Road Trip

This weekend was my grandfather's 95th birthday, an occasion decidedly worth driving out to El Paso for. That and the food. I'm pretty sure the only time I'm not eating whenever I'm out there is when I'm sleeping. Not positive though.

There's really not too much to say about a nine hour drive through pretty much nothing, but boy, I'mma give it a try anyway.


Here we are, on the road to El Paso. We're still pretty close to Austin, hence the trees still being, you know, existent.

First pit stop was in Fredericksburg. Food was, of course, consumed. I'm not the sort of person who can say no to potato pancakes with applesauce, much to my waistlines chagrin.


We might have also bought some truffles, and I might have eaten all of my share before we even made it to grandpa's house. I'm neither confirming or denying.


I promised Pater I would tell no one of his car related shame, but trust me when I say that this photo will always be hilarious. Also, that's a pretty decent attempt at trees for west Texas. Good effort!

Despite this state maintaining a rather disagreeable love affair with oil, windmills have been popping up. Unfortunately, I didn't manage to get a good photo of the field of pump jacks with windmills in the background.


I was encouraged to see that apparently the windmills aren't just a passing energy fad, as we passed a truck loaded with parts.


(Pater called this photo the random phalluses. As we're both perpetually twelve this provided more entertainment than is probably healthy.)

At one of the gas stations coming back home we were confronted by a trio of feral dogs, that weren't so feral that they wouldnt follow me around begging.


Poor pups.

Coming home the central Texas fires were already well underway. We were lucky enough that we didn't get stranded or rerouted through road closures, but approaching the ring of fire around Austin was pretty horrifying.

For most of the drive, the sky was absolutely cloudless. But as we approached Johnson we could see a rather disconcerting purple smudge low on the horizon.


While we were passing beneath the plume the light turned an eery red. Apparently Dante was wrong, the first circle of hell is central Texas.


Seriously, these fires are absolutely terrifying. Wild fire is something that you just sort of get used to with the prolonged droughts we have but this is one of the worst seasons I can think of. And it's not looking like it's going to be getting better any time soon.

Domesticity

I'm a firm believer in tasty outweighing pretty. I mean, I love looking at pretty food as much as the next person, but when it comes to things I make myself I've pretty much given up on any attempt to make it photogenic.

Especially if it means cutting off the top of cakes.

Yes, layered round cakes can be absolutely gorgeous, but if I'm making a cake just because then what do I care if it's lumpy? I know there's no reason why I couldn't just eat the cut off tops but really. Why go through the extra step just for looks if it's just going be me, a plate and Star Trek: The Next Generation on Netflix instant? Possibly skipping the plate and just using a fork. Not that I would ever. By which I mean almost always.

Besides, if you put the two tops together in the layer sandwich you can fill the gap with more frosting and hello. That's practically an instant party.

Here it is crumb coated and fridged. Hideous, I know.



I will say, unless you're a frosting addict like the Boyfriend and me, it's worth taking your time to make your crumb coat as presentable as possible because the majority of you frosting will be going in the gap to maintain structural integrity.

Yes, I really did just say that. My frosting game is SERIOUS.



Zip top bag filled with the rest of your frosting. The gateway to deliciousness and non falling apart cake.



Piped into the hollow between layers.




Like a giant whoopee pie of awesome. The giant hump in the middle is where I spackled together a crack that happened taking the cake out of the pan. If only all spackling was so tasty.

So, yes. Totally fug. But it tastes like the greatest possible outcome of combining cake and snickerdoodle cookies, because I'm a great believer in adding cinnamon to everything.

Basic box cake mix (the bakery witch Betty Crocker has been doing this a lot longer than I have), except I subbed a stick of melted butter for the vegetable oil and a cup of milk for the water. Because dairy fat is always superior. Also added about a teaspoon of vanilla and two teaspoons of ground cinnamon.

