Confessions of a Malkavian

Tuesday, June 23 2009 - Song of the Day

2009-06-23T07:00:00.000-07:00

Today's song of the day is inspired by my love for my husband. Well, that and my undying respect for Elton John.

Just what is a fandango, anyway?

2009-06-22T13:35:00.000-07:00

So, finally have a bit of breathing room. Ok, I really don't. I'm writing this on my laptop between calls. My life feels like a fandango, whatever that is.

1 - My back, very asstackular
2 - My store, behind on customs again. I'm scaling back and closing the custom list so that I have the 3 on deck, and then I can concentrate on just stocking. I would really like to release an AI2 idea to go with my pockets.... and maybe a fitted/cover combo, not that I ever really did those.... I do have a pair of wool trainers almost done and ready for release... but that belongs on my shop blog, not this one.
3 - My marriage.... Ya.... that's a subject better left ignored. When other people are noticing that we fight all the time, but are stupid in love with each other... Ya, we need to fix it...
4 - The little one is with her dad... I'm withholding judgment until I find out what I'm going to get back...
5 - The warrant I had previously in Idaho.... It's been purged, and I didn't have to do anything. Nice. So there is NOTHING on my background check. *collective sigh of relief*

other than that.... ya... it's kinda like a high speed rush through an ice chute with an ice skate shoved up my bum.

Memories

2009-04-01T09:31:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been riding the bus to work, since my car got repossessed. Sitting in the backseat of the bus watching the scenery (or in this case, graffiti) roll past my window has been bringing back memories. Wearing headphones (because if you don't people start talking to you) and listening to the playlist on my blackberry, the music brings back memories. Not all of them are good memories, but all are strong. All provoke strong emotions, and if I weren't already introverted enough, the memories would push me that way.

Just this morning, as I was listening to the equivilent of musical schizophrenia, I heard Great Big Sea's Fast As I Can, I was reminded of the person who got me started listening to Irish Music in general, and Great Big Sea in particular. It got me thinking, that this was probably, second only to my wonderful husband, the best guy I've ever actually dated, and I didn't treat him very well. Ok, I think about now, I feel like I treated him like dogshit, and I hate feeling like that. So, this is my apology, now and forever, to the person who actually treated me like I was worth something, and paved the way for me to accept what my husband offers me every day.

Thank you.

Very Funny Friday

2009-02-06T10:52:00.000-08:00

So this going to be an odd post, because my husband and I have a VERY odd sense of humor. Couple that with slight sleep deprivation leads to many many days of what we call the "Lima Bean Moment" - When you are so tired, that everything is funny, even lima beans.

So this week, there have been many half formed conversations that under normal circumstances, would not be funny. However, these conversations elicited such odd mental images, and a snort-fest on one occasion, that I felt I should share them.

His best friend, even best man at our wedding, is called J-Bone. Not because of anything he's done, but because it pisses him off. Day before last, our phones got shut off because we can't pay the bill until we get our tax return. Add to this the message from H&R Block online that I need to call the IRS and find out what DH's AGI was for 2007, which I know at one point I had saved his 1040A from 2007, although where it's gone is beyond me. So he texts J-Bone from his computer to ask him if he can come over so he can use his phone to call the IRS and find out what said AGI actually is.

So we're in the car, on the way back from picking up my daughter from school, and he makes a comment along the lines of "J-Bone will be coming over soon" to which I misinterpreted as something completely perverted, along the lines of J-Bone, naked, with a boner, and a bone club made from the femur of a large animal. Add to that the fact that I have a very vivid imagination, and well...Now there is a large naked man with a boner, and a bone club, running circles in my head screaming the lyrics to Soundgarden's Spoonman and I just lost it. Had I been drinking, tea would have shot out of my nose, I snorted, and my poor DH is just glaring at me like I've lost my mind, which really, I had.

So....ya...I'm an odd one. If you would like to hear more oddities, please purchase from my etsy shop pictured on the right. I get a little giggly thrill when I make a sale. Now off to sew more.

To read more Funny Friday blog posts, click here

Wardrobe Refashion

2008-12-30T16:13:00.000-08:00

The Pledge

I Sanity, pledge that I shall abstain from the purchase of "new" manufactured items of clothing, for the period of 2 / 4 / 6 months. I pledge that i shall refashion, renovate, recycle preloved items for myself with my own hands in fabric, yarn or other medium for the term of my contract. I pledge that I will share the love and post a photo of my refashioned, renovoted, recycled, crafted or created item of clothing on the Wardrobe Refashion blog, so that others may share the joy that thy thriftiness brings! Signed Sanity.

Some explanation, rules, and sign-up can be found here.

