Fan-Tas-Tic

Things I've Learned from Loading the Dishwasher

2009-06-18T15:53:00.000-07:00

As the title suggests. This needs no further explanation. It's up to you to decide which of these are taken from actual instances.

-I do not have six fingers.

-You probably shouldn't shove the pointy end of a fork into your cuticle.

-Many things obey the laws of gravity. Ceramic mugs happen to be some of these things.

-I probably shouldn't be allowed to load or unload the ceramic mugs we have with pictures of paintings on them. Two or three have fallen casualty to my lack of dexterity already. (Yeah, I get a horrible initiative bonus, too.)

-If you drop something breakable and then walk on the shards, it might hurt your feet.

-Before you apply bandages to wounds caused by pointy glass pieces, remove the pointy glass pieces.

-Same goes for toothpicks.

-Sometimes if you start writing about dishwashers, you end up writing about toothpicks.

-Things that come out of the recently-clean dishwasher are HOT. Don't grab them without knowing this, especially if they're really heavy and you have no apparent place to put them.

-If you wash your hands with soap before loading or unloading the dishwasher, you should rinse and dry them before handling dishes (especially ceramic mugs).

-If you try hard enough, you can learn way too many things from loading the dishwasher.

-If you're holding something heavy and awkwardly shaped you've just taken from the dishwasher, check the floor for cats before you carry it over to the cupboard so you don't have to do that interesting cat-avoidance leap that could easily be mistaken for a form of interpretive dance.

-If the steam gets too far up your nose, it hits your brain and eventually you start blogging about things you've learned while loading the dishwasher.

-Marmite.

Dungeon-Trotters: Adventures in D&D

2009-06-17T11:16:00.000-07:00

All right. First off you should know this: my entire family plays Dungeons & Dragons, and has done for some time now. There are two (sometimes three) other families we play with, and every so often we'll get together, start a game at noon and go until two in the morning or so while stuffing ourselves with snacks and coffee. Ah, those wonderful nights. Looking forward to our next session already.

Anyway, we've had loads of fun doing it so far. And an added bonus: it can get really entertaining. (It might have been the coffee and the fact it was two in the morning...but anyway...it's fun.) Here are some quotes I've collected over our past few games from the Dungeon Master and some of the players. Some of these may involve Mrs H as she plays with us too.

DM: -looking through rulebook- "Knowledge starts with a K, doesn't it?"

Mum, to my sister: "Kendra, do you have a listening skill?"
Kendra: "What?"

DM: "Yeah, listen to the guy -wearing- the number 13..." (referring to my father's sports jersey)
Father: "I've got a +2 modifier."

DM: "It's a giant stone staircase. There's no obvious way to destroy it."

DM: "You don't smell anything. You don't see anything. Mostly because you're holding your breath and averting your eyes."

DM: "You remove the tattered red dress. You smash the skeleton to little bitty bits. You don't find the opal." (Part of a hunt for a special gem we were looking for. Someone was undressing a skeleton. A fragile skeleton, apparently.)

Kendra: "I have an organic kobold head."

NPC: "No! She's my sister!" (referring to the woman we'd just been attacked by and had paralysed with Mrs H's wand of paralysation)
Half the players (in unison): "WHAT!?"

That's it for now -- hopefully you understood at least part of that, and hopefully you found at least a bit of it entertaining. Yes, it's true that D&D players do ramble on about their adventures. At least I do.

Wednesday Eve

2009-06-09T15:52:00.000-07:00

Wednesday is probably my favourite day of the week. Why? For the simple reason that we are gloriously free of all responsibility all - day - long.

That means an entire day of utter random insanity and a lot of fun. Webkinz and RuneScape are just two of the things we're able to do for hours, and the list goes on and on. Usually we have some sort of baking project in the oven, and everyone feels creative. Unfortunately, I usually spend too much time playing RuneScape to actually create anything.

And then there are the Bookstore Wednesdays: get up and eat breakfast, then go to the bookstore, browse around, laugh at the lamer children's books and on the way home - coffee. Sometimes. Then more coffee when we get home. (Unfortunately, our coffee-making abilities have been reduced by about 60% as of last Monday - see previous post. We still find a way.)

Wednesday is also a day for utter brutal combat in the Great Desktop War between us and Mum, taking place on many of the computers throughout our house. I'm hoping one of these days I'll change her computer background to something she just can't replace. Hoping.

Speaking of which, I've been utterly geeked up about the RSC's Hamlet film they're doing with last fall's cast (to include my favourite David Tennant and my favourite Patrick Stewart in the world [that I know of].) And I've been excited about that since, um, yesterday afternoon. Seems like longer.

