In which Lambsie is Oo-wee-oo Killer Tofu.

Holy fuck.
They put me on synthroid, which is all fun and games and whatnot, but, Jesu Christo, they then proceed to tell me that consuming soy renders synthroid useless.
I am condemned to eating one meal with soy a week and I am a friggin vegetarian!!! Imagine, one tofu or one edamame or one thing with soy sauce! Soy is everywhere!!!
Tell you what, as of this moment I am officially a seitan worshipper.

In which Lambsie wants Joanna Newsom's hair.

Like, I mean, love love the music and all.
But that goes double for the look.
Can you dig? And yes, I know my hair is short short, but I can cut the bangs like so and let it grow out or not.
And besides, the skinnier I get, the more fucking elfin I get (except the trollish nose haha). It goes.

In which Lambsie needs some respect.

...from you, O veggie-haters.

Know what? I am sick and tired of you idiots hating on vegetarians. What did we ever do to you? Do I, personally, make a fuss over refusing meat? No. So why must you immediately assume I'm about to go militant on your asses when the need to address my vegetarianism arises? Tell me: Are you harboring some feelings of inadequacy? Is it possible you secretly feel guilty about their meat consumption? If so, you need to figure your own self out and stop taking it out on little old me.

And also, please abstain from making fallacious claims to support your unnecessary rant--since when are you the victim? Frankly, I've had enough acquaintances taking liberties with our (trust me, TEMPORARY) association and attacking my personal choices. Yes, that is tofu on my plate and NO, I will not defend myself to you, oh self-righteous carnivore, because you sought an argument where there needn't be any--here, at the dinner table, with your steak knife brandished, just itching to provoke me into a petty attack on the dish in front of you.

But yes, in a tasteful setting, I will voice my opinions. I will voice how vegetarianism IS better for the environment and for your health. I will voice how vegetarianism CAN take us a step closer to ending world hunger.

But I will not voice the horrors of the inhumane treatment of animals whilst you smugly shove a baby cow down your throat, clearly relishing the thought that you are doing so in front of a vegetarian, because I am a polite human being who recognizes your right to eat your veal in peace.

Now give ME the right to eat my tofu and, heaven forbid, feel good about that choice.

In which Lambsie posts an old video.

Just a rough cut. The stupid mac put half my frames in letterbox.
PIGEONS

In which Lambsie's shit is bananas.

A kid from my school. I cried when I saw it.

In which Lambsie is walking it out.

In which Lambsie is tired out.

Started walking and didn't stop until the dehydration and hunger got to me. Some 10 miles, I think. Maybe more. My legs hurt.

In which Lambsie has a new favorite animal.

...besides bunnies, wolves, sheep, cows, cats, dogs, bears, turtles, pigs, frogs, penguins, etc...
I bring to you the Long-eared Jerboa.

In which Lambsie is addicted to hats.

I compulsively buy hats and vegetables.

Vegetables are cheaper.

In which Lambsie goes moo.

Holy shit, farm fresh milk. Where has it been all my life?

In which Lambsie is bored.

Look(!) a picture I took when I couldn't see the screen because of the sun. The closed eyes were not intentional but I look like I'm ascending or something (and yes, I am refering to the stargate kind of ascending). And i look a bit like an emo (which is so a noun now, btdub)(and yes, btdub has wormed its wormy little way into my vocabulary).

I had Indian food tonight at Angon on the Sixth (on E 6th, duh). It was pretty tasty and not too oily like some North Indian food.

There are gays in Argentina. And vegetarians.

In which Lambsie uploads pics from her mobile.

Is it weird that I love the crummy quality of mobile pics?

A typical meal in the life of Lambsie. Seriously, check out my mad veggies.

First snow of the season in Wash Sq Park!


And last, but not least, my balloon animal on steroids.
May she rest in peace.

In which Lambsie is a smiley viking.

Look at me. I am a friggin viking. Even with my hair dark I doubt I could at all pass for a local in Argentina. Oh well.
Stocky Scandanavian am I.

[haha, you can see where my nose was broken]

In which Lambsie loves pigs.

Piggies in tiger vests.

In which Lambsie is mad-eyed.

