My (imaginary) Year in Review

So everyone's doing this whole "year in review" thing. But my year was all knitting drinking watching Buffy working blah blah boring. So here is an imaginary year in review instead.

January
Developed cold fusion.

February
It was cold, so I grew myself a soft furry pelt, and also a tail. Phil put a bell around my neck so I would stop catching birds.

March
In like a lion, out like a lamb. My pelt fell out, ending my promising career as a circus freak. Unfortunately, leaving the circus also ended my love affair with the tattooed lady. The acrobats and I still keep in touch.

April
Became a Top Secret Spy for the government. (No, not that goverment. The real government.) Could tell you about it, but I would have to kill you.

May
Discovered goverment experimentation had given me super powers. Faked my own death and developed a secret identity. Used x-ray vision to check out girls.

June
Traveled back in time and met Alan Turing.

July
Knitted cute super hero outfit and began fighting crime as alter ego Strawberry Kittens.

August
Fought arch-nemisis Blueberry Puppies. Blueberry Puppies no longer a threat to metropolis.

September
Month long bender. Memories of this month reconstructed from pictures found on internet. Apparently, "Do you have super powers in you? Would you like some?" is not a tremendously effective pick up line.

October
Became Buddhist, moved to Tibet. Got bored, came back.

November
Recieved Nobel Peace Prize and MacArthur Genius Grant, apparently for actions that took place in September. Still not sure for what, but pretty sure nudity was involved in both cases.

December
Settled down, moved to New Mexico, started goat farm, found true love (with human, not goat).

High Pitched Squeaks

This is how I feel about everything right now:

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAhhh.

Is It Vacation Yet?

I really can't express how completely fucking desperate I am for my upcoming vacation. Yesterday I dragged Jill in to look at my lovely string of days off on the schedule in the office. "Isn't it the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" I asked. I also was poking my scheduled days off longingly and making little noises at one point.

My new response to everything bad is, "I'm going on vacation very, very soon."

These are the things I am don't know when I'm going to have time to do before I leave: My laundry, pack, sleep, buy size 9 double pointed knitting needles.

I can't remember the last time I got more than 7 hours of sleep.

I haven't checked when my flight is yet.

I'm running out of clean socks and underwear and my only pair of clean pants have a tail.

More Proof I Am Secretly 80

The other day I reached into my coat pocket and found a peppermint hard candy.

Resolutions

I appear to have lost all of the time in between Christmas and New Years. It's just all sort of this debauched hedonistic blur, and of course none of the stuff I planned to get done (laundry, dishes, knitting) actually got done. Which is not to say that I'm complaining. As far as debauched hazes are concerned, I say Bring It.

Which brings me to my first New Year's resolution. I've decided to try out that whole wacky "moderation" thing, partly in hopes that I'll start remembering what I do on the weekends. I tried this out last Friday as a test, and the results were rather spectacular.

I think the main problem is that I've switched from being a functional alcoholic to being a binge drinker. I made a really great functional alcoholic, until at some point during my senior year of college I discovered that I couldn't go to sleep unless I had something to drink. Now I don't really have enough time for the drinking it would require anyway. So since functional alcoholism is out, I'm going to try and go with the less fun but more liver-friendly functional non-alcoholic option. Which is kind of sad, because I really did put the "fun" in "functional alcoholism"

Anyway, my other New Year's resolution is to find some direction for my life. I don't necessarily plan to start going in that direction right away, but I'd kind of like to have a grand master plan.

Creating New Life = Gross

My workplace is full of baby talk. One of my coworkers is pregnant, one of them had his first child born last Friday, and one of them has two young children.

So far I've learned that the entire "miracle of birth" process is even more fucking disgusting than previously imagined. I asked the new dad coworker how his baby was, and his answer was basically, "I haven't slept yet and weird gunk comes out of my baby."

I'm kind of intrigued by the whole "making a little person" aspect of the process, but I think I would want a lot more control over it. If I'm going to carry someone around in my belly for nine months, I at least want to be able to decide whether or not that person has a tail when they come out. I might be into it if I'd be able to have, say, a bat baby, but for a normal person? Bah. Totally not worth it.

My other insight into the birthing process is that lesbians must be the most pissed off people while giving birth. Think about it - in straight couples, the woman is just kind of stuck with the shitty part. But with dykes, you've got some lazy slacker who had the option of going through intense pain, and opted out. (Which, by the way, is totally the role that I would want. If I do ever get involved in the whole making babies thing, I want to be in the waiting room smoking cigars and being nervous, fifties-dad style. I'll see the kid when it's gunk-free, okay?)

