Craft: along July : Not too shabby

I'm sure you expected this when I announced this month's totally unbiased Craft: along projects.

I mean, you do know me to be something of a Tshirt makeover psycho, and well, this was a project just calling out for the bottom dresser drawer (that's where the Tshirts live, dontchaknow).

Of course, I hit something of a mental design block when actually sitting down to craft my swimsuit cover-up because the contest example is pretty much exactly what I had in mind to make as it's a near duplicate of my favorite swimsuit cover-up but I couldn't just go making exactly what they have in the example, that'd be lame.

Even though it'd be awesome. And I'd totally wear it. And I might make it anyway and just not add it to the contest pool.

But let's walk away from that obsessive behavior for a moment.

After some careful culling of the bottom dresser drawer and then inquiring within Bubba's superior stash of giant Tshirts, I unearthed (or rather Bubba handed me) this gem.

And while, at first, I was super excited to use this particular shirt for my project, I was at the same time sad and afraid because this shirt is from our friends' now-shuttered pizza joint and the thought of totally jacking up this blissful memory (oh tiled pepperoni pizza, how I loved thee) made me queasy.

Typical understatement. This pizza is THE best pizza. I swear it.

But I forged ahead (obviously) with my rotary cutter and Bubba turned away while I started slicing off sleeves and things.

We'll not go into how I tried my hand at creating a shirred dress from this shirt because the complete FAIL that occurred was nothing short of soul-crushing and has lead me to believe that it is my machine's fault that I can't perform this particular sewing Magic because of its stitch lengthening limitations.

ie. The longest stitch length is 4, and I do not believe this to be adequate. I think I need 8, as noted by a random tutorial I found on the innernets.

ANYWAY, not to worry, I only tried shirring the bust OH THREE TIMES before I gave up in a rage and went to my sewing box for the elastic.

Frankly, that might have been the best decision I made all weekend. Because I can say that the best decision was not the one I made on Friday night when I chose to fill my body with a wide variety of booze with the knowledge that I'd be running 7 miles in the morning. That's right folks, the genius moves don't stop coming.

Anyway, after making the move from elastic thread to elastic band, the transition from Enormo Tshirt to useful Swimsuit Cover-up was rather swift. Like, 5 minutes swift.

The only other mods I made were to cut in some shaping along the sides so that I didn't 100% appear to be wearing a shapeless grocery sack and then I cut some side slits in there which are reminiscent of my favorite, albeit not pictured, swimsuit cover-up that I'll have to show y'all sometime.

It's got this great throwbacky "Hawaii" screenprint on the front that makes me think of the Blue Hawaii days and what not. Plus, it's super comfy, not too dowdy with its side tie and spaghetti straps and despite this awful description of mine, it's way beach cute.

I should just delete that whole last paragraph, shouldn't I?

Anyway. This is my entry for the Singer Swimsuit Cover-up Contest and also one of my contributions to this month's Craft: along challenge.

Notice that I said "..one.." because I did them both. OH YES.

So I took this picture in the bathroom after a particularly hot day that rendered my hair so annoying that I had to pull it away from my face no matter how ridiculous it made look? SO WHAT?

After much noted soul-searching, I managed to make peace with this "super easy" lace pattern and actually produce a lacy summer scarf sans shimmer. Because I find shimmery knitted items somewhat barftastic. Sorry if you're a shimmer person. I just am not.

And since I've spent much time already boring you with the mind-numbing details of how this scarf came to be, I will spare you further detail except to tell you that the tip Zarah gave me in the comments was crucial to its success.

So, if you're going to knit this fucker and you start losing stitches, just make sure that you're adding that crucial YO at the beginning or end of the line. And, if you're not sure which end should have the YO, just check to see which direction your stitches are slanting because that's where your YO should go. If you're on a Slant Right row, put your YO on the right end of the row. If you're on a Slant Left row, put your YO at the left end of the row.

Then knit for a while until it's long enough and you're done.

Then you, too, can go to your bathroom and take a photo in inadequate lighting so that you can put this project to rest even though the photo doesn't do the lace pattern justice because it actually came out quite nice.

It was 90 degrees in our house, people, whaddya want? I'm already wearing a scarf in summer, isn't that enough? I think so.

On a separate note then, how are your projects going? I see some of you have been mighty busy.

It turns out I lied

When Bubba and I were leaving for our vacation I told him, as a way to justify my SUMMER RULES WINTER DROOLS bitching, that I would have myself a little summer send-off party in Hawaii and when we got back I would fully resign myself to the Fall Season and quit parading around like it's still summer.

Also I would stop giving the evil eye (and sly naughty finger) to anyone mentioning the words, "fall", "autumn", "winter", "The Holidays" or the much-hated, "Christmas". Which I'm sure came of significant relief to him as I've been rudely avoiding our neighbors because they keep announcing their anxiety about "getting the new roof on before winter" as though it's about to snow at any moment. Annoying.

Well, I went to Target today to restock our empty ass house with all the necessary sizes of Ziploc bags and the spray-on sunscreen I like (we used so much - I'm proud) and I totally bailed on my big promises.

The moment I saw the gigantor Halloween display of orange and black bullcrap I nearly barfed. I at least broke out into a cold sweat. And I definitely said some bad words.

I'm not going to go on a big rant as to how much I hate the celebrating of all holidays, contrived or genuine, with all manner of tacky, wasteful and UGLY color coded knick-knackery or that I just don't understand why we must start its celebration so soon before even the month of said holiday is upon us, but it does get me all riled up and that is when I start flipping the bird and wielding my big red shopping cart with the intent of knocking over jack-o-lantern displays.

