Thursday, May 31, 2012

Dear random guys from my past

As an intro to the facebook link for my last blog post, I wrote the following:

Dear guy who broke up with me because you wanted a career in politics and you didn't think I would ever behave appropriately,

You were right.

Sincerely, Pam

P.S. Here is a blog about laser hair removal of my pubes.

Yes, that really happened.  I don't remember the guy's name.  We probably went on five dates, so maybe "broke up" is too strong a term.  We were never really together.  Just, you know, trying each other out.  I internet dated before internet dating was really a thing.  Unlike most people, I liked dating.  It was fun, getting to know someone, seeing whether there could be anything there.  Butterflies and possibilities and first kisses.  I like being in love more, but early dating... I was good with it.  I always thought it was kind of fun.  So I dated a lot.  Here are some short, snarky letters to some of those men.  I will not be writing letters to anyone I seriously dated.  If I ever said "I love you" to you and you're reading this, don't look for your letter.  It's not here.  If you want a letter from me, just ask.  It will be longer than these and more private.  If I ever said "I love you" to someone, I still love them, and I wouldn't exploit that for a jokey blog entry.  But the rest of these guys?  Yeah, I'll totally exploit those stories, because come on... dating is hilarious.

Dear guy who stopped seeing me because he said I was the Alan Alda character in a Woody Allen movie (i.e., cluelessly happy),

I was so offended when you said that, but now I see it as a compliment.

Dear guy who tried to buy my affection with expensive dates and kept sending expensive gifts even after we stopped seeing each other,

Thank you for introducing me to oysters and caviar and the films of David Cronenberg.  You were smart and funny and interesting, and the worst thing about you was the insecurity that made you throw money around.  I hope you found someone who loved you for you, not for your money.

Also, dude, it's kind of effed up to send a girl a massage gift certificate and then use it yourself when she won't agree to go out with you again, so that when she goes to get a massage so that it won't be wasted, she has to pay for it herself.

Dear guy who had some kind of colon disease,

You were obviously insecure about it, but it really didn't bother me at all.  But when you're at a girl's apartment and that stuff happens, you should really clean up after yourself.  Just sayin'.

Dear guy who told me he loved me on the second date,

Too soon, man.  Too soon.  Kinda creepy.

Dear guy with the intimate piercing,

You seemed to think I would find it hot, but I did NOT know what to do with that thing.

Dear guy who told me he wasn't into me for long-term but he was attracted to me and wanted to fool around,

I totally felt the same way about you, but you putting it out there like that just made it seem too slutty.  I appreciated your honesty, but really, you probably should have just kept your mouth shut.

Dear the dozens of guys with whom I went on one date and to whom I said "I just don't feel that spark,"

Sorry, man.  I just wasn't into you.  Like, at all.  I was counting the moments until I could gracefully end our date.  Nothing personal.

Dear chess master guy with the British accent who played the guitar,

I tried to make it work with you.  I really did.  The guitar, the accent, the wine snobbery, the fact that you could play three chess games simultaneously in your head with the passengers in your car while you were driving.  HOT!  I liked you a lot and enjoyed your company.  I never told you why, but the reason we didn't work out is that you reminded me too much of my dad.  Mannerisms, movement, smile... I tried to get past it because you had so much hotness potential, but I just couldn't.  It creeped me out.  Sorry.

Dear granola yoga guy who drove three hours to have fair trade coffee with me at a locally-owned coffee shop because even though we lived far apart, we clicked so well online,

You were so right on paper, but you were just too friggin' earnest for me. Too much Berkeley, not enough New York.  I cared about all of the same things that you did, but you still made me roll my eyes.  Sorry about all of the gas you wasted driving to that date.

So there you have it, an abbreviated version of my casual dating history.  Looking at this, I can't quite remember why I thought casual dating was fun.  But it was.  Please feel free to play along in the comments!  I would love to see some of your letters to those from your past whose names and faces are but a dim and humorous memory.

