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First, in response to comments: I forgot to photograph the pasta, but I promise to do it next time. But look here for a photo of yesterday's red velvet cupcakes, and then peek here for tonight's dinner, which was rice and fried tofu and steamed broccoli. (Sounds like I was a health nut today, I know, but I'm leaving out the part where I indulged in frosting beforehand. Hush.)
The lovely Amanda of hoi polloi tagged me recently. This is my third time being tagged, and for some reason I really wrestled with picking out another seven random things about myself. Then yesterday I stumbled upon this other style of tagging - the year tag. So I'm breaking the rules and trying it on instead, and whoever wants to join in is more than welcome to.
20 years ago. I was nearing the end of my terrible twos. I bumped into things a lot and cried a lot and was dressed in Osh Kosh jumpers. My method of entertainment was to hold the ends of two balloons in my mouth, clamp my eyes shut tight, and then shake my head frantically back and forth, thwapping the static-covered rubber against itself and my face. (This is on video. And yes, I really, really enjoyed it.)
10 years ago. I was twelve and finishing seventh grade. I still had glasses that constantly slipped down my nose, and clothes I didn't like, and a handful of crushes that were (almost all) unrealistic. On 70's day, during my first Homecoming week, I'd made oblivious conversation about bellbottoms with a girl named Brieanna, whom I'd played soccer with as a kid but hadn't seen since then, and we instantly became best friends.
5 years ago. I'd been dating Stefan for a year and was Homecoming royalty (no, not the Queen, are you kidding me? Just one of the other lower ones. I think they even had to make a new position for it). In a class of 147, I graduated high school, exhilarated and packing for college months in advance. Brieanna and I would talk endlessly about what our future apartment would be like, about all the things we'd do and all the ways we'd avoid being bad roommates.
3 years ago. I was finishing my sophomore year of college, moving into an apartment that shared an alley with a frat, and adding a third roommate. My design courses had just begun and I was overconfident. I'm envious now of how much I was dedicated to working out. I was about twenty pounds thinner and could run for an hour straight, my heart pounding and my eyes glued onto the gym televisions.
1 year ago. Brieanna and I realized that we had been friends for ten years. A decade-long friendship of seeing each other nearly every day really solidifies a lifelong connection, but it also inevitably means change is lurking around the corner, and in a big way. She went to our college graduation ceremony and I didn't. We signed separate leases with our own boyfriends and she moved 175 miles away. I started my internship, which turned into a fulltime job six months later, which I had hoped for from the beginning but hadn't been counting on. Stefan and I took a vacation in Las Vegas, played the slot machines, saw Penn & Teller, got sunburnt, and came back to Seattle and adopted Rufus after much indecision on my part.
So far this year. Besides a few kinks, I'd say it's been a good, though mild, year. I started elephantine, finished all the easy and medium songs on Guitar Hero, began to read more and write more, started working as a fulltime designer, tried to unsuccessfully sew clothes, went on vacation again, bought a new laptop, started a subscription to Vogue, and saw SIFF films for the first time.
Yesterday. Was lazy and tasty. We didn't drive anywhere. We tried to watch Inland Empire, but got distracted by magazines and laptops and cooking dinner. I did part of a workout found in Elle and cycled on the stationary bike. At 12:30 am, I was wide awake in bed.
Today. It was windy and rainy with about two seconds of sunshine. I worked, got home around 5:30, made dinner, watched reruns, and started writing.
Tomorrow. Tuesday's usually the toughest day for me to get through, so I can only hope that I keep busy and that the hours melt together.
The rest of the year. I'll learn how to make risotto and cherry pies from scratch, keep working on revamping my wardrobe and expand my shoe closet, turn a glorious 23 years old, submit work to a literary journal, conquer at least five more Guitar Hero songs on expert, try to convince Stefan that we can handle adopting a dog, get in the habit of vacuuming twice a week, and keep in touch with friends who now live so sadly far away.