Meanwhile the changing color on the trees has me staring and smiling. Because I like fall. I like leaves changing colors and piling up on our grass. I like eating in-season squash and making smoky bacon chili without sweating my ass off in the kitchen. I like watching football every Sunday and fishing in a river surrounded by yellow birch trees.

I just don't like driving home from the river and seeing tacky Christmas lights draped haphazardly from apartment balconies illuminating the rusty Smokey Joe bbq and piles of housewares they couldn't find room for inside. It brings questions to mind to which I never have an answer.

Example: When taking the time to purchase and install Christmas lights on ones rickety ass apartment balcony, does one not contemplate the area which one will be illuminating with said Christmas lights and then recoil in horror at the tag sale shitshow one's balcony has become?

Clearly the answer to this is, "No, one does not", but I still ask it (albeit quietly and to myself) about one thousand times every year. And this Q&A session gets tiresome and redundant and makes for some long car rides where I have to close my eyes, therefore losing every game of "Hay".

But anyway, I have resigned myself to behaving as though fall is here and I'm OK with it even though my behavior is mostly a sham to disguise the seething scrooge loitering just below the surface. And to be fair, I'll try to parlay my sham onto the blog so that you don't have to suffer my incessant bitching about the fading of my meek tan, my neighbor's blinking wreath or all the "boo"-ing paper ghosts hanging from my other neighbor's tree.

I'll try. Don't get greedy.

Meanwhile, Hawaii was kick ass and I swam around with this turtle:

Running Update: Remnant Injuries

When we left for Hawaii, back in the day, I was up to 11 miles in my oh-so-technical half marathon training schedule.

Not 11 glorious, graceful, fast miles - but 11 miles nonetheless.

Then we went on vacation. Before which I decided that I would not run. No, I would take a break and "let my body rest" in preparation for The Race. And also because running, or routine exercising in general, while on vacation is for losers. Something which I reminded many losers about (from the comfort and safety of my rolled down car window) while vacationing. It would appear that I am the only person in the whole wide fit world that thinks that vacationing is for binge drinking, lazing about, eating and cavorting.

Who are these losers out in the humid Hawaii heat in their running shoes and visors sweating away their misbehaving vacation hours?

I mean, shit, I can run at home - why not instead burn my excess calories (and oh, I do gather some excess calories on vacation, letmetellyou) doing stuff I can't do at home. Like kayaking, snorkeling, swimming, improperly boogie boarding and staggering around on the beach looking for the pool bar.

These are things you do on vacation in my world.

Running? No. Running is for when you're home with access to all your gear and close to your primary care physician.

Despite all my vacation resting, I still managed to injure myself. Which, frankly, is not all that surprising since I made my way through the better part of a bottle of gin while also spending most of my waking hours in the ocean.

To quote a wise man, "Late night swimming and alcohol: it's a winning combination!"

Either way, during one of my many turtle stalking snorkel outings I got a vicious evil cramp in my shin meat, which I initially ignored because I wasn't ready to go in yet. I guess I'm still, like, 10 years old or something. By the time I made it to shore and hobbled up to the deck, I thought I was in the clear. The cramp was gone.

I was AOK.

Nuh huh.

Woke up the next day with sore SORE shin meat. Like reliving the shin splints of my youth, I'll tell you. Not pleasant. But it was vacation in my world, so I made a cocktail and let the soothing powers of gin heal my wounds.

When I got home (and sobered up) I went for a short run, thinking my soreness would melt away when I hit the pavement.

Neow.

I planned to run five miles, but ran closer to four. The last mile of which I completed with tears in my eyes. Ouch. Sore shin meat strikes again.

I hobbled all last week. I took it way easy this weekend - getting new insoles for all my shoes (hello! I'm gellin'!) and I think I'm on the road to recovery. Finally.

Chuh! And only two weeks later. Geez man.

So, update is this: I have been resting for practically three whole weeks with only a few short runs to my name during this time and I just got my race packet for the race which is in, like, TWO WEEKS.

Holy crap. I think I just threw up a little bit.

*sweating*

And I don't think I'll be completing that 12 mile run I added to the schedule, despite my fear that I won't be able to go beyond the 11 mile mark having never seen myself do it in real life.

And I don't think I'll be resuming a regular training schedule because I would have to immediately scrap it for the ever important Taper.

And I think I'll be arriving at Race Day with little more than my *hopefully* fully recovered bod and 11 miles under my belt.

And I've stopped carrying my iPod with me because I can't manage the technical difficulties while I'm sweating like a wild hog and dodging traffic. So, I'll be doing this race tunes-free. (Never thought I'd say that)

Will I be able to man-up and run the race without keeling the hell over? Mmm, we'll see.

Actually, yes, I do recall feeling relaxed.

I was a little worried that taking a vacation to go nowhere (aka my house) rather than somewhere (aka Hawaii) was going to be a bit boring and not all that relaxing and something of a bummer.

Not so!

Well, not so once I decided that a No Rules approach was better than an Apply All The Random Rules People Spout When They Hear You're Taking a Vacation at Home approach.

Man, people will make rules about any old thing, won't they?

