Let the games begin

For those of you who were with me last year, you might recall (maybe with great joy like I do) the new holiday-time tradition that I devised to soothe my aching eyerolling muscles.

I won't lie, some people have called me mean-spirited, grinch-y, a bitch - because of this new (fun, hello) tradition. But I won't be dissuaded from speaking my true feelings.

Those being that I FEEL like people are a skoshe too liberal with lights, ornaments, lawn decorations, inflatable holiday characters, the use of generators to maintain their festive metropoli and, in general, a mite careless with the consumption of fossil fuels to charge these displays.

Plus, they're usually really ugly.

Sure, I imagine that there are some people out there that have even the most marginal tact and taste and, despite all odds, are still inclined to bedeck their homes with colored lightbulbs and seasonal frippery, so I acknowledge the fact that there *may* be homes out there that are not, in the typical sense, FUGLY, but I don't care about those. I care about the ugly ones. Because they are everywhere and they bug me.

So, let us kick off the '06 round of "Which House is the Ugliest?" with a teeth-grinding comparison of last year's fugliest house:

with this year's updated display:


Notice the addition of the two enormous inflatable candy canes.

Stand in awe of Harley Santa and Sidecar Snowman on their green inflatable motorcycle.

Rejoice in Jack in the Box Santa lingering diminutively next to Penguin atop Igloo unlike last year when Santa towered above man, beast and churning snowglobe alike.

And, finally, appreciate the whimsical carelessness with which the pastel-hued twinkling lights were strung to highlight only the widespread lack of parking space in the driveway.

Year over year, this house can be counted on to be a true gem of fugly house decorating. Which is why I was willing to swerve haphazardly across two lanes of traffic and park, albeit momentarily, but illegally across the street in order to photograph it on my way home from the store the other night.

I was actually pretty inspired during my drive home and ended up abandoning most of my honed safe-driving practices in order to capture some of the more offensive techniques in the neighborhood. And before we part ways and go off in search of fuglier examples to celebrate this, my now one year old, fabulous tradition, let me leave you with a couple more good examples of Fugly, for reference purposes:

Example: Psychedelic funhouse Christmas

Example: We can't decide so throw all the lights at the house and see what sticks

Feel free to send me the most glaring Fugly examples so we can all point and laugh from our own remote locations: finnyknitsATgmailDOTcom.

Happy hunting.

Fugly House 2007

Since stupid Daylight Savings happened I've been walking the dog in the dark at night and dealing with the complications of finding poo in the grass without a light source. You remember.

Well, as of the day after Thanksgiving, I have a new poo to hunt, and it is much better lit than any other poo I could care to find.

And with that, I kick off this year's Fugly House parade.

See, people, if you didn't know it already I spend the month of December taking pictures of every horribly decorated house I see so that I can put the pictures up right here and make snide comments about them for my personal satisfaction and perhaps your enjoyment as well.

And, yes, I realize that it is only November right now, but if people are going to be assclowns and start putting up ridiculous decorations the day after Thanksgiving when, I'm told, we are all to be out shopping, then I am going to take pictures of them while Jada pees on their blinking lawn decorations because if they are starting early with the shitshow, then I am starting early with the shit talking.

Besides, I'm already standing there anyway since it's easier to find her poo when it falls near a glowing Sant-y Claus or one of those stupid animated reindeer, so why not take photos in the mean time, right?

Yes.

To start this year's hot mess off on a thematic note, I thought I'd feature a montage of one of my most hated holiday decorations, The Always Crooked and Stupid Looking Light-up Candy Canes.

Seen here with extra barfy rainbow lights:

Seen here standing extra crooked and tall in front of house with rabid dog:

Seen here basking in the nuclear glow of an extremely overdone (and ugly also) front yard:

Seen here amongst last year's leftovers from the discount bin at Wal-Mart:

And this is from just ONE walk with the dog. Imagine the goodness that will come from 45 nightly walks.

Christmas is only 26 days away you say?

Pish-tosh, you know that no one takes their Christmas lights down right after the holiday just like they should and I pray for.

NO.

In fact, I could probably provide daily updates of illuminated neighborhood ugliness for the next 90 days if I had the inclination because that is how crazy this whole decoration mania has gotten. Ugly insanity if you ask me.

Anyway, expect to see a few more posts like this one. Where I capture the poor decisions of my neighbors and then speculate on their mental well-being. And if you should care to throw a gem into the ring here, I'm all ready to give your neighbors the same treatment. Just take a photo (whether your dog is currently pooping in their sidewalk patch or not) and sent it to finnyknitsATgmailDOTcom.