For the frosting cream a stick of room temperature butter with a teaspoon of vanilla, a teaspoon of cinnamon and three tablespoons of cream on low speed. Sift in 3 cups of confectioners sugar slowly, still on low, and allow to mix once all has been added about a minute before cranking it up to medium. Once it's light and airy your good. Keep the cream on hand to add extra if it's looking dry.

Stupid simple but man. I know what I'm having for dinner.

Summertime

I saw this photo of some adorable little coasters that looked like slices of citrus fruits and I had to have some. And all I needed to make them was some felt, glue and a compass. Yay!

I drew out three circles, one four inches across, then 3 1/2, then 3 on a spare manila folder to serve as a pattern.


The largest and smallest circles I cut out of the citrus colored felt, the medium circle out of white felt.


The smallest felt circle will be the sections of fruit, so I cut that into eight wedges.


This bit is totally optional, but to keep the soon to be coasters from sliding around in the table I cut out another four inch circle from some craft foam.


A judicious amount of glue later and I had these.


Since the lime one isn't actually done yet but the light's going so i needed to take a photo now, an actual lime took it's place. I just wanted to let you know that I don't regularly use coasters for fruits,

Oh, Summer

It's eaten my face right off.

The beginning of kitten season was a rough one this year. I keep hoping that the longer I do this the less time it'll take to get my 'kitten-legs' back. Didn't happen this time, but even the boss lady agreed that our first set of fosters was a hell of an introduction to the season.

Here's Parsnip (now adopted and probably renamed) from this year's first litter:


We currently have three other fosters driving me batty. Here's Sally, whose siblings have already been adopted, cuddling with Junior:


Then there's the other two.

It started with a call from our very awesome vet, asking if we had room for two bottle babies. We did so off we went.

Instead of collecting just the kittens though we ended up with their mom too. The woman whose balcony they were all living on informed us that while she wasn't terribly friendly the mama cat was manageable, even going so far as allowing herself to be picked up.

This was not entirely true. While the mama cat did have a pretty good relationship with that woman that was pretty much the extent of her people friendliness. So, we ended up with a feral cat in our bathroom.

I wasn't aware, but apparently if you put a freaked out feral cat into a bathroom she'll do her very best impersonation of a hissing, spitting tornado. Walls were climbed, great clouds of fur were released, several things were broken... We decided to go ahead and leave them for a while despite the fact that the kittens had a pretty bad upper respiratory infection, complete with eyes so gummy they couldn't open them.

For the first day or so we managed a pretty awesome co-parenting gig with her. She took care of the feeding and regular bathing duties, we stole them when she was at her most settled to clean up their eyes and medicate them.

And then the Boyfriend broke it. You see, kittens don't like it when you mess with their eyes (who can blame them) and protest the cleaning and medicating quite loudly and insistently. And rather than ferry them off out of earshot he attempted to mess with one there in front of feral mama cat.

She was less than impressed.

After that attempting to steal her babies resulted in growls, hisses and quite a few slaps. We managed to get them only through some luck, a handy towel and a brush handle. There was quite a bit of terror involved, especially as the kittens immediately began squawking about it, risking setting off the feral tornado again.

It ended happily enough though, we have the kittens (who seem to just be a sickly sort as they now have tummy troubles) the mama was fixed and released back into her feral colony and no one is peeing all willy nilly in my bathroom anymore.

Now, they just need names but as sickly as they've been it seems like tempting fate to give them real names at this point.

Tiny brown tabby

Tiny lynx point Siamese.

The downstairs redo turned out pretty great, if more involved than we initially though.  It was a little shaming when a team of industious contractors were able to lay a tile floor in three days while it took the Boyfriend and I a month to paint the walls, but hey. That's why they're professionals, right?

Unfortunately, the glass top to our coffee table was an unintended casualty, so a new coffee table was in order. Add to that, the Boyfriend had bought himself an obscenely large television and the ~ten year old Ikea entertainment center just wasn't going to handle it. After eight and a half million trips to various furniture stores, we ended up with a new sofa as well. It actually looks like adults live here now, something that's not so secretly foreign to both of us.


