Doodlie-Doodlie Dooo...

Ah, the rain. It's been pouring the last couple of days and this morning everything frosted over. Between class and work I've been doing things. Like watch a movie here and there, or read a book, or even something crafty if I feel like swathing myself in blankies while I'm downstairs in the meat locker (now, to be fair it's no where near freezing in my basement lair. However, it is at least three degrees colder and I do not do well in arctic climates so I tend to bundle up when I go down into the bat cave). So, here are some of the products (more to come when I get around to it).
Felted nesting bowls. Infinitely useful as long as you don't want to put liquids in them. Like cereal. And even then it is possible to use them for cereal, it would just be a bit messy and soggy. These are going to Twelve Mile this afternoon when I go to work for foodstuffs.
And then here is the horse. A few weeks ago Dad, Lisa and I went to check out this little used bookstore in Sandy called "Some Bookstore in Sandy" (which made me want to check it out so badly! With a name like that, how can it not be wonderful?). I dug up a couple of books, among them "60 Great Horror Stories" (or some such thing), "The Herb Bible" and, best of all, a book of sewing patterns. The patterns were from the 90's but that didn't even matter because they were all plush toy patterns! There were horsies, penguins, foxes, chickens... a really good assortment.

I can do some 2-d things on my own, but when it comes to actual shaping or anything my skills just aren't there so this book was perfect for showing the construction of stuffed animals. Very complicated, I would never have been able to brain storm these things up myself without a TON of wasted fabric and frustration. Anywho, a few weeks later Chachi was born. After I took the pictures and started writing this I realized that he looks eerily like something from Charlie the Unicorn, a happy accident I guess because otherwise he just looks like a retarded clown horse. At least now I can say "Why of course he looks slightly retarded, I meant to do that. Haven't you seen Charlie the Unicorn?" with a bit of a condescending-holier-than-thou tone. Right?

Now that he's done I love him very much because of all the time it took to make him, and how huge he turned out (he's about 14 inches tall, if I could get his back legs to stop collapsing in this mincing sort of crouch). Plus he fits very nicely under my arm, especially since he's about the size of a new baby lamb and those are always adorable.

And You Expect These People to Believe in Global Warming?

bam…. Bam..BAm…….BAM! THWAPBAM…..THWAPBAMTHWAPTHWAPbam.

These are the sounds echoing off of the shiny plastic-wrapped quilts. I have been working for 7.45 (exactly) hours out of an 8 hours shift as I march towards the unnatural sounds. I should be hearing the Prince yodel about some girl’s kiss from the rafters and instead I’m quickly zeroing in on inhuman shrieks. My eyes narrow and I’m gearing up for whatever has had the unfortunate luck to create a ruckus during the last miniscule seconds of my shift.

I plant my feet, wide-stance in front of the mayhem unfolding before me. Four adult men, three children (under ten) and two teenage boys are blurs as they dodge between the bins of pillows. Above them, quilts (packaged to be the size of small, compact, plastic-covered children) sail through the air, one of them clipping a head, the other knocking into the informational signs. I can’t BELIVE what I’m seeing. My nostrils flare a tad and I bellow “Alright, let’s try to keep these things from being airborne. KNOCK IT OFF!” Hands on hips I look from one person to the next. Three of four adults skitter into the safety of other departments and their oblivious wives, the teenage boys quickly drop their weapons, feigning boredom and their “too cool for school” attitudes; the headphones go on, glazed eyes resume and they shuffle away. That leaves one man (about 35/36 years old) and the three little boys. He doesn’t even bat an eye and explains to me in a very patient tone

“Oh, it’s no big deal… we do this at the grocery store too.

People just ignore us.”

As he says this, one of the little monsters takes a Highlander-esque battle lunge and smashes his pillow into the proximity of my ovaries. This is where I go “Oh no, you did NOT just do that.” And take his pillow away.

The man turned out to be the original spawn of Satan, and the children are his offspring and the legacy of his pillow-fighting history. This guy STARTED all the ruckus with his kids, and the other characters, shady as they were, decided to join in. These people didn't even know each other, they simply unanimously decided that this was a good idea and proceeded to beat each other to pulps in a retail store. Thus is the birth of the Pillow-fight club, Ikea style.

He remains nonplussed as he asks me questions about the pillows and I pretend to be the most polite and interested person in the world. In reality he has just re-affirmed my summer-job induced pledge to never reproduce. The world doesn’t need any more people, and in 20 to 30 years my children don’t need to be dealing with HIS children and their textiles-induced hijinx. All I wanted to do (and will no doubt do in my dreams tonight) is scream at him “How old are you? HOW OLD ARE YOU!?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?” Apparently shopping alone is too much for some people…

P.S. as hard as it might be to believe this, everything I said was with the utmost respect and politeness, I wish it could have been otherwise, but I still can't really yell at anyone. Darn this whole feeling of "respect" for people and their space. Wish that courtesy would be applied by everyone.