So I need to post another inspiration post, but I've been in a weird place of not being particularly inspired by anything but quite creatively productive, and feeling the need to isolate the productivity-causer. It's probably just that my list got too long. Anyway, I don't feel like thinking now, so something will happen next week -- when I'm more inspired by something -- maybe music.
Anyway, I do feel like writing slightly humorous prose. Since my household has been victim to several sewing-related injuries lately, I present Anna's list of safety tips for seamstresses:
1. Beware of fitting fits of conniption. Seamstresses sometimes crave perfection, and after the fifth time they sew a seam, symptoms similar to Tourette's can be witnessed.
2. Pick up your pins. Seamstresses are far more prone to comical injuries (sat on, stepped on, etc) than even the most classic of cartoon gaffes.
3. Watch your iron. If you see emo-kid burns on the arms of an otherwise stable-looking female, they could very will be a seamstress.
4. Be careful with your lighting. Seamstresses should work in a well-lit space, wearing appropriate eye gear to avoid strain. They should also not leave lighting sources on the floor, lest a well-placed Godzilla stomp should shatter an important source of illumination.
5. Keep well-organized fabric bins, and think judiciously when in fabric stores.. The fabric avalanche is an ever present danger for the seamstress, as are what-the-%@##-am-I-going-to-do-with-all-this-inspired panic attacks.
Gold Star to the craftily clumsy.
Showing posts with label tangnetial. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tangnetial. Show all posts
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
The eff-you pie
I know you're only supposed to bake out of love. I know that it's supposed to be a relaxing activity done because you love and care about the people in your life and you want to gift them with your delicious affections.
But sometimes, the best way to solve a problem is by throwing pie at it. In a perfect world, this would always be the best solution to every problem.
The reason I bring this up:
I was sick on monday. Like, feverish, moving hurts, possible slight delirium sick. Oh, and it felt like a really pissed-off cat had been working my throat like a scratching pole. So I'm thinking, as I drearily trudge out of my room, I need to eat something. There's a slice of that banana cream pie in the fridge. Nice and cold and creamy and oh-so-soothing. So I grab it and a fork, and sit on the couch to eat it.
My brother had been bitching about it ever since. Just because he didn't have an initial shot at the pie because of his work.
So he brings it up today, and I start baking. Not out of love or caring, but because he needed a slice of Eff-you pie.
The deal of the Eff-you pie is, I make the pie, he eats the pie, he is no longer allowed to bitch about the pie. If he does, he gets a punitive slap across the face. He didn't quite agree to this deal, but I figure, as the pie-maker, I get some executive power in forming pie-based deals.
No one tell him I made it with soy milk.
Gold Star to all those who feel simultaneously empowered and jealous of mid-century buildings with giant pie awnings by the use of the term "pie-maker."
But sometimes, the best way to solve a problem is by throwing pie at it. In a perfect world, this would always be the best solution to every problem.
The reason I bring this up:
I was sick on monday. Like, feverish, moving hurts, possible slight delirium sick. Oh, and it felt like a really pissed-off cat had been working my throat like a scratching pole. So I'm thinking, as I drearily trudge out of my room, I need to eat something. There's a slice of that banana cream pie in the fridge. Nice and cold and creamy and oh-so-soothing. So I grab it and a fork, and sit on the couch to eat it.
My brother had been bitching about it ever since. Just because he didn't have an initial shot at the pie because of his work.
So he brings it up today, and I start baking. Not out of love or caring, but because he needed a slice of Eff-you pie.
The deal of the Eff-you pie is, I make the pie, he eats the pie, he is no longer allowed to bitch about the pie. If he does, he gets a punitive slap across the face. He didn't quite agree to this deal, but I figure, as the pie-maker, I get some executive power in forming pie-based deals.
(It's not even worth a shot from my Canon. It gets the smartphone picture)
No one tell him I made it with soy milk.
Gold Star to all those who feel simultaneously empowered and jealous of mid-century buildings with giant pie awnings by the use of the term "pie-maker."
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