Love, love, love this photo from conf. dinner a couple of weeks back. It makes a shit-eating grin break out on my face just looking at it. Conference dinners are always a rip-roaring good time. I think it's just the epic group dynamics. Photo credit: TCO.
I love my peeps.
I also love my hair right now, it might be the only part of me I am a wee bit vain about. Little bit more length and it will be brilliant. (only then I'm sure I'll want it short all over again *sigh*).
So last-last week we had the conference of the-people-who-own-my-soul, and right before running out to the conf dinner (after a day of comedic errors, which I shall not get into in depth - but including the destruction of the pair of pants I was wearing and the required run to the shop for emergency-pants; Just. Don't. Ask) I threw myself down on my bed (had been running between conf and my fly room amongst all the errors) and stretched out an arm to scratch Logan under the chin. He enjoyed it for a few seconds then decreed it was dinner time and got up - and stretched. During the stretch, I got a flash of fleshy pink, I grabbed his scruff, probably none too gently, and ruffled through his fur - he had a massive gaping wound-hole on his chest. The skin was missing, about the size of my thumb nail, and the viscera was showing through, all pulsating-like.
I threw the window shut and slammed the door before he could escape and rang the vet. Luckily my vet is awesome and we popped in for a half 6 appointment. Turns out - they couldn't explain it. They even took photos for their own records. They think it could have happened in a fight - where some hulk-cat took a mouthful of flesh and fur from him, or he could have caught it on some sharp-bit while jumping over a fence or such like, or it could have been a ruptured abscess. The edges were a little healed, so he had had it for a wee while. But, the little bugger, he was completely unconcerned - his temp was normal, he was eating and drinking like normal, beating up Trouble like normal etc etc, no indication of anything being wrong with him at all.
So they shaved his chest (its ok, I like my boys with hairless chests - got Trouble's done last week) shoved a finger all up inside his gaping wound with cleaning fluid - through which he just chilled the fuck out, -obviously living with Trouble has made a trip to the vets seem like a kitten-holiday. He didn't even mind the shaver or the ahem, thermometer. The vet-nurse was a bit shocked. But my boys are awesome.
He was on antibiotics for a week and anti-inflammatory/pain meds for 4 days (not that he needed it, such a kiwi bloke) and the hole was closed 4 days later. That is some impressive shiznizzle.
I'll admit to a wee freak right after I hung up on the vet, of the cat-cancer-I-can't-cope-without-my-boys-don't-leave-me variety. But the mother and The Married One both dealt with my slightly hysterical texts with aplomb.
And - I still made it to the conf dinner that night. BooYah.
Not that it really matters - will be in the lab first thing to take dead counts like normal anyway.
I've been a zombie all week, in part due to Dros-induced-insanity, part due to tiredness, part due to thesis stress and in part due to my ovaries screaming out to me in their little hormone voices:
"Don't waste another egg SM! Why do you hate us so much?!"
Because the ovaries are the original home of passive aggressive emotional manipulation. Fuck you ovaries! Find your own man! Why do I have to do all the work for you?!
Yeah - so, in other news - last night I cleaned out a couple of shelves on one of my book cases, due to the whole encroaching moving-out thing, and threw four years of accumulated undergraduate lecture notes, exam scripts and assignments in the recycling bin (recycling of paper, not recycling cheating of undergrads!). You need to understand - I am a copious note taker. I am also a prodigious doodler and some of those suckers have become art - a precious record of a time and friends gone by.
So that was hard. (and I shall confess in a small voice, least Mum gets annoyed at the extra stuff to store, that I did save the most precious). And it was amusing to re-read some of the comments left by lecturers during my undergrad years, whom I now know quite well - hindsight eh?
Again in other news - today for lunch (end of the week, end of the fridge-mining capabilities) I had a caramelised onion scone scroll, which might just have been the most ugly-looking scone in the world - but it was, surprisingly, delicious.
Already slightly picked apart.
Shall re-create on Sunday and pop in the freezer for emergency lunch occasions in future.
