darkitysnark

(WARNING: Disjointed metaphors ahead and underfoot!) Ever since she became conscious of the differences between boys and girls, Snarky has been trying to figure out that line between the feminine and masculine. She's unsure of not only the coordinates of the various demarcation points, but also where she stands in relation to those teetering little points in the shifty sand. She vascillated between Girly-Girl (ballet training coupled with a near drag-queen level obsession with her mother's 1960's wardrobe) and Tomboy (tusseling with the neighborhood boys in the snow, wading waist deep in creeks in order to catch minnows) as she grew up. The advent of body hair and the constant battle to eradicate it was an absolute nightmare (tutus and 'pit hair don't mix) but she also became sporadically lacksadaisical about maintenance (surely Snarky isn't the only girl who has "winterized"). Snarky was lucky to have either indulgent or equally laissez-hair paramours during these experimental times. Thusfar she's developed a duality fluctuating between the extremes. Some days she does the full get up: make up, matching shoes (as in: shoes that match the outfit, Snarky usually has presence of mind enough to match the shoes to eachother on any given day girlie or no... most of the time), matching underthings, matching BPAL, matching earrings... just matchy matchy all over the place. Other days she's lucky if a shower happens, let alone color coordinated not-nekkidness. (The Mister has been known to serenade her with "Ebony & Ivory" on the days that her bra/panty choice is chromatically challenged.) For the past year Snarky has evolved away from platform heels and slinky skirts to Mary Janes and corduroy pants due to working closely with contractors, engineers, and ginormous, filthy machinery. This practical work wear attitude has bled in to her off hours as well. On top of her sartorial schizophrenia is the concept of the masculine and feminine in attitudes as well. Snarky is constantly battling it out between her perceived dominant/submissive, Asian/American, intro-/extrovert, and male/female halves. (For example, body hair is a Big Issue for Snarky. How does a self-proclaimed feminist explain her need to eradicate naturally occuring body hair to suit some wholly unrealistic sexualized pre-adolescent imagery?) Then the cherry on top of this sundae of textbook gender identity woe are the emotional eggshells Snarky has been treading upon since The Mister's recent health scares (more honestly, these eggshells have been cropping up for as long as the Snarks have known eachother). She's been swathing their weekends in safe, neutral tones and non-aggressive, granny pantied conversations to keep things bland as oatmeal at home. She's been more mother than wife lately, and that sort of extreme imbalance can skew more than just the one boat in the marriage flotilla. She can't help but think that a wave of equal amplitude in the other direction is needed to put everything back on course. The Snarks have been recovering long-buried and forgotten portions of their wardrobe as they are expanding into their house. Almost single handedly Snark's hootchie-mama arsenal increased ten-fold (OK, more like two-fold, but ten-fold is so much more impressive) just by finding and liberating the right tub of clothing. So she's easing herself back into more feminine attire. Perhaps with the physical donning of her old "split up to there" skirts and flirty ankle strap heels, she will also be able to also mentally shed the metaphorical sweatpants. Time to Wake Things Up a little and return to feeling completely human (and girly, and ROWRy) again. And if she needs to wear the pants for a little while in order for The Mister to get back on track, she'll do that too. But they'll be tailored and leather and just the right kind of snug.

Snarky has to admit your summary is much kinder than it could've been... she thinks of the above ramblings as the scattering of all the loose mental change that has been collecting in her mind's pockets. They go together just because they happen to all be in her head at the same time... Snarky's glad it made some modicum of sense. Snarky did have a flash of realization this morning in regards to The Mister: she hasn't been courting him like she did when they were in the early stages of wooing each other (is Snarky the only person who gets a cartoonish mental image of two people standing at either side of a giant chasm, hands cupped around their mouths, alternately shouting "WOO!" to the other across the distance?) and has been mostly taking him for granted. They haven't had one of those Two O'clock in the Morning Philosophy conversations in a very long time... maybe she needs to work toward bringing some of that mental stimulation back in to their interactions (sans the "school night curfew" breaking). Thanks for your support! (And now Snarky has gone to a strange Ernest and Giulio Gallo place...)

