Tis the season for new jackets. Left: Wang Wei. Right: Mike & Chris.
Got up early today, ate breakfast out, bought some new tights and a dress. I've been doing a little cleaning back at the apartment, which is going well, except for the part where Rufus the cat decided to use a cardboard box as a surf board and crash into some plastic drawers. He's okay, but feeling a little self-conscious, I think.
Made by Michelle Brusegaard.
No time to blog, watching Project Runway! And now I'm itching to sew, despite my past defeats.
Minimalistic from Cooper Hewitt.
Today I had a bowl of instant soup that was "Vegetal" flavored. Yes, Pat, I'd like to solve the puzzle.
I can't understand most of it, but I can still swoon: Billet.
Stefan: So, my friend just got back from Croatia...
Me: Where is that, anyway?
Stefan: I'm not sure. I think it's, uh...
Me: It's near Cheece, right?
Stefan: Cheece?
Me: Greece. Greece!
I do this all the time, borrowing letters from previous words. It's worse when I don't even realize it. And no, Croatia is not really that close to Greece.
Enigmatic prints from Lolley Land.
There were a lot of entertaining things about the hockey game that I went to last night, and one of them was the Zamboni. But it wasn't the machine. It was the guy driving the machine. He was probably in his thirties and on the shorter side, an attribute magnified by wearing wide leg jeans and a jumbo hockey jersey. He was balding, and little tufts of hair stood up on the front of his head. He also had a severe underbite, bulging eyes, and black-rimmed glasses. As he sped the Zamboni around the rink, he didn't even bother to sit down; instead, he stood, hunched over the steering wheel, navigating deftly. I started to imagine him at parties, mingling with friends unaware of the culture of ice rinks, boasting about how necessary and intense his job is.
And after reading up a little bit about it, I just have to share this: Frank J. Zamboni, the inventor of the Zamboni, was born in Eureka, Utah. Can it get much better than that?
Today's been scrumptious & picturesque: we did some errands in the morning, then dropped by a community boutique sale (got a cute a.p.c. striped button up shirt), had sushi and coffee, and drove around while all the orange and yellow leaves fluttered through the air.
This morning, I spotted a yellow-eyed black cat just outside the garage. I approached it really slowly, but it skedaddled before I was within arm's length. Disappointed, watching it run into the neighbor's yard, I turned around – and there was another yellow-eyed black cat, just sitting there sweetly in the middle of the garage.
I think I may have discovered a teleporting cat.
Lots of sweetness in Creature Comforts' photostream.
So I've been wanting to expand my good-board-games-for-two collection, and I might have done so tonight, except for this one little problem. And that problem was a gangly teenage kid drifting around the aisle, talking to himself. Or maybe he was talking at me?
Either way.
As soon as I heard him cry out, "Andbeforeyouknowit! Iron Man is gonna..." to himself/no one/me, I ran out of the aisle and looked for other things to occupy myself with, like mountainous amounts of candy corn. (A few minutes after that, an announcement about Iron Man came over the PA system. So maybe he was on to something after all.)
Cosas Mínimas by Blanca Gómez. Just lovely. Check out her blog, too.
This evening, I got so caught up in taking a grammar quiz online that my half-eaten ice cream sandwich started to melt all over the table and I didn't even notice. If that's not a sign of being a grammar nerd, I don't know what is.
(And now I keep thinking about all the people who are shaking their heads, lamenting, "Oh, what a horrible waste of ice cream!")
I know it's pretty silly to swoon over perfume when I can't even smell it, but... still. Susanne Lang.
Random product recommendation for anyone who has to deal with unintentionally hairy couches and pants: get the Furminator. We've been using it on our cat, and it's ridiculously better than any other brush. I'm finding fewer and fewer of those little tumbleweeds of fur rolling around the apartment.
Have a stellar weekend!
Shoe love from Keller.
Stefan: Well, I guess it's time for pie.
Me: Uh... we ate it all, remember?
Stefan: WE ate it all?
Me: Oh.. whoops.
Cue the shameful look.