Okay, discussing the whole eye color changey thing with a buddy from back home and he claims that it isn't just the light, but my eyes definitely get browner when I blush. Okay, first of all, he...um...was observing me more closely than originally perceived and, second of all, I still stand by the whole light thing. When I blush I am usually smiling in a muy sexy way (yeah fucking right) or am cringing in embarrassment (more likely), so in both cases my eyes go squinty. It's the light, people!! I think...

REVISION: ok, apparently it might be possible for my eye color changes with mood...according to some shady scientific sources, yes, but having tried to make myself blush in the mirror several times, my eyes did get kinda dark and stayed that way for a few seconds even after I stopped being all squinty. However, this may just mean that my eyes are getting more glassy. So, um, ha.

In which Lambsie is going to Denmark?

The summer may be half spent wwoofing in America (as antiipated) and the other half wwoofing in Denmark (?!) with a wee bit of backpacking through Germany and (most importantly)a stop in Amsterdam to meet up with one of my (polyandrous) mother's queer husbands.
I got the idea to go myself Denmark after an, um, interesting romp through my great-grandmother's geneology records (by interesting, I mean, "lets see how many wives great-great-grandaddy had") in which I found that my Danish bits go back way far in Vejle (I get my boobs* from the Danes apparently, my ancestors' pics made my back hurt just by looking at them) so I figured I'd check it out and see the place where we were inbred for centuries and see how many people in Vejle look JUST LIKE ME. I look less of a Dane with my new brown hair but, as can be seen in the old pic, my natural dishwater blonde (already greying, unfortunately) is so fucking Danish.

*quick boob rant- I'm still randomly losing weight (and by randomly, I mean I am overly obsessed with locally grown veggies and walk all over the city as an exciting form of procrastination), I might even be a size 10 by the time I make my stunning debut in Buenos Aires, but, alas, my boobs are not jumping on the weight loss bandwagon (lol, great image). Most people would think this is a good thing, without really getting the fact that, hey, not only am I somewhat disproportionate (though, apparently, I still qualify as "badonkulous"), my DDs can get heavy and I will use them to bludgeon the next girl I hear complaining about her cup size to her cell phone (again, great image)...and by quick boob rant, I meant a long one which you didn't really want to hear about...

In which Lambsie is shorn like a sheep.

So Lambsie got herself shorn. And dyed. I was bored I suppose. But now I have this new hair I find myself becoming bored with it. I was so enchanted at first, but now instead of doing something exciting everyday (like in the pic I show), it seems to have settled into a boring, flat, and akin to the style often sported by little boys. BLAH. I need it to at the very least be exciting again like in the pic.
Interestingly enough, my hair has returned to its baby state: short, messy, and dark. Big plus? baby soft. But, like, seriously, who touches it but me (and my mom's lesbian friends who like to scruff it up because, well, it does make me look like a rowdy little boy). So you can imagine how my hair really looks whilst gazing at the far more elegant version I post here.
BTWs,I realize that my eyes change colors every five minutes and no I'm not a dragon (disclaimer necessary after a very nerdy encounter with a very nerdy boy) it is the light. [[Just in case you were wondering about the odd shift from pale blue/grey (never knew that blue was in my iris' repetoire) in my before pic to strange green marble look in the after.]] Each one of my friends has come to that epiphany at some point. One poor friend became quite terrified when my eyes became decidedly gold (never witnessed that one myself, but I have seen my eyes look a shade I can only refer to as scotch whisky). I reiterate, it's the light; I'm not a creature from the book you are reading.
But I'm gonna let the dye fade out maybe, just to see how it is.

In which Lambsie celebrates weight loss by eating.

Mmmm pinkberry with blackberries and oreo crumbles...
But why? Because today I went shopping (gasp!) for new jeans because my old jeans are dead (both pair) and, knowing I had lost weight in general, I asked for a 14 short (short because, well, I'm short)instead of a 16. They were ginormous.
I am a fucking 12.
I haven't been a 12 since, like, freshman year of high school.
I have never lost weight in my life, despite two rounds of the South Beach diet, the initiation period of which made me actually gain weight both times I tried it.
What did I do this time? Nothing intentional really...I just am getting uber environmentalist and try my best to eat only local foods which means my diet consists of mostly of veggies, squash, and whole grain bread.
And I celebrate with pinkberry.

