remember that time i wanted a cooking blog?
yeah, me neither.
life is messy, man, and waffles make things better. this is adapted from the better homes and gardens new cookbook, the one with the red gingham and ring-binding for easy addition/subtraction. these waffles will make you feel good. they will remind you of diners. they will silence you because you will be busy chewing. they are delightful topped with butter, and syrup that also has butter added to it because, fuck all.
the best waffles
1 3/4 cup flour
2 1/2 tbsp sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt1/2 cup butter
2 eggs1/3 cup sour cream
1 cup buttermilk*
1 tsp vanilla
whisk together the flour, sugar, powder, soda and salt. make a well in the middle, set aside.
in a separate bowl, melt your butter. add eggs one at a time, whisking well so they don't scramble and/or clumpify the butter. slowly whisk in the sour cream til smooth. whisk in buttermilk and vanilla.
pour wet ingredients into well of dry ingredients, and mix just until moistened, resulting in a lumpy, sticky batter.
cook according to your waffle iron's instructions, serve pronto with the aforementioned butter and buttery syrup. also, whipped cream. also, fruit. also, ice cream.
*or be me and add 1 tbsp of white vinegar to a 1 cup measuring cup and fill the rest of the way with milk; let sit 5 minutes. because srsly, who has buttermilk around anymore? i know they used to drink that shit straight in the 50's but damn.
Tuesday, February 2, 2016
Thursday, September 20, 2012
a lighthearted interlude
i had somehow forgotten about this video's existence. this is a failing on my part, and i sought to remedy it.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
the violence inherent in the system, but not the sex.
so i've done a lot of thinking about the whole "violence is ok for kids, but sex isn't" debacle that plagues our society, and i think i've finally hit upon a logical conclusion.
anyone who has ever spent any time around young kids (and i mean pre-teen/prepubescent young) knows that the lord of the flies had it absolutely right: without societal guidance, children are mean. they will say whatever they want, regardless of the feelings of others, and with a complete lack of tact. they'll hit and kick and scratch and bite. they will defend themselves over the smallest slight, and attack verbally at a moment's notice.
so violence, messy as it is, is ingrained. it's there at the start, and is un-taught for the greater good (i.e., not going around punching everyone because you want to). it's relatable. it's even casual; my guy and i beat each other up all the time. mostly me. because he's a jerkface*.
i'm not a doctor. i have no grants, and i haven't spent years observing children and their brain patterns and diets and hormone levels. but it doesn't take a doctorate to know that kids are jerks. nor does it take a rocket surgeon to know that kids don't really develop an interest in sex until later on, much later than an interest in violence and slapping tommy because he took your blocks away.
sure, kids know they have parts. they know that if you touch some of those parts in a certain way, it feels weird/good/hilarious. they know that acting out on the touching can get a response that is also hilarious, especially when your parents have guests over for dinner. but the intricacies of sex and its larger-scale effects are basically lost on children**. part of the joy of childhood is the inexperience and innocence that coats our interpretation of the world around us. we catch glimpses of things and reconstruct them in our head based on already learned facts and pure imaginative whimsy. we see a bit of sexy-times on television before the channel is quickly changed, and lie in bed replaying that bit over and over again, wondering what and why and how and hey what's going on there. we ache for the unknown, in an unknowing manner; we don't even know what it is that we want.
so where does this leave us? well, it's my opinion that information about sex should come from someone who cares and knows what they're talking about, and i'd really like it if we lived in a world where that person is a parent or guardian. unfortunately, we don't live in such a world. we live in a world where it seems like a lot of grown human beings don't know how their own bodies work. we live in a world where girls are growing up to be women who think a hymen is something that has to be broken through***, and many men think that pornography is a learning tool.
like wonder bread and alvarado st bakery, the sex that is found in movies and books is a creature completely separate from actual sex. in movies and books, two people (usually a man and a woman) meet, know each other for about a week, have sex (in books--at least, in romances--the woman is usually a virgin and there's pain and blood and the man holds her close as her eyes well with tears and he assures her the pain will pass and then omg it's so beautiful lolz~****), and then are in love forever and ever.
this is not what we need to be teaching children. we need to be teaching them that their bodies and minds are complex, and thus, social and sexual interactions are as well. we need to teach them to be safe, with their own bodies and with other bodies. they are not going to learn any of this watching/reading current forms of entertainment. this, unfortunately, says a lot about the quality of our entertainment these days, but frankly, if you're looking to something called entertainment for learning material, you're already in a lot of trouble. children, however, see everything as learning material, because everything is new. what they do with that material is, for the most part, up to you.
sit down with your kids, tell them how their bodies work. they don't need all the fleshy-moist details all up front; a nice outline of the basics will do, and then work your way up from there.
and tell tommy to stop being a dick and give back the damn blocks.
*not always.
**which is why 16 and Pregnant exists.
***i think i truly grasped how second-rate the female gender is considered in this country when i learned, at age twenty-nine, that this is not true.
****i was an avid reader of harlequin romances. it is seriously like this. all the time. forever and ever. just like love! <3 <3 <3 xoxo
anyone who has ever spent any time around young kids (and i mean pre-teen/prepubescent young) knows that the lord of the flies had it absolutely right: without societal guidance, children are mean. they will say whatever they want, regardless of the feelings of others, and with a complete lack of tact. they'll hit and kick and scratch and bite. they will defend themselves over the smallest slight, and attack verbally at a moment's notice.
so violence, messy as it is, is ingrained. it's there at the start, and is un-taught for the greater good (i.e., not going around punching everyone because you want to). it's relatable. it's even casual; my guy and i beat each other up all the time. mostly me. because he's a jerkface*.
i'm not a doctor. i have no grants, and i haven't spent years observing children and their brain patterns and diets and hormone levels. but it doesn't take a doctorate to know that kids are jerks. nor does it take a rocket surgeon to know that kids don't really develop an interest in sex until later on, much later than an interest in violence and slapping tommy because he took your blocks away.
sure, kids know they have parts. they know that if you touch some of those parts in a certain way, it feels weird/good/hilarious. they know that acting out on the touching can get a response that is also hilarious, especially when your parents have guests over for dinner. but the intricacies of sex and its larger-scale effects are basically lost on children**. part of the joy of childhood is the inexperience and innocence that coats our interpretation of the world around us. we catch glimpses of things and reconstruct them in our head based on already learned facts and pure imaginative whimsy. we see a bit of sexy-times on television before the channel is quickly changed, and lie in bed replaying that bit over and over again, wondering what and why and how and hey what's going on there. we ache for the unknown, in an unknowing manner; we don't even know what it is that we want.
so where does this leave us? well, it's my opinion that information about sex should come from someone who cares and knows what they're talking about, and i'd really like it if we lived in a world where that person is a parent or guardian. unfortunately, we don't live in such a world. we live in a world where it seems like a lot of grown human beings don't know how their own bodies work. we live in a world where girls are growing up to be women who think a hymen is something that has to be broken through***, and many men think that pornography is a learning tool.
like wonder bread and alvarado st bakery, the sex that is found in movies and books is a creature completely separate from actual sex. in movies and books, two people (usually a man and a woman) meet, know each other for about a week, have sex (in books--at least, in romances--the woman is usually a virgin and there's pain and blood and the man holds her close as her eyes well with tears and he assures her the pain will pass and then omg it's so beautiful lolz~****), and then are in love forever and ever.
this is not what we need to be teaching children. we need to be teaching them that their bodies and minds are complex, and thus, social and sexual interactions are as well. we need to teach them to be safe, with their own bodies and with other bodies. they are not going to learn any of this watching/reading current forms of entertainment. this, unfortunately, says a lot about the quality of our entertainment these days, but frankly, if you're looking to something called entertainment for learning material, you're already in a lot of trouble. children, however, see everything as learning material, because everything is new. what they do with that material is, for the most part, up to you.
sit down with your kids, tell them how their bodies work. they don't need all the fleshy-moist details all up front; a nice outline of the basics will do, and then work your way up from there.
and tell tommy to stop being a dick and give back the damn blocks.
*not always.
**which is why 16 and Pregnant exists.
***i think i truly grasped how second-rate the female gender is considered in this country when i learned, at age twenty-nine, that this is not true.
****i was an avid reader of harlequin romances. it is seriously like this. all the time. forever and ever. just like love! <3 <3 <3 xoxo
Monday, August 6, 2012
pumpkin pie rice pudding.
so i had a random urge for crazy food-related delight this afternoon, on my hour-and-a-half drive home from pacifica*. i recently found, via tastespotting, recipes for fried oatmeal chicken and pumpkin mash. the page in question was an exercise in de-health-ifying an existing set of recipes, and believe you me, it sounds pretty freaking awesome. however, i've been trying to pay attention to what i stuff in my facehole, and the thought of frying chicken in pure butter was slightly repellent to me. so, i stopped at the store, and then i improvised, via baked oatmeal chicken and pumpkin polenta.
it was pretty amazingly delicious considering i was basically winging it; the milk needed egg to really make the oatmeal stick, and i probably should've run about half of the oatmeal through the food processor to make a really nice coating. but the oven maintained 350 degrees fahrenheit**, and the polenta soaked up the pumpkin like a champ. well, half of the pumpkin.
see, the smallest size can of pumpkin puree one can get with regularity at their local supermarket is 15 ounces, the size of a slightly-large soup can. i only needed half the can for dinner, and whilst i took a couple bites of puree straight from the can, i craved more.
enter cook's illustrated recipe for simple stovetop rice pudding, tweaked and adapted to complete shit because i'm impatient and didn't want to use two cups of any dairy product. because we were running low. however, my bastardization was the real winner this evening:
i give you, pumpkin pie rice pudding.
