And another thing...

Oh, and here's the photo of the bathroom floor about near done:



And here's a photo of the bathroom floor about near done with the toilet re-seated--I didn't do that part, the plumbers did, but I was kind of waiting on them before I did any more. Yayy! Near bathroom finishment! Hoorah!



And here's a photo of a silly little dog who doesn't like me to take her picture:

Blogging Bore Bears Brunt of Bestial Bonks

Sorry, I just wanted an alliterative headline. So, I took off another weekend to go loaf around Austin, but I swear it's the last time. This month. By which I mean August, because Ozzmodiar rocked the pants off Houston. Everything was exactly right, the sound was perfect and they were so on it hurt, such a good show I was mesmerized, but there was almost no one there. Including you, Matthew. You're in serious trouble, bro. Run. Hide. Weep.

And they're playing the Rhythm Room again September 30th, opening for Hairy Apes BMX, who are so well known around Austin that I've actually heard of them, and I'm really excited to see Ozzmodiar that good again with a decent crowd.

Ozzmodiar weekend!

Ozzmodiar is playing Houston tomorrow and I'm going to see them, which is extra-awesome because my friend Matthew from there is going to go too and see them for the first time, and he knows Jess and they haven't seen each other in forever. Yayyy! Plus around 5 or 6 pm they're going to be on KTRU and do two songs. Listen!! Listen!! Or I'll kick you in the nads. Then sometime after ten they'll be at Rhythm Room. You better show. I won't buy you a beer, but I will drink yours while you're in the can. And I'll be nice to you until I get drunk.

So, I've been disgusting lately and I pledge to stop

Because, frankly, a normal period after 4 months of irregularity of the worst kind, kind of heals you, man. So I'm totally happy, completely sloshed, and about to go chase raccoons off of my carport. Hey, fuck you, it isn't your carport.

I've finished a huge amount of the bathroom, but he picture I have to give you is a week old. My favorite thing about pictures of the floor is that there's always a huge jumbled mishmash of tools somewhere in each one. Yes, I really am that messy and disjointed, and yes, I do still have all of my fingers, but that amazes me every time I unplug the saw. So here it is, the floor and the new parts of the tub surround frame:

Ta daaaaaahhh! Tomorrow I'll post a picture of the floor done within an inch of the doorjamb and the tubsurround done. So there!

So I'm having my first normal period in 4 months,

and that should be enough to chase you all away. But I actually am, and I'm really happy about it, although physically I've seldom been more miserable. Avid readers will remember that I've been having some "lady trouble" consisting of (upsetting phrase warning) weird bleeding patterns that led me to rashly state I was having my uterus removed at the earliest convienence, as I had forgotten that this neccesitated surgery, which I won't undergo for freaky reasons of my own. Or for that matter, going to see the "lady" doctor, which I'm almost as averse to as I am to sharks. So I'm (upsetting phrase warning) totally stoked that I'm having a normal (for me) period this time. Well, slightly on the "uncomfortable" end of normal-for-me, anyway. Usually when I have cramps, they make my....my female area?...my...aw, hell, my vulva hurt like the dickens, and I had two days of the near-worst cramps I've ever had (which pale in comparison to some my friends have told me about) before I ever started, followed by two more days of cramps while the whole process took effect. For my sensitive readers, let's just say that a whole box of "Wounded Knee" size tampons have gone to meet their maker. And it's given no sign of stopping yet. But I will put up with anything to not have to consider getting fixed. So I'm happy. Plus the cramping stopped, so I no longer feel like my vulva is about to fall off. Yaaayyyy!

Spanking hot new floor photo

Yayyy! I can't wait until it's done! I've got everything I need to finish it, I just have to get in there and do it. I'm making templates to cut the rest of the Pergo floor planks tonite, until I get too drunk, and then tomorrow I'm putting them all in (everything that's down now is glued in place), gluing them together, putting down the quarter-round trim, facing the tub surround and trimming that up, and TA-DA! I'm done. Mom called the plumber and asked him to come re-seat the toilet Friday or Monday, so I've got to at least have the trim down on the window wall by then. I'm so excited I could spit! Yayy!

