to keep watching so that it doesn't get lost and canceled in the shuffle of the strike madness. I'm so worried that it will get Keen Eddied and I really can't let this happen so if I have to chain myself to the Porsche driven by whatever asshole Suit kills my favorite shows, I'll totally do that.

File under: Products That Need to Die

Clocky. What the hell. Clocky is not funny, Clocky is not cute, Clocky is the spawn of Satan. I mean, for the love of God, why would i want an alarm clock that will jump off my nightstand and go hide? It better hide somewhere good because I will take a hammer to that shit when I find it. It's bad enough that my alarm clock goes off at all. The only thing that saves it's ass from total destruction is that it's not running around trying to hide from me before it goes off again.

Also, the five minutes between each snooze is when I have my trippiest most fucked-up dreams. Why would I ruin that by stumbling blindly around the bedroom with a crowbar in hand?

Here's where I pimp my ride.

I really love Target as much as the next girl (I mean, dang, what did I do before Target? Where did I go to rashly spend gobs of money on things I didn't even know I needed? Where did I go to quiet my mind and touch shiny affordable objects?) but this year I'm making a serious effort to buy (or make) at least one handmade gift per person on my list. This has gotten so much easier to do with the advent of Etsy.com. Etsy is like Target - what the hell did we do before Etsy? Where did we waste hours of time searching for stuff we didn't know we needed? Etc.

If you like the idea of Etsy but get seriously overwhelmed by the mass glut of everything cool omg so much, there is a solution. A few very nice people have created a website to help highlight things you might like: All Things Handmade.

It's a great way to browse the handmade goodness without feeling like your head is going to explode. Also, because I'm pimping already, don't forget to visit Keen Designs because we're adding something new every day. EVERY. DAMN. DAY. If you buy something from our Etsy shop, please mention Amblus in the comments section and I'll take 15% off your order! (I'll need to send you an adjusted invoice, so don't pay until I do that.)

Finally, if you're desperate to buy something FOR ME (or fine, for someone else) here are a few of my favorites:

Etsy Buy Handmade KeenDesigns

Hidely Ho, Readerinos.

Hi! I'm at work which is usually fine but today makes me want to drum my head on my desk. Shit, even the cats looked all depressed when I left the house this morning and they don't have jobs, unless sleeping all day is a job. Fuzz will probably drag some of Kenny's gross socks around the living room and Stripes might hack up a hairball, but still. Not jobs.

I don't have much of an entry today, but as promised, I have pictures! Here is the table my sister and I picked out (click for a bigger version):



I need to find cute chairs to match and paint the wood trim a non-minty color, but really, I'm completely delighted with how cute it looks. YAY.

My mother bought me this little chest of drawers for my bathroom:



I'll probably paint it eventually but for now it's shabby chic. Why are you laughing?

Anyway, if that's not enough entry for you I also (finally) added a new picture-full entry on my bike blog: http://amblus-whitewhale.blogspot.com/2007/11/neglected.html

I am an updating MACHINE today, people.

Sunday Dread

Meh. The end of a really really long weekend is always kind of depressing and I have a bit of the Sunday Dreads. Today was pretty good overall and I did the stuff I wanted to do, but still. Sunday night. Meh.

I did manage to go back out to the antique/thrift store with my mom and pick up the cute table for our dining room and also a little cabinet for the bathoom. Our house is so cute right now! I'll have to take more pictures so I can remember how it looks when things go back to their usual slovenly state.

In Crazy People news, I got this email today in the Keen account:

Hello ,I own a Boutique/gift shop here in Florida, and after looking over your website I am extremely interested in your products, I was wondering if I might request a few samples to see what I think of your product before making a large purchase for my store , thank you and I look forward to doing business with you.

I felt like responding:

Dear Crazy, You fucking wish.

Seriously, was I born yesterday? I did a quick search on her incredibly stupid email address (the first part was Mothertomy2girls@...) and what a surprise! Other indie designers have gotten the same scam and I'm sure it probably works too. I know when we first started we were green enough to fall for this kind of thing. It really pisses me off though, because dang, if you have to steal, go steal from a big corporation or something. Or hey, don't steal at all! Preying on tiny independent artists is just nasty. I sort of might have written her back to tell her I though so too. Hmph.

Exactly what a Saturday should be.

Today was a template for what a perfect Saturday should be. I got up and went to the gym for a couple of hours and then spent the rest of the day eating. PERFECT. I did some other stuff too, but the eating was so grand.

Kate and I went to Can Can Brasserie for lunch and I got a giant portion of Moule Frite and we split a carafe of wine while we caught up on the past week's happenings. Then we tottered tipsily around Carytown and had vaguely inappropriate conversations with strangers. I think that's my #1 favorite thing about living in the South- complete strangers will talk to you about ANYTHING. Unfortunately they're often crazy complete strangers, but today that wasn't the case. Conversations that were had:

- charming older women at the next table chatted about their insane giant jewelry.

- woman in the bathroom and I got down about our hair and it's abilities or lack thereof.

- had an eyeopening talk with salespeople in EQ3 about Lance Armstr0ng (unanimously agreed: a doping creep), his relationship with Ashley 0lsen (so so so creepy), and then one of them piped up that they'd been at a party where Miss 0lsen was busy getting snorty with the coke. GOOD STUFF.

Kate and I then did some shopping (beads, Christmas presents, candy) and tottered back to Can Can for coffee and chocolate cream puffs. Was today excellent or what? So nice to have a free Saturday to play.

Now I'm waiting for a couple of butternut squash to get roasty so I can make them into soup for dinner. I can't think of a better way to end a good day than with a bowl of butternut squash soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. Wait, I can. Add a glass of wine to that. And George Clooney. And a pony. Okay, the end.

PS. As promised, here's my friend Marianne's recipe for the savory cookies (click on her link for other fantastic recipes):

cheddar-pecan-cranberry cookies

1/2 cup butter, room temperature
1 1/2 cups very sharp white cheddar, finely grated
1 1/2 cups white flour (I'm considering using half whole wheat next time, though)
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
2-3 pinches cayenne pepper
a few shakes of Tabasco
1 teaspoon baking powder
about 1/2 cup toasted chopped pecans
about 1/3 cup dried cranberries

Cream the butter and cheese together at high speed in your stand mixer. Add baking powder, salt, cayenne, and tabasco. Mix until blended. Slowly add in flour, nuts and cranberries with the butter mixture on high.

Turn dough out onto a large piece of waxed paper or plastic wrap. Shape into a log shape, roll the paper around it and twist the ends shut. Refrigerate for at least an hour. I usually just chuck the dough in the freezer at this point, you can bake it frozen.

Preheat oven to 375F.