I'm quite pleased with everything even if I did have to break in a new butt dent. Of course, the cats did their part, immediately covering it hair and chewed off burrs. Also, the fosters with tummy troubles? Totally pooped on it. Buying a white sofa was clearly the best of ideas.

And Then the Bats Came Out

Occasionally, my lack of time management skills has consequences that seem obvious after the fact but in the thick of it I am bewildered by things not going right for no discernible reason.

Like last night. I was feeling bad about the bag of holding so decided to pull together another small thing to give my friend.

Busted out the water colors and sat down to make a little piece of Austiniana, since while she no longer lives here the city does still hold a warm place in her heart.

Here's what I came up with:


Congress Avenue bridge with bats. Ish.

I thought I'd waited between layers long enough to keep working, but not so much. As a result I've got some muddiness and streakiness and some bits that are over worked because I could just not for the life of me get the paint to move the way I wanted it to. And clearly the way to deal with that is to just keep moving it around and adding more and lifting some and what not.

Though I did get it pretty much done in enough time to put on pants that don't involve a drawstring and a brassiere before she got here. Go me! Of course, it was still pretty damp when we were supposed to leave for a movie (Cabaret at the Alamo, complete with drag commentary. It was glorious, Fosse is the best) so I handed it to her still taped to the board and asked if she wanted it.

The answer was maybe, because while she thinks she understands the meta commentary on process and what is art etc., she wasn't sure if a DaDa inspired piece was really up her alley. Also, how would she display it? I told her that when we got back from the Drafthouse it'd be dry enough to take off the board because while I liked her interpretation I like the convenience of the board more.

If you're unfamiliar with the Congress bats, they're the largest urban bat colony. Little Mexican Free Tails living under the bridge and coming out at dusk to do their bit to rid my life of mosquitoes. I love you, little bats. Your faces are at one ugly and adorable and you are voracious.

And on an unrelated note, Penny was feeling a little needy while I was writing this, and acting as a lap desk for the iPad wasn't cutting it. So, in a valiant attempt to get me to stop doing unimportant things and pet her she co-opted one of my hands as a pillow:

Linoleum - Not Just For Floors

I had initially thought that I'd do a water color painting for the one holiday card that I'm sure to send (thanks again to Susie at Useless Beauty Designs for hosting the swap!) but I made the mistake of telling people that I'd be making this card for my swap partner.

And now other people want one.  People that like to think that I care about them and think that a small little something in the mail would be such a lovely way of expressing that, don't you think, and really if you're already making one....

Crap.

The thing is, despite my whining, I would very much like to be the with-it, have my stuff together sort of adult who can manage to send out a few holiday cards.  After all, these people are my friends and I really do like them, and enjoy making things for them.  It really shouldn't be such a burden.  And yet every year I put it off again and again until I realize that it's January and hey, maybe I should make a resolution of it.  Not that I ever keep the rest of them.*

This year I'm determined.  I will make holiday cards, I will send them out before the end of December and I will be a with-it, have my stuff together sort of adult.  In this one aspect, at least.

But I'm certainly not doing an individual painting on each of them, because if being an adult means giving up on being completely lazy then I want no part of it.

Having prints done would be the obvious solution, but that's one more step between making the cards and sending the cards which ups the chances that I'll be sitting here January 3rd, look over and see the painting and then hit my head repeatedly on the table for once again being a failure.  As this would likely cause brain damage and I really don't need that I've opted to go the linoleum print route.  Print making in the comfort of my stretch pants!  I really couldn't ask for anything better.

Of course, I haven't done linoleum carving in about ten years but really.  It's like riding a bike, I'm sure.**

Firstly, the image.  For this one, I chose a simple armadillo motif and copied him (a wee bit smaller) onto a piece of paper.  Through the magic of technology you can of course re-size your chosen image (if you're not winging it) as you see fit but again with the lazy, so I didn't.

Armadillo!

