2013: i'm coming for you

Since 2012 has been rather hellish for me, I've decided to kick 2013's ass before it starts.  There are going to be big changes in short periods of time; I may not even be living in the same state by the end of January.  I resolve to do a bunch of stuff, and I have hope that a few of my resolutions will be achieved.

I do know that I can go all out when I put my mind to it.  See for proof all the Christmas presents I've churned out in the past two weeks.  That's right, just two weeks.  And even though it's December 23, I'm going to get a whole quilt top done for Christmas day (granted it won't be quilted or bound yet, but having a quilt top to unwrap is better than nothing).

2013 is going to be my year, and I refuse to acknowledge otherwise.  It can't get worse than 2012, so it's already off to an amazing start.  Just eight more days and about half an hour, and I will be off...

impulse shopping for the poor reader

I currently have 63 items checked out from two different libraries (33 from one, 30 from the other).

I went to the library after work with two items in mind, and after an hour I came out with the above stack (if you're wondering--the two items I actually planned on checking out are at the top).

This is the poor reader equivalent of grocery shopping when you're hungry...and the sample lady is hanging around.

glossy vs. matte

Reason #34 why I'm a little weird:  I like a book more if it has a matte cover rather than a glossy cover (this applies to both hardcover and paperback books).

I read a lot of books from the library, and they're all in their protective plastic covers.  But you can always get a little feel of the actual dustjacket when you open the book, and I tend to lose a little respect for the book if it has a glossy cover.

I have no explainable justification for this prejudice.

Yes, I'm an odd duck.
(I'm also hoping someone randomly searches "glossy vs. matte" and finds this post thinking that it's going to be about lipstick...)

oh the places i've lived...

Here's a chronological list of all the places I've lived from birth until this moment:

• Hemlock, Michigan
• Kalamazoo, Michigan
• Nashville, Tennessee
• Antioch, Tennessee
• Lansing, Michigan
• Bath, Michigan
• Arlington Heights, Illinois
• Pittsford, New York
• Swannanoa, North Carolina
• Black Mountain, North Carolina
• Clifton Park, New York
• North Chili, New York
• La Quinta, California
• Rochester Hills, Michigan

It's so easy to think of memories from some of these places, but there are some others that feel like a mist creeping around my mind.  My goal is to pull out a memory for myself of each place.

Here's one moment I can remember from Antioch, Tennessee:  I was in first grade, and our neighbors took me (along with their kids) to pick strawberries.  They had an old VW Beetle which I thought was the coolest/strangest thing ever, and that is the only time in my life that I've ever ridden in one.

Another one (it's all coming back to me now, my little miss six-year-old self):  I had a pair of black gerbils who I named Becky and Cindy (no explanation whatsoever for the names).  They had this amazing plexiglass habitat that we got at a garage sale that had cool twisty places for the girls to crawl around.  One night we came back from dinner at Shoney's (I don't know why I remember the specific restaurant), and Becky (or Cindy) had chewed a hole in the plexi that was almost big enough for them to escape from.  I don't know if this was the last straw for my mom or what, but we drove them out to a field and my stepdad let them go (i.e. be free little gerbils!).  Now looking back on this with my 34-year-old brain--a bird probably got them if they didn't pass away from exposure.  Not cool.

old blog/new blog

So I had/have a blog on Typepad with the same name.  I don't have very many posts there, but I wanted them to be able to be accessed for the 6 weeks that I'll still have it (i.e. until I stop paying in December):  vegan spinster studio at Typepad.

I'm still trying on this whole blogging thing, so I feel as though my posts there are very stiff and I'm attempting to be more myself here.  Not sure how that's going to be honest...

i just want to talk about the book!

So I experienced my first book group the week before last.  I was so excited to be in the room with 8 other women who had read the same book as me.  Most of the time I don't even know 1 person who has read the same book as me. :)

This month's book for the group was Room by Emma Donoghue, which I'd been wanting to read since it came out but hadn't had the chance.  I was not disappointed as it was an amazing book.  I finished it in one long sitting and was so excited to talk about it.

Not to spoil the book (if you read the book back you'll get an idea of it), but it deals with a disturbing subject in an amazingly joyful way since it's told from a 5-year-old point of view.  But instead of talking about the book, this group of women kept going off on these weird tangents (random assortment including kids not getting picked up from marching band practice, children getting run over in China, and talking to teenage boys about statutory rape laws...) that had nothing to do with the book.

I was trapped on a couch for over 90 minutes, and the book was talked about for probably a grand total of 12 of those minutes!  So frustrating, but I hope that next month's book will be talked about instead of the tangents galore of this one.

hey smokers...

So I have a problem with some of you smokers out there.  I know you have an addiction, and I'll give a minor pass to those of you over forty who smoke because you probably started before you had any idea that it might kill you one day.  But for those of you who are under forty and grew up with surgeon general warnings and ad campaigns:  I think you're fucking idiots if you smoke.  I grew up with smokers; both my dad and stepdad smoked all the time (and cracking a window in a car doesn't do much for the small child sitting next to you by the way).  My father smoked up until the day before he passed away from throat cancer, so I can understand it's hard for you to quit (again I'm only speaking to the over-forty crowd here, for the others see the fucking idiot note above).

But smokers now you're beginning to piss me off.  Do you know what really attracts cigarette smoke?  Paper.  And paper is the basis for books, which are items that I like to borrow from the library.  What's not fun in borrowing certain books is that I get that smell of ash permeating the air when I'm trying to read and a lingering smell on my hands afterwards.  I refuse to purchase used books that are from smokers' homes, but unfortunately that can't happen with library books since usually I'm checking them out because I'm too broke to buy.  Now I've always wondered why some smokers smell like smoke and others don't; I think it must be some sort of body chemistry that I may never understand.  But no matter what smokers' stuff always smells like smoke, and it reeks.

So for those of you who smoke but also have a love of borrowed literature:  please quit smoking around the library books.  Or you know just quit smoking; that works too.

it's only change

Hey there!  I'm attempting an actual goal of posting with this blog (vs. having fewer than 10 posts in a year on a previous blog).  My loves are quilts and books, but I think I'll start with disassembling my name in order to introduce myself better.  So tomorrow's post:  my vegan story...