Stitch N Bitch

So, this cuff bracelet is what I made this weekend at the home of my awesome friend, Michelle, who hosted the very first Stitch and Bitch. We were at Edge of Urge, just browsing around when she saw one and said, "We could totally make that!" We'd already been talking about having a once-a-month, all-girls craft night, and this was her chosen project. I left my camera over at her house, or I'd have more pictures to show.

I had a great time hanging out with the ladies, drinking more than my fair share of wine and attempting to operate a sewing machine.

I'm suffering right now from a bit of seasonal affective disorder and crafts have always been my number one solution to that problem. For an entire winter, several years ago, I made custom "bars in boxes," you know, those train cases from the 40's and 50's that were designed to hold liquor bottles? I'd buy them and paint them, lacquer them, or generally trick them out for whoever came to mind or had requested one. I did an Elmo one for my mom, a Fight Club one for a friend of mine who specially requested it and a whole bunch of different girly ones. (Laura, I'm sorry if you're reading this. I know I never did the Moonpie one I promised you). My obsession with doing it lasted until the spring and then I felt so much better that I abandoned a whole bunch half finished. This is why if you want me to crochet you something, you'd better ask me in November.

I'm looking forward to further stitching and bitching and am also very open to craft ideas right now. Last week I was feeling happy and full of hobbies. Right now I'm prone to the nagging feeling that life sucks and that everyone is talking about me behind my back. Give me a project so I'll know you love me.

Five Things About Me (Which Will All Be Weird, Because, Well, It's Me)

Tagged Again! by the awesome Velocibadgergirl, who is my long lost sister from another mister.

So this meme is technically just 5 facts, so it might be a tad bit more boring than the list of 55 things that make me just left of normal.

And just let me say, as well, that I am tickled to death to see that she has actually physically written my name on a piece of paper and scanned it into the computer. I love that someone I have never met wrote my name down on a piece of paper. Don't ask me why that's so thrilling. It just is.

1. I have no tattoos and no piercings (except the standard earring holes that I agreed to at age 9). If I could go back and do it all again, I wouldn't even have those. I kind of like being perfectly intact. Wait, I have no tonsils. So that would be imperfectly intact.

2. I can't drink coffee. It's not the caffeine, per se--I drink enough Diet Pepsi to fuel a rocket--but something about coffee as the delivery system makes me very jittery and crazy. Also, if I drink coffee, I smell very strange afterward. There's sort of a stale, dark smell about me. It lasts for days and is highly unpleasant.

3. About once every year for the last 3 years, I have a week where my sleep cycle becomes abnormal. I start sleeping very deeply and dreaming strange and vivid dreams that I have trouble waking up from. Several years ago, I dreamt that I was being chased by huge chessmen. I woke Thomas, telling him that we had to climb out the bedroom window, that they were just behind the door! It took about 30 seconds for me to realize that my arguments made no sense. I kept saying, "There's no time to explain!"
Once I walked into the living room, waved enthusiastically and yelled, "Hi, guys!" It's not sleepwalking exactly, because I am awake...just confused.

4. These fine dinosaur heads stare at us while we pee.


5. Last, but not least, I have extreme difficulty keeping up with my shoes and my beer. Those who have been to parties at our house know that I spend about 65% percent of my time chasing down one or the other. My constant refrains are, "I've lost my beer again", "I have to pee", and "Has anyone seen my shoes?"

Oddly, in our household, I am the "finder." I have a semi-photographic memory and have powers of recall for the mundane that are somewhat astounding. Where did we put the snap machine? I'm all over it. Track down a costume from 4 years ago? No problem. 80's song lyrics? I'm your girl. But where did I leave my beer?

I'm tagging:

Andrea
Josh
Gina
Ashley
Pen and M

Further Proof that Thomas Loves Me and Wants Me to be Happy

I will have them all. Oh yes, I will have them all.

I'll Take Fame However it Comes

As we watch the US Sergeant at Arms present the President of the United States tonight, let's just all remember, that dude read my blog.

Status: Ovary OK

So this week was mostly spent in contemplation of my left ovary, which did NOT feel good. Mostly, I feel you should not even notice that you have ovaries.

Of course, the ovary stopped hurting two days before my doctor's appointment, which made me feel like a car that obstinately refuses to start until it is towed to the mechanic's.