And finally, because its home/dinner/I-miss-my-Trouble-time and we are going to see the newest Twilight movie tonight (I am anticipating the most awesome of hilariousness) I'll leave you with the fridge:
Mmmm ghost chips for dinner...
(Also, Sugarplum asked why the 'e' and 'x' were so close to each other, all the time - I'm sure you can guess the most frequent word The Authoress and I have up there, just from that).
My lovely mother and a family friend found/somehow acquired a bag of truly hideous Christmas-themed pompoms and decided to sneak them into a parcel for me at some stage.
I decided to utilise the awesomeness that is my craft suitcase:
Mod them up, and send them right on back. Conveniently enough, I had some ribbon, super glue and some polyester balls ( I say conveniently - but of course I had random shit lying about perfect for the task):
I figure they'll adorn either side of a doorway or some other- I don't mind too much, it got rid of some shit out of my jam packed craft suitcase!
And in other news, Trouble is getting in the Chrissie spirit (and is such a poser):
On second thought, I don't know if its 'Chrissie spirit' so much as 'my doggy soul is shrivelling and dying right now'...
And not including the diet making, dead counting, lay-turning and old adult emptying also done.
Home time?! Oh please let it be home time. (Its games night - The Married One's made stew, The Mini One raided the staff shop at work (Cadbury's) and I stocked up on fluffy fresh breads, then - Catan and Ticket to Ride, with no expectation for success since I can no longer, apparently, even type (that paragraph took three run-throughs for spelling)).
Its an annual tradition in the lab to go for a Day o' Fun at the end of the undergraduate year, since the minions honours students have usually left by the time the Chrissie party organises itself; it evolved as a way to say kaythanxbye.
This year, it was coffee and pastries followed by curling followed by lunch (followed by lab work).
The curling was excellent. Only ~1 of us had done it before, and while I was expecting it to be fun, it was so much more. Of course I think it greatly depends on the group of people, and the lab cannot go anywhere without great spirits and ensuing hilarity.
Brilliant good fun.
Of course about half of the group were inducted into the illustrious teacup club (bits-over-teacup, as it were), with TCO inducting herself about three times - one spectacular swan dive which involved bouncing her chin off the ice.
Conveniently enough, this occurred with photographic evidence:
And the resulting bruise:
My team won (final score of 3-7), through no short stroke of luck - and the sneaky Old One dropped a number to alter the final score in the photo - lies, I assure you.
So if you ever get a chance - go curling, but don't be all worried about winning, that shiz is hard.
Fun fact - each stone is worth something like $1400, I shit you not. Crazy huge investment.
The Crazy One threw two new CD's onto my desk last week, Florence's Ceremonials and Gin's Gravel & Wine. I mashed them together and had the playlist on repeat over the weekend. Friday I hated it - same old stuff from both, screechy angry women. By Sunday I was rocking out as I cleaned the bathroom and washed dishes. Probably won't last, but for now - its on repeat (see what I did there?! Yeah? Yeah!)
I have been exam supervising this past month and the Supervisor-In-Charge of my room is an avid quilter. I'm working on my second bed quilt - to send to the bigsib for homesickness in the UK, and then one for myself to take over and I definitely appreciate the skill and time/effort/passion involved.
Margaret won the Hoffman challenge a while back, this competition involves making a patchwork/quilted artwork from a specified meter of fabric. There are other rules - like it cannot be bigger than 1 meter square and cannot be either square or rectangular in shape.
This was her winning piece:
Photo credit: Margaret & Mike O'Cain
Completely sublime, and you cannot even see the epically detailed stitching in this piece from the photo.
The year after Margaret's submission was this:
Photo credit: Margaret & Mike O'Cain
This one is my favourite, and completely beautiful. I just love the colours and the elegance of the neck. You can't see but each wee piece of fabric in the tail is individually stitched on. I have seen the beginnings of her submission for this year and it is looking gorgeous already, sans stitching.
In other quilting news, this popped up in my feed last week, a quilted version of the Crab Nebula:
By Jimmy McBride and via. Worth about USD$12k (I shit you not) and available on Etsy.