One thing I always wish I could spend more time doing is cooking. Yesterday and today I did a whole lot of it (and somehow the kitchen isn't covered in piles of dishes and measuring cups and crumbs). My new love is making fresh pasta by hand. Not as hard as I thought – at least, not hard to end up with something edible. My orecchiette (little ears in Italian) are still turning out too big and thick, but aren't entirely off base. Now I'm dying to own a pasta machine (hint, hint).
So tonight we had plenty of handmade pasta, smothered in mild white sauce (also from scratch), steamed broccoli, lentils with diced onions, and pinot gris. Stefan also ate lamb, which smelled amazing (marinated in teriyaki and spices) but I turned it down. After dinner, still stuffed, I made a batch of red velvet cupcakes. All of them (okay, minus one devoured) are lined up on the kitchen counter right now, a bowl of frosting in the fridge. I think the only bad thing about baking things yourself is that you realize that certain things are essentially just sugar and butter and a little bit of flour or water added in. I think I may just have to send the cupcakes to Stefan's work tomorrow so I don't start visualizing a whole stick of butter chilling out in my stomach.
When we were approaching the panther exhibit at the zoo, a crowd was beginning to form, even though the animal wasn't even making himself visible. We weren't going to stick around, with nothing to gape at, but then I noticed that there were two zoo workers inside the cage, carving a large slab of meat.
They were prepping for feeding time.
"What kind of meat is that?" somebody yelled out.
"Lamb," the worker yelled back. I had a flashback to Jurassic Park. It looked like a thigh; it was the size of a violin and jagged and raw. The meat was then hooked onto a rope and hidden under a cardboard box. Another box, empty, was snuggled in the branches of a tree closer to the audience.
Then the workers exited the cage, and let the panther in. There was a collective gasp at how (large? gorgeous? hungry?) he was. It didn't take long for the panther to catch on where his lunch was hiding, not fooled by the decoy in the slightest. He was about to sink his teeth in when the meat flew away from him, toward the top of the cage. The zoo worker, not ten feet away but separated by fence, was controlling the food with the rope like a marionette. He yanked the rope, moving the food up, down, across the cage. And to everyone's delight, the panther followed suit, leaping, chasing, pouncing on the meat only to see it slip from his giant claws.
With such momentum going, the zoo worker swung the meat with so much oompf that it slammed against the fence, spraying bits of it – raw lamb, remember, which had been sufficiently gnawed by this point – onto the front rows of the audience. It was then that I was glad, no, grateful, that I had been standing in the back.
I know, I posted about Oh Leoluca a little bit ago, but I just can't get enough. I really just want the whole store... it feels so fun and effortless with that vintage kick. Detective Work Address Book (left) and Boho Dress (right, sold).
The three other paragraphs that I wrote for today were just eaten up greedily by the internet. I'm in no mood to rewrite it all, so to sum it up in fragments: 8 piece icing kit, Vogue subscription, Anvil! The Story of Anvil, Sushiland, mysterious blue stain on my cream Nine West hobo and methinks it is from my new jeans.
Surprise, I'm back, and you probably didn't even know I was gone. Sorry to be a little sneak, but the last couple posts were written/published before the fact – yeah, there, that's the control freak in me making an appearance.
Some notes on San Diego:
We did a lot of walking. A lot. The first day was spent exploring the residential areas around the hotel, wandering aimlessly among mismatched houses, most with dehydrated yellow lawns (the one with the greenest, most manicured grass was also decorated with dog poo). The second and third days were dedicated to downtown, the Gaslamp district, the pier, the zoo (twice through the panda exhibit, of course), Balboa park, and again around the hotel area. The food wasn't particularly San Diegan, but still good: a cafe with mouth-watering fruit tarts and pulpy OJ, too many french fries for my own good (and one case of pommes frites), the Hard Rock Cafe, an entire bag of succulent cherries, a thick vanilla shake from Ghirardelli, yakisoba with loads of bean sprouts, a very home-cooked meal from a diner (complete with a mini dish of lime jello at the end).