And if you don't like this little activity and would rather I go back to bitching about sewing even quilting lines or hemming over how to fit four billion loaves of holiday bread into my freezer, do not despair. There will plenty of that to come, as well, and I'll even try to tone down the swears, honeybear, for those posts if that makes you more comfortable, you big cry babies.

I kid!

xo

Fugliness! Join in!

'Tis the season for gathering round the fire with friends and family to share in the unique joy and gratitude that comes with the holiday season. To rejoice. To hope. To celebrate.

NOT to break into the realm of yard decor if you are of the No Talent persuasion. Or if you're insane. Or if you're This Guy.

See, while this may appear to be the most random assortment and placement of lights and holiday finery one could imagine, it's actually set up EXACTLY the same way it was last year. I can root around and find the 07 photo if you like. It's so exact, in fact, that even the haphazard placement of the candy cane trail there has been reconstructed to mimic last year's design perfectly.

Planned Fugliness. I had not expected this.

We want that "our house just rolled out of bed" look.

This guy inspired me to start up the Fugly House Contest again this year when the radiation exposure I suffered from its glowing beams caused the paint to melt on my car. And while the sheer coverage is enough to get this guy in the running for Fugliest House 2008, the fearless and unending blinking sequence was what really put it over the top.

You can't tell from this still photo, but the house is signaling,
"We stopped eating in August in order to support our holiday bedecking." in Morse Code.

I don't have a photo of this house from last year, with which to do a year over year comparison for replica verification purposes, but I imagine this guy has a blueprint of his light scheme stretched out over the pile of milk crates he calls a dining room table. And I'll bet the planning for this fiasco began early in the year, perhaps even before he made a skin suit from the remains of squirrels found pressed to the pavement in front of his house.

Only a psychopath would decorate in such a fashion, is my theory.

"These decorations have SO paid for themselves over the years. If only Santa would get a job."

The arrangement here isn't all that remarkable, when compared to its nearest neighbors, until you consider the fact that it all went up the day after Halloween. And has been running/blinking/polluting the night sky and their neighbor's bedrooms with its neon glare ever since.

If I lived across the street from this guy, I'd have cut the power to his house months ago. The way I see it, his neighbors are just letting him slide.

And so, if you couldn't tell already, I've begun again my holiday tradition of pointing out the most heinously decorated houses I see (or am physically wounded by) and I encourage you to join in on the fun.

If, for whatever reason, this isn't something that you enjoy, feel free to come back at a time when I'm banging on about something more benign, like knitting or gardening or how one can go about putting down a 3 lb pot roast in a 2 person household without throwing any away. Yes, we're proud of our Leavin's Abilities over here.

And, it's probably best if you avoid leaving me comments about my grinchiness or "but I bet they were just doing it for their kids" or whatever because, while these may seem like valid points to you, I think displays like these are only valuable in the entertainment they provide for ME.

While I make fun of them and question the inhabitant's sanity.

If these people are "doing it for their kids" then they should be ashamed of themselves. Much like I imagine their kids are of them.

However, if you're like me, and find the increasingly aggressive holiday decorating pattern alarming, and you need to seek therapy by way of cooperative bitching - please feel free to shoot me photos of your Fugliest to finnyknitsATgmailDOTcom and I'll happily oblige you by putting them up here so we can all point and laugh.

Happy hunting.

Just so you know...

I used to do this thing every December where I'd make fun of my neighbors' holiday lights and make random assumptions about what those lights said about them as people and what their choices in decorations said about their sanity.

All in all, these things I was saying weren't complimentary or even civilized and, no, I'm not about to apologize or say that I regretted saying those things.

Please. Who do you think you're dealing with here? Check the header...yeah. You're home.

No, I won't be apologizing because HELLO ugly fugly fucked up decorations are just that and the people who put them up all over their homes as if to say,

"World - in case you didn't know by looking at me leaving my house in my ordinary Honda Civic wearing suitable work attire and drinking my coffee out of a reusable travel mug - I am, in fact, out of my fucking mind and have the taste the lord gave to a jackal. I lose all reasoning skills when the holidays approach, and because I'm a poorly adjusted adult without any personal interests to keep my mind entertained, I begin celebrating Christmas in October and do so by first covering my house with all the atrocities you see here. Do not come calling about these decorations until Valentine's Day, as I plan to wallow and jubilate in the glow of their visual holocaust until that date.",

should be called on the carpet for their wrongdoings.

Some people are sick fucks, is what I'm saying, and they advertise this fact at the end of every year with blinking snowmen and giant flashing snowflakes hung from tiny spindly trees and big bubblegum colored lights strewn across their yards in such a fashion that calls into question motor skills and rational thought.

