The Ailing Pontiff

1. The headline of one of the local Philly papers: "Pope Breathes With Help of Tube." Just how dumb do you think we are, guys?

2. This weekend, one of my friends coined the phrase, "Trake-ing the Pope." We were mainly using it as a masturbation euphemism, but I think it's a very versatile phrase. "Well, doesn't that just trake the Pope." "I traked her pope but good." "I didn't get any sleep last night, we traked the pope seven times."

3. This means my best friend Adam and the Pope are now trake buddies! I like to think of them both sitting around and doing impressions of that "They said it wasn't addictive" commercial. Maybe the Pope will let Adam wear his hat.

4. Between the Pope and William Rehnquist, tracheotomies are totally in this winter. Remember, kids: tracheotomy is the new black.

Knitting Meme

Amy G tagged me with this knitting meme, and I am glad to oblige. This was fun, it had me digging through my archives for pictures of old projects.

1. Do you knit continental or English?
English. I don't truck with those fancy Europeans and their fast-knitting ways.

2. How long ago did you learn to knit?
Naomi taught me in June of 2003. So that would be a year and a half ago?

5. First FO?
This scarf.

6. Favorite yarn?
Kidsilk haze is my new crack cocaine. (My old crack cocaine was crack cocaine. Just kidding. It was gin.) It's sort of a bitch to work with, but it's just so pretty! I'm working on a shawl with it right now.

7. Favorite pattern?
Currently the Basic Cable pattern from Stitch n' Bitch nation. I've made three of those hats now, and they turn out super cute. It looks much fancier and harder than it actually is, and it's a good hat to give as a gift because it's really stretchy.

8. Favorite pattern source?
I've made the most things from the first Stitch n' Bitch. Right now I'm really into Interweave Knits, although I've only made two things from it.

9. Favorite needles?
I'm making a sock on some Lantern Moon size three needles, and they are like butter. Mmmm. So nice.

10. Nicest thing you’ve ever knit?
Either my Under the Hoodie or my Children of Lir shawl.

11. Most hated project?
I made the cardigan from Hip To Knit and it just turned out ALL WRONG and now it sits in my closet and mocks me.

12. Who are you going to pass this on to?
Naomi, Jill, and Kirsten.

The First Acceptance

I have been (unofficially) accepted to UCSD's IGERT program. The program is studying both human and machine learning, and trying to find things that will lead to breakthroughs in both areas. They're also doing a lot of work with both human and machine vision.

I would be studying how humans and machines learn language. Which means that, yes, I will be a cunning linguist.

I'm still waiting to hear from UPenn, but I'll most likely end up doing this UCSD program. It's just so exciting and cool and futuristic. When the machines take over and rule us petty humans, I'll be the one who taught them English.

PS. EEEEEEEEE I'M GOING TO BE A SCIENTIST!

The First Rejection

I got a rejection letter from MIT today.

This is not going to help me be less neurotic about grad school. MIT was a long-shot for me, and I didn't really think I would get in, but it's still sort of upsetting.

Also, this is the first time I've been rejected by an institution of higher learning, and I don't like it.

My Hat Causes Strangers To Mistake Me For a Satanist

I've been wearing the devil hat that Mac made for me a lot lately. The earflaps are extremely effective in keeping my ears warm, and it's cute as hell. I've gotten a bunch of compliments on it from random strangers, but today's conversation takes the cake.

This conversation took place today on my way to work, between me and a portly, jovial, bearded gentleman.

Bearded Guy: Are those two devil horns on your hat?
Me: Yes.
BG: Do you practice Satanism?
Me: Um, no.
BG: Where did you get that hat?
Me: My friend made it for me.
BG: That's great. I need to get myself a devil hat.

On the one hand, it's nice that he liked my hat, and also nice that he recognized that they were horns, and not kitty ears. (A frequent mistake by hat observers.) On the other hand, he seemed, uh, kinda pro-Satanism.

The Cat's Mommy

I really dislike when people refer to me as my cat's "Mommy." I don't judge when they make up intricate family relationships for their own cats, but it's just not my bag. (Okay, that's a lie. I totally judge. But so many of my friends do this that I'm worried about alienating people if I talk about.)

My argument is, basically, that my cat at no point came out of my vagina. I realize the cat could be adopted, but she is not my child. She is my pet. I do not plan to send her to college. I am not projecting my own failed hopes and dreams onto her. I'm not telling her, "Sophie, if you don't study hard, when you apply to grad school they're going to take your applications and feed them to their dogs, as they are surely doing to mine right now." Moreover, the cat and I both hate children (and like each other).

