someone in canadia loves me!

i got my first bit of holiday goodness! captain howdy girl totally wants me to have a merry christmas!

the outside:


the card:


the wonderful and amazing insides, just for me!


now i'm going to be busy for a while with the cloning and the voodoo, so please entertain yourselves with this (surprisingly) interesting meme, courtesy of crazy aunt purl.



TEN random things you might not know about me.
1: i steal pens. i have more pens than i could possibly ever use, but shiny new ones, especially lovely green ones, continually find their way into my clutches. i also like notebooks. i horde them. for a while i was not allowed to go to office supply stores unsupervised because i could spend all day and all my money. 65 dollars for different color pens? sure! because they’re COLORFUL, people. you understand.

2: i love pepperoni in ways that are shocking to the average consumer, but i try to only eat the turkey kind so i won’t get fat.

3: if i think about something too much before bed, i will dream it.

4: i have nightmares. often. for a long time i had a recurring nightmare that nazis were coming to get me and i had to hide my sister in the cabinet under the sink.

5: i used to think brad pitt was handsome but now i can’t get over the whole cheating on his wife thing. he’s not even a real person to me and I cannot let it go.

6: i can read at the speed of light. not really, but pretty fucking fast.

7: i hate phones and will not pick up 95% of the time, even if i’m not doing anything else. chances are if you were outside i would talk to you, but on the phone? forget it.

8: sometimes i bury my head in Boy’s armpits (which really bothers him) but i like the way he smells.

9: i made gumbo for dinner last night. this was my first time making or eating such a thing ever. it was pretty good, but who knows if it was anything at all like gumbo?

10: i eat ketchup sammiches. just ketchup and bread. really.

NINE places i’ve visited

1: toronto
2: santa barbara
3: san diego
4: st. louis (i drove into the wall of our motel there)
5: vegas
6: bar harbor, maine
7: hammond castle
8: my grandma’s house
9: space

EIGHT ways to win my heart
1: cookies
2: touch my face gently, like you’re afraid it will break
3: don’t be afraid of being childlike
4: try my scary vegan foods
5: know that i am insane and think it’s no big deal
6: encourage my insanity, because it will grow with or without you
7: be honest
8. bring me diet coke in the morning (this is probably more for the list of ways to insure i don't murder you)

SEVEN things i want to do before i die
1: write a book and have people read it
2: own a house that i can decorate (muraled walls anyone?)
3: get off the continent
4: get married (shut up.)
5: let go. LET GO.
6: touch a monkey
7: not worry about money

SIX things i’m afraid of
1: spiders
2: no one remembering me
3: not being good enough
4: my appendix bursting
5: ears (they’re gross. especially boxed ones... just thinking about it makes me throw up a little in my mouth.)
6: spiders.

FIVE things i don't like
1: lies
2: constipation
3: diarrhea
4: being paycheck to paycheck
5: still not having a dog sitter for the trip i'm supposed to take next weekend

FOUR ways to turn me off
1: lie
2: be a spider
3: call me crazy and mean it in a bad way
4: have boxed ears

THREE things i do everyday
1: eat cheerios, drink diet coke
2: read blogs
3: say something inappropriate

TWO things that make me happy
1: taking my bra off at the end of the day
2: making other people happy (shit, calzone. you're right. i *am* nice.)

ONE thing on my mind right now
1: three more hours of work.

and still more pain

last tuesday, the day before my FABULOUS FIVE DAY WEEKEND, other wise known as the longest day ever, i did alot of filing. for those of you who don't consider filing to be dangerous, let me explain to you how handling this much paper and at one point having to reach into the scary hot toothed sharp pointie copier bowels to relieve the jam can damage a girl's delicate hands. the hands dry up like carrion and become riddled with wounds (read: papercuts). basically you're left with arms that stump off into shredded jerky. calzone, stop drooling.

