Archive | January 2011

Bunny From Hell

During my closet cleaning, I came across a cashmere sweater I got as a gift.  It’s an XL so I could fit in it twice now.  But I just loved the color and didn’t want to give it away.  So I set it aside until inspiration struck. 

For Christmas, Santa brought me a new sewing machine.  And I thought, hmmmm. How can I combine my new sewing machine with my cashmere sweater?  What could be better than a stuffed bunny made from a cashmere sweater?

Hahahaha!

I surfed around and found this pattern for a little stuffed bunny.  You can find it here.

I might have wanted to start with something easier. 

First, cashmere is not easy to sew.  It doesn’t hold it’s shape well.  So, I went and got some interfacing.

Second, getting interfacing to bond with cashmere is not easy.  Especially when I had no idea what a press cloth was much less the proper way to use one. 

Third, I probably would have done much better if I had sewn it by hand.  I wish my sewing machine had that speed function that some of the higher end machines have.  I also wish it had the drop in bobbin.  

Anyway, here’s my bunny. 

My poor retarded bunny.  The pattern is just fine, it’s my sewing that’s awful.    The pink is the cashmere.  The purple is a from a giant (and really, it was huuuuuge) sueded button down shirt.  The button eyes are from the button down shirt too. 

I should have just donated the sweater and the shirt.  Oh well, at least it kept me busy for a few hours.

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You’re Completely Unique, Just Like Everybody Else

I took my kids, and some spare stray children, to Build-a-Bear a few weeks ago (because we have such a shortage of stuffed animals, and toys in general, in my house). 

Thing Two picked a puppy for her toy.  And her little brother, The Monkey King picked the SAME puppy.  Oh, geez.  You would’ve thought that someone had just chopped off Thing Two’s arms or something.  Such drama.  What a horrible thing for the Monkey to do. 

To keep the peace, I suggested that I could sew a patch on their puppies and it’d be like the puppies had tattooes. 

Tangent:

My kids like the whole tattoo, skater look.  The Monkey King has a mohawk and a week ago I even dyed it green for him.  I figure when my kids grow up and want to rebel, they’ll have to be completely conservative in dress and manners.  That’s my parenting strategy.  Wish me luck. 

Let me just say, it’s difficult to find patches other than iron-ons.  I found a package of assorted patches hiding at the bottom of my sewing box so I let the kids pick from them.  I just finished Thing Two’s tattoo.  Here, look:

And here’s the close up:

I’m pretty proud of my work.  It’d look a bit better on the right side there but the stiching on the patch itself was/is loose.  Thing Two is happy.  That’ll last me about 20 minutes.

Oh, This is Way Too Good To Be True

My DVR is filled with so many treats!

I have brand new episodes of Vampire Diaries (oh, Ian Somerhalder, how I’ve missed you. have you missed me too?) and Supernatural.  And two, that’s right TWO episodes of RuPaul’s Drag Race!  I am so much like a drag queen.  I’m all hair spray, duct tape, and mad, mad makeup skills.  And who doesn’t love a good drag queen?

But first, I have a date with Joel McHale.  Because no stroll through my DVR could ever be complete without watching The Soup. 

Such guilty, guilty, lovely, shiny, guilty pleasures. 

As penance, I swear I’ll read every article in the  next issue of Scientific American and Discover.  The only thing that would make me happier is if there were new episodes of True Blood, without Tara.  God, that character barely exists in the books.  And they couldn’t have made her more obnoxious.  Down with Tara, way more Alcide.

Why Can’t I Marry Him?

My Monkey King is the best boyfriend ever. 

There is not a single person or event that could boost my ego like my Monkey King can.

I’m looking through pictures on Go Fug Yourself and there’s a picture of  Heidi Klum (this picture in particular, here, look).  And my Monkey King tells me that I look like her.  Oh, I wear lots of dresses and skirts that show lots of leg (like her), and I have long blonde hair (like her).  But oh, I can only wish I was that tall and thin. 

But, having people think I am is almost the same thing. 

Every one needs a cheerleader.  My Monkey is the best cheerleader.  He tells me how beautiful I am all the time.  Usually he says “Mama, you’re the most beautiful girl in the world”.  And then he tells me that he’s going to marry me.  Sigh. 