But the other day, I found an exception to my, "not the cat's mommy" rule. I was sitting and petting her, as I frequently do. Then I leaned over and whispered to her. "Kill for Mommy," I said. "Kill for Mommy, Sophie."

It just sounded . . . right.

Jury Duty

Well, my jury duty adventure turned out to be a complete waste of everyone's time. I wasn't even interviewed to be on a jury.

I got to the criminal justice center at 8:15 am, like I was supposed to. First I had to check my cell phone in, just like mirthras said. I understand why they would be against cell phones in the court building and all, and I definitely would be against everyone hanging out in the jury room talking on their cell phone all the time, but removing my cell phone sort of fills me with seperation anxiety. Can't they just make us switch them to vibrate or something? Also, without my cell phone I only have my iPod to tell me the time, and my iPod flips between central and eastern time and I'm never sure which it's on.

Then I sent my many posessions through the scanner. Then I went through the metal detector. Then I got wanded, because my pink boots have steel toes. Have I mentioned I hate going through metal dectectors? I always end up having to take off half my clothes.

Then there was the over-crowded jury room, where I got shitty coffee & a shitty bagel and got to watch a video about how to fill out a form. A form that's mostly yes or no questions.

I sat around and read articles in the new, amazingly crazy Knit 1 magazine. (Seriously, I think for this issue the knit 1 staff was smoking crack during the pitch meetings.)

Then I read the new ReadyMade magazine.

I got selected for a jury around 10 am. They had us line up in pairs, which made the whole thing seem sort of like a third grade field trip. I kept wanting to make jokes about not having a field trip buddy, but it didn't seem like anyone would have appreciated them.

So they took my group of 40 prospective jurors up to a jury room on the fifth floor, where they found . . . another group of jurors. There was confusion. They sent all of us back the jury room, but not before they took away our juror surveys.

I went back to the jury room. I filled out my jury survey again. I finished reading ReadyMade. I read some of Hypocrite in a Poufy White Dress.

We got lunch from noon to 1:30 am, which was sort of nice, but I didn't really have anything to do. I would have much rather had a shorter lunch and gotten out earlier. I wandered around Reading Terminal Market for a while, then headed back to the juror room. (After the metal detector. Again. This time I just made them wand me and didn't bother to take off my studded belt.)

I got called for another case around 2 pm. This was a civil case, so we got lined up field trip buddy style and marched across the street to the court house. We got marched into a room full of lawyers, and they asked us all a bunch of questions as a group - we had to raise our hands if the answer was yes. They mainly asked if we knew various people connected to the case, but they also asked weird shit, like if we'd ever worked in the security field.

Then they interviewed prospective jurors individually. By 4:30 pm, they'd gotten up to juror number 10. (I was juror 12.)

Then they sent us all home.

So I didn't even get interviewed to be on a jury! I don't know if they would pick me or not. I didn't really do anything, other than be sent to a couple of courtrooms and read a lot. (I finished Hypocrite in a Poufy White Dress and was working on knitting a sock by the time I left.)

I'm glad that I didn't get picked for the case, because it involved the sexual assault of a pre-pubescent girl, and I think my life is better when I'm not assigning monetary value to the rape of young girls.

But I'm still really annoyed at the complete waste of my time. Thanks, City of Philadelphia. Glad you've got your shit together.

Don't Ask Me To Be Coherent

I had a really awesome, super busy weekend. The only bad part was a crazy work emergency that required my attention from 11:45 pm to 12:30 am Saturday night (on the phone), and then from 9:45 am to 1 pn on Sunday (in the office). But, I think I am on the Good Employee list once more.

Today I'm depressed. Hunter S. Thompson killing himself is making me much sadder than any celebrity death should. I was sort of semi thinking about it at work, and it made me so sad I thought that my arms would fall off if I got any sadder.

I have also been sort of feeling like an asshole today. I'm not sure if I'm actually being an asshole (highly possible! I frequently am!) or if I'm just being overly guilty.

I have jury duty tomorrow. Since I have pink hair and am morally opposed to the whole concept of the justice system (I have a whole big long rant about it, just ask me) I do not think I'll be getting picked, but we'll see. The worst part is I have to be there at 8:15 am. It's like they're trying to hurt me.

