A definition.

I thought it was self-explanatory.  I was wrong.  See mom?  There are people who understand things less than I do!

Definition of the phrase "Spinning a Yarn": Tell a story, especially a long drawn-out or totally fanciful one, as in This author really knows how to spin a yarn, or Whenever he's late he spins some yarn about a crisis. Originally a nautical term dating from about 1800, this expression probably owes its life to the fact that it embodies a double meaning, yarn signifying both "spun fiber" and "a tale."

I thought everybody knew that.  So if you didn't know that and expect blogs about me sitting at my spinning wheel turning straw into gold.  Don't go on... Go back, while you still can... This is not the way... Take heed, and go no further... Beware, beware... Soon it will be too late...
Ah, don't pay any attention to them, they're just false alarms. You get a lot of them in the Labyrinth, especially when you're on the right track.
Oh, no you're not!
Oh, shut up.



The end.

She's crafty like ice is cold.

Let's take a little break from moving to talk about craft night.  I have a craft night!  And it's with actual people, not my imaginary British friends.  Yes.  I have imaginary friends.  And they are British.  We've been doing craft night for several months now.  But it's gotten more regular lately.  We meet up every Wednesday night.  Usually we meet at my place and watch a movie or Arrested Development or Firefly and chat and work on our current projects.

It's fun and I really enjoy doing it.  But last week we went public (technically Katie and Birdy went public the week before me.  I canceled for some reason I can't remember now.  I'm sure it was good though.)  We meet at a local coffee shop, order chai tea and get our yarn art on.

I love doing crafts.  I love crocheting.

I love thinking of an idea and actually being able to make it work.

 

 

I love being able to make things for the people I love.

And I love craft night.

The haunting revisited.

It's getting down to crunch time. I have the keys. I have the way. Do I have the will? I can out-think, I can out-play, but can I out-last? How did all this crap get in my house? I feel like I went out of town for a while and somebody came in and hid all this garbage in the deep, dark corners of my apartment. Only they didn't because I recognize the stuff and still can't bring myself to just throw it out.





This is all I have pictures off. Moving stuff. Boxes. My closets. I have a goal today since it is my day off and I'm going to try and make stuff happen. I want to get my bedroom closet cleaned out.

I want to get the bathroom dismantled and the under counter cleared out.

 

 

I want to clean the kitchen counters off (except the coffee pot) and get the crud off the top of the fridge (except the microwave.)

 

  

 I haven't even touched the bedroom yet besides the closet.  Ugh.  Still got a long way to go.

 

 

 Alright, I gotta go get some more stuff done.  Wish me luck!!

The biggest shop on the block or Puppy Palace. It's the cats meow.

I'm sure you have all been wondering what is going on down at SirBitesALot. Well. I'm happy to inform you that I now own the biggest shop on the block. Woot! How you like me now? So yeah, business is booming. People love my cheerful service and delightful puppies. It has inspired people to open their own shops. Sugar has been enjoying the game herself:

Although she wonders why they don't also sell kittens? And though she feels slighted by this oversight she can't help but enjoy the game.

She settles in for hours of amusement. She finds it difficult to hold the pen and therefore uses her nose to navigate the touch screen.

Oh no! Caught in the act. See how she turns away and pretends to watch the television. She can't fool me. I know she has an aversion to Sponge Bob. She only watches the tv when iCarly is on.

Looking at these photos I can't help but feel deja vu. Where have I seen this before?


Ah, yes. I remember now.

Why there is a small brown stain on the seat of my car.

It's not as gross as it sounds.

A few months ago I was on a road trip and had stopped to get gas. I'm sitting in my car talking to the guy pumping my gas and I'm refilling my coffee mug with coffee from my thermos and then for some unknown reason (brain tumor? Parkinson's?) I completely pour almost the entire contents all over the front of my shirt. It ran down my front into the crotch of my pants and soaked into the seat of my car. It was hot. It was humiliating. It was... typical.

I thank God for the old man pumping my gas. He pretend as though my white shirt was not soaked in coffee and just went along checking the pressure of my front tire (it was fine, I told him it would be, can't I just tuck my tail between my legs and leave?) Even if the pressure had been low I would have been like "Forget this! I'm outta here." It would have been death by car accident or death by embarrassment.