Don't do any laundry!
Eat out at every meal just like on regular vacation!
Remember to cancel/postpone/hold all your stuff like mail and cleaning ladies!
Don't run errands!
Don't work out!
Sleep in every day!
Don't watch TV!
Visit new museums around your house!
Go to the movies in the middle of the day!

NO.

I'm proud to say that, while I was planning on abiding by a few of these rules (laundry and working out come to mind), I didn't. I think, in fact, that I DID do most of the shit on that list. Because you know what stresses me the fuck out?

Coming home from a Somewhere Else AKA Hawaii type vacation and having to do laundry, go out to dinner because we don't have any food in the house, collect mail, clean the house, run errands, work out every single moment to regain control over my waistline from a week of drinking cocktails at every meal, make up sleep, and catch up on the TiVo.

Going to museums and movies doesn't show up on my To-Do list regardless of the occasion, so those rules fell on completely deaf ears.

But don't worry, friends, it wasn't all Hey Bubb, Do We Have More Detergent? the whole time.

Oh no. We did things.

Think things like cooking, canning, beach-going, impromptu road tripping, running, going on bike rides, sewing, gardening, drinking of new cocktails, drinking of old cocktails, accepting delivery of local-raised chickens, shopping, *censored*, wine country visiting, wedding going and just plain sitting on our asses.

As you can plainly see below.

It was relaxing in the sense that I cleared my mental mind list of a lot of stuff that's been sitting around taking up space in there for a long time.

And relaxing since I did sit around a lot in the garden and stare at the birds, plants, my book and the bottom of a cocktail glass.

About those salty stories...well, I can't say that any really come to mind since I didn't kayak into a boulder, get washed ashore face first, take pictures of dead fish on a beach, or narrowly avoid being buried in a snowstorm.

I did, however, try a new cocktail and now my life is forever changed. Mostly because it gives me another way to use the garden produce and enjoy my gin in one sitting.

Welcome, Cucumber Cooler.

A friend of mine dropped this little Hendrick's booklet on my desk the other day, an act that would normally elicit very little response beyond that of throwing it in the trash since I don't deal in clutter, but something told me I should take it home and absorb its contents.

And absorb I did.

Mostly because Bubba's been plying me with a different gin cocktail every time we go to a new restaurant or bar because on a recent work trip he tried, "a gin drink with ginger beer and cucumber something in it and it was so good and I knew you'd love it but I can't remember what it was called or where I had it" (helpful, this one).

So, when we were in Anaheim for the All-Star Game, we went to Morton's and I had their "Cool as a Cucumber" drink, which was good (I swapped Hendrick's for the filthy vodka the thing called for) and since I determined that this change from plain old gin & tonic or vaguely more interesting gin & ginger ale (Gin Buck) to something more exotic was actually not a pointless activity, I set out to recreate the magic at home. Where I could also control the amount of gin going into my drink (more) and also use up some of the vegetables and herbs trying to take over our front room (cucumbers, mint).

Good call, me.

So I made one of these Cucumber Cooler things, even though it called for about a hundred more ingredients and dirtying a dozen dishes unlike my typical G&T.

And that garnish you see on top there? Yeah. That's a garden cucumber after a meaningful run-in with my melon baller. SCORE!

I haven't used that melon baller since I bought it and am only now beginning to realize it's potential. Awesome.

And the drink was awesome. And I had many. And then maybe Bubba lit the fire pit and we got so into our cocktails that we maybe had to take a bike ride to the booze store the next day so that we could relive it again that night.

And that, my friends, is a big benefit of staycationing - all the comforts of home, like your own bike, patio, fire pit, bar and booze store are, RIGHT THERE because...well, you are at home with all its comforts.

Adopt a Crop 2010 : Exotic. Freaky. You decide.

So, good job, people. On picking the melon I wanted you to pick.

My mental powers of persuasion must be getting good and strong since most of the people who've seen that melon have not wanted to have anything to do with it, much less to grow it in a garden for food.

No, I do believe the question of whether ownership requires inoculation or at least a stout whip was brought up.

If my memory serves, it does not require either, though ownership may very well require me to purchase a juicer, which is on my list anyway now that I've taken to dispatching the farmshare beets in juice form because HOLY how else am I going to reclaim the friggen crisper if I don't get rid of them quickly and swiftly and SOON? See, thing is, I don't know. So, I feel I need a juicer.

And, hey, these melons allegedly have a "banana-lime-tropical fruit taste and [are] good juiced" which sounds a lot like a ringing endorsement for a juicer, then doesn't it? Yes. I'm sure you agree.

I'm considering this one since it's the same as the one we used in Hawaii when we were there last and let me easily make these from Bubba's coconut conquest which sounds kind of freaky but was really just the result of Bubba swinging an abandoned golf club at a coconut tree while I drank cocktails and cheered him on.

Quite a conquest it was.

Anyway, let me know if you have a juicer that you love and that I should buy and to which I should dedicate extremely valuable cabinet space. More importantly, if you have a juicer that you HATE and from which I should run screaming, please tell me about it so I can avoid a horrible and disappointing juicing disaster, kay?

Thanks muchly.

Now, let's stop talking about juicers and conquests and instead about this year's Adopted Crop: Jelly Melons. 

Specifically, African Horned Cucumber Melons.

Do I eat it or get a restraining order from it? Hard to say.

They're kind of a hideous sight, I'll agree. Though, aren't you kind of intrigued at the same time? Kinda wonder what something like *that* could taste like or what it might look like chucked across the street at the kids who shriek mightily for no good god damned reason?

Yes, me too.

