Hey Squares. What. Is. Up. This girl had a rough day, you guys. I don't plan to go on and on about wedding stuff, as I'm sure 50 percent of you don't care (Fine! Then you're not invited! Hrmph!) but today was kind of the beginning of what I'm afraid will be an avalanche of me pouting and overeating out of frustration. Here's how it all went down.
My apartment is FINALLY put together enough that I could invite my parents over. Sure, there was some last-minute crafting and rearranging furniture, but whatevs. I had some crackers, cheese, salami and iced tea out so I could use all my fun dishes. My mom and dad showed up right on time and gushed appropriately about my place and pretended to ignore my hoarding of packing paper in the front closet. It was lovely!
Then we went out to get some dinner across the street. I was all "Ooooh, Michaelangelo's is supposed to be good!" So we walked over to the the so-called "good" restaurant. Turns out, the inside was a Chuck E Cheese. There were, hmm, approx 154 kids screaming for like the first hour we were there. Peaceful!
Finally, the kids left and my mom said "Woo! Now that we can finally hear ourselves THINK, how's the wedding planning going?"
This is where the night went from fun to frustrating.
Geo and I thought we had a pretty good plan in place. We couldn't please everyone, but we tried. I had confirmed availability with places and knew that our plan could work. What I DIDN'T plan on is everyone not agreeing with me.
No. There were objections almost immediately. My parents were like "Whoa, okay, slow your roll. You haven't thought this through. That place is too small and disjointed." Like any adult, I got defensive immediately and secretly fumed while Geo sat mute next to me. In hindsight, what did I really expect him to say?! My mom and I were butting heads on a few things - little stuff, you know...like the RECEPTION - and we were going back and forth for a few minutes while Geo and my dad quietly prayed that they could be transported anywhere but a dinner table with two women planning a wedding.
Despite my hours of work on spreadsheets, venue tours and emails it was brought to my attention that I may have missed a few details.
What, like I'm supposed to just KNOW how much things cost?! What am I, an accountant?!
I was so frustrated. I've spent a lot of valuable time trying to figure out a venue plan for a wedding. And, if I'm being honest, a lot of the time it felt like I was doing it alone. So when Geo and I finally came to an agreement, I thought it would go off without a hitch. I wanted to say the plan, have everyone love it and be jealous that they didn't think of it themselves, and then toast to my genius. Was that too much to ask?
But, it wasn't solved by the end of dinner. However, my dad and Geo finally spoke up and were surprisingly, and annoyingly, level-headed and rational. My dad, always the logical one, helpfully mentioned that I needed to figure out how much stuff costs. My mom pleaded with me to consider the ugly details - you know, the boring, realistic, unglamorous, logistical, mathy details. Eventually, we agreed that I needed to do some more work, which made me start to cry a little inside. But, we finally went back to normal and headed home.
Then, 20 minutes later, I was sitting here, contemplating what my parents had said. I started rethinking things I thought I was sure of. I cracked open my mind a bit and decided I could see their points. Then, my mom called. She and my dad had driven past a venue we disagreed on. (I loved it, they were not crazy about.) But they drove by it tonight and my mom was calling to tell me that my dad "loves it, too". And tasked me with nailing down some details.
However, now I'm afraid I'm back to square one. Now I'm not even sure about that which I was so sure of an hour ago. I feel like I need to just start all over. And it feels horrible. So, instead, I think I'm just going to break up with Geo and scratch this whole wedding thing. Ta da!
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Dear Crabby
Well, here we are. Hump Day, as they say. I've gotten a few questions this week that will hopefully make you feel better about yourselves and take you straight through to the weekend. Let's see what we've got...
Dear Crabby,
My boyfriend - well, ex-boyfriend I guess - broke up with me like 6 months ago. How long do you think it takes until I'll stop being so sad?? My friends say it takes half the time of the duration of a relationship to get over it. But I dated my boyfriend for almost a year, and I just haven't gotten over it. Is something wrong with me?
Thanks,
Adele's Got Nothin' On Me
Oh boy, AGNOM,
There is no equation. There is no math that will guarantee when you will not be so sad about breaking up with someone. Yet ANOTHER way math has failed me in my everyday life. Sometimes it takes years, other times it takes minutes. It all depends on the relationship. But, I'll tell you this: You'll get over it. Eventually, and on your own time. I could spit out cliches like "He obviously isn't good enough for you if he couldn't appreciate you!" And while that may be true, it's nothing but lip service. Here's the truth: It sucks to get dumped. It hurts your feelings and it takes all your power away. But, it's not the end of the world. Eventually, you'll meet someone else. And if you don't? You'll just get 100 cats. The point is: There are bigger things headed your way.
