First, I must clarify, my roommate and I have three squirrel friends that live all in the same nest outside our patio door. We’ve been feeding them peanuts on and off since we moved here. There’s Chunky, the reliable one who almost never buries his food and eats it on the spot, almost falling over while doing so; Scooter, the skiddish one who fears me beyond all reason; and the third one we forgot the name of, who’s also kind of tubby, but is refined and calculated.
Much like the time I taught a one-legged seagull I named Balthazar to eat out of my hand, I proceeded to hold peanuts out to these squirrels. The third squirrel was much too dapper to take food from my meager hands. Scooter was having a brain aneurysm about two inches away from me and ended up running away before he could get any closer. Chunky, on the other hand, like the little tubby-wubby he is, marched right up, nibbled on my finger a bit to see if that was edible too, decided not to eat it, then took the peanut.
I do crap like this on a pretty regular basis, but, just sayin’…I’m like a squirrel goddess here. Who else get’s squirrels to eat out of their palms like this? No one. Well, not anyone I know, anyway.
Also, I found this wig. It would be perfect for Envy from Fullmetal Alchemist.
I’ve been interested in doing a project that would challenge me lately. I’ve got a couple of friends who like to do fursuiting, or at least like the idea of it, and that got me thinkin’. I’d like to try my hand at making fursuits.
Now, I want to start small, so I’m thinking as for right now I want to do just a head. The problem is that I don’t know what to make!
So here’s the idea…Everyone who’s interested, comment here and give me a link to your fursona or a head that you want me to make.
I’m doing this strictly out of my own interest, so unless you actually want the head when it’s finished, it’s completely free and there are no risks w
I got some surprisingly dull responses to this.
But I did find a dead bird today. I got out the tupperware that I had used to transport my squash to school with me for consumption. Indeed, when I trapped the poor thing inside the tub, it smelled like squash.
I had always wanted to try my hand at taxidermy, and so I figured, “Well, as long as I have a dead bird, I might as well use it.” Though for whatever reason, my roommate did not feel terribly comfortable with my skinning the small creature inside the apartment, and I was thrust out into the chill with my whittling knife and a dead critter. I crouched over it and started skinning.
One lady from the apartment next door opener her window and asked me if I was alright while this was going on. I said “yeah,” but on the inside I was thinking, “as long as you don’t know that I’m rending flesh from bone, I am.”
However, I could not finish my endeavor our in the bitter cold, as once I finished the first thigh, I could no longer feel my body parts. I booked it back inside and finished the thing there.
There were some adverse psychological effects; for instance when my roommate made pizza I could not stop thinking of the sauce as blood and could not keep myself from the opinion that the pizza tasted strangely like small bird. And it is somewhat ironic, seeing as I now have the bird in the refrigerator along with the aforementioned pizza.
This was something that, in actuality, occurred a couple of months ago. However, it’s been ruminating in my head, as something that I felt the need to share since it happened. I was told today that I need to update my blog more, and considering that my life is one huge joke, I feel like she’s right.
So, one day, I was driving my (mom’s) car. Simple enough, right? No. Apparently not. Not for me. There always has to be something that somehow makes simple things difficult for me. I cut my finger somehow (???) on the steering wheel, but I had important things to do that day. Important!
I had baby animals to see, damnit! And I was not about to let a cut on my finger bar me from the occasional cuddling I so desperately need to keep myself sane and not curled up crying on the floor of my apartment. So I continued on unabated to the Humane Society. When I arrived, however, I was still bleeding, and so I ever-so-politely asked for a band-aid. Which I was kindly given.
After bandaging my battle wound, my brother (Oh yeah, he was there, too) and I resumed. We visited first the rodent room, where I felt that it would be a wonderful idea to open the rat cage and, having no prior socialization whatsoever with rats, chase one around the cage with my hand until I cornered it and then reached for its little head. Rightly, it was at least a little bit peeved at what I was doing all up in its grill. So it bit me.
I’ve been bitten before, but never before by a rat, and let me tell you, it hurts like the dickens. I toddled up to the staff again and bled on their counter while pathetically asking for yet another band-aid, which they graced me with. And once I returned from washing buckets of blood from my finger, freshly bandaged once again, they pushed over some forms that I had to sign to ensure that I wouldn’t sue them for my own ineptitude.
