Yearning on a Dime

I'm moving to potassium chloride

2009-05-22T15:11:00.003-05:00

KCL, that is. Short for Keep Connected Live.

It's run by a former JS person, and looks like it maybe, might, could possibly turn in to a community of the kind we had back then.

The address is http://www.keepconnectedlive.com.

On there, I'm going by the name kittenheel, which is what most of you knew me as back in the day. I plan to make my posts "log in only" so you need to create an account if you want to read them. I did this because I want a place where I can really "spill" about my job, home life, etc. without it being as public as this blog.

As for this one. I imagine I'll keep it. Maybe redecorate a bit. I ran a political/economic blog last year, and I know how hard it is to make money at it, but since I've got fairly steady income otherwise now, I might do it as a low pressure side gig. Maybe a style blog, or maybe a vintage style/thrift store style site. I dunno.

Oh, and I plan to keep on using Twitter. Some of you guys have turned that place into a real party. I'm always like, "Hmm. It's 3 p.m. here, have the Brits gone to bed yet? Are the Australians up?" Anyway, it's always a good time there, and it forces your updates to be brief.

Did I tell you I have swine flu? Actually, it's probably just regular flu, though one of my son's friends had swine flu. But I plan to call it swine flu because it seems you get extra credit for that.

Sartorial dilemma of epic proportions!

2009-05-20T15:29:00.003-05:00

If you follow me on Twitter, you know that this morning I paid one whole dollar for a double layer silk dress. The top layer is blue-green silk, and the under layer is very pale blue silk. If I were to go out and buy the amount of silk in that dress, well, I'd be stupid because my credit card would probably be declined.

I was all ready to cut it up to make a quilt, when a little voice in my brain said "Try it on. Just see if it will go over your ass."

So I did. I knew I might like the dress when it bypassed my hips with little protest. I knew I couldn't get away with a bra under it. One-shouldered silk confections like that just don't work with actual undergarments.

Well, it turned out that it fit, and looked pretty good if I say so myself.

Yes, I know, my legs are all banged up. I don't know why that is, but it is always the case. Thank God for opaque tights.

So the question is: do I cut up the dress and use it in a really gorgeous silk quilt, or do I keep it on the snowball's chance that I'll have occasion to wear it in an environment where I won't throw Maury's jacket on over it in an attempt to become invisible?

Life: How do I get one?

2009-05-14T20:46:00.003-05:00

This is, quite honestly, the first night I've been done working before 10 or 11 in almost two weeks, weekends included. I've been doing laundry instead.

I did a blog post for someone I ghost write for and it was so brilliant I almost erased it from the posting tool and put it up here. It had, I kid you not, the best blog title I've ever come up with since I began blogging in February 2005. And they changed it. Grrr. I understand, though. He needed to make it look as if a man wrote it, and with the title I chose, it didn't. Oh, well. At least I'll get paid for it.

Soon as the laundry's done, I'm going to find a suitable combination of drugs and beckon sweet unconsciousness.

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This has helped me get through some difficult times

2009-05-10T17:49:00.003-05:00

My cinnamon Belgian waffle recipe, that is. I have nothing of interest to tell, so I'll share this recipe with you. You need a waffle iron, duh. But you can use this same recipe to make pancakes. I won't tell.

1 1/2 cups all purpose white flour
3 Tbsp. cinnamon sugar (You know how to make cinnamon sugar, don't you? Fill a sugar shaker most of the way with sugar, then add some cinnamon. Shake it up. If it's dark enough for you, then tada! If not, add more cinnamon and shake it up again.)
1 tsp. salt
1 3/4 tsp. double acting baking powder

Stir the dry ingredients up together before adding the wet ingredients.

3 Tbsp. Hazelnut oil (You can use any vegetable oil, but if you can get your hands on some hazelnut oil, this takes the recipe to a whole new level.)
1 egg
1 cup whole milk, give or take.

Stir it all up together. If it's too doughy, add more milk or a little water. If it's too thin, add a leetle more flour. Lumps are OK.

Make.

Do 'em up with syrup, whipped cream, fruit, whatever. Check blood glucose levels to see if you're in a diabetic coma.

When Google contextual ads go horribly awry

2009-05-03T11:43:00.004-05:00

Here's a screen shot from some research I was doing for a piece I'm writing for someone about Miuccia Prada: (Note the first Google ad, under Bv)

Good news! And other updatage

2009-05-03T08:57:00.003-05:00

Maury has a one month gig writing for a tech blog. Woo hoo!

My daughter is still having quite a bit of conflict with her dad, and he has imposed rules on her that I feel obligated to duplicate over here, but I think we need to keep things fairly constant for her.

Did I tell you this? That my ex "bills" me for half her out of pocket medical expenses every month? It turns out that he can't do that. According to my lawyer, because of the income split that he agreed to in our property settlement, he can only have me pay 8% of her costs.

He was such a dick when I told him this. He was all, "Well, how do you know that I haven't been charging you 8% of her out of pocket medical expenses?"

Mmm hmm. So that month when you shortchanged me by $75, she had out of pocket medical expenses of $937.50? Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. He did grudgingly hand over a little more money. Not enough, but I'll take it.

Anyway, Maury is really stoked about the writing gig, because he's always wanted to be a writer, and the topics are exactly what he knows most about, besides photography.

Just a Quick Update

2009-05-01T11:00:00.002-05:00

It's so strange to think that I used to post stuff on Journalspace a couple of times a day, and I can only bother to post here a couple of times a week. That's bad, because I miss that feeling of "belonging" that I (and maybe you) had at JS. But it's also good because it means I've been very busy with work.

Ah, well. Anyway some good things have happened this week.

On Wednesday I found a bonus of $25 in my Paypal account from a client who appreciated a rush job that I did for him. It made the difference between being able to pay the electric bill by check rather than as yet another thing to charge on my already-full credit card.

Also, my daughter got approval for homebound instruction for the rest of this school year, which is only about four weeks. She only had one class in common with the boy that abused her, but she just couldn't adjust back after being in the hospital. Anyway, what that means is that she will spend days at her grandmother's house with whom she is very close, and the teacher will go there for about an hour and a half a day. She always did really well when I home schooled her, so I think she'll adjust to this very quickly.

And, I've started bidding on projects and subletting them to Maury. He used to keep a photography consumer type blog that got hundreds of hits a day, so we know he can draw readers. He's doing a trial piece for a tech blog that will lead to steady work if they like it.

Thanks to all of you for being so supportive. Even though I'm not on here that much, I am on Twitter under the name kittenheel if anyone wants to follow. In fact there are several JS-ers there including Moko, Domestic Daze, Birmo, and several others.

People die of broken hearts all the time

2009-04-27T21:01:00.003-05:00

That's the conclusion I've come to today. I'm not sure what route got me to that conclusion, but perhaps it is analagous to mathematical solutions that are path independent. You get to the same place, but it doesn't really matter how you got there.

Maury is still here, but he's still very unhappy and angry with my son. My son did say some things that were very hurtful, and he tried to apologize soon afterward, but Maury wouldn't hear any of it. I should be cranking out five more articles on goji berry juice or some such nonsense right now, but I'm just wrecked after the past few weeks.

My daughter called me this morning before school. Her dad had, as usual, left for work around 6:30, even though he doesn't have to be there until 7:30. And then tonight, he went straight to rehearsal for whatever damn show he's doing now, so unless she's gone over to her grandmother's house - which I strongly urged her to do - she will have to continue waking up alone in the house and going to bed alone in the house. And my ex is astounded that she chooses to be with boys who are callous and abusive. She has no clue that any other kind even exist.

I went to the DHS this afternoon so I could apply for a food stamp card. I'm easily poor enough to qualify, but the bummer is, I may be so poor that I have to try to find a better paying job before they'll qualify me. Which means I might have to give up writing, which I would hate. I mean, despite the long hours, I really love what I do, and I think it is the perfect job for me.

The lady at the DHS had a kind of bassett hound look, kind but jaded. No doubt she sees desperate people all day every day. She couldn't understand what it is that I do when I told her I was a freelance copy writer. She somehow thought I was saying copyrighter, as in, a job bestowing copyrights or something. Eventually, she understood, but she was also put off by my pay records, which are printouts of payments received at Paypal, but I finally was able to explain it to her satisfaction.

At this point, as much as I could use the extra $190 a month for food, I'm ready to just call the whole thing off. I felt like I wasn't really a human, being there and asking for help that I honestly do need. I had to list two people she could call to confirm my situation. I put my former boss down as one of them. Much as I complain about him, he knows my situation well and is squarely on my side.

The other name I put down was my ex husband. I mean, he's a big part of the reason I'm in this situation: the legal fees from fighting him, the lowball settlement I agreed to just to get him to stop harassing me (I now realize I could have had him charged with harassment in criminal court, but I had no idea two years ago.), the fact that every single month he thinks up something that I "owe" him for that he deducts from my property settlement.

I want him to have to tell the DHS that yes, his ex-wife is poor enough to qualify for food stamps even though she has a job she loves and a good education. I want him to have to say it out loud and acknowledge it for himself.

I was watching Intervention tonight, and it was about this young man close to my son's age who wouldn't take care of his type I diabetes. Everyone knew that he would die if he kept ignoring it. He'd been hospitalized several times, but he just didn't feel like he had enough worth living for to make it worth his time to care for himself.

And it was so very painfully clear that this young man was dying because he hated himself and because of that he couldn't let others love him. I don't know, I mean, in his case it was diabetes, and in some cases it's drug abuse, and in some cases it's alcohol abuse. But I honestly believe that broken hearts are at the very root of this kind of self destructive behavior.

I wish there were a human version of the Island of Misfit Toys from Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer. Where everyone there would know what it was like to be rejected, to be judged, to be abused, to be dismissed, to be told they were worthless. Maybe if we could all take care of each other, fewer people would have to die from broken hearts.

Dostoevsky had it right

2009-04-26T18:44:00.002-05:00

We were listening to Notes from Underground Saturday, and at one point - keep in mind, this was in the early 19th century - the narrator said that it was simply bad manners to live past 40.

I've long operated on the rule of thumb that if I'm still alive at 64, I will kill myself. I think 64 years is plenty long to have tried really, really hard to do the right thing, and it's also plenty long to live with depression and abusive parents and spouses and ex-spouses.

The question is, can I stand to stick around for that long?

My daughter is still very fragile, and I feel powerless to help her.

I work 12 hour days, 7 days a week, and I'm perpetually broke. As in, I go hungry at least a couple of times a week.

My son and Maury had an argument, and now Maury says he's leaving.

I haven't used my sewing machine (my main source of recreation) for a couple of months now.

My lawyer totally dropped the ball on the petition for my daughter to come live here. And now it will probably never happen.

I don't ask for much. I would be so happy if I could work one morning a week out at a coffee shop where I could watch the world happen.

I would love it if just one time, my father could drop by unannounced and not criticize the way I've parked the car/the line of work I have chosen/how I have raised my children/my credit card balance/ my not having had the oil changed in my car now that it's overdue by, like, 10 miles / the fact that I have not planned out and executed the perfect life, the way he has.

I would love to buy some new contact lenses. I'm on my last pair of disposable lenses, and they will have to last indefinitely.

I wish I could hear.

I would love to have time to read something that I want to read, and not just things I have to read for work.

I was absolutely sure that Maury and I would spend the next 21 years together. That's how many years until I turn 64. And now? Who knows? What if he leaves, and I'm left here with all the great memories of the past year, the only time in my life I was absolutely sure that I was loved and valued?

I feel wrong just for existing. Dostoevsky was right. Very bad manners for me to have lived past 40.

She's back home

2009-04-22T12:11:00.002-05:00

My daughter was released from the hospital Tuesday. I've been very vague on purpose about it. I will say that what happened was that she had a mental breakdown because she was abused by a boy she was dating last year. He's underage, too, so he's all but untouchable legally.

I am wrecked. I'm tired. I'm trying to keep up with work, but I have a couple of clients that are unhappy with my work this week.

Sometimes you wonder if life can get any worse. But when you get to that point where you think it can't, it sort of frees up this, "fuck you, you can't hurt me any worse than I already am" attitude toward the world. Which is somewhat protective, but not a good long term strategy.

OK. Gotta go. Checking my email today is going to be like jumping into a tank filled with great white sharks who have been on a diet.

Maybe Monday

2009-04-18T16:24:00.002-05:00

This has turned into a crappy day. It didn't have much of a chance because it's Saturday and I hate my Saturday job. Today was when my former boss put out his 5th anniversary issue of the paper. I was there at the beginning, and I was there four and a half years, and whatever "success" he's had has been on the backs of probably a dozen or so workers that he managed to exploit and make promises to, and break them, until they couldn't do it any more and quit. Happy 5th anniversary indeed.

It is possible that Little Chick will get out of the hospital on Monday. During the week I can only see her by setting up an appointment to visit, and because of this, and because I'm still working those 12 hour days (I just cut way back on sleep.) I didn't schedule a visit over the weekend. I'm not even certain that I could. But suddenly Maury was all, "Oh, if there's even a chance, we need to be up there, no matter what." It's also an hour and a half's drive one way, and half a tank of gas to get there and back.

This was at the very beginning of the delivery schedule this morning. So that made me feel about an inch tall, standing on a giant podium so that someone could award me my WORST MOTHER EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSE award.

I was successfully avoiding my parents the whole week, because, well, because frankly I can't stand them, but my dad stopped by this morning before we went to work so he could drop off a magazine. He asked about Little Chick, and I was very evasive about it.

My parents are both the kinds of people who have never been sick a day in their lives, and they've been married for 157 years, and they simply write off people who are sick, or hurt, or divorced as possessing a weak character. I just can't deal with that at the moment, since I'm not only guilty about working 12 hours a day, but now I'm guilty for not insisting that the hospital schedule me time to see L.C. today or tomorrow. We do talk on the phone every night, so it isn't like we've cut off contact. I'm just so freakin' tired.