I also have to constantly refrain from saying shit like, "Well, you can fit your entire hand in there," when people are discussing giving birth. I don't think my coworkers need that kind of insight into my social life.

Put Your Life in the Pink

Please contact me if you're interested in being a guest blogger January 3rd through 12th.

Undead Christmas

This is the first Christmas I've ever spent away from my family. I miss them to bits, but there are a number of practical factors involved, and I'm going out to visit January 3rd through 12th, so I'll see them soon enough.

My original plan for the holiday was to wallow in my own misery, think sad thoughts about how no one loved me, and drink gin until my blood actually tasted piney whilst staring at Christmas lights and tree and blaring indie rock on my new stereo.

Unfortunately, I have to work tonight and I have wonderful friends who don't allow me to feel sad and unloved, so that plan fell through.

Yesterday I went to a Christmas Eve thing with the Sarcasfamily. I was a little nervous about it right before going, as I am not always so good around families/normal people, plus I cannot dress myself for winter or family things, so if you put the two together you can garantee that my skirt is too short and I look ridiculous. But then I went and it was lovely and everyone was very nice, and there was yummy yummy dip and yummy yummy cheese. Emmett's mom was there and told embarassing childhood stories. Neil was there, too, and he and Star and Emmett and I stood around and talked about Buffy for a long time, not that we are dorks or anything. And no one was like, "Hey, kid, what's with that outfit, did you get dressed in the dark or something?" which was very considerate of them.

While I was there, my mother called from a Christmas Eve party that I'm missing for the first time since I was in utero. A Christmas Eve party that traditionally has a really fantastic cheese platter, so I really can't miss it again.

Then it was Christmas morning, and I opened my presents, which were not numerous but were fantastic. (I'm doing more Christmas stuff when I see the pinkhairedfam in January.) My parents bought me a stereo, which means I can now play the Mountain Goats really really loudly. Also, I now own a remote countrol, whereas before I didn't. (I feel the need to point out that before now I spent approximately five years without a stereo, and didn't own anything with a remote control. I am not a real person at all.) I also got the fifth season of Buffy on DVD (I'm not sure which is sadder, the fact that I bought this for myself for Christmas, the fact that I wrapped it, or the fact that I wrote myself a card.), a mix cd, and restraints (This was a very sex toy heavy Christmas for me.).

Then I went over to Jill's and she and Rowan and I watched movies about the undead. First we saw Wild Zero, this insanely excellent Japanese movie about a band called Guitar Wolf fighting zombies. (There's also a transexual love story, stoners, and aliens. Oh, and an arms dealer who runs around with no pants on. And a music guy who runs around insanely tiny shorts. It's awesome. You must watch it.) Then we saw Pirates of the Carribean. The unfortunate thing about Pirates is that no matter how many times you watch it, and no matter how much you scream at the tv, Orlando Bloom and Johnny Depp never make out. Other than that, it's a pretty much perfect movie. I mean, you've got your pirates, you've got your undead, you've got your monkey, what more do you need?

Jill also gave me an insanely great Hello Kitty bag that matches my hair. Which brought the total amount of Hello Kitty products I was wearing to three, and Sanrio products I was wearing to four.

Then I headed in to work, stopping at WaWa to get some dinner. They gave me a large thing of Mac n' Cheese when I only ordered/paid for a medium, which was probably just a screw up, but I like to think of it as a Christmas Miracle.

Merry Christmas

God rest ye, merry gentlemen,
let nothing ye dismay.

Christmas Dildo in the SNOW, Christmas Dildo HO HO HO

(Warning: Thar be sex talk ahead, matey!)

Since Phil left for Chicago on Monday, we exchanged presents on Sunday.

He got me a dildo. Which, as well as being a Christmas present, is red and white, and thus very Christmassy in color. Which means in my mind, it has become The Christmas Dildo.

I haven't used it yet. (I want the first time to be special, and also I'm bleeding from the vagina this week.) So right now it's hanging out in my living room, all, "Hi! Nice to meet you! I'm a Christmas Dildo!" I'm kind of waiting for someone to come in and stare at it, so I can use the Marla, "Don't worry, it's not a threat to you," line from Fight Club.