Dear Crabby,
My friend just totally blew me off for like the 100th time. She makes happy hour plans and then bails. She promises me that she's got a guy for me to date, and then nothing ever materializes. Most recently, she said she'd hire me as a Freelancer for a project she's working on, and then didn't tell me that the project had fallen through until like 3 days after I had prepped the presentation. What do I do?
Thanks,
With Friends Like These...
Wassup, WFLT,
Um, it sounds like you've been duped. You know that saying "Once bitten, twice shy"? Or even "First time, shame on you. Second time, shame on me"? Yeah, you should probably have learned your lesson the first 99 times it happened. You, my friend, are in the presence of a bail artist. I say, check out now. Stop taking her word at face value and make your own magic happen. In the end, who can we count on if not ourselves? My advice? Find your OWN man. Get your OWN job. Make your OWN happy hour (and don't invite her). Then your fun and your success will be yours, and yours alone.
Dear Crabby,
You're getting married, right? I'm freaking out! I've got 9 months until my wedding, and I am so intensely overwhelmed that I can't even think straight. Every day at work, I'm distracted by venues, dresses, colors and favors. And how am I supposed to know what I want the DJ to play in NINE MONTHS? I don't even know if people will still LIKE Carly Rae Jepsen! Any advice??
AAARRGHHHH!
Blushing - and FUMING - Bride
OMG, BAFB,
Did you crawl inside my head? Are you my subconscious? Yes, I'm getting married, and I too am freaking out. Um, if I'm not mistaken, aren't weddings supposed to fun and wonderful? So far, they are NOT fun and whatever the opposite of wonderful is. I hear ya, sista. Planning a wedding is nothing like they make it look like in the movies. Also? I'm not a Bridezilla, so I can't even check in to TLC to see what to expect. Girls like us, BAFB, are regular people who just want an awesome ceremony and party. Unfortunately, everyone else has their OWN ideas of what "your day" looks like. So, we've got 100 opinions and, likely, zero help from the groom-to-be, so we're responsible for making or breaking this thing. Here's really the only thing I can tell you, because I tell myself this every time something ruins my plans: Your wedding day is about getting married. It's about promising to spend the rest of your life with someone - or, you know, at least until you divorce. It's about seeing your crazy family hang with your crazy friends. Whatever they are wearing, and wherever and whenever they are partying, the day, ultimately, is about you and the guy you claim to be in love with. Yes, it should be nice and pretty and whatever. But after whatever awesome or $hitty party you throw, you'll still be married to that lug nut who wooed you in the first place.
OMG. Heavy stuff, guys. HEAVY STUFF. Let's try to lighten it up next week, shall we? Actually, next Wednesday is the 4th of July. I may or may not be celebrating my freedom or fireworks or whatever, so let's aim for two weeks from now for the Dear Crabby questions, aight???
Dear Crabby,
My boyfriend - well, ex-boyfriend I guess - broke up with me like 6 months ago. How long do you think it takes until I'll stop being so sad?? My friends say it takes half the time of the duration of a relationship to get over it. But I dated my boyfriend for almost a year, and I just haven't gotten over it. Is something wrong with me?
Thanks,
Adele's Got Nothin' On Me
Oh boy, AGNOM,
There is no equation. There is no math that will guarantee when you will not be so sad about breaking up with someone. Yet ANOTHER way math has failed me in my everyday life. Sometimes it takes years, other times it takes minutes. It all depends on the relationship. But, I'll tell you this: You'll get over it. Eventually, and on your own time. I could spit out cliches like "He obviously isn't good enough for you if he couldn't appreciate you!" And while that may be true, it's nothing but lip service. Here's the truth: It sucks to get dumped. It hurts your feelings and it takes all your power away. But, it's not the end of the world. Eventually, you'll meet someone else. And if you don't? You'll just get 100 cats. The point is: There are bigger things headed your way.
Dear Crabby,
My friend just totally blew me off for like the 100th time. She makes happy hour plans and then bails. She promises me that she's got a guy for me to date, and then nothing ever materializes. Most recently, she said she'd hire me as a Freelancer for a project she's working on, and then didn't tell me that the project had fallen through until like 3 days after I had prepped the presentation. What do I do?
Thanks,
With Friends Like These...
