Argh! Help a girl out.

alkdf;alskdjf;alkdsjf;adsfjk.

I hate binding. Hate, HATE, HATE binding.

I took a two hour class on doing it and I'm totally list. Sure, I get the whole cutting the fabric on a 45 degree angle. I know how to piece each strip together so I have enough to go around the quilt. And I know how to press the strips in half lengthywise. But once there, I'm totally freaking screwed.

I don't get the invisible whip stitch. I tried doing it on a sewing machine. Still, it all looks like shit. Too embarassing to even post pictures.

So com'n crafty girls. Help me figure this out.

Good dog/bad dog: A study in contasts.

The Macy Mae Mutt at rest.


The Macy Mae Mutt decidedly not at rest.

Two more.

My ancient iBook is running to slow (or, um, maybe I have too little patience) to check the archives. But I *think* I haven't posted pictures of these completed pieced quilt tops. I feel pretty certain I only showed them in stages. They're both Urban Amish, a pattern developed by my girls at Quiltology.

I'm not entirely in love with these, but I think that's because they haven't found their proper owners yet. (I'm waiting to finish them off until I have a recipient in mind.) But it's a great pattern to learn and goes by really fast. Plus, I'm all about the scrappy quilt look.

I did this one first. It's bigger and actually is growing on me, despite my blatant distaste for the mustardy color that seems to have overtaken it.


I did this one second and am planning to make the back a solid deep rose/pink with probably bright blue thread. It seems really fun, maybe for a kid?

For the fam.

Among the many reasons I've been posting this blog (boredom, catharsis, trying to learn more about stuff I dig, making new friends, vomiting words onto a screen, looking for another time suck...) another is to have a cool forum to document the things that I've made.

I've been pretty diligent about posting pictures of stuff, but since I was making so many of my Christmas gifts, I had to keep some projects under wraps.

So, here's a picture taken my The Mother with her new Blackberry Storm camera phone (or possibly, her new digital camera, either way, the woman is wiiiiired) of the quilt I made for The Mom and The Dad.



It is the second quilt I ever made and it wasn't too complicated as you can tell. I tried to pick material that I thought they'd like, as well as one or two that had some Noodle flair. If you're interesting in making one of your own, here's the pattern. It comes together really quickly and even though it's simple, I think it's really quite nice!

Although, one caveat I'd recommend: It's big enough that you should use a design wall. I tried to lay out the squares of the floor, which The Mutt thought was a great fun game, so, there's some color and pattern bunching.

Bookmark this.

Those of you who are way more quilty than I am probably know about this and have bookmarked it long ago, but for those who are new to the hobby like me, check out Sew, Mama, Sew's Quilt Month compilation. It rocks!

Find it here: Click me for Quilting Greatness!

Hey 2009! Bring it.

My lovely friend has a simply fabulous New Year's tradition that I wanted to pass on. Instead of making random resolutions, she creates an annual fill-in-the-blank to-do list and passes it around to a group of friends. We make our own lists and share among each other and at the end of the year, see what we've accomplished and what we haven't.

I LOVE this tradition and have kept my 2008 list handy on my desk all year, busting it out when I need inspiration.

Now, with her permission, I'm passing it on to you.

In 2009, I will

1. Believe in ...

2. Give up ...

3. Attend ...

4. Invite ...

5. Visit ...

6. Listen to ...

7. Save up for ...

8. Spend more ...

9. Develop a new hobby:

10. Devote a day to ...

11. Taste ...

12. Try ...

Here's how I filled it out. What will you write?

