Any Day of The Week

So hey all :)

Super excited about this, because you know how I went and wrote a fic for From My Write Side? This thing here?

Yeah, I won the prompt! I got to choose the next one! Sam asked that I find a first line from a book.

And I chose…

My prompt!!!

My prompt!!!

Enjoy!

Any Day of the Week

Drawn by me :)

Drawn by me :)

The thing about trying to choose your own nickname is that it never turns out the way you expect.

Not when you’ve got a group of dedicated thirteen year olds on hand.

When he’d changed schools he’d thought that perhaps he’d go by Ross—in fact, he’d gone to his teacher before hand and had told her that he’d prefer to be called that.

Because that was a suitably masculine rendition of his name.

But instead, his name got called out and yes, he got teased…

And gained a nickname just about immediately.

It was just from his new friend Jackie, who said she actually liked his name, and though it was only her who called him it while the rest of his classmates gained perverse delight in calling him by his full name, he thought it was pretty cool.

Because… well.

Rossamund was a boy with a girl’s name.

He didn’t know what his parents were thinking when they were naming him, though there was a strong possibility that it went along the lines of ‘we wanted a girl,’ but there it was.

There he was.

With a girl’s name.

Being called Mundy wasn’t all that bad, really, especially compared to the Rosa he’d gone by at his old school… it wasn’t great, and made him think of cartoon characters, but it wasn’t bad.

He still introduced himself as Ross, still got introduced by Jackie as Mundy, and still got called Rossamund by the rest of his classmates, and for a while it was good.

Until, of course his real nickname was decided on.

Because someone finally said Jackie’s nickname, and thought it was funny.

“Mundy… Mundy? Hah! Like Monday?”

“Mundy, Monday… yeah! It’s like Monday with a western accent!”

“Mundy, Tuesdy, Wensdy, Fraaaahdy, Sayturdy, hahaha, Sundy, hahahahaha…”

So, of course, his nickname had to be born from this masterful bit of wordplay.

It had to come from this in-depth thought process.

It just had to work out like so.

Because obviously, when Rossamund became Mundy, which sounded like Monday, it obviously meant that the best nickname for him would be…

Tuesday.

—-

Hope you enjoyed :) And this propmt is due by July 23rd, so you have time to write your own… *cough* you should do it *cough*

:D

I’m looking forward to the next!

EDIT: Now with a sequel. Click HERE to see how Rossamund turned out as an adult :)

Glass Blowing Glory-holes and FIRE

So, this is a bit of a response to my sister’s post HERE on her jealousy inspiring adventure into glass blowing.

She was the one to mention glory holes, by the way, this wasn’t me being a brat and trying to prompt my older sister into asking if I know what a glory-hole is.

I do, by the way Lexy.

I hope that the fact that I’m 19 helps to negate the sibling-nose-scrunch of “my sister knows about something sexual in nature?”

Yes, I’ve moved past the playground “Are you a virgin?”-”What’s that?”-”Just answer the question” trolling, and even know where babies come from.

Storks, right?

But moving on from THAT, I suggest that you read her post (link above) first (though it isn’t entirely necessary) just so you know how things actually went rather than this bout of my imagining my own reaction to being allowed to play with molten glass and colours.

I think that there would be three parts to my reaction, and because the idea amuses me, I’m going to use my three mental characters that I always end up thinking of regardless of the situation.

Sanity, Insanity, and Myself, who I have been thinking of as Mediator. Click HERE for my post explaining where Sanity and Insanity came to mind. To the left there should be a thing to find all my posts including these characters…

Anyway, Lexy mentions that while actually working with the glass, there was a dull roar of “MAKING GLASS”, and when cooling and twisting and doing other things to the hot glass, thinking “don’t touch the glass!” with lots of undercurrent thoughts like don’t set anything on fire and whatnot…

I feel like I would be having a very similar reaction, but with a bit more paranoia towards the possibility of potentially harming myself or others.

The idea of molten-glass burns freaks me out.

It freaks me out more than the idea of molten-lava burns, because people don’t try to make lava into art.

The possibility of hurting someone else while I’m working, while I’m trying to make some piece of art, while I’m doing ANYTHING that could possibly result in someone else’s harm freaks me out.

Last summer when I was working with heavy machinery daily around my fellow maintenance workers, I was freaking out a lot.

So the idea of fiddling around with molten glass with other people around me also doing this… freaks me the hell out.

I would still do it though.

But it doesn’t keep me from thinking that the insane and fairly bitchy part of my consciousness would be going off like a little kid who wandered off in Ikea.

Fascinated, freaking out, touching things and possibly breaking things, being a nuisance to other people, being a tiny-human-shaped terror.

The sane part would be that employee you go to to find that same kid.

They know what to do, they try to keep you calm and happy so you can enjoy your foray into the large plot of land that is Ikea, and when they find the child, they will do damage control and do their best to get that demon-child back to someone who can control it. The Mediator.

I have a friend who worked at Ikea for a summer, by the way.

So in my mind, the situation would likely have me looking fairly normal, perhaps with a slightly hysteric (Happiness? Freaking out? Smiling regardless of reason.) smile, with Insanity screaming in my ear all the things that could go wrong, all the craptastic things that could result in me and others going on a fun trip to the hospital. Screaming about how I SHOULDN’T TURN TOO QUICKLY! SOMEONE MIGHT BE THERE! FUCK! Oh, and also, BE SURE TO WARN EVERYONE THAT YOUR CLUMSY ASS IS HEADING OVER THERE SO YOU DON’T CRIPPLE THEM! SHIT!