Wassup, WFLT,
Um, it sounds like you've been duped. You know that saying "Once bitten, twice shy"? Or even "First time, shame on you. Second time, shame on me"? Yeah, you should probably have learned your lesson the first 99 times it happened. You, my friend, are in the presence of a bail artist. I say, check out now. Stop taking her word at face value and make your own magic happen. In the end, who can we count on if not ourselves? My advice? Find your OWN man. Get your OWN job. Make your OWN happy hour (and don't invite her). Then your fun and your success will be yours, and yours alone.
Dear Crabby,
You're getting married, right? I'm freaking out! I've got 9 months until my wedding, and I am so intensely overwhelmed that I can't even think straight. Every day at work, I'm distracted by venues, dresses, colors and favors. And how am I supposed to know what I want the DJ to play in NINE MONTHS? I don't even know if people will still LIKE Carly Rae Jepsen! Any advice??
AAARRGHHHH!
Blushing - and FUMING - Bride
OMG, BAFB,
Did you crawl inside my head? Are you my subconscious? Yes, I'm getting married, and I too am freaking out. Um, if I'm not mistaken, aren't weddings supposed to fun and wonderful? So far, they are NOT fun and whatever the opposite of wonderful is. I hear ya, sista. Planning a wedding is nothing like they make it look like in the movies. Also? I'm not a Bridezilla, so I can't even check in to TLC to see what to expect. Girls like us, BAFB, are regular people who just want an awesome ceremony and party. Unfortunately, everyone else has their OWN ideas of what "your day" looks like. So, we've got 100 opinions and, likely, zero help from the groom-to-be, so we're responsible for making or breaking this thing. Here's really the only thing I can tell you, because I tell myself this every time something ruins my plans: Your wedding day is about getting married. It's about promising to spend the rest of your life with someone - or, you know, at least until you divorce. It's about seeing your crazy family hang with your crazy friends. Whatever they are wearing, and wherever and whenever they are partying, the day, ultimately, is about you and the guy you claim to be in love with. Yes, it should be nice and pretty and whatever. But after whatever awesome or $hitty party you throw, you'll still be married to that lug nut who wooed you in the first place.
OMG. Heavy stuff, guys. HEAVY STUFF. Let's try to lighten it up next week, shall we? Actually, next Wednesday is the 4th of July. I may or may not be celebrating my freedom or fireworks or whatever, so let's aim for two weeks from now for the Dear Crabby questions, aight???
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
It IS a small world after all!
Oh. Mah. Gah. Holy small world, Batman! So, I went to happy hour with some co-workers tonight. La la la, 2-for-1s, good company and just a grand ol' time had by all. Everything was all fun and good until this conversation happened:
Co-worker: Yeah, I love Sebastian Joe's ice cream. I live right by there.
Me: Hey! I used to live by Sebstian Joe's! Where do you live?
Co-worker: On insert my old street name here.
Me: Hey! I used to live on insert my old street name here.
Co-worker: Where abouts?
Me: 2108?
Co-worker: SHUT UP. I LIVE IN THAT HOUSE.
After 20 minutes of me trying to pull my jaw off the ground, I managed to determine that my co-worker lives in GEO'S OLD ROOM. I told him that I used to live in the room painted Kate-Spade-green and he's like "Oh man, we were WONDERING who would paint a room that color!"
I cried out, "IT WAS ME! I PAINTED THAT ROOM THAT COLOR!"
So it turns out that I work in the same department of the same company with a guy who keeps his ketchup in the very same fridge I kept MY ketchup. Caaaaarazy.
I'm not exactly used to "small worlds." I went to a Big 10 University where I knew approximately 20 people. Out of, what, 30,000 students?
And sure, I knew all the people in my high school, but I've never like run into a famous person who lives with my high school student president now or something. I've never made a weird connection.
Well, I did work with a girl for a few months before figuring out she was BFFs with the brother of my former co-worker/friend. And I once saw a TV show that had a girl from my high school on it. But so far, none of those stories top the "Hey, I just met you...and this crazy...but here's my address, it's the same as yours was." (Thumbs UP to those of you who got the Carly Rae Jepsen reference.)
Anyhoozle, instead of playing it cool tonight, I managed to exude the kind of creepiness I tried so desperately hide. But how many times do you get the opportunity to meet the person who lives in your old house? ALMOST NEVER. So, again, instead of being COOL, I said "OMG, can I come and look at your house?! I wanna see where you put your couch!"
