Ask a Stupid Question Day!

Thursday was Ask A Stupid Question Day...who knew!
Not me that's fer sure. I have so many...and I'm not alone!
I am thinking most folks have no idea about Ask A Stupid Question Day...either that or their stupid questions are just too darn important to save for a special day. I think we all need to change that and totally promote this auspicious occassion. I think, starting with the very next person who asks me a stupid question, I'm just gonna say, "Hey...could you ask me that again on Ask a Stupid Question Day...I'll have the right answer for ya then!" Might work...or Gawd forbid...lead to more stupid questions.
Sometimes a question becomes a stupid question just because you've been asked that same thing over and over and over again. Just when you think everybody in the entire world has got to know the answer...along come the one poor sap you apparently forgot to tell. You tend to answer these questions with alittle less patience everytime. Smiling with your teeth clenched, now there's an art!
Then there are the stupid questions people ask when you really want to believe (Oh Gawd Please!) that they are actually bright enough to know the answers to before they spit the question out...you know what I mean...you're bleeding.. someone says "Did you cut yourself?" Your bent over the throne yakking your guts out and someone says..."Are you sick?" You do know the answers before you ask...right? I think these questions just pop out cuz your brain isn't quick enough to shut your mouth...it is too busy formulating a stupid question.
I was always told there really are no stupid questions...and I try to subscribe to that 99% of the time. While the answers might appear obvious to me....I do understand life experiance maybe has not made the answers as obvious to everyone...so in a trade of information....their question, your answer...both parties learn something, altho for one of you it just might be a conformation of how truly stupid the other is.
Hands down...the stupidest question I was ever ask...came from a medical secretary in a phone conversation.
Medical Secretary: "Hi, I'm just calling to confirm your daughters appointment for tommorrow at 2:00 pm.
Me: I'm sorry, there's been a mistake, my daughter doesn't have an appointment scheduled.
MS:Oh you've probly just forgotten about it...but she does indeed...at 2:00 pm.
Me: Ma'am...it is not her appointment, my daughter passed away six months ago.
MS: (getting alittle short with me)....It's right here on my sheet in front of me...Hayley...2:00 pm with Dr. So and So.
Me: She's dead.
MS: ARE YOU SURE?
There's the 1%.
It is these people who truly must be informed that there is a special day, September 28th, Ask A Stupid Question Day...totally reserved for them.
Wonder if one day is enough?

Bowler Hip

The thought of incurring a sports injury while bowling just hadn't occurred to me. In fact, calling bowling a sport is laughable to some, and thinking you could possibly suffer an injury rolling a ball down a lane ...side-splitting!

I have a new respect!

And it's located in my left hip...and in the left hips of all my co-workers who bravely took up the bowling challenge Sunday night. We are all paying for our sins today. We surely should of read the pre-bowling warm-up handbook, if there is such a thing...and there should be.

I went in blindly...but well dressed. My major concern...that there might be a ball "accident"...you know the headline...."wayward ball takes out bowler in the third frame"....that kind of thing. No one told me about the hip. I was not hip on the hips! And judging from the groans and limping yesterday, I was not alone. Misery loves company and so does Bowler's Hip apparently.

We had a blast tho, sad as we were. It was not the match any serious bowler would want their name attached to as surely it was pityful by their standards. I don't think the bowling world has anything to fear from the quilting world...not yet anyway. We even seemed to have the power to make the one good bowler go bad...a blessing for the rest of us as it leveled the playing field. None of us had the guts to watch the three year old in the next lane throw his ball...knowing he might knock over more pins than we had would have sent the lot of us back to the bar for another cup of wine (not sayin' that wouldn'ta helped) and severely deflated our fledgling bowling egos....somethings are just best unknown. We chose to remain sequestered in our own little bowling world...where we were equally great...in our own minds.

We slipped over to a local bar/restaurant after our game, not to cry in our beer as you might suspect, but to revel in our own company and express our desire to do this again...and seriously we should, not only to redeem ourselves in the bowling world, but man, I don't think you could find a better source of entertainment on a Sunday night! Good fun, good food, cold drinks....and a possible future husband for one bowlers daughter...bonus!

