How do you like this

This is a fractal, possibly for the cover for my lamentable, never to be published porn side project from the Upsun universe, known as Sweetie’s House of Tentacles, which I ran off in a bunch of different colour palettes. This one I turned into a BEADING PATTERN and look how it turned out, look at it. Isn’t it stellar?

Fractal pattern converted into a bead pattern

 

 

Note to people I block on twitter

It’s possible I have you blocked because something you posted crawled all across my sensory homunculus rubbing salt in the unhealed blisters and cuts, and not because you’re a suppurating organ of discharge pulsing gleets of hatred and falsehood onto twitter.

I straight up loved Parabellum. Long may Keanu reign.

Roxane Gay rules and this post is TMI

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED…..

So my very favourite Bad Feminist Roxane Gay, who has to deal with so much more intersectionality than I do, has participated in a puff piece in stylist.co.uk talking about her hygiene routine.  I told her I would follow her example.

At this point I can hear Jeff saying something, and then when I ask him to repeat it, he says, ‘Oh, nothing, nothing.’

I probably should shower more frequently than I do, being about three times a week, but as I get older I get dryer, and I feel like I’m turning into a desiccated old piece of sod.  I use Belle de Provence Honeysuckle soap because it smells very good, lasts a long time and is the one piece of luxury in my hygiene routine. Hardly anyone carries it and since it’s 6 bucks a pop I tend to buy in bulk when I find it.  I use Head and Shoulders brand shampoo/conditioner and buy it in the large pump size as it’s cheaper.  I use no other soap products.  I wash my hands every time I handle the cat, before I prep food and after I come in from being out in public as well as after I groom myself or go to the toilet.  I didn’t give a shit about washing my hands before I ran a restaurant.  Now I really, really do care about it, and it’s the simplest, fastest and easiest way to prevent illness, so why the hell not.

I hate all deodorants but I stink if I don’t use them.  When I’m feeling radical I wash, dry thoroughly and apply baby powder to my pits, but that’s good for about 12 hours before Jeff’s eyebrows do something improbable (the fan in the basement blows my effluent in his direction when we’re watching tv, so … yeah.)  Otherwise I use whatever kind of bo juice isn’t loathsome, and I’m like a lightning rod for deodorant being discontinued, so I try to be cool, but right now it’s a pretty loathsome vanilla smelly thing.  Gak.   Still better than the alternative.

I use two different kinds of eyedrops, thanks to the amazingly practical and super unjudgey Lady Miss Banjola, one for day, one for night, and I am not consistent in their use but by gar it’s a good thing to have them, because when you need them you’re like ACK MY EYES MY EYES I CAN’T GET MY EYES oh thank goodness I can see!  Also, thanks to her I found out that dryness amidships can be ameliorated by the twice weekly anointing of der ladygel, and she made brand recommendations, and I can get them reasonably cheap on line.  With that one small recommendation she made my life go from a meepy, withered parody of what Beeker sounds like after he’s been mugged, to me being able to contemplate having a boyfriend.  I don’t actually want a boyfriend, and the men in my life who squire me around do not wish to fill this or candidly any other vacancy wheresoever situated, but at least the prospect shifted from being painfully impossible to being ludicrously improbable, and only the Rumi’s Beloved could parse that shift in meaningful terms, but I view it as an improvement.

I pluck my eyebrows every day.  I watched the best eyebrow guy on the planet do a tutorial on youtube, and I thought “Hey, my OCD and some grooming tips wa-ho!” but I tell you my brow game is fierce, and it helps with the performative feminity, although I have not recently been mistaken for a man (it only happened the once, and I think the person was altered.)

This upping of the eyebrow game was subsequent to Keith picking out to extremely flattering and stylish frames for me.  I was looking really hard for a job and I wanted to be ready to interview at a moment’s notice, and now, provided I have a clean dress, I really am.   I pluck my chin hairs, and my (sigh, fuck my life) chest hairs.  I do not shave my legs or pits and anybody who wants me to can shave his or her legs and pits all they want but this lovely, amazing, FEATURE of adult life called BODILY AUTONOMY does not stop being awesome just because you are creeped out by my hairy legs, and the next time somebody calls me on it I’ll just say that sexism is uglier than hairy legs and any sensible person knows that.  Body hair sure makes men who have basic issues with mansplaining and feminism go away right quick, and smell ya later, ya squirrelfondling preverts.