Mixed news

2009-04-15T15:45:00.002-05:00

My daughter's dad and I met with Little Chick's doctors this morning for over an hour. She's eating and sleeping fairly well, but they have decided to wean her from one medication and gradually increase another in hopes of getting better results. While I think this is the right thing to do, it means she'll remain in the hospital at least until Monday.

I am pleased with the doctors, however. One med student on the ward, a young lady named Amy, has really spent a lot of time with Little Chick, and I know that L.C. has really responded well to the attention.

I'm still not quite caught up with work, but none of my clients has fired me yet, so that's good.

Hell week

2009-04-14T07:36:00.002-05:00

My daughter had a medical emergency and had to be hospitalized up at Vanderbilt. I'll write more when I can.

We think she will be OK, but nothing is certain.

Been away a while ...

2009-04-11T18:41:00.002-05:00

I've been working 12 to 14-hour days, 7 days a week, and it's hard, but it's starting to pay off.

If anything interesting happens, and I have time to write about it, I'll do so. But for now, I must be brief.

Do remind me to tell you about the kitten getting stuck in the letter "O." That was pretty funny.

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Rare kitten sighting

2009-03-26T13:04:00.002-05:00

Maury has to sneak to take pictures of me, or else all he'll have are a bunch of pics of flying hair as I turn my head away from the camera. There are also quite a few of my hands covering my face. This one, however, I like. That's Munchy the Kitten I'm holding, though she's almost big enough to be Munchy the Cat.

It's a small Internet after all

2009-03-24T21:21:00.002-05:00

That's weird. One of my clients asked me to do a couple of extra stories for a fashion blog, and to get ideas, I clicked on one of the fashion blogs I have bookmarked.

Only to read something that I wrote.

I'm not going to mention it here, because when you ghost write stuff, once it leaves your computer, it's no longer yours, but if you really want to know, email me.

I also had the bizarre experience of being hired by a firm in Pakistan to write an article about how Pakistan produces the best, most inexpensive copywriters. Maybe because they outsource to people like, um, me?

Life and other vehicles for confusion

2009-03-23T09:07:00.003-05:00

It's weird. In the last week, I picked up three new clients to write for. I'm still not ready to quit my weekend job, and heaven knows I'll be buying detergent and toilet cleanser at the Dollar Tree for the foreseeable future. But I get this strange, not-altogether unpleasant sensation.

I'm not sure, but it could be what they call "confidence."

I've written a little about the tough time my daughter has been having of it lately - particularly getting along with her dad. Anyway, she's been with me while her school is on spring break. Her dad wanted her to go back to his house Sunday evening. This meant that during the second week of her spring break, she would be at home alone the entire time.

He's pretty strict about her having friends over when he's not there - which is perfectly understandable, but I'm home all the time, so she can have friends over whenever. I mean why insist on making her stay home alone, unless it's out of spite for me?

OK, so Saturday was a fairly tough day for her. Things started out OK. Puke Boy brought over his flat-iron and flat-ironed her hair for her. Then, by the time evening rolled around, he was telling her that he thought he loved her, which made her quite uncomfortable.

My son's current band did its farewell show Saturday night because the bassist is joining the Marines, and my daughter went to the show, but was increasingly uncomfortable being around Puke Boy. Why was I not taking extraordinary measures in protecting her from him?

Two reasons. 1) She or I either one could easily take him in a fight. He's not that big, and is rather slow-moving. And, 2) I figure that since he owns a flat-iron and brought it over here to do her hair, there's a reasonable chance that he, you know, plays for the other team. But she did call me to come pick her up at my son's show, and I did.

By the time we got home, she was frantic over having to go back to her dad's. You know me. I hate conflict, and it is a rare occurrence for me to go into full-on mama bear mode. But I knew that Sunday was one of those times it would be necessary.

I don't know what Little Chick has been telling her dad about my work situation, but it must pretty impressive, because the last couple of times I've spoken with him on the phone, he's sounded almost respectful, and even better: totally caved to my demands. She probably told him that I do full-time copy writing for several international clients. That's technically true, but the reality (writing for Indian companies that were outsourced by American firms in the first place) doesn't match up to how impressive it sounds.

Long story short: Dad caved. She's here till Tuesday. My son is looking for another bass player. I dropped Puke Boy off at a friend's house where he can stay until his grandmother stops threatening him.

On a totally unrelated subject, this picture looks like a combination of two of my favorite things: cinnamon rolls and cats:

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Frankly, I find it a bit disturbing.

2009-03-20T08:16:00.003-05:00

One of my dogs (the only male, but he's been neutered, so, you know) has taken to running around the house with my underpants in his mouth. And he gets them from the dirty clothes hamper.

Maury went out back today to check on the snakes in his terrarium (wow, whole 'nother post there, huh?) and found one of my bras - actually my very favorite one because it's made of cotton and is super comfortable - out in the back yard. Though I don't know that it was the work of the same dog, I have my suspicions. One of the other dogs is too old and has always been too sensible to engage in such shenanigans, and the third one is too fat to waddle out into the backyard that far simply to drop a bra.

Gah. I woke up with a headache. And my son "rescued" one of his friends (the car puking one, in fact), from his home when his grandma started verbally attacking him, so there's another kid stashed around here somewhere.

But my big e-book project is soon to be over, and I should have more time to worry about the important things. Like a dog who loves my underwear.

If I were Twittering this ...

2009-03-19T07:28:00.003-05:00

It wouldn't fit in the Twitter text box, because it's impossible to convey in 100 characters or whatever it is you're given the heartbreak of getting up in the morning, looking forward to making Belgian waffles from scratch, and then, when you're about to add the egg and milk you discover that there are NO eggs in the house.

Oh, the humanity!

Now I'm hungry and cranky from drinking budget basement diet soda for breakfast. And there are a couple of cats outside caterwauling.

But enough about me. How are you?

Is it too late to wish everyone a happy St. Patrick's Day?

2009-03-17T18:52:00.004-05:00

I hope not, because then it would be too late for me to post this cake, which is the type of psychologically twisted confection that I would probably make if I were a cake decorator.

I just sent off the first two chapters of my ghost written e-book, and I'm in a twizzle of mixed emotions. On the one hand, I worked hard on it. But on the other, sometimes you write something and you have this tiny spark of dread in a dusty corner of your mind and it tells you that not only is this the worst thing you've ever written, it's the worst thing anybody's ever written since the dawn of language.

Anne Lamott was right on when she said that even after you start getting paid for writing, you're every bit as mentally ill as before.

Alrighty then. That episode of 'The Family Guy' isn't going to watch itself. See ya.

A Noon Quickie with Sophia Loren

2009-03-16T12:41:00.004-05:00

I'm up to my slightly diminishing armpits in research for my big project this week, and I'm happier than a heifer in red clover. I say "diminishing" armpits because when stress causes you to forget to eat, you tend to drop weight. Funny how that happens. Now, before you get all concerned and Jewish-motherly on me, I should tell you that I just finished an enormous bowl of pasta shells and pesto. My theory is that since Sophia Loren once said that she owed her figure to pasta, it's worth a try. (Hey, shut up! It could happen.)

At the moment I'm home alone except for the dogs and cats. My mother took my daughter to visit my favorite aunt up in Nashville today. She (the aunt) is 83 or 84, works full time at a sports bar, and refuses to drive a car unless it has a manual transmission. And yes, she is every bit as awesome as she sounds.

Maury and my son have gone to Shelbyville (alas, without onions on their belts) to retrieve Maury's car from the boy who vomited in my son's car a couple of weeks ago. It's a long story. And complicated. Complicated as in, it's like Shakespeare's A Comedy of Errors, only with more plot twists and fewer sets of identical twins.

And, finally, I picked up a fairly well-paid gig doing rewrites for 10 weeks for an Australian starting next week. Rewrites are awesome. It is rare to have to rewrite something that already makes sense. Often, they're originally written in a foreign language, and then "translated" into English via some Internet translation program. Meaning they're one step up from pure gibberish, and I could rewrite them all while I was drunk off my ass and they'd still be a vast improvement.

OK, gotta go. I'll let you know the minute I turn into Sophia Loren.

Good news on the work front

2009-03-12T12:10:00.002-05:00

I haven't been bidding on new work much lately because I have plenty to do, but my bank account thinks that's no excuse. So yesterday I went through some new projects and bid on one that really appealed to me. It's an in depth 13,000 word piece for a British publication, and I found out today that I got it! It's ghost writing, but if they pay up, I don't really care.

Thanks for your concern about my daughter. We're basically holding on until Friday when school is over for spring break.

This cookie cracked me up. Sometimes it's like, "story of my freakin' life ..."

Are you there, ceiling cat? It's me, Mary.

2009-03-11T18:53:00.002-05:00

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It's times like this I wish I were still religious. The reason I haven't been around much lately is because I'm very, very worried about my daughter. I feel like I gave her a genetic loaded gun because of my history of depression. I took her to get medical help, and the nurse practitioner said she would talk directly to her father and the counsellor she is seeing (a new one. He finally allowed her to stop seeing the counselor he chose for her. She couldn't stand the guy.)

The NP called my daughter's school and arranged to have her midterm exams deferred so she can start taking antidepressants and see if there is any relief in a couple of weeks. Fortunately, spring break is next week and the next, and she plans to spend it with me (assuming her father allows her to). Then her father called the school and undid the arrangement for deferred exams. I told her flat out that if she does poorly on her exams it is much more a reflection on him than on her. This time, anyway.

I am clearly not the only one besides my daughter who thinks that he's gone from just being an asshole to being unhinged. She spent Tuesday night with me and wanted to be here tonight, but he insisted she go back with him. She was crying, and it was awful. I've been in touch with her through texting, and calling, and I am not sure what else to do.

So yeah. Ceiling Cat, Jesus, Allah, Thor ... whoever you pray to, please put in a word for my daughter. She's my baby and I don't know what I would do without her.

Keyword Density: I haz it.

2009-03-08T18:29:00.002-05:00

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I have managed to shake off the bad mood I was in Friday. It's been a busy weekend, but that's OK. I bid on a couple of new jobs, and signed as an independent contractor with a firm in Nashville that hires translators. I spent Saturday writing about three types of ninjutsu, then got up today and wrote about web hosting.

Tomorrow: more on the bar stool project. That was the one where the client was asking for 30% keyword density, which is damn near impossible to do while having normal, coherent sentences. Apparently I wasn't the only writer who complained. Today he came back and said that 10% is good enough. It's still a lot, though.

Oh! I got the dining room table cleared off so that I could start sewing again. I made a black cashmere purse with a bright, Pucci-esque lining so it looks totally groovy. I'm going to make a baby one to match. Maybe I'll get up off my lazy ass and take a picture of it, too.

I have not been around much the past couple of days, so I have some catching up to do with journals. I think I'll go do that while I wait for 'The Simpsons' to come on.

2009-03-06T12:31:00.003-06:00

I don't follow world news and politics like I did a few months ago when I ran my political/economics blog, but sometimes things catch my ear while I listen to the BBC over headphones as I work. I remember following the fraud that was the election in Zimbabwe, where long-time dictator Robert Mugabe (yes, I know, he was elected for real 28 years ago, but since then, he's amassed more and more political control) clearly lost to Morgan Tsvingarai, but refused to give up power.

Well, after a number of deaths and a lot of pain, Tsvingarai was finally allowed to become Prime Minister, while Mugabe remains as president.

And then today, his wife was killed in a car crash.

There is already speculation that it was not an accident, and that Tsvingarai was the one who was supposed to be killed.

Makes me not feel so sorry for myself and my relatively paltry problems.

Unemployment is now officially 8.1% in America, and that does not include all the people who've given up looking, nor does it include all the people working under the table (who can blame them?) nor the people who are employed part time after having been employed full time.

So, what do we do?

I'm not sure, but I think it involves petting the dogs and cats. And talking to the old folks in line at the Post Office, and hugging the people you love. Lots of hugs.

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Karma bites Mary, but not that hard

2009-03-05T17:10:00.003-06:00

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OK, so the coda to the vomit car story depended on a weird set of coincidences. Wednesday morning before taking my daughter to school, we stopped by the eye doctor's to pick up her new pair of eyeglasses. They were black rimmed, small, and rectangular: a style you see often these days. In fact, mine are very much like that, and I went around feeling smug that my daughter chose glasses so much like mine.

Fast forward to afternoon, after my son had finished cleaning his vomit-defiled car. I was in the kitchen and saw my daughter's new glasses on the kitchen table, and since nobody was around I thought I'd try them on to see if her prescription was similar to mine. (Yes. My life really is dull enough that I would do that.)

First of all, they were really dirty. There was a film over one eye, and I was appalled at how dirty she'd let them get in the space of one day.

My son walked in from outside to get a paper towel while I was still wearing the glasses.

"Have you seen Little Chick's new glasses? She's got a totally weird prescription," I said.

My son's mouth dropped open. "Did you just get those off the table?" I nodded.

It turned out that they weren't my daughter's after all, but that they belonged to the boy that hosed down the interior of my son's car. And the reason they were so filthy was that they had stale beer puke on them.

I concluded that it was time for a nice, hot shower with disinfecting soap.

Keywords, shmeewords!

2009-03-04T18:02:00.003-06:00

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I'm doing a job that involves writing 600 word articles with 30-40% keyword density. Even if you've got a crapload of different keywords to choose from, this is insanely difficult. To get to 30%, you write a draft, calculate the keyword density (there are websites that do this for you) and then go back and keep adding keywords and editing out unnecessary words until you get the right density. It is hard to make decent, flowing prose with that kind of constraint.

I bid on a job today that, if I get it, I may be able to quit my weekend job by summertime. Woo hoo!

We've been rearranging furniture like mad here, and everything is still in a big jumble. But I've moved my "office" a little more out of the way to make it more of an effort for all the people traipsing through (and you'd be surprised how many people actually do traipse through my house, considering how non-social and shy I am) to talk to me. Before, when I was in the middle of all the foot traffic, my kids or their friends were always talking to me. Which is nice. I'm glad they're friendly like that, but it chews up a lot of time.

