Fact: If you're feeling cheap, you can use shampoo as bubble bath. This despite the fact that I pay more for hair products than I would for bubble bath any day.
Further fact: No, I'm not turning into Dan Brown. For starters, my fact really is a fact. Especially since my shampoo smells quite nice.
This is, of course, perfectly normal for me. I don't use much shampoo for its intended purpose, and it makes for quite a nice bath.
Unless you put too much in, that is.
I set the water to dutifully fill the bathtub with nice, hot, not-child-safe water, went to check my flist like I always have time to, and then... whee! I haven't seen that many bubbles since the last time I saw someone put soap into a fountain, and I think it's pretty clear I wasn't following any kind of directions. And it was all pretty-like, too, and comfortable and luxurious. Now, I learned a thing or two from this. One is that bubbles displace. The other is that noses pick the worst possible time to be itchy.
So there I am, in my nice, hot water, elsewhere buried in a monumental tide of bubbles, and my nose gets itchy. This, of course, needed fixing. And arms and hands and all were all bubbly, and any attempts at wiping bubbles off simply piled more on. It's at this point I gave up, and then giggled at the stash of bubbles that my nose had just earned. And then found myself the proud new owner of a mouthful of soap bubbles courtesy of gravity, and then died laughing at the absurdity of the situation.
I'll give you a few minutes to imagine.
In other news, after a mere four days of ownership I'm starting to get to be reasonably good with my new pen, and losing copious amounts of blue ink to the pages of a sketchbook in the quest for perfect Chancery Italic script that I can just ignore later. Even the way I write with a normal pen is subtly twisting to fit this new menace; the notebook page that has my points for this post is in a mocking medium-point black gel-ink ballpoint kind of script with lines that perfectly follow where my other pen should go.
It'll improve with time, I suppose. And then, if anyone's actually interested, I could find a way to show you.
Lastly, I leave you with another amusing anecdote. Ealier this evening, I got a phonecall from my mother. Seems there was a fierce and bitter argument afoot, which they needed help to resolve. This comes after the Foreigner/Boston conflict of '03, where they couldn't figure out whose song More Than A Feeling is. (Boston, by the way)
So, tonight the argument was about The Small Faces' Itchycoo Park. The dispute was over one line in particular, and it all hinged on whether it was:
Get hung up feed the ducks with a bun
or
Get hung up feed the ducks with the bum
This left me to explain that the bum from Itchycoo Park hangs out with the wino down Led Zepellin's road, and that they both live in magical mondegreen land. My telephone seems to invite oddness, which may be why it breaks so often.
Further fact: No, I'm not turning into Dan Brown. For starters, my fact really is a fact. Especially since my shampoo smells quite nice.
This is, of course, perfectly normal for me. I don't use much shampoo for its intended purpose, and it makes for quite a nice bath.
Unless you put too much in, that is.
I set the water to dutifully fill the bathtub with nice, hot, not-child-safe water, went to check my flist like I always have time to, and then... whee! I haven't seen that many bubbles since the last time I saw someone put soap into a fountain, and I think it's pretty clear I wasn't following any kind of directions. And it was all pretty-like, too, and comfortable and luxurious. Now, I learned a thing or two from this. One is that bubbles displace. The other is that noses pick the worst possible time to be itchy.
So there I am, in my nice, hot water, elsewhere buried in a monumental tide of bubbles, and my nose gets itchy. This, of course, needed fixing. And arms and hands and all were all bubbly, and any attempts at wiping bubbles off simply piled more on. It's at this point I gave up, and then giggled at the stash of bubbles that my nose had just earned. And then found myself the proud new owner of a mouthful of soap bubbles courtesy of gravity, and then died laughing at the absurdity of the situation.
I'll give you a few minutes to imagine.
In other news, after a mere four days of ownership I'm starting to get to be reasonably good with my new pen, and losing copious amounts of blue ink to the pages of a sketchbook in the quest for perfect Chancery Italic script that I can just ignore later. Even the way I write with a normal pen is subtly twisting to fit this new menace; the notebook page that has my points for this post is in a mocking medium-point black gel-ink ballpoint kind of script with lines that perfectly follow where my other pen should go.
It'll improve with time, I suppose. And then, if anyone's actually interested, I could find a way to show you.
Lastly, I leave you with another amusing anecdote. Ealier this evening, I got a phonecall from my mother. Seems there was a fierce and bitter argument afoot, which they needed help to resolve. This comes after the Foreigner/Boston conflict of '03, where they couldn't figure out whose song More Than A Feeling is. (Boston, by the way)
So, tonight the argument was about The Small Faces' Itchycoo Park. The dispute was over one line in particular, and it all hinged on whether it was:
Get hung up feed the ducks with a bun
or
Get hung up feed the ducks with the bum
This left me to explain that the bum from Itchycoo Park hangs out with the wino down Led Zepellin's road, and that they both live in magical mondegreen land. My telephone seems to invite oddness, which may be why it breaks so often.
