Category Archives: Hchom

I have strong feelings about Sandwiches. Pastry items notwithstanding, I consider them to be the perfect food. I mean, ok, I say that about a lot of foods. But they must be the perfect, hmm, composite food? That sounds convincing enough. Anyway, I could eat them every day forever.

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I guess this jacket isn’t actually all that impossible. Only for me, financially. I’m not even positive that I like motorcycle jackets enormously, but this one appeals to me with its quilted bits and less-pointy-than-usual collar. Plus, it’s made by this old, heritage company in England, that does exacting recreations of its vintage stock, made to your measurements and customizable (so for once it would not be too short for me). No fake distressing, or anything like that. Kind of fashionless. Plus, conveniently, I think it has a bit of a space sniper look to it. But then, I would.

The jacket is the “Super Monza“. Meaning that I would have to call mine the Super Monza Fighter II Turbo.

Hermit week is over for now, and as usual I am burdened with absurd and impossible wants. There are certain things, of course, that I want all the time, with a kind of professional efficiency. Like pie. I want pie so much right now, with such well-oiled zeal, that I barely even have to think about it. It’s not that I necessarily want to eat pie, just this second. It’s just always better to have some pie on hand, ready for when I do.

Jackets are another thing I want professionally. They are the most transformative item of clothing, maybe. They are like armour. And actually, this one also is armour. And I want it – did I mention?
And this isn’t one of those fantasyish things that I’d feel foolish walking around in. I think it would look damned awesome, and very nearly normal, with a t-shirt and jeans. Am I going batty? I don’t think I am.

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I’ve decided that I want a big, fat-marbled fantasy ham – the sort that hangs from the ceiling looking rustic. God, that would be the greatest thing ever. It would go something like this: 
“Would I like some ham, now? Yes, I think I would. Oh hey, look over there! A big wad of ham from which I may cleave many meaty wodges!”

I never buy meat, see. It’s too expensive, and I don’t know how to cook it. Mostly this doesn’t bother me, as I grew up eating 15 oz of steak every evening, cooked rare enough to kill anyone who hasn’t been carefully conditioned to withstand all varieties of probable bacteria. The bloom is off the rose. But not today. Today I want HAM. And perhaps an entire goblin larder to go with it.

Non-stop rain.

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Haven’t we all wondered what Final Fantasy Tactics job class we would be? I suppose I’d have to say thief, for myself (though my charm would suck). Thieves are rather weak, which is a shame, but then I can’t bench press anything larger than a medium-sized root vegetable, either. 
Shall we think up some thiefy outfits? Yes, let’s.

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(that is, in my face)

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Lately I’ve had this uncharacteristic urge to find (and presumably wear) a dress. It might be the shaved head, which renders all my baggy, androgynous clothing somewhat more androgynous than I’d actually like. Anyway, I thought a bit about what kind of dress I’d realistically be able to pull off, and I decided that it would have to be something out of my little-old-lady spinster dreams (looking a bit wobbly at the moment, but hey, there’s still hope). So. Some kind of cozy knit. Definitely long.

I present the onesie dress, complete with totally unnecessary bum flap. I’m assuming that any little-old-lady future of mine must involve leather jackets, hairless cats, and whatever absurd fantasy accessories I’m no longer too embarrassed to sport in public. Now I’d like some brilliant Japanese or Swedish designer to make this, please, and send me one. Yohji Yamamoto. Acne. Whichever, I’m not picky.

I bought a Rag & Bone jacket the other day. I feel like it has a bit of a bad boy thing going – not bad boy in the motorcycle gang creaky leather sense. Rather, bad little boy spoiled with treats, sticking gum on his teacher’s chair. Speaking of goblin school.
This also works as an accurate self portrait (of my soul, at the very least), minus the fat sacks of goblin silver.

I replaced the buttons, though, because I’m obsessive like that. Wooden buttons make me all tittering and weak in the knees.

The best part about the cabin is sifting through all the old stuff. Like this mouldering cloth-bound poetry book, with my grandfather’s professorial notes.

This is him and my mum, having magical wilderness adventures that I want to be part of.

Flooded lake.

Pie with a greyhound on it. Pie by my sister, greyhound by me.

Fancy leaf tea from Marley

Cookies from Terra Breads (I got a gift certificate. So did Brandon, who has wisely donated it to a good cause).

And I shaved my head, for the new year. Now I look marginally more capable of killing aliens.