He-he. Speaking of my kids friends, my son had another friend of his vomit in his car last night. Last year, the girl he liked insisted on going out even though she was sick, and by the time she was able to admit this and ask to be taken home, it was too late. Blaaaaaaaaargh: all over the passenger side. Her parents were mortified and insisted on cleaning it out, which was nice.

The boy that blew groceries last night had been drinking, and my son was driving him home from a friend's house. While I'm proud of my kid for keeping this kid from driving, it seems that he's always driving this kid around, and the kid is always promising him gas money, and only rarely actually having it. Oh well. This boy is joining the Air Force in a few weeks, so he'll be someone else's problem then.

Yeah, so the weather was nice today, and my son spent it disassembling as much of the interior of his car as he could and cleaning it. Now every time one of us gets near his car we have to stop, look stricken, and say, "Oh my God, I'm think I'm going to puke!" and run and open the passenger door. This will remain funny for a couple more days, then will only be funny at longer and longer intervals, for old time's sake.

The face of addiction

2009-03-03T15:52:00.003-06:00

Actually, I can't take a decent picture of my face right now because my hands and eyes are vibrating rapidly at the moment. Over the past week, I've become addicted to dark chocolate covered espresso beans.

At first, it was a sensation of, "I'm not sure about the flavor, but I can't stop eating them for some reason." Then, I got to where I really liked the flavor, and the mental alacrity that came with it, without the problem of bladder stretching levels of liquid in my system.

Then we drove to Nashville yesterday and I forgot to have my mid-morning fix.

Not pleasant.

Anyway, now we're back home, and I have my stash next to my computer. The thing I need to come to terms with is that I've been getting these really nice, certified organic chocolate covered espresso beans for 99 cents for a 5-ounce bag that lasts me two or three days.

But I'm getting them from a grocery liquidator, which means when they run out, I'm screwed.

I've priced them elsewhere, and their normal price is something between $4 to $6 a bag. Maybe I need to eat enough of them to become wired enough to do enough extra work that I'll be able to buy them at retail. Or maybe I'll go happily on until they run out and then make everyone who comes in contact with me feel my pain. Hmmm ... what to do ...

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Is it even cerebrally possible?

2009-03-02T22:26:00.002-06:00

I've been asked if I want a job writing something in the vicinity of 23,000 words (roughly between 1/3 and 1/4 of the length of a novel) on the subject of

(get ready!)

bar stools.

I'll have 10 days, so 2,300 words a day, which I've certainly done before. It's an SEO job, so style will take a backseat to keyword density. It pays better than most, and this client is relatively easy to please, but I've not done that density of keywords before.

Any thoughts? Advice?

We're in Nashville tonight, and we unknowingly booked a room in a hotel that's for people coming here for things like heart surgery. It's right across the street from a really prominent hospital, so here we are tripping lightly across the lobby, happy to have a night away from home, and we're surrounded by people missing limbs, in wheelchairs ... It's rather uncomfortable being able-bodied in this situation.

But we're having fun, and it's cool that I can take my "office" with me in my handbag.

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OK, then. Where was I?

2009-02-28T21:35:00.003-06:00

My house looks like some giant picked it up and turned it upside down and shook it. I've only had time to do the really essential stuff, like cleaning out the cat box. Oh, but I'm not the only one to have it rough.

I had Maury toss a box of stuff into Dudezilla's room while he was out today. So when he got back home, he was all, "Who put that stuff into my room?" When I explained, he told me the harrowing tale of the fact that tossing the box into his room unplugged some stuff, and he was going to have to (brace yourself...) reset his clock AND his VCR.

I know what you're thinking: "Who still uses a VCR?"

Yeah, so I told him I was glad that he's over 18, because if he wasn't, the child protective services would be all over my ass for making him have to reset his clock AND VCR.

I'm still busy, but it's settling into somewhat of a routine. We might go to Nashville tomorrow night. If so, that will be the first time in a year that I've slept away from home.

I never imagined bringing sexy back in quite this way ...

2009-02-26T21:03:00.003-06:00

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I've had a cover version of "Are you Lonesome Tonight" going through my head since about 5 this afternoon. I picked up a gig writing brief biographies for someone in Israel, and one of the biographies was of Ferdinand Porsche. Anyway, he had a son, also named Ferdinand Porsche, who went by the nickname Ferry.

And that made me think of Bryan Ferry and a cover he did a long time ago of "Are you Lonesome Tonight," and it's been stuck in my head ever since. But that's OK, because the cover was almost unrecognizable, rendered in a gentle foxtrot rhythm, and it positively oozed sexuality.

But no time to indulge in thoughts of sex. I'm back to writing about erectile dysfunction drugs, now with the bonus of writing about weight loss drugs, some of which have side effects including "Inability to control bowel movements."

On the good news front, my hair did great today. I got this Samy leave-in conditioner that works wonders on frizz (yes, frizz is possible in February where I live). It also smells awesome. I'm tempted to buy another bottle and use it as cologne.

I'm trying to hit all my favorite journals, but I don't always have time to leave a comment. How I wish this place had a way to see who's stopped by, even if they didn't leave a comment. I hate for any of you to think I'm ignoring you, because I'm not, I swear.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzoom!!!!!!

2009-02-25T12:58:00.003-06:00

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You should know that in addition to my morning Diet Dr. Pepper and midmorning green tea, I've also been popping chocolate covered espresso beans all day. As a result, I am caffeinated beyond what the human body can cope with. Can you hear the "Benny Hill" music playing in the background? Trust me. It's there.

I've also developed the ability to see through the Internet, and can in fact see you right now. Ooh, I like what you've done with your hair there. But mixing those two plaids, I just don't know. You really should make more of an effort, you know. Never know who'll see you.

Did I mention that I'm now typing 200 wpm? Sure, the fact that my hands are shaking with caffeinated energy causes mistakes, but the speed is there.

I wouldn't have expected it to be this way

2009-02-24T21:17:00.003-06:00

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I'm all nervous about even saying so, but the copy writing has worked out really well so far. I haven't bid on a job in a week, and I still have enough work for the five people who have hired me to keep me busy at least 8 hours a day. Getting paid is nice, too. I still have plenty of debt to pay off, but I am more optimistic than I was a couple of weeks ago.

Maury's been tackling the yard and garden shed, and transforming both of them, which is really cool. And we've been able to find all kinds of food that he used to get in Seattle at the little grocery liquidator near our house. And he got one of his computers working with a 64-bit operating system. I don't know what that means, but it makes him happy, so I'm happy. Oh, and he caught two baby snakes in the yard and set them up with a terrarium out in the shed/studio. He wanted to bring them inside, but I freaked out a little, so he didn't.

Tomorrow I'm going to tackle five short, snarky blog posts about whats in some of the fashion look-books. I have no idea where they're going to end up, so I can't direct you to them. When I send my work off, I give up the copyright to it. But that's fine with me, because frankly, I've written a few things (erectile dysfunction drugs, etc.) that I wouldn't want attached to my name.

Um, yeah. And I've lost almost 3 lbs. in the past week. It's a combination of being too busy to eat and being too tired to eat. Woo hoo!

OK, I've probably jinxed everything I'm going to do from here on out, so I'm going to pack it up and go to bed. 'Night, y'all.

Are you freakin kidding me?!?

2009-02-22T13:48:00.003-06:00

I just had the following conversation with my son and Maury.

Dudezilla, on his way out the door: See you after the play, just like yesterday.

Me: What play?

DZ: We have a matinee today. (He's in the pre-show band accompanying a lady with an autoharp.)

Me, after a very confused pause: What day is it?

DZ: Sunday

Me: No way. Maury, is it really Sunday?

Maury: Yeah. Remember, we did the route yesterday.

Me, able to scramble radar with my discombobulation: You're kidding me, right? It isn't Monday? I've been in here thinking I have to write 27 articles by this evening, and it's only Sunday?

DZ: (laughs hysterically as he goes out the front door)

Me: (thinking I need to get rich so I can leave DZ out of the will for laughing at his mother in such an insensitive fashion) (I think there were visible question marks radiating out the top of my head.)

Oh, man, I feel stupid. And relieved. I have 24 hours more than I thought to finish writing about colon cleansing (see previous post).

Just so we're clear on this ...

2009-02-22T09:38:00.002-06:00

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Remember how the other day I asked for your sunglasses anecdotes? First of all, thank you. I find real people's stories way more interesting and inspiring than those from the celebrity-industrial complex.

Today I'm writing 12 articles on colon cleansing, and I just want to say, even though I love you all very much, please don't send me your colon cleansing anecdotes, even if they involve celebrities. Some things should remain a mystery, don't you think? BFN

Could you plz become famous in the next few days? kthxbai!

2009-02-20T19:50:00.003-06:00

moar funny pictures

I picked up another job today, which means I have four people I'm working for. So far, all have paid me on time, which is somewhat of a miracle in the freelance world. What this means is that in addition to writing about painful boils, muscle cars, and centrifugal force on merry-go-rounds, I'm going to spend next week writing 20,000 words about designer sunglasses.

Dude I'm writing for says that dropping celebrity names gets hits. So I'm trying to cast a wide net. If any of you have any designer sunglasses anecdotes you want to share, whether they involve celebrities or not, please email me or post them in the comments. My only story involving sunglasses is the one where I sat on my RayBan Jrs in 2006. :(

Do any of you know any famous people you could ask what kind of sunglasses they wear? If you happen to become famous between now and next Friday, will you please tell me what kind of designer sunglasses you wear? I figure it can't hurt to ask.

Dare I say it?

2009-02-20T07:06:00.003-06:00

Yesterday was insane. I worked from 6 a.m. until 8 p.m. almost without coming up for air. Before going to bed last night I calculated that I had written at least 7,500 words yesterday. For those of you who don't write, let me put that in units that make sense: That's approximately one metric f*ck-ton of copy.

As of now, I have three people that I write for, each with varying degrees of impatience. Yesterday alone I wrote about hybrid cars, the 1970 Dodge Challenger, and home remedies for boils. It's busy, but I love it. I only hope that days like yesterday won't become the norm.

The good news is, if I can pick up two or three other "regulars" to write for - ok, I'm going to whisper this to minimize chances of jinxing it - I might be able to quit my weekend job by summer. Shhh! Don't let on that you know!

If anyone needs me, I'll be in the Angry Dome!

2009-02-18T10:51:00.003-06:00

Surely you have at least one person in your life that occasionally makes you think, "That's it! This time I'm gonna kill him."

All I will say on the matter is that every bit of help I've had from my dad: financial, repairs, whatever, I've earned every last dime of it.

OK, back to work. I'm actually glad that I'm swamped today. It will take my mind off wanting to strangle my dad.

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Busy as a worker bee on crack

2009-02-17T20:33:00.004-06:00

Still cranking out copy at an alarming pace. Today, two of my assignments were about BCBG Max Azria, so I was happy. I used to have a silk ribbed knit tee by BCBG in a pale sage green. His designs not only hug every curve, they ... I don't know how to describe it, other than it was just this side of being porn star tight. Anyway, whatever.

I have still had a little time to work on handbags. I have found that thrift store belts and purses often have hardware I can canibalize for way cheaper than going to the hardware store. The other day I picked up two belts for a quarter each, and a 100% merino wool Banana Republic sweater for a dime.

That's the sweater underneath the belts. That's a new handbag I made underneath the cat. Maury suggested that I name the handbags after whatever cat lies down on it first, in which case that is now the "Milly" handbag.

I learned two things today that made me feel like less of a failure. First, one of my cousins has been without a job for a year. And this cousin is not the unemployable ball of weirdness that I am. We're talking climbing the corporate ladder and doing really well. So I felt happy that I'm at least writing and getting paid for it again.

The other thing had to do with the fact that I've been driving around on four bald tires for a couple of months. We're talking no tread left. I'm actually going Wednesday morning to get a new set put on. But my mother told me that she was talking to my brother and for some reason asked how many sets of tires he'd put on his Saab. And he related to her the tale of going out to his car after work one day, seeing something white all over one of the tires, and thinking he had driven through chewing gum.

However, upon closer inspection, he realized that it was the underlying fiberglass (or whatever the hell it is underneath the tread) showing through. So my tires weren't nearly as bad as his, thus making me the more responsible sibling in this one instance. It is important that I not think about all the money my brother has loaned me the past couple of years, because it blows my "responsible" label right out of the water.

Oh! I almost forgot. This is my new favorite site to go to when I need a laugh.

First day of the rest of my life, or some such crap

2009-02-16T06:37:00.002-06:00

This is the first morning after a full night's sleep in a long while. It was fun, and even felt a little transgressive, working in the wee hours, but I don't think I could have done it forever. Of course, the big question is whether we can replace the income.

Maybe, the answer is yes.

I woke up today to two new writing assignments, and I've been shortlisted for a third one. Nothing earth shattering, topic-wise - recycled playground surfaces and low-fat dieting - but I'll gladly take it!

As soon as I'm confident that the gods are going to let me keep writing, I have my first splurge picked out. I used to have a pair of these, made for kids, because my face is so small, and they were sooooooooo nice. Unfortunately, I sat on them in 2006, and only just now found out where to order them from.

Bonus: my ex-husband hates them. He thinks they're too masculine looking.

Aww, well isn't that special!

2009-02-14T13:21:00.003-06:00

I got a new writing (or, more accurately, re-writing) assignment today for someone in the Philippines.

Yup. I'm going to spend Valentine's day throwing down roughly 3,000 words ...

... about erectile dysfunction drugs.

So romantic.

Hope you're having a great Valentine's Day!

If 'The Unconsoled' were about an American

2009-02-13T09:19:00.004-06:00

Once again, we've been listening to Kazuo Ishiguro's novel The Unconsoled in the car. You mark my words, Ishiguro is going to win the Nobel one of these years. The novel is about a British classical pianist named Ryder and his interactions in an unnamed European city where he is scheduled to play a concert. The catalyst for most of the plot is Hoffman, the hotel manager.

