In which it is chilly.

Yeah yeah. I know. It's Chicago. And it's January. And I live on a condo with insulation from the 1920s. And blah blah blabby blabby blah.

Whatever.

It was freakin' frigid in my house this week and my poor little 25-year-old furnace was struggling to keep up. (Fact: One night this week, I crawled under the covers, which included a cotton flat sheet, a fleece blanket, an old thin down comforter, a regular comforter, a bedspread and, just for added heft, an unzipped sleeping bag.) (Fact: I later kicked off the sleeping bag.) (Fact: I briefly missed the ex-live in boy and his heated mattress pad. Briefly.)

Anyway, since I first wrote about the geniusness of my sleeping bag inspired splants, my sleeping bag has been getting a lot of use around my house. However, since it was so cold, the Mutt Dog decided she should commandeer it for her own exclusive snuggling pleasure.

Can you spy the Mutt Dog?


Ooooh. Excuse me. I've disturbed her royal highness. Pardon me, Macy.


How about some treats? And we'll call it even.

Wise words

"I must learn to love the fool in me, the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries."~ Theodore Isaac Rubin


Image via: Merveci
Quote sent to me from Amy. Thanks, ma'lady.

Itching to sew.

Did anyone else catch Ashley's super-easy-and-cute pillow case tutorial?

OMG! Want! To! Sew! Some! Right! Now! (Also: I really want to use that Anna Maria Horner folksy flannel too. EEEP. Alas, I have none. Whine. And my shop is sold out.)

I'd post her pictures, but I'm not sure what Ashley's rule is on grabbing images, even with attribution. And OMG, how much would it suck if one of your sewing/quilting idols got mad at you!? I'd cry. A lot. And then I'd drink and it'd be OK. But in the interest of not crying and not consuming empty calories, I recommend you just click on the link. Do it for the sake of my waistline and my eyeliner. And trust me, once you look at it, you'll thank me.

Lidolicious

Confession time: I have a friend crush.

Yup, a crush on a friend who is just so fabulous that he's simply impossible not to love. Lido's a modern-day renaissance man: a knock-you-over good photographer (check out his blog), a chef, a journalist, an artist, a guy who knows more about philosophy and dance than I'll ever know and is a 100 percent great friend and human being. (Years ago he even let me mangle his toes once on the dance floor. Rest assured it was a mistake he never made again. He also once let me sleep in the back of his Outback during a weekend-long jam band and bluegrass concert. Also a mistake he never made again.)

Basically, he's fabulous. (For the record, he's also engaged to the equally fabulous Jessica, whom I love and wish nothing but the best. Mazel tov!!)

The last time I publicly professed my Lido Love was in September when I was having an existential font-related crisis. But wouldn't you know it? Mr. Marvelous went and out did himself and caused me to fall all madly in friend love with him again. If I didn't love him so much I'd smack him.

So what did he do? Well, it looks like even though he's busy living it up with his lady in Montana and working as media director at a Web site/newspaper, Lido went out and learned to knit.

Yes. Knit.

And because he's Lido, he didn't just decide to knit a scarf. Or a hat. Or pot holders. Or something else nice and basic. Nope. Lido, upon learning that his cousin was going to have a baby, went out, learned to knit and made that munchkin a freaking blanket.


(Ladies, are you swooning yet? If not, well, perhaps you should see a physician.)

He sent me the pictures of his project and after squealing and demanding more details, I asked if I could post the pictures and some of his story for you all to admire.


When I asked him what prompted him to learn to knit, he was as always his humble self:

"I don't know why I started knitting. It was something I tried doing ages ago and never really completed anything. So when my darling little cousin became pregnant I thought why the hell not knit them a blanket. (They are very earthy, locally made, hippie, livin' on the farm, appreciate handmade type folk.) Mostly, I like it because I feel like I'm accomplishing something but I can still sit and zone out, clear my mind, and do something that's nothing like anything else I do during the day."

He also confesses to being unable to stop knitting. It's a plague I know well.


Anyway, now that I've made the boy blush and hopefully not enraged his fiancee by professing to love her betrothed, let me just sum it up by saying OMG! Hats off, Mr. Vizzuitti. You are, as always, totally Lidolicious.

Right folks?

An ode to Tylenol PM. Ish.

Happiness is a full, uninterrupted, don't-move-a-single-muscle night's sleep.

Even it's medically enhanced to be that way.

And even if said drugs render me so unconscious that you could rob my house or detonate some kind of incendiary device next to my head, producing eardrum-splitting noise that still wouldn't wake me up. Or wake me up enough to care.

Even if I drool on myself in an inappropriate manner sorta like that girl in Ferris Bueller's history class. ("Something doo economics... Anyone? Anyone? Voodoo economics.")