Uhhhhhhhhhgggg, the Olympics.

I'm so tired of it. I was so tired of it before it even started. I hate all people in multicolored, flag-themed spandex. I wish they only staged them every 40 years. Except then there'd be even more hype. I mean, I know a lot of people love it, and I know they must have a good reason, but I can't fathom it. I don't hate people who like the Olympics, I just can't stand the thing itself.

Earlier I was situationally forced to watch Synchronized Diving. Synchronized. Diving. Did you know that a mistake made in a Synchronized Diving event doesn't count against the team if they both make the same error at the same time? Cause I do, now. I can never un-know it and that spot in my brain is forever used up.

Even the events I don't find completely unsufferable make me insane. I hate all swimming events. They drive me up the wall. I get so tired watching them. And the way the fans yell encouragement just when the contestant's head is above water. That is so cute I just want to disembowel myself.

I can't stand field and track. I think I could get behind the foot races if something was chasing them. "The Gold, Silver and Tinfoil medals go to Ghana, Zimbabwe and U.S.A., unfortunately the French contestant was devoured by the cougar." So even if you don't win a medal, you can say, "Hey, I was faster than that guy. Hey, can I have his shoes? Oh, excuse me, shoe."

Here's the other thing I can't stand: In gymnastics, everybody loves the floor excersizes. To the point that I heard my godmother the other day talking about how the uneven bars were soooo boring. Because she wanted to see all of the fucking-cunt-waving-a-streamer-on-a-stick game. As if the streamer bitch could ever even think about doing the uneven bars.

I think they should be restricted to the original games played in ancient Greece. The only thing I do like about the Olympics is the whole sentiment of "let us put aside our differences and come together as people to compete athletically, leaving our national quarrels and differences outside the arena. I like the idea of ancient peoples leaving their grudges outside and then coming in and throwing javelins around. You know, just like we do today.

I mean, please. I think I'll come up with my own Olympics Drinking Game, tho. Something along the lines of, Every time someone says, "He(she) stuck the landing!" you lock yourself in your bathroom with a twelve pack and a cube of hash.

meat cushion

As if anyone bothered to read this blog (I know some people do, thanks for your imput, sorry) much less read my Myspace blog, they might be a little concerned that I've been duplicating entries for the both of them lately. But if you read both you'll know that I've: A) been ill recently and B) gone back to the second-oldest profession, babysitting. Both of which cut down on my middle-of-the-day-between-naps blogging time. So you're lucky I have the time to think of one, much less copy-paste it to both.

So, yesterday I babysat. Which is something I do sometimes to support my crack-cocaine-and-snuff-films habit. The kid is two, she is recently potty-trained and pre-verbal, and she's a fucking annoy-o-matic machine that does not require coins to dispense. Aw, shut up, you know I feel all the mushy hormonal feelings for her. Whatever, I like to smell her hair, I feel all swoopy when she hugs me, just in a detached, cynical way. My ovaries never throb when I'm near her because (and this is key) I have to take care of her. And take responsibility for her actions when she's with me and when she's not, because I take a hand in raising her and I want her to be a good person. Or at least better than me.