But you know this. Because I've shown you pictures and given you commentary and, as I realized it recently after being reminded that it was nearly time for the Fugly House Contest again, basically said all I can say.

So, I won't be doing any verbal destruction of neighborhood holiday decorations this year. Not formally anyway. And it's not because I've been tamed into submission or *HORRORS* converted into a holiday decorating fiend myself, it's because I don't want to be redundant or boring. So, unless I see something that warrants special attention (there is one house that comes to mind, but mostly because I'm almost certain I could get them arrested for a felony based on some offenses they're committing with their decor), I'll probably stick to my other favorite topics like running, eating kale, watching fava beans grow and maybe knitting a thing.

Because that's not redundant or boring at all.

Fugly House 2006

I was getting a tad panicky because Christmas is less than a week away and I've hardly scratched the surface documenting the illuminated hideousness surrounding my neighborhood.

Yes, there are some people panicked about buying Christmas gifts, and then there's me - worried about making equal fun of all the tards in my neighborhood. I realize I'm going to hell, no need to remind me.

After my short panic, I realized, with great ironic relief, that just because Christmas will pass, it will not mean that people will immediately run out into their yards with ladders and dumpsters to get rid of the "decorations" on their houses. No matter how much I wish it to be so.

Phew!

I mean, Damn it!

I am conflicted.

So, anyhoo this charade on the blog may go on past Christmas, since the array of animated lawn creatures and multicolored strings of lights won't cease to exist in any significant manner until well after the New Year around these parts. Just to warn you in case you show up after 12/25 and see me still marching around the blog with my middle finger in the air.

For now though, let us rest our merry steaming eyeballs on a few candidates for this year's Fugliest House:

This gem was sent in by a non-blogging friend who reads up on the blog from time to time and felt compelled to out her neighbors and their "Visible from Space" compilation of candy canes, window signs and haphazardly arranged lights. While we both admit it's a little hard to discern exactly what is going on in this photo due to low light, I can assure you that, even in person, it makes no organizational or thematic sense. No, it's just a giant shitshow which emerged, we're sure, from an enormous Wal-Mart shopping bag.

I had aimed to get a better shot of the house when I went over to attend my friend's holiday open house this weekend, but it was raining when I got there and I wanted a drink. At least you'll be happy to know that I've branched out to other neighborhoods so that the merry-finger pointing can be shared all around.


All I want to know here is who, exactly, is manning the sleigh. If Santa, and what I assume is Ms. Claus, are hanging out on the patio, how is it possible that the reindeer are taking flight? Are they trained to deliver gifts on their own now? Does Santa just sit his fat ass on the porch and wait for them to return and give him the hooves-up? It looks like even Christmas is being outsourced now.

Oh, and net lights are stupid.

When I see displays like this, I can't help but wonder why the person didn't finish at least ONE of the objects they were trying to adorn instead of spreading the lights halfway across five different vertical objects. I assume this work was done by someone approximately 6 feet tall, with limited patience being trailed by someone about 5'5" carrying a big wooden spoon. What I'd like to see once, just once, is a tree that is covered with lights from the base of the trunk ALL THE WAY to the end of each branch. Then, at least I'd know it was a tree, and not some bizarre lawn sculpture keeping their giant broomstick waving snowman company in their front yard.

Or, if we're in the time saving mood, I could just swing by with a blowtorch and do everyone a favor.

I've got a news flash for these folks, Santa is NOT stopping here. (See the sign? Yes. We all do.) Even though they have the runway clearly marked and the arbor announcing Merry Christmas for all the western hemisphere to see. As it turns out Santa is leery of nuclear testing grounds and the glowing trees are a dead giveaway. Even if he does decide to come in for a landing, he's going to have to shoo the Snowman Family off the runway or pummel them with reindeer hooves. It will be a Christmas massacre for the books.

For now, that's what I've got. But this weekend, I fully intend to take a long dutiful walk around the area and get shots of the worst offenders. I've gotten some anonymous and some blatant direction on where to conduct my search. It appears that there are other hellfire sinners out there who would rather slyly slit boxes of inflatable Santas at their neighborhood Target with keychain pocketknives than endure a city block of fossile-fuel sucking yuletide cheer.

See, it's not just me.

There is sometimes crafting amongst the bitching

I've spent a lot of time bemoaning the Fugly going on around my neighborhood this year, and believe me - there is more to come, but once in a while I've also been crafting.

