No post yesterday because I didn't actually have time to sit and write one.
All because I was getting an awesome haircut! At least I hope it's awesome. My hair is naturally wavy and the girl performed some sorcery so right now it's bone straight. She promised me it would look good when it's wavy too so here's hoping.
Of course, for most people getting a haircut doesn't take all day. But I had to drive miles and miles to get to this place. I don't have a "stylist" so I just wait until there's a Groupon for a haircut and go wherever the Groupon takes me which, in this case, was Port Coquitlam. Where I could park my car for 2 hours in a 1 hour spot and not get a ticket. Awww Port Coquitlam so cute with your lack of meter maids.
Also I was supposed to pick up a dipstick. Not my boyfriend, he was still at work (rimshot).
It's kind of a long story - fasten your seat belts:
About 3 weeks ago I went to Mr. Lube. First they gave me a worse time for not changing my oil than the dental hygienist does for not flossing my teeth. "You know you're ruining the engine every time you drive blah blah whine whine". And THEN! They broke my dipstick. Snapped it right in half.
So the guy brings the broken handle to me and explains that the rest of it is still in my car. And then he spends maybe 5 minutes trying to extract it until finally just saying "Sorry, I can't get it out. You're gonna have to take it to a mechanic". To which I reply "Uhhhh . . . what . . ."
We look at each other awkwardly for a while until I finally say "How much is this gonna cost me?"
"$40 worth of labor" he replies
"So . . . I take my car to you to get the oil changed and now my car needs to go to the mechanic?"
"Well . . . I could keep trying . . ."
"Yes. Please keep trying!"
Two hours later (No really, I did sit in my car at Mr. Lube for 2 hours) they finally gave up trying to get it out. They promised to pay half of the mechanic's bill and I was just glad to be free! I figured $20 wasn't too bad to be out of pocket.
And it wouldn't have been. Except the mechanic charged me $200! AND he had to drain out all of the oil that Mr. Lube had so carefully topped up and charged me full price for. And to top it all off, he didn't have a new dipstick for me and would call when it was in. And when I didn't hear from him for another week I called him to demand my dipstick and he explained how he had "lost his phone" and so didn't have my number.
LIKELY STORY!
Two weeks later and I still do not have my dipstick. If I call, they say they'll be out of town for a week. If I drop by the following week, the shop is closed. And when I stopped by yesterday in my new cute haircut, I got a story about how they had just moved things around and the guy didn't know where it was, and the guy who did know where it was couldn't be reached and could he call me when he found it.
I think it goes without saying that I still don't have a dipstick.
But what makes this story even better is that after explaining my dipstick adventure to my boyfriend's parents - all dramatic and full of arm waving and can-you-believe-its - my father-in-law sheepishly admits that HE broke the dipstick the last time he changed the oil for us and that he had just glued it back together!
So the joke's on me! Or Mr. Lube. Or the mechanic? I guess it's not really a joke.
I just like to make things out of yarn
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Meetings And Odors
Meetings really interrupt my flow. Normally I'm up around 8:00 and I start crafting or blogging or photographing right away. I don't even bother getting dressed!
But on those days where I have to go to a meeting - I become very sloth-like. Sure I take the time to put clothes on, and I actually get outside for once, but once I return home I feel very disinclined to do any sort of work. Any sort of thing.
Today was a bit different. I went to my meeting. It was pretty much the same as it is every week. And then I came home 4 hours later, fully intending to waste the rest of the day. And not 6 seconds after opening the front door the smell hit me.
Fish.
It's surprising how much odor can escape one little styrofoam platter left in a garbage pail over night, but there it was. And my eyes watered.
Of course, a normal person would immediately dispose of the smelly trash. But I had just returned from a meeting!
And so I stood in the kitchen, pinching my nose shut and thinking - for a good 2-3 minutes - about whether I could tolerate the smell long enough for my boyfriend to get home and take the garbage out himself.
In the end, I did it myself. Not because the smell was really enough to overcome my laziness (very little is). And certainly not to be a good girlfriend. But because people judge you when they come home to realize you've been sitting in a stinky apartment all afternoon and only because you were too much of a bum to take a revolting sack of garbage down to the disposal.
And I really wasn't in the mood for judgment.
But on those days where I have to go to a meeting - I become very sloth-like. Sure I take the time to put clothes on, and I actually get outside for once, but once I return home I feel very disinclined to do any sort of work. Any sort of thing.
Today was a bit different. I went to my meeting. It was pretty much the same as it is every week. And then I came home 4 hours later, fully intending to waste the rest of the day. And not 6 seconds after opening the front door the smell hit me.
Fish.
It's surprising how much odor can escape one little styrofoam platter left in a garbage pail over night, but there it was. And my eyes watered.
Of course, a normal person would immediately dispose of the smelly trash. But I had just returned from a meeting!
