THERE'S A TARDIS IN YOUR UTERUS!

Or: "How Alison is not pregnant."
So Alison wasn't feeling well for a while.  She informed me that she had figured out why.  I asked if she was pregnant.  She responded with "yes" on the next line she said "no".  We have now firmly established that Alison is not pregnant, but if she were, it would be either Immaculate Conception, or a time-baby.  Possibly a Tiem Baby. As a result of tiemcock.  Or the fact that Alison has a TARDIS in her uterus.

So I've been drinking.

I swear I have consumed twice my body weight in water, and only a tiny fraction of this fluid has done what water, once drunk, is prone to do.  Ergo I ask: what? Is it the weather or something? There is no excuse for this, especially since I know this means I will be up every two minutes.

I am still watching much more music (after having turned it off for a while) and between work and much music, I have heard the song "Scream" by Timbaland (and some chick) that I almost think I might like it.  Which is sick and wrong.

Last but not least: Blogger seems determined to not post my blogs the first time I hit post. It is just odd.

WTB: Tapestry needle.

I need to buy a tapestry needle, because I am done my second thumb, and need to be able to string it to something, since I don't have a hundred size 4 dpns and I can't just let everything just sit there.  I wonder if we have them at work.

I have that feeling again. I know it is probably just me. The problem is that I can't tell. And if it isn't just me, I know that what I do when I have that feeling makes it worse. It isn't even a concious reaction, at least not until I do it. Then it is like watching a car crash from the sidewalk: you just sit there and scream as it happens, and there is nothing you can do but try to deal with the aftermath. Only in this car crash there is a fire, or downed powerlines, or a mob of giant grasshoppers preventing you from stepping in and helping so you just have to wait for the authorities. I really wish there was some way I could tell.  But the only real way to tell is my feelings about it, which have already been established as unreliable at best. At least I hope they are.

In other news, the music they play on much more music really sucks sometimes.

I don't know why.

But for some reason right now, I can't knit at all.  I'm just saying. For now I give up.

A rant.

It must just be something that I cause. Whenever I try to do something in a vaguely public area, everyone has to come out and do something else. Usually something counter-intuitive to what I want to do. Like when I tried to write an essay in the living room (after 2 weeks of tiptoeing around when someone else was doing the same) people get snippy with me because I don't want 6 people playing Magic in the living room. Despite the fact that they had already said they were going elsewhere and then only left for about 1/2 hour. Yesterday when I was playing Smash Bros. in solo mode, people wanted to play so you know what? Fine. Here, I will save and we can all play until you have to go back to your work. Work which I do not have, by the way. Today, there have been the same people in the living room playing Smash for more than 5 hours. These people all have essays and things to do. "Oh, we've only been playing off and on". Yet when I mention that I would like to play, I just get ignored.

Fuck you. Fuck you all, next time I am just going to keep playing solo. I don't care what you want now, any more than you care what I want.

Gnomes, guitars, knitting and a smash hit.

I almost feel like I should have spelled knitting "gnitting" just so it would fit in.

This weekend, Benen (The Gnome), Alison and I went out. We were going to go look at guitars, then go to the yarn store, have dinner and go see Penelope (because it looks cute). However on Saturday morning (the day we went on our epic outing) we discovered that Penelope was only playing in Sidney, not downtown like we had originally thought. Saddened, we ventured out anyways. We went and looked at various guitars (with no luck finding a hidden gem), and then proceeded to go (through the rain, I might add) to the yarn store.


At the yarn store I discovered that they no longer had the colour of yarn I needed to finish making this scarf,


so I decided to buy this wool and make knucks. They will be awesome.



We then went to John's Place and ate an early supper, and ended up going back to my house with the intention of knitting after stopping at Alison's house.

 
At Alison's house, she played me some of her excellent covers, and printed out a knitting pattern.


When we arrived back at my base, we were informed that there was to be an impromptu St. Patrick's Day party at my house (in honour of the pope changing the date- it technically falls during Holy Week, so people can't drink [not that they are supposed to during Lent anyways]). Alison ended up going home at about 11:00, leaving us with only 22 people in our house. For those of you who don't know the rules of Cluster- that is 10 more people than we are allowed to have at any given time. Whoops. Much alcohol was consumed, and a large mess was made. Someone went missing but returned later. Suprisingly only 2 out of the 22 people (24 or 25 total including Alison and an RA who did not drink) threw up, and neither of them messed up anything important. All in all a success.  This morning there was cleaning, and these appeared on the whiteboard.



This is the (hangover) ship on which we sail: The Absolut Fail. The ships crew and titles are as follows: Captain Morgan (The Captain), Sailor Jerry (First Mate), Dr. McGillicuddy (The Ship's Cinnamon-scented Medic), John Molson (Bos'un), José Cuervo (Deck Swabber), Herr Jagermeister (The Paying Passenger) and Jack Daniels (The Prisoner). The Absolut Fail is also about to be attacked by the fearsome Bacardi Shark.