Also, I got really really bad frostbite on my lower legs when I was in public school, so bad that the skin on my lower legs (the shaving zone) is burst-into-tears sensitive, so yeah, no, fuck your leg shaving.  It HURTS.  I bleed, and then all the little hairs growing back in catch in my bedding, so fuck you and go AWAY if you think I should shave my legs for any reason whatsoever.  As for my armpits.  When more than 50 percent of north American men shave their armpits, I’ll sign up for one of those monthly boxes of shaving gear, but until that day (bwa ha ha, coming soon!) yeah, just no.

I used to use Garnier number 60 hair dye and I still have some tucked away, but it really really bothers Jeff and I’m not a fan of doing it, I am a fan of having it done. Fortunately the colour is almost exactly the same as the two remaining stripes of colour I have in the mounting nest of grey that is my hair so even when I let it grow out it looks reasonably okay.  If I get another interview, which will be hard, as I am officially as of this moment no longer looking for work since hey we’re in a recession, and nobody would want to hire me even if I wanted to trade the best part of me for 24K net a year, which I don’t, and which makes me an elitist asshole. Ok.

I make my own perfume, which is called Cyprus, and has a secret blend of floral oil ingredients, and which smells fantastic on me (to the point where other women have demanded I sell them some, which I did) but everybody from my mOm to my brO thinks it smells like I’m hanging truck stop air freshener from my pits AND about 40% of my friends have chemical sensitivities and find it overpowering even when I’m using it gingerly so it’s only for special occasions.

My last pedicure made me limp for THREE FUCKING MONTHS and I am never paying for one again as Hecate may bear witness; now I cut off the parts of the toenail that stick out and abrade down the rest with a number of different kinds of pedicure gear.  I occasionally soak my feet and use footrub on myself or get somebody else like Katie to help out.  I am very very on top of my toenails because I can go from Happy Feet to ballerina outtakes (thankfully not shown here) in less than a week.  My hair, feet and nails grow at a tremendous rate, which is great because I get rid of heavy metals that way, but I must cut, hack, saw and file away with vigour.

I used to be an assclown about dental hygiene but I brush and floss every single day now (occasional lapses, but not many) since I can’t afford to lose the use of any more teeth when toothpaste and floss is so cheap.  I buy firm or super firm brushes and brush whatever way feels right and I pay for getting my teeth cleaned professionally once a year.  I am seriously considering investing in dental picks.

I have incredibly clean ear canals.  I hate the feeling of anything in there except air, but I no longer scrape them out with anything hard because it removes the hair that grows in the canal and I’m so clumsy I might deafen myself.

I wash my face with soap once a week.  Any more and I dry out like something that went with Scott to the Pole.

Once every three months I apply a clay facial mask.  I like how my skin feels afterward.

Once in a very long while I get a massage or a spa half day, but I can get the same results from rolling around on Wreck Beach and probably get exposed to the same amount of coliform in the process.

 

And there you have it.  Nobody asked for it, but that is my hygiene routine.

Beautiful but windy

Katie’s all perky because various job interviews are going well. I am very happy about this and hope she finds work remunerative and suitable to her one goal right now, which is to be back in her own apartment.  I must say, it will be a cold day in hell before she supports another man.  Or so she says, I hope she carries through.

Foyle’s War on Netflix is a wonderful show, Jeff and I are very much enjoying it. No swearing, decorous violence, great dialogue, sweet vehicles, and history all wrapped up nicely with the superlative Michael Kitchen at the helm.  He is GORGEOUS but in a very low key Oh So English way.

Streptococcus salivarus, I salute you!  It is the probiotic that turned my bad into glad, digestion wise.

Mouse traps have yielded nothing; we are moving on to sticky traps today, damnit.

Practiced 45 minutes today.

Yesterday was gorgeous but WINDY.  As I contemplate the lawn, which has now grown tall and fallen over, I keep hoping the Goat Man will pass by.  But he never does.

Ziva’s in Craigslist, priced for quick sale.

Allowed to be proud

The day before yesterday I bought dowelling, a pulley, stout cordage and a massive plant hook.

