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.