I Have a New Hobby

It's taking photos of myself.

The Things I Do For You People

The curtains match the carpet.

This took all day and involved both two bottles of dye and two bottles of pink hair dye. Unfortunately, there's some sort of anti-punky colors conspiracy afoot in Philadelphia, and all I could find was Manic Panic. I fucking hate Manic Panic. Never, ever buy Manic Panic gel, as I accidentally did, as all it will do is make your hair look vaguelly fleshy. I was tempted to keep my fleshy hair, but then I realized that despite what I think, looking creepy does not equal looking attractive.

I'd like to give a ton of thanks to my roommate, who not only dyed my hair four times today, but also ran out to the store to get bleach for me when I ran out. (And no, he had nothing to do with the carpet, only the curtains.)

I've taken five showers today. I am squeaky clean!

Yes, I did use bleach. No, it didn't hurt.

Apparently this dye glows under black light. Now I really, really need to go to a rave. I will be the etard queen.

So never say I never gave you anything.

"carpet" link not worksafe

Dream a Little (Boring Ass) Dream

So, for a while I wasn't really having any dreams I remembered, which wasn't all that unusual for me. Then a couple weeks ago, I suddenly had a bunch of dreams.

Except that in them all, I would be doing some totally normal thing, like doing something I do at work, or going to the super market. And there would always be some reason that I couldn't do whatever I wanted too, and I'd be vaguelly annoyed, but not really upset or anything.

It's like my subconscious has just given up on being interesting. It's like, "Yeah, your life is boring. Can't help ya with that."

Messy

I appear to have left my hairbrush in Los Angeles. Rather than run out and buy a new one, I've opted to not brush my hair for the last three days.

It's not that I don't plan on buying a hairbrush. It's just that with my work schedule, I haven't really been out and about during prime hairbrush buying hours. Also, "buy hairbrush" is somewhere below "sleep" and above "dye pubes pink" on my To Do list.

The question is, what kind of person does this make me? Besides, obviously, a person with messy hair. Does it mean that I have a wacky, devil-may-care attitude, or simply that I'm incredibly lazy?

Jiggity Jigg

I am back in Philly, safe and snug in my little nest once more. My roommate is not here, which is sad, because I get rather lonely without him. However, it does mean that I get to be incredibly lazy, and instead of unpacking like a normal person, I am leaving my suitcase open in the hallway and removing an item or two from it every time I walk by.

In other news, I am fairly certain that my relatives caused me to ingest lard or something with Christmas dinner, because something has gone hideously awry in my bowels. I'm not sure exactly what's going on down there, but it is clear that Things Are Not As They Should Be. You know what they say: The only thing better than a six hour flight is being bloated and gassy on a six hour flight.

Whoop

My comments work again. Why? I have no idea. Maybe they weren't broken in the first place.

Or maybe it has something to do with my webhost going up and down like a two dollar whore.

My Dad is the Coolest

Me: I'm trying to cut down on my dairy.
Dad: I hope you're not falling prey to the vegan dyke conspiracy.

Merry Christmas Mine is turning

Merry Christmas

Mine is turning out wonderful. I hope yours is too.

Everything is Chill and Nice

Sorry if I alarmed people with yesterdays post. I made it back home, and my parents are being quite delightful. I was just feeling panicky since I managed to wake up an hour before when I needed to leave for the airport, with no Christmas shopping done and no suitcase packed. But I threw stuff together, and made it alright.

Unfortunately, I decided not to drug myself for the flight, as I was worried that I would pass out while in line for security or something. On my second flight, from Chicago to LA, I was seated next to a man who took up not only his seat, but also a good twenty percent of mine. He was not a large man, either. Just a man who apparently felt that he needed a lot of room. And since I do not enjoy touching strangers, I spent a lot of time twisted up in the fair corner of my seat with my head and shoulders actually in the aisle. Plus, there were a damn lot of children on the flight.

The comments weren't working, so we have ghetto comments until after Christmas, when I can fix things.

Dearest Readers

Everything that can go wrong has gone wrong. There's no way I'm getting out of this holiday season without a major nervous breakdown.

At least I can have drinkies on the plane.

Princess of Power

Today I got a fortune cookie that said, "You are the master of every situation."

I feel someone should notify my roommate and my girlfriend, because I'm pretty sure that they didn't get the memo on that one.