AND! this cracked skin/jagged flesh situation (hereafter known as "kendra jerkyhands") is aggravated by constant dishwashing! something called "dishpan hands." who knew? sure wish i did, before the thanksgivingturkey got his horrid poultry germs all over me.

normally this sort of thing would be easily rectified with some industrial strength moisturizer, but a girl can't knit with greasy mitts! she'd ruin all the pretty yarns! and yet her barbedwire skin pulls at the pretty yarns and ruins them anyway. by friday morning i was crouched in a darkened corner stroking vast piles of fucked up yarn and whispering, "my precious... i'm so sorry precious..."

but i persisted, and i totally finished projects! this is the internets debut of my first completed knitting projects, as i have a tendency to begin many many many many many things and never finish a single one.

first is the "umbilical hat," so called because it has a funny little knot in the top that doesn't photograph well. and also some booties.

i made them! they're so small and i made them!

then, the first ever commissioned piece of knittery, a devil hat for acw to give to someone on jeebus's birthday!

is a devil hat a fitting way to celebrate the birth of christ?
i thought so too.

after all that pain, friday afternoon seemed like a good time for more. yes, more pain! mwa ha ha ha! wait, what? we're talking about my pain??? crap.

i went to see Miyagi (hold your applause), who you can read about further here and here in case you need to be caught up.

now you can clap.

YAY! so Miyagi dragged hot and burnie needles up and down my side for about three hours. it was sooper fun. it made me sore in places that don't even have nerves! we followed up with some dicussion of how best to handle further coverage of TheUglyThing. it was decided that it would be much easier to work with if certain parts of it were lighter.

cue the lasers.

JUMPING JESUS ON A POGO STICK! holy mother of god, and by that i mean "mamma mia," because i am a devoutpastafarian. lasers are fucking evil.

it's like tiny little electric holes boring into my naked flesh, biting and gnawing in a row of unequaled searing hellfire pain.

so from about my hip bone, all the way up to my armpit, i have been either needled or lasered. i feel GREAT! w00t! let's climb a mountain and do some sporty things! yeah!

and thus concludes my two day seminar on "pain." if you glean nothing else from this, please remember, when the laser people tell you, "it feels like being snapped with a rubberband," they are right.

getting lasered does indeed feel like being snapped with a rubberband, if that rubber band is made of white hot lava and hates you with the unbridled passionate rage of a thousand devil's brides.

the end.

let me tell you about a little thing called pain

nobody knows my pain, for my pain is mine alone.

*weep*

hypothetically, if i sewed my finger, and hypothetically, if i sewed it with a sewing machine, then hypothetically, ripping out the tiny zigzag stitching from my fingertip would really really hurt. there is an off chance it might bleed too, but not on the damn projects, because then i would have to do them all over again.

and then i might have to cry, or possibly kill people.

the reason i would endure such hypothetical suffering is the magnificent monkey, who because of an unfortunate interesting mutatation, has a very large hoo hah. which makes finding pants quite difficult. which why i volunteered to make pants. which is why i have recently become bitter and angry about sewing in general.



after several attempts to conjure pants from mid air (monkeius pantimus!), i brought out the machine and fiddled around with patterns that would fit monkey's specific (and quite odd--sorry monkey) measurements. after many many tries that resembled everything from a muu muu to a creepy set of udders, i got this: voila!

day wear

and jammies! w00t!

they look less cool in the pictures, but i firmly believe that with monkey's hoo hah planted firmly inside, these pants will rock your world.

as hoped, this weekend was a time of great abundance on the martha front. i made thanksgiving, and washed my dog, and did laundry, and cleaned my house twice. once because it was dirty, and once because i spraypainted indoors. hehehehe. *glurg* i like fumes.

wait, you say. that's not really pain. who cares if you hypothetically sewed your finger into a lightning bolted mess?

well, that's not all. of course, details to follow, but briefly, let's just say my weekend involved needles (of the not-sewing AND not-knitting variety), lasers (lasers!), hot burning, cracking skin and the truest most awful pain of dishpan hands.

if you think you can handle the horror, i will see you tomorrow. see you through my vicodin induced haze, that is.

in spanish i'm a whore

i am very very busy making crap so you must be placated with this bizarre list of search terms that have brought people to me. it's scary.

"loud pants"

"coworker leaving me poem"

"screw you guys"

"kate moss rooster"

"naked picture blogs" ( i was number 11! go me!)

and this morning, on msn search espana, i was number six (that's seises, for my new reader!) for "naked whore."

i'm thinking i should reevaluate my marketing plan.

since that wasn't very substantial, let me leave you with a picture. a very satisfying picture.

a very not naked, not roostery, not loud pantsy, not whorey picture.

i hope you like it anyway. i did.

mmmmmm. i will be eating this till christmas.

someone is watching me eat.
and also watching "anastasia."
(shhh... it's Boy. he liked titanic too.)