Additionally, I was seriously hungover when she arrived. Usually when she shows up, I have been awake for about an hour, have spent some quality time with my cat, have gotten dressed and have brushed the applicable parts of my anatomy, have had some coffee and have gone to the can. So yesterday morning, when she arrived, I was hungover, sick and still asleep. So I wake up snorting snot, with my head pounding, naked sprawled on the bed in my room (which NO ONE is allowed to enter, ever, without my permission because right now I live with my folks) to see my mom and the sit-ee standing over me wanting to know where I keep my copy of the Lion King. And I managed not to say a bad word. I said, "I'm getting up right now. I'm finding Lion King as we speak." And I sat up and wound the sheet around me as they left, and I sat on my cat. Who is 11 and not that good-natured. Then I got dressed, and (head still pounding, snot still snorting) staggered from my room with my hair in a tornado and my teeth pretending they had just been unearthed from the ruins of the Titanic, to find the Lion King. And get a cup of fucking coffee. And take a shit. Which I did not ever manage to do in the 7 hours she was there. Other things I didn't manage to do which would have been advisable after drinking 2 24-oz beers and several shots: drink a gallon of water; eat food; go to rehab. We watched Brother Bear 4 times and Babe once. I cried every time Kenai chose to (spoiler alert!) remain a bear and when the Boss said, "That'll do, pig, that'll do" and when the piglets were nursing and their mom got taken away, and when the sheep told Rex the password. I cried every time the music swelled meaningfully or a significant look was passed in the commmercials we watched while Brother Bear was rewinding. I was a horrible babysitter for once, and we barely went to the park for only an hour, and I sweated pure alcohol the whole time. Then, instead of playing in the yard with the ball or the sprinkler or the bubble machine, or going to the miniature donkey and goats farm or the library or the indoor mini-golf-course-and-soda-fountain, we watched Brother Bear one more time while I slept fitfully on the couch. With the screendoor locked. The only alternative was to chase her out into the street.

Although I must say, she went to the bathroom twice all by herself without prompting, and she ate without my help, beyond actually preparing the food, and she was very chill about my need to lie down no matter what activity we were attempting. She did only a very short stint of jumping-up-and-down-while-screaming, and she was respectful of my boundaries after I farted on her for sitting on me and put her in a 5 minute time out for yelling in my face. Possibly the fact that I kind of fainted after putting her in time out helped.

So, today was better. Exept I'm getting drunk again, but there is no chance I'll have to babysit tomorrow, only a pretty certain chance I'll be working with power tools all day. Yessss!

Watch out...

Here's a creepy poem/prose item I found packed away with some art supplies from the last time I moved (a year and a half or so ago):

Momma always said, "It's no extra trouble" to indicate that you should stay for whatever was happening when you dropped by, or "Since I've already gone to the trouble..." when things didn't turn out as planned but one might as well take advantage of the preparations.

As though things inherently hold a particular amount of trouble, which begets a finite amount of benefit, which must be used up.

But make no mistake, I will put you to extra trouble, from which you'll find no way of making the best of things.

The way of your voice, and the way of my listening to it, set off loud and insistent songs of words in my head to which you'll never listen.

No amount of trouble will translate my intentions, my thoughts, my understanding to your crowded brain. Oh, but there will be trouble.

I've crawled through snakes and stones to find you, but you are not the snakes, or the stones, nor are you at their center.

You are no nearer, though I can still hear your voice through the clanging response of my mind, of my heart, of my body.

Here I sit. Snake, stone, me, snake, stone, wondering if it was you I craved, or the answering echo of my incommunicable thoughts that sounds every time you open your mouth.

Perhaps I never even wanted you, but since I've gone to the trouble already...it's no extra trouble to plague you, anyway.