In 2009, I will

1. Believe in ... myself, the strength and instincts that I have.

2. Give up ... the inertia that can interfere with No. 1 and so many other things.

3. Attend ... at least one non-work related museumy lecture.

4. Invite ... more friends (old and new) to spend time together.

5. Visit ... someplace unexpected and fabulous.

6. Listen to ... others more while talking less.

7. Save up for ... the rainy day fund that I really should have.

8. Spend more ... time exploring my city.

9. Develop a new hobby: Turning my quilting and sewing into an Etsy store.

10. Devote a day to ... learning a completely new skill.

11. Taste ... Barbara's home cooking.

12. Try ... to be better in 2009 than I was in 2008.

And for those who are REALLY curious, here's my 2008 list:

In 2008, I will:
1) Take a trip to a big wilderness.
2) Overcome my fear of staying out late.
3) Try Mongolian cuisine.
4) Take a stand on being a pushover.
5) Recommend the most amazing recipe to a friend.
6) Read at least of piece of great literature.
7) Quit ... (redacted for sake of parents.)
8) See a great foreign film.
9) Send a letter to my grandma.
10) Begin taking care of myself as well as I do my dog.
11) Learn to relax.
12) Continue being fabulous.

Blast from the past

The Mom was doing some cleaning and ran across a long-forgotten book, "The Tale of Custard The Dragon." Anyone remember this poem? And is it me, or does it rock as much today as it did almost 30 years ago?

(Also, for what it's worth, wouldn't it be kick ass to be described as being as brave as a barrel full of bears?)

THE TALE OF CUSTARD THE DRAGON

By Ogden Nash

Belinda lived in a little white house,

With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,

And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,

And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.

Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink,

And the little gray mouse, she called her Blink,

And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,

But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.

Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,

And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,

Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,

And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes.

Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,

And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,

Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,

But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,

Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,

They all sat laughing in the little red wagon

At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.

Belinda giggled till she shook the house,

And Blink said Week!, which is giggling for a mouse,

Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,

When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,

And Mustard growled, and they all looked around.

Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,

For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.

Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,

And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright,

His beard was black, one leg was wood;

It was clear that the pirate meant no good.

Belinda paled, and she cried, Help! Help!

But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,

Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household,

And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.

But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine,

Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,

With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm

He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.

The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon,

And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon,

He fired two bullets but they didn't hit,

And Custard gobbled him, every bit.

Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him,

No one mourned for his pirate victim

Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate

Around the dragon that ate the pirate.

Belinda still lives in her little white house,

With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse,

And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,

And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon.

Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears,

And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,

Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,

But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.

A big, beautiful belle

Way, way back in the day, I wrote about the quilt from hell. Not because of its complexity (there wasn't any; big pieces = easy sewing), but because the freakin' pattern was incorrect, so I had to rip the whole thing out seam-by-seam and start over again.

But now, the lovely thing is almost all done and all I have left to do is the binding.



Here's the back, which I pieced:



I sent this quilt out to a long-arm quilter (As the saying goes: You can quilt by hand, machine, or check book), and while I love (LOVE!) her work, I'm looking forward to putting my new sewing machine to work and learning now to do the actual quilting/stippling myself.

Here's a close-up of the quilt stitching:


I'm planning to bind it in the turquoise fabric with the small yellow polka dots.

Wishing you and your family a happy ...

About a big red dog.

Sorry to be absent. Life's been, well, chaotic. But in honor of my 100th blog post and the upcoming holiday, I thought I'd share a story of Christmas past. I included it in my holiday swap in lieu of sharing a Christmas traditional tutorial.

*********

Our Christmas Story

**********

I come from a small family. And so, as traditions go, there aren’t too many to share. (I’m going out on a limb and assuming you don’t want to hear about our annual Christmas tree decorating bicker fest about what ornaments are too God awful ugly to go on the tree…)

So instead, I thought I’d tell you a little bit about some of my favorite Christmas memories and about how our far-flung family celebrates my favorite holiday today.

So to start out, you’ll have to go back to 1986. I was five and showing early signs of my pain-in-the-butt tendencies. My mother was staying at home at the time and we were shopping in our area’s one mall inside a now-defunct store named Hess Apparel. She was trying to browse for clothing and gifts and I kept stopping her every few minutes to pester her about something. Finally, in a fit of exasperation, she saw a big gift-wrapped box on a counter with slips of paper (a contest entry, which we later found out.)

“(Noodles)! Why don’t you go practice writing your name and telephone number?”

“Okay.”

