Photos More Unflattering Than The Ones I Take of Rachel; Also, The Endless Supply of Math Department Hijinks

Just when I had eaten the last of the Honey Nut Cheerios and was between Netflix acquisitions and life was more unbloggable that usual, I stumbled on this treasure trove of photographic gems! There's at least three browsable hours worth of semi-hideous polaroids from the 50s through 70s in here! Boredom effectively ended.

No, really, I manage to stay pretty busy. I mean, in addition to being a full-time student, I have that job grading math tests, which is really less of a job and more a thrilling hobby comparable to spelunking, kayaking, and of course, crocheting. I really can't even begin to list the hilarious cuts-ups and characters I meet in the Math Department. Ok, granted, no one in the Math Department really looks me in the eye or has done anything to give me the idea that they've made any kind of human interaction in their lifetimes. But I think after 3 to 5 years of constant cajoling (and possibly some icebreaker games/intense therapy) that their inner boisterousness and sense of humor will slowly reveal itself, maybe in the form of a head-nod or an audible sigh. When it does, I'll be ready.

Sometimes My Life Just Gets So Exciting That I Nearly Puke

My social life in Santa Cruz has slowed to a crawl, but good news: the pie season is upon us. No time like the present to hop a train up to Sactown and try some of mom's heavily sugared varietals. Now, dear reader, it should be noted that I did not indeed "hop" the train; that was just a figure of speech. I do not condone such flagrant disregard of train safety. I boarded the train cautiously and legally, and even volunteered to wear a life vest although Amtrak staff deemed this practice to be both very unnecessary and grossly unappealing. The woman sitting next to me asked the conductor if she could move, as the life vest, inflated to full capacity, was "encroaching on her space" and "should have purchased a ticket if it wanted its own seat." "Safety first," I said, sneering at her as she pouted. Some people have no class.

Once my tum was properly pie-filled, I decided to call up Rach and see what she's been doing. Apparently she's been doing a whole lotta nothing, but we did go to the local fake British bar, The Bonn Lair, wherein we participated in an impromptu "light rock" trivia contest. Drunken thirty-something age single men sure are impressed with our 80s hits knowledge, it seems. Today Rach gave me a much needed home haircut in her backyard while her parents looked on with suspicion and perhaps even anger. Now I'm ready to go back to S.C. and really razzle-dazzle those fellow math majors.


I know. I already regret using "razzle-dazzle."

Lulu: I'm A Patron No More

Out of Earl Grey? What the hell?! What a crude misrepresentation of a coffee house you are, Lulu's! Another morning ruined when my unusually commonplace expectations for tea have failed to be met.

Once your rage (and mine) subsides, direct your attention to this lady's blog, as she strives to make every recipe in The Joy of Cooking. I do enjoy cooking from time to time, particularly baking, as autumnal fruits (persimmons! pumpkins!apples!) are practically screaming at me to render them into seasonal sugar snacks. "Shut up shut up shutup!" I sometimes scream back. Mostly, though, you'll find me spooning the contents of a Trader Joe's brand boxed Indian Assortment onto some white rice, chuckling softly to myself over my latest netflix selection. Oh W.C. Fields, you are so drunk!

1970s Pornography and Its Corrupting Influence on The World of Crafts

In my unwavering search for interesting and inspirational craft sites, I happened upon this reprehensible take on embroidery. Is nothing sacred? I mean, it's embroidery, for crying out loud!

Where's This Place Called Lonely Street?

Well, Rachel has flown the coop to Sacramento as it were, taking her Hall and Oates records with her and leaving behind a trail of chatchkies and tears. I know she'll have to come back to Santa Cruz eventually for her Garfield mugs and her copy of Joy of Cooking that she can't even make a salad without, but in the meantime I'm kinda lonely. The pictures that follow are from our farewell driving adventure to beautiful Watsonville, California. We also stopped in Corralitos to go to pig out on sausage, and before you even suggest something, no, I was not speaking figuratively!




Here I am taking pictures, enjoying myself as I typically do-- with fun-loving flare!


Please note that I crocheted that blue scarf myself using thrifted yarn (I love a good bargain). Look how it enhances my natural beauty, as I am making my "Parisian Coquette" face.

Uncanny!

What do you get when you type my name into google? It could be purely coincidental, but judging by her use of my patented Quiet Scorn Face, I reckon this old gal is a bona fide relative. I wish I could get my hands on this trading card of her and, oh, I don't know, glue it onto a paper doily. That would be a pretty classy affair.

Dwindling Friend Supply

So, Cassie has moved to New York to do what the New Yorkers do-- eat excellent cheese, and possibly get famous-- so that means my friend count is down by nearly 40%. These pictures are from our recent farewell. We're at our favorite "french" bakery, a place that might as well be called Bourgeoisie's but is in fact called Kelly's. It is there that Cassie and I used to chat for hours amidst the aging hippies, pregnant yuppies, and delicious pastries. Sadly, this is no more. I'm trying to just pour my heart (and more importantly, some sauces and jams) into my canning hobby, but I can't help but feel a little blue. I guess I can start courting my friendship with Rach with new ferocity.

She took this picture of me as we were enjoying luncheon at the Indian Food Buffet.
I bet you are thinking that the Indian Buffet is not conducive to romance. I bet you think that a visit to the Indian buffet is only good for inducing hours of painful gas. Gentle Reader, you are partially correct, but despite my intestinal rumblings, I can still muster a twinkle in my eye!
And once the twinkle subsides, pictured here is the exact moment of painful gas onset.