Sweet. That's NOT creepy! Thankfully, I followed it up with "I mean, I wanna see your house, but not in a CREEPY way!" Yeah, 'cause SAYING it's not creepy makes it less creepy...
Okay, so the point is I have finally made my "Wow, what a small world!" connection. I remember seeing the "It's a Small World" exhibit or ride or whatever at Disneyworld and realizing I had no idea what those creepy little Animatronix kids were singing about. But now? Now I AM a creepy Animatronix kid!
And the allegedly small world makes sense again...
Co-worker: Yeah, I love Sebastian Joe's ice cream. I live right by there.
Me: Hey! I used to live by Sebstian Joe's! Where do you live?
Co-worker: On insert my old street name here.
Me: Hey! I used to live on insert my old street name here.
Co-worker: Where abouts?
Me: 2108?
Co-worker: SHUT UP. I LIVE IN THAT HOUSE.
After 20 minutes of me trying to pull my jaw off the ground, I managed to determine that my co-worker lives in GEO'S OLD ROOM. I told him that I used to live in the room painted Kate-Spade-green and he's like "Oh man, we were WONDERING who would paint a room that color!"
I cried out, "IT WAS ME! I PAINTED THAT ROOM THAT COLOR!"
So it turns out that I work in the same department of the same company with a guy who keeps his ketchup in the very same fridge I kept MY ketchup. Caaaaarazy.
I'm not exactly used to "small worlds." I went to a Big 10 University where I knew approximately 20 people. Out of, what, 30,000 students?
And sure, I knew all the people in my high school, but I've never like run into a famous person who lives with my high school student president now or something. I've never made a weird connection.
Well, I did work with a girl for a few months before figuring out she was BFFs with the brother of my former co-worker/friend. And I once saw a TV show that had a girl from my high school on it. But so far, none of those stories top the "Hey, I just met you...and this crazy...but here's my address, it's the same as yours was." (Thumbs UP to those of you who got the Carly Rae Jepsen reference.)
Anyhoozle, instead of playing it cool tonight, I managed to exude the kind of creepiness I tried so desperately hide. But how many times do you get the opportunity to meet the person who lives in your old house? ALMOST NEVER. So, again, instead of being COOL, I said "OMG, can I come and look at your house?! I wanna see where you put your couch!"
Sweet. That's NOT creepy! Thankfully, I followed it up with "I mean, I wanna see your house, but not in a CREEPY way!" Yeah, 'cause SAYING it's not creepy makes it less creepy...
Okay, so the point is I have finally made my "Wow, what a small world!" connection. I remember seeing the "It's a Small World" exhibit or ride or whatever at Disneyworld and realizing I had no idea what those creepy little Animatronix kids were singing about. But now? Now I AM a creepy Animatronix kid!
And the allegedly small world makes sense again...
Monday, June 25, 2012
The Help?
You know, having Geo around consistently for the past few days has been pretty nice. We're having a great time, and it's starting to feel normal again. Plus, I had forgotten how helpful having him around truly is.. From moving all my stuff to, well, that was the biggest thing really. I probably couldn't have moved without him. Anyway, now that a couple days have gone by, I've found myself wondering if he really IS helping...
Helping: He hooked up the Xbox tonight so we could watch Netflix
Not helping: He refused to write my blog for me
Helping: I was too tired from kickboxing to get off the couch and get my computer charger, so Geo got it for me and then plugged my computer in for me.
Not helping: I asked what I should write about and he suggested "Write about how all I do is hit home runs all day with my awesome ideas and solutions." When I said "What would the title be?" He's all "No title necessary. The post would speak for itself."
Helping: He explained the Tuskegee Experiment to me
Not helping: When I asked him initially, he called me an idiot for not knowing what it was
Helping: He got my microwave all set it up for me.
Not helping: When I asked him what he wanted from the grocery story, he requested what a little kid might request: "Peanut butter, white bread, chips, raisins, Coke - NOT DIET COKE, PHARON - macaroni and pizza." Gee, thanks for the help with the diet, bro...
Helping: He came up with a great solution for my closet space problem
Not helping: The reason I HAVE a closet space problem is because he has more clothes than 4 regular guys put together
Helping: It's been awesome going out on dates again
Not helping: The last one we went on was a dessert date. Again, thanks for the help with the diet, bro...
Helping: He's super funny and I love having a source of a good ol-fashioned belly laugh on a daily basis
Not helping: Today, while I was writing a blog, he tried to make me belly laugh by putting on one of my boxing gloves and pretended to fight with me. It started hilarious, but then got dumb because he gave me the left glove and then just stuck his long monkey arm out holding me back. I never stood a chance.