Today I sawed two four inch chunks off the dowelling, drilled a transverse hole through both in the centre, sanded the ends and screw holes, fed the stout cordage through the holes and tied it off, ran it through the pulley and VOILA.  I have a shoulder exercise machine with two handles!  It ain’t purty but it works.  And I cleaned up after myself except for the door lintel, which I should probably do before Miss Moppet drags her way through the debris.  She is VERY FLUFFY and staticky right now, and she’s getting matted just looking at me.

Jeff wants the device to be more securely set into the door lintel, and he’s cheerfully fixing that for me now, but I visualized it, bought it, and DID IT. I think I should make a safety cover for it when not in use, some of the men who come through the house on occasion are dashed tall.

Ripped a whole bunch of CDs today, mostly filk, blues and rockabilly.  I do like Dr. Crowell; hardly anybody in filk is a music perfesser, so we get a trained voice and unbelievable skill on keys.  Sadly, CD Woodbury’s special CD which includes his fine version of My Old School, doesn’t want to be ripped; the drive made a noise that usually presages catastrophic failure in any device emitting it, but I ejected it after an eternity of hideous grinding, and the drive seemed okay.

It’s Remembrance Day.  The family tradition is to rewatch Saving Private Ryan, A Bridge Too Far, a Night to Remember or Sink the Bismarck!

Katie has been staying overnight; mostly she’s out hanging with her girlfriends.  We all went out to breakfast this morning.

This article goes to a Popular Science link about what happens when you put lego in a washing machine, for science.

 

not a lot of money, but a really good day anyway

Katie is increasingly stoked about her camping trip.  Wish I could say where but we don’t want uninvited guests now do we…

The shop SMELLS OF BACON.

We experimented with a new soup recipe and it’s so simple and so tasty Katie and I are both doing the Snoopy happy dance.  We can haz cheezy broccoli soup!

It’s raining, and we don’t mind.  Only one more hour to go, and then I pick up Ziva (again) and we go to Costco (our home away from home) and then… ep 4 Band of Brothers with Jeff, since we are rewatching it.  SUCH A GOOD SHOW.

Gotye’s Heart’s a  Mess is playing on the shop sound system.

Yeah, so not so much revenue, but a good day anyway.  Regulars came by, newbies came by, I got my CRA letter off to the post box, all the fridges are behaving, I organized a bunch of receipts, wrote down the new recipe… and Katie’s crush forked over his phone number.  I can now let my breath out after a month.

I light a candle for a close family friend who just lost a baby.  I sucked in my breath when I heard she was expecting… she’s multi-risk.  And now she knows why women don’t announce pregnancies until they quicken.  It’s horrible, it’s sad, it’s completely messed up, and it is life in it’s glorypain.  She and her husband are going to lie low for a couple of days.  Hell of a thing to happen on Mother’s Day, god help us all.

 

 

Thinky thoughts

So five years ago I was too fat and unfit to flirt with (this was SAID, not IMPLIED), but today I am not.  I will never understand men if I live to be 100.  If the flirting turns into asking me out, I’ma about lose my mind, and of course politely say no. You sure as hell can’t unring that bell.

I enjoyed the job interview yesterday.  They certainly conducted it with dispatch – I was in and out of there in 25 minutes.

I am going to get a little PC to handle PC type stuff for church.  I don’t want to get a virtual machine on my Mac, given that it and its hard drive is quite old and Apple has already told me to go fuck myself if I want to replace it, okay maybe not those words but “This is so old, why don’t you get a new one” were literally what the fixit man said when I was having troubles with the DVD player.

Made refrigerator cookies yesterday.  It’s almost four in the morning and I’m thinking of getting up and slapping some into the oven.

 

The calming effect of action

A few days ago I was all triggery and overwhelmy about my sad state as a buttbrain who had helium hands and volunteered for something she oughtnotta.

Today I am not.  That is because when I get together with Sue (usually there is FOOD and CAT and PLOTTING) we have this dreadful bias toward action.  We have now set up a new way for members to donate which will make life easier for everybody.  This is with respect to regular donations AND estate planning.  And we need to have the conversation about estate planning.

It will be a little more complex from a bookkeeping point of view, but that’s why we hired a bookkeeper.

And now, fresh coffee.  I feel better.  I have a day of running around and visiting friends and sushi in front of me.

