Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Pay attention, Ms. Cruella Deville



My house is brimming over with blankets. Like, if we were suddenly thrown into a live-broadcast of a Blanket-Fort-Building competition, we would totally win. Not because we have so many blankets, but because we are one/twenty-thousandth dwarf. And everybody knows, dwarves can build anything with a little bit of know-how and beard-grease. 


I took a photo of
the quilt on my son's bed,
because his room is eerily neat,
 but not 'Dexter' neat, thank glob.

My mom is the main supplier of our blankets. The majority of those blankets being quilts. Beautiful, beautiful quilts. My mom made me this quilt earlier this year for my birthday. While she had cancer! She is all sorts of amazing, my mom.

Right now I have restless-leg-syndrome-paddled away all of the other blankets on my bed except for this one. See how one side is a beautiful, snazzy quilt? 




And the other side is MINKY. 




'Minky' is the softest substance known to man. Some may tell you that 'minky' fleece is made out of 100% polyester. These are the same people that will you tell you that dwarves are not real. Do not believe them. Believe me when I tell you that 'minky' is made from the harvested fur of the bastard pups of Falkor and Snuggle the Fabric Softener Bear.


'I am thoroughly disgusted by your
lewd implications of inter-imaginary-animal-breeding.' 

Weasley Brian, Esquire

Friday, November 16, 2012

TOTAL LOSER

Am I the only one behind in pretty much everything? Laundry, embroidery, dishes, de-cluttering, eyebrow grooming, so many many things? Lately, I have been prefacing every almost-commitment with, 'When I get my shit together . . .' And no, I do not consider the sh-word a swear. Shit is a fact of life. You take the good. You take the bad. You take them both and there you have the facts of shit. (Sorry, Mrs. Garrett!) 

Will there ever be a day when I remember where I parked my car in the parking lot? Or when I will be able to open up one of those accursed plastic produce bags at the grocery store without going into carpal tunnel shock? Will I just once -- just once -- choose the fast line and not the slooooowest line at the grocery store? You know the line. The one where everybody is standing over a vent blowing carbon monoxide, slowly swaying to Muzak, right before the poor cashier is attacked by a woman who wants everything she bought double-checked because she was absolutely positive that the sign said, 'For you, madame, the price will be negative dollars!'

To cheer myself up, I made this:




At losing I am a TOTAL WINNER. 





Tuesday, November 13, 2012

CAFFERAPIST


Now that I work at Java Junkies (you should visit me), I have found my true calling. No, it isn't being an aging, maternally-hip barista. I am a Cafferapist. Please do not pronounce the last two syllables as 'rapist.' I don't want to run into the same problem as Tobias F√ľnke when I print up my business cards. Cafferapist is pronounced, 'Caf-air-uh-pist.' 

The reason that I am such a great Cafferapist is not because I am an awesome barista. I'm getting better, sure. But the Bestest Barista in all the land is Brad, the dude that works the morning shift before me. He has serious cappuccino skillz. Also, he is in a band, but we'll get to that part later.

No, the reason that I am a great Cafferapist is because of my uncanny ability to elicit full confessions from complete strangers. This has been my Super Special Oprah Power since forever. Every time I check out in a grocery store or wait in line somewhere or help an old guy find his wife some nice Hanes sweatpants at Target -- people tell me things. Horrible things, wonderful things, powerful things. People tell me about their illnesses or their spouses cheating on them or their childhood stories of abuse. And I listen. And I don't make fun of them later, because you know what? I can't do much in this life, but the one damn thing I can do is listen. If you tell me your story, I will treat it with respect. If no one else wants to listen to your harrowing childbirth story, hey, call me up. (Or rather email me. Or better yet, visit me at my coffee shack!) Your stories are real. And important. I will always be willing to lend you my freakishly cartilaginous unbendy ears. And now that I am at Java Junkies, I will make you a nice warm latte or hot chocolate while you talk to me. I think you are amazing.

So this is the apron I embroidered as modeled by my adorable daughter.

CAFFEINE THERAPIST

I have to give Brad the Barista credit for this idea. He told me that I should stitch 'Caffeine Therapist' on our aprons. (I will make yours this weekend, Brad!) And now, speaking of Brad -- whom I totally 'mom' whenever I get the chance....


If you are cool you will come to this on Saturday.
Brad has a band called Tri-Polar Bear! They are crazy awesome. And moi and The Happy Valley Crafters would like to support him. Brad's band is playing this Saturday night in Provo -- the epicenter of happiness in the valley. Would you please pretty please join us? Here is my event page. And here is Brad's. Go ahead and sign up on both. Is fun. The first three people who sign up on my event page will win a free 'FLOOZY SAY RELAX' t-shirt. 

Plus, there will be stickers at the CD release concert. STICKERS. 


Brad would like you to not think about the HUMAN CENTIPEDE while looking at his free stickers. But, as for me . . . MUST. NOT. CUT. AND REASSEMBLE.

I hope to see you Saturday Night, guys! 

The Flooze

Monday, November 5, 2012

Stitching Instructions, Floozy-Style



As a few of you know, I recently had a MED CRASH in September. A huge reason was because of my head injury. Another reason was that my current medications just stopped working. Stopped. Working. Dead. Dead dead. Which is another way of saying that I went full-blown Crazypants (a medical condition.) The biggest concern I had about going Crazypants was that I would not be able to host my Craft Lake City Workshop. Fortunately, with the help of a great doctor and new medications, I was able to do it! Hurrah! 

Here is a very nice writeup about it here you go, HERE.

Also, watch this video. Yes, I am a huge dork, but the new and better me accepts my adorkableness with only minimal cringing.


 


For those of you who did not come to my workshop because either A: you live far away, or B: you hate me -- here is the handout I gave out at my workshop to teach anyone and everyone how to stitch.


Behold:


The Cotton Floozy’s Handy Dandy 
Guide to Life and Stitching 
But Mostly Stitching.

STEP ONE: Turn on a good television show such as Game of Thrones or Hoarders and sit down.

STEP TWO: Thread your needle. Tie a knot at the end.

STEP THREE: Assemble your hoop which includes: wooden embroidery hoop, quilt batting, and fabric. Save the felt for later. Or cut it into a circle and wear it as a yarmulke.

STEP FOUR: Draw your design or words onto your fabric with a disappearing ink pen, a water-soluble pen, or an iron-away pen. Do not prick your finger and use your own blood. That is gross.

STEP FIVE: Pierce the fabric with your threaded needle. Approach from your hoop’s throbbing undercarriage. Stop reading all those stupid vampire novels that make you use words like ‘pierce’ and ‘throb.’

STEP SIX: Carry on, ye beginner stitcher, with the Back Stitch. It may not be fancy, but a fine stitch she be, yargh.

STEP SEVEN: Pause the television show and get a beverage. It is important to stay hydrated while stitching.

STEP EIGHT: Finish stitching. Unless you have more important things to do than embroidery. Which is totally bogus, because there is nothing more important than subversive embroidery.

STEP NINE: Preheat your glue gun. If you do not own a glue gun, that means you have a life. Congratulations.

STEP TEN: Tighten the hoop as much as super-humanly possible. Trim only the batting down to the edge of the hoop, much as my daughter chews her fingernails down to the quick. Question: What is a ‘quick?’

STEP ELEVEN: Trim fabric, being careful to leave a margin of one - two inches or so.

STEP TWELVE: Take the fabric edge and glue it tightly down to the undercarriage of the hoop. Ask the hoop’s father for permission to marriage.

STEP THIRTEEN: . . . is an unlucky number.

STEP FOURTEEN: Glue a piece of stiffened felt or ‘E-Z Felt’ (as the French call it) to the back of your hoop. Trim away the excess. Now you have a glorious finished product. Go forth and share it with the world.