I feel I should point out that he is rather tiny and not for the cards so much as an attempt to remember how the hell this works.

Onward.  I've gone over my pencil lines to make sure they're nice and dark so that they'll transfer.  Image goes onto the linoleum block and with a good rub there should now be an armadillo on the block.  Now, I've never been able to have a nice clean transfer though I hear some people can manage it.  But even if it comes out like this:

A little less armadillo-y.

Never fear.  Filling in the gaps is quick work.

Much better.

And now the carving.  I usually do the big bits, then come in with my smallest blade to do the detail work. Also, slowly and gently, cutting away a little bit at a time because like with a lot of things taking away is easier than adding.  Since I want the background white here, I spent an extra bit of time with the largest blade cutting away the block until the background was well below the central image.

Not pictured: the fit I had when I nicked his ear.

Note to self: dots are way harder than you remembered.  Should probably avoid those in the future.

And now I give it a test run.  Ink up the brayer (thinner is better, here.  Gloopy brayers are no one's friend) and give it a roll onto the carving.  I've never been good at placing the paper down on the block, so I cheat and put the block onto the paper and flip it over.  This has ended badly before, but it didn't this time so I think I'll continue with my bad habits.

This time around, since Mr. Armadillo is about an inch and a half square and I was using a spare bit of rice paper for extra absorbency I was able to get away with just using my thumb to rub the paper onto the block.  Sometimes this will work, most of the time it won't.  There's a fancy tool for this called a baren, but I usually use the bottom of a glass.  Fancy tools are for sissies!  Or possibly professionals. 

Lift up the paper to check it out:

Two!  Two armadillos, ahahaha.

Some of the detail work was lost (spots!  Damn you for being difficult) and I missed a few ridges on the back ground.  So, the stamp gets rinsed off, and I get back to carving.

Round two:

Spots, why you gotta hate?

He could be better, but for a first run I think I'm satisfied.  I've learned my lesson about spots and I think when I'm working on a larger scale it'll be a little easier.  At the very least I'll worry less about slipping with the cutter and taking a gouge of finger instead of linoleum.  Of course now that I've said that....

*  'Become coy sex kitten' has been on the top of my resolution list for about 7 years now.  Mater, don't make that face, it really means cut back on the excessive flailing and not talk at length about Doctor Who at fancy grown-up parties.  Possibly learn ballroom dance and brush my hair on a regular basis.

**  I've never managed to learn how to ride a bike, all attempts have ended in tragedy and bodily harm.  So, I rather hope it's not anything like that.

Heh, filled.

I was once having a conversation with a good friend about our respective cases of ennui.  Unfortunately, another person was a part of this conversation.  I know that sounds awful but the meaning of that statement will become clear, I promise.

So, we're riffing off of each other, adding various activities to the list of things for which we can simply find no inspiration.

Painting (her)
Drawing (me.  I've always been absolutely crap at painting.)
School work (her.  As you can see this conversation took place a few years ago.)
Making supposedly clever comics about my life (me.  I was never a very good student.)
Writing (her)

Yes, writing!  I agreed.  I so enjoy the physical act of writing- I'm not so much an author as I am a graphomaniac.  I couldn't care less what it is that I'm actually writing on the page, there is a profound joy in putting a well-balanced pen to well-made paper for me.  She didn't agree with this notion, being an actual Proper Writer, she didn't care if she was using a ten cent Bic on a napkin, but we could both commiserate on the drying up of the well of inspiration in regards to a mutual hobby.  Even if we came at it from very different viewpoints.

It was at this point that the third party made a rather lovely statement about not waiting for inspiration, about seeking new experiences to defeat this languishing boredom that was more than boredom.  Unfortunately, he ended his point with the statement, "If you're not fulfilled now then you just need to go out and get filled."

Personality tidbit:  I have the sense of humor of a twelve year old boy.  It's one of those things I was hoping I'd grow out of, but I think at this point it's safe to say that if I haven't by now I won't.  So, of course, the only thing I took away from the conversation was, 'heeeee, need to get filled.  That could possibly be referring to sex and that titillates me.  Heeeee, titillate.'