POSTSCRIPT: i have just learned that pat morita died yesterday. for those of you who know how truly insane i actually am, you know i had a close and personal relationship with him, in my mind. i will miss him VERY much. i thought we had atleast another ten years of time together. i heart you, miyagi. rest well.

popularity is like way hard y'all.

i'm thinking i probably should have begun this mining expedition already, because i started to work on the whole holiday goodness thing today and i'm realizing i may not sleep again till christmas. there is just not enough time in the day to complete all of the many many many many many projects i want to. so i think the first thing i'll have to do is finish cooking up that meth. then i should be fine.

i'm glad people want to participate, and i'm really glad that it's actually working--getting me in the spirit of things-- but i'm curious as to why several people seem to think that by "holiday goodness" i meant porn.

is it the holiday part? or the goodness?

the next question is clearly whether or not it should be themed porn. with santa hats and menorahs and stuff. and reindeer. and um, dreidels and latkes and elves.

i'd better stop. i can tell you're all really turned on right now.

i think my meth is burning, so if i don't see you, happy thanksgiving!

holiday cheer

the joy on her face is contagious.
so is the crabs in her pants.

w00t! joy! hip hip hooray! <----- me, trying to muster some holiday cheer.

i am not feeling very festive, possibly because i am from new england and in new england, thanksgiving week is not 85 degrees.

also possibly because thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, because it is usually a time of loudness, and conversations in which my sister regurgitates whatever bleedingheartliberalpropaganda (as my uncle calls it) she has just spent a whole semester on but will forget before spring break, and comments by my nearly-deaf grandmother about how the temple my sister is volunteering at is right down the street from her gynocologist (!), and also soup* for my family, and yet this year, because they are here and i am here it will be a time during which i am spared the propoganda and geratric gynocology, but also deprived of the soup! and you know, quality time with my family and memories to last a life time... blah blah blah. SOUP!

so in an effort to hype it up and get some fa-la-la-las roaming freely about my home,
i have already harassed many of you, and some of you i stalk religiously so there was no need to ask, but if anyone else would like to be on the receiving end of some holiday goodness, please email me your address and i will dig some up out back and send it right over... wrapped in plastic of course, to deter the dogs.


*my mom makes good soup.

i allegedly left my alleged sweatshirt in what is allegedly san diego

Boy and pickles and I went to san diego this weekend. Boy has an old roomate who lives there who is nice and not particularly sucky (hi john!), so we figured we'd have a little visit, meet his new woman etc. but seeing as we could really go to san diego any weekend, the primary purpose of this specific trek was that my friend from massachusetts was going to be there for a few days (edit: with her *boyfriend*), and gee wouldn't it be nice for people who are friends to actually see eachother?

crazy, i know.

so anyway, we drive the "two hour drive" for like three and a half hours, and when we arrive, pickles appears to have completely forgotten that he really enjoyed himself last time we were here, and so gives riley (their dog) one look of distaste, and runs blindly into the street. and why wouldn't he? clearly suicide is a valid option when presented with the opportunity to play with another dog in a sunny yard and eat cookies all day.

at some point he got over his neurosis (to a degree) and actually did some playing. not the real kind of dog playing, but like some weird pickles soft-core version of playing, including digging through the bushes and emerging covered in bug larvae. i know, i know. that's why i'm trying to spread the love! worldwide pickles, sucka!

so Boy's friend john and his woman, john'swoman, and the two of us weirdos had some conversation which i can not really recall in too much detail because there was some uh, drinking. allegedly. i cannot confirm (or deny) the drinking. i *can* confirm a hangover (damn you, stolichnaya! damn you to hell), but that doesn't prove anything.

i like to think the conversation went something like this:

me: timely and well thought out remark regarding the current state of american society, followed by witty comment, closed with pithy yet poetic metaphor.

john: my goodness, Boy. your woman is quite erudite, not to mention beauteous beyonf measure.

john'swoman: it's true! she is quite wonderful, i feel i am better person for having met her. i certainly will be reading her blog, and spreading the buzz to all my many friends and family.