If I were exciting, I'd have something exciting to put up, but nothing has happened out of the ordinary - for us - yet. But tomorrow is Wednesday, and that's sure to be a whole different story...

It's A Disaster, Part 43

2009-06-04T10:00:00.000-07:00

First things first. If you don't already read this blog, you should do. It's quite funny and contains the ramblings of someone who may or may not be my aunt. I shall refer to her as Mrs H for ease of typing and to keep you in the dark about whether or not we're related.

And now the really good bits - what you've all come here to see - the part about sense and sensibility and soapmaking disasters.

Last Monday started like any other normal Monday at our house, which basically means that after Mum stomped on the kitchen floor to wake me up and I ran up from the basement wondering if the house was on fire, we had a delicious breakfast of biscuits and tea and other unconventional things before the phone rang and the birds started screaming while I wondered if I had anything due at the library as I ran upstairs to brush my teeth and stick my favourite torturous rubber band into my mouth.

Mum got off the phone and informed us that Mrs H was coming over to make soap with her for the first time ever. That'll be exciting, I thought, and wondered what would go wrong.

Whatever I might have come up with, it was absolutely nowhere near anything that actually happened. What follows is the story of two women and a creative and clever Ashira who thinks anything is fair game to blog about, especially anything I do with my mum and Mrs H.

NOTE: If you're someone who is about to attempt soapmaking for the first time ever, please read this version: We melted the oils and lye together and added pretty smells and poured it into a mold and then we had coffee. The end.

If you are an accomplished soapmaker who wants to be immensely entertained by the true-to-life version of the tale, read on.

--Note: I have not made any of this up. If you don't think it's all possible, you probably don't know us. Actually, some of the dialogue here is just narrative, but all the funny bits are more or less true.--

"First you mix the olive, palm, and coconut oils," Mum said as she weighed the oils and poured them into the massive cauldron that is her soapmaking vat. They didn't catch fire. I looked on in proud admiration of my mother's oil-pouring skills.

"Now we fill this massive bowl with ice and stick this jar in," Mum continued, and did so, emptying half of the ice tray in the process. I grabbed a few wayward chunks and tossed them back into the bowl.

"Now we add the lye crystals to some water." All three of us donned the most attractive safety goggles in the history of the earth and giant brightly coloured safety gloves. Mrs H and I looked on in admiration of my mother's lye-pouring skills and did not die in a horrible caustic incident even once.

The oils got warmer and the smouldering lye jar got cooler. Eventually they were similar in temperature enough to pour together, and my mother did so with great skill. She removed the pot from the stove and got out a handheld mixer.

BRRRRRRRRRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWR went the mixer, and the soap-in-progress got mysteriously thick and yellow.

Eventually it was the consistency of pudding, and even though I wanted to eat it I didn't take the chance, but it did make me hungry. Mum poured some yummy smells into the pudding-soap and gently restrained me from trying to lick the edges of the pot.

Then the time came to pour the soap into giant PVC tubes. There was a hole in the bottom of the tube cap because last time we made soap we had to drill it in there to release the vacuum. Mum covered the hole with freezer paper and poured the soap.

At the same time, by some odd coincidence, a puddle of stuff that looked remarkably like pudding began growing on the floor underneath the tube. I was just beginning to wonder about the exact odds of this happening when it hit me: that was the soap. I acknowledged the fact rather loudly and suddenly and everyone looked down.

We stood there in shocked silence for a moment and then Mum moved the tube and scooped up the pudding with a red spatula.

"Why," she wondered out loud, "did it do that?"

We took off the bottom of the tube and looked at the freezer paper. It was remarkably intact. We could have entered it in a dog show had it more resembled an actual member of the canine family.

"There's no hole," I said.

"There's no hole," Mum said.

"There's no hole," Mrs H said and we looked at the paper for a while.

"Right then," said Mum; "we'll have to put a different cap on the other end and try again."

She prepared a second cap, stuck the tube into it, and sprayed Mrs H with a lot of caustic yellow pudding. We took off the top cap. The soap stayed where it had been instead of falling to the new bottom of the tube. Mum poked her trusty red spatula into the soap goo and I was just wondering if she was going to drop it into the tube when the pudding went SCHLORP and fell spectacularly into the bottom of the tube.

We laughed about it for a while and then Mum put a cap on the top of the tube and wrapped it in a lot of towels to keep it warm before sticking it in the Soap Corner.

"Now," she said, possibly quite dramatically - you can read it that way if you so wish - "it's your turn." She turned to Mrs H.

Dramatic music may or may not have played in the background.

