You may think me frivolous for saying so, but I have recently been researching advanced cosmetics techniques. Now, at age almost-31, I am doing what I'm kind of glad I didn't waste my time doing when I was 17 (too many books to read): Practicing applying makeup.
It's loads of fun. I even learned how to *really* do my eyebrows well, which are blonde and nice overall, but with a few cowlicks in weird places. I realize now that there are no such things as perfect eyebrows unless you make them so yourself. I spent $30 dollars on 5mL of Pupa eyeshadow base and have been going to town, with new colors and blends appearing every day.
That, plus the hundreds of dollars I spent this last week on high-end professional shoes, jackets and slacks, and all the jewelry I received for Christmas, makes me feel well-prepared for my probable (85% certainty) sojourn into the world of finance in a few weeks.
Third and final interview next Wednesday.
Showing posts with label fun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fun. Show all posts
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Post-haste Burgers et Autres Choses
A mediocre day and an awesome evening. Things are looking up?
I had two quizzes; one written expression (a bitch) and one written comprehension. I owned both of them despite my Brain Fog, which was mostly induced by my ill-considered decision to bring oolong tea to school in my vacuum flask rather than my customary coffee. My composition contained about five sets of double pronouns both simple and composé, as well as plenty of all of the imparfait, passé composé, simple present, present continuous, futur proche and futur simple tenses. I think I even tossed a couple of conditionals in there just to boggle their minds. Don't even get me started on les marqueurs de relation.
After lunch, I could barely muster a smile at my poor professor, who knows something about my recent problems. The whole class was a disaster. The partner of one of my classmates had been hospitalized recently for neuro issues and another had a swollen abdomen worthy of a hospital trip, too. A couple were still hungover from Sunday, somehow. We were a sad lot today, morose and suffering, until a discussion about corporal punishment for children... Things went crazy. Needless to say, I woke up and kind of even enjoyed my walk home.
On top of that, a bunch of my clients cancelled their appointments with me, and I could spend the evening designing a kick-ass graphic for my team's final project and writing up the PowerPoint slides. I've been cooking turkey burgers and listening to Ace of Base (The Sign, circa 1996?) at full blast. Unfortunately, Caspian is still out, and I was too hungry to resist devouring my burger post-haste.
I had two quizzes; one written expression (a bitch) and one written comprehension. I owned both of them despite my Brain Fog, which was mostly induced by my ill-considered decision to bring oolong tea to school in my vacuum flask rather than my customary coffee. My composition contained about five sets of double pronouns both simple and composé, as well as plenty of all of the imparfait, passé composé, simple present, present continuous, futur proche and futur simple tenses. I think I even tossed a couple of conditionals in there just to boggle their minds. Don't even get me started on les marqueurs de relation.
After lunch, I could barely muster a smile at my poor professor, who knows something about my recent problems. The whole class was a disaster. The partner of one of my classmates had been hospitalized recently for neuro issues and another had a swollen abdomen worthy of a hospital trip, too. A couple were still hungover from Sunday, somehow. We were a sad lot today, morose and suffering, until a discussion about corporal punishment for children... Things went crazy. Needless to say, I woke up and kind of even enjoyed my walk home.
On top of that, a bunch of my clients cancelled their appointments with me, and I could spend the evening designing a kick-ass graphic for my team's final project and writing up the PowerPoint slides. I've been cooking turkey burgers and listening to Ace of Base (The Sign, circa 1996?) at full blast. Unfortunately, Caspian is still out, and I was too hungry to resist devouring my burger post-haste.
Friday, January 13, 2012
DnB Artist Personalities, Revealed
I love drum & bass basically more than any other genre, excepting perhaps classical piano. I've listened to a lot of stuff over the last 14 (!!!) years of my obsession and have come to feel real fondness for some of my favorite producers and musicians. So much so that I've sort of inadvertently constructed personalities for several of them, based only on how I respond to their music.
The Psychic. High Contrast is pretty much incomprehensible, but in a warm, knowing way that makes you want to trust him with your darkest secrets. Awkward and attractive in looks and suave and quietly confident in manner, he's the guy you want to talk to if you are confused by human nature in any context. So, he has some seriously sick beats bouncing around in that noggin of his, but he's still witty and human. And he's Welsh, so he probably has a gorgeous accent and can likely speak Cymric, which is.... Awesome.
The Enigma. Klute is the rare dude you see brooding at the bar in a snazzy club who can easily back up the force of his attitude. You see, he's a genius, a real genius. It might take awhile for you to get used to his manner of speaking, but once you do, you realize that he's just simply more evolved than all of your other friends, an entirely different type completely. You're pretty sure he can smile, since you've heard it in his music, but you've never seen it. He's intense.
The Party. Danny Byrd is the guy you plan to go jogging with early on that Tuesday morning... But instead, you end up going out together for beer and a burger - for breakfast. Things get worse (or better!) from there, culminating probably in a helicopter ride to an Angry Birds-themed Victorian rave, complete with moon bounce. You never know what's going to happen to you when you're with Danny Byrd, but you know you'll have a heluva time.
