The Un-Social Nature of Working from Home

I recently read a blog post by someone who works from home.  They weren't an artist.  I think they might've been an investor or some such financially rewarding position.  But they still had the luxury of working from their own space and in their pajamas if they so choose.  It's just that their pajamas are way more expensive than mine, and their computer probably many years newer.

Alas, they spoke about how working from home isn't all it's cracked up to be.  That it takes a special kind of person to work in isolation, without regular face to face, professional interaction- and not everyone can hack it.

Let me say right here that I agree this sounds like complaining about winning the lottery.  Most people would kill to work from home, let alone for themselves. I know I did.  Well, I didn't actually kill.  But I might have if necessary.  I simply worked my arse off and spent many sleepless nights planning all my next steps so I could survive the latest trough my income had decided to descend.

However, that isn't to say there's no difficulty.  These are my specific challenges.

• My life is incredibly sedentary.  So sedentary that I fear it is having a negative impact on my health.  I have the luxury of working out at any time of day, and yet being so busy with my own business that it doesn't happen as often as it should.  And even working out cannot counteract all the hours I spend hunched over my paints or metal block.
• I find that it has made it easier for me to isolate myself further- meaning, when you're used to working from home, it simply becomes your norm.  It's your routine to go a whole work week without talking to someone outside of your inner circle.  And worse, when this doesn't happen (say I do a craft show), I actually find it exhausting. I think I'm speaking a little too loudly, or a little too cheerfully.  I'M GOING TO SHOUT AT YOU CAUSE I DON'T GET OUT MUCH.  By the end of the day I'm hoarse, totally shattered, and just want to get back to my little cave again.  Put on my yoga pants and slip back into the inner circle.
• And because humans are complicated, messy things, and middle aged women probably even more complicated than most, while I have become totally comfortable in my isolation, I also yearn to get out of it. I admit, I miss the idle chit chat.  I'm sure my husband does too as when he comes home I vomit up all my water cooler talk onto him like a starving moth headed toward the light outside a McDonald's drive thru. There's only so many internet forums you can pretend to have best friends on before you drown under a pile of big macs.
• I have no routine, and yet all I have is routine.  Does that make sense? Maybe only if you work from home on your own will you understand the weird challenge of being able to do whatever you want, whenever you want.  So you sometimes do nothing when you should be working, and sometimes you are working when you should be enjoying the time with your family.  I don't know.  I honestly can't explain it. Suffice to say I've sometimes had breakfast at noon, and even though I've not been very busy, didn't finish my work till 11pm.  Oh, did I mention that was still on a day I got up at 7am. 

I'm not sure any of this sounds too bad to someone who hates their workplace, or their boss, or has imagined murdering the idiot in the cubicle next to them daily for the last 15 years.  And maybe it isn't really that bad. Suffice to say I was watching The Office yesterday and thought how much I'd love to work there.  Yes, I know not every workplace would be that funny in real life.  But I thought, wow, how nice.  I could have lunch and actually talk to someone else at work!  I could celebrate a birthday with a co-worker!  I could have some drama with the annoying person at the desk next to me!  My current drama is only with my cats.  

Am I going to look for a new job?  I may surprise you here and say, yes, I think so.  I think it's good for me. I think I am more social than I'd care to admit.  And being self-employed from home is the opposite of social. It's not exactly anti-social.  It's un-social. It's a bit like winning the lottery and only being able to spend your money at one mall for the rest of your life.  

I think I may give back my winnings and go for a walk outside.

Being creative daily

I moved recently to another state.  Again.  I have relocated twice in less than two years.  It's exhausting. It's draining. It's stressful.  It's turning your life and body inside out and surviving it, though you often wish you hadn't.  

Now I'm in my beautiful new home.  It's the nicest house I've ever lived in.  I live in a great town.  I'm near a great city.  So why am I so unmotivated?  If I could hazard a guess it's because I spent weeks shutting my life off to pretend I didn't even live in my own home so it could be shown and sold.  Then I spent more weeks wrapping my belongings and stuffing them into boxes and bags and trucks. 

All of that was vomited up into this new location.  Piles of life were just sitting in each room waiting for me to find their place again.  But like actual piles of vomit, seeing everything around me in cardboard cairns encouraged me to continuously hit snooze on my routine's alarm clock.

As a person whose work is based in creativity, and with an already natural state of procrastination, this relocating malarkey didn't help a bit.  I needed a jolt.  Maybe even an actual can of Jolt had that soda not been discontinued.  

So I gave myself a task.  Daily creativity.  I would make one new thing each work day and put it out there into the world.  Sure, sometimes making that one thing prevented me from doing other, perhaps more important things like showering and brushing my teeth.  But it got my mind clean. Making something new was like taking those cans of air that clean your keyboard, and getting it into the little folds and pockets of my brain. 

Side note, if that were an actual procedure I think I'd have it done. I'm sure I have all sorts of nasty crust and dust caught up in the corners of my brain.  Gross.

