The inevitable has happened

You'll hear it from me first: I think I want a job.  Don't get me wrong, crafting and cooking and taking grad classes are all great....but I am getting ansy.  I even find myself thinking that it may be nice to get pregnant or worse - get a dog.  This cannot happen!  Thus, I have begun the ever-depressing search of finding a job for which I am qualified.  Turns out I am qualified for nothing.  Seriously, getting a decent job with a Bachelor's in psychology is just as impossible as if I were a high school grad!  I can't even substitute teach here because you have to be certified.  Certified means going to school for another year-and-a-half...and thank you I am already on that but plan on getting paid better afterward.  Patience is not a virtue I possess, unfortunately, so I don't know what I will do.  With that being said, I should get back to knitting my scarf. 

Oh btw, I think I am going to join a spinning and weaving guild.  How cool is that?  

I think I'll call him Elroy

Here is my new favorite little guy, just made him today! 

 He started out like this:

And ended up like this!

Now I'm just on a roll...

I've come to a very important realization: I'm a self-indulged narcissist.  Why am I a self-indulged narcissist? Well obviously, because I don't have kids.  Every other blog I've seen is super-cute with dozens of pictures of  babies with little stories about how they did this or that and went to the fair and pet baby lambs and la-dee-da.  I, on the other hand, just write about me (and occasionally my groom).  Don't get me wrong; I am perfectly content being a self-indulged narcissist at the moment.  I just thought I'd let you know that I was aware.  

*By the way Mom: when I called to tell you about the posts I was so surprised to hear you nonchalantly say "la-dee-da" because I had literally just written that in this post.  Telepathic connection?  I should say so!    

Oh boy!

Now that I've finally realized how to put pictures on here the correct way, I thought I'd post some of my favorite scrapbook pages I've done so far.  Be gentle, I am an amateur.  Lots more coming!

I can't wait to make babies with this man! 

Behold my work and my glory

I may be converting to polytheism, because Rose Levy Baranbaum (author of The Bread Bible which I faithfully follow) may very well be a Goddess.  Seriously, if I can pull off baking bread this gorgeous and melt-in-your-mouth, there must have been some divine intervention.  Get the book and find your nirvana.  

So it's been a while...

I know, I know, I've been terribly negligent in posting.  What can I say?  I like to sleep in and mornings are the only time I get to write.  At this moment, however, I am in the middle of baking bread and thus am forced to remain awake to ensure a successful outcome.  I've been at this bread since 4 o'clock this morning, with hopes to get it out of the oven by 10:30 so when my groom gets in from being on-call all night, he can have his favorite food.  Gag all you want, but wait 'til you try my bread!  

Life has been quite nice, with the exception of the lawnmower man's nocturnal video game habits which has left me swearing strings of obscenities at about 3 in the morning because we can't sleep.  I've been honing my domestic talents (i.e. enthusiastically attacking every handicraft that women in the 1890s might have been forced to learn) and knitting and crocheting up a storm.  My latest fascination is sewing toys, like these two:

and with 4 dolls down I plan on taking on some other fun projects.  Admittedly, the scarf and blanket I am attempting needlework on looks like it was done by a paraplegic, but I'm holding onto the delusion that it will magically look perfect once it's done. 

Classes for grad school have started, and I feel very academic at the moment.  I even went out looking for some funky reader glasses with no magnification (my eyesight is, sadly, quite good), but couldn't find any. Instead, I've been planning my wardrobe around my classes.  How does a wanna-be artsy-schmartsy homemaker-cum-therapist look, you ask?  Well let me tell you.  First, I make sure to wash my hair only once a week so the style I choose never looks too contrived (does anyone really trust an academic with whistle-clean hair? I don't think so.)  Next, I find anything vintage (or slightly resembling vintage in my muddled brain) and toss it together with a pair of boots and a scarf.  Lately I'm big into knits, so anything made out of yarn or wool is sure to be on my body somewhere.  Finally, I top off the ensemble with big, chunky earrings and zero lipstick.  

I think the West might be getting to me.  

The Lawnmower Man

There I was, laying in bed trying to catch a few zzz's, when all of a sudden I heard it: the deep, rumbling reverberations of he who haunts the night.  At first I was in denial...this just couldn't be! I'm warm and snug in my bed, within the safe confines of our cozy apartment...how could he be here?  All the nightmares of my youth came crashing back into my mind from obscurity...the sleepless nights, the awful noise, the desperate pleading for it to end!  And yet there he was, and there was no denying him.  That's right, the Lawnmower Man is my neighbor.  

The Lawnmower Man's method of torture is simple:  keep you up all hours of the night with the terrible, lawnmower-like noises produced by his nasal cavity.  And torture it is.  When I was a child he always found his way into my parents' room, but I could somewhat escape by closing doors and hovering under layers of blankets in agonizing terror waiting for him to stop.  My mother, fearless as she is, knew the magic words to fend off the evil fiend. "Turn over!"  She'd grumble into the night air.  I would hear shuffling after that (undoubtably the Lawnmower Man retreating in surprise from her unexpected attack), and then...silence.  

I've learned the tricks the townspeople speak of to keep him away.  Sleeping on your side helps, they say, perhaps because you are not so openly vulnerable as when laying on your back.  I do not know.  Protective sticky strips placed on the nose are also said to ward him off, but that is usually for the more superstitious.  But I am without defense because the Lawnmower Man is one thinly insulated wall behind me, residing in the next unit.  I keep working up the nerve to bang on the wall and yell "Oh Lawnmower Man, behold!  By the power of my mother I say unto you, turn over!"  But alas I cannot.  Instead, I've found some small way to exact revenge on his torture with the aid of my husband.  That's right, the Lawnmower Man isn't the only one to strike at night.  We have the power of the Horny Toad, and let's just say...Lawnmower Man can't beat that.