The Gentleman. Urbane and well-educated, Calibre pays no attention to the trends and goes his own way, and people always end up following. You probably want to take a few pages from his book when it comes to fashion. He can converse glibly on any topic, and if there's a concert featuring a speedcore/psytrance interpretation of Rachmaninov going down one night, you'll probably want to go with him... After getting baked first. It'll be great. Plus, he's from Belfast and probably commands a pretty kickass accent himself, so you'll want to parade him around in front of your American friends.
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| High Contrast |
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| Klute |
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| Danny Byrd |
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| Calibre |
Saturday, May 7, 2011
The Bum's Kiss
This is Felix's mom's favorite story. She'd request a recounting on a regular basis and would always end up rolling on the floor, cackling with laughter. He told it to me last night after an awesome 2-hour practice (before which he fell asleep at the wheel and hit a guardrail, but that's another story).
One spring morning a few years ago, Felix was walking through a park on his way home from the grocery store. He had four bags of groceries, two in each hand. And on this particular morning, this particular park was abnormally inhabited by many, many bums. A bum here, a bum there, a bum on every bench, bums reclining in the grass, etc. A bit nervous, Felix continued on his trek, avoiding eye contact and trying to look as bumlike as possible to blend in...
In his peripheral vision, he saw a large, burly bum stand up and begin walking towards him on the same path. He continued walking, but realized that this large guy was intentionally blocking his way, just standing there with his arms gangling at his sides, his huge, bushy beard stirring in the breeze. Felix stopped a few paces away and wondered what to do. Keep in mind that he is a very slim, small man, maybe 135 lbs. and 5'8" tall. Suddenly the bum spoke (in French).
"Hey! You there."
And Felix replied uncertainly, "Uh, yeah, what can I do for you?" The bum took a ponderous breath, jutted a grimy, sausagelike finger in the direction of his beard-obscured lips and grated,
"Give me a kiss."
Felix had been prepared to abandon his groceries to this bizarre bum, even the cash in his wallet... But a kiss!? After a few drawn-out moments of chagrined examination (the guy just stood there in expectation), Felix could sense that this dubious old man was completely serious. He didn't want a confrontation, he he had no idea what else to do, he was young and silly, so he stood on his tip toes and planted one right on the dude's mouth. He stepped back.
"Thanks. I feel better now," rasped the bum, with tears in his eyes! He slowly lumbered off in the opposite direction. Felix stood there in the middle of the sidewalk for awhile, grocery bags still clutched in his hands, completely flabbergasted.
At this point, I was about peeing myself with mirth and asked him what he did next! He said, "I stopped at the dépanneur and bought some Listerine."
One spring morning a few years ago, Felix was walking through a park on his way home from the grocery store. He had four bags of groceries, two in each hand. And on this particular morning, this particular park was abnormally inhabited by many, many bums. A bum here, a bum there, a bum on every bench, bums reclining in the grass, etc. A bit nervous, Felix continued on his trek, avoiding eye contact and trying to look as bumlike as possible to blend in...
In his peripheral vision, he saw a large, burly bum stand up and begin walking towards him on the same path. He continued walking, but realized that this large guy was intentionally blocking his way, just standing there with his arms gangling at his sides, his huge, bushy beard stirring in the breeze. Felix stopped a few paces away and wondered what to do. Keep in mind that he is a very slim, small man, maybe 135 lbs. and 5'8" tall. Suddenly the bum spoke (in French).
"Hey! You there."
And Felix replied uncertainly, "Uh, yeah, what can I do for you?" The bum took a ponderous breath, jutted a grimy, sausagelike finger in the direction of his beard-obscured lips and grated,
"Give me a kiss."
Felix had been prepared to abandon his groceries to this bizarre bum, even the cash in his wallet... But a kiss!? After a few drawn-out moments of chagrined examination (the guy just stood there in expectation), Felix could sense that this dubious old man was completely serious. He didn't want a confrontation, he he had no idea what else to do, he was young and silly, so he stood on his tip toes and planted one right on the dude's mouth. He stepped back.
"Thanks. I feel better now," rasped the bum, with tears in his eyes! He slowly lumbered off in the opposite direction. Felix stood there in the middle of the sidewalk for awhile, grocery bags still clutched in his hands, completely flabbergasted.
At this point, I was about peeing myself with mirth and asked him what he did next! He said, "I stopped at the dépanneur and bought some Listerine."
Monday, February 21, 2011
Epicurean Evening
Last night was a strange, surreal, intimate night.
Caspian and I took the train de banlieue out of Montreal to the countryside and spent the evening (3:30pm - 9:00pm) with Felix and his boyfriend, Raomi. It was strange to take the train. We were underground while crossing most of the island, and popped up into daylight in the midst of suburbia. Definitely a jarring transition after spending 6 months of my life in the center of downtown.
On the way back from the train station, we took a little jaunt through the Quebec countryside, admiring the snowy mountains and lakes; it really isn't all that different from my hometown on the surface (other than the climate), but it feels different and I can't put my finger on why. I think it's the huge sky. The trees aren't as tall, the roads are narrower, the houses are subtly different, etc. There are mountains on the horizon, and snow and ice as far as the eye can see. We stopped at the quay and looked out over the frozen lake, which has a winter shortcut over it that cars can use to drive to the other side - it cuts 30 minutes off of the trip to the city. There were little rows of hut-houses out on the ice for ice fishing. The wind was bitter and Raomi declared himself starving, so we left in favor of more comfortable places.