So I peeled out of there and started driving. My shirt was soaked, my undershirt was soaked, my pants were soaked, my underwear were soaked. Then I remembered a playground in the town I was driving through. I remembered there was a bathroom there. I remembered hardly ever were there people there. So I took a little detour. Got a change of clothes out of my suitcase and changed my clothes in the completely empty bathroom of the playground. Then I put down the towel I always keep in my car on my seat. Always keep a towel in your car. Right, Katie? Then I gathered together what was left of my dignity and coffee and headed back out on the road. And then I laughed. And then I vowed never to go to that gas station again. Which is a bummer because they have a really clean bathroom.

I'm packing. More on that later. Here's what is going on outside my kitchen window:

It's a beautiful day. I wouldn't know though because I got my head in a box.

The haunting.

Fact: I'm moving.
Fact: I want to.
Fact: I'm moving.
Fact: I don't want to.
Fact: I pretend I'm an organized person.
Fact: I am not an organized person.
Fact: I will never move again.
Fact: I've said that before. I've said that every time I move.
Fact: This time I mean it.
Fact: I probably don't.

So yeah, I'm moving. Again. In my own defense I haven't moved in nearly three years. Nearly. So really it's just 2 and change. But nearly three. But I'm not going to move again unless I move away from Portland. I mean it. Really, I do. And that's a fact.

Katie got me some boxes from work.

They've been sitting there for 2 days. I don't have any packing tape. I need to go to Target. What I really need to do is go on vacation for 3 weeks and come back to have all my stuff moved to my new place. Especially the books. Oh the books...

They are everywhere.

Just when you think you've found them all, all these others show up.

Mocking you. Haunting your dreams at night. "You will have to lug me all over again. You will think you haven't loaded the boxes too heavy, but you will be wrong. We will make your family hate you. You do not own us. WE OWN YOU."

And then there are the pictures. I had no idea it had gotten so out of hand. I knew I was buying a lot, but I had no idea.


I got this cool map at an estate sale. I plan to use it to decoupage, but haven't gotten around to it. I hung it up so I wouldn't feel so bad about having it shoved in a closet somewhere.




More.
















And more...







It just never stops! I think I have a mental illness. This is not my cluttered house. These are not my cluttered walls. This is not my beautiful wife. Who sings that song? I can't remember for the life of me. But wait, I'm getting off track.










There are more pictures. A disturbing amount more:

Oh, for shame!! Oh, the humanity!! Who is going to move all this crap? Because it certainly won't be me! I'm not the one who bought the ballerina picture at a garage sale in Canada because I thought it looked creepy and thought it would be fun when someone asked me where I got it I could say "I bought it at a garage sale in Canada! It cost 5 bucks, but don't worry. It wasn't really money. I was just Canadian funny money."





My friend Annette's daughter Alex drew this. It's cool.

Thrift store find.

Um, yeah.

Mommy? Are we done yet? I need to go see my therapist. Next up I'll show you my closets. And then you probably won't want to ever read my blog again. Yeah. This is what I show the world. You can only begin to imagine the horrors I hide from it.

Carpooling.

When I was younger (and a smoker) I loved to drive. I would hop into my '87 Ford Tempo, drive down to the beach and slowly smoke my life away. Over the years I've starting to like driving less and less. And even with the addition of my new car I haven't really gotten the urge to drive back.

Driving in the city is the worst. Plus I haven't really spent any time trying to figure out how to get around Portland besides my little corner of it. So I get lost a lot when I venture out to the greater East Side.

Katie lives right across the street from me. I have actually hollered across the street at her when I saw her washing her truck one day ala Desperate Housewives. Then some poor pedestrian walked by and it got awkward.

I started a new job recently and it's right on the way to Katie's work. So after much deliberation and Katie buying a new car (she blogged about that!) we are now carpooling.

She's a hands-free driver:

It's been going pretty good. I just walk across the street every morning and go get the keys then I go warm up the car until Katie comes out and then we leave. I just kill some time after five at the office and then Katie comes and picks me up. And then I just give her 5 bucks at the end of the week. It's fabulous!

These are my knees, being passengers:

They are so good at that.

Hey! I'm moving! I'm having small panic attacks thinking about moving all my stuff again. But more on this later.