And off I toddled in my mary janes.

No one knows for sure how many contest entries I filled out. But enough to stack the decks for sure. Because two days later we received a call. I’d won a … SEVEN-FOOT-LONG stuffed red dog. Retail value: $800. We just had to come pick it up. That night.

It’s hard to really imagine the size of a seven-foot-long stuffed red dog until you look at it eye to eye and figure out how you’re going to wedge it into the aging two-door Honda that my dad drove. It wound up getting tied to the roof, its big ears _ roughly as long as I was tall _ flapping the whole way home.

My parents wanted to donate it. I had a meltdown.

After all, I had won the thing. And I was determined to keep it. And play with it. And sleep with it, which because of logistics became sleeping ON it. I named it Clifford, because really, what else would you name a Big Red Dog?

It took up half the living room and dangled over all four edges of my bed. My parents hated it. But I was smitten and as an only child, was convinced that I’d found my new best friend.

In an act of parental genius, my mom and dad decreed that Clifford could only live outside of the attic during Christmas time. So there he spent 11 months out of the year until that great day when we’d open up the attic and I’d haul him out of the corner and give him a huge hug.

Of course, over the years, Clifford became less and less a part of Christmas until high school when he stayed up in his attic hideaway year round. Too unseemly, my parents said. Too uncool, I thought. But I’d still climb up the rickety stairs and spend some time with my old friend.

Fast forward to present day. I live hundreds of miles and time zone away from my parents. And they’ve tried _ and threatened _ to throw away Clifford. Apparently, though, being an only child has its privileges. I balked. And they backed off.

Today I live in a shoe-box sized condo, with no room for Clifford even if he did live here. I have a real life dog, an 18-pound mutt named Macy Mae whom I adore. And because of my work schedule, my parents have spent the holiday traveling to see me, instead of the other way around.

Christmas is different here _ no big living room, no brick hearth, no wall of frosted windows looking down the sloping wooded hills toward the lake. So we’ve recast traditions. We still cook an easy Christmas Eve dinner before church of fresh steamed lobster or make our favorite crab imperial, paired with a crisp bottle of Chardonnay and some veggies. It’s easy to make and reminds us of home.

We sing the same songs at a new church and light candles and come home while snuggling into bed (and the air mattress.) We wake up, brew coffee, have scones and open presents. At home, my mom would start running around to get ready for dinner. But here, I put my foot down. Jammies must be worn as long as possible. I bust out the champagne (because what good is Christmas without a mimosa?) and we watch movies and talk about memories.

Inevitability, the story of Clifford comes up. My parents threaten to donate him. And the dance continues.

But Santa, I've been SOOO good

Which is why I SOOOO totally deserve this. Someone, PLU-EASE buy it!

Quiltology's throwing a par-tay...

Hey Chicago gals...

Check this out! Our favorite (and only) Chicago quilting store is having a little holiday open house on Thursday evening from 6-9. Wanna go, meet up and feed our tummys AND our fabric obsession?

Drop me a note if you're around and think you can make it. Perhaps there will even been WINE! (Especially if, you know, I bring a few bottles...)

A box of treasures

It's no hidden secret that I'm an unabashed girly girl. Full of post-modern feminism? Of course! Funky? Yes. And quirky? Hells yeah. But no matter how much I bitch and moan (or swear and chug beer or run around in my beloved Chucks), I can't fight my fondness for polka dots, fun stripes and yes... even pink.

I wasn't always that way.

No. Young Noodles was a surly one, who took fierce pleasure in tormenting older ladies in the family by threatening to study karate (hoping to earn a black belt); wearing shorter-than-acceptable miniskirts; and talking about how fun it would be to join the military so I could learn hand-to-hand combat. I even dropped out of ballet because they made me wear pink.

I was 8. And a total pint-sized pain in the ass.

In middle school, I begged my father to teach me how to shoot a gun. Since he's sciencey, he did what any good dad would do and took me to a hunter's safety class on Friday nights. A few sessions in I became less excited about the prospect of hitting the target with my BB gun and more excited about the prospect of being the only girl in a class full of 7th and 8th grade boys.