I'm sick

No, not like that, I mean I'm physically ill. Okay, you're right, I'm sick in the head also. But that's not what this post is about. Since about Sunday I've been sort of run down and sniffly and my throat is a little swollen and tender. It doesn't hurt to swallow, at least not yet. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I think it's not serious like strep or anything. The shittiest part is that when I get up in the morning, I feel just bad enough to lay in bed all day, but no worse. Not bad enough to sleep all day, not bad enough to baby myself and demand to be waited upon, not bad enough to guzzle sprite and sherbet and nyquil. Then I take a theraflu and I feel good enough to be up, but no better. Not good enough to work or have fun or interact with anyone not sick. Just good enough to sit on the couch all day and drink warm things and lots of water. I can't fucking stand it. Although I've been reading a lot and I'm within 6 inches of finishing my Shapely Tank. Yayyyy! I nearly cried with relief when I got to the underarm bindoffs. I'm not having a hard time with the pattern like lots of people on the Shapely-along, I'm just fucking tired of this damn shirt. I should have taken it with me on my many vacations this summer and it would be done by now. I could have been wearing it all this time! Dammit. But, I'm really excited about finishing it and hitting Knitty's Techniques with Theresa to use her instructions on mattress stitch finishing. I know, it's pathetic to be excited about sewing something up. And that's really the part I'm excited about, I mean, I'm excited about wearing it and putting up pictures of it done and everything, but mostly I can't wait to do the mattress stitch perfectly and watch the seams vanish and...oh, hell. If you are a dork like me, you already understand, and if you aren't you never will. Anyway, that's my post for today. Sorry I've been so lax in posting, I swear I'll do better. Kisses!

I drove into Houston tonite to see Ozzmodiar and they rocked. They played at the Rythm Room on Washington Ave. and you should have been there. Really, you should have. There weren't near enough people. I really enjoyed the show and, despite the self-critiques each member gave themselves afterwards, they really did do well. Plus, as the 'groupie' who had travelled the farthest to see them play, I got to operate the video camera.

Hey, speaking of me driving an hour and a half to see them, what happened to the Houstonian friends I called to meet me there? You guys suck! (Does not apply to the members of the myspace group I messaged last night...just the personal friends I called and told the address, phone number and website of the club, and Ozzmodiar's website to download music from, plus leaving my number in case they needed a ride.)

Anyway, I had to go because I've never seen them in Houston, plus yesterday was the birthday of my favorite member, who has been my best friend for these past many years. She needed cookies and a hand-made birthday card. She just did. I also bought her a beer, but right after that I ran out of money and she bought me a beer, so that didn't work so well. Anyway, it was a great night, there was no traffic and the directions I printed out from Rhythm Room's website were perfect. I even managed to reverse them successfully. Yayy! I had a great night.

Here's a photo from my floor building session I forgot to include last time. Sometimes hours of manual labor in a small, airless room can make you feel funny.

I worked on the floor again yesterday. I found out when I got home that someone gave mom 5 boxes of Pergo floating floor, so I get to sand the bathroom floor and put that down. So there will be more pictures, of course. And lots of beer. I was going to work on it today, but mom wanted to go waste the whole day at the mall picking out a new flatscreen, $250, 27" tv. I guess putting roofies in her food is working.

I fixed the gaps around the pipes with expandable foam insulation, which is a lot of fun. If you don't belive me, ask Rob Cockerham. I didn't have enough left to make anything much, but I formed it into a sort of an egg shape and saved it for when inspiration strikes. Oh, yeah, and I got it all over me, because that is what I do. I think I look a little like a zombie in this picture:

I'm back

I was away being kidnapped for my own good in Austin for two really unexpected weeks. (Who really expects to be kidnapped, tho?) Anyway, I was having too much fun to blog. Plus I was using someone else's computer and that creeps me out. Because I'm neurotic. It's a whole different computer, man. Ick. Anyway, here I am back and you've got to read this recent article by Paul Ford. More later. I've been working on the floor, so, more exciting pictures of...the floor.

I'm prob'ly gonna die...

Oh, my, God!




When I moved home over a year ago now, I was presented with the front three rooms in my parents' house:  a bedroom, an extraneous "Living area" and an extra bathroom.  The house has a living room/dining room combo, a kitchen, bathroom, back hall, laundry room and two bedrooms besides.  They rent.  The town has 10,000 people at a generous estimate.  The folks think they're getting robbed for rent, and I bet you pay more in car insurance.  Small towns. 
 
