Running Around the Christmas Tree

Today was a day of minor errands, none of which actually involved a tree. Hard to set up a tree in the living room when the living room doesn't yet have furniture...or floor. Everything in its own time.

First, I went to the pet store. One of the cats has been coughing for some time now. It always looks like a gag followed immediately by a swallow. I think he has a hairball he refuses to let come up. I understand. Vomitting is gross. But seriously. Enough is enough. So, I bought some "lubricant for the elimination and prevention of hairballs" to stop the madness (and not because Leon looks so small and helpless when he has a coughing fit or because I'm worried sick about him, of course). I also bought a food mat because Leon insists on batting the water dish around and getting the entire kitchen floor wet. 

I also stopped by the CVS across the street from the pet store. And by across the street, I mean a death-defying mad dash across a big, ugly, six-lane, walk-signal-never-works behemoth callled the Southern Artery. Being me, I jumped, rolled, stood up, dusted myself off, and went on my way, of course. I went in for non-surface-damaging hooks to hang stockings from and came out with an armload of things to shove into those stockings because apparently CVS is the place to buy Christmas crap. Who knew? I mean, really, they had aisle upon aisle of ornaments, collectibles, decorations, candy canes, knick knacks, toys, games, accessories, and present-wrapping aids. I can't be blamed. I couldn't help myself.


At home, I attempted to hang the stockings. There are four because obviously Leon and Ada get stockings (and presents), too. Despite my best efforts, I hung the hooks too close together, so they overlap. Quite a bit. I may be a little out of practice with this Christmas thing.















See what I mean? Doh well. What are you gonna do?

 In other news, one mitten down, one to go.

Slytherin Knitter

So...I knit now. You'd have to know me to understand how bizarre that is. I hate pink, shopping, shoes, and gossip on principle. I am not girly. I will never be girly. I have never been girly. Oh, what's that? You say you have proof I used to play with Barbies as a child? Have you shared this evidence with anyone else? No? Well then, why don't you take a little walk with me behind those dumpsters in that dark, secluded, never-patrolled-by-police alley? You get the idea.

And yet, I've had this nagging desire to learn to knit for a while. At first, I ignored it on principle. Knitting = very girly. Girly ≠ me. Thus, knitting ≠ me. Duh. Simple mathematics. But the desire persisted, so I gave in. I justified it this way: I like being warm; wool is very warm; why spend my practically non-existent income purchasing wool items when I could make them for 1/4 the store price?

But that's not really why I started knitting. I just wanted to. I was compelled. Like the need to write, it just wouldn't leave me alone until I succumbed. So, despite the massive damage dealt to my self image, I'm now a knitter. Guess I may as well enjoy it.


First project: Slytherin Scarf

Ten stripes in and I'm only slightly over halfway done. Awesome. Those green and gray strings dangling on the right side are the places where I cut the yarn to switch colors. They all need to be woven in later via sewing needle. Double Awesome. (Sewing = girly...)

Close up. The little Vs are the result of the stitch I'm using: stockinette. You knit one row, then purl one row (basically, reverse knit). Pretty much the simplest stitch there is, other than just plain knitting (garter stitch). And boy does it get boring when all you're working on is a fixed-width, flat, seemingly never-ending scarf. Knit, purl, knit, purl. I'm ready to tear my hair out. (You may not be able to see this in the pic above, but the scarf is being held by a length of gray string at the top. This is because I've taken the needles out (because I'm poor and only have one set up needles) to start a pair of mittens. I was afraid otherwise I might die of monotony.)

Back side of the scarf, also known as the wrong side. And yes, it does indeed look very wrong. You can see the color transitions and it's all bumpy from the purl stitches. If I weren't such a noob, I might have foresaw this and used a stitch that looks the same on both sides. Going to be awfully tough to keep my scarf from flipping over in the wind. (Also, notice how curled the edges are. This is an inevitability of stockinette stitch. Again, if I weren't such a noob, I could have prevented this (by edging the whole thing with a less curly stitch). But now at the end I shall have to try straightening them through a mysterious process called "blocking," which calls for steam and pins. Or I'll just have to live with the curly edges. Wonder which choice I'll make...

Anyway. That's all for now. More riveting adventures in knitting coming up. Or perhaps cats. I've got lots of those stories too. (See how exciting my life is? Don't you just wish you were me?)

Never Fear, I is Here

So we meet again, Interweb.

Let me tell you a story. A story about a girl and her blog. Like 82.7% of people my age, I once had a blog. (Like 99.3% of people do 76.4% of the time, I am randomly conjuring numbers to serve my purpose. It's okay. The incantation isn't that hard and the nether world numbers hang out in is so dead boring they don't mind being yanked down to Earth mid-sentence, I swear.)

I, of course, did not keep up with said blog, because that is what one does with blogs: let them go. That is what they're for, that is how they're used. In addition to being horribly neglected, said blog was lame. So, I put it out of its misery and procured a new kitty. And here she is! Yay.

End of compulsory explanation, beginning of random bloggitude.


I see this billboard on my way to and from work everyday:

In case you can't read it, it says, "97% of the World's Coffee Beans Just Aren't Good Enough for Us. Or You, To Be Honest."

The first time I saw it, I was very confused and stared at it for like three minutes because no matter how many times I read it, I just kept thinking, What a bunch of elitist, douchebag jerks. I would say they should fire their PR person, but I suppose a large portion of Starbucks drinkers are elitist, douchebag jerks (otherwise, how could they get away with plastering this monstrosity to the side of the Green Line Science Park station?), so it's probably perfect. As my fictional love, Uchiha Sasuke, would say, "Tch."


Well, I think I've done enough for now. Typing is hard (inflect with scathing, self-deprecating whine). Till next time. You win this round, Interweb, but I'll get you yet.