By the time the teacher was trying to organize a group-wide bunny-hunting expedition (BUNNY HUNTING??? SERIOUSLY? Um, sure. Let's just go out and whack Thumper while we're at it.) I was beginning my path to girlydom, contemplating outfits for school dances and whether or not I'd try out for cheerleading. For the record, a) Suspenders were TOTALLY hot then and b) I did and didn't make it and have been eternally grateful ever since.

Anyway... The elder stateswomen of the Noodles clan were tickled pink to see me start to prance around like a proper teenage girl. Because if they are anything, they are a dignified bunch who know all about sewing, cooking, white gloves and table manners.

In fact, during my recent visit home, my now 100-year-old grandma said she was so glad that I was finally sewing because I really needed to "have a vocation."

Sigh.

Still, I love being the eclectic mix of things that I am. I still love to play with (and kick the ass of) the boys before having tea with my best girl friends. I live for funky fabric and bold prints and totally want a copy of the What Would Joan Jett Do tee-shirt that's for sale in Bust Magazine's boobtique. (Truth be told, I covet almost everything there in there.) I love being an independent modern chick who can handle a power drill while rocking out a pair of new heels. (Although, a note of caution -- stilettos and ladders DO NOT mix.) And my pearls are one of my favorite accessories.

That said, I'm glad I don't live in a time when women HAD to have a vocation and skills like sewing and cooking. But I also respect those who did. Which was why I was SO excited to pick up my Great Aunt's sewing kit. (Honestly, this was the point of the post. I just got a little sidetracked.)

Before she died years ago she was the craftiest of crafty girls. Sewing, knitting, crocheting, rug-hooking, you name it ... she did it.

When my parents were cleaning out her house, I asked them to hang on to her sewing box. I wasn't into crafty things then, so I'm not sure what prompted me to ask them to do that. But I did, and man an I'm psyched.

Here's a tour.

Sleepy Mutt

The Boy did his job and kept The Mutt occupied while I was out of town for the weekend. He got some help from Sammy, the new neighbor's dog who has become Macy Mae's playmate.

Apparently, the two ran around bat shit for most of the weekend. (I heard rumor of a poop-eating situation, which is so gross that I'm choosing to block it from my memory. Luckily, it did NOT involve my dog.)

But this is what I came home to. Poor thing was WIPED.

I really tried to get her to play, but she didn't even have the energy to half-ass it. This was the best I got.

Can't you hear her now:

"For the love of GOD woman, can't you just let me SLEEP without throwing some damn squeaky monkey in my general direction? Now go the hell away."

100?!?! Hot damn.

Check out the babe on the right.

That's the Grandma Noodles (aka, Grammy) who is celebrating her 100th birthday today!

That's right. Take a moment and think. 100. Years. Old.

Looks damn good, doesn't she?

She was born on Dec. 14, 1908, when Theodore Roosevelt was still in office. She's lived through at least six major U.S. wars, seen women get the right to vote, Prohibition, the Great Depression, the polio vaccine, Kennedy's assassination, a man walking on the moon, the Internet, a now an soon-to-be-sworn-in black president.

Today, she still lives on her own in Maryland (although she needs more help than she used to and begrudgingly gave up driving just months ago.)

I flew home for her birthday celebration this weekend and I informed her that she needed to take a sip of her champagne after she opened each of the massive pile of gifts stacked in the living room.

As you can see...

... she totally played ball. (Or maybe, being the only grandchild on both sides totally gives me magic powers.)

Since I played the Grammy's Birthday Drinking Game too, I was a little sloshed and got camera happy. Here's some of the highlights.

Grammy getting her special fancy pants citation from the governor of Maryland for being 100:

The quilt I made her:

A picture of her looking at old pictures -- in this one, she's with my parents on their wedding day, 40 years ago:

And finally, here's the coolest thing ever. My parents got her some custom-made M&Ms. She thought they were cool. So did the waitress at the restaurant who a) recognized my grandmother from the YMCA, where apparently they both work out every day and b) thought the candy was so cool she wanted to take a few home to her mom.