Unwrap the dough log and, using a very sharp knife, slice the log into rounds a bit less than 1/2 inch thick. Place rounds on cookie sheets and bake for about 12 minutes, or until the bottoms of the cookies are golden brown. Remove to a cooling rack to cool completely. Store in an airtight container.

Makes 25-30. I usually double the recipe and keep a couple of logs of dough in the freezer for the whole holiday season.

I seriously almost forgot.

Here it is, 10:30pm and I am just now getting around to blog-time. Lord how the time flies when I'm not working.

If I was a smart cookie I would carry my camera around with me everywhere and would have a picture of the fantastic new table my sister found and bought for me for a Christmas present. I needed a dining room table to fit in our tiny little 1950's miniature dining room (was everyone an elf back then?) and decided that one of those cool vintage kitchen tables would be just the thing. The one we found is super cute and super still at the store because neither of us has a car big enough to fit it in. I'm going back for it on Sunday, never fear.

Yesterday I watched a lot of HGTV, especially my beloved House Hunters with Suzanne Whhhahang. This is the best show ever because you get to watch complete idiots throw over wonderful cute houses because, "I really don't like the paint color in this room." Because paint is permanent, people! My other favorite comment is when they walk into a simply ginormous and lovely kitchen and whine, "Hmmm. The kitchen is pretty small and outdated." OH MY GOD. They do not even KNOW small! Let me tell you about OUTDATED. I just want to crack skulls at that point. I also love love love the people who look at a perfectly perfect little Craftsman style cottage full of charming built-ins and then worry that their giant-screen TV won't fit. GOOD, BECAUSE THAT HOUSE IS WAY TOO AWESOME FOR YOU SO WHY DON'T YOU JUST GO BUY A NICE SPLIT-LEVEL, ASSHOLE.

I get a little...involved is what I'm saying. I love you, television.

Thanky.

Lord, what a day. It was bizarrely summer-like outside, all breezy and warm and sunny. I don't care how unseasonable it is, I'll take it. I spent the morning cooking and cleaning in a frenzy and then took pictures of the house to prove that it could actually BE CLEAN with some effort. How sad is it that I have to document the clean like it's a fleeting and rare state? Sad but true. Here's what I created:

• Sweet Potato and Apple Gratin
  
• good old fashioned mashed potatoes
  
• fresh green beans with lemon juice and zest
  
• savory cheddar-pecan-cranberry cookies (a recipe I begged off my friend Marianne)
  

The family brought the rest: two kinds of pie, black bean and sweet potato stew, mac and cheese, turkey, dressing, cranberry relish, the works. Good stuff all around.

Happy Thankgiving, kids!

Stealth-like, it comes.

You never know when it's going to hit, when that moment you've been anticipating with gleeful dread will happen. For me, it was today at the mall. I went to my favorite upscale outdoor mall today to return something and was dismayed to discover that, not only did a lot of people also have the day off, but it was all the people I hate. The wealthy-giant-stroller-pushing mommies, the gaggles of teenage snot, the PEOPLE, they were EVERYWHERE. Hate. Ugh.

Anyway, I was stomping towards the Gap when it happened. Silver Bells. Oh yes, my friends, that dirge of Christmas future! It was being piped into the outdoor mall. (How do they even do that?) Silver Bells is extra specially special for me though, because at one point in my life it was my #1 favorite mode of torture. I'd call my friend Ashley up (or she'd call me) and sing,

"SILVER BELLS. SILVER BELLS. IT'S CHRISTMAS TIME...IN THE CITYYYYYY."


Then I'd hang up.



Let that marinade for a second.



What's stuck in your brain? What will be stuck in your brain until CHRISTMAS?



Hahahahaaa. Sucker.

Ode to a Crotch Bow.

Holla, how freaking awesome is my new masthead? HOW. FREAKING. AWESOME. I have my friend Suzanne to thank - she is a brilliant master of the Photoshop. She makes things pretty for me.

That crotch bow photo was taken at my friend Noah's prom-themed party a few years back. Here's the original picture:


Now I'm sure you're wondering, "Damn, girl, where DID you buy a dress so awesome?" and my answer would be, "no where" because you can't just buy a dress like that. You just can't. No, in order to get a dress that fantastically ruchy, faded and crotchy-bowed, you have to know people. In this case, I knew Kate's husband Justin who, at the time, was a key-holder to the University's costume shop. Oh, glory day.

The costume shop is housed in what used to be a swimming pool, so it's basically a graduated pit filled with costumes and donations and hideousness the likes of which I'd never seen. It was glorious. Kate and I spent an hour looking for THE DRESS, the one to rule them all. It was work, people. We squeezed in and out of any number of weird and unflattering ensembles, but finally we settled on the cream of the crop. Kate's was black velvet with giant panels of red satiny goodness on either side, complete with hip poofs, and mine was, of course, the green explosion seen above. People still talk about it, I have to tell you. Someone mentioned it at Noah's Halloween party last month, "Hey, you are the girl who wore THAT DRESS." Yes, yes, I am that girl. Please, no autographs.

Sadly, stupidly, I only had the dress on loan and I gave it back. Why did I do that? I can promise you that dress will never be worn again by anyone because who would want to? It was only me who could make a crotch bow shine like that. Au revoir, my shiny green sweetness. I think of you fondly.

A conversation with my iPod

"Shuffle songs, please."

"As you wish."

...Counting Crows....click

...Gwen Stefani...click

...Gwen Stefani...click

...No Doubt...CLICK

"Seriously? Is this still on shuffle?"

"Sigh."

...Cowboy Ju...click

...Arca...CLICK

"God, lady, make up your mind."

"Just give me something I'm in the mood for!"

...The Clash "Clampdown"...

"Perfect, thank you."

...David Bowie "I Know It's Going to Happen Someday"...

"Well played!"

"Thank you, I try."

...The Specials "Little Bitch"...

"Seriously, it's like you're reading my mind today."

"I'm so happy you're pleased."

...The Strokes...click

...Duran Dura...click

...Kaiser Chi...click

...Dixi...click

...Ai...click

... ... ... ... ...

"Crap, crap! Are you frozen again?"

ll

...
...

"Shit. Sorry. I'll hit reset."

>ll

"Are you feeling better?"

"I guess."

"I'm really sorry about that. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I just feel like I can't do anything right today."

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm just in a weird mood. It's not your fault, you're doing great."

"Thank you, I really do try."

"I know you do. I appreciate it. I don't know what I did before you came into my life."

"Wow, that's nice to hear."

"I mean it, sincerely. Okay, do you feel ready now?"

"I think so. I think I know what you want now."

>

...Arctic Monkeys...

"Aw."

