Uh, Plutonium? Wait a Minute. Are-are You Telling Me This Sucker’s Nuclear?!? August 29, 2008

I picked this quote because… it makes me laugh every darn time. And the color/pattern on my socks reminds me of a radiation warning sign… you’ll see when you get to the picture.

 

OH HAY DID I MENTION– I finished my socks!

 

So I herd you liek socks?

They are so funny! I love ‘em. I used the pattern on Knitty.com http://knitty.com/ISSUEsummer06/PATTuniversalsock.html, but I modified it according to my own foot size. This sock should fit everyone in the size 8-9 foot range. So here’s my abbreviated pattern for Nuclear Socks. For clearer, and probably more useful instructions, check out the link to knitty. My pattern below will just fill in the numbers that the pattern doesn’t give you.

 

NUCLEAR SOCKS:

Mat’ls needed:

1 skein Ja Woll sock yarn

5 dpns in size 2

 

Instructions

CO 24 sts using a crochet cast on.

Knit 23, w&t.

Purl 22, w&t.

Knit 21, w&t.

Etc, until there are 12 unwrapped needles left.

Knit 12, knit wrapped stitch, doublewrap and turn.

Continure knitting wrapped sts and doublwrapping until all sts are recovered.

Knit in stockinette until from toe to needles measure 7.5 inches.

Knit the heel same as toe.

Knit another 1.25 inches, and cast off loosely.

WEAR AND LOOK DAMN SEXY!

 

So yes, I have wasted your time with a knitting pattern, but honestly what do you expect from a college kid on the eve of Labor Day Weekend? I turned my brains off for the next three days. But I’ll tell you one thing– there’s nothing more satisfying than wearing a pair of socks you knit for yourself. It’s a really cool feeling.  :)

There’s that word again– ‘heavy’. Why are things so heavy in the future? Is there a problem with the earth’s gravitational pull? August 28, 2008

Heh, it took me a while but I found a BttF quote that fits my topic.

 

Boys and girls, today I am going give the obligatory blog-rant about Body Acceptance. Or as most blogs want to call it, Fat Acceptance. <See blogs like How to Eat a Cheeseburger (howtoeatacheeseburger.wordpress.com), and Shapely Prose (www.kateharding.net).>

 

Truths I hold to be self-evident:

• I do not have the ‘perfect body’.
• I do not want the ‘perfect body’.
• I am lazy.
• I  love food.
• The first two mean that I do not care about having the ‘perfect body’, nor do I want to put in the effort to attain the ‘perfect body’.
• The third and fourth mean that I will tend toward the rounded, or ‘fat’ body type.
• However, I do not desire to be ‘fat’ because personally, I find ‘fat’ unattractive.

 

Author’s Note: I emphasize personally because I know that there are others who find that curvier is better, and would disagree that ‘fat’ is unattractive. I do not make the blanket-statement that fat is unattractive, merely that I personally find it to be so. I also hate the word ‘fat’, but I refuse to be politically correct about it and use terms like ‘heavy’ or ‘plus-size’. So instead I will ‘quote’ it, to remind everyone that the term ‘fat’ is subjective, and there is no general definition. I will not assign a dress size, or pound quantity to determine what ‘fat’ is.

 

So while I may seem hypocritical, the truth is that I hold with body acceptance, but not fat acceptance. Personal philosophy is that if I am comfortable with my body at a certain weight, then that’s fine. If at any point I become uncomfortable, or the clothes that fit at the comfortable weight cease to fit as well, then healthy diet and excercise is acceptable. I also try not to go by the numbers, because I think I weigh about 10 pounds more than I look like I weigh, therefore striving to weigh 115 pounds may be a bad life choice. I like who I am, and I don’t want to be unhealthy, or to look like I just survived the Holocaust.

