d'oh!mestic

D’oh!Mestic.com Scribe Resorts to Press Release to Overcome Writer’s Block

Blames Form on Day Job

ALBUQUERQUE, Sept. 3 — D’oh!Mestic.com, the leader in web-based crafting disasters, today announced several updates, starting with the creative resignation of the founder. She cited decline in output to the day-to-day grind of her corporate position as a factor in the extreme lack of output with the website.

“I pledge to step up my efforts in the last month of the third quarter,” the founder said. “However, I make no promises as to a continued, steady output of posting.”

Factors cited for the decline in posting included:

• a lack of inspiration in D’oh!Mestic-brand projects;
• the feeling of creative impotence after viewing other, more put-together craft and design blogs;
• the dog days of August;
• a rise in a Roman Phase;
• Canada and
• sheer laziness.

“I started composing several posts in my head,” the founder went onto explain. “But they covered such insipid ground as ‘Why Flying Star is Okay in My Book,’ — a topic inaccessible to all but the most local of readers, and those three people would disagree, so why bother — ‘So, I Want a Working Typewriter, How ‘Bout You?’, a post which offered no insight into the consumeristic desires for a second hand piece of outdated office machinery, and went against the ethos of D’oh!Mestic entirely; and ‘Boy, I Sure Do Enjoy Summer (Except When I Don’t)’ which was a 300 word exercise in trite metaphors and drippy imagery.

“Other times, I would just sit in front of a blank window and wonder why I even bothered. It’s not like I have anything groundbreaking to say on the topics of crafting and cooking,” the founder continued. “Why, just ten days ago, I was read the riot act by one of my yarn ladies for having the gall to tie knots in my knitting. While I stood there and took the barrage of insults for being a subpar knitter, a disgrace to the needles, all I could think of was how maybe I didn’t need to be promoting the idea of crafting disasters anywhere. Not here at home, nor on the internet.”

Despite the founder’s personal feelings, there have been a few strides forward. The domain name of “dohmestic” has been registered on Etsy.com in hopes of establishing an online mercantile presence as early as the upcoming weekend. There has also been the acquisition of a bed side lamp from Target, which has been described as “super cute” and “homey” by critics.

Plans for the last four weeks of the quarter include a return to the sewing machine, an attempt at an elaborate meal for friends, possible pie baking, the beginning of Christmas knitting and the polishing of the library loft. Updates will be provided on D’ohMestic as they become available.

About D’oh!Mestic
D’oh!Mestic was founded in 2004 as an answer to all those perfect-seeming crafty blogs, where the knitting was knot-free, the food was styled and the houses were interestingly put together. While we acknowledge that those blogs are only presenting a sliver of their creators’ lives to the world, it gave us an inferiority complex. So we started posting our stupid crafts and dumb recipes here, to some acclaim, mostly from our friends Ange and April. We love you guys, we really do.

On nights when the insomnia declares itself monarch, I try to lull myself to sleep with different life scenarios. Sometimes, I imagine what would have happened if I had gone to New England for school (one room apartment, lonely life, dead, bloated face eaten by feline companions). Sometimes, I think about how to renovate the house on the cheap. And sometimes I compose fan fiction that will never, ever, ever be transcribed.

And then Hermione Granger set down her bottle of Diet Mt Dew – Gamer Edition next to Piccard’s bone china vessel of Earl Grey — hot, just the way he liked it — and said, “I never thought I’d meet anyone who’d study half as hard as I did.”

The crafty witch swooned. Here was a much better man than that crusty old Han Solo, the cheating bastard who’d broken her heart. And sold her out.

(Ahem.)

Right now, I’ve been thinking about The Next House.

Not that we’re moving. Or even considering putting the house on the market. But every so often, when I realize that we’re living in a suburban crackerbox, I crave something more.

My current fixation for The Next House is a two story library, or at least, a library large enough to require a ladder on rails to reach some of the higher-shelved volumes and an all-season sun porch, where I could set up my crafting area and spend long afternoons at the sewing machine, while looking out across a broad, green expanse — maybe even see a body of water. I’m sort of obsessed with the idea that people who don’t live in the desert southwest are surrounded by green grass, large rivers, small ponds and lots of lakes, and brother, I want in on that action.

Of course, that would require moving away from Albuquerque, so maybe not so much, but it’s something I think about. Especially on nights like this one.

There were three selling points for this house: the kitchen was marvelous, we could afford the mortgage without any sort of adjustable rate tomfoolery and it had a loft.

The loft has had a couple of identities in the almost seven years we’ve lived here.

First, it was the Capt’n's motorsport loft. Oh, yes. Racing flags tacked to the ceiling, vintage Monaco posters, a few dead traffic cones, and the showstopper: one accent wall painted in black and white checkers. And even though we called it his loft, during the winter we’d both be up there, watching television, reading or just hanging out.

As time marched on, the Capt’n became less obsessed with racing and more intent on building an army of tiny robots. The loft, while staying with the original petrolhead theme, was overrun with Autobots and Decepticons in various states of transformation. Meanwhile, we were both indulging in a passion for books and running out of places to put them.