He’s reading this as I write this.  He says that I need to say “My Monkey King is beautiful too”.  And he is. 

The Monkey King should teach classes on how to treat women.  He can say the cheesiest things but he means them.  Actually, women are much safer if he doesn’t teach classes because the Monkey is impossible to resist.  But maybe he could teach my husband.

Toxic Smell, Paco’s Hell, Taco Bell

Last night, after Thing One’s swim meet, she was starving.  I have plenty of perfectly good, tasty, healthy food at home.  But no.  This will not satisfy at cranky, hormonal, teen athlete.  She wanted Taco Bell. 

If you’ve been reading along, which is completely not recommended, it has taken me several years to get down to normal human size.  Fast food is not something I include in my diet often.  And when I do, it’s Chik-fil-A or Subway or Chipotle which may accidentally include something of marginal goodness.  Low quality, low cost choices are avoided outright.

So, I took Thing One to Taco Bell.  And she ordered enough for the whole family (I do admit to adding one item).  It was funny, I used to live on Taco Bell  (I mean, icky, cheesy, delicious stuff for cheap.  That’s brilliant.  I used to be po’.  Cheesy and cheap were two of my favorite things) and now I couldn’t order a meal from here if I wanted because I am completely unaware of the new stuff Taco Bell sells.  

 Complete Tangent Alert:

As usual, the workers shorted us on something we ordered.  I remember that from buying Taco Bell ages ago.  It didn’t matter what I ordered, I would be missing an item from my order. 

That was always my theory on why Taco Bell could keep prices so low.  They’d just stiff every customer by one item.  I swear that EVERY single time I’d ever order from Taco Bell, I’d end up being short 1 item.  And it was generally the most expensive item. 

Another tangent:

I’m incredibly proud to say that this was the Monkey King’s first time ever having Taco Bell.  He’s 6! Maybe I should be sad that I broke this streak.  It’s so funny how much I changed my habits.  The Monkey King didn’t have his first doughnut until he was 4 or 5.  Geez, I was used to be so fat I looked like a big jelly filled doughnut.  The Monkey King makes much better food choices than Thing One and Thing Two.  I feel I’ve done a disservice to my girls, but I’m very proud of the good example I set for Mr. Monkey Pants.  He ate a little of the Taco Bell but wasn’t very impressed.  He’ll eat every carrot out of a veggie tray though 🙂

The idea of indulging in some Taco Bell was much better than the reality.  The refried bean burritos were yummy but holy crap, where do they get those onions?  The onions in those burritos could eat a hole through the tortilla shell. WTF?!? Those could be used as weapons.  Hey, maybe Taco Bell is trying to help people with those onions.  You can really only eat one of those things with those evil little pieces of diced hate in them.  It’s a weight loss aid!  OMG! How did I not realize that until just this moment?

Just like a one night stand, after Taco Bell, you’ll hate yourself in the morning.  Or, I do.  Judging by how some people conduct themselves anymore, I may be one of the few people who would hate myself for a one night stand.  But I hope everyone still hates themselves after eating Taco Bell.  Actually, seeing so many flabby bums and tummies makes me realize that I may also be one of the few people who hates herself after Taco Bell.

I especially hate myself this morning.  I feel like I swallowed some bombs.  Ugh.  I’m old, my stomach can’t handle stuff like that any more.  And I’m glad.  That shit’ll kill a girl.

For I Knew I Had to Rise Above it It All

I have kicked into spring cleaning mode.  It’s not some stupid New Year’s Resolution.  I’m just sick of all the crap in my home. 

It actually started when I started buying a new wardrobe on after Christmas clearance sales.  It was rather needed as most of my clothes were ridiculously large on me.  When I started putting my new, clearance-rack-purchased clothing away, and realizing I couldn’t fit them in my closet, I decided it was probably time to get rid of those XL sweaters and size 16 jeans.  It was so hard to part with some of the clothes but the sting was balmed considerably by being able to replace those things with size 8 dresses and size medium tops and sweaters. 

Once I cleaned out my closet I hit my drawers and then my kids’ closets and dressers (all good-condition clothing was donated to a rummage sale to raise money for leukemia and lymphoma research).  While cleaning, I kept coming across things that we didn’t know we had.  How sick is that?  We had clothing that we didn’t remember owning. 