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Brazil, as in... later today my hoo-hah is going to Brazil

Ahh, gentle readers, we've been through a lot together.  You were there when I dd sunless tanning and my body tanned but my stretch marks didn't.  You've heard about my thong undies, and listened when I told you about extracting sand from the crotch of my underpants.  We're close, you and me.  So I feel that I need to share with you that this afternoon I am going to get my first laser hair removal treatment.

TMI?  Yes, yes, I know.  But this is a big deal for me.  I have wanted it forever, and now, thanks to the magic of groupon, I can afford to be relatively hairless down under.  I don't want to get into the gender politics of hair removal.  If my urge to depilate offends you, I'll say this.  I get it.  I understand the politics of keeping body hair.  I think that body hair is beautiful and sexy and I think that a lack of body hair is also beautiful and sexy.  If my husband wanted to wax his balls for me, I'd be fine with it. I'm also fine if he doesn't.  Thankfully, he feels the same way about my junk.  Good thing, because mostly, it's been kind of jungle-riffic down there lately.

I do shave from time to time.  For bathing suit season, the minimum needed to get by.  (Or sometimes slightly less maintenance than the minimum.)  For special evenings, more.  Lots more.  I'll miss some things about shaving.  The ritual of body hair removal has always given me a pleasurable sense of anticipation.  Two days later though... not so much.  I will not miss two days later.  I do not re-grow hair elegantly.  It's a hot effing mess.  Only not hot.  At all.

I tried waxing once, wondering if that would go better.  AAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHH!  Um no.  They say it gets better after the first time.  I will never know.  Wax my legs, wax my pits, all good.  No prob.  Minimal discomfort.  But I will never let hot wax near "the treasure" again.  Oh hell no.

But here's the thing.  I like to have less hair... down there.  For... stuff... you know... I prefer... whatever.  We can talk about my hoo-hah, but even I have a TMI limit.  I just like it that way.  Not for him.  For me.  Enough said about that.  So groupon, thank you for giving me the opportunity to make that "situation" permanent.

There's some confusion about the Brazilian.  I used to think it meant no hair at all.  It doesn't.  Or at least, most people agree it doesn't.  Wikipedia suggests that the Brazilian and the Sphinx are the same.  Most waxing professionals and laser hair professionals would say they are different.  Brazilian means everything gone "under the hood" as it were, but you can leave as much or as little as you want in the front.  The sphinx is naked-naked.  Like prepare to be vajazzled naked.  I'm doing Brazilian, but am leaving hair in the front, because naked-naked... not for me.  And vajazzling just doesn't seem like it would be comfortable for anyone involved. That's one thing hoo-hahs and vampires have in common:  They should not sparkle.  I will leave it as an exercise for the reader to list other similarities.  There are more than you think.  (Feel free to brainstorm answers in the comments.)

But here is why I was motivated to write this blog.  I'm leaving some hair.  But how much hair do you leave?  Holy crap, you guys, it's so much pressure!  Whatever I shave, that's what they will laser and that is what will be there (and what will be gone) FOREVER!  That's crazy.  Imagine if it were 20 years ago and I got a landing strip.  I would be so bummed now because that shit is dated.  The fact that there are trends and fads in pubes is, yes, disturbing.  I acknowledge that.  But still, there are.  Crack a playboy.  Watch some porn.  You can pretty easily name the decade.  I'm just saying.  I want my hoo-hah to be able to move with the times, baby.  So how much hair do I leave?  What shape?  These are the important questions to tackle.

It's kind of dumb to get a Brazilian and leave a full bush in the front.  Or is it?  Triangle?  Topknot?  I will admit to spending some time on the Pubicstyle blog to help me with this decision.  Hey, DO NOT CLICK THAT LINK!  Don't click it if your kids are in the room.  Don't click it if you're at work.  Don't click it if you think your spouse is checking your cache for evidence of a porn addiction (or at least use Chrome's incognito mode).  Don't click it if you don't want to look at very, very close-up photos of many, many labia.  You have been warned.  But yeah, I looked.  What's right for me?  The chartreuse dye job?  Probably not.  A permanent heart shape?  Nah.  But lots of choices.

