Special Sauce

A mish-mash of twisted thoughts from a fevered ego. Updated when the spirit moves me, contents vary and may have settled during shipping. Do not open towards eyes. Caution: Ingestion of Special Sauce may cause hair loss, halitosis, and a burning sensation while urinating.


Well, Shit.

Or, how yours truly figured out that she really isn't half as clever as she thought she once was.

I? Am a maroon.

My piece of advice for today is; "If you are thinking of making your own quilt without an actual pattern for layout, please do be certain that you are indeed as clever as you think you are, or you'll want to stab out your eyes with a quilting needle."

Because really, no matter how many times you've laid it out on the carpeting, and you think you've got it perfect, and your inner voice (not the one that tells you to bite your forearms, the one that says things like "golly, you're clever, and ever so attractive too!") says it's bound to work, unless you've got it out on paper, with instructions, you're going to fuck up.

And I?

Fucked up. So, go ahead and substitute "you" and it's permutations with "I" and its permutations, and you have my evening.

Mercifully, it's a small fuckup, and will only involve ripping out 2 motifs and 2 white hexagons, it's a setback of an hour and a half's work. And that's annoying. I hope this will fix the thing, if not, I have to rethink my layout.

And I may slap my father senseless (or perhaps slap some sense into him?) as he's been acting quite the jerk over the past 24 hours. Not because I'm knocked up*, not because global warming is threatening the planet, not because the Phillies suck dead dog nuts. No, He's being a douchebag because I. Didn't. Buy. Sausage. Yesterday.

You read that right.

Sausage. Pork sweepins in a tube. Saaaauuuuuuuuusssssssssaaaaaaaaaaaagggggggge.

And why (for the love of all that is holy) didn't I buy sausage for his precious, sacred weekend breakfast? Because he wasn't HERE Saturday, to ask for it, and I didn't think he'd be back today. Because my mother usually can't remember what she had for breakfast this morning (and also thought my dad wasn't going to be home today). Because neither one of us eats it, AND we were shopping at the chicken/poultry & fucked up food outlet. Not a regular grocery store. I don't think they even HAVE sausage. So of course the great sausage shortage of 2005 is my fucking fault. Just like the day we didn't stop and buy him a pizza at pizza hut while we were out buying groceries 2 weeks ago. (Again, I'm going to leave a car full of frozen food in the hot sun for 20 minutes to wait for a fucking pizza? Um. No. And it's not like we live in their delivery area- They're nowhere NEAR our house. We bought him a DiGiorno pizza, which he refused to eat.) Which he brought up as he draaaaaaaagged the entire thing out.

So now he's not speaking to me**. Despite the fact that I made a tasty hash and egg breakfast this morning. Which he did not touch. (The dog was very glad to get it.) He's playing the martyr over SAUSAGE. Which I very nearly went out at 10:30 last night to go buy so he'd Shut. The. Fuck. Up. About. The. Goddamned. Sausage. (Seriously. Was still bitching at my mother about it when they went to bed.)

I know he's overworked right now, but it's not my fault he decided to work all day Friday, then turn around, drive up home to mow the grass, and come back the next day (4 hours up and back). Odie was going up there this week, and could have mowed for him. He only does this shit so he can say how manly he is. (When all he's doing is working on another heart attack***, pissing my mother off to no end, and an early grave. Seriously. Who cares about the grass if you're under it?) I'll work on some kind of food treat tomorrow to smooth things over, because I'd rather him be in a decent mood. He doesn't know how perilously close he is to seriously pissing my mother off. ****

Arrrrrrrrgh. Anyway. I'm going to go cuddle a large, fluffy black cat, and stuff.

*No, I'm not knocked up. No chance of that happening.

** Household record for not speaking to me? Over 1 month, when I brought Silent Bob home. And note, it was my mother's idea to "Grab the cat, get in the car, lock the doors, and GO!" with her. As we found Bob up home, and dad didn't want us to take her home, despite the fact that her back end was broken.

*** He had 2 or 3 (they can't say) mild heart attacks a few years back. The kind you don't really know you're having except your chest and back really hurt and you don't exactly know why. He chalked it up to straining himself. He was incorrect.

**** The last time he did that, she moved out. For a year.


Blogger parcequilfaut said...

Poor baby ET. It sucks to have to rework projects and it sucks even more to be in the middle of Dad Martyrdom -- my parents both go on little mini-martyr trips on a regular basis over things on the same order of magnitude as "sausage".

Hope the quilting and Hurricane Dad go well and quickly. Give me a holler if you need to vent.

1:48 AM  
Blogger Special Sauce said...

Hurricane Pa has abated slightly, in that he has had to ask me for various basic things. I consider it a minor victory. He's still pissy, because something's not going right on his job he's working. Enh. I'm going out Birthday shopping.


Also, while I wasn't sleeping last night, I came up with what might be a viable save for the work I put in. Hooooo Raaaay!

9:48 AM  
Blogger Steph said...

sausage is SO overrated.....

12:32 AM  

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