Anyway, about me dying.  When I first moved in, my mom explained that the toilet in 'my' bathroom was non-functional because of the amusing tendancy old houses have of shifting and letting the toilet leak, which rots the wood floor under the toilet, which allows the toilet to lean alarmingly when you sit it, which allows it to leak more, which will most likely end in the non-amusing tableau of you, drunk off your ass, sitting under your house with a toilet in your lap.  Didn't happen to me, but could have if I hadn't been so vigilant.  (In this case vigilance consists of piling millions of lightweight but bulky items on the toilet in an effort to conceal it from my drunk self...it worked.)  Anyway, mom kept putting it in upbeat terms, letting me know that the two of us could easily replace the 3 foot square of wood flooring in question and have the toilet reseated and make it functional again.  And I'm a reasonable girl, I've built things before, so I thought, what the hell?  We could do it. 
But we didn't.  And we didn't and didn't and didn't.  It started to have the feel of one of those fairy tale quests, something you've always meant to do, but haven't.  Then I got a babysitting job for tomorrow, and I haven't drank or smoked or (here's the really important part) slept for about a week, and I'm wanting to go to Austin with my babysitting money, and mom kept saying, "Maybe we'll do it this weekend."  So I did it today.  That's right, I replaced floor.  It took me all damn day (since I apparently don't sleep anymore, I got up at 9am because I was bored.)--about 12 hours, minus however long it took me to go to the library and the hardware store and the grocery store (I got beer, because, dammit, people who replace floors get beer) and the lumber yard and the hardware store and the lumber yard.  I took multiple breaks to keep from plunging the cordless screwdriver into my pumping heart, and I took an hour break to read a few chapters of Eats, Shoots and Leaves (I'm still laughing--read this book, you'll love it) and eat dinner, and I'm done.  Okay, tomorrow sometime I have to snug up the boards and screw them to the floor joists (shut up), but I tore an enormous hole in the floor of my house at approximately 10am today and it is now completely covered up.  I rock.  Pictures are eminent, as soon as I stop weeping...I pulled every muscle I own.  Apparently there is a difference between "working" and "not working" and now I know what it is.

If you love God...

do NOT go visit The Brick Testament and especially not the naughty bits. (They've got an "N" for nudity or "S" for sex marker) The site is apparently staged and shot by this athiest who would like to destroy the faith of all true Christians by simply showing them what the Bible actually says. Check it out. Who knew that Legoman sex could be soooooo hot? Okay, yeah, me. Sorry.

My CafePress store is back up and running...

Here, so run go look at my weird designs. Or somthing. Yayyy! I took it down a while back because I hated all the designs and I wasn't making any money, and I'd foolishly started paying for a premium site after my first (and only) sale. And I thought I deleted all the designs and I was too lazy to make more or re-make those, so I wasn't hurrying to put it back up. Good thing they kept sending me e-mails about their new items, or I'd never have logged in on a whim and seen all my stuff still sitting there...anyway, it'll get more interesting when I get around to going down to the library to use the scanner and put some of my actual hand-drawn stuff in, rather than just crap I made on some imaging software...also, ignore my horrible banner at the top for now...I haven't figured out Ability Draw yet. Enjoy! P.S. once you've had your fill of my stuff, wander around. There's a lot of dreck, but I've found some seriously cute stuff on there I've sworn to buy if I ever sell anything...

Martha Stewart is my bitch.

That's right, it's a Martha Stewart prison joke. Months and months too late, and in poor taste as well. Take it, bitch, take it all. You know you love it.

Phhhhhhtt. Sorry. Anyway, the reason Martha's my bitch is this:
   
   
   

So basically, I rock. I'm a domestic goddess and no one can resist my insanely good cooking. Oh, yeah, Martha? Here's two upside-down cakes I've made recently:
   

Old-fashioned, even, with poundcake cake from scratch and made in a skillet my great-great-grandma brought from Illinois in a covered wagon. And fresh pineapple, cherries, and peaches. Okay, okay, the fruit was canned. But the rest of it is true! So, Martha, what you got?

Go like this: Weeeeee!

Weeeeee!

Rarrrrrrrrggghhhggghhh!

