Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Fab Blankie

Jackson Five? Yes? No? That's kind of the feel I was going for with the blankie I made for little Michael. I call it the Fab Blankie. Or maybe the Fablankie. Whatever. Here it is.

I don't know when I will actually be able to give it to the little guy, since he's 2 hours away in a Children's hospital, but I'm sure he knows it's here waiting for him.

I didn't write the pattern down as I went. To be honest, I was just trying to use up all that yarn. Do the colors seem familiar? A lot of them are leftover colors from the bagholders.

Fear not, my loyal minions. I have a nephew about to be born in about a month. He will need to be blankie fabulous, as well. I'll jot down the pattern for you then. I promise.

Now go back to work, or homework, or cleaning, or whatever it is you should be doing instead of playing on your computer.


Monday, February 26, 2007


HOLY CRAP!!!!! It's finally here! The time has come! WHOOPEE!!!

(Please hold a moment while Tara dances around her office with her dog. Don't look. It will just be embarrassing for everyone. I said don't look.)

I'm FREAKING PUBLISHED!!!! I have FREAKING CREDENTIALS now!!! I am a freaking crochet designer! For REALS.

Ya. I'm hot. You know it.

And now you are all asking what the hell I am talking about.

Well, silly gooses (geese?), just click on the link below to take you to the Annie's Attic New Releases page. Ya. I said it. Annie's Attic. New Releases. Page.

The one on the left. YES. That's ME! I swear! Don't y'all remember that corn cob bag from FOREVER ago? And then suddenly it vanished from the internet forever? That was copyright issues, peeps! And I've been DYING to talk about it ever since.

Annie's Attic contacted me and said something like "Hey, we really dig your far out corny corncob plastic bag holder. Groovy. Do you think you could come up with any more fab plastic bag holder ideas?" And I said SURE. So I DID. And they said MAKE THEM. So I DID. And now I have a freaking BOOK with my freaking NAME on it!!!

I know this has nothing to do with my other interesting news that I was hinting at yesterday. Which I still can't tell you. But, soon. And on top of it all, my best friend was rushed to the hospital to have her premature baby yesterday morning. She scared the HELL out of me. She's OK and so is the baby. He's small, though, and will need some time to grow in the hospital. She hasn't named him yet, but she LOVES Michael Jackson (don't ask, it's an illness she has), and has already been married on his birthday so her husband is pretty against the idea of calling the baby Micheal, but I think it's a nice name regardless of the namesake, and until they give me a different name to call little Michael, that's what I'm calling him. I was only half finished little Michael's blanky when I got the call, what with supposedly having another 2 months to finish it, so I stayed up late last night crocheting to get it done. Pictures and possible pattern to follow soon.

Now, please go ahead and gush about how privileged you all feel to cyber-know a celebrity crocheter. Please. Make me blush.

EDIT***** I just found the page where you can PURCHASE the book! Yes! PURCHASE IT!

EDIT AGIAN******* I don't know why, but the link to purchase is gone now. Whatever. Keep checking. I'll make sure I post again when it's up and running.

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Sunday, February 25, 2007

Hint # One

A small hint of what I have been up to. The full story coming soon....

I know. I'm such a tease.

And, since I was asked to tell y'all something interesting about MYSELF.....well....um. OK. You know that little dent in your chin? Between your lip and your chin bone (What, do I look like a doctor? Like I would really know the technical terms). Anyway. Ya. I have muscles there. They allow me to hold things. In my chin. Like straws and pencils and crochet hooks. I know. You all think you can do it, too. Everyone always says that when I tell them. But, then they try it. And I have yet to meet anyone that can actually do it as well as I can. Except for maybe THIS guy:

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

I'm still alive. I swear. Call off the search party. I'll explain my absence as soon as I can. While waiting......why not tell me something interesting about yourself? That sounds like fun, eh?

Monday, February 12, 2007

The Hair: Head Covering or Comedy Act?

First of all, I would like to thank everyone for loving the Hair. I still love it, too. You know how sometimes, after a haircut, you feel like you can't get used to it? Ya. That didn't happen. At all. It's a very good relationship we have, me and The Hair.

However, I feel as though The Hair has played a bit of a funny on me. Ha ha.

You see, I grew up looking like Sara Gilbert. You know her as 'Darlene' from Rosanne. This wasn't just a slight resemblance. EVERYONE told me that. My family even called me Darlene. Strangers would cross the street to tell me I looked just like her. One time, at Universal Studios (and only days after an as yet un-relaxed perm) I was mobbed by a bunch of tourists that thought I WAS her. I hid under a bench. I'm serious. My dad has the home video somewhere.

It didn't help that we are close to the same age.

I did NOT encourage this. I like Sara Gilbert. She's an OK actress to watch on the odd sitcom. But, she's not exactly stalker material, is she? She's no Jennifer Anniston, after all.

Through the years it died off a little. Mostly after Rosanne went off the air. Then people thought I looked a little more like Drew Berrymore, for some reason. I like that better. She IS an Angel, you know.

I also hear fairly often that I look JUST like some guy's ex-girlfriend. I don't know what the hell that's about. It's only slightly more disturbing, though, than the few times I've been told I sound Irish, considering I've never been there.