In which Lambsie is angered by iMovie.

In which Lambsie lists her staple foods.

So she can basically decide where she can cut costs.

Winter Squash
Tofu
Carrots
Broccoli
Parsnips
Turnips
Beets
Bok Choy
Spinach
APPLES
Peanut Butter
Jelly
Bread
Brown Rice
Lentils
Beans
Eggs

So yeah, ok spinach has made a brief absense in my life but it will be back because I totally need it. Right now I'm living off of stir fry veggies and tofu, rice and lentils/beans, and, of course, microwaved squash. Egg on toast or apple in the morning depending on time.

In which Lambsie followed a facebook link and cried.

In which Lambsie prepares to give blood for the first time ever!

I know, late by a couple years right? So why the sudden change?
Well, I've had so much blood taken from me anyways within the last year or so that I simply don't give a damn anymore about someone stabbing me and draining me of my precious blood. This is a much different story from when I came of age to give blood. Back then, I nearly fainted when they tested me for mono. Now its just needle schmeedle. Though I hope they don't stab me in my already bruised left arm. I look like a junkie. Hopefully I'll be better by Friday because I feel fucking courageous.

In which Lambsie is Peter Rabbit?

My diet (since, um, yesterday) seems to primarily consist of root vegetables. RAW root vegetables. Turnips and beets and carrots, oh my! (Though I've discovered that I cannot stand celeriac, even cooked, which I should have known before I bought the thing, because I loathe celery) I've even chomped sparingly on some radish. I plan on getting some parsnips tomorrow at market and some leafy greens and sprouts, preparing, obviously, for my new career as veggie-hoarding bunny. And, by the way, does anyone else adore the smell of a raw beet when you first cut into it? Dark, cool, sweet, and earthy= amazing.

In which Lambsie shouts out to Prints Gone Wild 2007.

Free NYC says....

"Date: Friday, November 2nd and Saturday November 3rd
Time: Fri 6:00pm-12:00am Opening reception; Sat 12:00pm-6:00pm Fair is open all day
Location: Supreme Trading (213 N 8th St. Williamsburg)
Cost: Free

After last year's incredibly successful fair, Brooklyn's own Cannonball Press has again assembled an extraordinary menagerie of graphic artists under one roof, who will be present, displaying their prints, and selling them for $50 or less for two days only. Contributions from Tugboat Press, The Amazing Hancock Brothers McGregor, Paping, Sean Star Wars, Howling Print Studios, Space 1026, Yeehaw Industries, Triangle Poster, Team Lump, Drive By Press, Isle of Printing, DRock Press and Cannonball Press. Tonight is the opening reception and party and Saturday the fair will be open all afternoon."

In which Lambsie is dumping friends.

And I am serious about this. My whole life I have let my friends walk all over me and for what? out of desperation for acceptance? Well fuck all of them. I can live without friends. I did it all last year and I can do it again. Hell, I feel just as alone with them as I do without, so why not? Why emotionally invest myself in people who couldn't give a fucking damn about me? Now I'm the one doing the ditching. Bad friends, indeed. I'm giving up on all of you. Happy fucking Halloween.

In which Lambsie remixes Gaslight.

In which Lambsie is paralyzed by parethesias.

Not paralyzed in the literal sense. Or the figurative. Perhaps just the alliterative really.
But paresthesias bites.
At least its only in my left hand so I can still etch, but typing is a bother. I somehow fucked up my ulnar nerve (lord knows how) and it really freaked me the hell out last night when my pinkie fell asleep followed by my 4th finger and the entire half of the hand.
Apparently, it can last a while.
This bites.



Oh and btw, I find out about ghana/argentina tomorrow (supposedly). Wish me luck?

In which Lambsie youtubes the night away.

Would you like some balloons? I have no idea what this is but I guess it is pretty fucking awesome.

Who said bunnies weren't useful around the house?

And I'm sorry Ms. Jackson , but I miss the good folks in Charleston.

In which Lambsie posts song of the moment #4.

