Crafts We Love #2

Amigurumi

All the fun of animal ownership and none of the animal cruelty!

Who likes farm animals?? (Raise your hand please- not you Billy Bob). Well what’s more lovable than small, handmade critters creepin out of your pockets? These palm-sized cuties are straight from Japan- a craft form known as Amigurumi. If you know how to crochet, then you’re in luck- some yarn, crochet hooks and a pattern are all you need to get started. Need a pattern? Check out this website: www.roxycraft.com.

Japanese farm animals….hmmmm. Does that mean they come fully vaccinated?

Daddy's Girl

Today's my daddy's b-day and he would have been 62. I know I don't do much serious bloggin' but I seriously miss him. Happy Birthday Der!

Daddy's Girl

I’ve got a thousand pounds of
Pillows, stained from the cries
Of swollen eyes
because you’re gone.
And I think of the flies
that rested on you before they burned you up
I’ve got your ashes on my stereo, I turn the volume up,
Because you taught me that music is life
I thought I’d take a knife
and end it
To be close to you
you’d think I was such a fool if you knew
but I guess that is the way that it goes,
that was the life that you chose
to live short and sweet
Just long enough to be thrown to the concrete.
I still can’t believe they found you facedown
Still, you had on your invisible crown
That I gave you
when I was so small I would crave for you
to wake up after a long night in the band
Sit up and hold my hand
teach me about things most people won’t understand
because you and I were different from the rest of the world,
I’ll always be daddy’s girl.

I’ve got cancer was your answer when I called
And I never knew that it meant you would hit a brick wall
and life as I knew it would fly straight out the windshield
past the dash and the glass onto the field
of asphalt
but its not your fault,
And I cry, not because I don’t think you’re ok now
But the other day I couldn’t explain how
I called your number that no longer exists
But it was still labeled with your name and yes I ball up my fists
In protest, that you won’t pick up the phone
I’ve got a glass full of wine because it drowns out the drone
Of idle talk and complaints about life
its pitfalls and restraints and the strife
And if you were here we’d laugh at the rest of the world
I’ll always be daddy’s girl.

Love,

Mae (AKA Lady Chavez)

Golden Showers by Hillbilly Harlot

Golden Showers has been submitted to us by our dear friend, Hillbilly Harlot, who will be guest blogging once a week to give you the lowdown on everything from Philly to phasion to phlatulence.

Golden Showers

I am not from the East Coast so maybe some people that are can fill me in on something. Where do you pee in the inner city?
Growing up Southwestern, everyone has a toilet for you to use. There are no secret words or passes you need. There's always a Wal-Mart or 7-11 around the corner for you to relieve yourself and nobody looks at you suspiciously when you ask to use the w.c.
In Philly, it's every woman for herself. I've purchased a coffee from Starfucks just to get the code to the bathroom. I've piggybacked on women who have the code to the toilet at Taco Bell. Ducked into bars hoping to go unnoticed as I make a beeline to the back. Why does it take such a monumental effort to find a basic human need? One trip to the public toilet in a center city 'mall' explained it all. The smell of burning plastic mixed with 3 day old piss will fill your lungs when you enter the restroom. Make your way into a stall only to see that 'Oops! Somebody missed!" all over the floor beneath your new Steve Madden, round toe, kitten heel pumps from Ross ($15.99, thank you very much).Try to ignore the moans of homeless love being made in the handicapable stall.Try not to cry while you wipe whatever that shit is off your new non-designer bargain bin shoes. Yes, I understand the restroom is a great place to cook up and take a duke on the floor, but if the crackheads are using the public restrooms...what's the non crack head to do?
When I feel that little tingle, fear immediately runs through my bloodstream and anxiety fills my head with thoughts of "where to go?" Not too long ago, this happened while I waited on the bus to take me home at 2:30 am, I patiently waited and cried when the bus hits huge potholes. Finally at my stop, I could barely walk. If finding a public restroom at 1:00 pm is tough, try 3:00 am. Impossible. So, like the lady I am, I popped squat behind the bus stop. Not my finest moment considering my lack of penis gives me no control to where my recycled beer dribbles. But I am sure I'm not the first person to piss there and certainly won't be the last.
Any suggestions on this predicament? Adult diapers? Anyone?

Homo Thugs?!?!?!

Ok, so I have a confession to make. I went to the gay bar a couple weekends ago and I found out that I am not ok with homo thugs. My friend Molly and I are total fruit flies (formally known as fag hags). We're dancin it up in our newly acquired thrift store pumps. To our left we see some thin, hipster boys making out. We agree they are so cute. Then to our right, we see totally thugged out dudes grindin' and sweatin' with their do-rags on! What the fu? Now, we know we should not be hatin' and I felt like my dad when I was like, "Now, that just ain't natural." But listen, it looked like if 50 Cent was dancin' with his drank and T.I. was backin' his ass up into him. See what I'm sayin? I can't wrap my mind around it. I'm so ashamed of myself!

KIT,

Lady Chavez



homo thug, the: urban male who has sex with other men; does not see himself as effeminate, passive or powerless; does not refer to himself as 'gay'; synonymous with > banjee (n.), hip-hop head (n.); to be on the Down Low, to be on the DL;

Down Low, the: (n.) a region vastly populated by many popular hip hop recording artists, closeted but conspirational; giving each other head on the DL; (Leland Gale, SBC Magazine)

Poems Your Mother Warned You About

My Sunday Best

I knew he had never been to church,
maybe part of his appeal.
He had rebelled against something else.
I wanted to find out what drew
the corners of his mouth into a smirk
like mine.
He wanted to be saved.

In my best Sunday dress, I lay
on the floor in front of him,
legs spread like a hymnal.
He sat disappointed like
his only chance at redemption
had spread wings and flew out
of my vagina and out the door.

He slumped to the carpet in
defeat until he was tasting
the wine soaked wafer that
had rested on my tongue.
“God is an illusion” he heard
and he sank, reassured into
my Sunday best.

Lady Chavez

Ok - so I can't claim complete originality for my alias.

Not only did Anna think of of it, there's a burlesque troop in Canada called Fluffgirl Burlesque. This was discovered after I had taken the name, but we just love these ladies and think you should, too! For those of you who don't know about this lost female art, check the link below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iqX91t4MX7s

Favorite Craft of the Week

Every week we will showcase a craft we think is hot to death. That would be the perfect way to describe Fluffgirl's "Dia De Los Muertos" sculptures. There isn't necessarily a tutorial for this, just sculpt, paint and display!