"First I fill the bowl with ice?" Mrs H picked up the massive bowl and, after receiving a nod from Mum, began filling it with ice and plopped in the jar.

She set the bowl on the table and asked me if I wanted to make some coffee for all of us. I gladly accepted and ground up some beans.

"I brought some beans," she said just after I'd finished, and I ground those up too. We have two coffee presses, so I put some beans into each and said we could compare the two types of coffee. I threw some water in the microwave. Actually, I filled a glass pitcher with water and put it in the microwave. Then I turned the microwave on and walked back to the soapy fun.

By now they were measuring out olive and palm and coconut oil. They put them into the pot and didn't turn on the stove, but that was intentional.

"Now I measure out these caustic crystals," Mrs H said and grabbed the bottle of crystals with less caution than was probably advised by most people more cautious than her.

She poured the crystals into the red cup and poured that into the glass jar of water. We all oohed and aahed and watched the water heat up and smoke. Mrs H stuck a thermometer into the jar.
Now the coffee-water was hot enough to use, and the microwave let us know that rather suddenly and I hurried to take out the pitcher. I filled the small coffee press and then the large one, found the lids, and put them on. I set a timer for five minutes to let the coffee brew while I watched the soap process.

Five minutes later, the oils were heating up and the lye was cooling down. The timer rang, and after turning it off I pressed down the filter on the small coffee press. Moving to the large one, I pushed it halfway down and stopped.

I wouldn't have stopped had the press not suddenly exploded before my eyes in a spectacular display of a caffeinated version of Niagara Falls, which I have never seen personally but understand is rather like a large waterfall.

Mrs H's coffee-crazed Bichon Frise hurried up to the coffeefall and attempted to lick it up before she was pulled away. I stared at the coffee press for a while and wondered why it had suddenly exploded into three separate pieces. So did Mum and Mrs H.

I started laughing a bit nervously and got a towel. Tossing it onto what must have been the nineteenth Great Lake, I loudly and profusely claimed innocence as to what had just happened. Then we cleaned up the mess and went back to soapmaking. After pouring out cups of coffee from the small and functional press, I went over to see how the lye was doing.

Then I was distracted: someone brought in a catalog we'd just received. It had scrapbooking things in it, and that reminded Mum of a film she'd just seen, so she told Mrs H about it.
"It was good," she said, "but it made people from here seem stupid. And it made fun of scrapbooking."

We both expressed our distaste before immediately switching to a humourous and possibly slightly offensive rendition of a New York accent for some reason.

"Lara," I said, attempting to mimic Alex West from Tomb Raider, "I said fwoaty paunds a cwoaffee beens. And ya put in therty-nain. Ya fiard, Lara."

This display of extreme randomness is the kind of thing we say every day for some reason. Don't ask why. It just is.

Then Mum asked Mrs H how the lye was doing in matters of temperature, and she checked the thermometer and gave us a number. A few seconds later she gave us a different number.
The temperate kept going down.

"It's dropping," she announced, and Mum went over to see.

"That's not possible! Look how fast it's going down," she gasped. I stood on in proud admiration of her ability to talk while gasping - for some reason, people in books often do this as well.
I came over to see just as Mrs H was lifting the suddenly empty glass jar out of the bowl.
And all three of us stared in utter dramatic disbelief.

"WHAT." This was the first thing out of my mouth, and it had a period instead of a question mark because I was just that shocked.

I still remember the look on Mrs H's face as she asked almost indignantly - "Where did it GO!?"
We were quiet for a moment. Then we broke out simultaneously in cramp-inducing laughter.
"The JAR," I managed to squeal. "The bottom fell out!"

We laughed for a while more and then Mum picked up the bowl and poured the slightly caustic lye-water-ice into the kitchen sink, carefully on the lookout for the bottom of the jar.
"Where's the bottom?" she asked, and eventually she found it lurking beneath all the water. It did not actually fall into the sink and go down the drain. (I think I may have been applauding about that.)

Take TWO. Mum got more ice out of the nearly-empty ice tray and got another jar. Mrs H picked up the jar, set it on the scale, and poured in some water.

A large miniature waterfall erupted over the countertop.

"Wrong jar," we realised at the same time.

Sigh. Take off the jar, fill the water pitcher, put jar on scale.

VWOOOOSH. Another waterfall.

Mum picked up the bottomless jar and chucked it in the bin. Pick up JAR WITH BOTTOM, put jar on scale.

Finally we managed to get some water into the jar. Put jar in bowl, tip in lye crystals.
Somehow the soap was finally finished - surprisingly, nothing caught on fire. As far as we know.