And so I stood in the kitchen, pinching my nose shut and thinking - for a good 2-3 minutes - about whether I could tolerate the smell long enough for my boyfriend to get home and take the garbage out himself.
In the end, I did it myself. Not because the smell was really enough to overcome my laziness (very little is). And certainly not to be a good girlfriend. But because people judge you when they come home to realize you've been sitting in a stinky apartment all afternoon and only because you were too much of a bum to take a revolting sack of garbage down to the disposal.
And I really wasn't in the mood for judgment.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
I Totally Made These!
When I said I wasn't a good designer, that was partly a lie. I'm not a good designer - for the most part. I think designing something beautiful takes practice and requires spending a lot of time looking at other peoples' work to find inspiration and that isn't something I'm naturally good at. With all of the beautiful work on Etsy it is not hard to find inspiration, but practice is sometimes still elusive.
That said, I did come up with these bracelets all by myself!
Actually, I'm quite proud of them. I think they're original, and more importantly, beautiful. It was one of those projects that you think of just as you're falling asleep and then you stay up all night thinking about it and can't rest until you go out and buy your materials and start crafting. That doesn't happen to me very often.
Wait that's not really correct - it happens all the time. But usually, I buy the materials, start crafting and then I'm terribly disappointed with the end result. Not this time, though. These worked out just as I envisioned them.
Unfortunately, they don't seem to sell as well as the booties. Not that the booties are flying off the shelves, but they are a bit of a hit with all of my friends now that they're of child-rearing ages. I guess I just haven't quite figured out this marketing thing yet.
And yes. I always dreamed of being a hand model.
That said, I did come up with these bracelets all by myself!
Actually, I'm quite proud of them. I think they're original, and more importantly, beautiful. It was one of those projects that you think of just as you're falling asleep and then you stay up all night thinking about it and can't rest until you go out and buy your materials and start crafting. That doesn't happen to me very often.
Wait that's not really correct - it happens all the time. But usually, I buy the materials, start crafting and then I'm terribly disappointed with the end result. Not this time, though. These worked out just as I envisioned them.
Unfortunately, they don't seem to sell as well as the booties. Not that the booties are flying off the shelves, but they are a bit of a hit with all of my friends now that they're of child-rearing ages. I guess I just haven't quite figured out this marketing thing yet.
And yes. I always dreamed of being a hand model.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
The Art Of Lazy Mornings
I am having one of those lazy mornings.
You know the kind. Where you're slobbing around in your jammies thinking about what a wonderfully unproductive day you're going to have and suddenly the fire alarm goes off.
So you stand at the door peering through your peephole to see if any of your neighbors are escaping because hey, you don't want to be the only foolish clod standing in the courtyard in your flannels. And when 5 minutes have passed and nobody has left their apartment you decide to put your pants on just in case.
And then the ringing stops just as you do up your zipper and you sigh a sigh of relief.
But of course, now you're dressed. So you can't just do nothing.
So you start a bootie, or two:
And when you're done that pair . . .
You make another pair . . .
And then you excuse yourself from running because your iPod isn't charged. And write a blog post about wasting time.
And realize that it's no longer morning.
You know the kind. Where you're slobbing around in your jammies thinking about what a wonderfully unproductive day you're going to have and suddenly the fire alarm goes off.
So you stand at the door peering through your peephole to see if any of your neighbors are escaping because hey, you don't want to be the only foolish clod standing in the courtyard in your flannels. And when 5 minutes have passed and nobody has left their apartment you decide to put your pants on just in case.
And then the ringing stops just as you do up your zipper and you sigh a sigh of relief.
But of course, now you're dressed. So you can't just do nothing.
So you start a bootie, or two:
And when you're done that pair . . .
You make another pair . . .
And then you excuse yourself from running because your iPod isn't charged. And write a blog post about wasting time.
And realize that it's no longer morning.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Crafting The Perfect Awkward Moment
Ever wanted to be that party guest who makes everyone uncomfortable? Just follow my simple steps outlined below and you'll be on your way to social awkwardness mastery in no time.
1. Attend your dear friend's bridal shower and establish yourself as the life of the party. Make tasteful jokes and enjoy delightful conversation with the other guests. You should now be thinking "This is going really well. Everyone seems to like me and we're all having a really good time".
2. Now that all eyes are on you to provide the occasional funny quip or lighthearted jest, wait until the guest-of-honor starts to detail why she will be keeping her maiden name, while her children will have her husband's surname.
3. This is the crucial moment where you tell a room full of strangers about your parents' divorce and how horrible it was to grow up with a different last name than your own mother. Don't forget to provide a taste of reality by reminding the bride-to-be that the kids will probably live with her if she gets a divorce and wouldn't it be nice for the children not to have to change their name later in life when they come to resent their father for abandoning them and their mother.
