I need my mojo back, please

I need to knit that sweater. NEED IT.

It's not often that you can so faithfully recreate a piece of your favorite show in such detail and by hand, and so I NEED the John Watson sweater.  I've saved the pattern, the yarn won't be much, really, but I just have to finish these fucking commissioned gloves first.

WE HATES THEM, PRECIOUS.

Someone explain this crazyness to me.

Yes.  I spelled craziness with a "y". 

So!  I stalk tumblr.  I haven't committed yet for a few reasons.
1.  I don't have the internet at home, and tumblr is FILLED with delicious panty-melting images, so that's no good.
2.  I have deliberately painted myself into a largish corner with my online profile, because anonymity turns me into a different person and it creeps my shit.  It is ME, and it creeps MY shit to compare what I say/do online to real life, provided I was able to say/do it under the guise of someone not-me. 

Still.  I stalk tumblr.  And one person I stalk on it has been in the same location as a favorite actor of mine several times.  She has seen him in REAL LIFE.  And she posted in a little tweet-like post that she was finally in the same room as him and did not bump into him.  She later clarified, after receiving many responses about how lucky she was to be near his awesomeness, that she honestly could not care about it.  She has no interest.

I got that.
No, really, I understand.

Sometimes I really get sick of having to sidestep my backyard pool filled with gold pieces, jewels, and disgustingly hot people wearing no clothing and just begging for attention while my incredible sound system projects solid holograms of my favorite singers and bands that are programmed to provide a perfect soundtrack to my every mood.  The the walk to the end of my jaguar-filled personal parking garage is SO LONG.  God.  Some days I just want my personal retinue to carry my silk-draped litter faster but with less jostling as they traverse the indoor hallways filled with rescued kittens who all get along and none of whom shit anything but rounded precious stones and never track cat sand out of the box.

It's great that there are people who are not attracted to those who literally exude sex.  I mean, less competition for the rest of us poor saps, but really?  Honestly? WHAT IS THIS I DON'T EVEN

So....DeeDee it is

I've found go-go boots for about $20, and a pattern for the hat won't be an issue.  The shorts are likewise a non-issue.  My big thing is making sure the boots arrive first, so I can match the color to the top.

Also:  Geek Prom 2012.  I want EVERYTHING prom should've been, but I'll settle for a fun evening, I suppose.  I have a dress, and a year to get the boots and accessories.  I have co-conspirators, (one of whom really ought to take the opportunity to get an awesome dress/outfit and go TOTALLY sexay with it), and we'll make do, I suppose.  Why is no one as excited as I am about part one of The Hobbit?

Healing Surge vs. Second Wind

So, in D&D, my people die. A lot. We fought a fucking DRAGON in Encounters this week. Just sayin'.

As the cleric, it's my task to be there to help them. Not to "help them on their way to post-mortem existence", but to use my clerical skills to bring them back to fighting status.

UNFORTUNATELY, it seems to me that my powers are pretty limited in this respect. I can heal someone twice, and am learning to pay special attention to the difference between "healing surge" (which any character can do a specified number of times per in-game day) and a "second wind" which a character can perform only once during an encounter.

However, I'm still having trouble wrapping my head around the apparent fact that when someone is neg, I cannot in any way, do something more than stabilize if I've already used healing word twice (per encounter). It's like getting over there, staunching the bleeding wound, and then giving them a nice pat on the head. There, there. It's fine. I can perhaps do a heal check next round and help you out, but for now, let's just sit in the path of utter destruction and hope for the best.

Urgh.

Halloween Prep

I want to be a million things! Argh!
And I have to pick just one (or two) so it'll be easier on the budget.

Items to consider:
1. Jem
2. Rainbow Brite (not a skanky version with cheap ass leg and arm warmers)
3. Sherlock (BBC)
4. Dalish elf from DA
5. ANY character from Dance Central

Still Alive

Though on a related note, I am not as averse to playing co-op on Portal 2 as I expected. I AM highly competitive for the praise of a non-existent electronic ragegod. So far, I have played Orange and receieved more praise/less insults than Blue, so I'll be damned if I change now. Also, I refuse to call the robots by their model/body names.

