Tag Archive | rambling

Little Blue Man

If anyone happens to have old blue jeans waiting to be thrown away, let me know. I’m planning on making some kind of denim jumper. With it, I plan to single-handedly destroy the notion that denim jumpers are frumpy homeschooling-mom-wear. More likely I’ll just confirm this pervasive belief, but hey; I can try.

In other news, today I discovered that I can knit and walk at the same time if I tie my purse to my backpack. It’s a beautiful arrangement; walking home from the library after a good study session, watching the setting sun make everything pink and golden, watching people mow their parking strips and making friends with needy cats. Now I can have all this — and be knitting at the same time. What a wonderful life. People look at me funny. It doesn’t bother me, though. I know that they’re just wishing that they too, could have a coffee-colored cabled cardigan on the needles.

I was also herded by an extremely gregarious dog named Indie. I’ve never met Indie in my life. Until today when she proceeded to orbit me whilst her would-be owners discussed her reprehensible behaviour in raised voices.

Mr. Indie-owner: “We just can’t keep her, Sharol, we can’t!”

Sharol: “She’s almost trained! Just give me time!”

[Indie becomes a Sofia Satellite]

Mr. Indie-owner: “You see? You see what she’s doing? That dog is a menace to society!”

[Sofia looks back, wondering if she needs to return Indie to her proper place before Indie follows her, Sofia, home]

Sharol: “You, Girl! Go! Just go! Indie!!!”

Poor Indie. I left.

Finally, in my quest for strange old songs, I’ve found the ultimate stalker song.

What on earth could have inspired this?


Looking for Sharps

Sofia is making poor choices in her life. I feel like it’s been a long, downward spiral. I’m behind on my math homework. Last night I stayed up late watching Taiwanese soap operas. I’m being unproductive as we speak, writing frivolous stuff like this when I ought to be researching the statistics of homelessness and studying for organic chemistry. Not good. Not good at all.

Yesterday was the same way. Instead of doing work, I decided to sew. The bodice of my creamy yellow sundress I made out of that fabric I purchased at the Japanese Cultural Center’s rummage sale was too long, so I shortened it. I could have been doing my study guide for International Relations with that time, but no. Afterwards, I needed a needle to hand-sew the finishing touches. On 3 pincushions, I found 3 darning needles, a couple of tapestries, and a crewel. Not okay. I wanted a sharp. Where are all my precious sharps? Why do I have 3 pincushions? You know, I’ve had this tomato one for a long time and I never liked it. It’s so cliche. Come on; a tomato? Everyone has a tomato pincushion. I like my Miss Meow pincushion better. I need to downsize.

Plus, there are probably needles in there.

So, I snipped it apart. I lost a pincushion, but I found 34 needles inside. Who would have ever known? It had such a cheerful outside, that red tomato pincushion. Who would have ever known there were so many dangerous and hurtful things inside, hiding behind it’s brave front? Or is that a bad analogy, since I actually like needles? Should I ruminate instead on the release of potential nobody could see from the outside? All I knew that red velveteen tomato to be was a worn out, superfluous pincushion. If I had not delved deeper, I might have tossed it without ever discovering the treasures inside.

I’m sorry. I’ll stop now.

I started this meaning to tell my latest “Strange-People-Who-Invade-My-Personal-Space-At-Bus-Stops” story. I would have thought by now that everybody would be tired of these, but since my no. 1 fan requested it yesterday, I guess not. If I can think of a moral to the story, or something else to tie it up with, I’ll tell you another time.


Moving on.


For Lent, I gave up Facebook.

Giving up stuff aside, I really enjoy Lent, which is ironic since we’re supposed to be contemplating the sacrifice and suffering that Jesus went through for our sakes. It’s a time when we put away the Halleluiah songs and bust out “O Sacred Head Now Wounded.” But it’s also a time of spiritual renewal; a time when we put aside our busy lives for a while and strive to enter a deeper relationship with God.

