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May 19, 2012 / mrsdeboots

The art of anger

Today we all went to the “Got to be NC” festival, which brings to mind the phrase, “1 in 3 Americans weighs as much as the other 2.”

There was tons of absolutely delicious smelling food, and me, completely broke, and too proud to accept charity from my husband, refused it all.  At least until I saw chocolate and vanilla swirled frozen yogurt.  I caved.

Unfortunately, while standing in a formidable line, a fat man, knowing there was a long line behind him, sneezed, open mouthed and phlegm and spittle molecules spewing into the wind. Which then blew into my right face, hair, and upper arm.

The sudden anger was surprising, as I rarely burst into long strings of profanity in what is supposed to be considered a family friendly event. But I let it loose.
I was livid.  It’s one thing to be broke.  It’s another thing to broke and surrounded by delicious food smells.  It is quite another level of burdensome to be broke, hungry, and be PELTED WITH STRANGER SNOT which could’ve been avoided by him simply lifting his beefy, sun- reddened arm up and placing his sticky, hairy, caveman hand over his rude, toothless mouth.

While baby was napping from the exciting morning, I decided to work on Crumb. I got my fluff finally, and was super happy to be able to stuff him.

Speaking of assholes, there is one store in Cary where you can buy fluff.  They are a chain store, starts with a J.  Woman’s it?  What a bunch of self righteous, consistently rude,miserable, and unhelpful as humanly possible people.  Moving on.

Much to my dismay, the wrestling buddy I was looking at on the internet was not the one of Shane’s youth.  The legs too thin, torso too long.  Changes needed to be made, important ones.  Time consuming ones.  The baby sleeps once a day for 2 hours, so fitting all this in would require careful time management, a skill I don’t posses. 

I was doing, okay, until my bobbin ran out and I had to reload and restring to whole machine.  This is the mess that ensued:


Fluff and massive amounts of string. Legs and torsos thrown about my living room, akin to some sort of war scene.

It would have been business as usual if it wasn’t for bobbin issues and stubbornness on my part to look at the sewing machine book. 

If you sew, I’m sure you are beyond smart about things like this and think I’m an idiot. That’s fine by me.  I haven’t rethreaded a bobbin at all in the past 2 years.  I had a baby, and I work full time…I’ve been busy.  Anyway, here was my problem. On the top, things look fine:


Not perfect, but it’ll hold.  On the underside, not so good:


Ah, the rage.  It also tangles like that in the machine too, like in the bobbin housing area, so instead of making a series of tiny cuts like I should have, and carefully removing the string debris, I just yank it all out as hard as I can, then wonder why I smell an oily, metallic smell when I run the machine.

Needless to say, I didn’t finish my project.  In fact, I’m farther behind than I was before.

Oh well.  I’m thinking of going back to the festival thing with a $5 bill I found in the toe of my sock ( straight out of the dryer too, wtf?) and getting some fried pickles to suffocate my anger flames.  Cause they are yummy.


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