We got started on the drinking almost as soon as we walked through the door of their cute little house, which definitely added to the whole surreal thing. We were ushered into the living room, where Raomi set down two plates of completely homemade hors d'oeuvres: Escargots with bleu cheese on pumpernickel, and a chickpea puree with tahini, peppers and olive oil on garlic crackers. Caspian and I were pretty much blown away by this show of epicurean luxury and proceeded to joyfully get pretty much wasted. We all laughed a lot, listened to some bossa nova and old French music, and laughed some more.
Felix and Raomi decided we didn't have enough wine, so Iwent staggered with Felix to the SAQ, where he promptly forgot his PIN number, five times in a row. He even started calling Raomi to help jog his memory - from the store phone, because he also forgot his cellphone and wallet. "Nous sommes un peu ivre,"("we are kind of drunk") he explained to the really amused cashier. He dropped the phone after having an "aha!" moment, but his attempt failed. We stood there laughing and laughing and laughing until another epiphany hit, which was thankfully the correct PIN number, and we were on our way home.
Upon our magnificent return, we soon moved the party into the candlelit kitchen. I sat at my meticulously arranged place setting, blinking slowly and happily, when suddenly a steaming bowl of peppery, rich vichyssoise materialized on my plate. We all sat down to eat, talking about dance, politics, music, opera, sexuality, grammar, all sorts of weird things. The soup soon disappeared and was replaced with a shell-shaped bowl of light, elegant puree of potatoes, cream, onions and leeks, baked with tender scallops and some French cheese that I can't remember the name of. It was so marvelous, let me tell you. We were told by Raomi to abandon our first wine and drink the new bottle, which was apparently chosen just for this particular dish. Of course, we ate it all! Who knew we'd be visiting the abode of a French chef?!
And then, oddly, came the salad course - watercress with an acerbic and mustardy French dressing, pears and roasted walnuts. Caspian basically kirbied his (kirby (v): to inhale without chewing). The laughing and the conversation continued - I basically couldn't stop cracking up. Felix (who was sitting across from me), kept asking, "What, what?!" because he thought I was making fun of his English, but I was just really silly and content.
Finally, the dessert: Lemon tarte. And this lemon tarte was unlike any other I have ever eaten. The crust was almost like a pastry, thin and layered and brittle, and the filling was ultra super lemony. The tarte was covered with real slices of lemons that you eat, rind and all, with bites of vanilla ice cream. Caspian had two pieces! That's like eating half a lemon. We watched Max & Yulia's Hip Hip Chin Chin a couple times, a professional rumba and a chacha/rumba fusion that Felix and Raomi fancied. Felix did some dance demonstrations, and then we watched an instructional video recorded by our coaches. Bwahaha! Each time we finished one showdance, Felix would turn to Caspian and say, "I said two, right? Three? I promise only one more!" because he knows that dance isn't Caspian's thing, but I think Caspian was too deep in vin to protest anything.
Before we left (what, 5 hours gone, just like that?!), Felix took Caspian's arm and basically said, "I was so nervous about meeting you because I love your wife and she and I have such a great partnership and I thought you would be jealous." Caspian assured him that this was not the case at all. He understands. Still a bit of a novel experience, to hear my gay dance partner tell my husband that he loves me.
And then suddenly wewereonthetrainandthenonthemetroandthen I was at home in bed. Whaaa?
I have an epic dream post coming up - it will probably take a couple of hours to write. Stay tuned!
Caspian and I took the train de banlieue out of Montreal to the countryside and spent the evening (3:30pm - 9:00pm) with Felix and his boyfriend, Raomi. It was strange to take the train. We were underground while crossing most of the island, and popped up into daylight in the midst of suburbia. Definitely a jarring transition after spending 6 months of my life in the center of downtown.
On the way back from the train station, we took a little jaunt through the Quebec countryside, admiring the snowy mountains and lakes; it really isn't all that different from my hometown on the surface (other than the climate), but it feels different and I can't put my finger on why. I think it's the huge sky. The trees aren't as tall, the roads are narrower, the houses are subtly different, etc. There are mountains on the horizon, and snow and ice as far as the eye can see. We stopped at the quay and looked out over the frozen lake, which has a winter shortcut over it that cars can use to drive to the other side - it cuts 30 minutes off of the trip to the city. There were little rows of hut-houses out on the ice for ice fishing. The wind was bitter and Raomi declared himself starving, so we left in favor of more comfortable places.
We got started on the drinking almost as soon as we walked through the door of their cute little house, which definitely added to the whole surreal thing. We were ushered into the living room, where Raomi set down two plates of completely homemade hors d'oeuvres: Escargots with bleu cheese on pumpernickel, and a chickpea puree with tahini, peppers and olive oil on garlic crackers. Caspian and I were pretty much blown away by this show of epicurean luxury and proceeded to joyfully get pretty much wasted. We all laughed a lot, listened to some bossa nova and old French music, and laughed some more.