The narrative is very dreamlike, with improbable events melting into one another and time following its own bizarre rules. Ryder's culpability in this - if you can even call it culpability - is that his British stiff-upper-lippery keeps him at the mercy of everyone and everything, regardless of how it futzes with his schedule and inconveniences him.

I got to wondering what the novel would be like if Ryder were a stereotypical American concert pianist on tour in Europe. In my mind's eye, I see him being played by someone like Christian Bale. My conclusion is that there would be no novel at all. Imagine this short scene between Hoffman and an American Ryder:

(The setting is the hotel lobby where Ryder is checking in.)

Hoffman: Here is your key, sir. Unfortunately, our room service closed for the evening ten minutes ago. They'll begin again at 5 a.m.

American Ryder: Excuse me? Did you just say I missed room service for tonight? Because I thought you said that room service was closed, and I know you wouldn't say something that stupid. You listen to me, I want you to open the kitchen back up this minute and have a pastrami and kielbasa on toasted rye outside my door in fifteen minutes. (thumps the tip of his index finger on the hotel desk for emphasis) And for my inconvenience I want a free bottle of Jack and I want every porn channel available to show up on my television when I get to my room. And if your cook gives you any crap about opening the kitchen back up, then you tell him that I told you that it is on. Got it? (turns and heads for the elevator with his enormous suitcase on wheels)

Hoffman (makes mental note to fold up a stack of dirty towels and stock Ryder's room with them. Then under his breath mutters something to the effect of:) Buggar-orf-ya-great-gobberin'-oaf-ya!

The End

Well, today I have the day off, which means I can catch up on all the stuff I've neglected this week. I'm going to file my taxes and start cleaning the house. Woo-freakin'-hoo.

Paintball, BMX racing, and ghillie suits

2009-02-12T16:10:00.002-06:00

Those are three of the subjects on which I have become an instant (and probably temporary) expert. I still love the writing, it's just that it's hard to find an original approach to that seventh paintball article. I came very close to writing, "Like cheap underwear, the popularity of paintball is creeping up."

Yah. So. I am finding it hard to write about anything at all right now. The "writing" section of my brain has become numb. After writing about the history of ghillie suits, I had to pull out some of the silks in my supply inventory and stroke them between my fingers for a few minutes.

It's as if I'm the literary version of the last half of Flowers for Algernon. Look what Zog do. Me go laundry now. MMmmrrrghh.

Midweek mash-up of unrelated things

2009-02-11T01:54:00.003-06:00

I'm starting to get into a groove with the massive amounts of writing I'm doing. So far, the checks don't bounce, which is more than I can say for a lot of people/companies that hire freelancers. It turns out that I won't be able to bid on any more projects until the end of the month, but that's OK. I have 16 bids out there, and if I see something I really want to go for, I can retract one of them and redirect it. If nothing else, it keeps me concentrated on the work I have now, rather than daydreaming about someone giving me a blank check and an assignment to write a novel.

The weather has been amazing: balmy and in the 60s. It's usually March before we get that. Maury's been turning the storage shed out back into a studio, which makes me very happy. I think that space should have function, or else, what's the point?

My son got new tires on his car yesterday. I feel like I can worry a little less now. His old tires were on their last ... legs? Whatever. Now if the tires on my car can survive a little longer ...

Get this, one of my writing assignments is to write a how-to article about how to write a how-to article. Right now, I feel like I need to come up with a witty statement that has the prefix "meta" somewhere in it, but it's 2 a.m., and you can't blame me for not.

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See ya.

Grrr.

2009-02-10T17:24:00.002-06:00

I am so fuzzled right now. I just accidentally wrote a big whiny post and put it on the JS blog. I think I took it down before anyone saw it. But I was scrolling down, and I was like, "Wait. I don't remember posting that picture of shoes. And I know I didn't post that picture of someone's ass.

*Ding!*

I don't feel like rewriting it, so you're going to have to talk among youreselves. I'm a little verklempt at the moment.

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It's... It's ... It's a Miracle!

2009-02-08T14:35:00.004-06:00

Most of you know that I like to sew quilts and handbags. A week or so ago, I posted a picture of a hot pink lambswool purse I made:

Well, I also made a turquoise blue cashmere purse just like it:

But guess what! I left the pink purse and the blue purse together, and imagine what I saw this morning:

Awww... who knew purses could mate in captivity? Now I don't have to sew any more, I can just breed them. Hmm? Hmmm???

These words are the title of this post

2009-02-07T12:31:00.006-06:00

The best thing about my Saturday morning job delivering papers to stores is that I don't have to talk to anyone except for the boy who operates the cash register at the Kangaroo Mart. Chit-chat is a minefield for me, because I can't hear worth crap. Sometimes I wish I could wear a sign or something that says that I can't understand you unless you look at me when you're talking.

So I was refilling a rack outside a tobacco store when a man came up and started talking to me. He was from India, which is an accent I usually don't have too much of a problem understanding, having had my share of professors from the subcontinent when I was in graduate school.

However, it was very windy this morning, and the effect on my hair was like I had put my head in a blender and hit one of the high number settings, like "frappe" or "annihilate." With my hair blowing all over, I couldn't see his face, so I only have the vaguest idea what he was saying. I think he was asking me if we had to give the tobacco store a cut of profits. I managed to hem and haw my way out of it. Either that or he figured me for mentally challenged and gave up on me.
There is still a tiny part of me that clings to the belief that I'm not actually losing my hearing, but that every single person in my life mumbles. It's a little hard to reconcile this with my daughter, who is a stage-trained vocalist* who tends to think that the definition of "stage" is wherever she happens to be at the moment. She's not so much "bel canto" as she is "can belt-o."

My former publisher, who is one of the two owners of the newspaper, has informed me that they want to increase sales in my neck of the woods, but only if it involves no effort or expense on their part. I actually have what I think is a totally boffo idea. (But it would involve both effort and expense.)

I think they should paint all the racks so that they're really eye-catching. Seriously go all out, like with an abstract geometric design like my favorite psychodelic-era designer Emilio Pucci.

Then, they should put up posters and billboards of them up all over town with the heading (in big, bold headline print): "Nice Rack!" It would instantly set them apart from the other two papers, which cater to the antediluvian demographic.

But there's no way I can bring up my idea to either of them. Both owners (a husband and wife) are Capricorns, and even if they agreed that it was a great idea and they should go for it, someone would end up dead or maimed. When I was writing for them, there were times when I could not believe that one of them hadn't killed the other. In fact, their screaming, door slamming fights were one factor in my leaving.

Nothing much going on here except that the weather has turned not only windy, but balmy. It's about 65 Fahrenheit right now, and I have the windows open. Aaaaaaaah...

*She can also belch loudly enough to make the seismographs at the USGS start violently scraggling out alarming earthquake data.

UPDATE: Who says my life isn't exciting? I just filled in what is probably my most memorable "captcha" so far: "peedrain".

Go ahead: ask me anything about web hosting

2009-02-06T18:08:00.003-06:00

By the time this weekend is over, I will have rewritten 20 articles, averaging 800 words apiece on the subject of web hosting.

I'm thinking about bidding on a job for a dude in Australia taking three smaller e-books and turning them into one big e-book. My antipodean mentor, John Birmingham, said I could drop his name if it would help. Hell yeah!

Maybe if I bid on the project and got it, I could ask to renegotiate for a trip to where it isn't cold and miserable in February.

Okey doke. I'm doing my haircolor, and if I leave it on too long, God knows what it'll turn out like. Bye.

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All Your Base Are Belong to Us

2009-02-05T11:11:00.003-06:00

Do any of you remember a JS-er named "Wame" from a few years back? I was never quite sure if he was for real or if he was messing with our brains, but all his journal entries read as if they'd been typed in in some foreign language, like Polish, and run through an online translator. The one I remember most is the time his title was "Today Is Shit Day." I still use that one every once in awhile.

OK, so one of the articles I am supposed to rewrite has the following opening sentence, and this is verbatim:

If you are individual enjoy me, you'd current love to have a website on the Internet but you fitting have no impression how to lick about it.

This is worse than when I did copyediting at the newspaper. There it only got as bad as "ballet parking" and "the general pubic is invited."

OK, I better get to work. Bye.

*UPDATE* Here's another gem of a sentence (again, verbatim):

This is usually not listed as a bearing as manifold startup fired server companies are solid, but it's usually a elite risk to lane the twist of cut that a transaction has been in business.

Seriously, I ask you!

Still busy. If you want your phone to ring when this blogger is available, press 9 now

2009-02-04T08:20:00.004-06:00

Still cranking out craploads of copy, but it's OK. It involves a lot of impromptu research, and I have actually learned quite a bit. I'm thinking that after a few months doing this, I should try out for Jeopardy! since my head will be swimming with trivia on a variety of topics.

But I have had a little time for non-work activities. Maury was taking pictures last night, and normally when he does that, I shield my face, but I guess I didn't think it was pointed in my direction. Oh, but it was ...

He got this diabolical shot of me with red devil eyes. I'm thinking of using it as my profile pic:

As for other non-work activities, I did manage to find time to grow a cat recently. I'm well rounded that way.

Not much time for blogging today

2009-02-02T20:31:00.005-06:00

However, I did want to share pictures of the finished cashmere quilt and a fuzzy hot pink lambswool handbag I made. They're both in the same picture because the camera battery was close enough to being dead that I knew I wouldn't get more than one shot, especially if I wanted to use the flash.

My mother, who has always been indifferent to my quilting efforts, positively gushed over the handbag. In fact, she called me later last evening to tell me I should make a bunch and sell them.

Today I stocked up on more raw materials so that I can do that. I have to admit that making that handbag was fun. And even my 15-year-old daughter, who is bound by the Teenager Handbook to hate any fashion accessory I make, said she really liked it.

The editing/rewriting gig is very fast-paced and busy, but so far, so good. I should get my first paycheck next Monday. I spent most of today working my ass off writing travel articles. But with the amount of junk food I consume, I feel confident it will grow back.

Finished quilt! Possible new editing gig! This week's CBAP award!

2009-02-01T10:07:00.005-06:00

Yep. I finished the quilt Friday night and laundered it yesterday. Maybe I'll post a picture of it later today. I may try to sell it. It turned out nice.

In other news, I'm this close to getting a long-term editing gig. The pay isn't great, but it's steady, and could turn into a permanent assignment with possible bonuses down the line.

Doug, the person considering hiring me is located in the Greater Toronto Area. So I'm thinking, if he tries to get out of paying me like that magazine did, maybe you could go kick his ass for me. In keeping with Canadian law, you'll probably have to kick his ass in English and in French, but I'm sure you can handle it.

Now, on to this weekend's Cashmere Bra and Panties (CBAP) award.

This week I'm selecting this chick that I found on Marie Claire's beauty road trip slideshow. I chose her because I know that the average beauty editor would want to "fix" her hair and tone down the eye makeup, but she looks like she wouldn't have any of it if they tried to. Plus, the roundness of her face makes me think that she doesn't try to starve herself down to a size 0. And yet she's really beautiful, in a confident, Isabella Rossellini way.

If you could please direct as many "Hire Mary" vibes as you can spare in the general direction of Toronto, I'd be much obliged.

Except for contracting black lung disease, it's been a good Friday

2009-01-30T13:37:00.004-06:00

This morning on the way to pay the electric bill I ended up at a stoplight behind a vehicle whose tailpipe was ejecting black smoke at an alarming rate. I couldn't actually tell what kind of car it was because the smoke was so thick. It always takes me a second to register the fact that I need to cut off the outside air intake, so I got a lungful of the stuff and wheezed for a good quarter of an hour.

I guess that means he was burning oil, right? It's like, black smoke means a car is burning oil, and white smoke means - well, I think it means that they've chosen a new pope.

And speaking of cars, according to my dad, I am driving around on four equivalents of those tubular balloons they make balloon animals out of. Does anyone know what kind of balloon animal this is? Anyone? *blinks*

In other words, there's no tread left and I really should have replaced those tires a few months ago. My dad offered to buy me a new set, and though I've waffled back and forth about whether I should accept his offer or not, today I'm leaning toward accepting. I like to think of a set of new tires as a sort of tariff he has to pay to get me to put up with him.

Now that I have my "workshop" better organized, I'm much more motivated. Today I cut out two different scale designs for a handbag. Munchy the kitten discovered that tissue paper makes an awesome sound when you pounce on it, so she helped me as much as she could.

I've applied for a couple of jobs already today, but I'll bid on a couple more for good measure. It's not quite as demoralizing to know that I'm not the only one having a hell of a time finding work. I read somewhere that a Craigslist posting for a part time receptionist in Virginia got well over 3,000 applicants. It's that bad.

Je vous présent: mon atélier! Honh-honh-honh-honh!

2009-01-29T15:56:00.006-06:00

That last bit is the American stereotype of how French people laugh, although I have never once heard an actual French person laugh like that.

I am almost finished with the cashmere quilt. The problem is, I can only do one, or at most two quilting seams a day. What happens is, I'll discover that the quilt is cat free, so I'll go pin down a seam and sew it. Then I'll put it back on the table, take the pins out, and by the time I'm ready to pin down the next seam, there are up to three cats on it, sound asleep.

We're going to redecorate my daughter's room this spring, and I decided to get all my fabric and sewing supplies out of the closet in her room. With everything shoved in a closet, I don't really know how much I have, what colors, what materials, etc. I wanted to have everything close at hand and visible, and so I set up a series of boxes in the room with my sewing machine and organized everything in them. Here's a picture:

Not as awesome as Isabel and Ruben Toledo's Manhattan artist's loft:

but hey, it will do.

Perhaps my greatest feat since growing out my bangs

2009-01-28T15:19:00.005-06:00

In the wee hours of this morning, I went from sound asleep to in-the-car-ready-to-go-to-work in (get this!) 13 minutes! This was because I forgot to set an alarm and overslept. Hey, we've all been there.