1/2 cup medium grain rice
2 cups water
1/8 tsp salt
1 cup milk
1/3 cup sugar
half a 15oz can of pumpkin puree (aka, 7.5oz pumpkin puree {math is power!})
1 tsp cinnamon (or, one container cinnamon. it depends on your tastes. i don't judge.)
dash nutmeg
1 tsp vanilla extract
bring 1 cup of water to a boil. stir in rice and salt; reduce heat to low and simmer, covered, until water is absorbed, about 15 minutes.
stir in milk and 1 cup water; the sugar; the spices; the extract; and the half can of pumpkin puree. bring to medium heat, stirring frequently until thick. reduce to low heat to continue the magical thickening process, stirring occasionally so it doesn't stick to the bottom of the pan.
you could, of course, let it chill in the fridge, and then top it with freshly-made whipped cream and some more cinnamon. or, you could be real damn impatient like me, and let it fall to just below taste-bud-slaughtering heat before consuming it like the animal you are. i am. we are. IT TASTES LIKE PUMPKIN PIE, ALL RIGHT?
BONUS:
DUNE!
*i almost stopped a few times--the weather was perfect, the sea was exquisite... ugh.
**which was twenty-five degrees lower than i wanted, but the fact that it maintained any temperature below 425 is a victory to me.
it was pretty amazingly delicious considering i was basically winging it; the milk needed egg to really make the oatmeal stick, and i probably should've run about half of the oatmeal through the food processor to make a really nice coating. but the oven maintained 350 degrees fahrenheit**, and the polenta soaked up the pumpkin like a champ. well, half of the pumpkin.
see, the smallest size can of pumpkin puree one can get with regularity at their local supermarket is 15 ounces, the size of a slightly-large soup can. i only needed half the can for dinner, and whilst i took a couple bites of puree straight from the can, i craved more.
enter cook's illustrated recipe for simple stovetop rice pudding, tweaked and adapted to complete shit because i'm impatient and didn't want to use two cups of any dairy product. because we were running low. however, my bastardization was the real winner this evening:
i give you, pumpkin pie rice pudding.
1/2 cup medium grain rice
2 cups water
1/8 tsp salt
1 cup milk
1/3 cup sugar
half a 15oz can of pumpkin puree (aka, 7.5oz pumpkin puree {math is power!})
1 tsp cinnamon (or, one container cinnamon. it depends on your tastes. i don't judge.)
dash nutmeg
1 tsp vanilla extract
bring 1 cup of water to a boil. stir in rice and salt; reduce heat to low and simmer, covered, until water is absorbed, about 15 minutes.
stir in milk and 1 cup water; the sugar; the spices; the extract; and the half can of pumpkin puree. bring to medium heat, stirring frequently until thick. reduce to low heat to continue the magical thickening process, stirring occasionally so it doesn't stick to the bottom of the pan.
you could, of course, let it chill in the fridge, and then top it with freshly-made whipped cream and some more cinnamon. or, you could be real damn impatient like me, and let it fall to just below taste-bud-slaughtering heat before consuming it like the animal you are. i am. we are. IT TASTES LIKE PUMPKIN PIE, ALL RIGHT?
BONUS:
DUNE!
*i almost stopped a few times--the weather was perfect, the sea was exquisite... ugh.
**which was twenty-five degrees lower than i wanted, but the fact that it maintained any temperature below 425 is a victory to me.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
+100 things that make me happy+ #24: falling asleep sitting up with the light on and a book in my hand, then waking in the night to find the light off and the book put aside for me
the title to this post pretty much explains it all.*
a few years back, i had a massive ear infection. and i mean massive; i could not hear out of my right ear for a good five months total. the infection culminated the morning of christmas eve, forcing me to spend the wee hours of the morning crying in pain in the urgent care of the local doctor's office.**
two hours and a couple hundred dollars in time and prescriptions later, i was back home, medicated and packing up little chinese-food boxes with cookies for the coworkers i was, unfortunately, bailing on that day.*** i rested for a bit, then headed out with the guy and kids to drop off the boxes, apologize profusely for being ill, and spend the evening nodding off in a corner at the guy's parents' house.
that night, we sat in bed reading, the red-shaded vintage lamp behind the bed making everything look warm and cozy, and the down comforter actually making it warm and cozy. the nodding continued in earnest, evolving into drowsing, and ending with me falling asleep sitting up with my book splayed in my lap.
later, i woke up to a dark room and soft snoring. my book was set aside. i'd been tended to in my sleep. at a time when i was already feeling vulnerable and crappy, it was immensely comforting--a small, lovely gesture of affection.
*unlike clarissa. i liked the show and all, but really, she explained absolutely nothing.
**pro-tip: screaming and clutching your head gets you to the head of the line every. time.
***retail work = usually working shitty days of the year and having to pay for doctor's visits and prescriptions out of pocket. SCORE!
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
+100 things that make me happy+ #23: quail
summer in california means many things to many people. in the past it has meant to me that i had one more stupid season to get through before autumn finally arrived, and i could wear sweaters and eat squash again. living in the mountains has toned down my dislike for summer, and i have come to more fully embrace the long days and barbequed foods and cold beverages that i used to really not care that much about.
summer in california also means that the local wildlife is out in full force. frogs, cicadas, owls, mockingbirds, coyotes--they're a constant nightly reminder that 27 hours of daylight is not nearly enough, and will screech in protest all night long. luckily for me, i wear earplugs to sleep.
my all-time favorite summer "visitor" is also a bit noisy, but it's an adorable noise. the california quail makes a poppy sort of whooping sound as it scratches through the brush bordering our property. they like to gather there in the mornings and late afternoons, and i like to try and get as close as possible without scaring them away. i unfortunately suck at it, so i have to make do with glimpses of blurred feet scrambling into the christmas tree farm next door and sightings down the driveway.
a baby quail is called a walnut. take a moment to fully absorb that fact, i'll wait.
ok, you good now? no? me neither. i still can't get over the fact that the offspring of one of the cutest birds ever is called a freaking walnut. a group of quail is called a covey*. so you can have a covey of walnuts. i don't even know what to do with myself in situations like this.
JUST LOOK AT THIS:
LOOK AT THAT FACE.
I'M DONE.
*thanks, covey run vineyards!
summer in california also means that the local wildlife is out in full force. frogs, cicadas, owls, mockingbirds, coyotes--they're a constant nightly reminder that 27 hours of daylight is not nearly enough, and will screech in protest all night long. luckily for me, i wear earplugs to sleep.
my all-time favorite summer "visitor" is also a bit noisy, but it's an adorable noise. the california quail makes a poppy sort of whooping sound as it scratches through the brush bordering our property. they like to gather there in the mornings and late afternoons, and i like to try and get as close as possible without scaring them away. i unfortunately suck at it, so i have to make do with glimpses of blurred feet scrambling into the christmas tree farm next door and sightings down the driveway.
a baby quail is called a walnut. take a moment to fully absorb that fact, i'll wait.
ok, you good now? no? me neither. i still can't get over the fact that the offspring of one of the cutest birds ever is called a freaking walnut. a group of quail is called a covey*. so you can have a covey of walnuts. i don't even know what to do with myself in situations like this.
JUST LOOK AT THIS:
LOOK AT THAT FACE.
I'M DONE.
*thanks, covey run vineyards!
Saturday, March 10, 2012
the chicken whisperer.
at least five days a week, i drive down the hill into town. and then, in turn, at least five days a week, i drive back up the hill to home. the passenger-side window of my car doesn't roll down, so the ride home is when i take a little back road, and stop to talk to the chickens.
seriously. i pull over, roll down my window, and greet them with a "good day". i will then proceed to either ask them "what's up" in english, or translate it into what i believe is chickenese. i sit in my car and cluck at them until they come over to the fence, where they scratch, stare, and cluck softly in response. every once in a while, the rooster will give me a crow*.
i sit and i tell the chickens that they are very lucky to be chickens, that they have it easy. they don't know right or wrong, and therefore it doesn't exist for them. they just do. i tell them that they don't have to worry about rush hour traffic, or complex social interactions. this is not at all meant to belittle the chickens; far from it.
then, after a minute or so, i drive off, because another thing chickens don't have to worry about is their owner coming around the corner of the coop to find a strange girl in a car babbling to their yard fowl. nope, that worry is all mine.
*the sound, not the bird. i wish it was the bird. that would be sweet.
seriously. i pull over, roll down my window, and greet them with a "good day". i will then proceed to either ask them "what's up" in english, or translate it into what i believe is chickenese. i sit in my car and cluck at them until they come over to the fence, where they scratch, stare, and cluck softly in response. every once in a while, the rooster will give me a crow*.
i sit and i tell the chickens that they are very lucky to be chickens, that they have it easy. they don't know right or wrong, and therefore it doesn't exist for them. they just do. i tell them that they don't have to worry about rush hour traffic, or complex social interactions. this is not at all meant to belittle the chickens; far from it.
then, after a minute or so, i drive off, because another thing chickens don't have to worry about is their owner coming around the corner of the coop to find a strange girl in a car babbling to their yard fowl. nope, that worry is all mine.
