It’s been cold (I can hear Mary in Indiana sighing over this one..hey, it’s below 60 degrees!), windy and rainy today..perfect weather for baking and sewing.
Lulu the boxer kept me company while I worked on yet another Jelly Roll 1600 quilt. I’d like to say I’m pacing myself, but the stone-cold reality is that I haven’t been in much of a crafting mood so I’m slower than molasses in January. It’ll get done eventually and added to the pile of 22 other quilt tops I unearthed that are in need of being quilted. Yes, I said 22…comes after 21 but before 23. Yep, THAT 22! What can I say? I’m a piecer.
After the last crocheting debacle (you remember, the one where my Mama’s nice Tuesday crafting lady M gently pointed out that I was indeed crocheting a quadrilateral) I laid down my hook and ball and said to hell with this shit and left it alone for awhile. Well…here’s what I’ve got so far. And yes, I know I dropped a stitch on the left hand side. Thanks for pointing that out, but I’ll be damned if I undo all that. It took me two weeks to achieve.
From this angle, the right side looks wonky, too but I have it on good authority (that’s two different crocheters, if you must know) that when viewed from the proper angle, all is well. Nyah-nyah.
And I have to share my JoAnn’s score with you. Only those who sew can truly appreciate the deal I got. Pinking shears for $45.99 with a 50% off coupon. Can I get a hell yeah!
Yes, this is how truly orgasmically exciting my social life is. Sad really, but there it is.
On the baking front, I managed to sneak in applesauce and protein powder to my usual recipe for chocolate chip cookies. I love duping the family…and they make it so easy.
My epic fail for the day, however, are these lovely little hockey pucksmuffins hockey pucks I made from a recipe on the side of an oatmeal canister. I had such high hopes they’d be tasty, but I’m sorry, anything called ‘High Protein Applesauce Muffins’ is probably gonna suck eggs. Pond hockey, anyone?
The Diva loved them, bless her heart. I say ‘bless her heart’ in a way only a Texas girl can. In this instance it can be roughly translated as ‘she’s weird as all get-out’. I’ll save the various translations of ‘bless your heart’ for another post. After all, it never hurts to learn a second language.
I spent the rest of the day with my Mama and we drove all over hell’s half-acre running errands. I was rewarded with really good company and lunch. I loves my Mama.
It’s Wednesday…is it too early in the week to start drinking?
The Diva and I went with my Mama to her weekly crafting group get together, a lovely bunch of elderly ladies, at a local church. I like elderly ladies. From their fluttery hand gestures, to their perfectly salon-styled (occasionally blue tinted and always shellacked into place so hurricane force winds couldn’t move it) hair, to their powdery smell, to their red, red, red lipstick which no one under the age of eighty can get away with without being mistaken for a streetwalker. When I reach their age, you can bet dollars to donuts I’m gonna find me the reddest shade of harlot lipstick on the planet and wear it with pride. Not to mention the stories you get about when their kids were growing up and so-and-so’s lumbago and the fact they think The Diva is just the sweetest thing this side of ever. It was a nice change of pace from where I work, where the new kids on the block think of me, at thirty-nine, as old.
I took along my crochet and hoped like hell no one would ask me what I’d brought to work on and I’d be left to covertly make hundreds of stitches while trying to hide my latest creation in what’s left of my lap. Not…a…chance…in…Hades.
My mother’d already spilled the beans to one of the group, a sweet lady who’s also in our quilting bee, that I, the genius, taught myself crochet. With M looking over my shoulder, I had to pony up and bring the binkie into the daylight…along with the bad habits I’d apparently incorporated into it. Yay me! I got high marks for the evenness of my stitches (happy dance) but lost ’em altogether because I was dropping stitches like I drop hints around Christmastime. I never noticed it while it sat in my lap with me stitching away, but when laid out for an expert to look at, the friggin’ thing went all whompy-jawed (yes, that’s an actual term…probably Celtic or Basque or something) and I wound up with something like this…
It looks even worse up close…like me, when I’ve just rolled out of bed. Fudgesicle, fudgesicle, fudgesicle!
I started to rip it all out, got a little pissy, gave a mental screw it (actually, that’s not what I said at all but I’m trying for the PG version here) and started all over again. To hell with the price of yarn. According to The Co-Defendants I am made of money!!
With M standing by, watching like a hawk, I managed, after about an hour, to achieve this…
I got offers for private lessons. So much for the awesome teaching capabilities of YouTube. I blame The Co-Defendants for the slippery slide of intelligence exiting my cranium through my ear canals. I used to be smart and, according to Himself, fun to be around. On the bright side, I’d make a great drill sergeant. Or so I’m told.
Anyway, I got home, couldn’t bear to toss out what I’d already made even though it was pure unadulterated crap, and proceeded to unravel the rest of the mess and wound up with this…
Which became this…
They say crocheting takes balls. Thank goodness they’re not attached to me or else I’d fear some awful venereal disease for which I’d still be trying to remember the encounter by which I’d acquired it. Terrible to go through life so lopsided.
On that note, my balls and I are going now to, with luck and a whole bucketful of divine intervention, depart for the living room where we hope to achieve something resembling adequate when it’s all said and done.