IKEA = LIVIG ROMM LOKS GUUD

Do you know how dumb I am? Here's how dumb I am and aren't you happy I'll even admit this: Today at Ikea I realized that POÄNG isn't a Swedish word. Neither is ENJE, DIGNITET or MANDAL. These are complete nonsensical stupid fake words that they made up so you sound like an idiot when you're trying to describe your item by name. "Well, we have the POÄNG chair already, but we thought it might be nice to get the TRÄBY system to go with it." Thanks Sweden, because I needed to sound dumber than I already am.

Oh Crap! The weekends are hard.

I'm not a weekend blogger at all, so if I fail this every-day thing it's going to happen on a Saturday or Sunday, mark my words. I have less than an hour! Shit. Today was action-packed. I went to this gym this morning for my usual two classes, but halfway through my weight lifting class my legs were shaking so much I decided to skip spinning and give myself a break. I felt completely exhausted afterwards, I think that was the right decision. I think I also overdid the squat track because my legs feel like complete shit right now. OW.

I met my youngest sister for a nice lunch (she's 21! I remember when she was born! This just in: I'm old!) and then hightailed it to the northside for two hours of barbershop quartet...ness. Wow, I'm not sure what I was expecting but it was...entertaining? We'll just leave it at that. I do admit to having to do a LOT of facial re-adjustments during the all-that-jazz middle aged dance number and a even more adjustments during the patriotic medley. I think I was the youngest person in the audience by a good thirty years. Rockin'. I'm glad I went, though, and the chorus that my former teacher was in sounded great. They all looked like they were having a good time.

Then home, dinner, movie of ridiculous cuteness. By this I mean, I rented this movie knowing that Wes Bentley was in it, but big bonus: Gavin Rossdale and mega-bonus: Gerard Butler! I didn't a shit about soccer before but I sure love it now.

Okay, is that enough? Sure. Tomorrow: Ikea! Woo.

What you gonna do, when morons come for you?

I am so over this Blogger template but I can't seen to find another one that will work. Blogger people, any sources for non-sucky templates? I just want one that fits my pictures and doesn't hurt my eyeballs. If my template appears to change twelve times today, do not be alarmed. I'm just playing with my sad options.

Anyway, what's up, party people? I just had lunch with my dad and in the name of making up for lost time I ate the fattiest thing I could find on the menu. It had two kinds of meat, swiss cheese, fatty dressing AND guacamole. Booya, that was fun. Now I have to go back to eating like a normal reasonable person, as I think I gained back all the sick-weight I lost in one Single Sandwich Incident.

So, weekend plans. This weekend is pretty jam-packed with stuffs. Tonight I'm eating sushi take-out and watching Ocean's Thirteen with Kenny, which pretty much sounds like heaven to me. Mmmm....George Clooney Roll.

Saturday I'm having lunch with my youngest sister to celebrate her birthday that was...last month, but who's counting. Then I'm trotting off to see my second grade teacher perform in this: http://www.grcsings.com/sound_celebration!.htm

She's very nervous and excited, it sounds like, so I'm happy to go watch. It should be something! She wasn't just a teacher (though she was certainly one of the best I ever had), she basically took me under her wing for a year when things were very hard - my mother was single and raising me and my sister while also working full time and going to grad school. My teacher desperately wanted kids (she has three grown boys now) and I was a good substitute. She and I have always stayed in touch and meet for dinner from time to time. Anyway, a cappella isn't totally my thing, but I'm proud of her.

On Sunday my sister and I are going on our bi-annual journey to IKEA, land of cheap stuff. I love shopping and I love cheap. Woo.

And that's the weekend. Next week doesn't even bear thinking about, what with the holiday madness and house cleaning frenzy that will occur.

Okay, so remember when I had my keys stolen a few months ago? Yeah, that sucked. What especially sucked was that the person who picked up my keys took with them my only good keyless remote for my car. I have another one but it's dicey and has a tendency to fall apart into bits, usually in crowded parking lots. It's currently being held together with electrical tape which is really classy, let me tell you.

Well, last week I finally found a reasonably priced replacement on eBay. YAY FOR EBAY. The seller promised programming instructions with the remote and emailed them as soon as I paid for it. I read them and immediately wilted into a pile of sadness because OH MY GOD, ITS TOTAL BULLSHIT. I'm not saying the seller is making it up, but really? I mean, really? Here, see for yourself:

Programming Instructions

1.) Start with key out of the ignition, driver door is open (all others closed), and driver door is unlocked.

2) Insert key into the ignition (don't turn it) and pull it out

3)Perform these steps within 40 seconds:

a. Using the power lock switch on the driver’s door, perform 5 lock/unlock cycles with lock. Use an even pace and try to go about one cycle per second. 1 cycle = 1 lock and 1 unlock)
b. Close, then open driver’s door.

4) Perform these steps within 40 seconds:

a. Using the power lock switch on the driver’s door, perform 5 lock/unlock cycles starting with lock. Use an even pace and try to go about one cycle per second.
(1 cycle = 1 lock and 1 unlock)
b. Insert the key in the ignition cylinder.
c. Turn the ignition to ON (as far as you can without cranking the engine) then back to OFF.
d. Turn the ignition to ON (as far as you can without cranking the engine) then back to OFF.
e. Remove the key from the ignition.

5) Within 3 seconds, the power door locks should cycle automatically indicating successful entry into programming mode. Return to step 1 if the locks do not cycle at this point.

6) Perform these steps within 40 seconds:

a. Press the lock and unlock buttons on the transmitter simultaneously for 1 second.
b. Immediately after letting go of the lock and unlock buttons, hit the lock button by itself and hold for 2 seconds. Within 3 seconds, the door locks should cycle once indicating successful programming. If the door locks don't cycle, or cycle twice, repeat steps a and b-your remote has not been accepted.

7) Close driver door.

8) Weep angry tears while banging head on driver door at about one cycle per second.

SWEET JEBUS. This is the clown car of all instructions! It's a cosmic joke and I'm convinced that when I perform these rituals someone is going to be hiding in the shrubs taping it for YouTube. Which is fine, as long as I get residuals.

The Masons are totally going to kill me for this.

So, quick show update and pictures! For whatever reason, most of my pictures came out sucktastic and blurry, but you can just suck it up and squint your eyes.

We did the Handmade Parade put on my the Norfolk Craft Mafia and it was a really good show. The venue was issue-prone but more than made up for it with charm and weirdness. I love me some weirdness. The main thing I give those Mafia folks credit for is the CROWD. There were so many people! Many of them actually bought things! It was quite nice, except for one customer who was so uncertain, so waffling, so in need of affirmation that we almost clubbed her over the head with a necklace bust. I mean, lady, it's a necklace! Buy it or don't! After dithering for, no shit, nearly an hour, she finally bought a necklace. Half an hour later she brought it back to be adjusted for length. Sheesh! Can you imagine being her hairdresser? (She actually mentioned hating her haircut and when we said it was cute she said, "Really?" with a look like she thought we were crazy.)

