Friday, April 26, 2013

Confessing my real age of 78

Sometimes I call capri pants short pants, just for giggles.


I giggle over small things, like short pants.


I am not aware of the status of short pants.  Is this something I can still wear or have we moved on to matchstick jeans and such?

Wednesday night while the potatoes were boiling I sat on the floor up against the fridge singing "You're My Best Friend" by Queen, the whole the dog.  He licked the chocolate frosting off my face.

"You're my best friend too!...wait, do I smell tater tots?!"


Speaking of my little man, Arnie is always on a leash.  Always.  Except that one time I got lazy during a potty break.  The same potty break that was, of course, his first squirrel sighting which led to his first squirrel chase near the road.  And wouldn'tyaknowit also his first time meeting the nasty Boston Terrier that lives below us who nearly tore his face off.


Corey didn't understand my tribute Wednesday. 

"Beetle I read your blog, it was weird."

Safe to say he does not share in my love of birds.


What does Corey share my love of?  Breakfast.


When I say I'm going to go running, I do what real runners call "moderate walking."  In a 5k race a few years ago I came upon a 70 year old man who looked like he was barely moving and I Could. Not. Pass. Him.  Tragic.


My friend, Jill, thinks I'm an old lady trapped in a beeeeeautiful, fit, young shell (my pretty accurate interpretation).  And to that I say, "Huh? Can you speak up??"


And on that note, time for my daily dose of Metamucil...Happy Friday!

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

This post is for the birds

Hey guess what guys...I love birds!!


Those pesky little dummies that are full of germs and diseases and terrify my little doggie tickle my fancy like nothing other than milk glass can.

Don't know what it is about the stinky poopers; maybe all the colors, the bright reds and blues and yellows, that they can be as big as a mid-size SUV or as small as a cockroach or it could be that they aren't actually dumb at all.

But most likely it's just one of those mysteries you can't explain.

Like why chocolate has such a strong, strong hold over me.

And is the moon really made out of cheese??

And almost more than I love actual birds, I love, love, love John Audubon's collection of drawings of birds;  a collection of more than 700 species all drawn to scale and in their natural habitat.  Be still my heart!  The drawings are simple: not a leaf or flower too many, the colors are vivid but not overpowering...I'm getting a lump in my throat thinking about how much I love these drawings, is that weird?

I was traveling around the interwebs pretty aimlessly recently looking for accents to put in my bedroom after I paint and introduce some gold-toned bedding when I thought, "yellow-breasted warblers, for SURE!"

Srsly.  I did happen just like that.

With that thought, I tracked down some of my faves to build an Audubon collection of my own.

Mourning Dove

Yellow Breasted Warbler

Anna's Hummingbird



I die a little seeing the last two.  Get ahold of yourself, Stace.

It's safe to assume a healthy representation of Mr. Audubon's collection will find it's way into my home.  What will Corey think, you ask?  Well, when the options are drawings hanging on the walls or the real things eating his cereal and pooping on his furniture I think he'll warm up to my plan.

Pictures to come just as soon as I'm three years.

Just kidding.

But actually that's probably accurate.


Monday, April 22, 2013

I don't always eat cake, but when I do I eat the whole thing

"Corey, I'm leaving now to get the groceries."

"Hey, do you want to pick up a cake mix?"

"Noooooo.  You know I'm trying to get beach ready!"



 fancy eats Betty Crocker style

They call me Stacie No Willpower Lucas.

I'm a sucker for cake.

And brownies.

And cookies.

And razzleberry pie.

And any other pie.

And any other type of dessert, minus anything with raisins.

Raisins aren't dessert.  Neither are carrots.  I'm looking at you carrot cake.

Yummy yummy yum yum yum!  Batter is tasty.  I eat it with my fingers!

Hello dinner.

I also ate that corner piece.  It was lonely.  Also, I don't know when to stop.

they call him Arnie Eats Everything Not Bolted To The Floor Lucas

Arnie's wondering, do I get a piece now oooooor do I just sneak one off the counter when you're not looking?

I distract him with chicken biscuits.  And he's pretty flaky (blonds, go fig.) so it works.

But now that mama's in a sugar coma it's all fair game.

