When I Say Pussy, You Say Power

The girl and I went to the LA Dyke March yesterday. (We have decided that she should be a busy worker ant, storing up the gayness for the long gay-free winter that will ensue once she goes back to North Carolina.) We had a lot of fun doing what we do best, namely checking out other people and commenting on how they were dressed. It was very exciting for us, as there were like, 200 super-cute dykes there.

Although we were definitely the cutest. We know we were the cutest, because gay men kept coming up and telling us how cute we were! Possibly because I was wearing my Space Girl dress and Pirate Belt and fishnets, and she was wearing a brown skirt and a girl scout shirt. Oh, and a sticker that said, "Dyke Power," on her ass.

In other news, we've decided that we're going to be butch and femme, only we're going to switch off every day. So today she's butch and I'm femme, and tomorrow I get to be butch and she gets to be femme.

Conversation

The Girl: I bet a lot of nuns are lesbians.
Me: That's what porn tells me.

Bite Club

The girl and I are starting Bite Club. It's like Fight Club, only for girls (and gay boys).

The first rule of bite club is: You do not talk about bite club.
The second rule of bite club is: You do not talk about bite club.
The third rule of bite club is: Someone yells "Hey, quit that," . . . giggles . . . taps out . . the bite is over.
The fourth rule of bite club is: Only two girls to a bite.
The fifth rule of bite club is: One bite at a time.
The sixth rule of bite club is: No shirt, no shoes, frilly can-can girl underwear.
The seventh rule of bite club is: Bites will only go as long as they have to.
And the eighth and final rule: If this is your first night at bite club, you have to bite.

TigerHeat

The girl and I and my friend Jeffie and some of his friends went to a club called TigerHeat in Hollywood last night. They had a super cool 80s flashback room with bean bag chairs and lasers and gay punks.

Gay punks! You have to understand, normal punks affect me in much the way that kittens affect normal people. I see them, and it's all I can do to keep from shouting, "You're so CUTE! Wuzza Wuzza Wuzza!" I just want to chuck them under their little plaid studded chins. But then when you have two cute punker boys, and they're dancing to 80s music and making out - WUZZA. I want to steal a pair and keep them under my bed and feed them jelly beans and make them dance for me.

(Note to self: Add keep gay punker boys under bed to list of things to do when Queen of the World)

Content

Today the girl and I went thrift shopping and I got some semi-cowboy boots. Now we're going to watch the Powerpuff Girls.

Woot!

It's True

How pathetic! You're a Fake Geek! You buy t-shirts with slogans, wear glasses with flat lenses, and listen to Weezer. And you didn't like Lord of the Rings? BLASPHEMY! You play the geek card purely to look cool, but you're not a true geek-- just a fashion victim.. with no taste in movies.. ©2002 http://internetjunk.co.uk

Woot Woot!!!

The girl will be here in two hours.

I may not be blogging for a while. Or, you know, getting out of bed.

I have to go clean my room now, so I can pretend that I don't actually live in filth.

Please Hire My Ass (and the Rest of Me)

So, the observant among you will no doubt have noticed that there's a new link up there next to my photo. That'd be my resume. So if you live in Philadelphia, and you know somewhere where they would be interested in hiring a friendly little pink haired girl with some coding skills and very little dignity, then you should email me. Also, if you know how to make my resume suck less, email me.

NYC Envy

I cannot tell you how much Scotty the Blue Bunny makes me want to live in New York. I want to go to New York just to see this man's act.

You see, he's a big blue bunny. A big blue latex high heels wearin' bunny. Yeah.

I Need These

I just found the coolest website EVER.

TwirlyGirl.net. They sell pasties. You know, the things you put over your nipples? Yeah, that link isn't work safe. Unless you're a stripper.

I want to collect them all.

The Problem with Living at Home

Is sometimes, you just want to watch the goddamned Powerpuff Girls without someone coming into the room, going, "What are you watching?", sighing exaggeratedly at the answer, and then sitting around mocking you for watching the Powerpuff Girls.

No, this is not my younger brother. This is my father.

Watching the Powerpuff Girls is not a crime!