Has this daily creativity helped me?  Yes.  For one thing I get to the end of the day knowing I unleashed an idea, and isn't that why I do this dumb job to begin with?  Because I was so tired of "the man" squashing all my ideas with his stupid, stanky boot?  

Also, the pressure is off.  If I do something new each day there is no demand for a masterpiece.  That perhaps sounds like a cop out. What I mean is that if you save up all your time for this one chance at art, you want it be, you know, really good.  But things you do everyday don't have that requirement.  

You don't demand that when you brush your teeth each day it be the bestest, deepest, whitest clean they've ever had. What if you only brushed your teeth once each month? Wouldn't you want to make that brush a damn fricking good one? And wouldn't you also stay away from me you harlot of halitosis?

I'm not going to say that this has revolutionized my life.  I'm still tired from my move, almost six weeks in.  I still have a shit ton of stuff to unpack.  I still wake up sometimes feeling life is a jar of mustard and I just can't breathe in it.  But it has indeed cleared the decks.  And when the decks are clear, there's plenty of room for something big to land.  Or a really great dance party.

Advice for my middle schooler

My daughter started middle school today, in a new state.  Yes, during perhaps the most awkward transition of school life, elementary to middle, I ripped my daughter away from her friends and brought her somewhere entirely new.  "Guilt" would be my middle name were it not already "pinnacle of beauty and brains".  

And this new middle school is massive.  It's humongous.  If it had barbed wire around it, and you saw the kids outside from a distance, you'd have no problem believing it was a prison for midgets- so huge is its brick edifice and hordes of short humans.  It scares the shit out of me.  I can't even imagine what my little 11 year old is feeling.

This is where they imprison, I mean educate, the children.

People might say, oh kids are resilient.  She'll be fine.  Yes, she will be fine one day.  But I don't think that day was yesterday when she was thinking about how tough today was going to be.  And I don't think that day was this morning when she was at her bus stop and the other girls were all wearing dresses (yes I now live in a place where girls still wear dresses to the first day of school... wtf?).  That day may not be tomorrow when homework assignments start rolling in.  And that day may not be six months from now when some little brat makes fun of her clothes or hair or the question she asked in class... because let's be honest, kids are fuckfaces.

At the bus stop today I said, "Honey, trust me, everything's going to be okay." But I realized that was total bullshit. I honestly couldn't even keep a straight face while I said it.  After all, I didn't know if everything was going to be okay.  I haven't been to this school, don't know her teachers, and definitely don't know the evil that could be stewing in the misshapen cranium of the moron sitting next to her in home room. 

Let's face it... everything might not be okay.  My middle school years were no bowl of cherries.  They weren't bowl shaped at all.  More like a boot full of shit topped road kill.  Frankly, everything might be crappy.  Very, very crappy.  

Could it be wonderful?  Could her teacher shit rainbows and the principal be Pikachu? Sure, anything's possible.  But I couldn't promise her that.

Nope, as I stood at the bus stop watching her sweat due to nerves, the 90 degree weather and the very, very late bus, I could only promise her one thing.  

"Well, maybe it won't be okay.  But I can promise you it's eventually going to be over."

Middle school ends.  If you're lucky you live through it and are only mildly traumatized.  And then you get to high school to spend four years with the same idiots who now have mustaches.  Even the boys.

It'll all be over soon...

Crochet hook or Knitting Needle display/storage

Guess what?  Chicken butt!

But really folks, the news which you didn't guess because you were too busy yelling about fowl anatomy, is that I'm moving again.

I know, I can't fricking believe it either.

Alas, moving requires cleaning.  And the worst part is cleaning my home office.  I am so very lucky in my current home to have a fourth bedroom which I can assign full time office rights.  What's not so lucky is that it is completely cut off from the home and even has a door I can close.  That means it usually turns into a pile of yarn, mugs, lotions, potions, high pile carpet and gremlins.  

And then your house needs to be sold and people don't want to see a pile of mugs that say 'balls'.  They want to see a room which can be used for their own purposes.  Sadly funny mugs usually don't play a role in other people's lives like they do mine. 

Invariably I must turn my office into how I'd actually like it to be on a regular basis just so strangers can come and look at it... which I'd never do for myself. It's completely insane.

During this task I figured out something which probably a million people before me have already talked about. But I don't read their crappy blogs or tweets or smoke signals.  So I'm going to talk about it here and reaffirm to my own shattered psyche that I am indeed a super genius.

Have any crochet hooks which don't fit in your normal case?  Or maybe you rarely use but want on hand?  I give you... TACKY HOOKER SUPPORT, HOES!

I know what you're thinking.  Those are just crochet hooks.  On thumbtacks.  On a cork board.  

And you'd be fricking right.

Alas, it's a way to store crochet hooks. And you know, that's my whole purpose so it works.  So there.

*Note- this also works with penny whistles.  Or knitting needles.  Or probably cigars.  Maybe small dildos.

*Note again- no, that's not a prison tower spotlight shining on my wall.  It's just a shitty filter.

