mystery gifts...

I got a box from Amazon a couple of days ago. It was on the porch when I got home from work and I thought surely, as broke as I am, I didn't order something and forget I ordered it...but I had my doubts (it's happened before!). I snatched up the package and ran in the door lest the husband see me with a package during a time of such dismal fiscals.

I opened it and there were two books from my wish list from a person in Sacramento. I didn't recognize the sender's name (I write that with fear; should I know this person?) and no message was included.

I wasn't really sure what to do. I think I will send a thank-you note to this person for the generous gift (one was a creative fabric book and the other was a memoir called Running with Scissors), but should I do something else? Is there etiquette for mystery gifts?

It's much like I got invited to a exclusive dinner party where there are too many forks. The food looks delicious but I don't know how to properly eat it.

Any thoughts?

p.s. If the person is a blogreader and is reading this, THANK YOU! I don't know what prompted such a gift, but it sure was a wonderful surprise. :-)

ignite...

Now that we've gotten some financial relief, I have to get back to living and not worrying myself to death. I need to climb back up Maslow's Hierarchy and get beyond the feeling of "just surviving." More art. More writing. More adventure. More growth.

...except for my hair. A little over a year ago it was quite long and now (the pic to the right) it is quite short. I like it. Now I need to get some poundage off of the caboose. When I stress I eat and drink more than I should and it shows. I need to get healthier. I really hate exercise, but I always try to make it my "reading time" and take a good book. Oh well, you play, you pay.

And I found another felt-related blog at Ursonate. She has a very cool project going--one felt hat a week for a year.

And here's my little TV-watchin' buddy, Grayson. He loves to curl up on mama's lap if I'm watching the tube or knitting a bit. We got him back in 1993 when he was nothing but a tiny lost kitten on a country road. Papa sneaked him into the apartment in a duffle bag. When he unzipped the bag, out popped a little gray-striped head with bright blue eyes. "Mew!!!!" I was in love.


Happy Monday.

amygdala du jour, escape behavior and the will to diversion...

earth to brain...
I keep saying I need a vacation. I keep saying that. I keep NOT taking a vacation. I don't remember the last vacation I had, other than to take days off to study or get ready for a show. Yo, brain, get the wax outta your ears. Take a vacation (a non-working vacation, you idiot). I'm half "checked-out" at this point anyway...I need to get my ass out of here for a few days.

"Noted," Brain says.

"Yeah," says Worn-out Soul. "That's the email response I got from that purse hardware place when I ordered their catalog. Nothing happened."

"Get off of my back," Brain retorts.

Worn-out Soul merely snorts at the rebuttal. "You'd better listen to me. If you don't have me, you're pretty much useless."

"You are such a cocky SOB," Brain says while sticking out its frontal lobe lip.

"For a thinking-sort, you're one hell of wuss," says Worn-out Soul. "Pull your lip back in and quit acting like a thalamus. Good grief."

Brain walks off in a synaptic snit. "You know, you think too much."

Worn-out Soul rolls its eyes and lets out a tired sigh.

[fade to black...or in my case, kettle-dyed purple]

In other news, I went to a local knitting meet-up at a coffee-shop downtown last night. It was a little stiff, but it may loosen up a little. I felt like the "old coot" in the group. We'll give it another try...the next meeting is in two weeks.

I've been tagged...

Knitting Pretty tagged me a while back and I'm finally fulfilling my obligation as "tag-ee."

1. Total amount of music files on your computer: this one (work)? none.
2. The last CD you bought: American Idiot by Green Day and Keane (bought the same day).
3. The last song you listened to before reading this message: Hell, I don't know. I'm going to say "Everloving" by Moby. Man, I LOVE that song. I bought the Seabiscuit soundtrack for it and it was the only damn song not included. It took me a month to figure out who did it and where it came from. It's just about the only song on the CD I listen to.
4. Name five songs you listen to often or that mean a lot to you: Hell, I just answered this question. I'll just pick five more: 1. "A Day in the Life,"
Beatles, 2. "Living for the City," Stevie Wonder, 3. "I Wish," Stevie Wonder, 4. "Clocks," Cold Play, 5. "Love Lies Bleeding," Elton John, and one more for the road, 6. "Space Oddity," David Bowie.
5. Who will you pass this stick to (3 people) and why? Crap, I don't know. Ummmmmm...
a) Critter Chick, because I think she might be my long, lost twin (despite our age difference),
b) Purls Before Swine, because she makes me laugh out loud,
c) Kat's Paws, because she's just so lovable

Happy Valentine's Day...

millan.net
Guys: Don't forget to show your sweetheart how much you love her.
Gals: Stop being slaves to advertisements for expensive gifts. It's just plain shallow and will guarantee a rotten Valentine's Day. No guy can live up to those ridiculous and shallow ads for diamonds and other sundry adornments.
Everyone: Have a nice dinner together. Talk about your future. Tell your significant other how important he or she is to you. Reminisce about great times. Laugh. BE together. Be GENUINE.
That's your assignment. Go forth and woo.

some interesting information...