And of course there were the little quirky things I kept my I Spy eye on alert for: the cashier who "accidentally" let coins drop into the tip jar when handing back change; the man who, distracted by food, abandoned his wheelchair-bound wife in the middle of the airport, to which she shot back with thick sarcasm, "Well, thanks for just leaving me here!"; the interactive dinosaur game at the Natural History Museum titled "Life is great, then you die." (Am I sensing a good bumper sticker here?)
Even though it was good to cut ties with my computer for a hundred-plus hours, it's even better to be home again.
Somehow I finished reading the Joan Didion book in about 24 hours. I didn't even think I was that glued to it. Now I've moved onto Jhumpa Lahiri's The Namesake. I haven't seen the film, but I did read one of her other books a couple years ago and entirely loved the flavor of her writing.
I tried for the third time to watch the Danish film The Boss of It All and fell asleep again, but not because it was boring. I really did want to watch it. I think that listening to Danish just soothed me so much that I dozed off. I also had a bout of klutziness yesterday, two incidents of tripping over power cords and then one instance of walking smack into a door frame while carrying a bowl of oatmeal. Sometimes I think my perception is misaligned about five inches to the right.
Love the quirkiness and rich colors from Coley Claire.
I spent as much time as possible yesterday doing nontechnological things – making unmeasured amounts of iced tea, cleaning the apartment, baking cookies, laying deflated on our sage green sectional couch that I rarely sit on, sewing, taking photos, playing whole albums of Bob Dylan and PJ Harvey through the livingroom speakers. I finished reading Adverbs, so now I can rightfully say that it did not get any better and if I had been the publisher I would have cut the strings as soon as I had the chance. I'm already seventy five pages into my new read, Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking, which is worrisome for an anxious person like me to read but at the same time a great relief after drudging my way through the previous book.
The cat did it again yesterday. In the middle of the afternoon, Stefan comes into the livingroom, where I'm sunken into the sage green sofa, and asks if I know where Rufus is.
"I thought he was with you," I say. As if he were a small child.
Then after a few minutes I hear an excited, "Rufus! In there, again!" and I peel myself off the couch and go over to where Stefan is at, right in front of the washing machine. I peek down into it and there's Rufus, curled up around the central tower in the middle of the machine. He's hugging the pole with his body, purring, looking back up at me with unapologetic glassy eyes.
I'm unsure what the agenda is for today. I had wanted to play tennis yesterday but the air was so saturated with warmth that I knew I'd get exhausted and complainy after a few serves. So that may happen, or maybe the driving range will happen, or maybe it won't be insane everywhere and there will actually be open spaces in the parking lots for parks and open tables for restaurants with outdoor seating.
Today is the first day that it really feels like summer, so brilliantly light everywhere, restlessness itching throughout the whole office. During lunchtime all of downtown pours out onto the sidewalks, a thousand pairs of sunglasses dusted off.
Lucky for me, I spent most of the day sucked into a new project that has the potential for the kind of motion design I've been yearning to do. After Effects, you and I are becoming quite fond of each other, aren't we. I don't shoot you that blank stare so much anymore.
And let me just say that watching a tutorial on youtube that is being narrated by a someone with a thick Scottish accent makes it WAY more enjoyable to watch.
To top it off, after that I got an email from Stefan (who had taken the day off and was at home) that says: "So, I get clothes out of the dryer and RUFUS IS SITTING IN THE WASHING MACHINE. I carry dry clothes to bedroom, go back to get him, and he's sitting in the DRYER."
I almost spit out my cranberry juice but then write back: "Wait a minute.... are you telling me that our washing machine is a portal to our dryer?"