Friday, April 19, 2013

Confessing my love of early 90's rap

I used to do this thing back on the other blog where I would confess the random//embarrassing//stupid moments of my week, not so much as a "must repent of my thinking this was a nautical symbol:"

...but more of a "laugh at me because I'm sure I'm the only dum-dum on the planet who didn't know what the heck this thing meant."

I miss out on a lot when I've got my head lost in a bag of wool roving!'s a felting joke, maybe you...never mind.

And since my weekly confessions were met with rave reviews from my mom, I figured why not revive them here!  I certainly haven't ceased to perform the random//embarrassing//stupid just because I stopped publishing those moments.

But let's ease into it with just a few juicy morsels, shall we?

this is my baby...before he went crazy

Corey was nervous about Arnie meeting my sister's 112lb Rottweiler, Mika, last Saturday.  Turns out he had good reason to be nervous: she did, in fact, pee on his head.

I gave Arnie a bath on Saturday.

Last weekend was Corey's annual Fella's Retreat in Vegas.  Also known as Stacie's Vacation From Making the Bed and Putting Dirty Dishes in the Sink.

Also known as Getting Some Sleep Diagonal Style.

Also known as Fold That Laundry Quick Cuz He's Comin' Home in an Hour!!

I learned the lyrics to Whomp! There It Is in sixth grade, sometimes I sing them to myself when I do my chores.

"Tag team back again, check it to wreck it lets begin..."


I am a big fan of pancake batter.  Raw, pancake batter.  Salmonella and all.


I like big butts and I cannot lie.


Just kidding, I had to throw that in there with the theme being 90s....never mind.


See??  Wasn't that fun?! 

I know, it's a work in progress.

Until next time, have a lovely weekend!

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Turning 30: the good, the bad and the ugly

"Thirty ain't so bad."

Said no one ever.

Well, maybe people say it, but I guarantee they don't mean it.

And then when they say, "no, really, being over 30 is pretty great!" it means they're dying a little inside.

Can I get a holla! from the Over-30 Club?!



I know you're out there, you're probably just thinking to yourself, "but self, although my mind and body have started to literally fall apart, I still feel some areas of my life are in fact better than before..."

In this case I would have to agree.  When it comes certain things, I'm feelin' pret-ty darn good, too.

Like my appearance: no longer do I feel like the whole world is judging me if I wear my slippers into a convenience store, or if my morning hair and leftover make-up look like a combination bird's nest dumpster fire and I take that whole show out on the road for some pancakes.

I take that back, the world is judging me, but now I don't care.  I just want pancakes.

Also I'm finally okay with who I am.  And who exactly is that, you ask?  I'm random and creative.  I like to be impulsive but only if I can plan on it.  Awkwardness doesn't even begin to describe my conversations with strangers and those moments where I shake someone's hand and our thumbs don't quite align.

Side question: is it then okay to insert left hand to rearrange the shake to fit properly??  Oh I hope so...

I'm funny and sarcastic and I don't take the right things seriously.  I'll never be as patient as I'd like, or have enough self-control to not say exactly what I'm thinking when my feathers get ruffled.

I'll never be like those girls who seem to have it all together and now I'm finally old enough to be okay with it.

Most of the time.

Now on the other hand...

Everything else is falling apart.

Like my joints.  They ache All. The. Time.  And they don't tolerate anything other than soft cushions and 90-degree angles.  Sitting cross-legged and playing on the floor with my nephew?  Ha!  "Sorry J, Auntie needs her sittin' pillow, oh and can someone help me get up?!"

And hellloooo anxiety!  It's like my brain gave up on me, "her? no, she definitely doesn't know what she's doing, enter panic mode stat."  I may or may not be having an anxiety attack right now.  Over what?  Is the dog pooping in his crate?! when am I going to have time to strip my chipping nail polish?! why didn't I put on two coats of nail polish?! Is the crock-pot going to burn my house down?! when are we going to close on the new house already?! is Corey going to flip out when I tell him my idea for bookcases?! it's freezing why didn't I wear socks?!

It's fun.

Another big part of my new found anxiety is I'm pretty sure I need to see a doctor about everything.

Is this bump in my cheek/nose crease cancer?

My chest hurts, I'm pretty sure I'm having a heart attack.

I need to do something about this self-diagnosed carpal tunnel.