Here is what is going on outside my kitchen window:


Looks like it is going to be another beautiful day!

The kids. And a movie review.

Here is my beautiful niece Jasmine:

It's hard to believe she is already 9. It's hard to believe she almost fits into her mom's size 10 shoes.

I finally watched Julie and Julia. I really liked it. Meryl was amazing, as always and I just love Amy Adams. But what I found really surprising was I didn't really like the character of Julie (based on the real Julie Powell.) Amy was adorable and would generally make me love her, but she seemed so wrapped up in herself it really turned me off. I don't know if that is really the case and it's possible the movie hit me on the wrong day (I am 29 now, you know, menopause is right around the corner), it just seemed like "Hey, it's just food, it's just a blog, why are you taking it so seriously."

It did inspire me to start working on this blog more. I just feel so exhausted after work and in the morning before work I can't seem to think of anything to write about. And I'm lazy about taking pictures. But yeah. I'm going to start trying harder this month. But I really did like the movie. I found it comforting and charming and I would definitely recommend it.

Here is a picture of my adorable nephew Mikey:

He is 6. He uses big words like mechanical and surprisingly. He has giant feet too. And he is recovering from strep throat right now. Poor baby.

Oh I had the best "That's what she said" joke ever. I won't repeat it because my mom reads this blog, but it was gooooooood. Am i right Katie or am I right?

Alright, here's another one down. And then there were two:

These pictures make them look a lot more pink than they actually are. I'll try to start another project, but these are so quick and easy I am totally digging them right now.

And here's what is going on outside my kitchen window:

I see the Green Lantern is out and about.

Ways I am being robbed.

My current on-site manager at my apartment complex is retiring. She's old, she deserves it. Before we always dropped our rent payments off in a box in the laundry room. Now the owner wants us to mail in our payments to a PO Box in Portland. That's fine. I had to do that once before in a studio apartment I lived in in Coos Bay. The difference is, in Coos Bay the owner sent us stamped and pre-addressed envelopes to mail our checks in. It's just common courtesy. Now I'm expected to use my own envelope, dink around looking for that stupid address and use my OWN STAMP!! It's outrageous! I feel like docking my rent payment a dollar every month for a shipping and handling charge.

I just signed up with T-mobile. I switched over from AT&T because T-mobile is cheaper and my sister uses it and seems to really like them. After having the phone for 2 days I placed a call at 8:55pm to my friend Jessica in Brookings. We talked for 105 minutes. That is a lot. Way more than normal. But it's cool because nights start at 9. Oh wait, I should have mentioned I'm on the 500 minute plan. I had 900 with AT&T which was way too much and had a ton of roll-over minutes so for the last 3+ years I have never worried about going over my minutes. Anyway, I decided to check my minutes and after just one week I had used 190 of my whenever minutes. I couldn't phantom how that was possible. I'll tell you how. If you place a call before 9 it doesn't switch over to night minutes automatically. WHAT?? That is insane I told the nice Christine working at the T-mobile call center. She was empathetic, but I really don't think she cared. I'm really not knocking T-mobile though because besides that everything has been great and even if I have to switch to the 700 minute plan I will still be saving money. But that is really an insane policy.

I got a fancy new phone though. Here's my old phone:


And here's the new beauty:



I makes me feel bad though and I know you shouldn't feel bad about animate objects, but I so frequently do. I feel like my old phone (which I had for 3.5 years) is like the loyal and loving wife who is suddenly left for the twenty year old bimbo. But what a beautiful bimbo. It's like the DVD player I gave my sister and brother in law 2 years ago when I bought a new one. I'm now on my third DVD player since then and that junker is still playing movies in their bedroom. It breaks a previous owners heart. And wallet. I should really invest more money into quality electronics. I'm just loading up garbage dumps with this cheesy crap. But that sticker price is so inviting.

All I have in the craft department is unfinished projects. But as we all know, unfinished projects are my specialty. I want to try the new Debbie Stoller Stitch Nation yarn. They look fun and are pretty reasonably priced. Has anyone tried them? (question directed at my only 2 readers Katie and Birdy.) I really want to paint my chair too:


It has definitely seen better days and needs a fresh coat of... something.

Here's what going on outside my kitchen window:

Ah, that's a pretty one.