Thursday, November 29, 2012

Unhappy feet

I hate shopping for clothing and shoes.  Everything about my body is a weird size or shape, so it's just frustrating.  Wide feet, long legs, no waist, pancake ass, barrel chest, beer gut... yeah, I'm not exactly a fit model.  I avoid shopping unless it is absolutely necessary.

All my socks and shoes are starting to self destruct.  Oh, lawd no.

My usual work shoes are making my left big toe joint (the bunion joint, I don't know it's proper name) super sore, and my heels are killing me.

My other pair of work shoes has managed to wear clean through the sole.  I spent the day with one wet shoe (yay rain).

All my flip-flops are making my ankles hurt.

My socks seem to be disintegrating in the heel region.

My Docs aren't quite wide enough in the toe box, and not tight enough in the heel, so I can't wear them for long stretches without developing blisters or joint pain.

Even my slippers hurt my feet.

I am broke as a joke (Giftmas might have to be a "free hugs" kinda holiday), so the idea that I will have to go out and buy shoes is doubly maddening.  Great, I have to do something I hate AND spend money I'd rather not spend.

My great fear is that I bought ALL my clothing at the same time as my dying shoes and socks, and that this is just the tip of the iceberg.  My one decent bra is threatening to die.  I only have two pairs of pants.  The shirts seem to be holding, but there are more of them to rotate through.

Harrumph.

Monday, November 26, 2012

Tante is a terrible blogger, she apologizes

Dude, I know, I'm sorry, it's been an overly busy sort of month here at The Cave.  I got a new roommate, I did some painting, I did some work, I went camping, I hung out with rats.... yoinks.

So.  Yeah.  I sum up.

Bread knives are dangerous.  Superglue is your friend.

This wretched thing decided to die at a most inopportune time.  On a brighter note, I now know how to disassemble one of the displays in the museum.

The den was colonized.

We painted it PAAAAAANK.  Photos to come later, as it is dark in here and the New Roommate is playing video games, which makes for a crappy pic.
At Thanksgiving, Tante became a horsie.  Or something.  He didn't  specify.  He doesn't really speak English.
Yule is coming.
Tomorrow, I am being interviewed about this year's furoshiki workshop (phone interview- I can't understand people on the phone, so I'm freaked out).  I'm not sure what it is about these workshops- people could give a fig about any other workshop I teach, but fabric tied in knots?  TELL US MORE!  I think it's really strange.  I mean, it's not like I'm an expert or anything- I learned it from a book and the internet, for Pete's sake.  But whatever, fabric is pretty.

Wednesday, Boris and Vincent are being neutered.  Enjoy your goolies, boys, they're not long for this world.  Your peeing and reeking days are numbered.  Ingrid will be beating the crap out of the two of you by Yule.

I have a million projects to finish- a present for a friend that I started in JANUARY.... a pile of vests and sashes for a coworker's wedding.... a bride's hair flower that needs repair... kimono cloth pillowcases for the pillows on the daybed in the PAAAANK room....  several lesson plans.... I have to learn how to make little goofy videos..... Giftmas shopping... several things need to be covered in glitter...  finish rearranging the garage....

Yoinks.


Friday, November 16, 2012

Where the hell is Tante?

Uuuuuugh, hiiiii, it's been a bit, hasn't it?  I'm worn right the hell out.

I can't really recap.  I recall that I went camping, and that New Roommate moved in, and that I taught children on several occasions.

I had to take apart a display at work- the damn thing is a design mess.  The moving electrical part with the filter requires 2 people to even access.  Let's not even get into the fact that the parts that I have to replace are not readily available off the shelf at Home Depot or Fry's or anything.  Nooo, I have to order things.  Fantastic, really.  Extremely well thought-out.

The dog is pestering me.  I had the audacity to come home and clean a rat cage and feed the cat and then SIT DOWN ON THE COUCH for a few minutes.  HOW DARE I?

I am going to get a pedicure tomorrow, and then I am going to see if Lowe's carries the filter that I need for this ridiculously designed display.  And then I have to work again on Sunday.  And Monday.  And Tuesday.

Wednesday I have to paint my living room.

Thursday I have to squelch my social awkwardness for a long meal.

Friday I have to hide in my house like a bunker.

Dammit, dog, you are starting to damage my calm!

Saturday, November 3, 2012

Collecting artists

So, it would seem that my days of having my house all to myself are over.  Barely a month after the first artist moved out, a new artist is moving in.  Different genre- this one is a sculptor, and different gender- this one is a dude.  Sister-in-Law met him at a party, thought we'd have things in common, hung out a few times, mostly interacted on FB.  A decent sort of chap.  His life sort of went sideways, and he needed a place to stay for a bit.

Most of the people who have heard about this have expressed concerns.  My folks seem to be afraid that I'll get robbed blind, or otherwise financially parasitized.  Others seem to think it'll be some weird sexual thing.

I have nothing to steal.  I've stated the financial terms (kick in what you can for X amount of time, after that, discuss the rent terms with the landlord, aka Mom, as I already have two dependent animals, I don't need a third).  And I know how to keep my gorram pants on.  We're all adults here.

And honestly, I could use some company.  I am in such a weird demographic.  The two main categories for people my age seem to be "Tyler has soccer on Saturday, and then I have to take Addison to a playdate..." or people so vapid and slow-witted that they can barely converse without a bucket of wine and a reality TV plot to discuss.  I am not very good at interacting with either of those sorts of people, and it's rare to meet other "Others."  The dog heartily agrees with the company thing- the 8 hours I'm gone every day are making her very sad.  She loves people, and there's only one here.  Both of us are kinda lonely.

I am extraordinarily lucky.  I have never had to sweat my living arrangements.  I have never worried that I would be evicted, or had to search Craigslist for someplace to hole up, or had to live in my car. Someone I know, who seems to be a decent enough human being, needs a roof and a bed and a place to sculpt.  Nobody else in his general vicinity was able or willing to toss out that life ring.  I have whole rooms full of life rings that I'm not using.  Shit, man, stop thrashing around.  Catch your breath.  Now paddle back to shore.

If nothing else, it will force me to clean the house.