anagram of brat

Today was kind of a crap day for work, plus I was on deck for watching the short people again today. Yorg.

Anyway around lunchtime I noticed that one of them had left one of their new Iron Man action figures on my desk so I started fiddling with him. I discovered to my delight that he was pretty decently articulated, so I posed him and took a goofy Instagram:



Seeing as I had already gotten him into a split, I began experimenting further with his legs. Ended up bending him in such a fashion that called to mind Martha Graham's intense side leaning arabesques, so I looked up a couple of pictures for reference (primarily this one though) and fixed his arms:



Then things got silly.




I had to knock it off because I had to go back to working, but I was having so much fun making Iron Man dance that I might do some more of these later. Course all I can think of now is maybe recreating this scene from The Birdcage with him:

Oh New York. Something special erupts out of you during the holidays that actually truly warms the hard to reach subcockles of my jaded little heart. I think it's gazing up into the face of a 30+ story high rise and counting fourteen visible Christmas trees, seven menorahs, sixteen atrociously lit up windows and nine balconies that have more lights and inflatables on them than entire neighborhoods in Massachusetts. Or maybe it's the inexplicably omnipresent tree stands every four blocks or so because some folks are crazy enough to want to haul a heavy ass genuine Douglas Fir up to a seven story walkup. No, really, I know people do it - you can tell by the garbage piles outside of said walkups the week after New Years. Or the people like our neighbors who manage to stuff lights and creepy motorized Santas in every front window, drape lit garlands from the roof and have a giant bright-ass train festooning their porch every year. (The punchline? They're Jewish.)

Seriously New York during Christmas, man. There are reasons why I'm incredibly happy to be actually home this year for it.

Needless to say I've arrived home safely. Actually the last bit of the journey was made nicer by sharing a subway ride with a Smith student I know from the store who happened to be on my bus down and who needed to get to Coney Island so I told her to ride with me since that's my line. Dad has done his requisite fussing, showing off of his new toys (he's finally replaced his giant ass flatscreen), and I in turn have teased him about catching him coming in the house from a date, impeccably dressed to the nines. The cat has not left me alone since I came in The House and is now curled up on the bed with me purring like an idling tractor trailer. I much prefer this to having a portly kitty trying knead my ass with sharp-ass feet. Ow. Stop loving me with pain. Or if you have to, take me out to dinner first! Sheesh. Also can totally hear the ghost of Mom's Bitching Past up in here because Dad got a real tree for the first time in about 20 years. It's gorgeous, don't get me wrong, but all I can hear in my head is "needles in the carpet" this and "fire hazard" that and "what did that mad fool have to get a real tree for anyway" blah blah blah. Rather than be annoying it's actually kinda making me smile. Dad always did love himself a real Christmas tree. Of course he never actually deals with putting it up or decorating it or taking it down, which is probably why. At least he got a reasonable height one and not a sticky seven or eight foot monstrosity like he used to insist on getting. If you have to get on a freaking ladder to put the angel on top, your tree is too damn tall.

I think Dad is happy to have Christmas at home as well. He's been making noise about restarting the treating the women of the family to brunch and perfume at Saks tradition again, which we haven't done since my second year at Smith because Mom got sick right around then. 'Course, I'm not a perfume or makeup person so I usually spent those trips finding about the least visibly feminine thing on the lobby floor as my treat - one year it was a teddy bear (which I still have) the next, bath gel, the next a cute Captain's hat from the menswear department (also which I still have). Not even gonna lie, I'm already scheming how to spin my girly treat into something else from the neighborhood - the American Girl Place is next door across the street (though after having experienced The Smell Of Pink last month with cell23, I'm a little wary of going in there) and the LEGO store is down the block. Jesus H, that's so me. 33, grown ass woman, and what do I want for Christmas instead of perfume? Toys. Le sigh. Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever gonna grow up. Maybe I should bite the bullet and actually get makeup though. I am getting some kinda married in the spring and after accompanying various folk shopping for glorified face paint for the occasion I should probably take the opportunity to not have to pay for it. And I do like M.A.C. products. Preferred brand of drag queens. Or so I've heard.

Tomorrow Dad is monopolizing my day, but since we're going downtown to the financial district and then to J&R like we used to when I was a kid, I don't mind. I won't ask him to take me to Burger King though. Even if the same one we used to go to all the time is still there. J&R though, uh oh. Taking me to J&R is like giving a small child four double espressos and turning him or her loose in Toys R Us and/or FAO Schwarz. Seriously between the computer/electronics, movies and music departments (both as in recorded music and as in instruments and accessories) that place is a block of nothing but pure retail Andee-crack. NNNNNNNGGGGG.

*sigh* it's gonna be a busy week.

I just found all of my old AG dolls and about 90% of their stuff. Lissie, Sam, Molly and Kirsten plus an as yet unnamed non-AG friend are coming back to MA for cleanup. Molly and Kirsten both have silver in the left eyes, Lissie is perfect (I never played with her much) and Sam's hair just needs a brushing but she's all good too, no frizzies on any of them. It's a pity I'm really attached to her - a PM Samantha in near mint condition with most of her collection circa 1988 would make a mint on eBay and set several doll boards slathering. We'll see how much I decide to keep. But yeah... Aeris will have playmates when she gets back. SUPERYAY.

Eta: Spring just watch me super squee for like a half hour and said "you know if you want my old Addy I'll see if I can find her." TOP SCORE A WINRAR IS ME.

I would just like to say that GODDAMN I was one spoiled little girl. Still making some attempt at correcting this.

Also found maybe half of the books I'm still missing. Trying to decide if I'm up to mining for the other half. I'm not exaggerating: digging through all the crap in the sunporch really does feel like excavation with equal risk of being buried under pounds of rubble should one of the stuff piles collapse.

Hanzo's gonna be rather full for the trip back I think...