It was all pretty even-Steven, but he really sealed the deal when he came home and I was surrounded by wedding magazines and instead of running away or making fun of me, he asked "Find anything good?" And then helped me calm down when I was freaking out about having none of the checkboxes for "What to have done by now" checked out. What a guy...
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Working/Blacking Out
Hey, does anyone recall me saying at any time last week that I wanted to spend my weekend accidentally working out? Yeah, you don't remember it because I never said it. But, well, the universe had different plans for me. Very, very fun plans.
We had a loverly morning today at my niece's baptism and it was great. Then, I was really trying to make sure Geo remembered I was a down chick because this is the first full week he'll be home. So, I agreed to go golfing with him. While fun, walking with a bag has never been harder in anyone's life ever. I was exhausted before pleading "What are we on, like hole 100?" And Geo was all "Um, this is hole 3." Down chick, indeed.
So, the hiking/golfing was unexpected but fun. Saturday I spent doing nothing, mostly, because I was recovering from Friday night. Friday night was the funnest workout class ever. Well, it was the beeriest.
Friday night was my sister Prinna and her husband Chris' 10th anniversary. They have made it through the thickest and thinnest together, and it was definitely a milestone to celebrate. So we got on board the Traveling Tap.
The Traveling Tap is probably the healthiest/scariest way to get drunk. You and 13 of your best friends all get on exercise bikes attached to a bar. Then you get all excited when the bartender gives you your very own beer in your very own cup holder. And then the "conductor" is all "Okay, everyone! Start pedaling!"
I forgot about the pedaling part. I also was unaware that the pedaling part is the hardest thing in the world. I couldn't drink enough beer to make up for the amount of sweat I was losing by taking that accidental spin class, though I tried. Boy, did I try.
So, you pedal around the city, which is nice and everyone takes pictures of you and smiles and makes a mental note to "definitely call Traveling Tap for work party." And you have music playing, and you're chatting, and there's all that beer. Did I mention the beer? The problem, though, is that you are on REAL STREETS. And you can really only go about 3 miles per hour. Pedaling around downtown Minneapolis on the Friday night of Pride weekend was...well, it was...chaos.
Also, the human body can only pedal for so long. Eventually, you can pedal no more. So the Tap stops at whatever bar you want, and you go in to said bar and drink even MORE. Geo, Perek, Leah and I didn't make it in to too many bars. We hung at the tap, chatting with the creators/conductors/bartender because the beer on board the Tap was free. Me likey free.
At any rate, 4 hours - FOUR HOURS - of pedaling later, and my legs were jelly. I was too tired to understand if I was drunk or not. But after we decided to hit up the bar afterwards, I realized about 3 minutes into my epic dance montage that I had, in fact, managed to absorb much of that beer on the Tap instead of just sweating it out. I tried to soak it all back up with Pizza Luce with the guys, but I was probably a lost cause.
The point is, I accidentally got a little work out in not once, but TWICE this weekend. First there was the FOUR HOUR beer-sponsored spin class, which was followed immediately by Pizza Luce. Then it was the monumental hike through a par-3 golf course. Followed immediately by a Jack's pizza with Geo.
Hmmm...I guess between the pedaling/hiking and pizza, I may come out even in the calories in/calories out arena...
We had a loverly morning today at my niece's baptism and it was great. Then, I was really trying to make sure Geo remembered I was a down chick because this is the first full week he'll be home. So, I agreed to go golfing with him. While fun, walking with a bag has never been harder in anyone's life ever. I was exhausted before pleading "What are we on, like hole 100?" And Geo was all "Um, this is hole 3." Down chick, indeed.
So, the hiking/golfing was unexpected but fun. Saturday I spent doing nothing, mostly, because I was recovering from Friday night. Friday night was the funnest workout class ever. Well, it was the beeriest.
Friday night was my sister Prinna and her husband Chris' 10th anniversary. They have made it through the thickest and thinnest together, and it was definitely a milestone to celebrate. So we got on board the Traveling Tap.
The Traveling Tap is probably the healthiest/scariest way to get drunk. You and 13 of your best friends all get on exercise bikes attached to a bar. Then you get all excited when the bartender gives you your very own beer in your very own cup holder. And then the "conductor" is all "Okay, everyone! Start pedaling!"
