cardigans by miss w: too cool for straight cuts and seams.

I never used to wear or own white, because, I don't know if you've met me, but I spill and fall a lot. Also, as a teacher, sometimes I get so irritated by my students that I want to be as FAR AWAY FROM THEM as possible, which means leaning my back against the white board, which means I get whiteboard marker residue all over my clothes.

Then one day I bought a lovely sleeveless top that was on sale! But I can't wear sleeveless tops to work, so since the new-on-sale shirt had some white in it, I bought a full-price white cardigan to match it. I always get suckered into buying full price stuff to match my sale price stuff.

Then since I suddenly had a white cardigan, I found myself wearing it all the time! Like, all these outfits that looked really good with white cardigans. What had I been wearing them with before??? The mind wonders. Anyhow, the weather abruptly turned summerish over here in the north Island, so I can't wear a cardigan anymore because my classroom gets so hot I want to die. But I still have all these neat sleeveless tops that I still can't wear to work without something over top, so I thought to myself, "I should get a white t-shirt cardigan. That should be pretty easy to find, right?"

WRONG. I looked at all the places there are to buy clothes here, and couldn't find anything. (Times like this make me want to be Sabrina the Teenage Witch; remember in the opening credits how she changed and created outfits by magic? JEALOUS.) I was going to drive to Courtney, where there are more stores, until I googled "no sew cardigans" because I vaguely remembered such a thing from a long time ago.

And guys! Did you know that you can take a shirt and just cut it down the middle and have a cardigan? Well, you can. I found this old white long-sleeved t-shirt buried in my drawer, and cut it down the middle, and cut off the sleeves at the elbow, and BAM! Summer cardigan. I was so excited that I tried it on with a million outfits yesterday and now know what I'm going to wear every day this week.

Then, since I find anything new to like without becoming completely obsessed with it, I dug through a bag of clothes I was going to give away and made two more cardigans by cutting up shirts. I think I might take them to someone who has a sewing machine because I was so excited that I didn't really cut straight, but still! I made something really cool!

**ps: I forgot to mention that your shirts must be of fabric that doesn't fray, otherwise the whole thing will dissolve before you have a chance to show it off. All of my shirts were a cotton/spandex blend, which the internet told me will not fray. But it is the internet, so it might be wrong, so do your own research to make sure.

Now Included in the Experience: pictures of my genius
(Keep in mind that I'm terrible at modeling and taking pictures of myself. While you're keeping that in mind, pay attention to my fabulous skirt that you can see a bit of! I love my skirt.)

I didn't take "before" pictures, but I'm sure you can imagine it pieced together. I just cut down the middle, and chopped off the arms.

Instead of a useless shirt, now it is a lovely drapey summer cardigan! Also, look at my pretty skirt.

Close-up of my boob/the cutting to highlight the sub-par chop job. (Which is why when I wear it, it kind of folds over by my armpits.)

my next book will be called "RULES OF PARKING SPOTS FOR JERKS."

There used to be this lady who lived beside me who really shouldn't have been living beside me. She fell all the time - like I'd be walking to my car, and hear this thump and a curse word, and go investigate, and she was on the ground beside her van because she was going to drive her garbage the 10 feet to the dumpster because it was too heavy, but she lost her balance on the sidewalk and fell over. This happened ALL THE TIME. I understand that people like to be independent, but if she almost died every time she took her garbage out, maybe it was time to rethink the living arrangement. Maybe somewhere with a garbage chute, where she could be on the first floor because the elevator in my building is EXTREMELY suspect.

Anyway, so she moved out, and I was glad! Not because I hated her or anything, but for two reasons: one, I like to imagine her moving to a glorious ocean-front condo with a nice, live-in care person and a garbage chute, and two, it meant I could let Charlie play his favourite game where he chases his leash around my beside table for hours and barks at it the whole time. I never let him play it because I worry the barking is annoying to anyone who can't see how completely adorable he is while he's chasing his own leash in circles.

Then last week I noticed a truck in her former parking spot, and I became very jealous and angry. Who is this new person parking in the closest spot? I asked myself furiously. I've been here longer than this new person! I should get the spot. (I think I have a complex about parking spots.)

Then a few days ago I noticed the empty balcony where her cat and flowers used to be had some office chairs and a star. Rats, I thought, new neighbours. Because neighbours are usually crappy and loud, and also it put a kibosh on Charlie's game.

Then for yesterday and the day before and today, I smelled pot every time I left, or arrived at, my apartment. And those same nights when I am trying to sleep I hear a laundry machine going on for ever. So I imagine my new neighbours to be people who don't understand the hierarchy of parking spots, who like to do laundry when they're high. Despite my blase attitude about pot-smokers in a previous post, I am irritated by it now, maybe mostly because of the parking spot.

the worst at meeting new people: episode 503

I think that living on my own has caused me to lose the ability to converse with people. Witty banter and polite small talk have DIED INSIDE ME.

The scene: taking Charlie out for his business. (Also cleaning out my car, finally. I am very proud of that.) Minding my own beeswax as I nonchalantly walk towards the gate for my building.

Some dude: Hey, you can see the cruise ship going by.

Me: (since I don't know this dude, and he's standing on his fourth-floor balcony so he could be talking to ANYONE) Huh?