But, I digress....

So, I have avoided 'Darlene' haircuts for years. And, perhaps, that is why it has taken me so long to find a nice home for The Hair. But, I let my guard down. I wasn't paying attention. I slacked off in the I-Don't-WANT-to-Be-a-Celebrity-Lookalike department. Even after all those times when my darling husband would see Ms. Gilbert doing her famous bitch routine on some show like ER, and he would say, every time, 'Look, Dear. It's you.' Hardy, har har.

So now there is a new show on TV. It's called the Class. It's hilarious. I love it. And, Sara Gilbert is on it occasionally. She plays Fern, the bitchy and scary scorned wife of another character. She's funny, too. I would have to say, one of my favorite rolls for her.

But, I wasn't paying attention. And The Hair was begging for a new look. And I got Fern's haircut. Dammit.

Which one is me? Oooooooh.

Yesterday, my dad sent me an email addressed to Darlene.

Very funny, Hair. Very funny. You're just lucky I love you so darn much.

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Hypothetical Advice Needed

*Keep in mind that this is a hypothetical scenario and I have no plans to cheat on my husband. Love ya, Honey!

Let's say you have a boyfriend. He's cute and funny. A nice guy. It's not serious, yet. No commitment. No rings. No apartment hunts. No fluffy little dog that you call your 'baby'. But, it's fun. And mutually beneficial. Wink, wink.

But, then, along comes this other guy who asks you out. He's cuter. And smarter. And richer. A LOT richer. As in, 'Let's go away to my little cottage in Maine for the weekend' kind of rich. And he's classy. No jeans and T-shirts. He buys right from the pages of GQ.

So, you have Guy #1 (who is comfortable and fun to be around and you already have him partially house trained) and you have Guy #2 (who is sooooo tempting, but you don't really know that much about him, but that doesn't make him a bad choice by itself, right?). And, that's where the dilemma lies.

Because, what if Guy #1, for as fun as he is, is really just using you. Just a little. For fun. And that's been OK until now. But, what if you WANT that security. And commitment. And somebody to want you for longer than a fling. Is that really so much to ask?

And, here's Guy #2, offering that. But, what if you ditch #1 only to find out that #2 is a complete jackass. What if he's a nose picker? Or his family hates you? Or he likes to yell a lot?

But, you've already hurt #1, and he won't take you back. So, it's stay with #2, or be alone. All alone.

Any hypothetical advice?

Friday, February 9, 2007

The Hair

I know you've all been such patient little troopers. It's time, though. The Hair is done. And the photo of The Hair is taken.

But, first, we must discuss The Hair. Why? Because it's my blog, that's why. Suck it up and read on.

The Hair has had a wild and crazy ride throughout it's life perched on top of my head. It has seen boy cuts, mushroom cuts, poodle perms, bad dye jobs, etc. It hasn't always been pretty. And, for the most part, I didn't care. I did not style The Hair myself. I was a rebel. I chose to ignore the big bangs of the eighties and opted for long, straight bangs hiding in my face. A decade later, when everyone wanted long, straight bangs hanging in their face, I got swirly, curly perms. In the end, I almost never liked The Hair.

However, that did not stop me from having an illogical attachment to The Hair. I had difficulties letting anyone cut The Hair. I could go months, even a year, without getting The Hair cut. And when I did, I felt like I was getting a limb cut off.

Why? Because I have issues. Keep up, people.

Also, just about the only time The Hair was styled (for school photos or flower girl gigs), my mom would curl The Hair with a curling iron. My mom wielding a hot metal stick was a scary thing indeed. In fact, I had more than one line of burnt skin across my forehead while growing up. Hence, perhaps, the need to curl The Bangs over the forehead. To hide the scars.

I'm sorry, Mom. You know it's true.

So, in summary, The Hair has had a tumultuous life. I feel, however, that The Hair has a resting point. A style that it strives to be. YEARNS to be. MUST BE. It's all very scientific. Really.

So, through absolutely no scientific process at all, I feel that The Hair has finally found it's destiny. With the help of my stylist, Leva. Who kept telling everyone that I was getting my hair cut like Farrah Foster. Whatever.

OK. Are you ready? For sure?

First, a sneaky surveillance photo of what The Hair looked like before:

OK, here it is. Get your hands ready for clapping......

I know. I know. The Hair is FABULOUS. It was slightly more fab last night, but the damn camera batteries needed more time to charge. It's still AWESOME, though. Not quite Jill Munroe, but close. Maybe a little bit of Sabrina and Kelly thrown into the mix. I will need a much better curling iron, too. For bigger curls. BIG.

You should probably stop drooling now. I know you love The Hair, but you don't want to electrocute yourself by dripping on your keyboard.

And, just as a special weekend treat for all my visitors to Taradise, a photo I found of myself when I was younger....as a detective.

Nancy Drew, watch your ass.

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Thursday, February 8, 2007

My hair is SO GORGEOUS!!!!!!

Photo is coming. My camera battery died. Be patient.


