Moving/Making People Out Of Cut Up Other People

So we move tomorrow, hopefully, providing that U-Haul actually provides the truck that they said they would confirm our reservation for by five today, and yet, as of now have still not confirmed.

The main problem with moving, I think, is that it means you have to deal with every single one of those Huge Fuck You Corporations all at once - electric, gas, cable internet, movers, post office, landlords - basically, every organization that is a major pain in the ass to deal with you get to deal with. And there's heavy lifting, too!

In other news, Phil and I just watched the movie May. I think it's best described by these quotes from us after watching it:

Me: New rule! No movies about people who cut up other people and make new people out of them!
Phil: But we knew that was what it was about before we watched it!
Me: And we rented it anyway!

I guess I was just kind of hoping it would be The Ultimate Crafting Movie. I mean, it had lesbians in it and everything . . . And May starts out so cute, with her little eye patch. I was kind of rooting for her to cut people up in the beginning.

And the final quote from Phil . . . "Blind children crawling on broken glass. I think that pretty much sums up that movie."

Hot! In A Bad Way!

The weather right now is disturbingly reminiscent of being constantly licked by a St. Bernard.

What I Do

For those of you who don't know what I do for a living, this comic is a pretty apt description of my job.

Sad!

I think one of the things I'm going to really miss when I move is saying hi to the old guy who plays the banjo in front of the Jefferson Alumni Building. I say hi to him like, twice a day, and he always seems really happy that I'm waving at him.

Movin' On Out

Are you big and/or burly? Do you have the strength of ten men because your heart is pure? Do you like lifting things? Has Cyn and/or Phil let you sleep on their couch, performed sexual favors, given you a really nice present, or done something else that leaves you karmically in their debt? Would you like them to? Are you a kind person who believes in helping pink haired girls and mohawked boys in need?

Do you think Hitler was a bad man?

If you answered yes to any of the above questions, then you belong at Cyn and Phil's moving party! It's this Sunday, and will involve furniture, beer, barbeque, and a moving van! Contact us for more info.

Be Kind to the Shoes

If anyone knows a decent way to pack shoes, would you please, for the love of god, tell me what it is? I've never been able to pack mine in a way that didn't involve the little babies getting all scratched up and sad.

The Art of Losing Isn't Hard To Master

So, I'm moving again. This move is unusual for me - I'm moving across the city, not the country. Usually I jettison all my furniture, put everything that I desperately need into boxes to be shipped, shove stuff into suitcases and hop on a plane. I think that this move is going to be a lot more difficult, at least physically. I've never had to figure out how to get my dresser down five flights of stairs before.

When I graduated from college, I had "Get New Life" written on my To Do List for about three months. Usually when I move I leave everything I know behind - places, people, possessions - and I set out to discover new ones. This time I get to keep my friends, my job, my roommate. I'm finding a new neighborhood, not a new state.

Moving always has an element of reinvention. Different house, different job, different friends, different me. I'll be stronger, braver, more like the girls I admire. My clothes will be better. I won't make the same mistakes again.

It works, to a certain extent. I never run into people I went to high school with. There's always a two to seven month grace period before I start running into people I've slept with and am now avoiding. I usually manage to trash the shit I own that I really hate, although there's still a lot of stuff that's inexplicably been to three or four states with me. And I'm sure I'll start learning from my mistakes at some point. That or run out of places to move.

Then there are the things that disapear into the ether. The possessions I didn't even remember I had until I'm frantically searching for them and I don't even know what state I last saw them in. I can't find the cd-rom with my digicam drivers on it. (Dad, did I leave it in LA? It should say "Canon Digital Camera Something" on it.) I'm missing a ton of cds, including the self-titled Fountains of Wayne album. I used to have a bong shaped like Felix the Cat that I lost in one move, found again a year later, and then lost again for good last year. (Yeah, that's right. I'm such a stoner I fucking lost my bong.)

This is an excerpt from "One Art", by Elizabeth Bishop. Julie and I used to say it whenever we couldn't find something.

"I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster."

Ladybug, Silver Dollar At Its Foot!

I am so in love with the song "Lucky Ladybug" by Guv'ner - how can you not love a song that includes the lyrics, "Keep me cool, my ducky-wucky, baby, god, I love it lucky"?

Also, there's clapping.

