(Recipe here. Please read the recipe reviews so you can make it your own)
Must be cool for the world
Adventures of the Octatree with more than eight arms
I think I decided I wanted to be an artist last month. I say “think” because there were blank canvases and acrylic paint with some cheap paintbrushes in my house. I don’t like the paintbrushes much.
I think.
I decided to paint the whole canvas yellow.
Like this:
Then I decided it needed borders. Red borders like this:
Van Gogh, Claire says. I’m her biggest fan of complimenting me.
I sent both these pictures to Claire to ask her what I needed to paint and she said what I was thinking but we both knew because it was SO obvious. I had to draw an — DUN DUN DUN —
Octatree.
It’s an octopus tree. Duh.
Parents, you might want to think about showing this to your children, in case they become too awesome for their pants or something.
He’s a vicious one. He means well though.
This is where it all went downhill. Down down down. I thought there were too few leaves so I made more and then I couldn’t stop. It was like I was possessed by the Octatree spirit.
Calm down bro.
This is Sparta. Did I just name him?
Guess so.
Putting wristbands on people’s arms and stuff
I volunteered at the Seattle Tattoo Expo on Sunday. It was really…exciting. My feet hurt.
Waaahh.
Erase all memory of what I just typed because I’m not backspacing tonight baby. My new hit song. In stores later.
I’m not backspacing tonight baby
Your keyboard is not for me
I just want to hit Esc
1, 2, 3
The expo was fun. Really, it was. It completely fed my curiosity and people stalking needs. I got to slightly graze people’s arms and wink at them, none of which I did.
As soon as I reached the volunteer zone, I met the volunteer co-ordinator who looked like the English Bull Terrier puppy she was carrying (I do hope I never see her again or have to hear her say the words: “You’re hired”. THAT would be awk-cool-ward”). Nice girl. Told me I had to make copies and assist her but that was a lie.
That’s OKAY. I never expected an air-conditioned cube with my own “Volunteer of the Month” badge, though it would’ve been nice. *tosses hair back”
She needs a wristband
I was sent to the entrance area, aka the Box Office, aka the place where they took people’s money. So here’s where I came in. I know you’re thinking, “OMG. Cash register!? YOU GO GIRL”. No. Don’t talk (think) to me like that. It makes me want to punch you.
I was the girl putting red wristbands on people’s wrists. I was important. Without me, they’d need to pay $20 more to re-enter the awesome expo. $15 if they had military ID. I did what I had to do. No matter if the wrists were thin, fat, hairy, sweaty (oh yeah), or so tiny that I had to wind the damn thing three times around that little “I don’t wanna be left out cuz I’m under 12 boo hoo hoo” crap, I did my thang. THANG. Okay that last part was mean. I am not mean. I’m just trying to find my writing persona. I can be anyone, even myself.
Put that down kid. You don’t need that until you’re 18. “Moooommmm!”
I did the wristbanding for 4 hours with another volunteer, who was definitely NOT volunteer of the day. I purposely stuck it to hairy men’s wrists just so they know that we wax because WE WANT TO. Not because you tell us to. One man was really nice. He just stops looks at me and says: “You’re really beautiful.” Usually my response is, “You should meet my sisters,” but they weren’t there…the lamers. So I just said thanks like a lamerer.
If this is not beautiful, I don’t know what is
As soon as I finished my 4 hours of doing the best job in the world, I checked out with Miss Bull Terrier (sweet girl. Probably wants 2 kids to feed organic veggies and beef to) and went straight to do what I went there for — to eat fries.
I ate a huge plate of fries. And my purse strap broke.
The tattooing area? It was amazing and noisy. Imagine about 20-30 artists in one room, all tattooing people. I’ve had about 10 billion Fusen tattoos on my body and I don’t need any more right now. Nothing about seeing so many tattoos even made me want to get one. I did love the art and so I admired it. I have no idea how painful it is but it sort of seemed worth it…and I probably don’t know what I’m talking about.
She was magenta. Last name Smith.
I just know that the booth with the boring people in the white coats and a sign saying “Laser Tattoo Removal”, was the emptiest. Somebody forgot to tell the “doctors” that the Seattle Un-Tattoo/Bad Decision Expo was the week after.
I would love to volunteer here again. I would even love being CEO. But I just got a call. They said my song “Backspacing” is now #1 on the Billboard 100 charts.
I have to go swim in money right now and forever.
I’m not very patriotic
Really, I’m not.
But I do love my country. I hate it too and sometimes the people just piss me off, but I do love my India.
I know a lot of patriotic songs: Saare Jahaan Se Acha, Vande Mataram, and one that goes very fast and ends in: “HINDUSTANI”. Slow the ef down man. Seriously.
I wish I was more Indian. For example, I wish I could (almost) rap like that “HINDUSTANI” song or speak Hindi or Konkani without getting so flustered. I’m a Goan gangsta though so you watch your face. I wish I could know more about our rich history or be vegetarian so people thought I wasn’t a fake India or a “findian”.
What I am so damn proud of though is that I can say the following to my friends:
- I am going to the foreign
- AI SAIBA
- Marega saala. Huutt!
- Ek Tha Tiger
Okay. That is all.
Happy Independence Day home place.
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C3RbuVe3-0w?wmode=transparent]
I love clouds
(That’s a baby and a mama whale)
A lot of times when I’m just walking around these general areas (I love saying “general areas”. Makes me feel like I’m the new weather girl), I look up. And then everyone around me looks up and thinks, “What the heck is she looking at?!”.
How embarrassing for them
What I love a lot is looking at the clouds. Something about the sky…I feel like I can see my whole future and feel so insignificant too. I have no idea where this comes from. It’s not religious for sure. Heaven is NOT in the sky. You can argue if you want. I’m sitting on the sidelines and eating chips.