This reminds me that I've always wanted someone to invent a single machine that both washes and dries. If this exists, please please send a link to me. Or maybe, ahhh, it'd be cooler to have a robot that does my laundry? Or, wait, wait, how about a cat that doesn't hide inside appliances? Is that too much to ask for? My god, now I'm going to have to make little warning signs and tape them onto anything that's plugged in and bigger than a shoebox: "CHECK FOR CAT BEFORE USING."
Last night I saw this photo and nearly screamed because it's THAT CUTE. (Via Apartment Therapy.)
The conversation I overhear during my morning busride is between two male voices, although I start listening halfway in and under the whine of the bus I feel like I'm tapping a phone with a bad connection. The older voice asks something that returns the answer "Japanese," and the older voice then says, "I lived in the Philippines for five years."
"Oh, yeah, well that's still pretty far from Japan," says the younger voice.
There's a moment of silence, then Older Voice tries again: "I've been to Hong Kong."
Younger Voice tells him he's never been to Hong Kong. Maybe five, six minutes pass, then Older Voice blurts out, while presumably pointing out the window: "I used to work in that building, for (company). Before it moved."
"Really? I work at (company)!" says Younger Voice. My ears perk up because the firm that I work at has done design work for the company they're talking about.
"You're in the new building, then," Older Voice says unnecessarily. "You know, I work right across the street from you."
When it's Younger Voice's bus stop, Older Voice obviously also gets off the coach too, and I see what they look like at last. I recognize Younger Voice – I don't know him, but he's a regular on this route, and he's wearing his usual salad-green rain jacket and gray cap and spotty mustache. The older fella continues to tag along next to him down the block.
(I wrote all of that nine hours after the fact during my evening busride, and guess who was sitting right across from me – yes, Youngervoicegreenjacket. And as I'm writing in my tiny nearly undecipherable red scrawl I become a little worried at the very minuscule chance that this guy has x-ray vision and is going to realize what I'm doing and call me out, saying, "Hey listen, lady, you can't just do that, write about my somewhat awkward conversation with a stranger and tell everyone about it in your blog. You can't just do that, and besides, it's really not even that funny.")
This morning I watched this incredible wall-painted animation: MUTO by BLU. Make sure to listen, too – the soundtrack really enhances its amazingness.
About an hour ago I'm in the dressing room of Macy's, trying on a dress that is unflattering in all the worse ways, overhearing the only two other people in there. A girl is in the hallway with a summer dress on and her mother tells her that it's too "Ellie Mae," to which the daughter says, "Ellie who? I don't know who that is... oh, the hillbilly?" Then she changes and comes back out for her mom's next verdict.
Girl: "I like them... but they're more expensiver." (Yes, "expensiver.")
Mom: "Oh, wow, wow. Those jeans look amazing."
Girl: "They're 70 dollars."
Mom: "Is your grammy still out there? Go show her. They look so good. Really good."
Girl: "I like them... but they're 70 dollars."
Mom: "Wow, do those fit great. They look really great."
The mom was seriously having a heart attack over these pants. I wouldn't be surprised if she ended up buying every pair on the rack.
We also wander into the video game store, and the first thing I notice is a pair of legs laying very still on the floor. For a second I think that someone's passed out, but then I see that it's just a guy so invested in thumbing through the bottom shelf of games that he's laid down on the floor to get a good look.
Tonight I will be watching The Hills season finale, but not without plenty of shame. I think I only ever started watching it because there was a free episode download in the iTunes Store a year or so ago. And then this awful, somehow addictive show sucked me into its over-privileged cat-fight quicksand and I ended up buying all of the other episodes, $1.99 at a time, giddily impatient as the download bar sluggishly chugged along.
One thing I know for sure is that you will never ever catch me watching the upcoming Living Lohan. I would rather sell our tv than succumb to sitting through that.
1. Phillip Lim makes this little girl too cute for her own good. And I wouldn't mind owning the dress on the right. Wouldn't mind at all.