Felix and Raomi decided we didn't have enough wine, so I
Upon our magnificent return, we soon moved the party into the candlelit kitchen. I sat at my meticulously arranged place setting, blinking slowly and happily, when suddenly a steaming bowl of peppery, rich vichyssoise materialized on my plate. We all sat down to eat, talking about dance, politics, music, opera, sexuality, grammar, all sorts of weird things. The soup soon disappeared and was replaced with a shell-shaped bowl of light, elegant puree of potatoes, cream, onions and leeks, baked with tender scallops and some French cheese that I can't remember the name of. It was so marvelous, let me tell you. We were told by Raomi to abandon our first wine and drink the new bottle, which was apparently chosen just for this particular dish. Of course, we ate it all! Who knew we'd be visiting the abode of a French chef?!
And then, oddly, came the salad course - watercress with an acerbic and mustardy French dressing, pears and roasted walnuts. Caspian basically kirbied his (kirby (v): to inhale without chewing). The laughing and the conversation continued - I basically couldn't stop cracking up. Felix (who was sitting across from me), kept asking, "What, what?!" because he thought I was making fun of his English, but I was just really silly and content.
Finally, the dessert: Lemon tarte. And this lemon tarte was unlike any other I have ever eaten. The crust was almost like a pastry, thin and layered and brittle, and the filling was ultra super lemony. The tarte was covered with real slices of lemons that you eat, rind and all, with bites of vanilla ice cream. Caspian had two pieces! That's like eating half a lemon. We watched Max & Yulia's Hip Hip Chin Chin a couple times, a professional rumba and a chacha/rumba fusion that Felix and Raomi fancied. Felix did some dance demonstrations, and then we watched an instructional video recorded by our coaches. Bwahaha! Each time we finished one showdance, Felix would turn to Caspian and say, "I said two, right? Three? I promise only one more!" because he knows that dance isn't Caspian's thing, but I think Caspian was too deep in vin to protest anything.
Before we left (what, 5 hours gone, just like that?!), Felix took Caspian's arm and basically said, "I was so nervous about meeting you because I love your wife and she and I have such a great partnership and I thought you would be jealous." Caspian assured him that this was not the case at all. He understands. Still a bit of a novel experience, to hear my gay dance partner tell my husband that he loves me.
And then suddenly wewereonthetrainandthenonthemetroandthen I was at home in bed. Whaaa?
I have an epic dream post coming up - it will probably take a couple of hours to write. Stay tuned!
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
I'm trying not to post spoilers...
Last night, I went with two of my girlfriends to see Black Swan. I didn't know anything about it, other than it somehow featured Swan Lake and starred Natalie Portman.
It totally blew me away. I couldn't form coherent sentences for an hour afterward. I wasn't expecting a visceral psychological thriller, and the ethereal grace of ballet and its accoutrements added a bizarre sparkle that only heightened the sexual tension and sense of wrongness. It's a movie about dance, sex, self-expression... And madness. I was right there with Natalie Portman's character from the get go, cheering her on, haunted by her hallucinations, frustrated with her frigidity, wrathful, passionate, lost, etc.
She's going to win an Oscar for that one.
It totally blew me away. I couldn't form coherent sentences for an hour afterward. I wasn't expecting a visceral psychological thriller, and the ethereal grace of ballet and its accoutrements added a bizarre sparkle that only heightened the sexual tension and sense of wrongness. It's a movie about dance, sex, self-expression... And madness. I was right there with Natalie Portman's character from the get go, cheering her on, haunted by her hallucinations, frustrated with her frigidity, wrathful, passionate, lost, etc.
She's going to win an Oscar for that one.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
The Fabled Jumping Pot of Ville-Marie
After a jog and my chores, I headed out to the mall with my iPod in my pocket to buy a stock pot to make beef stew in. We have the beef and the veggies, but we lack a pot big enough and I didn't find one yesterday during my travels.
I looked at the selection of pots, chose one, and took it (and a butter dish) to the checkout line. I was totally jamming to my music, standing there idly, when the pot suddenly jumps out of my hands and hits the floor with a tremendous racket. I winced, picked it up, dusted it off, and no harm done. Got a couple stares, but nobody yelled expletives at me or burst into tears, so I was quite unfazed.
Finally it was my turn. The cashier said bonjour, took my pot, scanned it, and immediately dropped it and the lid, which bounced off of each other multiple times before coming to rest on the floor. I picked them up sheepishly while the little old lady next in line snickered at me behind the gigantic pile of sponges she was holding. They were unharmed, so we bagged them and I left.
I headed to the grocery store (which is inside the mall) to buy buillon de boeuf and some milk. The cashier scanned my items and put them in a bag while the bagger guy took my big bag containing the pot (which contained the butter dish) while I situated my wallet, purse and grocery bag. Without warning, the bag leapt from his hands, scattering the pot and the butter dish far and wide and sending the lid flying at least 10 feet! We retrieved the pieces and returned them to their bag, making sure there were no dents and no holes in the bag. I left the grocery store, but the pot managed to wallop itself on a metal post with a clang as I walked away. I spanked its steel bottom through the bag.
Groceries and other items in tow, I reinserted my headphones and turned up the dubstep. I sauntered casually and quite cutely (I thought) through the mall, almost making it to the door to the outside, when that obstreperous pot flitted from me and hit an old lady pushing a walker smack in the butt! Unable to contain myself, I burst out laughing and she glared at me with the considerable power of a venerable elder. I wilted a little bit, but kept my smirk on all the way home. The pot now sits on the stove, waiting to make stew!