My other favorite was woman who looked everything over and then sneered, "I don't see any prices listed." Um, they're on the...price...tags?" Lord. My best overheard exchange was the woman incensed by a button another vendor was selling that said, "Jesus Wasn't a White Man". She was dressing down that vendor in all seriousness about how HE WAS TOO WHITE. Apparently middle eastern folks are Caucasian and therefore "white". Whatever you say, crazy. See also: GET A SENSE OF IRONY.

The show was held at a Masonic Temple which was awesome in it's weirdness and 1950s-trapped-in-amber. Especially in the bathroom. The woman's room had this awesome feature (this pic courtesy of Tasha, because mine sucked):



5¢!! I love it. Another interesting feature in the women's room was that the first two stalls contained urinals (I think):



Surprise! Not a toilet! Methinks the Masons weren't always so eager to allow the ladies in.

Definitely a men's club when you have to be so specific:



Oooh, showcase of top-secret Masonic gear:



The show was in two different rooms, the prison-like dining room (where we were) and the auditorium (aka scary sacrifice ritual room). The lighting in both was pretty bad, as you can see in this picture:




Ugh to the tiny prison windows and fluorescent dimness. Still, other than making our stuff less shiny and making us all look like we had cholera, it didn't matter. The show was fun and we made some sweet moola.

Enjoy Yourself. It's Later Than You Think.

Wow, back at work after three days of gutastic fun. My stomach still feels like it has a small alien living within (NO I'M NOT PREGNANT) because the reintroduction of food has made it very vocal and blurbly. It's embarrassing how loud my gastric business is, right now. It's good times. Food makes it sort of unhappy and the lack of food also has the same effect. What can a girl do.

I feel like I've sort of worn out my welcome on this "I'm sick" thing and while wildly combing my brain for a story to tell I remembered something that happened at the upscale farmer's market where we sell jewelry in the warmer months. We vended in September and it was not terribly profitable, but there was an incident that still makes me laugh. It also makes my ovaries more uncertain than they already are. (There seems to be a running theme here: INDECISION 2007- ADRIEN'S INNERDS. VOTE NOW.)

Anyway, the story:

At the farmer's market was a politician giving away balloons and such. A woman who was vending a few booths down from us had a passel of kids and they all had balloons, which seemed to make them happy. Well, almost all of them. Her little boy (maybe two or three years old?) really wanted to let his balloon go, even though his mother told him he wouldn't get it back. He let it go anyway, delightedly watched it fly off, and then burst into incredibly loud, drooling, square-mouthed shrieks of anger when he realized he couldn't get it back.

To stop the shrieking, his mother handed him another balloon. He released, he was gleeful, he was utterly furious, all within a two-second span. Another balloon was handed over, lather, rinse repeat. At this point we're all quietly cracking up. It's funny! Yet kind of annoying!

His mother starts to get irritated (perhaps with us for laughing) and finally ties the balloon to his belt loop. This sends the little boy into a rage like I've never seen. HOW CAN HE LET THE BALLOON GO WHEN IT'S ATTACHED TO HIS PANTS. NO NO NO. His solution, which reduced me and the rest of the vendors to convulsions, was to remove his pants and try to set the whole shebang free. Picture if you will: an angry, crying, towheaded, pantsless little boy trying to set free a balloon that is being dragged down by his pants. He was FURIOUS, marching along the row dragging his pants balloon behind him.

Finally, his mother caught up with him and untied the balloon, handed it to him with a warning. And looked on with blank despair as he gleefully let it go.

You gotta give that kids marks for consistency, I guess.

Progress!

OMG, you guys! I can sit up without clutching my head or my stomach in agony. I can eat something without immediately regretting it. I ate an entire waffle this morning, and even though it took me an hour to finish it, it stayed put. Now, if I could just manage to walk upright without feeling like my brain is cracking in two, we'll be all set. Did I mention that I fucking hate chicken noodle soup? Probably because the only time I ever eat it is when I already feel like crap. Gross by association.

This whole lack of interest in food is pretty interesting though. I mean, the idea that it would take me an hour to eat any kind of bread product is pretty hilarious, but when you don't trust your body to not immediately hurl it right backattcha, it's little wonder I'd be leery about consuming anything, much less a dry toaster waffle. (I've read that sentence three times and I'm still not sure it gramatically makes sense. Huh.)

So, with any luck I'll post some pictures tonight, or maybe not. Who can tell if I'll still be feeling moderately not-awful later this evening. We'll see.

PS. thanks for the comments!

A list of things I've eaten in the past 48 hours

- lemon popsicles (3)
- orange Jello (4)
- Saltine crackers (5)
- Gatorade (2)
- chicken noodle soup (1)

Someone please put me out of my misery.

It came out my nose, for god's sake!

I am sick. Sick sick sick. Sorry to be a tease about the photos but as soon as I'm able to sit upright and not puke, I'll post them. I don't know if I have food poisoning or a virus but really, does it matter? Urp.

Today I took a picture of a urinal and a Kotex dispenser.

Another show, a bunch more stories. I refuse to tell them tonight because I current feel like I might barf. I ate not a thing that wasn't complete crap today and topped it off with half a pizza. Urp. I feel completely grody.

We had a great show today, though, and made a bunch of money. The show was held in a Masonic Temple, hence the odd pictures. How can you not take a picture of a vintage Kotex dispenser? Only a nickel for some sweet pad goodness!

Oh, By the way...

More info: http://www.norfolkcraftmafia.com/index.html

Why Rich Kids Suck, Part Two.

I shake my head at today's wealthy youth, those who live in a safe little bubble created by a lifetime of fiscal security and really good skincare products. Now, I like my job and the benefits are great, HOWEVER. I'm still going to have moments where my inner 18 year-old, the one who went to art school and worked two jobs and usually didn't have enough money for cigarettes and lunch, wants to kick some rich kid butt. Not literally, just...maybe.

Last night I went to the gym on campus. I use the regular student locker room instead of the fancy faculty/staff one because a) there are lockers I can actually use and, b) I would rather not change in front of co-workers. (Really, think about how many ways that could be awkward.)

Anyway, I'm in the middle of changing when this student comes prancing in, singing a little song. She continues to sing as she changes, flinging her stuff hither and yon. Then she left...and left all her stuff splayed across one of the four benches in the locker room. Her coat thrown down, her bag wide open, clothes everywhere, her shoes in the middle of the floor. Basically, acting like it was her bedroom. I went and worked out for an hour and when I came back to change her shit was all still there. I couldn't believe it.