Now, I'm as vain as any other woman, perhaps even more so. Additionally, the degree of difficulty of my transformation was higher than usual for the following reasons:

1. Cats had to be fed

2. Dogs had to be fed

3. I lost a contact lens

4. I had to eat something because otherwise I would get carsick

I will readily admit that in order to go from asleep to in the car that quickly, I had to drastically lower my standards of being "ready." My hair, bewildered at the lack of attention, was corralled in a hasty pony tail. I didn't put on any makeup until I was en route. (What? There are a couple of really long traffic lights on the way.) And I had a cereal/fruit bar shoved in my mouth as I locked the front door.

But, Ta-da! Typical American woman gets up and ready in under a quarter hour.

Thank you! Thank you! I'm here all week! Try the prime rib!

Let's play naked desk bingo

2009-01-27T15:25:00.005-06:00

I only used the word "naked" in the title to get you to read further, since I got absolutely no lovin' whatsoever for yesterday's post.

What's that? Now you're angry? You're going to raise hell?

Silence! I keel you!

Ahem.

Do you ever end up with the most bizarre things on your desk, and you have no clue how they got there? And yet, they've been there long enough that you don't remember not having them?

My desk, is a very very very small desk. And yet, even in its clean state, it contains the following objects:

A toy bunny that clucks like a chicken

A nickel that was run over by a train and flattened

Two fortune cookie fortunes ("Do not be afraid to take that big step" (perhaps the big step of cleaning my desk?) and "You need a new environment. Go on vacation." (The chance would be a fine thing!))

A wheat penny from 1953

A set of deer antlers

One of my kids' shot records from when they were little

A Canadian nickel

My dream is to dig my IBM Correcting Selectric III out of the storage closet, masking tape all the non-metal parts and the keys, spray paint it a lovely ballerina slipper pink, and keep it on my desk for all eternity. But that can't happen until I deal with all that other stuff.

The only style-related item I have today is this picture I found of a type of garment I've never before seen. I think it is called a "scarpione" and it starts out like a long, tubular scarf with cuffs, and then you wrap it around you a couple of times to make a cuddly straight-jacket thing:

I wish my butt looked like hers.

Trapeze halters: not as perverted as they sound!

2009-01-26T14:43:00.005-06:00

This morning I stopped by the Baptist thrift store for the hell of it. I didn't buy anything, but I almost bought an enormous peach colored sweater in soft merino wool. I can't wear that color - it makes me look like I have a liver condition - but it would make eight or ten quilt squares and it was really soft. Maybe I'll go back before they close this evening.

After that I went by the library to return a stack of books and get a new stack, and I found the most awesome book: Sweater Surgery: how to make new things with old sweaters, by Stefanie Girard. Turns out she has a blog on here, too, at sweatersurgery.blogspot.com.

For the most part, these were projects that I haven't done before, like turning a sweater into a swing top, or making baby booties. I may have to ask for a copy of the book for Valentine's Day, or Mothers Day, or something. It could keep me busy for months.

I was reading an article in a book about fashion that said people like me (a creative, "house poor" Libran who wants carpet lint to be pretty) should think of themselves as being "broke" rather than being "poor" because psychologically, "broke" feels more temporary than "poor." Oddly, this makes sense to me.

I also read an article in the Dec. issue of Elle by a woman who had lots of friends who were way richer than she was. A cursory search of elle.com yielded nothing, but maybe I'll go back and dig some more.

Now, she was using words like "rich" and "poor" relatively speaking. As in, her friends think nothing of spending thousands of dollars on one trip to Barney's, but she still makes enough money as a writer to occasionally live in Paris for six months. I'm not sure how I feel about the article. My first impulse is to radically disagree and insist that the author doesn't have the first clue what poverty is.

But then again, in today's economy, I have a house with no mortgage, I live within walking distance of most of the shopping I need to do, and so far make enough money to keep squeaking by every month. So honestly, I don't have much right to complain.

I'm sure I still will, though.

Are you a fan of words and pictures put together in blog form?

2009-01-25T16:16:00.007-06:00

If so, then I owe you a debt of gratitude. This is me a couple of days ago, before I reached my Google AdSense threshold to get paid:

And this is me today, after I reached the threshold:

Mwah! I take each and every reader and ad click personally, and you've made it so I can call myself a "professional blogger" and not be totally lying.

May you always have wedgie-free underwear, may your hair always do what you want it to, and may you never have to be a part of this bridal party:

Cashmere skivvies: who knew!

2009-01-24T18:23:00.003-06:00

It's true! Victoria's Secret offered the world cashmere bras and panties at Christmas time, and I'm just now finding out about it for some reason. at $88 and $58, they're not even outrageously expensive.

Another company called Wolford theoretically sells cashmere bras, but 1) they're lined with silk and 2) the web site says the product is unavailable.

You might wonder why I would object to the silk lining. Silk is nice and all, but if you're going to make a garment out of something as soft and wonderful as cashmere, why would you want some other fabric between you and it?

So anyway, I was thinking. Why not award a mythical set of cashmere undies to some unknown person on the street who manages to totally rock what they're wearing? It's not about catching the latest trend, but about being happily comfortable with oneself. It's also about originality, and about fashion being fun. Because if it isn't, then what's the point?

Now, since I only just thought of this, and since finding someone with real style in my town would be just this side of impossible, I combed through dozens of pictures on the Internet to find this week's winner of the honorary Cashmere Bra and Panties (CBAP) Award.

Why did I choose this young lady? For one thing, I love her haircut. My hair wouldn't do that if I bribed it. Also, she's taken a rather staid blouse with a businesslike collar, added a red bow, and made it look absolutely adorable.

See, that's the thing. If I tried to imitate this, I would look like an explosion in a pickle factory. You've got to be very tiny and very young to pull this look off. On someone over, say, 25, or someone with serious curves, it would look more like a cry for help.

Which is not to say that youth and/or skinniness are at all necessary to beautiful style. Good luck finding someone more beautiful than 72-year-old Sophia Loren.

Sometimes you feel the need to prove you're an adult

2009-01-23T10:10:00.005-06:00

And sometimes good style means having a recipe or two for some sophisticated amuse-gueule up your sleeve.

If any of you know me from previous blogs, you'll know that my dessert recipes generally cater to the Id that lives in your taste buds. The Cookies (oatmeal chocolate chip), Girl Scout Pudding, Coconut Breakfast Bars ... all have the effect of causing you to collapse into the nearest easy chair so as not to distract your mouth from its pleasure with other bodily needs, such as breathing.

However, yesterday I was feeling - how you say? - different. Rather than stir up a quick batch of brownies, I came up with a sophisticated dessert that I plan on naming the I Am Too A Grown-up cake (IATAGU cake for short). Here's what you do:

Sift together 1 cup flour, 1 tsp. double-acting baking powder, and 1/8 tsp. of salt and 1/4 c. unsweetened cocoa powder.

In another bowl, cream together 1/4 c. butter, 1/2 c. sugar. Add 1 egg, 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract, and just less than 1/2 cup of milk. Mix it up well, but don't beat the everliving daylights out of it. Some cake recipes end up with a texture more akin to cornbread if you overbeat them, and I have a feeling this is one of them.

Next, alternately add some of the mixture of dry ingredients, followed by some of the milk, mixing for a few seconds after each addition, until you've added all of it.

The batter will be thick, but not so thick you'd call it a "dough." Transfer it to a greased 8x8-ish baking pan. Bake in a 375-degree oven for 20 minutes.

Remove from oven, let cool for a few minutes.

In the meantime, make up this simple icing:

1 c. powdered confectioners' sugar
2 Tbsp. softened butter
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
1/2 tsp. almond extract
1 Tbsp. (ish) instant cappuccino mix
1-2 Tbsp. milk

You know the drill: if the icing is too runny, add some more confectioners' sugar. If it's too thick, add more milk until you get it the texture you want. If you warm it in the microwave for 15 seconds or so, it will be liquid enough to drizzle on the cake.

Transfer cake onto a serving plate, cut into 16 pieces. Spread pieces apart to allow icing to get in between. Drizzle icing over top. Ta-da. You now have 16 bite-sized pieces of a dark chocolate cake iced with just a hint of coffee flavor. You have to either eat it on a proper plate with a proper fork, or, if you insist on eating it with your hands from the serving plate, you have to be reading something by Proust. Sorry, I don't make the rules. Actually, yes. Yes I do. Anyway, enjoy.

What you can learn from pills

2009-01-22T11:37:00.002-06:00

No, not pills that you ingest. I'm talking about the "pills" that form on knitted garments, like the garment on the right in the picture. Remember how the other day I talked about ways to determine fabric content on vintage clothing whose tags have been removed? Well, the type of pill that forms on a knitted garment provides clues of its own.

Now, even the finest knit will sprout pills, particularly if you hand or machine wash it rather than having it dry cleaned. But it isn't the end of the world. You can remove pills from fine knits like cashmere with a small, fine-toothed comb, like they gave you in first grade on school picture day. It should take you about 10 minutes, even if you are multi-tasking by, say, watching television or talking on the phone.

On man made knits, the pills are different. Often, they are more numerous, more tightly bound, and more stubbornly attached. If you pick one off with your fingers, it will generally give you somewhat of a fight. The fine-toothed comb method of removing pills will also work on acrylics, but you'll have to put a little oomph into it, whereas with more upscale knits, you can usually get by with very gentle combing.

My own experiences with little battery-operated pill removers have not been that great. I tended to put in all the work of using a fine comb without getting as good results. The problem with the shaver I had was that the head of the thing had little holes in it, through which, theoretically, the pills would be gathered up for disposal. The problem was that the size of the openings was often smaller than the size of the pills, and so I would end up picking them off by hand anyway. But then, maybe the one I had was not representative of the entire genre.

The hook side of Velcro will supposedly remove pills, but I have not been brave enough to try this on a cashmere or merino wool sweater. I'd say if you try it, try it first in a very small, inconspicuous area to make sure it's not going to do any damage.

Cashmere quilt; Elvis impersonator; when subtitles go berserk

2009-01-21T13:07:00.003-06:00

The cashmere quilt is coming along nicely. I have sandwiched all the layers together and have started the actual quiting. Did you know that cashmere blankets start at close to $900 for twin sized and go up from there? Yeah. Maybe I could sell this one at a nice profit, since I've only sunk about $15 worth of materials in it. Plus my time. Anyway, Coconut is in charge of product testing for me. With the skill he brings to the job, he can deterimine if a quilt works in a matter of minutes, as you can see in the picture.

Munchy has taken an internship in product testing. She's still learning the intricacies, but she, too can determine if a given quilt works:

My son's dad gave him money to buy a computer, and he and I went today and bought him a cute little eee Pc. We bought it from Electronics Express, but we looked at the offerings at our local Megalo-Mart just in case. It was there that we encountered an Elvis impersonator who was also looking at computers. Within a matter of five minutes, we knew where he was from (South Carolina), his occupation (Elvis impersonator), where his girlfriend works (the hospital), and the landmark he used in order to find the hospital when he came to town (Taco Bell).

On a completely different subject, do the subtitles on your TV sometimes go horribly awry? I keep the subtitles turned on because I have hearing loss due to progressive CHDT (Can't Hear a Damn Thing), and sometimes I wonder if the transcriptionist was drunk, incompetent, or playing a prank:

Michelle Obama's dress by Isabel Toledo; Bush 41 looks relieved

2009-01-20T12:08:00.003-06:00

I was thrilled to find out that First Lady Michelle Obama was wearing a dress by the awesome Isabel Toledo for today's swearing in ceremony. Toledo used to be the creative director at Anne Klein, and she's married to artist Ruben Toledo and they live in the most amazing loft in New York City.

I won't say much more about the Inaugural festivities, because I'll lose the composure that it's taken me a good half hour to regain after the overwhelming giddiness of finally seeing George Bush leave Washington. (It made me think of that episode of Futurama with "Mom" the equivalent of today's chief of Wal-Mart kicking her sons out of her house and yelling, "Don't let the door hit you on your way out. I don't want ass-prints on my doors!")

I will say this, however. I'm trying desperately to find a picture of the senior George Bush, who was president from 1989-1993. Even he looked relieved that his son was leaving office. Not only that, the fur hat he was wearing made him look surprisingly like the late Queen Mum:

Guessing fabric content when all tags have been removed

2009-01-19T14:03:00.003-06:00

You know how some people cut the size tags out of their clothes? Seriously, why? Everyone knows that American sizes mean absolutely nothing. I have slacks in size 4 that fit me, and slacks in size 14 from the same clothing line that fit me too. I don't even bother looking at sizes anymore.

But fabric content is another story.

That's why, if you're buying second hand, you need to have some skill at telling fiber content in the absence of a tag giving you that information.

Cotton is probably the easiest because it does not age all that well. Bright colors will fade, and sweaters or dresses will sometimes acquire odd shapes. Now, this is not necessarily bad. Cotton denim is fantastic for customizing itself to your shape, and naturally faded jeans can look great. Another characteristic of pure cotton fabrics is that they get really heavy when wet. If you take a new sweater out of the washer and it weighs more than your other clothes, it's probably 100% cotton.

Silk is pretty easy. Generally, silk blouses, slacks, camisoles, and what have you, have a matte finish to them, and will feel ever so slightly gritty when you rub it between your fingers. The colors will be rich yet not harsh.

Rayon, while it feels nice, and if made well drapes in a flattering manner, feels somehow slicker than silk. It is also harder to iron successfully. That's why a lot of rayon stuff has "Dry Clean Only" on the tag. Also, rayon colors sometimes look too saturated, and silk hardly ever does.

Now for wool, cashmere, and blends.

Plain ol' wool, the kind that might scratch, but might not, smells like a wet dog when you wash it. This doesn't help you in the store, nor does it help that wool sometimes shrinks five sizes when you get it wet. Sometimes you have to go with your hunch and go ahead and buy something if you think it's wool, then test it when you get home.

If you're going to wash wool, use cold water, and be prepared to reshape it by hand when it comes out of the washer. It's better if you wash it by hand.