For Lutherans, at least in my neck of the woods, this is how Lent goes down:

  • Lent lasts for 40 days, not including Sundays. The number 40 is a very important number in the Bible; the Israelites wandered around in the desert for 40 years, Jesus spent 40 days fasting in the wilderness, etc. It’s not exactly a fun-time number, but a waiting number and a hoping number. During the 40 days of Lent, we are called to contemplate our lives and our relationship with God as we wait and hope.
  • No more Halleluiahing: I was actually serious about that. During Lent, we don’t sing any songs with the word “H/Alleluia” in them. We’re getting ready for Easter and Jesus’ triumph over the grave, but right now, we’re not doing that. We’re waiting.
  • At Wednesdays at 7, we go to church. Is it just my church, or is Wednesday at 7 a very Lutheran time to do things? I just visited the websites of a bunch of random Lutheran churches, and sure enough; Wednesdays at 7 are all pretty much booked. We have council meetings Wed. at 7, the knitting group Wed. at 7, Lenten services Wed. at 7, Thrivent Financial for Lutherans Board Meetings Wed. at 7 – the only reason that choir practice is on Thursdays at 7 is because Wednesdays at 7 are all booked up, otherwise, Wednesdays at 7 they’d be.
  • Before Lenten services on Wednesdays at 7, we have Soup Suppers. Soup Supper is one of the very best things about Lent. Old ladies, such as myself, come to church and volunteer to make homemade soup and bread for anyone who wants to come at 6:30 before service. It’s a nice time to unwind from the stresses of school and to chat with your friends. Besides that, Marge Johnson’s homemade bread is amazing. So is her clam chowder.
  • A lot of people give something up, or take on a new challenge. The archetypical examples would be giving up chocolate, or reading the Bible every night. I chose Facebook because it distracts me from my homework when I’m on the computer, which is a lot of the time. My life is busy enough without getting even more distracted. I’ve decided that I’m going to send more letters instead. They’re more fun and more personal. I just wrote my first one:

Yo So-and-so,

Wassup? Since you are so sad about my being off Facebook for the 40 days of Lent, I thought I’d send you a letter. Letters are better anyway, right? I can show off my gorgeously illegible handwriting and draw you pictures of bunny rabbits. A bag next to me just started rustling. I freaked out because it might have been a rabid mouse, or something like that. Fortunately, we don’t have mice in our house. Rabies, by the way, is caused by the Rabies Virus. Who would have guessed, right? It usually results in fatal encephalitis. In America, a common cause is a virus variant found in silver-haired bats. So, my friend, stay away from silver-haired bats . . . .

Today I tried to figure out which generation I am in. It is either Generation Y or Generation Z. You are definitely in Generation Z (mid 1990s-present), but I’m kind of in the middle because the Generations overlap. Wikipedia says that one of the key differences is that Generation Y can remember before the takeoff of mass personal electronics. Hmm, I remember film cameras. And dial-up. Does that count? I bet you don’t even know what dial-up is. I used to have to ask my dad to get off the internet so that I could call up my little friends. I just went to Youtube to listen to the sound of dial-up. Now I’m listening to a 3 1/2 minute clip of dial-up sound. It’s such a weird sound.

I am super distracted from my homework. Just look at me; listening to dial-up sound. Giving up Facebook didn’t help much after all did it? . . . .

Well So-and-so, there you have it; half an hour in Sofia’s brain. You’d better write back. See you around . . .



PS: Wasn’t that better than Facebook?

By the way, if you’re still listening to the sound of dial-up, you’re a dork. But that’s okay, because I like dorks. Besides, I’m still listening to it too.

When I should be doing Micro . . .

I think about other things, most of them pointless and random.

Recently, I have discovered that headphones don’t fit very well over curlers.

“Recently” means seven seconds ago.

Whenever I’m procrastinating and it’s nighttime, I put my hair in curlers.

Whenever I put my hair in curlers, my brother laughs at me.

I embarrassed my brother today by going with him to the grocery store in my pajamas. My pajamas consist of

  • My plaid flannel nightgown; I got it at Goodwill for very cheap. It has a hole in the sleeve and eyelet lace around the collar. It reaches my ankles and I’m in love with it.
  • “Pants” (for lack of a better word) that my Chinese grandmother knit me. They’re bottle-green with orange stripes. They’re really loose at the moment, because the buttons are almost falling off, which in turn causes the pants themselves to almost fall off. The nice thing about wearing a nightgown is that it really doesn’t matter if your pants sag.
  • Yellow man socks. I knit them to give to homeless guys, but then I tried them on . . . and then I started sleeping in them . . . and then they shrunk down to my size. They’re mine now. I’m sorry, Sockless Guy. I’ll make it up to you someday.

Erik bought Jello. I bought beets and paid for them in quarters, because I’m broke. A guy I went to high school with was bagging groceries. We pretended not to see each other.

