Funny story. I was going around posting on Lavish and Snark when I found Ashley’s site. She has a (small) content part on her site and I found this theme on it. The font wasn’t of my liking (although it did look pretty), so I went through my own personal stash of 56926329549263926 fonts ¹ to find one that I liked. I used Ardent at first, and while I like it, it just didn’t fit with the flower header thingamajig. So I tried several others and they were blah/impossible to read.

So I’m thinking and thinking…I needed something that fit, but was also readable in the process. So…this font is was. The layout called for a plugin called wp-cufon which works like TTFTitles, but doesn’t use images. I spent hours trying to figure out why I couldn’t get it to work. Until I came across this site. Used the code given and tada! It finally worked. It’s pretty cool.

Anyways, there are some stuff that I might fix, like the font size of the sidebars. But for the most part is complete, and thanks for lazy fate to find a premade layout I actually like. Does this mean that I’ll stop making my own stuff? Nah. Once I get my inspiration fully back, there will be something good. Hopefully it won’t take another year to get another one up.

So…I have learned something new today. Something that never hit me until just a few minutes ago. Something I never thought would be the case.

I’m scared shitless of Ronnie’s cat.

It’s funny. I love cats. I even pet him every once in a while to try and get over this fear. But the moment I run into him, I turn into a scaredy cat. The cat knows this. Ronnie knows this. And because of how twisted my fiancé can be, he makes it his point of existence to make sure I get a good scare every day from the kitty. Like just now, he snuck up to me, and…well this is how it went.

Babe!
(I don’t answer)
Babe!
(I still don’t answer)
Babe, look!
(I turn around and see kitty in hand)

I scream and hyperventilate. Ronnie huffs out of the room because I pretty much threw every swear word I could at him.²

I dun get it. Maybe it’s because it’s a black cat and I’d be even afraid of his shadow, but still. There is no reason why I should have jumped like that. Damn thing’s probably just as terrified of me. Oh well.

Time to get my daily dose of caffeine and play some more Zelda. Laters.

He asked me if I’ve ever carved one. Well, in my neck of the woods, we took pumpkins and put a marker to them if we wanted to design it¹. So naturally, that’s a no. So he wanted me to help carve it. But I wasn’t actually doing the carving. He wanted to give me a better job.

Separating the gunk from the seeds.

I was helping him clean out the pumpkin, and at one time I stuck my hand inside since the scooper thingy wasn’t helping too much.

Big mistake.

The moment I got it on my hands, I was like “ew, ew, ew, ew, ew” at least 5 times, then promptly went to wash my hands. I used the scooper therein (awkwardly, might I add) until a sudden bout of nausea hit me. I think the pumpkin smell was a bit much.

Granted, it was fun. But as you can see, the pumpkin won. I am not used to that. But I will say this.

Ever since I’ve moved here, I’ve experienced a lot more than I would have otherwise. sandy toes, Nagaraya cracker nuts, a plethora of new foods…and more ready access to alcohol. So this move was indeed a good idea…and very well worth it. &heart;

No, this isn’t a body image issue, although it can very well turn into one. But this is annoying.

So the past few…months, so to speak, I’ve had a bout of bottomless pit stomach syndrome (hereafter known as BPSS). Where no matter how much I eat, about an hour or so after, it’s as if I haven’t eaten at all. Like, for example. I had a fairly big dinner the other day. About 2 hours later, I wanted something else to eat. I was like “come on, seriously?”; it’s really annoying.

With these bouts of hunger comes bouts of cravings. This week’s craving–popcorn. And there’s nothing much I can do about it until I can buy some.

Best part about all this–we have no fucking clue what it is.

First things first, pregnancy is ruled out. Mother Nature still fucks me over every month. Ronnie makes jokes about it because he knows how much it pisses me off, but he also knows that that’s not a possibility; not now anyways¹.

So now we’re trying to figure out other causes of said BPSS. And trying to figure out a fix because dammit, I’m hungry and it’s 1 am.

And no, sleep is not an option. That’s for the weak.

So I went to the park with the fiancé (hereafter known as Ronnie) and his nephew. I was sitting in the shade (I’m dark enough; I really don’t need a tan, and it is still 88 degrees here in October) and Ronnie told me to come over. I was like…well, here was the dialogue.

Me: But…the sand will get all over me!
Ronnie: It’s sand, babe, it’s not that bad.

Slightly relieved by that “it’s not that bad”, I walked over. I should have known better; I was wearing sandals. He was in sneakers.

OMG, I felt the sand go into my feet and between my toes and…well, here’s the rest of the convo.

Me: Ew, ew, ew!!
Ronnie: Babe, ew? It’s only sand!
Me: So? I’m not used to this shit! Ew! It’s in my toes!!!
Ronnie: (giggles)

I did that a few times and went to wipe my feet off once I got to the bench, muttering “ew” in the process.

The sand won. I don’t think I’ll be doing any parks here unless I’m wearing sneakers and 3 pairs of socks. I still have a lot to get used to while on the west coast. Like 88-degree weather in October and sand in parks. But at least Ronnie got a good laugh at that.

Three little monkeys on a ceiling fan,
One fell off and broke his hand,
Momma looked at him and said “little man”
What the fuck are you doing on the fan?

Feel free to continue.