*the sound, not the bird. i wish it was the bird. that would be sweet.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
+100 things that make me happy+ #22: chocolate, all chocolate (except mexican chocolate that tastes like kraft cheese)
i don't really need to elaborate on this one, right? how about a billion pictures? yeah, i like that idea, too.
http://www.thegalleygourmet.net/2012/03/sunday-dinner_18.html
http://www.the-girl-who-ate-everything.com/2012/03/chocolate-covered-bacon.html
http://mehanskitchen.blogspot.com/2012/03/double-chocolate-loaf.html
http://thenovicehousewife.wordpress.com/2012/03/25/chocolate-ice-cream-philadelphia-style/
http://www.recipegirl.com/2012/03/28/malted-dark-chocolate-chip-cookies/
http://topwithcinnamon.blogspot.com/2012/03/chocolate-beetroot-hi-hat-mini-cupcakes.html
http://unegaminedanslacuisine.com/2012/03/aries-chocolate-sables.html
http://smittenkitchen.com/2006/11/ganached-guinness-goodness/
http://www.yammiesnoshery.com/2012/04/chocolate-caramel-creme-puffs.html
http://www.pocketfulofchocolate.com/2012/04/chocolate-cupcakes.html
and, just to make it healthier, chocolate-rubbed chicken with blueberry chocolate sauce.
http://www.thegalleygourmet.net/2012/03/sunday-dinner_18.html
http://www.the-girl-who-ate-everything.com/2012/03/chocolate-covered-bacon.html
http://mehanskitchen.blogspot.com/2012/03/double-chocolate-loaf.html
http://thenovicehousewife.wordpress.com/2012/03/25/chocolate-ice-cream-philadelphia-style/
http://www.recipegirl.com/2012/03/28/malted-dark-chocolate-chip-cookies/
http://topwithcinnamon.blogspot.com/2012/03/chocolate-beetroot-hi-hat-mini-cupcakes.html
http://unegaminedanslacuisine.com/2012/03/aries-chocolate-sables.html
http://smittenkitchen.com/2006/11/ganached-guinness-goodness/
http://www.yammiesnoshery.com/2012/04/chocolate-caramel-creme-puffs.html
http://www.pocketfulofchocolate.com/2012/04/chocolate-cupcakes.html
and, just to make it healthier, chocolate-rubbed chicken with blueberry chocolate sauce.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
+100 things that make me happy+ #21: warm feet
as i mentioned in my last post, i lack a common element most humans and, well, vertebrates in general, share: blood. in its place runs sweet, sweet liquid helium*, which makes me very popular at beach parties on the sun**.
the unfortunate side effect of this condition is that my time spent on earth, with its normal temperatures, usually renders my extremities red and black with tepidity-bite, which makes for a sad, cold, leprous panda.
seriously, though, i get cold really easily, and it makes me physically uncomfortable and unhappy. so when i do have the foresight to actually add a couple extra layers before... anything, i'm always amazed at how much happier i am based on a few degrees. in fact, i have terrible trouble sleeping when my feet, specifically, aren't warm. i will toss and turn all. freaking. night. if those buggers aren't cradled snugly in fluffy cotton or chenille sheathes. and driving first thing in the morning, before my engine's warmed up and i have a nice draft blowing directly on my shoes? yeah, fuck that. i am all about slipper socks and a heating pad. word.
*Helium is the most difficult of all gases to liquefy and is impossible to solidify at atmospheric pressure. These properties make liquid helium extremely useful as a refrigerant and for experimental work in producing and measuring temperatures close to absolute zero. Liquid helium can be cooled almost to absolute zero at normal pressure by rapid removal of the vapor above the liquid. At a temperature slightly above absolute zero, it is transformed into helium II, also called superfluid helium, a liquid with unique physical properties. It has no freezing point, and its viscosity is apparently zero; it passes readily through minute cracks and pores and will even creep up the sides and over the lip of a container. Helium-3, the lighter helium isotope of mass 3, which has an even lower boiling point than ordinary helium, exhibits markedly different properties when liquefied. See Superfluidity.
**you didn't know the sun was known for its excellent beaches? god you're behind. READ A BOOK.
the unfortunate side effect of this condition is that my time spent on earth, with its normal temperatures, usually renders my extremities red and black with tepidity-bite, which makes for a sad, cold, leprous panda.
seriously, though, i get cold really easily, and it makes me physically uncomfortable and unhappy. so when i do have the foresight to actually add a couple extra layers before... anything, i'm always amazed at how much happier i am based on a few degrees. in fact, i have terrible trouble sleeping when my feet, specifically, aren't warm. i will toss and turn all. freaking. night. if those buggers aren't cradled snugly in fluffy cotton or chenille sheathes. and driving first thing in the morning, before my engine's warmed up and i have a nice draft blowing directly on my shoes? yeah, fuck that. i am all about slipper socks and a heating pad. word.
*Helium is the most difficult of all gases to liquefy and is impossible to solidify at atmospheric pressure. These properties make liquid helium extremely useful as a refrigerant and for experimental work in producing and measuring temperatures close to absolute zero. Liquid helium can be cooled almost to absolute zero at normal pressure by rapid removal of the vapor above the liquid. At a temperature slightly above absolute zero, it is transformed into helium II, also called superfluid helium, a liquid with unique physical properties. It has no freezing point, and its viscosity is apparently zero; it passes readily through minute cracks and pores and will even creep up the sides and over the lip of a container. Helium-3, the lighter helium isotope of mass 3, which has an even lower boiling point than ordinary helium, exhibits markedly different properties when liquefied. See Superfluidity.
**you didn't know the sun was known for its excellent beaches? god you're behind. READ A BOOK.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
+100 things that make me happy+ #20: cinnamon
i don't think i need to go too far into this one. find me a person who doesn't like cinnamon--besides some poor, sad, god-forsaken soul that somehow happens to be allergic to it*--and i'll show you the true terrorists. because these are the heartless, merciless bastards we need to fear.
think of all the things cinnamon goes into. seriously, take a minute, i'll wait for you. and whilst waiting, i'll make a list, and then we can compare it and what you come up with, and giggle, and then go eat all the things on the list.
- cinnamon buns (they have cinnamon IN THE NAME)
- snickerdoodles
- mexican hot chocolate
- bread pudding
- banana bread
- oatmeal
- lattes (sprinkled gaily and liberally)
- oatmeal cookies (obviously in a different class than plain oatmeal, since, you know, you have to bake them)
- streusel topping (the crumbly joy and wonder that tops coffee cake. which reminds me...)
- coffee cake
i think that's a good start for a list. and that's just edible things. that doesn't include sexy-time lotions, creams, shampoos, plumping lip glosses, deodorizing sprays, glade** plug-ins, and just sprinkling it directly into your carpet for the hell of it.
i also define the scent of cinnamon as the smell of warm. you smell it and you just feel every nerve ending blossoming to attention, and heat. such things are of great importance to me, because i have liquid nitrogen flowing in my veins instead of blood, and am therefore always a nice, chilled -8°F****.
i have yet to find a recipe that can't be improved by the addition of cinnamon. cookies? duh. cake? dur-hoy. whipped cream? no-brainer. guacamole? you bet your sweet bippy*****. chicken? please stop insulting me, i have done nothing to deserve it. cinnamon, however, by existing, has done everything to deserve all the praise and worship in the world. therefore, i hereby pronounce my ever-lasting devotion to the church of our lord cinnamon.
think about my god next time you chomp down on a stale eucharist. yeah, that's what i thought.
*and even they wouldn't really count, since i'm sure they'd love it if they could have it, and are therefore even more poor and sad and god-forsaken. why you gotta hate, creator?
**not a shameless plug, just the first company that came to mind. i make no money here.***
***unless you wanna give me some. that'd be sweet.
****i'm great at summer barbeques.
*****what even IS that?
think of all the things cinnamon goes into. seriously, take a minute, i'll wait for you. and whilst waiting, i'll make a list, and then we can compare it and what you come up with, and giggle, and then go eat all the things on the list.
- cinnamon buns (they have cinnamon IN THE NAME)
- snickerdoodles
- mexican hot chocolate
- bread pudding
- banana bread
- oatmeal
- lattes (sprinkled gaily and liberally)
- oatmeal cookies (obviously in a different class than plain oatmeal, since, you know, you have to bake them)
- streusel topping (the crumbly joy and wonder that tops coffee cake. which reminds me...)
- coffee cake
i think that's a good start for a list. and that's just edible things. that doesn't include sexy-time lotions, creams, shampoos, plumping lip glosses, deodorizing sprays, glade** plug-ins, and just sprinkling it directly into your carpet for the hell of it.
i also define the scent of cinnamon as the smell of warm. you smell it and you just feel every nerve ending blossoming to attention, and heat. such things are of great importance to me, because i have liquid nitrogen flowing in my veins instead of blood, and am therefore always a nice, chilled -8°F****.
i have yet to find a recipe that can't be improved by the addition of cinnamon. cookies? duh. cake? dur-hoy. whipped cream? no-brainer. guacamole? you bet your sweet bippy*****. chicken? please stop insulting me, i have done nothing to deserve it. cinnamon, however, by existing, has done everything to deserve all the praise and worship in the world. therefore, i hereby pronounce my ever-lasting devotion to the church of our lord cinnamon.
think about my god next time you chomp down on a stale eucharist. yeah, that's what i thought.
*and even they wouldn't really count, since i'm sure they'd love it if they could have it, and are therefore even more poor and sad and god-forsaken. why you gotta hate, creator?
