Internets Be Damned

I've spent my ENTIRE workday today looking at interesting, useless, and utterly not related to fabric or shipping list-type websites. I don't quite know how I got on this track, but it's been utterly engaging and I'm sure scores of co-workers have walked by me wondering what the crap I'm so absorbed with. Except that they can see because my walls are made of glass... so no mystery there.

This is my favorite of the day

Soo.. the internet is not particularly "working" at our apartment. You would think that this would make me more efficient in the home, having no facebooks to look at or random things to research. YOU WOULD BE WRONG. Instead, I sit futilely looking at the upper right-hand corner of my laptop, watching the swirling dots of the firefox waiting icon go round and round, hoping that there might be just enough of a jump in bandwidth to allow me to see if my financial aid records have been processed, or how long I should keep the chicken in the oven so as we don't get poisoned. It sometimes happens, but I've wasted SO much time just waiting and waiting and playing Freecell that I'm starting to get a little melancholy.

So I resolve that tonight, tonight I will not waste any more time on the spitefully malfunctioning internets than is absolutely necessary to ascertain correct directions to Molly Malone's to see my dear friend/hairdresser play in his band. I will spend time (if Jesse ever makes it to the bank to get quarters) doing the mad piles of laundry that have been just WAITING for quarters to get did. Maybe I will cook something. Maybe I will unload the dishwasher. Maybe I'll just read another chapter of Middlesex, - I didn't ever really stop to think that maybe the title of that book was actually a descriptive noun instead of a location, but it's good regardless. I will do SOMETHING besides be harnessed to that hypnotically rotating icon, telling me that maybe, just maybe, it will process my request. Firefox, you taunt me.

Los Angelemma

Only in LA can you be sitting, minding your own business, chatting with your mom online, and then watch a sobbing stripper march barefoot in her underwear by your living room window with a leopard print bag larger than her body. Hm?

Also, the bumblebees here are larger than my big toe. No joke. I can't wrap my head around how they fly. It's like allowing a potato gnocchi to be suspended in flight by two parsley leaves. Unfeasible.

Obviously, all this is taking place while sitting on the couch in my living room, staring out the window at whatever passes by. Because I am become lazy, and have had guests for 3 weeks, and don't want to clean up my house, and am instead going to sit here. Watching strippers.

I have, however, - regardless of visitors, actually going out and dancing, eating out far too often for finances to allow... I have finished Jane Austen's Emma. Which took FOREVER, but I enjoyed it regardless. It was Long. Friends who saw me at do Something Blue on Friday night (none of whom know I have a blog, or prolly even a last name) would notice that I spent the entire time being slightly embittered about being at THE CLIMAX of the book, wherein love is finally being declared and understood, wherein everything exciting happens, whereas I was forced to put it down and leave to go dancing. BAH! I was frustrated at the hovering anticipation of lurv and happiness.

Also - I'm worried about being a potential English major for this single reason: having to analyze. I made ABSOLUTELY NO CONNECTION between the book Emma and the movie Clueless until I read the end "inspired by" notes. This lack of connection worries me. How could I miss that? I can't say that I ever would have figured it out, either. Clueless has never figured prominently in my life experience, but still ... they are the same thing. I feel like a remedial English student whose first language is Slavic, here.

Boo ring

I feel as if I have nothing exciting to write about these days. I pretty much just go to work, dream of the day upon whence I become a trophy wife to a successful chiropractor, and join a scooter gang. Also create my own craft mafia. But dreams do not successful blog posts make.

We've had guest(s) for a few weeks now, which has seriously cramped my sit-and-home-and-think-about-stupid-things time, while actually engaging me in conversation and public appearances and exercise, none of which have resulted in any remotely humorous bloggable situations. I went to a fancy awesome bar in Los Angeles, where I had a drink. I went to Lindygroove, where I danced. I went to Disneyland - OH YEAH I WENT TO DISNEYLAND. I had forgotten. Apparently it did not embed itself in my memory as an oh-hot-damn moment. This is what happened at Disneyland: I MORE THAN DOUBLE JESSE'S SCORE ON THE BUZZ LIGHTYEAR RIDE. That is how much laser-gun ass I kick. DOUBLE. (boo-yah)

I was sick at home from work for an entire week (boring). I did chores and errands (ditto). I wished to never go back to work in order to stay at home all day and eat bon-bons. I tried sewing (as previously mentioned). Do you SEE how un-crazy this all is? Pssshh.

Although we did, however, venture all the way to Hollywood (60 miles!) in order to purchase $1.25 giant pick-you-own-flavor ice cream sandwiches at Diddy Riese, which was an adventure. I spent $5.00 of gas and like 4 hours just for a buck and a quarter ice cream sammich I could've made at home - but we had the EXPERIENCE of Diddy Riese under our belts. w00t! And of Hollywood. And of credit card parking meters. And iPhone GPS madness - I almost DIED in traffic. DEAD of cars.

Sew Not Good

Instead of going out to The Juke last night with Glen and Molly (and Jesse), I decided to stay home, not spread the disease that has plagued me for an ENTIRE WEEK, and attempt to sew.

**Note how I did not say "sew". Due to the fact that the product is already un-presentable, I will not really count it as a success. This is what I attempted (the one on the center left with the handles):


What eventuated was NOT anything really like that at all. BOO!

However - I am not discouraged. I learned valuable lessons in the process. I will try it again, and prolly fail again, at which point I might give up on that particular purse and try the one below it.

