I swear, when it rains it pours. I either have not got one damn thing to say to you all, and I fear losing you forever, or I have so much to say you can't believe it. Funny how that works.
Yesterday was the day of my Lady Bits Checkup. I went to the doctor, and I saw a nurse practitioner, cause the doctor was somewhere else, I dunno. So, she was a lovely lady, and she was quick and thorough and chatty- that's what I like. I like to be told stories when I am wearing outfits made of paper- it helps to take my mind off the fact that I am buttass naked save for a paper vest and paper sheet thing.
So anyway, there I am on the table, and the lady is doing what the do during those appointments. I can see the top of her head, and she's talk talk talking away. Then I don't see her head anymore. I hear a crash, and as I start to half try to sit up (carefully, as my bottom was, well, out there) I see the Nurse sprawled out on the floor. Looking like those little cartoon birds are flying around her head like they do on Looney Tunes.
I was horrified. I mean, did she recoil at the sight of my...my flower? It's not the stuff adult films are made of, but I don't have vagina dentata or anything. Why did this happen? To me? While I am in stirrups and a paper suit?
It turned out that a bolt on the little stool she was using had been very loose for some time, and today it came unbolted. As she pushed back from the table, the part on which she had been sitting excused itself, and she hit the floor.
So, she was okay, I am okay, we each recouped approximately 5 shreds of dignity, and I thanked the heavens that we don't have to see each other for at least another 364 days.
Showing posts with label Odd Things. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Odd Things. Show all posts
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
It's That Time Again
Time for a good laugh at my expense. I found this in a box while cleaning out my office closet:
That is me and my paternal grandmother. If we still spoke to one another, I am sure we would have the same dynamic displayed above. However, I am greatly pleased to report that I no longer have a head shaped like Kang and Kodos.
Go ahead. Laugh it up. Laugh your little butt off, and do it knowing that Angry Little Old Man Baby does not approve.
That is me and my paternal grandmother. If we still spoke to one another, I am sure we would have the same dynamic displayed above. However, I am greatly pleased to report that I no longer have a head shaped like Kang and Kodos.
Go ahead. Laugh it up. Laugh your little butt off, and do it knowing that Angry Little Old Man Baby does not approve.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
If I Had Known You Would Be Stopping By, I Would've Put On Pants
Um, so ok.
I went on Google Analytics today and had a look at what's been going on here lately. As in, who is silly enough to read this nonsense and laugh at my fail projects, and where those people are. Yep, I seeeeeeee you! Well, sort of. You're orange dots on a map, and I know how long you are here, what brought you here, if you are sleeping or awake, and if you've been naughty or nice. Well, not all of that. But still, Google Analytics shows me that my suspicions were correct- people read this.
You fucking terrify me, readers. There, I said it.
I had a look at how the Magic of Google led a few of you here, and I gotta say: I'm SORRY. There was a poor visitor who typed in "awesome sewing" and got my blog. Don't worry, they didn't stay long. I would ask why, but I know that the answer is in posts like this. I had to laugh at that. Sorry that happened. Some other, uh, interesting search terms were "looking for god and finding no one's there" and I feel pretty sad about that. I am sorry that someone was looking most likely for answers to life's questions and wound up here. I mean, what does that say about me when someone goes to The Google and says "show me proof of the results for a search for God" and Google says to them, "Hey! Speaking of proof that there is no God, we have this girl Holly here and man! you should see some of the shit she has made lately!" Ouch. Then I felt better about the person who was looking for a "cat goes to the vet song" because that doesn't sound like the makings of a good song and they are probably better off here than somewhere else. Anyone who's anyone knows that you could very easily just write your own Cat Goes To The Vet Song. It's not rocket science, people.
So. Good thing I decided to tidy up around here, huh? Don't worry, I'm working on a hotsy totsy banner for the top too. It promises to be just like my typical style of anything I make up myself. Great in theory, but fatally flawed in every other sense.
I went on Google Analytics today and had a look at what's been going on here lately. As in, who is silly enough to read this nonsense and laugh at my fail projects, and where those people are. Yep, I seeeeeeee you! Well, sort of. You're orange dots on a map, and I know how long you are here, what brought you here, if you are sleeping or awake, and if you've been naughty or nice. Well, not all of that. But still, Google Analytics shows me that my suspicions were correct- people read this.
You fucking terrify me, readers. There, I said it.
I had a look at how the Magic of Google led a few of you here, and I gotta say: I'm SORRY. There was a poor visitor who typed in "awesome sewing" and got my blog. Don't worry, they didn't stay long. I would ask why, but I know that the answer is in posts like this. I had to laugh at that. Sorry that happened. Some other, uh, interesting search terms were "looking for god and finding no one's there" and I feel pretty sad about that. I am sorry that someone was looking most likely for answers to life's questions and wound up here. I mean, what does that say about me when someone goes to The Google and says "show me proof of the results for a search for God" and Google says to them, "Hey! Speaking of proof that there is no God, we have this girl Holly here and man! you should see some of the shit she has made lately!" Ouch. Then I felt better about the person who was looking for a "cat goes to the vet song" because that doesn't sound like the makings of a good song and they are probably better off here than somewhere else. Anyone who's anyone knows that you could very easily just write your own Cat Goes To The Vet Song. It's not rocket science, people.