**not a shameless plug, just the first company that came to mind. i make no money here.***
***unless you wanna give me some. that'd be sweet.
****i'm great at summer barbeques.
*****what even IS that?
+100 things that make me happy+ #19: when my car starts in the morning/afternoon/evening/ever
#19's place on this list is a bit tricky, seeing as how it's more a bittersweet pleasure/relief rather than something that truly makes me happy. what would make me really happy is having a car where starting up wasn't even an issue. but THAT'S NOT MY LIFE, so, yes.
it's not even my car. it's my father's car, a 1997 dark green GMC jimmy SUV*. it's a fairly amazing car. and by amazing, i mean it's amazing how the aesthetic components are absolute shit but the inside seems to run on kitten dreams and unicorn glitter as opposed to water and oil.
as of now, the following are broken:
- both rear view mirrors (the driver's side fell off whilst i was driving; i clipped the passenger side trying to maneuver into the bitch spot at my old work).
- the driver's side visor (the mirror/lights sort of fell off. they're held in with duct tape now, kind of) and the passenger side visor (the cover fell off, and has to be replaced each time it's used or the lights won't turn off and the battery will run down).
- the passenger window.
- the gas gauge.
- the air conditioning.
- the spring in the driver's side door, that keeps the door open instead of slamming shut on your hand when you're already pissed off because you ran out of gas on the highway because the gas gauge doesn't work.
- one of the cigarette lighters (not that i care, since i don't smoke and there are two more located directly beneath it, but i'm trying to be thorough). though it's only fair to mention that it's broken because there's a piece of AC adapter stuck in it.
why am i happy again?
oh, right, because it still manages to start every day. this is of especial importance to me because i live near the top of a mountain with no public transit services, where pizza delivery fears to tread and bicycles are only for the super bad-asses who actually think neon lycra is acceptable dinner attire. my options, if i were car-less, would consist of:
a. walking... 17 miles. 27.36 kilometers******. 1,077,120 inches. ok, inches will always suck unless you're a squirrel, but still. you get what i'm saying.
b. the aforementioned bicycling. the only neon i own is a hot pink sweatshirt with engrish splattered all over it like a fine béchamel sauce*******(********).
c. making friends in my area and constantly hitching rides. HA. YEAH. YEAH, THAT'S HAPPENING. yeah. i'll get right on that. that's a post all on its own right there.
so yes, while, in more normal situations, #19 might seem like a crappy thing to be happy about it, the reality is that i have a vehicle that, currently, gets me from point a to point b with a minimal amount of fuss*********.
*and yes, it was used. we needed a vehicle large enough to move around the guns.**
**that makes it sound a little too bad ass, like we bury bodies in the forest or something. it was more like archery equipment.***
***though killing someone with a bow is rather impressive.****
****a recurve or long bow, that is. killing someone with a compound bow is like having a person walk up to you, take your hand, wrap it around the knife, then make you stab them a few times until they're dead.*****
*****i use a compound. :(
******do you say KEE-low-mee-turs or kee-LOM-eh-turs? i'm on the first-syllable-stress front, because i know no one who says mee-LIM-eh-turs or de-CAM-eh-turs. and if i did, i would punch them.
*******you like that? i thought it was a classy touch.
********i love asterisks. but i think it might be time to stop now.
*********by minimal, i mean the occasional running out of gas and having to call people to help me. yeah, #19 basically sucks. oh well.
it's not even my car. it's my father's car, a 1997 dark green GMC jimmy SUV*. it's a fairly amazing car. and by amazing, i mean it's amazing how the aesthetic components are absolute shit but the inside seems to run on kitten dreams and unicorn glitter as opposed to water and oil.
as of now, the following are broken:
- both rear view mirrors (the driver's side fell off whilst i was driving; i clipped the passenger side trying to maneuver into the bitch spot at my old work).
- the driver's side visor (the mirror/lights sort of fell off. they're held in with duct tape now, kind of) and the passenger side visor (the cover fell off, and has to be replaced each time it's used or the lights won't turn off and the battery will run down).
- the passenger window.
- the gas gauge.
- the air conditioning.
- the spring in the driver's side door, that keeps the door open instead of slamming shut on your hand when you're already pissed off because you ran out of gas on the highway because the gas gauge doesn't work.
- one of the cigarette lighters (not that i care, since i don't smoke and there are two more located directly beneath it, but i'm trying to be thorough). though it's only fair to mention that it's broken because there's a piece of AC adapter stuck in it.
why am i happy again?
oh, right, because it still manages to start every day. this is of especial importance to me because i live near the top of a mountain with no public transit services, where pizza delivery fears to tread and bicycles are only for the super bad-asses who actually think neon lycra is acceptable dinner attire. my options, if i were car-less, would consist of:
a. walking... 17 miles. 27.36 kilometers******. 1,077,120 inches. ok, inches will always suck unless you're a squirrel, but still. you get what i'm saying.
b. the aforementioned bicycling. the only neon i own is a hot pink sweatshirt with engrish splattered all over it like a fine béchamel sauce*******(********).
c. making friends in my area and constantly hitching rides. HA. YEAH. YEAH, THAT'S HAPPENING. yeah. i'll get right on that. that's a post all on its own right there.
so yes, while, in more normal situations, #19 might seem like a crappy thing to be happy about it, the reality is that i have a vehicle that, currently, gets me from point a to point b with a minimal amount of fuss*********.
*and yes, it was used. we needed a vehicle large enough to move around the guns.**
**that makes it sound a little too bad ass, like we bury bodies in the forest or something. it was more like archery equipment.***
***though killing someone with a bow is rather impressive.****
****a recurve or long bow, that is. killing someone with a compound bow is like having a person walk up to you, take your hand, wrap it around the knife, then make you stab them a few times until they're dead.*****
*****i use a compound. :(
******do you say KEE-low-mee-turs or kee-LOM-eh-turs? i'm on the first-syllable-stress front, because i know no one who says mee-LIM-eh-turs or de-CAM-eh-turs. and if i did, i would punch them.
*******you like that? i thought it was a classy touch.
********i love asterisks. but i think it might be time to stop now.
*********by minimal, i mean the occasional running out of gas and having to call people to help me. yeah, #19 basically sucks. oh well.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
+100 things that make me happy+ #18: buying expensive makeup cheap online
i started wearing makeup seriously in middle school. before it was discovered by the rest of the student body that i was a complete weirdo, there was a day, at the beginning of the school year, where i found myself in the locker room applying concealer to my tiny, prepubescent blemishes, before taking school photos.*
"what's that?" one of the girls asked.
"it's this stuff, you put it on your face and it makes spots and acne go away." i wasn't yet totally hep to the lingo.
"can i try some?"
i handed the tube over to the girl who had skin at least two shades darker than mine, and we all learned that sometimes, skin color really does matter.
over the years, i've tried a lot of freaking makeup. mostly drug store stuff, the usual brands, cover girl, maybelline; revlon if i had some extra money and was feeling fancy. for the longest time, i operated under the belief that the cheap stuff was just as good as the expensive stuff, and no way was i going to spend over ten dollars on an eyeliner pencil. and then i continued to live my life feeling uncomfortable about how my concealer cracked by mid-day, and totally everyone was staring at it thinking i was some kind of leper. this could easily spiral into a murky miasma post about self-confidence and body image and blah blah blah, and i'd rather it didn't, because then it would spoil the happy ending, which is that the expensive stuff is better, and just because it's expensive doesn't mean you have to spend all your money on it. see? happy.
actually, the first real fancy-pants makeup item i ever purchased was for full price, and wasn't all that great (though it smelled fantastic):
this claims to be something like a primer/mattifier, to be worn under or over your makeup, or by itself. i think that last part only works if you have airbrushed skin to begin with, because i personally don't have the kind of complexion that can walk around all naked-like. putting it on over my makeup just kind of smeared things around, and underneath it provided a negligible difference; that kind of turned me off of fancy makeup, and benefit as a brand, for a while.
luckily, i gave them another shot. however, i wasn't going to get sucked in this time. no ma'am, this time, i went to sephora and poked and smeared and dusted and prodded, wrote all my findings down in my little notepad, and hightailed it back home to ebay, where i went crazy procuring powders and creams for half of what they cost in stores.
of course, there are drawbacks to buying anything on ebay. i check the seller's ratings beforehand, and if there's even a single instance of someone saying that a product was fraudulent--even if it's something completely different from what i'm buying, and oh they have all these positives--i'm gone. regular makeup is enough chemistry for me already, i have no desire to apply ingredients that i can't even verify to my face, near my eyes and mucus membranes and mouth. it's worked pretty well thus far; i believe i've only been fleeced once, and i'm not even 100% about that.
*i believe my first sixth grade school photo is the last school picture in which you'll find me smiling with any sincerity.
"what's that?" one of the girls asked.
"it's this stuff, you put it on your face and it makes spots and acne go away." i wasn't yet totally hep to the lingo.