2. Still full from delicious dinner of teriyaki salmon, rice pilaf, orange slices, iced lemonade.
3. I'm Not There was better than I expected. 8/10.
4. Went to the hardware store yesterday with my parents for self-adhesive mailbox numbers. When we got up to the retail display, my mom immediately pulled out a piece of note paper and I just couldn't resist asking, "Shouldn't you know which numbers you need?" (See, sometimes I'm quick.)
5. Slightly disturbed that the kids in the Sunday funnies are now grown and have children of their own. Does this mean that I just haven't read them in forever or that comics time is insanely warped? I'm voting for the latter.
6. Suddenly intrigued with the idea of small weddings in Hawaii.
How was yours?
Interesting art from corduroy.
After playing volleyball last night I'm left with a long bruise tattooing my left hand. It looks like a little kid scribbled all over my wrist with a purple pen and then rolled my palm on an almost dried out ink pad. I guess I can't expect much less since when you really think about it, all I was doing for two hours was slapping a hard ball in the face over and over.
And even though it was sweet of Stefan to do a load of laundry after he got home from work, it also meant that my workout pants were uber static-charged and therefore behaved more like spandex for the first hour or so of the game. I developed a temporary nervous tick of pinching them away from my body, trying to convince the fabric from hugging my legs so stubbornly.
"So," Stefan tells me the other day, "I know why there aren't any flies in our apartment."
"Why?" For some reason I think he's talking about fruit flies.
But he just points an accusatory finger at Rufus, who obliviously stares at me.
I guess if there were pieces of candy flying around, I would eat them, too. Especially if I had no responsibilities besides coating the furniture with hair and chasing around ridiculous toys and using the litter box immediately after it's been freshly refilled, every single time, just to annoy whoever cleaned it.
I really want to see Felice Varini's illusional paintings in person.
"So I can tell that it's a service dog, but can he open the exit window in an emergency?"
This is what catches my attention on the bus today. It's being asked by a twenty-something, average-joe man leaning across the aisle, smiling widely at a woman seated next to her dog.
She gives him a polite laugh and answers, "Well, I'm not so sure about that. He can open doors, though. Can't undo chains, but can open doors." I'm not sure why she's introduced chains into the equation, as the dog is wearing a fabric leash and there isn't (thank god) anyone on the bus chained up.
Then another woman whips out her cellphone, thrusts her hand out as far away from herself as possible, and takes a picture of the pup. I hear the fake shutter sound effect of the cellphone and the woman coos. The dog gives the lady a wet-eyed glance, eyelids drooping, an oh, bother expression plastered across his face.
"How old is he?" she asks. Eight years old, the owner tells her.
Then the first guy takes his turn again: "And what kind of dog is he?"
"A beagle, huh! So, AS A SERVICE DOG," he's nearly shouting now over the static of traffic and the air conditioning, "WHAT EXACTLY DOES HE DO FOR YOU?" Wow. Way to be rude. Way to essentially ask the woman, "What's your disability? What's wrong with you, anyway?"
Oh, yeah – and for all you seattlites, the SIFF film lineup was announced today.
I fall asleep on the bus, which is routine, but the drowsiness washes over me even more quickly than usual because my new book is not proving to be such a treat to read. It feels contrived, unimaginative. And another gripe of mine: don't slap "A Novel" on the cover if it's really just a bunch of short stories (related, but nonetheless still detached). Has anyone else read it? Does it get better after thirty pages?
So I may be starting up a new read, e.g. the one that came in the mail today, Pearl S. Buck's The Good Earth. It's one of several books I just purchased via the beloved Amazon Marketplace. The only downside of AM is that the books always seem to arrive in impossible-to-open packaging. The Good Earth came wrapped in, outside to inside: thick clear tape, then masking tape, then a paper bag, then a plastic Walmart bag, and then – wait for it – saran wrap.
