Elevenopus?

I proclaimed 2012 is the Year of Crappy Crafts and I am determined not to disappoint the reader(s) of this blog.

Now I know it's March and I'm finally posting about a completed craft, but you can't rush art people! Art has to flow organically --- and there can't be anything good on tv to distract me.  I also needed a little nudge in the form of a deadline, which turned out to be my friend's birthday, which I blew by a week...........but it's the thought that counts.  Right?

So I bought this book earlier this year and boy oh boy is it full of crap!  I mean that sincerely.

Since my friend loves crap and octopuses I decided to have a go at this lil guy.  He is called Baby Oscar.  Looks easy right?

Well......it took me a few tries to get it just right because I am a perfectionist when it comes to crap.  There are two pages of instructions for crying out loud! Two pages is a lot of pressure!  I'm sure anyone with a brain could figure it out just by looking at the picture.  *face palm*

To make this Merry Monster you're supposed to wrap yarn around a piece of 13" cardboard 60 times, then tie the top off, drape the yarn over a styrofoam ball (you know how I love me a styrofoam ball), tie it off below the ball, cut the looped ends and braid the arms.

First, I had to use way more yarn than the directions called for.  It took me two tries just to get the thickness right.  There were too many bald spots on Baby's head for my liking.  Then the directions said to braid eleven arms.

Eleven arms?

On an octopus?

These things are called octo___

____gon

____mom

____pus

I also ended up wrapping the yarn around a 16" piece of cardboard instead of 13" because the arms turned out stumpy.  I finally got the body right and it was so cute I decided Oscar must be girl so I gave her a bouffant and pretty eyelashes.

And EIGHT legs.

Perhaps I should try the Terry Loincloth next.  Great gifts for the men in my life dontcha think?

Merry Christmas Dad.  Have a gay time.

The Beaded Ornament: A Cautionary Tale

I am not a crafty person but I LOVE them and the kitschier the better.  Do you remember beaded ornaments from the 50s & 60s?

See how ornate the plastic beads are?  Classy.

I figured I could do this.  It's just sticking pins in a styrofoam ball.  Easy!  

Oh no, it was not easy.  First I will remind you that I am NOT a crafty person.  I also have the patience of a two year old, so when obstacles arise I tend to swear and air kick and punch.  And let me tell you, there was plenty of swearing and punchin and kickin during the making of my beaded ornament.

The project started off badly to begin with.  I have a big Christmas tree.  It's 12 feet tall so I wanted a big ornament.  Go big or go home right?  Yeah, so big ass styrofoam balls are EXPENSIVE!   I figured about four of five ornaments would look well balanced on the tree but it costs around five bucks per ball and I hadn't even bought the beads and sequins yet.  Holy crap was the some foreshadowing of doom.  

So I get the ball and a crap load of beads and sequins along with a box of straight pins and get to work.  I gave myself a month for this project.  (Not crafty remember?)  I set up my work station at the kitchen table and turned on the soft rock of the 70's Pandora radio station.  Crafting to 70's soft rock is the only way to craft and nothing annoys the neighbor who allows their dog to bark incessantly than England Dan and John Ford Coley blaring at top volume. 

My work station. 

Now, when setting up your work station and you're using tiny supplies like beads and sequins you should use a towel.  That way things wont roll around and fall on the floor and be eaten by your dog.  You should probably NOT use a towel that is the same color as the tiny beads and sequins.  

I also recommend having a thimble if you are making a beaded ornament.  I didn't have one for the first half of this craft and pushing those pins into the ball hurts like mutha!

Remember how I told you the cost of these styrofoam balls should have been a sign that this project wasn't going to go smoothly?  Well, half way through is where everything started plummeting into a death spiral.  

First, I ran out of beads.  When I went to Hobby Lobby (I love/hate this store) they were out of them.  OUT OF THEM!  Air punch.  Air kick.  A week later I went back and thankfully they were back in stock.  I made sure I bought the same color and matched the manufacturer's number too.  I was thinking ahead!  Got home and the beads were a different color. I mean VERY off.  Air punch. Air kick.  Swearing.

I said to myself, "screw it.  I'm using the damn beads."  Until I ran out of pins.  I had some straight pins in my sewing kit I could use.  Sweet!  No.  The heads of the pins went all the way through the beads.  The swearing coming from my house could be heard for miles.

By the time I finished the damn thing, it had taken a month, several trips to Hobby Lobby and I had lost all feeling in the tip of my index finger.  I was relieved to say the least, until I tried to hang it on the tree.  Because I beaded the ENTIRE thing, it was heavy.  Like a half pound.  LITERALLY!  I had to wedge it in a branch to hold the weight.  I am an idiot.

The finished product.  Can also be used as a weapon.

If you plan on making a beaded Christmas ornament, do the opposite of everything I did.  I'm sure it'll turn out beautiful.  

I don't know if I'll be making an other ornament but I am dubbing 2012 My Year of Crafts.  My next project will be a macrame owl so stick around, it could get interesting.  

Extraterrestrial Utensils

Here's my take on the Studio 30 writing prompt "Childhood Dreams":

When I was a kid I had a reoccurring dream that I was abducted by aliens and taken prisoner aboard the mother ship.  I remember waking up on a hard stainless steel table, drugged into a false sense of contentment, and staring up at a vast ceiling covered in neon blues and greens.