"can i try some?"
i handed the tube over to the girl who had skin at least two shades darker than mine, and we all learned that sometimes, skin color really does matter.
over the years, i've tried a lot of freaking makeup. mostly drug store stuff, the usual brands, cover girl, maybelline; revlon if i had some extra money and was feeling fancy. for the longest time, i operated under the belief that the cheap stuff was just as good as the expensive stuff, and no way was i going to spend over ten dollars on an eyeliner pencil. and then i continued to live my life feeling uncomfortable about how my concealer cracked by mid-day, and totally everyone was staring at it thinking i was some kind of leper. this could easily spiral into a murky miasma post about self-confidence and body image and blah blah blah, and i'd rather it didn't, because then it would spoil the happy ending, which is that the expensive stuff is better, and just because it's expensive doesn't mean you have to spend all your money on it. see? happy.
actually, the first real fancy-pants makeup item i ever purchased was for full price, and wasn't all that great (though it smelled fantastic):
this claims to be something like a primer/mattifier, to be worn under or over your makeup, or by itself. i think that last part only works if you have airbrushed skin to begin with, because i personally don't have the kind of complexion that can walk around all naked-like. putting it on over my makeup just kind of smeared things around, and underneath it provided a negligible difference; that kind of turned me off of fancy makeup, and benefit as a brand, for a while.
luckily, i gave them another shot. however, i wasn't going to get sucked in this time. no ma'am, this time, i went to sephora and poked and smeared and dusted and prodded, wrote all my findings down in my little notepad, and hightailed it back home to ebay, where i went crazy procuring powders and creams for half of what they cost in stores.
of course, there are drawbacks to buying anything on ebay. i check the seller's ratings beforehand, and if there's even a single instance of someone saying that a product was fraudulent--even if it's something completely different from what i'm buying, and oh they have all these positives--i'm gone. regular makeup is enough chemistry for me already, i have no desire to apply ingredients that i can't even verify to my face, near my eyes and mucus membranes and mouth. it's worked pretty well thus far; i believe i've only been fleeced once, and i'm not even 100% about that.
*i believe my first sixth grade school photo is the last school picture in which you'll find me smiling with any sincerity.
Monday, January 23, 2012
the differences in times of anxiety and times of no anxiety
times of no anxiety: you go out for chinese food, and when you crack open your forture cookie and find no fortune, you curse the vagaries of assembly lines.
times of anxiety: you go out for chinese food, and when you crack open your fortune cookie and find no fortune, you feel a dark cloud descend upon you as you realize that this is a sign you're totally going to die.
times of anxiety: you go out for chinese food, and when you crack open your fortune cookie and find no fortune, you feel a dark cloud descend upon you as you realize that this is a sign you're totally going to die.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
christmas is coming, my ass is getting fat.
so for the past few hours, i've been babbling on facebook and reading the pioneer woman's website and thinking, "i wish i had a blog where i could yak about how my kitchen smells like warm marshmallows because there's puffy little clouds of chocolate chip meringue roasting away in the oven".
and then i remembered that, oh yeah, i do have a blog where i can do that. albeit, a blog with one-millionth the viewership that the pioneer woman has, but well... quality versus quantity and all that.*
but yes, my kitchen smells like happy and my meringues are sweatin' away, and my lobsters are shiny and pink. the lobster part is made more awesome by the fact that it is my first time ever making cookie icing, and the recipe i used sorta-kinda sucked. well, obviously it didn't suck all that bad since i was able to use it after all, but... i'm glad i'm not totally mentally deficient. or things would've gone down much differently today.
my first clue lay in the ratio of ingredients: 2 1/4 cups confectioners' sugar to barely four tablespoons of liquid? most of which was actually syrup? i wish i'd gotten pictures of the glaze as it was when i followed the directions exactly; it looked like actual lobster meat in both color(s) and texture. several doses of red food coloring and milk later yielded forth a substance that was shiny, smooth, and knife-spreadable, which will explain to all those getting cookies this year why some of your lobsters look better than others. about two-thirds of the way through, the glaze was thickening up some, so i poured a little more milk in, and finally got the kind of glaze cookie decorators more experienced than myself call for when "flooding" cookies.
now, off to crochet until my fingers fall off whilst the cream-and-white-chocolate filling for this evening's homemade oreos cools to yet another kind of stable, spreadable consistency. if only my moods were so amiable.
*this does not at all imply that the people who read the pioneer woman's website are not a quality lot. i just need things to make me feel good sometimes, ya know?
and then i remembered that, oh yeah, i do have a blog where i can do that. albeit, a blog with one-millionth the viewership that the pioneer woman has, but well... quality versus quantity and all that.*
but yes, my kitchen smells like happy and my meringues are sweatin' away, and my lobsters are shiny and pink. the lobster part is made more awesome by the fact that it is my first time ever making cookie icing, and the recipe i used sorta-kinda sucked. well, obviously it didn't suck all that bad since i was able to use it after all, but... i'm glad i'm not totally mentally deficient. or things would've gone down much differently today.
my first clue lay in the ratio of ingredients: 2 1/4 cups confectioners' sugar to barely four tablespoons of liquid? most of which was actually syrup? i wish i'd gotten pictures of the glaze as it was when i followed the directions exactly; it looked like actual lobster meat in both color(s) and texture. several doses of red food coloring and milk later yielded forth a substance that was shiny, smooth, and knife-spreadable, which will explain to all those getting cookies this year why some of your lobsters look better than others. about two-thirds of the way through, the glaze was thickening up some, so i poured a little more milk in, and finally got the kind of glaze cookie decorators more experienced than myself call for when "flooding" cookies.
now, off to crochet until my fingers fall off whilst the cream-and-white-chocolate filling for this evening's homemade oreos cools to yet another kind of stable, spreadable consistency. if only my moods were so amiable.
*this does not at all imply that the people who read the pioneer woman's website are not a quality lot. i just need things to make me feel good sometimes, ya know?
Friday, December 2, 2011
the dreams of an improperly medicated teenager.
the majority of my teen years were spent battling anxiety. at a time when i should've been developing social skills and acquiring the building blocks for future higher education, i was drinking my meals and hyperventilating.
in 1999, i was seventeen years old, right smack in the thick of it, improperly medicated and basically out of control. for my birthday, my sister gave me a journal specifically for writing down my dreams. i have never been--and still am not--good at keeping any sort of diary or journal, and so there are only nine entries in the book. but those nine entries represent how my chemically-confused and adrenaline-spiked brain processed and recycled the world around me, proving that even at rest, it wouldn't leave me alone.
(i have transcribed these, spelling/grammatical/omission/duplication/punctuation errors and all, verbatim)
~~~
August 8, 1999
Made it to bed late last night. I don't think I dreamed, and if I did, I don't remember. I don't feel like I dreamed. I just feel sort of achy and muffled in my head. My first night of seventeen and no dream to commemorate. I feel a little cheated.
~~~
August 9, 1999
I had a bad anxiety attack last night. My dream was twisted. I don't remember details. Robin was in it. I think there was pie and narcotics as well.
~~~
August 10, 1999
Last night's dream involved an angry black woman and a man and his army chasing me and someone else. We hid. He either wanted to kill me or make me his wife, I think he kept switching back and forth. I was a princess. I was in a hospital.
~~~
August 11, 1999
Sleeping has been bad since the anxiety. Dreams have been very confused. I'm very confused.
~~~
August 12, 1999
The medicine must be taking my dreams away. Either that or the medication is.* They're putting me on something new. I hope it end this, I really really do. I don't like it at all.
I feel so bad.
I feel like the anxiety is being swallowed in some thick pink liquid. But the feeling's still in my throat. dammit.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
in emergency room
Kyle was into energy. Transfer, waves, all of it, sort of Wiccan. I wonder if it's him. I thought he loved me...
all right. thank you.**
~~~
August 13, 1999
I dreamt that I was in a dream world. It started with Jessica standing in the street in front of my house wearing a a very revealing dress, and I was, too. A car full of young Asian men drove up, and I got in. We didn't do anything but drive, but for services rendering, I got a car with a big screen TV and a bed and carpet and and an antique store in Back and people came by to see it. I woke up, then went back. In my dream, I fell asleep, and went to a dream world. The entrance to the dream world is a twisted music store, and throughout my travels, a guy I don't know is my friend and companion. We take Frank Zappa and Queen records and hairspray as weapons and go deep into the dream world. There's something like a lightrail***. I wear the craziest clothes, and I have long black hair. I become the Barbie doll of my choosing. We go in. There's something like a theme park but no rides. There's a big fountain where Brendan Frasier sits. He says hi. We climbed over some short fences in evening wear and kicked a lot of black bags out of our way. A bunch of men ran over and held guns to our faces. eep. A kinda handsome man in a wheelchair rolls up and looks pissed as another guy jumps out of one of the bags we kicked. We're taken back to my house. They're are monkies in the tree and the man in the wheelchair ran out of of pixi stix. I remember earlier back in the room with the bed in the middle of the room where we became Barbies was bags of pixi stix. I tell him this, and he rolls and I run, to the Medical/Dentist buildings where my car still waits. Before that, he jumped out and ran along side me. I asked him why he bothered with the wheelchair. He smoothed his exaggerated curly mustache and we kissed. I went into the car, only it turned into the room withe**** bed again. I gave him the pixie stix and went back to the dream world. (I woke up when the phone rang) I went back to the twisted music store. I was having so much fun there, the realized I was having too much. I was afraid of getting lost in the dream world forever. I had to remember how to get home. I closed my eye. Sleep came quickly, and I "woke" up. Mom was mad at something. I didn't like it there. I liked the dream world. I went back to "sleep", to the twisted music store. My companion and I were bored. Didn't want to stay there, go the the theme park. I suggest Rocky Horror, and he said OK. We ran into the next room to get ready. He crosses the void between dreams while I get dressed in something green and padded. I can't seem to get it to work. I go upstairs to a little room for help. The "supervisor" is there with a white board with names and tallies, going through some checks. One is from a girl named JoJo, and the woman is mad. I told her JoJo needed a car and we helped by giving her the Asian men's car. She got mad and called JoJo in. She yelled and JoJo knocked her to the ground. She stood up and said "you little bitch!"