Also it is clear to me that the following television shows should take precedence: Buffy, American Idol, that one dating show where they're in Alaska.

The following shows should not take precedence: Sports, Antiques Roadshow (which my parents appear to watch five times a day), Nova (even when it's about polar explorers), and anything involving Huell Howser.

Unfortunately, my parents have the exact opposite view. Especially about Novas on polar explorers. And Buffy. They appear to hate Buffy. I'm not sure why. Then again, I think it might just be that when I'm sitting around watching TV, they get to play the "Let's Mock Our Daugher" game, which appears to be their favorite game in the world.

Thank god for valium. By the way, if anyone knows any drug that's like valium, only acts instantly and is stronger, hook me up. The problem with valium is that I only take it once I get incredibly stressed, and then it takes like twenty minutes to work.

Even Children Get Older

I went to the Caltech graduation today, since my friend Neal was graduating. They had Alan Alda as their commencement speaker. Alan Alda!!! All we got at Oberlin was some dumb-ass cancer researcher. Alan Alda gave this really great speech, too, about how scientists should not be assholes and explain their science in laymen's terms and not hide behind jargon. Basically, he was like, "You love science, especially whatever you're really into. Make us love it too." Which is basically my whole problem with the computer science community and science in general, that people who are good at it make it hard to love, whether inadvertantly or on purpose. So I really really liked his speech.

Also, I corrected all the mistakes I made at my graduation, so I wore sunscreen (and clothes that actually covered my upper body) and brought bottled water, and also my latest crocheting project, so I would have something to do. I got into this conversation with the woman sitting in front of me about crocheting/knitting. She said I would like knitting, and also I should order yarn from Canada off the internet. Apparently it's tax-free, and the shipping is free if you order enough.

The only bad side was that I was sitting in front of what appeared to be the entirety of Loyd House. Not only were they all wearing matching shirts, but they also screamed very loudly and beat a gong whenever the name of someone they knew was announced. Which was often. If it hadn't been so fucking hot, I would have kicked some geek ass.

I also had a very cute conversation in the bathroom with some Caltech girl who was graduating. She's trying to grow her bangs out, and was all concerned that they didn't look good, because she was about to see some boy she liked. I say, go for it, honey! Commencement week is all about the fucking, cause you'll never have to see them again! Anyway, I think the boy was a Techer, so he was probably a total geek. (Although if he was anything like my Techer, he'd give great head.) So, anyway, I hope she got her man, cause she was really cute and nice and I had a cool random public restroom conversation with her.

The Girl is Coming!!

The girl is coming! To LA! On TUESDAY! Tuesday Tuesday Tuesday . . . Less than a week.

It is unbelievable. And amazing.

I cannot wait.

Cunt Update

You know (if you happen to be female), how before your period you get all those, "Hey, Period Coming!" signs? Like you break out, and your nipples hurt, and you get cramps, and that kind of thing.

Well that's been happening to me for like, the past two weeks. So I'm just waiting for my period to come so my body will fucking get over it. It's the most annoying thing ever. It's like Waiting for Godot in my vagina.

I've Been There!

The tunnels at CalTech. I've actually been to that very room. I was on Xanax at the time, so I wasn't disturbed by it at all. I was kind of like "So, do you think they had to assemble the nail covered chair down here? Because it looks to big to fit through that opening."

The Best Joke Ever, As Told To Me By The Girl

Q: How are girls like noodles?
A: They're all straight until you get them wet.

Musique Erotique

So I bought the new Tom Waits, the White Stripes, and Stereo Total the other day, because I am an indie rock fuck.

I am totally in love with Stereo Total. I listened to them at work all day, and I got to pretend that I was in a sixties French disco, twisting the night away and then climbing on the back of a Vespa with a girl with a black bob and a vinyl mini-skirt and go-go boots.

Plus, songs about threesomes in English and French! How can you not love it?

Trendsetter

It has become obvious that someone from corporate America has people spying on me and my friends and immediately converting all our inside jokes to consumer goods.

How obvious, you ask? Well, not only did I find Muffy! Magazine at Tower Records last night, but apparently the latest Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue has a pirate porn theme.