Went to the Ballet on Saturday night with The Crazy One and an old family friend of hers who hooked us up with tickets (he son was Puss in Boots).
The ballet was Tchaikovsky'sThe Sleeping Beauty and it was lovely - absolutely gorgeous costuming and the set was fantabulous. The dancing was a bit repetitive at times and came across as a wee bit boring, though I hesitate to use the word, since if we were just watching the dancing it would have been a lovely portrayal of their skill, but in context of the story it was a bit...slow. Not my favourite, but not my least liked either. The Regent was packed full and the atmosphere was delightful - I love that people still dress up beautifully for a night at the theatre. The orchestra always gives me a spine tingle - there's nothing better than live music, its always a wee bit of a let down when the music is piped in. (not that happens too often, especially since I've been in the South Island. Perhaps Napier is just too small a draw for a full orchestra, all the time). Lovely night out with my homegirl at any rate, and the costumes...yeah.
And I must say - Prince Charming's butt was like a symphony in marble. Think Adonis statues of old, prancing about the stage in a costume sinfully painted on. (and I dare you to google image search 'marble adonis butt'. Go on, its not worse than the hot tub incident at any rate...)
In my 'house' at least - first of November - that's the rule.
So, at work I have a wee tree on the filing cabinet and a plethora of red and green LEDs around my desk - plus a wee fibre optic tree. Beautiful USB ridiculousness. Note the star made from pipette tips, a falcon tube and parafilm:
Those canes are about...4 years old
Lets not look too closely at the mess.
And at home my tree is resplendent in tinsel and glass ornaments. Makes life more exciting when you have a cat and a dog intent on catching everything hanging from it.
See the dinosaur shadow by Santa on the TV? Good times. Plus of course the TARDIS on Santa's other side.
Man, I love Chrissie lights and tinsel
The bigsib sent a wee parcel from the UK which arrived this week - it is perhaps the best advent calendar ever invented. It got a bit mixed up en route, but I can't wait for the first! (I hope the chocolates are in shapes...)
This week feels like it has been going on forever.
Supervised two exams on Monday and one Tuesday afternoon, and now I am all done with that - hopefully with enough extra cash to last the 'holiday' season, and then I'll be applying for jobs proper.
Its obviously going to be one of those days - and I seem to be having a disproportionate number of them lately. (but it will all be worth it in the end!... yeah). So I brought coffee on the way into work, long black 'cause apparently that's how I roll these days (when did that happen?!) and due to the supernova hotness I have been just breathing in the delicious coffee air off the top of the cup for the last ten minutes.
I seem to be in a 'type out the numerals mood'. Strange.
So the coffee is good, Alterbridge is blasting out my ear drums (who needs good ears when you have an audiologist for a bigsib?!) and I am in a writing mood. Which is lucky cause my needles still have not arrived and I am not due to turn my fly-kiddies till tonight. Writing it is.
We went to see 'In Time' last night, The Old One (heh) and Mister Married One and I - good stuff. JT is looking pretty fine these days. (Its probably his pretty eyes).
Gotta love a man who can rock a bow tie. Yum.
Massive parallels with The End Specialist, which I talked about a wee while back. Degradation of society as a result of people wanting to live forever. This concept was a bit different - 'time' is now money and the rich keep the poor dying off by raising the cost of living. After all - 'many must die for a few to live forever'. Of course JT is the hardened streetwise kid from the time ghetto who meets up with the time-rich pretty kid, they fall in love and try to save the world. Because you know, 'we were never meant to live forever'. And immortality is "not worth it if even one has to die".
What is this "meant"?
There is no mention of people going insane with old age, and the ones who get sick of it can simply 'time out' (fancy future slang for suicide), so if one can, what is this meant?! And there is no mention of GE to make everyone beautiful, yet the time-rich people all are. Did the GE-birth take care of all ills and deformities? The only way to die is by 'violent accident'?
