My work-week is upon me: time for music and memes!

Renee has tagged me back! It’s the 6 random things meme, and while I’m sure I’ve done it before, I’m not one of those bloggers who gets tired of talking about herself. *ahem*

Anyway, here are the rules:

6 Random Things About Me:

1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself. (See below)
4. Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them. (See further below…)
5. Let each person know they’ve been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.
6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

1. I’m twenty-four years old at present, I still can’t cook worth a damn, and it’s rather pathetic.

2. Socks discarded on the floor drive me into a homicidal rage.

3. I put on make-up even when I nip out to Burger King. There’s an odd mix of vulnerability and feeling as though I am being rude to the people around me unless I am wearing some kind of a mask, however slight, over my features. It’s a family tradition, a war-paint and a gesture of politeness, like refraining from picking your nose in public. I’ve thought about quitting, but I have too much fun picking out eyeshadows every morning.

4. Speaking of make-up, I think few things are hotter than a man wearing eyeliner.

5. Old pictures of a smiling George W. Bush, like this the “official one,” – they always makes me very sad, and not in a malicious way at all. I want to go back in time and put my hand on his shoulder and say, “Frodo, don’t give in!”

6. “The Land Before Time” still makes me cry.

Hokay, I tag: Debi, Caroline, Antiprincess, Dw3t-Hthr, Rootie, and Gabriel.

And for good times at work, so that life never gets us down, here is “The Whole of the Moon”:

I can’t think of a better song to start this week with.

The 8 Homes Game: Where would you have yours, if you were as insanely rich as the McCains?

OK, so the fact that John and Cindy McCain have a rather large amount of properties to their name is old news.

I found it interesting that they’re all in the States, and the fact that they are has left me with certain criteria for this little bit of Fun Distraction in these End-of-World Times (awesome Mad Max future, here we come).

I have been thinking about all of this for a while, and the thinking has turned to dreaming, and with a little extra Bloody Mary-swilling on top of the dreaming, I have come up with a very simple game:

Where Would Your 8 Homes Be?

List them. You don’t have to list your reasons, but if you do at least for a few of them, it would be more fun. And remember that the only rule is: the homes must be within the borders of the United States of America or else, within the borders of the country you live in, so as to utterly emulate the McCains. When you’re done, tag 8 people, so that they may join in the self-indulgence, forgetting about the crappy property market and the equivalent of The End of Pompeii on Wall-Street. You could spend your time hammering your doors and windows shut in preparation for the apocalypse instead, but it would be much less fun.

OK, mine are as follows:

1. Charlotte, NC. I even know where exactly: preferably somewhere off of Rea Road, or else off of Carmel. Charlotte is where I lived for eight years. I love its silences and autumn drives (during which I will invariably play the “Fellowship of the Ring” soundtrack, because I’m cool like that), and the occasional freak snow-storms that shut down the city completely, and the smell of honeysuckle in the spring. I would string up a garland of lights over my back porch, and sit there with Boyfriend and a lovely, well-behaved dog (puppy class a must this time around), and read Kate Atkinson out loud.

2. Atlanta, GA. Preferably in Buckhead. Call me pretentious, whatever.

3. Somewhere in N. California. I’m thinking Palo Alto. So I can streak over to Anna’s house in the middle of the night. And Stanford’s right there. Anyway, I haven’t been out West yet, but when I’m suddenly a gajillionaire, that won’t be a problem.

4. I want a flat on the Upper East Side too. I could pretend to be cool and say that I want a flat somewhere more “chilled out” or “laid back” in New York, but I would only be lying. It would be very modern too, with those weird new sinks I absolutely love.

5. I definitely want a house in the vicinity of Lake Tahoe.

6. I want a small place on the Carolina coast. IT WILL NOT HAVE ANY TACKY BEACH PARAPHERNALIA DECORATING THE WALLS . OK, maybe a glass dolphin, or something.

7. One of those old Gothic-revival houses in Louisville, Kentucky. Definitely. I love Louisville. And Gothic revival.

8. I want a cozy place in one of those skiing destinations. I’m thinking Aspen, although that might be too obvious. I can’t ski worth a damn, but I like sitting around in a warm sweater and a hat with flappy ears, drinking spiced rum. Which is totally the same thing, right?

For this exercise in fun, I tag: Renee, Daisy, Wallace, Ren, Kim, Belle, Bint, ParallelSidewalk, and anyone else who wants to be tagged. Including anyone in the comments section.

In Sexxxayfunfeminist Land, Where the Shadows Lie

Renegade has two very beautiful posts up just now, here and here. She has incredible strength: in every muscle, and every thought and deed. Words and images are rarely more profound than this.

And Jill has given us another form of beauty – this one a bit more frou-frou but no less classic.

As for me, I think it’s fitting that I would write my column this week on beauty and love and grim reality. It wasn’t one of my more poetic ones, though. I’d like to give you a whole different kind of, um, poetry.

Behold! The cleavage that sunk a thousand feminist battleships!


Behold also! A much less stylized photo featuring, it would seem, the same dastardly cleavage (which really hardly even qualifies for cleavage, but manages to “hurt women” regardless – it’s just that ingenious):

... and this is what I look like on most evenings as I work (on ruining women's lives, of course)
... and this is what I look like on most evenings as I work (on ruining women's lives, of course)

And just in case you thought I was done! Behold at last! I am the wielder of the flame of Anor…. Sorry, I am the wielder of the Cleavage of Unnumbered Tears, and I pose here with my family’s ferocious trained beastie, Fedya, just so you know not to mess with me in the future:

Kitteh brings carnage.
"Are you frightened? Not nearly enough."

I can only hope that everyone is sufficiently terrorized. I hear the Patriarchy’s check is already in the mail for this one. Will spend it on something appropriately sparkly and empowerful (and possibly some catfood).

“I’m a Happy Cockroach” – The World Premiere

This is my brother and I, singing the “I’m a Happy Cockroach” song, which has become the ringtone of champions in Russian-speaking circles (the word “champions” being, uh, synonymous with “twelve-year-olds”). The thumps you hear are supposed to be the sounds of shoes being flung at the Happy Cockroach. The Happy Cockroach is taunting the shoe-flinger.

Now, I have to warn you, the video does end on a tragic note. After the final thump, the cockroach is no longer singing. And I, the survivor of many an epic battle with the scuttling spawns of Satan, have a murderous grin on my face. This isn’t for the faint of heart, so don’t bill me for the Valium later, ’cause I have warned your ass and don’t have money anyway.

P.S. The performance is, of course, dedicated to very special twin birthdays; to my mother Tatiana and my aunt, godmother, and namesake, Natalia. Live long and prosper, my ladies.