I woke up.
~~~
August 14th, 1999
Dominick was having an affair with a blond. All he wore was a shirt and they ran down the train tracks. I watched them with Jenne. She showed me these beautiful drawings she'd done of herself for an art class. A few days later we were walking in Palo Alto. She was swearing because one drawing had gotten an A on one, but a C+ on the other, because of the horrible model. We went into a donut shop, and the scene changes.
I'm a squire in chainmail, with nothing but a letter opener as a weapon. I make it past the guard. I have to get to the princess because we're in love. The guards were huge, with chainmail. I had to beat them.
~~~
August 15, 1999
I dream of witchs in velvet robes walking down my street. I'm at a carnival, and I see them. They take me in, teach me things. I go through a door and there's a comic shop. The girls who play the Sweet Valley twins are there. I buy some comics. The scene changes.
I kill a fat man's brother in a war in my living room. I run out of bullets and a compatriot throws me an extra clip for my water gun. I run to the bathroom with my gun and clip, with the fat man chasing me. I lock the door and drop my gun and clip. The gun falls to pieces and I lose the clip. I pick up pieces of my gun while the fat man beats on the door. He breaks it down and I run past him.
I'm running from him to my middle school black top. He yells, taunting, saying I can't go there, I'm not allowed, I'll get in trouble. I keep running. There's a big clubhouse. I run into it, running up and up. the fat man's there and I push him off the side.
(I wake up with my hands clutching the sheets, because I was still holding the remains of my gun.)
~~~
April 26, 2000
It's been monthes since I've written in you. Many things have happened, many dreams have been had.
Last night, I had a disturbing dream. I went two doors down to ask a question, and someone who looked like Chris was at a computer, so I tapped the window and waved and smiled. As I'm walking away (question unanswered), I think that that wasn't him (oops), and then he's there closing Dad's car doors, and I say sorry, I thought he was someone else, and just says shut up, real casual. It doesn't even hurt.
* obviously the medicine was doing something, since i felt the need to mention it twice in a single sentence using two variations of the word.
** there was a wavy line under august 12th's entry, and i'm assuming i wrote this during one of my various trips to the emergency room, but i have no idea what i was thinking here. apparently i was completely retarded.
*** lightrail = san jose's half-assed answer to electric mass transit.
**** withe = my number one, all time most common misspelling, where, because my head is moving faster than my fingers, i combine "with" and "the".
in 1999, i was seventeen years old, right smack in the thick of it, improperly medicated and basically out of control. for my birthday, my sister gave me a journal specifically for writing down my dreams. i have never been--and still am not--good at keeping any sort of diary or journal, and so there are only nine entries in the book. but those nine entries represent how my chemically-confused and adrenaline-spiked brain processed and recycled the world around me, proving that even at rest, it wouldn't leave me alone.
(i have transcribed these, spelling/grammatical/omission/duplication/punctuation errors and all, verbatim)
~~~
August 8, 1999
Made it to bed late last night. I don't think I dreamed, and if I did, I don't remember. I don't feel like I dreamed. I just feel sort of achy and muffled in my head. My first night of seventeen and no dream to commemorate. I feel a little cheated.
~~~
August 9, 1999
I had a bad anxiety attack last night. My dream was twisted. I don't remember details. Robin was in it. I think there was pie and narcotics as well.
~~~
August 10, 1999
Last night's dream involved an angry black woman and a man and his army chasing me and someone else. We hid. He either wanted to kill me or make me his wife, I think he kept switching back and forth. I was a princess. I was in a hospital.
~~~
August 11, 1999
Sleeping has been bad since the anxiety. Dreams have been very confused. I'm very confused.
~~~
August 12, 1999
The medicine must be taking my dreams away. Either that or the medication is.* They're putting me on something new. I hope it end this, I really really do. I don't like it at all.
I feel so bad.
I feel like the anxiety is being swallowed in some thick pink liquid. But the feeling's still in my throat. dammit.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
in emergency room
Kyle was into energy. Transfer, waves, all of it, sort of Wiccan. I wonder if it's him. I thought he loved me...
all right. thank you.**
~~~
August 13, 1999
I dreamt that I was in a dream world. It started with Jessica standing in the street in front of my house wearing a a very revealing dress, and I was, too. A car full of young Asian men drove up, and I got in. We didn't do anything but drive, but for services rendering, I got a car with a big screen TV and a bed and carpet and and an antique store in Back and people came by to see it. I woke up, then went back. In my dream, I fell asleep, and went to a dream world. The entrance to the dream world is a twisted music store, and throughout my travels, a guy I don't know is my friend and companion. We take Frank Zappa and Queen records and hairspray as weapons and go deep into the dream world. There's something like a lightrail***. I wear the craziest clothes, and I have long black hair. I become the Barbie doll of my choosing. We go in. There's something like a theme park but no rides. There's a big fountain where Brendan Frasier sits. He says hi. We climbed over some short fences in evening wear and kicked a lot of black bags out of our way. A bunch of men ran over and held guns to our faces. eep. A kinda handsome man in a wheelchair rolls up and looks pissed as another guy jumps out of one of the bags we kicked. We're taken back to my house. They're are monkies in the tree and the man in the wheelchair ran out of of pixi stix. I remember earlier back in the room with the bed in the middle of the room where we became Barbies was bags of pixi stix. I tell him this, and he rolls and I run, to the Medical/Dentist buildings where my car still waits. Before that, he jumped out and ran along side me. I asked him why he bothered with the wheelchair. He smoothed his exaggerated curly mustache and we kissed. I went into the car, only it turned into the room withe**** bed again. I gave him the pixie stix and went back to the dream world. (I woke up when the phone rang) I went back to the twisted music store. I was having so much fun there, the realized I was having too much. I was afraid of getting lost in the dream world forever. I had to remember how to get home. I closed my eye. Sleep came quickly, and I "woke" up. Mom was mad at something. I didn't like it there. I liked the dream world. I went back to "sleep", to the twisted music store. My companion and I were bored. Didn't want to stay there, go the the theme park. I suggest Rocky Horror, and he said OK. We ran into the next room to get ready. He crosses the void between dreams while I get dressed in something green and padded. I can't seem to get it to work. I go upstairs to a little room for help. The "supervisor" is there with a white board with names and tallies, going through some checks. One is from a girl named JoJo, and the woman is mad. I told her JoJo needed a car and we helped by giving her the Asian men's car. She got mad and called JoJo in. She yelled and JoJo knocked her to the ground. She stood up and said "you little bitch!"
I woke up.
~~~
August 14th, 1999
Dominick was having an affair with a blond. All he wore was a shirt and they ran down the train tracks. I watched them with Jenne. She showed me these beautiful drawings she'd done of herself for an art class. A few days later we were walking in Palo Alto. She was swearing because one drawing had gotten an A on one, but a C+ on the other, because of the horrible model. We went into a donut shop, and the scene changes.
I'm a squire in chainmail, with nothing but a letter opener as a weapon. I make it past the guard. I have to get to the princess because we're in love. The guards were huge, with chainmail. I had to beat them.
~~~
August 15, 1999
I dream of witchs in velvet robes walking down my street. I'm at a carnival, and I see them. They take me in, teach me things. I go through a door and there's a comic shop. The girls who play the Sweet Valley twins are there. I buy some comics. The scene changes.
I kill a fat man's brother in a war in my living room. I run out of bullets and a compatriot throws me an extra clip for my water gun. I run to the bathroom with my gun and clip, with the fat man chasing me. I lock the door and drop my gun and clip. The gun falls to pieces and I lose the clip. I pick up pieces of my gun while the fat man beats on the door. He breaks it down and I run past him.
I'm running from him to my middle school black top. He yells, taunting, saying I can't go there, I'm not allowed, I'll get in trouble. I keep running. There's a big clubhouse. I run into it, running up and up. the fat man's there and I push him off the side.
(I wake up with my hands clutching the sheets, because I was still holding the remains of my gun.)
~~~
April 26, 2000
It's been monthes since I've written in you. Many things have happened, many dreams have been had.
Last night, I had a disturbing dream. I went two doors down to ask a question, and someone who looked like Chris was at a computer, so I tapped the window and waved and smiled. As I'm walking away (question unanswered), I think that that wasn't him (oops), and then he's there closing Dad's car doors, and I say sorry, I thought he was someone else, and just says shut up, real casual. It doesn't even hurt.
* obviously the medicine was doing something, since i felt the need to mention it twice in a single sentence using two variations of the word.
** there was a wavy line under august 12th's entry, and i'm assuming i wrote this during one of my various trips to the emergency room, but i have no idea what i was thinking here. apparently i was completely retarded.
*** lightrail = san jose's half-assed answer to electric mass transit.
**** withe = my number one, all time most common misspelling, where, because my head is moving faster than my fingers, i combine "with" and "the".
Thursday, August 25, 2011
+100 things that make me happy+ #17: pinup, erotic, and boudoir photography
name me a person in this world who hasn't questioned their sexuality, and i will retort with "shut up."
it's an odd way to start a blog post, and also semi-inaccurate: i am wired for wiener. which i guess makes my liking of nudie photography more confusing. girls are just... they are pretty to look at. they're soft and curvy and they get all the cool underwear and hair and makeup and they're just fun. period. boys, on the other hand, look... awkward. or cheesy. or disconcerting.
however, if having a tumblr account has taught me anything, it's that kids love their harry potter. er, wait, no. it's taught me that cameron is better than damien. wait, no, who? shit. what has tumblr taught me?