Chevy unveils the future... Dystopia

Chevrolet announced its newest addition to their vehicle lineup at last weekend's Springfield Auto Show.  

The Dystopia is a four seater which transforms into a horse and carriage (horse is an optional upgrade). Its engine can run on human urine or cat poop, though mileage is much higher for the former. 

Ann Ticrist, a member of the design team, said they "didn't focus on efficiency for cat poop fuel as those are probably the first pets most of us will decide to eat."

Cup holders are also not featured since surveys showed that we will mostly likely be drinking from skulls of various sizes- too many to design around. Engineers compensated by adding more hooks for pots and pans to clang on, as well as a compartment that doubles as a hiding place should the four horsemen approach.

The reactions to the vehicle were varied.  One man said, "it's kind of depressing.  I think if we still have cars after Armageddon, my boss will expect me to keep working." Another was more optimistic, stating "I'm interested in the upgrade which includes jars to keep the heads of the zombies I've killed."  

Executives were reluctant to state when exactly the Dystopia will be released.  They're concerned about competition from the rumored Toyota Apocalypse and Range Rover Sauron.  Suggested plans are for a 2017 launch.  But CEO Beau Jangles said, "it could be as soon as next week if the terrorists win."

Getting angry with Etsy is like, so five years ago.

I wasn't  angry.  I wasn't even slightly perturbed.  I've passed gas that's made me more emotional. And I wondered why?  Why was I, the never reluctant crusader against injustice, completely cold when I read all these stories about glorifying Etsy resellers, Etsy going public, Etsy going against what many hoped it would be... A true port in the storm for makers to band together against the big box, wholesale, imported from third world and marked up 1000% mentality...?

Was I just getting old(er) and jaded(er?)? Had I sold out?  Was I a fat cat, accepting my sales on Etsy and patting my rounded belly, full of broken handmade dreams?

I don't think it's any of those things. Yes I'm older, and yes, my belly is probably rounder than when I first signed up to Etsy.  But that's just because of time and carbs.  

And you can't suggest that I never cared.  I cared big time.  

I signed up to sell on Etsy in 2009.  I had only the tiniest shred of hope I'd sell a few things and make pocket money.  It didn't really matter though as I simply felt a primal urge to just make shit.  I was unhappy in my day job where every ounce of creativity was strictly forbidden unless it involved new ways of kissing the boss's arse.  

I would spend weeks at work and only create an ulcer. I'd spend a single hour in the evening crocheting a dish towel (that I knew I'd never even use) and feel a warm sense of satisfaction.  If God exists, I thought, we now have something in common.  We both like making shit. Yes, we already both had facial hair but I can't help it. I'm Italian.

I stumbled upon the Etsy forum not long after opening my shop. Like all newbies, I was hungry for advice that would help me sell something... anything... please dear god let that transaction email pop up.

What I found there was quite enlightening (and entertaining, and infuriating, and hilarious and sometimes even helpful... oh the old Etsy forums *sigh*). While most conversation was positive, there was already a decent undercurrent of unrest which I quickly recognized. As a cynical person I am not drawn to wide eyed acceptance of authority.  In my experience the ones who are complaining usually just have a better bullshit detector.  On Etsy there were many wise detectors.  

They were hard to find as they were sometimes camouflaged by granny squares or wire wrapped pendants or the overpowering stench of supposedly handmade soap. But I did find them. And oh, did we butt heads with the loads of starry eyed buttheads littering every corner of every space. I was accused of being negative.  I was accused of never being satisfied. And eventually, due to one particular Etsybot, I was forever silenced from the Etsy forums.  Yes, I cared so much and spoke so often about my concerns, Etsy shut me up.  Whereas in most businesses, dissatisfied customers are given more attention, Etsy just told me to shut the fuck up.  How thoughtful of them.

Where was I?  Oh right, arseholes.  Oh yes, I'm sure they thought they were the ones who cared, and that I and other like minded folks were just haters.  Yet, as it turns out, we haters were right.  Our negative predictions have all just about come true.

So why don't I even feel some sense of smug satisfaction?  Why don't I even take perverse pleasure in the demise of the Etsy fairy tale?

I've realized that Etsy is not my boyfriend. I wasn't the first person or even the hundredth to use that phrase. But it was a punchline before.  Now it's the cold truth.

You know how they say if you can get angry with someone that means you still have feelings for that person? I have broken up with Etsy, had revenge sex with someone else (artfire), a rebound relationship (zibbet) and am now building my future with someone who accepts me for who I am (big cartel).

Etsy is now simply another company I patronize.  Sure, there are feelings of gratitude.  Just like I am grateful my local supermarket always has milk and bread, I am grateful that Etsy has created a selling platform.   I use it, and use it well.  I pay them for it, and they provide me with a service.  I feel no more outrage with their business dealings than I do with my local pizza place.  I pay them for a pizza, they give it to me and I eat far too much of it and then feel like crap later.  They know they're getting my $20.  I know I'm getting a bigger arse. We all know where our relationship begins and ends.

