Blog Block

Sorry I haven't written, blogspot. It's the holidays. It was finals week. Why on Earth do the proverbial "they" choose to subject us crafty folk to such double pressures? My mind whirring with business reports, where to find a decent Kinkos where ANY employee has actually used a computer in their lifetime, alien-lady fashion drawings galore, and Christmas gifts (which always take longer to put together than originally intended...and somehow, if I finish them at all early, they seem less special than when the original cash was handed over for them, the final crafty details added, the note signed in sincerity, etc., than if I was to finish them in a flurry on the fated X-mas Eve). My mind was all cloudy with too many snacks and not enough real food, relationship subtleties, and endless lists. And the lists of lists. The lists of things I owe Ponikins money for as he has been so kind to do all of our erranding while I cram my brain with the historic details of aristocratic costume. The lists of people I need to see, call and have cut my hair. The lists that grow as I spend hours examining my new haircut in the mirror wondering if I look like a soccer mom. (Yes...I cut my hair again. Let's hope this current phase of shrinking hairstyles doesn't lead to the oft inevitable buzz cut. As much as I think I might look better than many with that haircut, it still doesn't suit me.)

So! The only thing I was able to do with any energy in the sexy santa suit Poni gave me this year was watch Conan and occasionally get up to stuff yet another necessity into my luggage. Poni and I have both spent some time in Seattle for a stint, and now he and I are in our respective parental locations. I considered writing about footy pajamas for this blog, as Poni is somehow able to make these full-force onsies somehow sexy(...and I am missing his polar-fleeced booty this holiday). Kinda reminds me of a date I went on in New York that involved costuming myself in tight-ass ladyalls (overalls for ladies, i.e. overalls with boob cups). They were a bitch to peel off and that was the point. New Yorkers are pushy. Onsies, although hard to pee in, are both sexy and a functional chastity "belt". Wait...now that I'm remembering correctly, they are not. But they do create an illusion of chastity and security, which is somehow sexy on it's own. That whole can't-catch-me thing. That I'll never choose pleasure over dignity thing. That just try to get this stick out of my ass long enough to go parking thing. These days it seems relationships are like strings of investments in one's business portfolio as opposed to long-lasting romantic partnerships.

Anyway, it's Christmas Eve and my mother is attempting to get me to read Martha's directions on how to roast a turkey. The standbys of Christmas at home: Helping mother prepare copious amounts of fattening meats, Northern Exposure, spiked cider, Martha Stewart binges, suddenly finding time for reading, and now, in place of horseback riding (my beloved Cosby passed away this fall), running with my Dad and his band of super-fit executive commuter buddies. They all wore REI slick gear and danced circles around me as I scuttled sweatily behind them clad in American Apparel bullsh*t running shorts and grunge gear.

I had better get to turkey business. Giblets....gross. I shall be keeping Lady Gaga's meat dress in mind as I handle the tender bird parts, making every moment chic, as always. (Ha!)