4. Scan the room for awkward laughter and nervous hand wringing.
5. Excuse yourself to refresh your drink and enjoy the awkward moment you have created.
1. Attend your dear friend's bridal shower and establish yourself as the life of the party. Make tasteful jokes and enjoy delightful conversation with the other guests. You should now be thinking "This is going really well. Everyone seems to like me and we're all having a really good time".
2. Now that all eyes are on you to provide the occasional funny quip or lighthearted jest, wait until the guest-of-honor starts to detail why she will be keeping her maiden name, while her children will have her husband's surname.
3. This is the crucial moment where you tell a room full of strangers about your parents' divorce and how horrible it was to grow up with a different last name than your own mother. Don't forget to provide a taste of reality by reminding the bride-to-be that the kids will probably live with her if she gets a divorce and wouldn't it be nice for the children not to have to change their name later in life when they come to resent their father for abandoning them and their mother.
4. Scan the room for awkward laughter and nervous hand wringing.
5. Excuse yourself to refresh your drink and enjoy the awkward moment you have created.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Special Thanks To The Pointer Sisters
Another thing I'm good at is getting into and out of running. I've been into and out of running at least once this year - this past week marking "into running" number two for 2011.
This is all because we are heading to Maui in just under three weeks, and so while I have no delusions about obtaining any sort of bikini-ready body, I would like to be able to hike some volcanoes without collapsing.
And so while my boyfriend was quietly sleeping off the BMO Half Marathon, I went for a 3.17 Km run along the boardwalk. Yippee.
But it's better than nothing. And with the sun finally shining the boardwalk was buzzing with activity and the smell of the Fraser River was surprisingly pleasant - go figure.
And of course, I couldn't have done it without The Pointer Sisters and their valiant attempt to get me excited about running again.
This is all because we are heading to Maui in just under three weeks, and so while I have no delusions about obtaining any sort of bikini-ready body, I would like to be able to hike some volcanoes without collapsing.
And so while my boyfriend was quietly sleeping off the BMO Half Marathon, I went for a 3.17 Km run along the boardwalk. Yippee.
But it's better than nothing. And with the sun finally shining the boardwalk was buzzing with activity and the smell of the Fraser River was surprisingly pleasant - go figure.
And of course, I couldn't have done it without The Pointer Sisters and their valiant attempt to get me excited about running again.
Mediocrity's Mistress
So there are a lot of things I'm good at. I am pretty much an expert at recognizing an individual with Asperger Syndrome - in fact I find I have a really special connection with any person exhibiting significant difficulties in social interaction. It's a gift really.
I'm also getting really great at killing plants. I can see at least 2 dead or dying plants from my seat on the couch right this minute. And I know for a fact that there is a balcony full of plant skeletons and herbal remains just out of my line of sight.
I can ignore a mess for weeks or even months to the point where it ceases to be mess and becomes part of the decor.
I have a knack for purchasing items I will never use.
Need somebody to bring up the rear or come in dead last? I'm your man. Woman.
But every mediocrity needs to be good at something. Otherwise we would just be terribles. And what I'm really good at is making things with my hands. Design, not so much. But I can follow a pattern like nobody's business and I think that's really something to be proud of. I mean, there are plenty of people who can write music, but boy, to be able to read music? I think that shows real musicianship. And original artwork be damned - I'd like to see Picasso copy something.
So anyways, here I am with my talents trying to make something of myself - crocheting booties and beanies and warming hunks of Fimo under my bottom (because it makes it more pliable!). Not to mention an Etsy page with 1 sale in 2010 and a sad, sad Facebook page with a whopping 27 "likes".
So . . . Can I trade the dead plant thing for marketing whiz?
I'm also getting really great at killing plants. I can see at least 2 dead or dying plants from my seat on the couch right this minute. And I know for a fact that there is a balcony full of plant skeletons and herbal remains just out of my line of sight.
I can ignore a mess for weeks or even months to the point where it ceases to be mess and becomes part of the decor.
I have a knack for purchasing items I will never use.
Need somebody to bring up the rear or come in dead last? I'm your man. Woman.
But every mediocrity needs to be good at something. Otherwise we would just be terribles. And what I'm really good at is making things with my hands. Design, not so much. But I can follow a pattern like nobody's business and I think that's really something to be proud of. I mean, there are plenty of people who can write music, but boy, to be able to read music? I think that shows real musicianship. And original artwork be damned - I'd like to see Picasso copy something.
So anyways, here I am with my talents trying to make something of myself - crocheting booties and beanies and warming hunks of Fimo under my bottom (because it makes it more pliable!). Not to mention an Etsy page with 1 sale in 2010 and a sad, sad Facebook page with a whopping 27 "likes".
So . . . Can I trade the dead plant thing for marketing whiz?
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