#i forgot i have this sitting in my puter

[tealmussel]

Roll up your sleeves.

____ ko-fi

[ehh-is-the-name]

You know when I said I'd make a Floory rug..?

So yeah, I did it.

This is your calling card to do the same. Make a rug, I triple-dog dare you. Don't know how?

Here's a breakdown of how I made The Floor:

Before fully getting into it, in that rb I said:

We could have so much mroe than what the shop offers- it could be glorious. I couldn't get tuft chin hair or flower power blush floor with $45 dollars at their store, but I could get it irl for the low low price of like a week-straight worth of work.

Ha... haha.... No. It took a lot longer than that. MUCH longer than that.

This is a little jitter lapse with the dates I worked on him. In each pic I spent around 2-3 hours working on him, except the last few in August. Those I spent like 3-5 hours on because I needed him to be finished before the semester started. My goal was to get him finished and sitting in my dorm, and I fucking did :)

= - - =

Starting from the top though, since I had the design after making the rb post linked, I decided on the size. I was watching the video showcasing him as a rug, and I gauged he was about a yard wide, so I based my measurements on that. I knew that I was going to needle punch him instead of latch hook him because I felt the punching would be faster. And well... I've done punch needling before this project so I figured it'd be faster than learning a new technique.

Here's what I mean, for a frame of reference.

Since I went the punching route, I knew he'd need a frame to be punched out on. To keep the fabric taut and all that jazz. Luckily for me I had a bunch of wood hanging around from an old bed's slots, so I made the frame out of that. Similarly, I had a bunch of fabric lying around.

Word of advice: DO NOT USE NORMAL FABRIC WITH A NORMAL PUNCH NEEDLE YOU WILL TEAR THAT SHIT UP. Learned that the hard way-

The fabric I used was NOWHERE near "loose" enough for a big punch needle. Loose in the sense that it has more holes in it. On the left is the fabric you're supposed to use when making a rug (Monk's Cloth), and on the right is the fabric I used (pic not of the exact cloth but close).

Notice that the holes on the right are a LOT smaller... I did not realise this mattered until I'd already primed the frame and drew him on with a sharpie.

Bask in his glory.

To give a breif on how I did this, I hooked my 'puter up to the TV with an HTMI, opened the image I had of him (it's a bit different than the of doodle in the rb b/c I wanted brighter colours), and literally held the wooden frame with the fabric on it up to my TV and traced it. I traced it from the inside first so that it would be mirrored on the side I would be punching on. If you draw the design you want to punch on the side you're punching on please mirror the image first.

Forgot to say, yes I had a staple gun too, so that didn't add into the price of making this Floory rug.

After this point, it was pretty smooth sailing, sorta... It would've been if I'd bought a thinner yarn for the main body. See, in this whole experiment, I was very dead set on keeping this project under $45 so I bought a large ball of cheap yarn. I tried to gauge how much I would need with the needle height (about 3/4 inch I used), but I got scared and just wound up buying this giant green ball that I needed to de-ply to work with properly. You could kinda see it in the jitter-lapse below, but yeah.

Before punching with this Red Heart size 4 yarn, I had to separate 1 of the ply FOR THE ENTIRE RUG. I had to pull out a substantial amount from the big skein, de-ply it, roll it back into a ball, then needle punch with it.

And why did I have to do this? BECAUSE I WAS USING THE WRONG FABRIC AND NEEDLE PUNCH FOR MAKING A WHOLE ASS RUG!!

I didn't know that the needle punch needle I had was an embroidery one, NOT a normal needle punch needle. Notice that it's small, and embroidery floss is the thing going through the hole and NOT size 4 yarn. And for the right, notice that it's also kinda small but the needle itself is a lot thicker, the channel that the yarn is going through is wider than the yarn itself- and that it's YARN AND NOT EMBROIDERY FLOSS.

Needless to say, it was aggravating and made the process take a lot longer than it should've. It wasn't impossible, I mean, you see him finished above and below, but it made it WAY more tedious, since a the thicker yard, even after being de-ply'd, still got stuck in the needle punch needle. After wresling with that off and on for... what about 4 months give or take, it was on to gluing and backing.

