19.3.10

It works much better than an alarm clock

My alarm went off at 7.

Wormy bounded in at 7:30, purring loudly.

Then he stepped on my neck.

Rough translation:

"Good morning Mommy! My bowl is empty. I love you, but I will kill you if this situation is not remedied."

18.3.10

knitting class with a pinch of secret society

A few weeks ago, I enrolled in a beginner's knitting class at the Beehive Wool Shop. It's only once a week for 5 weeks, and we just finished the third class. Here's my progress so far...


That's right. I can now knit a dish cloth, and sometimes fix my mistakes (note the word "sometimes").

***This totally should have been posted earlier this week. We started slippers last night! I also found out that Freemasons own the building that the shop is in, and hold their secret meeting things on the floor above. Exciting!

15.3.10

"squishified" is totally a word

There's been construction along Esquimalt Road since I got here. They're ripping out the sidewalks and replacing them with fresh, squishy concrete. A few weeks ago I was walking on these particular sidewalks, and was completely lost in thought, as per usual. I was jolted back to reality when I realized that I had stepped in something squishy. Thankfully, it was only the new concrete, because it could have been a lot worse. Normally there's someone standing watch to make sure no one gets into the concrete, either accidentally or to draw boobs (yes, I've seen boobs drawn into concrete). Luckily for me (and my sneakers), Concrete Watching Guy was across the road chatting with someone and didn't see me right away. He did notice me after a second, but it was too late; my sneaker had already been squishified and immortalized.

The aftermath. I went back a couple days later to take this photo.
See how I'm demonstrating how to step in wet concrete?

Then I stepped in it again while trying to get out of it. I'm smooth like that.

Boosh!

13.3.10

Question: What's brown and sticky? *

This was actually written three days ago, but I forgot to post it. My bad.

When Mr. Zombie comes home today, he'll see a bunch of wet twigs in the bathtub. Naturally, he's going to have some questions.

"Leah," he'll ask, "How come there are sticks in the bathtub?"
"Because they're wet."
"But why are there sticks in the bathtub?"
"Because I had to wash them and I didn't want to get the floors wet."
"Why?"
"Because then I'd have to clean it up."
"Why did you wash sticks?"
"Well, they were dirty of course!"
He'll probably pause and count to 10. "Why...do...you...have...sticks?"
"Because I want to glue little pom-poms to them."
At this point, he'll stare at me blankly for a moment, before walking away shaking his head. I'll try to stifle my giggles.

So, yes, I have sticks. Wet sticks. Wet twigs, to be exact. I picked them up for a craft project, and had to wash the dirt off them because, like I said, they were dirty. When I worked at the Wicker, I swore that I'd never decorate (and I use the term loosely) with bunches of twigs stuck in vases.

My bunch of twigs is going to be totally rad though! Ok, so it was this gal's idea for totally rad twigs, and I'm just copying it, but still - too cute! I think it's fantastic, in a acid trip, fairytale sort of way. I bought the itty bitty pom-poms today at Michaels, and now I'm just waiting for the twigs to dry so I can get my glue on.

I've already named my rainbow display: Gay Sticks! They'll match Gay Mouse and Gay Ball perfectly! For those of you who haven't been to my apartment, Gay Mouse and Gay Ball are two of Madison's toys. I've dubbed them as such, because they both have a pattern of rainbow stripes. Rainbow = gay pride = Gay Things. Get it? I'm so clever.


And since I'm only posting this now, here's the finished product! It's not a very nice vase, but it's the only one I had that the Gay Sticks fit into nicely. Perhaps a project for another day? The Easter card is from my cousin Rebecca. I love getting mail. :)

* Answer: A stick (cue sad trombone).

8.3.10

Thwip!

I touched a spider!

No, no wait, that's not right...

I voluntarily touched a spider!

If you know me at all, you should recognize the huge difference between those two statements. HUGE! Like,
"Ron Jeremy on Viagra" huge.

I was at the Bug Zoo the other day, and one of the tour guides had a tarantula out of it's cage and was letting adults hold it in their hand. I stayed on the outskirts of the group that was huddled around her, just to make sure I knew where it was so I could vamoose if it decided to pull a Braveheart and charge the crowd screaming "FREEDOM!!!" After a couple of people had held it though, crazy ideas started floating around in my head. I remembered how some lunatic psychiatrists believe that facing your fears is the best way to overcome them, or some crap like that. I asked the tour guide how likely it is for the spider to crawl up your arm, and she replied that it would be very unlikely, as the spider is frightened from being handled, and is kind of just waiting it out. Before I could change my mind, I asked her if I could hold it - but just for a second because I was scared! She gently laid the tarantula on my hand, just touching it's pointy little feet down, before taking it away. What happened next must have looked hilarious, because I squealed, started babbling, and even jumped up and down a little bit. Then, being the complete wimp that I am, started to get a little teary, emotional, and really scared, even though it was all over with. Heh. Oops. Oh well. I'm still stoked that I worked up the courage to actually touch a tarantula.

So now I'm sitting here in my Spider-Man jammies, waiting for my powers to manifest. I am so going to web the cats to the wall!