When I wake up from my literary-induced snooze, I'm greeted by a nearly empty bus, which is strange because normally it's still packed shoulders-to-ankles. I hadn't missed my stop, even. We're passing by Half Price Pots and I noticed that there's bus right in front of ours that has an advertisement on its rear for that exact store. Most of the ad is occupied by an illustration of an anthropomorphic, doe-eyed flower nestled snugly in a pot (half priced, I assume) donning exaggerated lashes and a pearl necklace and full-bodied, siren red lips. Beside the plant, in big lettering, the ad demands, "Contain Yourself."
Creepy seducing plants. I hope that in my post-slumber fuzziness I imagined the whole thing.
Yum brella bowls by Benjamin Hubert.
Is tonight secretly National Ice Cream Float Night? The two people behind me in the grocery store were stocking up on ice cream and pop. The woman had also tossed a Self magazine on the conveyor belt, though – hmm, a little conflicted, are we? (Okay, so I'm no better. I had a Hostess Fruit Pie today directly before dinner, guilty as charged. But that's the freedom you get with buying your own groceries, right?)
My boyfriend's officemate went to the Mall of America recently. I guess it took her nearly an hour just to walk from one end to the other. And there's a FERRIS WHEEL AND AN AQUARIUM. Seriously?
And I just discovered a post about my yetis on the awesome Plush You blog! Oh, the love.
Naturally, during our San Diego vacation we'll be going to the zoo. I was more excited that I probably should have been when I discovered that there is a PANDA CAM ONLINE! My life will be a little bit more complete when I see the adorableness in person.
Speaking of animals, I was about two feet away from being struck by bird poo this morning on my walk to the bus stop. Worse part was that it made this wet slop sound as it slapped down on the concrete. And it was shiny and green and menacing. I walked the rest of the way with my whole body tense, breath sucked in in paranoia, fighting the logical part of me that insisted I wasn't making myself any smaller, any less of a target.
I haven't posted about any shop updates or new creations for a while. I don't have a good excuse; I've just gotten caught up in other things and needed a little break. But now I'm revving the engine back up a bit, re-stocking my felt supply, and warning my fingers for the inevitable needle pricks.
Tonight I finished this long-overdue yeti, which was a custom request from Nate, whom I work with. (If you're as into sneakers as he is, his store should give you that kid-in-a-candy-store swoon.) His only requirement was to have removable sneakers, which, I'll tell ya, was a challenge in itself, but I think they turned out sneaker-y enough. The laces are just for show, but the shoes do slip off pretty easily. This is also the only plush I've made that actually stands up on its own.
There will be a shop update with lungbear, yeti, and siamese twin plushies within the next couple weeks. Stay tuned.
(Oh yeah, and the creme brulee was delicious.)
I need a good recipe that calls for thyme. My little plant is going to start feeling neglected.
Today got up late enough to sleep in but early enough to catch a matinee of Iron Man. It was okay. I wouldn't watch it a second time. You know how there's always a super-glittery-snazzy animation for the theater you're in before the previews and feature film start? Someone must have been really impressed because they let out a big "WOAH!" right after it finished. I wish I could be so easily amazed.
Then there was the trailer for the new M. Night Shyamalan movie. My suspicions of it looking completely not horrifying were confirmed when some children actually laughed at it.
The weather is borderline perfect and I just took the creme brule out of the oven to cool... so I think we're going to head down to the park and ooo and ahh over all the dogs... and stay away from that fearless white duck who appears to be the head of some kind of feathered gang.
Spent some time photographing today. Updated my flickr a little.
I bought a torch today. Okay... sort of an exaggeration. We just picked up supplies to make creme brulee – I've never made it but it's one of my favorite desserts. I'll report back later if I mess it up or not and if the torching was as much fun as I'm expecting it to be. Last night it felt like the whole city was off-kilter. There was a young kid walking around downtown all by himself, wearing sweatpants and sucking on a lollipop with the expression of "must get to that meeting, I'm running late," and then an even younger kid who was acting like a policeman and holding her hand out to already-stopped cars motioning them not to move. At the gas station a booming voice yelled out to us over the speaker, "CAN I HELP YOU?" but then we realized that the gas pump tube was accidentally pressed against the Press For Assistance button. When I turned around there was a man staring at us wearing both an eye patch and glasses and a goofy grin.
