Mar. 4th, 2009

terribleturnip: (percy)
So, I am really, really done with this winter. It's been particularly charmless, not even any pretty snow, just cold, and ice, and bitter winds -- I said that a week or so ago, promptly causing 5 inches of snow to fall.

Well, too f-ing late, Winter!

Honestly, you're like a guest who arrives three hours late for a party. We don't WANT you now. Sure, you can be charming, you can be fun, but really, the party energy is winding down, we're mellowing out, looking forward to fond goodbyes and a short round of doing dishes before going to bed.

And you blow in, all raring to go, high on the four Pomegranate Martinis that are why you're late in the first place. Full of look-at-me, aren't-I-fun, wait until you hear about this chick I just met at the bar...

Too f-ing late. We don't want you now. Before, when I was desperately trying to get the dinner on the table, pour drinks and get the conversation going, say DECEMBER or JANUARY, that would have been a good time.

Now? You're just a bad guest. Buh-bye. Take you and your Joie de Vivre elsewhere. Someplace that stays up late -- like Syracuse or Ottawa.

See, cause my favorite Thinsulate gloves are in the wash. (Sometimes the bag doesn't hold...if you're a dog owner you know what I'm talking about.) And I'm reduced to using one of my not-as-warm-as-I'd-like pairs. But see, this morning, when trying to find one of those pairs, I managed to pull 7 gloves out of the closet organizer (I use that term loosely, obviously) before I found a left handed glove. This was sort of the last straw.

I have been forced to confront my hall-closet slovenliness, my inability to keep a pair of gloves intact, my uneven handedness in losing things, and, and, you are covering up my Hellebores and crocuses.

So, piss off. Don't make me get my hibernating ass of this couch and make you.
terribleturnip: (pirate)
I realized yesterday that I keep meaning to post, have all sorts of "shorts" bouncing around in my head. And I resolved to focus, center, and get some of it out there.

If I was smart, I'd ration them out, so that I didn't then exhaust them all at once. But hey, I do this mostly as a brain exercise and it's time to get my brain's ass off of the couch and into gear.

(That high-pitched sound you hear right now is my brain whimpering. Slacker.)

So the other morning, as I stuck my mascara down my cleavage on the way into work, and the Captain politely only raised his eyebrows because he has better restraint than I do and would never say "What the hell are you doing that for?!" I thought, hmmm, it seems normal to me, but I guess it DOES seem strange.

Yes, I have a makeup kit in the car. I don't always have time in the morning to get it done inside and there is one traffic light where I have to sit through three complete changes, so I have plenty of time then.

But, of course, this time of year, that stuff gets cold, almost frozen. And, well, trust me, you can't put frozen mascara on. You can't even get the little wand out of the stick. And the foundation (that's the liquid stuff you put all over your face, my non-cross-dressing male friends) gets a little sluggish.

So once I'm in the car, usually AFTER dropping off the Captain at the station, I pop the mascara tube down my cleavage and tuck the foundation bottle between my legs.

What? Oh, c'mon, I'm from New England. The Holy Quad of Thaw: Mouth, Cleavage, Armpit, Crotch. You work outside at all, especially in a farming situation, this is your winter rosary. Why waste time going inside and why waste money on those new-fangled heating devices, when you were BORN with them?

Anyway. That's what I do. Because it works. And for my minimal make-up needs, that's good enough. But I will admit, until it was witnessed by another, I'd forgotten just how weird it was. Almost weird enough to make me resolve to try harder to get the job done inside. Almost.

What's your weird thing, that seems normal until you have a witness?
Page generated Oct. 22nd, 2017 08:05 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios