Monday, January 28, 2013

Calm Your Tits

Today is one of those days. The school called at buttcrack o' thirty this morning, informing us that the school buses were not able to make it up the mountain to our city due to a snow storm. Which I get. My minivan is distantly related to the I-Think-I-Can-Train, but sometimes, it just can't make it up the mountain either. I totally sympathize. I am sure my car feels the same way about our mountain as I do about broken escalators. When I see a broken escalator in the mall, I suddenly lose my will to live. And all I can think about doing is donning a Snazzy Napper and taking a snooze in the back of Hot Topic.

All of my kids are home from school today. The weather is now clear and blue and chastising me for being a bad mom for letting my kids lounge around playing video games and reading Harry Potter all morning. Mr. Floozy just finished snowplowing the driveway, so now should be the time that we load them all up in the minivan and take them to school to finish the other half of the day. Instead, I think we are going to play Lurds of Waterderp. I totally creamed the whole family last time, just sayin'.

For awhile this morning I was feeling the stress of ALL THE THINGS. Of snow, of housework, of medical bills, of our dying Subura, of generally feeling like total crap these last few weeks because my health is whacked out and I should drink less Diet Coke because I am sure it is leeching the potassium right out of my body. But this is January talking. And I have forgotten how much I hate July so I need to give January some slack even though this month the air in Utah is basically teeming with Dickensian germs that are like, '''Ello, Guvnor! Blimey, I'm bloody buggered out. Mind if I rub me grubby knickers all over yor fancy indoor plumbin'?" 


And pardon the metaphorical whiplash, but these are the times that I try to remember the wise words of Buddha.

Calm your tits. -- Buddha
Wise words, Buddha. Wise words.

Friday, January 25, 2013

The Fugliest Jeans Ever

While looking through old photos I figured out where I get my simultaneous fear and love of clowns. 

Would somebody please make me a mom-sized version of this clown costume? Please? For Halloween next year? To terrorize the neighborhood. Do it for the sake of the children. The scared, scared children.

I also figured out where I got my love of ric-rac. Basically, everything I wore from a newborn to a fourth-grader was covered in ric-rac and eyelet lace. (Okay, I just googled eyelet lace to make sure I was spelling it right, and the first thing that popped up was a Victoria's Secret super-alien wearing matching undies, and then I clicked on the link to see if the description said 'eyelet lace thong' because that would be funny, but my over-aggressive internet child-safe protector thingey wouldn't let me visit the website.) 

Meanwhile, nothing to do with eyelet lace thongs....

Ric-Rac With Scary Doll Clowns -- The Dress!

This explains so much.

But perhaps the most alarming picture is this one:

This was taken on my way out the front door for the first day of seventh grade. AUGUST 1988! Check out my lovely acid washed jeans with the weird buttons that ostensibly could continue up way past my bra-line. They were Guess jeans, guys. If you grew up in the 80's, you will know what that means, how important it was to own a pair of guess jeans. But, these are indisputably the fugliest jeans ever invented. Way to go, Guess Jeans. And thanks for being so pushy that I wore a matching Guess T-shirt. OMGLARB. With sleeves that I rolled up, because obviously, I am packing some serious guns. And the hair! Oh the hair. With the enviable triangle shape, created by lots and lots of hairspray and a bad perm. 

But seriously. Those are the worst jeans ever invented right? With those triangle points that folded over like dejected lapels. 

And the weirdest thing about this getup? I WAS NOT THE ONLY PERSON WEARING THIS OUTFIT. There were at least two other girls wearing the exact same t-shirt and jeans that day on the first day of school. I lieth not.

For several years, I looked at the photos of my gawky years and wondered why my mom let me out the door looking like that. And karma is a bitch, yo, because now I have a 12-year-old daughter, and oh no way do I have any influence over what she wears. This morning, I begged, I pleaded, I offered her Disneyland, if she would just for the love of glob put on a different shirt! One that she hadn't been wearing for three days straight. And please, PLEASE, could she just try on one of the new shirts she got for Christmas. Just try it on and I will buy you a pony to ride around Disneyland led by a shirtless Prince Harry lookalike. But no. I have no idea how to convince her that these new clothes I bought are not, in fact, laced with arsenic and uncoolness. 

When my daughter starts junior high this fall, I hope that she will listen to me and not whatever-the-equivalent-of-Guess-jeans-brand is this year. I will make her a delicious hot beverage and sit her down next to me on the couch, and show her this picture as a cautionary tale. 

And then I will dress her in ric-rac and eyelet lace and scary clown fabric. 

Thursday, January 10, 2013

Putting My Pants on One Jerk at a Time

May Kurt Cobain bless thee and keep thee.
So, this happened.