Boy: she is the light of my life and i cannot fathom how i managed to live the 10519 days (or alternately, 252456 hours, or 15147360 minutes, or 908841600 seconds) before i met her. i only wish she could possibly love me as much as i love her, evidenced by the grand gestures i'm always making, and all the luxurious diamonds i keep buying her.

unfortunately, i suspect it went something more like this:

me: we have to watch this show! they're showing botched plastic surgery! it's gross. i love it. oh, but she's not the acid face lady. this one's the face-shot-off-lady.

john'swoman: i can't believe you said that.

one of the boys: i think someone farted.

other boy: yeah, i've been gassy all day.

one of the boys: yeah, me too.

clearly by five thirty, there was a definate buzz in the air. my friend call to say they would be in pacific beach (that's "pb" to the cool kids) and so we agreed to meet them. then some blurry stuff happened, i gave Boy my phone (that was important) and john'swoman turned out to be really swell and i liked her a whole lot. that part didn't ever stop, by the way. she's cool. i even remember her name.

back in storyland, i keep calling my alleged friend to see what's going on and for some reason they were at hooters. of all places. but we didn't really want to go there, because clearly we're no fun and you know, snobby and uppity and shit, what with wanting to sample the local scene... so we said we'd wait for them where we were. a while later (possibly up to two hours, the whole time/space continuum thingie was greatly influenced by my possible ingestion of stolichnaya), they were still there, hanging out with some strange marines.

i think this is where Boy and his friend started calling my alleged friend and leaving her messages. they may have also texted her, but i do not know because all of my text messages were erased the next morning. see i told you it was important. i am clearing my name!

i know this post is kind of long and boring, but really the part that's the whole point is coming up.

so we were drunk, or atleast i was, or i mean, i may have been... and also hungry, leading to some delicious burritos. but for some reason (i heard jeebus laughing again) mine came with a side of self pity EVEN THOUGH I SAID I ONLY WANTED RICE AND BEANS. so then i got all sad because i had been blown off for bad chicken and marines (which is so uncool, because i bet i have more tattoos than they do anyway, and also i'm cuter and have bigger boobs-- and i could totally take those chickens, and possibly sucker punch those marines) so we went home so i could figuratively lick my figurative wounds.

and maybe cry a little. allegedly.

now, something that happens when Boy is drunk is that he says strange things to me and then doesn't remember them. so we're laying there in bed, and he says to me, "this is ridiculous. i can't believe you're mad at me (which i was not). i don't even know why. it's over."

that's right. he broke up with me. and then we both rolled over and went to sleep.

in the morning we snuggled and ate sausages.

and drove home, and left my sweatshirt in san diego.


totally un-funny post script: i am in no way mad at this friend. i would still very much like to see her. i also totally *heart* john'swoman and hope to spend lots and lots of time "not drinking" with them in the future.

where in i compare myself to a twinkie

it's true, i am a doofus. i was totally going to blog about stitch n' bitch last night, and about how i met ~drew emborsky~, the crochet dude, and then totally alienated him with my inane chitterchatter*, but alas (hand to forehead, swoon, etcetera) i forgot to upload the pictures at home.

*note to self: maybe don't try to coerce crochet dude into making you a skirt, even thought you would be totally cute and you would tell everyone he made it, thus creating buzz. also, maybe don't try to rationalize it on your blog the next day. and maybe don't say fuck so much, or suggest that barbara bush wears those pearls all the time to cover her track marks.

why don't i just do it here, you ask? we addressed this already. here. it is also because jeebus does not in fact love me, so much as he points and laughs in my general direction.

so, since i cannot truly blog about stitch n bitch, although if i did i would tell y'all about the hat that i knitted and how it's very hatty, and also how i knitted it. i would then tell you (with pictures) about the practice horn, which looked like this

but will be better for you, acw, i promise.

yeah, since i can't do any of that, i will instead do this meme, created by the inimitable captain howdy girl. also, i would like to acknowledge her less famous dog, heidi, but i am afraid her more famous dog, pepper, will kill me while i'm sleeping.

so here's the meme.

seven deadly sins! w00t!

oh, um, i mean, sins are bad. moving on.

lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and pride. which (if any) have you broken and give examples.

lust: yes
did you see the shoes? see also: clive owen, joaquin phoenix, john stamos, dave grohl, Boy. there are also some past incidents of lust, but those are the PAST and so we do not speak of them any longer. or think of them or fantasize about them. we only fantasize about shoes. and sometimes bathtubs full of cheerios.

gluttony: yes
see the aforementioned cheerios. and also apple rings. and back when i was a naughty girl, i occasionally bogarted a thing or two.

greed: no
i like clothes, but i don't think i'm particularly greedy. especially in comparison to alot of people i know. like calzone. he's always with the "buy me a new track suit, i need more vaseline." you know.

