Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Sister and I are both on very feminine kicks. They may be quite different, but there's a whole lot 'o estrogen flying around this house.

Sister is seven months pregnant. I expected that 'nesting' would end with her incessant knitting, but nay. Yesterday, it meant that all the furniture in Munchkin's room needed to be rearranged RIGHT THIS SECOND AND CAN I HAVE SOME PIZZA HERE. Since, however, she is rounding the corner of too big to get off the couch easily, and Brother in Law was at work, three guesses who got to do the actual moving of furniture. Yup, that's right.

If my life were a book, two things would happen: there would be a lot more interesting dialogue, and there would certainly be a clever character foil between Sister and I. Especially now that we're under one roof. Sister is head of the mom's group, runs a charity for natural mothering, and knits matching santa hat's for this year's Christmas card / birth announcement. I, however, write satirical one-acts (still working on it!) and attend pro-choice rallys.

It's actually grossly cliche. Not that I don't support Sister's lifestyle, because I do; I truly respect it, because I know that if I had to spend one day inside knitting and watching 'teh-behs' (teddy bears), I'd off in a heartbeat.


My feminine kick is my usual post-breakup ritual. Revenge diet. A penchant for waxing. The sudden urge to buy a miniskirt, which, when paired with a fashonista shoe-salesperon best friend, usually ends in far too much exposed leg given the red, post-waxing skin. A haircut is in order.

And, while we're on it, an upcoming consultation for a piercing in a region where I'm saving the wax for the weekend.

(Off-topic: CORSET PIERCINGS. I was so sad when I found out they're temporary. Seriously, sexiest thing I've ever seen. Next time there is a formal event, you bet your ass I'll be getting holes punched in my back.)

All of this estrogen in the house has led to a surge in the ammount of shoes ceremoniously hauled downstairs to clutter up the doorway. And lipstick. Egads, the lipstick.

I need to go to karate and get my shit kicked right out of girly-town.

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