SD: There's a cruise ship going by. It's beautiful! Can you see it?

Me: (figuring that he is talking to me, straining my neck to see the ship; since I'm on the ground, all I see is buildings) No.

SD: Oh, it's really neat. You can see them go by all summer.

Me: (realizing with a sinking feeling that I've been sucked into conversation with a stranger about something I can't see) Oh, I didn't know they went by here.

SD: (incredulous) The CRUISE ships?

Me: (defensively) I'm new in town. I don't know anything. (FACT: this is a lie. I say that to excuse myself when I don't know about something I'm supposed to know about. It works always.)

SD: I was new two years ago, I see them all the time.

At this point our painful conversation seems to die, so I watch Charlie for a minute and wait for the dude to say something else. There is silence for a moment, so I go inside. BUT THEN, I think I hear him say something! Something that could be, "My name is blah blah, what's yours?" but since I was already on my way inside, I IGNORED him! What is WRONG with me. Couldn't I have let Charlie sniff the grass for a few moments longer just to be SURE he was done talking to me? I am so bad at normal human things.

i wasn't using it anyway

This is Charlie's new thing. "Oh, hey, whatcha doing? Are you eating? Is that for me? Are you looking at something? Is there something else here besides me? Want to hold all my toys? Can I sit in your lap? Here, I'll sit in your lap. I KNOW! I'll sit in your face. You don't need your hands for eating/typing/etc., right? I'll just sit right here, on your hands. No, wait, I'll sit on your face. Is that food for me?"

There is something comforting about having a pet who wants to sit on your face.

run for the trees

Today I was nearly savagely murdered by a hoard of eagles because they wanted my sweet puppy for lunch.

Not really. But what actually happened was kind of creepy.

My attention was first drawn to the fact that large birds of prey enjoy feasting on small dogs in the wonderful romantic comedy, The Proposal. (Which was disappointingly filmed in Boston with a fake mountain backdrop, instead of in Alaska or Canada with a real mountain backdrop.) I didn't think much of it because at the time, the only dog in my life was an eighty-pound labradoodle who was not exactly in danger of being snatched by an eagle.

It didn't come up again until I brought Charlie home for the first time. We took him on walks around our neighbourhood, where there is a lot of forest, and consequently a lot of hawks.

"Keep him on a leash," my mother warned, "lest he be picked up by a hawk." So I did.

Then recently, while Charlie was playing with a small dog in front of my apartment, the owner of that dog commented on how he one time saw an eagle STAB A CAT and then wait for it to die, because the cat was too difficult to abscond with while among the living. I stared at the man in horror, because I dislike hearing stories in which predators are eerily clever. I like it when they are like the bad guys in cartoons: not too bright.

Which brings us back to today. It was a lovely day in Campbell River, so I decided to take Charlie to the beach. We walked merrily along, him playing with seaweed and me trying not to fall over all the rocks. Then I heard an eagle, and I looked around until I saw it sitting in the tree, with three of its pals. "Neat," I said to myself. "I've never seen that many eagles at a time."

Then I noticed another eagle in a tree not too far away, and I swear it was watching us. It watched us until it decided to join its brethren in the tree that was closer to us than its previous tree. "Cool," I said to myself. "It's like an eagle party."

THEN I noticed two eagles sitting on the beach by a stream, and I am 100% POSITIVE they were staring at us. I froze, while Charlie continued to play with his seaweed, oblivious to the giant, creepy birds that were watching him. At this point, I remembered how in The Proposal the bird wasn't scared of Sandra Bullock, and snatched her phone right out of her hands. Maybe, I realized, seven eagles wouldn't be afraid of me.

I was, admittedly, torn for a moment between seeing how close I could get to the two sitting on the ground, and relocating Charlie to the safety of the path, but obviously I ended up choosing the path. We continued our walk, and the two eagles continued to watch us, until I noticed ANOTHER EAGLE in the sky above us!

So we went back to the car and went home, leaving eight eagles to plot for the next time.

all the best dance parties end with jeans in the laundry

It is the end of a long, busy day. A good song shuffles onto my ipod, and weariness causes my legs to move in ways heretofore unknown to me. Step together, step, twirl, jump, step, twirl. Arms merely swaying at first, then up in the air and waving, twisting, swirling. Caution is thrown to the wind as I find myself dancing in my apartment. Charlie is bemused and intrigued, watching me move in a foreign way, and steps towards me with his tail wagging. Bending down, I swirl my arms around him, backing away as he follows me.

Two dancing fools, I scoop him up in my arms and spin around, moving my feet to the beat. Then I feel something warm on my leg.

"Are you peeing on me?" I demand of my dance partner. He struggles out of my arms and runs to the door.

He hadn't wanted to dance with me at all. Turns out he just really had to pee.

and now i have to drink all the rootbeer

Today sucks. If I could, I'd punch today on the nose, but the way things have been going I'd probably break my hand on its stupid face. I won't go into details, but to sum everything up I present to you a picture of what happens to a girl who lives on her own with a bottle of pop that seals itself mysteriously over night.

I didn't even close it that hard, but I tried a million things to get it open and now my hand hurts and I'm even MORE mad than when I started. I was going to use the knife to open it, but figured that if I stabbed with all my anger it would probably slip and cut off my thumb.