The funniest thing I've seen in ages.

Plus: ThriftDeluxe, which is much like ReadyMade, but free.

Photos from the best road trip ever. (Summer 2002)

Ahh, Toledo. Refreshments:


"It's 106 miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark and we're wearing sunglasses. Hit it:"


"Maybe if I just keep smiling, they'll just leave me alone:"


And when we got home, there was a wee puppy awaiting us:

Not to mention the whole blogging thing itself, which is super passive-aggressive.

I am beginning to realize how very passive aggressive I am. For instance: this weekend, being as I was horribly angry with the world for being stupid and unfair and generally shitting on me pretty much nonstop:

I started knitting an angry crazy-quilt looking afghan. In hot Pink! and Black! Take that, stupid world.

Tiny fists of rage.

Conversation snippet of the day:

Me: Mister T knits.
Ann: Who?
Echo of Pam on the phone: who?
Me: Mister T. Of the A-Team. My mother says so--that he knits.
Ann/Pam: who?
Me: With the mohawk? I pity the fool?
Ann/Pam: Uh....
Me: He had huuuge gold chains and stuff (despair in voice)....

Ann: Oh! The guy with the big gold jewellery! Pam, the guy with the big gold jewellery!
Pam: oh, the guy with the big gold jewellery!

Happy Memorial day weekend, y'all!

This day is already forever long.

So. How many other people live in a town that would have fliers all over it for the performance of a speech called "Freedom and Sacrifice", guaranteed to "bring tears to your eyes", performed by a John Wayne impersonator, and scheduled to be at one of the many local Baptist churches?

I may need to go see this.

Lawks.

Well. I should say that my trip to Pittsburgh was a good thing, overall. Alice Cooper, Ms. Alice Cooper, was being paged when I arrived at the Denver airport (gotta love prank calls), and I got to talk a while with darling Jeremy. We should do it more often, dude.

Working on the very first pair of socks I intend to finish, currently.

A friend of mine (and Bobby's) from high school died over the weekend. No fault car wreck. I feel awful, like I should have changed his life in some way that would have meant that he wasn't in that van at that moment. Could I have? I could certainly have changed his life, maybe, but would it have changed the timing of his death? How inexorable is fate? I can't imagine that, in one dimension, one dendrite of time, we go on living when we've died in another.

He was better than any of us.

There isn't always time to amend your mistakes. You aren't necessarily going to get the chance, after things have cooled down and you are old and wise, to sit down and have a beer and laugh over the mis-steps and inept social dramatics of your youths. Talk it out now.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAND!!!!

A Slatternly "Happy Birthday!!!" to the Bear for this weekend!

Well, I'm off to Pittsburgh for a few days. Remember: if you're in that town over the weekend and looking to kidnap me, I am no longer the six-foot tall redhead. I am the imposing chick, with the same height but the black hair. Yo ho ho, an' a bottle of rum.

Bonus: Coffee Jello

Archives are up!

I have:

Some cool new thrifted fabric from the forties (
)

A Richard Simmons record ("Stretch!!!")
Black hair dye
Glow in the dark yarn
And a new novel to read

No wonder I can't stand being here one more minute! Stuff to do! Messes to make!

Bobby is an indian giver of blog content. I told him I was going to put that joke up here.

Ah, well. C'est le guerre, heun heun heun heun.

http://www.jackdaniels.com/allfacts.asp

S' educashunl.

Also, I am very super sorry if I ticked anybody off. I always feel so left out of the fun fighting....

So. I have been knitting up this short row doily from this book we have cuz this crazy lady says that the pattern's all wrong and the author says it's fine, just fine. And I have been knitting it in mill-end angora, thinking, 'hey! it will make this a treat.' I loove angora, I loove it so much I would marry it just like with ice cream, I love it so much I would put up with real live bunnies to have an infinite supply, if I didn't live in a craptastic tiny apartment.

But. I started two days ago. Every stitch is icky. If I close my eyes, it feels nice (but then I mess up the lace pattern)--'So what is wrong?!' I keep asking myself. And I have figured it out: Bum Bum BUUUUM!

