Today's word is...

ASSTASTIC.

Not really sure why. But I did get one of the four pairs of pants that fit out of the dryer today. And damn, if they weren't ASSTASTIC.

An open letter to my pants. Or, why I'm back on Weight Watchers.

Dear Pants,

Hi! Remember me?

I'm the girl who was down-right ecstatic when I bought you. You were so many sizes smaller than my Before-Pants. (Remember Before? It was when someone took those horrible pictures and Photoshopped me to look extra rotund? Bastards.) You were flattering. And hugged my curves in just the right places. You came from real-people stores, not that Lane Bryant that had been keeping me from nakedness for so many years.

I loved you! Other people loved you! They said you made my ass look hot. Mainly, you were lovely and fantastic.

But, see, now you're not.

In fact, you're pretty much decidedly UNLOVELY. UNFANTASTIC.

You look weird. You strain. You cause unseemly bulges. You make me take deep breaths before I hop up and down to zip you up. (And really, let's not forget about the time that I had to lie on the bed and say a quick prayer before yanking up that zipper.)

WTF? Com'n. I thought we were all BFFy. Why do you have to be this way?

Now, Stacy and Clinton would tell me to dress for the body I have, not for the body I want to have. And there's some sense to that. After all, we've all seen those great outfits they put together for the stubbornly poor dressers.

But I won't admit defeat. And, really, you guys are entirely too cute to say good bye to.

So, this isn't really a good bye. It's a see-you-soon type thing.

That's right, dear pants. (And, Ann Taylor. And Banana Republic. And The Gap. And, well, everywhere else.) Just like The Terminator before me: I'll be back.

See you in a few.

Love,
Noodles

Only because I am a total nerd...

I couldn't resist posting this. In fact, I stopped in the middle of the airport to snap this when I saw the sign.

"WHERE THE PLAYERS PLAY!!!"

Com'n. You know you want to say it. Resistance is futile. (As is Jermaine Dupri.)

Songs to sew by

A few years ago, my friend Currer Bell tried to get me to go with her to Zen meditation. Half an hour in to the multi-hour ordeal I was almost kicked out. Why? Apparently, I'm not so much with the sitting-still-in-quiet-thing.

It's true. I absolutely cannot be left alone with own thoughts. I wiggle and fidget and yawn and squirm. My mind wanders. I make lists. I suddenly develop impossible-to-reach scratches. It's freaking weird.

Anyway, all of this is a prelude to the fact that I hate operating in silence. Even when I'm writing on a big deadline, I have my iPod headphones jammed in my ears. I have mixes for everything: working out, writing, relaxing, sorted by genre, for happy moods, sad moods, contemplative moods. You name it.

So last weekend, I decided I needed to create a quilting iTunes mix.

I know, according to Shakespeare, brevity is the soul of wit, and all that. But I have trouble winnowing stuff down. Which explains why my playlist is roughly seven hours long. (Sidenote: have you ever tried to enter "quilting" into the iTunes store? Yeesh.)

Since I love you, dear reader, I won't bore you with my list of all 107 songs. But I thought I'd give you the names and artists of a few of my favorites. Most of them are of the girl-with-guitar persuasion. Which, frankly, is not only fine with me, but it seems kind of appropriate, no?

But here's the deal. You've gotta share the love and pass along some of your favorite sewing/crafting/chilling with your favorite hobby songs. Because, just like fabric, you can never have enough good music. :-)

Two Dozen Songs To Sew By:

"Jolene" - Dolly Parton
"Shining Waters" - Andy Leftwich.
"Careful" - Guster
"Jezebel" - 10,000 Maniacs
"Taking The Long Way Round" - Dixie Chicks
"Circus" - Britney Spears
"Galileo" - Indigo Girls
"Regretting What I Said" - Christine Lavin (Live version mandatory)
"Nutshell" - Alice In Chains
"While My Guitar Gently Weeps" - George Harrison
"The Dress Looks Nice On You" - Sufjan Stevens
"Like A Prayer" - Madonna
"What Is This Feeling?" - Idina Menzel and Kristen Chenowith from Wicked
"She Don't Like Roses" - Christine Kane
"Smart Girls" - Jonathan Rundman
"Fuck You" - Ani DiFranco
"Slopes" - Strength in Numbers
"Closer to Me" - Dar Williams & Bela Fleck
"Roam" - B-52s
"White Room" - Cream
"Walk The Same Line" - Everything But The Girl
"Straw Hat And Dirty Old Hank" - Barenaked Ladies
"Cigarettes And Chocolate Milk" - Rufus Wainwright
"So Long, So Wrong" - Alison Krauss & Union Station
"Desperately Wanting" - Better Than Ezra

I'm back. (A contemplative post.)

I've kept this blog deliberately quiet since Christmas, even though my life has been decidedly unquiet.

Long (and I mean loooong, drama-filled) story short, the boy and I broke up. I'd tell you more, but since I was the one who ended things, I'm not sure it's my place to share in such a public forum. It's our story, not just mine. And I don't want to make an already uncomfortable situation even worse.

But breakups sucks for everyone involved and it's sad _ heartwrenching, really _ when you realize you won't be spending the rest of your life with the person you thought you would.

So now 2009 is markedly different than I thought it would be as I start over. But I've always been a glass half-full kind of girl. Which is why I'm trying to embrace being a Party of 1 person. And in a weird way, I'm happy to do that, too.

It's like, as much as you love someone and love being with them, you sometimes feel like you lose a little bit of yourself when you move from a singleton to coupleville. I'm looking forward to getting that forgotten bit of me back.

So I'm trying to throw myself into Noodlesdom. Spinning classes. My fabulous church group. Girls nights with the ladies in my life who are just too fabulous for words. Tea. Quilting classes. Books. Books. Books. Even a little home improvement project, which I'll post more details about later, since it directly relates to sewing and crafty hobbies.

It's been two weeks and it's getting easier. An impromptu weekend trip to spend time with my bff ladies in the South totally helped. So did some furniture rearranging. And furious exercise. And several bottles of wine. And a big quilting project.

But then, out of nowhere, those moments creep up on you.

_ Riding the bus to work and realizing you're not sitting next to him.
_ Rolling over in bed and realizing you have the whole thing to yourself.
_ Finding his shirts buried deep in the hamper.
_ Taking down the Christmas tree you bought together.

So I guess that's why I'm like a whirling dervish of activity right now. Because, in addition to helping you get back to being you .... most of all, I think being busy keeps you from being sad. And regardless of who breaks up with who, ending a seemingly forever relationship is decidedly that.

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.