Anyway - complete sidestep on the background scientific development. Apparently everyone is genetically engineered, no option, no alternative - you just pop out of your mother with a glowing green clock on your arm. At the age of 25 you stop ageing and your clock starts, and you have 1 year to make more time. I found it funny when the rich girl tells JT that she is 2 at 25 while he is 3 at 25 and they have a little moment - like it matters finding a partner close to your real age in an immortal world?! And everyone in the time ghettos live one day at a time and run everywhere - no time to spare walking.
Do you think I can put this and the earlier book in my thesis? So totally relevant...
Soooo cool - and cruel and probably gross after a day; see his tail all broken and down pointing?! My Trouble's only does that when he thinks he needs a treat else the world will end and/or he might be dying.
And you can't really dye a black poodle anyway... Oh well.
The little bastard was about 3 years old, I brought him when I brought my house - and now that my moving out is imminent (give or take a few months...I'm not in the mood for your nitpicking, all right?!!) he has left me...
...like everything else.
Ok, so I wish I was that melodramatic and theatrical, but I just can't pull it off with a straight face. Like sometimes I wish I was stupid, and some stupid man had fallen in love with me ('cause god knows I scare off all the intelligent ones - why? why can't such a big world produce one person to love me?! Am I such a horrific person? Why?!! *falls to the floor weeping bitter tears of a broken heart*) and we grew old together with a hundred kids, ignorant but blissfully happy. And then I could be the type of woman who doesn't need to think for herself or worry about who to vote for in the next election or worry about the state and future of our country, or writing a thesis, or having a career, or caring about equality and sexism and racist factions of society. The type of person who can get in a bad mood and throw her phone at the wall or go on a bender and trash a room or turn up to work drunk and get away with it all, and still end up blissfully ignorant and happy.
But I'm not. Sensible, reliable and 'common sense' seem to be hard wired into my psyche. I blame my ever practical parents.
So - back to the fish. Every time I put a new fish in the bowl to be his friend - they died. I like to think Fugs ('cause he was f*ck ugly) was a killer-badass-fish-of-doom, but more likely he was just a loner who had built up resistance to my bowl cleaning and fish-feeding habits.
...but not by choice.
Ok, ok, I'll stop. Couldn't help myself.
But now I walk down my hall and look at the bowl (still full of water and fishy things) and feel sad. I know I'm displacing thesis-zombie-stress onto anything and everything around me, but that doesn't automagically make the stupid feelings go away - you just intelligently recognise how stupid you are being, which takes away any satisfaction from acting stupid.
Just found out my uncle passed from cancer at 4am this morning.
I love dandelion clocks and am always tempted to let the weeds grow in my 'garden' so that I might delight in such youthful joy - but this, this is amazing:
I want to lie on my back in the middle and dream
"Regine Ramseier's "Windstille" installation involved hundreds (thousands?) of fluffy dandelions, sprayed with fixative and hung from the ceiling of a tall, narrow white room. The result is both exuberant and calming, a kind of preserved fragile moment poised on the line between stillness and motion"
The Old One (hugs!) and I went to see Fright Night on all Hallows Eve and ended up being the only two in the theatre - which worked out perfectly since were were anything but quiet.
Brilliant movie, loved it.
Firstly - one of my most favourite actors; My Doctor:
Who was absolutely superb, as usual.
And every bodies favourite delicious badboy:
I'll give you a minute to collect yourself. (and admit to TOO and I yelling at the screen "take your damn shirt off!" one too many times). And we all know I have an unnatural (but totally cool) fascination with vampire lore.
The wee squick of teen romance was revolting (I'm so anti that shit at the moment) but the entire movie was hilarious, and Toni Collette was the Mum - come a long way since Muriel (1994?! Holy shit!). Several good frights, though I find it hard to jump when I'm belly laughing and the both of us are yelling "He's already downstairs! He's right there! There! Take his shirt off!".
3D and worth it for about 3 scenes, otherwise, as usual - 3D not worth the ridiculous twenty dollars.
Ahhhhhhh, escapism is my friend (you know who I wish was my friend? Colin. In case you didn't pick that up already. You know - for the benefits of friendship. Yum.)