Busy little dobby.

Our house troll elf mows the lawn every three or four days. I mean, I know it's spring and all now, but it's been spring for maybe twenty minutes. The grass is not, how you say, long.

He also gardens meticulously, and washes his car a lot. He's like a retired person.

This would be easier if I were schizophrenic.

It is Wrath of Papers week o'er here, and I have approximately 8000 words due in the next 8 days. I'm trying to convince myself that the one is due Monday so that I can get it over and done and tackle the next one (both these are due Thursday, and then the other two are due the following Monday).

But some part of me knows that the other part of me is lying, and that I have no papers due Monday. That part of me has spent the last half hour adding food pr0n blogs to my bloglines. And coveting.

Let the rumpus begin!

Have you seen the trailer for Where the Wild Things Are? If you have raging PMS, it will make you shed nostalgic tears.

More cultcha!

Sometimes watching The Daily Show = research, and it's then that I love my job.

Almost caramel corn

Attention everyone:

Corn oil ≠ corn syrup, and if you try to make home-made caramel corn using the former in place of the latter, your sugar will not caramelize and you will end up with sugar-coated corn. Which, while delicious, is not what you were after.

The theory of Approximate-Is-Good-Enough fails again.

Happy Clovers and Other Green Things Day

Because I am not a domestic goddess.

I was making cream of broccoli/cauliflower soup, and when I got to the put-in-blender-in-tiny-amounts-and-blend stage, I hit the spew-all-over-counter button instead of the gently-puree button. Now I have boiling-soup-burns on my wrist and my collerbones. Good thing I wore long sleeves.

In which I forget the punchline.

Since everyone on the island listens exclusively to CCR and Sarah McLaughlin, Joel and I have resorted to internet radio, which is actually kind of awesome. Since YahooRadio refused to honor its 'Never Play Again' button, we've switched to aol radio, which has way better categories anyways.

Do I feel like hearing Bed of Roses every half hour? Rock Ballads it is.

Do I only want to listen to Dave Matthews ALL DAY? They have a channel for that.

They also have a channel for Rock Cover Songs, which is all I can listen to these days. Johnny Cash covering NIN songs, Social Distortion covering Johnny Cash songs, myriads of rock bands remaking Britney Spears songs, and a version of I Kissed A Girl that wasn't completely wretched (side rant: if I ever ran into Katie Perry in real life, I would punch her dead in the face. This is not a euphemism for me saying something cutting about how she tries too hard and how she's the poor man's Lily Allen and how the video of her falling all over herself cheers me up when I'm blue [although I would probably say all these things, too], but I would actually punch her in the face. And then she would slice me open with one of her stilettos, and I would have to get stitches and probably couldn't even sue her because I'd started it, but it'd be worth it).

What was I talking about? Cover songs. I totally had a point when I started this post, but Katie Perry ruins everything.

::thought-train derailed::

Oh the huge manatee!

Ok, things get stolen from me a lot and I know I'm really negligent and would always rather chance something getting stolen then actually PUT IT SOMEWHERE SAFE but shit, man. My boots!

So, I have these black boots that I don't think I have a picture of anywhere that boo gave me when she bought herself some Expensive Sexy Boots (which I totally appreciated, despite all the disparaging things I'm about to say), and they were cheap(ish) and kind of piratey and pretty well fell apart after maybe a month, and the soles were like paper towels and I couldn't even step on be-dewed concrete without them soaking up all the moisture and they totally refused to dry out even after weeks of being by the radiator and they always smelled like mold and if I wore them for five or six hours, they made the sides of my feets all tender and raw.

THAT BEING SAID, they were my boots. What with yesterday's snow and today's -weather and all the -weather proposed for the next week, it would seem that winter's not done with us yet. Boots are a BOON when you want another layer or two hugging the old calves.

Which is why I am so PISSED that someone jacked them from the gym locker room. I have a locker, but it fits my backpack and my purse OR my backpack and my boots. I think I made the right call on this one. Anyway, it's not like I leave them lying around on the benches like everyone in the yoga class (srsly, more clothes than I own were scattered hither and yon today). I tuck them away up on top of the lockers where you can hardly see them. Also I tuck my socks there, and that's how I know the boots were stolen and not just mislaid. The socks were secreted away in one of the day-lockers, like a kidnapped child's teddy bear (too much?).