A new beginning

2008-11-26T07:27:00.000-08:00

So...living in a new 3 bedroom apartment. Have most things unpacked. Have I mentioned before that I hate hate hate moving? I hate it even more when a 3rd floor apartment is in anyway associated with the equation. Most of the new place (thankfully on the 1st floor) is arranged and ready to be lived in. SO why do I feel so out of place? Is it because we've got the mom-in-law living with us? I'll admit, that does take a bit of getting used to, but I'd rather it be Silver's Mom, than mine.

I suppose it shouldn't surprise me, with the economy the way it is, it's becoming more and more common for extended families to live together. I'm reserving judgement on this, though. I love our new place, I love the change that has come over the kidlet having grandma look after her after school (although that could be a side effect of the Gluten-Free, Casein-Free diet. Whatever it is, it's worked wonders and her good days are starting to vastly outnumber her not-so-good ones.

So why am I in such a funk? WHY do I feel so restless?

Finished Project, finally!

2008-10-21T17:10:00.000-07:00

Several months ago, so long ago, in fact, that it was over a year ago, I think, I came across a rather spectacular find at the local Goodwill up on 35th ave and Greenway. I found a pair of what we refer to as "bondage pants" for $15. Marked down this nicely, near as I can tell, because they are missing the chains that clip on. Well, I can't wear the chains at work anyway, and I can sew, so I can create more chains for them...I snagged them since they were my size and seemed MADE for me. This sparked discussion from my wonderful Silver, who is 6'5" and 300 some odd pounds, that he wished they made bondage pants and his size. And if they did, that they didn't cost so damn much. At the same time, he was lamenting the lack of cargo pants in his size, since he puts a lot of stuff in his pockets. We scoured the shelves at our local Hell-Mart, only to find the biggest pants they carried were a 40 inch waist by a 30 inch inseam. Ok, so the only people with large waists must be short? This logic is flawed, for anyone who has seen the last 2 guys I've been involved with, as well as many of my ohauna...So, since pants flys are my nemesis, we bought the pants that were 40x30, had Silver try them on to see just how much I would need to take them in... And that was where they sat for the better part of a year, before I did anything with them.

Fast forward to last week, when the wee one had fall break (thus a vacation from the split shift I've been working) and I was able to pull the pants out and start working on them. Added a panel to the bottoms (kept the original hem, added length at about mid-calf) to make them a 38" inseam (add room for his boots so he doesn't look like he's waiting for a flood), and added 5 inch panels on either side to make what WAS a 40" waist a 49-50" waist. While I was doing this (since I had to pull the pockets off anyway to add the panels) I added trim and D-rings to make him his own version of bondage pants, as seen here. And yes, those chains going around from front to back, those are his poi leashes. He can spin whenever he wants now. And I fully expect that the twill used on the panels will soften up with washing, and fade to match the rest of the pants.

from the front:

Side:

And the back:

[3] 525,600 Minutes

2008-07-11T12:54:00.001-07:00

"How do you document real life when real life's getting more like fiction each day?" Mark Cohen, Rent

A little over 2 years ago, I made the decision to move to the city named for rebirth. I felt I needed a new beginning, a do-over, as it were. And while not all the decisions I made upon that move were good ones, things have, for the most part, worked out. I'm part of a kickass performance group, SINaesthesia, I've been accepted for who I am by my wonderful Ohauna, I have a beautiful six year old daughter, and a wonderful husband who loves me for who I am. I've made great strides of improvement in my musical ability, at least according to the husband. I start a new job on Monday, and with a new job comes a new start away from the things that went wrong at the previous job.
But one thing seems to be missing. Seventeen long months after a horrid miscarriage at almost 12 weeks and fifteen months of actual trying, and we have nothing to show for it. There are some things, in that 15 months, that I am getting really tired of hearing, such as:

"You're trying too hard"
"It'll happen when you least expect it."
"God has a plan"

It's the last one that really irritates me, though. Firstly, don't presume to know what my Higher Power does or doesn't have. My beliefs are none of your business, and the the last thing anyone wants to hear is that something they so desperately want is out of their control. I am already well aware of this, and I really don't need your reminder of this fact.
Studies have shown that little worries, like whether or not you will ever conceive, do not affect your conception chances. Bigger stresses, like moving, getting married, or being out of work do, but for once, this cycle we were surprisingly not stressed. So fourteen days of elevated temperatures and four days late mean absolutely nothing. And after fifteen months, there is a small part of me that is starting to feel as if maybe I'm making penance for some karmic sin I've committed. Is this my punishment for September 2006? Or for getting divorced? Is this my punishment for the debacle with King Hookah?
And if you're going to tell me to be patient, well, I'll leave you with this quote, "I can't control

My destiny

I trust my soul

My only goal is just

To be

There's only now

There's only here

Give in to love

Or live in fear

No other path

No other way

No day but today...