 

So I guess while I have moved beyond striving to look like death warmed over, I have fallen short of fat acceptance. Does that put me at the happy medium, or do I need to seek to reach that next level of celestial understanding? I feel guilty for dieting, and I feel guilty for not dieting. I can’t accept being ‘fat’, but I can’t agree that we should all look like MK Olsen. I think that there is a curvy, healthy, happy place that we can all strive toward that is not a standard weight, or BMI, or dress size. And when magazines describe a model that is slowly and painfully dying as her insides consume themselves out of want for food as sexy and hot, but then make a point of the statistic that most men prefer curves, they leave us all wondering what that standard of beauty that we are all striving toward actually means.

 

According to every single man I’ve ever asked, men like proportional women. We need to be able to stand up straight, without breaking our spines because there’s not enough muscle in our 18-inch waist to hold up our 40-inch bust. It seems to me that most men instinctively understand that our bodies were created with purpose. No one can deny that biceps are for lifting, hamstrings and quadriceps, are for walking, and fingers are for fine detail jobs. In the same way, hips were intended to cradle unborn children, not just to swing about whilst we stomp up and down a straight, elevated walkway in order for people to admire our clothes. Our waists are muscled to help us lift, and walk, and to do work, not just to cinch and shrink and use as bait for men. And everyone knows what the purpose of the part-of-us-that-requires-a-bra is. (I’m not being immature, I just don’t want creepy people searching for that certain anatomy on the internet to hit on this site just because that keyword is here.)

 

So I think that people who work out in order to reach their physical peak, and to be in the best possible form have the right idea. I admire them, and their determination to take the best care of the only body they were given. There is a certain beauty to a body that is well cared-for, and that is healthy.

 

SOPHOMORIC REASONING: There is nothing sexier than being healthy, confident, and comfortable with yourself. And that goes for guys too. As a girl, and even more so as a college sophomore, I totally get the whole pressure-to-look-a-certain-way. I get it better than most adult women do, as far as I’m concerned. But even if I want to try to deny that there is a certain human form that is more attractive than others, I have to admit that I am neither comfortable nor confident when there is an inner tube of fat ringing my waist and hips. So it’s pretty hard to think you’re attractive when you feel ‘fat’.

Last night, Darth Vader came down from planet Vulcan and told me that if I didn’t take Lorraine out, he’d melt my brain. August 27, 2008

That’s funny, he said the same thing to me. Except it was ’if you don’t knit that darn sock’…

 

So classes are in full swing, and so the year has officially begun. I don’t think of the first day of school as the official beginning. It’s really the second day of a class that lets you know where you are. Because that’s when the teacher starts treating the class the way he/she will for the rest of the semester. It’s interesting to note the differences in some classes from the first day to the second, isn’t it?

 

Little to no progress in sockland, but minor upgrades in mystery-gift. Like figuring out the pattern and what it’s supposed to look like… that’s a major plus. Eventually work will begin on Sock Pair Numero Dos, which shall be pink and brown and white, and the long overdue birthday gift for Miriam that may or may not be completed by the time she hits the legal drinking age.

 

Classes are interesting, and I’m excited that the homework isn’t too bad yet. Transitional (read: REMEDIAL) Spanish is minor book work and some listening exercises, with a test on the EFFING PRESENT TEST on Friday. How basic can it get? Accounting is starting into some bookwork, but so far mostly reading exercises, and with handouts for taking the notes in an orderly, sensible fashion… not like my notes for other classes, which often look like:

 

       Just because people have differing opinions on beauty doesn’t mean that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Right and wrong are hotly debated, but ethics is not in the eye of the beholder… *doodle of a painting* Trying to understand beauty… *sketch of a bug* *big ink splotch that was an attempted doodle*

 

…and generally it’s impossible to find any sign of intelligent life beyond the bug.

(Minor note: don’t take anything I ‘quote’ from my profs too seriously. I tend to edit and mess with what they say, so don’t be writin’ a comment challenging them, please. *ahemMiriamahem*)

 

But then there’s SSFT which is one of those deceptive classes that you think you just get to sit through and then regurgitate the powerpoints on the tests… but then it turns out you have to actually think and come up with stuff on your own… tricky little bastards…

 

And there are lovely classes like Civ Arts where you look at pretty paintings and talk about them. I like those. Not like mean, nasty Macro Econ with its hugemongous textbook that turns out to actually be a treatise on global economy and other mean nasty crap. And then you have to read that book, and maybe hopefully possibly understand some of it… *shudder*.