Robot Arms, Gorilla Boobs, Grad School

Okay, so I can see the medical applications of this robot arm, for amputees and what-not, but the real question is: Can I get like, four of these, and become a six-armed cyber-goddess of destruction? Or at least type and knit at the same time? A couple of robot arms would be almost as good as a tail.

Other linky goodness: Apparently, Koko the gorilla wants to see your boobs. This was totally left out of the touching (in an emotional way, not a boobie way) gorilla & kitten book I read as a child.

In other news: I have had grad school contact. It was positive, but non-commital. I am trying to maintain a healthy pessimism and lack of confidence, and not spazz out over this, but I COULD TOTALLY BE A COOL SCIENTIST LADY.

I Love Anti-Love Songs

This meme's been passed around the knit blogs for a while now, and Amy G tagged me with it. It's a pretty good one for music-obsessed me, I think.

1. Total amount of music files on your computer?
On my work computer: 307 songs On my iPod: 2,893 songs

2. The last CD you bought
The Streets, A Grand Don't Come for Free

3. The last song you listened to before reading this
Dreamboat by Mirah

4. Name 5 songs you listen to often or that mean a lot to you

say yes - Elliott Smith This is my favorite song in the world. It goes on all my mix cds. I love the lyrics: "I'm in love, with the world, through the eyes, of a girl, who's still around the morning after." It's depressing ("It's always been / Wait and see / A happy day / And then you pay / And feel like shit / The morning after") but hopeful ("But now I feel / Changed around / And instead / Of falling down / I'm standing up / The morning after"). Neal loved Elliott Smith, but he didn't like this song, because he thought it was too happy. Maybe that's why I like it. It's romantic, but in a messed-up, jaded way, which is my kind of romance.

Red Right Ankle - The Decemberists I love the Decemberists, and this song I feel extra connected to because of my broken right ankle. It has this whole extended metaphor/theme thing with relationships and physical body parts which is very pretty and clever.

No Children - The Mountain Goats Y'all were waiting for the Mountain Goats song on this list. This is the best song to listen to after a break-up ever. It's about alcoholics trapped in a failing marriage, and it has lines like, "I hope I lie / And tell everyone you were a good wife / And I hope you die / I hope we both die." Some people find this sort of thing depressing, but I find it comforting. It might be schadenfreude, or it might be the way it sometimes feels good to crawl deep into the heart of dysfunction and make yourself a little nest there.

Clark Gable - The Postal Service The Postal Service is my new obsession. I've listened to their album on repeat over and over and over and over again. It's completely fucked up my Top 25 Most Listened To Songs on my iPod. The story of this song is that the narrator realizes that "I've been waiting since birth to find a / love that would look and sound like a movie" so he rents movie making equipment and calls up his ex-girlfriend and asks her to pretend they're in love again and makes a movie of it. It sounds sort of dumb when I describe it like that, but it's actually brilliant.

Coin-Operated Boy - The Dresden Dolls When I lived with Phil, The Dresden Dolls and Pretty Girls Make Graves were the only bands we both liked. Coin-Operated Boy is clever and brilliant and bitter with regards to romance, which makes it the kind of song I like, clearly. When I saw them do this song live, instead of singing, "I can even take him in the bath," she sang, "I can even fuck him in the ass." That is why The Dresden Dolls are the best band ever.

5. Who will you pass this stick to (3 people) and why?
I am going to throw this out of Knitville and into Philadelphia. Thus, I am throwing it at Star, Amy, and Jim.

Somtimes Conservative Desperation Is Funny

Oh my god, have y'all heard about Covenant Marriage? This is just too fucking funny for me to even get upset about, although I'm sure I could if I really thought about it. The red-staters are fucking logic in the ass even more than usual this time. What is the statement here? "We are so very much in love that we must legally make it almost impossible to divorce each other"? Makes. No. Sense. "Oh my darling, I love you so very, very much, that I must do the legal equivalent of chaining you to the wall in the basement." Darling Governer Huckabee, methinks you doth protest too much.

The article contains the best quote ever, and from a Rabbi, no less: "Lapin said that marriage is needed to turn the 'raw rock of male sexuality and aggression' into a beautiful work of art." The raw rock of male sexuality! Clearly I am doing something terribly wrong, dating these sissy liberal boys. Can the work of art my marriage turns said raw rock into be a Mapplethorpe, please?

