So, friends of the list, long time, no post-y. Without further ado, an announcement:

Feeling deprived of Sarah-y goodness? No longer feeling the French connection? Want to see pictures of me in my underwear*?

Then friend msmcknittington!

I've gotten a little tired of maintaining multiple LJ accounts, so I'm moving house over to my crafting journal, which will now become my all-purpose journal that also happens to have a lot of pictures of things I've made and rambles on what I like to call textile arts, but what my family calls "what's this and why does it smell like that?".

I'm not sure yet whether I'll go all bahletey on this account or not, but it won't be updated anymore, ya takes yer chances keeping me on your friends lists. I would love it if all my LJ friends made the move with me to this account, as I like keeping tabs on you guys and find you genuninely diverting and amusing. But if you don't want to, then . . . stuff. I think you get what I'm trying to say. No grudge held on my part.

(Aside for aesiron: Get yer free Pretty Balanced downloads here. Band endorsed, even.)

_{*Sorry, guys, but it's not that exciting. It's going to be historical costuming, which means pictures like this. Everything is adequately covered, though I can't claim I would be comfortable walking out of the house like so.}

Last night I put my hair in pin curls because I was bored and none of my stuff is here. It turned out . . . well see for yourself.

( On the good Ship Lollipop . . . )

As you can see from my expression, I felt OK about the situation at first. ( But then this niggling little worm of doubt crept up. )

So, apparently when Mom came on Saturday and took away a bunch of my stuff, that stuff included all my clean washcloths.

This is a problem because:

1. The two washcloths I have are dried to crispiness in the shower and covered in dried salsa, respectively. I believe the yellow one, apart from the salsa, my also have some sort of chocolate on it.

2. I just put on too much dark brown eyeshadow, causing me to look like I've just been punched in the face by some sort of Mafia gorilla -- I think his name was Tony, but he was travelling at a pretty high rate of speed. Oh, and also was imaginary.

Blue shower-crispy washcloth it is.

OK, I'm not actually that outraged. But I am a little bit grrr. Why? Because I just read this strip from Questionable Content. Read the last panel. Go ahead. I'll wait.

Or if, like me, you are too impatient to do that, here is the transcription:

"Well, you just need to meet a girl who's as boring as you are! Your ideal lady works as a telemarketer, goes to a knitting class once a week, and considers Ladies' Night at the nearest bar to be the height of social interaction. . . . She has three cats. They are all named after characters from Jane Austen books."

I am that girl! Except for the telemarketing and ladies' night thing. And I named my cat after Disney's Cinderella and the musical Cats. I am so not boring. I am witty, I am fun, I am . . .

All right, so my idea of a satisfying night is making a good penne rosa, a half-bottle of supermarket wine, my favorite historical drama, and some knitting.

But I'm not boring. I do it with style.

Now off to the shower and then the coffeeshop for me. And then packing.

So, guys, a confession of sorts.

I've got a thing for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. That's right, Mounties.

It's understandable, right? Men in uniform, riding big horses, and wearing silly hats? There's nothing there for a girl not to love.

So I decided to do a Google search for "hot mounties," hoping to find some sort of cheesecake calendar of Mounties in various states of undress* or just with nicely chiseled jaws set against the injustice of the frozen north.

What did I find? Mounties holding ferrets. The closest I got was Conan O'Brien dressed as a Mountie and working border patrol at Niagra Falls. (It's hilarious, by the way.) As much as I would like take Mr. O'Brien by the lapels, it's not quite the equivalent of the hot priest calendar I was looking for.

Canada, thou hast failed me.

<sub>*Yes, I'm red-blooded. Look! I'm a mammal!

I would also like to draw attention, in very small type, to my new icon. That's me! I don't look like I'm suffering some sort of stomach upset or like I'm imititating a small rodent. And that is something to celebrate, right there.</sub>

Sarah --
[adjective]:

Banshee-like

'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com</td>


It may be more correct that I like to admit.