There's also something about the shape of it that really makes me want to make it talk to people. About two seconds after I got it out of the box I was going, "Hi! Merry Christmas!" in a squeeky Christmas Dildo voice. I also really want to have it star in traditional Christmas stories. ("The Day the Dildo Stole Christmas," "A Dildo's Christmas in Wales") And if I had the time or supplies, it would totally be playing the Baby Jesus in a very special Nativity Scene.

When I told Rowan about it, he said, "That's funny, because when I asked Carl what I should get you for Christmas, the first thing he said was 'sex toy.'" To which I replied, "That's funny, because Phil and I got Carl porn for Christmas."

Remember kids: Sex Toys make great Christmas gifts for anyone.

Bad Brain Rambles On and On

Phil has gone back to Chicago for Christmas. Pack animal that I am, I am not enjoying having the apartment to myself. My apartment makes weird noises. There's water noises in the walls because of the heaters, and the fridge sometimes shakes and makes this really annoying sound that doesn't stop until you thwack it, and there are a lot of mysterious and most likely vermin related noises. Plus it turns out that most of the minor annoying things that I blame on Phil continue to happen when he's gone. Which I blame on the mice, because it's definitely not me who's leaving the shower thing up so it soaks you when you turn on the water.

I'm lying in bed last night, listening to various creepy apartment noises, and I get a serious case of Bad Brain. Bad Brain being when instead of doing something productive, like, say, going to sleep, your brain decides to torture you. Most of the time when I get Bad Brain, my brain decides to freak out over whether I'll be able to get enough sleep before I have to wake up for work. So I lie there, freaking out, and losing more and more sleep and freaking out more and more over not getting enough sleep, until I fall into this restless sleep where I wake up every five minutes worrying that I've slept through my alarm.

But Bad Brain decided to do something different last night. First Bad Brain was all, "Hey, did you fuck up at work today? I bet you fucked up at work today. I bet they're having a meeting right now, deciding how to fire you. I know it's midnight, but that's how bad you fucked up." Fortunately, Jill was working last night, so I called her up at 12:45 am and was like, "Jill, did I fuck up?" and she was like, "No, go to sleep," and I was like, "Ha! Bad Brain, I have beaten you."

But Bad Brain is trickier than that, so five minutes later I was on the phone to another friend:

Friend: Hello?
Me: What if I'm actually really bad at sex and no one tells me because they don't want to be mean?
F: Have you been lying awake worrying about this?
Me: YES!
F: Well, it's certainly possible.
Me: I know!

Then we had a conversation that involved me saying things like, "Well, he didn't know me well enough to like me for my personality. That's a good sign." Because I'm just like a real girl, only backwards.

So we wrapped that up, and I tried to make some preemptive strikes against the Bad Brain. ("Do all my friends secretly hate me? Am I hideously ugly? No? Good.")

Of course, then when I got off the phone Bad Brain went, "Hey, remember your dead ex-boyfriend?" But I was like, "Oh, shut up, Bad Brain, I'm sick of you," and I fell into a deep, restful sleep.

Which lasted until I was awoken by the sound of a woman screaming. It appeared to be some sort of domestic dispute, and it helped me with my girl-all-alone-in-scary-apartment thoughts exactly as much as one would expect. Plus apparently I have a wife beater in my apartment building, like, shouldn't they warn you about that before you move in? They warn you about lead paint.

Then again, the screaming may not have been in my building at all, since if I went from the sound of things, there would also be a lot of trucks backing up in my apartment building. Seriously, you know that beep-beep-beep truck backing up sound? I wake up to that like, every day. As far as I can tell, they never drive those things forward at all. They're probably having some sort of backwards truck races outside my apartment building starting at 6 am every morning. Which, of course, is just about when I've beaten the Bad Brain and am settling in for some nice rest.

The problem is that your brain always has the advantage. It knows all your insecurities. It knows about every single embarassing thing you've ever done, and about ever horrible break up you've ever had. And it's not afraid to use that knowledge for evil. Plus, sometimes you get stuck in Bad Brain mode and can't get out. When I woke up this morning, I caught myself going, "Oh my god, what if all my plants die because I don't water them?" and, "I have really small eyes in that photo. Oh my god, I have tiny tiny eyes! Tiny squinty little beady eyes!"