Not related at all, but logic has no place in our brave new world: I am so very much in love with this iPod case shaped like a squid. So ridiculous and impractical! I am totally ripping off the idea and knitting myself one, and I just may enter into a covenant marriage with it.

(links via pinktalk and mighty goods.)

Valentine's Redux

I had my traditional Valentine's Day heart-shaped Jello shots yesterday. No, not by myself. Doing Jello shots by yourself makes the Baby Jesus cry. I had a bunch of my girls over and we watched Boy Meets Boy on DVD and did Jello shots and drank wine and ate chocolate and cheese. It was definitely one the better V-days I've had.

The whole notion of Valentine's Day as a big romantic holiday just seems to be setting everyone up for failure. Last year, when I was actually dating someone, we went to a party, got hammered, and passed out before we could get our swerve on. Romantic. Although I did almost get into a fight defending Ro's honor as a feminist, which probably counts as chivalrous in some circles. (And lest you blame the Jello shot tradition, let me state for the record that we would have been fine if we had just stayed away from the Mystery Punch.)

I've really only had one Valentine's Day with the whole flowers, champagne, etc., and that was with a boyfriend who turned out to be gay.

The first time I hooked up with The Girl was on Valentine's Day (after we'd both had a number of heart-shaped Jello shots), and that probably counts as romantic if you ignore certain concurrent events, like the disgruntled gay man snorting pain killers in my living room, or my roommate vomiting into a bucket.

My real problem with Valentine's Day is that I've gotten dumped in the two weeks before it four times. So pretty much any V-day where I'm not cursing the entire human race and swearing off sex forever is a good one for me. And thus, a day late, I extend my Valentine's Day wishes to you all. I hope you got laid.

Osama Three-way

I'm in love with this sign posted on the dumpster of my apartment building, because it's a three-way pun. Not only does it have the bin/been thing going on, but it's on a trash bin. (I may be over thinking this a little.)

Besides, as anyone who knows about my fake college band, Osama bin Rockin' and his TaliBand, could tell you, I love a good Osama pun.

The Cockettes: My Latest Obsession

I have become obsessed with this documentary about The Cockettes. I got it from Netflix, and I've already watched it twice and made one of my friends watch it.

Part of it is my general fascination with documentaries about weird people. This movie has some fantastic crazy people in it. My favorite is Marshall, a guy who's rocking the aging-hippie extremely-bearded-with-crazy-eyes look, who says things like, "If I had my life to do all over again, I might be gay. I've had some trouble with women," and, "I worked the information booth at Woodstock. We didn't have any information." I love Marshall. I kind of want him to live in my closet and be crazy for me all the time. There's also Jilala, who, well, you just kind of have to see Jilala. And there's a kid named Ocean Michael Moon, and people say things like, "I never performed when I wasn't on drugs," and oh, it's just fantastic. If it wasn't 11 pm, I would totally watch it again right now.

This movie fills me with nostalgia for a time before I was born. The effect one gets from it is that a bunch of acid-filled, cross-dressing hippies said, "Hey, guys, lets put on a play!", much as though they were in one of those fifties musicals where they have to put on some sort of revue to raise money to save the library. And, just like in the fifties musical, there were lots of hijinks but in the end, it was wildly sucessful, and the day was saved.

I want to not have a job and live in a commune and wear dresses from the 40s and lots and lots of glitter and do a lot of drugs and have a lot of sex and sing and dance and be in productions named things like, "Pearls over Shanghai." Why aren't I in the Cockettes? I already have the glitter. I would totally make a great Cockette.

I Am Secretly 80

I got on the El at just the wrong time today, and it was filled with kids getting out of school. One of them managed to stand in the aisle in such a way that his backpack kept hitting me about the head and shoulders, and just generally intruding on my personal space. It was all I could do not to roll up my New Yorker and thwack him with it.

Instead, I just glared.

I Left My House

I left the house today.

This is pretty exciting news, after two days where the farthest I traveled was downstairs to the foyer to get the mail. (Random foyer related side-note: It has come to my attention that some people say the word "foyer" foy-YER instead of foy-YAY. I feel this is wrong, and should be stopped immediately. ) Other than that, it was pretty much, "Hmmm, I'm tired of napping on the bed. I think I'll nap on the sofa for a while."

Outside had changed in the two days I was holed up in my apartment. Most of the snow had melted. It was cold, and windy.

