yawn

 

listening to
Tom Petty
“…all the vampires walkin’ through the valley…

drinking
more tea
some anti-oxidant stuff someone gave me, tastes like crap

obsessed with
blueberry danishes
I feel like having one

 

 

needlepoint

Since we last convened here, I’ve finished the lid. It doesn’t look too bad, but the pearl-white design definitely loses a lot of its intricate niftyness when it blends into the lighter colors. It still does look pretty cool, though. Of course, my opinion is biased. I’d prefer to think I didn’t waste a lot of time on nothing.

All told, I used four shades of yellow, three shades of peacock blue, and one shade of blue-green. The design and the colors remind me of clouds in a sunny sky. Yes, I occasionally wax poetic. But, don’t tell anyone. They’d never believe you, anyway.

I have an idea on how to deal with the pearl blending into the other others. I went back to the craft store (the employees must think I’m setting up a secret camp in the embroidery aisle) and got some beading needles and a very, very fine gold metallic embroidery thread.

The gold cord is the thickness of a hair. I am not exaggerating. In order to sew with it, I bought some very thin beading needles. A regular needle would have done the job just as well, but since the canvas is already quite filled with stitches, the slimmer beading needle will be easier to use going between stitches. I am going to outline the pearl design with this super-fine gold thread. I considered using silver, but the silver would have been too pale. I tried my idea out on a tiny section and it looks fairly promising.

The gold cable looks like it will outline the design without overpowering the piece. It looks nice now, but I’m not sure if the outline will be bold enough. I’m going to do the outline in a single thread first, and, hopefully, it will look fine. It’s better to start out with less, since you can always add more later, but it is more difficult to take away the thread when you’ve used too much.

If the outline is not bold enough, I’ll have to outline it all — again.

Let’s hope for the sake of my sanity it doesn’t come to that.

Monday, October 15, 2007

grrr

Tonight was a night of ease. I took Aralia out to a nice dinner at our favorite crepe place. Our waitress told us it was her first day on the job, and we said no problem. She had an interesting approach to customer service. She…

1. Was rude and sarcastic.

2. Did not write down our orders.

3. Came back after she forgot what we ordered, and then wrote down our orders (while we watched to make sure she wrote the correct items down), which were IDENTICAL and then

4. Got our orders wrong anyway.

5. Did not apologize for getting our orders wrong.

6. Implied we should not be irritated at receiving incorrect orders because it was still food.

We bore all this with the patience of saints because we really, really like this restaurant, and generally, the service is excellent. In the end, we agreed that we would excuse her behaviour to an extent because no one told her…

7. Wait until after your first day to go to work stoned.

What is this graceful and mysterious work of art?

Why, the whipped cream on the crepe, of course!

Our lovely prosciutto panini, and a shot of half-and-half to wash it down…

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

RAR!

I was happily stitching away listening to my iPod when a Random Dude plunked himself down in the seat next to me. I was in a good mood, so I figured I’d be nice about this unwanted personal space invasion.

“Whatcha listenin’ to?” If I see someone with an iPod on, I generally think that they are not looking for conversation, they are looking to enjoy their music. But, I said I’d be less of an asshole.

“Metallica.”

“Oh. That’s weird.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. I figured you’d be listening to classical or something like that?”

“Oh, like easy-listening s—, eh?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Okay. Let’s not beat around the bush.”

“Huh?”

“You thought I’d be listening to classical music because I’m doing needlepoint. Because, you know, stitching seems like such a “classy” thing to do and I look like a nice, quiet Asian girl.”

“Um… Yeah.”

“It’s all right, stereotypes are what they are, and everyone gets them at one time or another. Some of us more than others.”

“Yes. I completely understand.”

“But you don’t want to hear all this social commentary, do you? You’d rather know why a timid Asian such as myself doing needlepoint would listen to Metallica, right?”

“Yeah!”

“Well, it’s because I have several disorders. I am obsessive-compulsive and I also have anger-management issues. I have a gambling problem. I suffer from binge-eating habits, but I have no problems maintaining my current weight. I like shooting guns. I’m also a fan of knives, and I like stabbing things, which is why I enjoy needlepoint so much. When I do needlepoint, I like to stab in time with the beat of Metallica songs. It helps my stitching efficiency. Enough of me, tell me about yourself?”

Random Guy got up and left.

Tonight was the start of another of my many pool leagues.