Getting Trashed With the Fam

My dad's family had a big family birthday party yesterday, so I got presents and also quite, quite drunk. Whenever my dad's family gets drunk, people start telling stories that go something like, "So then we were running away from the coast guard, and there was this big gate, which was locked, so we took it off its hinges." It's quite delightful, really.

I ended up talking to my dad quite a bit. I think my father and I would have no problems if we were just drunk all the time. For some reason when we're both sober I can't manage to say, "I love you but I can't stay in this town because I hate everyone I went to high school with," and he can't manage to say, "It hurts my feelings that you act like being a part of my business would be a dreadful thing." Of course, even drunk I somehow didn't manage to say, "I just need to prove I can get a job on my own, plus I really like computer programming." Instead I said, "I don't like getting dirty." Which is also true, but not as good an excuse.

Of course, he also suggested that I could stay in LA and move to West Hollywood. Silly wonderful daddy! He's trying so hard to get down the gay thing, but I'm a bigirl, not a circuit queen.

About A Movie

I saw About A Boy the night before last. I enjoyed it a lot. They simplified the book a lot, but that's too be expected. The ending was a little too simplistic for me, but other than that I thought they did a great job.

Hugh Grant was good, as everyone keeps saying. I must admit that I am quit fond of Hugh Grant when he's being all Hugh Granty, but I enjoyed him being un-Hugh Granty as well. Especially his hair. I feel that it being all spikey and rumpled was a definite improvement.

Of course, I was on eight Valium while watching About A Boy, so I probably would have enjoyed just about anything.

I Walk Funny

Since I've just started walking, I walk with a limp now. Also, it tends to hurt when I walk, but that's neither here nor there. This leads to me having the same conversation, over and over again:

Person Who Should Know Better, and Is Probably Related To Me: Why are you walking funny? Did you hurt youself?
Me: Yes. I broke my ankle. Two months ago. Remember?
PWSKBaIPRTM: Oh. You're still messed up from that?
Me: I've only been walking for two weeks. Jesus christ.
PWSKBaIPRTM: You're going to be normal again eventually, right?
Me: Yes!
PWSKBaIPRTM: Are you in physical therapy or something?
Me: No. I was in physical therapy for six weeks, and the doctor said I could stop.
PWSKBaIPRTM: Oh. Well, good luck.

Then I walk off, trying very hard to walk normally. I love how everyone is like "What? You're not all better yet?" I was on crutches for two fucking months, people! I'm already in pain, I don't need to be annoyed as well.

The Best Part of LA

Is the lights. I think you have to be from a biggish city to understand. A biggish city with hills. But I think city lights are one of the most beautiful things in the world. Part of it is that you have to actually see them, with your own eyes, to understand. City lights aren't beautiful in pictures or on TV. But when you're driving and you drive over the top of a hill, and suddenly it's just twinkly little lights, as far as you can see . . . It's just amazing. And in LA, the lights never end. They just don't. You can drive for two hours or more, and never be away from them. When you fly into LAX at night, they spread below you for an amazing distance, a twinkling carpet of humanity. City lights are why I could never be a country girl. (Well, that and I get bored too easily.)

Validation

It's late at night, and that bastard Jeffie gave me three ephidrin & caffiene pills and an espresso drink and then ran out without me. So I'm exploring the internet, thinking, "Shit, I've run out of internet again. I've read everything good, and everything else is boring. I am boring. Everyone is boring. Stupid internet."

Then I find this, and it is good, and not boring.

Mmmm, Yes

Which Member of the Endless Are You?

No No No No NO

I will not work for my dad's business. I will not live at home. This is why I went to college. To avoid working for my dad and living at home.

So why are my parents so into trying to get me to work for my dad and live at home? They're the ones who paid for my BA! Why do they want me to do the equivalent of throwing it in the trash?

Observation

The people on British Antiques Roadshow have no lips.

What I Think About At Work

I'm working on a website for my dad's family business (they make custom wooden stairways). Only they're crackheads, so I have to actually be onsite to do it.

