Confessing my real age of 78

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

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I giggle over small things, like short pants.

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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?

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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 song....to the dog.  He licked the chocolate frosting off my face.

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

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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.

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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.

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What does Corey share my love of?  Breakfast.

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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.

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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??"

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

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!"

"........"

"Okay."

 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.

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!

...it'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.

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I gave Arnie a bath on Saturday.

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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.

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Also known as Getting Some Sleep Diagonal Style.

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

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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..."

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

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I like big butts and I cannot lie.

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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!

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.

Awful.

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)

:)

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

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.

Dangit.

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:

Politics 

Just call me Governor Lucas.

Acting

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...

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 welcome....my very cute and fluffy dog :)

*****

Hello.

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.

Weird.

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 so....you 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!