Happy Fall Equifax!
Dr. Ding likes to commemorate the changing of the seasons and whatnot in kind of a late-1990s, pseudo-Wiccan way where we all wear velvet bodice dresses with long unstraightened tresses and heavy square-toed boots. Because that is what Wicca is all about. Trust.
I kinda miss my Ren Faire Maiden days, short-lived tho they were. It was a lot of fun eating such Faire delicacies as giant barbecued turkey legs and Pickle On A Stick while prancing about in fetching Celtic silver jewelry, looking bosomy.
Okay, so my Ren Faire Maiden days were more like one day, but you can totally see where I’m coming from; specificially, a very sacred purple velour space where I burned a lot of cedarwood candles and Night Queen incense while listening to inscrutable semi-witchy music like Loreena McKennit and Stevie Nicks.
What I’m saying is that all this witchy street cred I’ve accrued since reading “To Ride a Silver Broomstick” back in 1995 supremely qualifies* me to wish you a happy Autumnal Equinox.
*If you are at all interested in witchy or feminist theology stuff you should read Sybil Leek’s Diary of a Witch, the later works of Marjia Gimbutas, Shapeshifters: Shaman Women in Contemporary Society by Michele Jamal, and Sisterhood is Powerful, An Anthology of Writings from the Women’s Liberation Movement (edited by Robin Morgan).
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |
Adorable Primate Pic
When life irritates the ever-living fuck out of Dr. Ding, she gorges herself on cute animals, having been able to resist goggies, lolcats, and now ZooBorns for only so long.
E voilà!
In other news: GIANT NIPPLES.
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |
World’s Oldest Living Irish-Luxembourger Chola, At Your Service
So I’m out walking Pooperella just now, and a minivanful of what I’m assuming might have been Japanese tourists slows to a crawl as they approach me, your formidable HBIC of this here blog. Pooperella is checking her p-mail or some goddamned Dog Whisperer thing I know nothing about when several of the tourists start pointing and gesturing at me excitedly. I gave them the side-eye and kept on hustlin’. I am pretty sure at least one of them took my picture, because some flashes went off right before they peeled out.
When I got back inside I asked The Beyoncé what the dealio was, and he took a look at me and suggested that maybe the tourists were impressed with my overall chola look. Puzzled, I eventually after a couple hours of napping ran pell-mell to the bathroom mirror and was forced to concede that indeed I looked like an Irish-Luxembourger-American who could possibly have a straight razor up in her Winehouse. Or who could punch your lights out using only the force of her Irish Catholic guiltfu*. Or who could whip up two gallons of wax bean soup in under an hour and serve it to you with a ridiculous French accent.
I definitely looked like I might cut a bitch, and apparently this completely escaped me when I did my a.m. mirror check. So I decided to have The Beyoncé commemorate my normal weekend look this auspicious occasion. I have no idea if this is what a 40 year-old chubby shrink is supposed to look like, but this is what we’re workin’ with. Good thing those tourists got their photos before I had to pull a strap.
*Just like kungfu only guiltier.
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |