Sell Out

Answer me. Do it.

May 26, 2009

Have you ever gotten distilled white vinegar in your eyeball? Yep. It feels about like you’d imagine. Kind of tangy and ouchy.

Would you like a flower?

flower3web

(Yes, I know. Her bangs. I’m trying to grow them out. It is a long and frustrating process.)

Have you been reading Buns In My Oven? Because, dudes, tomorrow I’m going to be giving AN INTERVIEW (via telephone) to a REPORTER for a FANCY CHEF who wants to feature one of my recipes in a COOKBOOK and, oh hi, I’m famous.

If your neighbor broke your drainage pipe that ran under your driveway and then called the city to complain because it wasn’t draining properly EVEN THOUGH IT WAS HIS OWN FUCKING FAULT and then the city told you that you had 14 days to fix the drainage problem or they would start charging you hundreds of dollars each day that it wasn’t done, would you a) murder your neighbor in his sleep, b) break his knee caps, or c) drown him in the dirty ditch water? I’m leaning towards option C. I’ll have Cleatus link to the news story so you can all read about the tragic ditch water drowning while I’m rotting away in a jail cell.

(My laptop is broken. Again. And I would either fix it or buy a new one, but instead I’m spending my money replacing a fucking pipe so that my neighbor doesn’t have to worry about his ditch getting a bit of water in it, because God knows the world would come to an end should someone have to deal with water in their ditch. So, posting may be light for a bit until I have whined so much that Cleatus finally throws his hands up in defeat and hands me the credit card. Don’t worry. He’s weakening.)

They Must Be Desperate. Really, Really Desperate.

May 17, 2009

Last summer I wrote a post about what a total pain in the ass it was to get the kids ready and going for Vacation Bible School in the middle of summer. They were used to sleeping in and waking them up early for bible school was KILLING me.  Remember that? (That post is actually the most viewed post on this site! Weird, huh? Go back and read it and just try counting all the grammatical/spelling errors! It’s fun!)

And then, do you remember how I went to a wedding once? In a church? And I was all GOD DAMN IT. Outloud. In front of all these church people? Remember?

Even if you don’t take the twenty seconds to click through and read those links, just answer the following questions real quick:

1. Am I church-y?
2. Am I a good role model?
3. Would you trust me with your precious little bible-lovin’ children?
4. Do you think I’ve ever actually read the bible?
5. Is “bible” supposed to be capitalized?

The answers, in case you couldn’t guess, are no, no, I CERTAINLY HOPE NOT, no, and probably.

You can imagine my surprise when I was dropping Cindy-Lu off at preschool, which just happens to be at the church the kids attend with their grandmother, and her preschool teacher, who I love and adore, pulled me aside to ask me a question.

Y’all. I was totally caught off guard. I expected her to ask me to tell Cindy-Lu to quit using the word “hate” so often or to remember to bring Cindy-Lu’s book bag to school with her. Or maybe she’d ask me why the pictures Cindy-Lu draws of her daddy all contain a third leg. Most likely, she’d ask me to tell Cindy-Lu to stop mentioning how it tickles her ‘gina when she jumps up and down.

I did NOT expect her to ask me to help at Vacation Bible School this summer.

Me. At Vacation Bible School.

I think it’s a good sign that my first response was “Oh my gosh, really?” instead of “ARE YOU FUCKING NUTS?”

I just hope I can keep up the good person act for an entire week. Pray for me, internets.

I’ll Give You A Dollar If You Can Read This Without Scratching Your Head.

May 12, 2009

I went to get my hair done last week by a lady (Hi, Lynn!) that I hadn’t been to in years. Many, many years. On the drive over I was thinking about how long it had been and wondered how long my mom had been going to her for her hair. Ten years? Twenty years? One hundred years? Who knows. Either way, it reminded me of the only time my mother seriously considered disowning me.

I should mention that I was a bit of a wild child.

A friend and I got drunk at my house once and an ambulance had to be called for my friend. She drank so much that she started puking up her chinese food from dinner. (Beef and brocolli, and y’all, if the whole brocolli florets littering my toilet seat told me anything, it was that she needed to chew her food a little better.) I told her to puke a little quieter but she wouldn’t listen and my parents heard her. They came upstairs to my room to see what was going on up there, but they wouldn’t believe me when I said she had the flu and they called 911. Such jerks, my parents.

I also ran away. Twice.

And, of course, I smoked pot. Lots and lots of pot.

But, my parents? They still loved me. They never kicked me out of the house or punched me in the face or did any of those things that they probably really, really wanted to do.

And then, one day, my mom came home from the hair dresser and she beat the living crap out of me for giving her lice. Okay, so I exaggerate. What she actually did was turn on her super-disapointed voice and say “Kaaaaarly. If you let your friends use my hair brush again I will end you.” (Or something to that effect. I can’t remember the words other than the “Kaaaaarly” part. My parents were really good at summing up the big long  “I’m so dissapointed in you” lecture to just one word-my name.)  I just know that my poor mother had lice and didn’t know it until her hairdresser told her about it.

My mama was pretty embarassed.

The thing is, a few weeks prior to her hair appointment I had lice too. I KNEW I had lice in that way that you know something but refuse to admit it to yourself. My head itched like you wouldn’t believe, but there was no way in hell I was going to tell anyone I had lice. I mean, lice! Bugs! In my hair! If I admitted that they were there my life would be over. First, I was a teenage girl with dirty bugs in my hair. That’s pretty traumatic on it’s own, but when you factor in the fact that bugs are my nemesis? NOT A GOOD SITUATION. So I just pretended I didn’t know, tra la la, hey mom, mind if I borrow your brush?

The weird thing is, pretending they weren’t there worked. By the time my mom had figured out that she had lice, mine were GONE. Seriously, they were just gone. I pretended them away.

That’s probably why I have such a bad habit of just pretending things will go away now. Bills? Just pretend they aren’t there. My child’s nose picking habit? What nose picking habit? The dirty dishes in the sink? I don’t even HAVE a sink. No blog post in over a week? WHAT BLOG?

I Should Have Just Used The Superglue.

May 5, 2009

So, it turns out that when you want to learn something new, say “sewing”, you should probably, I dunno, PRACTICE before just jumping right in. I mean, I DID practice, of course, I just didn’t realize that I needed to practice a lot. I sewed a couple of semi-straight lines and I called it good and I cut out the dress pattern and then, well, I don’t know what the fuck happened after that. I’ve blocked it from my memory. Luckily for you, I have photos. I should warn you though, it’s a bit like looking at a bloody car wreck. You don’t want to look at the gore, but you can’t tear your eyes away from the horror.

fabric

Cute fabric, huh? Ignore the “arm holes” and thread poking out from them.

master-stitcher

So, apparently, the stitch wasn’t supposed to be so…thready. Or something.

threads

Again, with too much threadiness.

aftermath

The aftermath.

I can’t believe that I didn’t get any pictures of the whole dress. I somehow managed to cut the pattern wrong or sew it in the wrong place or something, because instead of being a dress for a tall-ish skinny 4 year old, it would have better fit an extremely fat midget. Basically, the “sides” that I sewed together were actually not the sides at all, but the neckline and hemline. Also, hemline? I don’t know if that’s the right word considering my sewing capabilities.