 

hey mOm

Pierre-Joseph Proudhon quote

To be GOVERNED is to be watched, inspected, spied upon, directed, law-driven, numbered, regulated, enrolled, indoctrinated, preached at, controlled, checked, estimated, valued, censured, commanded, by creatures who have neither the right nor the wisdom nor the virtue to do so. To be GOVERNED is to be at every operation, at every transaction noted, registered, counted, taxed, stamped, measured, numbered, assessed, licensed, authorized, admonished, prevented, forbidden, reformed, corrected, punished. It is, under pretext of public utility, and in the name of the general interest, to be place[d] under contribution, drilled, fleeced, exploited, monopolized, extorted from, squeezed, hoaxed, robbed; then, at the slightest resistance, the first word of complaint, to be repressed, fined, vilified, harassed, hunted down, abused, clubbed, disarmed, bound, choked, imprisoned, judged, condemned, shot, deported, sacrificed, sold, betrayed; and to crown all, mocked, ridiculed, derided, outraged, dishonored. That is government; that is its justice; that is its morality.

Roundup

Anderson Cooper has finally come out as gay.  We can now go back to our normally scheduled, completely unwarranted and entirely jejune speculations about the sexuality of other people we don’t know.

South Vancouver Island has something called a (link removed for security) Permablitz.

Slap me on my ass and send me to Mars.

And there was a silence in the internet …. darned leap second.

Wow, a guide for moving back home.

Apes with Apps.

 

a little bit of ever’ting

It was a solstice party (1 pagan in attendance, check), a housefilk (whenever two or more of you are gathered together in the name of the typo, amen), a hootenanny (small children running around and massacring harmonicas and tambourines while Tapioca is cooked), a religious/cultural interpersonal therapy session as we sang the hums of our people (Falling Free, Frobisher Bay among others), an impromptu poly gathering (6 people in attendance openly poly, plus lurkers), a-a-a-and a shameless attempt on my part to get everybody to compliment me on my sheer good sense for buying Otto.  Who is a boy, Katie K confirmed it.  She also arrived with a housemate in tow and La Merveilleuse Tillie‘s fraking awesome rosemary infused vodka/vermouth libation, which despite the no drinking rule I tasted cause I had to.  And I ain’t sad to.  I’m glad to.  Still a taste left, if ScaryClown comes over tomorrow I’ll feed him some.  Stayed away from the beer, but Mike left 3 in the fridge, so at least I haz some to offer guests. Day before yesterday I made biscotti, and then shared them out liberally at the party, sending some home with the LET’S SING SONGS ABOUT DEATH (literally her first words when she unpacked the bass) Peggy  and the ever useful and opinionated Tom. Also dispensed biscotti to Mike, who sang The Weight (ah, the piercing harmonies!) and Tomorrow Wendy,  and to Rozo, who spectated with that sleepy and mischievous smile I’ve gotten so fond of.  The glorious and unabridgedly awesome Cindy added that special soupçon of harmonious madness without which no housefilk can be characterized as ‘good’.  Or is housefilk like sex and pizza?  ah, erm.  Anyway, we sang zombie songs (dead people), Frobisher Bay (freezing to death), Tomorrow Wendy (which has lots of death in it), Dead Flowers (roses on your grave), and really really kept the theme of somgs about death on track more or less by accident.  Paul sang Last Page and Cindy sang Runtime Error, Type Mismatch so Lady Miss B was there toooooo. Although regrettably not in person, possibly because I neglected to invite her?  Duh.

I cleaned my house and wrote a song yesterday, and people came over and we laughed and chatted and sang and played.  Success!  My brother has been feeling meh but not enough to crimp fun (he slept in the guest room, but Eddie the wonderkitty kept him company).

Due to overwhelming popular demand (two facebutt friends), I will be setting words to my new song, which is the third I’ve written in the Game of Thrones universe.  My Needle and I, and Funeral March of Lord Tywin (instrumental) were the first two.  This one is called The Maid of Tarth.  Oh Otto, you are demanding instrument, but I will rise to the challenge.  And now I realize that it’s 4 GoT songs, I forgot about Sam the Slayer.  When I get into a Universe I seriously fracking commit.

Now…. how do I keep my house clean enough so I actually throw housefilks more than twice a year? I mean apart from a chartreuse flamethrower and a tank of oxygen….