Going on the record to say that Tuft the World, Sam Made That, Shop Last., AJ MAKES, and BrokenBlvds' thread were the backbone of my glue searching, and rug-making experience. If you genuinely want to make a tuff rug (hand-punched or otherwise) their guides are so helpful <3

But for real, finding the right glue was a lot harder than anticipated. Many people said to use Roberts 3095 adhesive for rugs along with another glue, but I didn't have the funds for that, nor was planning to buy a whole gallon of rug glue I'd only for 1 project. I took up BrokenBlvds thread as my glue of choice, even though they were asking for something better. So far (about 3 months of use and a couple cleanings) the Roberts 6700 glue is holding up fine. The thing that isn't, is the yarn. After one vacuuming, fuzzies have been obscuring his eyes and junk. It's not bad, or even that noticeable, but I do miss his original state. That's what I get for using cheap yarn. I still love him to death tho.

Side tangent aside, I also used the 6700 because it has less of an odour, and I planned on bringing him to my dorm right when he was dry. While that was drying outside, I worked on the backing. The OG Floory rug had a nonslip backing attached (if I remember correctly), but mine does not! In similar fashion to the fabric of the rug itself, I also used left over fabric as his backing. For structure, I used some of my father's old uniform pants, and to make it more like dirt, I used an old bed sheet.

I stitched them together in a quilt-ish design so that the layers would be attached throughout the rug. That was a rush, but when I finished it I went out back and stuck it on there with a bit more Roberts 6700. When it was cured enough to come inside (3 days after gluing) I worked on the nonslip portion.

Had a rectangle of rug grip mat stuff, stuck some pins around the edges of Floory, traced the pins then cut it out. It's a little hard to see but looking up top, you can see a few of the pins sticking out around his edge.

After getting that, I released him from the frame, "pinked" his edges, and whip-stitched the edge shut.

That hurt my thumb SO FUCKIN BAD- Had to have pliers next to me for most of the whip-stitching, because it was so hard to get through the glue with a blunt needle. I used a blunt needle 'cause it was the only needle I had that could hold the yarn, and to keep in the spirit of the experiment... No way I was buying a needle when I had a needle that could technically work.

Now, in the name of the whole experiment, let me do a breakdown of the things I bought verse used:

Items Bought for project:

Green Red Heart Yarn - $15

Roberts 6700 Carpet Adhesive - $9

Wrong sized punch needle - $3

Total spent on Floory rug: $27

Items used in general:

9 different colours of yarn

About 1.5 yards of polyester/cotton blend fabric

1/2 of a flat sheet from a bedsheet set

1 pair of uniform pants

1 embroidery needle punch needle

4 (roughly) yard-long wood slots from a bed

Nails and screws (and the tools for those)

1 Staple gun & about 70 staples (I fucked up a lot of them & restapled)

A sewing machine

Pinking shears

Tapestry needles

etc...

Total if I had to buy all that: More than $45!

I put the lists side by side to say that I know saying "Oh just make it yourself" is easier said than done. If I didn't have all the shit I did, I would've just bought him myself like any sane person would. But no, I had the will and the materials, and I wanted The Floor in my dorm. And now here he is, along with my crazy ass Jhariah x hfjone bag...

That's for a different post- but forgive me, it's the most recent photo I have of him.

All and all, I had a good time working on him! It was very therapeutic to hunch on the floor of my living room and stab fabric a gazillion times to make The Floor from Inanimate Insanity. It drove me a bit inanimate insane, but honestly, I wake up every morning and see his face and it makes things better. So in reality, I guess you could say it was the friends I made along the way- thanks for watch

[napps-resting-forest]

UPDATE ON MY SQUISH + mini story time

OK

So I asked one of my friends who's close with them to have us talk over discord (cause I'm nervous to talk to them in person) and play scribble.io :DDDD

I'm very nervous and excited about this. ONE thing I'm incredibly nervous about for no reason is that I forgot my earbuds at my dorm. My wireless headphones make me sound like I'm underwater💀 I'mma have to use my old ass wired headphones ain't no way am I using the wireless ones

ALSO,, apparently they're a furry which was COMPLETELY unexpected cuz they DO NOT look like they'd be a furry. But yknow what, thats just one more thing we can bond over >:]

Story time below if anyone wants to read that

I was in class Monday and unfortunately the spot where I usually sit was already taken when I arrived to class. I had to sit at the spot where my squish usually sits cuz my friend was already sitting there. Lil while after I sat down my squish came in and sat a different spot that was sorta close. My friend left cuz they had a lot to do so it was just me there.