The Mister has a bit of a hair fetish to complement his foot/naughty secretary thing. And Snarky really never knew about the extent of it until recently. When he first met Snarky, she had a slightly angled bob that just curled beneath her chin. She had been maintaining the relatively chic 'do after a free makeover going in to her third year in college. Up until then she had rather a rather laissez faire approach to her hair except for the white streak (a la Rogue of X-Men fame or Pepe le Pieu's paramour, take your pick) she tried to maintain until she burned a bald patch on the side of her head. She lapsed back into just growing it all out while in Europe for a semester, ending with a dramatic chop off "mas corta, por favor" in a "Super Tall" in Spain. (Who knew Super Cuts had gone international?) Leading up to their wedding, Snarky finally returned to letting it all grow out in order to fulfill some deep-seated conviction that All Brides Must Have an Up 'Do. Her hair continued to grow until 2002 when, after a successful run doing impressions of "The Ring"'s Samara (and scaring the bejeezus out of all her co-workers), Snarky allowed her hairdresser to give her bangs. This was the beginning of the end. The bangs became Bettie Page bangs one hectic morning after Snarky's shaky attempts to even out the regrowth. After that, it was only a matter of time before she succumbed to the inevitable and chopped it all off for charity. Since that fateful November day (she kept the long hair one more Halloween in order to channel Cleopatra) Snarky has more or less kept the 'do at either page-boyish or rather Pat Benatarian levels. The Snarks take their mini-golfing very seriously. Growing out the highlights, and no, Snarky is not Flamenco-ing. She's modeling a knitting thingamabobber (Glampyre's One Skein Wonder, if you're curious) A better look at The Benatar in all her glory. After the unfortunate Hitler Bangs incident, Snarky finally agreed to let it all grow out again. Lest we ever forget... re-posting proof of the Hitler Bangs. This old photo most closely approximates the currently sideswept bangs (if you can make them out on her teeny tiny head). Is it just Snarky, or does it look like she's about to be plucked off the Earth by an Ent? And for The Mister, there was much rejoicing. For while he has never once complained in all the years of Snarky's follicle fancies, he had been harboring a secret hope that she would return to the p0rn hair of yore. Every time she now wears her hair in the funky little pigtails - all she can currently manage - he gets a certain speculative gleam in his eye and breaks out into a boyish grin of delight. It is this anticipation of his that is helping Snarky through some of the most difficult growing out phases she has ever encountered (and she's counting the skunky bald patch!). Right now she is currently at "vaguely choppy kinda-sorta rock mulletini-y" and would really just like to drop all the -y, -ie, -ishness and have a damn definitive 'do, already! The things we do for love! Edited to add: If she can find old pics of the old long hair, Snarky'll post 'em. She's also got a picture to be downloaded off the camera of the current oh-so-age-appropriate pigtails yet to post.

Tell me about it -- I had some weird ideas of what looked good, including borrowing a guy friend's barbershop clippers and, yeah... I did like the photo album, darkity! I say keep the Benatar and get a "hooker wig" Snarky has some Fredrick's of Hollywood Hooker Wigs in mind, should she decide to go that route. The most egregious hair don't Snarky ever committed was the home perm of D00M back in the fifth grade. First off, Asians with perms are just WRONG. Secondly, the "puffy pyramid of lopsidedness" look, when paired with her decidedly dorky fashion sense at the time made for her Most Embarassing Class Photo Ever. If she can find it, she'll post it... but she thinks she probably burned all copies. Long hair can be fun too... but yeah, for day-to-day it's a pain in the a**. Snarky's old favorite long hair 'do involved rolling up her still-damp hair along her hairline, clipping the rolls into place with heavy duty butterfly-style clips, and doing a somewhat elaborate curlique coily thing in the back. This made for a funky crown effect that also resulted in fairy-ish curls at the end of the day.