Did I mention we got piped (literally) out of the Whistling Weasle? I choose to believe being piped out is NOT the same as being thrown out...you can believe what you want!

I had toyed with the idea of "outing" the team (much to their dismay) right here on the net...with a team photo, but will leave that for our proud leader to do...and since I checked the store website....under knowledgeable, professionally trained staff and instructors and found nary a photo....maybe she thinks the quilting world isn't quite ready yet to see what happens when quilters go bowling...she might have a point there!

And besides, I can't outrun anybody today...I got Bowler Hip

She Shoots....She Scores!!!

I'm going bowling tomorrow! Pray to the Bowling Gawds it is not at the same bowling alley that you're going to....and if it is...just let me apologise right here and now.
I am so sorry I dropped the ball on your foot
I am so sorry I hit you up side the head, honestly, I was not aiming at you at all.
I am so sorry you were blinded by those big honkin' zeros that keep flashing everytime my score came up.
I am so sorry you peed yourself laughing at my wind-up/outfit/face plant (take yer pick here).
I have never bowled before....and I got a feeling it's gonna show.
I remember being in a bowling alley once. I was thinking it was to chaperone a party when I was about 17...but hell, at 17 I woulda been the party and no one in their right mind woulda put me in charge of real live children. I am thinkin' I went in to find a friend... to go to a party....but whatever the case, I never touched a bowling ball. A little voice in my head is telling me I should keep it that way!
I beg to differ.
How hard can it be?
I was good at sports. I skated for years, played hockey, baseball, basketball (well okay...not my best sport, I'm 5'4"...not alot to work with there), volleyball and rollerskated....once...and we are not going to talk about that right now! So okay...I was some good at some sports....bowling is a sport isn't it?
I got the outfit...and really people...does anything else matter? I am told I have to rent shoes...why I don't know since I already have a closet full of fashionable footwear. And since you have to throw the ball...wait...rollll thhheee baaalll, what's with the rental shoes? Am I to assume that at some point you must also kick the ball as well? That would make sense then..the rental shoes, don't want to scuff the pumps now do we!
The Boy tells me I should hope it is five pin and not ten pin. But wouldn't ten pin be a bigger target? He says that five pin is a smaller lighter ball. I can see the cards getting stacked right against me from the get go...smaller lighter ball and smaller target...how's that a good thing? I ask him how you get your fingers out of the holes when you go to throw the ball.....he says you just release your grip....and begged me not to throw myself down the lane with the ball....oh no...not out of concern for my safety.....he is sure my identity will be traced back to him and everybody in the friggin' world will know I am his mother.
I have heard there is a rolling 'cold drink' cart there. That sounds promising! My Ex-best friend M ( I am so not over the Guinness Book of Records thing!) told me to go ahead and drink, since I'm not the one driving....til I reminded her it will be her van I'd be pukin' in. She ain't so keen on it now.
Nope...come hell or high water...cold drink cart or not....I am determined I will get that ball down the alley at least once without insult or injury to all surrounding parties.
I can do this....I got the outfit!