Context for this part, I am sitting at a table away from all the other tables, relatively close to the door of the classroom that has a paper towel roll.

They got up and I assumed that my squish was going out of the classroom but uh,, nope- they came walking in my direction and reached over me and my things for the paper towel roll.

Btw another context, my squish is tall asf. So imagine how I felt minding my business on my puter when all of a sudden a tall person reaches over my computer for a paper towel.

Ig someone spilled smth where my squish was sitting at but my GOD THEY LEGIT SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME I JUMPED IN MY SEAT😭😭😭😭

Anyways YA can't wait to talk and hang out with them over discord soon! Shoutout to my friend for setting this all up omg I owe them a treat fr

[runswith]

Note to any who stumble across this - am trying something different w/ this page for a while. We’ll see how it goes.

******************************************************

Travel diary:  Casablanca.  Entry 1 -- Friday, February 27, 2004.

Touching down in North Africa Oops. In all the hubbub my little life has seen recently, I forgot to mention I was heading to Morocco this weekend. I write this sitting in a smoky, poorly-lit cybercafé in Casablanca, butt planted in a sophisticated instrument of torture posing as an old, old office chair. Nothing but Arabic males share the café with me, apart from the elderly French-speaking woman seated behind the rickety desk by the door; a teeny, ancient black & white television behind her plays a French channel (the picture actually a distressed-looking, nausea-inducing dark lavender and white), its murmur a constant in the background. I knew I was in for a different trip when I boarded the plane this morning in Madrid, finding myself among Spaniards, French, Moroccans, a handful of young, partying Germans and (I am not making this up) the Namibian national rugby team. All of them. And me -- the only native English speaker in the bunch. Though I spoke Spanish, so no one knew. This talking-Spanish thing is great -- it completely confounds some folks, and my accent is decent enough that they can't place me from that. One of the Spanish flight attendants seemed to be checking me out, trying, I think, to figure out just where the hell I hailed from. Or maybe simply fascinated by my sheer animal magnetism. (Insert laugh track here.) But I digress. The plane landed beneath turbulent skies, dark gray clouds trading off with bursts of sunlight. Inside the terminal, things were grimly serious. The unsmiling old fart who seized my passport took a good long time inputting my info into a 'puter. After which some burly uniformed types made me (and everyone else) put baggage and coats through an x-ray machine. After which I joined crowds of loud, hyperverbal families trying to maneuver carts piled high with suitcases and monstrous duffel bags through grimly serious customs types, the inspectors barking commands at many of the over-baggaged travelers, ordering them to nearby tables/counters for forced unpacking. Me and my two teeny carry-on bags tiptoed through, unharassed. Out in the terminal: plenty of signage, all in Arabic or French. No Spanish, no English. All signage, all conversation: Arabic, French. No one spoke anything I did, which gave them all license to ignore me. I managed to get cash, managed to wring a bus ticket out of one functionary, a large framed photo of King Mohammed VI (an image found all over Mohammed V Airport) propped up atop a nearby filing cabinet. Asking where the bus might be found produced vague arm gestures in the general direction of outside. Outside: no signs indicating a bus stop (I'd begun getting the hang of deciphering French signage). No bus stop visible anywhere, in any direction. Tons of taxis, though. Mostly stressed-looking Mercedes Benzes. I saw a pair of older Spanish women from the plane, asked one about the bus. She strongly recommended forgetting that transport option -- unreliable, slow, with apparently no guarantee of actually getting where you want to go. Take a taxi, she advised. There’s just one big hitch: the taxi