Unrelated frustration: Shakespeare keeps slipping into my writing. Specifically "Rome & Juliet." Specifically specifically the lines "It is an honor I dream not of," and that whole "look'st pale, love" exchange from Act III. OK, the last one is paraphrased, but I know exactly where it's paraphrased from. Shakespeare, why do you have to get all the good lines first?

Totally just ponied up FIVE BUCKS for a paid account.

That means I need new icons and need to get cracking on something interesting for my journal layout, which can be as fancy as I want it to be now. And I can view my entries in the style of my journal and I have photo hosting and a billion icons and . . . and . . . whoa.

But where do I want to go? DP banner*? Monet? Ferns? Green? Pink? Brown? Green, pink, and brown? Big pretty dresses? FOOD?

Right now it's trees -- a default view of Expressive. Into the great wide open, folks.

_{*Totally my first thought, Danielle and Sara. If I got that route, it's going to be Chriiiiiisssssss-ah.}

Some of these things are eerily spot on -- such as the Personality/Habits entry and the one on Love. My heart is right there on my sleeve. And I do like my drinkies and my chocolate.

( Survey thing ganked from <lj user= )

And now you all know me 100 questions better.

Seriously, guys, I am addicted to this thing. I held off this long, but I wanted to do this when I woke up this morning. Fortunately, I feel back asleep almost immediately after sticking another cough drop in my mouth, so you weren't subjected to this multiple times today.

( Ad nauseam (with recently added songs) )

And for that patient suffering, I give you pictures of my kitty, Gus.

( Here, kitty, kitty, kitty (6 pictures) )

Meme stolen from aikea_guinea

Start your favorite Player/Playlist, set it on random and assign the songs one after the other to the following questions. Don’t skip! To get the Movie Title in the end, just take the next song after the End Credits' song and replace one word of it with your own name!

Opening Scene - So Ha -- Splashdown
Main Theme - Because the Night Belongs to Lovers -- Natalie Merchant
Someone gets murdered to - Dead Flowers -- Cowboy Junkies
Club/Bar Scene - Teardrop -- Portishead
Dance Scene - Like Lovers Holding On -- Texas
Taxi Driving Scene - Going Under -- Evanescence
Empty Apartment Scene - Thunder -- Splashdown
Love/Sex Scene - Roads -- Portishead
Hero Theme - Ironspy -- Splashdown
Night Scene - The Ghost Woman and the Darkness -- Lacuna Coil
The Villain appears to - Waterbead -- Splashdown (I guess the villain was in the shower.)
The Big End Fight - Karma Slave -- Splashdown (This is actually a pretty good fight song, assuming it's all stylized and arty.)
The Villain dies - My Immortal -- Evanescence (Oh, great, a sequel.)
Goodbye Sequence - Climbing up the Walls -- Radiohead
End Credits - Asia at Odd Hours -- Splashdown

Movie Title: One Fine Sarah (One Fine Day -- Natalie Merchant)

I think it's safe to say that 90% of the music on that playlist (excepting the Splashdown) was gotten from aikea_guinea herself. So I ran it through again using my entire music library.

( More variety, more Broadway! )

It's official, guys. My tastes in music are so bizarre, they exceed eclectic and go straight on into weird territory. And naked hippy territory, apparently.

In unrelated news, I am sick as a dog. I think I have strep throat. At least, I had a fever today, my throat is terrifically sore, and I slept for something like thirteen hours today. Which is why I'm awake now, at four in the morning. BLAH.

Sometimes, I scan through my music until I find a song that's "cool" enough for me to admit to listening to on my journal. So, Britney Spears? Not cool. Bill Jones? Way cool. Destiny's Child? I would never ever listen to Destiny's Child (except when I need affirmation of my own kick-buttedness). Vienna Teng? Vienna Teng is absolutely amazing and I highly recommend her to everyone that breathes. ABBA? Who listens to ABBA anymore? NOT ME! Now, yé-yé, that's something I can get behind.