I was SO CLOSE people. So close to shoving it all on the floor. I really considered it, but I had to remind myself that I AM AN ADULT and also that it is not my job to school her. Plus, for all I know, there are security cameras and shit in there. Not worth it.

Man, being an adult sucks sometimes.

Top Ten Least Favorite Workplace Smells

1. Whatever that crap is you're heating up in the microwave.

2. Especially if it's microwave popcorn.

3. REALLY extra especially if it's burnt microwave popcorn. Thanks for the cancer!

4. You know what's worse than microwave popcorn? Cabbage soup. At 10:00am.

5. Mmm, I'm glad you propped the (unventilated) bathroom door open so that the smellrific-ness can waft down this way.

6. Especially if your stink is top-noted with eau du Tropical Ass air freshener.

7. Which, I might add, I totally threw away, but someone DUG IT OUT of the bathroom trashcan. OMG.

8. Thanks for not smoking right outside the door so I have to walk through it.

9. Hi! You're wearing too much cologne if I can smell it from here, hall monkey.

10. I need a vacation.

Death by Krispy Kreme.

I just sent this email to a friend:

For lunch we went to this Italian place for my bosses birthday and I ate the world. Then I ate the world's dessert. In five minutes there's going to be cake. I might hurl.

Yesterday someone dropped an entire dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts on my desk as a "thank you" for helping with an event. I wanted to ask that person what I did to make them hate me so much that they'd leave TWELVE DOUGHNUTS on my desk. What the crap? Why? It's really completely impossible to have an entire box of doughnuts in front of you and not eat one. Or two. It's a conspiracy.

I am generally pretty healthy with my eating but I'm not made of steel, people. I do have a weakness and it's name is sugar. If I lay off altogether I stop wanting it so so so much, but it doesn't take much to get me to throw myself backwards off the wagon, clutching a Krispy Kreme box to my bosom.

I think I've turned the corner, though, because when offered a chunk of store-bought birthday cake, thick with a wedge of lardy white icing, I politely declined. I mean, shit, I don't even like sheet cake! I know this statement pretty much translates into, "I hate freedom and puppies" for some people, but really, why would I eat something I don't even like, just for the illicit caloric joy of processed icing sugar gritting between my teeth? It's NOT WORTH IT.


(The doughnut, on the other hand, was fucking fantastic.)

Why any kid would want to be a crafter is beyond me.

HI WHY DID I SAY I'D DO THIS. Nothing noteworthy or terribly annoying happened today so I guess I'll post those pictures from the show that I keep yapping about. It was an indoor show which was nice for a change, except that we basically spent the entire day indoors. This is a sad feeling for me unless the weather is crap. It was not crap last Saturday.

Ahem, our booth with Kate behind it busily working on something:

I like this one because you can see me in the mirror. Kate is still busy and pretending to not notice I'm taking a picture:

This is Modern June's corner. Unfortunately some guys that smelled like motor oil moved in next door:

This is Erica of Bees Knees Studio being mad at me for taking a sneaky picture:

So I took this one to appease her. Nice of me to post both:

This is our next door neighbor Darling Company's view . She was fun to eavesdrop on and was wearing cute boots:

This is Cleo Dees. Cleo Dees rules so much and Kate and I are practically squid-stalkers:

This is Disquieting Designs. Y'ALL, SHE MAKES ALL THAT:

Lord, that's all for now, except how did I not get a picture of Missing Monsters? Sorry Deanna.

Make me a happy girl and click on some of those links and do a little handmade shopping, okay? Okay.

Bread Pudding is my God Now.

Really, it's always right before bed when I realize, oh shit, I have to do that every-day-blog-posty-shit. Lord. I have better things to do like brush my teeth, take out my contacts, and stare at my pores two inches from the mirror. Anyway, yesterday was our seventh wedding anniversary (yay us!) but the restaurant we wanted to go to doesn't do dinner on Sunday night. So, we went tonight and holy crap, holy crap, it was awesome. They do this date night special where you split a bottle of wine, a giant salad, a giant-er bowl of pasta and a dessert for $35. The price doesn't even matter though because the restaurant (Avenue 805 if you're local) is so good that you don't care if it's a bargain or not.

The dessert is always bread pudding and it's always the most amazing thing I've ever eaten. I snarfed it down in moany little spoonfuls and was secretly delighted when Kenny declared himself full because MORE DELICIOUSNESS FOR ME, SUCKER. We rolled home with happy full bellies and halfway through Chuck I realized I was still thinking about that bread pudding and cried a little tear of sadness and joy. Which reminds me of a story:

The Story of Kenny's Brother's Pig Petunia Who Cried.

Once Kenny's brother had a little potbellied pig named Petunia but he overfed her and she got crazy-ass enormous. Little pigs are cute. Crazy-ass enormous pigs are not, but that's not the point. Anyway, some friend of Kenny's brother gave him some barbecued elk meat and he gave some to the pig. Petunia was apparently so overcome with joy over the delicious elk meat that she wept. Yes, she cried tears of meat-induced joy. Kenny still cracks up when he tells me about it so I know it's true. Now go to bed.

Documenting The Crazy

Okay, I'm kind of a liar because you'll have to wait until tomorrow for the photos. I'm tired and this time change thing isn't helping at all. I did enjoy my extra hour of sleep this morning, though. That part ruled. Anyway, one story before bedtime:

Toothless Crazy Lady Steals Our Shit

When she walked up I sort of held my breath because I am very adept at recognizing the crazy when I see it and usually it's 1,000 weird questions but no purchase of any kind. We'd been having a good run up to that point and were feeling mildly successful. Before she got started, the toothless crazy lady (who in retrospect looked a bit cracked out and had this insane tongue that she kept lapping around her lips in a way that was truly, truly disgusting.) asked us upfront if we'd except her husband's credit card because, "The card is in his name but I pay the bills."

Sure, we're pretty trusting and haven't been burned yet. She picked out a couple of pieces pretty quickly, we ran her card with our little knuckle-buster and off she went to the next vendor. I suggested to Kate that we call in the card as soon as possible and then we realized we didn't have our merchant number and the phone number with us. We shrug, we carry on sitting out the Longest Show Ever.

A while later I come back from the bathroom and Kate says, "I have bad news and worse news." The bad news was that all the info we needed to call in the charge was, uh, printed right on our card swiper. Duh. The worse news is that Kate called in Crazy's charge and it was all, DO NOT HONOR.

So yeah, it was pretty dumb of us, but in three years this is the first time we've been ripped off so we're not too upset by it. It takes too much time (and cellphone $) to call in each charge as we get them, but from now on we'll call in anything that raises alarm bells. I don't like to judge people by appearance, but she had the swirly-eyed stamp of crazy written all over her face and we should have trusted our instincts on this one.