drivers. A wild bunch who seemed bent on ignoring me. I watched one of them move his Mercedes when his turn came to inch forward to the head of the line. He opened the door, got out, pushed the car ahead, straining against its dead weight. Not a great omen. This, of course, turned out to be my driver. I get in the car. The driver speaks Arabic, French, nothing else -- we blather ineffectually back and forth. He will not negotiate and quotes a price, substantially above the figure the Spanish woman suggested. Take it or leave it. On impulse, I go with it, hand over the cash. He has no idea where my hotel is, begins quizzing other drivers, a crowd quickly collects around the car, arguing, debating, arms waving, voices raised. I manage to raise my voice above theirs, I mention the hotel's street address, they all go, "OHHHHHH!", begin arguing about the best way to get there. A consensus is finally reached, the other drivers drift off, my driver gets going. Out on the road, he gives his Mercedes the gas; I find myself flying down a foreign highway, well over the already-high speed limit, the driver drifting back and forth across the lanes, riding the white line when no other cars are near, hitting the horn when we get within several hundred feet of other vehicles. Riding right up on their rear bumpers, complaining until they're out of the way, flying ahead when they are. We stop at a small row of toll booths, he pulls a card from his pocket, hands it to the attendant. There is no conversation to be heard anywhere outside, from anyone. Dead quiet, eerily so; the quietest toll booths I've ever passed through. The airport is 20 or 25 kilometers outside of the city, the countryside consists of low, rolling, scrubby land. Most houses are built within walled compounds, the buildings looking like impoverished cousins to the adobe houses of New Mexico. Yellowish and brownish-greens predominate the landscape, with stands of orange wildflowers. The occasional mule or horse stands out in the middle of it all, grazing. As we reach Casablanca's outskirts, traffic increases, most everyone driving like my guy. Mopeds abound, I come to appreciate the piloting one of those teeny buggers through the increasing vehicular chaos as an act of massive, demented courage. My driver uses his horn any time he approaches another vehicle. Also any time another driver appears to be thinking of changing lanes. Also any time another car turns onto the main drag from a side street. Also any time he breathes in or out. (Most drivers around us seem to have been trained at the same Academy of Four-Wheeled Aggression as my cabbie.) My driver engages in one life-threatening maneuver after another, me sitting quietly in the back seat, having reached a blissful state of detachment -- almost clinical disassociation -- as a way of coping with imminent death, laughing quietly to myself in well-mannered amazement at the video game unspooling outside the cab's windows. We have one especially close brush with a major accident, my driver must have interpreted my terrified, rictus-like grimace as smiling approval of his skill. He asks me, using a combo of French and big gestures, how many days I'll be in the city. I answer two, he immediately commences a hard sell re: hiring him for my return drive to the airport. I briefly debate saying something about snowballs and hell, let it go, smile, answer his continuing shpiel with a pleasant, noncommittal 'Quizá, a ver' ('Maybe, we'll see'). He likely had no idea what I said, but stopped the sales job. I made it to the hotel alive, found out there that no one at the desk spoke either of my languages. The desk people summoned a young woman from the office -- hair under a shawl -- she spoke a bit of English. We sorted things out, I soon found myself in an eighth-floor room. A room that struck me right then as a cousin to the dungeon I shared with G. in Sevilla -- dark, no windows, with a mysterious, stale odor. A hallway extended off from one side, leading to the bathroom. A hallway with windows looking out over the city. I dragged a chair out into that passageway, sat down to catch my breath and get an eyeful of Casablanca.