I know, it seems like I wouldn't have the energy after all my bitching, but well, I do. Perhaps it is all my years of strenuous training?

You might remember the craftiness that I pulled off last year at the eleventh hour, running from house to house dragging Bubba behind me (to carry all the crafty stuff you know - he loves this) so that I could hang festive-ish holiday bundles of breads and jingly things from doorknobs of neighbors we knew by first name.

There were about, I don't know, half dozen of these first name having neighbors. So, the job of hanging went by pretty fast and we were back in the house to get all hermitted out in front of the fire where we belong.

To put it plainly, we (Bubba and I) are not "For Everyone". Much like the color orange, black licorice and snow camping is not "For Everyone". For some - we are a great match, they like our quirkiness and forgive/turn a blind eye to our incessant weirdness. For others - we are as unpalatable as the last sip of warm beer at the bottom of a backwashed bar glass. This is all fine with us, we know we're the only ones who can really stand Us.

But surprisingly, despite our Not For Everyone status, we managed to make nice with at least 7 additional neighbors this year. It is amazing the power of beer.

So, when I sat down to do my random holiday crafting/baking For the Neighbors, I realized we knew 7 more neighbors with first names. Wowza. We met people. This meant we went out of the house and used our words to interact with strangers who live close to our house. Who was watching our TV and holding down our couch or making sure the vegetables grew during all this neighbor meeting time??

Scares me to think about it.

Anyway, after the shock of our Year of Social Interaction wore off, I baked extra cookies and extra bread and made extra of these cute cone things with special adjustments to allow for jingly door hangingness and am about ready to put them all together for this weekend's walk through the neighborhood with Bubba for our annual (this will be year #2, so we can call it annual) festive-ish bringing of goods to doorknobs.


We will perhaps be sweating when we get done hanging these on 13 doors, but it will go faster when I can say, "Hey Bubb, can you hang this on Mike's door?" instead of, "Hey Bubb, can you hang this on the door of the house with the inflatable reindeer merry-go-round and broken rope lights that blink only on one end?"

Because, you know, I'm all about efficiency.

More big times, this time with pie

I'm wearing a skirt which I made myself at work again.

It's a lot less dicey than last week when I lost my Clothes I Sewed Myself virginity with the first self-made skirt, in that I've spent less time worrying about my ass flapping about freely from an unsewn seam. Unfortunately this has freed up my mind to focus on exactly how much jiggling my ass does and how catastrophic it really would be if such a clothing disaster were to take place.

FRIGHT.

Meanwhile I also baked the first blackberry pie of the season. I managed to pick enough blackberries at my mom's place this past weekend to fill five FIVE pie crusts. And for those of you who haven't been hanging around since last July, this blackberry picking bonanza is a yearly occurrence more important to me than any major holiday other than my birthday month (August) which I'm working on declaring country-wide.


Blackberry picking with mum is about the best thing I can imagine doing when it's a hundred (or in last year's case - 109) degrees outside and there's still no pool (Dad, come on, it's been almost 30 years in that house and still no pool?). And, bless her heart, my mom always plays along even though I'm sure she's starting to dread my arrival for berry picking. Always with the big straw hat and flip-flops - insisting I don't need to wear legitimate shoes, long-sleeves, pants that cover my legs, etc. And then the inevitable shrieking when I tripfallcrash into the brambles and end up grabbing big stabby branches to keep my face from being torn off.

The woman is a patient saint, I'll tell you what.

Every year she cobbles together the old plastic strawberry pints, ancient Cool Whip containers and plastic tubs so well-loved their original painted on labels have worn right off so that we can pick clean the bushes that grow so invasively all around their property. Of course, I forgot (read: was so covered in blackberry juice and my own fresh blood that I had to be hosed down) to take photos of this blackberry bush invasion, but one year I will. It's enviable or frightening depending on who you are and whether you like blackberry pie a lot.

Which I do. And now we have gone full circle and I can show you the first pie of the season:

Tee da:

I decided his name will be Two Face like the character from Batman who has a face that's normal and sexy on one side and a freaky hot mess on the other. I think you will agree that this name is apt as you can clearly see that the pie perfection I so strive for began to rapidly derail about halfway around the pie there.

At current tally, all the pretty pieces have been eaten by Bubba and moi, and only the fugly delicious pieces are left. Good thing I always remember to slide a rimmed cookie sheet under my pies for just such an explosion (except last time, which refreshed the horror in my memory so I won't forget for at least two more times).

The best part of this blackberry season, if the fantasticness of PIE IN OUR LIVES isn't enough, is that I have begun to perfect the sport known as Pieing.