I was on the radio.
I come in just a few minutes after the commercial break. It was . . . fun? I tried to minimize my dorkiness as much as possible. I'm not sure if Bill tried to minimize his curmudgeonly mountain hobo as much as possible. A lot of listeners and friends were concerned, that, to quote a few texters, 'Bill was being a dick.' Now, when I was doing the interview, I didn't feel that way. And after listening to the interview again, I still don't feel that way. Was he kind of rude? Sure. But, that is sort of the schtick. The show is called Radio From Hell, not Delilah Loves You, Fuzzy Wuzzy. My handiwork is not perfect.  Purposefully so. That's my schtick. I stitch not so that I end up with great works of art. You can tell by the photo of the X96 sampler that the lines are kind of wobbly, that the stitches aren't perfectly even, and that Bill's face looks way too beatific for the curmudgeonly mountain hobo that he is.

Honestly, I stitch because it is an extension of the writer in me. To write words on fabric. To make jokes. To steal other people's jokes. To cheer people up. And when my 'work' is insulted, I think that's effing hilarious. Some of the things I make are certifiably fugly. But hopefully appreciated.

Even though I solemnly swear on a stack of pancakes that my feelings weren't hurt, I did get a glimpse into some of the stress that a few of my friends have been going through for their decision to wear pants to church. Pants. To wear. On leg parts. Church.

Here is a very good article about it from NPR. If you google it you will find dozens of very good articles and thousands of crazy comments from the local Utah online news mags.

Now, I know that there were a lot of wonderful, smart mormons who didn't agree with the whole ladies wearing pants to church idea. I know that there were a lot of wonderful, smart mormons who did agree with the rights of women to respectfully and peacefully wear pants to church. But these were not the people that commented on the internet. It is a well known fact that crazy people have three extra digits per hand and can type 2000 words per minute.  And some of my friends took a beating.

Not cool, guys. Not cool.

So I made my friend Stephanie* -- the lady who started The Pants Movement -- this pillow, so that she can rest her weary head and drool all over it when people are jerks to her.

They came.
They saw.
They wore pants
People really can be jerks, but I believe that most people try hard not to be jerks when they are one-on-one with someone. Face to face. Eyeball to eyeball. Nose ring to nose ring. Skin tag to skin tag. I believe that the jerkiness happens the safer and more distanced we feel from each other. You know? DO YOU FEEL ME, PEOPLE.

So, back to the Radio From Hell show . . . . They invited me to come to their studio and 'finish' the embroidery. SO FINISH IT I SHALL. I am planning on going up there, taking my damn needle and thread and making them all look like geishas.

And it's not going to stop there. No. I am going to regularly visit the studio, take that embroidery off their wall (or out from under Bill's coffee mug) and re-stitch it. Make it change with the seasons. Add costumes. You know, like those lawn goose statues that have all of the cute outfits.

I AM OPEN TO SUGGESTIONS. What would you like Kerry, Bill, Gina, and Dead Kurt to wear? I already have 'bozo makeup' in the line-up submitted by a friend. I'm also thinking that Snuggies would be super rad. What do you think?

Tell me what you want me to stitch or appliqué over this embroidery. Here, I'll post it again so you don't have to scroll.

I'm actually glad that Bill called this embroidery 'unfinished,' because think of the multitude of ways I can finish it! The possibilities are endless. Maniacal laugh.

Give me your ideas, and until then, don't be a jerk. You stay classy, San Diego.

*Okay, Stephanie is more like a friend of a friend. But we communicate via the interwebs and are planning on consummating our friendship in front of the painted black, looks-like-something-else-when-upside-down ice-cream cone at Jimmy John's.

Monday, January 7, 2013

The Cotton Floozy's photostream

cereal killerMormon Women Wear Pants to Churchit's not fat. it's're no Wrong. you're just an asshole.that rug really tied the room together.Total Loser Blue Ribbon
bindersDeck the harrs with boughs of horry.My dogs in their crocheted dog sweaters.The Dude AbidesLouis CK. .... sticking out like baguettes ....Totally baguettes in no way anything else.
funny breast cancer shirt for my momCaffeine is my favorite vitamin.oppositeSmile, your teeth are broke and it's all right.Kurt Cobain blesses Utah morning radio show.respect
i want thathomo sweet homoi love you more than deep-fried baconninja love assassinsbathroom birdiewhore island
Maybe you have noticed that my Etsy is gone. That is because I have enough business through custom orders. Email me -- thecottonfloozyATgmailDOTcom if you want a custom needlepoint. Meanwhile, here are the photos of my wackadoo creations on Flickr.