Kate's take on it was that if the crazy lady needed some sparkly jewels in her life badly enough to steal them, then maybe they were meant to be hers. Heh.

Three Days In and I'm Flailing.

We got back from the DC Craft Mafia show at 10:30pm. It was semi-succesful except that we got ripped off by a toothless woman. I can't make stuff like that up! I swear. I also got to meet Essaywriter which was pretty cool too. Those were the highlights, such as they were. I bought a few little things, the best of which is a button that says "Gah!" I think Essaywriter got one too. You are so jealous. I am going to bed now - more tomorrow with a few pictures! Woo.

You Could Be RAD. R-A-D!

HI HI OMG HI. HIHIHHI. Guess what I did this morning? I got up stupid-early and went to spinning class at 6:15am because, seriously, desperate measures. I missed my workout yesterday and tomorrow I'm out of town for a show, so I had to do what had to be done. It's not that bad, really, once you're up. My brain continues to snooze until I'm actually in the spinning studio at which point it wakes up all, "Wassah...bikey...whoosat...WHY?" and then we're off and no more thinky, just spinning and sweat and good/bad loud music. Love it.

By the time I leave I am a) completely starving and, b) WIRED. WHICH I STILL AM. Seriously, someone put a helmet on me because I feel like I've been mainlining pixie stix and it's two in the afternoon and I'm vibrating. I'll probably go home and fall in the door half-asleep, but still, all this energy can't be normal. I guess getting up at 5:30am to exercise ain't so normal either but I HAD TO.

The craft show tomorrow is in D.C. (though actually in Bethesda) and hopefully will be awesome. Thankfully, it doesn't start until noon. Unthankfully it goes until 8pm. What the hell is that? Eight hours? Seriously? Add in drive time and that's a 12 hour workday. That sucks. Suckety suck sucks. We better sell some stuff, is all I'm saying. Hmph.

Okay, I'm off to bounce off some walls. BYE Y'ALL.

It's gonna BLOW UP, Y'ALL.

I suddenly got a wildly Halloween candy-induced urge to make the internets blow up by posting every goddamn day in November. WHY WOULD I DO THAT.

The kitty told me too. And maybe it'll net me some COMMENTS AROUND HERE. Because sheesh, I open up my soul to you bitches and I get nothing back so then I'm reduced to groveling for your approval. I don't know why I need it so much.

Since there's a giant kitty up there I guess I should tell you what's going on with my cats. Something strange happened recently in that it got chilly out and all of a sudden the girls are real friendly-like. They are very pushy about the laps and very insistent that they need to be in your lap right this second and oh, I'm sorry, were you eating? Can I have some of your food while I sit here in your lap? Can you just drop a fry in my mouth? No? Whynotwhynotwhynotttttt.

Wait, that was pretty much just Fuzz who does that. Zephyr is mildly interested in food but mostly just wants to be in Kenny's lap. I don't think she's ever so much as looked at my lap even though I saved her from an untimely death and raised her myself. Stella couldn't care less what you're eating (unless it's tuna steak) and also has no lap interest except when the moon is three quarters full in odd months and it's also Tuesday. She's such a bizarre cat. She'll talk your ear off but get offended if you try to pet her. Or, she'll settle comfortably near you and welcome petting with sweet purring until she wants you to stop, which you'll know because her eyes will begin to glow red and she'll razor her paw at your throat.

Pets are so enriching to our lives, aren't they?

Small is Awesome.

Ha ha, not a real entry, but I did think you'd want to maybe see the latest entry I added to the Richmond Craft Mafia blog, in which I document the creation of a tiny piece of art for the upcoming ThinkSmall! show.

Oh, come on. Where else will some fool show you their incredibly fascinating creative process? Why would anyone care? YOU CARE. Go take a look. And just so I'm not all "me me me" here's Kenny's entry. Oh, and did I mention my mom has one too?

If you're local, you should totally come see this show. Where else are you going to see tiny art by a zillion of the best locals artists?

More Info: ThinkSmall4!

The 800 Hour Work Day

Here it is, kids! My usual whine about how Friday seems to have stretched itself out into about 20 work days all strung together. I thought maybe we'd luck out when I came back from lunch to find the power out, but no, denied. It came back on.

To add to my slow demise, it's public radio telethon time and I thought seriously about calling in to pledge a million dollars if they'd just STOP ALREADY. I think my head actually might have exploded around the time they featured someone's kids singing (in harmony) the theme from "All Things Considered". I know, dude, it's like they want me to die horribly. What dumb kids actually like that theme song anyway? It's terrible! It reminds me of long dark, cold drives in the back of my dad's VW Rabbit when I was a kid. It's deadly. Do these kids not have access to real music? Someone slip them some Beatles or something, get them started down the right path? Sheesh.

I have that damn meeting in NINE minutes, so right quick, here's what I'm digging lately:

Hunting and Gathering by Anna Gavalda. I wasn't sure it was going to be my kind of book but now I'm afraid to read too much at one sitting because I don't want it to end. It's fantastic.

Costello Music by The Fratellis. My new favorite band. I cannot get enough of the skinny talented British boys who curse a lot.

Pushing Daisies on ABC. This is the best show on television right now. It's borderline twee but has a nice dark side to balance things out. It's also freaky and clever and this week a couple of characters sang a They Might Be Giants song, referencing their current situation AND the movie the band was named after. It's ridiculous and I couldn't love it more if I tried.

Won't someone think of the televisions?

Oh my God, you guys are hurting my feelings with the lack of comments. What is the deal? Do I offend? Have my checks not been arriving?

This morning we were watching the NBC which means we were watching other people's houses burning. We were watching people staring blankly at the smoking piles of what use to be their lives. Some of them were needlessly brave and said things like, "Nobody got hurt and we're grateful. Nothing else matters." That's very mature of them because I, for one, would be fucking losing my MIND over all the stuff I could never get back. If it was me and Matt Lauer was asking me how i felt he'd probably wish he hadn't because I'd be all, "Holy mother of FUCKING GOD THIS SUCKS SO BAD!! WHERE ARE MY KEEN EDDIE DVDS? WHERE IS MY VENETIA BAG. WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? IS THAT SMOKING LUMP OF PLASTIC MY HARD DRIVE BECAUSE I NEED TO BLOG ABOUT THIS."