The doctor (and please, whoever is in charge of blessing, bless Planned Parenthood, for they are the harbingers of all that is good in the world) says I'm fine. The pain and weirdness exactly corresponded with my ovulation this month, so she says it's just some random weirdness.

And so now I'm free to think and blog about things besides my left ovary. I'm sure my male readers are pleased to hear that.

So, comparing myself to a car made me realize that I've never blogged about good old Christine, my car of yore, who is now driven by my fine friend, Katie.

Christine was a 95 Saturn SC2 and so named because she turned on by herself. No kidding. No one around her, no remote entry or ignition, nothing. Just sometimes you'd come out and the car would be locked and running.

The first time it happened, I was so baffled that I actually thought I might have somehow been so absent minded that I left the car running when I went into TJMaxx. Then I realized that if that were true, the keys wouldn't have been in my hand, they'd have been in the ignition.

The best, or at least most dramatic, of the times that Christine christined, was, in fact, the only time she did it in front of other people (pretty much all of whom thought I was crazy). It was late and Thomas, Mary and I were coming home from Lula's in a cab. We pulled up in front of the house, and my car was turning on and off, flashing her lights, locking and unlocking the doors, her windows were going up and down and the windshield wipers were going. "Look at that!" we were all screaming. Thomas went to touch the car and I was like, "NOOOOOOO!"

I think I seriously thought it would eat him.

I always wanted to call Click and Clack about it, but figured that either no one would believe me, or there would be a perfectly simple explanation and I would prefer to believe that my car was possessed by the devil.

The only other really bizarre thing that she did (and really, she was a wonderful, reliable, long suffering car) was that once, for a two week period of time, she would only turn on once a day. And once was a hard and fast rule. You could go as far as you wanted once the car was on, but once it was off it would not turn on again until tomorrow.

I drove it to the mechanic's and parked outside and went in to tell my tale of woe. The mechanics all laughed at me. This stupid girl, you could hear them thinking. "Fine," I said, "Laugh. And then go try to move my car into the bay."

They came back. One looked at me, almost angrily. "Your car won't start," he said.

"I know," I said. "Try again tomorrow."

To be fair, they could have totally hosed me. They could have said ANYTHING and I would have believed them, because their initial assessment was right, when it comes to the car, I AM a stupid girl. But it turned out that it was just the sensor that tells when the car is overheating. The sensor was broken and it wouldn't let the car turn on because every time the car was driven, it thought it was overheating. Hughs Brothers only charged me $75.

Sensor shmensor. That car was possessed by the devil.

Game On

I don't play games; this is just a thing about me. Oh, I play some games, but they are few and select and generally involve things I already know how to do and a minimum of competition.

This was a big issue when Thomas and I first started dating and I was inducted into the ranks of they who must play games at all times, aka his friends. The people we knew and hung out with played cards, they played drinking games, they played board games, they played Jenga. They played games loudly and with enthusiasm.

I didn't grow up playing a lot of games. My parents didn't teach me to play poker or hearts or rummy. In fact, once we were past the Chutes and Ladders/Candyland stages, I can remember only two games I ever played with my parents: Scattergories and Win, Lose or Draw. Also bear in mind that I didn't have my first beer until I was in college and safely 3 states away. So when I arrived at said college, I knew no drinking games and no card games. And I didn't find a great deal of opportunity to play Win, Lose or Draw.

So that's the first reason. I hate to be the person in the room who has to be taught to play, who can never remember the rules. I hate to have to have practice runs and slow everyone down. It's too much pressure.

And then the second thing is that I was once married to someone incredibly competitive, someone who once didn't speak to me for two days because my team beat his team at Mario Party. And so I don't like to win, and who likes to lose? So generally I find no enjoyment in the whole process.

However

There are some games SO FUN and low pressure and easy to understand that I love to play them and would do so all the time if anyone would play with me and these include

Taboo
Best word game ever. I have two copies, one that displays all the words in French on the underside of the cards, you know, just in case you want to up the stakes a little. I love this game because perfectly literate and polite people suddenly find, when playing this game, that they know no adjectives except dirty ones. Typical delivery of the person reading the card, "This is uh, This is uh, This is a fucking thing that you use when you're fucking...uh...in the car, fucking going someplace. SHIT!"

