Cancer by the Bag

Last weekend I stated that I was going to drink myself in oblivion and I am happy to report that drink I did...and drink and drink. Sunday morning I awoke with makeup down my face and a glorious headache that can only come from a brew of alcohol types complete with memories that appear in a kaleidoscopical form of view. My intentions to work on my collection seemed like a combination of ridiculous and hilarious so I made the executive decision to retrieve my blankie and become one with the couch for the remainder of the afternoon.

After accomplishing a whole lot of nothing, I got up ready to work with guns blazing on Monday morning. I spent the day constructing the base of a dress that would soon be regurgitated on by the bead fairy but came to a hault when I ran out of fabric which could only mean one thing: Joanne's (kill me). Thinking I could quickly grab the necessities (crepe, tulle, jelly beans) and skiddadle, I ran in and was pretty sure I had made it free and clear until I saw Friar Tuck working the register like a $5 hooker on the corner of some seedy downtown block. The stupidity never ceases to amaze me because out of my three item purchase, she managed to only scan two causing me to make seperate transactions and reconfirm why I despise the store.

Given that the Joanne's disaster for the day was minimal, I decided to brave A.C. Moore and get some beads for dress #3. I was looking for a dusty rose kind of glass bead and just my luck, the only bead in that color was a Swarovski crystal that were priced at a whopping $5/15 beads and just incase that wasn't enough, they come equipped with warning on the backside of the package that reads "This product contains a lead known to cause cancer or reproductive harm." I'd like to shake the hands of the fucktards manufacturing these products.

The good news is that this morning, as I was hard at work attaching my cancer-casuing sparkles, I kept losing my needles (4 in all). On the brink of throwing a tantrum the size of all the teased hair in Texas, I picked up my crappy dollar-store scissors and realized those bitches are magnetic and right there like a little pile of bliss were all my needles hanging out together...having a party.