sloth: no
i totally get shit done. this might be the meth talking, but whatever! i'm getting shit done! ps- did you know that sloth only poop like once a week? i once saw one on jeff corwin (oooh- add him to the lust list. i like nerds.) and when the little sloth pooped it looked just about as happy as can be. i will never forget the image of the sloth pooping, and i am not disturbed by that in the least. in fact, i kind of treasure it. is that a sin? because if it is, then yes.

wrath: no
i'm not really an angry person. usually i take things out on myself, which is totally the correct and healthy way to do it. right?

envy: yes
i envy those of you freaks of nature who can eat things you want to eat without worrying about gaining weight or dying. because i worry about that. anaphylactic shock is such a bitch. i also envy those of you who can live without gnomes, and also those who have health insurance. and i envy the celebrities who are famous for doing nothing because i am good at stuff and yet not famous. unfair.

pride: no. but yes.
well see, i vacillate between acceptance and horror at my appearance. that's when i realize that pride is a gateway sin, leading me into envy. then again, i am proud of my huge luscious boo-- i mean brains. so whilst i am loving my creamy center, i find that my spongy yellow shell leaves something to be desired. so waht was that title again? ahhh. here we go. the money shot.

i hear i taste good deep fried!

good news!

it has come to my attention that there are plenty of miserable people out there. this is a breaking story! pay attention! so now i've decided that everyone should be so lucky as to have a swellerific dog like mine.

he's cute, see?



so in order to spread peace and love this holiday season, i'm starting the "world-wide pickles" campaign today. we have bumperstickers:



and snazzy "worldwide pickles" kits, that come in this handy dandy tote bag.



inside you will find one (1) life-sized (and texturized! fancy!) cutout of mr. pickles, one (1) slipcover for your chair to make it more cowie, one (1) faux cellphone, and one(1) pair of rockin penguin jammie pants. all of this can be yours, to recreate the following picture, and feel the joy of pickles.



your kit also contains one (1)large cup of pickles pee, for you to splash on your furniture, floors and carpet as you see fit. the experience wouldn't be complete without it!



buy one for each of your family members today!


ps- i want to make a "worldwide pickles" button for my side bar. any helpful hints?

not even disco can kill the hottness

this past saturday, Boy and i spent some "quality time" together. this had been our plan all week, but i think that maybe next time Boy will come up with some more specific plans because we ended up doing what i wanted to do. like browsing around some local shops.

knitting shops.

that's right- i used the plural. we went to three (3!) different yarn stores and looked at lovely lovely yarn and lovely lovely patterns, and listened to the weirdo culty chanty music in the background. together.

it should also be noted that i was PMSing, like sideshow-freak, hide-the-silver, secure-your-seat-into-it's-fully-locked-upright-positon-and-locate-your-nearest-exit kind of PMSing, and so Boy deserves some type of blue ribbon, or um, awardy thing.

you my prize pig, boo.


anyway, then we went to do one of my other favoritest things on earth. and when we were done, and all cleaned up, we went shopping!

for clothes! at aardvark's odd ark on venice beach. i took whole bunches of stuff into the fitting room, like a full jumpsuit covered in this print


that REALLY unfortunately didn't fit me AT ALL. it was totally sad. a tragedy. i almost cried. how could something so obviously meant to be worn by me not fit? not even to take a picture! but i so would have. for y'all.

when i came out of the fitting room to show Boy how hot i was in each and every item, he was trying on sportcoats. orange leather and brown velvet ones with tweedy elbows. very couth. and also hats, because Boy is a hat man, like so:



then came the dress, the lovely dress, that looks pretty good (better than in the picture below) but would look better if maybe i cut off my legs at the ankle, or donated the section of my belly with the spleenie thing to science, because i don't really need that anyway.

why? because things are not meant for tallish people like me. especially vintage things (which will be proven further by the "other" pictures below.). i suppose people were just shorter then, what with their growth being stunted by all the disco music, strobe lights and cocaine.


and the piece de resistance:

voila, a full frontal view of my polyester humiliation.

one hundred and tooth!

sorry, it just sounded funny.

so i'm home sick again, and i was totally gonna post an audio blogger thing of me singing some karoke, because as you know, music soothes the wild beast, but the sound quality was despicable.

so all you wild beasts better settle the fuck down or you will have to listen to me singing on audio blogger, which despite my many efforts to clean up the sound, was the equivalent of the k-fed rap.

but not because i suck. i'm totally good at the karaoke. i won contests, y'all.

ok, fine, but let me warn you. beyond the really really really bad quality, some people might find the song itself offensive. i'm sorry, but it's the first thing that came to mind.

one hundred and one

so this is my one hundred and oneth post.

whoop-eh-dee-doo!

so far one hundred and oneth is unimpressive. truthfully, it pretty much sucks.

partially because i have some photographic evidence of my ever-increasing insanity, but cannot upload it because this laptop is CRAP!





