Guest Blogging

Where I am right now.

Joan

I meant to show y'all my badass Joanie costume from Halloween! If you don't watch Mad Men, you should still know who this chick is because it's just important. To the world. And other places.

So anyway - this (see below) was the goal with only some hair dye, a vintage store and some excess winter weight to help me out.

The hair went full red. Sadly it didn't turn out as orange as I hoped, but the commitment was made. The incredibleness of this photo lies in the fact that I successfully fashioned a beehive with ALL MY OWN TODDLER HAIR. And a shit-ton of hairspray.I also made the earrings out of a weird set of pendants and some craft supplies found at the local Michaels. Hot glue 4 LIEEFE!


Here's the entire ensemble. You can't tell, but I even have a pen necklace (thank you, Etsy) and my turquoise shoes (thank you, Jessica Simpson...gah) flippin' MATCH my blue and green dress (found for $20 at the thrift store and is from the correct era except there was a weird bunching situation in the front that made me look pregnant when posing).
B got to be Han Solo this year because I made him be Ira Glass last year.

And then on top of it all - I was still able to do things like this, thanks to the help of drink.Yes - I'm holding B's laser shooter gun thing. It makes "pew!" noises.

Anyway - I was damn proud of that costume and since I tend to post a picture of what I go as every year - I didn't want you (dear Internet) to feel as though a part of you was missing for not knowing what I was for Halloween in October of 2010. The end.

This Exists - Part XXIII

Do any of you get Daily Candy? It's a mailing list you can join where every day they tell you how to be cool by informing you about the music you should listen to, the clothes you should buy and the books you should read, etc. I've been on the mailing list for years and while I'd like to say it's because my job is in email marketing and I have to know about these things...it's really just that I need to know what music I should listen to, what clothes I should buy and what books I should be reading.

Once a week they send you a special newsletter with "Deals" for their subscribers. Today's included this:Aside from the obvious skepticism surrounding this being considered a "deal" - I find the following items concerning:

• She calls herself "Psychic Girl". Is this the name of her business? Does it instill any faith? I mean if I'm going to put my future in the hands of anyone, it's going to be "Psychic Woman"

• The "deal" is for 43% off. Why? And how might the discounted price affect the quality of the reading?

• Her name, "Jusstine", has one "s" too many. Excess consonants are shady.

• Jusstine is labeled as a "trusted" psychic. Trusted by whom? And can they also be trusted? Would I leave a puppy in their care? Tell them a secret? Ask them to hold my hand while I cross the street blindfolded?

In this day and age where everyone's trying to make a buck (or avoid gainful employment) I urge us all to question any and everything that is 43% off. Because really - nothing good can come from a discounted 6th sense.

Butt Yoga - A Christmas Tale

Bikram yoga is the new antidote to everything. Go sweat it out for 90 minutes at a time in tree pose and you'll never get cancer, goiters or canker sores.

The room is 105 degrees at all times. I don't know what's magical about this temperature, but it causes tiny rivers of perspiration to follow little Oregon Trails down one's face, arms, back, legs and other places one shouldn't mention. Except I have to because the whole room stinks like unmentionables. Mainly because the men wear shorts like these: And the room is carpeted. CARPETED!

I'm not a huge exercise person anyway. I wouldn't be going to this place at all if I
a) didn't live 4 blocks away
b) didn't have such an affinity for holiday foods in large quantities
c) didn't consider yoga to be one of those "sports" you can half-ass your way through and still see results
d) didn't have a friend already enrolled and applying prohibition era mobster-like pressure

But being a known fainter, I was still scared. What if I'm bending back looking at the wall and - boom - I go down like an anvil on an accident-prone coyote? It's hard to get back up from that without looking not awesome. Like running for a bus. This was a valid concern. However I made it through the first class (while watching old hats occasionally crouch in the fetal position or run for the door with a green face). I even made it through the second. And then the third. And I'll tell you what, if you can get through it (and if you've ever spent a summer in Louisiana, you can get through it) - it makes eating two molasses cookies a day for breakfast all the sweeter.

However - it should come as no surprise that I remain a cynical yoga-ist. I refuse to do the stupid audible breathing and I refuse to say "namaste" at the end of class. There's maybe one brown body on average in that whole room and it just makes us all sound like paleface assholes. And if they don't like it (they don't) then they can passive aggressively suggest it so (they do).

This didn't have much to do with Christmas at all, did it. Poo.

So what's new with y'all? I joined a book club.

Hey.

Lately my favorite thing to do in the whole world is ride my bike around late at night. Clear sky, wind in the trees, no cars so I can go through the stop signs - it's incredible. I can honestly say it's the only time my thoughts aren't racing. When my chest isn't tight. When I don't have a throbbing headache behind my left eye.

I don't have a whole lot to say that I want to hear myself say lately and I really can't bring myself to sit in front of a computer more than I already do against my will, so I'm going to step away for a bit. I don't know how to measure time in bits, so you'll have to guesstimate for yourselves what that means.

However - this blog will not be deleted. If your own blogs are overflowing with words and you want to store some of them here in a guestly posting capacity, you are openly invited to do so. Just email me a condishair@blogspot.com and I'll put your shit up, accompanied by the most inappropriate google image I can find. Don't deny me my amusement.

Anyone still following when I come back will be given a party. With streamers.

Half-Assed Movie Review: Inception

This movie blew my fucking mind.

Symbolism, plot holes, Juno's scarves and the inability to believe Leonardo DiCaprio capable of being any manner of parent to small children aside - this is one of the most mind-rippingly beautiful movies I've seen in a considerable age.

I can't remember the last time I've cared to know how a movie was made. Well done, Nolan. Thank you for making me care again. For sewing up the hole in my heart with zero-gravity fight scenes and Joseph Gordon Levitt in a tie.




Disclaimer:
This review is more half-assed than usual since it just came out and I don't want to be guilty of doing a "he's dead the whole time" bit of douchebaggery, so that's all I'm saying.

Except this - it's difficult to make the name Arthur hot. And yet...