I forgot about the pedaling part. I also was unaware that the pedaling part is the hardest thing in the world. I couldn't drink enough beer to make up for the amount of sweat I was losing by taking that accidental spin class, though I tried. Boy, did I try.
So, you pedal around the city, which is nice and everyone takes pictures of you and smiles and makes a mental note to "definitely call Traveling Tap for work party." And you have music playing, and you're chatting, and there's all that beer. Did I mention the beer? The problem, though, is that you are on REAL STREETS. And you can really only go about 3 miles per hour. Pedaling around downtown Minneapolis on the Friday night of Pride weekend was...well, it was...chaos.
Also, the human body can only pedal for so long. Eventually, you can pedal no more. So the Tap stops at whatever bar you want, and you go in to said bar and drink even MORE. Geo, Perek, Leah and I didn't make it in to too many bars. We hung at the tap, chatting with the creators/conductors/bartender because the beer on board the Tap was free. Me likey free.
At any rate, 4 hours - FOUR HOURS - of pedaling later, and my legs were jelly. I was too tired to understand if I was drunk or not. But after we decided to hit up the bar afterwards, I realized about 3 minutes into my epic dance montage that I had, in fact, managed to absorb much of that beer on the Tap instead of just sweating it out. I tried to soak it all back up with Pizza Luce with the guys, but I was probably a lost cause.
The point is, I accidentally got a little work out in not once, but TWICE this weekend. First there was the FOUR HOUR beer-sponsored spin class, which was followed immediately by Pizza Luce. Then it was the monumental hike through a par-3 golf course. Followed immediately by a Jack's pizza with Geo.
Hmmm...I guess between the pedaling/hiking and pizza, I may come out even in the calories in/calories out arena...
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Pillow Fight!!!!
I don't know why, but I woke up today with a mission. I would MAKE PILLOWS tonight. I'm finally getting comfy in my place, and I actually have a place to use a sewing machine. I think. I'm not entirely sure how much space I'll need, but whatevs.
So, I got home from work, ran to the fabric store with Claire and got started. I had to hook up the foot pedal dealie because mine is missing that key ingredient. I actually went through the trouble of ORDERING the part weeks ago. I felt so domestic.
Anyhoozle, I hook it all up, and I'm ready to go!
Machine with working light? Check. Fabric? Check. Wine? DOUBLE CHECK. Okay, let's get started!!!!!!
Um. What do I do?
Right. Okay, download the manual. What's a foot pedal? How do I thread the bobbin? What happened to my wine?
I'm following the illustrations as best I can. I am having a surprisingly difficult time reading pictures and figure I must be missing a piece. Let's check out the toolbox...
Okay, so no help in there. All that's in this thing is a bunch of things that are supposed to replace other things. Or something. Whatever. Use your brain, Pharon! What did you learn in 7th grade??
Shockingly, I GET IT GOING. I have no idea how or why or when, but everything looked exactly like the poorly drawn pictures in the manual. Let's see it if works.
Yup. Looks perfect. I tried two lines. One went right above those words in a straight line, as expected. The second one went about 2 inches too high in a decidedly UNSTRAIGHT line. Meh, That's probably good enough.
So, a couple months ago, I made a pillow with my mom. She is really good at this stuff. She showed me how to measure and pin and backstitch and whatnot. I managed to retain almost none of that information. I just pinned two un-measured pieces of fabric together. La la la, started sewing. The lines weren't "straight" per se, but who sees the INSIDE of a pillow anyway?! The wine was helping my confidence and I stepped all the way down on the pedal, which controls the speed, and flew through the first side.
What was that my mom said about not pulling and stretching the fabric? Do it? Don't do it? I better try doing it. Oh, oops. Yeah, she said DON'T do that. Again, NO ONE sees the inside anyways.
So I get 3 1/2 side sewn up. Nice! I toast myself to my success. I flip the fabric inside out and get to stuffing it with all this random stuffing I have somehow hoarded. My mom said "Don't use stuffing. Use a real pillow. Otherwise, it'll look misshapen and be uncomfortable." Sorry, Mom, but if I don't dispose of all this hoarded stuffing material I've kept in a grocery bag in the back of my closet, Geo may break up with me.
I stuff the pillow. She's right. It looks like my pillow has tumors. And it is most definitely not comfortable. But, whatever, it's soft and fine. I sew up the rest of the pillow and voila! New pillow!
Okay, here's the real test. Below is a picture of the pillow I made with my mom, and the one I did by myself, half-buzzed, using a machine that I only barely understand.