However, I don't blame anyone for still feeling angry about Etsy.  There were a lot of hopes at the beginning and many feel let down. I sometimes wish I were around for the heady optimism in Etsy's earliest days.  But then again, perhaps it best I arrived long after the last cup of kool-aid had been given out. Perhaps that makes it easier for me to accept that Etsy's a business with millions of dollars of investment and no closer to revolutionizing handmade than Apple is to producing a better crop of honeycrisps.

Etsy isn't our boyfriend.  Etsy never was.  It never will be.  Etsy's more like our vibrator. It gives us what we want and there's no love lost or gained.  We can ignore it and it won't ever bother us again, or we can plug in and go along for the ride. It's just a power tool.  And as with most every power tool, much of its parts are mass produced in China. 

The Madonna backlash is officially pissing me off.

Okay, I'll be honest.  I'm more often in a pissed off state than not.  But this one is really grinding my gears on this cold, icy February Monday.

In full disclosure, I did not watch the Grammy's last night.  I was out watching the Impractical Jokers on tour and laughed my backside off.  Upon returning home and checking my Facebook feed I saw that Madonna still had a backside and made sure we saw it.   I thought, 'wow, if I were a dedicated blogger I would probably stay home and watch crap like this for material.'

Matawhore? image source

Annie being Annie image source

Did you see the Grammy's?  If not, do google Madonna and find out exactly what she wore and how she performed. You might also want to google Annie Lennox and see how she fared last night.  

Both women are eligible for AARP memberships.  Both women did what they do best.  And yet, somehow, people use words like 'tired' or 'cringeworthy' for Madonna while Annie gets the descriptors of 'breathtaking' and 'bringing down the roof'.  

Now of course everyone is entitled to their opinion about music.  After all, it is art and there is no right or wrong here.  But being old enough to remember both artists in their prime I was struck by something.  

Annie could be described as cool. She's wearing the same sort of attire she wore 30 years ago. She's covered up and androgynous in style.  Her hair is the same.  Her overall look is the same as ever.  She growled and screamed her performance of a classic.

Madonna probably won't be described as cool.  She's wearing the same sort of attire she wore 30 years ago.  She's not covered up and overtly sexy in style.  Her hair is the same.  Her overall look is the same as ever.  She growled and screamed her performance of some new material.

Why then the divergent reviews?  Is it simply due to taste?  Have most of us decided that Annie Lennox is just more talented?  I hope that is the case.  I hope that is why one "stole the show" and the other was "trying too hard".  

But I fear it is something else. As much as people deride our youth obsessed culture, they also seem to think Annie is doing it right and Madonna is doing it wrong.  Why?  Because Madonna still lets us see her ass?  

I'm torn here.  Maybe because I'm closer to 50 than 20.  But I am starting to see a massive hypocrisy in thinking our culture is obsessed with youth, when we also say once you're a certain age you must behave a certain way.  I'm confused as to why two legendary performers are pitted against each other in a 'this is how you age right' way- when both are doing much of the same as they've always done.

If Madonna wore a pantsuit and released an album of standards, would we all applaud her for no longer being obsessed with youth?  Would we say you've finally grown up Madonna?  I can't think of a more youth obsessed perspective than one that expects women of a certain age to behave a certain way.  

It seems that Annie's personal style and music is one we accept at her age. Yet we've all deemed Madonna's personal style and music as the purview of the young, so she needs to give up already.  Come on Madonna, you can't be hip when you're old enough to break one.  You're not allowed a pass at the Grammy's till you sing a song that's as old as you are and put some fricking clothes on you old bitch.  Them's the rules.  

Do you want to make the Outlander cowl?

Have you read Outlander?  I have. But I haven't seen any of the television program.  Why?  Simple.  I don't have that channel. I'm hoping it ends up on amazon prime, netflix, or perhaps hulu. As I've got all those fricking things and STILL CAN'T SEE OUTLANDER YET!

Who doesn't want this cowl?  Nobody! That's who!

Anywho, all of my fellow fiber obsessors were talking about the gorgeous knit items in the program. To which I said, screw that, I'm a hooker.  After drooling over the photos of many of the shows gorgeously knit outerwear, I just had to drop everything and make something today.  

I think any artist, but especially a knitter or hooker, knows the siren call of the right materials.  I simply had to get my hands on some yarn and whip something up.  Come hell or high water.   Actually if either hell or high water showed up, I would indeed stop.  

Here is the culmination of my afternoon:

It's like being born out of a yarn vagina.  

You have no idea how amazing this is to wrap yourself in.  But you will know, because you are going to make it too!

Yummy, autumn, yarn, fiber, warm, cozy, arrraaggggghghghghgh...

All in all, if you are an experienced hooker you should be able to make this in an afternoon.  The biggest pain will be working with a large hook and/or bulky yarn if you aren't used to it or don't like to mess with such oversized materials.  I'm not that thrilled with it if I'm honest it.  It makes my hands ache and when you get near the end, the actual item is so heavy it's difficult to maneuver. 