I also made a cake today. Chocolate cake with raspberry-cream cheese frosting. It has beets in it, because Joy the Baker said to, and Joy the Baker is never wrong. Plus, I’m obsessed with beets at the moment. They’re so pretty! They make my sink pretty when I rinse them! They make the water they’re boiling in pretty! They make my hands look like they’ve sustained a second-degree burn! Pretty pretty. Besides, I need the people at my new job to love me, and cake is the way that it’s going to happen. Because I’m a freak though, I reduced the sugar to half a cup of white, and half a cup of brown. I also used about 1 cup of powdered sugar in the frosting, as opposed to the 4-5 cups in the original recipe.

Come on now; 4-5 cups? I work in a hospital; they’d confiscate it at the door.

Not really; nurses seem to eat a lot of junk food. And chocolate. They’re obsessed with chocolate. It helps them deal with the stress. I never cared about chocolate before, but it’s starting to rub off on me.

I’m supposed to be doing Microbiology stuff right now. I have a sheet with questions such as:

Culture A is aerobic and contains an abundance of bacteria after 5 days of incubation. Culture B is anaerobic. It contains bacterial growth, but not as much as Culture A. It also contains detectable levels of ethanol. If Culture A and Culture B contained the same initial number of bacteria and produced the same amount of ATP in a specified time period, which culture would consume more glucose while making ATP? Explain your answer and be specific.

I should go now.


I’m back!

Is anybody still listening?

What, just because I stop writing for a month or two, you don’t check it every day anymore?

What? You never checked it every day anyway?

WhatEVER. Fine. Be that way. I don’t need you.

But since you’re here and haven’t left off reading yet, let me tell you what I do when I procrastinate.

What I Do When I Procrastinate

Sometimes I obsessively clean my room.

Sometimes I do weird little school things that really don’t need to be done. Like cleaning out my almost-empty binder.

Sometimes I lock myself in the bathroom, put body butter on top of the warm dehumidifier, and watch it melt.

(It’s not actually body butter; it’s coconut fat that I use as body butter. I was given body butter by my grandmother one year. I decided I didn’t like it, so I scooped it out and re-used the jar for coconut fat because I read somewhere or other that coconut fat is good for your skin. That’s just how I roll.)

Tonight, however, I decided to spend four hours of my life I could have used to study microbiology to make a wallet.

It’s monogrammed.


Cross stitch really isn’t my forte. I don’t do it very often (okay, so this is the second time). It’s tedious. I’m afraid I’ll wear my eyes out and have to get glasses. But it does look nice, doesn’t it?

Cross stitch:

a stitch in which pairs of diagonal stitches of the same length cross each other in the middle to form an X .

A. Regular old cross stitch. B. Some weird, fancy kind of cross stitch. Ignore B.


So basically, you use the holes in between the weave and the weft of the fabric to make little crosses. But what if your fabric doesn’t have nice big holes?

Then you do this:

Use a piece of canvas on top of whatever material you want to decorate. Don't worry; the final product won't look like that. We'll get it out at the end. I promise.


Unless you split a thread while you’re working it. That’s not good. Don’t split threads.

Then, work in your design . . .

Incidentally, an old-school cross stitchress (yes, I made that up) would probably be horrified at the way I do it. She’d tear my hair out of my scalp, thread her needle with it, and use it to show my how it’s done properly.

Fortunately for me, I don’t believe any old-school cross stitchresses read this blog.

The back. Note the extreme messiness. "The back should be just as beautiful as the front." That's what the old school says.

You know what, though? Cut me some slack! I had to learn how to do all these old-fashioned girly things all by my lonesome self. Just me and Back to Basics. Oh, Back to Basics. How I loved that book. It was my all-time favorite book as a child. I’d have my father read it to me as bedtime story. Back to Basics has instructions on how to do everything the old-fashioned way. I highly recommend it.

Back to Basics doesn’t have cross stitching, though. They probably thought it wasn’t utilitarian enough.

Anyhow, when you’re done with your pattern, you have to get rid of the canvas. How do you do that?

Very carefully.


What you want to do is pull the canvas apart, unraveling thread by thread until it’s history. I’m not going to lie. I used my teeth. I know, I know; “teeth are jewels, not tools.”

But it worked.

Ta da!


I hope you appreciate this, DB.