And then there's my stomach.  Talk about sen-si-TIVE.  Drink a full glass of wine, she gets upset.  Ride in the car with anyone other than me driving, she gets upset.  Eat lettuceforcryinoutloud, she gets wicked upset.  I never had an iron-clad constitution to begin with, but tummy grumblies after a burrito//ice cream sundae night??

Gimme a break.

But on a positive note, even with the aches and pains that come with my body completely rebelling against me, I would still take the position I'm in, feeling confident with myself, over being able to do a cartwheel without throwing up afterward or sitting on the living room floor without memory foam but not having a single clue about who I am or where I'm going.

Now tell me Over-40 Club, does this feeling last??

Please say yes, please say yes....

Oh to be young again...but maybe not this young.  (Kimberlie, Stacie, Katie on tamale-making day)

Monday, April 15, 2013

Friends don't let friends look like idiots in booties

I am an awful person.

Downright nasty.

Srsly, be warned.  If you are my friend, I just might purposely put you in a situation that will cause you to be unsure, unsteady,  maybe even a little uncomfortable just so I can laugh at you.


Maybe you've read how I find a great deal of enjoyment in watching dogs in shoes.

Maybe you've read how I've spent many a lunch break looking up YouTube videos of dogs in shoes and then snorting wildly at my desk.

this one is my fave.

So maybe it won't come as a shock to read that the first chance I got to put my own dear, sweet, trusting puppy in shoes I jumped at it and then sat back, with recording device activated, to enjoy the show.

That he didn't care last week when I put Corey's t-shirt on him and screeched, "the baby's wearing pajamas!!" wasn't an indication to me that I might not get the reaction I desired, so I proceeded to strap on four canvas booties I had previously purchased for Oliver (who summarily stripped them off when it was his turn without even a single awkward prance for his mother's sake. The nerve.)

It was probably what my sister calls Christian Karma that Arnie didn't do anything.

I mean, he had a moment of, "here we go again...." and danced around the kitchen for a few seconds, but it was more from a lack of traction than ohmigawshthesethingsareeatingmyfeet!!  After a few uneasy steps he trotted all around my mom's kitchen, sniffing out the person who was shoving treats at him as I had him pinned to the ground to strap on the booties.

Not the wild, flailing dance I was hoping for.

Serves me right for trying to use my own puppy's uncertainty for my enjoyment.

I gave him treats.  Then I took off the booties.

...and that's when my mom strapped them to her Basset Hound, Maggie.

(insert evil laugh here)



No dogs were hurt in the making of this post, they were only a little confused and maybe a tad embarrassed.

Friday, April 12, 2013

Minor change of plans

I've been thinking of doing a little re-branding of my bid-ness.

Like, I was toying with the idea of going from The Whimsical Crafter to

The Whimsical Crafter with Carpel Tunnel.

What do you think?


Oh, didn't I tell you?

Yes, my hands are shot.

I may be exaggerating, slightly.  But as of the last several weeks, I can't do anything with my hands.  Like felt, or string felt balls, or open jars of hot fudge.  Typing feels okay, but there's still this soreness that runs from my wrists to my shoulders so maybe that's not actually a good thing.


How could I let this happen?!  My hands are my part-time livelihood!!

And in the somewhat near future I had planned to employ them in a full-time fashion, churning out such money-makers as more jewelry, and artwork, and whimsical home decor, and cheeky greeting cards with your likeness in a caricature on the front.

I had planned to post a full step by step of what I do to make the felted wool balls I use in jewelry, but in short, and to explain how I rendered my left hand useless in texting while driving: my mode of felting is with needles.  This means after I wind wool roving into a ball I then stab it over and over with the needles for about 3-4 minutes.  No biggie.

The needles have little barbs that catch the wool fibers, tangling them and making the ball more dense until it's the thickness I want.  Like so:

Then I let my puppy jump up on the table I'm working on so he can grab a mouthful and run all over the house dropping little slobber balls every three feet or so, giving me the opportunity to start all over on what was supposed to be a bracelet.

See?  Easy.

But apparently all that repetitive motion is more than my hands can take and I'll have to rely on my revised back up careers:

Just call me Governor Lucas.

With my skills I could probably land a role as dead body number 2 in Law&Order.

Pancake Chef
I like to eat them, so why not perfect them...and then eat them?