Cashmere, when wet, has a much kinder, gentler version of the wet dog , almost a soft, sweet smell with just the tiniest hint of wet dog to it. Cashmere also is easier to wash without ruining. Really. Again, cold water, a little reshaping, and it's better to do all this by hand if you have time. Colors will be rich and soft, and not faded.

Blends will have varying levels of wet dog-ness, depending on what percentage of the garment is wool and what percentage is something else - often acrylic, cotton, or nylon. Same with cashmere blends. Cashmere blended with silk will barely have any smell at all when wet.

I can't help you with mohair, but that's OK, because you can usually tell mohair just by looking. While I love the cozy, fuzzy look of mohair, it always itches me, so I don't buy it anymore.

This has nothing to do with fashion or style, except my ability to partake of it

2009-01-15T17:31:00.002-06:00

Yesterday afternoon the boss called to announce a meeting today, providing no other details. Since their contract is with Gannett, I did a quick Google News search and found that there will be company-wide one-week, unpaid furloughs for all non-union employees between now and the end of March. The union employees are being asked to consider a similar move.

OK, well, I thought, they're probably passing on that one-week furlough to us. It will be a pain in the arse, but we can deal with it.

What actually happened is, Gannett terminated the delivery contract as of Feb. 15. At that point, we're all unemployed, barring a miracle. It's not just that they would have to re-bid the contract with Gannett. It would also require totally new procedures with wholesale purchases and collection of invoices, finding a new warehouse location, and contacting around 1,000 customers and getting them to change where they send their payments, and paying up front.

So, I'm combing newspapers and online ads and seeing which of my work contacts remember me. I'm about a half-step above seriously wondering if that guy on Craigslist who wants to photograph feet is dangerous.

It will be mid-February - the same time the delivery job comes to an end - before the Obama administration will have an economic stimulus package to sign into law. And that's at the earliest. I'm hoping for an income tax rebate on top of the refund I'll be filing for as soon as my 1099s are ready.

Those of you who peruse and click on ads on here: thank you, and please keep on clicking on ads that interest you. I can use every dime that comes my way. And for those of you who have directly supported this site by making Pay-pal donations: I could never thank you sufficiently. I know times are tough for everyone, so direct support means even more now than it did a year ago.

Kate Spade bag brightens otherwise crappy day

2009-01-14T16:43:00.004-06:00

OK, wow. Bad day for economic news.

First, and closest to my heart is that I am about 99% sure that I didn't get the job I interviewed for last Friday. Damn. Additionally, one of my employers has called a meeting tomorrow morning, and I have a feeling we won't be doing the Happy Dance afterwards. See, they have a contract with Gannett Media, which is shedding ad revenue like a snake with dermatitis, and Gannett is calling for company-wide furloughs this quarter. That doesn't exactly bode well for contractors.

So far, the only non-threatening stuff is that my other employer (naturally, this is the job I most want to quit) seems to be doing fine and needs me to deliver their sports tabloid to stores tomorrow.

But enough of all that. Are any of you skilled at telling a real from a fake Kate Spade handbag? I bought one for 25 cents yesterday, and the girl behind me in line's jaw dropped when she realized this. I should have just turned and given it to her. God knows I don't need another handbag. The little go-getter in the back of my brain thinks I need to round up all these nice handbags I've bought for less than a dollar over the years and set up shop on eBay. But then again, who's buying anything at all these days? Here is a picture of the bag I bought. It is very well-made and sturdy, and is black heavy-duty nylon with leather trim.

Anyway, I got on several web sites devoted to uncovering counterfeit handbags, and the one I bought was not shown in any of the dozens of pictures of fakes on one site. However, that site only goes up until 2005, when the webmaster lost interest. Some features, like the round as opposed to pyramidal metal feet on the bottom are signs that it is, indeed genuine. Also, the tag matches the genuine tag that I found pictures of. It has to do with the shape of the letters and where it's attached.

On the other hand, I couldn't find a picture of my purse on any Kate Spade search. I'm leaning positive, but not 100%. If any of you has any wisdom on the subject, let me know. Here's a picture of my cat Henry making a face:

Well, it WAS going to be an interesting post...

2009-01-13T17:47:00.002-06:00

But snow flurries are forecast for the next couple of days, and Tennessee state law requires that I run around in circles waving my arms in the air, then rush to the supermarket - tires screeching with the importance of the mission - and buy milk, bread, and eggs. I suppose we'll be told what to do with it later.

At first the reasoning for these prescribed practices was unclear to me, but now I understand: in 9 out of 10 cases, it causes the snow to stop. The last "real" snow I remember (where there's enough for snowball fights, snow forts, and snowmen) was in 2004.

Yeah, so, I was going to go into the finer points of telling when an unlabeled garment is made of cashmere (I'm becoming an expert at this.) and how to tell a real from a counterfeit handbag (which I know very little about, but I'm learning). But it will have to wait until tomorrow in light of the dangerous weather conditions threatening. I hope I survive!

"Calibration jeans": one more hammer in the body neurosis toolkit

2009-01-13T10:05:00.003-06:00

Last year I made the decision to put my scales away, or at least make them much less convenient to use. It seemed patently ridiculous that I let a number displayed in liquid crystal on a box determine how I felt about myself on a given day. Plus, back then I was working out regularly and had added some muscle mass, which is denser than fat, thus slightly skewing the results.

But since I could not dispense with weight neurosis altogether, I designated two pairs of jeans as my "calibration" jeans - the ones I would use to determine if my weight was remaining in its healthy range.

Why two pairs? Because making things complicated with a system of checks and balances feels like I'm really making an effort. If you can count "putting on a pair of pants" as effort.

So there's my not-so-strict jeans, a pair of Diesel jeans I bought for 75 cents a couple of years ago. They have the more forgiving fit. And then there's my strict jeans, a pair of lightweight denim Abercrombie & Fitch jeans that I also got at a thrift store, and which are less forgiving of extra poundage.

I honestly don't know what size these two pairs of jeans are. I think Diesel uses a waist-inseam system like most mens slacks do.

And as for the Abercrombie jeans? Well, I also have a pair of Abercrombie corduroy slacks that are a size 0.

Now, when I was in high school, I wore size 7 jeans. I weigh at least 20 lbs. more than I did then, and you're trying to tell me that I'm somehow a size 0 now? It's vanity sizing at its most cloying.

I guess the point I am trying to make is the sartorial equivalent of first law of thermodynamics: misery is conserved. Throw out the scale, and you'll find a new measuring device so that you don't have to do the soul searching necessary to figure out why all this matters so much to begin with. *sigh*

See, this is why women love shoes and purses so much: it doesn't matter where you are in your comfortable weight range - they're still going to "fit."

Should I try Proenza Schouler's re-hashed 80s looks with huge shoulders, skinny trousers, and the complete obliteration of the female silhouette?

2009-01-12T09:06:00.005-06:00

No.

Munchy decides to try the sleeping box anyway

2009-01-10T15:13:00.002-06:00

Henry finally dragged his big butt from the little box of cashmere clippings, and Blackberry immediately got in it. He fit better, and apparently, he rid it of whatever cooties or other contamination Henry left.

So when Blackberry left, Munchy thought she'd give it a try:

I had catchy titles on the frames in PhotoBucket, but I guess they're not going to show up. She was asleep in there a little while ago with the lid to the box closed! Unfortunately, I didn't have time to grab the camera before she hopped out to see if there was fresh food in the dish.

Don't know if any of you caught my post on my other blog about getting DirecTV to cut my bill by $10 a month and give me 23 premium movie channels, but yeah. That's what happened.

But here's the thing: There's still nothing on TV.

I was hoping to catch Ace of Cakes on the Food Channel, but no. Or maybe psychotic brides with bad cases of potty mouth planning their weddings. Nothing doing.

Oh, well. There's an episode of What Not to Wear on, and I have to say, Stacy is rockin' that Farrah Fawcett hairdo. They're trying to do a fashion makeover on a woman who wears clothes that are too tight and revealing. (Any guys reading this are probably going, "And that's a problem why?")

The waiting is the hardest part

2009-01-09T15:54:00.002-06:00

I just got home from my job interview. I thought it went well, but then again, I thought the novel I wrote was good, and those in a position to judge didn't. So I'm trying not to get my hopes up too much. I should hear back from her by Wednesday either way. At that time, I'll either be scheduled for a second interview, or told to take a hike.

I'm glad I went ahead and filled out an application and took the math skills test, because I saw in the local paper that one of the largest clothing stores in our local mall is going out of business, and there will be that many more people looking for jobs.

Now to the important stuff: what I wore.

Maybe when you're 23 and have an interview with a male, you can get away with some cleavage, or a short-ish skirt, but when you're 43, it just looks desperate, don't you think? (I'm talking about a job interview. I think 43-year-olds can still get away with plenty in social situations.)

I knew that my body temperature would go up if I was at all anxious, so my black wool rib-knit sweater was out. Plus, it's clingy, and as soon as you put it on, it's like, BOOBS! So that was out.

I chose instead a nice black cotton velvet blouse with matching covered buttons and 3/4 sleeves. This blouse also has a contrasting lining to the collar in a dark-ish magenta silk satin, which I think is really pretty.

I started to wear a cropped, lightweight blazer in a subdued dark-green/dark-blue plaid, but it made me look too boxy. I ended up topping the velvet blouse with a shawl-collared lightweight, wine colored cashmere (what else?) wrap sweater with a leather belt around the waist. Soft, comfortable, and not flop sweat-inducing.

Oh, slacks. Unassuming grey flannel slacks that weren't tight. Black stockings and my black Steve Madden ballerina flats.

I went through my box of handbags (I have quite a collection after this many years of haunting second hand stores) and selected a plain black leather purse with silver hardware. Sorry I don't currently have pictures of it. The camera's batteries are dead, dead, dead.

I did, however, have some pictures from a couple of days ago of the progress of my quilt project. As you can see, I have it all cut up into squares:

After I made the squares, I took the leftover bits, saved the pieces that were still big enough to do something with, and put the tiny pieces into a box, thinking it would be a nice bed for Munchy.

But, Henry, my cranky 10-year-old kitty who would probably tell kids to keep off his lawn if he could speak, got to it first. He didn't even fit, but he circled and twisted and corkscrewed his way in anyway. Munchy won't go near it now. I guess she thinks its contaminated. Or else she's afraid of Henry.

I have a feeling that there's going to be a lot of nervous energy put into this quilt between now and when I hear back about the interview. Please keep your fingers crossed for me. I need this job.

My latest project: a cashmere quilt

2009-01-04T16:52:00.003-06:00

Some of you who know me from other blogs know that I like to make quilts. I'm also a total sucker for cashmere, so why not combine the two, right?

I made a cashmere quilt for my sweetheart for Christmas 2007, when he was still living up in Wisconsin. Now, aesthetically, it's definitely not my best work. But talk about warm and soft!

I'm able to do this by buying up cashmere sweaters at thrift stores, regardless of their style, size, or color. I know from experience that cashmere takes dye extremely well, so you can always dye it black.

Over the past couple of years I've accumulated another pile of cashmere sweaters, as you can see in the picture up there. All these are in various sorbet colors, so I'm not going to dye any of them. The buttons removed from the cardigans will find a home in my button jar, and I'm going to try to use every last scrap of cashmere for this quilt.

I confess to having "cheated" a little bit with this batch of raw materials. One of the sweaters I "harvested" was merino wool, which is still pretty darn warm and soft, and one of them is a silk-cashmere blend (ditto on the warm/soft).

The problem is that I've been thinking about making it for my daughter, because once my sweetie moved down here, she has regularly absconded with his cashmere quilt to sleep under. However, the colors look so luscious that I'm tempted to keep it for myself. Hmm ...

The groovy color combo that helped me make the leap to junior high school

2009-01-03T18:03:00.006-06:00

When I was a kid, my mother worked for a fairly wealthy woman who had 12 kids. My mom balanced her checkbook for her. All 12 children were older than me, and the girls had outgrown an attic full of beautiful dresses and tops from the late 1960s.

I had the most awesome dress-up bag ever because of this. I remember in particular two pink and white pinstriped dresses with crinolines: one in my size, and one a size larger, so it didn't matter if I grew.

Also among the treasures, I remember a top made of cotton with 3/4 length sleeves, princess seams, and a zipper up the back. It was dotted with pink and orange and looked like something Mar y Quant would have dreamed up.

The summer between sixth and seventh grade, we joined a local swim club that I could walk to, and I practically lived there during all of summer vacation. Without actually meaning to, I developed a deep tan. This would have been 1977, way before people knew the damage that uv rays could do, so I was happily oblivious and brown.

My hair grew out to shoulder length, and I probably got a little taller, though having ended up at 5'1", I couldn't have done that much growing.

On the first day of seventh grade I wore the pink and orange dotted blouse and pulled my hair into a ponytail. I didn't give it a second thought, but other people did. I found my science class and sat with my friend Becky, who had gorgeous pale skin with light freckles, and black curly hair. She was short like me, and when you're 11, that's easily enough to base a friendship on.

When Becky and I went to our assigned lab tables, a blonde boy came up and asked what my name was. I felt my face go beet red. Even though I'm still as shy as I used to be, I've mastered enough small talk to get through most social interactions. But back then I was frozen in fear. I told the boy my name and glared at the floor. He said (and I still can't believe this), "Well, you're awfully cute. Keep up the good work." I wanted to evaporate into thin air.

As soon as he was gone, Becky punched me in the arm. "Mary," she scolded, "he's a football player, like the only seventh grader on the team. You should be nicer to him!"

Unwittingly, that pink and orange top had been the energy that helped me make the quantum leap from little girl to awkward adolescent, whether I wanted it to or not. I so wish I'd kept it, but it disappeared long ago.

I have kept my fondness for that color scheme to this day. I have a dolman sleeve jacket made of soft wool in pink and orange, and it is the perfect thing to wear on a dreary winter day. Apparently I'm not the only one who is drawn to it. The December 2008 Elle has a feature on patent leather pumps in these colors (It's on page 158 in the print version, illustrated with the picture of shoes you see here.)