Not bad, right?! Obvs the one on the left is the one my mom helped me with. It's smooth and straight - and I know you can't tell from a picture, but it's WAY more comfortable. The lump-fest on the right is my bastard pillow. Full of hoarded stuffing with crooked stitches. I must say, though, it doesn't look TERRIBLE. I mean, it's really pretty uncomfortable, but it LOOKS pretty good, right?!
Whatever. I think it looks great, for a n00b anyway. I'm going to toast to myself again. Cheers! Have a great weekend everyone!
So, I got home from work, ran to the fabric store with Claire and got started. I had to hook up the foot pedal dealie because mine is missing that key ingredient. I actually went through the trouble of ORDERING the part weeks ago. I felt so domestic.
Anyhoozle, I hook it all up, and I'm ready to go!
Machine with working light? Check. Fabric? Check. Wine? DOUBLE CHECK. Okay, let's get started!!!!!!
Um. What do I do?
Right. Okay, download the manual. What's a foot pedal? How do I thread the bobbin? What happened to my wine?
I'm following the illustrations as best I can. I am having a surprisingly difficult time reading pictures and figure I must be missing a piece. Let's check out the toolbox...
Okay, so no help in there. All that's in this thing is a bunch of things that are supposed to replace other things. Or something. Whatever. Use your brain, Pharon! What did you learn in 7th grade??
Shockingly, I GET IT GOING. I have no idea how or why or when, but everything looked exactly like the poorly drawn pictures in the manual. Let's see it if works.
Yup. Looks perfect. I tried two lines. One went right above those words in a straight line, as expected. The second one went about 2 inches too high in a decidedly UNSTRAIGHT line. Meh, That's probably good enough.
So, a couple months ago, I made a pillow with my mom. She is really good at this stuff. She showed me how to measure and pin and backstitch and whatnot. I managed to retain almost none of that information. I just pinned two un-measured pieces of fabric together. La la la, started sewing. The lines weren't "straight" per se, but who sees the INSIDE of a pillow anyway?! The wine was helping my confidence and I stepped all the way down on the pedal, which controls the speed, and flew through the first side.
What was that my mom said about not pulling and stretching the fabric? Do it? Don't do it? I better try doing it. Oh, oops. Yeah, she said DON'T do that. Again, NO ONE sees the inside anyways.
So I get 3 1/2 side sewn up. Nice! I toast myself to my success. I flip the fabric inside out and get to stuffing it with all this random stuffing I have somehow hoarded. My mom said "Don't use stuffing. Use a real pillow. Otherwise, it'll look misshapen and be uncomfortable." Sorry, Mom, but if I don't dispose of all this hoarded stuffing material I've kept in a grocery bag in the back of my closet, Geo may break up with me.
I stuff the pillow. She's right. It looks like my pillow has tumors. And it is most definitely not comfortable. But, whatever, it's soft and fine. I sew up the rest of the pillow and voila! New pillow!
Okay, here's the real test. Below is a picture of the pillow I made with my mom, and the one I did by myself, half-buzzed, using a machine that I only barely understand.
Not bad, right?! Obvs the one on the left is the one my mom helped me with. It's smooth and straight - and I know you can't tell from a picture, but it's WAY more comfortable. The lump-fest on the right is my bastard pillow. Full of hoarded stuffing with crooked stitches. I must say, though, it doesn't look TERRIBLE. I mean, it's really pretty uncomfortable, but it LOOKS pretty good, right?!
Whatever. I think it looks great, for a n00b anyway. I'm going to toast to myself again. Cheers! Have a great weekend everyone!
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Dear Crabby
Happy Summer Solstice, everyone! Did you enjoy the longest day of the year? Looks like we've got plenty of time to get to some Dear Crabby questions!
Dear Crabby,
Whose big idea was it to put 6 McDonald's between my work and home? Even though it's cheap, it's seriously hurting my wallet, since I end up going like 3 times a week. Also, I'm getting super fat. Suggestions?
Thanks,
Beach Body
Hey Beach Body,
I'm pretty sure it was probably Satan's idea to put all those McDonald's on your work route. However, it is strictly your fault for eating there 3 - THREE! - times a week. That's rough, lady. Although, I can't help but sympathize. There is a Bruegger's Bagels less than 8 blocks away from my apartment now, and every day I have to fight the carby urge to shove 5 everything bagels in my mouth hole. So far, I've succeeded. But if I had to pass up the urge 12 times a day, I would probably give in too. But, it's making you poor and fat, so you should probably knock it off. I guess my suggestion would be to stop eating there. Bring a snack to work so you aren't hungry on your way home. Or just wear tight pants that are a, eh hem, firm reminder that fast food is not helping anything. Good luck, though. It ain't easy bein' greasy...