Lo and behold! An mp3 player to your right.
It plays..... Horse Feathers- "Finch on Saturday" and it seriously is my favorite song.

(And just to remind myself here, the next song will be Grizzly Bear's Lullaby or Easier)

In which Lambsie...well, read the picture.

Premature, I know. But a fairy princess need not wait, especially when she finally got around to buying a wig at St. Marks Pl.

(I'm bending over the wing if you were wondering how that worked...i just wanted you to see the glitter spirals)

(and that wig also makes me wonder whether I should get some form of bangs, though perhaps not quite so industrial- strength,I still have in my possession a particularly heinous yearbook photo from the 3rd grade)

In which Lambsie is Black Sheep.

Holy god, mighty lord, gracious father.
This movie is ridiculous/amazing.
And makes me slightly terrified of WWOOFing.

In which Lambsie needs a hug.

...A hug like swallowing sunshine.

Man. Wouldn't that be great right about now?

I can't remember the last time I got hugged that good. I had a best friend once who used to offer up hugs that could cure the world but I was too awkward and insecure to welcome them and now I would willingly throw myself into the arms of a stranger if it meant I would choke at the sunshiney greatness of it all.

I miss that friend and now I can't find her.

And I had a friend before that, when I was really young, but now we're too far gone from each other to ever be like that again.

But oh, I'm near crying now. Amazing, all the shit that has happened to me and I cry because I can't get a good hug.

Of course, everyone knows its more than that, but I like to think that a good hug... and I mean buttercreamfrostingsunshineylemoncakefreshpickedstrawberries good... would be enough to catapult me from this linoleum/cinderblock/flourescent hell and land me where the land is green and there is rain and sun enough that the entire earth is content to cast her arms open and embrace every sad little soul on this planet.

In which Lambsie thinks on veganism.

These days I cannot help but think that being moral is high maintenance. Am I truly that snobbish for being a vegetarian? I tell myself that I do not judge others for eating meat, but don't I? At least, when it ever comes to having a significant relationship with someone, could I overlook the carniverous habits of a partner? It isn't just about the cute little animals to me, its environmentalism.
And am I a hypocrite to be so inherently judgemental when I myself make a poor vegetarian? Were I vegan, then I would be justified. Then, however, I must also be completely alienated from the majority of the population. High. Maintenance. Self-Righteous. Bitch.
But why should I feel guilty about have qualms about meat consumption? Why should I care if I am disliked for being borderline militant in my environmentalism? The fact is that I am so alone and so insecure that I fear that I will die having always been insulated in my cocoon of my idealism.
I suppose that is the price of morality.
And on the topic of veganism, I plan on phasing out most of my dairy consumption. Go all out on amazing vegan cooking. I have nothing against dairy, just the cruel treatment of the animals who are kind enough to provide it (but no, I do not support PETA, and before you get all huffy, look up just how many of the animals they "save" get put to sleep).
So that's that, low-maintenance Lambsie is dead. Never mind that she can live without running water. Never mind that she can do farm labor. Never mind that she can live out of a backpack for four months.
Lambsie is a bleedingheartvegetarianenvironmentalistsocialistactivistIDEALIST and fucking high maintenance to boot. Think on that, lazy bums.

In which Lambsie reports NY celebrity sightings.

Few years...
got Denzel's autograph after his broadway performance in Julius Caesar
Last year...
Mario Cantone on University place, looking grouchy
This year...
Sam Waterson (aka Jack McCoy, law and order) DUMBO festival, open studios on Jay street (?)
Willem Dafoe (GREEN GOBLIN!), university place, looking rather grumpy as well
Today... Ed Westwick, the kid who plays the rich asshole/date rape guy Chuck on Gossip Girl, register next to me at Best Buy, wasn't sure until the cashier made him say his name and address (which i did not care to remember, thank you) and then I looked up the name and found out that, yes, he was on gossip girl... and yes, I watch gossip girl...I also watch Desperate Housewives. Soaps rock my world.
Everyday of my fucking life... Haley Joel Osment

In which Lambsie dreams of being an expat...