Personal trainer
Just because I can't stick with an exercise program doesn't mean I can't yell at other people to do theirs.

Professional waitress
People gotta eat, there's job security here.

Movie critic
Do what you love, right?  I love to watch movies and then say stuff like, "Ooooo that was good," or "nope, not a fan."

So basically, I have options.

Buuuuuut I think before I plan any summer fundraisers I'll check with my doctor about getting some fancy wrist guards.  Yaaaaay accessories...

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

A note to my hair stylist

Confession: I hate what you did//will do//have ever done to my hair.

But in all honesty, you never even had a chance.

I will be the first to admit I am your worst customer.  I come in to your salon with my frizzed-out, combination hair that hasn't been touched by a professional in at least nine months and expect you to work wonders God alone could fix, and unless I walk out of your place looking like Jennifer Aniston with a "do" that only takes me 20 minutes to style in the morning using absolutely no product, I am not going to be happy with what you've done.

My apologies.

It's not you.  It's me.

 No, really.  I'm what you'd call unrealistic.

My expectations are wildly unreasonable when it comes to certain things.  Like hair.   How much I can really eat at a dinner buffet.  And Will Ferrell movies.

To name just a few.

Within a few days I'll get used to your interpretation of "layers and a trim."  I might even love it.  But that doesn't change the initial look of disappointment on my face I can't seem to mask no matter how hard I try to smile and say "don't worry, my allergies make me sob like this."

Again, so, so sorry.

I'll try to make up for it in my tip.   Even though, um, I still don't know how much you tip your hair-doer despite having access to the internet even right now where I can look up tipping etiquette for every imaginable situation.

But you could say this is just what you have to get used to being a professional and all.

I'm a professional felt ball maker and you don't see me gettin' all bend out of shape when people walk into my booth at a craft fair and laugh at all the "cute little pom-poms!!" or say loud enough for every possible customer to hear that "those things must be SO itchy ohmigawsh."


You're right, I do get bent.  And whiney.

I'll try harder, future hair stylist.

Monday, April 8, 2013

My weekend in a tweet

So over the weekend I flew to the moon and had tea with the queen and then I took a nap before I saw the Rolling Stones perform a special concert just for me because I called Mick and was like "what's that song you sing where you do that thing...??"

It was a slow weekend.


Have you noticed I never, ever post a recap of my super, awesome weekend adventures?  Now that I've dragged myself back on the blogging wagon I've given you something for your dreaded Mondays, but do you ever wonder what could I possibly be doing in those two days where the world is mine to do whatever I want with it, granted that anything is whatever can fit into one-and-a-half days because I do need my Sunday evenings to unwind by folding laundry in my jam-jams?

You're curious.

I can sense it.  I'm good at reading people.  That's why my friends call me Stacie Sixth Sense Lucas.

But they don't say it 10 times fast.  It's kind of a mouthful.

Now that I've made you aware of your curiosity and my mystique I kinda hate bursting both our bubbles by telling you the reason I never give weekend updates is because they're so lame I fall asleep even thinking about them.

Best part of this past weekend: finding a pair of kelly green matchstick jeans for 40% off the already reduced price.  Bam.

Best part of the weekend before: I was given a coupon written on receipt paper for buy-one-get-one-free coffee by a man who called me pretty and said he could help me pick out a good non-alcoholic wine at his wine store after I told him, not sure how we got on the subject, that I can't hold my liquor.

And the weekend before that: I got bangs.

You'll be glad I don't do wrap-ups after next weekend; my mom has recruited me to pick up dog turds in her back yard.  Imagine that play-by-play.

I don't remember Corey and I having so little going on last year at this time, but it seems like I go into mental hibernation when the weather goes below 45 degrees so this could be a typical early spring boring routine for us that I just don't remember.  Come late May when flowers start to bloom (yes I said start to bloomohmigoshhowImissSoCalweather) we'll have trips to camp, vacations, hikes, BBQs, baseball gamesgoYanks! and, if I have my way, kayaking all over that Saratoga Lake.

But until then I'll just have to find some enjoyment in green jeans and dog poop.

And lunch dates with her majesty.

Friday, April 5, 2013

When I thought I was going to die....and ate six burritos

"That balcony is going to come crashing down on top of me."