But oh, is it worth it...

Snuggle it.  You know you want to.

So, here's the pattern folks...

MATERIALS:

Size Q hook (yes, you read that right.  It's insane.)

Super Bulky Yarn (photos are of Lion Brand Wool Ease Thick & Quick in Sequoia- I assure you the photos do not do the beauty of this yarn justice.)  I used approximately 2 1/2 skeins.

Tapestry needle to weave in ends.

Gauge: 5 stitches = approximately 6".  Yes, you read that right too!

The only skill you need to make this cowl is knowing how to single crochet in the back loop only.  That gives you the ribbing as well as the stretchy give to wear in a cool way over your shoulders.  

• Chain 35.
• Single crochet in each chain to end. (35 SC)
• Turn and SC in back loop only to end. (35 SC in back loop)
• Repeat back and forth until cowl is desired width.  To get one as wide and roomy as mine, complete 44 rows of SC in the back loop only! 
• You will now have a nice rectangle. Crochet the short sides together with SC to form a tube. Don't worry about the seam as it will simply look like another rib.
• Weave in ends.

You are done dude.  Now, snuggle up with your cowl!

Hello, my name is Diane and I am a pumpkin addict...

I am not here to trivialize real addictions.  I am here to inform the public at large about this new, insidious substance, whose addiction levels are bordering on epidemic.  Pumpkin. 

On the streets it goes by many names.  Pumpkin butter.  Pumpkin bread.  Pumpkin granola.  Pumpkin latte...

You cannot get away from it.

Just like crystal meth ravaged middle aged soccer moms in the 90s, pumpkin is the current fad drug of choice. Last week at the mall I saw a few ladies snorting pumpkin spice tea right out of the bags in the corner of J Crew.  

It has gotten that bad.

The effects of this epidemic are real.  Besides typical drug side effects like weight gain (taking too much pumpkin), weight loss (surviving on the scent of autumn harvest Yankee Candles instead of eating), irritability (why is Target always out of my FUCKING PUMPKIN POP TARTS), anxiety (oh my god, what am I going to do in December when they stop selling this shit), there are obvious physical changes the body goes through.

My normal calm, philosophical, lovely self.

GIVE ME MORE PUMPKIN YOU MOTHERFUCKKKERERRRRRSSSSSAAAGGGHGHGHHGHGHG!!!!!!!!!.............

It's like being the Incredible Hulk except orange instead of green.  And instead of becoming big and strong during your transformation... well, I can only describe it as a carb/sugar coma combined with an orgasm wrapped around a pumpkin patch full of Chris Pratt dipped in cinnamon sugar emptying the dishwasher.  

And the bad news is that unlike other drugs of yesteryear like the slime on the back of toads, pumpkin is extremely easy to procure.  It's in every corner market.  It's at every Starbucks.  It grows right out of the fricking ground people! The laws are so far behind this thing, you can plant pumpkins all over your goddamn lawn and not even get arrested for it.  

My Trader Joe's haul this morning.

I got all that shit you see above at the store today.  I didn't have to call a dealer. I didn't have to speak to anyone in code.  I didn't even have to hand over that much money.  All I needed to do was bring my own bags so the cashier wouldn't look me in the eye and see through to my very pumpkin stained soul.  Did I feel guilty?  A bit.  But that ended once I got into the car and rubbed pumpkin butter all over my nipples. 

So when you go to sleep at night, know this. There's a good chance you are sleeping next to a pumpkin addict.  And make no mistake, if you try to wrestle that pumpkin bagel away from us, we will cut you like the little bitch you are.

Local woman has decided she no longer gives a f*ck

SPRINGFIELD, NJ--  Society was appalled and outraged this morning when local woman Diane Lupton decided she simply no longer gives a fuck.  

See that pile of give a fuck? It's not mine.

"Oh yeah, I used to give a fuck.  Like really give a fuck.  You know whales, politics, solar flares... the whole enchilada. But I realized lately that it makes no difference and only takes away from my Real Housewives viewing time. So I say, fuck it."

Rebukes were swift from area activists and professional angsters.  "How could she?  Doesn't she see all the problems we have," said the President of the Fed Up Constantly Klub.  Members of the City Council added, "well just add her to the long list of people who already give so little of a fuck, they don't mind that we constantly raise their taxes and our salaries...muwahahahahaha!"

When we spoke to her neighbors they all said Diane was a friendly woman who kept to herself and this was out of character.  Choking back tears, the nosey guy down the street said, "I track her every move and usually half her morning was spent reading news sites and becoming enraged. She cared so damn much. It almost inspired me to be a better man. And I'm a nosey, degenerate weirdo."

Diane later said that she may start caring again in the future, but it would probably take a War on Otters or perhaps a new ribbon color for some cause she might not completely despise. 

Ann Coulter loves her cuntry.

As my husband reminded me of a quote from Family Guy this morning- "isn't there an O in country?"  

giggity.  

Not in this case honey.  Not in this case.

