So ahahaha, this is funny. Someone got to this site by following
this link, the link to my photos page. I forgot I ever
had a photos page, and if you click on it you'll see why. When
I clicked on it five minutes ago, my first instinct was to fix that broken link in the middle (a picture of gigantorm strand of M&M Christmas lights, specifically the sultry, long-lashed green M&M light if I'm not mistaken) and maybe update some shit (that's a lie), but A HA HA HA: I can't figure out how to access the page. So now there's this page just
out there, a page with
Amy Choppa's awesome hat and some shell raptors and Christmas from 2003, and there's not one goddamn thing I can do about it. Or, rather, there's not one goddamn thing I can do about it that doesn't involve any effort of any kind. I can't wait to see what
other half-ass pages I created and abandoned. Let me know if you find one with my thesis on it. I'll copy / paste that shit into a masters.
Stace and Sean and the impending Daymented Squishy-Squishy have thrown me into a yarn frenzy the likes of which the craft world hasn't seen since that time my grandmother was suddenly admitted to the hospital and my mother threatened to cut my arm off if I didn't finish the "Christmas" afghan I started for her when I was nine. Last week I had to be escorted out of Michael's Crafts. Joanne's Fabrics has a restraining order. I make the WORST blankets in the world. Horrifying, really.
"They offend
all the senses," my mom confirmed. This as she was rolling her gift blanket out the front door. These blankets can't be carried. They must be rolled. Or kicked. Preferably rolled. Kicking becomes frantic and then the blankets pile up and use their street advantage.
"You can't judge like that, " I countered, yellow and fuchia and puce frays clawing at my ankle. "You haven't seen
all of them."
My mother straightened. The blanket flinched, its nectarine panels smelling escape.
"I haven't seen ANY of them. I'M BLIND," she said, slapping at a fiesty ecru chenille panel.
"You're milking this whole blind thing," I told her (not true; she pretends she can see to make other people more comfortable). "And my blankets are
gorgeous." (Also not true; my ex-fiance of five years returned his blanket after our breakup. He paid international freight plus a hefty "taste endangerment: excessive and violent fringe" tax to get it the hell out of his townhouse.)
"If there was a color-blind isosceles triangle... " Mom hypothesized, one leg hovering off the ground to
confuse the evil, "and it had fallen into a well in February? Yes." She kicked an instinctual leg and by pure coincidence caught a particularly vibrant stripe of lime on the make. "I would heartily recommend this blanket."
So
Stace? You have to have an isosceles baby. Boy or girl, whatever. These colors go with everything.