And, really, imagine a projectile such as this headed in your direction...You'd shut up and run, wouldn't you? Me too and that's all I wanted to know.

Anyway, the jelly melon has won a space in this year's garden. And, according to Bubba (he got to choose the other melon without even having to vote against or with anyone - so special), the jelly melon will be growing (hopefully successfully) alongside the Georgia Rattlesnake Watermelon - with its freaktastic stripes and enormous hugeness.

I don't think I even have a cutting board large enough to accommodate one of these.

Imagine the cute couple they'll make - all huge and spiny and striped and jelly-filled!

Ok, so it's going to be less cute and more scary, but that's OK, they'll go well with the black tomatoes and purple beans in the other beds to complete my haunted garden of vegetable evil.

Or whatever. Maybe it's just really exotic and I should be playing the Rare Heirloom Deliciousness card here instead.

Though I do lean more to the freaky than the exotic, truth be told. I mean, really, what's exotic about brown hair, green eyes and freckles? Nothing. But you put that boring package in florescent yellow goggles and trot it out on some lava with matching yellow fins and a potty mouth and it does Freaky just fine.

And suddenly I'm a little self-conscious so never mind that last part, there.

All you need to know is that the garden plan has been finalized, thanks to some fairly enthusiastic voting on y'all's part (74 votes total) and Bubba's swift choosing of the watermelon which took him all of two seconds.

Apparently he's missed watermelons in the garden. Or at least he's missed their vines taking over our backyard, thus rendering null and void any thought of mowing or yard work back by the beds because WHOOPSY the watermelon vines are covering everything and totally in the way.

And when I plant the rest of this season's off-color vegetables, I'll let you in on all of the vulgar details. 

Are you starting to sense an alarming theme? Yeah, me too.

Commence gardeningblahblahblah.

InStitches September/October: Patchwork handbag

Dear Donk,

I'm just not sure what you're referring to when you say "handbag problem". There is no such thing. Handbags, like shoes, are innocent items to covet, collect and then shove your husband's clothes out of the way to store in the closet.

Which is why I think the September/October project is a lovely choice. And not one that will lead to marital discord or anything.

I have actually been meaning to try one of these bags since we got the book because my favorite makeup bag is roughly the same shape (sexy rectangular shape I love you), but without the handy handles and with a super HELLO I WAS FREE Lancome zipper pull.

CUH-lassy.

Because, dudes, they are always foisting these gifts with purchase on me when I buy my mascara (Difinicils? Anyone?) and when I see the lip gloss in there I can't resist. Then the Lady in the Black Coat gets all pissed when I take the whole mess apart and leave everything except the lip gloss on the counter. You know, for the next person to pick through.

Is the GWP display not a self-service buffet?

News to me.

Anyhoo, I like the project and I like the fun new choice. I am a fan of the Choose Your Own Adventure concept (even though the act of *choosing* your adventure was always much more adventurous than your actual *adventure* which was really just filler so that they could have a platform for their *choosing of adventure* idea. You know.) and in this case, I will choose the Taking My Sweet Ass Time adventure because the next two months are scary full.

Come on people, how many baby showers can one woman attend? Not this many. Not this many.

I'd love to be all proactive and creative and endeavour to make a bunch and then give them as gifts for you-know-what-but-I'm-not-ready-to-say-the-words-because-in-my-world-it's-still-summer, but I am a realist. And this realist knows that there are only so many weekends in September and they are all 100% booked. And then I have a race in October and a lot of lingering plans threatening to become permanent weekend suckers, so if I'm lucky I'll have time to make this bag once. And with any luck the patchwork won't come out looking all jacked like it does every time I do any piecing forcing me to come back to the blog with shreds of my one unfinished project to shamefully share with the rest of the class as My Most Amazing Failure.

The drama today? Sheesh. I must need a vacation!

Oh wait, that's right. I leave for Hawaii tomorrow.

HOLY MIKE!

I need to pack.

Good call on the project, theme and bag lusting.

Back in a week.

xo
Finn

Time to pretend I love Fall the most.

As you probably know, Labor Day has passed and that means that we're heading straight into Fall.

Also, yes, I realize that it's not a proper noun and doesn't call for a capital letter, but for me, it's a big deal.

Because I LOVE SUMMER.

I love flip-flop tans and backyard BBQs and and wearing white pants and swimming in the lake and listening to the crickets while I fall asleep and backpacking under big storms of swirling stars and watching the garden get crazy with tomatoes and dinners outside and firepit bonfires and lots of shit that only really happens in the summer.

And then it ends. And I become sad. Because I know my flip-flop tan will fade. Beach sand will be vacuumed up and disappear. Windows will close out the sounds of outdoors. I'll have to hold the umbrella over the dog so she'll poo in the rain.

Basically, some things will start to suck.

But before you get all, "What about skiing and pot roast in the crockpot and rainy weekends watching Archer re-runs with Bubba?" and shit, let me tell you that I'm working really hard to pretend I love Fall the most of all the seasons.

Because it makes me hate the passing of summer less and lets me not ruin the forthcoming winter for Bubba, because that is HIS favorite season and there's nothing suckier than having someone around telling you how miserable they are when you are blissfully happy.

Like I would be if I were all, "UGH. I can't believe summer's over. Stupid winter. Stupid cold weather. Stupid snow. STUPID. *Frown face*"

Meanwhile, he's trying to keep from exploding with happiness because we're that much closer to the first snowflakes flying in the Sierras.