Apples to Apples
I played this for the first time last night. Thomas bought it because it sounded like something I would play. And boy was he RIGHT. In this game you're given a catagory and have to look in your hand to find the closest match. So maybe the category is "Chewy" and you have Goldie Hawn, Spit, Nuclear Power Plants, The 1960's, My Boyfriend, Grass, and Rednecks. You have decide which is the most chewy and play that card. Then the judge chooses whose card was best described by "Chewy." It is great fun. Wanna come over and play?

Five Shot Friday!

Look out! Last night was 5 Shot Friday.

Earlier this week, Thomas and I were watching an episode of How I Met Your Mother in which Ted takes five shots in a row. Instead of feeling like, Oh God, What a Horrible Idea! We felt like, Hey, That Looks Like Fun. Hence, Five Shot Friday.

No one was actually brave enough to slam five shots in a row (the shots being offered were tequila, after all) except Thomas who completed the whole mission and did not vomit, pass out, or behave strangely afterward.

I did manage to wreck my New Year's Resolution on Five Shot Friday, which was "don't eat anything you are not supposed to eat for 30 days." I don't think there's any way that I can spin the pizza and a half I ate last night as something I was supposed to eat. However, it did nicely to combat the tequila.

Random Thoughts for January 10

Ok, so, first off: Where the hell is the Wrightsville Avenue cow?? We drove by on Sunday and its stall stood empty. Thomas revealed that he had ACTUALLY SEEN some guys loading it into a van. To refurbish the cow? Perform atrocities on the cow? Dude.

Secondly, I am still crying from watching the 1st season finale of How I Met Your Mother. Why did no one tell me about this show before? We started watching because of Jason Segal from Freaks and Geeks (clearly the best show EVER) and it is just so great and funny. Like Friends, but younger and drunker. SUIT UP!

Thirdly, the oppossum is BACK!

Fourthly, earlier, I did my daily four mile walk with my sister, Ali. We were chugging down front street, which, for those who are not Wilmingtonian, is lined in tall brick walls that mask the rich from the pedestrians. Every once in a while, there's a break in the wall where a driveway comes out. So, Al and I were walking, talking about whatever it is sisters talk about for four miles, when all of a sudden a car came speeding out of a hidden driveway and seriously nearly took my sister out.

I made a noise that was not unlike the seal-shriek that my beagle makes if you step on her foot. Ali stepped back. Was she ok? Yes, she's ok. We, all of us, Ali, the driver and I, all stopped there for a second. Did we need to do anything? No, we're all ok. Then Ali and I just went on our way. The driver called out, "I'm sorry!" We waved. "It's ok! I'm not dead!"

Fifthly, thank God for my dogs, who came jingling to my bedroom door this morning as if to say, "Woman! Can we get some service?" because without them, I would have woken an hour late instead of just 20 minutes. Perhaps that was the beginning of all this madness.

UPDATE: Sixthly, I just discovered that the US Senate Sergeant at Arms visited my humble blog today by googling the words, "Hummingbirds Attack." 1. How much do I love SiteMeter? 2. Is there going to be a hummingbird attack???

Savages.

So, today some people decided to relieve me of some of my car's polka dots.

Um, thanks. I really appreciate it.

Savages.

What is wrong with people, seriously. Why? What is the point of wrecking something, just for the sake of wrecking it? I'm sure that whoever took the dots isn't intending to use them on their own car. I'm sure they are not starving and eating the dots for sustenance. The dots are not worth the big bucks. They just took them to take them, to destroy my enjoyment of something whimsical. Hey, that person has something neat and different! Let's wreck it! Yeah!

Excellent.

The Glasses Are Here!

How much am I loving my $20 glasses???

So much.

Goodbye T:3

I just participated in the fine activity known as "denuding the enormous-ass fire hazard in my living room." It took me almost 2 hours to strip the tree and carefully wrap and box the 8 gazillion ornaments that I insisted on hanging this year, but I don't mind doing it.

This year I got to participate in the hanging of my friend Michelle's ornaments, and while that was totally wonderful and festive, I couldn't return her lovely gesture. My ornaments are so fragile and so dear to me that I'd throw myself in front of a moving car for them. If someone else broke one...well, I couldn't vouch for their health. And I don't think it's fair to ask someone to help you with something that could end your friendship...or their life. So, for that reason, I almost always undo my tree alone. But that's nice, because I get to visit with each ornament myself, even the ones that Thomas hung, and say goodbye to them before their long hibernation in the closet.