"Wonder wonder if you love me
guess I'll ask the star above me
it'll really be amazing
when the crystal ball I'm gazing
says I will always be your randy fellow"

It's the twee-est tweepop that ever popped.

An Actual Conversation I Had At the New Pornographers Show

Dude: I showed you a apartment!
Me (recognizing him): Yeah, it burned down!
Dude: Yeah, don't you feel lucky?
Me: I guess.

Rock the Hawk!

Phil is punk as fuck. I think he looks like a soccer hooligan - in a completely adorable way.

Check it, yo.

Alllll Night Long

So Friday night the lovely Gwen and I went to see the Peek-a-Boo Revue at the Troc. The show was really good, although insanely long - we got there at 8 pm, doors opened around 8:45 pm, and we left at 1:30 am.

Since we got there kind of early, we were able to get one of the tables that had been set up on the first floor of the Troc. As we're sitting around before the show starts, a guy who was probably in his fifties asked if he could sit with us. We said sure, since there were two of us and five tables.

Mistake.

It started off with him chatting with us. Semi-annoying, but harmless, and poor Gwen got most of it, since she was sitting next to him.

Then the show started. The guy was a big believer in audience participation. Every time the comic said anything vaguelly amusing, he's going, "Oh yeah! ALLL night long!" I think he yelled "ALLLLL night long!" about 40 times.

Combine this with him getting steadily drunker over the course of the night . . . I think the highlight was when he got up on stage and humped one of the performers during a skit about Liza Minelli. Or possibly when he told Gwen that one of his friends had invented the Mullet. (Apparently it was called the Pigmalian at the time.)

Oh, wait. The highlight was during the last act, when he wandered off and didn't come back.

On the plus side, it did cause us to bond with the gay men who were also sitting at our table, who obviously pitied us for having to deal with Mr. Drunk, Old & Crazy.

In Summation

I think 80% of my posessions are either clothing or books.

I've been insanely busy this weekend, so expect a better update sometime later. In the meantime, rent Jesus Christ, Vampire Hunter. You will not regret it, I promise.

The Quiz Sees Into My Soul

Your medieval name is: Thea. It's unique and
original, just like you. You're flashy and wild
and love a good time. There's nothing you won't
do and you live up to a raver standard. You're
always running and energetic. You're that girl
with orange tennis shoes!


What is your Medieval name?
brought to you by Quizilla

The weird thing about this is that I used to go by "Thia" (You know, the other half of my name) which is one letter off and presumably pronounced the same. Although not when I was a raver - that would be too weird.

You Make The Call!

Moving? What?

The good part about moving is that it totally vanquishes my inner pack rat. When faced with packing, the part of me that normally goes, "Keep that! We could use that! We'll make some sort of . . . craft project with it! No, keep it, it'll be handy later," totally rolls over and goes, "Toss it! You don't need any of that crap!"

The bad part about moving is, of course, everything.

I plan on giving up all my worldly goods and moving about the world causing mischief doing good works.

Arrrgh

You'd think at some point in my 23 years I'd have picked up some organizational skills, but that's where you'd be wrong.

Boobies!

Does anyone want to come see burlesque with me at the Troc on Friday? Come on, you know you want to! Pretty please?

I Made the Girliest Scarf Ever!

This is a scarf that I've been knitting for the last month and a half or so. This scarf is super exciting because it's the first thing I've ever knit, and it turned out not hideous! (Usually I crochet, rather than knit.)

You should note that in order to take the above photo, I actually stood on my toilet and leaned over into the mirror above my sink. It's an action shot! (Yes, I probably could have just used my camera timer. But I am not that smart.)

Here is a picture of it spread out. (I have included a Hello Kitty pillow in the shot for scale.) It turned out really big, and is nice and soft and warm.

I want it to be winter now!

The Current Contents of My Fridge

• Baking Soda.
• 9 Eggs.
• Approx. 3 Limes, in pieces.
• Colt 45 Forty.
• Various Condiments.
• Soy Milk that has definitely gone bad by this point.
• Empty Brita.
• Jar of olives with one olive in it.

Hello!

Has anyone else noticed that Cat Power's pubes are in the latest New Yorker?

I feel both parties need a stern talking to about this.

Extreme Cyn

So you know that show, Extreme Makeover, where they give people plastic surgery? Do you think that if I applied, they would give me, say, horns and a tail? I mean, that would be Xtreme. And I'd look really cute with horns and a tail. (The Girl did once tell me that she'd dump me if I ever got horns, but isn't the whole point to being dumped that you can go out and do all those things that your ex didn't want you to do?)