It all came to a head last autumn, when we decided to shift around the contents of the upstairs and better organize our junk. The robots were shifted into the front spare bedroom, the motorsports paraphernalia was moved into the garage. We painted over the checkers with a cheerful brick red, and lined the walls with bookcases. The loft now serves as our library.

At the time, we didn’t have to purchase any new furniture. We recovered the ratty old sofa I’d brought into the marriage, swapped the plywood-and-tire coffee table for the pedestal table I had refinished ages before, and moved in a nice club chair and mismatched footstool I’d found in a consignment shop and had given to the Capt’n for his birthday.

To quote the Shell Silverstein poem, it was almost perfect, but not quite. The sofa didn’t work with the orientation of the room. It was too bulky for the space, there wasn’t a good way to read in a comfortable position and the new slipcover was a magnet for cat hair. And really, I wanted my own chair and my own ottoman. I mean, who wouldn’t?

A trawl through the consignment shops and Craigslist didn’t turn up any immediate winners. I didn’t find anything I really liked in any of the furniture stores, but I kept my options open. I knew what I wanted in my chair, but I didn’t constrain myself to a specific time frame.

And then, almost six months after the unveiling of the library loft, I found it. The perfect chair. It was at a new consignment shop on Central, just sitting there in a jumble of 1940s mahogany buffets, reproduction Queen Anne sofas and four poster beds. It was a sage green velvet beacon of hope, in chair form. It was also $150 out of my price range.

I didn’t buy it. I thought long and hard and decided, no. It could wait. If it was there when I went back, and if I could knock a hundred dollars off the price, then maybe I’d consider it.

I went back. The seller knocked a hundred bucks off the price. We hauled the old sofa away, and baby, I got a chair. (And what a chair. A quick scour of the Googs tells me that it would have retailed for about three grand. I just about choked when I read that. I walked away spending pennies on the dollar. Viva la second hand.)

The loft’s not quite finished, but it’s getting there. I need to hang a curtain and put up some artwork, but that’s just details. It’s coming together. It’s just about my favorite room in the house.

And now we have a dog.

It was a regular Thursday. I stepped out of the office for a quick moment, and when I came back to my desk, there was a note scribbled on my memo pad: “Call husband, re: dog.”

Well, as of that morning, we didn’t have a dog. So I called the Capt’n just to see what was up, and he let me know under no uncertain terms that he had Found A Dog. There was the formal request as to whether the dog could come home, but seeing as how money had already been exchanged for the pooch, my hands were tied.

Now we have a dog. His name’s Grimlock. We call him Grimmy. He’s a fairly even tempered Chihuahua mix (we think 50% yipper and 25% terrier and 25% hound), though he’s got some issues. He was returned to the pound after his owner claimed he nipped at a toddler (which I can totally see). When we got him home, he wanted to be the big dog of the house and rejected his dog food. During his free well-dog checkup, the vet said that judging from the plaque buildup on his teeth, he was either a year old and had never eaten dog food, or was eight or nine. Seeing as how the City of Albuquerque claims he’s 13 months, I’m betting it was the former.

We’ve made up a backstory for the pup. We think that he was a rebound dog — that a brokenhearted single girl decided that what she really needed was a dog instead of a man, adopted Grimlock, and then, about a year later, got a new boyfriend who gave her the standard “the dog or me” ultimatum. We assume that within a month, the dog’s former owner will go back to the pound, asking for her precious little angel back.

Mwahahaha. Too late, sister. He’s one of ours, now.

Mwahahahaha.

(Ahem.)

Still, as I’ve said, the dog has issues. To combat them, we’ve put him on the Cesar Milan regimen of long walks (while weighted down with 1.5 pounds of deep well sockets and two bucks in quarters in a doggie backpack), discipline and affection. He’s starting to mellow out into a well-behaved pooch and has won my heart by carrying around his blanket (a knitted afghan I made long ago) in his teeth.

Any dog who appreciates a hand knit is going to be my dog.

The cat still hasn’t forgiven us.

In other news, my mother-in-law took second in her category at the Fiber Arts Fiesta this weekend. I am in mega awe. Pam is a fantastically talented artist who has inspired me in so many ways, and I can’t express how proud I am of her accomplishments.

Her quilt, New Mexican Kitchen, will be for sale in local quilt shops soon. You know you want to get down with the applique action.

Finally, a little vacation knitting. I’m working on the Clapotis scarf using Brooks Farms Solo Silk that I acquired at the Fiber Arts Fiesta. I cannot begin to express how much I love this yarn. It’s the first hand-dyed/hand-painted yarn that hasn’t triggered an allergic reaction in my hands. It’s smooth and supple and gorgeous.

I settled on the scarf as my vacation knitting project after sitting under an A/C vent at work one day too many. It’s so obnoxious having to pile on a parka in the middle of summer and I’m hoping the scarf will be a lightweight and lovely alternative. Damn HVAC systems.

I think I will do more sewing with the last week of vacation, but for right now, it’s nice to do some mindless knitting while reading a book.