OH YEAH, ok. it's taught me that it's ok to find things aesthetically pleasing and it doesn't make you a perv. so here i am, liz, 29, los gatos, saying: i like to look at girls.
hurray!
(a caveat: the following blogs may or may not contain some "doing". you know, that kind of doing)
i follow a few tumblrs that deal primarily with the aforementioned photography genres:
http://zeeaugusto.tumblr.com/
http://rainy-nightss.tumblr.com/ (i don't know if ghostery is screwing with the layout or if i'm blind or if the person who runs this tumblr just forgot, but i can't find the navigation links on this one. if it truly appeals to you, check out the archive)
http://libraryvixen.tumblr.com/ this one is especially good, it's a favorite of mine and my guy.
and not a tumblr, but definitely a site everyone should check out for a delightful mix of poetry and pinup: poetic pinup, featuring the lovely and talented harlean carpenter.
so, yeah. now to just get the fuck over my little tiny artistic roadblock (how many years now? seven? eight?) and get back into painting. and not feel like a weirdo whilst doing it.
it's an odd way to start a blog post, and also semi-inaccurate: i am wired for wiener. which i guess makes my liking of nudie photography more confusing. girls are just... they are pretty to look at. they're soft and curvy and they get all the cool underwear and hair and makeup and they're just fun. period. boys, on the other hand, look... awkward. or cheesy. or disconcerting.
however, if having a tumblr account has taught me anything, it's that kids love their harry potter. er, wait, no. it's taught me that cameron is better than damien. wait, no, who? shit. what has tumblr taught me?
OH YEAH, ok. it's taught me that it's ok to find things aesthetically pleasing and it doesn't make you a perv. so here i am, liz, 29, los gatos, saying: i like to look at girls.
hurray!
(a caveat: the following blogs may or may not contain some "doing". you know, that kind of doing)
i follow a few tumblrs that deal primarily with the aforementioned photography genres:
http://zeeaugusto.tumblr.com/
http://rainy-nightss.tumblr.com/ (i don't know if ghostery is screwing with the layout or if i'm blind or if the person who runs this tumblr just forgot, but i can't find the navigation links on this one. if it truly appeals to you, check out the archive)
http://libraryvixen.tumblr.com/ this one is especially good, it's a favorite of mine and my guy.
and not a tumblr, but definitely a site everyone should check out for a delightful mix of poetry and pinup: poetic pinup, featuring the lovely and talented harlean carpenter.
so, yeah. now to just get the fuck over my little tiny artistic roadblock (how many years now? seven? eight?) and get back into painting. and not feel like a weirdo whilst doing it.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
arrggh: a recap
i have two posts i've been sort of working on. one of them is a 100 things that make me happy post, and the other is my take on why it's ok for children to view violence but not sex. they are, obviously, not mutually exclusive.
i have learned to knit. i can cast on, knit, purl, change colors, and cast off. i'm making a scarf. thank you, sid, for the needles.
i connected two major parts in my book, and now am at a loss. i need to think more.
"book? what book, liz?"
why, the book i'm writing. it's a fantasy/horror. it's fantastic and horrific. i'm terrified to share it with anyone. why? because things in your head hold power. acres and acres of power. that's why depression takes such a deep hold, and illogical fears are illogical, and why therapy is so damn effective. once you talk about the things in your head, they tend to lose most of their power. so what if, upon scribing my characters and story--the people and creatures that have lived in my head for so long, their lives--onto paper, it turns out that they and my work are a waste of time and not nearly as cool as i thought they were when they were all up in my brainmeats?
the healthy attitude would be:
"so what? even if this isn't some major epic that gets published and receives acclaim from lots of people, it's your story, and if you like it, and the people who love you like it and support you, that's what matters. and when it's done, and you're happy with it, you move on to your next project, and do other things with your life."
my attitude:
"FUCK FUCK FUCK."
my ear is infected again. this is the third time in less than a year. it's the same ear as always. see, i can't swim. so when i was younger and in gym class and we had to swim, i would float, with my ears submerged, because everything sounds cool that way.
that led to my first major infection in my right ear, and a loss of some hearing. over the last decade or so, i'd get the occasional infection, in the same ear. then, last year, i got my first sinus infection. in the summer. please imagine that pain and horror, a sinus infection in 90 degree heat, for just a moment.
k, so that introduced disease to a whole new part of my head, a part which is conveniently connected to my ears. and now, every time i get a cold, it goes all up in there, and i have to take antibiotics. but really, three times in a year? so now i'm looking for health insurance that i can afford, so i can see an ENT and get something invasive done, because i'm 99% sure that i have fluid build-up in my eustachian tube that keeps getting reinfected. searching for affordable healthcare is one of the joys of living in my country. it's made all the more entertaining by being a member of the unemployed sector.
why bring up such a touchy topic? i googled "free health line" this morning, and the first page had links to websites in australia, new zealand and canada, boasting about their 24 hour free health help lines. there was a link to an american page with lists of health lines, sure. the general health link had a list of phone numbers. all on the east coast or in the midwest. none of them were 24 hour. i think i need to start a fundraiser.
ok, i think i'm good now. g'night!
i have learned to knit. i can cast on, knit, purl, change colors, and cast off. i'm making a scarf. thank you, sid, for the needles.
i connected two major parts in my book, and now am at a loss. i need to think more.
"book? what book, liz?"
why, the book i'm writing. it's a fantasy/horror. it's fantastic and horrific. i'm terrified to share it with anyone. why? because things in your head hold power. acres and acres of power. that's why depression takes such a deep hold, and illogical fears are illogical, and why therapy is so damn effective. once you talk about the things in your head, they tend to lose most of their power. so what if, upon scribing my characters and story--the people and creatures that have lived in my head for so long, their lives--onto paper, it turns out that they and my work are a waste of time and not nearly as cool as i thought they were when they were all up in my brainmeats?
the healthy attitude would be:
"so what? even if this isn't some major epic that gets published and receives acclaim from lots of people, it's your story, and if you like it, and the people who love you like it and support you, that's what matters. and when it's done, and you're happy with it, you move on to your next project, and do other things with your life."
my attitude:
"FUCK FUCK FUCK."
my ear is infected again. this is the third time in less than a year. it's the same ear as always. see, i can't swim. so when i was younger and in gym class and we had to swim, i would float, with my ears submerged, because everything sounds cool that way.
that led to my first major infection in my right ear, and a loss of some hearing. over the last decade or so, i'd get the occasional infection, in the same ear. then, last year, i got my first sinus infection. in the summer. please imagine that pain and horror, a sinus infection in 90 degree heat, for just a moment.
k, so that introduced disease to a whole new part of my head, a part which is conveniently connected to my ears. and now, every time i get a cold, it goes all up in there, and i have to take antibiotics. but really, three times in a year? so now i'm looking for health insurance that i can afford, so i can see an ENT and get something invasive done, because i'm 99% sure that i have fluid build-up in my eustachian tube that keeps getting reinfected. searching for affordable healthcare is one of the joys of living in my country. it's made all the more entertaining by being a member of the unemployed sector.
why bring up such a touchy topic? i googled "free health line" this morning, and the first page had links to websites in australia, new zealand and canada, boasting about their 24 hour free health help lines. there was a link to an american page with lists of health lines, sure. the general health link had a list of phone numbers. all on the east coast or in the midwest. none of them were 24 hour. i think i need to start a fundraiser.
ok, i think i'm good now. g'night!
Thursday, June 30, 2011
+100 things that make me happy+ #16: cartoons for adults
right now, gangster no. 1 is on tv. before that, it was chitty chitty bang bang. both of these serve to remind me that cartoons are so, so awesome. way more awesome than both of those.
i mean, come on, how can you not love this:
i don't want you to be intimidated... but my high score is 6.
(8/11/11: i haven't touched this because i haven't been inspired. so rather than let it rot and give up completely, i'm just going to list the cartoons i love, and if i have something immediately awesome to say/post about them, i will. if not... then i won't. it's definitely one or the other.)
ugly americans
archer
frisky dingo
metalocalypse
south park
12oz mouse
aqua teen hunger force/unit patrol squad
squidbillies
old school looney tunes
regular show
adventure time
family guy
american dad
superjail
home movies
spongebob squarepants
all of the above are things that i enjoy watching. the end.
i mean, come on, how can you not love this:
i don't want you to be intimidated... but my high score is 6.
(8/11/11: i haven't touched this because i haven't been inspired. so rather than let it rot and give up completely, i'm just going to list the cartoons i love, and if i have something immediately awesome to say/post about them, i will. if not... then i won't. it's definitely one or the other.)
ugly americans
archer
frisky dingo
metalocalypse
south park
12oz mouse
aqua teen hunger force/unit patrol squad
squidbillies
old school looney tunes
regular show
adventure time
family guy
american dad
superjail
home movies
spongebob squarepants
all of the above are things that i enjoy watching. the end.