So. Good thing I decided to tidy up around here, huh? Don't worry, I'm working on a hotsy totsy banner for the top too. It promises to be just like my typical style of anything I make up myself. Great in theory, but fatally flawed in every other sense.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
So This Is What It Feels Like To Really Go Crazy
O magic deluxe chai tea mix, O my sanity. It is only your sweet spicy milky warm deliciousness that prevents me from going on the most murderous of rampages. A rampage brought on by something you would never guess:
a $1.50 pack of blank recycled paper greeting cards I bought at Wal-Mart.
They've gone missing, and I can't find them and I know I saw them...sometime. It was recent. One day they were on one of the chairs in the dining room. They were also on the shelf in the office closet. Then they were on the floor in the office and one day I picked them up when I was cleaning up and they were put...
somewhere.
I don't know where. I have searched everywhere. I looked EVERYWHERE in this whole bloody awful office. I looked in the dining room. I looked in the closet. I even looked in my underwear drawer. Don't judge me- these are desperate times, friends. And it wasn't for nothing- I found my checkbook in there. Really, I did.
I am distraught. For one, I am distraught because of course if effing figures that the one time I really really wanted to play with them, had all the other stuff at the ready and could delight the masses with them, they are no where to be found. For two, it's a matter of principle. An entire evening that could have been spent blissfully getting glue everywhere and going to bed with bits of paper in my hair and leaving fun cards on the table for the cat to walk all over while I sleep has been ruined. Ruined, I tell ya! For three, I figure I could have bought a damn Mazerati by now with all I have spent on supplies for various crafts (okay fine, maybe more like a 1987 Dodge Caravan, but still) and I can't throw some freaking Christmas cards together if I want! For four, I just wanted to get to four, because saying "for four" takes the edge off a bit.
I'm gonna buy more tomorrow. I am gonna finish up the last remaining packages to be mailed, and mail them. I am changing these up because I realized that pickle jars for dog cookies would do nothing but add weight and cost to the mailing of the packages. Lame. So yeah, that is being finished, I am getting my volunteer on at the shelter, and the rest of it will be spent cleaning up this room for once and for all. It will be my gift to myself this year, and it's long overdue. Ephram the Holiday Snail would be pleased.
Oh, great. Just great. I just looked down, at 9PM, and realized the shirt that I wore all freaking day AT MY JOB is on inside out. Someone, come save me from myself. Please.
a $1.50 pack of blank recycled paper greeting cards I bought at Wal-Mart.
They've gone missing, and I can't find them and I know I saw them...sometime. It was recent. One day they were on one of the chairs in the dining room. They were also on the shelf in the office closet. Then they were on the floor in the office and one day I picked them up when I was cleaning up and they were put...
somewhere.
I don't know where. I have searched everywhere. I looked EVERYWHERE in this whole bloody awful office. I looked in the dining room. I looked in the closet. I even looked in my underwear drawer. Don't judge me- these are desperate times, friends. And it wasn't for nothing- I found my checkbook in there. Really, I did.
I am distraught. For one, I am distraught because of course if effing figures that the one time I really really wanted to play with them, had all the other stuff at the ready and could delight the masses with them, they are no where to be found. For two, it's a matter of principle. An entire evening that could have been spent blissfully getting glue everywhere and going to bed with bits of paper in my hair and leaving fun cards on the table for the cat to walk all over while I sleep has been ruined. Ruined, I tell ya! For three, I figure I could have bought a damn Mazerati by now with all I have spent on supplies for various crafts (okay fine, maybe more like a 1987 Dodge Caravan, but still) and I can't throw some freaking Christmas cards together if I want! For four, I just wanted to get to four, because saying "for four" takes the edge off a bit.
I'm gonna buy more tomorrow. I am gonna finish up the last remaining packages to be mailed, and mail them. I am changing these up because I realized that pickle jars for dog cookies would do nothing but add weight and cost to the mailing of the packages. Lame. So yeah, that is being finished, I am getting my volunteer on at the shelter, and the rest of it will be spent cleaning up this room for once and for all. It will be my gift to myself this year, and it's long overdue. Ephram the Holiday Snail would be pleased.
Oh, great. Just great. I just looked down, at 9PM, and realized the shirt that I wore all freaking day AT MY JOB is on inside out. Someone, come save me from myself. Please.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
In Which We Play 'Name That Smell' or The Day I Got High On Windex
For the love of God.
As you know from previous posts dating back to months ago, my office is being renovated. Very, very, very slowly. So slowly, in fact, that I no longer remember what it's like to work in a place where there is drywall up on the walls. This place looks like what I picture a property management office should look like in a Red Zone in Baghdad. Now, I'm not exaggerating, for once. Really, all the furniture is pulled into the middle of the rooms, there is plastic sheeting up, and in some places there's exposed insulation.
I have adapted. There are benefits to this, like being able to write bad words in the dust on people's desks. You can hide really well if you are so inclined. Why, just the other day I needed more envelopes and everyone thought I was gone for good. It's because I was tired after climbing the printer table, skittering over a desk, and lowering myslef into the crawl space by the supply shelves. Once I was down there I thought I would rest a while and no one could find me.
Well, now there are smells. They are new and they are not good. They make me feel insane. They are unidentified, and unexplainable. First of all, it smells like hairspray in the kitchen. By my desk, it smells like urine. First I thought the smell was cat- like, which is strange because we usually don't have cats in the office. My dog was accused of it, and she most certainly did NOT pee in here, thankyouverymuch. I wondered fleetingly if the workers peed on my rug at my desk just to be jerks. I just don't know what it is, but I know it makes me fucking crazy.