I looked at the selection of pots, chose one, and took it (and a butter dish) to the checkout line. I was totally jamming to my music, standing there idly, when the pot suddenly jumps out of my hands and hits the floor with a tremendous racket. I winced, picked it up, dusted it off, and no harm done. Got a couple stares, but nobody yelled expletives at me or burst into tears, so I was quite unfazed.
Finally it was my turn. The cashier said bonjour, took my pot, scanned it, and immediately dropped it and the lid, which bounced off of each other multiple times before coming to rest on the floor. I picked them up sheepishly while the little old lady next in line snickered at me behind the gigantic pile of sponges she was holding. They were unharmed, so we bagged them and I left.
I headed to the grocery store (which is inside the mall) to buy buillon de boeuf and some milk. The cashier scanned my items and put them in a bag while the bagger guy took my big bag containing the pot (which contained the butter dish) while I situated my wallet, purse and grocery bag. Without warning, the bag leapt from his hands, scattering the pot and the butter dish far and wide and sending the lid flying at least 10 feet! We retrieved the pieces and returned them to their bag, making sure there were no dents and no holes in the bag. I left the grocery store, but the pot managed to wallop itself on a metal post with a clang as I walked away. I spanked its steel bottom through the bag.
Groceries and other items in tow, I reinserted my headphones and turned up the dubstep. I sauntered casually and quite cutely (I thought) through the mall, almost making it to the door to the outside, when that obstreperous pot flitted from me and hit an old lady pushing a walker smack in the butt! Unable to contain myself, I burst out laughing and she glared at me with the considerable power of a venerable elder. I wilted a little bit, but kept my smirk on all the way home. The pot now sits on the stove, waiting to make stew!
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
In Which I Ramble About Clothes
I am freezing here at the kitchen table in two sweatshirts, pajama pants, knee-highs (ha!) and Acorn slippers. It's 55 degrees outside and not much warmer inside. I'd better get a move on and finish hemming those curtains before the heat gets turned on by our landlord, M.
Unfortunately, I have other sewing projects going! I finished my beautiful jersey top this morning before lunch. Did I mention how lovely it is? Walking down the streets of Montreal today wearing it with my Ciao Bella low heels, flashy crystal studs and my hair coiffed, I felt like a million bucks - mostly because nobody was wearing anything so unique and lovely. It is form-fitting and slinky with 3/4 length sleeves, a ruched, crossed-over v-neck bodice with an off-center twist at the natural waist, where it splits to an asymmetrical, close-draping tunic bottom almost to my knees.
The styles right now are both great and detestable. I love the skinny jeans look with flats and heels, but I hate, hate, hate bubbly, shapeless tops and high-waisted, high-water pants and skirts. I digress. I should probably have Caspian take a picture of me modeling my masterpiece tomorrow. It's my best work yet, I think, although the sleeve seams were iffy, but I blame that on the fabric's bad behavior. So... Guess where I traipsed off to this afternoon? Why, the fabric store, of course!
I bought 3.20 meters of a marvelous cream 100% merino herringbone jacketing... Not for $20/m. Not for $15, $10 or even $8, but $2.99/m! I am going to make a calf-length belted jacket out of it in time for October winds. I also bought some more of that synthetic knit, since I know how to handle it now, printed with a modern pattern of blues and creams. That was a little bit more expensive, even with the discount I get with my membership. Interestingly, I was at the fabric store at the same time that crowds of middle-twenties-hipster-chicks-who-sew converged upon the premises. Many of them had dreads, and most of them were wearing items featuring mismatched buttons and waif-like ragged hems. I pretty much felt like Audrey Hepburn, but my self-confidence sunk a little bit when I failed at French.
But, I breezed through the front door in high-spirits clutching my purchases, and discovered that I was offered the position that I interviewed for last week!
Unfortunately, I have other sewing projects going! I finished my beautiful jersey top this morning before lunch. Did I mention how lovely it is? Walking down the streets of Montreal today wearing it with my Ciao Bella low heels, flashy crystal studs and my hair coiffed, I felt like a million bucks - mostly because nobody was wearing anything so unique and lovely. It is form-fitting and slinky with 3/4 length sleeves, a ruched, crossed-over v-neck bodice with an off-center twist at the natural waist, where it splits to an asymmetrical, close-draping tunic bottom almost to my knees.
The styles right now are both great and detestable. I love the skinny jeans look with flats and heels, but I hate, hate, hate bubbly, shapeless tops and high-waisted, high-water pants and skirts. I digress. I should probably have Caspian take a picture of me modeling my masterpiece tomorrow. It's my best work yet, I think, although the sleeve seams were iffy, but I blame that on the fabric's bad behavior. So... Guess where I traipsed off to this afternoon? Why, the fabric store, of course!
I bought 3.20 meters of a marvelous cream 100% merino herringbone jacketing... Not for $20/m. Not for $15, $10 or even $8, but $2.99/m! I am going to make a calf-length belted jacket out of it in time for October winds. I also bought some more of that synthetic knit, since I know how to handle it now, printed with a modern pattern of blues and creams. That was a little bit more expensive, even with the discount I get with my membership. Interestingly, I was at the fabric store at the same time that crowds of middle-twenties-hipster-chicks-who-sew converged upon the premises. Many of them had dreads, and most of them were wearing items featuring mismatched buttons and waif-like ragged hems. I pretty much felt like Audrey Hepburn, but my self-confidence sunk a little bit when I failed at French.