All I Want for Christmas is a Break

Okay, y'all, I'm sick of this grown-up shit. Sure, the part where I have my own apartment and I get to stay up as late as I want is nice, but the rest of it kind of bites. Like the part where I have to clean the apartment, or the part where I have to buy groceries and cook, or the part where I never have enough money. Or the part where I never actually seem to have enough time to eat or sleep and I'm hungry and tired most of the time. The part where I worked from nine until six-thirty today and I have to go back at two in the morning and work until ten in the morning. And then I have to finish Christmas shopping and pack. So I'm not sleeping until I get on a plane at 7:30pm tomorrow.

I've had to work crazy hours to get the next three days off, and I so don't want to spend them getting on a plane and flying across the country and then dealing with Christmas and then flying back. I want to see my family, I really do, but I'm just so worried that everyone will congratulate me for the wrong things (normal hair, lost weight) and nag me for the things I think I'm doing almost right (job, moving to Philly). And then that will stress me out and I'll fight with them and that will just be more stress and I have so much to do in so little time and then it'll just be back across the country to where I have to take care of myself and I'll just have to go back to work and I'll still be hungry and tired.

I just want someone to take care of me for just a little bit, but I spend so much time and energy trying so hard to make them proud of me, and I'm afraid that if I show any signs of doubt or weakness it will just give them another thing to nag me about.

I just want to go to sleep under my little red tinsel Christmas tree with the Britney Spears doll on top, and wake up and have everything be magically better. I want to have money in my bank account and food in my fridge and presents for the people I love. I want my trash to be taken out and my dishes to be washed and my clothes to be put away. I want my student loans taken care of and my insurance claim on my formerly broken ankle cleared up. I want to wake up and not have to be anywhere or do anything. I want my girlfriend to not be in another state. I want some time to think, not to think in the incredibly neurotic way that I seem to be doing lately, where I just pick at myself and make myself crazy, but to daydream or something. I want some time to write, because the only writing I've been doing lately has been this blog, and even that's been mostly done in time I should be sleeping. I want the huge dark circles under my eyes to go away. I just want some time to rest.

Take One for the Team

I watched Bring It On tonight. For like, the six billionth time. (And no, it didn't help me with that whole dirty girl thing, either.)

If there are two gay cheerleading squad in New York there must be a lesbian cheerleading squad somewhere in Philly, right?

Right?

We could do cheers about being vegan and not shaving our legs! It would be awesome!

I want to be a cheerleader, dammit.

I Wash and Wash, and I Never Get Clean

Today I caught myself checking out two high school boys and a tranny prostitute.

To be fair, both of the high school boys were fairly tall, and one of them was wearing a studded leather jacket over his school uniform. I mean, studded leather over a collared shirt, tie, and khakis? Who could resist?

And the tranny prostitute was just hot.

I am a dirty, dirty girl. I may actually be dirrty.

Biter

My girlfriend got a labret piercing a couple of days ago.

"But Cyn," you're saying, "Don't you have a labret piercing?"

Why yes, I do in fact have a shiny piece of metal underneath my lower lip.

"But Cyn," you continue, "Isn't your girlfriend the one who complains about you guys matching?"

Yes. And she has no one but herself to blame. I may wear the same denim skirt on occasion, but you don't see me going out and getting piercings she already has.

"But Cyn, don't labret's take a month to heal? Isn't your girlfriend going to visit you in like, two weeks?"

Yes. In fact, when I got my labret pierced, I thought to myself, "Well, self, this ought to keep you from kissing a billion people everytime you get drunk."

Then two weeks later I took Ecstacy and made out with at least two people and got a rather nasty infection on the inside of my mouth.

Then two weeks after that, it healed and I took Ecstacy and made out with a 40 year old and a creepy guy named Jef. (Yes, with one f.)

But enough about me.

I'm also not sure about the whole two labrets in one relationship thing physically. I kind of picture it being like all those stories you hear about braces locking. I've only made out with another labreted person once, and he was an 18 year old punkerboy and I was drunk and I don't remember it. But I escaped unscathed from that, so maybe it won't be a problem.

Actually, I'm sure that the girl looks incredibly hot with a labret, and I can't wait to see her. And now all we have to do is go out and getting matching Hello Kitty tattoos on our asses, and our master plan will be complete.

Christmas Present

So, just in case you're like me, and you're planning to do a significant part of your Christmas shopping after Christmas, and also frantically trying to get together the stuff you actually need for Christmas, and you're wondering what to get me, I thought I would make a Cynthia Christmas Present Suggestion.

If I had four or five of these shoe cubbies, I would be perfectly happy.