This is when I pick a lot of blackberries during an outing like I explained before, scoop their rinsed selves into zippy bags in One Pie increments, take these bags home, add the other filling ingredients according the Bible (Joy of Cooking) and freeze. I then make (or buy like a lazy ass) a consistent number of pie crusts x2 (top and bottom crust. You know.) and then freeze.

And then, this is where the sporting happens, I nonchalantly wander to the freezer, pull a bag of filling and a pair of crusts out to thaw and magically throw a pie together and bake it in no time flat so that Bubba comes floating into the house like a cartoon weirdo on one of those smell-good waves.

"Is that pie I smell, perfectly wonderful and beautiful even though you just ran nine miles, wife?"

"Why yes it is, fabulous husband who is already holding a fork and drooling in a distracting way..."

And we all say, "WOO HOO!"

It's pie season, and that's big times around here.

Understood. Now don't puss out.

You guys are funny, you know that?

There I was thinking that y'all were bored of my holiday rantings and, perhaps, could use a year off from my Let's Talk Shit About Holiday Decorations pastime while I think up new four letter words, but NO - you like it.

You like the abuse. I guess I should have known.

Well, let me just say that, thanks to comments here, on Facebook and in the greater blog reading community (Hi, people I didn't realize read my blog until I put up this post and ruined your holiday good times!), that I get it.

You want holiday decoration rantings and that is what you will get.

Understood.

BUT - caveat time - I'm not saying boo about Christmas lawn and house decor unless something out there strikes me as newly different and freshly fugly in a way that it did not in previous years. Then I'll say something. And you can feel free to send me your pictures (finnyknitsATgmailDOTcom) to see if anything around your neighborhood fills that bill.

Until such time though, I will save my holiday ranting space for finishing up what I started last year when I invented (yes - I'm that good) the Festival of Ugly Menorahs and then I'm going on a rant to end all Hanukkah decoration rants about the general fugliness of all things Hanukkah decorate-y and celebrate-y and I'm taking you all down with me.

You with me? I thought so.

Whores, all of you.

Firstly, let's finish 2009's Festival of Ugly Menorahs by first remembering what the hell that is here, where I stopped at Night Six: The Night of Holographic Ugliness, and then going from there.

Festival of Ugly Menorahs: Night Seven
The WTF?! Night
(Where There Aren't Any Actual Flames, Just Pipecleaners)

Festival of Ugly Menorahs: Night Eight 

The Night We Light the Menorah and Eat Everything in Site. Including Maybe Some Old Gefilte Fish Because, You Know, This Is Going To Sound Weird But Suddenly It Sounds Kinda Good...

There. That was a cleansing and refreshing way to start a new year of criticizing the world for creating holiday decor to shock and destroy our retinas.

The thing is, contrived Hanukkah ugliness is not limited to menorahs. And, frankly, I feel as though I'd be doing you a disservice if I didn't expand your Hanukkah horizons to include some of the greater offenses the world has ever seen created with a Star of David, dreidel or marshmallows.

Marshmallows? Yes. Marshmallows. Though surely you've seen this great blue wonder circulating your Facebook news feed courtesy of your amazed and horrified "Friends".

From cakewrecks.com

This was the creation of the sadistic and I'm-Not-So-Sure-She's-A-Real-Human-Girl Sandra Lee in a moment of blatant anti-semitism.

Just watch this and try to tell me that she's not sending subliminal CHEAP JEWS LIKE GROCERY STORE ANGEL FOOD CAKES AND TOTALLY NON-KOSHER MARSHMALLOWS ON THEIR HOLIDAY BUFFET TABLES. I AM A NAZI SYMPATHIZER. messages.

 

See, you can't. It's just so obvious. And I think I can see an armband under that sweater of hers. Meanwhile, did she just goosestep to the sink? I needn't say more.

The thing is, her hate clearly extends beyond Jews, Hanukkah and canned icing (did you see how much food coloring she added? I think I grew a tail from the toxicity just from seeing that with my eyeballs) since she has examples of her hate in cake form all set up at the beginning, there. Specifically, this Kwanzaa Hate Cake and this surprising Christmas Hate Cake.

But those are easy examples of ugly Hanukkah-ness. Sandra Lee is obviously the Bringer of Dark Times Made from Angel Food Cake, so I will try to make my point with some, perhaps, lesser known...cue the daunting music...

Crimes Against Jewmanity

You like how I just did that? Made up a batshit crazy name for this rant? Yeah, sometimes I'm good like that. Made it blue, too, just in keeping with the theme. I do it all for you, friends, and no need to clap - you're very welcome.