What I really fear is the day that my Bad Brain turns its attention to others, and I have to explain that it's nothing personal, I just woke up evil. Even worse, it will probably happen around 2 am, when I'm lying awake in bed, and I'll start calling people up and telling them their personal flaws. And then all my friends really will hate me, and Bad Brain will be all, "Ha! I told you so!"

And I Wonder Why I Get No Respect

Today the printer was out of paper, so I thumped it because I felt it was winking its red light in a rather impudent and demanding fashion.

Then I put the paper in, shut the paper drawer, jumped back and did a one-two finger gun point at it, cowgirl-style.

That was the point at which I became aware that one of my coworkers had been watching the entire thing.

When said coworker commented to the Head Programmer that I was in a strange mood today, I said, "That's just because you saw me do that weird thing to the printer!" which probably was not the best thing to say.

Then again, the same coworker who witnessed all of this brought in gingerbread people for every one today, and mine had pink hair. It was totally awesome, and then I ate it.

Christmas Piglet in the SNOW, Christmas Piglet HO HO HO

I realize that Christmas music sucking is pretty much old news. I can deal with most of the classic stuff - Silent Night, Jingle Bells, etc. I even have a soft spot for Oh, Christmas Tree.

But I was just in the convience store across the street getting lunch, and I heard a song that included the lyrics, "you didn't know the baby you delivered soon would deliver you." And the guy singing just sounded so earnest about it . . . I was like, "God, does Christmas make your fucking pussy hurt or what?"

Also, I realize that this will mean nothing to most of you, but The Presidents of the United States of America sing a Christmas song, the chorus of which goes, "Christmas piglet in the snow, Christmas piglet ho ho ho," and it's been stuck in my head for most of December.

You Get What We Give You

I went Christmas shopping today. Since I'm working the night shift tonight, I figured I should take advantage of the non-weekend shopping time.

I totally caved and bought the fifth season of Buffy on DVD. It was on sale at Borders, and I just got an award at work that included getting a check, and unexpected cash = frivolous purchases. Plus, you know, I am basically just one big raging id, and someone should sit me down and give me a stern lecture on the Protestant work ethic. And a spanking. (Sorry, id again.)

I'm also proud to report that Christmas decorations are already on sale at CVS. Ha, you suckers you started decorating before the 20th sure look silly now! My tinsel was 33% off, mother fuckers!

I was having some issues figuring out what to give people, and then I remembered something that my dad says about gift giving: "You don't get what you want, you get what we give you." Once I adopted that as my new gift giving philosophy, it became super easy to get presents for everyone, because I could just use the same motivation that I do for everything else, namely, doing what I find amusing.

I spent a lot of time thinking of really amusing presents that I could give to Rowan. There were so many possibilities - a bag of pork rinds! A kitten! A large, heavy sculpture! A large, heavy sculpture made of pork rinds and kittens!

Then I moved on to think about the big picture. Bacon for the vegans! Porn for the Christians! Easy Listening for the indie rockers! Thong underwear for elderly relatives!

With that in mind, I hope you all enjoy your Christmas presents. Or at least make amusing faces upon opening them.

It's Beginning To Look Vaguely Like Christmas

I dragged the red tinsel Christmas tree out today. It doesn't have lights or ornaments or anything - I think we threw them out when we moved. I may aquire some tomorrow, as I have decided that tomorrow is Christmas Shopping Day. I even put a couple of presents under the Christmas Tree. Of course, I wrapped them using old copies of the Free Paper and duct tape, but it's still kind of festive.

So in the spirit of the season, I give you this joke:

Q: What did the blind, deaf kid get for Christmas?
A: Cancer.

I Made Socks!

The thing about making socks is that finishing one sock is the most unsatisfying feeling in the world. You're all, "I'm done! Oh." The other thing about making socks is that they involve tiny, tiny, tiny needles. I knit this pair on size two needles, which is the smallest size needle I've worked with so far.

My first sock, I had no idea what I was doing, so I would knit until I reached a point in the pattern where I didn't know what to do, and then I would talk to Naomi or my Tuesday knitting group, and they would tell me what to do, and then I would work until the next confusing part.

The second sock went along with no problems, until I reached the very end. I screwed up doing the kitchener stitch to join the toe together, and then when I undid it I kept screwing up getting my (tiny, tiny) stitches back onto the (tiny, tiny) needles, and I ended up having to rip out the last three rows before I got them on right, and then I just had to make up some decreases to get the right number of stitches. But it turned out fine, and now the socks are done!