SO - that means I'm loving up on Fall.

Sort of. If by "loving up" you mean "lying to myself continuously while quietly planning a winter escape to Hawaii".

That's a lot like loving.

Also, eating BBQ every single day until it's gone because WHOA did Bubba make a lot of it this weekend for our Labor Day bash.

Thankfully, Frankensmoker was up to the task of smoking what appeared to be the brisket off a whale shark.

Also, all these ribs.

Plus these ribs. And beans. OH THE BEANS.

This accounted for 1/3 of the ribs we made.

Yeah, I could probably eat all these alone. If you gave me a week or two.

This barely scratches the surface of the brisketness we smoked.

Maximum capacity on the 9 quart pot means good times with BBQ beans.

So, yeah, I'm expending a lot of energy right now being all OH, at least I can wear my boots again and maybe I'll take up a new knitting project or sign up for a fall race in order to keep from whining constantly about how I'll never see the sun again since The F Word is coming. 

Because after The F Word comes The W Word and EVEN WORSE - The H Word. 

I won't even go into that now. It'd ruin all my pretending and I'd inevitably shift into full rant mode and since I'm feeling so balanced and not rage-y thanks to my hippie vitamins, I'll save that rant for another day when we're closer to the Most Ugliest Time of the Year.

Though quick update on the whole vitamins situation - THIS SHIT STILL WORKS. Yeah - we're going on 9 months with the daily Vitamin Feast and I've only had two migraines.

Why did I get two migraines and not ZERO? Fine question. I have no idea. 

Perhaps there are other things out there in the world and my life that impact my migraine status. Perhaps someone hit me with a ball peen hammer while I slept. Perhaps they were In The Back of my brain inventory and had to be trotted out for an End of Season Sale. I have no idea. I had them, I took Imitrex for them and they went away.

I think the last one was a few months ago. 

But I've been taking my vitamins and supplements and capsules of mystery gel every day like a good little hippie and I don't wake up behind closed eyelids with fear in my soul because WHAT IF I HAVE A HEADACHE.

Instead I wake up and realize that I can't wear my white shorts anymore so I guess I'll just throw on these boots and call it good.

Did you get that? I tried to go full circle on this post, but I fear that I failed. 

Eh - it happens.

Such a sucker

There are a lot of things I outwardly loathe. Of those things, collections and the activity known as collecting are at the tippy top of the list. And if what you're collecting is plastic, especially useless and of no foreseeable value even after a century of living in original shrink wrap - the loathing becomes even more extreme and all-encompassing.

Take the KFC Dale Jr. collectible chicken buckets, for instance. Really? Is there a segment of the population so overwhelmed with creepy misplaced love for a man who drives a car that they would not only purchase an entire bucket of chicken in his name, but then save the gree-zy bucket for future reminiscing and nostalgia? Stunning.

And then there's Adults Who Collect Stuffed Toys. Nothing activates my gag reflex quite like the sight of a bookshelf lined with chronologically organized Beanie Babies. And if they have protective plastic covers snapped over their red heart tags then there had better be a trash can nearby and ready access to a baseball bat.

Oh, and freaks who have display cases full of every McDonald's Happy Meal Toy ever spawned. Hate.

Then when I'm vacationing somewhere and pass a trinket hut selling googley-eyed seashells with sparkly puff paint reading, "Hawaii".

I have to ask why, people? Where is that going to go in your house? On the mantel? I think not.

And I'll tell you right now, no one wants it - so don't go giving it away to anyone. Because they're going to go home and say not nice things about what a tool you are and how it's because of people like you that our landfills are full of grains of rice with your name on it.

Yes, that is right. We know who you are. Didn't think about that, did ya?

So, clearly, my hatred runs a deep scary swath through my soul.

And yet, I went to the 7-Eleven turned Kwik E Mart this morning and spent $1.62 on a Lisa Simpson twisty straw/magnet from which I plan to drink every single beverage until its pink plastic structure is eroded by time and/or usage.

And this is because the warm fuzziness hearkened by The Simpsons is apparently stronger than the bitter bile churned up by being the sucker of an obvious marketing scheme aimed at pathetic collectors.

To be sure, I am stewing in my own fresh shame.

Meanwhile, see how fun?







Of course, I didn't have to buy anything. I could have settled for being the loser taking pictures of donuts and empty shelves. But, as it turns out, the allure of a pink twisty straw AND THEMED MAGNET was more that my weakened restraint could handle.

Please note, however, the lack of a photo featuring me with my arms thrust around Homer's neck. In a rare moment of restraint (self-consciousness) I managed to sidestep that particular embarrassing impulse.

Thank you. Thank you very much.

And, for anyone who's wondering, no - I don't see any irony or contradiction in this post.

Another Pickle CHiPs Winner + CORN [RECIPE]

I started to get all "AHiPs" on this post and then decided against it because even I can't keep up with my failed CHiPs analogy anymore.

It's too much, people, these stories I weave.

So, I'll put it to you this way, Ms Dig still gets her pickles, because I love her and I believe all pregnant women should have access to pickles and now, Holly does, too because Dig is very nice and also has a healthy guilty conscience and since she'd just finished winning four of the last four contests she'd entered, she was ready to give up her pickles to someone else. Because of her guilt.

Which I found to be sweet and indicative of her lovely character. And I can't take pickles away from lovely characters? What would that say about me, then?

BAD THINGS.

