So, after reading Rich’s review of Jesus Camp over at fourfour, I really kinda want one of these:
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I know it’s totally sick, but it’s also hilarious: “Hi, let me tell you why abortion is wrong – and to illustrate my point, I’ll use my plastic-fetuses-in-a-pocket-case.”
Damn. I gotta have one.
“the crisp, inviting bittersweet tang of cranberry with smoky dark lilies, heady, sensual musk, a tingle of ginger and a brush of Mediterranean spices.”
Does that sound like a scent you’d wear? I have an imp of Lampades (from Black Phoenix) that, while lovely-smelling, doesn’t really suit me. So I’m putting it up for grabs.
Want it? Email me your address and I’ll mail it to you. (mzgorightry at yahoo dot com) If it’s not claimed in a week, I’ll post it on BPAL’s forums, but I thought I’d offer it to “my readers” first.
Update: CLAIMED!
What the fuck, North Carolina: State Considers Allowing Bow Hunting in Cities?!
Today kinda sucked for a while – one of those days when shit just keeps going wrong, and like the whole universe is laughing at you. I found out my bank bounced a check and transferred from my overdraft when neither of those things should have happened – I had more than enough money in my account. Not that I’m rolling in dough, because I’m not. But there’s no reason I can find for either the check bouncing or the overdraft. Money is a huge source of potential anxiety for me, and I’m really anal retentive about keeping my transaction register correct, so those two really threw me for a loop. I checked my transactions and daily balances like five times, and it’s definitely not a mistake on my end. The thing is, while I know that should make me feel better, it just makes me more frustrated. At least if I had actually bounced a check, I would’ve known beforehand and been ready for it, and it would’ve been my fault. Since it’s not something I did, I wasn’t prepared for it, and I still have to deal with my (probably ridiculous and overblown) sense of guilt about a check bouncing, even though it shouldn’t have bounced. I’m all like, “God, can I ever show my face in Target again?” and the kicker is, I didn’t overspend my account at all.
Then I decided I’d help Greg go get some construction supplies from Home Depot, and that being helpful would cheer me up. Not so much. I got some splinters, and some bruises and sore spots. But the worst is this: We rented one of their trucks to carry the stuff home in, because it sure ain’t fitting the hybrid. I had climbed up in the truck bed to help load stuff. Of course some Home Depot dude shows up to help *after* we finish loading the heavy stuff, when there are only 2x4s left. He and Greg offer to help me out of the truck bed, but it’s way too high, so I don’t know how exactly they would have been any help. I mean, I appreciate the offer, but there’s no way my leg can cover the distance between the bed and the ground without me falling, and I didn’t want my hands being held if I fell and needed my hands to catch myself, or prevent my face getting busted. You know. So I just hopped out, and didn’t fall – but my pants did. They didn’t fall *all* the way to the ground, but they did make it to my knees before I caught them and snatched them back up. I was fucking mortified. I’m only admitting it because I like to be totally honest on the blog. (And I can have a sense of humor now, like seven hours later.) And to continue being perfectly honest, we got home, I helped Greg unload the stuff, and then I went and laid down on the couch and cried like a little baby out of sheer embarrassment. (And also out of a little bit of pain, since my left tit got scratched pretty hard at one point, and it felt like my nipple was half-ripped-off. Um, but I’m fine.)
Anyway, after I finished crying, I decided I was probably better off sitting my ass on the couch, or at least not trying anything else that might hurt me. Greg made delicious pizza, and I worked on the log cabin blanket. Here’s a picture of it – it’s getting there, slowly but surely. But I’m worried about whether I’ll find a needle long enough for it when it gets closer to full-bed-sized. We’ll see.
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These are from last night, when I was knitting on the couch before bed, and the cats were keeping me company.
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Well, here’s that video: Inside “Switch N Play”
My two main points were that
1-SNP is awesome, probably the best drag king troupe I’ve seen in a while.
2-Damn, NY, you kinda greedy: SNP, Cherry Bomb, Harold, Lance, Angelique, Drake, and now Danny and Michel, too. I guess I’ll just have to start planning a trip to visit all my peeps that I miss. I can’t really blame NY for hanging onto them, they’re so awesome and all.
Well, YouTube is again acting like a little punk. I tried to post this awesome video that’s up at Cherry Bomb’s blog, with perhaps a more lengthy commentary than I usually put up with YouTube posts. Anyway, YouTube ate it, and isn’t even giving me a “your post attempt failed” message. Boo. I’ll give it some more time to get it’s shit together, before I post it through Blogger (instead of through YT).