(mike myers does not endorse my computer as CRAP, but that's only because he does not know my computer. or me. which really, he totally should. so mike myers... hi! call me! )

last night Boy and i were cruising the internets looking for a cheap mail-order bride (we still need someone to dogsit) when we came across this ad on craigslist, which i think would totally be a good way for me to make some money. after all, i'm used to this sort of thing.

i especially like the part where they appeal to my logical side.
and you know, i do believe they're right.
i *will* look beautiful next to a corpse.
i'm gonna go get me one right now.

so i totally checked out the site, because, well, why wouldn't i? and not only do they have an interview with belladonna, (you know, the porn star who was on primetime live with diane sawyer and she was all crying because she felt awful for being a pornstar, but apparently was really truly crying because she felt awful about not being a BIG ENOUGH porn star) but also a photospread.

anonymous coworker, this one's for you.

sexy.
dead sexy.

i like his shorts.

professional problem solver

i have problems.

problem number one: i am being stalked by a partridge.

it's true. i've lived in los angeles for over a year, and everytime someone asks me if i've seen celebrities (which people who aren't from here often do), i have to tell them,

"sure. i saw drusilla, who was very nice and who mailed my mom her autograph, and um, sharon osbourne for like a second (she's VERY small), and ummmmmm, danny bonaduce, like thirty five times.

hey, there he is now."

i have seen him at this one sushi place (yes, it's true. i like sushi. sorry.) and also in the hollywood/highland complex and most recently, after stitch n bitch, at the coffee bean and tea leaf.



so it's pretty apparent that he loves me. and rightly so... but to follow me around pretending to do some show i skind of sad. not as sad as that book he wrote


but still sad.

problem number two: Boy and i are supposed to go to las vegas next month for four days. unfortunately, we have not yet found a person to come house/dog sit for us, which means we may not be able to go. *sigh*

we can't board the dog because he's INSANE and would absolutely positively DIE of utter and complete DESPAIR and ANGUISH the VERY MOMENT we left his sight. and we can't send him off to someone's home, even though there have been offers because of all the peeing. it's a very serious problem.

problem number three: i want these shoes.



total cost: about $1000.

which leads me to my new found career as a professional problem solver.

i will now be accepting donations, which should help me to pay off my soul-crushing debt, but will probably be use to buy shoes. or you could just all chip in and buy them for me for chrismakkuh, whichever.

the whole dog/vegas thing is less easily solved. i have asked all the people i feel reasonably confident about leaving alone in my apartment with all my belongings and my dog. it was a short list. there are panty sniffers out there, you know.

the list got shorter when i remembered i live in the ghetto and should try to choose someone who could be expected to live through the weekend.

i've tried everything. there's only one thing i can do.

sick day

i'm taking a sick day.

i'm watching movies and television and eating cookies and there ain't nuthin you can do about it.

but i promise, i'm still naked.

oh, the things i do for you people. watch, now i'm gonna get pneumonia, or like, ebola or something.

that's the one where you get to stay home in bed and eat jello and shit, right?

no?

well, either way, if i get it, you people are footing the bill.

phase one: complete

right now, in front of my computer screen, i am doing the shimmy shake. naked.

ok, maybe i'm not shaking my shimmy or whatever. but i'm totally naked.

me. miss kendra. naked.

naked naked naked.

it's what the people want!

*sniff* this is one of my proudest moments.

notice i was NUMBER TWO.* despite the fact that this is far better than being number three (so sorry, kendra jade. looks like the people want MY boobies!), it's still not number one. and it's not google, so like, what the fuck?

this was phase one of my plan for blog domination. it is now complete. the next step is to get the search for my nakedness on google.

but no!

i should think bigger than that! i want my nakedness on the very first page of google! i want to be what people get when they click "i'm feeling lucky!"

that didn't come out right. oh well.

anyway, this is our mission. i'm thinking of having tshirts made. is there a demand for such things? let's see:

a ringer tee that reads:

in men's and women's sizes,
because seriously, my hawtness knows no gender lines.

a cotton thong that says:

this could be a banana hammock too!