My boyfriend recently bought an external harddrive, and this, in all its glory, is a snippet from the accompanying instruction manual. Obviously, it was extremely helpful and eloquently written. ("Whop" has moved up in rank in my vocabulary.) I'm pretty sure that I'll have to submit it to the kicking-ass-and-taking-names blog Red Pen, Inc. because come on, how can I not?
This reminds me of a long time ago when I was looking into adopting a guinea pig. My parents and I were reading up on all the usual goodness – animal traits, care tips, etc. – and one website advised to "not drop your guinea pig, for it may break its backs." If I remember right, my mom thought that was especially funny. And when we brought home my new pet, I think I was a bit petrified of indeed dropping her because she was so wiggly whenever I picked her up. That's what I always think of now if someone says guinea pig - the constant, need-to-escape-now, nervous wiggling.
Gorgeous handthrown stoneware bowls from Manos.
It's May 1st – and you know what that means – giveaway winners announced! Thanks mucho to the thirty-four of you who entered... I loved reading every bit of randomness. Down to business, drumroll, here are the winners: Matilda Sue, Lisa, and Anne. (Ladies, you'll be getting an email from me.)
I have a million things on my to-do list and zero good stories to tell today. Unless you want to hear about my lunch that had a whole colony's worth of sundried tomatoes piled on top of it? Or how Rufus just sat down next to me and started clawing at my tights without being provoked – and, yes, while I'm wearing them? Thought so. So happy thursday, and don't forget to watch The Office.
Nice design work by MadeThought. Probably the coolest tea packages I've seen in a while.
So this afternoon I'm heading over to my new dentist's office for a filling - a bit on edge because even though most of my upper molars are plated with guilty silver, it's been a couple years since I've had any new ones and I keep thinking about that huge needle piercing and sliding into my cheek. I'm in the elevator, watching the numbers jump until they reach 17, and then rush out and around the hallway corner, about thirty seconds away from being late. And there it is. A black cat, just sitting in the middle of the hallway.
It's looks like a sweety, is smiling innocently at me, but the only thought I have is, "Great, walking right into a cliché."
But it goes okay. The worse part is the sensation of numbness spilling down the side of my face, at that at its worse is just odd, not painful. My new dentist is slightly on the older side, a gentle disposition, bright eyes. She was, I'm deciding, a good choice.
Olivia makes some cool plush. Especially her works for the Crammed Organisms show - which, by the way, I am kicking myself for finding out about too late. I feel like the kid who misses the school bus on field trip day. Lame.
In other news, I'm officially selling my e-soul by clearing off a little bit of the page for ad space. Okay, okay, it's not that bad, and in truth I'm really grateful for all that have bidded so far. (I had this secret fear that the spots would remain empty, just staring back at me embarrassingly.) I'm doing it through Project Wonderful, a bidding-based ad system. Because I wasn't really losing anything by doing so, I started the minimum bid at $0 – but I told the Etsians about it first in the forums, so the current spots have all been snatched up. Whoo! But, ya know, you can always outbid one of them... wink.
And yes, I did buy that fantastic yellow suitcase that I posted about yesterday. Our vacation plans are in the works - a trip down to San Diego, to the sun, to the zoo, to far away but not too far away.
I am very seriously considering buying this retro mustard suitcase from Ladies & Gentleman. Swoon...
Today I found an amazing site, Poets & Writers. My relief is twofold after numerous searches feeding me handfuls of dreadful, sad-looking writing sites. Sooo, I'll likely be poking my little curious nose around in the 'connect with others' pages this evening.
I've been eying these gorgeous felt laptop sleeves from Working Class Heroes for a while. I... uh... right, so I just lost my train of thought because of hearing this on the television: "By now, it surely comes as no surprise that poodles were once used to pull milk carts in Russia." Seriously? No surprise?