Monday, June 20, 2011
+100 things that make me happy+ #15: frozen yogurt by the ounce. and by ounce, i mean at least sixteen of them.
summer is sure taking its sweet time arriving here in the bay area. we had one hot day (of course it was the day i had to help move 2,000 motorcycle and scooter tires, duh), and then a bunch of nice moderate days... and then tuesday we had a rain storm. and i do mean storm, we had to turn on the lights at one in the freaking afternoon. it was oppressive.
for the longest time, i was all about rain, and clouds, and wind and gloom and fog and blah blah blah. it set a mood, and you got to bundle up. and seeing as i have atrocious skin on my legs, i didn't have to stress about overheating when i pulled on jeans and pants and flannels every day.
but let me tell ya, ever since moving to the santa cruz mountains, i have been all about summer. i think there might be a correlation between that shift in mood and how much propane to heat the house costs. that and one thing i have always liked about summer was how i could be sitting around at eight-thirty and still see my hand in front of my face, or drive with my headlights off. and now, thanks to fantastic on-going trends, i have a new thing to love about summer:
froyo.
not just tcby, get-a-cone-and-walk-down-the-street-lazy-styles froyo. no, fuck that. that's amateur hour. when i enter a frozen yogurt establishment, i want AT LEAST six different choices of yogurt. at this point, i will take a large squirt of each, trying to keep complimentary flavors grouped and then realizing that that is folly and it's all sugar so just pump the damn yogurt.
there must be a minimum of ten feet of toppings NOT including the fruit. this is important. if i were a better person, i'd bring a tape measure with me (yes, that would make me a better person, it's providing a vital service). the toppings need to be fresh and varied. they need to include cereal and nuts and chocolate and candy and various gelatin-based bits. there should be a sauce bar of some kind, but this is not crucial.
when you finally get to the fruit, it, too, needs to be vibrant. no pansy-ass kiwi and pineapple niblets, please, it's insulting. this is also the section where you will find the brownie and cookie dough bits. if you don't find them there, throw your yogurt on the floor and leave.
there should be a little cooling machine next to the registers. in it is a canister of whipped cream. apply liberally. if you don't find it there, throw your yogurt on the floor and leave.
now to pay. they will weigh your yogurt and charge you by the ounce. if you have less than 16 ounces, throw your yogurt on the floor and leave.
... ha! that was a test! if you have less than 16 ounces, go back to the beginning of the line and add more shit.
your yogurt cup should now look like willy wonka and captain crunch went to a frat party and got hammered and threw up, and weigh as much as the average house cat. if it doesn't, you did it wrong and are now a failure. at yogurt. and that's the worst kind of failure, in my opinion. if, however, your cup meets all the aforementioned criteria, you are now free to sit and orally bask in your accomplishment.
one of these days i need to remember to take a picture of my epic yogurt creations, because i have yet to find a picture online that truly captures the spirit of yogurt-by-the-pound.
the website describes this yogurt as an "incredible frozen yogurt and topping combination". yeah, that's really incredible, if the definition of "incredible" was recently changed to "staying in one color scheme and being lame and boring". because as everyone knows, gummi candy + frozen yogurt = the hard, unappetizing bits swimming in melted yogurt that no one eats because they hurt your teeth.
oh look, someone likes mochi! you know what i like? chicken curry. maybe i should pour some over my yogurt and forsake all other toppings. BORING.
look at this fresh, healthful offering! a little yogurt, some nice chopped fruit, and oh, look out, a little syrup there! they're getting craaaaazy now! i think the only thing this cup needs is a little advice:
YOU DON'T EAT FROZEN YOGURT BY THE OUNCE FOR YOUR HEALTH. PUT SOME DAMN CHOCOLATE IN THAT BITCH.
i quit you, internet, you disgust me. i'll try and take a picture next time.
for the longest time, i was all about rain, and clouds, and wind and gloom and fog and blah blah blah. it set a mood, and you got to bundle up. and seeing as i have atrocious skin on my legs, i didn't have to stress about overheating when i pulled on jeans and pants and flannels every day.
but let me tell ya, ever since moving to the santa cruz mountains, i have been all about summer. i think there might be a correlation between that shift in mood and how much propane to heat the house costs. that and one thing i have always liked about summer was how i could be sitting around at eight-thirty and still see my hand in front of my face, or drive with my headlights off. and now, thanks to fantastic on-going trends, i have a new thing to love about summer:
froyo.
not just tcby, get-a-cone-and-walk-down-the-street-lazy-styles froyo. no, fuck that. that's amateur hour. when i enter a frozen yogurt establishment, i want AT LEAST six different choices of yogurt. at this point, i will take a large squirt of each, trying to keep complimentary flavors grouped and then realizing that that is folly and it's all sugar so just pump the damn yogurt.
there must be a minimum of ten feet of toppings NOT including the fruit. this is important. if i were a better person, i'd bring a tape measure with me (yes, that would make me a better person, it's providing a vital service). the toppings need to be fresh and varied. they need to include cereal and nuts and chocolate and candy and various gelatin-based bits. there should be a sauce bar of some kind, but this is not crucial.
when you finally get to the fruit, it, too, needs to be vibrant. no pansy-ass kiwi and pineapple niblets, please, it's insulting. this is also the section where you will find the brownie and cookie dough bits. if you don't find them there, throw your yogurt on the floor and leave.
there should be a little cooling machine next to the registers. in it is a canister of whipped cream. apply liberally. if you don't find it there, throw your yogurt on the floor and leave.
now to pay. they will weigh your yogurt and charge you by the ounce. if you have less than 16 ounces, throw your yogurt on the floor and leave.
... ha! that was a test! if you have less than 16 ounces, go back to the beginning of the line and add more shit.
your yogurt cup should now look like willy wonka and captain crunch went to a frat party and got hammered and threw up, and weigh as much as the average house cat. if it doesn't, you did it wrong and are now a failure. at yogurt. and that's the worst kind of failure, in my opinion. if, however, your cup meets all the aforementioned criteria, you are now free to sit and orally bask in your accomplishment.
one of these days i need to remember to take a picture of my epic yogurt creations, because i have yet to find a picture online that truly captures the spirit of yogurt-by-the-pound.
the website describes this yogurt as an "incredible frozen yogurt and topping combination". yeah, that's really incredible, if the definition of "incredible" was recently changed to "staying in one color scheme and being lame and boring". because as everyone knows, gummi candy + frozen yogurt = the hard, unappetizing bits swimming in melted yogurt that no one eats because they hurt your teeth.
oh look, someone likes mochi! you know what i like? chicken curry. maybe i should pour some over my yogurt and forsake all other toppings. BORING.
look at this fresh, healthful offering! a little yogurt, some nice chopped fruit, and oh, look out, a little syrup there! they're getting craaaaazy now! i think the only thing this cup needs is a little advice:
YOU DON'T EAT FROZEN YOGURT BY THE OUNCE FOR YOUR HEALTH. PUT SOME DAMN CHOCOLATE IN THAT BITCH.
i quit you, internet, you disgust me. i'll try and take a picture next time.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
+100 things that make me happy+ #14: the fragile euphoria of drawing and having that drawing come out just fine
there was a time in my life when i was fairly prolific. i drew all the time. mostly in class, which in retrospect makes a lot of sense, as i seem to do things best when i'm doing them in lieu of other things, like geometry and science.
i can't quite pinpoint when my multi-year-and-still-going dry spell of creativity began, or the reasons behind it. perhaps it was the nagging notion that just because my mother thinks my drawings are good and that i look great in this sweater vest, doesn't necessarily mean everyone else will feel the same way. and maybe that was coupled with a pre-built lack of self-esteem and desire FOR the acceptance and/or friendship from the very peer group i hated. and maybe that was mixed up with the already growing habit of swallowing myself inward to make myself as bland and "normal" as possible, so perhaps i could just be left the fuck alone for once.
it's really hard to say, exactly.
regardless of its origins, the spell has continued, and i have no idea how to really make it go away. the solution most likely has its roots in self-acceptance and forgiveness of myself and others, and a lot of crying and talking and quite possibly running away from everyone and everything and learning to be an autonomous unit.
all of the aforementioned messy bullshit makes the times when i do put pencil to paper and have it come out good all the more relieving. it's like, maybe i am good, and maybe things aren't as shitty as i'm making them out to be. which is usually how it works out. i'll learn that completely, one of these days, i'm sure. in the meantime, i'll continue about my merry way, getting over my fear of myself in millimeters of graphite and single drops of india ink. and cat hair. lots of cat hair. so... so much cat hair. dammit, finn.
i can't quite pinpoint when my multi-year-and-still-going dry spell of creativity began, or the reasons behind it. perhaps it was the nagging notion that just because my mother thinks my drawings are good and that i look great in this sweater vest, doesn't necessarily mean everyone else will feel the same way. and maybe that was coupled with a pre-built lack of self-esteem and desire FOR the acceptance and/or friendship from the very peer group i hated. and maybe that was mixed up with the already growing habit of swallowing myself inward to make myself as bland and "normal" as possible, so perhaps i could just be left the fuck alone for once.
it's really hard to say, exactly.
regardless of its origins, the spell has continued, and i have no idea how to really make it go away. the solution most likely has its roots in self-acceptance and forgiveness of myself and others, and a lot of crying and talking and quite possibly running away from everyone and everything and learning to be an autonomous unit.
all of the aforementioned messy bullshit makes the times when i do put pencil to paper and have it come out good all the more relieving. it's like, maybe i am good, and maybe things aren't as shitty as i'm making them out to be. which is usually how it works out. i'll learn that completely, one of these days, i'm sure. in the meantime, i'll continue about my merry way, getting over my fear of myself in millimeters of graphite and single drops of india ink. and cat hair. lots of cat hair. so... so much cat hair. dammit, finn.
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