...in Slovenia?
Just listen to this quotation: "They are protective of their natural environment, and virgin forest covers half of the country; it is the greenest country in Europe besides Finland. Wild animals including boar, chamois, brown bears, deer, lynx and wolves live here in abundance."
(http://www.escapeartist.com/efam19/Slovenia.html)

In which Lambsie wants a bunny.

And cannot have one, since I plan on being out of the country off an on for the next ten years.
And I couldn't convince my parents to house one for me because my father is allergic.
But still, one can dream of a pastoral paradise with lambs and cows and bunnies and organic veggies...
I've decided I look like a rabbit. I've even got the teeth ha ha. And I seem to have taken after the Danish in my family (um, boobs) and if I had to assign them an animal I am sure it would be some cute, fluffy bunny.
But if we're going to talk spirit animals then wolves and bears are the way to go but my mind is water and my hands are earth and if that makes no sense to you then you are not alone.
Thats my Frank Zappa impression for the day. I've been doing that a lot lately.

In which Lambsie gets reckless woah

yes, I posted a pic of myself
because I'm sure my multitude of fans will manage to find me in a city of 8 million people
bon chance

but seriously, best picture taken of me EVER...not that decent-looking in the real life, sorry...

In which Lambsie assigns herself a writing excercise.

I only study when I assign the work.

ASSIGNMENT: Modern day Jane Austen movie or play adaptation.
SPECIFICATIONS: can NOT be Pride and Prejudice.
OBJECTIVE: To finish a fucking piece of work, even if it isn't a completely original idea. Then maybe I can move on to writing about my own experiences and then finally get around to writing down the copious amounts of novels and screenplays in my head.

My proposal: Emma, set in New Zealand and involving a cosmetology school.
OR Northanger Abbey, set yet unknown.

In which Lambsie is a mendhirani.

Ok, so this one I did with a pre-mixed tube I got in Jackson Heights because I am too lazy to mix the paste...of course that means it will come out shitty and weak because, duh, it came in a tube, but whatevs...
And btw this isn't where I meant when I said I wanted the Om Mani Padme Hung on my wrist...I'd want it horizontal under the base of my palm so it can be hidden by a watch band or chunky bracelets in times of necessity... I only put the henna one there because it wouldn't show up on the softer skin of my inner wrist.

I know, so not as glorious as seen in my mendhi phase of this summer:
OK
I really cannot be modest about that piece. The design on my hand ROCKED.

In which Lambsie attempts to brew a healing potion without the proper ngredients.

I have to remind myself to get eucalyptus oil.
And everything else I am too sick to go out and buy.
So instead of finding a good supplier in this pitiable state I offer myself only this remedy:
Black tea, soy milk, honey, and a little too much masala.

Chug it.

In which Lambsie feverishly contemplates maturity.

Older men and younger women.
And why.
I, the younger woman, can at least offer explanation from my end of the age and sex spectrum.
Men, if they are ever to mature, have something of a ten year delay (or more, depending on the case) in development compared to women. Though it is a horribly inaccurate generalization to say that women at the age of twenty are at all mature, I mean the idea to apply to women who go about seeking men around a decade or more older than they.

A brief aside that will probably turn into a seperate rant: I realize that I may not come off as very mature. I am silly and girly and I am sure I will still be just as batty when I am fifty. But I'm not sure mature is really acting like a grown-up. Take my hell-spawned roommate from last year, the Beast. Everytime she saw my Kwala (yes, there is a koala bear in my bed) she would go on and on about how she missed her stuffed rabbit. Her living in Connecticut (that glorious haven for racists) I asked, more than once, why she didn't bring it back to school with her one weekend. She scoffed as if the idea were preposterous. Well, of course, she had to grow up sometime. So the Beast wore her matronly clothes and strode off to business school or her internship every day, daydreaming only about the riches she would make off destroying her youth locked away in investment banking and how she would then manage to coerce some poor sod into marrying her and getting her pregnant with numerous Catholic babies and then how she would grow old as a non-working housewife in Connecticut, her years of education wasted, and then die and go to a pure and righteous heaven because she truly believed, all her pathetic life, that the pope was infallible. Too bad she didn't even have a soul to save in the first place.

How very mature and rational all this was.