As you know from previous posts dating back to months ago, my office is being renovated. Very, very, very slowly. So slowly, in fact, that I no longer remember what it's like to work in a place where there is drywall up on the walls. This place looks like what I picture a property management office should look like in a Red Zone in Baghdad. Now, I'm not exaggerating, for once. Really, all the furniture is pulled into the middle of the rooms, there is plastic sheeting up, and in some places there's exposed insulation.
I have adapted. There are benefits to this, like being able to write bad words in the dust on people's desks. You can hide really well if you are so inclined. Why, just the other day I needed more envelopes and everyone thought I was gone for good. It's because I was tired after climbing the printer table, skittering over a desk, and lowering myslef into the crawl space by the supply shelves. Once I was down there I thought I would rest a while and no one could find me.
Well, now there are smells. They are new and they are not good. They make me feel insane. They are unidentified, and unexplainable. First of all, it smells like hairspray in the kitchen. By my desk, it smells like urine. First I thought the smell was cat- like, which is strange because we usually don't have cats in the office. My dog was accused of it, and she most certainly did NOT pee in here, thankyouverymuch. I wondered fleetingly if the workers peed on my rug at my desk just to be jerks. I just don't know what it is, but I know it makes me fucking crazy.
********************
This post should prove why I have no shame. I hope you appreciate that I put my tenuous grip on sanity on display for the whole world to see, cause it's all the way out there today. I could have edited this post just so you could have had a laugh retrospectively with me about how I spent the day crawling around and (enthusiastically) sniffing various unsavory things trying to find the source of the pee smell. I had it saved in draft to edit and then publish when I could think straight and the headache from the fumes subsided. But, no I left it out there for you to see.
I'm stupid.
I had Windex poisoning. I have one of those wood laminate (read: cheapo) desks, and you have to dust them with Windex. And honey, I have been dusting what with all the construction going on. It's how I keep my last shred of sanity. Turns out that when you keep a bottle on your desk, the fumes get to your head.
Do you know that I even got to the point where I had my head in all the trashcans sniffing them, and in retrospect that was a bad idea? While doing that I was coming up with all sorts of ways that people were conspiring against me. I decided that the air conditioning man was fed up with the way that I can't look at him or speak to him in more than three syllable sentences because he smells like freon and Old Spice and sometimes B.O. and his last name sounds alllllmost like it is Balljiggler and he put some poisonous fumes into the system and the were pouring out of the vent above my desk. Only I could smell them and they were eating my body from the inside out, I thought. I figured any time now I would get into bed, and not be able to sleep because of a bright glowing nuc-u-lar-ly reactive-type glow like in the movies. I would look down and realize it was my uterus, rendered radioactive by Balljiggler's dastardly plan. Luckily, it was just Windex.
I'm stupid.
I'm stupid.
I had Windex poisoning. I have one of those wood laminate (read: cheapo) desks, and you have to dust them with Windex. And honey, I have been dusting what with all the construction going on. It's how I keep my last shred of sanity. Turns out that when you keep a bottle on your desk, the fumes get to your head.
Do you know that I even got to the point where I had my head in all the trashcans sniffing them, and in retrospect that was a bad idea? While doing that I was coming up with all sorts of ways that people were conspiring against me. I decided that the air conditioning man was fed up with the way that I can't look at him or speak to him in more than three syllable sentences because he smells like freon and Old Spice and sometimes B.O. and his last name sounds alllllmost like it is Balljiggler and he put some poisonous fumes into the system and the were pouring out of the vent above my desk. Only I could smell them and they were eating my body from the inside out, I thought. I figured any time now I would get into bed, and not be able to sleep because of a bright glowing nuc-u-lar-ly reactive-type glow like in the movies. I would look down and realize it was my uterus, rendered radioactive by Balljiggler's dastardly plan. Luckily, it was just Windex.
I'm stupid.
Friday, November 21, 2008
A Blast From the Past....Literally
This showed up in my inbox today. The subject was FW: The ghost of Holly Past. It looked like spam, so I almost didn't open it. But, when i did I got something fantastic that is really really making me laugh:
Greetings from your past. In the fall of 2005, you agreed to receive this message,
which has been preserved for a year in the Forbes.com E-Mail Time Capsule. For more
details, visit http://www.forbes.com/capsule
Here is the text of your message:
Hello Holly!
This is the Holly from three years ago. You have now received this email that you
typed out three years ago while you were hanging out at (edit:work name) doing
nothing.
I wanted to send you this as a reminder of what you hoped for and dreamed of for
this point in your life. If you have not accomplished all of these things, then
that's okay. I am sure that you are even more fabulous than you were three years ago. If
you haven't done any of these things, and you are reading this either on (edit:street)
Blvd, or (edit: work name) then you are a lazy stupid a-hole, and you need to get
moving before life passes you by! Here's what you wanted to be doing in three years:
1. You wanted to start a company around your jewlery making, and call it "The Strut
and Crow" or "Strut and Crow Beads" or something like that. But Strut and Crow was a
main component. **oh geez.**
2. You wanted this company to be in good standing with the IRS, and able to be
turning a profit by the time that you received this email. Just like a grown-ups
business. **this is funny. I remember being truly bewildered by the ins an outs
of setting up a business**
3. You wanted to be living in Nashville, and enjoying a great life up there.
**hindsight really IS 20/20, no?**
4. You wanted to have a dog by then. One that is nice to Charlie, and is named
Cooper, to remind you of Charleston.