and a onesie, for the littlest fans:





* and, incidentally, number five. rock on!

can't sleep, yarn will eat me

so here's a shocker.

despite my deep seated belief that i have developed super powers, as evidenced by my sudden and extraordinary ability to stripe (i'm a striping savant):

but don't stare at the stripes too long.
i can't promise i didn't enchant them to get y'all to do my evil bidding.

and the incredibly impressive beginnings of a hat (i said impressive...
so be impressed, dammit!)

holy crap! it's round!
and size seven needles! your skills have progressed exponentially, grasshopper.


alas, it is coming to my attention that i may not be ready to be a superhero, because my nemesis is way more powerful than i.

my plan is taking shape, for i have sent you a tempting pattern--
far beyond you skill level--
and you are now faced with the terrifying
MysteriouslyExpandingProject!
i'm yarn! and i'm eeeeevil!

and here it is.


the project, which is supposed to measure eight inches long, has miraculously grown. i have the right number of stitches (i'm pretty sure anyway) and my gauge is right (i'm pretty sure anyway), so now i just need to wait for stitch n' bitch to get some backup. because that yarn must pay.

oh yes.

the yarn will pay.

miracle of miracles

while i still have no health benefits, and so am typing this (as well as my manifesto) with the aid of my trusty steed, today i begin/began my new position.

hehe. new position.

anywho, because it is new and there's some weird stuff to figure out (like how i'm gonna get that little horse to wear pants-- it's indecent, really) i cannot blog today. *sniff*

but i have many things to tell you about this week, including new shoes! and hilarious (read: craft nerdy) knitting foibles, like the tale of the MysteriouslyExpandingProject, that is clearly beyond my skill level, but that i am attempting anyway. do or die! and also, the death of vader!


so if you still wanna hang out, which you should because i am a righteous babe, i'll be back tomorrow.

so long, and thanks for all the fish!

and so it begins...

just putting it out there that i, uh, appreciate all youse guys saying that nice crap to me yesterday. it made me throw up a little in my mouth, so i'm pretty sure i'm well on my way back to fine.

i also feel better because i did the stitching and bitching last night, and it was squilitastic. what? you don't know what squilitastic means? loser.

and guess what! crazy aunt purl was there! exclamation point!

and i was there.

and that means we were there together.

in case you're for some reason not familiar with the fact that i am insane, let me explain to you about crazy aunt purl. i have blogstalked her since the dawn of time. back then it was me in a wooly mammoth skin carting around a prehistoric laptop so that i could access all of her cave drawings, but still. i was there.

and so i long ago decided that purl would be MyFirstCaliforniaFriend, complete with matching accessories and pink corvette (sold seperately of course). all i'm trying to say here is that while laurie (crazy aunt purl) and i have been friends in my head for like, ever, we did not actually ever meet until last night.



now just in case you think i photoshopped this picture to make myself seem cooler (which i *so* would not do), i would like to present exhibit a, the tiny sweater beer cozy (made by pinksara), which is also showcased on purl's site. it's actually one of several tiny sweaters (i heart tiny sweaters!) that will be christmas ornaments for pinksara's grandma.

note how nicely it complements my nectar of the gods:
big bear rootbeer. amen.

and did i mention exhinit b? you know, my face? my face is on crazyauntpurldotcom! i RULE!

just in case you were wondering what came of this long-awaited interaction, let's put it this way:

soon all your everything are belong to us.

right after we open the valley's first alpaca farm. because los angeles definately needs more alpaca.

meet today's guest star

you may remember her from her starring role as miss kendra, ages 10 through 19, and from several short term reprisals since then. she's only gotten lovelier in her absence, though i can't say i've missed her much. i hear her contract expires this weekend, so i'm planning on kicking her the fuck out, but in the mean time i kind of have to indulge her. today she wants to play BillyCorgan and wear a lot of black. she's awfully demanding.

you know the type, always scribbling madly in her Emily notebook...


depression is being so empty inside that you peel back the scabs from scratches and scrapes, from burns (accidental and then not) because you need to know right now if there's anything underneath, anything at all. there is, and it's not pretty, but you won’t mind because depression is black and blue and deep gore red; even if you can’t feel the pain, it’s good to see it.

depression is being covered in a film that won’t wash away. it covers everything. it’s a taste in your mouth, sour and dry, like eating pennies. it's the taste of the morning after. it’s a smell in your hair and on your clothes; like an unwashed piercing, all oil and dead skin. you can scour your flesh till it bleeds, but baby, you’ll never be clean.

