This whole waking-up-the-in-dark thing isn't working out for me. I've been dragging my butt into work routinely fifteen minutes later than I'd like, clutching a cup of coffee like its the only thing anchoring me to this planet.
If you love to craft, and you Lovecraft, or you've always meant to try, grab your yarn and head over to the Frankensocks board on Ravelry, where we'll spend a month reading the best of H.P.'s weird tales that the public domain has to offer and knit or hook something appropriate to match. An insanely good time is assured.
Meet Weasley, lately of the Yolo County Animal Shelter. He's about one year old. He has a few freckles on his nose. The whiskers on the left side of his face are mostly black, and on the right, mostly white. There are tufts of fur that stick out between the toes of his rather large feet.
We have been without couch for a week, which was an interesting experience. I hadn't realized how much it figured into our daily lives.
I've made an alarming discovery. I went into two clothing stores today, asked for cargo pants, and got blank stares. Cargo pants have apparently gone "out" and wherever they happen to be, they've taken my hopes for reasonably-sized pockets on girl clothes with them. In their stead, the racks are full of jeans with prefixes like "matchstick" and "toothpick" and "super skinny". This does not bode well for the human race.
And it means I'm going to have to figure out how to sew cargo pants.
Every now and then you have to bail and get out of town. My husband and I found ourselves suddenly without the offspring last weekend. We looked at each other, looked at the house, and decided that if we stuck around here, we'd probably feel obligated to clean something. So we packed a bag and got the hell out of dodge.
I enjoy taking the odd ballet class. This occasionally leads to performances, which often lead to pictures. I post them here. Enjoy them if you're so inclined.
I recently watched The Dark Knight. (That would be the second film of the Batman relaunch with Christian Bale -- someone, please, come up with some sort of nomenclature standardization for all these sequels of re-re-relaunched movie series of comic books.)
I didn't like it. (Sorry, Chris, I tried.) I didn't hate it, I just found myself questioning its right to exist.
It's cool this week. Strangely cool. A high of 77 isn't quite rain-of-frogs or plague -of-locusts weird around here in July, but it's close.
Things are cooling down in my life a little too. It's been a month of constant activity from weddings to camping to running a kids summer-camp type program for a week. (Why? Because I'm crazy. Moving on...)
"Why do you have two computers?"
The end of the school year and the beginning of summer camp have left a half day gap in the middle which has landed my 5-year-old next to me, dangling off the arm of my office chair like a monkey.
"It's one computer, little fish. See down there under the desk? I have two monitors." He examines the blue glowing light on the CPU for a bit.
He pops back up. "Everyone here has two monitors," he notes, turning in a circle in the middle of my small workgroup. "Why?"
"Because we're that cool."
