There’s a very interesting post over at the Pop Culture Blogulator today. It was so interesting that I thought I would repost its content here:
Last night I hemmed.
Little known fact: I have very nimble, capable fingers.
Less little known fact: I am unartistic and sloppy.
Because of the combination of the above factors, hemming something that would need to actually be worn in public was a very interesting endeavor.
So, here’s the deal: I scored an usherette position for the upcoming Waller wedding and all I needed was a not-too-formal-but-kind-of-formal brown dress. I wore a brown bridesmaid dress to Ally’s wedding in Colorado, so I figured I could just shorten it (to the knees) to make it a little more casual and it would work great.
Jess gave me some instructions as to how to go about it:
“I can do that!” I exclaimed wildly in response.
My hands were ready and eager for the task. My brain, on the other hand, proved itself more incapable of folding accuracy than I ever imagined. I don’t mean to make excuses or anything, but: the dress is wider at the bottom than it is at the knee, so I couldn’t just fold it up like one might fold a piece of paper. There would be bunching. Or something.
After spending an hour (which is way longer than I like to spend on projects like this. “Get in and get out”- that’s my philosophy) pinning the dress at what I was sure would leave an even hem, I put the dress on and looked to Anna Leisa (busy chatting on the phone) for approval.
She immediately began to both laugh and cry. Then she took pains to describe exactly what she was looking at to the person she was talking to on the phone. I could hear her friend laughing all the way from Brookings, South Dakota.
To me she said: “Christine, it looks like you intentionally tried to make that dress diagonal.”
I looked down at my bunched up and horrible creation and walked over to Rachel to see what she thought.
She responded with more encouragement: “Hmm, maybe you could just say the dress is meant to be artistic! Then you can hem it at all sorts of different lengths and it will be fine.”
Sufficiently defeated, I walked back to my safety pins and decided to try pinning it while it was on me. My roommates would instruct “up or down” and I would pin when they said “OK.” I can pin. That I can do.
It took, unliterally, forever.
But once I started ironing the hem stuff on, it was free sailing.
You see, after trudging through the macro stuff (the evenness and the whatnot), the micro tasks were no problem whatsoever!
Just like college! Am I right?
It took over 2 hours to do and I looked like a complete fool in the process, but in the end it turned out fine.
This entry would be a lot funnier if only we’d had the foresight to take pictures.
You know what? It’s my life, it’s my blog, and it’s my house. So get out.
Last Saturday we had another Rock TV shoot. It was good. You know: fun, efficient, really all that we’d hoped it could be.
Let’s just get down to brass tacks, shall we?
After watching the shooting of one pivotal-to-the-plot scene, Jim and I couldn’t help but find ourselves pondering a very important question: a question that, oddly enough, has been hounding me my entire life.
Why don’t we have batteries for hands?
Think about it.
Just think about it.
Now you’ve got it. You agree now.
I have taken the liberty of drawing what I think the world would be like if I had batteries for hands:
Look how sad Sarah is. I bet she wishes her life was different.
If you’ve been reading my blog long enough, you have probably heard me tell a Snively story or two. That family is always good for a story, even if they never seem to translate perfectly to the written word. Last night Jess told me another doozy.
They were in Bemidji last weekend for their Great Uncle Eddie’s funeral. During the ceremony, the family sees a little nameplate with the name Edwin on it. This is Eddie’s name.
After seeing the nameplate, this conversation happened during the funeral between Jess and her brother Joe:
Joe: “Uncle Eddie’s name is Edwin? I always thought it was Edward.”
Jess: “I guess so. I always thought it was Edward too.”
Joe: “…wait, aren’t I named after Uncle Eddie?” (Joe’s full name: Joseph Edward Snively)
Jess: “…yeah, I think you are.”
After the ceremony, with their parents:
Joe: “Mom and Dad, Uncle Eddie’s name was Edwin? Wasn’t I supposed to be named after him?”
Janice and John: “Yeah, you were named after him. We always thought his name was Edward.”
Fits of laughter followed (both between Jess and Joe directly after Janice and John admitted they gave Joe the wrong middle name and between Jess and myself directly after she relayed the story to me).
And I am awake. What the fun, right?
I could not sleep, so I decided to get up and send out my “I’m taking another sick day” emails. Also I decided it would be a fun experiment to see what kind of blog entry I would write before 5 in the morning.
I was wrong – this is the furthest thing from fun I’ve ever done.
Okay, not giving up. How about cats? What do you think about cats? I like them. I think they’re great.
When I was 9, my cat Kirby refused to come inside on the coldest night of the year. The top half of his ears got frostbite that night and fell right off. They fell right off! He had flat ear tops. Instead of Kirby Purrcat Grue, we should’ve called him Kirby Flat-Ears Grue. Get it? Kirby, why did you stay outside for so long?
Everybody loved Kirby, by the way.
Speaking of cats, they look completely ridiculous when wet. Take Idgie and Nappy here for example:
Okay, I think I’ve fulfilled my duties here. Have a great day, guys!
That was the first thing my cube-neighbor said to me this morning.
I think what he meant to say was “You sound awesome.” Because I do sound awesome. And look awesome, probably. My voice has got that wonderful coughy ring to it, my nose is all sniffly with the what-have-you and the runniness, and my eyes. Oh, my eyes. They have that magical glisten to them much akin to those that have been staring at a Magic Eye for 3 hours straight.
They say the eyes are the window to the soul, and right now my soul is saying “Where am I?”
In other news, my roommates and I watched the season one finale of Ugly Betty yesterday. Okay, emotional. Did anyone else watch that? They did such a good job with the final montage, I thought. Plus, I cried like a freaking baby.
But really, where am I?