Back in the swing/saddle?

I'm getting better again about picking up my knitting. As soon as I finish these gloves, I PROMISE (you hear that, Universe?) not to let my eyes get ahead of my stomach again.
Still, not too shabby, and I got the pattern out of it, so there's always that.

Stupid Wednesday

Everything snuck up on me and I was doing so well at this whole "put the words in the box-thingy" deal!

But then a coworker died Tuesday night and I was at the front desk for about 9 hours instead of 4 and things went all diagonal from there.

Second post in a row! I am some kind of super-demon or something!

No, not really, but hey, since no one knows about this blog except one sister and one best friend, I'll risk a funny story for your amusement.

Once upon a time, two friends went to an adult-toy store and each made a modest purchase, fully backed by the support of the other. The friend in question here got a blue thingy, with a weird but subtle bulbous tip that made it quite honestly look like a stylized and catchy-bit-free version of a chess bishop.

SO: A million years later, this thing lies unused (after a frankly disappointing and noisy first and only attempt) and unloved in a sock drawer, while the friend wishes she'd got something that didn't sound like an egg beater or a cat toy in a coffee tin. One night, it is dark and stormy and she is tidying up the laundry, which lives on the floor, because she is lazy and secretly believes in house elves (or something. It's a good a reason as any). The house is empty at night now, and it's a little fun and a little spooky, and she is placing things in the cabinets and cupboards while all three shiftless layabouts lounge in varying degrees of feline boredom when an especially emphatic shove to fit more items into the finite space of the sock drawer cause the item to engage operation RATTLE THE BONES AND SHIVER THE TIMBERS!

In the span of a second three furry animals turn into WHIRLING CHERUBS OF TEETH, FEAR, AND CLAWS while this embarrassingly enthusiastic piece of shitty plastic and shame attempts to bore through the cheap wood paneling of the drawers and into hell. Sadly, nothing further happened. I located the item, removed the [still good?] batteries and finally was glad to have proof that the damn thing was too noisy and distracting and just about as subtle as the snap of an elbow-length rubber glove at high noon in a proctologists' office. It is gone now. All is well, and I'm glad.

Do you ever just want to flail your arms about until everything makes sense?

I want EVERYTHING these days it seems.

I want to make snazzy art, and maybe even post it on here. I want to KNIT ALL THE THINGS. I want a clean and organized house where ANYONE I like could count on a safe-haven. I want to be super badass, and be able to sweep your feet out from under you while catching a throwing star. I want to do a million flaming hula hoop tricks and join the circus. I want to be some kind of awesome consultant wherein my word and opinion is of the highest value. I want to be super fit, in case the zombies come (I'm actually working on this. At this point, I really ought to run either off a building, or into the hoard of zombies to save time and terror.). I want to be an excellent dancer, and impress everyone. I want to be stylish and have a zillion outfits that look great even though I just 'threw something together.' I want to be a teenager again so I could appreciate the connections and experiences I had and encourage young!me to fucking do ALL THE THINGS and make decent choices that will help current!me out now.

Also, while we're asking for impossible things, how about some wizardry, a million gajillion dollars, and the magical ability to explode minds with a glance while maintaining immunity from legal repercussions?

It's been so long

That I don't even remember what this looks like. Hopefully not terrible, though someday I'd love to actually organize things to my preference.

So I'm working, as usual, but also again. I've not lost my job, though some "restructuring" is making my asshole chafe like the dickens. (Ha! That's class! See how I didn't say "I'm really fucking irritated that these fuckers are fucking with my shit." Instead, I used "like the dickens" to fully represent my gentile nature. Also "asshole", because anus doesn't fully encompass the irritation I feel.)

I've also been working on a year long knit-along (KAL) for LSG, and am stuffing that into a monthly KAL-meets-competition in which I represent team Star trek. For one "challenge" I am knitting a nebula-inspired shawl. It's going, but not fast enough for my tastes.