 

Alas, c’est la vie. Such is the life I have chosen for myself. I promise after today there will be little to no bitching about classes, and more of the stuff that you guys actually care about… once I figure out what that is. If you’re reading this, and you’re not leaving a comment, then how am I supposed to know what to talk about? Shall I continue to blather about school? Shall I wax eloquent about the joys of being a college-aged young woman? Shall I voice my opinion on political crap? I can’t decide! LET ME KNOW!!

 

Like I said, there’s little intelligence beyond the bug.

If my calculations are correct, when this baby hits eighty-eight miles per hour… you’re gonna see some serious shit. August 26, 2008

My love for Dr. Emmet Brown knows no bounds.

 

Anyway, the first day of classes went off without a hitch, and the second day is looking good too. I sold some of my books from last year and I’m working on getting all the ones I’ll need for this year. Most of my classes seem interesting, but the Transitional Spanish I’m taking seems pretty remedial. It’s the reccommended course for people who took it in high school, but maybe took a few years off in between. It’s basically a ginormous review course. Hopefully that means an easy ‘A’. The Public Speaking class is off to a fast start- speeches on Wednesday. I was like O_o SRSLY? But yeah, we have to introduce our partner to the class as a practice speech. Accounting class has homework due Wed, and the Civ Arts class I’m in seems really fascinating. The basic concept of the class is to explore ‘beauty’ and to disprove the concept that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, because that then assume that beauty can be denied which is inherently wrong because God created all things. That’s only my summary, so if you feel like bringing it up to argue semantics with me, don’t.

 

Other news, awesomesock #1 has been completed for a while, but awesomesock #dos is well underway!

The Awesomesock Pair!

 

I’m also starting on a little surprise-thingamajig for my Little Sis (a frosh I’m mentoring) and for fear of infiltration due to the fact that this is the internet and she has a computer, I will not describe nor photgraph until after it has been presented.

 

And now I present to you a new type of philosophical junk. The word ’sophomore’ (according to my high school English teacher) actually means ‘wise moron’ or something like that. So using my own wise-moronic reasoning, I shall attempt to explain crap.

 

SOPHOMORIC REASONING: The reason I chose that quote for today’s title is that I can’t believe how quickly things are getting underway here at school. Already we’re full speed ahead with tests and quizzes and homework. So once this year really gets going, the rest of it’s gonna fly. It’s gonna be nothin’ but the future, with no rewind button in sight. Ergo, “If my calculations are correct, when this baby hits eighty-eight miles per hour… you’re gonna see some serious shit.”

Roads? Where We’re Going, We Don’t Need Roads. August 24, 2008

And that’s because no one has a car to drive on them. Oh the beauty of small-town colleges.

 

So I’m back in school starting tomorrow, and I’m declaring this Back To My Future week. I have no idea what this means, except probably a lot of Back to the Future quotes. Classes are going to be fun (not) but I’m really excited to be back with my friends.  I still miss high school and my friends from home, though.

 

Classes this year: Public Speaking, Intermediate Accounting, Intermediate Spanish, Civ Arts, Macroeconomics, and some other thing called SSFT. (???) Sounds like a fun load, no? Blargh. It looks like a mountain of homework and paperwork to me…

 

I did manage to succeed in one area, though–  I knitted a sock!!

Mah foot in mah home-knit sock!

All right attention span has run out. Off to pretend to be busy. Maybe I’ll edit this later with more info.

I am in so much trouble… August 22, 2008

I can’t believe I leave to go back to school tomorrow…summer just started! And I spent it working!!! OH THE CRUELTY! Why?!?

