Hey, I didn’t throw up!

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Jason and I went to Adventureland Six Flags on Saturday. We managed to ride all the rides, and neither of us got sunburn or nauseous. We didn’t go into the water park, so I can’t critique the new addition. I can tell you that I love roller coasters. And Jason kind of. He’s fun to go to the amusement park with.

Tonight is the Quimby’s librarical thingie. I’m looking forward to it, although I am not looking forward to driving during rush hour again. This morning was just a tad of a hellride. Plus there’s an air pollution action day, and I feel guilty driving my car for three hours.

On the upside, I just have to drudge through the next five days, and then I’ll be on 17 days of glorious vacation of some sort or another. First, chilling in Michigan with 106 of my closest Grinnellian classmates friends, then off to NYC to begin a roadtrip that will read like a Family Circus cartoon, ultimately ending in Austin, TX.

Family Circus cartoon

p.s. Check out the bottom of the page. I am part of sciency history.

365 days of stuffed animals

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365 days of stuffed animals. Truly, the best idea ever.

I’ve been thinking about making knitted stuffed animals, little abstract guys, but I wonder if making them out of cloth would be easier, not as involved, more wear-worthy, and not take as much time.

Who wants to buy me this $70 sewing machine? I’ll make you a stuffed animal.

AKL

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cowgirlallisonBelo nebulo (that’s phonetic Czech for “once upon a time”), there once was a princess named Al.

Al, that bitch, had everything she could possibly want. A pony, a Murphy bed, and a great taste in aesthetics. Fortunate for her, she was one of those Iowa girls who grew up knowing that they were going to move to New York. She left home for the bright lights, the big city, and a cute little tin of strawberry-flavored snuff.

Her dream was to be a Rockette. She had the legs, God knows. She auditioned, and found that Kyle MacLachlan not only corrected her pronunciation of “Versace”, but also would only offer her the job if she performed the dance of the seven veils for him. If you know what I mean.

She gave him the backhand finger as she stomped out the door of Radio City Music Hall (she stomped a lot, because her cowboy boots were a size too big).

“I only show my tits if you ask me NOT to,” Al said to herself.

Using only a little bit of moxie, she wrangled herself a spot in this year’s Chashama Oasis festival.

“I’ve only been here two weeks. If everything goes according to plan, I should either be hosting the MTV Movie Awards, or showing folks how to make their own shoes, by fall,” Al said, as she ate another handful of edamame.

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da.

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I’ve had the hiccups three times now in the past 24 hours. That’s the way I roll, yo. I’ve also had the same song stuck in my head since last night. I can’t tell you what it is, or it will never go away. Song-that-shall-not-be-named was a constant soundtrack while Jason and I played tennis after work. I think it went away briefly as we watched “True Romance“, a film Jason passionately wanted me to see. It’s a lot like “A Life Less Ordinary“, only with lead actors I’m not attracted to.

I’m all stressed out. Seriously. Trying to make my life ideal takes a lot of effort. I’d like to write a whiny white-middle-class-girl blues song about it, but I don’t know what rhymes with

I can’t consolidate my loans because they’re either private, or not enough to count.

I have a cat I don’t want, but no one to take her.

I’m going to lose my insurance if I go on vacation.

I have litigation hanging over my head from a rightly broken lease.

The tag in the back of my shirt itches.

My skirt has static cling, because I stopped shaving my legs.

I’m almost done with the book I like, and I loathe to read the one I have lined up.

Dun du-duh da dun. Call me Johnny Lee Hooker. (Sonya Lea Hooker?)

I think I lost a day

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I went home from work last night, read a little Tim Sandlin, and fell asleep until this morning. I knew I had a cold, but wow. I think the last time I slept for 14 hours was the year I was on the homecoming committe, cheerleading, and my birthday all landed on the same day. That next day I slept for 16 hours.

AAAnd, I still have a cold. Tough breaks, eh?

On the upside, I did get a postcard in the mail that said that the TKGA got my submission and they would be mailing it to the evaluator shortly. I was reading the Masterknitter yahoo group list, and apparently the organizational company that runs the master knitter deal have been getting more lax about submissions. They let one of the best evaluators go. While that means that my swatches have a better chance of making it through, I’m disappointed that I’m not doing the hardest thing ever. Ah well.

I also agreed to go with Kat to a Joanna Newsome concert Wednesday, but then forgot that Wed. is kick-ass/take-names volleyball night. And, I emailed the previous owner of my cat (a much more pithy version of the open letter to her) and she said her husband might not let her take the cat back.

So all in all, it’s been a rough couple of days. Except for the knitting. The knitting is on track.

An open letter to the previous owner to my cat.

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Dear Candy,

I’m sorry. I really thought that when I answered that interoffice ad for a free cat, I would really enjoy having an inside cat. Ironically, if you look at the URL, it turns out that I hate having an inside cat. I grew up on a farm, see, and although I’ve enjoyed having many cats as pets, I’ve never really experienced what it’s like to have a superfurry animal in my carpeted and upholstered home.

I mean, I tried. I liked having a cat but I hate that she’s so furry. Oh, I guess that’s what makes her cute, because those naked cats aren’t fun. Anyway, I have hair on everything I own, and I like wearing black. I feel like a selfish discarding a pet – especially since there’s nothing actually wrong with the cat, other than having a lot of hair that comes off. I mean, every day I brush the cat, and there’s a kitten-sized pile of hair sitting next to the cat.

You said that if I decided that it wouldn’t work out, I should bring the cat back. I know you meant right away, but it’s only been four months. Whadda you say?

Thank you, and see you soon,
Sonya

p.s. – if Candy doesn’t want her cat back, does anyone else want it?
katrina

An open letter to Joe Mohan

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Dear Joe Mohan,

I have a problem, and I know that the best person to talk about this to is you. I was at the thrift store this weekend, and I bought a velour hoodie from H&M. I’m not sure if the burnt orange color is right for me. It’s a good cut, and it’s definitely more feminine than most hoodies I wear, which makes it a plus. Do I a) look good in burn orange, and b) keep the hoodie because even an unflattering color is better than looking like a 13-year-old-boy, unintentionally?

Famoose II

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Summer Blast

As you well know, I have had my first brush with science fame. Having been forced into*, and hating, the Invention Convention as a child, I am smugly linking to an article written about a camper I worked with when I was a Girl Scout camp counselor. I can tell you right off that this kid was super cool, and, more importantly, super game. She’d freaking try anything. I respect that. I respect that a lot.

Anyway, in the picture I have bad camp-hair, but the shirt I’m wearing has my camp name** on the back of it, and glows in the dark. It’s too bad that even though nasa.gov has my full name in it, you still get a self-help author or soft-core fan-pr0n when you google me. Better than having a name-doppelganger who goes by “Moonie” and loves dolphins.

*Not parental fault. They are only responsible for the “snowsuit incident”, and my eyesight.
**Echo.

Luck be a librarian

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I’ve always had luck at libraries. I think it might be they can smell the future librarian on me, or maybe they can tell it runs in my blood.

Twice during my nomadic AmeriCorps year, I managed to wheedle library cards out of libraries near which I lived for no more than six weeks, and with no permanent address in the county.

Today, I managed to let my local library lend me a roll of microfilm, to scan (for archive purposes). Microfilm! You’re not supposed to lend that shit out! I’m a little scared by my power.

Microfilm