Too many choices.  Too much pressure.  You shave kind of crooked, or take too much off or not enough?  It's shaving.  Who cares.  But this is permanent.  What if I shave too much by accident?  Like I even it up so I'm not crooked, but then I'm crooked the other way, and I keep taking a little more off and a little more off and I wind up bald?  I'm kinda OCD.  That could totally happen.

Update:  I had to shave last night.  They said overnight was the best, not just before the appointment.  So it's done.  I left some.  I didn't accidentally shave it all off in an obsessive quest for symmetry.  In the end, it's not like I'm an aspiring porn star.  I'm going to see it, and my husband is going to see it.  I showed him the shape I went with.  He seemed totally, totally good with my choice.

So later today I'm going to Brazil!  Well, my hoo-hah is.  Wish us luck!

Monday, May 21, 2012

Box Wine Taste-Off: The Results!

Twelve pretty red wines, all in a row

As many of your know, this past weekend I hosted a box wine taste-off.  15 box wines, eighteen tasters.  Four to six of those people really know wine.  When I planned this, I imagined a funny write-up, kind of like the Rants from Mommyland version, but when I looked at the tasting notes the next day, I realized that we have some good and valuable information here! 

Tasting notes?  Yes.  That happened.  Here was the suggested rating scale I developed:

1 – I’d rather drink mouthwash. 
2 – I guess it’s better than licking hand sanitizer. Well, better than scented hand sanitizer, anyway.
3 – I’d cook with it, but not for anyone I actually like.
4 – Hmmm, not for my first glass of the night.  Maybe glass 4 or 5.
5 – Yeah, I’d drink this for free.
6 – I totally don’t hate it!
7 – Quaffable.
8 – This could be my new go-to.
9 – I would defend this wine without even a teeny bit of shame.
10 – I would proudly bring a box of this wine to a dinner party.

I also asked people to rate their level of wine snobbery on a 0-10 scale, and left a field for notes and comments on each wine.  Sure, the writing gets illegible by the end of the evening, and the notes on the first 5 or 6 wines are more detailed and sophisticated than on the last few.  But major kudos to the few of you who tasted all or almost all of the wines and had detailed notes on all of them.  You rock.

Sadly, though I rated myself a 7.5-level wine snob, I did not have sophisticated tasting notes on most of the wines.  This is perhaps explained by the fact that I started “tasting” an hour or two before the rest of the guests arrived to quell my omnipresent social anxiety.  Seriously, what kind of socially anxious person loves to throw parties?  I don’t know, but that’s me.  I panic and worry, but once the party is going, I always have so much fun that I forget about the anxiety when I get excited about the next party.  So yeah, I was already significantly softened up by the time people arrived, and then I did far more cooking than eating.  So… yeah.  I did taste all of the wines.  But my notes include some of the following gems later in the evening:  “I forget,” “Yummy,” and “Yeah, OK Eve, you win.”  (Eve is my very close friend, and she and I have different go-to box wines, but I now acknowledge, after side-by-side tasting, that her favorite is better than mine.  Eve, you win.)

In all seriousness, this was one of the more fabulous parties I’ve thrown in my day.  It was the perfect mix of theme/activity and boozy silliness.  The tasting task lent structure and provided stuff to talk about, even among people who didn’t know each other and who have almost nothing in common.  There was even a crafty component.  People made their own wine charms with paper clips and pipe cleaners.  Here are the ones I was still able to find the next morning (sadly, the fantastically jaunty moustache had already been disassembled, but happily, the pipe cleaner… um… “junk” was still available for photographing.)