To me, wearing the groovy pink and orange top marks not only a personal milestone, but also the melding of innocence and sophistication that the clothes of the mid-1960s London captured so gorgeously.

And it flatters most skin tones, from palest to darkest. What's not to like?

What about you? Do you remember the first time you wore something that made you feel like you were grown up?

If you could be reincarnated as a shoe, what kind would it be?

2009-01-03T07:10:00.006-06:00

I saw that question phrased a little differently in the December issue of Elle magazine (in that case it was a dress), and got to thinking about really beautiful things and how much I have always liked the abstract geometric prints of Emilio Pucci. A little poking around on Google Images, and voila! The shoes I would most like to be reincarnated as:

My choice was somewhat dictated by the fact that it's January and it's been raining the past couple of days. If I had rain boots like these, I'd probably wear them with jeans and a black turtleneck and a trench coat of some description.

Now, if I were pondering this same question and it was June or July, my answer would be different (see sandals to the left).

Those aren't just sandals, they're little works of art for your feet. Those I would wear with a spaghetti strapped sundress in a not too flashy color and cut.

But then again, I thought that wanting to be reincarnated as something you wear could be less pleasant than I thought. Supposing I was a rainboot and was bought by someone with a very cavalier attitude toward foot hygeine.

Maybe it would be safer to say that I would like to be reincarnated as someone who could afford those lovely objects.

She's back to being cute now that the projectile vomiting has stopped

2009-01-01T19:29:00.008-06:00

My daughter, that is.

Poor thing, she spent her New Year's Eve enjoying sushi, then not enjoying it so much as she experienced it in reverse.

Her boyfriend risked the interior of his car getting sprayed as he whisked her home. Then - get this - he stayed here for like an hour, just to make sure she was going to be OK, thus proving that guys will do pretty much anything for a girl they really like. He's a sweetheart.

As you can see in the picture at left, she recovered 99.9% of her mojo by (according to the clock in the picture) around 2:40 Thursday afternoon. I took her picture to illustrate my point about how adorable leggings can look if one is young and tiny and cute.

I tried on my own leggings combo that I blogged about a few days ago and asked for her opinion. She said it was a good look, but that I would have to wear thong underwear so as not to risk the heartbreak of Visible Panty Lines.

There are a lot of things that are unpleasant about teenage girls, particularly if you're their mother. But one thing that's good is, if she really thought I looked awful in the leggings, she would have told me in no uncertain terms. So who knows, maybe I'll eventually go public with them after all.

But not today. It's cloudy and blustery and cold, the kind of day made for a cashmere sweater and jeans. See ya.

Red shoes and New Year's Resolutions

2008-12-31T20:21:00.006-06:00

A person's first trip to Paris is full of all kinds of memorable sights: Notre Dame, the Louvre, Centre George Pompidou, La Tour Eiffel, blah blah blah.

But here's the thing that stuck with me from my first trip to Paris over a decade ago: everyone wears awesome shoes.

Seriously, everyone.

I saw a woman in a wheelchair wearing shoes more awesome than most Americans wear when they're hoping to impress their boss. The implication was clear: feet were made to be decorated, and while sneakers (trainers to you Brits) have their place, the sidewalks of Paris are not it.

Since I'm broke now and my chances of going to Paris in the next few years are practically nonexistent, I need to find a way to bring a tiny bit of Paris into my small town American life.

I'm thinking that one of my New Year's resolutions should be that each and every day, when it's time to select shoes, I should pick the nicest looking shoes that will serve the purpose I need them for. It's hard to have feet that are overdressed, or trying too hard, while it's pretty easy to go overboard with other clothing. I think it should be doable.

That's about all for today. My cat Coconut ("twenty-two pounds of love") has a message for you wonderful readers out there:

moar funny pictures

Fragrance: The Risks and Rewards

2008-12-31T10:20:00.004-06:00

Nobody had to convince me that smells are tied to memories in a very primitive part of the brain. I could have told you that after coming home from band camp in 1979. (Insert American Pie joke here.)

One of my roommates wore a cologne from Avon called "Tempo," which they stopped making a long time ago. If you want to buy it, you have to go to eBay to find it.

If I concentrate really hard, I can "remember" what it smelled like, and when that happens, I am mentally 13 years old again behaving like a little hooligan at camp.

Before the first time I met my beloved in person, I bought a little bottle of body spray that had a nice, simple, fresh smell to it. I also bought body lotion and shower gel.

The reason I did that was so that when we were apart, I could easily evoke strong, happy memories of being with him by sniffing that fragrance. It worked extremely well, and reminded me that the smell/memory association is a double-edged sword.

Supposing he and I hadn't hit it off. Suppose we got in a relationship that turned out toxic and abusive. Had that happened, then every time I smelled that fragrance, bad memories would have come flooding back from the reptilian part of my brain.

But we have remained together. And I carry a little bottle of the fragrance in my purse so that I can feel happy thinking about how much we love each other at any time, wherever I am.

This little trick also works with less emotionally charged memories. For example, a spicy musk scent I took with me to London a few years ago instantly transports me back there to this day.

If you're not careful, there is a risk to tying too ubiquitous a fragrance to an experience that might turn out badly, but the rewards if it turns out well are big. That's why, if you try this, you should choose a scent that everyone and her sister doesn't have, so you won't be running into it at work, or the grocery store, or wherever.

My name is Mary, and I'm afraid to wear leggings.

2008-12-30T09:28:00.003-06:00

Since my fascination with a woman-on-the-street a few days ago, who was wearing a short dress over leggings, I have bought a pair myself. They're slate grey, and while they fit closely, they aren't like sausage casings, which I think is wise at my age.

I also bought a "trapeze" cut white top with 3/4 length sleeves. If I knew where my camera was, I'd take the card out of it and post a picture of the two garments together. But I don't, so you'll have to use your imagination.

The outfit I envisioned wearing consisted of the top, leggings, a trapeze cut cashmere cardigan in a dark eggplant color, and black Steve Madden ballerina flats, like these:

(I got the flats for 25 cents at one of my thrift store haunts. I also bought two pair of black pumps (one of which my daughter stole), and a pair of Lands End acid green suede lace-up boots for 25 cents a throw, too. Someone with feet the same size as mine, who, it appeared, hardly wore her shoes ever, evidently cleaned out her closet.)

In other words, there was nothing particularly daring about the ensemble I'd put together. But the little voice in my head kept reminding me, "There's a very fine line between an outfit and a get-up."

To at least feel that I was making some kind of effort, I went ahead and wore the top and cashmere cardigan today, but I wore them with a pair of khaki-colored, close fitting "editor" slacks. (Who knew editors had their own kind of slacks? You'd think there'd be a pocket big enough for a hip flask, based on the editors I've worked with ...)

Oh, and instead of the Steve Madden shoes, I wore a trusty, go-to pair of brown suede loafers that are very comfortable. I thought they went with the editor slacks better.

I think I am squeamish about the whole renewed trend of wearing leggings. My philosophy on resuscitated trends is that, in general, if you wore it the first time it was popular, you probably shouldn't wear it when it comes back. In other words: a tube top on a 20-year-old can be cute, but on a 40-year-old? Not likely.

Same with leggings. My daughter can get away with just about anything, sartorially speaking, since she is 15 and very cute with great legs. But it's hard to think of anything more pathetic than a woman in her 40s who appears to be trying too hard. I guess I'm still not ready to take this plunge yet. *sigh*

Laptop bag, part II

2008-12-29T11:32:00.002-06:00

Well, I had to abandon my little project of making a custom, quilted denim bag for my laptop computer. I had plenty of fabric, but no quilt batting stashed away anywhere in the house. I was not constitutionally or emotionally prepared to face the horror that is Wal-Mart After Christmas, and since that's the only place in town you can get quilt batting, I was out of luck.

But there's good news, too.

One of the two thrift shops I frequent opened back up today! I hate going there right after they open in the morning, because one of the volunteers is always either sweeping or vacuuming the floors, and I swear he seeks out the places where people are standing rather than working on parts of the floors that are empty of customers. It's really annoying.

But I missed my thrift shop enough that I was ready to brave a confrontation with Broom Man. To avoid him, I browsed in the places where he had just finished cleaning, and hoped he wouldn't turn around. Worked pretty well.

OK, so I found a black suede leather bag - a large purse, really - with brown leather and brass trim with two large inside pockets and a smaller zippered compartment inside as well. It's made by Liz Claiborne, so not snooty, but not cheap looking, either (unless snooty is your style).

It was $1.50, which is way less than it would have cost to make a bag. The quilt batting alone is about five dollars for a small roll of the stuff, and metal hardware would have added a few more dollars to the cost. And there's the whole Wal-Mart After Christmas thing, too.

I figure I came out ahead. Here are a couple of pictures. I admit these aren't great shots, but you can get the idea what it looks like.

Also, did you know that if you have a stain on a light colored suede object, you can use one of those old-fashioned, crumbly art gum erasers and have a good chance of getting it out? Yup. They can be found with school supplies. A suede brush is a good thing to have, too, for general spiffing up.

It certainly looked good on her ...

2008-12-27T12:47:00.004-06:00

I have a crappy weekend job that helps make ends meet. It forces me to be out of the house and around people one day of the week, so I guess that's a good thing.

Anyway, this morning, when I stopped to get a Diet Coke, a young woman walked into the convenience mart in front of me. She was wearing a "trapeze" cut dress that came to a few inches above her knees, plus dark brown leggings and brown flat shoes.

I have to admit: on her it totally worked. Perhaps it worked for her because she was a) young; b) fairly tall, c) on the thin side and d) blonde. I think I particularly liked the dress because, unlike the dress in the picture up there, hers was a not-too-bright acid green. That color has held the #1 and #2 spots in my list of favorite colors since I was five.

Back then, I had a "Dawn" doll, who was an even tinier version of Barbie, and my Dawn came dressed as a flight attendant, with a uniform of the same un-obnoxious acid green color. If I remember correctly, she also wore a tiny matching pillbox hat. I knew that if I could grow up and wear such a thing, my life would not be a waste. (It hasn't happened yet, however.)

Would I try to wear an outfit like the convenience store girl in public? I don't know yet. I would have to be certain that it caught on as a popular look, and I would have to see someone either older than me or shorter than me wearing it and looking good first. You know how I described convenience store girl as tall-ish, thin, young, blonde, etc.? Yeah, take the opposite of those things and it describes me. So I don't know about trying to appropriate the look.

I should have taken a picture of her to post, but I didn't have my camera with me, and even if I did, I am way too shy to ask to take a stranger's picture for no apparent reason.

Non-geeky laptop bags

2008-12-26T10:17:00.004-06:00

The only laptop bag I have is one that I got for free at a conference on accessing federal and state grants a couple of years ago. When I got it, I cut out a piece of black felt and glued it over top of the logo that was printed on it in an attempt to make it look less hoky.

Thing is, laptop bags are starting to be awesomely ... awesome. I'm still kicking myself for not having bought a perfectly sized tote in the classic Burberry plaid for $2 at a thrift store back in November.

So I've been poking around on the Internet, because I live in a small town where shopping options are limited, and I've found some really nice laptop bags. They range from the quirky-funky to the drop dead serious professional to the crunchily eco-conscious.

None of which I can afford.

Another problem is that the two thrift stores I regularly go to are both closed all week, and one of them is closed next week as well (I hear they're getting new carpet put in, which should improve the atmosphere exponentially). And while I dearly love my hometown Goodwill store, once you're used to paying anywhere from 25 cents to $2.50 for a handbag, somehow paying $7.99 to $14.99 feels like highway robbery.

I am thinking about going through my inventory of material and seeing if I have something I could use to make my own, custom laptop bag. My sewing machine can't handle leather or suede, but I'm thinking more like chambray or denim, quilted, and with shiny hardware to give it a more dressed up look. I don't know if that will actually happen or not, but if it does, I'll post it.

Rules for Christmas versus rules for the rest of the year

2008-12-25T08:54:00.003-06:00

I got my daughter a terrific little book called The Real Rules for Girls, by Mindy Morgenstern. When she opened it, she gave me one of those looks made up of equal measures of sorrow and pity that her mother is so completely clueless. But then she sat down and read it cover to cover.

Then I got to thinking about it, and those of us who celebrate Christmas, or those of us who grit our teeth and suffer through Christmas, should have our own set of rules to get us through the Big Day.

Here are my rules that only apply on Christmas. We'll worry about the other 364 days later.

1. It's perfectly OK to eat a big slice of homemade coconut cake for breakfast on Christmas morning. You're even excused from having to drink a diet soda to cancel it out.

2. Don't worry if your living room looks like a bomb went off. One of your kids will lose a present, and then you can suggest that he/she start picking up all the paper and wrappings in order to find it. It just might work!

3. The drunken screaming brawl at 1:00 a.m.? Not cool. (Just for clarity's sake, I want to state that it was a neighbor of mine doing this, not me. I'm pretty much always asleep by nine. Anyway, the police showed up and at least got them quiet. Interestingly, my son said that while all this was going down (and he was happily spectating), a call came in over the police's radio saying there was a naked man lying down in the 4-way intersection in front of a local barbecue joint. Apparently alcohol was involved.)

4. If you've "called" the TV, or if you have your own, you can watch the most awful dreck on Christmas day, and nobody better say anything about it. You go right ahead and watch that Golden Girls marathon if you want to.

5. Dental hygiene might as well wait until bedtime, because you're probably going to be eating all day long, and it's probably going to consist largely of stuff that isn't good for your teeth.

6. Speaking of eating, on Christmas Day, the following foods magically lose all their calories:

a) food picked from someone else's plate
b) food eaten with your hands over the kitchen sink
c) unnoticeable amounts of food stolen from someone else's Christmas bounty, e.g. a slice or two of that enormous summer sausage that someone left right out in the open.
d) "surprise" food, that is, food someone brings over to your house that you totally weren't expecting.