For the record, I was sort of loaded at this point in the evening, which explains why I excused myself from the table -- camera in hand -- with a plate full of M&Ms to go to the lady's room because there was better light for my picture taking.

Yeah. I know.

Yes. That's a picture of her. On the freakin' M&Ms.

So, here's a toast to good health and more birthdays for the lovely Grammy. And, you know, that longevity is genetic.

An ode to beer.

I'm writing this from The Fam's living room in the wonderful state of Maryland.

I'm here because it's the grandma's 100th birthday party tonight and as the only grandchild (on both sides) I'm part of her surprise. I'm a little nervous that my presence might cause her to have a heart attack, and therefore cause me a lifetime of bad karma. But here's hoping ...

Anyway, since USAir hates me, my flight was delayed for a few hours in Philadelphia. So I spent some quality time in the overpriced F Terminal bar drinking (wait for it...) YUENGLING!

Yuengling (pronounced Ying-Ling) is fucking awesome. There's no other way to describe it. It's America's oldest brewery and its hoppy nectar is brewed in Pennsylvania is only available in 10 states along the Eastern Seaboard. This makes me tremendously sad.

But its scarcity in Chicago _ or everywhere else in the U.S. _ makes Yuengling all that more special when I come back home.

So, take it from me ... if you're in the Mid-Atlantic, saddle up to a bar and have a pint. You'll thank me later.

I came. I spun. I conquered.

I'm looking for a way to liven up my exercise routine. And by liven up, I mean completely restart from a state of total lazy-ass dormancy.

My super fabulous coworkers have been working inspire me and I've decided learned the hard way that one of the keys for me is that I absolutely cannot go home before going to the gym. Because once I get in the door, I can't fight the pull of the sewing machine/sofa/computer/TV/mutt/bed/chores and other assorted forces that are sorta akin to gravity, but, you know ... way harder to contend with.

So today, for the second day in a row (YAY!), I hauled my ever larger ass to the gym. I ditched my regular elliptical session for a 45 minute spinning class.

Now, I've never done spinning (spun?) before and I was fairly certain that I was going to drop dead in a pile of plus-sized goo about 20 minutes in. But you know what? It was fucking AWESOME. And I can't wait to go back.

Thanks to the endorphins, I'm shockingly giddy about the whole thing, even though I had to waddle down the three flights of stairs to leave the gym's locker room because my quads were so tight. (The Boy points out that perhaps I should reassess my enthusiasm tomorrow once the pain has set in. Bah.)

Anyway, it was really cool. And while I didn't put the resistance ALL the way up (seriously, at one point he had us going at 100 percent. Also, isometrics = EVIL.) I still felt like I worked my butt off. And, the icing on the cake is that the teacher said I kicked ass. I'm sure he's supposed to say that stuff, but he gave me a shout out in class (I confessed to being a spinning virgin at the start) and told me afterwards that I "rocked it." Hell yeah, I did!

So, here's a cautiously optimistic thumbs up!

Renegade Christmas?

I typically avoid talking about religion, because frankly, I don't want to offend and I really respect other people and their opinions (especially when, you know, they care enough to respect mine.) And truthfully, it's not really something I'm totally comfortable talking about. I feel like I need to wear a big sign around my neck that says don't worry: I'm not THAT kind of Christian.

But I'm breaking my rule because I just had to share this.

We watched this tonight at my church's young adult group. Regardless of your thoughts on faith, this should really give everyone something to think about as the holidays approach.

I mean, seriously, we spend $450 BILLION a year on Christmas in the U.S.?? REALLY? WTF? Doesn't that just seem so utterly ... WRONG?

I sometimes get annoyed at people who are all, "Let's not forget the reason for the season." Ok, fine, totally valid point. But Christmas has also become so much more than that and it's not fair to discount that either. For me, it's also about tradition. And family. And friends. And sharing. And jammies on Christmas day while watching the same movies. And reliving great memories and making new ones.