**check! well, her name is not Cooper but I love her all the same**
5. You wanted to be in a stable relationship within three years (although you
would never admit to anyone that you wanted this). **check! I guess you could call
us stable**
6. You wanted to spend your days doing things that make you happy, and have a job
that you really, truly love. **Check!**
7. You wanted to be able to keep your car and house reasonably clean, and not go
on ice cream binges, or drink till you puke by accident (although on purpose is ok).
**i would go ahead and tentatively say check! on this one**
I hope that the Holly of the Future is sort of like the Holly of the past. However,
I hope that Future Holly is smarter, braver, and richer than past Holly. And likes
who she is.
I hope that Future Charlie doesn't shit on the floor in front of the litter box.
**future Charlie still has work to do with this one, I'm afraid**
which has been preserved for a year in the Forbes.com E-Mail Time Capsule. For more
details, visit http://www.forbes.com/capsule
Here is the text of your message:
Hello Holly!
This is the Holly from three years ago. You have now received this email that you
typed out three years ago while you were hanging out at (edit:work name) doing
nothing.
I wanted to send you this as a reminder of what you hoped for and dreamed of for
this point in your life. If you have not accomplished all of these things, then
that's okay. I am sure that you are even more fabulous than you were three years ago. If
you haven't done any of these things, and you are reading this either on (edit:street)
Blvd, or (edit: work name) then you are a lazy stupid a-hole, and you need to get
moving before life passes you by! Here's what you wanted to be doing in three years:
1. You wanted to start a company around your jewlery making, and call it "The Strut
and Crow" or "Strut and Crow Beads" or something like that. But Strut and Crow was a
main component. **oh geez.**
2. You wanted this company to be in good standing with the IRS, and able to be
turning a profit by the time that you received this email. Just like a grown-ups
business. **this is funny. I remember being truly bewildered by the ins an outs
of setting up a business**
3. You wanted to be living in Nashville, and enjoying a great life up there.
**hindsight really IS 20/20, no?**
4. You wanted to have a dog by then. One that is nice to Charlie, and is named
Cooper, to remind you of Charleston.
**check! well, her name is not Cooper but I love her all the same**
5. You wanted to be in a stable relationship within three years (although you
would never admit to anyone that you wanted this). **check! I guess you could call
us stable**
6. You wanted to spend your days doing things that make you happy, and have a job
that you really, truly love. **Check!**
7. You wanted to be able to keep your car and house reasonably clean, and not go
on ice cream binges, or drink till you puke by accident (although on purpose is ok).
**i would go ahead and tentatively say check! on this one**
I hope that the Holly of the Future is sort of like the Holly of the past. However,
I hope that Future Holly is smarter, braver, and richer than past Holly. And likes
who she is.
I hope that Future Charlie doesn't shit on the floor in front of the litter box.
**future Charlie still has work to do with this one, I'm afraid**
Monday, November 3, 2008
What a Great Saturday
I am sorry I don't have more pictures. I was just too busy having fun. I promise to take pictures the next time I head out to
The Farmer's Market!
It was a beautiful day that was sort of fall like (not oppressively hot, but not cold enough for a sweater- sigh) and I was so excited to go to the farmer's market downtown. As a side note, I took my French Market Bag and it could not have worked out better. A Lady With a Purse Booth even commented on it and just had the nicest things to say. By then it was full of green tomatoes, and it works just great with stuff in it that has a bit of weight to it. I want to go back and buy more stuff just so I can feel the love for the bag again.
There were the usuals- TONS of jewelry, some soaps, bath products, jams and jellies (I got an apple butter and a Cactus and Prickly Pear Jelly) and other fun artsy things. It was a great time, and I really should make a point of buying y produce there. It was gorgeous and they had zucchinis as big as my leg. Almost.
Then we went to Cupcake, a store that surprisingly sells, well, cupcakes. Mine is the pecan praline one. Delicious sugar coma ensues.
Then we went to the Habitat for Humanity store where I got this gem:
Beautiful. I just love love love this chair. I got it for $28! It's so comfy, comes with a cushion that I am actually sort of loving and is in good condition, and has the most satisfying little creaks and groans. I even bought it in spite of the fact that I know it will be great for the porch but a little voice said "One day it would be nice to have in a nursery." I told that voice to STFU, and smacked the snooze button on my biological clock once more. I swear, it is the strangest things that make my ovaries twitch a bit and thing that a kid wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Funny how the universe works though- while checking out we saw the rudest woman who happened to also be parent to the Rudest Child Ever, and well, now i think that rocking in my chair while doing some knitting will be just fine for now, thank you.
the rest of my loot will be revealed in due time: It's some linen napkins that will be hit hard with the fabric paint, and two place mats which believe will be made into something awesome to show you very soon. All for about $8 (the fabric that I got was some nice upholstery weight fabric, about 2 yards worth).
Then we went to Cobwebs, the place where I got my office chair and then I said a silent prayer of thanks for bringing my camera so that I could show you the strangest thing ever.
Now isn't that just the strangest thing you have ever seen in your life? Probably not, but for some reason, seeing all the crutches and walkers suspended from the ceilling over a second hand dining room table and chairs just struck me as incredibly bizarre. I laughed for the longest time about it too. I don't know why. Just one of those things. But man it looks strange. I didn't buy anything, but they have some really great desks there for like $40. I plan to wait and see if I can't maybe score one for like $20. Now that would be something to shout about.