And I can't have y'all thinking mean things about me just all the time, now can I? No.

So - I ran the random thingy chooser again and this time it picked Holly of Life in the Shoe for a visit from the pickle chips who I've stopped addressing as Erik because it started to all get a little weird for my tastes.

Sorry, I just can't maintain these charades for so long. It cramps my brain.

BUT YAY FOR HOLLY! You win pickles, too! Just shoot me an email to finnyknits AT gmail DOT com with your mailing address and I'll ship you off your pickles to sunny AZ so that you can replenish your sodium levels after your triathlon training with some nice dilly pickle chips.

Also - I recommend fries. But that's because I'm SUCH a professional runner. Ahem. Yeah, not really.

And since I'm kinda sick of talking about pickles, chips, Erik Estrada and highway patrolmen - I'm going to stop now.

Instead - I'm going to talk about corn.

People, the corn is R.E.A.D.Y. In the, We Need To Eat it All ASAP, kind of ready.

Which is scary given we're going on vacation next week (Hey - FYI: no Finny next week - she'll be drinking cocktails at 2pm in Hawaii - yay, you're free!) and I can't trust our neighbors to actually come over and pick vegetables on their own without my semi-forceful coercing.

They're too nice and polite, these neighbors. I should train them in my rude and pushy ways.

Anyway, in an effort to de-ear as many stalks of corn as possible before we skip town for the islands, I invited some of these very polite neighbors over for Corn Feast 2009, in which we indulged in grilled corn on the cob, corn salad with tomatoes, grilled lamb chops and some other things that didn't involve corn but do go well with corn.

Sometimes you have to make compromises so that your meals make sense, I say.

I was not willing to compromise two corn dishes out of the meal, so instead we introduced lamb, which made it all make sense.

Anyway, even though I love grilled corn on the cob, the real highlight for me (aside from the lamb chops, which, YUM) was the corn salad which was originally inspired by a recipe in RealSimple, but was bastardized thusly to suit my tastes and the shit in my fridge that was pushing its way free from the crisper.

My crisper is less pushy now.

This is what my life has come to, y'all - being bullied by the crisper. It's ugly.

But this is pretty! For corn, anyway.

The Corn Salad You Must Make Right Now

Recipe adapted from Corn Salad With Feta and Walnuts, RealSimple
My changes in BOLD

Ingredients + supplies
1/2 cup toasted walnut pieces
5 cups fresh corn kernels (from 5 ears), raw
1/2 Padron pepper, seeded and thinly sliced
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
kosher salt and black pepper
1/2 cup crumbled fresh Feta
2 fresh tomatoes, picked right from the garden and chopped
Disposable rubber gloves or other hand protecting device

To make
*Indicates optional step

*Heat convection oven to 400 and burn the crap out of half a cup of walnut pieces. Discard.

Start over with another 1/2 cup of walnut pieces, this time ratcheting the temp down to 300 and standing nearby in the event of a flare-up.

Cut your corn off the cobs using Kris's method, and really, the only proper method for separating corn kernels from their cobs. Really, now.

Bubba taught me to shuck and Kris taught me to cut. It's a world of learning out there, folks.

I think this is self-explanatory.

Put on your rubber gloves and deal with chopping the pepper. Really. This is important. Because if you go chopping away on a hot pepper and then, because you're you, go to scratch your left eye or casually tap the end of your nose during a moment of introspection, without having worn gloves during the pepper chopping process, you'll spend the rest of the evening alternating ice packs, crunching Advil and basically hating your life as a swollen, throbbing, jalapeno-touching monster.

I'm just saying, those gloves are worth it. And then, just because you can, take those gloves off after handling the peppers, THROW THEM THE FUCK AWAY, and then wash your hands. Just to be careful.

Now, put all of that vegetable goodness into a big bowl, stir it up and let it sit around for at least half an hour before you serve it to anyone. The mingling is what makes it extra delicious. I promise you.

I don't know why I always take the Pre-Stir photos, but I do love them.

Plus, it'll give you time to grill some more ears (thus sharing/getting rid of more corn - you decide how you want to look at it), grill the lamb chops (HOLY GOOD) and steam those potatoes for potato salad which we'll talk about at another time but I'll tell you is an excellent excuse to introduce a new vinegar (champagne) to your regimen. But we'll talk about that another time.

Anyway, once everything is all mingly, the other corn and the lamb chops have grilled and the potato salad tossed, head out to the backyard with your third cocktail and proceed to get shitfaced drunk with your neighbors while you eat a shameful amount of corn and then some homemade strawberry shortcake brought by said neighbors.

And since no one has to drive anywhere, this entire scenario is totally acceptable.

Here's to Corn Feast 2009.

The unblurriness of this photo is a miracle. So you know.

Bees in a box

Hint: it's not shaped like a pineapple.

So, I know I promised you a new queen bee strutting around in a bikini laying thousands of eggs after her flight over from the Hawaiian Islands, but I'm afraid that absurd fantasy is not to be.

Firstly - there are only a few Hawaiian bee yards that rear queens and of those bee yards, one is sold out until June and one requires a minimum purchase of 25 queens.

Um, I'm not trying to repopulate the Castro, I'm just trying to get my beehive running again.

Sheesh.

Worse news than that was that mated queens are just non-existent in the continental US this early in the year because they're still rearing up for shipping in April.

So, no queen in my hive, no single queens in Hawaii, no queens on the mainland.

What to do besides freak out and cry?

Call my friend Steve, of course.

