Inverse Candlelight

Saturday Arts n Crafts!

Saturday is Craftyday!

Must keep busy. Shark Week too exciting to stay still.
Not unlike Mme. LaFarge, knitting away for France.

Tada! Am v. talented and fabulous.

One word about my knitting hat and I'll gut you like chum.

Have a lovely weekend, internet!

See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil

Things that have been greatly alarming in the past week:

My neighbors having passionate fights in their underpants.

The talking heads on Fox News.

Blogger vs. Troll Wars.

It's been quite a week. Thanks a trillion to all you lovely people who contacted me about my last post. I promise, I'm doing much better, and we can now return to our regularly scheduled silliness. Y'all are rock stars, and I love ya more than my luggage.

I Will Never Learn.

Supercuts: For When You Should Have Done It Your Damn Self.

Wow, Supercuts. That's really...Super?

Much better. Done my damn self.

Ah, much better. Let this be a lesson to you, kids. You pay $14 for a haircut, you get...a $14 haircut. Wah.

Okay, had a good cry and decided something:

Stop being sad and be awesome instead.

Obsession.

It all started so innocently. A birthday present! From my dear friends Steve and Meaghan! How lovely! And this is what it looked like, and I had no idea what I was getting myself into.


Innocuous, right? Innocent. Adorable, even. So I get this book, and come up with the idea to make one, as a super seekrit special project for a specific super person. And I did, and it was awesome.


But, you see, I don't have a job right now. I'm on a "sabbatical." Or a "medical leave." Or, "batshit crazy timez." So I have a lot of free time. A LOT of free time. So I thought well, I'll try another one of the patterns. I have plenty of socks, as they are only a dollar at Walmart, so...Why not? And I did, and it was good.

So what's the problem that is now destroying my life? I'll tell you. Behold!


The first step is admitting you have a problem, and that you are powerless over your addiction. So...Hi. My name is Miss Banshee, and I am addicted to making sock monsters. My house is full of 'em. My couch is covered in sock bits and thread. The cats scurry off with mouthfuls of yarn and stuffing. It's an arts and crafts crack house. And I can't stop. Is there a 12 step program for this? A Big Book for sewing addiction? Because I clearly need help.


So...anyone want a sock monster? They're looking for good homes, and if I don't get them out of my house, they're just going to keep harassing me to make them new friends. Halp.

No Sleep Till...

I have insomnia. It's been two weeks. It's really starting to take a toll. I vacillate between this:

Woe.

Aaaaaaaaand this.

Give us kisses!!!! Everything is funny!!!! Let's paint the apartment!
PURPLE GLITTER!!!!

When all I want to do is this:

Sigh.

It's almost definitely due to a new medication I'm on, but not taking it is not an option, for I'd really prefer being tired to being batshit insane, which is what the med prevents me from being. It's a sucky tradeoff, but a sacrifice I'm willing to make. So, Mr. Sandman, please send me a dream. It can be about arranging matchsticks for all I care. Just let me sleep. Because everyone I know is sick of me talking about it, and so am I.

Hey! Are you following A Year in the Mirror? Because there are some RILLY attractive pictures of sleep deprivation there, boy. Like this one!:

Can I carry your groceries? I've got two eye bags that would do nicely.

Kisses, my little monkeys. Please send very very sleepy thoughts. Or narcotics. That would work too.

We Interrupt Our Regularly Scheduled Silliness

To talk about a serious subject. In honor of the return of "Project Runway" this Wednesday, we need to discuss my pants. More specifically, my addiction to buying new pants. And you know what that means! Another poll! Y'all helped so much with the haircut decision (I'm keeping it shaggy for now, but if the humidity gets above eleventy billion, no promises) so tell me which pants were the best purchase. I'll take your answers to heart, reflect, and...probably buy more pants. So sad. I need a meeting.

And forgive me, please, for the quality of these pics. I'm still learning the camera thing.

Exhibit A:


The black skinny jeans. "Slave to trends!" you howl. You are right. These will probably be out of fashion by the time I post this blog. But I love them! So comfy!


Exhibit B: The standard issue blue jeans. Flared bottom. Too long, but if I wear a heel, they don't drag on the ground. I like these plenty, but the whole trend of the faded starburst-like crease pattern right over the crotch? I do not need extra attention pointed towards my ladyflower, thanks.



Exhibit C: Capris! I love capris. I especially love wearing these capris with huge heels so as to be the obnoxious woman who wears the shoes that make her 6 feet tall.

SO! Were these good purchases? Which should be the go-to pair? Do I need to go buy MORE pants? What kind? What cut? What color? Speak, oracles! Clicky on the poll!

Sigh. I love pants.

Yes, We Have No Belly Dancing

Because there is no end to the lengths I will go to in order to humiliate myself, here is my first real attempt at a video blog, in which I explain why I will not ever post video of my attempts to belly dance. Woo! Science and technology! (I won't tell you how long it took me to put this together. Let's just say I have no editing programs, so it had to be a one-shot deal.)

Be kind, please.



If you have trouble seeing the video, CLICKY CLICKY.

A Year In The Mirror

When my drinking started getting completely out of control, my body changed drastically. My arms and legs were twigs, and my stomach and face swelled. I looked horrific. Sick. Dying. Because I was. Now that I'm five months sober, I look, well, like me again. I've started a Flickr set to document the beginning of the year I started looking at myself again, starting on my birthday, June 30th. It's work for me. It's still very hard for me to look at myself, to look at the person who almost died due to my own emotions and resulting actions, who medical professionals were convinced was not going to make it. But I'm doing this as a project of survival, and the beginnings of accepting and loving myself - maybe for the first time.

A Year In The Mirror.