1200 People in New York are Cooler Than You

Like, Way Cooler.

The better to see you with, my dear...

So I took my new contacts to my optometrist yesterday for a check-up. Everything was fine except for one minor annoyance-- at night any bright light was surrounded by a halo. Which made it look like there were cars all the fuck over the road. To cut down on the glare, I've been wearing shades at night, like a crack-whore. They're my asshole cop glasses-- polarized aviators. I keep asking my friends for their license and registration. Yeah, they still think it's funny.

ANYWAY, my optometrist nodded his head, concerned, looked deeply into my eyes, and told me it was because I had enormous pupils, so big in fact that they expanded around the edge of the corrective part of the contact lenses. He used the word enormous. He even made a gesture with his hands that implied a sort of weight, rather as if he were talking about breasts. I believe it turned him on a little.

I myself, I was a little freaked out. How can you go for twenty-five years without knowing that you have some truly exceptional physical characteristic? I felt a similarly taken aback when I found out that I had a tipped uterus-- it was like, how come no one ever told me? I've been seeing gynecologists and optometrists for many a yearn now, and they'd kept mum. I say that's medical malpractice by omission. 

At any rate, I found a sudden need to take a look at my pupils.

Here's the things about looking at your pupils: looking at them makes them disappear. They go into hiding. They shrink down like genitalia in cold water (that was my attempt at tact there, the lack of specification of genitalia, by the way). As you may already know, pupils dilate in the dark, when you're relaxed, and when you're sexually aroused. Through undisclosed means, I attempted to contrive a combination of these three factors in the bathroom, flipping on the light only after I was quite certain they were dilated. Of course they just contracted again. I had to try this two or three more times until I had convinced myself that I did indeed have enormous pupils, and also it was good that I was doing this at home instead of in Providence where I have a (male) roommate.

Well and so, I have to wear glasses at night if I'm driving in unfamiliar terrain, and I have learned two things about me: firstly, I have Pupils of Unusual Size (POUS's). Seriously. Those fuckers are huge. Also, I am willing to do almost anything in order to prove a point to myself.

I think I'm going to create a center for those, like me, who are the Particularly Ocularly Enabled. We're accepting applications now. Please include your name, phone number, and the maximum dilation measurement of your pupils. In metric units.

A City of Books

This Is Where We Live from 4th Estate on Vimeo.

So, so lovely. Enjoy!

Mutiny in my nase

There is a very small mutiny or perhaps a pirate war going on in my nase. There are several ships mutinying at once, so it's not a small war in the sense of importance, only small in the sense of scale-- that is, those are teeny weeny ships. And they are exploding one after another, in the vicinity of that silly place between your eyes that people are always pinching. Now I know why people are always pinching that place: because they are trying to kill the tiny fucking pirates! Hey guys! Stop making my nasal passages burn! IT'S NEITHER HILARIOUS NOR PRODUCTIVE!!!



These pirates are way more cute and yet still way huger than the motherufckers in my nose. Just to give you a sense of scale.

All this, with a British accent!

Creepy, hilarious, philanthropic... what more could you ask for in a video?

My apologies to avid followers of cuteoverload.

This cat is cooler than you.

Dude.

My Feelings (Mostly Negative) About Ice.

What's that you say? It's the only known non-metallic substance that expands when it freezes? That it's an important part of global climate and the water cycle? That glaciers are pretty and stripey? 

I DON'T CARE! FUCK YOU, ICE!

Yesterday was the first time I've seen ice in probably years. It is ice, not snow, that drove me from New England. Think I'm exaggerating? I cried when I heard the words "wintry mix" uttered over the radio a couple of days ago. Cried! Like a baby! 

Ever since the day I slipped and fell on black ice outside the chapel of St. Catherine's School (since I'm already grumpy, I might as well mention: FUCK YOU SISTER SUSANNAH! I have had a happy and productive adulthood without learning how to write the letter "b" in cursive according to your arbitrary rules. Although I have lived in sin and no longer believe that Jesus is my Savior and for that matter, I assume the Pope is kind of a twat, so maybe you should have tried HARDER!), I have hated ice. 

I walk around like a little old lady which I always think is going to help but it DOESN'T, because if ice wants you, it will have you. And you can say hello to a bruised tailbone, is all I'm going to say. Nothing hurts more than a bruised tailbone, except maybe getting shot or having a baby or getting your toenails torn off or occasionally really bad indigestion which is NOT THE POINT, let us just say that it hurts. And that I really, really, have strong, distasteful feelings for that slippery stuff. Okay? Let us never speak of this again.

Except to say that here's a really suggestive image of a girl sucking on a icicle. Like, almost NAFW. This girl's going to be one hell of a troublemaker when she grows up.