I was subjected to gruesome experiments......a hole was bored into my skull and thoughts were extracted by translucent aliens with bulbous heads atop skeletal bodies.  Don't ask me what sort of thoughts they were interested in from a fourteen year old.  All I was thinking about at that age was River Phoenix and if a boy would ever french kiss me.  After the strange beings were finished probing my gray matter, they stuck a fork in my head to keep my brain intact.

Evil little bastard!

I jerked into consciousness as soon as the fork was inserted.  I knew had to escape before a more thorough probing ensued, as in, other orifices.  In a panic I leapt from the examining table and ran.  The aliens followed in quick pursuit.  Somehow I found my way through the labyrinth of corridors on the spaceship and miraculously ended up back in my bed at home.

I had to go to school the next day with a fork sticking out of the side of my head.  Everyone stared at me and asked me why I had a fork sticking out of my head.  One kid even tried to pull it out.  I totally freaked, screaming that if they pulled the fork out, I'd die.  My brains would fall out and I would LITERALLY DIE!  I had to live the rest of my life with a fork in my head.

I await your analysis.


*illustration by Lee from Lee Blogs and Drinks Pogs

Damn I'm sexy!

So I go to the doctor's office yesterday for what I assumed would be a quickie meeting to find out some lab results. Naturally, I dressed for comfort.

Mistake.

I hadn't counted on the doctor checking my vitals including listening to my lungs.

When the doctor lifted my shirt in the back to hear my lungs wheeze she got a gander at the mint green granny panties that rose about six inches above the waist band of my low rise jeans.

Don't judge.

They're comfortable. And they're coming back in fashion.

Maybe.

Can you scoot down a little....a little more....more.....

Having to visit the gynecologist's office is no fun. My doctor tries to make it fun by decking out each exam room in their own classic television show theme.

Recently I've had to spend a lot of time at the gyno's office due to some malfunctioning lady bits and with each visit, the only thing I look forward to, is which room I'll be in.

Exam Room 1:

I had my initial exam in The Seinfeld Room.

After I assumed the position with my feet in the stirrups and the speculum was in place I looked at the wall opposite the exam table in an attempt to find my happy place and saw this:

A framed and autographed 8X10 glossy of The Soup Nazi staring at me.

Awkward and creepy is exactly what a woman needs to relax during a pelvic exam.

No soup for me!

Exam Room 2:

I had to meet the doctor the next day to review some ultrasound results in The Love Boat Room. The framed photo of Gopher was somehow comforting.

It must be the eyes.

Exam Room 3:

Today I met with the doctor to review some lab results and I couldn't believe my eyes when the nurse led me to the....................wait for it......................Candid Camera Room! WHAAAATT???

I can't make this shit up people. I took a picture:

If Allen Funt's pervy ghost was watching, he didn't get to see much cuz I got to keep my clothes on.

What do you think the next room I see will be? I'm hoping for Leave it to Beaver. (makes sense)

Whatchu talkin' bout Hillary Clinton?

Satan called the other day to complain about my septic system.

He informed me in a deep, garbled, ominous voice that he and the Department of Agriculture are working together in an effort to put an end to poorly maintained leach fields within the county.

As you can imagine I was a little taken aback. It isn't every day I get a phone call from Hell (unless collection agencies are located in Hell - which, they probably are.) I stopped listening to what he was saying after the first sentence, same as when collectors call, then I quickly hung up. The Devil and collectors can't get you if you hang up within 45 seconds. It's a fact.

At first I thought it was a joke. I'm pretty sure the possessed girl who lives across the street, Alexis, could have been prank calling me since she HATES me.

One morning when I dropped the kids off at school for carpool I said, "Have a good day." which prompted a glare of pure evil from Alexis.....then her head spun completely around and she projectile vomited Cap'n Crunch right in my FACE!

Ok maybe her head didn't spin around and maybe she didn't puke, but that eight year old kid did glare at me like she wanted me dead and knew exactly how to do it without witnesses and minimal blood splatter.

It was exactly like this cept Alexis is white and I'm not Hillary Clinton.

Where was I....oh yeah, The Devil. Now, I suppose he has a point. I never thought about Hell being bothered by a little raw sewage, but it appears as though shit does indeed, roll downhill. Now that I think about it, I'm surprised the residents noticed at all. Isn't Hell supposed to be unpleasant? *shrug* Who knows. I guess even The Devil has his limits and having someone else's poop flood your home is pretty damn gross. I think I'd rather be burned alive. (Satan, if you're listening, that is not an invitation)

*The inner workings of a septic tank.

Then it dawned on me. I don't even have a septic system! This wasn't a direct line from Hades to my home phone at all. It was just a malfunctioning automated message from the county that sounded like Satan, not Satan himself(although some would beg to differ).....my tax dollars at work.


*Thanks to Lee from Lee Blogs and Drinks Pogs for the illustration.

Love Means Never Having To Say You're Sorry

I used my husband's battery operated sideburn trimmer without permission to shave my pubes and accidentally dropped it in the toilet.

Naturally, I panicked, snatched it out of the water as quickly as possible and preformed the "on/off, on/off" test to make sure it still worked.  YES!  Still works.

Totally embarrassed and afraid of getting in trouble (I spontaneously regress to age five when faced with awkward situations), I did the first thing that came to mind - I hid the trimmer in the bottom drawer of my vanity under a box of tampons.

The other day, I walked in on him shaving his sideburns....with the razor.

I still feel bad about not telling him.  I think I'm going to buy him a new one for Christmas.