And that’s about all that’s happening here.

Proof positive that I have a product in a shop. When we dropped by this afternoon to visit the craft fair they were sponsoring, I was told that two sets have already gone out into the world. If you’re coming here because of them, hello and thank you!

Interesting note: Urban spelunking? Awesome. Picnic held on church property? Twitchier than a cat being deviled by cotton fluff.

And yeah, I’m planning on cannibalizing that photo for a quilt sometime down the road. Inspiration everywhere — especially in the broken and neglected.

Other stuff! The first coasters are selling at Hip Stitch. Twenty bucks buys you four coasters and a trivet. By Saturday, I should have a selection of loose coasters for perusal, if you’re not the matchy-matchy type.

The superlative Sarah (the other, better Sarah) shows off her fingerless gloves that I finished back in March, but never got around to photographing (and my apologies to Sarah for ganking her Wardrobe Remix for the shot). I’ve dubbed the pattern Greenstick. Expect to see a pair in the D’oh!mestic store later this year.

And that’s it, which is pretty good for a Thursday night. Look for photos from this weekend’s craft show, and heck, I might even have a Friday Finish/Failure to put up tomorrow.

Starting Friday, I will be the Artist of the Month at Hip Stitch, which is still kind of mind scrambling. Above is a sample of the coasters that will be shown (and kitty). Don’t you want a few? (Not kitty.)

I won’t be offended if you even just pick up a coaster, turn it over a few times and then say, “OooOOOoh, I see what you did there.” I’m just thrilled to have these little babies out in the world.

So that happened.

I’ve had this monster for about a month and I am a bad, bad person for not writing about it sooner, but hell, I had this brand spankin’ new Janome DC 3018 computerized marvel taking up my time and the point of hobbies is to spend time away from the internet, right?

Buying the beast was a one-and-done, and I’m almost (almost) ashamed by the lack of shopping around. But when the saleswoman proceeded to run eight layers of denim through the floor model with nary a snag, I was hooked. She reeled me in when she knocked an additional $150 off the price tag and threw in a spare food, five extra bobbins, two spools of thread and (and!) was nice to me.

Bob’s Sew and Vac has a customer for life.

I did what you’re supposed to do with a brand new machine: test runs, project completions, ritualistic blood sacrifices. It hums along, pleased as punch.

The old Singer has been relegated to a corner of the workroom until we can think of something to do with it. I’m reluctant to sell it. I wouldn’t wish that foul craftsmanship on anyone.

And speaking of foul craftsmanship!

In May, I will be inflicting my shoddy wares on the unsuspecting public!

The wonderful women of Hip Stitch have asked me to be their featured artist for the month of May. They’ll be showing off (and, ahem, selling) some of my handmade items, which will act as the soft launch of the D’oh!Mestic homewears-and-leggings* line.

The above photo is just a taste, just a hint of what I’ve been up to. I can’t wait to show off the project in full, but I want to built a little buzz, whet a few appetites and take some decent pictures in natural light. But believe me when I say that it’s going to be a good five seconds worth of awesome, and you might just want to call dibs now. Local readers are encouraged to line up starting Thursday, April 30. (What, we’re all geeks here. Geeks do line events.) Out-of-towners will either have to book their tickets now or wait until we roll out D’oh!Mestic, The Shopping Experience, sometime in June.

Or, y’know, not.

*I am kidding about the leggings. I am not Lindsay Lohan.

OH MY GOD AMAZING THINGS ARE HAPPENING!

(Sort of.)

(Don’t say that I’m not literal.)

Holy God, I hate my sewing machine. It is a low-rent horror of snagged fabric snarled in triple looped bobbin thread wrapped around a blunt-end needle of despair and I need to upgrade.

There is one minor snag: I have no idea what I should get. Hell, I don’t even know where to start looking, or what price point isn’t laughable for a quilting machine. This could be a problem.

My mother-in-law, who is shepherding me through this novitiate — sews on a Bernina. Several days of trawling sewing forums show that other quilters are fairly evenly split between the Berninas and Janome’s QC line. The crafty blogger in Maine? Bernina with a Janome serger.

And then there are the questions — do I drop less now on a machine that I could possibly hate as much as ol’ Brit, or do I beg, borrow and steal to get a top-of-the-line machine that might get used once or twice a year? Do I buy used? Do I buy new? Do I know what I really want? Or do I go whole hog and buy the Scary Long Neck Industrial Thing on a Wooden Frame and name it Frankenstein?

(Uh, no.)

It kills me that I could walk into any car dealership in the country and know precisely what I want and be able to haggle the sales guy into submission (please see the last two cars purchased), but that I’m lost when it comes to buying this machine, and that I’m likely to stay lost for awhile.

(It also kills me that I was barely two blocks into piecing a 12 block quilt before the meltdown. I mean, it died while piecing. Dude.)

Anyway, if any of you dear readers have any suggestions for a quilting machine for me, please shout them out in the comments, and show your work. I want to know.

And then, once the replacement is in? I’m following Wage’s example and taking a hammer to it. Oh, yeah.