        
I knitted a yeti finger puppet, that's right, and I'll do it again if I have to! Don't make me do it! Don't make me! Why are you prejudiced against yeti?
Yes, as you can tell, I'm fooling around and goofing off and not knitting anything I said I would. I'm knitting finger puppets and swatches of new patterns, and weird stuffed cats, basically just being a dork. I promise I'm going to finish the tank this week, though and cast on either Bella's thing or Jessica's...so, pictures soon of authorized projects, or else no ice cream for a week!

Knitting Rock-Along news

My tiny candy pink knit jolly roger is up! It's the last picture at the bottom of the page, the link is over there in the sidebar under knitting, under "knit-alongs." The page explains exactly what a rock-along is and there are super cool pictures of what everyone else did. I'm going to get going on the project for my niece Bella soon so that can go up, as well. I can't tell exactly what it is, cause it's a secret, but it includes a rock-along design, a pocket, and an ultra special secret-secret component too secret to name here. Also, the new Knitty is out! Yayyy! And you will want to see it, because everyone has rocked and rolled and produced the sexiest designs they can stand, including the designer from White Lies Design, and remember, Knitty designs are free! I can't wait to point Jess here so she can pick out the pattern for her super secret surprise bikini or halter top, 'cause I think there'll be one there she'll like.

And now, totally negating my rock-along wannabe coolness, shots of my latest project, the dread knitted kitty from Woolworks:

Don't worry, I'm heading right over to Knitty and making myself a corset or something.

Irony.

I don't have any knitting stuff to talk about because I've been too busy reading about knitting online to actually do any knitting. Well, I finished knitting the body of that kitty I was talking about, despite the fact that the instructions just sort of peter out around the nose and the rest of it is vaguer than my resume cover letter. I just cast on the tail and am about 1/3 of the way down it...I'd show you pictures but the computer and camera aren't speaking. I've moved the cable to different ports, I've done every troubleshoot in the little book it came with...yesterday the computer just arbitrarily decided that the camera is "D drive" and the cd is now "E drive." Although that might have been my fault, I was mucking around with the booklet and it said to try switching the cam to "mass storage." And sometimes when I take the camera out of the cradle and put it back in, everything works like a charm. But not often and not right now. I'm losing my mind trying to figure it out, but right now I'm too fucking tired to bother about it. Anyway, the Tank is kind of stalled, definite second-sock-syndrome going on, it has taken me 4 days to get most of the way through the "knit 14 rows even" at the waist. I can't remember whether I posted the last pics here or the Shapely Blog, but I've progressed about an inch since then. It's really hot and sweaty. I mowed most of the back yard and baked a cake this weekend. More on the cake when I can actually get to my pictures. I made banana pudding, which I would never voluntarily waste my time on, but which my mom loves. The cat wants me to go to bed, and I think I will...good night, good night...

Mr. Yuck advises you not to read ahead...

Remember Mr. Yuck? He would come to your school and give you lots of acid green stickers with a yucchy face on them for mom to put on all the toxic substances in the house, to help you remember not to drink them. This is kind of like that, only in blog form.
See, what happened is, about three weeks ago I was at my friend Jessica's house, and I had been at my grandma's house for a couple weeks before that, and I started spotting. I spotted for about a week, including the last few days I was at grandma's, and the whole 6 days I was at Jessica's. Then I had a regular (for me) 4 day period. Which led me to belive I was starting menopause (at 27, no less, it has happened to my kin before) and I should immediately have my uterus removed. Then I forgot about it. Figured it was a normal deviation and nothing would come of it. I mean, I've had irregular periods nearly every month since I was 11.
Then, three days ago, I started spotting again. And I'm still spotting. I'm talking incredibly heavy flow for oh, 2 minutes. With cramping. Then nothing for 6 hours. And repeat. For 7 days. Plus a regular/heavy 4 day normal period. So e-mail me now with your donation pledge to the "Remove Kellye's Uterus" fund, because I'm not putting up with this shit too much longer.