For full disclosure I will share two things here:

1) I'm a soccer fan.  I love it.  I have for years.  I liked it before you did.  I liked it before it was cool.  I liked it before it became big.  When it comes to soccer, I am the biggest fucking hipster you will ever know.

2) I was an Ann Coulter fan many moons ago.  No, not because I agreed with her on everything.  I appreciated that there was at least one (at the time) young, attractive woman representing conservatives.  While the wiki entry under "republicans" basically showed the two old guys from the Muppets, it was refreshing to see someone who didn't meet every GOP stereotype get some air time.  

Alas... we come to this.  Ann's "column" (in quotes because it's like calling the crap I took this morning a column) about soccer.

I am 99% positive Ann is taking the piss on this one.  I am not sure I should call it that though as taking the piss is grounded in humor, which I personally find absent in this dirge.  It's like making fun of someone for believing in gravity.

Then again, I don't want to believe she's so ignorant that what she says could possibly be based in what she really thinks. Surely it must just be to gain a few clicks and a few mentions in the media by throwing herself in front of the soccer bandwagon.  Cause for Annie, success is spelled "ignorant contrarian". 

Still, for the sake of allowing me to call her a fuckface publicly, I'm going to assume she was serious.  I'm going to assume the words she arranged into a pile of shit are simply because she's an ignorant, gaping arsehole.

Because really that's not so much of a stretch, right?

Let's take some of the greatest hits from her vomitous ode:

Individual achievement is not a big factor in soccer.

Is she some kind of psycho hose beast?  Has she not heard of Pele?  Beckham?  Ronaldo?  Why do we know these names?  Oh right... BECAUSE OF INDIVIDUAL ACHIEVEMENT.  Surely she must know this.  She can't be serious right?  I know it's difficult to see past the end of her nose (literally) but come on.  You can do better than this Annie.  I know it.

Even in football, by which I mean football, there are very few scoreless ties — and it's a lot harder to score when a half-dozen 300-pound bruisers are trying to crush you.

Two points here- does she know that the reason we call American football, uh, football, is because of its relation to um, soccer? There is a sport called rugby played in many other places and by some Americans. It's like American football without pads or incessant commercial breaks.  Those 300-pound bruisers come at you and you don't have some helmet to protect your fried blonde mane. Wanna play Annie?  

Anywho, rugby's full name is "rugby football".  Soccer was referred to as "association football" to separate it from rugby.  Association became abbreviated to "soc" and then morphed into "soccer".  American football has its name thanks to soccer.  Put that in your bowl of dust and eat it, Annie.

Secondly, the last time I checked American football players use their feet about the same amount of time soccer players use their hands.  So maybe we can come up with another name for American football that's more accurate... how about "roided, bloated, criminal, concussed ball"?

The prospect of either personal humiliation or major injury is required to count as a sport. 

While I find this point more akin to gladiator worship than sport, when was the last time someone was majorly injured in golf? Maybe Tiger's ex-wife kicked him in the balls especially hard, but does that count? Not to mention that in soccer referees and players being beaten and sometimes killed is unfortunately much more prevalent than the NFL.  In American football they just beat their wives and girlfriends.

Wifebeaters are welcome in NFL, but not gays.

Brazil soccer referee killed during match; his head displayed on stake midfield

Yes, I suppose it would make sense that Coulter can only take interest in sport that requires murder and mayhem. She's the queen of bomb throwing. Okay, they're not bombs, more like flaming handfuls of cow dung.

But that's why soccer is so perfect for her. The amount of nonsensical bullshit is a glove fitted to her claw.  I mean, um, hand.

In soccer, even the crowd gets injured.

Eric Cantona, aka god, kicking a spectator.

Players sometimes try to bite each other!

Suarez biting Ivanovic.

Come on Annie!  Get involved!  With your gnashers you could probably rise to the highest heights of individual achievement in soccer!  And if the rest of us are lucky, you'll suffer a major injury!


This next comment you're really going to love.  Honestly, it's sublime.

It's foreign. In fact, that's the precise reason the Times is constantly hectoring Americans to love soccer. One group of sports fans with whom soccer is not "catching on" at all, is African-Americans. They remain distinctly unimpressed by the fact that the French like it.

Hmm... right.  Okay.  So, Ann... my sweet Annie.  Are we using what African-Americans are interested in as some kind of barometer for the validity of an organized group trying to gain supporters/fans?  Oh goodie. Well then, I guess that's your Republican party fucked.

http://www.weeklystandard.com/blogs/morning-jay-how-will-obama-do-african-americans_575484.html

And her last point I'll highlight, which is definitely my absolute favorite of her fuckwittery...

If more "Americans" are watching soccer today, it's only because of the demographic switch effected by Teddy Kennedy's 1965 immigration law. I promise you: No American whose great-grandfather was born here is watching soccer. One can only hope that, in addition to learning English, these new Americans will drop their soccer fetish with time.

Yes, you read that right.  She basically just said "yo' mama" err, or "yo' great-grandfather" to a couple of generations of Americans.