Do not even tell me that you don't remember Steve.

Steve who saved my effing bacon when I lost my first queen when installing my first colony by talking me through The Rapture I'd brought upon our home and yard?

Yeah, you remember Steve.

FYI: New beekeepers of the world - get yourself a Steve. They're the best and always help and sometimes help at really inconvenient times but are always so super awesome and accept tomato seedlings in exchange for brood frames (frames with babies in them) that you should cultivate this friendship with all your might.

So, I emailed Steve. I told him the woeful story of how I'd bonked the supersedure cell while I was checking the hive and how there weren't many babies left in the hive and no eggs and no queen in the whole wide world and uh oh.

To which he said, "Let me check my hives for a queen cell and I'll give it to you."

Oh really now? Your awesomeness continues a year later when I'm back asking for more help?

REALLY.

Unfortunately, none of his hives had queen cells, but he did have a nuc frame full of babies at various stages of growth, so he packaged it up with some attendants in a styro cooler to keep them warm and set them out in front of his house to pick up within the hour.

Which, of course, was at 2pm on a weekday which meant that yours truly was at the office and getting ready to go to a meeting.

Um, crap.

UM, CRAP.

To make a long story short, I'm now the weirdest person that all of my coworkers know. I'm probably also on the bubble with my manager because I had to pull the, "I have a hard stop at 4pm and MUST leave." thing when our meeting started, which is never the way to get into the good graces with people.

I also had to bribe my carpool buddy to leave work early, too, because I NEED TO GET HOME FOR A BEE EMERGENCY.

We're ready to rumble.

Thankfully, she is well versed in not only my weirdness, but also my beekeepingness.

Bless all of these forgiving and only-judging-me-behind-my-back souls.

So, after racing down the peninsula to Steve's house, gathering up the cooler from his front yard, transporting it to my house in the backseat of my friend's car (thankfully none escaped - that would have been DONEZO for our future carpooling) and smoking out my own hive - I've now managed to install the frame of babies into the hive with all my girls and HOPEFULLY they're in there making a new queen right now.

See that bit of comb between the 4th and 5th frame there? That's the smushed queen cell. Sad.

I even plopped on a fresh new feeder of syrup this morning, so they'll be well fed and won't even have to leave the house to get started on this queen.

You gotta love a queen carrier made from an old cooler.

Which is what I'm assured they'll do. Assured by Steve. Knower of bees, fixer of bees.

That's the frame I removed in order to put in the Baby Frame. EVERYONE - GET IN THE HIVE.

And in return for this enormous, if not ill-timed, beehive saving act - all he asks is that I let him know how it's going when I check it in 10 days and, hey, if I end up with a Pink Brandywine tomato seedling from my massive seed sowing fest, he'd sure like one.

Only one?

Oh, and if I have a few vegetables lying about this summer, he'd love whatever I've got.

See? Get yourself a Steve, beekeepers. They're the best.

Craft: along 2009 : August

Hey Donk,

I didn't want you to think that I ran off to Hawaii and forgot all about our Craft: along project this month because I didn't.

I totally made the Ginger Spa Cookies that don't really taste all that gingery but are still very good and, now, mostly gone from the recently very full cookie jar.

This was about as spa-y as it got, y'all.

I believe there was behavior such as this to blame for the jar's current status. Which is to say, empty.

Which is fine since we leave soon for vacation and I can't have cookies going stale in the house while we live in swim suits for a week and eat ourselves insane with pineapple and fresh caught fish and coconuts from the tree out front.

I can't have it I tell you! The thought of staling cookies haunts me from afar!

Ok, not really, but you know I don't like waste.

And that is why I went out to the garden last night and harvested my fingers to the bone so that I could abandon the dog at my mom's house with a bag full of produce and so that I could surreptitiously drop a bag of produce next to the Reformer in my Pilates class for my instructor and be all WHOOPSY what do you mean you didn't need 5 lbs of tomatoes?

I found those cucumbers hiding under the beans. Sneaky bastards.

I'm very sly and clever, don't you know.

The scary thing was, this didn't even make a dent in the garden.
Melissa - please come pick vegetables.

Anyway, I'm happy to report that the cookies have been baked, eaten and requested for a rematch. This time with more ginger.

I'm also happy to say that I will peace out for a week now and then come back and do Craft: Along September which may include some different kinds of crafting (plus sewing DON'T FREAK OUT) since I am feeling the need for adventure - in the crafting sense. We'll see. Perhaps kayaking during cocktail hour will quench my need for adventure...

Cheers,
Finny

I scored.

Seven years ago today, Bubba rolled the dice on the rest of his days and married me.

Whoops.

No backsies!

Since then, well, it's been fucking fantastic.

Because HELLO I married the funniest man alive.

It's amazing I'm still alive, given I've been laughing myself slowly into the grave for the past 10 years.

Happy anniversary, you nut.

I fucking love you. Like, a lot. Even more than when we got married or when you took me to the Caymans for my birthday or when you walked the dog last week when you got home even though I was already home but hadn't walked her but you could tell I was super wiped out and didn't want to walk her - you walked her. And you didn't even say anything about it and then you made me a cocktail when you got back from your walk.

Come to think of it, maybe it was just the cocktail that made me love you so much at that moment, but still, I'm chalking it up to your ability to read my mind, know what to do to make me happy without even asking about it and then you just do it because you're good like that.