But, I breezed through the front door in high-spirits clutching my purchases, and discovered that I was offered the position that I interviewed for last week!
SQUEEEEEE!!!
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Horsies!
My sister and cousin went riding on my family's horses. There's a bay Percheron named Sterling, a paint Tennessee Walking horse named Chief and a quarter horse named Zeus. I didn't go because I was dressed too nicely and had already gone jogging and taken a shower.
Lovely came back dirty and happy and with lots of great pictures, which I may post later. She told me that Chief was a brat who doesn't know how to listen, Zeus is a brat who makes you second-guess your instructions to him, and Sterling... WAS LIKE RIDING A COUCH. He's enormous!
Bahahahaha!
Lovely came back dirty and happy and with lots of great pictures, which I may post later. She told me that Chief was a brat who doesn't know how to listen, Zeus is a brat who makes you second-guess your instructions to him, and Sterling... WAS LIKE RIDING A COUCH. He's enormous!
Bahahahaha!
Friday, August 13, 2010
Every Little Thing He Does is Magic
So I'm pining for Caspian today. It's been two weeks since he left. Totally lame! And distracting! Little stupid things remind me that we are apart, as cheesy as it sounds. My gramma said the simple words "oh, this" at a particular pitch, which reminded me of a duet from The Mikado, and of course I had to look up the news spot covering last spring's show on YouTube and watch him rehearse. Twice, my heart all a-flutter. Such clandestine research sounds like the domain of a hopelessly-in-unrequited-love, starry-eyed young high school student obsessing over an out-of-reach crush. I guess our love has been unrequited for about two weeks. Heh.
Not like I haven't kept busy here in my homeland - I've run probably about 25 miles, walked probably 5 and biked maybe 20. I've eaten close to a lb. of candy, studied French diligently, read books, explored the deserted town all through the night by bike while the cicadas scolded us, ventured through the cemetery, ridden through Duncan's Woods at 1 AM in total darkness. I've stayed up until the wee hours playing a Sega Dreamcast turned original Nintendo - Kirby's Adventure, of course. Lovely, G and I have visited our favorite haunts, like the jewelry store, the ice cream stand, the waterfront, the pier at sunset, the candy and liquor store (twice), the coffee house (three times), R's store downtown. I spent "a bit" of money on a clothing-related shopping spree for myself and for Lovely's birthday. We visited the kitties in the pet store. We watched the meteors streak over the distant, watery horizon, standing on the beach at midnight with our heads craning upwards and the waves lapping at our feet.
What the heck are we going to do for the rest of the week?!
Not like I haven't kept busy here in my homeland - I've run probably about 25 miles, walked probably 5 and biked maybe 20. I've eaten close to a lb. of candy, studied French diligently, read books, explored the deserted town all through the night by bike while the cicadas scolded us, ventured through the cemetery, ridden through Duncan's Woods at 1 AM in total darkness. I've stayed up until the wee hours playing a Sega Dreamcast turned original Nintendo - Kirby's Adventure, of course. Lovely, G and I have visited our favorite haunts, like the jewelry store, the ice cream stand, the waterfront, the pier at sunset, the candy and liquor store (twice), the coffee house (three times), R's store downtown. I spent "a bit" of money on a clothing-related shopping spree for myself and for Lovely's birthday. We visited the kitties in the pet store. We watched the meteors streak over the distant, watery horizon, standing on the beach at midnight with our heads craning upwards and the waves lapping at our feet.
What the heck are we going to do for the rest of the week?!
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
855 Miles Away
After 16 hours of driving, Lovely and I made it to my father's coastal hometown. It's been two years since last I was here, and it remains remarkably unchanged in the 28 years since I've known it. My gramma hasn't changed much either, only now she's alone. Grampa died from bone cancer several years ago.
I started my day with a 4-mile jog through the neighborhoods and woods, and that vista that greets me after that one tree tunnel that runs along the cemetery - the water, from the top of the dune, stretches as far as the eye can see, gray and blue under a gray and blue sky, and the wind stirs droplets from the beeches. They make strange shapes as they fall on the sand, which is only wet on its top layer and dry beneath as my jogging shoes scuff along it.
Caspian has a job interview tomorrow morning, and I contacted the moving company that we chose - we had a few others quote us much more reasonable estimates than that first one.
I started my day with a 4-mile jog through the neighborhoods and woods, and that vista that greets me after that one tree tunnel that runs along the cemetery - the water, from the top of the dune, stretches as far as the eye can see, gray and blue under a gray and blue sky, and the wind stirs droplets from the beeches. They make strange shapes as they fall on the sand, which is only wet on its top layer and dry beneath as my jogging shoes scuff along it.
Caspian has a job interview tomorrow morning, and I contacted the moving company that we chose - we had a few others quote us much more reasonable estimates than that first one.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Watercolored
I took Caspian to the airport yesterday morning. He is in Montreal right now, typing to me as he sits in his temporary pad. He started a new blog, abandoning his old one about opera singing and life as a singer. I hope he hasn't abandoned his lifelong dream of that life. His new blog, strangely, has been entitled Revenge of Hoss. Mystifying. Astute though, and amusing.