It should be noted that my definition of "way cool" may differ signicantly from others'.

Things I did today
-- Washed dishes +1
-- Didn't do laundry -1
-- Went grocery shopping +1
-- Walked the four blocks to the grocery store! +5
-- Bought chocolate -2
-- Forgot to buy salsa, olive oil, quinoa, spinach, wine and Parmesan cheese* -1
-- Remembered to buy the cauliflower for roasting +1
-- Forgot to buy capers -1
-- Bought yarn for a sweater +5
-- Already have the yarn for two sweaters that have not been knit -10

Ending score: Rest assured, it is not in my favor.

In unrelated news, I got my hair cut and it looks fantastic.

( Before )

( After )

Some people on my friends list may have already seen these. If so, I apologize. You can look at this one. Knitting friends might want to take a look, too. And read this, for the knitting knerd details.

( Je m'appelle Sarah )

Oh, did I mention that I bought a digital camera? Because I so did. And it is so awesome. I'm taking photos of oatmeal cookies, just because I can.

_{*Yes, I realize that this list probably makes me some sort of foodie or at the very least very far from my farmer roots. I bought frozen food, though! But it was vegan.}

Since I made a covenant with my friends list (several, actually) to post more often, today I am sharing my favorite William Blake poem. I could list any of several reasons why I like this poem (it's short; it's got a beat that I can dance to, etc.), but here's the main one: The poem is about communication and honesty. In essence, tell people why you're upset with them and find a way to fix it. Obviously, this isn't practicable all the time, but do it as often as you can and you'll save a lot of men stretched out under poison apple trees. I know I don't accomplish this honesty all the time, but I try, and when I can't, I'm at least polite. You don't really gain a lot by calling someone a bastard and not following up with an explanation.

So, without further ado:

A POISON TREE

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I waterd it with fears,
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunnéd it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole,
When the night had veild the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretchd beneath the tree.

--(Songs of Experience, 1794)

And now I'm off to shower and do a little copy-editing on campus, before a freak John Donne attack strikes and I'm here all night, contemplating moral dilemmas and the nature of God.

I was planning on apologizing for my prolonged absence, and then I figured I wouldn't, because it's not really my damned fault. It's just that my computer sucks ass. Really. The hard drive failed in a serious way. Through no fault of my own, I have been deprived of a computer since about the end of July, and I got really goddamned tired of going to the computer labs on campus, because they are very, very hot and sometimes smell like plastic feet.

My uncle (an altogether wonderful and helpful man who does an excellent Scooby Doo impression) fixed my computer. He's fixed it every one of the three times it has vomited on me. (Power supply failure (Fall 2005), complete and utter corruption (Summer 2006), and hard drive failure (Fall 2006).)

He came to W-town on Sunday, thinking he could fix it here and everything would be splendiferous, but to no avail. So he packed it off to his home, just southwest of Madison, to fix it there and make it less stupid. He did so. It works beautifully now, and I still have all my music. Bien hecho, Uncle Donnie.

Today, he made a special trip to W-town to bring my 'puter back to me. We said noon, as I have a half-hour break in classes then, and would be able to let him into my apartment.

He was a half-hour late, and I missed him by five minutes. He waited here until 3:15, when my roommate let him in.

I am a horrible niece. He is getting a very nice Christmas present . . . if I can think of anything and I have the moneys. It might be a tough ride for my credit card this winter.

On top of everything, I have a viral infection in my tonsils and my blood sugars are elevated. I am in crappy shape, both physically and mentally today. I just want to curl up into a ball and die, but I have a meeting with my Ame Ren professor about sponsoring me for an undergraduate research grant. RIGHT NOW.

To recap:

1. My computer is a bastard and hates society.
2. I am a bad niece.
3. My tonsils are also bastards, and, if they were female and human, would also be bad nieces.

On a more benevolent note, if anything suprising and/or exciting happened during my hiatus, please let me know so that I can heap scorn and/or praise on your head.