Back! Back! (Snarky totally agrees... but she also likes playing with long hair. Maybe she should get a wig?) The Chop is all kinds of theraputic and cathartic and all that good stuff. Snarky is lucky in that her hair does grow rather quickly, so she might get it long enough to appease for a bit and then SNICKETY-SNACK return of La Benatar/Bjork. (Is Snarky the only person who wanders around saying "Bah-JORK e-jorky-jorky" a la the Swedish Chef of Muppet Show fame whenever she thinks of Bjork?)

Snarky agrees: the Benatar rocked all kinds of casbah. Unfortunately she hasn't been able to find the stylist that gave her that rockin' 'do again (instead, she got the woman who gave her Those Bangs). So... to appease The Mister she's gonna try. "Try" being the operative wrd. (She's caught herself on more than one occasion recently looking at her fluffly, droopy silhouette with dissatisfaction and dismay.. everything is so... floopy right now!)

Snarky was just about to post lyrics to The Sugarcubes' "Sick for Toys" on inkdarkmoon's blog (Snarky surmises that they are both tired of their old toys, and need some new toys)... and now she's channeling Bjork? Synergy! Truth be known, Snarky loved having long p0rno hair. It was just a bitch to maintain, and more days than not she would just slap it into an out-of-the-way twist than anything fancy. Funny how one always wants what one cannot have. Snarky's dream hair is sort of Anne of Avonlea-esque.

Eat your heart out, Bellagio! So the ancient running joke is that Snarky is in possession of two very black thumbs. The Mister made a habit of gifting her with a potted orchid (of the Lowe's/Home Depot variety) every Valentine's Day, knowing that she would eventually find a way to kill it. One year he gave her a companion cactus thinking that it would outlive the orchid which seemed extremely logical at the time. Snarky deflated it. Back in May, some good friends of the Snarks came out to visit. The wife is a master gardener and the husband is the handiest of handymen. They both have done amazing things to their triple wide trailer (and 5 acres of property) nestled in the Appalachians. The Snarks were able to give them a tour of their soon-to-be house for hints/tips/praise/approval. She did a careful evaluation of the landscaping (somewhat over-exotic for the Snark's taste, but really quite impressive) and even gifted them with a regional resource (which has since been packed and lost, but will be found again, by gum!). If it weren't for their words of encouragement, Snarky might've considered a scorched earth approach to the existing landscaping. So... they're trying. Most of the bordering landscaping has been weeded (Snarky suspects she "accidentally" took out some "decorative" thistle, but it was annoying and leggy) except for the corner with the roses... which are choking and trying their darndest to continue despite her efforts to destroy them. She harvested a fistful of lavendar blossoms which are being artfully displayed in one of their many "why did we register for all these?" vases. They've got a miniature garden (mostly for sammich makin's - tomato and cuke) fighting it out with the clover. They are doing their best not to destroy what was left to them. Besides the curly willow, which had to go. (Much to the shock of the neighborhood.) Cross your spades and pointy weeder thingies (Snarky likes to call it "The Probe") for them... pictures of the carnage results soon!

Snarky loves this kind of stuff: coffee grounds mixed with water, crushed eggshells, all that stuff. It's like kitchen witchery to her. Thanks for the tips! And if she can just find that blasted book the Master Gardener friend gave them (it's the Sunset something-or-other for their region) they'll be good as gold. It coveres a lot of information about regional plants and how to maintain them, as well as general tutorials for stuff like proper composting. The previous homeowners were ambitious, but a bit ill-informed. The Snarks have a "compost pile" in the back corner of the lot that resembles more of a fire hazard/stick pile than anything actually useful.

