Happy Halloween

Here are some lovely Halloween pictures from this year. I'd like to point out the badge was home made and distressingly, I already owned everything required for that costume to work.

12/29 resolutions

The internet seems awash with New Year's resolutions. Crazy Aunt Purl has an excellent list, but most seem pretty mundane a la "I wanna be skinner because thin woman = happy woman" and other such bullshit. Of course, I mock it but I'm sucked into it all the same. Mr. F and I are going to a big lesbo gala thing on January 7th, and frankly, it smells deliciously like a big gay prom. I'm stoked. I'm wearing this pretty dress:

But in this pretty color:

Frankly, I feel super hottt in this baby. It has a drape-y, Hollywood starlet back and the little sparkly things on the straps somewhat resemble snowflakes, which I love. I'm wearing the amazingly lovely ring and bracelet Mr. F. gave me for Christmas. I seriously cannot wait. I'm going with all my lovely dyke friends and it's going to be the best big gay prom/gala thing ever. Of this, I have no doubt.

So, while I don't have a New Year's resolution yet, I do have a 12/29 resolution. I am seriously going to try to go to the gym every day until the 7th. Clearly, I like my goals to be manageable. I feel so silly writing that - am I so brainwashed by the patriarchy that I can't just feel super hot in my pretty periwinkle dress? Must I go to the gym? Good work, patriarchy, nice job. Color me brainwashed.

Obsessing

All I can think about today is when I lived in Italy my class took a trip somewhere in the north. I seriously can't remember where. Near Como? Some other lake? Whatever. Anyway, there was a little old church in the middle of the little old town. Not too different than 1.4 million other little old Italian towns, right? Well, in the corner of this little old Italian church was a larger-than-life Jesus propped in the corner looming over the congregation. He was at such an angle that it eerily felt like I was getting topped by Jesus. Someone had, horrifyingly enough, put a brown wig on J.C. I've never seen such a bloody Jesus, such a huge Jesus, such a fucking scary as hell Dom Jesus.

I have no idea why that image keeps popping into my head.

high drama!

High drama this morning at The Law Firm LLP. A very nice, very tiny attorney brought in cookies his pastry chef sister acquired at a pastry chef cookie exchange. Sounds like heaven, doesn't it? That's what everyone on my floor thought until people started swelling and sliding into unconsciousness - three people are now in the hospital.

Of course, I had three of the scrumptious death treats. There were about ten different kinds to choose from, so I figure I still have a fighting chance in avoiding a trip to the ER. I'm all jittery - I just itched my hand, christ, does that mean I'm on death's doorstep? I'm kind of thirsty, should I alert my coworkers? I joke but I am rather on edge. From now on, I'll only imbibe prepackaged, fake, trans-fatty goodness here at work. None of this pastry chef bullshit from now on. Yikes.

OKC:
My mother's diamond lace shawl moves slowly, a little too slowly. I'm going to whip up some fuzzyfeet for her for Christmas; she'll get the stole after the holidays. My sister's handbag is done - it's lovely and the KnitPicks yarn felted beautifully indeed. My own design! Bitch better like it or we'll have words. I have a hat sitting in front of me for Mr. Fabulous' fabulous roommate, Miss May. I have nothing to do today at work so I have a potential of 7.5 knitting hours before me. What do I choose to do? Freak about potentially poisoned cookies and read the archives of I Blame the Patriarchy (a lovely read, I must say).

I just itched my elbow. Imminent death or dry wintry skin???

Brilliant, part 2

I just busted a gut at this little movie movie - go watch it now!!!

Christmas cards of the famous

Brilliant Christmas cards of the famous, generously provided by Mark Morford:

Infidels shall pay by the mighty hand of Allah! Saddam not returning to dishonorable courtroom! OK seriously, happy holidays and thanks to CIA for totally botching kangaroo trial. So funny! Saddam is way humored! By the way, Osama is living like a king just off Jersey turnpike on Karl Rove's dime. I have proof! By the way, I was brutal heartless dictator and even I ran my country better than U.S. Ha! "Nation-building" my big fuzzy butt! By the way, I know where WMD is located! Inside scary capri pants of Ann Coulter! Ha! OK, back to laughing in face of infidel judge. Peace out.-- Saddam

Yo my peoples. I been shot nine times. Please buy my horrible video game. Most overrated rapper of the year! But yo, I look mean and badass, yo! Can't dance like Usher can't sing like Kanye can't rhyme like Em, but yo I sure can gangsta bling cool! I been shot nine times. Check out my new line of custom-embroidered linens at Pottery Barn, in the Northgate Mall. I'll be there 'tween 3 and 4 signin' pomegranate-scented candles and Berettas, yo. Merry Xmas. Peace out. I been shot nine times.-- 50 Cent

It's funny because it's true.

I'm horrified

I saw this on Threadbared and found it so frightening, so heinous, so hideous, so truly awful that
I wanted to post it myself, too! Go read Threadbared's comments on this shit. Now. Trust me, it's hilarious.

work, etc.

This coming Thursday is The Law Firm, LLC's annual holiday party. I'm so torn - I went last year and the food, drinks, and decorations were amazing, but I was still obligated to talk to coworkers about non-work issues. I've come to the realization that I'm not so fond of my coworkers knowing anything about me. Actually, I'm weirdly secretive. I'm not in the firm's phone book of home numbers (somehow that's a deal here) and I avoid social situations with my colleagues like I would avoid ebola. It's not like I hate my coworkers, it's just that I have no idea what to say to them. I can shoot the breeze with a 45-year-old dyke with the greatest of ease, but what do I say to a 45-year-old straight woman who's wearing a sweater with reindeer, jingle bells and Santa exploding on it? I just look at them and think, I will never be you. Who are you anyway?

That said, I do like the food and drink and decorations. It is so wrong to silently drink the free wine and eat some shrimp in the corner table by myself? If anything, it'll just serve to bolster my rep here. And that's clearly something that needs bolstering.

Deja parle (sans accents, pardon)

I am the High Queen of Staticland. My reign is supreme and none doubt My superiority. Even so, I will generously give you proof of My staticness:

1. My hair is like Drew Barrymore a la Firestarter

2. I zap (Zap! Not shock. Zap!) everyone I deign to touch.

3. My clothes look like I have a full velcro bodysuit underneath and I've been in some unfortunate positions, hence, the clothing weirdness/cling.

4. My lineage is from a proud family of static-prone peoples.

All hail the Queen! Long live the Queen!

Statically yours,
Her High Royal Highness Elizabeth of Staticland