D-Squared T-Squared – Week 29 (Catching Up)



Week 29′s D2T2 again found me alone to pursue a creative endeavor. And I chose clothes.


Those who know me are aware of my lack of shopping genes. Pair that with my cheapness frugality, and I end up with a closet filled with the same-old same-old for years on end. But I’m a total girl. So of course I want to occasionally try and look cute. It just doesn’t always work. It’s hard out here for a pimptress, y’all.


Anyhoo, I stumbled upon an amazing blog that about made my heart skip a beat. It’s called WobiSobi and I am super in love with this gal’s creativity. She takes old clothes, thrift store finds and ill-fitting deals and turns them into super-cool, stylin’ duds. And a lot of her creations don’t require any sewing. Wha?


The first project I tried was her brilliant re-style of a man’s shirt into a gal’s summer shirt. I had an island-themed soiree to attend and I absolutely did not want to buy a darned thing to fit the wardrobe request. But I did want to honor the hostess’ theme. Quandary? Yes. Deal breaker? No. I asked Mister for one of his old island-themed shirts (something he was going to donate to charity anyway), and I started following the WobiSobi chick’s tutorial. This one was a sewing machine project. And it turned out pretty well.


Next came a zillion t-shirt projects. Okay – I didn’t tackle a zillion, but I did bang out quite a few. My faves ended up being this year’s Rock Camp Volunteer shirt (tutorial here), shown above. Then I tried a tie-in-front number (tutorial here). I also tackled her one-shoulder number (tutorial here).



I’m pretty enamored with WobiSobi and I look forward to discovering more of her cool ideas. It is incredibly satisfying to fashion an oversized men’s t-shirt into a cute girl shirt. With WobiSobi, I satisfied my closet’s needs and my wallet’s. Kudos to this awesome chick!

Voila Gallery



I found myself in Voila Gallery, marveling at the displays.


The place is nothing but eye candy. And I loved it.


Now that I know about it, I may have to go back.


True Facts



I’m pretty danged slow when it comes to the inter-webs. (When it comes to most things, really, but let’s move on. Shall we?) So when friends hip me to something they discovered ages ago, I feel like the last gal to arrive at the party.


That was my experience while hanging out with my tribe last week. (That’s right – I’ve got a tribe. Deal wid it.) My friends turned me on to a slew of YouTube videos under the heading “True Facts.”


First we watched “True Facts About Sloths.” I laughed ridiculously hard at this one. Next was “True Facts About the Seahorse.” The funny wasn’t stopping. Then we watched “True Facts About Morgan Freeman.” I nearly cried, y’all. I highly recommend (at the very least) these 3 videos. Personally, I plan to spend some time watching the other videos on this dude’s channel. You can’t beat science and giggles. Not with a stick.


Yes, I’m late getting to this party. At least I got in the door.



Monday, Monday



Some Mondays find me happy the weekend is over. Some find me wanting to go back to re-live my weekend. I never know which way I’ll feel until I’m knee-deep into any given Monday.


This fine day is interesting. I’m super-happy to start a new week. I’m happy to have woken at all. I’ve got plenty to do. I also had a fab weekend. I got to visit with friends and family. I got to eat and drink, drink, drink. And then I got to eat some more. Pool time was pretty awesome, too.


Maybe what I’m feeling is The Flow. Maybe I’m experiencing what it means to be present in one’s life. To bloom where I’m planted.


Whatever it is, I’m grateful. And I highly recommend it. Gratitude is none too shabby, y’all.




Sometimes I find myself in a place and I go all Talking Heads. “Well, how did I get here?”


That happened when I walked into a Grass Room in Holly-weird. The floor, the walls, the ceiling, the furniture. All covered in turf.


I’m not gonna lie, y’all. That couch was pretty danged comfortable.

Thank You For Your Support



To all of you who’ve checked in on me and sent your most excellent vibes, thank you for your support.


The A/C guy showed up 2 days ago and so far – touch wood – the unit is keeping us cool. As I said a couple of days back, we can’t hang meat in here or anything. But it is cool enough to not flip our freakin’ lids.


Honestly, I don’t know how folks without conditioned air do it. When it hit near 90 degrees inside, I actually started to cry.


And when that A/C dude got the cold air flowing the other day, I actually cried a bit then, too. He just smiled. Probably not the first time he’s seen that. I certainly hope it’s the last time he sees it from me.

We Were Only Freshmen



A long, long time ago in a high school far, far away, I was a freshman. One day as I stood in the hall with my best friend Lorinda, talking with some teacher whose name and face have passed from memory, we were approached by a senior. Her name was Jill and I thought she was about the most beautiful gal in school. She knelt down by Lorinda’s feet and delicately removed something from Lorinda’s pant leg. Jill then stood up and said, “Excuse me. You have a piece of lint.” Jill held the lint before us and Lorinda took it from her hand. Jill smiled, then turned and walked away, lighting the hall as she took her leave.