Here's the final rule for Christmas Day. It only applies to parents of teens and adolescents, but it is ~~important~~ utterly crucial: If friends of your teenagers show up unexpectedly to bring by a present, or pilfer some of that candy littering the living room floor, it is absolutely vital that you be wearing your most heinous holiday sweater, fake antlers on your head, or preferably, both. You should also sing "Jingle Bell Rock" loudly and lustily. That is all.

On a lighter note ...

2008-12-24T08:16:00.003-06:00

Not that this blog has been a bastion of seriousness or anything, but since it's the day before Christmas, I thought it would be appropriate to pay homage to that seasonal staple that burns out retinas from coast to coast: the ugly Christmas sweater.

Ugly Sweater Parties are becoming more popular in recent years as people marvel at the yearly influx of these monuments to misapplied labor.

I will say this, however. As a promoter of humane causes and prevention of cruelty to animals, I think that, as bad as these crimes against good taste are to the human race, inflicting the tackiness on poor, defenseless animals is just plain mean.

In defense of little old lady shoes

2008-12-23T10:11:00.003-06:00

No, I'm not talking about cushy vinyl orthopedic lace-up shoes worn with flesh colored panty hose.

Think more a French woman of a certain age, who's not ashamed to be over 40 (or 50, or 60 ...) and who makes it a point to look fabulous even when she's only going out to the market to buy butter.

Or, think American blogger whose 15-year-old daughter wears the same size shoe and who absconds with any of her mother's shoes that have any style whatsoever. Her reaction to my little old lady shoes? "Not for me, but you make it work, Mom."

Why, thank you.

The point is, sexy or youthfully pretty isn't always appropriate. Neither is sneaker casual. Sometimes you need a good, sturdy shoe that makes some noise when you walk, broadcasting your confidence to everyone within earshot. Even if you're the only one picking up on the confidence tapped out by your stride, it certainly can't hurt.

The Classics: the navy wool peacoat

2008-12-22T02:10:00.001-06:00

I actually have pictures of my own classic wool peacoat, but the camera batteries are so dead that I can't get my pictures off of it and onto the computer. I'll try to post it again later. (Later: got it.)

Anyway, the navy wool peacoat is a real style classic. It also represents one of the few times in my adult life that I paid retail for an item. Of course, I was employed as a well paid engineer at the time, so spending some cash on a good coat wasn't the big deal that it is today.

I bought my peacoat from Lands End in 1991. Mine has a bright red lining, which the one in the link doesn't seem to have. I remember that it cost exactly $100 . So let's say I've had it for 17 years. Where I live, we have mild winters usually, so I'll conservatively estimate that I've worn my peacoat 50 times each year. So if you take 50, multiply it by 17, and then divide by 100, it means that the cost to wear this particular item was about 8 cents per wearing.

And I feel sure that it will look just as good 10 years from now. Sometimes it pays to invest. Though I haven't been looking, I have rarely if ever seen one of these coats in a second hand shop. Which means, they're either out of style - which I seriously doubt - or people hang onto them for years. And they go with just about everything. Except maybe a ball gown. Though I've never worn a ball gown, so I can't be 100% sure. ;)

Vintage faded cotton velvet slacks

2008-12-21T01:57:00.000-06:00

I found these for 75 cents at a local thrift shop a couple of weeks ago. They're made of mostly-cotton velvet, which is the kind that feels good to wear. You can get velvet that's mostly manmade, too. It looks great, because of having a slight sheen to it, but the side against your skin feels extra cold when it's cold, and extra hot when it's warm.

Anyway, these slacks were about a size too big, and were too long. Since I'm roughly 2 feet tall, I'm used to hemming anything and everything that I wear on the bottom half of me. Size alterations are a little trickier, but I can do 'em if I take my time and concentrate.

It looked as if these slacks started out as a bright cherry red, and then faded to a soft, fabulous, lipstick red. It looked like something Jane Birkin would have worn back in the 70s.

In my opinion, the best things to wear with a bright piece like these slacks are neutral and don't beg for their own attention. That's why I chose the simple black turtleneck and denim jacket. I would probably wear my flat riding boots, or plain black driving loafers on my feet.

While I do not have a picture of myself in this outfit, I do know that it meets with the approval of my cat, Coconut:

Stay tuned

2008-12-19T01:47:00.000-06:00

I would imagine that lack of updatage has driven away the few readers this blog had. What happened is this: I got lazy.

Now I am thinking that with a new year looming, I may use this blog to express the soft and fuzzy side of the person who blogs about economics and politics all the time.

I love clothing, and sewing. I'm 5'1", so I know quite a bit about altering clothes to fit. I think this will be my blog about all things textile.

I hope to update more often, but you know how that sometimes goes...

Oh, well. It's almost time to go to work. But I will mull things over and be back here as soon as I can.

A story so sweet, your eyes will mist

2008-10-26T13:42:00.001-05:00

It's no secret that I think Australians are awesome people: easygoing, smart, fun, and good at heart.

But it turns out that even their pets are virtuous. News out of Sydney reports that a family dog risked his life during a house fire in order to save the lives of a litter - of kittens! Here's a summary:

"Fire fighters who revived Leo said he refused to leave the building and was found by them alongside the litter of kittens, despite thick smoke.

'Leo wouldn't leave the kittens and it nearly cost him his life,' fire service Commander Ken Brown told reporters."

Leo had to be revived with oxygen and heart massage, but he and the litter of kittens all survived the fire and are OK!

All together now: awwwwwwwwwwwwww!

Actual headline: "Man plays banjo during brain surgery"

2008-10-19T08:56:00.000-05:00

There's a color photo and everything. A musician from middle Tennessee had brain surgery to take care of a tremor that was causing him not to be able to play music, which is the man's livelihood. He played banjo during the procedure so that the doctors would know what parts of the brain to poke to get the tremor to stop.

The story is here, and you can watch a video of the man playing during surgery here.

Happy National Toilet Tank Repair Month!

2008-10-12T14:58:00.000-05:00

Have you finished your National Toilet Tank Repair Month shopping done yet? What about your cards? Have you mailed them yet? Well, chop-chop, because you've got just over two weeks before the festivities come to an end.

According to the EPA, the celebratory month's purpose is to increase awareness of how much water is wasted when you don't fix plumbing problems.

Toilet experts say the most common toilet problems are broken water control diaphragms and broken fill valves.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go practice singing my National Toilet Tank Repair Month carols.

Actual headline: "Lost man crashes his 4WD into map shop"

2008-10-04T19:40:00.000-05:00

In other news, there are still map shops. The article is here.

Not quite a boil on the butt of humanity ...

2008-09-18T15:10:00.001-05:00

Nor is it quite the ass end of nowhere, but the village slogan for a town at the southeastern extreme of Sweden is “Världens ände” which can be translated variously as:

1) the end of the world
2) the world's rear end

Kicker? The name of the town is Trosa, which, in Swedish, is the singular form of "panties."

Speaking of boils on the butt of humanity, file this under either "irony" or "unintended consequences," I'm not sure which.

The Transportation Security Administration celebrated (? commemorated?) Sept. 11 with new uniforms for employees and a new screening policy: screeners arriving at work can walk behind security lines without their belongings being examined or x-rayed.

Some people speculated that the new metal badges screeners wear were causing metal detectors to go off too frequently, but the TSA doesn't even use this convenient excuse. Officially, letting anyone in a TSA uniform with a badge sail through security without any belongings being searched is part of the TSA's new "risk-based security."

This nearly violates my promise of providing news that doesn't make you want to crawl in a hole and die.

Hopefully the Swedish panty slogan story makes up for it.

'Mile Away' special Antipodean edition

2008-09-15T15:40:00.000-05:00

Photo: dieraecherin for morguefile.com

In my main blog, I have had several occasions to mention my love for Australia and Australians. But this is only the first or second time for this blog. Over the past few years I have made a few long distance friendships with a handful of Australians and New Zealanders, and on a news day like this, it is perfectly obvious why I love the place and its inhabitants so.

Here is an actual headline from the Sept. 12 issue of The Australian: "Brown lied to Premier over underpants dance." It may not be possible to pack any more interesting stuff into a seven word headline. It has lying, it has high level government officials, it has dancing, and it has underwear. What's not to love?

The actual story, about a former police minister named Matt Brown (who sounds like he'd be loads of fun, really) does not fail to deliver, either. Brown apparently had a penchant for dancing on sofas wearing nothing but underwear in the Parliament house. Alcohol was involved, but you probably already knew that.

Anyway, Mr. Brown, (assuming there's even the slightest chance you're reading this), please, come to Washington D.C. and shake up that collection of suited, bejowled, puritanical dipsticks once and for all. Even if you can't hold office here, you can certainly be a lobbyist, and frankly that's where all the power is anyway.

In another story, those who make fun of New Zealanders as a bunch of middle earth dwelling sheep shearers should prepare to show proper respect now. According to The New Zealand Herald, Britain's new points-based immigration system scheduled to begin in November won't require recruiting of doctors, teachers, and social workers from outside Europe.

However! "the occupational shortage areas identified include skilled ballet dancers and sheep shearers." If you're from outside Europe and happen to be skilled in both sheep shearing and ballet dancing, I think you should go to Britain and make them pay you as many pounds as you can squeeze out of them while you're so in demand.

Bore-o-scope for Sunday, Sept. 14, 2008

2008-09-13T20:41:00.000-05:00

Photo: click for morguefile.com

Today's horoscope for ARIES (March 21-April 19)

The stars are saying that today you need to undertake a creative project, preferably one that utilizes macaroni shells, Liquid Paper, orange yarn, and blue construction paper. Your project should tell a story, in intricate detail, of an episode of your childhood that keeps popping up in your daydreams, and sometimes in your sleeping dreams. To analyze this childhood episode properly, you need to take a creative approach, looking at it as if you've never done so before, hence the odd succotash of art supplies required. Once you are able to free this new interpretation from within, you'll have gained a new understanding of what has made you the person that you are.

OK, wait. Crap. I was looking at the stars with the North Star at the bottom. Sorry. Actually, your horoscope for today is exactly the opposite of what I've just written. I hope this helps.

Don't mess with Chicken of the Sea: He's talking to you, Steve Jobs

2008-09-10T19:03:00.001-05:00

Retired Chicken of the Sea executive William Gillis, 70, of San Diego, has sued Apple for false advertising and civil conspiracy, alleging that his new iPhone G3 is infuriatingly slow, and network coverage isn't good enough. A Wired report on the matter states, "Based upon information and belief, the 3G iPhones demand too much power from the 3G bandwidths," the lawsuit states. "Apple and AT&T are disseminating advertising concerning its products and services, which by its very nature is unfair, deceptive, untrue, or misleading within the California Business & Professions Code."

Since 1914, Chicken of the Sea has been an American household name in shelf stable seafood.

On the other side of the globe, handsome Bollywood actor Rahul Bose is concerned about his fans' cardiovascular health.

At a recent party - and reports are unclear whether or not he was the host - Bose shooed away a waiter bearing a tray of cheese balls and forbade friends from partaking of them, saying that a cheese ball was equal to "23 heart attacks." There was no word on whether the iPhone G3 network in Bollywood is satisfactory.

Adorable animal stories to fortify you against the daily suckitude

2008-09-10T08:06:00.001-05:00

Online matchmaking isn't just for humans anymore. According to the UK Press Association, "The Zoological Information Management System, a collaboration between about 150 zoos and aquariums, contains information on sex, age and weight - and also details on an animal's personality to ease what can be a difficult process."

Apparently, with giant pandas, couples need a little help getting jiggy with it, but it's OK: "In China for example, breeding experts have claimed success by showing giant pandas images of other pandas mating -- panda porn, as it's been called."

Well, however they get around to it, success is sweet, as the picture of two recent panda arrivals in China can attest.

In other cute animal news, a chihuahua in Airway Heights, Washington, has made sure that 23-year-old Daniel Keller, a felon wanted for escaping community custody, will never be able to save face with his posse.

The chihuahua, named Taco, tracked down Keller in a trailer park, allowing sheriff's deputies to capture him after attempted to flee.

OK, I gave you two baby pandas and a crime-fighting chihuahua. Your cynicism should be lowered enough that you can face the "real" news out there. Except for the political stuff. It's impossible to be too cynical for that. G'day.

On mullets, possums, and dingo poop

2008-09-09T16:56:00.000-05:00

My bf is always saying how awesome the state of Washington is, what with Evergreen State's nude beach, the caffeinated goodness that is Seattle, and the general superiority of the people who live there.

Now I know it's true: Port Orchard stylist extraordinaire Julea Penland is doing her part for humankind by ridding Kitsap County of mullets. Not the fish, the haircut.

The Seattle Times reports that Penland has advertised free redos for those with mullets, partly because she's worried about locals being stereotyped, but also because she knows how hideous they look on everyone. Alas, she's had no takers thus far, but she understands: "People with mullets either love them and want to keep them, or they don't know they have them," said Penland sadly. "They're in mullet denial."

Here's a handy hint: the next time you need to keep possums away from your priceless Buddhist artifacts, use purebred dingo poop.

Great Stupa of Universal Compassion, near Bendigo, Victoria, Australia is infested with possums, and Great Stupa Chairman Ian Green plans to mix the dingo poop with water and spread it around the center's perimeter. Possums are believed to have an innate fear of dingo poop, and should stay away once they get wind of it. With any luck, ritual distribution of the dingo poop will result in elimination of the ritual cleanup of possum poop.

M&S risotto tastes like other people's underpants

2008-09-09T15:03:00.000-05:00

The Guardian (UK)'s food blogger Alex Renton has written a review of a new Italian food line recently launched by Marks & Spencer. I won't spoil things by giving you the details, but he concludes that it's not so much the launch of a new product as a cry for help.

In other news, a kangaroo has led a passel of emergency responders on a chase in the small German town of Siegburg, located some 15 miles from Cologne. One of a pair of pet roos named "Tequila" and "Sunrise," the animal "evaded attempts by the police and the fire brigade Monday to trap it, encircle it or lure it with dog food," according to AFP.