But there's a really important point that the Advent Conspiracy folks make, too.

Sometimes we get so wrapped up in it all that we really do lose sight of how materialistic we've become and how important it is for those who can to help others.

Which is why the video got me thinking and got the group of us talking well past the end of our meeting.

My BFF is known for her kick-ass gift giving skills. (Seriously, Currer Bell -- your jammies last year were the shizam!). But this year, she and her boy figured that there were other people (and things) that needed help much more than their friends and family needed stuff. So they're making donations to charitable organizations on behalf of everyone. They asked us which ones we liked best, but also offered up some of their favorites if we couldn't think of anything.

Kudos.

I'm not saying you need to stop giving gifts. Or return what you've got. I'm just saying that it's nice to be reminded of how fortunate we are. And to remember that quote my momma always rehashed to me: "To whom much is given, much is expected."

Enough rambling on my part. Watch. And let me know what you think.

P.S. I'm not endorsing this group, its message, or its cause. I'm just saying they raise a whole hell of a lot of interesting points that make you think. :-)

Truffle-tastic.

I had some peeps over for a calorie-laden Christmas fest yesterday. The goal of which, in addition to a wicked sugar high, was to swap recipes for holiday baked goodness.

I was totally swamped with work, but was the lucky recipe holders for these easy peasy truffles.

Total prep time? Maybe 10 minutes. And they look and taste awesome to boot.

Want to make some yumminess yourself? Here's how, courtesy of a recipe from The Mom.

Mom's Knock Your Undies Off Chocolate Faux Truffles

1 page Oreo cookies (Do NOT buy doublestuff.)

1 oz package regular (NOT LOW FAT) cream cheese. Softened at room temperature

1 large container sprinkles

Dump the entire package of cookies in a food processor and pulverize until they're a nice sandy texture. Add softened cream cheese and blend in the processors until it's all mixed together is a dark gooey texture. Then using your hands (Mom's version recommends a melon baller), form tiny balls about an inch to an inch and a quarter in circumference. Roll each ball in a dish full of sprinkles, then place on a cookie tray (lined with freezer paper) and let cool until hardened.

Serve accordingly.

Not that these shouldn't be left out at room temperature for very long, lest you want to give you humble guests food poisoning.

Running, running, runnning out of time.

I'm writing this while in the midst of one of my patented Noodles Panic Spirals.

Why? Because it's Dec. 4, but may as well be Jan. 4. (Don't get me started on my issues with the start of 2009. Too much leftover goals from 2008!)

Here's the deal.

I'm type A. Like, REALLY Type A. Like, lists and spreadsheets make me happy. Surprises and I don't get along. (Don't get me wrong, I'm totally down with being a go-with-the-flow girl. But I'm already told my best friends that should I eventually get married, they should all expected three ring binders with tabbed dividers to help them keep track of details.)

But tonight is my last night of down time until well after Christmas. And that's only because I was so tired from work today that I promptly collapsed after getting home and slept through the start of the CD release concert I was supposed to attend.

My to-do list for Friday and the weekend so far includes 17 points. 17! And that was just what I remembered.

I love the holidays and all that it stands for. It's such a special time and I want to always be so absolutely perfect. But I don't feel like I have the time to stop and smell the chestnuts (snicker. I'm funny.) But instead, I'm rushing around cleaning, planning, ordering, organizing, figuring out how to keep The Mom and The Dad entertained during their lengthy visit to Chicago, making sure I don't have white trash-looking roots for NEXT weekend's trip back to Maryland to celebrate the grandma's birthday. That's just the personal stuff. There's mega things to be done at work, the announcement of mini professional evaluations that must be completed by next Friday...

Oh wait. I just thought of No. 18. (Complete project for Holiday Gift Swap.)

Le sigh. Screw that. Le groan!

It just seems so overwhelming.

How do you guys handle it?

It just seems so entirely easy to get wrapped up in the rush and miss the amazingly good stuff that goes on just once a year.

Sexy pants.