Too bad she was still desperately in love with her high school boyfriend, who, as we found out later having thought for so long that her boyfriend was a real douche bag to her, was never actually her boyfriend. ((Can anyone say stalker?))

Too bad she emotionally stunted herself in high school by sacrificing fun for the highest grades possible so she could get into dream-school Princeton, only to end up here, at NYU, School of Ivy League Rejects.

Too bad she still thinks sex is something shameful (mark of a true Catholic) and heaven forbid any of us have same-sex tendencies...

Too bad she gets drunk every weekend and makes a complete fool of herself in an attempt to dupe herself into thinking she is having fun and that she is indeed popular.

I'm going to act a complete snob here and say, drinking until you barf is so high school.

So is relying on passive aggression as a mature tactic in getting what you want.

There you have it. The Beast. She may look well into her forties, but, trust the ex-roommate, she's pushing 12.

And, to somehow tie this in to the idea that started this post, too bad she thinks older men are "grody". I've seen her type--------------->






We're in college now, dear. We should, at the very least, have graduated to explicit sex dreams about these blokes:
And/or these ladies:

In which Lambsie becomes Lambsie.

No more Din Din. It's Lambsie Divey now.
Don't ask why (well, it's probably due to my feverish humming of "mersie dotes and dosie dotes and little lambsie divey..."). Anyway, its not as if anyone asked about Din Din either. Or even knew about Din Din.
I went back and changed a few recent posts to Lambsie instead of Din Din. Not as catchy I know, but let's just say that Din Din may be known to some. It's still one of my aliases, I guess, just not for this blog anymore.

In which Lambsie is feverously...feverous.

So be prepared for some form of fevered deliriousness.
His name's Bartleby. My new camcorder. He's shiny. I need to buy him a firewire because he was built to hate Betty. My mac, Betty. But I'm hoping it's a Pride and Prejudice deal, except with electronics. They misunderstand each other now, but soon they shall see the error of their ways and marry and be ridiculously rich together at Pemberley, where they make beautiful films.
I think I want to seduce one of my professors. Maybe because I actually have a chance to be a protégé. I love professor/protégé relationships. They're so possessive and destructive. Oh fuck it, he's probably married.
Why am I sick at the start of a long weekend? I plan on going in tomorrow to finish up some work. Not to run into my professor. What am I thinking? I'm plain, plain, plain Jane and I mean plain as in the euphemism for UGLY and not the in the generic-looking way. I don't even have my cute hair yet. I can't even wear it down anymore because it looks idiotic; it's still layered as if it should be short so it flips up funny and scraggly-like. I need my short hair now and I keep forgetting to book a hair appointment. I need it funky and artsy and notsoplainjane-y. I want it before I go to LEAF.

I am the ugly girl whose skill is (rarely) recognized over her unappealing appearance...though the last few days, several and I mean whoa a lot of (sketchy) men have said some version of "good morning, sweet" or "oi niña" to me on the street when I'm pretty sure I was some form of sweaty or exhausted. I think it has to do with my not-so-easily concealed heaving chest and immense posterior.
But hey, el profesor is impressed by something a lot more solid than looks and he's not hiding it. I feel approved of and, boy, that's quite enough to make my life right now, fever and ugliness and all.

I will not lower this to the level of misplaced desire. This is golden. This is intellectual approval and I am on level with the gods because of it.

Wow, my fever's gone up a bit more. Um...later I guess.

I'm totally gonna regret saying what was initially said about my professor. At least no one knows my name, my professor's name, or even what school or class he teaches at.

In which Lambsie hates that her mother can still make her cry, even if she doesn't have the satisfaction of knowing about it.

I don't really want to talk about it, but here's an email to my dad.

