HOW HAVE I BECOME THE BAD GUY?

When did this happen?! What did I do wrong?

...fuck, man.

Snow Boarding

So today I went up into the mountains for my first ever in my whole life (minus that one time I was abandoned at bible camp) snowboarding lesson!

I don't know if this will come as any surprise, but I'm dang near impossible to teach. I frustrate easily, I'm way to hard on myself, and I inadvertantly tend to focus all of this pent up anger in streams of profanity aimed directly at my teacher. But man oh man that Man-o-mine stuck by me (to yell back "CALM THE FUCK DOWN"). And this is why I love him. Among other reasons, of course.

So, anyway, after a fairly unsuccessful run in "the medow" by my standards but I guess decent enough for a first timer, Erik and I went up a much higher chair lift. God that was pretty. I want to master this dang board just to take all the various lifts and peer out over the green and white. And despite the occasional GOD DAMMIT on the way down, I actually got to going pretty well. Had quite a few longer runs in which I came to a controlled fall, rather than a torso twisting tumble down slope. Unfortunately, I was only comfortable doing this on my toes because I've never quite mastered the ability to walk flat footed. So we came to a much flatter portion at the base, I slowed down, the back of my board caught the ice and I flew backwards what felt like about twenty feet, but I probably only left the ground five inches and landed square on my hip and the back of my head. I cried. It fucking hurt. And I cried. That mountain has tasted my tears.

I want revenge.

So I have vowed to get astonishingly good at the snowboard and kick that mountain's ass. It may take all season. Hell it will probably take all 8 and a half, but I shall not rest until I take the run up to the top and have a victory beer while stairing across the valley at Mt. Rainier as my equal. I vow to do this just as soon as I am able to walk across the living room without wincing, and there is a good amount of powder up there to pad my next few falls.

Oh yes, and I had fun.

Worst days

they are the worst...

Today I was so thankful for the Drop that I made horrible piercing screams at the top of my lungs while driving! And felt so much better afterwards. Because I'm not actually allowed (as one of the Fresh Young Faces of Half Price Books!) to make horrible piercing screams at the customers who piss me off.

And now I'm looking forward to calling the cops on Indian DVD lady and personally handing her a form telling her that she is no longer welcome in any of our stores. I don't think I've ever been in this light of spirits after an absolute shit day before. There really is something to this screaming thing. I hope she protests and the cops beat the shit out of her!


In other news I've begun outlining a possible collection of scary fairy tales that I really hope I can get to fit together right, and my sweater is 1/4 finished. That doesn't sound like much, but those stitches are so teensy that I have to count it as an EPIC VICTORY or I'll be disheartened and give up completely.

The saga continues...

Story club is on Wednesday, and each day I come to work, I get more material. The only question is, will my attempted altruism (attempted because I cannot actually find it in my heart to think the best of absolutely everyone, much as I try) interfere with the subject at hand? Especially when this subject makes bad half jokes and comes up with lame excuses even when there's nothing to be excused? Oh dear. I suppose we'll just have to wait and see.

In unrelated news the sweater that I worked on all last weekend turned out to be worked on the incorrect needles, and I have to scrap the entire beautiful thing. Knitting is not as forgiving as sewing. After a night of epic dissapointment and counting the waisted hours, I've decided to get back on the horse or I'll be too fearful to ever try a sweater again. Also, it's practically war by this point. Give me a pretty gray striped sweater or give me death!

Phone call shmone call

"Hello, thank you for calling Half Price Books Tacoma, how may I help you?"
"Yeah, do you guys do vaccinations there?"
"No... this is a bookstore."

Sometimes I cannot explain my job.






In other news I got an angry Batman for Christmas. He's SO ANGRY. I want to take pictures and make him say horrible things to Robin.

My latest sewing victory:

I made a horrible plush of The Warden from Superjail.

I used Shrinky Dinks for the glasses, even though Erik was certain I was making it up and there is no such thing as Shrinky Dinks. My mom knew what they were.

This shot better shows off his suit. I was very proud of being able to sew a coat with tails from the memory of what my choir teacher's looked like. Not like I was constantly admiring his backside, or anything.

And as for proof that he's supposed to look terrible, this is a shot from the show:

The Great Storm...

I'm as snowed in as one can be in Washington, last night I made shortbread cookies shaped like gingerbread men and snow flakes, and I've got a full pot of coffee. Blizzards aint so bad. I just wish Erik were here instead of attempting to deliver papers. I swear he'd have better luck on a snowbord.



Also last night I found the most amazing christmas story ever, courtasy of some girl named Lindsay:


Every whore down in New York liked christmas alot,
But Rorschach, who lived in a rundown apartment,
Did Not!

Rorshach Hated Christmas, the whole Christmas season!
Now, please don't ask why, no one quite knows the reason.
It could be that his fedora wasn't screwed on quite right.
It could be, perhaps, that his trench was too tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all,
may have been that his heart was two sizes too small.
But whatever the reason,
his heart or his trench,
he stood there on Christmas Eve, emitting a stench,
staring down from his window with a sour blotted frown
at the coked out pimp with a drug deal going down.
For he knew every New Yorker in the city below
would shout up to him "Save us!"
and he'd whisper "no."