Thank you. The tricky part, of course, will be to see all these veggie bearing plants all the way through to... what's the vegetable version of fruition? Vegetation? Snarky had some "accidental" tomatoes a couple years ago that went from huge, firm, promising green to rotten black without stopping off anywhere near ripe and red in between. She's a bit phobic about the same happening to these intentional ones. "Our next guest hails from the Pacific Northwest and has authored the best selling memoir/manual 'Home-on-the-Rangelove: How I learned to stop worrying and love my black thumb'. She claims to all her fans that if she can do it, anyone can, and I think that is a good thing... "

'Maters! Our own plants are festooned with little yellow flowers, but so far there are only a couple 'mater nubbins just starting to peek out. It's all so very exciting! Oh and I'm totally going to scour our local Tarjay for a small dragon of our own now. My dream yard art is a two foot tall concrete buddha with arms raised. A coastal kitschy yard place we visited a few weeks ago had them listed as "touchdown buddhas".

The Mister got in touch with a childhood friend just before his and Snarky's wedding with the intention of asking him to our Best Man. They had lost touch during their college years and in that time DeathRockGuy had married DeathRockChick, who was twelve or thirteen years his junior. The Mister explained that DRG's father was significantly older than his mother (he was sixty when DRG was born), so such an age difference was not shocking. And over the years, the Snarks and the DeathRockers got to know eachother as couples and became comfortable "couple friends". The one thing that always caused a bit of unease for the Snarks was the fact that the DRs were almost too well matched. They were of one mind. Always in agreement, and always together. Save for work, they did everything together. They had no hobbies, did not leave the house except to eat out, and were thisclose to developing their own twin language. If ever a living, breathing example of Plato's theory (as Snarky understands it from watching "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" anyway) about soulmates existed, it would be these two. However over the years, DRC has also exhibited a tendancy to absorb the personality of those she hung out with most: her sister, her co-workers, and of course, her Mister. After the birth of their baby (DeathRockBaby! Oh, the dark and spooky knitted goods Snarky made for that child...) they seemed to make the perfect (albeit dark) young family. New house, new car, new jobs, new baby. Then, after DRB was weaned, DRC fell into a severe post-partum depression. She started going out two and three (possibly more) nights a week with work friends, getting so drunk she couldn't recall the evening. Snarky remembers listening with growing horror as DRC proudly announced that she never had to pay for anything but her first drink. The last time the Snarks visited Back East, DRG confided that things were not going well for them. DRC was leaving him at home with the baby to go to the gym for hours and then to bars, then complaining that he never wanted to do anything with her. His argument was that she suddenly wanted to do things that they never wanted to do together to begin with, and also she needed to give him more advanced notice so that they could arrange for a babysitter. Y'all can see the trajectory this relationship is taking, but the Snarks were still a bit shocked to find out yesterday that DRG and DRC are now on a trial separation. She has moved out to an apartment and they are taking turns caring for DRB. Snarky wonders if DRC is trying to re-establish her own personality after her perceived removal from being a mother once DRB was weaned. What the Snarks thought was mature self-possession when they first met DRC might have been what she developed from being around DRG. It's... upsetting and confusing. This is not the first separation in the Snarks' small circle of acquaintences, but it is the first one that will affect a child. They are working to be equally supportive of both parties, though it's probably apparent just from this recap that they are more sympathetic to DRG's plight. And all of this sudden drama and upheaval has Snarky wondering about soul mates and the influence of those with whom we have entrusted our hearts/minds/lives. Snarky firmly believes with the faith of secular scientific types that there is more than one "soulmate" out there for everyone. She finds more romanticism couched in the actions of the people that finally settle down and commit to make lives with the one(s) they choose rather than in the pining, angsty search for The One. But how much of making small changes to accommodate this whole other person (or persons) in one's life is just making adjustments before it becomes major shifts in one's basic... well "one"ness? DRC married DRG before she turned 21. While she was mature for her age at the time, perhaps she's feeling now like she hasn't had a chance to figure out some things on her own. The Snarks hope that this separation will help both of them to see what makes them unique, but also how that uniqueness and their similarities complement and enhance the whole... both for their sake, and for the baby's sake. What they fear is that she will realize that she wasn't meant to be this woman (wife, mother) all along. If that is the case then permanent separation would be best for the child, but the Snarks still ache for the consequences.