So, what does a Sarah do when her big sis asks her if she wants to go shopping? At the outlet mall with outrageous Labor Day sales? She says, "Hell yes, I want to go, Rach! Let's haul ass!"*

I am now the owner of these jeans in black from The GAP. They're skinny jeans and after a decade in bellbottoms, flares, and bootcuts, I've no idea how to wear them. I keep seeing them everywhere with little ballet flats, but I'm worried that those'll make my legs look short and fat. (Not that they aren't short already, but I'm trying to maximize what I've got here, people.) I think this means I will have to buy a pair of walking heels. And some tunics to wear over the skinny jeans. I've been eyeing up this sweater** for a long time, and think the time may have finally come to knit it. I've got pretty shoulders; it's about time I showed 'em off.

I also picked up some delicious smelling body spray from the same in Just Petals. It's so light and flowery and sweet. A burst of springtime as summer fades. I think it will carry me through winter and keep me happy.

<sub>*Dramatization of real events. It actually went more like this:

RACHEL: Since I forgot to mail your birthday card, and I've seen you twice since your birthday, how would you like to go shopping at the outlet mall this weekend? If you don't want to, then I'll just drop the card in the mail. No problem.

SARAH: What? Pass up the chance to spend time with my wonderful big sister and meet her adorable new kitten? I'd much rather hang out with you than get a card in the mail. BECAUSE I LOVE YOU LIKE NO OTHER.

RACHEL: . . . creepy. Let's go shopping!

**In a different yarn. My god, Debbie Bliss Cashmerino is $7.75/skein, and at 14 skeins, that's an expensive tunic sweater. I don't care if it feels fabulous against the skin, I'll make it in merino or alpaca and silk for less than half the price.</sub>

. . . her everlasting ability to not update at all. Really, not updating my LJ seems to be my main talent nowadays. It could be something cool like squirrel-shaving*, but nope. It's being quiet.

It's been a(n) [insert adjective] time here in whatever-the-hell-I-call-this-place. In exciting list format:

1. I turned 22! Yay!
2. Oh, wait, that's closer to death! Boo! And my birthday wine gave me heartburn!
3. The exclamation key on my keyboard has not broken, despite overuse.
4. Item three may be because for almost the entirety of August, my computer was out of commission. Why? A corrupted file from the Sims, which spread corruption through the whole system. What file? Why, the Sim I made of myself, of course. I can't help but feel there's a larger metaphor for my life there that's escaping me.
5. More birthday: My roommate Eric and our mutual friend Scott bought me a birthday pizza, and tricked me most cruelly in doing so. Full story here.
6. I edited my first issue The Royal Purple. Proofreading like burning.
7. Lastly, all of you guys who read like other people breathe, check out Chain Reading. It's a way to both archive your library and find new book suggestions from other voracious readers. It's pretty damned cool, but needs more people. (Link goes to my profile, incidentally.)

Meanwhile, The Cowboy Junkies are playing on my computer and it's making me melancholy. And making me want chocolate, though that might just be my natural lust for the stuff. That's one thing I learnt this week: when you've been eating a lacto-ovo vegetarian diet for the past six weeks and have the sudden urge to consume a milkshake and a double cheeseburger two days in a row, it will do messed up things to your digestive tract. McDonald's, while cheap and easily accessible, is not a good thing. I need to eat more spinach, I think.

_{*Two years ago, a squirrel was caught by some unnamed residents of Sayles Hall and shaved, excluding his fluffy little tail and his fuzzy little head. This squirrel is now enraged at the world and lives in the bushes outside the main entrance. Do not take foodstuffs from him, for he smites without compunction. And probably has fleas.}

Back-dated for your reading pleasure.

Today was my twenty-second birthday. That's right, my double golden birthday. Twice as shiny and with hardly any brass showing under the plating. My next golden birthday will come when I'm thirty-three. Here's hoping I'm done with school by then.

