I’ve had the following song in my head since yesterday, when the Boy jammed it in there:

We belong together
we’re happy together
and life is a song,
when we are together
we know where we belong.

We belong together
like birds of a feather
together we thrive,
little caring whether
the rest of the world is alive.

All alone I’m only a half,
like a joke without any laughs.

But when we are together
we’re happy together
and life is a song,
When we are together
we know where we belong.

If it sounds familiar, that’s because it’s from “Grey Gardens”, and you have excellent taste. It’s probably about time for me to re-watch both of those films, especially the sequel.

Yesterday I had everything ready to initiate PPR (Pettipants Revolution™). I sat down at the serger, attempted a trial stitch on a scrap of fabric and…and…

…the machine sucked the fabric into its guts, wouldn’t let go, and then had the nerve to un-thread both needles. OH, THE HUMANITY!

The Boy suggested for the 4th or 8th time that I should just take a serger class already, and although I have that sort of annoying, stubborn personality that insists I can do everything on my own I finally realized dammit, he’s right.

Although I’ve always claimed I taught myself how to sew, deep in the recesses of my memory I recall a lesson with an old woman at her home, where she taught me how to make a kicky miniskirt with pleats and a zipper.

Anyway if I’m going to make PPR a career then a class won’t be a waste, right? That serger is evil, besides. Eeeeeeeevil.

Other current projects: I’m initiating a portrait of John Waters, finally. We started deep cleaning/massive re-arranging of the house yesterday, post-donuts.

The Boy discovered this abandoned pup tent on the beach, filled with dirt and water and bacteria.

“Let’s take it!” I said enthusiastically, in the way that I always do when I find random shit out in nature. We didn’t take it.

Switching to the “sunset” setting on my camera, which makes everything a happy warm color and pasty Seattle skin 87% tanner, if you’re into that sort of thing.

I am.

Nice can, old man!

I took probably 50 photos of that deep pool of water. The colors do fun things to my brain.

Stumpy.

Shoo, fly!

There were barely any mosquitoes last weekend, just persistent little flies.

I’d say that, other than the whole getting-shot-at-by-rednecks-thing, September camping RAWKS. And I have 875 photos to prove it! I’m gonna drag this thing out for…days.