Snarky has always shuddered at the thought of meeting her own male twin. It would be like crossing your own timeline - or when matter and anti-matter collide - or crossing the streams or something equally science fictiony and time continuum tearing. Having said that, Snarky and The Mister have exactly the same Myers-Briggs profile except for the fact that she's extroverted and he's introverted. So maybe a giant black hole will still rupture the fabric of time and space just above the mesosphere yet. What Snarky failed to mention in her lengthy recounting of the DeathRockFamily is the fact that they underwent a month of hormone therapy to bring about DRB. This child was definitely wanted and is deeply loved. No matter how things turn out, Snarky has faith that DRB will always have both of her parents upon which to rely. But yes, everyone's hope is that their separate evolutions will still align enough to keep them together in the same home as well.

Was this the Church of Bamp Chicka Bamp? Because? Wha-? The Mister is a bit of a fetishist... mostly because the traditional stiletto fits nicely in his whole "naughty office" predilection. These shoes are right up his alley. Since my drool-worthy shoe is a Dansko, we are somewhat at odds about the whole stiletto thing. Still... compromises can be made. (No, not "naughty Norweigan office", silly monkies!)

A generous gift from my Spring Switch Witch lexile! I think I had this wishlisted because of the sandalwood and red musk, which I have since discovered makes me think of manly berries. At first (in the bottle and wet) this is surprisingly fruity. Fruity and almost tropical (more pineappley than coconutty). This effect dissipates quickly and is replaced with what I have come to know as "old skool BPAL". I know that's very unhelpful as we all cut our teeth on different BPAL blends, but this one is definitely conjuring my first brush with BPAL almost two (!) years ago. There's a dark, musky sweetness backed by the dry incense/wood, with a top tinge of the bergamot (which comes off as a non-pledgey lemon just this side of BO... a very fine balance that is jointly compelling and repelling). I'm feeling very sensuous, mysterious, and sexually aggressive right now, so this is probably not a good "work scent". I don't know if it's even a good seduction scent. This is more something I would wear for my own pleasure and Pleasure (ifyouknowhatimean, nudge nudge, wink wink, say no more).

Obviously, this is a good ghost: it's looking out for your privacy! Now if only he/she/it could help when the TP runs out...

It's the Best Little Whorehouse on the Prairie if it is! I like "Jean Genie"... though it makes me think of Barbara Eden in boot-legged hip huggers as well... Just passed the 100 point mark myself. I was thinking "Nekkid Ninja" but didn't want to spread the ninjitsu mojo too thin on the forum. Then there was "Nekkid Luncheon" but I've discovered I don't really care for Burroughs so much (though I really relate to him in a non-smack-addicted way). I'm bound and determined to incorporate "nekkid" but the rest just falls apart. PS "Scoreboard" had me thinking of entirely different things before I read your post, btw. I blame Dawndie and Dick Cheney and all y'all's dirty minds for setting up that mental cue.

Snarky is mostly blind. Granted, she's still a few (scant) steps away from being legally blind, but her eyesight is bad enough that sans glasses or contacts, she's pretty much waving her arms Frankenstein style and doing the nervous Don't-Crush-My-Toes-Slow-Dance/Tippy-Toes-Sweep-Walk that extreme myopia choreographs. Given all this, Snarky just wanted to take a quick moment to praise Chez Snark to it's blessed little rafters for having just enough square footage to allow for all the Snarks' crap to be spread out all over the place and still have enough room left over to maintain clear, blind people walkways. It has gotten to the point that The Snarks can't remember a time when All This Stuff fit in to a less-than 800 square foot apartment. How'd they do it? Maaaagic! Snarky also wants to bless Chez Snark's little anthropomorphized heart for having an added bonus accessory of an old charcoal grill. The Snarks enjoyed beef kabobs, roasted corn, and 'taters, followed by more-or-less successful dark chocolate s'mores for the Fourth. Unfortunately, they could not motivate their lazy behinds into making a nice pitcher of Sangria but there's plenty of time for that yet.