I've mentioned it before, but there's something so beautiful to me about having ornaments from 4 families on our tree. I love that there are ornaments from our parents' childhoods and our own. For a while at Christmas I considered spotlighting an ornament on each blog post, but I couldn't decide between them. Should it be Aunt Adeline's monstrously huge glitter one, or my mom's santa that's so old it's translucent? Thomas' record ornaments, or the first ornament my mom gave me when I wasn't living in her house? The tiny balls from my grandfather's 5 and 10 cents store, or one of Thomas' grandmother's intricately painted ones? I love them all so much; Like a kid kissing all her stuffed animals before she goes to bed, I couldn't leave one out. What if it was sad?

This has just reminded me of the only tangentially related idea of food that is too sad to eat.

This will definitely be a numbered entry on the next "weird things about me" meme, or on someone's list of reasons I should be committed, but there are some foods that just look too sad for me to eat. First on that list is pigs in blankets. I don't mind Little Smokies as a rule, but once they are wrapped in dough, I can't eat them. Those poor piggies just curled up in their blanket for a nap and AARRRAGGGAGGGG! Now they're digesting. Also cornish hens. So Sad! And peeps. I love when other people mutilate them, but I can't bring myself to do it. Especially not with my teeth.

Question of the Day

Why do roaches always die on their backs?

Adventures with Wildlife

Ok, so, I've searched and searched and I cannot find on the web ANYWHERE a picture of an opossum as big as the one that I saw in my yard on New Year's Eve. I'm telling you, this thing was as big as a SMALL DOG and in no way cute or friendly looking, like many of the opossum pictures online. It looked pretty much exactly the way I remember the R.O.U.S. looking in The Princess Bride. Dude.

It made a horrible lumbering sound through the leaves and was totally undeterred by my stamping and yelling and generally freaking out.

I've read many varied accounts of the danger, or lack thereof, of opossums, so I don't really know what to think. My friend Michelle across the street has had to have opossums removed from her attic twice this year. Freaky deaky.

Two years ago, on Thanksgiving, I was forced to call Animal Control out because there was a ferret in our yard. The dogs found it (thank GOD I got there in time) and as I was shrieking for Thomas to PLEASE COME LOOK WHAT THEY FOUND, I realized that it was a ferret. I managed to lure it into a pet carrier, but then I didn't know what to do with it. I mean, I couldn't let it go, or they would eat it. But I certainly didn't need a ferret. We asked around to the neighbors, but they all claimed not to have lost a ferret, so we ended up having to have it removed. The Animal Control guy was NOT PLEASED to have come out on Thanksgiving to rid me of a harmless ferret.

FUN-due

The first time I ever had fondue was New Year's Eve, 2000. Some friends and I went out and bought 2 fondue pots and then we went to the grocery store and picked up some meat and vegetable oil. Then we went to the cheese counter and asked what they recommended for fondue. They recommended Gruyere. I wonder, can you see where this is going?

Vegetable oil isn't good for cooking at high tempuratures. It smokes, and it stinks to high heaven. Gruyere is not what you would call a mild cheese. In fact, that night, as it cooked, my friend Bethany said, "This cheese smells like scratching your ass." And that was true. None of the rest of us were going to say it out loud, but that was, in fact, exactly what it smelled like.

By 10, I had a headache so severe that I went to be early and missed the new year.

Several years later, when Thomas recommended doing a fondue night, I thought, "WHY? Why would anyone do that?"

But it turns out that the secret is peanut oil and brie. Much better taste to stink ratio.

So last night, we hosted our 2nd annual New Year's Fondue (or, as Thomas insists, Fun-due) Night. We added a chocolate pot for the first time this year and it was highly successful. Steak, tuna, chicken, vegetables, fruit, rosemary bread and little smokies. Yum.

Just after our first post-midnight sip of champagne, we somehow coerced the entire party into several renditions of "I'm Driving Down Highway 40 in my Big Old Pick-up Truck," including one for the benefit of my parents who had called to wish us a happy new year and I think were quite baffled by the whole thing.

Best wishes to everyone for a very happy 2007.