50% of the time I'm at work, I'm thinking about: whether I'll ever actually get a real job.
20% of the time I'm at work, I'm thinking about: why it's so goddamn cold in my "office." (Note: Not an actual office. Actually, a desk put in the shipping room.)
10% of the time I'm at work, I'm thinking about: why I can never remember to bring headphones and CDs in.
10% of the time I'm at work, I'm thinking about: naked ladies.
10% of the time I'm at work, I'm thinking about: how fucking boring custom wooden stairways are.

In other news, the literary journal at the University of West Virginia rejected one of my stories today. Fucking University of West Virginia.

Equation

1 incredibly shitty day + Many glasses of wine + 1 phone call to the girl = Surprisingly cheerful Cyn

Room Cleaning, Day Four

I hate my room. I hate all posessions. (Possible exception: Dust mask.) I hate myself. I am considering becoming a monk.

I have not yet begun to unpack. I hate everything. I have become the most boring person on earth.

Meet Mr. Dust Mask: My New Best Friend

So, in a stroke of sheer genius, I realized that since the dust in my room was making me dizzy and sick, the obvious solution was to wear a dust mask while I cleaned. I mean, I've worn them to raves, I've worn them to protests, but wearing one to keep dust out? Revolutionary!

Dust masks rock! Not only does wearing one give you a cool post-apocalyptic style, but it also means I can breathe again! Go, breathing! I think I may wear a dust mask all the time from now on.

Also, my new look is totally post-apocalyptic pin-up girl.

Whoring Just As Fast As I Can

So, I'm supporting Philo in Blogwhore: the webgame.

Who are you cheering for?

Sick

My dust-allergies have blossomed into full-fledged illness, complete with disgusting green snot. Actually, some of my snot has been black, but I'm blaming that on the ten pounds of eye make-up I wore to the show last night. No, I don't know how eye make-up got into my nose, but it's the least worrisome reason for black snot that I can think of.

I actually feel much better today, thanks to all the cold medicine I've been taking. I spent most of yesterday asleep on my couch. I did actually mobilize to go see The Microphones show, and I'm glad I did, because Phil of the Microphones is The Cutest Man on Earth. He's so fucking adorable! I can't even discribe it. He had this whole little play thing he did with his songs, and then he made the audience sing along for the last two. Unfortunately, he didn't play until ten-thirty or so, by which time little sick me was trying very hard not to pass out. I bought a CD from him at the end of the show, but I was all sick and retarded and couldn't think of anything to say to The Cutest Man on Earth. Go, me.

In semi-Microphones related news, someone told me Mirah is a lesbian. Is this true? Man, just when I thought she couldn't get any cooler . . .

Real Life Details I Should Remember To Put In Fiction

When I opened my suitcase, I found a little note saying "This suitcase has been opened and searched for security purposes." They had left it right on top of my porno.

My ex-boyfriend says heroin is like falling in love for the first time. He says, "The great thing was that I didn't feel high. You know how when you fall in love for the first time, you feel like you, only a happier, better you? That's what heroin felt like. I think everyone should get to feel like that." I wonder if he was talking about me. I wonder if that's a complement.

The dust in my room has made my allergies act up to the point that I cannot breathe at all, have a sore throat, and am excreting my own body weight in phelgm daily. I literally cannot breathe while living in my parent's house.

Fashion Victim

I spent all day today cleaning my closet, and got rid of most of the clothes I was keeping here. (I have three big ass garbage bags full of stuff to give to Goodwill.) I'm trying to clean my room before I start unpacking, so I have room to put my stuff away. Unfortunately, the closet is the least of my problems. The stuff I really am not looking forward to going through are the boxes of stuff on top of my closet. It's all stuff that I packed before I went to college, when we moved into this house, and never unpacked. I should probably just throw the boxes away without even opening them, but that seems wrong, somehow.

Anyway, from going through my closet it's become very, very clear that I should not be allowed to purchase clothing or make any sort of attempt to dress myself. Until this moment, I owned way, way too many garments that are both unnattractive in and of themselves, and fit me in incredibly unnattractive ways. And I'm sure when I clean out my closet four years from now, I'll feel the same way about the clothes I own now.

But, honestly, what was I thinking in high school? How many bowling shirts and pairs of polyester pants could one girl possibly need?