On the importance of enjoying cheap thrills....

Many, too many years ago, when hubster and I were first starting our long crash course in maniacal living journey together, we were what is commonly referred to as 'starving students'. I had quite my sane, stiff office job to go to school full time and (finally) finish the degree I'd been puddling through at a community college whilst working full-time. I took a waitressing job so I could work nights and 'immerse' myself full-time in my courses. Unfortunately, the waitressing job was at a country/western bar. I should have known better by the first day, when we were instructed in how to 'wear' our uniform. An off-shoulder ruffle blouse (how did these people expect us to carry trays of beers around a dance floor with our blouse ruffles off the shoulder I don't know but as you read on, you will see that a pants wearer MUST have dreamed this costume up!) with a super short black mini-skirt (as in, don't bend over and, fps, wear underwear!) and high-heeled, fringed leather cowboy boots - cowboy hats optional but encouraged if you had slick hair and were incapable of wearing the preferred 'big hair' do.

After about a week or two, this and many other aspects of the job started to wear on me. Like, there was the time that a guy who insisted on trying to reach up my too-short skirt while I was filling their table. The first time, I shamed him properly and instructed him never to do it again. The second, I was mean. The third, I put down my empty tray, grabbed him by the collar and brought his head down as if to slam it into the table just until it was almost there and pushed him back up. That was the time that worked.....and permanently earned me the reputation of being the kind of waitress that you look but NEVER touch.....that's me, the cowboy bar whacko!

As you can imagine, this was a very short lived career move. I soon decided that, at least as an office worker - there was some enforced civility involved. I look back on that experience, though, and I think I learned so much more than I was willing to admit at the time....about people, about beer, and about how much and truly and deeply I despise Brooks and Dunn. But, there was one other thing. Our head waitress was this amazonian red head for whom I can recollect no name but I want to say it was something like 'dolly' or 'donnarae' or something. Anyway, one night, maybe the same night as the three times head-smashed-in-the-table guy, I was pretty exasperated about the skirt. I conceded that the shirts were cute, if impractical. I accepted that, though tennis shoes are a far more safe and logical form of footwear for a waitress to don - the fringed boots were essential to the desired 'atmosphere'. But, the skirts, as I complained to 'dolly', were just barbaric. I was going off in the break room about how they must be dry cleaned with pheromones that attract pigs and started to describe some of the horrors of my night. She shifted her gum, smiled, and informed me that my problem was that I'd forgotten the virtues of cheap thrills. She went on to say that I should be glad for that kind of attention, for there might be a day when I was her age that I would find the greatest cheap thrill I'd get out of a day was when one of the kids dripped popsicle down my legs.

Now, I know ya'll can't tell because of the atrocious grammar and flippant style of the blog - but I used to be a writer. This phrase, so beautiful and perfect, just implanted itself in my brain.....I have never forgotten it. And, whenever it re-visits me, I seem to have a different take on it - or a hidden revelation. Who knew? Amongst high powered lawyers at a top law firm, working for the Senate, and generally feeling pretty proud of myself to be so young and so 'successful' and, yet, my pearl of wisdom came from a head waitress in a cowboy pick-up bar!

I've been delving in the 'natural' and not so natural aspects of natural dyeing....been getting ready for our show on the weekend of the equinox, and generally working like a little doggie. But, last weekend, I decided enough was enough - it was time to break out of the subtle plant dye tones and get myself some cheap thrills....and I knew just where to go for that. These are the September installment of the Happy Hooves Batt Club - Treasure Chest. A deep red background with some well blended color surprises. Only, mine is a cheap thrill with a little 'accent of trampness' on account of a mistake. Seriously, it was a mistake. I had my recipe all set and was jumping in to make this month's batts when I read my directions wrong (true genius, eh?) and accidentally put three times the angelina in them. Serioulsy, it was an accident! Why are you looking at me like that?

As with all 'mishaps' in my studio, the batts HAD to be rejected from the pool and go to - ME! (tries to look very disappointed about that) Just wanted to say so because if you're getting ready to spin yours up and you're looking at mine and thinking, 'dang, that's trashy' - rest assured all the others will be more tasteful and subdued. I was going for trashy - cuz, let's face it, I live off the grid and haven't a freezer big enough for popsicles!

This near 700 yds. is begging to be this shawl....Cuz, you now, I think I'm rounding a corner in my life wherein big hair doesn't seem such a silly thing after all! I'm thinking 'curved shawl' from Victorian Lace Today - whatcha think?