My roommate Eric and our friend Scott helped me celebrate. I've known these boys forever. I went to first grade with Eric, and met Scott in third grade when we were both basically ignored by the fourth graders on our OM team. Yeah, good times. We were commanded to paint a lot of of cardboard.

The preparations for the night went like this: I traveled to the grocery store to do a little shopping and to pick up a bottle of white wine, armed with a list of cheap suggestions by my sister. Yes, this was birthday wine, but I am a cheapskate. I also hovered over the cakes, because what's a birthday without a cake? I mean, come on: cake is to birthday as birthday is to cake. There's no way around it. But can you buy yourself a birthday cake? My mom had always made them for me before this, but my mom was not there to make me a cake. Isn't it kind of pathetic to buy your own birthday cake? Sort of like sending yourself flowers on Valentine's Day. So I skipped the cake and went straight to the wine aisle. (No causation there, I swear.)

I got home from the grocery store to be attacked by Eric and Scott. (The actual attack didn't happen for a couple hours after I got back, but the showering and knitting that happened in the interim wasn't all that interesting.) "Attacked" being defined in this situation as having one male redhead and one male of indeterminate hair color screaming, "Happy birthday, Sarah!!!!!!" and then one of them starting, "It's ya birthday, it's ya birthday . . ." I think. Something to that effect. A bottle of wine does strange things to a girl's mind.

So, after being voice-mauled, Eric and Scott started talking about the supplies they'd need for the night. First and foremost on the list was a lighter, because they were going to--

Scott looks directly at me and says, "That's right, Sarah, we're going to be toking up. In front of you. In your apartment."

To which I replied, "Uh-huh. And you'll be the one trying to air the smell out of the apartment too, bastard."

It should be noted at this point that I am very much a straight arrow when it comes to chemical experiences. Everything I've tried leaves me dizzy and slightly nauseous, which is how I feel when I have a low blood sugar. That isn't a very good feeling for me and fills me with the need to eat and eat to take the shakiness away. It borders on panic, really. Also, I eat enough junk food on my own without needing help.

Wine tucked safely away in the freezer to do some hardcore chilling, we ventured out to pick up the pizza. I'd been informed that is was my choice and I didn't have to pay for it, so win-win.

When we got back to the apartment, I busied myself getting out plates and forks for the messiness that is taco pizza. I had my back turned to the table, so I had no idea what was going on. I figured the guys were just arranging the pizza appealingly.

And they were, after a fashion. When I turned around, the pizza was covered in birthday candles. Twenty-two of 'em, in fact.

Marijuana, my ass! Those guys lied to me!

But it was really sweet of them. My first birthday without being with my family, and those guys made it special by buying me a birthday pizza. As Eric said, "Yeah, we thought about buying you a cake, but we weren't sure if you could eat it, and we didn't want you to die." What could be nicer than that? Finding a way to celebrate your friend' birthday without killing her? Aaaahhhhhh.

True fact: By the time they got all the candles lit, there was a fair amount of melted wax all over the pizza. Sad. But I blew them all out with one mighty blast of my clarinet-playin' lungs.

And so ended the night. We got drunk and sat on the sofa, and then Scott left for a little bit to the bars and came back reeking of smoke. And I had heartburn from an entire bottle of wine and was filled with the classiness of Super Troopers.

It really was a wonderful birthday, totally because the thoughtfulness of my friends.

Okay, so I have been neglecting the poor internets, but what else is new? I have excellent news and lame news. Not earth-shattering, just laaaaaaame.