Hm... all food for thought. Thanks for your input! Snarky plans to make a pretty extensive and honest pro/con list if/when she gets the funds and consultations together for this.

Antimony, your positive Lasik experience is giving Snarky something to chew on. Thank you! If/when she ever considers getting this done... she would definitely want to save up for the best possible surgeon/facilities/etc. No chop shops for these peepers!

Come to think of it... Snarky does get an awfully squished up face when she does try to see things sans specs. Oh dear. (<--- the closest she could find to squishy face) Snarky has considered Lasik for a while, but is very skittish about the procedure due to results such as your Boss's. The technology just doesn't seem quite there yet. The weather has taken a sudden sharp veer into autumnal territory, but once Summer reasserts herself, Snarky will definitely fire up the grill once again (mmmm... grilled pineapples and pizza and tuna steaks and.... ) and begin her bucket 'o 'gria.

Valentina, some of Snarky's fondest memories are tied into summer evenings and jugs of well-steeped sangria. She hopes you'll be able to find the time (and relaxation) to enjoy your creation soon (and you can raise a glass to her in spirit) (soda speak).

Sheesh! That's way too much excitement. It's been unseasonably dry over here the last several weeks, which has caused me to be a bit skittish during the pre-Fourth neighborhood fireworks displays that have been happening every night since this past weekend. Officially (and legally) us Oregonians aren't supposed to have fireworks that get higher than six feet off the ground. But in Washington, which is a short twenty minute drive away? Well, suffice it to say we didn't have to tune in to any televised coverage of the Biggest Fireworks Display West of the Mississippi, as we had professional level pyrotechnics happening in all the neighboring yards. Huge explosions a couple hundred feet in the air flaring up constantly for about two hours (before I lost consciousness... we might have continued to have "celebrations" past midnight, but I was just too tired). Luckily, no teenaged arson attempts/mishaps/what-have-yous. That we know of. I'm also glad all you got out of this was a scorched fence. I'm a little stunned that your neighbors are so redneck about their chimnea (which my brain keeps changing into "chi-chi-chi-chia!"). The Mister's grandmother likes to light her brush piles with used motor oil... but then again, she does live out in the boondocks in an actual farmhouse. (Still scares the snot out of me, though.)

Of men and waxing: before we left the ER last Wednesday, one of the nurses suggested that The Mister try to remove all of the little stickers and tabs they had placed all over his upper body in order to hook up all the monitoring equipment. I've never seen him wimper so much in my entire life (and this includes all the myriad kitchen accidents to which he is prone). My response, naturally, was explosive laughter followed by a smug "NOW you know what it feels like. Image that along your friggin' BIKINI LINE, buster... and be thankful and grateful." Glad you didn't go the way of "The Clackers" (imagine a stampede of stillettoed heels). We like you better the way y'are.

I was the fattest in my life on my wedding day. I look like a softly rounded Earth Mother or something. I don't really mind it looking back, but at the time I had a similar rude shock once the pictures started coming in (especially when my skinny, beautiful, so-nice-you-can't-even-hate-her-for-the-other-two-things cousin showed up with her crazy lollipop head and cute little dresses). Heck, my Maid of Honor wore a size four silver satin evening gown for the ceremony. And I? Wore my chiffon silk muumuu looking empire waisted (still beautiful, but muumuuesque all the same) gown with flats. I was the roundest, shortest, shiniest (why did not one blot me, why?!?!) little bride ever. But I was also absolutely stupidly glowingly happy. I hope that shows in your pictures too... because years from now? When you've changed our body and have started to get into the comfortable rhythms of being with your Mister (doesn't matter if you lived together before, marriage really does change everything) you'll look back at those horrible pictures and all you'll see is the happiness of everyone involved... especially you.