I can appreciate her taking a swing at Teddy Kennedy.  We probably have all wanted to at some point.  But I find it hilarious that she is slamming soccer fandom for only being a product of heritage, when basically all the sports the US supposedly cares about are the exact. same. thing.  When was the last time you heard your Portuguese friend talking about the Cowboys game? Or how about that lady from Ghana you met?  Was she talking about Derek Jeter's retirement?  

I can't say for certain whether my heritage has influenced my love for the sport.  I'd like to brag and think I just looked outside my neighborhood to see if there was anything better out there and found soccer.  Yes, I'd like to think it's just because I'm so awesome that I turned off the tv on Sunday afternoons when NFL ruled the airwaves and looked for something different.

But perhaps it is because my great-grandfathers from Italy, who died before I was ever born, have been guiding me.  Yes they are shouting "FORZA AZZURRI" at me from beyond the grave.  That's it Ann.  It's only because my relatives who never had the opportunity to show me soccer at all, since it wasn't on tv, and wasn't on the radio, and wasn't even discussed in our news, influenced me so.  

How did you get interested in the NFL Annie?  Was it because your great-grandfather was a roided, concussed criminal?  Is that why you watch?  To reminisce about your heritage?  I feel you.  

It's just that my heritage is full of historically significant art, music, food, wine... and calcio (soccer/football).

You've got jock itch and busty cheerleaders.

Well done,  Annie.  Well done.

Three Simple Ways to Organize Your Desk

My desk is always a mess.  I'm what many people would refer to as, well, a slob.  But I took an organizing class and it turns out I'm not a slob at all.  I'm just someone who organizes everything in tangled, dusty, coffee stained sculptural filing systems. I'm not kidding.  There's someone whose job it was to say that my way of "organizing" is in fact nothing to be ashamed of.  So piss off.   

But as you all know I constantly strive to better myself.  Because the true sign of superiority is to acknowledge that you're not quite superior enough.  And I'm here to better you too.  Because the true sign of my awesomeness is being surrounded by the awesomest people on the internet.  Let's get our shit together, err, together.

Here's what a fucking mess my shipping area is:

Yeah, no filter is making this shit look any better.

I know you're looking at that photo and thinking, my god, what is that thing?  But I assure you it's all perfectly legal and if I need something on that desk, I know exactly where it is.  Cause I can still find the desk and I know there's probably something on there I need (pay no attention to the expensive camera teetering on the edge- that's exactly where I want it).

How to organize this mess?  I have three simple, quick and foolproof ways:

1) Cover it up.  

Mess?  What mess?

As you can see, organizing is as simple as taking some old towels and throwing them over the whole desk.  If you want to go a step further, maybe take some duct tape and make a hipster design on one or all of the towels. It gives it a trendy pop of metallic and the chevron design will have all your friends clamoring to ask you, 'where the... what the fuck?'

If you are out of old towels, sheets, target bags, etc, then perhaps this next suggestion is more your speed.

2) Make one pile of all your shit in the corner.  

If possible, only let guests look at the desk through a blurred edge filter on your iPhone.

Your desk used to have all tiny, little, shitty piles.  Now it has one massive mound of matter.  I'd call that fucking efficient!  Am I right?  My extra tip for this strategy is to take one unique architectural element and place it in the void left behind.  I chose a model of the Battlestar Galactica.  This item is your focal point.  It balances out the massive pile behind it.  And it's cool cause you just found it under all your shit you moved, and were like, "I totally fucking forgot I had this... but I have nowhere to put it so I'll just leave it here in this new empty space I have to fill up."

And finally, if you're really in a bind and neither blood stained pillowcases to cover the desk are available, nor the strength to push everything over to one side, here is my top tip for desk organization.

3) Shut the fucking door.

My hands look so old in photos.

1) Find the handle on your office door.

2) Grab it with your hand and pull the door to the point where it meets the wall.  You should hear a clicking sound.

3) Add a sign.  Handmade is cool if you have time.  Smiley face is recommended but not required.

Remember folks, cleanliness is next to godliness.  But when it comes to cleaning, I'm a fucking atheist.  

Summer Is Coming. And I ain't raising no Joffreys.

Summer is coming.

Yeah, I can see why Game of Thrones used winter.  Cold. Frozen. Hard. Unforgiving. The imminent arrival of summer doesn't inspire the same level of dread- what with its sunshine and breezes. Unless... You're a parent.

With your kids getting out of school, use of the phrase "summer is coming" is like saying the wildlings are headed toward the wall.  In this case though, one is a horde of violent, impulsive, verging on cannibalistic, devoid of civility, bribe taking mercenaries... And the other is the wildlings.  The wall is your house- especially any room or chair you want to be in. The children may not be sophisticated, but like the wildlings, they outnumber you and smell weird.

While the real estate agent neglected to tell you that your home didn't come equipped with a giant scythe, she did say it's illegal in your state to lock your kids out and pray for reinforcements. I think arrows and hot oil are also no no's, but check with your local municipality to be sure. 