OK, on to the results!  There are a lot of wines here.  If you know what you like (jammy, earthy, etc.) and are looking for recommendations based on your palette, I’m giving you all of the information to make an informed box wine choice.  But if you just want to know which wines are yummiest, you can skip to the summary at the end.  It was supposed to be a bar chart, but with 15 wines, the bar chart looked too messy.  For some things, words are better.

Before I go wine-by-wine, I need to define my terms. (This blog entry really needs a Methods section. And maybe an Appendix.) Guests were divided into “wine snobs” and “non-snobs” according to their response to the wine snobbery question.  People who rated themselves as 7 or higher were considered snobs.  The sophisticated science behind that distinction was that I asked myself, “Who are the wine snobs?” and then looked, and all of them rated themselves as 7 or higher.  Everyone else was 5 or below.  One person answered the snobbery question as follows: “Is a zero when you drink warm boxed chardonnay with ice cubes at 3PM at a kids’ playdate?  If so, I think I am a zero.”  She’s not a zero, but it’s fair to say she’s not a snob either.  Of note, snobs tasted 13 of the 15 wines on average.  Non-snobs tasted an average of 8 wines.  Three of the four snobs slept at my house after the party, and the fourth had a designated driver.  Also, obviously "snob" is relative.  We're drinking box wine and loving it.  The main difference is that we're swirling and sniffing it first and then naming fruits and random household objects after we taste it.

OK, now results for real.

Big House White (blend): average rating 5.1
Big House White is a fruit-forward blend.  It was rated almost a full point higher by non-snobs than by snobs, indicating that it might be a good introduction to wine for people who don’t like wine that much.  You know, in a Pinot Grigio-y kind of way.  Notes include:
“Pretty good for a white.”
“Eh. Not memorable.  At all.”
“Fruit forward. Pear. Awkward sharp twinge on palate.”
“Fruity, tropical”
“Clear, crisp, largely forgettable”
“Light acid, smooth, pear”

Big House “Unchained” Chardonnay (unoaked): average rating 5.8
Unchained is my go-to white.  I love it.  It’s great to cook with and great to drink on a summer day, or with seafood.  I don’t like traditional oaky chardonnays, but this unoaked one is tasty and easy to drink.  Snobs liked it better than non-snobs.   Here’s the buzz:
“Light, refreshing”
“No oak. Mild tartness. Medium body. Doesn't taste like Chardonnay.”
“Not oaky enough”
“Easy, clean”
“Sweet, wet, smooth, a little bitter acid.  Eat cheese!” [Wet? –p]
“Nutty, slightly metallic”

Black Box Riesling: average rating 5.3
Not everyone tasted this one, and I blame myself.  I think of Riesling as sweet enough for dessert, so I put it in the wrong place in the tasting order, at the end.  People were deep into the cabernets by then, and I think the subtlety was lost.  Totally my fault.  Bad wine snob.  No cookie.  I should have made samosas.  It would have gone awesome with those.  Notes at that point in the night were scarce and barely legible.  Suffice it to say that it was too sweet for most of my tasters, but at a 5, they would still drink it for free.  Because they are all boozy freaks like me.

Bota Box Malbec: average rating 6.1
I had written this wine off, but it was better than I remembered.  Or maybe I was just drunk.  But it got two “yums” from my highly sophisticated tasting panel, so I think it really is pretty good.
“Yum. Full body.  Good.”
“Nice. Sweet.”
“Dried fruit (dark) plum, black cherry. Subtle leather, smoke.”
“Simple dark fruit, light mouthfeel, mild finish with a little alcohol taste”
“Gets better as you drink more.” [Words to live by. –p]
“Yum. I would totally buy this.”
“Red fruit nose. Bold.  Cherry.”