The stripes are due to self striping yarn, which is magical, magical stuff.

Somethings I Like To Say Aloud While Coding

When it is bad:

• No! Bad!
• Craptastic!
• No! Why are you doing that?
• Ah! DUMB!
• Boo.

When it is good:

• That's right, bitch!
• I am the coolest! I am the coolest!
• Yay!
• Oh yeah, baby.

When my code doesn't work, I also like to tell Jill that I'm going to quit being a computer programmer and move to New Mexico and raise goats. I get very into the goat story - "And the best part," I say, sighing dreamily, "is that the goats will never, ever, ever make me work with SQL Server."

Geek Conversation at Work

Me: (to malfunctioning program) WHAT?!? Why don't you work?
Jill: Why are computer programmers always so surprised when programs don't work? They never work.
Head Programmer: Because it's not logical.
Jill: But it's never logical.
Me: Because logic is our abusive spouse.
Jill: So sometimes it beats you and sometimes it gives you candy and flowers?
Me: I would much rather have my programs work than candy and flowers. (pause) Oh, shit, I just geeked out, didn't I?

Six Hour French Socialist Film

Yesterday I watched a six hour French socialist movie.

I pause here to let that sink in. Six hour French socialist movie. It's a movie about the Paris Commune of 1871, called La Commune. The Philly Weekly had given it an A-, which makes me strongly suspect that the Philly Weekly reviewer left after intermission.

Which is not to say it was a bad movie. It was actually much better than I thought it would be. I mainly went because I found the concept amusing, something I do all the time, and you'd think I would know better by now. It would have made a really great three hour movie. But when you're in hour, say, four and a half of a movie, what you don't want that movie to be is repetitive.

On the plus side, it was very educational. At least, part 1 was. Part 2 got all post-modern and had kind of a "I'm being indoctrinated into socialism" feel to it.

I will now relate the conversation in which I agreed to go to this movie.

Rowan: Want to go to a five hour movie Sunday? (Notice the lie in this sentence! It was not five hours! It was SIX HOURS!)
Me: No.
Rowan: But it's a French satire that criticizes the media.
Me: No.
Rowan: You can knit.
Me: Okay.
Rowan: (to Carl) I told you she'd do that.

Also, I didn't realize it was a socialist movie going into it, and I accidentally wore a totally borgy outfit.

Some Things That Would Make Good Christmas Presents For the PinkHairedGirls in Your Life

• The Purl Stitch, by Sally Melville (Note: Holy shit, does that woman have a lot of l's in her name, or what?)
• Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the complete 5th Season, on DVD. I'm currently facing great inner conflict on whether or not I should just buy myself this for Christmas. My good side is all, "No! No gifts for yourself! Gifts for other people!" and my bad side is all, "But my Christmas is going to be sad and pathetic Work and Binge Drinking Christmas! I deserve Buffy! Buffy will make me feel better!" We'll see how it goes, but I think we all know what I'm like when it comes to temptation.
• Oral Sex.
• Big Lovely Bottles of Gin. Bombay Sapphire or Tanqueray, please. The Tanqueray comes in a festive holiday tin, which lends itself to this little rhyme: "Gin in a Tin for Cyn." Isn't it delightful?
• One of these dohickeys. You can check your knitting needle size, and your gauge. I suck at checking gauge! I need one.
• Yarn, knitting needles, etc. I am a knitting whore.
• The new Ladytron.
• Music by the Modern Lovers. I'm not sure exactly what cd of theirs I want, some pretentious indie geek should give me whichever one is the best. I like Roadrunner and that one song about health food.
• Music by Guided By Voices. See above. I really like that once song where he's all, "doesn't mean we weren't the best we ever were" and also that other song that's all, "drove myself to the look out rock." Unless those are the same song. I hear the new Best of compilation is really good, but I'm not sure if it's out yet.
• All Girl Summer Fun Band. K Records cuteness? I say yes, please!
• Ragazza Pop. Okay, so it's an insanely over priced import cd. It's described as "female indie groups create their own Phil Spector-esque 60s girl-pop songs"! And it has a song by Mirah on it!
• Books that are, you know, good. I am totally out of the loop, reading-wise. Someone buy me something I will like. Has A.S. Byatt written anything lately? Someone go poke that woman with a stick and make her write something.
• Sephora gift certificate. So much girly goodness. I go into that store, and it's like my brain turns off. But, you know, in a good way.
• Hello Kitty Toaster. It toasts Hello Kitty's face onto the bread. I don't think you people really understand how much I need this. It toasts her face onto the bread, people.
• Hitachi Magic Wand. Come on, you knew the sex toys would be on the list.
• Anything fuzzy, sparkly, pink, cute, or any combination of those things.