Then I started looking at the other things in my kids’ rooms.  I was overwhelmed by all the stuff we’d amassed.  All the toys and just general junk that we didn’t even realize we had.  I’m not sure exactly how my house got this way.  Ugh!  But I know I need to fix it.  I need to teach my kids (and myself) that we really probably don’t need whatever crap it is we think we need.  I’ve been fortunate enough to have disposable income that I need to make not disposable income.  I’ll have more money diverted to a savings account.

I did decide that I’m taking my kids on a real vacation this year.  I’ve picked a destination and they are all excited (except the oldest, who is excited but is trying to determine how she can get her boyfriend invited also).  This may not seem related to getting rid of all the crap in our house but it is. Part of the whole planning proceses has been telling them how much the trip costs and how we need to save for it.  And that they need to save their money too (to buy their souvenirs).  So we’ve talked about things we won’t be doing for a few months so that we can put the money toward our trip instead. 

My middle child seems to be understanding this lesson best.  She has a few things that she wanted to buy, and now she’s weighing which things will make her happiest.  My youngest doesn’t even really understand money yet, but he offered me everything in his piggy bank to help pay for the trip.  He was quite offended when I declined to take it.  He kept insisting that I take it because I’m doing something for him.   We’ve talked. 

It’s learning for me too, especially for me.  I’m quite used to just buying what I want when I want it so I end up with stuff that I really don’t need littering my house.  If I budgeted, this would be curbed, however, much like a strict diet, I get overwhelmed by the details of a budget.  The only way I was able to lose weight was to change (slowly) what I ate and exercise like crazy.  If I did the food diary and calorie counting, I got discouraged and quit.  It seems a strict budget is equally unappealing to me, but I’m going to find my own solution.  So, I’m going to start by focusing on my goals 1) to stop cluttering my house with crap I don’t need, 2) set a good example for my kids, and 3) save money for this vacation.  It makes it much easier to spot the things that aren’t important.  Already, I resisted pre-ordering that amazing pair of Nine West sandals with the huge (4.5″ ? ) stacked heels and all the pretty straps that would look so good with all my little billowy summer miniskirts. 

I’ve already gotten positive reinforcement.  I feel much better after cleaning out some stuff (I need to go back and make a few more passes at this though).  I feel happier with a little more money in the bank.  Baby steps.  Just like my weight loss.  Little changes that I can keep are the key.

And I hope that we all (me too, me too) learn to live with less “stuff”.  Otherwise we’ll continue to drown in our own shit.

The More Things Change

Don’t you wish that people would get tired of being stupid in predictable ways?  If one is going to make a bonehead move, one should at least be interesting about it. 

Let me explain.  I’m sitting here reading my newspaper. 

Tangent alert:

Sure, print news is passe.  Yes I get ink all over my hands.  Yes, my paper is often wet because the delivery person SUCKS (remember that when you don’t get tipped.  Actually, because you put your Give-me-a-Christmas-tip Christmas card in the paper without an address, I couldn’t tip you this year anyway. Dumb ass).  Yes I could get my news faster online.  Yes, yes, I know these things.  Bite me.  I love my laptop.  I love looking things up online.  I love my newspaper. I have enough love for all these things.   

Anyway, I’m sitting here reading my newspaper and right on the same page, there are stories about two classic bonehead moves.

  1. Some legitimate informational hot line number was misprinted and directed unsuspecting callers to a sex chat line.  Honestly, how can this happen so often?  How many times can a misprinted hot line number be a correct sex line number?  What percentage of toll free numbers are sex line numbers?  That’s just nuts.  And who’s misprinting these numbers?  Doesn’t anyone double check their own work?  If a company or organization is going through the trouble of printing and distributing information, shouldn’t someone review that info? 
  2. Robbers caught when cops follow footprints through the snow.  Really?  Come on now.  I mean, that’s great for the cops and all, but how did these people make it this far in life.  One would hope that natural circumstances had culled them from the population before they were old enough to commit robbery.  I hope those people never breed. 

I guess I should be comforted.  Change is scary.