Black Box Malbec: average rating 6.4
Wine snobs loved this one, giving it an average rating of 7.6.  It wasn’t the favorite of the group, but it was the favorite wine among snobs (tied with the Black Box Shiraz). 
“A little dusty/smoky, a little watery”
“Smooth, almost buttery”
“Dark purple.  Drier, heavier body”
“Leather and plum on nose.  Taste of dark cherry quickly fade to intense tart finish”
“Super easy drinking.  Earthy.”
“More woodsy, dry, plum, bigger body”
“Plum, black pepper”

Fish Eye Merlot: average rating 5.7
One of the lowest-rated reds, I think my brother summed this one up with the following phrase: “Forgettable chugging wine.”  A friend also gets bonus points for describing the nose as “diesel and leather and plum and balls.” 
“Fairly inoffensive”
“Easy drinking. No finish. Forgettable chugging wine. Red fruit.”
“Coffee smooth mocha chocolate”
“Nose: diesel and leather and plum and balls. Taste: Smoke, tart raspberry.”
“OK. A little bit sharp for me.”
“Plum nose. Raspberry.  Light bodied.”
“Cherry cola”

Bota Box Merlot: average rating 6.2
For some reason, two of my snobs didn’t taste this one, so the tasting notes are a bit more philosophical rather than descriptive.  Mixed reviews, but one taster, a snob, would “drink the shit out of this.”  OK, I admit, that was me.  No notes about the nose or fruit.  Some snob I am.  But apparently I would drink the shit out of it.
“Something is at the end.  Mild for a merlot.”
“I would drink the shit out of this.”
“Stiff.  A bit rigid.  A question.”
“Don't think I like it.  Or was it my douchey kid's meltdown?”
“Stewed fruit”

Bota Box Zinfandel: average rating 5.9
This divisive wine was beloved by some, and disliked by others.  (Bimodal, for the three statistics geeks reading this, but I just calculated a mean anyway because I’m a rebel like that.)  The person who said “good” below gave it a 4, so the average rating may be artificially lower than it should be.  Hey, we’re not sommeliers here.  We may be snobs, but we were pretty drunk snobs by this point in the evening. 
“Sharp, a little effervescent, lots of berries, tart/sour”
“More character and finish.  Ripened red fruit.”
“Very palatable”
“Good, chocolate, mild for a zin”
“Dried cherry, pepper”

Fish Eye Shiraz: average rating 6.5
This was the best-liked of the Fish Eye boxes, which makes sense, because it’s Shiraz and Fish eye is Australian.  FYI, for locals, Fish Eye wines are on sale for about $13/box at Kings Contrivance Liquor and Smoke Shop in Columbia, MD (the liquor store near Harris Teeter, where I grocery shop, so it gets all of my business out of pure convenience).  On sale through the end of the month… Just over $3/bottle.  Get it while it’s cheap!
“Medium tartness. Earthy.”
“Appealing nose.  Ephemeral.”
“Pretty good. I'd say ‘quaffable.’”
“I'm already a little loaded.” [A little? –p]
“Smooth.  Medium-heavy body. Dry to tart.  Taste some earth.”
“Jammy, herbs”

Black Box Shiraz: average rating 6.5
Beloved by snobs in particular, this wine was rated a point and a half higher by snobs than non-snobs, and was tied with the Black Box Malbec as the favorite wine of snobs.  If you know and like wine and appreciate plenty of jammy fruit, this would be a good one to try.
“Fruity, good, drinkable”
“Funky nose. Much more fruit on the palate.  Balanced. Surprised.”
“Slight interesting ending”
“Why did I think this tasted like warm spit? It's good.” [Better than warm spit.  Now there’s a ringing endorsement. –p]
“More fruit on nose. Smoother/less dry. Round on the mouth.”

