The holiday drive, that is. Went up to mom's Tuesday, got in one set of grandparents, did Christmas stuff yesterday morning and caught the other set of grandparents on my way back to Orlando. Got home about four and ate every single thing from my stocking plus leftovers in one fell, bloat-inducing swoop, then spent twelve hours in a cheese-and-chocolate-and-cashew-and-shrimp stupor. Gah, you can tell when I'm worried about money- I'll eat anything that isn't furry. At least I got really good presents this year, that's nice. I slacked re: work today, figure it's ok since crazy season is about to start and I'll be living in the friggin' place for two months- if I don't end up in the loony bin.
More adventures in everything-but-the-sink cooking: I've been grouchy and sickish with a fever/tummyache/headache thing for two days, and decided to make a quickie chicken soup. So I took water, bouillon, celery, carrots, and frozen chicken tenders... and then added Publix mojo chicken, tomato paste, milk, frozen french fries, bell pepper, jalapeno, onion, black olives, cloves, sea salt, garlic, spinach, cheese, and a lot of cayenne pepper. It turned into a sorta chicken-vegetable bisque. And it was sooooooo good. I still feel ucky in my head, but my tummy is warm and happy.
I have revolting leper hands. And, apparently, chip crumbs in my keyboard.
So here's what happened with Project Dummy 2: Electric Boogaloo. I was feeling better by late yesterday, so got Dan to duct tape me. That mess gets HOT, and it's not easy to cut off your bod. We taped up the side seam, started on the foam filling. Got the thing half full ('Hello, Clarice...'), ran out of foam. Had to hang it up to start drying during the walmart run. Now, we're talking about a life sized, very endowed, headless, limbless model of a lady with dowel rods stuck through the legs like a pig on a spit, hanging upside down from the ceiling. Outside. My neighbors have Christmas trees and pretty lights, and I've got... a torso. Oh, dear. So we got more foam, finished the filling. Here's where the problem came in: the second batch of foam was the 'Large Gap Filler' (stop snickering!). Apparently it expands to about 4 times its original size, and in an enclosed container the heat from gas expansion as it dries warms duct tape up enough to pop seams. I was traumatized by how much Girl the first dummy was, but lemme tell ya, this new one is not a lady you wanna piss off. She is one solid broad. Mae Westian. Anyway, I was trying to trim the loaf-of-bread extrusions that were exploding from the leg holes (I said stop snickering!), and went in there barehanded with a cheap steak knife after ruining my plastic gloves. Holy Lord Jesus, I have never made a worse mess in my life. You know the worst sunburn you ever had? The one where your skin went nuclear and then peeled in cornflakey wads for a month? That's my hands. And my nails... it's like bionic bread dough. I'm not gonna list everything I've tried to clean it off, but it's not working.
Oh, and btw, you do NOT want to blink out a contact while this is happening. It's also Not a Good Idea to somehow get the stuff on your butt. Or to try to smoke, Dr. Strangelove style, with all your fingers glued together. And no, there's no video. (It'd be highly NSFW given the number of hysterical cussing fits involved).
The cable guy comes back today, so I'm'a have to sacrifice a shirt to cover her up while he's here- the damn thing looks really porny standing in my living room, (hey, sailor!) and some of those Brighthouse guys are weird. I figure if I make things to fit her, they'll be loose enough I can take in the seams as needed to fit my actual figure. So that's sort of a plus, except maybe for the 70's bikini I've been working on. Her booty resembles the stuff rap videos are made of, and mine... doesn't. *sigh* C'est la vie... or something like that.
Just watched "Little Miss Sunshine"- yeah, I know, I'm like three years behind on that- and it was aight. Steve Carell was really good, and I was so relieved it didn't get overly twee, or self-conscious trying to show outsider types (yeah, Napoleon Dynamite, I'm lookin' at you). Not good enough to buy, but not bad.
Anyway, it's a slow day. I'm a bit tranked, so that adds to the draggy feeling. The doc and I have talked about the idea that 100 percent better isn't a quick process, that sometimes 50 or 80 percent can be enough "better" to get by. I just want the energy to put up Xmas lights and wrap presents, maybe stay at work a whole 8 hour day. When's 80 percent gonna hit? (Later) Gonna have to call a mulligan on the dressmaking dummy. One problem with being, er... A Whole Lotta Girl is that it's really tough to get the bits and pieces stuffed without structural collapse issues. Cloth squooshes, wet tissue paper won't stay put, and tinfoil... well, if you've seen the nutjobs' hats, you can imagine. Kinda Gaultier. I'm thinking 3 layers of duct tape filled with Great Stuff foam for the next go round.
If my shrink weren't married, I'd propose to him. Just kidding, but I really do feel a little better about things now. We're doubling the dose on the generic to see if that will equal the brand's effect, and he kicked me samples of Obscenely Expensive Drug A to get me through until the generic upgrade kicks in. Maybe now I can have a nonMorrissey birthday. Yay! Side note: If you happen to sew, and happen to think making your own dressmakers' dummy is a good idea, you're right- but be prepared. Seeing your own torso modelled in true-to-life size and proportion is... off putting. And stuffing the thing feels extreeeeeeemely Buffalo Bill-ish. I kept thinking, "He's making himself a girl suit out of real girls" the whole time. Yeesh.
I grew up in North Florida, moved to Mouseville three years ago. I worked for eine sehr wichtige maus for two years and a bit, am now with a cable company'a call center. I usually divide my time between work, reading, and wondering if I'll ever figure out what I wanna be when I grow up. Oh, and watching Spongebob.
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