Bah-Bah-Black-Sheep

The Tom Baker Scarf

Or should I say the Tom Baker scarves? For those of you who don’t know, Tom Baker was a doctor. More specifically, the man was The Doctor. The fourth one. From 1974 to 1981 he was everyone’s favorite time lord (I’m going to exclude all those silly people who like the Master, although I will say he was one fine villain). But why is he the best one? Why not Tennant or Smith? There are two good reasons: bad puns and glorious scarves.

Now, as you may or may not know, I am an occasional collector of bad puns. They’re really not that hard to find. But 12’ long scarves? Well, that is an entirely different kettle of fish. Scarves take time and patience, or at least a lot of thrift-store luck, three things I never seem to have enough of. Still, the scarf cries out to me, so join me as I poorly chronicle my attempts to make the perfect combination of the 4th Doctor’s scarf. It will be a motley thing, interwoven with 12-episode story arcs and many a deliciously atrocious pun.

PS: To all my Obie friends: if I am successful in this endeavor I will dress as Tom Baker for Drag Ball. I wish my hair were shorter though…

Hmm

It’s funny how talking to old friends can make me want to write again. Or thinking on missed opportunities with lost loves. Or simply attempting to procrastinate. Well, perhaps it’s time to take up this silly blog again. Perhaps not. Let’s find out.

In the meantime, may I once again reiterate that lovers may come and go, but my love for Stephen Stills will outlast me? Well, I just have.

So, life…

So there’s this girl. I’m not going to go into details, just suffice to say there is girl. We have been friends for a week but it feels like months. She makes me happy, and at the risk of saying too much I’ll leave you with the knowledge that my life is very, very good.

In Other News…

I’m back (in Oberlin that is). It’s been an awkward few days. I wanted to be all excited about being back, but I’ve been having mixed feelings. It makes me feel bad. I watched friend after friend come back and exclaim, “I’m home!!!” and felt… not the same. Which makes me feel guilty, because Oberlin is my home, but it’s not my first home. I feel like the child of divorced parents, shuttled between two houses, expected to love each one best. And if I had to choose, I’m not sure I would choose Oberlin. I love it here, but I don’t want to be here.

Does that make sense? If it does, please explain it to me. Right now I’m too busy figuring out reducing sugars.

My silliness

Have you ever noticed how different types of silliness mean different things:

General, ineffable, ridiculous thoughts: feeling confident

Laid-back giggling: tired

Smiling: Thoughtful

Acting like an idiotic three year old: crushing

I don’t often use the phrase, but FML.

Always with the Apologies…

Gah, okay, so remember how I promised I would start writing more? Well, one thing lead to another, and then six finals and a break later I realized that yet again I have failed my friends by posting nothing. But in my own defense, I have a terrible time knowing what exactly you’d like me to do for you. Suggestions?

In the meantime, enjoy some brief scenes from my time spent without you:

A: Becky, would you like some facial hair?

Me: Not right now, I’m writing a paper.

A: Facial hair helps you study.

Me: You don’t say… well, in that case, I’d like some mutton chops please. Big, handsome, sexy mutton chops. Like Mike Nesmith’s.

A: Whose?

Me: Never mind. Just look up Martin Van Buren and you’ll get the idea.

A: (a few seconds later) Whoa, now there is a sexy man.

~

Wikipedia tells me a reducing sugar is a sugar that forms an aldehyde or ketone and then reduces a substance in a redox reaction (for example Maillard’s reaction, which gives us caramel from milk and sugar). I tell me that non-electronic communication with a professor is fraught with difficulties.

~

I have a shirt. Well, I have many shirts, but one in particular needs mentioning. It stares at you, dark eyes smiling with some strange thought you certainly don’t want to know about, pale, spiky blond hair shaggily stretched across my chest. He holds a glass ball and dares you to look into it. It makes me happy to wear the shirt, yet also sad to know that I have succumb to the disease of the mildly enthralled fan girl.

Damn you, Ziggy Stardust, or whomever you pretend to be this week.

~

My iPod, who I affectionately and only occasionally called Eduardo, ran away again. I have a new one now, who is as of now thankfully nameless, but I still like to think of old Eduardo, lurking in the shadows, giggling mischievously while I spent an agonizing week looking for him, now jealously watching as I cavort about with my shiny new refurbished iPod. Then again, maybe he never meant to leave and was actually taken instead. Perhaps one day, while shopping for books on Amazon, I’ll come across Eduardo, smile sadly, and navigate away.

~

I cut my silly brown locks, again, just before Thanksgiving. My mom now believes my hair is growing backwards. It’s gotten longer since then, transforming into either a short version of the 20’s bob or, my favorite, the brunette, wavy Mrs. Brady cut. One day I might be inclined to post a picture, but right now I think I just heard a lamp breaking downstairs. Those kids…

~

While browsing the peculiarities of the xkcd world, avoiding with honed skill the demands of finals preparation, I rediscovered the joys of Pandora Radio. In addition to helping me rally my neurons and hit the books once more, it has since aided me in exploring some of my favorite yet little-perused genres. As one rock critic, who I hardly ever like, once said, any musician must listen to at least 1000 records before beginning to make his own music. To all you aspiring rock stars, Pandora is a great way to chip away at the 1000 CD mark. I recommend CSN radio and the Byrds. Or Juanes, if you’re looking for some easy listening in Spanish.

~

More later, or maybe not. Sorry if that’s disappointing, but being honest is a resolution of mine.

I wish I could play an Instrument

If you give a sheep an instrument, she will want to learn how to play. So you take the time to teach her all you know, and then you walk away. Come back a few weeks later and you’ll hear it- sadness in music, the fleeting look, the long wave goodbye. The bleeding heart, the whispered words in darkness, the grey dawn, the lonely cave, the silent day, the patter of rain on an empty house. Walk closer, the sound intensifies. Open the door. See the little sheep, curled up as if asleep, no longer playing an instrument but sounding out the sadness in her own way.

Maybe I shouldn’t play any instruments after all.

There’s this girl in Harkness

She wears overalls all the time, and looks beautiful in them. I wish I knew how she did it. Right now she’s got these pale green ones on, and they flow like few things I’ve ever seen. Jealous? You bet I am.

Hmm, the peculiarity of relationships

Romance amuses me. I don’t know why I thought of this little tale, but I hope you enjoy:

So, there’s this guy who used to like me. And I never liked him, because he was shy and never let himself go around me (although I didn’t realize that at the time). Once he didn’t like me anymore, though, he became, I dunno, almost magical in my eyes. He was funny and kind and said all the right things- well, almost all the right things. But the long and short of it was he became the sort of guy I always wanted. And I guess that’s when I decided I sort of liked him. But by then he had a new girl in his life.

God, how I wanted to slap him.

cookies and college applications. scary shit.

castles-and-sunshine-and-waffles:

BUT I CAN DO IT. :DD

 Of course you can- you wouldn’t be you if you couldn’t. :D

GOOD LUCK HIGH SCHOOL SENIORS!!!!