The point of this story is to talk about NaNoWriMo.  I've been participating in NaNo for seven years now with varied success, if you measure it by the usual metric of writing 50,000 words.  And I have to admit, I feel a bit like an impostor.  Because I still throw my hat into the novel in a month ring for two reasons: 1) the physical act of writing is so satisfying 2) my local group is comprised of lovely people and I enjoy seeing them.  The majority of people I know who participate are actual Proper Writers that have a story to tell.  I have long since let go of the delusion that I am a Proper Writer.

If I were saying this in front of my parents Pater would interject at this point to say that I'm a very good writer (despite not reading any of my fiction since I was about twelve) and Mater would say, 'I think your blog is funny.'  Bless.

NaNo's been a bit different for me this year (as much of it as there's been.)  I'm returning to a world I established in a previous NaNo novel.  I would call it a sequel, but I think I ought to finish the first one before I go saying it's a series.  And while I've struggled in years past to come up with something to fill the page, this year is like coming home.  I've been able to produce more words (not readable words, mind you, refer to the part where I said I was a pretty crap author.) than ever in the amount of time that I've had.  Writing this story is like coming home.  I already know who everyone is and what it is they're meant to be doing.  It's a bit like fanfic.  Yeah, I said it.

I wish that someone who made it a habit of writing stories that spanned multiple novels had told me how fun this is.  Of course, maybe Proper Writers don't think that continuing the story they have to tell is at all easy.  I don't know.  But I hope the momentum keeps up.  At this rate I may actually have a completed story by the end of the month as opposed to hitting my word count and saying 'well, fuck off then,' to the plot that had been sustaining me through thirty glorious days of writing*.  Maybe then I might have a work of fiction that, with a serious amount of editing, might be called decent.  It's been a while.  Since I was, oh, about twelve.

So this post isn't all ramblings about the ~creative process~ have a picture of the notebook I've been using this month.  I think it's super cute, even if they are Royal typewriters.  My Underwood would be so offended if it were, you know, sentient and capable of caring.

Color capture fail!

 While I'm at it, I cannot recommend the Lamy Al-Star enough, even if you aren't a fountain pen enthusiast.  It's all right if you aren't, I may not understand but I've come to realize that not getting giddy every time a new pen catalog comes in the mail is the normal state of being.  I bought one a few years ago to use as an everyday knockabout pen that I could keep in my purse without worrying about it being damaged and I haven't been disappointed.  It's an easy and reliable writer, though the medium nib can be a bit wet with some inks.  Currently using the fine nib with Private Reserves' Chocolat and it's delightful.  A combination I come back to again and again.

Right.  I'd better get back to the so-called novel.  I want to hit 18k before heading to bed.


*It feels strange saying this because November is generally a month of endless whining.  My story isn't going anywhere.  My characters are stupid and I want them to die, but then I won't hit my word count.  I say I don't care about the plot, but maybe if I cared a little less I wouldn't be plagued with writers' block nearly as often.

Zoo Madness

I've been meaning to post this entry for ages, but have been awfully lazy about getting the photos off of my phone.  So, close your eyes for a moment, pretend it's Monday and that I was clever enough to bring a real camera so that the following photographs don't, in the academic sense of the word, blow.

Sunday, Pater, my sister, my niece and I went down to San Antonio to meet up with my cousin and his family at the San Antonio Zoo. 

Oh, zoos.  I have a lot of opinions.  On the one hand, conservation and breeding programs are lovely and I would be a strange sort of person if I were to look at, say, a tiger and tell him that just because we as humans insisted on hunting him and destroying his habitat to the point of extinction doesn't mean that we should be doing anything about it.  Buck up, imaginary tiger, you had a good run.  Please don't rip my face off.

