Monday, June 30, 2008

'let's drive to the beach, no one will be there!'

friday night me and eli figured, hey, it's 34C (ie HOT), let's go to the beach and watch the sunset. we packed up sam and our beach belongings and was great. just us and a stormy hot sky. while we were making sand castles, it became apparent that the flies were going to be an issue. flies are assholes... yup, they are. they wreck nice things. think of the last time a fly DIDN'T bother you. whether it's on you or a turd, you wish it would go away.look closely at the poor, poor beach bag:the little bastards bite. hard. i couldn't keep them off of me. i thought, maybe i should be wet so i got all wet. nope. okay, i need to be sandy! sand will keep them off my skin, so i rolled in sand, abraisive yet no relief from the flies. FINE. oh wait! i accidentally brought bug spray with us (don't ask). um, no they love the smell. WHAT IF I SPRAY THE BUG SPRAY ON THEIR FACES? they fall off, and then get back up and bite me.

i couldn't stand still. i had to keep moving like i had to pee or something. why they didn't bite sam or eli, i'll never know. the two of them had SO MUCH FUN... while i sat there and slapped myself all over. eli finally accepted that the flies could keep up with me while i RAN and were eating the crap out of me. time to go. sam was SO mad. we got into the car SO fast, because literally if you opened the car door, FLIES CRAMMED IN to eat you (me). after we got over that obstacle, we began the trip home. now, the beach we go to is in a provincial park that both eli and i have been going to for the last, oh... 17 years. there is NO reason for us to have a difficult time finding the highway. especially when there are signs, like this one. see... shopping carts, 1km, highway, 4km.i only took a picture of this sign, because i swear to you, we drove by it 7 times. in different directions... all in the span of the 1.5 hours it took us to find our way out of the park. ugh.

when we got home at 11pm, i had to put my sleeping child into a bath to get the e. coli from the polluted lake beach off of him, not to mention the sand out of his bum.

i mean, for me, this trip was a little bonkers, but sam and eli had fun and so i guess i did too. anyway, moral of the story, don't try to be cute and go to the beach when no one else is there, there is A REASON WHY NO ONE ELSE WANTS TO BE THERE.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

warning, i am insanely angry/distrubed...

To the parents of the 6pm class children at The Little Gym,

1. Um, shut the hell UP, please. Your incessant talking at an above 'inside voice' level in the hopes that we'll listen to your inane bullshit and perhaps jump-in is making me want to toss a chair at you. You're not interesting, you're irritating. I just want to watch my son have fun, not learn about your son's poo consistency.

2. Someone should say this to you and I'm going to take one for the team: You are raising CRIMINALS. WHY do you make excuses when your sons are pulling the teacher's hair and sticking their faces in her crotch and breastal region or smacking her across the face with the mooshy ball. Why do you LAUGH? 'Boys will be boys', really? You're making me die. Good lord, parents... do you realize in 10 years you'll be making excuses for why they stole a car hopped up on meth and raped a girl? Seriously, control them while they are 3' tall. Seriously.

3. I didn't want to go here, but, WHAT ARE YOU WEARING? I know you've given up on sex, that's infinitely apparent by how you and your cell-phone addicted husband are interacting, but you really don't care that you are wearing a big sign that says "don't pay attention to me" on your chest? Holy crap, I hope to never, EVER see someone wearing head-to-toe red gingham and knit with "i just can't wear those heels anymore because I'm on the go with my boys, but these are kinda neat with the velcro, don't you think?" shoes again.

4. Sweetheart, your children are not going to the olympics. Neither is mine, NONE of them are. It's for FUN, and if you discuss any of your childrens' actions using gymnastic jargon again, I'm calling Bela Karolyi and telling. If you want your child to be an olympic gymnast, you might want to enrol in private classes with a trainer and quit your job. But if you're going to be in the 6pm class at The Little Gym... CHILL.

5. Don't you think it's slightly disturbing, if not outright dangerous that a 4 year-old is running your show? They aren't capable of rational thinking, let alone knowing right vs. wrong and yet, they are in charge? WOAH.

