Boy Toy’s Failed Attempt at Design

Well, I am happy to say that another one of my designs have been accepted by a yarn company!

I’ve just mailed off the completed garments from the other yarn company and working on swatches for a few more submission deadlines coming up.

It feels good to have some work to do and get paid for doing it. Like my Theatre teacher often told me- “The only real difference between a professional and an amature is a paycheck”.

The interesting part about all this is trying to get my Boy Toy to  understand the whole process of me being paid to play with yarn.

Boy Toy: So, let me get this straight. You draw some shit on paper, turn it in to some company and they pay you for it?

Liver Chick: Well, that’s part of it.

Boy Toy: So, I could get paid for drawing shit?

Liver Chick: It’s not shit. I draw pretty pictures.

Boy Toy: Okay, so lets say I draw some pretty shit on paper and send it in,….

Liver Chick: Stop calling it shit! Call it ‘stuff’ or something.

Boy Toy: Alright. So I draw some pretty shitty stuff on paper and turn it in. Then they pay me for it?

Liver Chick: Say that five times fast.

Boy Toy: Pretty shitty stuff, pretty shitty stuff, pretty shitty….

Liver Chick: No. You actually have to ‘make’ what you draw and give instructions on how you made it so other people can make it too.

Boy Toy: Well, that’s easy. I’ll just give it to you to make.

Liver Chick: Oh, how nice of you, honey. Make me do all the work while you get all the money? I don’t think so. If I do the work, then I get the money.

Boy Toy: No, that’s not how it works. Remember, we’re married. What’s mine is mine and what’s yours is mine.

Liver Chick: Um, I think that’s my line, honey.

Boy Toy: No, I remember specifically in our vows that you are to honor and obey me and give me all your money.

Liver Chick: Maybe those were the vows you heard when you got drunk and married that hooker in Vegas, but that is not how it goes in this house. If you get a design accepted by a yarn company then you’re gonna have to pick up your knitting loom and knit it yourself.

Boy Toy: But honey, you love me. And you suppose to do nice things for the people you love. So, if I get a design accepted, you’ll do it for me, right?

Liver Chick: Only if you agree to clean the toilets for a month.

Boy Toy: Never mind.

And Other Drugs

So, I just finished watching “Love and Other Drugs”, starring Anne Hathaway and Jake Gyllenhaal. I never got to watch it when it was in theaters, so had to wait for it on Netflix.

It was a wonderful movie full of delicious eye candy of have nude Anne and Jake, (Jake, your ass looks hot in any camera angle, just thought you should know). But The major part of the movie that made me cry like a baby was Anne’s character, Maggie.

I so related to Maggie with her disease. Relationships were not my thing because I just couldn’t see anyone wanting to be with me, knowing that with my disease I would get worse, not better, over time. Relationships are about being able to lean on each other- you know, when one is weak, the other is strong. But who on God’s green earth would knowingly walk into a relationship where most of the burden would be one-sided?

So, I built up my brick wall for my own protection and walked into relationships prepared for the break-up. Guys would say, “Baby, you know I’ll be there for you”. Which is very easy to say when I was going out with them partying and having fun. But when I was laying in the hospital with an IV  in one arm and a blood transfusion in the other, well, those same guys couldn’t find the exit fast enough.

At a certain point I got to where on the first date I would drill the guy with a set of questions that would determine if there would be a second date:

“Have you ever heard of Sickle Cell Disease?”

“If someone you cared about was in the hospital, what would you do?”

“What if the person you married got sick to the point they couldn’t work anymore and you had to take care of them, what would you do?”

“Do you think, if you really loved someone, that you could marry them, knowing they had a life-threatening disease?”

Not exactly the warm and fuzzy conversations most people have on first dates, but I wanted to cut to the chase. I really had no time to play around or try to ease the person into the reality of my life. Needless to say, my approach lead to few date offers. But on the plus side, I faced very few disappointments.

Then my Boy Toy walked into my life. Other the course of the next seven years, AND  against my own will I might add- I fell in love. I fell in love with someone who made me laugh, who was interested in what I had to say, and for a few moments in my life, made me forget that I was sick. So, I did what any sensible girl would do when they find themselves falling in love. I freaked the hell out! We argued. We broke up. We got back together. We broke up. We got back together. Then my Boy Toy moved to another state. We went our separate ways and I tried to get on with my life.