"And this crowd is going to cause a stampede and I'll be trampled."

"Also, there's no fresh air in here.  I'm going to catch lung cancer."

I said this one day last August.  I'm a real peach.

But in my defense how can you really be sure of the structural integrity of a building, am I right?!

This is the story of my first Phish concert.

Also my last.

Maybe that was obvious.

Last year Phish, Corey's favorite band from yesteryear, rolled into town for a weekend of shows at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center, an outdoor amphitheater with limited indoor seating.

That's cool.  Sounded like a swell time; a big group of adults in professions like accounting, and law, and elementary education all coming together to sway to the easy beats of a group that's been around for-ev-er, like from when all those adults were hacky-sack bouncin' college students who could grow thick, manly goatees and wear dirty Birkenstocks all the time.



Of course I said, "hecks yeah, darling, I'll experience a major part of your youth!"

Maybe it was more like, "sure."

But either way, I looked forward to going to this concert!  We had tickets for actual seats; after a less than pleasant experience at a Third Eye Blind concert in Fort Wayne I have an aversion to crowded, mosh-pit environments. (shout out to my Colosseum EMS boyz, whoop whoop!) 

So I thought, tickets, that means we have seats, that means I can sit back and relax and enjoy the music.  Nice.

Yes, I am that naive.

The night of the concert I knew I was in trouble before we even left the parking lot.

"You can really FEEL the music, man, it's like in your DNA..."

"Corey, did you hear that??  That woman just said this music is in her DNA for crying out loud...what is this you brought me to?!?"

Don't let that fool you, I really did enjoy watching the pre-show festivities.  There were people jamming on guitars, others dancing, this was a whole new experience for me!

And then there was "Shakedown Street."

Oh.  My.  Stars.

In one of the main parking lots a number of vendors set up shop in two long rows selling everything you wouldn't find at your local craft show.  You know, bongs, pipes, and other "paraphernalia."  Nerd alert: "Ohmigosh they can sell that here?!"  This was all scattered between ordinary things like tie-dyed everything and rocks turned jewelry. I had to hold on to Corey's shirt in some parts of Shakedown Street there were so many people.

So many different types of people!  It was like going to a class reunion seeing the older, original fans, the ones who, like Corey and his friends with us, have been fans all along.  But a lot of them were newbies, the second generation fans who were literally babies when these guys first toured.

Young and old alike, in harmony, on a slack rope.

So much to take in.


As in, there was a whole lotta food in this dusty, dirty parking lot.

Food vendors were everywhere selling burritos, pita things, questionable meat-on-a-stick.  I use the term "vendor" loosely as I am pret-ty sure they violated every single health code on the books and would never, ever, ever be granted a permit to "vend."  But this didn't stop me from buying the best vegetarian tacos sold out of the back of a van from a burly hippie I've ever tasted.

After all this you might be wondering if we ever made it to the concert.

We did!

We waded through a sea of people to get into the park, found our seats, found out our "seats" were also shared by several other people then waited for the festivities to begin.

Thirty minutes later we made our way out of our row, up the theater ramp, grabbed a handful of chicken burritos, pizza and hamburgers before heading out the gates and back to the car.

I made it a whole thirty minutes.


But I couldn't move!  I couldn't breathe!  And I swore the walls were coming down on me!  After the first song I asked Corey how many were left.

"Ummm, 28?"

"But this ONE song has been 25 minutes!!"

" you wanna go?"

"No.  No, no, no, no, no.  You want to stay.  We can stay, we can stay, we can stay."

"We'd better go."


I felt bad that Corey couldn't stay.  And with mouthfuls of pizza and burritos I said as much.  Through mouthfuls of pizza and hamburgers he said it was ok.  And together with mouthfuls of burritos and pizza and hamburgers we wondered why were we eating so much food right now??

So long story not-so-short, I can't do concerts.  They make me feel like my life is coming to an endrightnow.  What I can do and will gladly do are flannel jammies, milkshakes and Matlock reruns.  And for that I have no shame.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

That was me, I fell for it

My psyche is bruised.

April Fools, Schmapril Fools is what I have to say.

Whoever came up with this April Fools Day nonsense is a real knucklehead because this girl falls for such trickery as Redbox now planning to sell meat out of vending machines and headphones for kitties.