[2] Lady Victoria Weatherby

2007-07-30T15:00:00.001-07:00

Victoria stared out the glass French doors in her bedroom at the gorgeous young man outside. He caught her eye and winked. She smiled back, secretly hoping he would be at her Debutante ball next week. Victoria sighed, knowing soon it would be time for another of her mother's boring lessons in Polite Society Behavior and trying to prolong that moment for as long as possible. In only a week she would have her Debutante and enter The Society. Soon she would be out of her mother's view, and would never have to hear her tell again and again what was and wasn't proper.

She turned away from the window and went to her bed, taking out a wooden box from underneath with hands that shook for fear of being caught. Inside this box held the one book she owned, and because of this, it was her biggest treasure. She sat down and began to read the novel, losing herself in the bloody romantic story. So engrossed was she in the story that she almost didn't hear the footsteps coming up the stairs and jumped up, smoothing her skirts with her hands and nudging the book and box under the bed with her foot only just in time, for her mother appeared in the doorway.

"I guess she knows I've been skipping lessons," Victoria thought to herself sullenly, as her mother Looked at her with scorn in her eyes, "Yes, Mother?" she asked innocently.
Standing in the doorway was a stern, old woman, her gray hair twisted coldly into a bun at the base of her skull and her back as straight as if she had an iron rod instead of a spine. Her gowns were always immaculate and her stays were laced so tightly that Victoria often wondered if her mother could smile.

"Come downstairs please. We've little time to prepare you for Society, and you've much to learn." And with that, Mother turned on her heel and left, expecting her to follow. Not wishing to risk punishment, she hurried downstairs and bid a silent good-bye to her afternoon.

One Week Later

Victoria was bored. She sat amongst a group of young man, all come to court her, and not a one of them had a single brain cell between them. A bigger bunch of empty-headed puppies she had never seen. She looked around her, trying to spot the young man she had glimpsed from her window earlier. She had seen him every day since the first, always across the street, shaded under a thick hat with a wide brim and a heavy black trench coat. Sadly, she shook her head and went back to pretending to be interested. Then, she heard it.

"Come to the balcony..." She looked around but saw nothing.

"Come to the balcony..." There it was again...It sounded like it was behind her. She turned, trying to find the source of the sound.

"Come to the balcony..." Victoria excused herself politely and made as if to go to the loo. Instead, when no one was looking she made for the balcony, creeping quietly to see who has summoned her.

No sooner had she stepped out did she see him. He was beautiful, his face looked as if it had sculpted from white marble and his eyes looked like deep blue pools that anyone would long to fall into. She stared into his eyes, unable to move, unable to even look away. He moved his hand, beckoning her farther from the door and onto the balcony.

When she got to him, he seized her shoulders in his hands. She noticed just how strong those hands were and longed to sink into his arms. He pulled her close to him and kissed her lips. He kissed her face. He kissed her hair, and then sank his teeth into the tender flesh of her neck. Victoria gasped at the pinch she felt, and then sank into his embrace, giving of herself completely until she fell lifeless to the floor. Her eyes saw nothing, until the moment that the man put his own wrist to her mouth and fed her some of the blood that he had taken from her. As the first drops touched her lips she wanted more. She suckled at his wrist as a baby from it's mother until he pulled his wrist away.

Victoria sat up, blinking, and reached for his wrist again. He pushed her away and reached for a body, all bound and trussed up, passing it over to her. She recognized the body of Melinda, her maidservant, briefly before sinking her fangs into Melinda's neck and satisfying that thirst that she had never before known, but seemed so ancient and all-consuming.

[1] Oxymoron

2007-07-29T19:33:00.000-07:00

ox·y·mo·ron [ok-si-mawr-on, -mohr-] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation –noun, plural -mo·ra [-mawr-uh, -mohr-uh] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation. Rhetoric. a figure of speech by which a locution produces an incongruous, seemingly self-contradictory effect, as in “cruel kindness” or “to make haste slowly.”

ox·y·mo·ron (ŏk'sē-môr'ŏn', -mōr'-) Pronunciation Key
n. pl. ox·y·mo·ra (-môr'ə, -mōr'ə) or ox·y·mo·rons
A rhetorical figure in which incongruous or contradictory terms are combined, as in a deafening silence and a mournful optimist.

Military Intelligence.
Microsoft Works
Pointedly Foolish
Malkavian Sanity