Anger ensues.

READER DISCLAIMER:
If you are a sewing machine activist or advocate for the feelings and rights of sewing machines everywhere, what you are about to read may upset or offend you. Reader discretion is advised.

First things first, I have to tell you a little back story about my sewing machine and our relationship.

The Christmas of 2005 I was a freshman at a college in Milwaukee. Because I was definitely engineering material and my mom wanted to sabotage me, she bought me my very own sewing machine. It was a starter, but it was awesome and distracting, which I definitely needed, because I was not really happy with doing homework. The first year, my machine and I got along great -- we crafted and costumed and we were happy to have each other.

It all changed when I moved back home and it had to live in the trunk of my car. From then on, it has never forgiven me.

The first 3 seams of a project go great, and then it starts playing games with me so I yell at it and call it names and hit it. Very mature, I know, but it's better than taking it out on Andrew.

So that's where my sewing machine and I stand. I should definitely name it. I will think of some names and poll my friends, so a name will come soon. Anyway, now for the actual reason I wanted to make this post: I want to publicly humiliate and berate it to make myself feel better, which might also in turn make everyone aware of how weird I actually am... On with the verbal flogging!

[Sewie] is so weak, it couldn't even make a crappy joke like this one
[Sewie] breaks needles so easily, a heroin addict could teach it a thing or two
[Sewie] is like spaghettios, it's only good for the first few minutes.

That's all for now. I had more, but some of them got vetoed due to content by a third party. I hope [Sewie] works for me again when I get back to it. And sometime in a future project, I will get brave enough to try out my grandma's old sewing machine... That's an adventure for another time.