Hope you all had a fantastic weekend! Make sure to get your asses to the polls tomorrow!
The Farmer's Market!
It was a beautiful day that was sort of fall like (not oppressively hot, but not cold enough for a sweater- sigh) and I was so excited to go to the farmer's market downtown. As a side note, I took my French Market Bag and it could not have worked out better. A Lady With a Purse Booth even commented on it and just had the nicest things to say. By then it was full of green tomatoes, and it works just great with stuff in it that has a bit of weight to it. I want to go back and buy more stuff just so I can feel the love for the bag again.
There were the usuals- TONS of jewelry, some soaps, bath products, jams and jellies (I got an apple butter and a Cactus and Prickly Pear Jelly) and other fun artsy things. It was a great time, and I really should make a point of buying y produce there. It was gorgeous and they had zucchinis as big as my leg. Almost.
Then we went to Cupcake, a store that surprisingly sells, well, cupcakes. Mine is the pecan praline one. Delicious sugar coma ensues.
Then we went to the Habitat for Humanity store where I got this gem:
Beautiful. I just love love love this chair. I got it for $28! It's so comfy, comes with a cushion that I am actually sort of loving and is in good condition, and has the most satisfying little creaks and groans. I even bought it in spite of the fact that I know it will be great for the porch but a little voice said "One day it would be nice to have in a nursery." I told that voice to STFU, and smacked the snooze button on my biological clock once more. I swear, it is the strangest things that make my ovaries twitch a bit and thing that a kid wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Funny how the universe works though- while checking out we saw the rudest woman who happened to also be parent to the Rudest Child Ever, and well, now i think that rocking in my chair while doing some knitting will be just fine for now, thank you.
the rest of my loot will be revealed in due time: It's some linen napkins that will be hit hard with the fabric paint, and two place mats which believe will be made into something awesome to show you very soon. All for about $8 (the fabric that I got was some nice upholstery weight fabric, about 2 yards worth).
Then we went to Cobwebs, the place where I got my office chair and then I said a silent prayer of thanks for bringing my camera so that I could show you the strangest thing ever.
Now isn't that just the strangest thing you have ever seen in your life? Probably not, but for some reason, seeing all the crutches and walkers suspended from the ceilling over a second hand dining room table and chairs just struck me as incredibly bizarre. I laughed for the longest time about it too. I don't know why. Just one of those things. But man it looks strange. I didn't buy anything, but they have some really great desks there for like $40. I plan to wait and see if I can't maybe score one for like $20. Now that would be something to shout about.
Hope you all had a fantastic weekend! Make sure to get your asses to the polls tomorrow!
Saturday, October 11, 2008
A Moron Fails Her Attempt to Fly the Friendly Skies
This is just one of those things. It's like the knitting needle in the pinkie toe, or the time I saw my boss' desk chair break into pieces while he was sitting in it. It just happens, and it happens to me. I don't know why. Maybe I am cursed. Maybe I am fortunate. I don't know anymore.
So I get on the plane in Memphis on Sunday night to begin making my trip home. I am sitting three rows from the back, and all buckled in and working on the mitts that would later be the cause of a flesh wound. Anyway, I was feeling quite low because I had just said good bye to the BF, and that's always tough. All of a sudden the overwhelming odor of pot fills the air.
Yeah, pot. Marijuana. Insert lots of clever little names for it here.
I look around (okay fine, whip my head around) and see other people smell it too! There are two kind of punky looking kids (not punk like punk music, punk like what old people call kids that are up to no good) are sitting in the backseat.
Well, the stewardess working the back end of the plane smelled it too.
So she starts questioning the gal, who had just come out of the bathroom. The girl, naturally becomes very indignant and things the lady is CRAZY, because hul-LOOOO?!?! pot on an airplane? No way!
The back and forth continues, and then a very stern looking woman in a polo shirt and mom-jean style khakis comes aboard and says something to the kids. The girl is becoming sort of shrill at this point and says something about how she is going to miss the connecting flight in Atlanta. I am thinking, Honey that is the LEAST of your worries.
Now I look down the aisle (I am facing straight ahead, furiously knitting and trying to appear innocent; even though I have done nothing wrong I feel nervous and guilty for some reason), and there are Men With Badges on the plane! They stand there and look intimidating while Mom Jean Khaki Lady instructs the kids to get their stuff. They comply and off the plane they go.
It gets better.
As we are flying, our awesome stewardess comes around and announces to the back of the plane, "Now that we all have the munchies, who wants a snack?! I know y'all are hungry for some Cheetos and some Lucky charms, but all we have is pretzels. Who needs two bags?!?"
I laughed into my knitting. Hard.
I don't know what ever became of that girl. Or her boyfriend. I think that anything you do that's bad becomes a Very Serious Offense when you are caught doing it on an airplane. Including, well, doing it. Anyway, I am sure that girl will now know that day as The Day She Ruined Her Life, but I can't ever say for sure.
Makes for a great story anyway, though, doesn't it?
So I get on the plane in Memphis on Sunday night to begin making my trip home. I am sitting three rows from the back, and all buckled in and working on the mitts that would later be the cause of a flesh wound. Anyway, I was feeling quite low because I had just said good bye to the BF, and that's always tough. All of a sudden the overwhelming odor of pot fills the air.
Yeah, pot. Marijuana. Insert lots of clever little names for it here.