[movietrailersdescribed]

The LEGO Batman Movie

Part 1: Beat Boxing in The Yellow Room

Hunched forward in concentration, a Lego man in a rigid black cape and mask beat boxes into a golden microphone.

“Oh, hey, I’m sorry,” he says gruffly caught off guard, “just layin’ down some dope tracks here, and didn’t see you there.” 

Shrugging off the unexpected moment of vulnerability, he pivots in a newly energized monologue: “But, since you already interrupted my sick flow, I might as well tell you about my new feature film, The LEGO Batman Movie, written, sound mixed, choreographed, and painstakingly beat-boxed...” he takes a deep breath, “... by me. Because I’m Batman,” he rhapsodizes. “In my spare time I also cut together this trailer filled with some, but certainly not all, of my best hero moments and zingers. So enjoy it,” he admonishes, lurching forward with some kind of metallic golden spherical object. 

“Batman out,” turning to walk out of the frame.

Pause.

“Wait, wait! Batman back in. Forgot to drop the mic.”

With a flourish, Batman drops the microphone and dashes off to the sound of feedback.

Part 2: Flying Through Some Kind of Apocalyptic Cavern/Rave

A choir. A big choir. This is a Warner Bros. Picture. We are flying through an orange city. Maybe it’s sunset? Or maybe the city is on fire? Giant metal looking words appear: From the studio that brought you Batman

Now flying under some bridges. Batman Returns

We’ve entered some sort of cave. The letters are definitely three dimensional. An ominous red opening appears in contrast to blue shadowy surroundings. 

Now we are in a futuristic tunnel. It is very red and flanked by secret-looking doors. The lights are red and converge in the distance at the center of the screen. That is where we are going. There are trombones now, and the choir is really outdoing itself in terms of climactic crescendos, like we’re in an end-of-the-world cathedral participating in Lucifer’s evil mass.

More three dimensional words tumble out of nowhere: Batman Forever.

Still flying through this tunnel. Now there are blue lights on the side. Are we inside a police light? More words: Batman and Robin.

Each time new words appear someone hits a giant drum. More rapidly now, still flying through the tunnel: Batman Begins. The Dark Knight. The choir is losing its mind. The Dark Knight Rises. Batman V Superman.

Red glowing lights form the shape of a bat while there is the sound of a jet taking off. We fly into the bat. The bat signal.

Silence.

Darkness.

An explosion goes off somewhere nearby. Should we be concerned? Drifting slowly towards us, to the sound of a jet taking off, three dimensional letters spell out: “And The Lego Movie”.

Part 3: “I Saved the City Again”

“Hey ‘Puter. I’m home,” Batman says, his voice echoing through what appears to be a technologically advanced dungeon with at least one concealed fog machine. The lighting suggests it could be a cavernous subterranean city. Or maybe a circus in hell.

“... I’m home, I’m home, I’m home, I’m home ...” his voice continues to echo, and we are now deep within some kind of dark realm.

A halting computer voice: “Welcome home, sir,” Large machines tumble into place. “Initializing Batcave music.”

Another jet seems to be taking off, much more urgently now, with more three dimensional letters flying from behind.

He’s Back

Cue rap music with thunderous sub. This party is lit!

“So, did anything exciting happen today?” the computer asks.

Batman is traveling up an elevator shaft towards what could either be a concerning meteorological event or smoke tumbling out of a rave.

Now high above the city, wings spread, he falls towards downtown in a fiery descent. Wow, he’s moving fast!

In Black

Miles above the city, just a grid below, Batman’s flying machine with a preposterous number of lights reaches an apex once again and, in a virtuoso maneuver, falls backward.

“I saved the city again,” Batman says. The rap song is blasting at full volume now. In slow motion Batman kicks a pale guy in the face. He doesn’t look too happy. Batman’s eyes are illuminated. “It was off the chain.”

... And Yellow

Part 4: Lobster Thermidor

“Anyway,” Batman continued, nonchalantly tossing his cape into a technofuturistic wardrobe, “I should probably have some grub.”

“Alfred left your lobster thermidor in the fridge.”

Now in a plastic robe, standing in a hallway of identical plastic robes, “Oh that’s my favorite! I can’t wait.”

Now in a spacious, technologically advanced kitchen, wearing plastic slippers, Batman opens the microwave. “Beep beep beep.” He sets the timer for 20 minutes. Batman mutters under his breath. Too many zeros. Cancel. “Beep beep” 2 minutes. “Beep beep.” Start. The microwave hums to life, Batman’s stoic gaze illuminated by its interior. Behind him, the microwave’s spinning platter cast’s shadows on the wall. Batman is growing impatient. He makes popping sounds with his mouth.

Cut to the the tops of buildings shrouded in darkness. Batman leaps off the edge, grabbing on to a waiting rope. The buildings fall away and we see that the landscape was actually the top of an enormous bat wing: A Batman logo, made out of legos.

The rap song is back, thundering subs and all as we slowly drift back from the totemic emblem bearing the words “The LEGO Batman Movie.”

The music stops, and we’re back in the red and blue cave. Batman is sitting atop some kind of jet, in his robe, holding an entire plastic lobster on a fork.

“I deserve this today,” he says to himself, “today I deserve it.”

Batman takes a huge bite out of the lobster, chewing noisily.

http://trailers.apple.com/trailers/wb/thelegobatmanmovie/

[yareadyfreddie]

Cut & Run: thoughts while reading

Because I’m too lazy to actually blog everything, here are the thoughts I jotted down while reading this book (also, spoilers below, obvs):

This is so bad. Like, incredibly engaging, but such clumsy pov switches. I’m glad the later books get better. I might not have had the patience for this if I hadn’t loved warrior’s cross and was determined not to lose seven bucks plus tax.