Target Wine Cube Cab, a.k.a. the red “T-box”: average rating 5.5
The reason to buy this wine is that it is from Target, and Target is convenient and awesome.  If you like wine, though, not so much.  This was our lowest-rated red wine and was recognized by snobs and non-snobs alike as not having much cabernet character.  As one pleasingly descriptive taster suggested, it lacked body and balls.
“Mild for a cab”
“Intense nose, little flavor”
 “Doesn't taste like a cab. Fruit, but lacks body and balls.”
“Reserved small cab”
“Do I just like it because it's from Target?  Good.  Not complex at all.”
“Drinkable.  Not like a cab.”
“Herbs, dark cherry”

Fish Eye Cab: average rating 5.9
Again, another cab that wasn’t cabby enough for my discerning tasting panel.  At $13 a box (on sale, see Fish Eye Shiraz), it might still be worth a go, but only if you don’t like Shiraz.
“Full body, drinkable, goes well with food”
“Not full enough. Sour tartness.  Not dry enough.”
“Subdued low notes, shy, sneaky, if you drink it long enough it gets bright”
“They call this a cab?  Why are all my comments rhetorical questions?”
“Not dry”
“Licorice, plum”

Bota Box Cab: average rating 7.2
Now we’re talking.  One of the three top-rated wines of the night.  Scored 7 or higher on average among snobs and non-snobs alike.  All agree, eminently quaffable!
“Bland but drinkable”
“Floral fruitiness.  Not bad.”
“Subdued but delicious”
“Quaffing away”
“Cola, spice, dark cherry”

Big House “Usual Suspect” Cab: average rating 7.3
This has been my go-to red this year.  It never disappoints, and it didn’t disappoint my expert(ish) panel either.  I drink a glass or two(ish) of this wine almost every night, and somehow I never noticed that it smells like vegetables.  Some snob I am.  OK, I just went and got a glass even though it is only 1:30pm.  Yeah, they’re right.  Definite green herb smell.  I might need to turn in my wine snob membership card. 
“Chocolate, very good”
“Green vegetable nose.  Not big enough.”
“Nice bouquet, spicy”
“Smells like celery”
“Herbs and cherry”

Black Box Cab: average rating 7.2
This wine has been my friend Eve’s go-to.  The Big House Cab was mine.  After tasting them side-by-side, she wins.  This was my favorite of the night.  Of note, this is the wine that won the Rants from Mommyland taste test linked above. 
“Perfect.  Tobacco.”
“More tannin than others.  Subtly tart.”
“Blah. Not bad, just nondescript.”
“Winner! Far superior!”
“Graphite, herbs, plum”

Now for the grand conclusion!  Box red wines were more beloved than box white wines.  If you want a box white, get the Big House “Unchained” Chardonnay.  It’s unoaked, so don’t expect it to taste like traditional chardonnay.  If you don’t really like wine, get the Big House White instead.  But if you don’t like wine, why are you still reading?  If you would consider yourself a wine snob, Black Box Malbec and Black Box Shiraz are likely to please you.  If you want the cheapest box of wine that is still good, Fish Eye Shiraz is on super-sale through the end of May in Columbia (see above), and the regular price is still lower than Black Box and others.  Cabernet Sauvignon in a box seems to be the easiest to do well or maybe my people just like Cabs.  Bota Box, Black Box, and Big House all made delicious crowd-pleasing cabs that won the night. 

And now for the other conclusion, the sneaky secret conclusion.  If you throw a box wine party and ask people to bring a box of wine, you will spend a lot of money on food, but guess what?  People leave the wine with you.  Total score.  You get to have more fun with your friends than should be allowed, and after the party, you have more wine in the house than when you started.  How effing cool is that?

*Edited to add that all wines are 2010 wines with the following exceptions:  Black Box Shiraz 2009, Bota Box Malbec 2011, Fish Eye Merlot 2011, and Bota Box Cab 2011.  Yes, it matters.  My go-to changes every year.  So perhaps this is the start of the Annual Box Wine Taste-Off!

