Sunday, November 28, 2004


I feel better.

And I feel a little bit silly because my mood recovery is due to some very clichéd female behaviours.

I shopped, and I hacked off some hair.

Well, if I waited for the three people to stop being horrid I could wait and be sad about it a long time, so I'll just distract myself in the meantime and try to let the other little things slide on by.

Buying smelly stuff always makes me feel better:

The coconut stuff reminds me of when I used to surf every day, and how I'm "working" to get back to that state of bliss and care freeëdness. The lanolin is just a nice sumpin-sumpin for my hands since I wash them something like three hundred times a day--I don't have OCD, I just work with animals and people.

Hell, I'm feeling so much better, I'm only mildly peeved that the Biore pore strips I splurged on at the grocery store were nothing but an empty box. Damned filthy-pored shoplifters.

I have a theory that women put their pain, their frustration, their fears and tears into their hair. Then we cut it off, leaving it on a floor, and walk away.

It's just maybe not a good idea to do it all by yourself.

I've just been frustrated lately by how long my hair is (a whole two inches!) and how the last two times it's been cut, they haven't taken enough off and have given me weird shaping to boot. So yesterday, when I ran out of time to get it cut, I decided to do it by myself.

One of those late night decisions with surprisingly no alcohol involved.

Anyway, I think I did pretty good. I like the front:

But then Nick drew my attention to the back. Oops. BTW, this pic screams two things to me: 1) Don't try this at home again. 2) "Get your neck waxed, 'cuz damn you are hairy!":

And because this was at one time or another a knit blog, this is what I'm working on while I am paralysed with yarn-shortage doubts on the cardi:

A scarf in the "little pyramids" stitch pattern from about.com and of Manos de Uruguay on Brittanys which feel as thick and unwieldy as tree-trunks.

I started this scarf when Libélula was five months old. How do I remember that? Well, I remember knitting it while waiting for her to come out of the anaesthesia of her spay surgery.

Ah, memories of hysterectomies past...I cannot believe I ever bought a pair of needles like these. They are "ginormous"! A word which whenever people use it I see "GYNormous" in my head and think of the gargantuan vagina in "Hable con Ella."

What was the name of that seventies character that nostalgia has bestowed just one line to? The one that said "DYN-O-MITE!!!!"

Yes, well, with the help of some very girly cliché behaviours, I am on my way to feeling absoloodley "GYN-O-MITE!!!!!"

P.S. If no one else has thought of impregnating tampons with euphoric drugs to be absorbed through the vaginal walls during menstruation I hereby claim the idea. Sorry, image association in my brain matched the caricature silhouette of dynamite to that of a tampon, and since I've been thinking about "woman stuff" it kind of just came out. And since a sexist part of me thinks it's a good idea, I'm leaving that bit in.


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