I'm totally not kidding here, people. I want them. I want to put my shoes in them, and then I want to sit on the floor and look at my shoes.

Also, I think that they would be good to put yarn in.

Check Out That Jaw

They had a sketch artist doing caricatures of people at my office christmas party, so I had one done since it was free. Apparently, I have quite the jaw bone!

My Schedule Today

8:00am - 6:15pm: work
7:00pm - 11pm: office christmas party
12:30am - 2:30am: work

Man, did I enjoy those two hours when I wasn't at work! Of course, they were spent traveling from my house to work and changing my clothes, but whatever.

On the plus side, I'm scheduled so I get to sleep tonight! I'm so excited!

Lessons Learned While Attempting To Dress For the Office Christmas Party

• My all purpose dressy and respectable outfit from college, consisting of a black sparkly shirt and reconstructed jean skirt, is in fact neither dressy nor respectable. Also, for some reason it fits funny now.
• The red velvet cocktail dress my freshman year boyfriend bought me fits me quite nicely.
• Also, I have sparkly red shoes that match it. Matching sparkly red shoes are great!
• One of the benefits of non-pink hair is the ability to wear red.
• While it is true that fishnets are the only stockings that really look good on unshaven legs, one will regret one's fishnet only policy upon discovering that while one has fishnets in pink, blue, black, thigh-high and bodystocking, the only black stockings one owns are a single thigh-high with a black satin bow on the top, and a pair of black tights one cut a bunch of holes in freshman year.
• It's perfectly acceptable to wear fishnets to the office christmas party.
• The gold heart pendant one of my relatives gave me when I was twelve is much more acceptable jewelry than anything I have ever picked out.
• Nail polish remover doubles as eye make up remover. (My roommate taught me this.) Also, it stings like a bitch tingles.
• My nicest purse has a picture of Badtz-Maru on it.
• At the office christmas party, around five of my co-workers said something along the lines of, "Oh my god, I totally didn't recognize you! You look so good!" I'm trying to take this as a compliment, but it is causing me to wonder just exactly how bad I look at the office daily. I mean, I realize that when I've gotten four hours of sleep, have bags under my eyes that you could drive a truck into, am wearing the first "work" clothes I found on my floor, and am visibly twitching from caffiene I don't actually look my best. But I do try to look half decent some of the time. Seriously, some of my co-workers didn't recognize me. They did double takes. Maybe it was because I was wearing tall shoes.
• My boss thinks my rabbit tattoo is cool.

Make a Statement Without Saying a Word

I went to a party at Penn last night, and almost got into a fight with some guy over my shirt. It was black, held together by safety pins, and said, "you're all whores" on the front. Unfortunately, the dude totally pussied out and I didn't get to kick ass.

I was totally the most bad ass girl at this party. Which is funny, because generally I'm considered to be right next to fuzzy kittens on the bad ass scale. I'm the most bad ass kitten in the litter, though! (Well, okay, maybe not the most bad ass kitten. But you know that kitten that's always escaping the box and getting trapped somewhere and mewing piteously? I'm that kitten.)

Which Is Worse?

My roommate and I got into a discussion about this at the bar a couple of nights ago. I'm not going to lie to you, I am totally voting for acrylic nails being worse. Everytime I see one of those "lesbian" scenes in porn where someone's getting fingered by an acrylic nail, I shriek like a schoolgirl and cover my eyes until it's over.

Then I have to go have real lesbian sex to make myself feel better.

But for some fuct up reason (possibly the fact that he has huge hands), my roommate is going with fisting on this one. Which I totally don't understand. Because your hand has nerve endings in it. You can feel what you're doing down there. Acrylic nails? No nerve endings! Just long, scary, pokey plastic!

Hello Kitty On My Ass

So, last Christmas my parents, being the well-meaning psychopaths that they are, spent a lot of time telling me that I should lose weight. The whole thing was incredibly annoying and culiminated in a lot of dumb drama. But along the way, my father and I had the following exchange:

Me: If you don't shut the hell up about how much I weigh, I'm going to get another tattoo.
Dad: If you lose 30 pounds, I'll buy you one.

Since city life agrees with me, and I'm too busy to eat half the time anyway, I have lost thirty pounds. Well, actually I'm not sure how much weight I've lost, since I don't have a scale. But all my clothes are too big, and my bartender told me that I lost weight, so I'm figuring I probably have.