Then on an ordinary day he called me out of the blue and asked if I’d come visit him. I still don’t know for the life of me what made me say yes, but I did and while I was there he proposed to me. I explained to the idiot what he was getting himself into, but then he said the following:

“Many people have given me advice on why I shouldn’t marry you. There is the whole race issue, but it is  mainly because you have a disability. But I decided that I can’t live my life following other people’s  advice. I have to live it following my heart. And my heart tells me that I can’t live without you. So I don’t care if its fifty years or only five years, what ever time God has left for you here on Earth, I want to live it with you.”

Now, would you be so kind as to excuse me while I go get some Kleenex for my face and then go make love to my Boy Toy like there’s no tomorrow!

 

 

By Any Other Name

Hubby: So, you still blogging about your knitting?

Liver Chick: Yup.

Hubby: Is that all you talk about is just you and your knitting?

Liver Chick: Well, no. I do mention a little bit of my personal life too.

Hubby: So you talk about me? You’re not using my real name are you?

Liver Chick: No, I don’t use any real names. My name is Liver Chick and I refer to you as ‘Hubby’.

Hubby: ‘Hubby’. That’s very generic.

Liver Chick: Well, I know that some bloggers use fancier names or nicknames  for their husbands, but I really didn’t know what to call you, so I just went with ‘Hubby’. Is there another name you would like me to use?

Hubby: How about ‘Well-Hung’ or ‘My Pimp Daddy’?

Liver Chick: I am not going to refer to you as ‘Well-Hung’ on my blog.

Hubby: Oh, so you’re saying that I’m not well-hung?

Liver Chick: No! I’m saying that I’m not going to mention that to thousands of complete strangers online. The last thing I need is a whole bunch of women and men emailing me asking how long you are and what price you charge for your services.

Hubby: Well, that would depend on how much they’re willing to pay me for my services.

Liver Chick: I’m not about to pimp out my husband on my knitting blog. It’s not that kind of blog.

Hubby: Yes it is! I’ve read some of your stuff. I know what you knitters talk about. Sitting there discussing long stiff rods.

Liver Chick: They are called knitting needles.

Hubby: Oh, is that the new slag word you use for it now, (making quotation sign with his fingers), ‘Needles’? (Talking in a high-pitch sound to mimic women talking): “I like six inches. It gets the job done.” “Girlfriend, you should try eight inches, there’s nothing like it.” “Honey, once you get your hands on a twelve-inch, you never want to go back.”

Liver Chick: (laughing out loud) Okay, our conversations, to some outsiders, may sound a bit perverted. But that’s beside the point. You have to come up with a better name then ‘Well-Hung’ or I’m just going to keep calling you ‘Hubby’ on my blog.

Hubby: Just call me ‘Whitie’ of ‘Cracker’, then.

Liver Chick: Yes, and get my ass kicked by people thinking I’m a racist. The last thing I need is the freakin’ KKK after me.

Hubby: What’s the KKK going to do, text you images of a burning cross?

Liver Chick: They would probably send me a computer virus that as soon as I opened it would show my blog going up in flames and little men dressed in sheets dancing around it.

Hubby: (laughing)

Liver Chick: Don’t laugh, it’s probably true. So, no. I’m not calling you ‘cracker’ or any other racial name. I’m just going to stick with ‘Hubby’.

Hubby: No, I want something else. Okay, what about Ramon, the Latin lover or Antonio, the pool boy?

Liver Chick: Hummm. Pool Boy sounds good. Or maybe Boy Toy or Trophy Husband.

Hubby: I could be a Boy Toy. After all, you are older then me.

Liver Chick: Please, I’m not that old. I’m barely one year older then you.  

Hubby: Yes, but that still means you’ll turn 40 before I do. Wow, can you believe that? In a few years I’ll still be in my 30’s dating a 40 year old. You’ll be like my cougar wife.

Liver Chick: You know, you’re about one more remark away from being refered to as Asshole on my blog.

Hubby: I’m just messing with you. I love you, my little cougar-in-training.

Liver Chick: Maybe I’ll call you my S.O.B. instead?

Hubby: I think I’d like  Boy Toy instead.

Liver Chick: Okay, then Boy Toy it is.

Boy Toy: Liver Chick and Boy Toy. Sounds like a bad porn movie title.

Liver Chick: Or a very funny blog.