"Next time, I will be sure to record my end of the conversation.
My voice remained a relative monotone at a ridiculously low volume and I made damn sure to maintain it because my suitemates are home and these walls are super thin.
I made one tiny slip-up (after she began yelling, in my own defense) when she goaded at me about my "fusing out" every time I go to LEAF and I made quiet mention that it was only when she was there (which was an entirely true statement, albeit unnecessary).
I am getting a hell of a lot better at not taking her bait but sometimes I can't help but try to defend myself against her insults. Trust me, I meditate for a half hour before classes each morning; I'm learning to channel all of my negative energies into activism to bring about positive change. I do yoga and Qigong and have gone temporarily vegan and am finally coming into my independence and, honestly, I'm starting to think has a lot to do with a backlash to her constant belligerence and the strain it puts on me to have to tip-toe around her all the time. I will have no more personal set-backs because of her. But, heaven forbid, I am ego-centric enough to want to defend myself against completely false accusations. I'm used to how she reacts so I do my best not to gratify her nonsensical statements with provoked responses.
My mother mirrors her own irrationality, not mine.

Sorry about all of this.
I love you"

I hate that now, even after all these years, I cry like a stupid little girl when I get angry.

In which Lambsie thinks the whole world has Asperger's Syndrome.

Seriously. Maybe it's just in academia.
But that's where I am and I guess it makes sense that it would be more prevalent here.

In which Lambsie makes a stab at veganism for health purposes.

Since no one reads this I am going to record my current diet in this post out of convenience for myself.
October 1
breakfast- a Go Raw banana "bread" flax bar and a naturally-occurring-sugars-only smoothie...well, sucks to be sick but hey, this detox thing is a helluva lot easier when the thought of most foods makes me wanna puke.
lunch- feeling better so i got a little corn tortilla, put hummus and tahini in it folded in over and pretty much sauteed (is that the word???) it in some olive oil on the stove and ate it with salsa. I might squeeze some lemon or lime juice on it next time. It was so tasty I wondered if my mouth was tricking me and it was still small enough to not make me puke...and don't worry, it all adhered to the specifications of my "vegan detox."

Going to the doc this afternoon. Weird, but I actually want all this to be because of hypothyroidism, because then I know what it is and know I can be treated.

Later...

They stole my blood. I wait for results.

Totally had the same thing for dinner as I had for lunch, except, this time, TWO. My nausea is totally gone hurrah.

In which Lambsie goes on detox???

I am resolute. I think.
No dairy.
No refined flour.
No added sugars.
No coffee. (green tea, yes)
No alcohol.

Vegan detox. I need you desperately. I feel like shit.

I'll try not to cheat too much.

A few weeks, at the least, in the extreme mode. Then hopefully I will maintain nice vegan tendencies for ordinary meals and such...just being healthier really. Fruits and veggies galore. That's my real goal, not permanent veganism.

In which Lambsie does not wish to judge...

...yet does not see why she is judged for eating fish in very extenuating circumstances by vegetarians who wear leather. I'm not one to judge...I'm nowhere near strict vegetarian, but besides a pair of 6 year old Birkenstocks, I do not wear leather or fur. It just doesn't make sense to wear cow if I refuse to eat it. People say that's a vegan principle but I don't see why. Not wearing wool is a vegan principle, but leather? I feel like that's vegetarian. So if you are a vegetarian that wears leather, don't go all self-righteous vegetarian on me whilst sporting the Louis Vuitton Nimbus.

We're both slacking off as far as I'm concerned.

Now. I'm off to find some vegan hiking boots.

In which Din Din is armed and ready...

with a camera.
Yes, on Wednesday, there will come into my possession this sweet, sweet baby:

I wonder what I will name her.
Angelina? Erica? Brian? Phillip?
I won't know until I meet her/him.
I hope that Gertrude (my iPod) and Fabio (my camera) will like her.

In which Din DIn posts song of the moment # 3.

Lo and behold, an awkardly placed mp3 player to your right!
It plays.......................Jay Bharadia- "Snowy Day"

In which Din Din goes DUMBO.

I am headed to the DUMBO Art Under the Bridge Festival in Brooklyn and I am psyched. I will prob return tomorrow to do a video portrait of my buddy KJ for class. I may make it entirely infuriating to the viewer by showing just her reactions and not what she is reacting to.

In which Din Din's oatmeal gets hella exciting.

Din Din's Rise and Shine Oatmeal Creation:
1/4 cup rolled oats
1/4 skim milk or vanilla soy milk
tiny tiny sprinkle of salt
chopped up banana
honey (you can be liberal with it if you wish)
crunchy granola goodness
lots of frozen berries

mix all together and put in the microwave for about two minutes

and you can hardly taste the oatmeal-yay!