 

Not that I’m not excited to go back– I’m just not excited to pack to go back. I’m not the world’s most organized person to begin with, and right now it looks like a bomb went off in my room. I’m so not ready to move out… ugh!

 

So this is merely a quick update to prove that I haven’t died/given up on the blog. It’s just been insanely busy here in Crazyland. My brothers have a Boy Scout camp-out this weekend, I leave for college on Saturday, and two out of three of my sibs start school here on Monday. And then I’m trying to find out if I have a ride home for Labor Day weekend…

 

Seriously, as though I wasn’t a few fries short of a Happy Meal all on my own, this kind of insanity just tops it all off.

Re: The Haircut Sitch August 19, 2008

LOL. Using Kim Possible lingo makes me giggle.

 

I don’t know if anyone (yeah, all three or so of you) reads through the comments on my posts in addition to the posts, but honestly there’s probably more wisdom in Miriam’s little four-line replies than in a four-paragraph rant by yours truly. Yesterday’s attack on hairstyles was not my finest blogging attempt, but Miriam made a really good point:

My problem is that, since the hair dressers wet your hair and style it and spray some stuff, the way it looks when you leave the store is nowhere near the same as the way it looks after your first shower. Look, I don’t care about looking like some glossed, beautiful haired model for part of one day. Just give me some accuracy so I can complain when I figure out that my new cut frizzes like a beast.

 

I agree, Mirie! That’s exactly what the crazy lady cutting my hair did! By the time she finished cutting it, it was all slicked down and looked rather like a dark brown helmet. By the time it was dry, it had root lifter, hairspray, and texturizer in it. By the time I went to bed, all of these products had ceased to do their jobs and merely made my hair sticky and gross. I didn’t find out what my hair really looked like until this morning, and may I say now that I think I look a little like a boy. And while I did stop at CVS for some of that texturizer stuff (it makes the layers look a little choppier and less helmet-y) I didn’t need any of that other crap, and it only made me think my hair looked completely different than it does! GRR.

 

I wish that the ladies in the salon (or at SuperCuts, where cheap-ass college kids like me go when they are being forced to pay for their own haircut…) would just let us style the damn thing when they’re done. That way everyone can see what it will look like on a daily basis, and the haircutter can fix it accordingly. Isn’t that more logical?

 

And Mirie, your hair only frizzes because you refuse to ponytail it and it gets staticky.

On to one of my more ridiculous topics… August 18, 2008

Haircuts. Hate them.

 

Actually, that’s a lie. I love the feeling of coming home from Supercuts and my hair is perfect and smooth and I love going to work/school the next day and everyone ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s. That’s awesomesauce.

 

But then three weeks later my hair has grown out two inches (yes I know that’s absurd, hair only grows about a half-inch per month, but I SWEAR mine grows like bamboo!!) and the cut no longer is as flattering. GRR! Why can’t we freeze frame the hair at that perfect, newly-cut length?!? I hate having to get it recut.

 

So yeah this is kind of a waste of a post, but I got a little too intense about yesterday’s, so I thought I’d lighten up a little. And I’ve spent this morning doing everything but what I should have been doing– packing. Instead of packing for school, I finished knitting a sock (#1 of 2) and Googled various hairstyles. Apparently there are names for these things– I’m torn between the angled bob and the short shag. *rolls eyes* Here’s the idiot’s guide– pictures.

SHORT SHAG:

 

ANGLED BOB:

 

I’m sorry, but they look the exact f*$#ing same! Toss in the ‘Long and Short’, which is basically a long ‘Pixie’, and you’ve successfully fried my brains. *Le sigh*

The Great American Melding Pot. August 17, 2008

Watching the Olympics always puts odd questions into my head. It throws the ridiculousness of our wars into sharp relief, it makes these boundaries that we’ve thrown up seem preposterous, and it brings out odd senses of loyalty in us that don’t exist as strongly otherwise.