My dad totally owes me a new tatttoo. So the question is, what should I get? I was thinking of getting wings somewhere, but I don't want them on my ankles anymore because of my ankle scars, and I already have a tattoo on my back, just below my neck. I was also thinking of getting a barcode, but it would have to be a barcode that actually said something cool when it was scanned. I was also thinking about getting a star, but I feel star tattoos are kind of trendy right now.

Then again, I could always get Hello Kitty on my ass. That may very well be the way to go.

On an un-tattoo-related note, for some reason since I've been losing all this weight my tits have gotten bigger. Seriously, they're like, huge now. I have two bras that actually fit me, and the rest of them all cut into me and do that "quatraboob" thing. I'm worried that my breasts changing from delightfully large to circus freak large. It's like all my body fat is desperately running to higher ground.

I Need a New Video Store

First of all, my roommate totally got me drunk and the passed out, leaving me with nothing to entertain myself. And on a workday, no less. So he is totally evil.

So I decided to get return my current DVD and check out a new one. The downside of this is that the rental guy from yesterday is totally working today, and yesterday I also returned a DVD and got out a new one. And everyone knows when you're renting and returning DVDs every day, that makes you a complete and total loser. But I desperately need to work on Christmas presents, and I need something to watch while I do it. But I cannot explain this to the video guy. What am I going to say? "Hey, Mr. Video Guy, despite all appearances to the contrary, I am not a loser. I'm just, um, really crafty. And my roommate is a sleepy bastard."

Plus my video history is like, one indie film, one foreign film, one gay film, and twenty bad teen movies.

Also, their copy of "Dude, Where's My Car?" on DVD is apparently damaged. And, they do not have Buffy on DVD.

Fuck convience and cheapness. I'm totally going to start walking to the bigger independent video store on Spruce and Twelfth. They're even gayer than my video store, and I bet they have Buffy on DVD.

Why I Am an Etard for Life, Regardless of Ecstacy Consumption

• Fake fur is to Cynthia as Flames are to Moths.
• I'm currently coveting these balls of Christmas lights that are up all over the city. They have them at Afterwords, this store I go to, and I would totally buy one if they weren't like, twenty bucks. They're sparkly! And pretty! Lights are pretty!
• Just because jewelry is made out of plastic doesn't mean it's not a meaningful gift.
• Rubbing my roommate's newly shaved head is totally a part of my daily routine. A very important part.
• Skinny drugged out boys of ambigious sexual identity? That's just my type!
• I really, really like bottled water.
• Sometimes, you just need to chew on a pacifier.
• I'm so glad I met you!
• Dude, I'm totally all about Peace, Love, Unity, Respect, and optional Responsibility!
• If I could wear my kitty pants with the tail to work, my life would be perfect.
• Pet me, and I will purr like a kitty cat. Or a e-filled raver rolling around on a vomit-covered concrete floor.
• Vomit? Whatever!
• How many of my hats have ears, again?
• I actually like the Vengaboys.
• Sometimes, my contact lenses glow under black light. I think it's my contact solution.
• That's not how the scene's supposed to be, man! It's about the music, not the drugs! It's about PLUR, man! It's about Peace, Love, Unity, and RESPECT! I can't believe that mother-fucker sold you bum E, man! I mean, that's so un-PLUR of him!

Man, I miss raving. And e-parties. And e-tards, god bless them. It's been too long.

Seriously

I want to find whoever decided the name for sequel to "Dude, Where's My Car?" should be "Seriously, Dude, Where's My Car?" and I want to marry them.

Seriously, Dude, I cannot even tell you how much that name amuses me.

More Titties, Less Prop Comedy

I went to a burlesque show last night. Highlights were a skit that involved Judge Judy giving Jesus a blow job, a dance that involved girls wearing thongs decorated with jingle bells, a strip tease to "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch," and a skit that involved a naughty nurse humping a comatose patient. (That's the kind of elder abuse I like.)

Phil: All your favorite parts involve pasties.
Me: Why, so they do.

The only downside was the prop comedian who came on in between acts. When the most famous member of your art form in Carrot Top, I feel it's time to find a new art form.

Narcissism

I have two new pictures up on The Mirror Project. They are here, and here. I like the second one the best.

This is a Test. You Have Failed.

My toilet has been acting funky lately. The most annoying part of it's funkiness is that the handle falls off practically everytime you flush, and you have to take the top of it and poke at things to put the handle back on. But yesterday morning it ran for like, four hours, and then refused to flush.

So I called the realty people, and told them that my toilet wouldn't flush, and they promised to send someone right over. Of course, as soon as I got off the phone the toilet stopped running and flushed again.

