Thimble vs. Needle

by Thimble vs. Needle

/
  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

      $5 USD  or more

     

1.
03:24
2.
01:02
3.
02:49
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
01:51
9.
10.
11.
02:01

credits

released May 18, 2009

all songs written by Kat Bula
recorded by Ryan Richardson, & mixed by Ryan & Kat, at Golden Coin Studios in Bellingham, WA

Kat Bula: vocals, guitar, accordion, violin, viola, melodica, tambourine
Anna Arvan: vocals, cello
Chris Stainback: percussion & bass
Dave Maguire: mandolin & resonator guitar

tags

license

about

Thimble vs. Needle Bellingham

“Smart, sassy, sensitive… a rare depth and range in an otherwise endless sea of singer/songwriters.” — Cascadia Weekly

contact / help

Contact Thimble vs. Needle

Streaming and
Download help

Track Name: Pogo Stick
I thought it was nice that you drove me to work the morning right after you dumped me. You emailed a list of the things I forgot moving out on five shots of Wild Turkey. I can't understand why you'd want even less; I left the place morbidly empty. --Oh: hey, could you return the sixth Harry Potter to the central branch of the library?

It's a lovely day for a pogo stick ride--my fallopians as handles; crush my lungs between your thighs; a solar plexus wide enough to hold up your feet--wave hello to the landlord as you bounce me down the street.

Can I come over to hang out with the cat? Well, I don't know, but my guess is she's missed me. And since no one's got my new telephone number, probably I should listen to the machine. And I'm not convinced that you don't still like me, so maybe we should shag on the sofa. --Alright then, fine, but the fact remains that I am still in love, though charitably I'm not holding that against ya.

No, 'cuz it's a lovely day for a pogo stick ride--my fallopians as handles; crush my lungs between your thighs; a solar plexus wide enough to hold up your feet--wave hello to the hot girl in 403 as you bounce me down the street.

My little heart bounces back enough to work as the spring. The '80s are back now, yes: the pogo stick's the thing. Well, it's a lovely day.
Track Name: Portland
Tell me a story about Portland: how everything in your life has changed. You found a beer you'd never seen before, and at least three boys who didn't already know your name (what a relief!). Oh, tell me that I should move to the city where all of my old friends went to get away from each other. Well, why would I leave? I've got Bellingham all to myself.
Track Name: Plasma
At the plasma center today, lying on a bed watching my blood drain away, I'm hardly thinking at all about the pay. Mostly I just like to watch my blood drain away. But when I think about the job on which I spend my every day, seems like this is more honest work anyway.

I've more than half a mind to sell my eggs, 'cuz Lord knows, I don't want them anyway. And if the law and my friends all didn't say that I'd be wrong to take money to help some poor sod get laid... well, when I think about the job on which I spend my every day, seems like that would be more honest work anyway.

If the world wants to take my body and let me keep my mind, it doesn't seem like such an awful trade. 'Cuz when I think about the job on which I spend my every day, selling blood is more honest work.
Track Name: Keep Yr Pants On
You were born in a manger to nine or ten strangers and now you live in a china shop. Sometimes you stand on freeway ramps hitchhiking in your headlamp, and you're the cars that don't stop. If it rains and your cigar gets wet, you might as well chew it all up, I guess, 'cuz you're the type to treat the whole thing as if it is the end.

You smell like DDT. You smell like pyramid schemes. You don't like anything fun. You're on a fire escape held on with masking tape; did you bring your grappling gun? If you fall and your ass gets wet, you'll just keep marching alone, I guess, 'cuz you're not the kind who can inspire a conga line, even if you first remove your pants.

So: tell me what I must do, 'cuz at my age you already knew how to swing on a star. Oh, I'm through the worst of it. You don't know the half of--KEEP YR PANTS ON; there's no time to compare scars.

If we fall and our asses get wet, we'll each keep marching alone, I guess, 'cuz we're not the kind who can inspire a conga line, even if we first remove our pants.

So spread your toast with Crisco, and growl SCREW DISCO, as though there's anything else left to save. Oh, you are my least favorite. But: you are permanent. I'll take you right to my grave.