I did finish Spirited Away and liked it quite a bit. Will watch more Miyazaki soon. I also finished the first draft of my short story, just under 3,900 words. Even though I'm not thrilled with the outcome and there's plenty of plot holes and incomplete thoughts and all that makes for sounding unconvincing, it's really really good to have taken a step forward. It tremendously helped to outline the whole story initially (very generally in the first pass, then filling in the details in the second pass before actually writing anything.)
Have a lovely rest of the weekend!
Mm, I want a whole bathroom filled with these. Design by Brad Surcey.
I finished The Contortionist's Handbook on my way home from work yesterday. I give it around a 7 or 8 out of 10. Clevenger has a clear, clever writing style and it was entertaining to read. This morning I started Palahniuk's Survivor – who is, if you aren't familiar with one or both, pretty similar in style/content to Clevenger. Also started watching Spirited Away (currently on pause because our landlord came in to power wash the porch). I'm the first one to profess my dislike of animated films (with one exception) but so far it's a pleasure to watch. (Doing so with subtitles - come on, don't watch it dubbed.) And yes, it's sunny, which calls for a little dawdling around the neighborhood, a little basking in the warmth.
Cashmere hat from Sanchia Playfair. Looks fun to wear and I don't know if I could pull it off.
Remember when I posted about the discarded mustard sandwich corners? Well, friends, today I met the perpetrator. By "met," I mean she sat down next to me at the bus stop, scootching closer and closer until I was shrinking on the edge of the bench. (Do I give off the vibe of not needing any bench space?) By "she" I mean an elderly woman with a rosy, tan face, her body disappearing inside of a huge yellow fisherman's coat, baggy black pants, heavy-duty hiking shoes. Not quite a bag lady, but getting there. She tossed a couple Mustardwich corners onto the sidewalk (almost hit a guy walking past, wearing khakis, disaster averted by seconds), then started stuffing another handful of the yellow mess into her mouth. Four, maybe five, times she got up to dispose of her ziplock baggies in the trash can, then plopped right back down on the bench with her back turned toward me and busy elbows almost jabbing into my sides. I was sitting downwind and got a huge, disappointing whiff of fish and mustard. And no, birds resisted the urge to dive at the offered pieces. There was one blackbird perched on the bus stop sign, and it just kept cawing in annoyance, over and over.
Hey, you know what I realized? Not enough unfinished projects on my plate. You know, those other half dozen things I have going on... not cutting it. So I'll throw another one on there for you all to later use against me when this blog becomes an unsightly smorgasbord. This one's aptly filed under 'eats in seattle' (and I've used two food references already, so 2 points me, 0 points you), and I'm sure there are an exhausting, grumpy amount of food bloggers and lists out there, but I don't care, because I am by far the pickiest eater I know and therefore have to come up with a list for myself. And instead of posting photos of the food like any normal person would do, I'm just going to show you where it is.
Number one. Cafe Besalu: pastry bliss. I had an apricot something-or-rather and the rhubarb tartlet. The apricot goodness was light, flaky, just the right amount of sweet, good balance of fruit and dough. The rhubarb was even better – buttery crunchy exterior, soft flaky inside, hugging a generous amount of the sliced fruit – scratch that, vegetable – which was very tart, very what I needed.
My business cards arrived today. I was a little iffy about getting some in the first place... I didn't want it to be some cheesy look-at-me-so-important thing, but then I was inspired by someone else's photography-based ones and caved in. They turned out pretty well – I opted for the heavier stock (100 lb, not super heavy, but at least not flimsy) and a matte finish. The backsides are blank so I can write thank yous to my lovely customers.
I also recently got some buttons made. They aren't listed in the shop yet and I may end up just throwing them into plush orders or using them as additional promo material. We'll see.
(And the fiction writing is going well... almost to 1500 words, ahead of schedule.)