Maybe I'm experiencing the rage that comes only to those trying to finish up experiments and write a thesis before September. Maybe that's why I had to bitch and complain to my husband for over an hour about how awful you were. And sure, I had a fit earlier today when I was using the tape dispenser worthy of arrest by the police... but I still feel at least SOME of my anger/frustration towards you is warranted. People, I'm telling you this out of love, SAVE YOURSELVES, get control of those children and be the boss, because I know you're living in a hell of your own making.


Friday, June 13, 2008

singer featherweight 221 links and help

look what i got!!!

<---- a co-worker of mine that was amazed that i could "sew" on a "sewing machine" told me that when she moved into their house, she found an old sewing machine in her attic. she tried to get it to work, but the tension was all jacked up and she didn't like the smell. in fact, she only kept it because she liked old things. she said she'd bring it in for me to take, and i thought, "cool, wouldn't it be awesome if it were an old singer" to myself, of course because i don't want to look like a nerd. (which i am).

she did bring it in, and i was totally amazed. this singer featherweight from 1938 is MINE!!! i told anne they were a nice little piece and worth money, but she insisted that i take it. she's the nicest woman on the planet. THANKS ANNE.

me and 'lightweight' are having lots of good times already. she's 11.5 lbs and has a box with a carrying handle, so we went to my mom's to sew last Sunday... which was really nice.

i love this machine.
MY ADVICE: if you are getting an old machine, GET SOMEONE to service it for you before you start sewing with it. i know it's tempting, but sewing while the parts are dry will spell disaster. also, ASK YOUR SEWING MACHINE guy to tell you about the featherweight quirks... (the threads tangle if you don't hold them when you start; if it jams, wind the wheel backwards hard, never forwards; etc. etc.) because i avoided having to learn all those things on my own like i did with stylie (recall: nearly throwing sewing machine out of window). however, if you're like me a year ago, and you're broke... there are lots of resources on the web (see below) that will explain how to clean and oil your machine yourself. i just couldn't stand to go through it again. lastly, DON'T PUT modern-day household cleaners on your machine, you'll destroy the japanning (black coat). use furniture polish and wipe it dry while it's still wet to avoid spots. (not that i've been all that great about cleaning it, but a reliable source gave me this info).

now, i don't know much about them, but as i research the featherweights, I'll post the links just like i did for stylie.


this is what i used to research the history behind the featherweights, to determine which model it was, and what year it was made:

here's the manual in PDF and it's got nice, large, clear diagrams...

this is a forum that is devoted to old singers and their attachments, and there are quite knowledgeable ladies on there... Singer-Attachments

and actually, if you're looking for attachments, which i haven't purchased yet but plan to, i would start here, because it looks like the real deal: (she's the creator of the above forum): mytwothreads

that's all for now, i think. i'll update as i go.


Thursday, June 12, 2008

the war of the sexes ALWAYS continues and it's making me sick

This is Noah. He's stupid. For real. He's cute and all, but real bad. Here he is sitting like an idiot on the stairs.

Noah (or Nosey as I call him) is a liver spotted dalmation. You may have seen his father on the Westminster Dog show this past winter... he won best in breed. He's black dotted. Nosey isn't show quality because he has a patch on his right ear. Not that he'd be shown anyway, because he'd hump the judges and eat the flowers.

To be clear, I DID LOVE NOSEY, dumminess and all up until he started beating up on his big sister, Fia. She's show quality. But, also not shown at dog shows or whatever, because we all have jobs. She's just a pet, like Nosey. Nose has decided to torture Fia. She's depressed, for real. He humps her, bites her, growls at her, and won't let her come near people. I walked into their room (they have a room) the other day and she was hiding in the corner while he walked around like a dullard. Poor, poor Fia. Stupid, stupid Noah.

To be fair, Fia used to be really messed up. Here she is as a puppy:

She was uber adorable, and very sweet. But violent. She was a biter like there never was. I figured it was all the DHA they were cramming into the puppy food. You know, just because you find something in human breast milk and decide to put in in formula doesn't mean all species need it. Really, they're dogs. They should be off breast milk by the time they come home. Just my theory. Anyway, she was a tiny alligator. She's great now... greatest dog ever next to the really greatest dog ever, a black lab-ish mutt named Millie who could find a cedar chip 3 acres away in the night if you threw it that far. And catch anything. And also rip a turtleneck off your body over your head in one hilarious motion if you got close enough to laying down while wearing one. ANYWAY. My point is, maybe there is help for dummy-face Nosey. Maybe.