If your victory cigar gets wet, you'll just boil it down and shoot it up, I guess, 'cuz you're the type to treat the world as if it's going to end.
Track Name: My Favorite Spoon
It never keeps me awake--the helicopter sound your snoring makes--so I think I'll move in with you. And, oh, how pretty are you, standing in the shower in a hat of shampoo? So I think I'll move in with you. Your books will nestle with mine, and I'll be there all the time, using up the entire goddamn clothes line. And when you want your favorite spoon, the only one that you'll be able to find is my favorite spoon. But: I could tile the walls of your bathroom. Oh, and I will, when I move in with you. Yeah, that's gonna be my big investment in you--I'll tile the shit out of your bathroom.
Track Name: I Don't Like Lettuce
Excuse me, Mr. Critic, for interrupting you with your shirt tucked in and an iceberg leaf tangled in the tines of your fork like a fly in a web. I've noticed your taste for the crisp and the flavorless from the first moment I saw the red pen in your pocket and heard what you said about me to your gossipping bartender friends.

I don't like lettuce very much. It doesn't make me feel anything. What is your fascination with things that take more energy to digest than they possibly could impart, Mr. Critic? I don't get it. What's your secret?
Track Name: Laptop Noooooo
Oh, little laptop, it hasn't been the same ever since I shared that glass of water with you. Oh, little laptop, isn't it a shame? Oh, how many nights I snored alone in the glitter of your LEDs. Oh, little laptop, give me a flicker. Show me you remember me.

Oh, little laptop, I can't always be the one--the one who turns you on. This time, baby, you're on your own. Have you lost your memory?
Track Name: No Wedding
I knocked over his drink with my foot on its way to my mouth. I slunk into this bar the same way that now I'm slinking out. But the long walk back to my house oughta clear my head, and make me remember why I'm grateful for all the space in my bed.

Well, I'm sorry that there won't be a wedding, Dad, but I'm the best lover that I ever had.

And don't I know that when you're from where I'm from, 25 gets to be damn old for a girl not to have a rugrat on her back and another waiting in the hold. But I don't think I came here to make you a grandpa, and I don't think you'll feel better about me if I prove I can be a mom.

Well, I'm sorry that there won't be a baby, Dad. I'm kinda childish myself, and I don't see an end to that. And I'm sorry that there won't be a wedding, Dad, but I'm the best lover that I ever had, and this world's quite full enough of people in love.
Track Name: The Cheese Stands Alone
The Chevron on the corner of Lakeway and Ellis, three and a half blocks from home--they don't sell blue Sparks, but they've got five kinds of Pepperwood Grove. For all my talk, I don't pick up an application, because I don't actually want to work nights. But I pick up a purple lighter in case somebody else needs a light. I tell you I want a drag and you call me a liar. Probably I'm just trying to start fires, 'cuz I'm done with this. I am done with this. I don't want to be the only girl you're not allowed to kiss.

Any second grader would know better than to measure this distance in football fields. We simplify the equation with a bottle of shiraz, like pissing in the gas tank before we get behind the wheel. I tell you I'm going home and you call me a liar. Probably you're just trying to start fires, but I'm done with this. I am done with this. I don't want to be the only girl you're not allowed to kiss.
Track Name: Old Jokes (If We See a Cop Car)
Let's get so drunk that we pee in the alley. You can write my name in the snow. We'll by a quarter pound of kumquats, walk up and down Samish, leaving presents in the coin returns of all the pay phones, and if we see a cop car we will dance in the lights. We'll be too drunk to care that it's an old joke. We'll share a single pair of mittens and we'll start a snowball fight. If we're drunk enough, we'll never get cold.

Let's get a couple paper grocery bags and a bit of poster paint and make a sign to tape on City Hall's door: "Every time you kill an arts venue, God kills a kitten, so won't you please NOT DO THAT ANYMORE?" And if we see a cop car, we'll slug each other in the arm for not noticing that it was around. We'll scramble up the fire escape and hold our breaths tight, but we'll bury the cop in snow if he tears our poster down.

Let's stop in at the Shangri-La, ask if they've got a reservation under Mr. and Mrs. Your-Last-Name. "Do you still have free HBO? I see you've peeled the sticker off your window. Well, if you've got a free room, guess we'll check in just the same." And if we see a cop car, we'll make out in the lights that make the walls flicker blue and then red, pop another PBR and watch a rerun of Rosanne and make up stories about what grotesque things have happened in this bed.
Track Name: Motel Six
There is a picture of the inside of my broken face in a file somewhere in California. You should have known I'd be easy to break, but I can't say I warned ya.