Friday, May 4, 2012

The goddess of inebriated crafting

Bow down to me, for I am the goddess of inebriated crafting.  Sure, I guess you have to have a pretty deep pantheon to have a goddess devoted to this.  But indeed, if I may pray to the parking gods (multiple gods devoted solely to finding me a parking space), is it so unlikely that there might be a goddess to call on when you find yourself inspired (by soul or by necessity) to create things when you (accidentally or on purpose) find yourself a little too deep into the box wine?  I say nay.  I say there is such a goddess, and she is me.  Um, I, she is I.  I can also be a goddess of dumb grammar that sounds wrong but is actually right.  I think there are a lot of us.  We’re kind of like harpies, only with red pens where our claws should be.

But I digress.

Back to inebriated crafting.  My creation myth involves Burning Man and a tiger print faux fur slipcover for a friend’s bicycle seat.  It involves sewing and altering clothing for friends during the heat of the day on the playa.  It involves a hat that incorporates a disco ball.  The disco ball turns using a small battery-operated mechanism and three battery-operated LEDs shine up on the spinning ball to create a disco effect.  On a hat.  The goddess of inebriated crafting was clearly born at Burning Man. 

Yesterday, I was called upon to modify a cummerbund.  My kiddos’ preschool Ballet/Tap class photo shoot is today.  I will once again be putting makeup on my child, and this year I will also be slicking back my son’s dreamy Beatles-esque mop of hair with gel à la Blaine on Glee.  Maybe I should draw on some sideburns, like I did when he dressed as tiny Elvis for Halloween when he was a year old.  Because what’s cuter than sideburns on a child?  They are dancing a tap routine to music from Happy Feet, and are dressing in tuxedo-inspired costumes to simulate tuxedoed penguins.  My son has an actual tuxedo.  With tails.  Kill me, he is so cute.  But the tux came with a classic black tie and cummerbund.  The teacher ordered a red one to swap in so he would match the girls better, whose costumes are tuxedo-inspired with red accents and adorable jaunty miniature top hats.  It’s like the teeny tiny prom, only he has nine dates instead of one.

Aaaanyway, wow, I’m so not the goddess of inebriated concise writing, am I?  That will have to be someone else.  Sorry.

As I was saying, anyway, the new red bow tie and cummerbund arrived one day before the photo shoot.  And they fit me.  I’m all for body love, but y’all have seen me.  You’ve seen, like, almost all of me.  A cummerbund for my four-year-old, skinny string bean son should not fit around my waist.  But it did.  It was not only too long, but also too wide.  It could cover his whole torso like a misguided satin tube top.  I could see the teacher panicking as she tried to fold it into something that could work, you know, with duct tape and safety pins, and maybe some WD-40 and a bamboo skewer. 

I stepped in.  “I can fix it.”  Palpable relief.  “Really,” she asked.  “Yes.  I can sew.  I can fix it.”  “You shouldn’t have told me that.  We’re going to call you all the time.”  It’s OK, Miss Dana.  I adore you and the way you teach my kids.  I adore the fact that you teach them the correct names for dance terms and expect perfection while also making sure they enjoy every moment of class.  You are a paragon of dance teachers.  You can ask me for anything you want.

Love fest.

Except I had a glass of wine with dinner.  And it was so good that I had a second.  And then after dinner, you know… whatever, shut up, don’t judge me.  But then I remembered I had to modify a cummerbund.  Oops.

So here is the status update I should have written instead of writing this blog entry:  I successfully modified a 5-pleat adult-sized cummerbund into a 3-pleat child-sized cummerbund in 10 minutes.  Perfectly.  Drunk.

Wow, that’s a tweet.  That’s less than 140 characters.  Why did I think this was a blog entry?  In my head, I heard the phrase “goddess of inebriated crafting,” and pretty much the rest is history.  So yeah, I had one day to do this.  I accidentally got tipsy.  And I seriously rocked this cummerbund alteration.  The end.

So bow down.  Leave high temperature glue sticks and spare Singer bobbins on my altar.  Adorn yourselves in hot pink faux fur, beaded fringe, and jewelry made of pipe cleaners and cowrie shells on November 21st, my birthday.  And if you ever need a dance costume on short notice and accidentally get drunk, you know who to call.