Anyway, just to spread the blame around a bit, let's see what our Asian friends over at Oriental Trading Company think Hanukkah means when expressed in glitter and pipe cleaners.

"We found this under the sink - let's touch it!"

"What have we done?"

Oh. Did you think I was kidding about the pipe cleaners? Because I wasn't. It's a common mistake thinking that leftover household refuse makes for ideal Hanukkah decorations. Just because something is blue and free doesn't mean that Jews want to bend it into The Holy Shape and hang it from the...wait a minute...this is an "ornament kit". From what, may I ask, does a Jew hang an ornament? Surely not a Christmas tree. But if not that, then what? You know Hanukkah bushes are just an invention of the Hallmark corporation or maybe some cheeky douche playing around at Cafepress.

I'm going to go ahead and call this effort from our Asian friends a clear miss amidst a sea of terrifyingly clear misses. Though, I'm not sure what I expected from them. They do focus a good bit of their holiday business on the sales of Jesus' back alley abortion kit.

What? Too much? You said you wanted it, so don't get all, "Ooh, Finny, no fair taking the lord's name in vain or misconstruing the purpose of His shepherd's crook", because you asked for it.

Meanwhile, I kinda like those undies. Feel free to send me some as a Hanukkah gift. And quickly now! It's over in just a few sundowns. (That's what we Jews call, "Nights", just so we're clear.)

Now, before I leave you to craft your scathing If I Would Have Known How Evil You Were I Never Would Have Said Anything comments (turncoats), allow me to share one more example of a Crime Against Jewmanity.

You could wear a patch on your jacket, but this is WAY easier to spot as a sniper.

Yeah. I don't know what they were going for here either, really, except that someone in the Hanukkah Decorations and Finery department had come to the end of their Turn All Christmas Things Into Hanukkah Things By Making Them Blue or Menorah Shaped and what they were left with was a baby Jesus in his manger and a Santa hat.

So, in lieu of trying to fashion a Santa yarmulke or something else that doesn't 100% make sense, they just said:

Santa Hat

     -Santa

+Menorah

-----------

Hanukkah Hat

and then called it a day by raking the baby Jesus into the shredder.

Hey, these party decoration people are coldblooded - don't give me your judging eye.

So, yeah, Hanukkah decorations are just as bad as I remember from my childhood and aren't getting any better, as these few examples heartily prove, so I'm sure I'll be back to scare your eyes back into their Holiday Decoration Nightmare seeking sockets soon enough.

Just a reminder: no pussy comments. You made your bed, now you can friggen well lie on it and look at these things and laugh.

A lot of loaves

If the preliminary stacks of pumpkin chocolate chip loaves in my freezer are any indication, it looks like I'm well on my way to making up for last years Holiday Season Without a Kitchen.

I'll admit, it was something of a relief knowing that even if I wanted to, I couldn't bake or cook a single thing last December since an enormous hole in the kitchen floor and lack of appliances prevented me from doing so.

Oops, so sorry, can't bring a homemade pie to Hanukkah this year - guess I'll have to go to the bakery and pickie one up! Fresh orange cake you loved so much last year? Sorry, not this year - no kitchen! Mashed potatoes? No stove. Smoked turkey? No oven. Borrow a platter? Packed in a box in the garage.

Best I could do was babysit the couch with my ass. It was a joyous time.

This year, however, we have a fully functioning kitchen and doesn't everyone just know it. I have on deck for the coming long weekend, a baking schedule to rival most patisseries. There will be citrus pound cake. And chocolate chip loaf. And fresh orange cake. And maybe some more pumpkin chocolate chip bread. Oh, and lemon poppyseed cake. All in mini-loaf form and headed for our neighbors doorsteps or my coworkers desks.

This here is about as merry as I get during the holidays since it is the holiday activity I can do while wearing my fugly librarian sweater, ratty jeans and comfy slippers. Plus, since the oven is on, the house is NOT freezing and I don't have to be bundled on the couch wearing everything I own.

Extra bonus, chimney man came for the third and final time (how do they always find something extra wrong and end up having to make multiple return visits?) this morning so I can put the fireplace to work on the half cord of firewood sitting outside the back door.

So, I'll crank up the heater, light the fireplace, fire up the oven and by Sunday I should be doing my baking in a bikini.

And now I'm thankful for my daily visits to the gym.

InStitches September/October: Done+

Donk,

It is a good thing that all forces conspired for me to sit down and work on this bag because OMG there was a lot of tedious BS that went into it and had I had even one other thing I could have been doing, I probably would have abandoned this project in the bin and just let you all call me a big loser.