I thought of this the other day after seeing a bit of dryer lint on my own shirt. As I removed the clingy substance, I remembered Jill fondly. She was indeed beautiful. She was also friendly and smart. Back then I wondered why she attended Pike County High School. It seemed to me her family were better off than most and I always thought she should have been going to some private school somewhere. (Never mind that I couldn’t have named a single private school in our area.) Jill was impeccably dressed at all times. She dated guys named Caesar, from outside our school district. She attended debutante balls. In short, she was a prototypical young Southern lady. And at that time, she was the only one in all of PiCoHi.


I don’t know why the Jill-Lint moment lodged itself in my brain-hole. Maybe because I admired her. Maybe because she represented everything I wasn’t. Most likely, I’ve retained that memory all these years because it was so danged funny. That’s a good enough reason for me.

Manufactured Cool



I think I’ve mentioned our recent A/C problems in passing. Here’s the back story… On July 4th our air conditioner decided to quit. And so it did. I immediately got on the horn to the home warranty folks and the ball of repair started rolling. Sort of. The mess of melting wax that was our repair process took a week and a half to reach its destination. Its destination was conditioned air, y’all.


So that was a bit of an ugly spell. Mister and I were dealing with going to sleep in 87-degree heat each night, and we are simply not accustomed to that. We had a fan blowing on us, and we slept with wet washcloths on our heads. Don’t knock it! It helped. A lot. We made do.


When the A/C was finally repaired, I was incredibly grateful. I don’t need the house to feel like a meat locker or anything, I just need it to be comfortable. For me, that means setting my thermostat at 80 degrees. That’s high for a lot of folks. But it works for me, so there. And it worked great. Right up until it didn’t.


Exactly one week after being repaired, the A/C started blowing hot air. Apparently, something was amiss.


So as of this writing, I am once again dealing with the bureaucracy of scheduling a repair of the repair. So far, I’m not too keen on the situation. No, I don’t like overwhelming heat. I also don’t care for a business that doesn’t back up its smack. And right now that is exactly how I see the repair guys.


It’s supposed to be over 100 degrees today. Pray for me. Actually, pray for the jokers at the repair joint. I may have to have a conniption fit.

In the Garden



Look at those monkeys. Innocent wind chimes, right?


Wrong! Mister found out the hard way when he was climbing down from the roof and bumped the chimes. All of a sudden, a gi-normous wasp flew out and stung the heck out of him. He hollered for help and we both ran into the house. I grabbed some baking soda and quickly made a paste with water, then I slathered it on Mister’s arm.



After a couple of minutes, we went back outside and I heard Mister doing his best mob impression, “You mess with me, I mess with your entire family!” Then, before I knew it, that guy had blasted bug spray and killed every single wasp in the wind chimes. Bye-bye wasps.


Sometimes nature is less than friendly. That doesn’t mean it’s bad. It’s just nature. Those wasps weren’t doing anything other than what they’re supposed to. They were just being wasps. Right up until they were dead. Wasps messed with Mister. He messed with their entire family. True story.


I. Kid. You. Not.



I was out and about yesterday when a commercial vehicle zoomed past so quickly I was barely able to read the signage on the back of the truck. But read it I did. The language appeared as follows: “Monkey’s and There Business Will Follow.”


I wish this was a joke, but it was right in front of me. It was printed, not hand-drawn. It was probably about 1.5 by 2.5 feet in area, not tiny. It was real, not an illusion.


I began to stammer out-loud, unable to find words. Finally my brain kicked in and cycled through these thoughts… Someone came up with the idea for this sign and said alright! That person then went to a shop and asked for this specific sign to be made. In all likelihood, a sales person took the order and said alright! That person then pushed the order through. In all likelihood, a fabricator received the order to manufacture said sign and said alright! That person then made the sign. I may be missing a set of eyes somewhere along the line. If not, then I’m guessing 3 human beings looked over this order and simply said alright! I mean, I haven’t heard of any heads exploding recently, from grammatical shock or anything. I can only imagine none of the folks involved noticed the plethora of spelling and grammar problems.


I can tell you that after seeing that sign it took me a good 5 minutes or so before my ability to speak returned. My brain was that addled, friends. I’m still stymied. And here’s what I want to know – when did it become acceptable to be so flippin’ stupid? I know a lot of people blame texting, but that can’t be it, can it? Don’t we still have to learn to spell? Don’t we still use words to communicate? Isn’t grammar still taught?


I know I’m no whippersnapper. I say that up front because maybe school isn’t what it used to be. I mean, if I’d turned in any paper whatsoever – even in a math class – with grammar problems like those in the crazy sign I saw, my grades would have suffered. That simply wasn’t allowed. Believe it or not, I was made to learn. (Age has also led me to forget quite a bit, but that’s a post for another day.) There was no free pass on spelling or grammar. That’s just the way it was. And for that I am mighty grateful.


So to the person who wrote the small sign shown in the photo above, I say thank you. Thank you for understanding the difference between its and it’s. Thank you for correct usage. Even if you just got lucky and happened to get it right that one time – thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I’ll take intelligence where I can get it.