I don't think anything else too horrible happened after that, and now the soap is happily curing in massive PVC tubes (with solid caps on the bottom) in the Soap Corner.

All's well that ends well. Unless you manage to burn out your eyes with lye in the process, in which case you won't be reading this so it probably doesn't apply here.

Update Fail

2009-03-20T14:10:00.001-07:00

Hee hee! My last post was almost two months ago. This truly is an Updating Fail.

While I sit here and try to think of things to write about (and failing miserably at such) I'm also wondering about the gullibility of Blogger's profile interface. I'm assuming they wanted actual information, right? For my profile, right?

Blogger thinks I'm 903 and live in Killileagh Manor in Gallifrey. Yes, it was too hard to resist. But seriously. They could at least have gone 'that's not a valid town' and I'd have been all 'your face isn't a valid town'. They could have been 'you shouldn't be 903 and still capable of typing' and I'd have said...something, something witty. Can't think what.

As a side note, you can set your Google page to display everything in Klingon. Try it, it's rather entertaining.

It's the first day of spring now, although it doesn't feel like it. It was below freezing all day, I think. And we have no leaves yet. NO LEAVES. Usually I think we have leaves sometime around now. I think. And the second quarter is fast approaching. It's March, confusingly enough. It should be early February, but time has accelerated or something.

Depressingly enough, the computer I had most of my videogame stuff on decided to puke its guts out and explode in an enormous ball of flame. (Actually, it didn't explode. Pity; a nice firecracker show would have made me feel rather better about all this.) And now all my virtual zoos are dead, which is rather depressing.

Um...today...we...went to the library, and we had curry. I can't think of anything else to write about. Hee hee. I should do something exciting soon.

Indoctorinated

2009-01-28T21:25:00.000-08:00

Saturday 24 January 2009: Christopher Eccleston becomes my First Doctor (this is one of the geek milestones you might hear about).

Somehow the planets in our solar system sort of aligned and fate twisted and we managed to get our hands on a set of Doctor Who DVDs from a really huge library that lives about twenty minutes from our house. They have loads of videos and computer games and audiobooks and these really nifty devices called Playaways that they have 800+ of and won't let us put holds on any of. (Serious. Dead cold flat hard serious.) Playaways are kind of like books that you plug headphones into and listen to. Except smaller.

This is where I deleted about two feet of run-on sentences and massive paragraphs and utter lack of attention to any one subject most of the time. I didn't want to get arrested by the InterRelevance police.

We managed to tear through the above-mentioned DVD set in, um, five days. Actually I think it was four. We might have watched something else one night. At any rate, we're out for a day. Friday we're going to the Massive Library to (hopefully) pick up the next set or two or five. Thursday will be rough. But that probably pales in comparison to my First Regeneration Experience. Gosh, I think I depressed myself just there. Time to stop.

(Ooh, and if you're reading this you could go and poke my mum just a bit and ask her to keep updating her blog. Maybe bribe her with Nutella or something.)

Can you say "parentheses abuse"? Heehee.

Oh. And I always worry that I'm not making sense to anyone reading this. But then I realise...if you're reading this, you probably already know me. Actually, you probably live in my house. But at least this makes more sense than, um...can't think of anything. 'Bye.

A Story with a Moral

2008-12-19T20:24:00.001-08:00

Once upon a time there was a man named Harry. He was not particularly attractive nor particularly unattractive. Harry was very thin; however, this fact has absolutely nothing to do with the storyline and (no matter what you may think) will not become critically important later on.

Harry lived alone in his house except for a spider who lived in a corner of his kitchen. But most of this story will not take place in Harry's house, and the spider will not make an appearance either.

What is really important was that Harry loved to read books. And he loved to shop for books. So one day he decided to go to the bookstore (although this was something he did nearly once a week) and get some books. He discussed the idea over a cup of tea with his friend the spider (you really believed me, didn't you? when I said he wouldn't be appearing in this story), and they agreed that he should leave the house and get some fresh air.

So as the first few snowflakes of a large snowstorm began to fall, Harry walked out of his house and headed toward the bookstore. Harry had no car. This fact will not be important to any part of the storyline, so you can forget I said that.

When Harry had finally reached the bookstore, he went inside and picked up the first thing he saw, which happened to be a giant hardcover book with eight hundred and fifty-four pages. It was stained, and the pages were tattered and torn. But it looked interesting, and he took it up to the checkout to buy it. The cashier told him he could have it for free, so he took it outside and began to read it while sitting on a bench in the snow.

"Once upon a time," it began, "there was a little boy named Fredrick. He lived with his family..." The book continued on in excruciating detail of every character and setting mentioned in the book. Harry no longer wondered how it could be eight hundred and fifty-four pages long. It was an odd book. But he kept reading it.