On the flip side but not really, I am sitting on the black leather couch in the living room of Natty and Pepper, listening to Pendulum, which I told them to buy on iTunes. I'm using my brand new eeePC with all of the little protective plastic films still adhering to the touchpad and screen. We just got back from a decadent dinner at one of the nicest restaurants in town, where I probably had too much Greek beer, and definitely too much almond baklava. I am feeling... Strangely morose and melancholy, gchatting with Caspian, who is watching fireworks bloom over Montreal. I feel distant from him in body and mind. And soul. Maybe it's the beer?
We hiked the Dragon's Tooth this afternoon. It was one of the most grueling hikes I've done, but exhilarating! It's one of the toughest stretches of the Appalachian Trail. We have excellent pictures, which I will post on another day. Pepper and I climbed to the very apex of the Tooth and sat on that knife-edged ridge, looking several thousand feet over the misty valley and the velvet tree-smoothed peaks in the distance. It was raining. The sound of a billion raindrops hitting a billion leaves hundreds of feet overhead is almost as quietly mind-blowing as the sound of the simultaneous whoosh of the wings of a flock of starlings taking flight from a beech tree. It was befuddling and my heart was racing with joy.
Today's rain goes with the lush joy and now strange pain I feel. My colors are fluid and running together, bound and sculpted into their shapes by the whims of the water.
On the flip side but not really, I am sitting on the black leather couch in the living room of Natty and Pepper, listening to Pendulum, which I told them to buy on iTunes. I'm using my brand new eeePC with all of the little protective plastic films still adhering to the touchpad and screen. We just got back from a decadent dinner at one of the nicest restaurants in town, where I probably had too much Greek beer, and definitely too much almond baklava. I am feeling... Strangely morose and melancholy, gchatting with Caspian, who is watching fireworks bloom over Montreal. I feel distant from him in body and mind. And soul. Maybe it's the beer?
We hiked the Dragon's Tooth this afternoon. It was one of the most grueling hikes I've done, but exhilarating! It's one of the toughest stretches of the Appalachian Trail. We have excellent pictures, which I will post on another day. Pepper and I climbed to the very apex of the Tooth and sat on that knife-edged ridge, looking several thousand feet over the misty valley and the velvet tree-smoothed peaks in the distance. It was raining. The sound of a billion raindrops hitting a billion leaves hundreds of feet overhead is almost as quietly mind-blowing as the sound of the simultaneous whoosh of the wings of a flock of starlings taking flight from a beech tree. It was befuddling and my heart was racing with joy.
Today's rain goes with the lush joy and now strange pain I feel. My colors are fluid and running together, bound and sculpted into their shapes by the whims of the water.
Monday, July 26, 2010
On the Fritz
Caspian and I are the reluctant, intrepid heroes of an ongoing air conditioning saga. Currently, where we live, it has been about 100 degrees F every day, with 80% humidity. This is the most rotten weather on the planet. One walks outside for 30 seconds between house and car, and one is drenched with sticky sweat.
A few weeks ago, our AC unit began to give out. Maintenance did a "quick fix" of some sort, which worked until about two weeks ago, and now it's regularly on the fritz. About 4 days ago, it gave out altogether.
It is horrendous to have to exist without someplace that serves as a retreat from the wicked weather. Haze fills the thick air. Every breath is half water. The sun beats down mercilessly, endlessly, torturously. I almost yearn for a Montreal February.
Well, Caspian is furious. He's good at being assertive and angry, so I'll leave it to him to berate maintenance later this afternoon. Yesterday, he declared that he would take a cold shower. I hear him turn on the water. A minute or two passes, and then I hear a rather androgynous yelp, followed by the assertion (in a very deep, impressive voice), "Ahem, that was manly."
A few weeks ago, our AC unit began to give out. Maintenance did a "quick fix" of some sort, which worked until about two weeks ago, and now it's regularly on the fritz. About 4 days ago, it gave out altogether.
It is horrendous to have to exist without someplace that serves as a retreat from the wicked weather. Haze fills the thick air. Every breath is half water. The sun beats down mercilessly, endlessly, torturously. I almost yearn for a Montreal February.
Well, Caspian is furious. He's good at being assertive and angry, so I'll leave it to him to berate maintenance later this afternoon. Yesterday, he declared that he would take a cold shower. I hear him turn on the water. A minute or two passes, and then I hear a rather androgynous yelp, followed by the assertion (in a very deep, impressive voice), "Ahem, that was manly."
Resignation
I just resigned. It went well.
My sister and I, at the Paramore concert Friday.
Confetti!
P.S. - I just discovered Dream Theater, and I'm impressed.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
American Gods
The crowd waits with bated breath, screaming for attention. The altar is a mystery, lit from behind with fey, wild lights that shoot up into the mists. The night is hot and black and the devotees howl at the murky stars, chanting the names of the gods, demanding their appearance. They are barely clothed, dripping with sweat, wrapped in excitement and anticipation that is almost palpable. Many of them resemble gods themselves, hair in wild, purposeful disarray, dyed in unnatural shades, jewelry and tattoos writhing across their necks and arms.
Suddenly, the altar scene changes... The lights move urgently, the vast screen that shields the crowd from its secrets is clutched in the hands of backlit silhouettes, larger than life, and shadows of figures race across its enigmatic surface - and with an enormous blast of sound, it is ripped away.