I look around (okay fine, whip my head around) and see other people smell it too! There are two kind of punky looking kids (not punk like punk music, punk like what old people call kids that are up to no good) are sitting in the backseat.
Well, the stewardess working the back end of the plane smelled it too.
So she starts questioning the gal, who had just come out of the bathroom. The girl, naturally becomes very indignant and things the lady is CRAZY, because hul-LOOOO?!?! pot on an airplane? No way!
The back and forth continues, and then a very stern looking woman in a polo shirt and mom-jean style khakis comes aboard and says something to the kids. The girl is becoming sort of shrill at this point and says something about how she is going to miss the connecting flight in Atlanta. I am thinking, Honey that is the LEAST of your worries.
Now I look down the aisle (I am facing straight ahead, furiously knitting and trying to appear innocent; even though I have done nothing wrong I feel nervous and guilty for some reason), and there are Men With Badges on the plane! They stand there and look intimidating while Mom Jean Khaki Lady instructs the kids to get their stuff. They comply and off the plane they go.
It gets better.
As we are flying, our awesome stewardess comes around and announces to the back of the plane, "Now that we all have the munchies, who wants a snack?! I know y'all are hungry for some Cheetos and some Lucky charms, but all we have is pretzels. Who needs two bags?!?"
I laughed into my knitting. Hard.
I don't know what ever became of that girl. Or her boyfriend. I think that anything you do that's bad becomes a Very Serious Offense when you are caught doing it on an airplane. Including, well, doing it. Anyway, I am sure that girl will now know that day as The Day She Ruined Her Life, but I can't ever say for sure.
Makes for a great story anyway, though, doesn't it?
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
This Post Contains Pics of a Blurry Yet Graphic Nature
These pics are per Nancy's request! Look away if you don't want to see them!
I mean it, there are pics of where I was brutally attacked by a knitting needle just inches below!
Look away!
I am serious; avert your eyes!
Sorry they are so grainy Nancy- I had to take the pics one handed with no flash- it just obscured the gruesomeness.
Behold, the entry wound:
And for your amusement, horror, and entertainment: The Exit Wound
Now is probably the time to mention, so that you don't get all worried about me. I am taking 875mg of Amoxicillin twice daily. I have no nerve damage (or so it would seem). I had a tetanus shot less than 10 years ago. I am soaking it in warm water (promotes circulation and healing, etc.), putting antibiotic cream on it, and keeping it bandaged when I am on my feet, and just generally watching it to be sure it isn't getting infected. Please refrain from regaling me with stories about when your granddad ignored the rusty nail in his foot and it nearly killed him. I know that I seem like I am being silly about it, because I am. It's funny. And really, what are the chances? But I am also taking good care of it and am fully aware of how quickly a puncture wound goes from blog fodder to gangrenous festering ickiness. It's swollen, sore, and bruised, but i can move it, feel every poke and prod and it's easily the cleanest foot in the whole state.
Aren't my crime scene bandaids cool?
It's also worth noting that I am considering myself the Chuck Norris of knitting now. It would totally fit, if only there were villains to stab with the needle after yanking it out of my foot. But no, just went back to work on the mitts, took some pics, watched the debate. All in a day's work.
I mean it, there are pics of where I was brutally attacked by a knitting needle just inches below!
Look away!
I am serious; avert your eyes!
Sorry they are so grainy Nancy- I had to take the pics one handed with no flash- it just obscured the gruesomeness.
Behold, the entry wound:
And for your amusement, horror, and entertainment: The Exit Wound
Now is probably the time to mention, so that you don't get all worried about me. I am taking 875mg of Amoxicillin twice daily. I have no nerve damage (or so it would seem). I had a tetanus shot less than 10 years ago. I am soaking it in warm water (promotes circulation and healing, etc.), putting antibiotic cream on it, and keeping it bandaged when I am on my feet, and just generally watching it to be sure it isn't getting infected. Please refrain from regaling me with stories about when your granddad ignored the rusty nail in his foot and it nearly killed him. I know that I seem like I am being silly about it, because I am. It's funny. And really, what are the chances? But I am also taking good care of it and am fully aware of how quickly a puncture wound goes from blog fodder to gangrenous festering ickiness. It's swollen, sore, and bruised, but i can move it, feel every poke and prod and it's easily the cleanest foot in the whole state.
Aren't my crime scene bandaids cool?
It's also worth noting that I am considering myself the Chuck Norris of knitting now. It would totally fit, if only there were villains to stab with the needle after yanking it out of my foot. But no, just went back to work on the mitts, took some pics, watched the debate. All in a day's work.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Why Our Country Is In The Crapper: A Case Study
Oh. My. God.
First of all, Hello! Sorry to have been so absent over the past few days. I was busy last week preparing for my trip to the NC coast, and thusly had nothing to report on or show you. Then, I was gone for about four days, and it was truly glorious to be away from a computer for that time. I think that I got on to post my Labor Day post, which I had already in draft. I know, it is sort of wierd but it seems like it is either feast or famine for me and blog-worthy material. I either have tons of stories or things to show and tell, or nothing but UFO's (un finished objects, not spaceships and such) and random silly pics. I am trying to keep that garbage to a minimum, so I keep things in draft and post as I feel they need to see the light of day, or get them ready and then upload pics as I get the projects finished. Kind of cheating I guess, but hey, whatever works.
Anyway.
