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Why I am unique, and how my environment affects this.

Monday, April 17, 2006

I have so many things to say

but not the time or energy to write them down. Don't forget to check out my Traffic Court ending. It was hidden under my Gloss.com entry, hidden because I did two posts in one day. Also, a neat way to keep abreast to changes on my blog is to subscribe to my RSS feed. I'll go ahead and post the address on the sidebar for those of you still using crappy IE. Use Firefox, it had a built-in RSS reader, very nice. So does Safari. I am meant to be working, but my brain is not working so good today. No worky. I read a few news articles, and kinda stared at the huge pile of work on my desk. I am trying to decide if I willl get more work done at home tomorrow. I usually do, because of the guilt factor, you see. I don't dare surf the internet or post on my blog when I work at home. Don't question it, it makes no sense. Also, I was run over by the Fashion Truck today. Meaning run over and seriously crippled. I have a huge pile of stuff that needs ironing. Or I could have worn a skirt. It was raining this morning, so I didn't do the skirts. I wore a pair of khakis too big for me. (I used to have this things about wearing huge clothing, don't ask) The only problem being that I am still a bit large around the waist parts, so the waist fits snug, but the legs are too big and too long. I also have on this retarded wrap top. I hate it. I think I will burn it when I get home, so I can never commit this fashion atrocity again. I am also wearing two very distinct shades of blue on my eyes. Probably no-one else notices, but I do. Yikes! What was I thinking? Oh yeah. I remember what I wanted to write about. Jeez. So I was watching Footballer's Wives. very good show, that one. Anyways, one of the idiots on the show has a meddling mom. While I was watching the show, I'm thinking, yeah those moms, just can't leave well enough alone. Why is it that our Mothers always feel obliged to point out when when are stupid, or made a mistake, or think we have forgotten something? (Oh crap, reminds me I've got to get this package sent out) Okay, package is done. So, in the show they guy has gambled past his means, and has sold off two of his cars and his mom's car and his live-ins car to pay his debts. He is trying to hide his gambling addiction from live-in girl and his mom (who also lives with him). Anyway, his Mom all freaks out about the missing cars. He says, oh yeah they were stolen, I'll deal with it later. Then he has a football game that day, so he leaves. As soon as he is out the door, the mom turns to the live-in and says, well, I'll just call up the insurance myself because he'll never get around to doing it. You know, that's what I'm talking about. Why can't moms just let it lie? My mom would do the same thing, she does in fact. She harries me non-stop, like I don't have a millon other thigns on my mind. She probably thinks she is being helpful (tell me how nagging someone endlessly is helpful, please.) but she just ends up annoying the hell out of me. I have some way unfinished sewing projects. I had cut them out YEARS ago. Like before I was pregnant with Martin. One is a jacket, which I have maybe a quarter done. The other is a halter dress, which I would never wear anyway. It is just cut out, not even started yet. So they just live, in the corner. Happy I am sure, in their uncomplete state. Maybe I'll finish the jacket, maybe not. Maybe I'll start the dress, probaby not. She sees this and she's all, do you want me to finish those things for you? Now, my mom is a great sewist, but we do things differently. If she just wanted to make me something, that would be great, but she doesn't really do so well at fitting certain things. Like sleeves. She made me a dress once, and I could barely move my arms all night. She just told me it was "meant to fit that way". Right. And she also doesn't finish her seams, this doesn't matter so much on a lined jacket, but it is still annoying. And the whole point of my sewing is it is my HOBBY and I ENJOY doing it. It isn't some drudgery chore that I have to do. I WANT to do it. If I can't sew the stuff, then just forget it. It would be like if I was painting a picture. Maybe halfway through, the muse leaves me. She wouldn't want to finsih my picture, would she? Well, she probably would knowing my mom. WHY?!?!?!


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