On the other hand, oh lord, what a truly terrible existence.  While improvements have been made in regards to how animals are kept in zoos (at least in the States - I refuse to think of the zoo I went to in Japan ever again because I am a giant softie and it makes me sniffle) they're still incredibly depressing places.  Here, let Rilke make my point (as translated by Stephen Mitchell):

The Panther

               In the Jardin des Plantes, Paris

His vision, from the constantly passing bars,
has grown so weary that it cannot hold
anything else. It seems to him there are
a thousand bars, and behind the bars, no world.

As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,
the movement of his powerful soft strides
is like a ritual dance around a center
in which a mighty will stands paralyzed.

Only at times, the curtain of the pupils
lifts, quietly—.  An image enters in,
rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,
plunges into the heart and is gone.

Enough of my very important feelings.  Let's jump straight to the bit where you get to scroll past a million crap photos. 

Sea Horses!

Canoodling Sea Horses!

He's torn his wing, poor guy.

Monkeys!

Fossa!

Napping Lemurs!

Cranky Jaguar!

 While the jaguar was cranky, he was nothing compared to the leopard.  Shortly before we got there, the keepers had pulled him out of his enclosure and we could here him rather loudly protesting whatever it was they were doing to him.  Not a happy kitty.

Hippo Butts!  Hee!

Is it a log?

Very much not a log.  Well done, camouflage!

Elephant!

Probably because they are so very clever, the effects of zoo madness are very easy to see in elephants.  We were camped out by the elephants while having lunch and this ladyphant spent her time pointedly ignoring all the 'distractions' that were in her enclosure to stand, facing that corner and shift from foot to foot.  There may have been a half-hearted dust bath.

Bath!

She did manage to rouse herself when one of the keepers came in with a hose.  I would like to say she cavorted in the water.  She did not.  Poor elephant.

Black Rhino!

There were two keepers attempting to lure the black rhinos into smaller pens.  As you can see, the rhino may have a reputation as being incredibly stupid, but he is not stupid enough to not give the side eye to someone holding a frighteningly huge syringe.

And thus concludes the trip to the zoo.  While it was wonderful to see the interest and joy in the kids and I'm glad they got the chance to ogle some fascinating creatures it was still all in all rather depressing.

Fauna

Today's been another errand-y day but rather than being the usual 'being a grown up is boring,' it was full of unexpected excitement.

Somehow we ended up entirely out of cat food.  This is situation that Fat Bill will not stand.  I woke up before the Boyfriend so I was the one subjected to her whining about it for a few hours and pawing at me every time I sat down.  So, it was no surprise that when he got up I demanded we go to the pet supply store now.  No, now.  Because Fat Bill's persistent annoyance skills are an art form.  It'd be impressive if it weren't so, well, annoying.

While on the way was the first thrill.  I present a dramatic reenactment:

Boyfriend:  *normal everyday conversation.*
Me:  *normal reply*
Boyfriend:  *normal conversation cont-*
Me:  LLAMAS!! LLAMA LLAMA LLAMA LLAMAS!!
Boyfriend:  Seriously, what is wrong with you?
Me:  I JUST LOVE LLAMAS, OK?

One of the small farms still holding out against the encroaching strip malls had two adorable llamas, just lazing about being all llama-y and I love them.  Seriously, I'm not ruling out the possibility of going back , knocking on the door and asking if I can just hang out with their llamas.  You know, order a pizza, play a little XBOX and then have them kick and spit at me because despite being the best things ever most llamas are kind of assholes.

The rest of the way to the pet store was spent begging the Boyfriend to stop on the way back so I could take pictures of them because yay! llamas.  We did in fact stop on the way back but since I only had my cellphone camera with no zoom function I'm afraid we'll have to make do with these.  I've helpfully labeled them.

I would have actually gotten out of the truck and attempted to get better ones, but two neighbors were chatting at the mail box across the road from us and while I was willing to be that crazy lady taking cellphone pictures from her car, I was not going to be that crazy lady taking cellphone pictures while cajoling the llamas to come closer at the fence.  At least, not in front of witnesses. 