Omg, only an utter heathen drinks Guinness out of a bottle? And no restaurant sells it that way? And the smell is not actually strong enough to make a hooker, or someone who drinks beer on the regs, think you’re drunk by just patting it on your face bb. I know. Geeze.

Omg how do y'all not know he’s poe referencing by now? Jesus.

Re the computer exploding - I don’t think there’d be that much glass if just one puter sploded? But like, the swiftness in which Ty got to Zane, that’s gratifying.

Me, at Ty, when he admits he’s only 34 “aw bb” (as a 35 and a half year old)

“Ty nearly flailed. Christ, he’d never actually been picked up during sex before.” meep!

At 42 percent - omg. SOMEONE IN NYC HAS TO HAVE READ POE BEFORE. GDI.

“ As much of a fuckup as Ty seemed to have been in the Bureau, Burns had always trusted him and treated him almost like a son. Zane couldn’t help but wonder why.” - except Zane had no idea who ty was before this¿ Ugh.

Ok, I keep writing bad things but I really am enjoying this. I wouldn’t be rereading it if I didn’t.

“” We did some digging; turns out they got around quite a bit,” Pierce told them. The hand Zane had on his thigh below the table clenched into a whitened fist.“ Omg, same Zane, same.

 "Put the powder into one of the cans” As someone who’s allergic to a lot of medications fuck you Zane. Omg, why would anyone do this? Also, CONSENT IS IMPORTANT FOR MORE THINGS THAN JUST SEX. Every single time this fucking scene. Ugh

“ Zane shook his head. “Are you feeling this too?” he rasped. This insane, blown-away pleasure, the near impossible-to-assuage hunger, the ache deep inside, contrasted by short moments of tenderness that seemed so out of place. Zane certainly wasn’t sure where they came from, but oh, God…. Ty watched him, still trying to slow his breathing and holding him at arm’s distance. “No,” he lied blithely. Knowing full well what Ty was saying, Zane let out a pent-up breath before slowly shaking his head. “Me, either,” he said, voice more intent than he’d meant it” Ungh.

At 60 percent - I’d forgot about the time break.

At 71 percent - ok, I realize he’s not that great but really, no one on the nypd or fpi read poe as a morbid self important teen?! No one?

At 73 percent - omg fucking finally! Someone’s read poe.

“ Ty never seemed to sleep easy, except when Zane was in bed holding him.” Really? Never in the actual less than two weeks you’ve spent with him? I’m a hypocrite. I married someone after three months long distance dating. I’d known them for four months.

“ Zane chuckled and leaned back again. “Blame the hookers.” Ty grew serious once more and took a step closer. “Is it the same?” he asked softly. The smile on Zane’s face dimmed. “Not even remotely close to you.”” Guh.

“ “Ah, fuck,” Ty muttered into the phone. “Bring them anyway, kiddo,” he requested” Jebus Ty he’s four years younger than you you asshole.

“ Christ. Forget about not being there. This. This was Zane’s worst nightmare.” *sobs*

“ The woman smiled a little. “I asked if he’s your partner at work. You’re looking a little wobbly yourself. Why don’t you sit down, Special Agent….”” Bahahaha! Yeah Ty. Siddown.

 "Henninger looked at him hesitantly. “Could take him to my place,” he offered. Here we go: “denouement"  Noun: The final resolution of the intricacies of a plot, as of a drama or novel.

"“We will. But I need revenge first,” he said softly. Zane’s brow furrowed as he loosened his fingers. “What for?” he asked quietly. “You,” Ty answered simply.” Guh.

Fucj. I forgot it was actually Henninger. I thought it was Morrison. Dude, I trusted you. AGAIN.

“He also knew, deep down, that Garrett was going to kill him even if he did tell him where Grady was. Garrett was just that kind of guy. Grady had too much honor to do it, but Garrett would pull the trigger in a heartbeat.” Damm fuckixg rifgr.

“God. Ty. Almost six months had passed, and not a word.” The fuq my ladies? Stop separating my dudes!