But I figured since they were sending someone, they could fix the handle and maybe figure out why it's being weird, so I didn't call them back and tell them it was okay.

Which is why it's so very aggravating that as of now, two days later, my apartment has yet to see a toilet repairman. As far as my landlord knows, I have a toilet that doesn't flush! If this had been an actual emergency, I would be pissing in the sink at this point.

Can one go on rent strike out of spite and righteous indignation, or does one have to have a specific goal? Not that there's not plenty of real reasons to go on rent strike, like the fact that they still haven't painted like they promised. Again, if we had not taken matters into our own hands, we would have a bright orange living room at this very moment, three months after we were promised it would be painted.

If you live in Philly, do not rent from Maxwell Realty. Trust me on this.

It's A Winter Wonderland Out There

Which means it's finally fuzzy hat weather!

Sexism and the City

I watched twelve episodes of season two of Sex and the City yesterday. I'd seen an episode or two before, but never a lot of it. I read one of the books it was based on, which I found to be really sexist and scary. But I went to the video store yesterday, and they didn't have Buffy on dvd, which is what I really wanted, so I ended up renting Sex and the City kind of on a whim.

So, the whole premise behind the show appears to be that one uses sex to entrap a man into a long term relationship. I'm not sure why, since they don't appear to actually like men or sex all that much. Or at least, they seem to be really freaked out by sex by people who seem to have a lot of it. There was an episode where Charlotte freaked out because she was dating a guy who was uncircumsized. Hello? Is this actually an issue for people?

Oh, and then there's the episode where Charlotte won't date a man who's perfect for her because he won't kill a mouse. Kill the goddamned mouse yourself, Char! I used to have a boyfriend who was terrified of bugs, and you know what I would do? I would capture the bugs and put them outside. Because I'm a normal human being.

Miranda is the only one of the girls who I actually like, and they seem compelled to make her ugly. I've seen pictures of Cynthia Nixon. She's gorgeous. There is really no reason for them to do this to her. Except maybe because she's the only one of the girls who is actually sucessful and cares about something other than men, so god forbid she should get to be attractive. There's an episode where they have her wandering around in overalls and baseball cap! Overalls!!! As though any of these women would even own overalls.

The one character I actually like is Big. I found myself totally sympathizing with him. "Yes," I shouted at my television, "Move to Paris! Don't tell her! Run away! This woman is crazy! Run! Ruuuuuuuunnnnnnn!!!!"

Girl Web

The girl has a website. It is rather small and strange, much like her.

You can read a bunch of Lesbian Endings we wrote to popular movies. I wrote the ones for The Breakfast Club, Bring It On, and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

Drug and Alcohol Advisory

Using drugs and alcohol is like playing with fire: A lot of fun, really.

The Key to Funny

I am, as some of you may have noticed, a rather funny girl. Both funny strange, and funny ha-ha. I realize that some of you may be lacking in the funny ha-ha department. In fact, in my head some of you are sitting around thinking, "Man, I wish I could be as funny as that Cynthia girl," right now. (That's what you were thinking, right? Good.) So I thought I would depart some of my funny wisdom upon you.

To start with, a cheat sheet. The following things are always funny:

• Monkeys
• Fisting (Especially fisting accidents. Hee!)
• Pirates
• Homosexuality
• Robots
• Cavemen
• Asses
• Eating Babies

Example: Gay monkey robot pirates. Hilarious, no?

Now, the grand key to humor: Things are funny because you're not supposed to do them. Think about it. Everything that is funny stems from something being wrong in some way, whether it's a pun (language being used wrong), dumb, or innapropriate. If you can come up with an example of something being funny and not being wrong, then I'm a gay monkey robot pirate who eats babies.

Mmmmm, babies.

Puking Bile

It has been brought to my attention by this gentleman that I come out 8th out of 1520 in a Google search for "puking bile".

Naturally, I could not be more proud. I would like to give thanks the bartenders at Uncles and their wicked strong drinks, all the time I spent drinking senior year, and most importantly, my stomach and its tendency to decide it's had enough the next morning, after all the food has been digested.

I couldn't have done it without you.

Back from Outerspace

I realize that I haven't blogged in like, a week, and some of you may be wondering if I'm deathly ill or something. The girl was here, and I didn't have time to blog. I had to do terribly cute things, like accidentally wear matching outfits (Okay, once it was sort of on purpose. But only once, and sort of!) and pretend to be Gay Sharks (long story).

But now she is gone, and I am out of bed, and life is less great than it was.