Nostalgia

A girl I was friends with in high school called me today. It's probably been two or three years since I talked to anyone I went to high school with other than Neal.

She told me about my ex-girlfriend's wedding, which was apparently quite lovely.

We talked about the suicide of a teen actor that she had a crush on in junior high school.

I said, "I barely remember high school. I feel like I've changed so much since then," and she said, "I only know what you were like then."

I didn't tell her that Neal died. She knew him, but not well, and it would have required more explanation than I felt like giving.

I said, "I feel like we all just wanted to get out of Pedro in high school," and she said, "I like it here."

Maybe I should say, "I go to two knitting circles and a movie night every week. Sometimes I go to indie shows. Sometimes I stay up late drinking with my friends."

Maybe I should say, "I walk here and I don't get lost. My feet have memorized the streets."

Maybe I should say, "This is what is in the back pocket of my shoulder bag: a bus pass, lipstick, sunglasses and a corkscrew."

Maybe I should say, "This is what I know now that I didn't know then. Life is more complicated, sadder and more terrifying, more strange and wonderful, than I will ever know."

Dear World: I Do Not Look Like Kelly Osborne

I realize that Kelly Osborne used to had pink hair, and I currently have pink hair. However, this does not mean that you should stop me on the street and tell me that I "look like, uh, the Osborne chick." I will not take this as a compliment.

For one thing, I'm older than Kelly Osborne, and I probably had pink hair before she did. Which means, if anything, she looks like me. For another thing, NO.

Speaking of Kelly Osborne, has anyone else noticed that she's totally got a hot little body on her? I'd totally have sex with Kelly Osborne. Call me, Kelly! We can pretend we're clones.

PinkHairedFeed

Some nice person has made my blog into a livejournal feed. So if you're on livejournal, and you want Life In The Pink on your friends list, you can hook it up with pinkhairedfeed.

If I Can't Eat Carbs, I Don't Want To Be Part of Your Revolution

Has anyone else noticed that carbs seem to have replaced calories in the popular vernacular? This disturbs me a great deal.

I'm going to eat mashed potatoes for lunch if I want to, and all you Atkins bitches can fucking suck it.

Why Do I Always Want What I Can't Have?

All day yesterday I was craving chocolate. Today I have a pan full of delicious brownies, and all I want is something salty.

Dear Brain: I hate you. Luv, Cyn

(Life in the Pink: Behind the Music. I originally typed "I have a plan full of delicious brownies." Man, I wish I had a plan full of delicious brownies. That would be awesome.)

Winter = Gross

Someone has replaced all of the sidewalks in my neighborhood with solid ice. Fortunately, my New! Pink! Boots! have nice grippy boot treads, so I have not yet flown ass-over-teakettle during my walk to the bus, but it's really only a matter of time. Really, shouldn't there have been some sort of sidewalk clearing memo or something? This is all just completely unreasonable.

In other "Winter is Cold" news, my face has decided to get into the whole "chapped" thing. My nose and lips are both chapped to the point of randomly bleeding. Because you know, nothing is more attractive than bleeding from your face. The skin over my right eye has also decided to get in on the action by coming off in large dry hunks. I, of course, being Poor Impulse Control Girl, am not helping matters by constantly picking at my face. But people, there are big chunks of skin there, just waiting to be pulled off! If you can resist that, you're a stronger person than I am.

And now that I have thoroughly disillusioned any notions that I am anything close to "attractive," I bid you adieu.

Acid! Huffing! Weather!

So as y'all may have heard, there is totally snow out there.

I really enjoy snow, especially the first snow of the season. (Despite it fucking up my social life.) Snow is still relatively new to me, what with me being an LA baby and all. It's just so white and fluffy and pretty and oooh, I'm positively giddy! Of course, I like it best when I'm inside and warm, and it's outside and pretty and sparkly.