In which Din Din has new shoeses.

vegan happiness.

In which Din DIn thinks more about tattoos and piercings.

So yeah. Now that my cartilage piercing has settled into my existence I have the urge for MORE PIERCINGS (even a possible piercing on my face). And all this tattoo talk? makes me desire another tattoo. A more obvious tattoo.THIS on the inside of my left wrist.

The mantra Om Mani Padme Hum in Ranjana script. I might later consider Tibetan, but probably not Sanskrit. Maybe. But, in truth, I choose Ranjana because I find it more aesthetically pleasing as a tattoo and its used in a lot of Mahayana texts (the branch of buddhism I have tendencies towards).

And what if I got an om on my right wrist? or a lotus?
And I'm considering a snug piercing (in a much nearer future than either of these crazy tats). Or two, ideally, so i can maybe eventually replace the two small barbells with two rings. But on the other ear. My future tat would be behind the pinna piercing. But I hear it hurts like jesus and makes a crunchy noise as it goes through the cartilage, ew. But who knows. I might just get my lobes double pierced or something. I dunno. But the scandalous one is A POTENTIAL NOSE PIERCING. Nostril because septum wouldn't at all work on me. And a stud, not a ring, ew. And I know its not supposed to hurt bad but I def have more nerve endings on my bulbous, pointy nose than the average bear. Hell, I have more nerve endings everywhere, but I do have a high pain tolerance to go with it.

In which Din Din contemplates a tattoo.

Okay, so I'm 19 now and if I still want the same tattoo when I'm 21 I'll let myself get it.
I am so my own mom.
Okay, so here's what I'm thinking: a very small and very simple black or dark brown ink tattoo high behind the ear. Hiding sort of, so it is subtle and nice; a cute little discovery for anyone who should come across it (and if my hair is shortish it will be covered most of the time).

A secret.

People are all like: why would you get a tattoo that no one can see? Well, its personal, sort of. The design I get will most likely be of some religious or spiritual importance to me, like a tiny om symbol or triqueta. Here are some options, not all religious, but of profound meaning.

The om symbol. Not so calligraphic but more linear so it carries across better with its small size.

The triqueta. Not the most original but it holds deep importance for me and is a very elegant symbol. Not the charmed version. I'd hate for it to reference tv.

The spiral. Ok, I am a huge fan of paleolithic art. And its a very basic symbol that is profound and all-encompassing.

The pentacle flower . I doubt I'd ever put a blatant pentacle on my ear due to negative connotations (bred of ignorance, I know). But this is a lovely knot that ties together two goddess symbols and elementalistism.

The triskele. On a small scale the double lines won't work, but I guess it might defeat the point if I make it just one line...

Covering of the Chalice Well at Glastonbury. A goddess/chalice symbol. I'm all water sign no matter what type of zodiac you look at, so a water/goddess thing may be the way to go. I would simplify the design, however, so it works on a small scale.

This is one of the adinkra symbols of Ghana, often sewn into cloth. This is the Aya or fern. It symbolizes independence, resourcefulness, defiances, and an ability to overcome hardships.

This is another of the adinkra: the Kojo Baiden or rays and symbolizes the cosmos and omnipresence.

Adinkra: Osrane ne nsoroma or Ram's horns. Wisdom, learning, humility.

Adinkra: Ohene or king. Foresight and wisdom

Adinkra: Adwo. Peace, calm under pressure.



Shamanistic healer hand. There are other versions and I have yet to explore other shamanistic symbols.

Adinkra: Wawa Aba. Overcoming barriers, oppression. Movement.


Adinkra: Fawahodie. Independence, freedom from slavery.



Right now, I think it'll be either the triqueta or the om but my mind has yet to be made. Once I make a decision I wait to see if I like that decision for longer than a few months.

Also if they figure out the whole white ink tattoo thing (its sketchy for some reason)I might get a tattoo on the back of my neck at the base. The triple goddess/moon thing or something. Maybe the chalice well. But that will come way later when white ink doesn't randomly burn people's skin.