General – Page 30

Irish suit wearing man

A few days ago I was sitting at the kitchen table chatting with my friend Candy, the topic of conversation was the type of guy I should date…

Candy: “I know the type of guy who’d be perfect for you.”
Nikita: “Oh here we go…”
Candy: “He’d be tall, have brown hair and wear a suit, oh and he’d also be Irish.”
I give her a look, a ‘what the hell are you on?’ look.
Nikita: “He sounds like a wanker.”
She laughs and she tries to correct herself, but then I start laughing, she places her head in her hands and mumbles something which I can’t make out.

So according to my friend, a tall Irish man in a suit is the way to go. I, on the other hand, think she’s nuts and really needs a holiday. But it got me thinking, what would the perfect guy for me be like? So I made a list…

He’d kill evil spiders without laughing at me while I do the spider dance (the spider dance pretty much consists of me jumping up and down, waving my hands around and yelling “Spider!”).
Be a night person (because if he was a day person we’d drive each other insane).
Someone who doesn’t use alarm clocks.
Someone who blogs, because I don’t want to go through that whole “So what is a blog?” conversation every few months.
He wouldn’t mind that I buy 5 g-strings that cost $25 each and happily donate towards my addiction.
Someone who owns a lot of really cool books that I don’t own.
He’d have to get my sense of humour and make me laugh when I’m in a horrible mood.
Someone who’s shy and doesn’t have a fake personality.
A guy who is creative and challenges me.
Someone who doesn’t lie or bullshit to me.
He’d love me as I am, and not try to change me.
A guy who doesn’t own more hair products then I do (I don’t care what the Fab Five say, there is such a thing as too many hair products).
Someone who wouldn’t think I’m nuts when I do my ‘crazy joe’ voice (if you know me well, you’ll know what I’m talking about).
He’d love the fact I sing ‘throw your arms around me’ too much, and even join in.
Someone down to earth, that likes the simple things in life.
And most importantly, he has to be able to give life altering back massages (give me a back massage and I’ll love you for life).

(Note: It’s not that I don’t like men who wear suits or Irish men, suits look fantastic and Irish men are funny and cute. It’s just those two things together are a bit odd. I mean, could you imagine an Irish man wearing a suit all the time? It would be totally wankerish.)

Spare black fabric

Anyone that makes their own jewellery knows one thing, that one thing is that trying to take a good picture of your creations can be a bitch. I was looking around some forums when I saw a post by a woman who said she uses a scanner and a black piece of material on top of the jewellery to get some decent images. I had tried the scanning method before, with a white sheet of paper, but didn’t get good results. So I was a bit hesitant, yet since I had some spare black fabric and not much to do a few nights ago, I decided to give it a go anyway. Amazingly, I got some pretty good results and I’ve added the pictures to the jewellery section.

The only problem is you can only use this method for flat jewellery; any piece that uses large lampwork type beads tends to become quite blurry, as you can see in the image below.

Oh well, when I get a better camera I’ll be able to take some good shots of all my pieces that use lampwork beads.

What's in a name

I’ve been trying to come up with a name for my jewellery collection for over a week now. I’ve asked friends, forum members and I’ve even asked Harry (to which he just gave me a ‘you know I can’t talk’ look).

Some of the names people have suggested so far are:

Perthwear
Jewels R Us
Bijou Précieux (which I’m told means ‘Precious Jewel’)
Bijou Beadwork
Kitta’s immaculate conceptions
JewelWorks
Beadwear
If-you-don’t-buy-this-IT-WILL-EAT-YOUR-BABIES! Jewellery

If you have any ideas please leave a comment, otherwise I’m looking at “_________ jewellery” as a name. Which is so not cool.

Skankwear

On yet another shopping trip, where I overheard some girls having a conversations. It was not about innocent milkshakes this time, and they were about 13 to 14 years old…

Girl #1: “OMG, look at this skirt.”
Girl #2: “That’s like hot!”
Girl #3: “It’s so skanky.”
Girl #1: “Duh, skankwear is cool.”
Girl #2: “Oh yeah, skankwear is soooo cool.”
Nikita: *tries hard not to laugh*
Girl #3: “It’s like a Paris Hilton.”
Girl #2: “OMG, she’s soooo hot!”

If I ever have a daughter, I hope she never lets the words “Skankwear is cool” come out of her mouth, and if they do, there will be 500 lines of “Skankwear is so not cool!” coming her way (I’d so be a lines type mum).

Blue screen of death

Via foxtrot.com.

Newness

You’ve probably noticed I’ve made quite a few changes here lately, they were mainly things that I’ve been meaning to do for some time now, and they include:

‘Colophon’ section updated.
‘Linkies’ side blog section (which you might have already noticed).
More photo galleries in the ‘photos’ section, featuring the evil cat and Harry, the dog that likes to eat cat food, can open doors and is scared of thunder.
New ‘site’ section, full of sitey goodness (well, more like full of copyright, syndication and other details).
Sidebar updated (moved things around, deleted others).

If you see any spelling mistakes let me know, because I did most of it late at night and there’s bound to be a few.

One boring sunday

Have you ever read the side of a deodorant can?