Wednesday, February 7, 2007

Let's talk PI. No. I don't mean 3.14159265. That would just be weird. And totally out of character for me. Seriously. When have I ever shown y'all an interest in math? Even though my mom is a brilliant accountant. Sorry, Mom.

And I don't mean pies. As in apple or blueberry. Although, that did just make me want some apple crisp with my coffee.

No, I mean private investigators. PI's. Private Eyes. Dicks. Angels, if you will.

So, I was at work earlier this week, and I was talking to a coworker about Charlie's Angels (does that sound familiar?), and then I was telling her about an an ad I had heard on the radio in which the friendly announcer was asking if anyone had ever dreamed of being a PI. At which point I raised my right arm, waved it around and yelled "Me! ME! I wanna be a PI!!!!" It was a bit shocking to the people in the next car, I think. And, since I am THAT kind of story teller, I repeated that action to my poor, poor coworker while I related the story.

Wouldn't you know it....right at that time, in my little dollar store, was a tall and beautiful woman. She stopped in her tracks and gave me an odd look. Well, that's not out of the norm, but then she spoke. And told me that SHE was a private investigator. YES. I'm serious!

And, I kid you not, she was wearing tall black boots and a snazzy trench coat. YES SHE WAS. Would I lie to y'all?

So, I grilled her a little. Did she love her job? Yes, it was different everyday. Did she work for a big firm or a small agency? A big firm, but I was too excited to retain that information. Was she local? No, she was only in town for the day and worked out of a much bigger city.

I wanted to ask her how much her hair played a role in her job as a private eye, but I didn't. Her hair was gorgeous. So, she must know how well it works already.

I gotta tell ya, peeps. I want to be a PI. I WANT it. I CRAVE IT. This is not new. This didn't just pop into my pretty little head since I started re-watching the Angels. I have wanted this for as long as I can remember. Since I was a little girl snooping through anything and everything my parents owned. Sorry, Mom. I watched Murder She Wrote and Remington Steele, too. And Quincy. Not to mention that I had and read every single copy of Nancy Drew, Trixie Beldon AND the Bobsey Twins. And Encyclopedia Brown. And I read them all many times over.

I know I have no qualifications. Besides my hair, starting tomorrow. And my extensive fiction reading, of course. But, I am pretty good at getting info out of people. And, I am pretty determined and stubborn. No, I have no background in law and order. But, I married a soldier. Does that count? Also, I am very good at blending in. Well, except for the hair. The hair stands out.

As far as I know, there is no detective agency in this town. Or even a need for one. Obviously, they just call in the pretty amazon blond from the big city to swoop in on the tails of her trench coat. But, I am an army wife. We will move someday. I will end up in a big city again... someday. And, when that happens, watch me. You just watch me. Maybe I will even start up my own agency. Watch for me.

I'll call it "3.14159265".

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Monday, February 5, 2007


No. No, I have NOT completed the Ten Day Turnaround. I have not even started it. I know. I KNOW. I said I would. A week ago. I KNOW. It got busy around here. Lots of work. No time. And, yes, I know that the whole point of the Ten Day Turnaround is to help people, like me, to find the time to get the house organized and in a position to keep it relatively clean. Relative to a crack house, anyway. So, really, the fact that I have not even started the Ten Day Turnaround yet is proof that I am the very person who NEEDS it.

I've been trying to think up a way to motivate myself. Some way to get moving. Inspiration. Yes, a clean house would be nice. That's not the point. I need some way to make it just a bit more FUN.

I considered putting all one hundred cleaning items on individual papers and pulling each one randomly out of a bowl. But, then I realized how long it would take to write them all down. Scratch that.

I also thought that it might be fun to time myself. Each task would have a twenty minute time limit, or something like that. But, that stressed me out. Because ten items for twenty minutes each would be more than 3 hours. Right? Did I do the math right? Whatever. It's still a stressful amount of time.

It even crossed my mind to dress up like a crazy old cleaning lady, complete with warts on my nose. I could walk around the house mumbling and cursing about the dirty slobs I work for. But, that would involve shopping for a costume. I'm far too cheap for that. Although, I may keep my eyes open at yard sales this summer.

So, as I was discussing Charlie's Angels with a co-worker this week (because what ELSE would I talk about?), I thought of something. I just need to ask myself WWJMD? What would Jill Munroe do?

She'd get her hair done. Duh. Hair like that doesn't just HAPPEN. So am I. Getting my hair done. On Thursday. I'm getting a Farrah Fawcett haircut. I'm SO excited. I haven't had layered hair that I can feather since.....well, since it was in style a few decades ago. It looked really bad on an eight year old, though. It will look AWESOME now.

Jill Munroe would also call her Angels, of course. So, that's what I am doing now. Calling all my angels.

The original plan was to do the list on my own. I told the rest of the family not to worry about it. I would handle it. Why? I don't know. Temporary insanity. I'm far too busy to do a list like that on my own. Not when the monsters walk behind me dropping cereal and dog hair and dirty clothes onto any surface I clean.

So, I've called in MY angels. My kids, husband, pets. Whoever.

It's all about delegating, peeps. Delegating.
I'll keep you updated. I promise. I work a lot less this week.

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