I had a new team, and I hadn’t met anyone on it yet. I was told by a friend to look for a “big white guy in a checkered shirt”. Okay, simple enough. I got to the bar, and there were no less than three big white guys in checkered shirts. Consternation. I think my same friend must have told my new team captain to look for little lost Asian girl with a pool cue, because one of the big checkered-shirted white guys came over and asked if I was looking for a pool team.

I played substandard pool (which is quickly becoming standard for me) and lost 5-2. And so begins my descent into the maelstrom. I am 01, after this first week of the season.

P.S. to Guys On The Other Team. I’m still mildly annoyed when you guys cheer every one of my misses, scratches, or f— ups, but I’m getting better about it with every passing day. I’m beginning to see that you all think I’m very special–why else would I warrant such an exclusive courtesy? Knowing this warms my cold, cold heart. One day, I’ll be over your childish shenanigans for good, and my game will ascend to a whole new level.

You all, on the other hand, will continue to suck.

Forever.

And that warms me even more.

🙂

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

At league tonight, My Opponent had ball-in-hand, and attempted to play a safe. I was pretty sure he did not catch a rail. I asked him and he insisted he caught not one, but two rails. Riiight. Let’s just say with the way and the speed he was playing the shot, he would have been good to get one rail. I was surprisingly NOT in a confrontational mood, so I said okay, that’s fine.

“Oh no, he did NOT get a rail.” This was a guy in a sailor shirt watching our match from the bar. I think he was my opponent’s teammate. Score one for honesty over friendship. I got down to shoot, and Sailor Dude said, “He didn’t get a rail. He fouled.”

I said, “Well, it’s my fault for not looking closer or calling someone to watch the shot, so, it’s okay, I’ll just shoot from here.” I made a nice two-rail kick and the safety battle continued.

My opponent eventually got ball-in-hand again, and tried the same shot, again. He did not get a rail, again. I was watching closer this time. I asked him, again, did he get a rail, and he got huffy and said of course he did, wasn’t I watching? I said I was watching and it didn’t seem like it hit a rail. He said, “Well, you have to be real close to watch a shot like that.”

Of course, if I was *that* close, he inevitably would have said I was sharking him. He’s one of those people. Everything and everybody sharks him. Whatever. I didn’t care. I was carrying out my new Tolerance For Idiocy campaign and trying to earn a spot in heaven. I got down to shoot.

“No, no, NO.” This was Sailor Dude again, waving his arms. “He fouled. He’s lying. You have ball-in-hand.”

At this point, my opponent said, “Is he your teammate?”

“No — I thought he was your teammate.”

Well, my opponent just about had a bout of conniptions at this point. He’s one of those super-anal players that can’t play unless conditions are perfect. Pretty soon, it was just a whole bunch of arguments all around. I’m not sure why I found this amusing. My opponent won, anyways, and he was still ticked off at everything and everybody, especially Sailor Dude. Sailor Dude was more slightly inebriated, and as some of you know, there’s no arguing with drunk people. Yet, my opponent continued to argue with him, and it was highly entertaining.

Afterwards, my opponent, who is a really, really anal crabby curmudgeon of a guy, tried to make light cocktail conversation with me.

Note to all Really, Really Anal Crabby Curmudgeon Guys Who Feel A Need To Cheat During League: nothing proves your guilt faster (to me, anyways) than when you try to be nice to the person you screwed over, especially when you have a reputation of standing aloof from the crowd, only occasionally deigning to speak to us, the regular riff-riff shooters who do NOT have a dazzlingly sparkly purple cue covered in holographic decals like you. And I have a reputation of not liking to discuss my losses, and everyone knows better than to approach me after such an incident — especially you.

If you are firm in the belief that you caught those rails, I’m happy for you, enjoy your victory and STFU.

Talking and explaining your shot too much = guilty conscience.

So STFU.

Anyhoo, my current standings after this evening: 115

 

2 Replies to “yawn”

  1. It’s surprising to actually be helped by a drunken bystander – I think it’s a sign…

    Depsite being nearly scared away from pool halls for good by your tales from across the water I went to Riley’s and played some 9 ball last week – thankfully it was empty except some crazy indoor traffic lights that kind of inanely flashed and blinded us every five minutes – why god, why?

  2. FFS I just spent ages writing an eloquent and witty comment about my 9 ball fun last week and my fucking pc crashed and wiped it.

    So now you have this instead.

    I hate Microsoft.

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