However, since I'd gotten absolutely nothing accomplished in the last two days, I had tons of errands to run. I went to the Post Office to mail some packages, met up with a friend for knitting, retrieved my package from UPS hell (I took a taxi, since I am way too sick to deal with SEPTA and South Philly. They suck separately, and together, they suck even more.), went to RiteAid to buy the various items I keep forgetting to buy, and, finally, went to work.

Dear Phelgm, I Hate You

Dear Inside Bits,

I know that we are close and all, what with you being inside me. But, seriously, could you just stay inside? I don't need to see you.

THIS MEANS YOU, SNOT.

Luv,
Cyn

Sick

I called in sick to work today and spent the whole day sleeping. I think I've been awake for around five hours today, if that.

Calling in sick is sort of a big deal for me. I've only called in sick one other time in the two and a half years I've been working for my company. I hope I get better soon. I don't know why this disease isn't going away. It seems to be less flu-like and more cough/cold like right now.

Okay, I'm going back to sleep now.

Cranky

Being sick has turned me into my cat. I am filled with intense hatred of the world, and will most likely hiss and bite and scratch anyone who comes near me. But secretly, I just want someone to pet me and feed me and let me curl up and sleep in their warmth.

Things I Am Disgruntled About:

1. Eating. I can't really smell anything, which means nothing really tastes like anything. Which means eating is really, really boring. There's so much chewing. I get tired of it after like, fifteen minutes. Today I was really hungry, too, because I hadn't really been eating much over the weekend, because food took way too much effort and was just sort of unpleasant to eat anyway. So I forced myself to eat, and then afterwards my stomach would sort of ache in an unpleasant way. Seriously, body, you're angry at me when I don't eat, and then you're angry when I do it? That's just not fair.

I think some applesauce might be good, though. Maybe tomorrow I'll get some applesauce.

2. This new rule that I can't buy more than two decongestants at a time. Okay, I'm purchasing various items at RiteAid, which, yes, includes cough syrup and night time flu gel caps and day time cold medicine. I'm sick, I'm going to buy every goddamned kind of cough and cold and flu medicine that's on sale, because they only give you twelve gel tabs anyway, and you have to take them two at a time, and I don't want to have to come back tomorrow and buy another box of cold medicine, I'm sick. So the guy is ringing them up, and when he gets to my third box of cold medicine, a little box pops up on the screen and says, "It is against the law to sell more than than two items containing decongestants in one purchase."

Now, I'm fucking sick. I don't give a shit if kids in Kentucky are using sudaphedrine to make meth with, I want my fucking cold medicine.

Fortunately, at my ghetto RiteAid, they just made me make two purchases. Maybe they sensed that I was sick and full of rage and ready to start licking things.

3. Being out of cat litter. Oh, man, this totally made me insanely cranky. I decided to clean the cat litter, because I should have done it a really long time ago, and I figured I might as well take advantage of the fact that I can't smell anything. But then there was not cat litter. And I had to leave my apartment again and go to CVS. And then I bought two bags of cat litter, because I figured I might as well stock up while I was remembering, and I was wandering around CVS clutching my huge cat litter purchase and glaring at random strangers. (How dare they be healthy and jovial! DEATH TO THEM!)

Then I realized I had completely transformed into a crazy cat lady, and that just made me even crankier. I totally refused to get out of the way of this minivan when I was crossing the street at the stop sign on the way home, because I had the right of way. Me! Not them! I just clutched my cat litter and glared furiously and considered yelling and/or striking their approaching-me-very-slowly vehicle, because my righteous anger was totally going to keep me from being crushed by a car. And, to be fair, I remain uncrushed.

Fever

I have spent all day in my apartment, being sick. Not actively sick, but the kind of sick where you're coherent enough to get out of bed, but icky-feeling enough that leaving the house seems like a bad idea.

So I sat on my couch and watched DVDs and knit. The sort of ridiculous aspect of this is that my plans for the day were to get together with some of my friends and sit on someone else's couch and watch movies (and probably knit). But I would have had to leave the house for that, and I felt that they probably would not appreciate my possibly contagious self coughing and blowing my nose and being all, "Is it hot in here? I feel hot. Do I have a fever? Can someone feel my forehead? Do you have any orange juice?"

This is totally my fault, as I could feel myself getting a little sick earlier this week, and instead of being good and getting lots of rest, etc, I went to the Dresden Dolls show (which was awesome) and stayed up way too late. I do this pretty much every time I get sick. I'm all, "Oh, it's nothing, I'm not letting a little runny nose keep me down," and then a week later I'm miserable and can't get out of bed. You'd think I'd learn, but I don't.

