I enjoy being a girl!

Hey, remember how I said I hoped that January would be calm? Well, it hasn't been; its been stressful, what with all the Nintendo Wii playing, working, working, and Wii playing (side note: I look utterly spastic playing Tony Hawk). All this stress has been the reason for my absence, dear friends. I didn't want to project my thoroughly uninteresting stress onto you.

But my friends- I have a pop quiz for you:

In this photo, I am:

a. Dead in the morgue
b. Weird
c. Putting myself through a ridiculous process for the sake of beauty
d. What the hell?

The answer is: getting my eyelashes dyed. So if you answered b, c, or d- you're right! Essentially what happened was: my sister slathered a 2 inch thick layer of vaseline under my eyes. Then she put paper over the vaseline, but under my eyelashes. Then she sloshed black dye all over them. Hold still for ten minutes, lest you get dye under your eyelids and endure a pain in your eyeballs that is comparable to having tiny balls of fire for eyes. Wipe off and you're good to go!

My first question about this whole process was: WHY?!?! And the answer to that is this: I don't have to wear mascara for the next 4-6 weeks. Right on! That saves me an entire 1 minute every day when I'm getting ready in the bathroom! That's a minimum of 30 minutes saved in a month! Yeah!

Cons: Stinging eyeballs for 10 minutes. Looking drag queeny for the first 2-3 days.
Pros: No mascara (itchy eyeballs)! Funny pictures.

And here's one more photo because hey, these things are wackadoo!

That's my sister who kindly obliged when I asked her to take a photo of me. She was the first to point out, "You look dead." Also, I'm certain that is the worst possible angle from which to photograph a person.

The final product looks like this:

My eyelashes, not the see-food in my mouth.

French wine, cigarettes, baguettes, French wine, fondue, French wine, French wine, French wine, croissants, and French wine.

Bon jour!

I returned from France yesterday and I've barely had a moment to catch my breath, but I wanted to tell you how I am still alive (although the climb to the top of Notre Dame almost killed me!) and that I have photos coming soon.

Lately in my life:
Red wine, white wine, cheap wine. Baguettes. Croissants. Chocolate filled croissants. Three am drunk food (chocolate filled croissants slathered in Nutella). Big hills. Cigarettes. Tap dancing. International dance parties. Sleepy afternoons. No sleep. Wine. Wine in baby bottles. Fondue. Marriage proposals from Frenchmen. Photos. Walking. Wine. Cigarettes. Baguettes. Wine. Wine. Wine.

I also squeezed in a trip to Lyon to visit with the incomprable Mike van sleen, who sends well wishes and hellos to all of you in Pillowland.

I had the most spectacular holiday, which I will endlessly discuss with you soon. Right now, I have to get ready for the arrival of one, Mark Schwaber, who is here with the band, Spouse, to perform in Brooklyn and also at Sirius Radio and Air America this week.

Three stories of interest currently. Discuss.
First transgendered prom queen?

Jerry Falwell dies possibly from shock of the aforementioned transgendered prom queen.

Two kids broke into the Smashing Pumpkins rehearsal space. I know one of those kids. And you know what? If you commit a crime, you should go to jail, no matter how much of a jerkbag Billy Corgan is.