That's right, I'd admit on a national level that I would be angry about stuff like my clothes and shoes and handbags. Especially the handbags. And furniture. And bikes. And the televisions! Won't someone think of the televisions? (I'm kidding about that, but also kinda not.) Oh God, I feel sick just thinking about it. I mean, duh, the irreplaceable stuff like photographs and childhood mementos would be the biggest, most monumental loss, but what about those perfect jeans that you can't buy anymore? Good luck finding those on eBay. (Incidentally, it was the jeans-cost-replacement-theory that convinced me we needed rental insurance back before we owned a house. Thanks, Coryndon!)

I mean, how do you even start? How do you even make a list of every thing you need to live your everyday life? How do you replace books, and paperwork, and dishes and knickknacks and furniture? How do you even begin to do that? I find that when I watch the footage I'm making a mental list of important things I'd throw in the car if we were given a few minutes notice to evacuate. I suppose the ungrateful cats would be first on the list. Or my handbags. I'm kidding. Not really. Then: important papers, clothes, a couple of paintings, photographs, the hard drive...God, I don't even know. What's important? What qualifies?

(I have to pause for a second because I was interrupted by my boss who was happy to inform me that YES, I AM FINALLY GETTING THE RAISE I'VE BEEN WAITING ON FOR SIX MONTHS. SWEET BABY JEEBUS, YAY. Sorry, please return to somber and heartfelt entry.)

The other day I was sitting at a stoplight in my car and watching the world around me and was somewhat amazed at what we all do. At what that tired woman waiting at the bus stop does, at what that dude walking down the sidewalk does. Every day we get up and pull ourselves together and go through the same tedious routines of (hopefully) cleaning ourselves up and getting dressed to get ready for another day of living. We all could, I suppose, just stay in bed and let the cards fall as they may, but most of us plug on. We keep going. So I guess when you lose all your stuff, you just do what you always do - if you generally lose your mind you do that and if you are the kind of person who pulls your shit together and gets on with things you do that. It's the way things are, I suppose.

I do vacuum the bathroom floor...

Can I complain a minute? Just for a minute?

What the hell is up with toothbrush handles these days? I tried to buy a toothbrush last week but they all have these giant bulbous handles that won't fit in our toothbrush holder. It's like the designers just want to make an awesome rockin' sweeet looking brush but don't actually give a shit about functionality. I mean, fine, if I buy the bulby-handled brush because, woo, it's ergonomic and shit, then what? I'm supposed to leave it on the ledge above the sink and not cringe every time it gets knocked onto the bathroom floor? The floor I never mop? Because that's what's going to happen. So I just didn't buy one and then this morning when I had my dentist appointment they gave me a nice new brush for free and the handle was normal, which pleases me.

My dentist appointments are historically fraught with horror, but this one was pretty good comparatively. I was, as usual, momentarily filled with rage towards the hygienist while she was busily scraping my teeth with that metal pick thing. She was less vicious than the regular hygienist (who had the day off) but still, I wanted to grab both her hands at one point and just remove them from my face area. God, I hate having my teeth cleaned. I hate everything about it. I hate the suction tube, the smell of latex gloves, the scraping, the bitewings, the horrible gritty polish shit they scrub into your teeth at the end. HATE.

When she got started, the hygienist, in an attempt to make conversation, asked me if I had kids. All I had time for was a short, "No" before she went back in and that pretty much ended the chatting. I guess it was her usual conversation starter and I disappointed her into silence with my lack of offspring. Sorry! Can't really talk anyway because i have your hands in my mouth and all. She did take some time out to ask me why I still had my wisdom teeth and when I explained that the dentist (who, I might point out, is her boss) told me not to get them pulled she said I should get a second opinion. Upstart! I thought that was pretty funny, actually.

Something I'm not (for once) complaining about:

It's almost November and the weather is Indian Summer XTREME. Lack of rain notwithstanding, I freaking love it. You heard me, I LOVE IT. I want to make out with this weather. I cannot get enough of the ultra-beautiful perfect warm days with a deep blue sky and a crisp clean quality of light you don't get in the summer. Gorgeous.

Fine, make that face, but remember this in January when it's raining ice and the skin on your hands is all chapped. Just remember how nice these sunny 80 degree days feel. Remember it when you're driving through slush and your feet are wet and freezing. Remember it when you have to crank up the space heater because nobody thought about weather-stripping back in the 1950's (sorry, that reminder is just for me.) I mean, I get it, I want to wear my boots and new coat and all, but not bad enough that I'm willing to throw away some perfectly beautiful weather. I'll wait.

Quick weekend update: I sold my shitty old vacuum cleaner at the yard sale and bought a shiny new one! I did not make enough cash for a Dyson (or even for a Dyson clone) but I was able to afford this:


It's a Bissell and it is to the Mighty-Mite what my Avalon is to the Nova. Happy days.

I Make Fun of Stuff...and Stuff.

It's that week, the week during which I tend to lose my mind and become filled with PMS-induced rage. I've been timidly waiting for it and so far I'm doing okay. Last month was so bad I considered maybe getting a prescription for something chill-making, so we'll see. It's only Wednesday, after all.

I have found that my fun-making skills are much sharper this week as demonstrated last night while watching TV. This horrible band was on some lame public access cable show and they did a couple of truly horrible acoustic tracks. I made fun of them with such ease! I actually cracked myself up at one point and collapsed on the couch laughing while Kenny looked at me sideways. Okay, maybe I was just shooting fish in a barrel because the douche-y lead singer:

- really really really wants to be Adam Lavine (why? How did Maroon 5 even happen?)
- has an ironic mohawk
- was wearing a suit vest over a t-shirt
- was singing some of the lamest lyrics ever on the face of the earth:

pictures of you
pictures of me
hung up on your wall for the world to see

pictures of you
pictures of me
remind us all of what we used to be

Ha!

I assumed they were local until I saw their actual video on Mtv this morning in place of the usual horrible Maroon 5 nonsense (Adam Lavine is pissed), which included touching footage of a dreadlocked squatter mother and her child looking all morose. So edgy! So...zzzZZZzzz...

Moving on. Here's what's happening:

This weekend Kate is hosting a big yard sale and I'm happily (and much to Kenny's horror) rooting through every closet and cabinet in our house to see what we can sell. It is amazing to me the amount of useless crap we have acquired in just a few short years. It's like our house grows it's own junk. It's unnatural! I'm really fighting it, this genetic need to hoard (hi mom!)

I got the grand idea of selling our crappy old vacuum cleaner at the yard sale and buying a shiny new one with the yard sale proceeds. Lets hope I make more than $20 total so that can happen, instead of my selling my vacuum cheap and also not making enough to buy another one, which is probably really what's going to happen. Shit. You know it will, but who cares? I need that thing gone.

In other news, I did a race last weekend and you can read about it here. Aren't I nice to segregate the sporty stuff so you don't have to weed through it to get to more useless nattering about vacuums? Don't ever say I don't care about your feelings, is all I'm saying.