Arcane colors flit across the exultant disciples as they reach their hands toward their beloved deities, chanting, crooning, screeching! It is a scene of human chaos. Huge LED screens pour their endless supply of liquid light in white and red and green and blue, flooding, flashing, instructing, sending the devotees into a frenzy of worship as the rites begin! Concentrated deluges of sound blast through the chests of the worshipers, accelerating their heartbeats, changing the rhythms of their breaths.
The gods and goddess are there upon the altar, crooning into their microphones, glowing. The worshipers know all of the words by rote and their combined thousands of voices echo, puny, in the massive wake of that of the charismatic goddess who now commands their attention. She screams and she basks in the sea of light, a lithe, fire-haired figure staring up, spinning, oblivious, uncaring that her crowd of disciples is watching her every move. She shamelessly takes her pleasure, amazed and bedazzled herself that she is the object of such emotion, for she is a young goddess. The crowd is at once spellbound and shivering delightedly with jealousy at the simplicity of her power. They will never be carousing with her on that altar.
With a whip of her hand, she commands the crowd to do her bidding, and it obeys without hesitation. Her power isn't fear; it's love. It's music.
I want to be a rockstar, too.
Suddenly, the altar scene changes... The lights move urgently, the vast screen that shields the crowd from its secrets is clutched in the hands of backlit silhouettes, larger than life, and shadows of figures race across its enigmatic surface - and with an enormous blast of sound, it is ripped away.
Arcane colors flit across the exultant disciples as they reach their hands toward their beloved deities, chanting, crooning, screeching! It is a scene of human chaos. Huge LED screens pour their endless supply of liquid light in white and red and green and blue, flooding, flashing, instructing, sending the devotees into a frenzy of worship as the rites begin! Concentrated deluges of sound blast through the chests of the worshipers, accelerating their heartbeats, changing the rhythms of their breaths.
The gods and goddess are there upon the altar, crooning into their microphones, glowing. The worshipers know all of the words by rote and their combined thousands of voices echo, puny, in the massive wake of that of the charismatic goddess who now commands their attention. She screams and she basks in the sea of light, a lithe, fire-haired figure staring up, spinning, oblivious, uncaring that her crowd of disciples is watching her every move. She shamelessly takes her pleasure, amazed and bedazzled herself that she is the object of such emotion, for she is a young goddess. The crowd is at once spellbound and shivering delightedly with jealousy at the simplicity of her power. They will never be carousing with her on that altar.
With a whip of her hand, she commands the crowd to do her bidding, and it obeys without hesitation. Her power isn't fear; it's love. It's music.
I want to be a rockstar, too.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Fridaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!
I feel about as cute and sassy as this today.
I think I may have discovered my favorite blog.
That is all.
I think I may have discovered my favorite blog.
That is all.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Camping Trip Pictures
Without further ado, images from my camping trip with RH:
The beautiful lake. We camped near its shores.
A beaver dam.
A marvelous, tranquil pool.
I tried to befriend this calf...
Sunset in forest, with stream.
I can pack away the marshmallows. Ferociously.
Me, looking at the fishes.
Under the rhododendrons. Their petals were scattered in our path.
Mr. Mossy, an ancient hemlock tree, maybe a century old.
Bee Tree creek.
The water above the falls bubbles up into my hand.
The mountains in the early evening.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Birthdays and Dread
We celebrated Caspian's birthday all weekend, with plenty of homemade dessert, several outings for dinner with good company, and his mother bought us tickets to three season shows of our choice at the Montreal Opera... I guess it's my duty to see Rigoletto again! Ha. It is different every time.
Oops, Jesper (our orange cat) just puked in his water bowl. Must go take care of that.
Whew, back. Blech. Friday night, we spent some time with Rooney, Lovely and my mother at our place, where I made yellow cake and vanilla pudding. I cubed the cake while still warm, poured the still-warm pudding over it, and mixed it with bananas and strawberries. We served it with whipped cream, and it was probably the most delicious thing I've eaten in awhile.
That night, our guests were waiting for an extreme line of thunderstorms to pass before driving home. We sat on the porch at midnight, listening to the rain. Suddenly, a gust blew the raindrops into thick, driving mist, which hit like a wall of water. That moment, just before the rain wall hit and my face was into the storm-smelling breeze was like the moment you wake up after a deep sleep and you haven't yet remembered that you're supposed to be a living, breathing, productive member of society.
It's my bedtime. I dread tomorrow.
Oops, Jesper (our orange cat) just puked in his water bowl. Must go take care of that.
Whew, back. Blech. Friday night, we spent some time with Rooney, Lovely and my mother at our place, where I made yellow cake and vanilla pudding. I cubed the cake while still warm, poured the still-warm pudding over it, and mixed it with bananas and strawberries. We served it with whipped cream, and it was probably the most delicious thing I've eaten in awhile.
That night, our guests were waiting for an extreme line of thunderstorms to pass before driving home. We sat on the porch at midnight, listening to the rain. Suddenly, a gust blew the raindrops into thick, driving mist, which hit like a wall of water. That moment, just before the rain wall hit and my face was into the storm-smelling breeze was like the moment you wake up after a deep sleep and you haven't yet remembered that you're supposed to be a living, breathing, productive member of society.
It's my bedtime. I dread tomorrow.
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