.

AND NOTHING GETS STOLEN FROM THAT LOCKER ROOM! Ever. The guys at the front desk were all, This is our first theft! How exciting for them.

.

And then on top of that, I had no choice but to head home in my tennis shoes. I am no fan of jeans and tennis shoes, me. If that's your deal, fine. I have been known to wear this gorgeous turquoise dress I have as a shirt, and hink part of it into a hair-tie so that it isn't quite so long, but then I have a side-tail. What I'm saying is, we all have our fashion quirks. But my tennis shoes are white and look kind of awesome with shorts, and my jeans are straight-legged and look fabulous with flats or, say, boots. But when paired with the jeans, the shoes look a bit smooth and glowey, and when paired with the shoes, the jeans look a bit pegged. I mean, ok. Here:

Does that not look douchey to you? The answer is yes. Someone not only stole my boots, but they forced me to look douchey all the way home.

.

*snarls*

More Things at Which I Suck, Vol. 229

You may recall that I suck at things, like running errands or giving blood. I am also bad at watching movies (as is Joel, by proxy).

Par example, a few months ago Joel and I wanted to watch Get Smart (online, because we're cheap like that), so we went to his favorite illegal-doings site and downloaded, not Get Smart, but Get Smart's Bruce and Lloyd Out of Control. Which, ok, was kind of hilarious. Some weeks ago, we finally got around to watching Get Smart, but the website only lets you watch 70 minutes or so at a time, so we had to watch in installments. Maddening.

Two weekends ago we went to a James Bond double-header, which was unfortunate in myriad ways. Casino Royale was first, which a) is the better one and b) I've already seen, so I could have slept through it with impunity. Quantum of Solace was, as I'm sure you're aware, much less good, and therefore harder to watch after three-odd hours of theater-movie-watching (you're kind of cold, your ass hurts, you can't get horizontal enough, there's nowhere to put your feet, and the guy next to you smells TERRIBLE). Also, we'd snuck in some Fuze Green Tea Healthy Infusion, which we'd bought on sale for cheap. Because it tastes like horse and sidewalk.

Last weekend we watched The Happening which has Marky Mark wearing a mood ring, saying 'duh,' and married to Zooey Deschanel like he's trying to pretend he's not pushing 40. Also, the movie resolves in much the same way War of the Worlds did, in that it doesn't resolve at all. It will freak your shit out in parts, though, and I would not have watched it had it not been broad daylight.

This will eventually lead to very low self-esteem

Hey, check-a me out! I say stuff.

Also, remember how last semester I would bus out to Burnaby every Wednesday, hit the Walmart hard, watch America's Next Top Model with my sisters-in-law and several bottles of wine, drunk-transit home with my groceries, and then take a semi-sober quiz online for my lame linguistics class?

How things have changed. Now on Wednesdays I go play squash at school, swing by the house to pick up some edibles, whip up dinner for some of Joel's classmates in exchange for their cable and company, and then we all watch Top Model and freely criticize taller, thinner bodies than ours, and make fun of the girl with the epilepsy.

Tyra Banks is my only constant in life.

Not so smart as my phone

Ok, so I took some wicked photos of the UVic bunns the other day (When will she shut up about the bunnies? Ok look. You spend an hour and a half wading through the Parson's Tale in Middle English, and then come out into sunshine and Thumpers and then you shut up about the bunnies) and now I can't get them off of my phone. You will have to imagine.

So there's bunnies, and they're fighting over a carrot, and I get down low to take a picture of them fighting over the carrot, and one of them runs over because he thinks my phone is food, and I get a picture down his nose.

Hilarious!

So now I'm headed home, and on the way I'm all, How many other bunns can I get to think my phone is food?

One. I know, totally anticlimactic. But by this point I was getting to the outer reaches of campus, where all the chary bunns live. Srsly though, these pictures are to smooch. How for can I not get them off my phone? This is ridiculous. What if I'm in the mall and a dog wanders in again (not a word of a lie, if I could send a camera-phone back in time so that I had something to document that mall-walking dog...)?

Maybe I will bluetooth them to Joel's laptop.