I Hate UPS (As Usual)

So, yesterday was one of the days that I work nights. I spent the day hanging around my house, because I was expecting two packages: My new hard drive, Fedexed from HP, and a package from Yarn Market, containing a knitting book and some fancy needles I bought with a gift certificate the super awesome Amy gave me for my birthday.

The hard drive shows up around 2 pm. Rad. I install my new hard drive, despite the complete lack of instructions from HP, something that makes me feel both nervous, and kind of studly in a geeky way. I install approximately 50 million programs on the new hard drive.

At this point, it's 4 pm. I was planning to go to work at 4:30 pm. Also, I want to go pick up my new bag, since R.E.Load called to tell me it was done while I was waiting around for UPS. The UPS door sticker I have tells me that they're going to redeliver sometime between 10 am and 5 pm.

Finally, at 4:30 pm, I decide I can't wait for UPS anymore. I've got tons of errands to run, and I've got to get to work by 5:30 pm. So I gather my posessions and leave, figuring UPS will probably show up around 5:30 or something.

As I'm walking out the door, I discover a brand new UPS sticker saying that they tried to deliver my package. Hey, UPS guy, you know what helps when you're delivering shit? Ringing my fucking doorbell. It's not like I missed the doorbell, because my doorbell rings to my cellphone, and it tells me when I get a missed call. The UPS guy just didn't bother to ring. So now UPS dude gets to drive back out to my house today, when I'm not there, and I get to figure out how to get my ass out to the UPS depot. I mean, come on. You drove up to my house, you walked up to my front door, and then you didn't ring the bell? What the fuck? Is my doorbell to complex for you? Are you just that lazy? Thanks for making twice as much work for both of us, you lazy fuck. I totally had nothing better to do than sit around in my house all day waiting for your incompetant ass.

This sort of thing happens probably 3 out of 4 times when I get something delivered by UPS. It makes me crazy. And the UPS depot is way the fuck out in South Philly, and closed on the weekends.

Seriously, UPS, I hope you die. I hope your little brown shorts give you cancer, and you buy the miracle cancer cure on the internet, and I get to deliver it. Then we'll see how you like sitting at home all day and having to go on fun little scavenger hunts for your packages. Bitches.

Baby's Got a Brand New Bag

So, I'm going to look like a total biter because Star just posted about her R.E.Load bag, but I just got mine today, and I didn't even know Star was getting one when I ordered it a month ago.

This bag is awesome. It's all huge and beautiful and pink skull and crossbones EEEEEEEEEE. I've been sort of looking for a new messenger bag ever since my old Pochacco bag totally disinegrated. I'd been rocking the Powerpuff Girls Backpack, but carrying a backpack is just less convenient, and the PPG backpack is part clear plastic, and the cold weather is making it all stiff and cranky.

Ordering the bag was really disorienting. I went to the R.E.Load store in Philly, hoping that I could just pick up a ready-made bag. (They're mostly custom orders, but they sell the ones that people have ordered and don't want for whatever reason.) But it costs the same to custom order as to get a ready-made one, and the ones they had around the shop were nice, but they weren't perfect.

Then came the many, many questions about what I wanted. Questions I was totally unprepared to answer. They were all, "We can put any design on it. You can email us a .jpeg," and I was like, "But I am totally uncreative." But finally I decided a pink skull & crossbones on a green bag would be a good idea. And then came the many, many design choices. How many pockets. What color interior. What color stitching. What size. After it was all over, I was kind of dizzy.

But now there is the bag. The most beautiful, most perfect bag ever. I am twenty times cooler wearing this bag than not wearing this bag. And have I mentioned it's huge? When I picked it up, I just slipped my entire PPG backpack into it, and it fit. There was probably even some room to spare.

Just for fun, here's the stuff in my bag. I have fewer small items than usual, because I was carrying the box with my old, dead hard drive in it into work. But the knitting project, netflix dvds, magazines, etc are pretty standard.

4 Conversations About My Hair, All Taking Place Within An Hour On South Street Yesterday

1. Guy in Repo Records: Your hair is very pink.
Me: Yes.
GiRR: Sorry, I state the obvious.
Me: It's cool, that is the general effect I'm going for.
Girl Behind Counter: Is that Atomic Pink?
Me: Yeah.
GBC: I used to use that color.
(Long conversation about what one can and cannot wear with pink hair.)