I get Google alerts on the horse slaughter issue (did you figure out I'm the one doing the Stop Horse Slaughter blog?) and came across an off-topic article that just happened to contain my search words. It is a plea for US soldiers, especially Latinos, to leave the war and become protected friends of the Iraqis. Regardless of my own opinion, I firmly believe you have to pay attention to information from all sides of an issue. It's easy to only listen to one source of information, but doesn't help you make up your mind about issues, it makes up your mind for you. Here's the link.

well, that didn't take long...

I guess my Last Nerve heard me calling. About five minutes after I wrote my lamenting diatribe dripping with self-pity, the phone rang. One last ditch effort came through and things are going to get better. It was on the verge of a miracle. Everything had fallen through. I was crying in people's offices. I could feel the vacuum from the flush...I was going down. But then the very last door opened. And I am pinching myself. Hell, I'm pimp-slapping myself. I've been laughing all weekend and it's good to hear my old cackle ring out and scrape the paint.

Yes, I'm being vague. Just make up some stories for your own enjoyment, m'kay? You knew I'd be back sooner than later, didn't you? You knew I couldn't keep my little busy fingers away from the keyboard. So I'm predictable. There are worse things.

Take a look at this fine young kitty...I'm pretty sure Yuki is going to be pretty comfortable here at the Hatamaran abode. And, the "Yukster" has graduated to the cat door with nary a stray poo. Chez meow.

An open letter to find My Last Nerve...

Dearest Last Nerve,

It's been some time since we shared a good crisis together and I miss your synaptic sizzle when life is being rapidly flushed down the toilet. I didn't appreciate you then, but now I know how much you really meant to me. You made me nice and toasty with high blood pressure when it was so drafty in our old house; you gave me rosy cheeks by singeing my little capillaries.

Oh, how I miss you and your silly antics. I didn't know you were my friend. I wish you would come back to me.

You've been replaced by a worrisome flood of adrenaline that just makes me ache all over and causes me to wake up at all hours of the night. You would be so pissed off if you could see how Cousin Adrenaline takes over. He is so pushy! His blood pressure joystick is out of control. You, dear Last Nerve, were thoughtful enough to not give me constant headaches and were kind enough to obey when BP meds were applied to control your naughty behavior. Cousin Adrenaline listens to no one! Not even Ace inhibitors...he finds a way around them all.

Oh, beloved, sweet Last Nerve, you came up with so many quips and comebacks that were so delicious and deserved and now I can only respond with Cousin Adrenaline's "deer-in-the-headlights" expression. I didn't know how clever you really were.

When this crisis is over, I hope you'll come back; however, if I'm living in a cardboard box, I won't feel animosity toward you if you decide to attach yourself to another central nervous system.

Missing you,
Teresa

p.s. this blog is on hiatus until I can get a grip...don't hold your breath :-)

really.

You're in touch with the world, and you have a very
strong opinion on things like politics and war.
Even if you do end up changing your image in
the future, most of us will still like you.


What band from the 80s are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

All hail the Chief (and Secretary) of Misery and Comeuppance...

Is anyone else "bothered" by the continuing march of the Psycho Brigade? My God, I'm starting to think I need to build a fucking bunker under the cellar. Where did these people learn their communication skills, Nazi-wannabe-camp?

I am incredulous at the audacity of our President and Secretary of State to order the world as if it were a game of "Global Monopoly." Honest-to-God, tact can be useful in diplomatic missions. I don't want any country to have nuclear weapons, but I don't want to piss them off so bad they go into mass production either. Has anyone sent them a memo that we really do ONLY have jurisdiction over our own country? To hell with embarrassment, I am AFRAID.

Tough U.S. stance on Iran brings echoes of Iraq debate

America's tough rhetoric on Iran

I can't seem to handle it...

I've been working on some more "structural" purses without seams. I really like the colors and design of this little bag, but I can't seem to get the handles on it. I've thought about putting on them on a thousand ways. I know I won't put manufactured handles on it and I'm pretty sure the handles will be of the orange/rust persuasion (to match the horizon line on the bag), but my brain cells can't seem to come to a consensus as to the attachment, thickness and style. Harrrruuuummmmmmph! Note: Click the image to open the bag.