Did you feel the earth shake? No, I’m not doing jumping jacks…but I did sit down at Somebody’s Brother yesterday and actually SEWED something. I can’t tell you what it’s for, not yet anyway, but thought I’d better take a picture just to say ‘Hey look, fabric’s actually moving about the table’. I even fired up the iron. WHOHOO!
I’m still working at that baby afghan using the skein of yarn big enough to be considered a flotilla all by itself, but it felt fairly awesome to actually sew something. I even had to wind another bobbin….SQUEAL! Go ahead, mock me. It’s the little things. Some people are multi-lingual. I’m multi-crafty!
I didn’t think it was possible to have a crochet WIP. Add that to the list of stuff I am wrong about.
I’ve been working on this piece for about a week and although I like the colors and design, it’s getting a tad bor—ing. Those other 5,000 skeins I’ve bought are calling my name. Must…go…faster!
I’ve discovered that crochet is a greedy hobby. Here I thought three skeins would make me a nice sized afghan. Stop laughing. I mean it. Who knew that a skein of gargantuan size, all neatly packaged in its paper wrap, wouldn’t stitch up big enough to make a dish cloth. It’s depressing. And expensive. How do I always choose the expensive hobbies? Next time, I’ll choose watching car bumpers rust.
I should really stick to making afghans. I’ve already tried my hand at making a hat, which didn’t turn out so hot. Remember this…
Yeah, that started out as a hat for me. Himself, the clever devil, said ‘Why not make two and turn it into a bikini top?‘ For who…Shamu?! I held that baby up to my ample bosom and, channeling Chief Brody of JAWS fame, said ‘I’m gonna need a bigger cup’. Yes, we’ve both missed our calling as comedians.
Crochet has seriously cut into my quilting obsession. I’ll gaze occasionally at Lennie, eh, shrug, and back to crochet, that scarlet harlot.
And, saving the best for last, I’ve learned that one can drive and crochet at the same time. That’s probably not something I should confess, but I do this in the pickup line at school. It’s a straightaway, my foot’s constantly on the brake. Honestly Officer, I’ve no idea how I rear-ended that car. Sue me. It’s my last breath of peace and serenity before The Co-Defendants hit the backseat. Plus it beats the hell out of cussing the driver in front of me who’s texting. Ahem…
The yarn called to me from its captive perch on the shelf.
‘Stephanie, buy me. You know you want me. Go on. What’s one little skein?’
It certainly was visually fetching and the feel…like butta. I knew it would make the perfect scarf.
Looking back, I should’ve realized the eerie similarities between the yarn and Eve’s apple because I swear that skein was just about the downfall of my nascent crocheting career. Satan made this yarn. I couldn’t stitch it up fast enough; it’s a wonder I didn’t scorch my fingertips in my haste to reach the bitter end of what wound up becoming known as the Mardi Gras scarf.
Even Lulu sensed the work of demonic hands in this stuff. Or maybe it was that slightly hysterical glint in my eye. Bad yarn can make any girl a little cray-cray.
But, I persevered and have a smashingly obnoxious scarf to show for it.
Connecting Threads has long been one of my all-time favorite quilting catalogs and no, they’re not paying me to say that.
Cool fabric lines, reasonable prices, awesome customer service, quick delivery. Forty percent off sales on quilting books. What’s not to love? And I love, love, love their thread! So does Lennie, come to think of it.
Now I have even more reasons to love them. Lookee what’s inside the latest catalog to hit my mailbox!
It’s a yarn-gasm! My fingers literally waggled to and fro, twitching to feel the yarn covering the pages. Be still my covetous heart! Anybody wanting suggestions for my birthday (which is January 1st, by the way) should just get me one…of everything. It’s not too late to buy for this year…it’s only February! Call it a late Valentine’s or early St. Patrick’s gift (I am part Irish).
Not me, baby. I’d be more inclined toward a body cavity search by someone wearing barb-wire gloves. I hate football. There, I’ve said it…although, maybe I’ve said it before and have simply forgotten. Old people do that, you know. That’s the gospel according to His Awesomeness. Actually, I include baseball, basketball and golf in that ‘hate’ category, too. Hockey, I love. Then again, with the lockout and short season, the NHL is on my list as well.
The only highlight of Super Bowl Sunday: all those awesome commercials…and seven layer dip. If there’s a David Beckham commercial again this year and I miss it…now that’d be a catastrophe of epic proportions. I’m taking my chances, though. Instead, The Diva and I are watching ‘Home on the Range’ in my room away from the toxic fumes of all that testosterone. Somehow, Roseanne Barr as a cow doesn’t seem so far-fetched.
I haven’t had a quilting finish in about a month and a half. If this trend keeps up, I fear I may forget how to sew altogether. Instead, I finished up a cap for Molly, the world’s best-dressed-in-homemade-goodness American Girl doll. My Mama (Gramma) has whipped up quite a few outfits for Molly the clotheshorse, too.
I’ve discovered that I can’t read a crochet pattern worth a crap, so I’m making up my own rules as I go along, operating under the assumption that if the piece is holding together, it’s all good. Thank goodness I opted not to go to medical school. Can you imagine me as your surgeon?
If you’re so inclined, enjoy the game. If not, I hope you’re doing something crafty.