Six Sense...s


We opened our guild for another season this week. It felt good.
Many of the girls, I had not seen since June...and a few, even longer ago than that. I betcha no less than five people said to me throughout the night.." I'm so glad you haven't lost your sense of humour"
Lost it? By Gawd I cling to it, it's the only sense I got left.
Oh I know...you're thinking...how could someone have lost all their senses? Frankly, I didn't feel them leaving me, but at defining moments in my life....I knew they were gone.
Sense God Gave A Goose
You're 16 and you thought it would be cool to hitch a ride in the back of a half ton, only to have the driver gun the motor, spilling you and your equally bright best buddy onto the pavement. Well, maybe she's brighter...she doesn't land on her face, you do. Enter frantic Mother who first seeks the doctors assurance that you'll live, then breaks it to you...hard and fast...."you haven't got the sense God gave a goose." I think this is the first of my senses to go.
Common Sense
Apparently it is this sense that tells you, you must cook the pasta in a pasta salad (see previous blog), and an oven mitt left in the oven...will catch fire....and when you oil a frying pan....it's not with WD-40. And when you inquire about these things....first ya get the look...then you hear it..."Common sense tells you...blah blah blah". I swear it never tells me anything! I am definitely sure it's long gone.
Spidy Sense
Thinking back...I must have lost this one just before I lost the sense God gave a goose. My spidy sense did not tingle one bit before I hit the pavement. And recently, just to remind me it must be long gone, I do not recall even a slight spidy sense twinge before the guy mowing the back yard hit a rock, which naturally ricocheted off the house , and hit me in the head while I was bent over pruning flowers in the front yard. Not a single tingle!
Fashion Sense
You shower, blow dry your hair into it's high fashion style, meticulously apply the pound of make-up and step your pretty self into that stunning new outfit (okay teeshirt and jeans). Give yerself a little look in the mirror while muttering..."damn I look good"...and off you go...ready to make an entrance they'll talk about for years to come. In you strut, confident and lookin' hot (in your own mind at least), and the first person you meet, gleefully greets you and reaches out to remove the size sticker stuck to your left boob. At that very moment, you know two things for certain....The S on the size sticker doesn't stand for small...it stands for stupid and Honey...you ain't got no fashion sense!
Sense Of Adventure
It was this very sense that led to the loss of the sense God gave a goose and got me in trouble with ...with everybody as a teenager. It is the sense I eventually learned would get me into hot water every time I felt it....when someone says "Where's your sense of adventure"...I run...and you should too! I did not lose this sense....I got rid of it.
I am hoping, one day, I will eventually come to my sense, but til then, it's gonna be just me and my sense of humor.

Burnt Offerings
We went to a great sale today, at Beige Mans office, or precisely, a tent located in the parking lot. It was a great sale, no fabric, but lets just say...we're gonna look mighty spiffy this season if I do say so myself.
I had never been to Beige Man's office before so took the opportunity to look around the digs, and meet several of his co-workers. I politely exchanged pleasantries with them and all was well til one lovely lady offered up the fact that Beige Man speaks highly of me, particularly my amazing cooking skills.
I swear I heard traffic on the 401 screech to a halt.
Moi? Amazing in the kitchen? Oh ma'am, you must have me confused with his girlfriend. I do indeed have talents (I must?), but they so do not lie within the boundaries of the....the..k-k-kitchen.
It all started back in cooking class... high school home-ec.....which sadly, but deservedly, I failed. I come from a family with an above average number of relatives who have made good livings cooking...bakery owners, one who ran a hospital's food services (and while no one raves about that food, it does take tremendous skill to get supper on the table for several hundred at one time).
Anyway
Ya'd think genetically...just maybe I'd have gotten some of that....wouldn't ya? I guess since I got the big ass and guy feet genes...there was no room for the cooking gene.
And I do try...really.
I can't help it that I did not know you had to actually cook the pasta before you put it in a pasta salad, or...or that you had to take all that crap in the cavity of the turkey out of the turkey before you cook it...what the hell is it in there for?
I can't help it that the smoke alarm is what alerts everyone that it's time for dinner and I can't help it that I don't know which spices go with which spices and that onion powder and garlic powder are not the same thing...even if they both are white.
I am hopeless, I know it, I'm okay with it. I politely smiled when my mother told me....at a time in my life when it appeared I would have more free time, that maybe I should do something just for me...like cooking classes. That's the way your mother tells you...you suck in the kitchen.
But I'm okay with it.
I gotta live with the big ass and the guy feet, I am one with suckin' in the kitchen too.
My dear friend M....no wait...let's start again. My Ex-dear friend M reminded me on the way home from Beige Man's office, that I am the only person she has ever heard of in her entire old life that ever set fire to rice. She was amazed it could be done, and thinks she should contact the Guinness Book of Records about it.
Told ya I got talent!