My lobbying for a couple of alpaca for the backyard is going to be stepped up after today, let me tell you.  And I'll have none of the logical reasons why two llamas on a farm are acceptable but two alpaca in my suburban backyard are not.  

While at the pet supply store, after Fat Bill's victuals were safely in the cart, the Boyfriend and I went to pick up some algae eaters for our tank.  We sort of lost our way as fish keepers and our fifty-five gallon tank  has one hell of an algae problem.  It's less a fish tank now than it is a glowing, green and sort of fuzzy installation piece.  There are still fish in there, we can just never really see them unless they come right up to the glass.

But the happy news is that we trying very hard to stop being useless fish owners.  Hence the algae eaters.  Five Otocinclus and a Red Tailed Shark in total.  Fingers crossed they do their job.  We'll continue repopulating the tank as water conditions improve.

But buying algae eaters while useful (and I think the red tails are just too cute) was not what thrilled me.  No, what thrilled me was Bart.

While talking to the fish guy he asked if we had a smaller tank.  Because he had this little Jack Dempsey that was currently living a hard life in the live plant tank, being beaten up by the other inhabitants.  He lures him out and he is just the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen.  Absolutely tiny, but already showing the bright turquoise and emerald green spots and stripes and he has a flash of red along his dorsal fin. 

I was done for.  Beautiful markings + sad story =  we have a new little buddy who has a twenty gallon tank all to himself.  He can grow up to ten inches and will be a territorial bruiser who likes to dig holes into the substrate and eat smaller tank mates but I think it's totally worth it.  We'll have several years until we have to worry about getting him larger digs than what's currently available.

Bart safe in his new home.

Unfortunately, his iridescence is really hard to capture.  And no, we don't use boulders as substrate, that's normal aquarium gravel.  It's just that Bart's about the size of my thumbnail.  The fish guy was really fond of him and made us promise to give him updates whenever we're in there.  Here's hoping we can manage to be good aquarists again and Bart does well.

To Boldy Go

I've decided to fulfill a life long dream.  But before I can tell you what it is I have to make a confession that will startle few people: I'm a giant nerd.  No, really.  I'm co-hermitating with an engineer and yet I routinely out-geek him.  As long as it doesn't involve physics (unless normal force is referred to as 'gremlin force', then I might be able to get somewhere) I am a trivia knowing, comic book reading, fandom bouncing dork queen who talks in internet memes.

My idea of a good party is when no one looks at me funny when I start ranting about the way Star Wars follows the archetypal hero's journey as laid out by Joseph Campbell in The Hero with a Thousand Faces and how the prequels fell flat because Lucas moved away from the monomyth after I've had a few glasses of wine.

I should probably try to get out more.

But back to that life long dream thing.  Since it's become obvious that I probably won't live to see the formation of the United Federation of Planets let alone get to join Starfleet the next best thing is Halloween.

7 year old resa is crushed.  CRUSHED

 

And so, this year will see my debut as the original series' Lt. Uhura.  YES.  I am determined.  Even if the Boyfriend is now nervous that someone we know will find out about this since I'm letting the internet know that not only am I a Trekkie but I'm that sort of Trekkie.  Thanks for the support, jackass.*

It seems that this costume is going to take a certain amount of determination.  Because while I could go buy a licensed  Star Trek uniform that seems silly.  It would be expensive, made out of awful material and I'd like a little more fabric between my butt and the world.  I want to be just like Uhura in a lot of ways, but having to wear matching underpants because they would inevitably be shown is too much.

So, I've been on a quest.  To find a long sleeved a-line dress pattern.  That had the right sort of silhouette.  And could be made out of a lightweight material because Texas = Mercury.  And would be within my still beginner sewing abilities.  It's been harder than I expected.  I found a few candidates, though they may not meet the 'within my abilities' stipulation.  I foresee several evenings of Mater patiently pushing me out of the way and recommending I go watch TV with Pater after having to see me flap about because 'this is hard and I'm awful and I'm going to ruin it forever and then kill myself in a tragic sewing machine accident because wharrgarrbl.'  Sometimes I don't know how she puts up with me.