 

I found myself cheering for Constantina Tomescu-Dita yesterday in the Women’s 25 mile Marathon. It wasn’t because she was about a half a mile ahead of the other ladies. It wasn’t because she was 38 and was about to be the oldest marathon champion in history. It was because she is Romanian, and being a little more than a quarter Romanian myself I wanted to see her win. Honestly, those were the thoughts in my head. I cheered for her because she was Romanian, and I wanted her to bring that honor to her country.

 

It’s stupid, really. I’m an American. I’ve never left the United States in my life. I am four generations down from the ancestors who came over on the boat. But my paternal grandparents are strongly Romanian, with my grandfather being 100% and my grandmother half Romanian-half Ukrainian. So where does this loyalty come from? It’s not like I know anything about Romania, other than what I learned in school with everyone else. I’m not Ukrainian Orthodox, and I don’t think there’s anything particularly Romanian or Ukrainian about me. I look very much the Irish-German I got from my mother’s side. But that’s the other thing. What is it about Americans that we’re so proud of coming from everywhere else in the world?

 

Immigrants who land on our shores fight to be able to say “I am an American.” (Or in most cases, “Soy Americano”…) We are of the most sought-after nationality. But we pride ourselves in being from everywhere else. You don’t hear people in Italy saying that their grandparents were Albanian. You don’t hear the English bragging about their French ancestry (although who would?). No other country is so focused on being from all the other corners of the world.

 

I have a professor in college who is Irish. He says all the time that he cannot believe how many people say to him, “Oh you’re Irish! I’m Irish too!” And he has to keep himself from saying “No, you’re not. You’re American. Because you’re not Irish unless you were born in Ireland. You may have Irish ancestors, but you’re an American.” Why do we focus so much on our geneaology like that? Is it a method to stand apart from the crowd? Am I proud of my Romanian blood because it makes me a little more unique? Or is it because we’re Americans, and we are plagued with nothing ever being enough? It’s not enough to be American; we have to be everything else too. We have to be able to claim the world in ourselves, to be able to pretend that in all our American majesty we’ve united the global bloodlines, and brought everyone together.

 

We brought the world’s people together, and we’ve made them fat. How’s that for world unity?

Attention is like bills. August 15, 2008

I pay neither, nor do I know what to do with them.

 

Suddenly in the last two days, I have recieved three comments from two readers THAT AREN’T MIRIAM! I don’t think it ever really occurred to me that eventually other people would comment.  I’ll never admit that I secretly hoped and prayed that people would read and let me know what they thought. It may have started that way, but by the third post it became a kind of journal-sharing thing with a best friend who moved away. So while I understood that this was on the internet for everyone to read, I remained convinced (and disappointed) that only my friend was reading any of it.

 

But now I have readers! I feel an odd obligation to start talking about issues that you guys might care about, but then I realize that I know little about current events except for which Olympians are totally buff and delicious, so I should avoid talking about current events. (BTW James Blake = teh hotness.)

 

So for now at least, I’ll keep talking about the things in my life that I think need to be brought to light. I think there’s more to be said about the life of the average teenager than anyone gives them credit for. And I don’t mean Meg Cabot’s versions of teenager-hood, in which all the girls are misunderstood, pretty (and convinced otherwise) and always wind up getting with the quarterback next door. There are no happy endings in teenager-hood, because there is no ending. We go from pimpled thirteens to less-pimpled nineteens, and the geekiness, the awkwardness, and the need for reassurance go nowhere. If I could turn my life into a Meg Cabot book, you can bet I would be dating a cute little dork up at school, and we’d already have ridden off into our sunset. But things keep moving and changing and there are things we have to learn from the moving and the changing. And I like to put all of that into words. It’s kinda what I do.

 

So this post, for example, has metamorphosed from “HAY COOL I GOT READERZ!” into a philosophical discussion of happy endings and why there are none.  Even when I try to approach something seriously, I mess up and wind up babbling about something entirely different. But that’s the beauty of having a blog. You guys can’t shut me up!! MWAHAHAHA!

 

Except, maybe you should be able to. For the good of mankind and all that jazz. *shrug*