Showing posts with label beer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label beer. Show all posts

Monday, June 20, 2011

MY MELON

Step 1:  Choose your victim.
This'll work.
 Step 2:  Cut off the top "corners."
and realize you can't cut straight.  Say bad words.
 Step 3: Use big knife and gut that sucker.
MUCH easier than carving a pumpkin
 Step 4: Get scoop to help with diggin err-thing out.
Wait, this is a scoop for---
 Step 5: Get distracted by scoop.
Yum.
 Step 6: Get your head back in the game.
Get bigger scoop.
 Step 7:  Consider calling it soup and quit for the night.
maybe give it some pepper?
 Step 8:  Get back to it.  Beer yourself and start cuttin on the "handle."
Cutting again?  Crap!
 Step 9:  Cut zigzags or whatever all around "basket."
CRUCIAL:  Drink enough so that this looks cute.
 Step 10: Observe aftermath. . .
. . .and cry.
 Step 11:  The next morning.  Fill the basket with fresh and frozen fruit  and call it done, dammit.
Step 12:  Drive an hour and forty minutes away with masterpiece to impress folks at family reunion.  Learn that the reunion is next week.  Say bad words, give the fruit basket to the nice ladies at the bait shop by the reunion site.  Drive home.  Say a few more bad words.  Laugh at the thought of calling this a trial run and doing it again next week.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

INSOMNIA, PT.2

So I made a set of kids legwarmers and made the boy model one of them

he's the only one with legs scrawny enough to fit

then I heard something calling from the fridge. . .
if you say so. . .
Then I really got down to business.
camera case



iPod bed
headband and wristlets to complete the Breakin outfit
Then I realized how neglectful I was being---
. . .and, since I'm a responsible drinker---
of course, by the time I finished this, the beer had gotten warm on its own.


So I started on a hat, got halfway done, and saw the sun come up.  Screw my goals!  Big Munky came home and found me in this strange Irish yoga pose with a crochet hook tangled up in my hair and a Stitch foot in my butt.
good luck finding that hook, Self.

AND THERE'S STILL FREAKIN YARN LEFT OVER.  I HATE THIS HOBBY.

Why yes, I believe I will.