An obsession, a rant and a coined term

Last year, I hadn't yet taken my knitting classes at Ephemera (which, by the way, might have been the single best present ever - thanks Hubs!), but I was obsessed with big, bulky yarns. They looked so pretty all twisted up and just waiting to become something that I couldn't resist - I had to create. (Did I just sound artsy? That's what I was going for. Cue the beret, dim lights and smoldering eyes of a brooding artiste.)

Naturally, having no known knitting ability and an intense desire to BUY YARN (I'm so. so. so hip.), I went on a yarn-wrapping tirade. If it didn't move, it got wrapped in yarn. It sounds insane, and it was for a few days - a mad flurry of hot glue wisps and strands of Thick and Quick flying around me while I tried hopelessly to keep the cat away from my masterpieces.

So anyway, it turned out quite nice (pour a little out for my homey, the basement drywall, featured in that post) and I even got a nod from the most famous green living blogger ever to come out of the great state commonwealth of Pennsylvania, Danny Seo.

This year, the yarn-wrapped decor is making a comeback on our stylish faux-tle (that's a faux mantle, y'all. Couldn't you tell?).

 Pardon our mail pile and hid.e.ous light fixture. A sleek new drum pendant is my present to myself once we finish the basement, so just chillax.

It only holds 15 pounds, but the yarn trees are styrofoam underneath that skillfull wrapping and we've got a few Christmas-morning hanging spots for when these little stockings are chock full of goodies.

Notice also the nativity, lantern of lights and 12-bottle wine rack stuffed to the brim with sweet, sweet Charles Shaw.

Note: I know there are only four stockings and yet five souls residing in our humble home. I'm trying to knit the new cat a sock, but know this: Knitting your First Sock less than a month before Christmas and with the knowledge that it will be Highly Visible as a major part of your Holiday Decor is NOT recommended.

Unless you, too, are the owner of a big ol' wine rack stocked full of three buck chuck. Then, it might be bearable. I take zero responsibility for your actions and/or fits of yarn rage when you get to the heel. Heels are not easy, people. Heels make grown women weep openly.

The End.