Kate and I also attended Bizarre Market last weekend and I bought cool stuff from Lookability and Arthur Hash. It's funny because the first Bizarre Market Kate and I ever attended was in October 2004 or 2005 and the weather was unseasonably warm. Last Saturday was exactly like that. I meant to take pictures but apparently you need both the camera and the memory card in order to do that. I mean, really, I can't do it all, people! Too many things to keep track of. End result: no pictures for you.

Too bad.

ZOMG SO BORED WHAT TO DOOOO.

Seriously, Friday, what gives? My brain is all crunky today so instead of words I'll give you entertainment in the way only I can.

Firsty, you wanna see my desk? If you click through to Flickr you can read all my dumb notes:






Secondy, I stole something. I stole a magazine from the gym because I though I would look totally awesome on the cover instead of Nicole Kidman. She really needs to step off from my boyfriend. Don't we look cute together?



He's so into me.



And yes, I made my husband take these pictures. He knows what the score is.

Finally, before I rot your brain entirely, here's a great link that Kenny sent me:

Our Town

It's all cool vintage photos from a town in New York state. I love all the old fashioned names: Clifford, Viola, Louise, Mildred! I couldn't stop looking at them. Enjoy.

Peace out.

Death By Kleenex Box.

On Sunday Kate and I participated in an art/craft show held on the campus where I work. It's an annual event and the first time we've ever done it. I'm glad we did because it was nicely organized and very well attended. We made money and had a good day, despite feeling like we were in a terrarium. Somehow our tent was set up in exactly the wrong place in conjuction with the sun and wind, because we were baking all day. Ugh.

The day did not start auspiciously. We pulled up to the vendor lot and, behold! The Mailroom guy is moonlighting as the lot attendant. Sweeet. Jesus. As we're beginning to unpack my car, he walks over to me to impart some very important and life-saving information. Apparently, like a tissue box, the foam sun visor I have stowed on the ledge by the back window could be completely lethal in a car crash* and could trauma my head totally to death. I really wanted to point out the probability of head-trauma-death-by-car-crash would be taken care of by, oh, I don't know, the 60 pounds of metal TENT shoved in my back seat, but no no, Mailroom Guy, you're right. That piece of folded foam is certainly lethal. I shall move it posthaste.

The show set-up was fine and made more amusing by the complete lack of planning and preparation of the dude next to us, who was a little nuts, but in an endearing artist sort of way. He was still drilling and um, art-making well after the 11am start. But really, he was nothing compared to what we've dealt with in the past. Refreshing, even especially when compared to the Most Awkward Show Moment Ever.

This one requires a little bit of back story: Last spring we were recruited for a local yearly holiday show held by two women (I'll call them Virginia and Karen) who were best friends and ran a small craft-like business together. We were promised big money, but by the time the show rolled around they'd had a falling out and Virginia, who was ill, had backed out. Oy. It was a bad, bad weekend and not a great show (as detailed here). Karen said she probably wouldn't do it again. Great.

So there we are on Sunday selling our stuff when a weird, slightly familiar looking woman marches up and says hi. Then she barked,

"It's me, Karen. Are you doing the show this year??"

I replied,

"I don't know, are we?"

I mean, what the crap? We hadn't heard from her since December. She gives us a weird twisted look and snarked,

"You probably heard that Virginia died."

Uh.

Whoa.

No? How could we have? We don't KNOW HER. We never met her except when she gave us her card a year and a half ago. We both froze for a beat and then managed to stutter out our condolences. It was really uncomfortable and after a bit more weirdness, Karen went away. No WAY are we doing her show again.

Anyway, here are some pictures (click for larger versions).

This is the guy next door. I really liked his work and he was amusing if nothing else:

This is our booth:

booth's eye view:

This is my absolute favorite picture from the show. Originally I stalked him because I thought he was wearing an American Idol shirt. It wasn't until I got home and started uploading photos that I realized it was so, so much better than that (click through to Flickr to read it):

Right? That is just outstanding.

*Issue is debated here. This quote is my favorite: "...if he is not wearing seat belts or protected by an air bag, the driver is probably out through the windshield and smashing into the brick wall and wouldn't notice the tissue box."

Magazines Make Me Feel Bad

Have you ever had a friend who was so fantastically good at stuff that every time you visited you'd leave feeling like maybe you were lacking in some undefinable way? Like, why can't I decorate in a quirky manner and whip up a gourmet meal from nothing? Why are we not having dinner around the the dining room table while discussing world topics? Why don't we even have dining room chairs?

This kind of thing used to really bug the shit out of me because I felt like maybe I missed a key lesson in How To Be a Cool Grownup. I mostly got over it, but I still get pangs of house anxiety when I stumble across stuff like this because just when I've decided that the people in Domino Magazine are all models and their quirky apartments are actually sets, I'm proven wrong. PEOPLE REALLY DO LIVE LIKE THIS. It's daunting. Though in abchao's case, I think she did it the real way (vintage/thrift stores, a good eye) , rather than the rich people way (expensive new stuff that looks like it came from vintage/thrift stores and a good decorator) which makes it that much more impressive, thus making me feel that much lamer.

I page through Domino and wonder, where are the cat vomit stains? Where is their junk mail pile? Do they have a Pod out back full of all the junk they don't know what to do with? Because I have a lot of junk I don't know what to do with. Also, I have no time to decided what to do about the junk I don't know what to do with. How did I get all this stuff? Why do I save so much shit? Why is my husband incapable of throwing away the box for anything? I read Domino and I want to cry, so I let my subscription go. Then someone gave me a big stack of them and it started all over again.

Oh, and don't EVEN get me started on Dwell. Dwell has got to be the most incredibly pretentious magazine ever in the whole magazine world. Dwell is Domino with an eco-attitude. Dwell is all about smug rich people who seem to enjoy how clever they are to manage to live in 500 square feet of concrete space in some urban ex-meatpacking plant or something. All the furniture is made from bamboo and cardboard! They have skylights instead of electricity! Their $10,000 dishwasher is powered by pet hamsters! It's all so smug that I want to throw it in the trash, NOT IN THE RECYCLE BIN.

I think the saddest thing I ever saw in Dwell was a playground designed by an architect who decided that regular playground equipment was far too garish. The entire thing consisted of some sad wooden ramp...thing in a park. Oh, damn, people.

Anyway, I need to clear out a WHOLE BUNCH of crap and get back to chipping paint off the wall in my bathroom and maybe I'll feel better or something. I also need to get rid of the world's biggest space-sucking piano. Want it? Free piano anyone? Please take it away? Please.

Coming up tomorrow: Craft show report! Mailroom guy predicts my doom! Crazy guy in the next booth! Most awkward craft show moment ever!