A little less knit, a little more crochet

So The Jilted Ballerina made a post dedicated to me, and in true wooing fashion, I did whatever she asked.

An improperly crocheted flower fridgie!  I left out a petal somehow, but oh well.  I guess I didn't need to point out my failure, did I?  She posted a video here, for those of you crochet illiterate like me, and she is a very good instructor.  And in the least creepy way to say this, she has very nice hands.

I tried over and over again to crochet with some cotton yarn that would have had great colors, but I suffer from S.H.W.L.N.T.S. (Sweaty Hands When Learning New Things Syndrome) and boy howdy, sweat-tee.  So I switched to that mystery green yarn and bam, the eggs are in the egg drawer.

Oh, and to clarify from my last post, my husband had to ask what a "crip" was, and I told him I was referencing bloods and crips (two separate gangs), and how the Fat Bridesmaid was wearing a dark bandanna, which I assumed to be blue, and then assumed she was a gang member.  I realize now not everyone knows these things about gangs in the blogosphere.  Which, why do I know these things?  I do not understand.  I can't tell you anything about Greek mythology or fractions, but I can tell you all sorts of gang history and zombie facts.  And hypothetically how to bargain for a beer in Mexico.

So on Saturday night and Sunday night I bamboozled Jesse into doing the 30 Day Shred with me.  On Saturday when I had done it twice, I was feeling AWESOME.  The next day?  HORRID.  Jeesh, Jillian.  I'm even cheating through some of it by taking longer than a 5 second break.  But I do have to say I'm feeling great throughout the day.

We installed our air conditioner units yesterday, which actually means that my dad came over and installed our air conditioner units yesterday.  Have I mentioned how handy my dad is?  He's awfully handy.  And he'll gripe about fixing something for you, but you can see that light in his eye when you ask him to fix a problem.  My father's name is Mark and he loves PVC pipe, pocket knives, and complaining about fixing things.   His dislikes are kidney stones and fixing things.

Thinking of fixing things makes Dad feel:

And let's welcome Nan to the vast following on my blog!

AAAHHHH RABBITS.

New followers, people!

Okay, first of all let's welcome Shelley.  She hails from I Miss My Sanity and blogs about her animals often.  Why are other people's pets so interesting?  They're not, you say?  Stop posting about my cats?  YOU KNOW YOU LOVE THEM.

Next is The Jilted Ballerina.  She's crafty.  But probably not like ice is cold.  She's set on getting me to crochet, and if you saw my computer desk right now, you would know she is winning.

Next up is what's her face.  I forgot her name.  How rude am I to call someone what's her face?  FINE, I'll go look it up.  It's Erin from the Mother Load!  It was love at first sight with this post.  Don't tell Jesse there are women who even pretend to do chores in a little black dress.  Although I don't know how hot scooping the litter box wearing high heels can really be.

Which, speaking of the litter box.  On Thursday something came in the mail.  Something horrible. Something that would....ruin my night.

Oh, Jillian.  I thought I liked you.

But what's the best is when I was googling for that picture, I came across this one of a girl after her first 30 Day Shred work out.

Didn't want that posted on my ever-increasing in popularity blog?  Too bad.

Oddly enough, it looked a lot like my photo!

And who was totally not going to post that picture until that chick up there, who is apparently a crip, posted hers?

Okay, I assure you that my photo only looks better than the other girl's because of the lighting in the living room.  I was disgusting myself with the sweat falling everywhere.  Suki started rubbing up against my legs during my cool down and some sweat dripped down on her and who started to hate her owner?

Oh, I just realized that is the Fat Bridesmaid!  I don't think she would mind it so much anymore.  Way to ruin the embarrassment, Fat Bridesmaid.

Oh, that's right, I was speaking of the litter box.  I got up Friday morning and thought to myself, "Well look at that!  Only my arms hurt!  Even though I could barely walk myself to bed last night because my legs were shaking so much!"  And then I squatted down to clean the litter box and bam.

Jillian and I aren't on speaking terms.

However, last night I fell asleep at the rambunctious hour of 9pm, because, hello.  I'm a 23 year old partier who stays up until 9pm on Friday nights.  So this morning I got to hang out with Jillian again!  Lucky me!

Fortunately for me I'm making Jesse do the video with me tonight.  Because after we got up this morning, and I started exercising, who went back to bed?

**Edit - Please note those are JESSE'S legs in the following photo.  He was afraid they looked too girly and people would think they were mine.  He is like George Michael on Arrested Development when GOB needed "legs" for his saw-the-girl-in-half trick and he repeats "I'm okay with myself, I'm okay with myself."

Was it everyone but me?

Hmmm, Jillian?


P.S.
It's starting to finally get hot here in Portland.  I found poor Suki camping out in front of the fan.

She took my spot!

Go ahead and take the time to notice my TWO. NEW. FOLLOWERS!

We haven't seen slugs in about a week.  I haven't mentioned it because not thinking about it has been helping.  You know when you get some sort of infestation in your house (no?  You're not disgusting like me?) and suddenly every little fleck could be an ant (or FLEAS, barf)?  It's like that.  You remember from the horrible photos.  They were the same color as the shower walls so every time I go into the bathroom I open up the shower curtain, ready to go on a rampage.  But it's been okay guys, calm down.

HEY!  You.  Yes, you, stalking me.  I know who you are, and you should stop waiting for Susan to post regularly to come out of hiding and start following MEEEEEE.  Jesse and Cinnamon sleepily plead with you in the photo above.