I see my dreams, I see days when we stood on my terrace in Goa and gave names to every formation we saw (I saw a lot of elephants), I see a night walking down a slope on a pitch black night where every star lit the way like a blanket of hope, I see the ocean with the clouds almost falling into them.
And there on the horizon, I see just how happy I am where I am—at home.
“I’m a person of the mountains and the open paddocks and the big empty sky, that’s me, and I knew if I spent too long away from all that I’d die; I don’t know what of, I just knew I’d die.”
― John Marsden, A Killing Frost
This was two Saturdays ago
My real name is Bad Blogger D’Souza. I know I’m supposed to post these things “as.and.when.they.happen”, but I fail sometimes.
Not to worry because I did make a blueberry cheesecake and I’m willing to share the recipe with you for one night only. I mean forever. Forever and ever.
So last last Saturday, we were visited by the in-laws (mine, not his) and we all drove down to Shelton, about 2 hours away from home. We took the happy dogs along since they love the outdoors and went on our way to visit my person’s dad’s cousins Jacque and Glen.
Saying that they have a cute house that I want is more than I want to say. I want a cozy house like that with a bathtub garden, and a huge lawn with a well in the middle and berries that you can pick and snack on while you garden. Sigh.
They also have bees.
Bees live here
This is le bathtub garden. Angels watch over it because it’s so heavenly.
It’s all very whimsical to me. You can’t blame me for getting carried away. I’ve only seen these kinds of places in my dreams or in Hallmark movies. I love it!
The Johnsons’
We ate good, home-cooked and mostly homegrown meals and my cheesecake (I haven’t forgotten the recipe!), played with the dogs and just enjoyed the weekend. My person and I had to stay in a creepy motel room but breakfast the next day made up for it.
Oh, I forgot about Dos! He’s their 13-year-old Jack Russel Terrier. He could be 14 too, but deep down he’s still a baby. The dogs thought he was their new horsing around friend and Dos did try too. Poor boy, they really wore him out.
The silly dogs being silly faces
Little Dos and his tennis ball
Itty bitty berries that grow up to be my food
Okay so, I know you only waited this long for the cheesecake recipe. I honour your bravery.
This is the recipe I go back to time and time again because it’s delicious and you can make it with almost any fruit because the fruit is only the topping. BBC Good Food, I’m still working on perfecting this recipe, but boy is it amazing!
Ah, the sweet side of life.
Why can’t we be friends
?
It’s funny how all the things I don’t believe in seem to be true here. What is this “don’t talk to strangers”? Why can’t I just knock on the door outside mine and ask if they’d like to try a cookie? I’ve always used the best and non-poisoned ingredients after all.
People here seem to say hi when they pass you by or even wave an awkward wave. But I bet if I asked them if their foot was hurt, they’d ask me to come to church with them. It happened, these are the neighbours.
The people who are the nicest are the ones trying to sell you something. I’m always nice back because who knows if they need it on what could be a bad day for them.
I know, I know. Not very uplifting, but I do believe in a thing called humanity. I do have faith in the whole “Do unto others…” bit. I don’t feel “real” situations are even close to being real and I love imagining them in my perfect world.
So if you’re my neighbour (or even if you’re not) and your looking through this blog right now, say hi. Tell me you like the colour blue when there’s not a cloud in the sky or that you like your cookies fresh from the oven. Tell me you miss home and you wish things could be simpler again. Tell me you miss your tricycle, the one with the big wheel up front (my person did). Tell me all this and I’ll tell you that you’re my new best friend.
Click Click! It’s giving season!
I’m going to be honest. I’m doing this only so I can win that Fuji Instax and the film. So I might forfeit my chances of winning, but I’m a rebel and I aint fraid f th ruth. Did you get that?
Say my name new camera. SAY IT!
Okay so if you haven’t subscribed to the Plaid Barn‘s amazing daily dealios, you really should. Moreso if you a scrapbook-loving, earring-making, jar-pickling, cotton picking luminary. I’m sure you’re luminous if you’re reading this. You HAVE to be.
The website is having a giveaway and I’m doing my job and informing you all of this goodness from the comfort of my home, where I’m drinking a nice cuppa tea and dreaming of all the polaroids pictures I want to take and shake.
Sigh.
I got 25+ points. I am pretty darn cool.
Lomo lover
I might have said a lot about this new camera to individual people that I know but I want to say it to the world: I LOVE MY DIANA F+!! And I love Lomography!
He’s a toy camera that’s all sass and all film. These cameras are making a huge comeback because they’re so easy to use and every result (meaning photo) is such an awesome surprise. Also, there are companies like Lomography that are reviving this whole analogue fiesta with their range of camera and film.
It makes me wish I was more of a camera person and I knew what the heck I was doing. It’s okay though, because the golden rules of lomography let me just be the ditzy lomo lover that I am.
I’ve got to thank my friend(s) Miah for the idea and the rest of them for okaying it. I felt really bad that they spent so much time and effort on me (because I’m weird). I had no idea what I was looking at when I opened that box — mostly because it was pink and I have an aversion to pink that’s really pink, ya know?
So here are some photos from my first 2 rolls of 120 film. Diana and I were just getting to know each other so we tripped and fell but yes, we’re fine now…I think.
That’s the thing with lomography or even a Holga: You never really know what you’re doing and if that gets the experts’ noses in the air, well so be it. Ignore the know-it-alls. That should be the 11th rule.
The best and worst part: Part 1
The best part about being married?
I don’t have to shave my legs.
The worst part about being married?
I have to shave my legs.
(I speak in riddles, would you believe it?)
This is not me or my legs