For one thing there was all the quilting. I have never used so much thread to make such a small project. I must have used miles of it. And some of it in the form of useful stitches! So much just gets ripped out and wadded up on the floor or left clinging to an inappropriate place on my clothes (thread pasties, anyone?). It is a sad but amusing waste that keeps Bubba entertained while I yell swears at the sewing machine/pattern/rotary cutter.

And oh, COME ON, how many pages of instructions were there? Um, so many. I almost passed away when I turned the page a second time only to find out there were a full two pages of instructions left in the pattern. What tha? Are we sewing housing complex onto this bag or something? So, so many words.

And, oh, last but not least, all the hand-sewing in all the land just waiting all quietly at the end of the pattern like some feral cat ready to spring out and attack your face and infect you with gnarly kitty cat germs. Real nice, people. Go to the trouble of writing ten pages of friggen pattern instructions only to leave attaching the liner to you and your trusty hand-sewing needle. I will put this out there one more time:

This is work a machine should be doing.

IS THERE NO WAY WE CAN WORK OUT PATTERNS TO AVOID HAND-SEWING BECAUSE I HATE IT MORE THAN WET JEANS CLINGING TO MY LEGS OR NOT BEING ABLE TO FIND THAT THING THAT IS STINKING UP THE WHOLE HOUSE, OK?

Thank you. That is all I ask.

Ironically, I think this is the nicest thing I've ever sewn. Have I said that before? I can't remember. Either way, I'm resetting the clock now because, despite the full-blown hassling of this pattern, the bag turned out pretty nice. Like, to the point where I'm not ashamed to show you pictures of it from all angles, not just the angle that doesn't reveal all my measuring and cutting and sewing mistakes.

Oh, what? Like you just randomly pick an angle from which to shoot your projects because OH they're all so perfect? I don't believe you. No, I choose to believe that everyone, like myself, finds the one angle from which it appears you made zero mistakes instead of showcasing the part of the whatever where the seams don't line up and, damn it, why is the quilt batting sticking out right there?

So, for the first time ever, shots from every angle of this, my most satisfyingly not heinous project to date: (Meanwhile, please don't make mean jokes about the fabric matching. That is not my strength and I readily admit to sucking at it.)

Side 1: Notice the normal rectangular shape.

Side 2: Notice again, the normal rectangular shape.

Side 3: Notice that the zipper seams to be 100% attached with no uneven stitching or errant thread dangling this way or that.
Side 4: Notice again how it all looks according to pattern without any alarming bulges.This is the same as Side 1 and is just a glory shot. Nothing looks fucked up! Woo!

Now, I know that there is a rather obvious lack of patchwork on my Patchwork Bag, but I assure you that I did as much patchworking as is physically possible for me without turning out a big pile of patchworked crap. Ok. I'm just not good at matching fabrics, measuring or cutting to size. I didn't even get to sewing together the original (fugly) patchwork pieces due to the horrible derailment of the project by that point, but I know it would have been awful and just gone on to prove how ill-equipped I am at the patchworking business.

Anyway, since I'm so enlightened about my own lack of talent with patchworking, I decided to simplify the whole thing and take to heart the part in the pattern where she says something to the effect of, "Create your patchwork pattern in whatever way that suits you as long as the final piece measures whatever X whatever."

So I did. I sewed five strips of fabric together and called it patchworking. Call me a loser, but I'm more pleased with this than I was with the patchwork business I tried to create before.


And I did, for the record, sit down and hand-sew (loathe) the lining into the bag. But I set that part aside to do later in the evening while I was desperately searching for a way to distract myself from the pending race. It did the trick for sure - I focused intently on making straight even stitches instead of agonizing over the looming 13 mile run.

Now that this thing is finished and I'm more than mildly pleased with it, I've decided that I can make it, and its awkwardly long and boxy shape, into a perfect something for a birthday coming up in December. The idea came to me as I was stitching in the lining (by hand, remember the pain and sorrow) and trying to figure out for what this bag's bizarre proportions could possibly be used. Bubba suggested I use it with my other fabric shopping bags and just present it at the grocery store as "The Bread Bag and please don't squeeze the bread when you put it in its proper case right here, thank you."

I have decided to go in another direction. When I've created it, I will revisit the topic here and I promise it will be a shorter post.

Anyway, Donk, thank you for talking me through this project (Finny - you will love it, I'm sure of it!), my race (Finny - Stop freaking out - you are going to rock it!) and just life in general.

Wuv you!

xo
Finn

P.S. I have an idea for the November/December project.