IN THE MEANTIME (Jessica), craft night is resuming tonight.  Jenna will be joining Susan and I.  Okay, well, that's all there was for that paragraph.

Over here at Bye Bye, Pie, some of us decided to do Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred because we hate ourselves.  I say this even though I have not received my dvd in the mail, so I don't really know what I'm talking about.  But I did do some Dance Dance Revolution to "prep" myself, and HOLY COW WHO IS OUT OF SHAPE?  I don't talk about my weight on this blog, except for that little blurp to the right where I stated I weigh 120 pounds "give or take a few dozen".  Now, the give or take might be a little modest.  It's more like "add 80 pounds and cry a little inside".  But I don't get down on myself about my weight too often (I bet Jesse begs to differ with that statement) because a wonderful addition to that weight gain was a butt.  Because the women in my family tend to be, how you say, "top heavy".  As in, we were out with friends one time and I went to the bathroom and on the way back my friend's husband said to her "woooah, that chick has huge boobs" and she said to her husband "that's Katie!" and he said "don't tell her I said that" and hello internet, meet that story.

So, anyway, I might blog about it some.  But it's definitely not going to turn into a health blog because a few weeks ago my sister was reading a bio on some animator chick who said she loved peas and bacon and I said "So she eats healthy" which was surprisingly not said condescendingly.  To which Susan said, "One of those was bacon!  That's not healthy!"  And I retorted, "One of those things is never in my diet."  "Good point," said the defeated Susan, looking up at me while I sat highly on my steed.

Someone misses her Brittney :(

"His fahza, Dr. Evil." "His farger? What's a farger? I don't speak freaky-deaky Dutch." "Fahza, his dad, dad is fahza." "Oh, his dad. His FA-THER."

Approximately 59 years ago, my father was not a father.  He was more like a month or two old.  But even then, I knew.  Someday he would be my dad.

That's my mom and dad.  He was already working towards being a dad there, for the ultimate goal of having kids until they had the perfect one (me) and then stopping to raise said children.

Hey Dad.

You're not nearly as grumpy as you're made out to be.

And I know the term is like a million years old now, but I totally caught you taking these photos of yourself in true Myspace fashion.

Dad has had the privilege of being mentioned in a few childhood stories on my blog.  For some reason, my mom hasn't, because she never threatened me to eat a moldy sandwich and never told me to eat my diarrhea. But he is the one who told me it's not what you want that makes you fat, it's what you get.

When I was in high school we lived in a "mobile home" (do not say the word trailer to my dad) and Cinnamon used to get stuck on the roof all the time.  Stupid cat.  I would (dad would) get out the ladder and I'd have to get up there and stupid Cinnamon would be so happy to see me he'd start rolling around and rubbing against my hand but never letting me grab him to get him down.  He is still there today.

Okay, that's a picture I found online.  The only basketball hoop I had fit over a trashcan.

Less than a year after moving to Portland, my parents decided to move to the same area, because it is the best area in Portland.  A year after Jesse and I got married, Mom and Dad moved into these ADORABLE duplexes.  So, uh, we moved there too.

One day my dad called me and told me to come outside.  I came over and stood by him in front of his house.

"You know," he said, "when you moved away and took all your stuff, I never thought we'd be living this close to each other and that you'd drop in on us and bring over your friends from high school (Brittney lived across the street at this time) and that YOUR CAT WOULD BE ON MY ROOF."

And, sure enough, there was that cat.

He is still there today.

So, thanks, Dad, for being my dad and for not being a weirdo or anything.

Baaaahhhhh (sorry to be so frustrating)

I have nothing to talk about.  Let us proceed with the post stating otherwise...

I came home from work the other day to this:

Had Jesse disintegrated?

"My apartment is infested with koala bears.   It's the cutest infestation ever.   Way better than cockroaches.  When I turn on the light, a bunch of koala bears scatter, but I don't want them to.  I'm like, 'Hey... Hold on fellows... Let me hold one of you, and feed you a leaf.'  Koala bears are so cute, why do they have to be so far away from me. We need to ship a few over, so I can hold one, and pat it on its head."

Mitch Hedberg

So, Amy had to be all, "Slugs aren't so bad, I've had to kill three scorpions so far in my new place."  Indeed, Amy.  Indeed.  It's too bad Amy and I stopped being friends, isn't it?  No one likes perspective, Amy.

I never had an issue with slugs.  It's kind of like raccoons.  I never had a problem with those adorable little faces.  But?  When they move in under your house and have babies?  And eat all your cat's food?  And make the most HORRIFIC NOISES?  They lose their cuteness.  And talk about a not at all stressful time for my parents. 

Brittney and Bracken moved away from us  :(  Which means Brittney has to update her blog regularly so I know what the heck is going on in their lives.  Because I'm apparently extremely nosy.

Okay, here's pictures I took of Cinnamon when he fell asleep on the couch.

Hairy toes!

And then he woke up and looked very jarred.  See the spread toes?

And then I didn't think Suki was going to let me in to my own house.

"Sorry, but a toll is a toll, and a roll is a roll, and if we don't get no tolls, then we don't eat no rolls."

Remember that line?  Robin Hood: Men in Tights?  Which was way more entertaining than the real Robin Hood?

"I opened up a yogurt, underneath the lid it said, "Please try again" because they were having a contest that I was unaware of. I thought maybe I opened the yogurt wrong. ...Or maybe Yoplait was trying to inspire me... "Come on Mitchell, don't give up!" An inspirational message from your friends at Yoplait, fruit on the bottom, hope on top."
Mitch Hedberg