I mean, really, what's so extreme about a boob job and a couple of collegen injections? Now, if they were turning people different colors or giving them wings or implanting pieces of metal in them, I would totally watch the show. (Okay, I still wouldn't watch it, but I would read about it on the internet.)

They should at least be willing to give me nipple piercings and some new tattoos.

I Think I Just Hit Bottomster

I just spent 15 minutes writing myself a Friendster testimonial from Alan Turing.

So not only do I have an imaginary friend(ster), I'm now writing myself compliments from my imaginary friend and putting them on the internet.

If there's any part of that sentence that doesn't scream "I'm a pathetic loser," I don't know what it is.

I'm also very fond of finding the Friendster profiles of people I vaguelly knew in college and going, "Man, I'm way cooler than that guy! They have 81 Friendsters AND they're in a relationship? What the fuck is wrong with this world?" Does anyone else do this, or am I just the saddest person ever?

Now With Kittens!

Y'all knew it was just a matter of time before I busted out the Hello Kitty skin.

Garrrrrrrrrrrr

I just found out I have to work from midnight to 6 am tonight. (It was supposed to be my day off.)

Would someone please get me a new life? Thanks.

Bwahaha

Damn, I was really looking forward to all that goat sex.

(Inexplicably posted by Phil.)

My Head is Huge!

Please vote! It's for your own good!

I Heart My Crazy Hair

I woke up this morning with the best bedhead ever. No, seriously! Look at my hair, it's like I have some sort of crazy pink meringue on my head!

It made me so happy I felt the need to take pictures and share with the world. If I could make my hair do this all the time, I would totally, totally do it.

Li'l Devil

The ever lovely and talented Nicole made me this totally rad devil hat. She even made it in black so it wouldn't clash with my hair! (For some reason wearing this hat filled me with an urge to make crazy faces. Of course, I'm always pretty fond of making crazy faces.)

I am totally jealous of Nicole's knitting skillz (and pleased as punch to be part of her Blogger knit goods campaign). If I ever finish my scarf, I'm totally going to make her teach me how to purl.

BethAnn Glitter Explosion

It's going to be Thank You / Pictures of Me Day here at Life in the Pink, because it seems that everyone has just decided to be extra special awesome to me lately. (Something that I support, by the way.)

My first Thanks goes to BethAnn, who sent me the Best Package Ever, all the way from Canada. I got this package the day my power was out, and it immediately improved my mood about 2 million percent. I was like, "Who needs stinky electricity when they've got glitter, anyway?" BethAnn sent me a ton of super fun girly stuff, including sparkly pink nailpolish, eyeliner that makes my eyes look insanely blue, and tiny adorable hairclips. She also sent me this thing that is a mirror and a hairbrush and it's silver and shiny. I'm really into it.

So to all my friends and coworkers who find themselves coated in a mixture of glitter and pink hair, it is partly BethAnn's fault.

Adopt A Cyn

So with all the recall election craziness in California, I'm considering giving it up as my home state and picking a new home state. (Plus, people have mad LA hate here on the East Coast. What is up with that?)

You should note that I would at no point be actually living in this state - it will just become the place where I'm from. I will probably learn something about the native culture - state bird, local dishes, patois, that sort of thing.

I'm thinking maybe . . . Iowa. Nothing horribly embarassing ever happens in Iowa, right?

Smitten

Babs: My people killed Jesus.
Me: You know, if you really want to nail someone on a cross, I'm available.
Babs: On a cross? You sick fuck!
At this point I manage to fall over and slam my hairclip into my finger so hard it starts to bleed.

That's right. God finally got around to smiting me. And with my own sparkly hairclip, too. Bastard.

Hour of Power

So my power was off from noon to 7 pm today. Actually, the power was off in half of Center City today. (Is it wrong that when I heard Jefferson Hospital lost power, my immediate reaction was, "Man, that's right by my apartment, I definitely don't have power?" Compassion? What?)

At work they've got my office backed up with a generator, so my computers didn't go down. (I've actually got an Unstoppable Power Supply - the only reason I knew the power went down is because the lights went off. My computers didn't even flicker.) However, the air conditioner is not on a generator, so my office and and the twenty or so computers in it became a Stinking Hellpit about an hour after the power went down.