Some time around page three hundred and twenty-two, the book finished its description of little Fredrick and his family, and Harry now knew more than he could ever, ever, ever have wanted to know about them. A plot emerged from the murky depths of hundreds of pages of description and swam unsteadily downstream as the story progressed. Finally Harry reached the halfway mark, and wondered how anyone had ever managed to get this published. But as he had nothing better to do at the moment, he continued reading it.

The plot finally fell underwater and drowned. Its ghost flickered in from time to time, but mostly remained hidden. Harry learned about Fredrick's friend Morris who lived in an ice-cream truck. He learned about Morris for sixty-seven pages. By now Harry was almost crying with boredom, but he pressed bravely on, thinking that surely there must be something in the book to make reading it worthwhile.

The next three hundred and fifty-nine pages, however, revealed nothing of even a glimmer of hope for any sort of proper storyline or ending. As Harry read the last page, he nearly screamed. The book had no ending. It broke off in the middle of a piece of dialogue.

Harry stood up and stretched his legs.

At that point a large clump of snow detached itself from the roof, landed on his neck and melted smugly down his back.

"Well that was dumb," said Harry. "I don't know why I even-"

The end.

The moral of this story is: don't read long, boring stories with no real point to them.

Geeks in an Art Museum

2008-10-25T20:24:00.001-07:00

We went to an art museum with some friends on Friday and it was really nice. There was hardly anyone there to stand between us and the paintings and we stayed for at least five hours.

The really awesome part is that they have ~~turbolifts~~ elevators. You can see where this is going because if you're reading my blog you probably know me.

Me: LET'S GO IN THE TURBOLIFT :D
-everyone gets in the elevator-
Me: Can I press the button pleeeeasssee?
Mum: Yes.
Me: -hits 2 button- DECK TWO. :D
-points to button labeled B- B is for Bridge.
-family agrees-

Yes, I like embarrassing the people around me and making them wonder if I'm crazy. I may be crazy but I'm also just a geek.

How sad that most of my post is about elevators with a slight reference to an art museum.

Fell off the blogging wagon

2008-10-19T20:27:00.000-07:00

and got run over by the horses pulling the one behind me.

My last post was sometime in July? Ugh, I'm awful at this. I need to get some proper content up here that's not just filler. And do some poetry clean-up. Please excuse the randomness that I passed for poetry before, it was really early in the morning. Although I must say I like the word 'abstract', it makes anything random seem okay. ^__^

Speaking of which, we're going to an art museum on Friday which should be loads of fun. See my mum's latest blog entry for some clever notes on this subject.

I want to make something out of clay or something and see if the museum will buy it for a few million chocolate coins. But not the waxy ones, the nice rich milky chocolate ones. Mmmm.

It's Kinda Pretty Out

2008-07-14T12:43:00.001-07:00

and the weather is nice too. :D

I wish it would rain though. I love when it rains on Mondays and Wednesdays. :D I should do some exciting art/sculptures/poetry or something and put them up here. Still need to post photos of my Trystin sculpture. And there's another one I haven't even photographed yet! D:

Also considering making another side-blog for story news, but not sure if I'd post in it enough... :X I could have poetry in there too.

We had a power out last night~

Speaking of 'stories', I ought to write more of mine before I do anything with it. Still need loads of character designs...Designing wolf characters is way harder than designing humanoid characters. x_X;;; They have more than eye/hair color and skin tone. xD

dSembre out. Happy 14 of July...

Short but Sweet

2008-07-05T21:18:00.001-07:00

more cat pictures

That will be all.

Abstract Poetry

2008-06-21T01:04:00.000-07:00

It is four-oh-clock in the morning, so obviously it is time for some Abstract Poetry! :D

At the slightest mention of a noise,
does the snow not shift?
Does it not fall away
into patterns, carvings
Of wind and time itself?

And when I speak your name,
does time itself not shift?
Does it not twist apart
from itself, from life
And ever through the night?

And as these eyes stare away
Does the night not shift?
Does it not darken, farther
Than one would have thought possible?
Than we might have known?

And as you look skywards
Does all we know not shift?
Does it not lift up and fly
Fly like your hopes to the stars
And ever after.

My mind is wandering a bit today.

Filler

2008-06-08T22:00:00.000-07:00

LOOK BLOGFILLER *points*

It's mai new blog. :D I don't expect it to last long, but it's worth a shot. I shall try my best to be a good girl and post craft and story updates. Really.

I don't have much else to say, other than something about lemons which I happen to have forgotten while I was typing this out.

Sculpture photos coming soon. :D