Fortunately, I survived this year without much embarrassment, although not without a good amount of stress and anxiety anticipating the next trap I just might fall into.  But I've learned to keep my lips sealed when it comes to outrageous stories that could possibly be true (c'mon, cats could have a thing for beats) because one year I didn't and afterward I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide forever.  Which doesn't feel fantastic.

There is a weekly community newspaper in the city where I work that circulates to local businesses in the area, but it is known throughout the region to publish an April Fools edition every year where the entire front page is full of made up stories that are just believable enough.

Once upon a time I was new to the area and not familiar with this tradition.

This was also the same time I started working for a New York State Senator dealing with various issues throughout her district including a nearly catastrophic dam break that really caused a lot of problems for one small community out in the country.

I mean, we had a huge file on this case.  Property was damaged, property values were damaged, there was major construction that had to be completed, permits, and lawsuits and so much stuff.  Needless to say, this was the topic of most conversations among my co-workers.  Not me, though.  I was the newbie.  Instead I sat back and soaked in as much information as I could so I would know how to be helpful in the future.

April Fools week came just one month after I started.  Lucky me.  I walked into a local coffee shop for my morning brownie (don't judge) and read the most interesting article in the weekly paper there on the counter:

Beavers to rebuild the Hadlock Dam


I wonder if my co-workers know about this?!  I thought to myself.

I was so excited that now, finally! I would have something to contribute to our discussions!  So I skipped back to the office, burst through the door and shouted, "They're going to get beavers to rebuild the dam, isn't that incredible?!"

Blank stares.

"Yeah, DEC (Department of Environmental Conservation) is going to get a group of beavers to build a dam because, you know, beavers have been building dams for, like, EVER..."

More blank stares.  I'm so embarrassed for old me right now.  For some reason I still wasn't catching on that this would be the dumbest idea in the world.

"...and then the construction guys would just go in and build supports around the logs!!  It's genius!"

With that, I made my contribution and then went back to working at my desk.

The best//worst part of this whole experience is that I didn't realize the paper had April Fooled me until months later.  I probably had this same conversation with a dozen more people by then.  And when I finally did get it too much time had gone by to go back to all those people to say, "Oh yeah, and that story about the beavers, I was totally joking.  Ha.  Ha."

Because there's only a teeny little window of time between is she for real? and ohmigosh she's serious where I could have redeemed myself, I missed it entirely and for a better part of 2006 there were a lot of people who probably got a good laugh out of that girl who thought New York State was going to let freaking beavers rebuild a million dollar dam.

I learned my lesson: keep mouth shut and verify facts.  Always.  All year.  Just to be safe.

Monday, April 1, 2013

He's hairy, but cute

This is so exciting!  Never in my years of blogging have I had a guest post, and here, today, in this very spot I have my very first one!!

Please very cute and fluffy dog :)



My name is Arnie.

Arnie O Lucas.

O no period, to be precise.

But I'm not one to be precise, I just thought you should know.  I'm actually pretty care free.

Except when it comes to birds.  I do not like birds.

Or the ironing board.

Or walks.

I chewed up a sock once.  That was pretty exciting so I try to sneak a few out to the living room whenever I get the chance.  Once I grabbed something my mom called underwear

I have a twin brother.  Srsly, he looks just like me.  But I don't know his name because I only see him when I walk by certain parts of my house...the same parts where I see my mom's twin sister.  And my dad's twin brother.  And the couch's twin couch.  And the table's twin table.


Every now and then I get these little crunchy nuggets when I do things I would normally do.  Like when I lay down.  Duh, I'm tired.  Of course I'm going to lay down.  Go potty?  I don't know what that is, but I'm going to pee now so if you wanna give me a snack I guess I'll take it.

Did you see my paws?  Yeah, I work out.  Usually it's laps around the couch, but sometimes I carry my bone around the house know.

Life is pretty good right now.  I mean, I have free reign of the bed every night until about 2am when my parents decide they should get some real sleep and put me in my crate.  I have free reign of the couch.  My mom said, "he's the same color so what does it matter??"  Whatever that means.  Last time I took a leak I'm pretty sure dirt is still brown.  And I get all the food I want.

Awesome.  Five months down, at least thirteen years to go.


Thank you so much Arnie O for taking time out of your very busy nap schedule!