Even if I allegedly snore. (Which, P.S., I do not. That's just a nefarious, malicious, lie-filled plot hatched to kill my healthy self esteem by every boy I've ever dated. Ever. Whatever. Boys lie.) (Addendum: The Modern Gal claims I do snore. Even though I find her claim factually dubious, I bet that if it IS true, my snores are nothing short of ADORABLE.)

Even if I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night convinced that there's someone inside the house that's going to attack me, which makes me wake up, swat the air, then roll over instead of fending off a TOTALLY menacing shadow that was really just my dresser.

And even if said medication makes me talk in my sleep. And honest to God, dream that my friends are Amish, but not Amish and more like The Duggars. But with helicopters. And PDAs.

And OMG. Sleep. Have I mentioned I LOVE sleep. Sleep is better than... wait. My mom reads this. I can't say. But you can probably guess. (Hiiii, Mom!)

Crazy sleepy time shenanigans? Whatever. Totally worth it for a good night's sleep. Which is why I must say: I heart you Tylenol PM.

The end.

P.S. This Pulitzer-winning screed was written after three hours of sleep last night, a 4:15 a.m. wakeup, a long day at work, an almost migraine, 5 extra-strength Tylenols taking during an 18-hour day, and one night cap Tylenol PM which was downed at 6:45 p.m. Yes. 6:45. Don't judge. You SO wish you were me.

I'm picturelicious

Did I mention I got a new camera for Christmas. It's all fancy. And fun. And badass. And OMG. I can't stop taking pictures. I've been taking pictures of my meals in restaurants. My friends. Baptisms at church. Macy. Quilts. Anything. Everything. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've become a colossal pain.

Anyhoodles, I thought I'd show a few of my pictures. Feel free to gush accordingly. They feature my favorite princess, my favorite mutt, and pictures from my favorite part of Maryland.











I can't wait to take more.

I get by with a little help from my friends

The Mutt Dog is kind of clingy. And by kind of clingy, I mean, is plastered to my side at all times. Occasionally this is cute. Sometimes it's awkward (should, you know, a boy come over.) When I'm trying to baste a quilt, it's royal pain in my ass.






Lucky for her she's entirely too cute.

I have seen the mountaintop

In honor of Martin Luther King Jr., I thought I'd post a picture I took during my trip to Memphis this fall. After all the wedding stuff and the obligatory visit to Graceland, some friends and I visited the the National Civil Rights Museum. If you're ever there, you MUST GO. Who cares about the freakin' Peabody Ducks? Go. To. The. Museum.



It's fascinating and chilling, horrifying and informative. And you can see the motel room where King was shot, preserved as it was that day.

And while I'm thinking about it, what wise and powerful words he had. So true today as they were in 1968.

"We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land."

Baby quilt goodness

I haven't officially gotten permission from the recipient to post pictures of this baby quilt. So I'm only going to give you a hint of what's on deck for my super-fabulous friend Emily, who is set to birth a splendid little halfpint in May.

Since that's just in time for my birthday, I've launched a full-fledged Name The Babe Noodles effort. So far, she's being stubborn. Whatever. I blame the pregnancy hormones for her inability to listen to reason.

Anyway, since I was SO FREAKIN' lucky to have a three-day weekend (word to the civil rights movement!), I was able to bust out the entire top quilt. As soon as I hit publish, I'm going to whip up the back and then try my hand at actually quilting the damn thing myself, instead of paying someone else to do it. (Emily, I hope I don't mangle this.)

So here's a little eye candy to hold you over until it's finished and I can show it off for real.

Oops.

I have this crazy idea that I want to see how long I can go without buying new clothing. My last purchase was Dec. 24. But uh, I made no such resolution when it came to fabric.

Look what greeted me when I came home from work on Friday? This super-awesome package of goodies from FabricWorm. EEPS!


There's a bunch of Anna Maria Horner's Little Folks voile, and OMG, it's so soft. Plus, some Amy Butler Love fabric, and Denyse Schmidt's Hope Valley. Not to mention a ton of other stuff. Yay!

I get introspective. And stuff.

Consider this a PSA to let you know that I have a guest blog post over at my church's young adult blog.

It's about the topic of discipleship. (Don't worry, I think it's a super-churchy, weird word, too.) It's my first real stab at blogging openly about my faith. So I'd love some feed back if you're of that persuasion. Or any persuasion. Or no persuasion at all.

I really wrestled with whether to post the piece on this blog. Since it doesn't really fit in with this blog, I'm linking to it for your reading pleasure.

Click on over and join the discussion. (Here's a hint: I think discipleship is just another synonym for being a good human being.)

Peace.

In which I royally piss off the universe.

It was long, draining and downright shitty day work today. On the bus ride home, which, btw, dropped me off at my house roughly 13 hours after I left in the morning, I decided to turn the shittasticness into sparkle and bake cookies for my coworkers and spend the night working on baby quilts for my pregger girl friends.

What a dumb idea that was.