Let's make it official. Starting with The *Disappearing* of Thanksgiving

I really love your enthusiasm for my holiday rants. And not just because I love to rant (which hullooooo - is my favorite) but because it always feels good to not be alone in one's opinions of things. And there you guys are, all "Yay! It's Finny Rants About The Holidays time!", making me all warm and fuzzy inside.

And, isn't that what the holidays are really about? Feeling warm and fuzzy inside?

Yeah - I used to think so, too, until people got all full up with their retarded Holiday Crazy and began snuffing out the warm fuzziness that *could* be a part of the holidays if they'd all just stop being idiots and starting full scale riots over video game consoles and such.

Which is why I'm declaring December on this blog to be How Dumbasses Are Ruining The Holidays Month.

Because there are SO many ways that dumbasses are ruining the holidays beyond just the fugly-fying of their homes with absurd decorations when they should be spending that time and money, say, MOWING THEIR DAMN LAWNS SO THAT CHEETAHS STOP USING IT FOR CAMOUFLAGE.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

What I'm planning to do here is trot out all the ways in which dumbasses are standing between all of us and a warm, fuzzy holiday season, one post at a time. And, by all means, feel free to add your peeves to the comments so that I can fold them into the ranting to come.

We'll start with a post that I drafted up before Thanksgiving when I was in the throes of an enthusiastic happy hour with Bubba and all on fire about a sighting from my commute home on November 9th.

Remember that date, November 9th, because it sets the tone for the post below.

Hope you're all looking forward to a month of holiday ranting interspersed with ironical displays of my holiday endeavors because even though there are dumbasses out there intent on ruining my warm fuzzy good holiday times, I never stop trying to fight back with seasonal baked goods and some measure of good tidings.

For that post already...

I nearly caused a low speed traffic accident by slowing down to a shocked halt in front of a house a block over from mine when I saw that creepy telling glow of OH SHIT THE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS ARE UP ALREADY.

Net lights over shrubs, string lights hung all mamby pamby along the gutters, some horseshit wound around the porch columns. ON NOVEMBER 9th. Waaaaaaaaaayyyyy more than a month before Christmas.

Meanwhile, do people even celebrate Thanksgiving anymore? Because I think this country, as a whole, has forgotten about Thanksgiving in its ever hurrying rush to celebrate Christmas.

Not to get all, "When I was a kid" on you, like some crazy old bat (which I don't yet qualify for at my spring chickeny 33 years of age), but I do remember a time when we at least waited until the day after Thanksgiving to get all HOORAY CHRISTMAS IS ONLY 30 DAYS AWAY and shit.

Like, there'd be the mad dash to the mall on the day after Thanksgiving (though I will NOT call it Black Friday because I just will not) and, soon after, there'd be the lighting of some tree in Rockefeller Center in New York City, because it's super relevant to the rest of the country to light a tree in a city thousands of miles away, and the chorus of holiday stressing out would be set to annoying jingling music in every store, commercial and radio station.

AFTER THANKSGIVING.

But I think there's been some secret agreement made amongst those who really want Christmas RIGHT NOW to *disappear Thanksgiving* in some sort of mob hit so that they don't have to wait one additional hot second before dousing themselves in egg nog and running headlong into a Wal-Mart frenzy at an ungodly hour to maim people with shopping carts and also save, like, $2.50 on a Xbox.

I think they're trying to *wack* Thanksgiving.

I mean, when you think about it, what really stands in the way of Christmas anymore? Halloween? Pffftt. Certainly not.

I mean, I saw Halloween decorations in the stores for about two weeks and THE SECOND that shit was over, all that stuff got packed into boxes and shipped back to whatever storage facility holds it all for next year. The shelves weren't even cold before the Christmas stuff filled its place. Meanwhile the shelf space next to the Halloween stuff had Christmas stuff in it already, so it's not like the writing wasn't on the wall.

It was. Halloween is on shaky ground in the Obstacles Between America and Christmas department.

And what else is there between us and Forever Year Round Christmas? Hardly anything.

I mean, Easter gets a little play, and there's Fourth of July that people like because there are explosives, outdoor cooking and beer, but no one's getting up at 4am to race into a department store to buy an American flag or anything.

What I'm getting at, here, is that the holidays are fine things in themselves, but the Crazy that surrounds them is, like, totally gross.

So when I see my neighbor's Christmas lights up on November 9th, it makes me want to jam a pen in my eye and/or go on a killing spree with a giant candy cane.

Thankfully, there are already many stabby instruments making their appearance around my neighborhood, so at least I won't be at odds in my hunt for a killing instrument.