1. The silo blowing-up worked exactly as I was expecting: the silo was blown up. Unfortunately, the explode-y guys used twice as much dynamite as they were supposed to, and blew up part of the barn and the milk house. Three windows were blown out by flying cement chunks, all the boards to the right side of the barndoor were blown out by the same, and all the wood on the south end of the milkhouse is gone (the vinyl wall covering on the inside is still there, though.) The bulk tank had about a ton of milk in it at the time (really, truly a ton) and it weighs around a thousand pounds on its own. The explosion moved it forward three inches. The good news is that the demolition guys are paying for the repairs to the barn and milkhouse, along with the charge from Fuller's Milk Service to come and re-calibrate the bulk tank and its accoutrements.
2. I am finally in Whitewater. Thank God. But now I need to find a job. :\ Not good. I NEED MONEY!
3. Countering that, The Royal Purple hired me as the copy-editor! Yes! Score! It's about $45 every two weeks when school starts, but I only work twice a week, so nothing bad about that. And it will look marvelous on job applications and for grad school. And they did it despite me not correcting the spelling of "occurrence" on the copy-editing test. ("Occurance" is wrong, by the way, should anyone ever need to know.)
4. And, finally, the consignment clothing store in town, which deals mostly with pre-1970s vintage stuff might be hiring me as Saturday help. Starting at minimum wage and then working my way up the pay scale after training. But what else is to be expected?

So there we have it. I have been torn between dizzying emotional highs, panic-stricken depths, and some creamy middles. It would be nice to be employed though, so I can make some money and then sell my damned guitar and pay the first half of fall rent. Goddammit. Credit card here I come.

Firstly, I discovered the section where you include links. It's on the first tab for the customize page, exactly where you wouldn't expect it to be. Perfectly logical!

Secondly, the silo is coming down tomorrow, without a doubt. When the men with the bulldozer were knocking down the old chicken coop today, they knocked eight of the cement slabs at the base of the silo out. The silo is now an extremely dangerous hazard, and as such, is wrapped in many feet of yellow caution tape. It could collapse at any point, really. If it doesn't fall down tonight, then it's being blown up tomorrow. Hooray!

Thirdly, I am barrelling along on my summer costuming project, being a kirtle and doublet that I started last summer and abandoned. The kirtle is nearly finished, and I just need to add a hook and eye to the bottom of each side-back opening, and then hem it. And decide if I want to do a shoulder treatment, but I'm leaning towards no. The doublet is in pieces and I need to cut a new lining for it and re-do some of the trim. The trim is made up of black velvet strips set inverted chevron-wise, and a few have frayed at the edge and need to be stitched back down. I might rip them all up and do some flanged cording at the edge, which I would have make, but that's easy. I'm thinking about making shoes, too, since my usual pair have disintegrated. Who knows? I've got time.

So, catsitting days six 'n' seven proceeded apace, and everything went well. Long story short, the cat is still alive, I'm back on the farm, and I got moneys for my sewing efforts, which have been placed firmly in my wallet, never to leave.

Upon reaching home, I redecorated my LJ. It looks like a box of chocolates, no? Incidentally, does anyone know how to include links in the sidebar for the Wizard style? I'm told that I can title the links section of the sidebar (and I have), but I'd really like to actually include links in it, to complete the experience.

*ahem* Now starts the exciting part. Sort of. I'll have to write it in big letters, so you can all experience the my joy at this news fully.

Tomorrow, people with dynamite are coming to blow up our old silo.

Did you all get that? People, with explosives, are coming to blow something up. I'm assuming they're going to be using extreme prejudice, but we'll have to wait and see. The best part is that my family and I get to watch it fall down. From a safe distance, of course, and with appropriate ear protection, but that cement bitch is coming down and I'm going to taunt her as she falls. I'll see if I can get pictures--I kind of want one of the inside, because there is a huge, woodland fern (of all things) growing at the bottom.

I hope one of the demolition guys is dashing and has a nickname like Chip or Flint or Sparky. Because then I'd put on my sexy barn shorts.

In other totally awesome news, I approach 20,000 words in my novel-thing, some of which actually have purpose. That's awesome! (I've said it twice, so it must be true.) That's one-quarter of the way there, folks. And I've actually been plotting and stuff, so I'm more aware of where this thing is headed, and what changes will happen in the re-write. It's so tempting to re-write as I write, but no! I'll get nowhwere if I do that. Now I just have to wait for those books on Colorado silver mining to show up on ILL and I can forge ahead.