web-goddess

Hmmm. I feel bad about the bragging now. As a peace offering to my sister, here’s a picture that ought to make her laugh for six months straight. You see, she thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world that I have freakishly small hands. (“Carnies… circus people… small hands, smell like cabbage…”) And somehow she’s managed to convince everyone I know that it’s really funny too. So recently I bought some rubber gloves at the grocery store (to cut off the fingertips to use as makeshift quilting thimbles) and I was amused to see that there was a “sizing guide” on the back of the package. I couldn’t resist lining my palm up to see where I landed. As you can clearly see, my hand is about a centimeter smaller than the smallest size. Har har. Happy?

Since my sister is always accusing me of bragging about my life on here, let me indulge myself. Today, you see, I will be having a “one-hour facial, mini-manicure, and back massage” at the beauty parlor around the corner where I get my eyebrows done. They sent me some card for my birthday offering me the special at half off, and I’m nothing if not thrifty. (Actually I’m not, but I never let that get in the way of a good impulse buy.) I’m wondering, though, what the hell they do to my face for an hour. I’m not sure I touch my face myself for an hour a day. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Speaking of Six Feet Under, can I just tell you how it’s my new favorite show ever? And how Peter Krause is the hottest guy in the history of the world? I’m sorry, Max; I gave Alias a fair shot but that Will guy creeps me out. (He kinda reminds me of my friend BJ.) I gave it up.

I am continually amazed by how liberal television standards are everywhere outside America. Tonight, after the Snook and I finished watching Six Feet Under, we saw a “local” ad promoting “Maxine’s All Nude, All Rude, P*ssy Extravaganza.” And lest you think it’s some sort of naturist cat convention, the commercial’s visual accompaniment left little to the imagination. Of course, we still don’t know what the actual event is, but they definitely got our attention.

1. What makes you homesick?
Hearing about family get-togethers. Corn on the cob. Mountain Dew. Seeing pictures of my new brother. Re-runs of cheesy American TV shows, like “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air”. Being sick. Pictures of Chicago. Any mention of Indiana. Quite a lot, really. I’ve just gotten good at repressing.

2. Where is “home” for you?
I guess I’d just say “Indiana.” There’s no particular house; my entire family is scattered to the winds.

3. What makes it home for you? People? Things?
It’s odd. It’s not really for either of those reasons. It’s mostly just because that’s the only place I really know. Although when I am in Indiana, I always refer to my place outside it as “home”. I guess “home” is basically wherever I’m not. It’s always a state of longing.

4. Where is the furthest you’ve been from home, miles-wise?
I think I’m gonna win this contest hands-down. 9,348 miles. Beat that, any of you. (Interestingly, according to that site I’m now three times as far from home as I was when I lived in London. Wow.)

5. What are your plans for this weekend?
Basically just work on my quilt, work out at the gym, and clean up this place. Oh, and Sunday we’re having a leaving-do for my friend Carrot, who’s off on a world tour soon.

Brought to you by the guys at my gym…

• Never, ever wear a horizontally striped tank top with vertically striped shorts. You look like a test pattern.
• Zubas are always a bad idea. You know zubas, those big cotton pants with the patterns all over them? Yeah, no woman (or gay man, for that matter) respects someone wearing those.

Oh, and by the way… I’ve lost 8 pounds! Can you believe that? I think I’ve broken through some sort of metabolic wall.