So my mother and I are out and about on Saturday, and she was kind enough to take me to the two yarn stores in her area. soe we arrive at one, and it is hot and stuffy and there was nothing exciting and no prices were marked on anything. Off we go to the second one, and arrive to a group of about 8 women probably in their 50's or 60's having a stitch and bitch- ya know, sit around and knit and shoot the shit.
Well.
Naturally, the discussion turned to politics. the story is about to become very disjointed, just so you know. I was listening, but trying not to listen because I was fondling the lovely selection of tweeds they had and trying to get over the mental block i have where when I go to a yarn store I cannot think of a single thing that it was that I was hoping to find or had a project in mind for, nothing. I was also trying not to listen because listening to these awful hags made me want to furiously knit something that could be used to choke the life out of all of them. All but one. Here's why:
As the discussion turned to last week's current events, or the DNC, one woman heretofore referred to as The Voice of Reason said, "I kinda liked Bill Clinton." Que the clucking, the tsking, and one woman's sarcastic offer to put the poor VoR on her prayer list. Giggles all around.
Next, another woman wondered aloud in a very suspicious tone of voice just how Michelle and Barack Obama went to those fancy schools. The VoR replies, "They probably got scholarships and loans just like everyone else." Astounding! You mean, they did what whites, yellows, browns, blacks, pinks, and oranges have done all over the country?!? No WAI!!! So the Suspicious Lady responds all huffily, "Well then how do you suppose he got to go abroad all those times?" Gee lady, I dunno. Clearly since he is black he must have either sold drugs or stolen TV's and pawned them in order to get through college. Nothing gets by you!
Now we come to the oh so pleasant portion of the stitch and bitch where we talk politics AND religion. Weeee! Indignant Voice pipes in to bring up Obama's pastor. And my goodness, can you believe the things they are learning in their churches? "Here all this time he's been sitting in a church being taught to hate us! Can you believe that?" Lots of "mmmhmmms" and dissaproving clucks all around. "After we've been so nice to them!" says Also Indignant. <prepare to gag> "Ya know," Also Indignant says, "I know a Black Gal, Miss So and So, and she is just the sweetest thing. Even birthed one of my babies! And all this time, she's been taught to hate me! Why, I've even had her children over to swim in my pool!"
Christ on a bike! These women really were having this conversation. Really. They were. I was seriously inspecting some lovely Rowan Tweed, but it was getting hard not to stand up and exclaim, "Well that's mighty white of you! How far down the street were they before you counted your silver?"
But now they are all going around saying lovely things about all the Real Life Black People they all know. Which amounts to like .75 Real Life Black People per person. And then they begin to talk about the perfectly understandable joy that blacks around the country feel now that there is a very real possibility that for the first time ever, a person with any color what so ever will be President. The Voice of Reason says that she can understand the excitement and importance. Of course you can, that's why you are the Voice of Reason! Well, then another member of the Modern Times Think Tank and Knitting Coven pipes in to say that a coworker of hers is also black, and she is just the nicest thing! But don't you know it, she's got a big ole picture of Barack Obama in her office! Giggles all around once more. What a merry time at the Saturday Stitch and Bitch.
At this point I can't take it another minute. I throw the armload of tweed down on the ground, because I didn't want to give that shop any money (now is the time to mention that Indignant Voice was the employee of the shop, possibly the owner) and I stomped out. My mother was already outside. She couldn't take any more after the pool comment.
So I would like to wrap up this uncharacteristically long post with a thought: these women were the worst possible kind of racists. I would much rather have walked in and seen hooded Klanswomen (if there is such a thing, I dunno) knitting cozies for their burning crosses or something. Why? Because I think that people should own their thoughts and really be who they are ugly or not. It's way better then covering it up poorly and having people see right through you.
First of all, Hello! Sorry to have been so absent over the past few days. I was busy last week preparing for my trip to the NC coast, and thusly had nothing to report on or show you. Then, I was gone for about four days, and it was truly glorious to be away from a computer for that time. I think that I got on to post my Labor Day post, which I had already in draft. I know, it is sort of wierd but it seems like it is either feast or famine for me and blog-worthy material. I either have tons of stories or things to show and tell, or nothing but UFO's (un finished objects, not spaceships and such) and random silly pics. I am trying to keep that garbage to a minimum, so I keep things in draft and post as I feel they need to see the light of day, or get them ready and then upload pics as I get the projects finished. Kind of cheating I guess, but hey, whatever works.
Anyway.
So my mother and I are out and about on Saturday, and she was kind enough to take me to the two yarn stores in her area. soe we arrive at one, and it is hot and stuffy and there was nothing exciting and no prices were marked on anything. Off we go to the second one, and arrive to a group of about 8 women probably in their 50's or 60's having a stitch and bitch- ya know, sit around and knit and shoot the shit.
Well.
Naturally, the discussion turned to politics. the story is about to become very disjointed, just so you know. I was listening, but trying not to listen because I was fondling the lovely selection of tweeds they had and trying to get over the mental block i have where when I go to a yarn store I cannot think of a single thing that it was that I was hoping to find or had a project in mind for, nothing. I was also trying not to listen because listening to these awful hags made me want to furiously knit something that could be used to choke the life out of all of them. All but one. Here's why:
As the discussion turned to last week's current events, or the DNC, one woman heretofore referred to as The Voice of Reason said, "I kinda liked Bill Clinton." Que the clucking, the tsking, and one woman's sarcastic offer to put the poor VoR on her prayer list. Giggles all around.