7th grade, first public school formal dance. Peachy taffeta Gunny Sack with poofty sleeves and peachy fake roses in my hair--exactly the same color as this stuff. Exactly. Need I say that everyone else was wearing dark, 90210-Beverly-Hills-sexy numbers instead of pretty-look-at-me-I'm-a-frikkin-fairy-princess outfits?

And Adam Hodge never asked me to dance. *Sniff!* I think he danced with Erin O'Brien--everyone wanted to--she looked *just* like Shannon Dougherty, sigh.

Mmm: these new colors make me hungry for artificially flavored berry foodstuffs.

Ooooh! New British Vogue at the newsstand! No need to buy lunch for me.

Dangit. It is so hard to stay here after everyone else is gone home on a Friday afternoon--I think that I will sneak away and take work home after four.

Ach! I am so in love with the world this morning! I talked to a good friend yesterday for quite a while on the phone, and that was lovely, and I watched Pitch Black on TV, and that was swell, and I got lots of work done, so that I don’t have to be ashamed of myself for being a slacker, and I taught some Jehovah’s witnesses to knit.

And all these things were good and fun yesterday, but the best-of-all thing is that they combined to give me good dreams. I hardly ever have good ones, and when I do it completely changes my outlook on life for days at a time. Yep, they are a wellspring of private joy. Yay!

It is good--the world has seemed to be a crazy and icky place lately.

Latest News: From the Post-Dispatch.

Mmmm, an egg salad sandwich and cold coffee. How old am I that I think this is about the best lunch ever?

Everybody is okay in DeSoto, to the best of our knowledge!

Mom called last night to let me know that nobody was hurt, and I was all like, Huh? Cuz there was nothing on the news here about it. They had an exciting time of it--Granny passed out (probably a mini-stroke) about a half an hour before the big storm came through, so my Dad (who found out yesterday that he has a hernia) was up there, taking care of her, and could hustle her into a safe part her basement. The (locked) doors down there blew off the hinges. Mom and our neighbor, Don took cover under the recliners.... The tornado actually clipped the side of the house, but it's just shingle and siding damage, and all the big trees are down around the house, but only one fell partially onto the roof. The electricity is out, of course, and nobody can get in or out with so many downed trees, and there are 5" of water in the back rooms of the house. The dogs are okay, too--they just freaked out and threw up, but Mom got them inside.

There is, apparently, 4 feet of water over Main Street--the Junior High Gym was flattened--there isn't much official news yet, but I did know everyone quoted in the St. Louis Post Dispatch article. Small towns, eh?

Also, today is my little sister's 22nd Birthday. I feel old.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee@INTERWEAVE.COM!!!!!!!!!!!!! Things're crazy these days, what the hey!?

Here, this is a good read.

http://www.toothpastefordinner.com/050403/model-of-the-internet.gif

The smell of lilacs--it's the most persistent memory of my childhood. There was a big persian lilac behind the garage when we lived in Laramie and I used to hide beneath it all the time--I can remember the precise color of the blossoms and the shape of the leaves and the weeds beneath and the dry sandy soil. And the odor changed with the weather or if you crushed the blossoms between your fingers, and I remember every shade. I think I must have written fifteen child poems about it before the age of ten. Here I am again, in the same part of the country, and every night I ride past one lilac of the same variety and it's just overwhelming. The fragrance is something I would never wear, even if they could capture it in a bottle, and I never ever wear the color.... It's like the lilac is an old friend and that is it's personality, like the big ponderosa pine on the folks' place in Missouri or the spring violets. Their scents and colors are too much their selves--they're not mannerisms that I could flatteringly adopt.

Okay- you! and you!--quit yer flirtin'!

Nobody uses the prase "shove it" anymore, do they?

If I could smoke in the office, I would live here all the time in my comfy new space with my brand new plants that are so lovely and were fun to re-pot, too.

This is essentially what the plainer vinyl cuffs I made look like. 'Cept they're black and opaque and have fuschia nailpolish on the edges. But these clear ones (I ganked the image from somewhere, but can't find the site again) show the structure better.

Huh. Regan and I coulda hung out, if she'd have stuck wiht the seventh. I'm extremely violent, wrathful, moody and lustful, y'all. Watch out.

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Seventh Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Moderate
Level 2 (Lustful)	Very High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Very Low
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Low
Level 7 (Violent)	Extreme
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Moderate

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test