Last Friday, my husband and I got to meet David Sedaris at a book signing, but it wasn't at a book store. Instead, he was set up at the local... Costco?
 Hubby and I were at the Costco a few days before to see what ridiculously oversized items we might want to waste our pennies on when we saw a large poster advertising that David Sedaris was coming to this location for a book-signing. We stared at the sign for a good two minutes and wondered how an author such as himself would consent to such a thing. And then we wondered how the hell we had a membership to Costco ourselves and what happened to our lives, but that's another story. Anyway, we got there on the appointed day, and there he was. Other Sedaris fans were there, one of them with a giant cart full of half-and-half cartons and a single onion, but they didn't seem perturbed about the fact that, from our vantage point in line, we could look over his shoulder to watch the butchers in the meat section toss Flintstone-sized ribs at little Italian ladies. And sometimes the ladies didn't fall down! When it was our turn, David Sedaris told us that he had never been in a Costco before, but he was enjoying the experience of signing books while enormous shopping carts drifted past him. He signed our books while my hubby explained how much his stories helped boost our spirits while hubby was in Intensive Care and he even noted an expression my husband used! So, in the future, if you ever read or hear him use the expression 'charging up the chair'*, you'll know who came up with it first. (*My husband uses a motorized wheelchair, so 'charging up the chair' just means making sure the battery is at full charge.) He thanked my husband for making him rich:  and drew a portrait for me:  As you can see, he got my shell and snout just right! While we talked, the baby listened carefully with a solemn James Liption expression.  If she has my genes at all, she'll have that same beard by the times she's 12. The end.
Has it really been two years? Threadless says so, and Threadless never lies, so it must be true.
I'm going to scrounge up some cake and celebrate. 
I simply cannot compete with the TV tonight for my husband's attention, not with the NHL draft on.
What should I do to bide my time until it ends - vacuum in front of the TV or insist that he take out the garbage RIGHT NOW? Any other suggestions?
My fists are itching to punch someone in the face. Currently, I'm fantasizing about plugging my fist straight into the faces of the Hi 5 cast:
 My nephew adores this show, but if I have to listen to one more fucking song about swimming in the sea, I'm going to drop kick a dolphin. Who do you think needs a good clobberin', and would you allow me the honours of clobberin' 'em?  Go!
I've just returned from a weekend jaunt to Ottawa to visit the in-laws, and my husband, a not-so-secret Roxette fan and in charge of the tunes, treated/assaulted me with their special brand of craptasticosity for much of the drive.
Since we make this five-hour drive several times a year, what would you suggest as a possible alternate to Roxette? What are your favourite driving tunes? Go and look sharp! 
I'm really getting tired of the Nosey Parkers that masquerade as pizza delivery guys that keep giving unasked-for advice about my life and everything in it.
Episode 1: Baby is crying because she's hungry. Husband is waiting for her bottle to sufficiently warm up. Pizza delivery guy immediately says, 'Your baby has stomach problems. Give it grippe water right now.' Wha'? Episode 2a: Pizza delivery guy looks at my red walls and says, 'This red is way too stressful for you. You need it paint it a light blue, like your shirt...' Wha'? Episode 2b: '...but you really shouldn't wear that colour, it's not slimming on you.' Wha'? Here's a tip for you, buddy: fuck off and give me my pizza.
My little one has finally grown into her first Threadless onesie:
 Whether or not it's intentional, she tends to give the finger, so I thought the design appropriate. And what kind of room should a Threadless baby have? Why, a Threadless room, of course!  The 'Fake Pandas Have More Fun' blik graphic looks so incredible on the wall, even though it was a bitch to put up. I needed my brother's help, while my husband observed and pretended to give orders. The details look so good up close:  It's impossibly cute. P.S. Attention avalanche lily You sent this to me so long ago, and it finally fits! And by 'finally', I mean 'Isn't it interesting that she fits a 9 month outfit at 3-and-a-half months?'  Thank you so much! /braggy mum
... I received your package in the mail, and it couldn't have arrived at a better time. After a week of hell and unhappiness, I had the privilege of opening a box full of fun. Thank you a thousand times over for the Dr Seuss stories (your wife is absolutely correct about that) and the adorable Maple Leaf socks, which made my husband point and laugh at me in a derisive manner. I hope he enjoyed sleeping on the sofa.