After that, I said screw it, and let’s go look at the cats. I can’t fuck it up with harmless little kittens, right? Wrong once again. I seemed to have forgotten that I was, and continue to be, allergic to cats. So my face became gradually more and more stuffy and red, and by the time I decided that I had to go, I was crying and my eyes were bloodshot. So that’s how the Humane Society staff saw me, a potentially fully-functioning adult, leave the building: a sobbing, blubber-faced goober, holding her boo-boos and shuffling out the door, defeated.
I feel like there are few things already on this earth that I am fully capable of doing, and now animals is no longer one of them.
Listen, I’m a dork. I know I’m a dork. I’ve known for many years that the magnitude of my dorkiness is too powerful for some. But I’ve gone up a whole new level. Friends and watchers: I introduce to you….Furries!
That’s right, furries. I never was a fan until an online friend showed me that it was totally okay to be a furfag. Along with my cosplays for next year’s Anime Detour (which I am planning as we speak), I want to work on a quadsuit. I will be grand and mysterious. And hot and awkward.
I know it sounds weird, but it’s actually really cool if you get it right. And I’m a hella fast learner, so it shouldn’t be too awful for me, besides the sheer amount of time, cash and effort that this’ll cost me.
I even found this .pdf file, an essay on the mechanics of the stilts.
The cosplays that don’t require so much effort include Yui from K-On! and Nia from Gurren Lagann.
Here’s the video for what my Yui cosplay will look like. I’ll be the one in white.
I’ll be basing my costume off of this person’s stellar cosplay:
Also, if you know anyone with a Gibson Les Paul Cherry Sunburst, hook me up.
Boy, have I left this blog afloat or what?
My apologies to the nothingness that speak to whenever I decide to get up off my lazy ass and post something to this God-forsaken pit-stain of a blog.
So, so much has happened! From keeping a dead bat in the Tupperware on my dinner table to even more adorable stories about my taking mind-altering medications, this last year and some has been an experience.
And yes, when I mention drugs, it is indeed the dear Zolpidem that I speak of, with whom I have had previous dealings. That exciting adventure can be found here for all those who wonder. In this tantalizing new episode, I managed to take the drug when I was supposed to. What I did not do was take less than or equal to the amount that would constitute an overdose.
In fact, I took three times as much as a doctor would recommend, and the night that ensued was not boring in the slightest. Though I don’t remember much, I do recall floating out into the street after glimpsing a street lamp, convinced that it was the single most beautiful thing on this planet and that I must press myself close and stroke it, speaking in soft tones to woo it. The wooing, I think, was unsuccessful, because the post is still there on the street corner and hasn’t said a word to me since.
Many other drug-changes have taken place, and I’ve only just stopped taking one particular pill after it was decided that feeling like I could never eat enough ice cream was in fact not a great leap forward in my mental health.
I wish I had witty things to say about quotidian things, but I’m afraid I don’t, and that I must be on my way. I hope we meet again sooner than later.
Eight hours and some twenty or thirty minutes passed between your stumbling gracelessly into bed and your stumbling nearly off it again, your wits truly and impressively absent. Though waking up in the afternoon does tend to make one more bleary and generally uncoordinated, as a rule. After some effort you did manage to stand on your own two feet and look out your window. It faced South, providing a decent frame for the wintering Sun casting its midday shadows, if a little skewed by the panes of glass warped with age.
It was hard to get up on days like this: overcast, with leaves dying and falling and winter coming on the tails of autumn w
Nothing had been going well for you since that day in March. You remember the one: when you first started feeling under the weather, but you bucked up and went to school anyway. No one really cared that much, but they didn’t know what would become of you then; no one could have guessed what that little fever would mean less than a year later.
But here you are, standing alone in the dark on the slippery stones at the edge of that old back-alley bridge surrounded by Ash trees and still air, looking down into a cold river running fast beneath your very feet. No heart was beating as quickly or sadly as yours was. Maybe that’s the reason you…