What this DOES mean, though, is I got my sewing machine back from the shop in fab'lous working order. Hoo-RAY! It was expensive, but my lil' (GIGANTIC) wonder machine now hums along like it did when my grandma started using it over thirty years ago (surely not! No one was alive then!) It also weighs 48 pounds. So I'll gain skill AND triceps. And maybe some of those bird-with-banner or heart-with-arrow tattoos that seem so prevalent with the "I'm a crafter" mafia set these days. I mean - if I want to be taken seriously as a crafter, I have to have the look, right?

Hooker Rant

Why must every model in the American Apparel campaign look as if she is:

a) Malnourished
b) Barely Legal
c) About to have sex with the cameraman
d) Dressed very poorly
e) Give you the general feeling of unwittingly watching amateur porn

?

I absolutely hate being bombarded with American Apparel ads. As if seeing an eighteen year old girl wearing a swimsuit not even baywatch babes would dare to wear (you know, the kind where the V neck goes all the way to the belly button and the only thing covering her nipples sort of is the strap? The kind that they wore in 1980's workout videos OVER another leotard?... As if seeing THAT would make me want to buy scrunchies. I would never buy scrunchies (again), and now I ESPECIALLY won't buy them from American Apparel.

However, they do carry sparkly leggings for toddlers, which I think is TOTALLY appropriate.


But as for everything else. I dare you to look at the home page. It is (as of today) a girl wearing only sheer leggings, posing in 17 pages of various predatorial poses, full nip, NOT COOL. I do not support! **Note: I only went to the page to look for the above leggings! DON'T YOU POINT YOUR FINGER!

I am the Worst...

Hostess: We have had a PLETHORA of guests in the last couple weeks. (Would you say... a plethora of pinatas? I picked up Glen on Thursday two weeks ago, Molly arrived the next day, and Jesse's ENTIRE family arrived the following night. WHERE DID YOU KEEP THEM ALL?, you say, and I say I DID NOT. I forced our initial two "We were here first" guests to sleep outside on the porch (also known as Molly's brother's house in Pasadena) whilst I engaged to prove a worthy wife to the in-laws and pretend that Disneyland was always where I have dreamed of going. (Note, I have NEVER dreamed of going to Disneyland, but it was still pretty fun). I'm always worried, groundlessly, that the in-laws will leave with these words on their lips in the car: "Can you believe Jesse's wife (insert lacking here)?!" i.e. Didn't have the vanilla pudding mix to make this 10-day Amish Friendship Bread I randomly brought? .. Didn't have enough towels to cover SEVEN people so she had to go buy some? .. Killed an ENTIRE houseplant during our stay!?. I know they aren't thinking of or talking of these things, but I worry nonetheless.

Friend: While the famoo was here, sleeping and Disneying and generally just being around, my poor friends were relegating to the other happiest place on earth, Pasadena, to enjoy themselves and generally decide that actually, Pasadena is way better than my house and they were prolly going to stay. Molly was originally going to spend the summer with us, but she found work in Pasadena instead and will now only visit. AND I AM UPSET. MY PLANS ARE DISRUPTED. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO LEAVE MY HOUSE WITHOUT MOLLY MAKING ME?????? Baaaaahhhhhhhh. At least we drove Glen all the way to West Hollywood just to eat a cookie. I think that a 60 mile drive for a $1.25 Diddy Riese cookie sandwich merits a friend token.

Worker: I'm seriously seriously seriously thinking about starting school up in the fall. I'm utterly useless at my job. Not utterly, but I want to be utterly useless. I don't want to work. I have lost my denim gumption. I am home today because I think I swallowed a golf ball with my neck, and I feel that they will do all right without me. Which leads me to believe that perhaps my time in premium denim is drawing to an end, and my time as a debt-ridden student should finally begin. I can't decide... this has been a FAB'LOUS job to have while Jesse goes to school - I have put food in our mouths and jeans on our butts, and gained some semi-valuable Microsoft Excel experience along the way, but really.... this job is preparing me for NOTHING. I'm going to visit an academic and a financial aid counselor in the upcoming days. We shall see the viability of this.

Daughter: I told my family I could go camping with them this summer, and now I can't because of training at work. HOW STUPID IS THAT?

Housewife: We have 2 weeks worth of dishes languishing in the kitchen because it turns out our brand new dishwasher can't actually clean anything. And I haven't done anything about it but stare at them. I feel slightly vindicated because none of them are mine but one saucepan and a fork, but it's kind of my job to do the dishes.... and I'm not. I need a new scrubber!

All in all... I still feel pretty good about myself anyway. Ha!

There Will be an EXPLOSION

Of things with flat seams!

I just found out (and checked out) that IKEA has fabric. And, my friends, who does not want an apron or a small purse or a pillowcase made out of IKEA fabric?:

Answer: if you don't, you're not my real friend. With my distaste for things floral except for real (live) flowers, this is PERFECT. Barely a flower in sight, and not a one like a lil' ditsy print or reasonable imitation of something my grandmother would wear or my mother would put in a quilt. Not that I'll ever actually get to an IKEA because my husband is wily and wise and reasonably attached to our money. So fancy-pants (or skirt) fabric remains a distant dream, only to be capitalized upon if I sell something I made or an organ.

However: someone stole my $100 I saved up for sewing-machine repair out of my purse. Now I can't sew until I save it back up. DANGIT DANGIT DANGIT