I probably should have realized the universe was against me when I saw that I had only 3/4 of a cup of flour. (How the HELL did that happen? I'm a self-professed compulsive baker.) Luckily, I had some extra whole wheat flour lying around, which OMG would make my cookies HEALTHY! I started making my modified Toll House recipe and then ... DAMMIT, I have one tiny, hard-as-nails chunk of brown sugar.

This of course, is not the end of the world. I mean, any reasonable person would have put on her boots (Oops, left them at work), her coat, and scarf and gloves and hat and trudged to the damn store. But have I mentioned it's cold as balls here? And snowing? And OMG I WANT COOKIES NOW.

Since by this point I want nothing more than to eat my weight in cookie dough as I try to shed a bad day, I keep going. I try softening the brown sugar. It doesn't want to cooperate. It gets sorta less rock like and I put it in mixer. And then I make the critical mistake of trying to mash up the chunks while the beater thingies are beating.

Note to self. It's best to do this step when the mixer isn't ACTIVELY mixing. Because this is the end result of that effort.


What the hell is that, you ask? Why, it's a completely mangled and bent attachment to my standup mixer. Fucking A....

So now, let's recap:
_ Long day.
_ Bad day.
_ Critical ingredient shortage.
_ Broken forever mixer.
_ Shitty-tasting cookies thanks to ingredients shortage (who the HELL wants whole wheat cookies anyway? What? Should I serve them with a side of tofu and wheatgrass? Phhsaw.)
_ And one very grumpy Noodles.

Epic effing fail.

P.S. After this series of events, there's no way in hell I'm letting my fingers near a razor-sharp rotary cutter.

Stitch and this bitch.

I don't even have enough time to keep up with my quilt making since my friends keep getting knocked up and married. But for some reason, I still found time to learn to knit. And knit. And knit. And knit. And no matter how hard I try. I can't. Put. The. Needles. Down. AHHH. What can I say, it's the perfect activity for the bus. And conference calls. And tv watching. And...



I haven't made anything fancy: Yet. Just a scarf is the softest baby alpaca wool I got at my local nearby (uh, perhaps too nearby) yarn store. I'm playing around with a mobius scarf using some super bad-ass Italian wool I found in a sale bin.

Alas. There goes my focus. No would you all quit having babies so I can knit without guilt!?

Do not let this universe regret you.

For more of the amazing poet/spoken word artist Marty McConnell, whose work focuses on the intersection of sexuality, religion, gender and history, check out her Web site.

Fabulous sentiment

Jason sent me this quote. I love the sentiment. Happy new year.

"May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art -- write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself. I hope you will have a wonderful year, that you'll dream dangerously and outrageously, that you'll make something that didn't exist before you made it, that you will be loved and that you will be liked, and that you will have people to love and to like in return." _ Neil Gaiman


Photo via: Michael Johnson Flickr

A plug!!

One of my bestest friends in the great big universe (and also, the mother of one of the handful of children who don't scare me to my core) has started a blog! And no, before you wince, it's not a mommy blog either.

Her challenge is to find at least 50 ways to save $100 this year. I don't know about you, but I could certainly use some help saving up an extra $5,000 this year.

In addition to her great blog, she's got a savings list going, listing various ways to save cash and how much each has yielded.

So add her blog feed to your reader. And take notes on what she finds. God knows, I will!!

Screw the snuggie. SPLANTS.

That's right, you blanket with sleeves you. I've got my sleeping bag. Specifically, my LL Bean sleeping bag that was purchased sometime around 1989 for a Girl Scouts camping trip.

Since I live in Chicago...
And since it was -1 this morning...
And I have paper thin walls that I swear lack insulation...
And since I have somehow become coldblooded....
And because I'm dying, DYING to start a new fashion craze...

I've taken to zipping myself into my sleeping bag and going about my life in my condo. I watch TV zipped into my sleeping bag. I work on the computer. I play with the mutt dog. I have napped in it too. The only thing I have yet to do while my lower half is ensconced is laundry and cooking. (Mainly because walking in it is kind of like waddling. But with the equivalent of socks on a recently Pledge-covered wood floor.)

While I'm basically waiting to bite it any time now, I think I've come up with a COMPLETELY BRILLIANT IDEA!! There could be a market for Sleeping Bag Pants. SPLANTS!!!!!!

Basically, I'd add suspenders to hold it up, and sorta feet thingies to give me traction. And arm holes. Maybe a few pockets. How effing awesome with that be? (Sidebar, I'm working on a picture of me wearing my splants. Lacking my suspenders and arm holes, photographing it by my self has proven to be a wee bit difficult.

Anyway, I wanted to share my genius with you. Which also might explain why I am, and continue to be, single.

The end.

ADDENDUM: Promptly after writing this, I waddled my splants-wearing self from my desk to the sofa and promptly fell asleep for 2+ hours. Moral of the story: Splants are only for the trained professional.

The end. (Really, this time.)