All the Horrible Girliness

Number one rule of buying a house: believe the inspector. Especially in matters of plumbing.

posted by Samus @ 12:30 PM 1 Comments

I had weird dreams last night. I can't remember what. Something involving a pink Lamborghini. And a girl named Brenda I haven't seen or thought about in twelve years. She wanted to do me.

Back to business. We went to the Birthday Massacre show last night. It made me happy in pants. I mean skirt. Cheap pleather skirt. It was so good, seriously, people. The opening band was The Start, and they ruled just as much with their Siouxie-meets-Blondie vibe. Singers were both total stars.


Celeste colored my hair. We ran an hour late but it didn't matter. The place wasn't that packed. In line she put it up into four pigtail things, and did my makeup. But here we are at Justin's, pre-makeup . Mister Aran's making me uncomfortable trying to take a picture. He makes me nuts with the annoyed picture taking. I don't pose, okay?


I can't drive in those boots. Not very well, anyway. So I put 'em on when I get there. Yeah, those are Hello Kitty laces, thank you.


This is after we got home. I look a little ragged. Hair's a little messier, shirt's a little stretchier and wrinklier. Whatever. You get the idea. Gym socks, fishnets, pleather skirt, and AWESOME HAIR. Holy crap, Celeste, it rules.


Better view of the hairstyle. And the scientific, engineered, I mean guys-in-lab-coats making my life better bra from Fredrick's of Hollywood. Thank you, Fred. I can call you Fred, right?


Mister Aran was the hottest of us. Got the most elevators. I met two girls named Season and Rachel. Said they were sisters. Used to be monsters at Knott's Scary. They were standoffish about us but warmed right up when they saw the hotness of Mister Aran in platform boots. Works every time.


The secret to my power is lots and lots of rubber bracelets.

And that's all for the Samus picture fest, boys and girls. Catch the B-Day Massacre whenever you can. You won't regret.

posted by Samus @ 11:15 AM 1 Comments

I wish there were a way to show, in one tattoo design, the wonderful time of life I'm going through. I'd get it. I'm thirty, and there's all this wonderfulness and terribleness that goes along with that; there's my husband, with whom I've never felt more secure and comfortable and happy; my son, who is this fun little Curious George guy with bare feet that slap slap slap over my wood floors and gives me sloppy wet kisses; Celeste, the best girlfriend I've ever had, who has taught me more about love than she'll ever know; and my new house. There's also the things I've been doing, like training at Joker's (getting hit in the face is always a learning experience) and going to shows regularly, which has become like church. Or a cleansing. I always feel pleasantly empty after a good concert.

I wish there was a way to record feelings, so I could revisit the day my Bug was born, how it felt to see him for the first time. And how it used to feel to nurse him. How he smiled on accident in his sleep. Pictures and video just don't do it. I guess this is why people have more kids. This longing is biological, and it's why we're still here.

Right now, in the bath, my son is putting spongey numbers and letters in succession on the bath walls. He says each letter: "R... Four... Q... O..." then says, "Car! Car! It's a car, yay!" I don't know if someone spelled "car" for him in sponge letters once and that's what he thinks he's doing, or if it looks like a car to him. Either way, this is my amazing life now, and I love it.

posted by Samus @ 12:11 PM 0 Comments

Oh yeah, it's business time.

posted by Samus @ 12:48 PM 1 Comments