My freshman year of college, I was constantly just staring at the falling snow in sheer wonder at the fact that something so pretty was coming out of the sky. (And the winter of my freshman year of college, snow fell pretty much constantly.) My friends were always like, "Cyn, it's just snow. Stop it, you look dumb," and I was all, "But! Pretty! Sparkly! Oooh!"

(Speaking of Pretty Sparkly Oooh, snow when you're on acid definitely ranks up there as one of the coolest things ever. Except for the part where you can't feel cold, and may end up completely fucking up your hands because you don't think to put gloves on. This has been a Public Service Announcement from Life in the Pink: If you're going to do acid in the snow, put on some damn gloves on. We're all about helping the kids around here, I tell ya.)

I sprayed some weather-proofing stuff on my New! Pink! Boots! yesterday, which means that they are now officially Winter Boots. Go me and my winter boots! I'll be rocking this East Coast thing yet. (Another Public Service Announcement: When the spray bottle says "Well-ventilated area" it probably doesn't mean "your kitchen with the fan over the stove on.") I tromped through the snow in the tonight, and so far my feet are quit dry.

I am at work on this snowy Saturday night, of course, because if I don't work at least one night every weekend, I might have a moment of true happiness and break the gypsy curse and lose my soul and turn evil. (Oh, wait, that's what happens to Angel on Buffy when he gets his swerve on. Never mind.) But the good part is that everyone else is at home, thanks to the snow, which means people are actually posting on the internet. Whoo! Snow makes everyone huge losers, just like me! Go snow!

What Is Art? Who Am I?

So I've been thinking a lot lately about identity and labels and all that crap. I've always wanted to belong to a subculture - it seems like it would be so nice, to be a Punk or a Raver or a Hipster or a Riot Grrrl, and to have a nice little identity with the friends and clothes and thoughts that came with it. (I am over simplifying to a ridiculous degree, of course. Please do not send me nasty emails. I know that all of you Punks and Ravers and Hipsters are individuals with your own thoughts and friends, and you are all completely different from all of the other little Punk Raver Hipsters out there.)

Sometimes I see people on the street and they are just so perfectly whatever subculture they are that I just want to pinch their little cheeks and say in my best Great Aunt voice, "Ohh, you dear little precious, you just could not be any more of a hipster if you tried, could you! Oooh, I bet you have just loads of b-sides and rare imports in your little apartment! Oh, and isn't that a darling thrift store vest!"

The thing is that I'm just not well organized enough to belong to a subculture. I'd like too, but there just seem to be all these rules to follow, and I'm no good at following rules. Plus, I'm just greedy. I want to be able to like Hello Kitty and Roland Barthes and Alan Turing and The Mountain Goats. (See also: bisexual. See also: Double major in Creative Writing and Computer Science. See also: the amount of time it takes me to order in restaurants.)

Someone described me as a "lesbian hippie" recently, and I was like, "WHAT? Oh, no you di'int!" Because while I may be within spitting distance of both lesbianism and hippiedom, I'm fairly sure I'm not either.

Ro says that the secret to my personality is that it's all based on irony and sarcasm, and the problem is that it takes a while for people to understand that. Which I guess makes me kind of a PoMo.

I was thinking about the goths in my high school, since I was on the whole subculture trip. My high school was full of Perky Goths, who were all insanely hot girls who did loads of meth and made out with each other all the time. I, of course, was too busy being a huge loser with my studies to get involved in any of that sort of thing. But I like to think that I take the same approach to Post Modernism that they did to Gothdom.

That's right kids, I'm a Perky PoMo. Feel free to join me if you wish.

Excerpt

From the Philadelphia Citypaper's "I Love You, I Hate You"s:

"I PASSED OUT -
On Saturday, 11/8, drunk outside Egypt nightclub. When I awoke, someone had inserted a bloody tampon in my mouth! To whoever did it, I hope you die. I better not catch anything from you!"

I derive a possibly obscene amount of amusement from this.

Lately

Lately my musical cravings are for (old) Liz Phair and Elliott Smith. You can decide what that means for yourself.

Lately I can't sleep, and I lay in bed at night and try to think of calming, peaceful things and instead just get more and more stressed out. I'm not sure if my life actually is stressful, or if I'm just getting all in a tizzy over nothing. I feel like I'm a mechanical toy wound up too tight. Sooner or later someone's going to stick something in the works and BOING! springs and togs everywhere.

Lately I want a secret identity. I want to be a super anti-hero. (My secret identity name is totally Strawberry Kittens.)