The part where it warns you against puncturing the can or exposing it to heat? Well, one boring Sunday afternoon during the boring July school holidays of 1998 my brother, a few friends and I read the side of a can and decided to test the warning.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

We took the can into the garage, placed it down on the floor and one of my brother’s friends started to light a fire beneath it. This lasted for about 20 minutes. It seemed that the can was quite heat resistant. At this point someone spotted our small boat and decided to use some of its fuel to boost the small fire into a much bigger fire. Fuel was placed upon the can and nothing happened. Hmm. More fuel? Of course! After 5 more minutes of applying fuel nothing was happening, we were bored again and out of matches. “There’s more in the house” I said, and ran to the house to find some more matches. As I was looking around the house I heard a large bang, my eyes widened, I knew exactly what that bang meant. It meant the can wasn’t lying and it was also a much louder bang than expected. Oh shit.

I ran to the garage and stopped at the door, smoke poured out and a light flickered. I saw a figure walking towards me, eyed wide open and jaw dropped, not unlike my own expression. Light fixtures were hanging off the roof, everything had fallen of the shelves and there was a black mark on the floor where the can once lay. There were no remains of the can at all. I asked if everyone was alive and didn’t have any can embedded in their kidneys, they were freaked out, but fine. After 5 minutes of silence we finally realised two things:

We trashed the garage and the neighbours had probably rung the cops.
It was nearly 4pm. My mother was due home around 4pm.

We sprung into action. Smoke was cleared out of the garage, mats were placed over the black area on the floor, lighting fixtures were fixed and everything was put back into place. The only thing that could not be corrected was our fear. Thankfully, the neighbours were out, so no police showed up.

We stood in front of the garage doors, finally laughing about the event, when someone noticed that the doors to the garage were not right. Not right, meaning they had come off their railing. Laughter turned into fear, fear into panic and panic into name calling. We tried pushing them back onto the railing, but the doors were too heavy to lift. Just then the Motherships car pulled into the drive way. Act normal everyone.

We stood in front of the doors, trying to look normal, and probably looking like scared little bunnies. My mother noticed something was up, but had household shopping to contend with. We needed a story. We decided to tell her that my brother ‘fell’ onto the doors, it was the best story we could come up with at the time. Amazingly, she bought it. My father on the other hand, didn’t buy it, but due to my parents being freshly divorced it didn’t bother him. He fixed the doors and we spent weeks wondering if they knew what really happened. After a month we rejoiced silently and told all our other friends about it.

A few years went by and one day I decided to tell my father about it for a laugh. He said he knew something was up, but never thought it would be something that ridiculous. I told my mother soon after my father and she laughed about it. Which is strange. If we had told her straight after it happened she would have made us write 500 pages of lines saying “I will never blow up a deodorant can again” (my parents never grounded, the were lines kind of people), but give it a few years and it’s a funny story to tell at Christmas.

We learnt an important lesson on that boring Sunday afternoon: never doubt the warnings on sides of cans, they do not lie, and they really will explode after about 30 minutes of intense heat.

Super cool new toy

For those of you that don’t know, I’m currently making a ton of jewellery to sell at parties, fete’s and craft shows later this year. I’m about half way there amount wise, but the question of what to present the jewellery on was bought up a few weeks back. Friends suggested I buy a simple pin board, but where’s the fun in that? So today, I went out and bought supplies to make my own boards. Wood, material, padding, pins a staple gun (which is my super cool new toy) was purchased.

The building of the board was pretty easy. Saw the wood in half, and then staple the padding and material on. Place pins on and drum roll please…

I now have a fancy board to present my jewellery on.

I think my favourite part of it all was the warning list that came with the staple gun:

Only well instructed adults should operate this tool (Sorry Tay, you can’t play with it).
Do not operate tool when under the influence of alcohol, drugs or medication (I.e. Hide tool for most of my friends when they come over).
Do not use when tired or in a hurry (Aww, I so wanted to do some 3am stapling).
Never point tool at anyone (Even that dude that pisses me off?).
Never let any little red monkeys near this tool, ever! Serious damage and hurt could be caused (Ok, so it didn’t say that, but I think it should have).

I was totally planning to do ALL of the above and now my fun is ruined, ruined I tell you!

Page 18, line 4

Via gigglechick.

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 18.
3. Find line 4.
4. Write down what it says.

The first book I grabbed was Wil Wheaton’s ‘Dancing Barefoot’, but he clearly had a plan in place to mess with the page 18 line 4 fun. There’s a picture on page 18! WIL FUCKING WHEATON.

So I grabbed the next book, ‘Angelina Jolie’s Journals’ and turned to page 18…

“We started up the road and ran into George.”

Web-ookies

I made some cookies today but they’re not normal cookies, oh no, they’re web-ookies. “What the hell are web-ookies?” I hear you ask. Well, they are cookies with your favourite websites on them. Mmm, cookies and the web finally joined together as one.

Had to make one for the Shiny plastic bag crew.

Little yellow different looks so cool in edible gel.

Couldn’t leave Taylor out of the cookie fun.

If I get enough requests for the recipe, I’ll post it later, but it’s just a normal sugar cookie with some gel pen decorating. So feel free to break out the basic ingredients and make a set of your own web-ookies.

Now, if only I have red gel I could do a little red monkey. 😉