Dear Crabby,
What's it like to a kiss a boy?
XOXOXOX,
Lip Smackers
Dear Lip Smackers,
How should I know? I've never kissed anyone. I did learn something from my 3-year-old niece, though. She said she could share germs via a sucker with her sister because their parents kissed at their wedding. Total non-sequitur, but still pretty important science lesson. I guess until you're ready to have kids who can share germs, you should probably avoid kissing at all costs.
Dear Crabby,
What's up with your Kate Spade obsession? It's kind of creepy, don't you think?
Good luck, chump,
Kate Hater
Gee, what a privilege it is to hear from you, Kate Hater!
If you couldn't tell, that was sarcasm. My obsession with Kate Spade is the equivalent of a guy's obsession with a sports team. Geo loves Lebron James, I love classic lines and quirky details. Although I hardly think I have to defend myself to the likes of YOU, Hater, I will tell you that I simply appreciate any and everything Ms. Spade creates. I have reserved a place on my wedding guest list for her - and a guest! - in the hopes of getting rejected on beautiful stationary. Is that REALLY so odd? No. Okay, FINE. Probably. Whatever. I love her and I don't care what you think. Unless you're her, in which case, I would TOTALLY love it if when you file a restraining order, you have it delivered in a flicker bon shopper. Is that really so much to ask?
Alright, kids. The sun has finally gone down and I've officially gotten distracted by shopping for a new purse, so you're on your own for the rest of the night. Have more questions? Send 'em to pharonsquare@gmail.com and I'll try and get to them next week. Maybe. Give it a shot and we'll see, I guess...
Dear Crabby,
Whose big idea was it to put 6 McDonald's between my work and home? Even though it's cheap, it's seriously hurting my wallet, since I end up going like 3 times a week. Also, I'm getting super fat. Suggestions?
Thanks,
Beach Body
Hey Beach Body,
I'm pretty sure it was probably Satan's idea to put all those McDonald's on your work route. However, it is strictly your fault for eating there 3 - THREE! - times a week. That's rough, lady. Although, I can't help but sympathize. There is a Bruegger's Bagels less than 8 blocks away from my apartment now, and every day I have to fight the carby urge to shove 5 everything bagels in my mouth hole. So far, I've succeeded. But if I had to pass up the urge 12 times a day, I would probably give in too. But, it's making you poor and fat, so you should probably knock it off. I guess my suggestion would be to stop eating there. Bring a snack to work so you aren't hungry on your way home. Or just wear tight pants that are a, eh hem, firm reminder that fast food is not helping anything. Good luck, though. It ain't easy bein' greasy...
Dear Crabby,
What's it like to a kiss a boy?
XOXOXOX,
Lip Smackers
Dear Lip Smackers,
How should I know? I've never kissed anyone. I did learn something from my 3-year-old niece, though. She said she could share germs via a sucker with her sister because their parents kissed at their wedding. Total non-sequitur, but still pretty important science lesson. I guess until you're ready to have kids who can share germs, you should probably avoid kissing at all costs.
Dear Crabby,
What's up with your Kate Spade obsession? It's kind of creepy, don't you think?
Good luck, chump,
Kate Hater
Gee, what a privilege it is to hear from you, Kate Hater!
If you couldn't tell, that was sarcasm. My obsession with Kate Spade is the equivalent of a guy's obsession with a sports team. Geo loves Lebron James, I love classic lines and quirky details. Although I hardly think I have to defend myself to the likes of YOU, Hater, I will tell you that I simply appreciate any and everything Ms. Spade creates. I have reserved a place on my wedding guest list for her - and a guest! - in the hopes of getting rejected on beautiful stationary. Is that REALLY so odd? No. Okay, FINE. Probably. Whatever. I love her and I don't care what you think. Unless you're her, in which case, I would TOTALLY love it if when you file a restraining order, you have it delivered in a flicker bon shopper. Is that really so much to ask?
Alright, kids. The sun has finally gone down and I've officially gotten distracted by shopping for a new purse, so you're on your own for the rest of the night. Have more questions? Send 'em to pharonsquare@gmail.com and I'll try and get to them next week. Maybe. Give it a shot and we'll see, I guess...
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