So I got to go home at 4:30. To my powerless apartment. I thought that maybe I'd be able to use my laptop to look at the internet, but then I realized that cable modems use electricity.

So instead I drank Pabst and read The New Yorker.

I Don't Know How I Feel

I appear to be the number one web result when you Ask Jeeves about "cunt."

I am torn between pride and fear.

Tell Me What To Do

What should the theme of our new bathroom be when we move? It's not that we don't love the porn, it's just that it's gotten all wrinkly and moist . . .

Life Gets A Little More Meta

I was in the video store today and the video guy was talking on the phone about how he wrote about period sex on his blog and his dad read it.

So of course because I have poor impulse control I was all like, "That happens to me all the time! My dad is always calling and telling me I'm an alcoholic because of what I write on my website."

I feel kind of like maybe I shouldn't have said anything, because I was very obviously listening on his phone call. But then again, I feel like when you're having loud conversations about that sort of thing, there's a certain aspect of the performative about them. (See my public conversations about the following: Fisiting, anal-eaze, Julie's hot mom.)

Also, I was renting Sex and the City, just to ensure that my video guy thinks I'm some sort of sad pathetic freak.

Martini: Gin, Vermouth, Olive.

Dear Bartenders of the World,

This is what is in a martini: gin, vermouth, olive. If I wanted vodka, vermouth, twist of lemon, I'd ask for a vodka martini. If I wanted gin, vermouth, onion, I'd ask for a gibson. If I wanted to get girly drink drunk, I'd ask for a chocolate martini. But if I ask for a martini, it's gin, vermouth, olive, okay?

There are questions one should ask when a martini is requested - what kind of gin, for example. (Never, ever, ever well gin.) Shaken or stirred. Wet or dry. However, "Vodka or gin?" should not be asked. Nor should you ask, "What kind?" I'm not sure who started this trend of calling any triangular cup full of hard liqour a martini, but I am distinctly against it. And this business of people considering a vodka martini to be an equal to a gin martini - to the point where one has to specify whether one wants vodka or gin - well, if you want to pinpoint humanity's downfall, that's it, right there.

Remember: Gin. It rhymes with Cyn.

Luv,
Cynthia

You Know What They Say About Redheads

Phil, darlin, this is for you.

The Painter Saga

So it all started Thursday morning a couple of weeks ago. I'd been out drinking the night before, and was enjoying some much needed quality time with my bed around 11 am. Suddenly, someone knocks on my bedroom door and says, "Painters!" I believe my reply was "Wuh? Guh? Hold on a sec!" By the time I had found a robe and opened the door, they were gone. So I took a shower and then went back to sleep until 2 pm.

Friday I was actually awake and dressed when they showed up, which was convenient, as for some reason they needed to spend several hours rummaging through crap in our bedrooms and taking out our storm windows. Apparently they've attached something to the face of the building directly outside of our windows and are using it to do something to the roof. They also asked to use our bathroom, which is always fun, since our bathroom is pretty much coated in a thin layer of porn.

I live on the fifth floor. I am not used to having to consider the fact that someone may be looking in my window. You can't even see my window from the street, and if someone is looking in from the building across the street, they're probably a filthy pervert who doesn't care if they see me naked. I also work nights twice a week and sleep during the day. Waking up to painters yelling two feet from your head = unpleasant. Waking up to painters yelling two feet from your head when you sleep naked = really unpleasant.

Have I mentioned one of my sets of blinds is broken?

Long time readers and those of you who actually know me will know that I embrace casual nudity. It frequently comes in handy. There was an incident just last week in which I was drinking a glass of water and managed to spill it all over myself. "Thank god I'm not wearing a shirt!" I said, and merrily went about my day. (You will also note that the infamouse nipple incident happened while I was fully clothed.) When I don't have to work, it normally takes me two to four hours to get dressed, because I tend to put on an article of clothing and then go make coffee or look at the internet for a half hour, and then put on another article of clothing. I've gone entire days without ever putting on a shirt.

I suppose I could just wander around half naked despite the painters peering into my windows. But I'm not sure it would make them go away faster.

When Are the Mountain Goats Going To Be On MTV?

So I hear that my boys Fountains of Wayne are kicking ass on MTV.

Just more proof that I am totally down with the kids/have my finger on the pulse of what's happening.

W00t!

Sometime last night, Life in the Pink recieved it's fifty thousandth hit, which I think is pretty rocking.