And because you're a very good bartender who always makes sure our bar is stocked with my brands and then never gives me any crap about the fact that I have "brands".

And then when I open the bar and exclaim, for the 70th time since I saw it on Arrested Development, "Thank god. At least they have my brands!", you always laugh.

I mean, yes, it's totally hilarious because that show is hilarious and that is an excellent repurposing of that line, but because you get it, and you remember how hysterical it was when we first saw that episode of Arrested Development when it was first on the air before the soul-sucking networks canceled it in a fit of ongoing stupidity. And you get how that show is hilarious and don't look at me like a psycho when I say that X thing is "so dramatic and flamboyant and it makes me want to light myself on fire."

No, you totally laugh. And then you sing Final Countdown, slap my behind and make us cocktails.

You're just the funniest and most enjoyable fucker on the planet.

Plus, you're obnoxiously handsome and really good with your tools.

All things I enjoy in a man. And you can take that last comment about the tools in any which way you like because they all apply.

That frosting ended up in my nose and I could still smell it the third day we were in Hawaii.

Happy 7 married years, Bubb - I love you and all your hijinks madly.

Pedicure socks and my secretive ways

Pedicure Socks
Yarn: Debbie Bliss Cashmerino Aran, Teal
Needles: US 6 DPNs, Tapestry needle
Pattern on Knitty

Notice something different? That is me putting two rare things in the same post; photo of a finished knitted object (trying to stay truer to that whole Finny knits thing and all) AND I actually put the details of the project right there with the photo.

You know, because when I'm on someone's blog and I see photos of glorious projects that I suddenly MUST DO OMG THEY ARE SO AWESOME and then can't find the name of the project or what pattern it came from or geez man give me a hint about the yarn at least (!) - it pisses me straight off.

Meanwhile, I'm over here just willy nilly posting pictures of shit I knitted or sewed or whatever and never saying a peep about where it came from or if I even know what yarn I used and whathaveyou. All secretive like.

Um, I annoy myself.

But it's not like I realized this altruistically when I was sitting cross-legged on a sea cliff pondering my existence and thinking of ways I could bring my life into balance or anything. No. It was when I finally got off my dead ass and logged into Ravelry with the intent of actually using it (more on this in a minute - I'm on a roll here) that I realized the lackluster and vague knitting existence I had been leading so far AND how awesome it is when you see pictures of things you want to make right now and HEY can actually click on the pretty pictures and get details with which you can make that whatever thing right now.

*Big moment of clarity and mild arousal*

Now, before I derail off into a HOW FUCKING AWESOME IS RAVELRY tirade, let us first contemplate the beauty of the finished pedicure socks.

And let's please also ignore the fact that although I'm wearing pedicure socks, I clearly haven't just come from getting a pedicure because oh my god how long have I been wearing this pink polish or what is left of it? Just, I know, so let's move on.

So, like I was saying last time, I've had this knitting project hanging around taunting me with its unfinishedness for over a year. One sock got done in a moment of productivity prior to my trip to Italy (where I did no knitting whatsoever despite my original sober intentions) and then the yarn/needles/sock/crumpled yarn band/old kleenex/sticky earplugs got dumped into the yarn bucket when I got home to await a future moment of ambition.

One year later, there I was - all ambitious. This was on Monday. By Tuesday evening I had finished the second pedicure sock (although we will not be comparing the two side by side because you know why) and ripped them onto my semi-chilly toes to get a look at how hot my feet were going to look coming home from the salon.

Then, obviously, I recoiled in horror when I saw my toenails and the fact they were still wearing the same polish from before our trip to Hawaii that was three weeks ago. Shame.

Oh well, I guess I'm all primed and ready for a pedi for which I will bring my socks so that after they're done with all the mean scrubbing and clipping and buffing with a chainsaw, I can slide these babies on and walk out of the salon without cold winter feets. Sweet.

Now, to discuss Ravelry.

People, are you on this thing? I think you probably should be. It's pretty fancy. I totally can not do it justice in my own words because no swears accurately describe its awesomeness, but it's like this: (After requesting/receiving your invitation) You go there and organize your stash, tools, patterns, projects and the best part: you can find new stashes, tools, patterns and projects that other people are doing in this great little collaborative environ. And, answer to my screaming prayers, I can search for patterns that use the exact yarn I have in my hot little hands.

Oh.

My.

Word.

For instance, I have two skeins of Cascade 220 Superwash, but OH WHAT WILL I MAKE FROM IT? Mmhhmm - I just type in Cascade 220 and ta da (!) there are 442 projects from which I can choose. Filter at will, too! Do I want to make a hat, sweater, something naughty (that's really a filter)?

Dude, huge.

Oh just go ahead and sound the dorky yarnmarm horn but I wish Ravelry were a real thing so I could hug it and twist its naughty nipples. It's rad.

It has inspired me with his greatness to go ahead and organize my stash (usually I'm such an orgo nerd, why is this so hard for me?) and then also to get moving on my WIPs and meanwhile try not to be too worked up about the fact that everyone in the whole wide Ravelry world seems to be doing a hundred complicated projects at once while all I am doing are tubes.

What can I say? I like tube-y things. And if you like tube-y things, or are doing the InStitches along with Kelli and I or knit things or crochet things or like to look at other people's stuff or join online fiber-type groups or just like to organize things, you might want to force your way into Ravelry.

If you get in there and want to find me or the InStitches group you can search for "finnyknits" and/or "institches", respectively.

I officially like it in there and yes, I said rad.