Next, another woman wondered aloud in a very suspicious tone of voice just how Michelle and Barack Obama went to those fancy schools. The VoR replies, "They probably got scholarships and loans just like everyone else." Astounding! You mean, they did what whites, yellows, browns, blacks, pinks, and oranges have done all over the country?!? No WAI!!! So the Suspicious Lady responds all huffily, "Well then how do you suppose he got to go abroad all those times?" Gee lady, I dunno. Clearly since he is black he must have either sold drugs or stolen TV's and pawned them in order to get through college. Nothing gets by you!
Now we come to the oh so pleasant portion of the stitch and bitch where we talk politics AND religion. Weeee! Indignant Voice pipes in to bring up Obama's pastor. And my goodness, can you believe the things they are learning in their churches? "Here all this time he's been sitting in a church being taught to hate us! Can you believe that?" Lots of "mmmhmmms" and dissaproving clucks all around. "After we've been so nice to them!" says Also Indignant. <prepare to gag> "Ya know," Also Indignant says, "I know a Black Gal, Miss So and So, and she is just the sweetest thing. Even birthed one of my babies! And all this time, she's been taught to hate me! Why, I've even had her children over to swim in my pool!"
Christ on a bike! These women really were having this conversation. Really. They were. I was seriously inspecting some lovely Rowan Tweed, but it was getting hard not to stand up and exclaim, "Well that's mighty white of you! How far down the street were they before you counted your silver?"
But now they are all going around saying lovely things about all the Real Life Black People they all know. Which amounts to like .75 Real Life Black People per person. And then they begin to talk about the perfectly understandable joy that blacks around the country feel now that there is a very real possibility that for the first time ever, a person with any color what so ever will be President. The Voice of Reason says that she can understand the excitement and importance. Of course you can, that's why you are the Voice of Reason! Well, then another member of the Modern Times Think Tank and Knitting Coven pipes in to say that a coworker of hers is also black, and she is just the nicest thing! But don't you know it, she's got a big ole picture of Barack Obama in her office! Giggles all around once more. What a merry time at the Saturday Stitch and Bitch.
At this point I can't take it another minute. I throw the armload of tweed down on the ground, because I didn't want to give that shop any money (now is the time to mention that Indignant Voice was the employee of the shop, possibly the owner) and I stomped out. My mother was already outside. She couldn't take any more after the pool comment.
So I would like to wrap up this uncharacteristically long post with a thought: these women were the worst possible kind of racists. I would much rather have walked in and seen hooded Klanswomen (if there is such a thing, I dunno) knitting cozies for their burning crosses or something. Why? Because I think that people should own their thoughts and really be who they are ugly or not. It's way better then covering it up poorly and having people see right through you.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Strange
I took this pic of a funny little mushroom family that popped up in the Carolina Jasmine right by my front door.
The strange thing is that I live on the second floor, and I had no idea that spores could travel that far. I think the tiny baby one is cute.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Slow news day. Whaddaya want.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Missing
MISSING:
I'm not making this up- you gotta believe me.
Nasty Nate has gone missing. I came home one day (shamefully not today, this is just odd news, not breaking news) and he was not in his tank. He was not floating at the top. Now he is about 2, so I would be comfortable with his passing. He lived a long fishie life. But he wasn't there. I shook up the tank, thinking that maybe he has passed away, but was stuck in the fancy live java ferns he lived in. Nope. No Nate.
I don't think that Charlie ate him. Charlie is the suckiest hunter of all things ever. He was marginally interested in Nate for about ten minutes the day I got him, and never since.
He probably didn't jump out of the bowl and land precisely in the garbage disposal. If he did I would have seen him in there- I looked before I ran it when I could not find him. Unless- Nah, I don't think that Charlie would have watched that amazing feat of beta fish gymnastics and then rushed to go turn the disposal on. If he had, I HIGHLY doubt that he would have made the effort to turn it off afterwards.
What did he do? where did he go? What's happened to my fish? Is he alive? Is it wrong that I am debating on either making a terrarium in his bowl or getting a new purple beta fish and naming him either Mr. Belvedere or Art Garfunkel? What's the acceptable time for investigating or mourning my fish? I hope you think 15 minutes is okay, because I have pretty much already moved on.
I'm not making this up- you gotta believe me.
Nasty Nate has gone missing. I came home one day (shamefully not today, this is just odd news, not breaking news) and he was not in his tank. He was not floating at the top. Now he is about 2, so I would be comfortable with his passing. He lived a long fishie life. But he wasn't there. I shook up the tank, thinking that maybe he has passed away, but was stuck in the fancy live java ferns he lived in. Nope. No Nate.
I don't think that Charlie ate him. Charlie is the suckiest hunter of all things ever. He was marginally interested in Nate for about ten minutes the day I got him, and never since.
He probably didn't jump out of the bowl and land precisely in the garbage disposal. If he did I would have seen him in there- I looked before I ran it when I could not find him. Unless- Nah, I don't think that Charlie would have watched that amazing feat of beta fish gymnastics and then rushed to go turn the disposal on. If he had, I HIGHLY doubt that he would have made the effort to turn it off afterwards.
What did he do? where did he go? What's happened to my fish? Is he alive? Is it wrong that I am debating on either making a terrarium in his bowl or getting a new purple beta fish and naming him either Mr. Belvedere or Art Garfunkel? What's the acceptable time for investigating or mourning my fish? I hope you think 15 minutes is okay, because I have pretty much already moved on.
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