Miss Ruby was completely enamoured with the Pez dispensers, and wouldn't let them out of her sight until she fell asleep that night. She also attempted to gnaw through the package to get at them, but soon learned that cardboard tastes awful. The glove warmers are currently in an unknown location, as my husband quickly swooped them out of the box and hid them somewhere on the premises for his own mischievous purposes. He's a naughty boy. Thank you so much for everything, and as soon as I get a moment to myself, I'll send you a thank you package. Maybe within the next eight years. 
A wee chapeau fashion show brought to you by four fantastic Threadless Aunties!
Julie's hat  Ruby's very first gift ever and accessory of choice when first coming home from the hospital on one of the coldest days of the year. Taz's hat  A delightful antlered number, perfect for all those reindeer games! Chelly's hat  A fabulously soft hand-made gift that Ruby's finally semi-grown into. Deb's hat  A lovely surprise gift that only just arrived this morning. You shouldn't have but, seeing Ruby in it, I'm kind of glad you did. A big thank you to all the Threadless Aunties out there for keeping the squintlet's head both warm and fashionable.  Have a great one, you smexy gal! P.S. A very happy birthday to the SquintyDad, too. |
       
Pudding Fund
 Thanks, chelly!  Thanks, Tora!  Thanks, littlem!   Thanks, taz-pie!   Thanks, Corey!    Old Farts Club Members (now on Facebook!) corey8/corey9 squintygirl (that's me!) adam antium pinkpiggyme travis76 (STPs dontated to little g, per his request, the generous fart) grayehound kidaro P Shmoov Rock Deputy little g whisper in water Manos jmo9000 mikemills juliagoolia Luke... realslimnatey DarthG d3d steven218 steve_swartz Darth Veg WallsReallyWork spencekarl swedz littlem MadTheologian UberRyan mezo the czar hogboy vulcanhalfbreed F.A.B. typh chelly illustraTom angelito phones velusariot redsugar fatboyradio shirtflirt OCandCO lemonalle alacyt/avalanche_lily melhel86 nasti.girl. amy122166 - the greatest Evil Twin and prop girl anyone could ever ask for! deboraborialis taz-pie bkaiser jackanapes kayceislost pickledbib chemi hydro NatySpaghetti fc gravy Kitchen Patrol Fourty Four GldKttn18 funkie fresh Noobits kooky love iPear Butterfly Wings Mezbee hoesclothesandbankrolls squeegebeckenheim i carnt spell catdogpigduck herky xxreddawnxx MysteriousPete Mr Kawfy Aristarchus theurbanraptor MikeHarding morganian RussB Shix ladykat kirstenlovesdinner Tazocat   My Long and Boring Back Story When I was a young lass, I had the most incredible eyesight. I could read small typed pages from across the room and identify licence plates from a staggering distance. It was really cool. For a while there, I was invincible. INVINCIBLE! Life, however, always has a funny way of crash-landing you back to reality, and over the course of a few years, my eyesight went from fantastic to average to poor to complete crap. I would sit in class and squint at the blackboard all day and have absolutely no idea what I was looking at. In Grade Five, I became an expert note-taker by just writing down EVERYTHING my teacher said (which, incidentally, became a very handy skill none of my board-copying schoolmates had mastered when we all needed it in university) and spent my nights begging my mother for glasses. She didn't believe me. Also, she thought they would make me look nerdy. I walked around half-blind for almost three years until the fateful day my mom caved in and took me to the eye doctor, hurray! But what was it that finally convinced dear Mum? Was it the fact that I kept tripping on things I couldn't see in the street? No. Was it the fact that three of my teachers and the school nurse told my mother that I needed glasses, IMMEDIATELY? No. Was it the fact that I had to hold a book a centimetre from my face to actually make out the words? No. What convinced my mom to take me to the eye doctor was my squinting and how much she hated it. 'You look like you're smelling boiled cabbage all the time, stop making that face!' 'You're going to have terrible wrinkles when you get older, stop making that face!' 'It's going to freeze like that forever, you know, stop making that face!' And 'squintygirl' was born. It was, however, the same day I finally got glasses (the ugliest glasses you could ever possibly imagine, natch), so I never had to squint again. Nevertheless, I felt such an affinity for and alliance with squintygirl, that she stayed with me through successively uglier pairs of glasses as the years passed. Today, I have less ugly glasses and still don't squint, but I continue to salute that industrious little girl. Incidentally, my face never did freeze that way, but I am worried about wrinkles, now that I'm a member of Threadless' Old Farts Club. I guess Mom was right about something. (She was also right about the nerdy thing, too.) The Fighting Cacti, by Gina 
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Jul 14 '08 by
Update: Aug 18, '08
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Update: Steve Wierth
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Threadspotting every Friday!
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You know they'll love it!
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