Fashion Done Right

This is not a post telling you what to wear. This is not an explanation of which colors go with what others. This is not a quiz to find out your body shape and what item of clothing you should wear depending on it.

This, ladies and gents, is a round of applause for designers that know what they’re doing in all aspects their trade. Continue reading

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On Spiders

As a child, I was never really *scared* of spiders. I was fascinated by them. I never wanted to touch them (spiders are icky and gross), but I would watch them and follow them and always observed some form of intelligence in them. When I felt really brave, I would try to tempt one onto a twig.

And then someone showed me a picture of one up close. And I saw all of those eyes. Those beady little eyes staring back at me. Marking my every move. Noting my attentiveness to their motions. Watching me.

And that’s when I decided that all spiders must die.

You see there’s this thing called the uncanny valley. The graph will probably help you understand this concept if you’re not familiar with it. The idea is that when things are made more and more human like, there is a point before they actually look (or act) human called the uncanny valley. Corpses, ventriloquist dummies, and human-like robots all tend to be placed in the valley because rather than being familiar and comfortable, they’re just creepy and strange.

Now I know what you’re wondering: Denise, spiders don’t look like humans at all. In fact, not even close. Why on earth do you place them in the uncanny valley?

The answer is quite simple: Eeeeeeeeew I can't look at 'em!

Look at ’em. Staring at you. You know this spider is planning your demise. Now does a spider look like a human? No, of course not, that’d be silly. But their eyes could easily convince me that these little creatures have some form of consciousness and that they’re out to get us. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if the entire spider race is actually conscious and morally evil. It would explain so much. Like why they watch us while we sleep and follow us around the house. Evil, pesky little things.

And that, ladies and gents, is why spiders are evil, kinda human-like, and deserve to die.

The Dichotomy of Social Networking

I enjoy Facebook. Really, I do. It helps me keep in touch with people who I would never think to ask for an email address, and I even (however rarely) appreciate it’s reminders to reconnect with old friends. I like being able to share my life with the people I choose to,even those who are far away.


But there is one thing about Facebook I really don’t like, and it is, in fact, almost the exact same thing I didn’t like about high school.


You see, Facebook has this stigma to it that I’m not sure the elder generations (that graduated before they had a Facebook account) realize. Recently


for whatever reason people who either ignorantly or purposefully ignored me in high school send me friend requests. Plenty of the ones I do know I don’t like, or they don’t like me. And yet they send me multipul friend requests*.Why do they want to be my friend? We weren’t friends before. We rarely, if ever, talked. Talking once in second period painting class, when you asked to use the blue acrylic, does not make you my friend. Going through any number of school years in the same grade does not make you my friend. In fact, I wonder if these people really understand what friendship is.


Friendships is a connection of two people commonly due to like interests and a similarity of personal goals and spirit. It is a willful sharing of your life with another because you find it to be mutually beneficial. Or at least, that’s what it should be.


But that’s not what really bugs me on Facebook. I can ignore those requests and move on, no matter how many times you send them I can always ignore.


In fact, my problem with Facebook isn’t really a problem with facebook at all, but rather a problem with the people that wish to share their lives with me, and the empathy that I feel for them, whether they deserve it or not. I watch people who I care about squander their opportunities, make all the wrong decisions, and flail in the shattered ruins of their lives clutching their hearts in pain and wailing “woe is me”. I understand that these things would happen regardless of Facebook’s involvement in my life, and in theirs. But it gives me up to the minute updates of the destruction of said lives.
Now, I know what you readers who don’t me are thinking right now: something along the lines of “my my little miss high-brow over there blogging about the destruction of lives. What does she know about these people and why is she so much better than they?” Make no mistake dear reader, I am speaking of people diving into debilitating drug use, relationships that are constantly painful and destructive, and a state of apathy so all-encompassing that the person lost there can be said to be brain dead. These are very real problems and I do not exaggerate for the sake of my writing.


I am comforted in watching some of my closest friends excel in all aspects of the Spirit. This one learning so much of both the knowledge of the greatest minds and of the functions of life. That one planning a marriage to a most worthy spouse. And others still walking so very closely with the Spirit that the wisdom gained from their walk alone astounds me.


For these reasons I have always cut my facebook list short, and I believe dear people that it is time, once again, to prune the tree.


*For those of you who do not have Facebook accounts and somehow managed to find this lovely blog, a “friend request” is when another Facebook user asks you for permission to see your Facebook profile, where you keep all your important information. You have the option to confirm their friendship, or to ignore it and deny them access. I don’t know these people.

A Day of Epic Nothing

Today I woke up to a message from an Aunt asking me about Renfaire costumes, and I thought to myself, “Denise, it’s Renfest season. You’re probably going to sell lots of stuff. But you can’t sell it till you make it.” So I declared today a “finish my current projects” day. I know I declared that on last week, but it didn’t quite work out. Then I checked my email and calendar to brows upcoming events. And there on my calendar was the snag of the day: clean out the oven and call maintenance.

You see, ladies and gents, last Saturday my dear husband and I managed to catch our oven on fire. My husband managed to put it out while I danced around like a sim, and we determined that it was probably a grease fire. So I was to clean out the water and grease today and call maintenance so that if the house catches on fire when we try to turn it on again, someone is there who is more responsible than me and I don’t get slammed with “you burnt down our apartment building!” bills. (Okay, not that bad, but a similar concept). While cleaning out the greasy muck in the oven, I bumped the contact on the bottom of the oven a few times (the thing that gets hot) and then I bumped it, and something behind the oven popped real loud and there was a flash of light.

O.O
O.O”
(O.O)”

I was a bit freaked out. And thus I called our lovely maintenance line informing them of the situation. “We’ll send someone right over.” So. In about 5 min or so I’m going to call them back, because it’s been about 20 minutes and I really don’t want my apartment to go up in flames. I’m waiting for them to come find out what’s wrong so that I can continue my day and finish my sewing projects.

If I’m really good. I’ll squeeze in a hair cut.  I don’t think I’m quite that good. But I’ll sure try.

All in all, today’s been a long day of “I’ll get it done; oh no, wait”. Lots of nothing. Technically lots of something that amounts to nothing, so still, in my book, nothing. *sigh*oh to be productive again.

Coffee-House Hell

At my job you run into all kinds of people. People who are great and personable. And people who are jerks. Real jerks. Let’s start at the basics.

I do not work at Starbucks. I believe in small, medium, large. I know that a macchiatto is espresso with a plop of foam, not a latte. I also don’t work for that -other- book store, and their discount cards, coupons, and gift cards do not work here. No. They do not. Your coupon is expired. Yes, it expired last November. No, we can not honor it because the expiration date was sent to you in an email noting the change over of our program. No we do not sell soup. We haven’t for at least three years. No, you did not buy any last year because there wasn’t any here. You probably got it at Panara. Continue reading