I also went and got a new hair cut.  I told my stylist that I've been on a mod kick lately, which is true, but didn't tell her that Star Trek's what's kicked off the renewed interest.

Silly photos are silly.

It's not straight up mod, I decided that since it'd be a pretty drastic change from my usual 'it looks kinda good even if it is sticking up' cut and I needed to ease into it if I were to be expected to style it.  By which I mean brush it.  Ever.  And hey, I've got actual bangs for the first time ever.  Wheeee.



*He wants to point out since I'm airing our business that he's a funny jackass, not a mean jackass.  I tend to agree.

I'll be in my fort.

Hyperbole and a Half had one of the best descriptions of what she calls the Sneaky Hate Spiral.  I suggest you read that now if you haven't, I'll wait.

If you decided to come back and not ditch me in favor of power slamming the archives of Hyperbole and a Half (which I would totally not blame you for doing) let's proceed with the day.

Of all the ways to be rudely awakened I've experienced, I had a new one today that I have no desire to ever relive.  Ever.  EVER.

I feel a hair on my face.  Attempt to brush off.  Attempt unsuccessful.  Have two horrible realizations at once: 1) my hair is no longer long enough to touch my mouth and 2) oh god it moved on its own.

Sit up.  Brush 'hair' off as it tries to make its way into my nose.  Identify what has been masquerading as hair.

I have no explanation for the French thing.

Then I set the bed on fire.  I may have also convinced myself that I now have spider eggs in my sinus cavity and spent the rest of the day compulsively blowing my nose.

Despite knowing for a couple of weeks that we'd need signs for the adoption event happening tomorrow I continued my life long habit of being the queen of procrastination.  I made the graphics last night, but didn't bother to get up to measure the foam core board on which the printed posters would be pasted.

And thus I learned the more basic corollary to 'measure twice, cut once':

The Boyfriend wants the rescue to have a plug.

The kittens' sleep in a crate and it was past due for it to be cleaned out.  While cleaning the litter box I unsurprisingly dropped the bag of litter that weights approximately eight and a half million pounds, reaffirming my hatred of clay litter when it blew up in my face.  Now I had another reason for compulsive nose blowing.

 As a hermit* I rarely leave the house.  As a possible vampire it's even more rare for me to do so during the day.  But there were kitten related errands that had to be done so out we went.  Straight onto the surface of the sun.  But then I remembered that August in Texas is just like that.  If I could punch Texas in its non-existent face I would.

We got the posters printed and turns out the scaled up logo image I used (because I was too lazy to make a bigger one) looked like a pixellated mess.  Despite looking fine in GIMP.  So, I guess we're adopting out 8-bit Super Mario kittens.

After finishing up with the poster related stuff we had some time to kill before the kittens' new ringworm meds were ready at the pharmacy.  And the book store was right next door.  And books are the secret to a happy resa.

After picking up what was probably too big a stack already, I decided that I needed something light and fluffy that wouldn't ask me to think.

Then had the following conversation with the Boyfriend:

Me:  I need brain candy.
Him:  I just picked up some Dick Francis.
Me:  No.
Him:  You could read the latest Sue Grafton.
Me:  No.
Him:  There's a new Janet Evanovich out.
Me:  IF I WANTED A MYSTERY I WOULDN'T BE IN THE SCI-FI/FANTASY SECTION!

And now I'm stubbornly not sleeping even though I have to be up relatively early.  And I need to put on some more fungus cream because I too have the ringworm.  Pater has taken to calling me his 'scabrous daughter,' so at least someone's getting a kick out of it.


* The Boyfriend and I have decided that when someone asks what our relationship is we're going to say co-hermitants.  Because I still don't want to get married, but we've been dating for quite a while now.  But that's a story for another day.