This is a kind of prototype bag, so I'm keeping it for myself...I'm not 100 percent pleased with it. I also didn't go through the trouble of putting a lining in it, which is something I would definitely do if I was going to put it up for sale. The bag is sitting on some flat pieces of felt I hope to turn into some cylindrical bags (I'm kind of obsessed with swirls if you didn't notice).

Ah, censorship...

Monday sucks, oh how it SUCKS Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
my oh my, I'm writhing with cramps today My, oh my, what a wonderful day
It's supposed to f*cking rain today Plenty of sunshine headed my way
don't hand me that shit, it's Monday Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay

watchout someone will shoot his ass off your shoulder Mister Bluebird on my shoulder
I don't think it's spelled that way It's the truth, it's actch'll
I really don't care how you spell it...I feel like shit Ev'rything is satisfactch'll
Why don't you zip it and stuff that sunshine up your bunghole Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
Uh-huh. Bite me...Wonderful feeling, wonderful day!

corduroy sculptures have attacked my cabeza...

What do you do when your brain feels like crumpled up corduroy? I'm not talking supple Banana Republ1c all cotton corduroy, I'm talking about that K-M@rt crap you wore in 5th grade (which would be 1976 for me) and crumpled up in the corner of your closet only to find it 10 years later posing as a strange sculpture encrusted with dust.

Dry. Crumpled. Permanently creased. Spent.

I am tired and stressed at the moment. Even people with no teeth and extra-long mullets can't make me laugh. That's a crisis, dammit.

I don't like my brains dry and dusty. I like my brains gooey and full of electricity. Must get rid of corduroy. I never liked the stuff much anyway (unless of course it's stretch baby wale, but that's an another entry...)

Send me some synaptic snuggles, people. La cabeza has no humidity...

Amended Version of the American Horse Slaughter Prevention Act Reintroduced--HR 503

The 109th Congress is finally getting the message that Americans are appalled by horse slaughter in general and outraged by the possibility of our wild horses and burros suffering the same fate in particular.

Americans are WRITING LETTERS. Americans are TELLING OTHER AMERICANS about the practice. Please write your letter and ask your senator or representative to support horse protection legislation. Let your representatives know that you want them to cosponsor HR 297 (to prevent our wild horses and burros from slaughter) and HR 503 to protect all American horses.

What's the point? WE, AS AMERICANS, DO NOT RAISE HORSES FOR FOOD. HORSES ARE CONSIDERED COMPANIONS IN THIS COUNTRY. WHY ARE WE SLAUGHTERING THEM FOR SOMEONE ELSE TO EAT? It's a bastardization of our own cultural standards, and God knows we don't have many to begin with.

Everything you need to help out (e.g. write a letter, make a phone call) is on the STOP HORSE SLAUGHTER weblog. I'm watching the issue closely so you can be informed and tell others (PLEASE, PRETTY PLEASE?).

FACTOID: Did you know many famous racehorses have been felled by slaughterhouses? Ferdinand, Kentucky Derby Winner and Exceller, the only horse to ever defeat two Triple Crown winners, are just two. Someone ATE them after they were deemed no longer useful. Disgusting.

just a little chuckle...

This new warning system may save thousands of men in their own homes. CLICK HERE.

quit beating around the Bush, would'ya?

The Speech Bush Should Have Given... Jiminy Crickets, I had to readjust my tie after that one. I found the link, of all places, at Baghdad Burning. She has a book deal and you can even pre-order it from Amazon now.

No, let's NOT do the time-warp again...

But yet, here I am, having fallen asleep at 5 a.m. this morning, pecking out rabble-rousing, incoherent, snot-covered dribble for the masses. What the fork? Salad or dinner, you ask?

Gosh, it only took me four hours to get through my phone calls and emails from being out sick for ONE day. What the spoon? Wait, that's not funny. What the utensil? Also, not funny.

Just when you get used to sizzling in the bowels of hell, something worse happens and you find out a whole new batch of bile is coming down the proverbial pike to rough up your last nerve. Yea, I speak of "The Last Straw." And I'm not talking about a flexible straw either.

What dost thou speaketh of fair cuticle-gnawer, you ask? Prey tell, I ain't gonna tell. It's one step up from the cardboard box and the soup line. It's one step down from just about everything. It's finger-gnawing bad. It's risk and maybe no reward. It's a dumbass beginning every line with "It's."

What the hell? I used to be kind of a lucky person. When did I get to be fodder for geese with severe diarrhea? You can only fart around in the bowels of fate so long before you start to smell like shit.

I guess it's a good thing I have a bad cold. I can't smell a darn thing.

Love and kisses, y'all.