2. Blue Haired Teenage Girl on Street: I like your hair.
Me: Thanks.
Bleach Blonde Teenage Girl on Street: What do you use to dye it?
Me: Special Effects.
(Long conversation about how to dye one's hair, which I got out of by saying I had to go meet a friend once they started telling me anecdotes about their high school teachers. I'm not entirely sure they realized that I'm not in high school.)

3. Old Guy, Standing Much Too Close To Me: Is that your natural hair color?
Me: Yes.

4. Waitress: I like your hair. Do you do it yourself?
Me: Yes, thanks.
Waitress: I try to do mine red, but I don't think it comes out very well.
Jill: I can kind of see the red.
Waitress: Oh, thanks, you are so nice!

Bonus Stranger Commentary on Physical Appearance, Taking Place Today:
Old Dude Doing Some Sort of Construction: Do you have devil horns?
Me: (touches hat, remembers that I do): Yep.
ODDSSoC: Awwww, you're no devil!

(30 Minutes Later, When I pass him again)
ODDSSoC: Hey, it's the devil girl! How you doing, devil girl?

Actual Quotes from Yesterday's Metro

"'I respect Dr. Myerson and his decision to to medically clear me, but prior to me going down to that last visit, I can say God has already cleared me,' Owens said."

"'It doesn't matter what the doctor said, I have the best doctor in God,' he said."

"'I think God has blessed me . . . If you don't believe in miracles, then wait until Sunday.'"

Yeah, that's right. God's not doing shit about the Tsunami, but T.O. in the Super Bowl? He is all over that action. Pope in the hospital? Dude, don't you know that God is totally busy making the Eagles win the Super Bowl, because the Eagles winning the Super Bowl is totally objectively good, and the Lord Almighty is just that kind of hands on guy.

Party Pictures

The "Dress Like A Rockstar" Party is really just a cheap excuse to wear the corset.

Rockstar Jill, Tim & Anju, being all cute & shiny & matching, me expressing my love for my new Hello Kitty thermos, everyone staring at the floor.

Not shown: Two separate people falling asleep on my couches, hijinks.

The Belly Dancing Cocker Spaniel

I'm really only telling you guys this because sometimes I like to use this blog as an experiment to see how much I can publicly humiliate myself, but, anyway, I am currently taking a belly dancing class. I'm taking it through University City Arts League. And, before we go any further with this, no, you cannot watch me belly dance. I think there might be some sort of public dance thing at the end of the class, and if there is, no one I know is invited.

I am not in any way "good" at this. Belly dancers are supposed to be sort of graceful and catlike, while the animal that I most resemble (in general, not just while belly dancing) is a Cocker Spaniel. I'm sure that some of my readers are at this point thinking to themselves something like, "Awww, that's not true." Meanwhile, the ones who actually know me in person are nodding to themselves and picturing me begging for Snausages. (Some of them might be liking that mental picture a bit too much, actually.)

The problem is, really, that I have all these limbs. I know that it's just two arms and two legs, and normally that seems reasonable, but as soon as I'm supposed to be doing something faintly rhythmic with them, they become impossible to keep track of. Plus it's belly dancing, so there's all this torso shit thrown in there, and I have to do it sort of vaguely in time, and remember what I'm supposed to do next, and really, it just looks like I'm having some sort of a seizure.

Also, I am awkward. So, so awkward. Let's not even talk about it.

But my body is approximately 80 percent tits and hips, so I might as well do something to them. And last class, the instructor said my hips were getting better (Go, hips! You can move! Sometimes sort of independently!). One of my classmates asked me if I had been doing this long, to which I replied something like, "Bwahaha! No. But it's nice that you said that." So maybe there's hope that this will one day be something I could do in public without someone calling an ambulance. Not that I would. Ever.

Gah! Ack! Cute!

If this picture of a baby monkey hugging a stuffed animal doesn't make you go all melty, then there is something wrong with you. Baby Monkey! Oh, jesus christ, that's adorable.

(via Monkeys in the News)

The Missing Piece

Without my laptop, I feel like I am only half a person. Or, more accurately, an entire person who has no idea what to do to entertain herself. The laptop is the alpha and omega of Cyn entertainment. Without it, there is neither internet nor DVDs. What did I do before I could watch Buffy DVDs while knitting? How do people obtain information without the internet?

Fortunately, there is a large amount of booze in my fridge. I totally make my own fun.