Sometimes life is harder than it needs to be.

Or at least that's how it seems.

Here's the deal: I have a Dollfie Dream, which is awesome. She has very few clothes, which is not awesome. I got her for a number of reasons, not least of which my fascination with small objects and miniatures, which I felt would give me great squealing glee to dress her in the flounciest of hand-made fashions and match them down to every detail. After all, at about 2 feet tall, outfitting her perfect wardrobe would be much easier than outfitting my own, right?

Wrong.
I can get an outfit for around $60, not including shoes. She can get an outfit for $80, including shoes. So it's her or me.

Fine, I'll make her some clothes.
Except I loaned my sewing machine to 6, and haven't received the promised replacement torso from D yet, so I am loathe to use her only functioning body as a dress form.

Still, in the interest of crafting something, perhaps I can wrap my brain around documenting my struggle, from masking-tape-and-t-shirt-dress form to figuring out how to make awesome shoes for her.

Damn you, plasticland, and the love of retro-awesome you have instilled in me.

I have an (unappetizing) picture

True to my future intents, I have brought a picture to share. Behold: Baby Goat Cookies!

So named because while they started out as individual items, a single serving apiece as-it-were, they cooked into each other and now resemble what I always found intriguingly cute about Cthulu mythos: "Shub-Niggurath: The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young". This baking tray holds all manner of cinnamon-sugar biscuit-y things, all nestled up cute next to each other as I imagine a field of adorable baby goats.

I am aware, naysayers, that not only is Shub-Niggurath horrendous beyond belief, whose very visage would render any functioning person a mere gibbering heap of meat and fear. And bones, obviously. Still, the name continues to tender images of frolicking, bleating, can-eating, and wooly baby goats, their tiny horns festooned with garlands of spring flowers.

Hence, Sugar-"Nom"urath cookies.

Eat it. (<-Ha!)

They were edible, if somewhat undercooked, and have yet to induce delusions or dementia of any kind.

I have problems.

1.) I still don't like to post without pictures. It's fine to write, but super boring to read. I need to work on this, but the thing is...well... I guess there isn't a thing. I'll start using the hell out ouf USB drives to provide photos I guess.

2.) I hide from my second job. I have taken to carrying around my notebook and chumpworthy USB drive to encourage this to stop. Still, I tend to not even crack the laptop at home as often, as if I'm saving it for something special. Like the lifespan will be extended if I conserve its use as much as possible. Not true, I'll bet. Also, the keyboard likes to pretend, randomly, that I'm pressing CTRL. Makes it really hard to do anything, since typing the letter "t" can open a new tab online while you're in the middle of a search , or attempting to utilize the word can't will:
First center the text, then open a new file, then tab the indent over to the left.
Suxxorz.

3.) I think I'm addicted to either avoiding busywork, or the internet. The first is a minor problem. The second, well, it may be a symptom really. Since we lost our high cubicle walls at work, I am forced to hear every. single. inane. word out of my coworkers mouths. Who dated whom over the weekend. How someone's sister/brother/aunt/cousin/sorority sister had a baby and how big it is and what it's name is and isn't that outfit the sweetest? Can you believe Kanye blah blah blah. Oh no Patrick Swayze blah blah blah. Hear me be witty. Aren't I catty? We're so awesome.

My only refuge is my headphones and frontalot, or youtube, or hulu. Using these sites as my personal radio, I am sometimes able to forget their inaninty for a time. However, I run out of material long before they do, and thus, I am forced to look at kitten photos to contain my rage and ascerbic taunts.

Please, people, use the phone to talk to people in offices across the way. Open some kind of chat screen or something. Please focus on work, or quietly blog, like the rest of us.

Also: Dear "superiors". If you have gone through the trouble of putting together an envelope of materials to be mailed, sealed it, and then write the address by hand on a post it note...well, you're just dumb. Doing all that work and dropping the item off to me to be mailed is just adding an extra step. Try, oh, I dunno...WRITING THE ADDRESS ON THE ENVELOPE! Then the job is done! No steps! No useless and unnecessary delegation!