depression is being lonely. i have often been lonely. to feel otherwise, i have fallen into any available bed; the depressed will go with anyone. the depressed will also ask no questions. they are not interested in your long term career goals, most embarrassing moment, relationship with you mother, political affiliation. they want biting fingers, the weight of another person to seem greater than their own. they learn the dance steps and perform them without thinking; they rub skin and bone together trying to make fire, to get warm, to burn away.

depression is staying somewhere you shouldn’t because it’s easier than trying to leave. it’s lying to your friends because you know they really care about you, even though you don’t. it’s watching them discuss you on the edges of the room because they think your glassy eyes mean you’re not paying attention. it’s hearing them say they can’t deal with this anymore and wanting to scream, “me too, fuckers!” but then opening your mouth to only dry air coming out.

in summer depression is plucking all the hairs from your body one at a time because you lose yourself in it and like the sting. it’s digging holes in your spongy white flesh to get at that one hair, because if you get that one, that tiny black hair, everything else will be all right. it has to be, because depression is hanging your life on minutia.

it is also paralysis. it is telling yourself you could be happy if you really wanted to, and then trying, and realizing you don't know if you want to at all. what if, once i've taken tiny blue pills three times a day and talked about my childhood to successful people with expensive degrees and designer suits, it doesn't change a thing? even worse, what if it does? what if once this is gone, there is nothing left?

depression is staying quiet because you can’t explain why you want to cry, why you are choking on the rawness in your throat, like breathing hard, mouth open on a cold day. it's wishing for help but never getting any because you cannot spill yourself into someone else’s lap. and it's not that you haven't tried— you've leaked some of your darkness into the lives of others, but what did they do to deserve it? i mean, you, you must have done something. but them, they, other people... you don’t hear their reaction. you are distracted and frightened by the fact that where you thought there would be emptiness after you gave up some of yourself there is only more hurt, more black and blue and deep gore red.

depression is reliving. it is reliving because it is not actual living. the only place you go is deeper into yourself. it’s reliving every unwanted touch that i accepted because sometimes it’s easier to just lie there. it is reliving every afternoon of a childhood that sank into silence as i opened the door. which door? any. every. car door, kitchen door, classroom door, bedroom door.

it's every question asked i answered, but never really said a thing. there was nothing i could say. it is too hard to speak when your tongue is thick with hating your mouth.

depression is immediate. there is no future because every moment is a choice to open your eyes, walk into traffic, drink a coffee mug full of bleach. you don’t think about college applications, next month’s rent, quitting smoking to prevent cancer. you will smoke until you want to stop, because for all you know tomorrow you could decide to put a stop to it all, and then what’s one more day of cigarettes really?

depression is wanting to get up in the morning and be happy you did, to go to sleep looking forward to something— to anything. but instead it's waking to more depression. it's waking to distance, because depression is being just close enough to someone or something for the space between to really hurt.

it's writing something years ago and finding it one day and realizing that is just how you feel at that exact moment. and then having to finish the workday.

where in tracy bonham speaks for me*

i’m hungry
i’m dirty
i’m losing my mind
everything’s fine

i’m freezing
i’m starving
i’m bleeding to death
every thing's fine

i miss you
i love you.



*because i am too something to do it my damn self.

screw you guys, i'm going home.

it will probably take you a while to process these pictures, (i know i still don't get them) which is fine and dandy by me. i'm feeling a little subpar today, and not much like blogging, so the fact that this picture is difficult to comprehend just gives me some extra time to regain my natural sense of whimsy and you know, will to live.

this past sunday, i stopped in to a craft store to pick up a set of knitting needles. simple, apparently this store caters to babies, because they only had teenie tiny sizes. i need bulk, people. i can barely knit as is. i certainly won't be making any complex miniature lacey items in the near future.

a visual aid:


the frustration i felt would normally have been manageable, but it was exacerbated by the abomination of a knitting book by the register. this horror nearly killed me. some of its many (many, many. many.) atrocities:

the quasimoto look is hot this season.
hunchbacks are the new black.

rowr!

the sparkles made her eyes hurt
and now they're stuck that way.

where are their necks?
and why are they all wearing leather pants?

this one is so far gone they
didn't bother with pants at all.

the only part of my visit to the store that was good and right was the disembodied head of a pbs star. and there's a phrase you don't get to hear too often.

i heart bob ross.