In other news, my apartment appears to be surrounded by painters, so I should probably put some clothes on.

Our Bathroom, The Face of the Sun

Phil has replaced all the lights in the bathroom,and it's now really, really, really bright in there. It frightens me. I sense a lot of peeing in the dark in my future. Because turning the lights on gives me a headache.

So no more pictures taken in my bathroom. I'll miss the porn, but frankly, not even I want to see my pores that clearly. ("Porn good. Pores bad," is the LitP motto.)

Why You Should Get Drunk With Me

• I will make out with you. Babs says I'm a horny drunk, but the truth is that I'm like that all the time. It's just that when I'm sober there's a part of my brain that goes, "I know you want to, but you can't hump her ass. No! No! Bad! No, you can't touch that! I don't care how much you want to!" Then I get drunk and that part of my brain is like, "Mmmm, PBR." I will extra special make out with you if you're a gay boy, as I've decided my new hobby should be making out with gay boys.
• I will tell you secrets, and they will probably be funny. (Although this is why I will never be a spy. That, and I suck at crypto.) They may be stories about how I drunkenly puked on something and then denied it for the next eight months, but I haven't done that in a while, so maybe not.
• I will dance like a big ol' dancing fool, and it will most likely be amusing. I may also sing. If I do, I'm sorry.
• I will consider it my duty to get you unbelievably fucked up.
• I may let you touch my ass and then forget about it completely.
• If I get drunk enough, I will let you drink the Secret Good Gin.
• "They can tell you lots of embarrassing stuff & you will understand. Like a therapist." (Emily, who I am drinking with via the internet.)
• I have a lot of PBR.

Dinner Conversation

Me: Christoper Walken: Sexy. Christopher Reeves: Not sexy.
Phil: I'd fuck Christopher Reeves before I fucked Christopher Walken.
Me: I would totally fuck Christopher Walken.
Phil: He's too creepy.
Me: Creepy sexy!
Phil: I couldn't do it.
Me: I totally could. Unless he was doing something really creepy, like wearing someone else's skin. Then I would make him take it off first.
Phil: What if he were wasting someone else's skin?
Me: How would you waste someone else's skin?
Phil: I don't know. What if he were making bubble gum out of it?
Me: That doesn't sound like a waste to me.
Phil: It's a very frivolous use of skin.
Me: How would you make bubble gum out of skin?
Phil: Blay blay protein agar agar blay blay
Me: I hate this conversation.
Phil: You started it.

Heh heh heh

Technical Virgin . com

Party Pictures

I found these pictures on my digital camera Saturday morning. I'm not sure who took them, but I've resized and renamed them.

Bright Future

I've come up with a new long term plan. I'm going to go to MIT and learn how to build robots.

This works well with the hunchback thing, too. Robot-building hunchback? How fucking cool is that?

In semi-related news, I got 4 hours of sleep last night, and there's a goddamned lot of PBR in my house.

Bring Out Yer Dead!

So thanks to a MDI (Mysterious Drunken Injury) that occured sometime Friday night, I'm now a hunchback.

No, really! I did something weird to my back just under my neck, and now I have a lump there and it hurts a lot. It's so totally going to become a hump. I'm really excited about it.

My plan is to grow a pelt of green hair on my hunch (or possibly get a green hunch-wig) and move to a bell tower, where I will ring bells and scream, "Hey, baby, wanna touch my hump?" at passing hot chicks.

The only problem is that the hunch kind of interferes with my drinking - it's located in such a way that it hurts when I throw my head back for that proper chugging action. So if it's not gone in a week, I'll probably go to the doctor.

In the meantime: Hot Hunchback Action!!!!

Announcement

I am unrepetant.

I'm also still kind of fucked up from last night.

Possibly the Geekiest Thing Any Human Has Ever Said

From an AIM conversation with Rowan.

Me: Oooh, I should make Alan Turing on Friendster! That would R0X0R!

Boobies Rock!

You know how guys are always like, "Man, if I had boobs I would never leave the house! I would just sit around all day playing with them!" and girls are all like, "No, you don't understand, it's not like that"?

Some days, for me, it kind of is like that. My tits are so great today that I was like, "Maybe I should take a picture and put it on my website."

Then I was like, "Hmmm. Bad idea!"

In semi-related news: It's called "body fat" Nerve. It's kind of hot. Maybe you should look into it.

(Link not safe for work.)