Absolutely Twisted


My friend and co-worker M and I got to thinkin'( always dangerous, always scarey, and often a source of hilarity...if only our own), a few years ago...that by damn, there should be a guild right here in our town. There had never been one to our knowledge, all the quilting talent had to jump in the car and travel east or west to find a place to share the love. We whined back and forth about it...seemingly in an attempt to talk ourselves into doing it I think. It finally worked...or we got sick of listening to ourselves. Time to shit or get off the pot as they (whoever?) say.
To our credit, we were bright enough to go lookin' for back-up before setting anything in stone. We sweet-talked (okay manhandled) two other hard working members of the quilt industry into joining us on this adventure. We needed some sanity in the group , not to mention two more brains to pick and four more hands to pick up the slack. We got the brains and the hands...sanity remains illusive. And I'm thinkin'...that's a good thing!
Thus......... Twisted Stitchers was born.
We dealt with all the crap that it takes to start up a guild, finding a place to have it at a price we could afford....since we had zero dollars, that pretty much eliminated anything with four walls and a ceiling. Persistence and out and out begging finally secured us a home. We planned a program, made samples of anything we were offering....and put the word out that this new guild was open.
Then we waited.
Our goal for the first year was to get 15 members. Gawd we hoped we could. To us, that was a good number to start with. None of us had ever run a guild before. Some of us had been on the executive of other guilds....but to have it all be your baby...there's alittle pressure there. We figured we could make all the mistakes and only fifteen other people would ever know about it....and if we could make it thru the year....we'd be all the better our second year...should we actually get a few more members. Ha!
We got 30....with a waiting list for another 10. This was serious...and ya...we were alittle freaked. No backing out now... altho it had always seemed in my head anyway, that we could with 15, when truly, that would not have been possible either.
So there we were opening night....looking like this so together executive, each of us trying to appear like we knew exactly what we were doing while fighting the urge to puke. We so pulled it off...if only there were Emmy's or Oscars for such performances!
And in just one...short...short...week, we're going to do it all again. Year two finds us with 40 members, a waiting list, a strong, yet crazy executive (sexutive), a terrific volunteer who arranges our food and coffee, and a new librarian.
The fact that we don't have a library...is a mere technicality....and in keeping with our style of operation.......just alittle bit Twisted!
Let the fun begin!

The Importance of Pacing Yourself!

I have always been that kind of person, who, when given a job to do, I got right on it and worked my ass off til it got done. Life has always seemed that way for me and I long ago adopted this kind of ...well can I call it work ethic. I always get up, shower right away and head right into any of the chores I gotta get to that day. If I am working on a commissioned piece, that comes first...but then I will stay up to midnight if need be...to do the more mondane...yet necessary things. Mostly, I like to get the work done....and on to play time. I rarely sit on my butt with nothing to do.

I think I got it all wrong!

Have you ever passed a construction site where you didn't see...oh maybe one man working...and four or five more standing around watching him work. I am sure they must be discussing the more technical details of the job and not the great sports event they watched the night before, and they really can not help being totally distracted by every cute young thing that walks by...they are men afterall. But you can drive past the same site, hours later and you will see much the same thing, one working and four "supervising".

They know how to pace themselves!

When the foreman of the crew hired to build my neighbours fence, knocked on my door to introduce himself and inform me that he and his crew would likely need access to my back yard for two weeks...I snickered. Not at his polite manner nor his request for access...but at the fact he thought it would take two weeks to build a fence. Snort...I could build the fence in less than two weeks...and I'm a DIY nightmare.

Who's the fool....well that would me Moi!

I so forgot these guys know how to pace themselves. If you look at the picture, I hope you can see exactly what I mean. Sprawled out under the shade tree in all his glory...the fittest of the bunch. I am guessing he was in his thirties, his two counterparts...oh...I'm goin' with not a day shy of seventy. The routine quickly became, carry three bricks...and lay down...break time every ten minutes...from 8:00 am til quittin' time. I get it with the seventy year olds, good Lord they should be on a golf course....but the star ...completely decked out in his construction penny loafers and black socks, toting his knapsack full of mysterious beer - coloured water (yep uh huh...I'm buyin' that one). He set the pace.

I've been studying the work ethic all week. Maybe I'm the one who's got it all wrong! It works so well for them....they come...they lay...they get paid at the end of the day...no one's broke a sweat and it all looks so....so stress free (well okay...maybe the beer coloured water helps there!). I think I'm going to give it a try. Perhaps I should get my employer on board...so she knows the program and how to follow it. I'm thinkin she will want to know why that 10 hour job is suddenly taking a week...she does not know how to pace herself!

And incidently.....it has been three and a half weeks since they started the fence, and you guessed it....still not done.

But I finally know..the importance of pacing yourself!