I broke out the long johns today for the first time this season. This is depressing for a number of reasons, mainly because I like to try to see how long I can go before I need a base layer. It's like some weird sadistic game I play.

But, we're supposed to get a snow storm this afternoon and even thought it's a balmy 30-something degrees, tonight's temperature is expected to be around 15. (Talk about getting heat on time!)

Since I've got a bunch of stuff to do after work, I won't be headed home until 9-ish. And I'll be walking the 20 minutes from my final destination be on a long walk through the snow.

So alas, I only made it to Dec. 3.

Le sigh.

Let there be warmth!

Many moons ago (also known as several days before Halloween), I discovered that my heat did not work in my bedroom. I fought with the gas company, which lead to me later pen this lovely missive just to blow off steam.

But today, by the skin of my Noodley teeth, I got heat again.

Barely.

I was given a four hour window for the gas company guy (who, turned out to be a woman. Bad Noodles for having gender stereotypes) came with 20 minutes left to spare. She was super nice and was about to turn the gas on when she stopped, wrench in hand, and said: "Wait. Does this supply a furnace in your bedroom?"

"Um. Yes."

"I can't turn this on. It's against code to have a furnace in your bedroom or bathroom."

Keep in mind now that this furnace has been in a bedroom for at least six years under various owners. I swear to you, without hyperbole (which, um, I may or may not have a slight fondness for), I nearly cried. Right there. On the spot. In the dusty basement.

Apparently, my watery eyes and helpless girl charm (which I bust out only when necessary) and the fact that I argued that my bedroom was really part of a studio, she turned it on. And then, she went all grandma on me, which made me want to bounce in her arms and give her a big old kiss. (The Mutt, however, sensing how awkward that'd be for me took the initiative to do it herself. What a team player.) She lit the pilot light and even gave me some quick home improvement advice.

Talk about a fairy godmother. So tonight, while sitting in my toasty warm bedroom, I raise a glass of hot cocoa to the wonder woman at the gas company. Way to be bad ass.

And the bidding will start at ... (hopefully.)

My office does a super cool thing where every Christmas we gather all the free stuff we received that we're ethically bound not to keep and hold a silent auction among the staff. The stuff collects all year and then whatever proceeds we get is donated to a local food bank.

Usually, it's a bunch of books, toys, some bottles of wine, gadgets, DVDs, and other random assorted crap that people send us.

Since I'm feeling so crafttastic, I whipped up this smaller version of my runner to throw into the auction. I toned down the funky fabrics, knowing that most of my coworkers are full-fledged grownups and probably not in love with polka dots and vibrant colors the way I am. (BTW, sorry for the glare on the picture. I was lazy tonight with my lighting.)

Because I'm a paranoid worrier, I'm concerned that a) no one will want to bid on it or b) they'll hate it but still feel compelled to make an offer because they know I made it and they don't want to offend me.

So, I've got my fingers and toes (but not legs... snicker) crossed, hoping that it at least gets some bids. That would be great because it would, you know, totally help charity. AND because it would give me a good test market for how I should price items in my forthcoming Etsy store.

Here's hoping it does well! I'll let you know when bids close in a week or so.

I'm in. (aka, my New Year's resolution.)

Details are forthcoming, but look for an Etsy store from me early in the new year. What exactly will be for sale is to be determined, but I'm thinking mostly housewares, home decor stuff, bags, etc.


Since I'm me, I'm all focused on the small stuff. Not, like, what I should sell, or how much I need to make before I post it online, etc. But, thanks to my super fab friend Sara, I have a name:


Pieces of Yay!


It's so totally Noodles it makes me want to scream with glee.


Advice -- solicited and not -- will be gladly accepted as I get this off the ground.

Workday hilarity.

My amazing boss lady sent me this link a while ago. Ever since, I periodically visit when I need a giggle or to release some steam.

But, just a warning... it's LOUD. And completely uneffective without volume. So be prepared for noice or wear headphones.

Consider yourself warned.

Destress yourself (without booze) by clicking here.