Oh, I'm being slightly unfair.  My children would never actually eat other people.  But if I went away for a month, and no one was cooking for them, I think the cats should be nervous.

This is where my daughter keeps the severed heads of her victims... to snack on later.

Still, with summer on its way I figured I'd share my tips for surviving the season.  Note, I do not guarantee these are all legal.  Or helpful.  Just... tips.  

• Make your children do chores.  Yup.  You read that right.  Get them up.  Get them out of bed. Make them work.  Just because it's summer doesn't mean they should be on vacation. When the hell do you get a vacation from their runny noses and farts? NEVER!  Have them garden.  Have them sweep. Have them clean the privy.  Make them churn the butter.  I don't care what century you're living in.  Kids are just small humans.  And humans were made to do shit.  Literally and figuratively.  Give them a list each day and a time within which it must be completed.  You'll never get to be the dictator of a third world country. But by gosh you are the despot of the third world shithole you have a mortgage on.  Use your power.

• Start drinking.  I am not advising anyone to become an alcoholic.  I just advise you to kick back. Have a cocktail a couple of nights a week.  Make them fancy if you want.  Pretend you're in Mad Men if it helps. Adults need adult beverages.  Throw the children one juice box and make them fight over it while you laugh. 

Dark N Stormy- a portion of dark rum topped off with ginger beer (like ginger ale but oof strength).  Try one.  Trust me.

• Kick the kids out of the house.  Really.  Now of course this might depend on their ages as if they're too young, you could end up with a mugshot (though that would be sort of badass).  Use your own best judgment on this one.  Oh, our kids spend so much time on their computers and phones and kindles and blah, blah, blah, blah, FUCKING BLAH!  WHY DO YOU THINK THEY DO THAT? HUH? BECAUSE WE FUCKING LET THEM!!!!!!!!!!!!  Remember, you are Saddam Hussein* and your house is Iraq.  No bitches be frontin unless you allow that shit to go down.  Send the kids outside.  Give them some supplies.  Maybe sidewalk chalk. Or a ball.  Or some water guns.  Or real guns.** And let it be all Falllujah in the yard while you lounge in your presidential palace.  *Note this should not end with you being hanged.  But keep all rope and gallows away from your children as a precautionary measure. **Don't give the kids real guns you moron.  

Can you see the fear in his eyes?  I got this.

These tips might sound like common sense.  But all too often I see parents complaining about their children and what they do or don't do.  I'm no saint.  My kids aren't perfect.  But for fuck's sake I'll be damned before I let some midgets who share my DNA act turn into adult fuckheads.  We have enough of those already.

Being a parent is a big responsibility.  And during the summer we can't count on the government to ruin our children like they do the rest of the year.  When school is out we are on our own against the Joffreys we've sired (not the incest bit). They are just waiting in their little rooms with their little crowns and little crossbows. And since you don't have any poison, you need other weapons in this battle. Stand fast my friends. Summer is coming.  

I hope you didn't just eat...

And if you did, I REALLY hope it wasn't a plate full of brussels sprouts.  Side note, did you know they were called 'brusselS sprouts' and not 'brussel sprouts'? I just discovered this the other day.

But who fucking cares really cause they are the work OF THE DEVIL!!!!!!!!!

Seriously I consider myself a laid back eater.  I eat just about everything normal.  And my standard of normal is anything below that baby chicken still in the egg that they eat somewhere.  Sorry, that's not normal.  I know it's normal in the part of the world where they eat it but clearly they don't have pop tarts there.

Regardless, I have never liked brusselS sprouts.  I like cabbage.  I like all the vegetables that smell like farts when you're cooking.  But I could never get behind the lowly sprout.  It was sort of like biting into a bitter, rotting marshmallow with some leaves stuck to it.  Blech. I just gave myself a chill even imagining it.

I did recently however find this recipe and it made a believer out of me.  I could eat brusselS sprouts this way every single day and be quite happy. It's loaded with cream and lemon and is just deluscious. It's like someone took brusselS sprouts and turned them into a chocolate dipped pepperoni pizza, deep friend and rolled in buttered popcorn.  You know you want some.

Find the recipe here:

Totally does not taste like rotting flesh brussels sprout recipe.

Don't these look good?  THEY ARE!!!

Alas, I knew a good thing couldn't last forever.

This past weekend my husband and I were at the grocery store and discovered the horrifying truth.  Look away now if you don't want to barf up your breakfast...

I MEAN IT!!!

Dear god what is that thing???

Yes folks, this is how brusselS sprouts actually grow.  On some sort of phallic stalk thingie.  And they are just budding off of it like some nasty, alien, pustules.  Just waiting to be popped.  Essentially they are the genital warts of the vegetable world.

In fact if the brusselS sprouts growers of the world need a tagline, and need to combine both the one good recipe and the fact that they look like a disease you get while in port, I suggest:

BRUSSELs SPROUTS- Hey, there's cream for that now!

And now I'm going to be sick.