Christmas is for Suckers

I would be very into Christmas . . . if only it were about two weeks later than it is. Can we have Christmas around January 15th, please? Of course, that's getting dangerously close to January 24th, which is my birthday, and we can't have any distractions from that.

I was actually kind of oblivious to Christmas (other than Christmas music everywhere) until all the blogs I read became full of all these smug little "Well, at least I've got all my Christmas shopping done."

I hate people who have all their Christmas shopping done. It's the motherfucking fourth of December, people! I hope you enjoy spending the rest of the month drinking martinis and jerking off while thinking about how much better you are than those of us who haven't even considered Christmas shopping yet. I picture you in bed at night, after a long day of wrapping presents with all those twee Martha Stewart Living techniques, gasping "Yes! He's running through the mall on Christmas eve, he gets to the toy store right before closing and they're all sold out! Oh god, I am such a superior human being, oh god yes."

But enough about what I would be doing if I wasn't such a goddamned slacker. I've bought exactly one Christmas present so far. I actually don't have a whole hell of a lot to do this year, thank god. My Christmas plans pretty much involve me, a bottle of gin, and a red tinsel Christmas tree. There may also be vermouth and olives. Maybe some cocktail onions if I want to mix things up. (Okay, this is slight hyperbole. Jill has already promised to take me to her family Christmas, so the whole gin thing will just be Christmas morning.) So my grand master plan is to buy all of my Christmas presents on the internet, and then have them shipped directly to the recepients. It's working out quite nicely with the one present I've bought so far.

As for the rest of them, I plan to mutter darkly about the post office when questioned, and then have them next day mailed on January 15th.

Brilliant

You all have to listen to the Sleater-Kinney/Fred Schneider cover of Angry Inch that's on Wig in a Box, the Hedwig & the Angry Inch indie cover album.

Not only is it an awesome Sleater-Kinney song, but there's something about hearing Fred Scheider saying the words, "Where my penis used to be. Where my vagina never was." that causes me to giggle like a schoolgirl.

It is mad crazy genius.

Sweater Hard!

Today I got six inches of sweater done, only to discover that my gauge is definitely off by half a stitch. (For the sane non-knitters - my needles are too small. Which means my sweater is too small. By about six inches.)

So don't mind ripping it all out that much, since it's on big needles and thus going super fast. (Oh, who am I kidding. I mind! Goddamned stupid half stitch.) The thing that I do mind is that I don't have needles a size bigger, and thus can't start on it.

Want sweater now!

Brrrrrr!

It's way to fucking cold and I can't fucking stand it.

I need to knit that sweater like, now.

I blame my California upbringing for the fact that I cannot dress myself for weather at all. Some of it is my own damn fault for refusing to let weather limit my fashion choices - if I want to wear a tube top and a tiny skirt in the middle of winter, I'm doing it, snow be damned!

Jill is forever making fun of me for not owning what I call "ugly" and she calls "sensible" shoes. But I have boots now and they're pink and oh so pretty! Last winter I just wore platform shoes all winter on the theory that they kept me above the snow. It almost worked, except for the fact that your average platform shoes have zero traction.

But some of my inability is cluelessness, rather than willfulness. In LA, dressing for the weather involves maybe bringing a sweatshirt with you. Here, it involves coats and scarves and hats and boots and gloves and god only knows what, unless it turns out it really doesn't, and then you're all over heated and have all this stuff with you and you look stupid. Plus, I am a simple girl, and in my mind, sunny = warm and cloudy = cold. Except, it turns out, that half the time sunny really = freezing and cloudly = humid and disgusting.

Oh, and also the weather changes once you've left the house, which is just plain cheating! Yesterday I was dressed perfectly when I left my house, but then it started sleeting when I got of the train in Center City, and it was horrible. Fortunately, I got through it by being a big whiney baby and complaining a lot.

I think I may just start checking the weather on the internet every morning. Or maybe I can just start calling someone who wakes up earlier than me and asking them what I should wear. (Extra points for fashion advice!)

Skully

You guys, I'm going to start knitting a sweater.

I'm going to make the Scully sweater from Stitch n' Bitch. I'm using Rowan Cork yarn, in a gray color for the body, and magenta for the skulls. I did a test swatch tonight, but it looks like it's turning out to be too big on 10 1/2 needles, so I need to go back to the yarn store tomorrow.

I'm making a sweater! Exciting! Yet frightening!