Ten · Orchids

So, one of the people I hold in high esteem and ugly jealousy simultaneously is Carla Bruni, who has the proverbial everything: enormous wealth, extreme beauty, and huge talent, in spades.


What the little tart doesn't have is taste in men: word on the street is that she's going to marry that utter tool Sarkozy. Yech!

I got rather sick and had to sort of quarantine myself away from everyone. And in that sense, Thanksgiving ruled.


I now have a much better appreciation for the role of fluffy kittens in the grand scheme of human society. Granted, it is a humble one, but exceptionally important.

So last night, I woke up to hear rustling of paper and plastic which could only mean one thing: the rat was in my fiber stash! NOOOOO!


Knowing how rodents love fluffy stuff for nesting material, I had nightmare visions of gnawed-up alpaca and cashmere covered in rat pellets.


My better judgment failing me, I got up, stepped on a chair and proceeded to pull bags of wool out of the cabinet, checking for rat-gnawings, droppings, or holes in the sides of the cabinet. Oddly enough, I didn't find any.


What I did find, however, was the rat: live, in person, and far more scared of me than I was of him. I moved the last bag of fiber out of the cabinet (which was his last hiding place), and he freaked, ricocheted off my chest, and ran behind the stove.


Even though I really wasn't scared at all, I screamed like a girl for an extended period of time. It seemed like the appropriate thing to do. I kind of felt sorry for the little guy, though - he seems to just be looking for a cozy place to wait out the winter. Nevertheless, I'm the only one paying rent here, so he's got to go. My landlord says he was told rats hate the smell of ammonia, so I'm going to set out some dishes of the stuff in the hopes of making it a less attractive place for him to hang. In the meantime, I've taped all my fiber stash cupboards closed.

So, Master Rat and I met last night. I was lying on my sofa after the trade association meeting and he ran across the baseboard. I shrieked involuntarily, and he dove behind the kitchen cupboards. Not the smartest rat in the world, since he hasn't even found the fruit that's been sitting on top of the kitchen counter for two weeks.


I called the landlord and he said it happens every year, due I'm sure to the fact that most of the neighborhood gardens are overgrown, and my neighbors have a fairly casual attitude towards waste disposal.


Mom and dad are coming to visit in two weeks, so I hope I can get rid of him before then. It's sort of hard to convince your family that you're doing just fine when you're living in an infested apartment.

Overheard on BBC7:


"This is BBC world news, broadcasting from London. Where you are, isn't. I can tell by the flies and lack of discipline. So for God's sake cover yourselves and listen."

I hope everyone has a great day/night.


Last night, I came home to see what looked like a big white owl fly out of my backyard. Though it could have been a feral parrot, which would be more likely, it was awfully silent for a parrot.


This doesn't sit well with my deeply superstitious Old World roots, but I'm sure it's just a coincidence.


I felt the earthquake a little, but not much. A little rolling, a little shaking, and that was it. What was far more disturbing was I swear the sound of a little animal rummaging through my things. However, when the lights came on again, there was no evidence of said animal. If I have a rat/squirrel/mouse/whatever, I want to find the damn thing and get rid of it. It is wrecking my head to wake up in the middle of the night and find nothing when I turn on the lights.

- I mail-ordered myself a Blackberry. I did the math and realized that home broadband would run me at least $50 a month, not including install and router, while unlimited email, data, and phone service would cost $80 on T-Mobile (I already pay $50 a month for mobile service, and I don't have a landline). I reckon this is enough connectivity to keep me abreast of the happenings on my lj fl (e.g. invite myself along to exciting social events), email, and Google maps, but keep me from vegging out in front of YouTube all day instead of interacting with the rest of the world.


- I went to my first monthly session of a spirits-tasting group (it's mostly a bourbon group, but they don't seem to discriminate too much). It was great fun, and very scholarly, in a sort of "we spend all day in a bourbon enthusiast chat room" sort of way. I've been kind of sort of asked to bring in some absinthes, as soon as I refresh my supply. *cough* *hint* :)

1) I am in love with Dan Humphreys on Gossip Girl. I do not have cable, so I have to make do with what I get.


2) The swap meet at Ashby BART is awesome. It's like the Ren Faire for African people. I got a quarter pound of shea butter for five dollars, and it is the real stuff. Also, the plantains from the Taste of Africa catering truck are delicious.


3) Pub culture is absolutely good for what ails you. I've been having a pint at Norton's Vault every night for the past three weeks, and I can't imagine why anyone would want to go straight home after work.

I just bought a Fourth Doctor scarf off ebay for my costume for Gallifrey One next year.


I did the knitting math, and it just didn't make any sense for me to do it myself. Not to mention the fact that it would have been hell on earth to do that much garter stitch across one foot by ten feet. It would have taken up most of my free time and frankly it's too valuable to me at this point.

I started working at a new place, and it is a little different from the place I used to work at in that it's caffeine and junk-food free.


I'm adjusting very slowly. Right now, I feel like taking a nap under the desk. I relied heavily on coffee and sugar to motivate me to get through the day, and now I'm struggling a little bit.

If the objet of your affections is five years younger than you or more, assume they see you as an older sibling.


If ten years younger or more, assume they see you as an aunt or uncle.


If fifteen years younger or more, assume you're a father or mother figure.


In all of the above situations, make sure there's interest on the other side before proceeding, for the love of pete.

When I was a kid, I remember spending a decent amount of time ironing clothes. First, it was all

about "helping" my mom, who gave me my dad's handkerchiefs to iron. Then, it was my own school

uniforms. We were technically not allowed to watch TV during the week, but if we were ironing, we got

to do it in front of the TV.


Since then, my enthusiasm for ironing has decreased to the point that there are things in my closet that I haven't worn for years because I'd have to iron them. I had no idea what this block on ironing was, but I just hated to do it. I finally found out why I hated it: lousy cheap irons.


Few of the people I know even own an iron; they either wear t-shirts to work, or they send out their laundry. If circumstances force them to go out and buy an iron, they usually go for the super-basic $9.99 sunbeam featherlight model. It then spends years languishing in a dark corner somewhere because ironing with those things takes forever.


Because of this iron problem, I went out and bought myself a heavy, expensive German "Rowena Professional" model following the logic that if I had a nice iron, I'd use it more often. Well, yesterday I ironed two pairs of trousers and six shirts in 45 minutes. They key is weight and steam; you just can't effectively beat wrinkles without them, especially in cotton clothes.

I'v been a very anti-Crocs person ever since I saw people wearing them out in public - they are hideous shoes. They seem to have caught on to this fact, so today I'm wearing a pair of Crocs Alice, and I've come to the conclusion that they may be nature's perfect shoe. Or the worst shoe ever conceived.


Further bulletins as events warrent.

taken from cavalaxis

1. Go to http://www.careercruising.com/.
2. Put in Username: nycareers, Password: landmark.
3. Take their "Career Matchmaker" questions.
4. Post the top ten results


( As long as they don't say 'consultant' )


Overall, I have either touched on or flirted with most of these over the years, so maybe that career thing isn't so far off.