Today, I have been playing Smash Brothers Brawl in Solo mode- where I get to go through a whole storyline adventure thing (which is fun), watching Veronica Mars, and knitting. I started on my knucks, which are the first things I have ever done with double pointed needles. At first I was afraid, and had to take things out a few times, but after consulting the internet, I think I figured it out. This is how far I have gotten.


Including my various mistakes and re-dos it has taken me about an hour. It has also made my hand hurt a bit as these needles are smaller than the ones I am used to.

Tomorrow I have to do an in-class essay which I am not at all prepared for, so I feel I must bid you all adieu.

Also? I would go to the effort of getting rid of the white bits on the outsides of those pictures but it is 3:30 am and I am tired.

Wrock and roll ain't noise pollution

Or, how we started a wizard rock punk band: a slightly fictional account.

The two girls were seated side by side on a comfortable couch in the living room of an apartment. Playing on the television was one of the Harry Potter movies, and the two girls were knitting, one a scarf, and one a guitar strap.
"Alison? Can I ask you something? Something important?" Alex's breath was shallow as she anticipated the answer of her sister-in-arms.
"Sure. I guess." Alison's reply was almost quizzical- rarely did Alex take so serious a tone for anything.
"Well, we already fight evil and the establishment together..." Her explanation trailed off and she stood up, setting her knitting down on the couch as she turned to face the other girl. A deep sigh later and she was on bended knee before her friend.
"Will you... Alison would you do me the honour of joining me in the holy bond of wizard rock?"
"Oh Alex!" Alison cried out like an actress starring in a film from the 50's, "I'd love to, I'd really, really love to!" She sprung from the couch, spreading her arms wide and proclaiming, "And lo, it shall be a punk band! And we shall call it..."

...Two Weeks Later...

"The Hex... something. C'mon, help me out here. I want to make a pun on 'The Sex Pistols' but everything I think of ends up sounding like a bad innuendo." Alison rolled her eyes at Alex's declaration of 'that's what she said'.
"I don't know- everything I think of is a bad innuendo. In herendo. I'm sorry. I had to say it." Alex put her head down on round table at which she and Alison were seated.
"The Hinkypunks!" Alison exclaimed.
The head lifted from the table, "taken."
A quick check of the internet proved Alex's statement correct. "But... hmm... the... The Violent Puffskeins?" She tentatively glanced over at Alison, who immediatly sprang up (knocking a pen off the table and nearly tipping her own chair) and shouted, "YES! That's it. That's our punk wrock band."

And thus was born, The Violent Puffskeins: a wizard rock punk band lookin’ to play loud, wrock hard, and tear up the establishment!
Taking cues from their punk forefathers, the Violent Puffskeinsare sick of the corrupt Ministry of Magic, and Voldemort’s Slytherin blood feud, and they ain’t gonna take it anymore!

Down with Fudge!
Down with Scrimgeour!
Down with Umbridge!
Down with Death Eaters!
Down with Voldemort!


Support your local Wrock bands!
Read books. Fight evil.

If you want to visit The Violent Puffskeins' myspace page here is a link to said myspace page.

An introduction of sorts.

There's a witticism- has the full 6 pack but lacks the "plastic thingy" to keep it together. That is what I feel like, only more. I feel like I was a box filled with small objects, like little toy cars, all neatly wrapped up in packaging, and just before loading me onto the truck, some fool opened the box and looked inside, but forgot to tape the box closed. Under normal circumstances that isn't a huge problem- someone finds out when the truck arrives, and tapes the box closed again. The human circumstance, however, is far from normal. In the case of the metaphorical box- the door of the truck didn't latch correctly. The truck began its journey, box enclosed with many of its compatriots, and travelled down a rarely used stretch of highway. Rarely used stretches of highway being somewhat infrequently travelled are even less frequently maintained, resulting in a bumpy surface at best. The vibrations from the uneven pavement cause the truck door to shimmy slowly skyward. The sudden flinch of the vehicle as it finds another painful divet in the road causes the box to tumble groundward, scattering its contents as the unknowing abandoner flees down the desolate road. Small toy cars riotously scatter across the asphalt, tumbling from their packaging and lying gleaming in the sun, but strewn about the road. Some are perfect, some have small scrapes and scars from the friction of the stone beneath them, and some have been destroyed altogether by the force of their fall. They sit unsure of what the future holds, but awaiting their fate nonetheless. Will passersby notice them? Will they care? Think of the possibilities- a small child walking his or her dog passes and young eyes alight upon a wealth of untold measure. Or maybe not. Maybe instead another truck passes, crushing the cars. Maybe a similar box slips from a different truck. A collector could happen upon the cars. Or a salesman, taking them to sell to others, or a grandmother sees a source of joy for her grandchildren. This is where I am. Some pieces tarnished, some broken beyond all repair, but most still gleaming. I sit on my deserted length of highway knowledgeless as to my location in respect to everything else and waiting to discover my fate.


This little eddy in the blogstream is where I exist, and as such it will follow the exploits of both myself, and the gnome. Here I shall chronicle my knitting, learning to play the guitar, photography, my wrocking, and whatever other journeys I happen to undertake and choose to share.