The other thing I was thinking about this morning – besides how someone stamps for serious and not just to be funny – was about the weirdness of the words “do” and “so.” I mean, both words consist of a consonant and an “o,” and yet their pronunciation is completely different. And then I was thinking “do” was pronounced like “dew,” while “so” was pronounced like “sew” – and I realized that “dew” and “sew” are another pair of words with only one consonant’s difference, but completely different pronunciations.
I just boggled over this for a while. Language can be so weird.
Greg went to a show at the Reservoir last night – I was completely knackered, so I stayed home and passed the fuck out almost right after he left. (I did finish the row I was knitting, though.) Anyway, he told me later that some grrl was standing near him for a while, and it seemed to him that she was trying to get his attention, or wanted him to come talk to her, and Greg wasn’t having that. So after a while, she stamped her foot and then walked off.
I’m upset I didn’t get to see this. What grown ass adult stamps their foot in a serious fashion? I mean, when I’m joking around and pretending to be pissed, I might stamp, but I cannot for the life of me imagine how anyone out of childhood would seriously stamp their foot and not look utterly ridiculous – so I really want to see someone who does this shit seriously, and watch what they do. Like, how do you pick up your foot – do you lift at the knee, or do you lift from the hip? And how do you actually stamp – forcefully? petulantly? Are there any other gestures/movements that go with it?
Who does this shit? It’s probably a good thing I wasn’t there, I probably would’ve died laughing, which I’m sure would’ve just pissed her off.
Run-a-go-go: 21.31 miles
You probably thought I’d forgotten about Run-a-go-go, huh. Nope. Just got busy/lazy/sick the past two weeks. We went to the gym today after work, and I got on a bike and rode 11.05 miles. (I had to ride that 0.05 mile because I wanted to get to 11, but the stupid display cycles through cal/hr, mi, and tot cal on its own, and it clears itself if you stop pedaling.) Go me. Or something. Just so you know, I disliked every minute of it. Which I guess is a step up from hating every second of it. Or whatever. And at one point someone around me ripped a narsty fart, but I kept pedaling.
My sisters (Susan and Sarah! shout-out!) came down yesterday so we could all finally exchange presents and shit. It was awesome. We exchanged presents, we had lunch at Sitar, and then Greg showed them Guitar Hero – which was the awesomest. Oh wait, first we all watched ATHF’s Dickisode, then came Guitar Hero. And I got some schweet, schweet presents from my lovely and generous sisters, but I’ll tell you about that later. Right now I’m putting up two pictures and then I’m taking my ass to bed because I am worn out.
Here are some armwarmers I knit for Sarah as a stocking-stuffer type gift – you know, just a little something. I used Microspun, and I came damn close to keeping them for myself, if it must be said. (But then I thought better of it – plus, I’ve got plenty yarn left to make a pair for myself, since my current pair is falling apart.)
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And then here is a picture from last week when we got a little bit of snow. This is how I feel about snow and ice and winter weather: I either want enough to keep my ass home, or I don’t want *any*. Shit like this isn’t enough to get me out of dragging my ass to campus, but it is enough to be a pain in my ass. For one thing, the hallway smells like butt. (Hee. Shout-out.) Two, it’s enough for me to half to worry about falling down – and I have this hellacious terror of falling because of ice, it’s ridiculous. But I get really upset. Anyways. Three, I had to drive to work that day – by which I mean *I* actually drove, instead of Greg, who usually drives – and I skidded on ice/packed snow three times – hate that shit, too! Four, that little snow, since we so rarely get snow, gives people the excuse to drive like asses, or empty the grocery stores, or just generally lose their shit over a wee tiny bit of snow. I mean, damn, people. I know I’m grouchy about it, but I also know it’s not really that much snow *at all*. Anyway, here you go: the view out our front door that morning. I think we got maybe – MAYBE – an inch, if that much. And I hear the mountains got two inches, on average.
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And I have two awesome videos of my sisters playing Guitar Hero – but YouTube can’t handle it, because the files are too big. Damn. And I think one of the two is too long for PhotoBucket. And you know I’m too cheap to pay for hosting. (Well, probably. I’m still considering.) So…I’m trying to find some way to put them up without having to cut them into parts, because that would be lame.
And now it’s time for me to crawl into bed. Laters.
