- It’s MOD PODGE, people! Not Modge Podge! I will slay your ancestors!
- That last episode of Doctor Who was freaking awesome. I cried. Up until that point I was wavering on the season as a whole, but blimey. Epic, yet without sacrificing intimacy. And a corking line. And a fez.
- I do not like the term “the menopause”. I know it’s technically accurate - well, I don’t, actually, but I assume it is, otherwise why would vast hordes of otherwise unpretentious people emit such a poncy phrase? - but anyway, it gives me the screaming heebies. Enough with ominous articles. I also dislike “an herb garden”, for similar though not identical reasons.
- I decided on Sunday that my challenge for this week will be to complete one project per day. So today I made a grey skirt - actually I started it in a frenzy late last night, and it even hung overnight to allow the hem to droop correctly. Aren’t I coming along? Anyway, I finished it today and felt v smug, but then realised that all my other projects will take more than a day to complete. I started painting cardboard letters copper in order to stick them on the pig’s steampunked-up whiteboard, my (possibly) next project, but then realised there was no way I could actually paint it and make the fabric baskets all in one day, and then I thought about how many press-studs and little pearls needed to be hand-sewn onto my arm warmers, and how long it would take to learn how to do double-welted pockets in order to make my utility skirt, and then I started wondering if I could count cleaning out the pantry as a project, and then gave up the idea when I realised it just wasn’t gonna happen, and now I’m not sure what my challenge for the week is, but it bothers me unduly that I don’t have one.
- My sister-in-law is expecting another baby. I will have to knit it something, maybe.
- Gibbous-inspired clothes just never look as good as the real Gibbous ones. I can’t put my finger on exactly why, but they look junkier. It might just be the lack of incredibly arty photography, but I don’t think so. The skirts have too much fabric and not enough deliberateness of structure, mebbe. Anyway, I’m tempted to try it. But the only event on the horizon which justifies such an outlay of time and vintage lace is practically my only sister’s wedding in November, and I’m not sure if she’d appreciate me turning up looking like a post-Magimix Helena Bonham Carter. Also, I’d have to look at the photos in twenty years’ time, and even now I suspect I would snicker. And that is never a good sign.
- Flowers for Algernon is not a good book to read if you are even mildly moop. It will make you lunge for a knife.
- Is not this practically the awesomest thing ever? I want to make one, maybe for Disneyland. Then when we wanted to ride the Grizzly River Run I could just pop it on, and we could oose into DCA and ride it and then go back and romp at the HoJo’s water park. Except I don’t know where I’d be able to buy a towel that wasn’t made in a sweatshop, and one would not like to make it with a used towel. So it might not be doable. Still, I spent a good half-hour today pondering it. This is why I never get anything done.
- I was playing poker on Sunday with a large, smallish group of semi-manly men, and asked them all “Would you rather have your own unicorn or a hundred sheep?” And they all instantly said “UNICORN!”, and it was awesome.
- Would you accept a million dollars from a genie on the condition that if you ever said the word “migratory”, you would die instantly?
June 29th, 2010
Tags: challenges, Disneyland, havers, sewing, snortlepig
This entry was posted on Tuesday, June 29th, 2010 at 12:10 am and is filed under havers, sewing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
6 Responses to “Matters Arising From Life”
For the recorded edification of your excellent readers, I cleaned up at poker. I went all in before the flop with ace-king off-suit, and Alan laid down pocket tens, which had me worried. But I caught an ace on the flop, and the rest is history.
Ooh, ooh, I’ve got a good one. Would you accept a million dollars from a genie on the condition that if you ever said a particular word of four syllables you would die instantly, _but_ _you_ _would_ _never_ _know_ _what_ _the_ _word_ _was?_
Drat, that were supposed to be in italics. My HTML skills are rubbish.
An ace on the flop, eh? Goodness.
I wouldn’t accept that million dollars because I don’t think I could handle the stress of watching what I say all the time.
And I wouldn’t end up enjoying my million dollars
Post-Magimix Helena Bonham Carter would be my signature look, if it didn’t scare certain delicate loved ones half to death. Wear it with impunity at my wedding or any other.