Never mind Sanity speaking calmly to me at my other side what EXACTLY I have to do, as I need to do it, and that everyone knows to watch out, calm down, nothing to worry about, just be careful, breathe…

It really doesn’t help with the fact that it seems like it’s almost a familial trait to want to play with fire. I can barely be trusted with a candle… And oh look, shiny-glowing-hot-glass-FUNNNNNNN!

Yeah, I imagine that going to a glass blowing workshop would be the most mentally tiring thing I’d have done for the entire year.

And I’m saying this AFTER having just finished my exams…

Jeez…

And I still want to go to one of these things!

By the way, for the >*< at the end of her post, mentioning her setting things on fire and her mentioning of heating up a muffin for 10 minutes…

*sigh* I will explain.

I have been the source of a lot of fiery food/other being thrown to the back yard. A lot of the time it was from me trying to heat up my own food, so this isn’t me being a pyromaniac child, no.

This is usually from me not understanding the answer to a question.

The incident Lexy is talking about:

That I had asked Dad how long it took to cook muffins after he’d finished a batch.

He said to put them in the oven for about ten minutes, and then check on them.

The oven HE was talking about

 vs.

The oven I Thought he was talking about

So, a while later after a few minutes a burning smell was happening, there was the alarm going off, and a flaming muffin was being chucked out the back door into the snow.

Yay for winter.

To recap:

That I had asked Dad how long it took to cook muffins after he’d finished a batch.>> (Me: I want to eat a warm muffin later) <<

He said to put them in the oven for about ten minutes, and then check on them. >> (Dad: Aw, she wants to know how long to cook muffins) <<

It’s more of a mistake on my side, I think, but considering I was at that waist-height age, and not very good at getting across exactly what I wanted to know…

Yeah.

And it wasn’t the only thing I’d set on fire before, either, but I think that the full list would need a blog post of its own.

In case you need a visual, the flaming muffin probably looked something like this before it hit snow. You can imagine why it might have alarmed the Family to see this in the microwave...

Juice Before I Murdered Them

Yet another post about my craptastic roommates, and I know that some of you are going to be like “Pfft, whatever, it’s just juice” but I get more than a little pissed off when my stuff is opened and eaten without my knowing!

Yes this is about Juice. It wasn’t a typo in the title.

My parents came down to Ottawa to visit last weekend, as it’s March Break for most people in (not university) schooling, and they were nice enough to take me shopping at the local Metro (grocery store).

They bought me bread, they bought me ham and a variety of cheese, crackers, they also were smart enough to get me some heavy things, things that are more awkward to carry home.

Such as Milk and Juice.

Juice is something I love.

Other people are like “hey, I’ll have some milk and cookies.”

I am like “Hey, sure I’ll have some cookie–OHMYGOD! Is that JUICE?”

Juice lasts longer than milk, it comes in more flavours than milk, it comes in little boxes that DON’T have to be refrigerated, it is a part of my childhood that I have dragged, kicking and screaming, into adulthood.

While my friends were wasting money buying pop, I brought a number of juice boxes to school.

Because one juice box isn’t enough. Nope.

And my friends came to appreciate this, as I keep more than just two, on the not so off-chance I’ll be hanging out after school for longer than anticipated.

It wasn’t as odd as it sounds that they could ask, with some certainty that I would be able to deliver, if I had a juice box for them.

So my roommates OPENING (as in, it was sealed) and DRINKING (as in, I wasn’t the first to drink) about half of the 1.89L of MY JUICE (blood orange, if you’re wondering), just know that I am outraged.

Just about as outraged when I found that they had eaten all of my cheese.

I’m not sure what I’m more angry about, but I am pissed >:  (

And, if they eat all my cheese again on TOP of this, I am going to kill them.

Maybe after spiking all their food with laxatives.

Assholes…

I am just about ready to go to war with them at this point in time, and I will not be held responsible for damage to their food.

Doom shall come to those who come between me and my food…

They haven’t yet made moves against my meat (wow, that sounds vaguely sexual :S), and I am only going to say that they don’t because they don’t know if I’ll be using it for a meal or how long it has been in the fridge.

They certainly don’t pay attention to their own food… I had to, a couple of months ago, throw out a large Tupperware of sausages.

They were already white and fizzy, and were growing blue.

If they do ever eat my meat products (or more cheese, or more juice), then I am going to have a full on hissy fit.

A temper tantrum of epic proportions.

It will not be limited to expressing my anger through blog-form.

Oh, and if they ever tried stealing one of my jars of home-made salsa…

On a more cheerful (and less murderous) note, Mom and Dad seemed to have fun, staying Sat-Tues, and when I had to leave the to their own devices for a bit on Monday while I reviewed/studied, They went on a tour to the Parliament Buildings. I also ended up taking three showers in two days, as I took advantage of the saltwater pool at the Minto Suites my parents stayed at. I also ate spring rolls with plum sauce (that had wasabi mixed into it) that made me want to cry, as I’ve been eating more cafeteria food in an attempt to use up my meal plan.

To the family who reads this, I love you! To everyone else, I love you too! Just not as much as I love my family ;)

Bonus: Delicious foods and instructions to make delicious food, good for runners and “green smoothies” HERE