Kennywood's Open!

This past Sunday, I actually did something fun. Dinosaur Adam took me to Kennywood Park, a local amusement park that I used to frequent often as a child. I haven't visited it in a decade or so, and it has changed ownership. There have been wild rumours circulating about how much has changed. Thankfully, however, so much of my childhood still lives and breathes in that place.

Kennywood has earned the title of being the rollar coaster capital of, I don't know, the universe or something. It's certainly a deserved distinction; Kennywood was probably where I rode my first coaster, and Sunday I remembered falling in love with them at the age of four.

Prayers for rain

The weather has been full of empty threats involving thunderstorms for more than a week. I've been scowling at the sky in disappointment, motivated to take some photographic evidence for the next time I'm tempted to hold another Local on the 8s Dance Party til Dawn Blowout.





The ground out in New Castle even looked ominous. But, nothing.



Today the windows are thrown open, but I'm still waiting. Rain has fallen, but without the rumbling of thunder and the strobe-light flash of lightning, I'm indifferent. I don't care. It's so humid I can't breathe. A good thunderstorm will clear the air, and there's few things on earth better than the sudden cracking apart of a hot summer night.

Of lillies and remains. And fluff.

I have a complicated relationship with cosmetics -- certainly one too wordy to properly delve into since I have to start getting ready for work within the hour. Surely, I'm a breathing dichotomy: A tree-climbing intellectual; a short-haired girly-girl; a cynic who has never lost her sense of childish wonder.

After resisting it for years, I finally got into make-up on my own when I was starting into my goth phase. I was a fan of heavy eyeliner and not much else. That was when I was fifteen or so, and I don't remember much else, really, other than wanting to look like Peter Murphy and Siouxsie Sioux (and, thankfully, not Robert Smith).

When my cancer diagnosis came in the summer of 1998, my mother had a rule that I had to wear my wig and make-up at all times. It didn't matter if I was puking every twelve seconds; I had to look "normal". She said it was "in case somebody came to the door", but I'm pretty sure an unexpected visitor wasn't going to go blasting into the bathroom like Kool-Aid Man. I harbored some resentment for that (and maybe I still do since I'm kind of protective of my patients at work): I had accepted my yellowing skin and lack of hair; it was simply who I was at that moment in time. Why couldn't everybody else? If they had a problem with it -- if they found it shocking or terrifying -- well, it was just their problem, and they'd have to get over it, now wouldn't they?

I still feel like that, I think. Why is it the cancer patient's job to look "normal"? They have enough to worry about, physically and psychologically. They already have to construct a new sense of "normal". Then again, that's another topic for another time. I could easily write about it for hours.

Maybe that's where the fear comes from that if I leave the house without make-up, something bad will happen. I was relentlessly teased for my nose until adulthood, so it's safe to say I have some insecurities over my looks. But, I'm sure everybody does. Actually, given the atmosphere of American advertising and popular culture, it's damn close to impossible not to. But again, another rant for another time.

Anyway, I'm a grown-up now, or at the very least, I do a pretty good job of pretending to be. In the past year or so I've gotten into cosmetics purely as a game to play or a sort of project: In short, it's fun. Turns out, there's a big difference between high-end, good quality eyeshadow and the crap you buy at Target. Yeah, I should've probably gone through this phase over ten years ago, but I was too busy scribing in notebooks, drinking black coffee, and planning on transforming into Henry Rollins whenever I became an adult.

A few months ago, I found out about Urban Decay cosmetics, and on a whim I gave their products a try because the colours were so radioactively vibrant. Ever since, I've been having a blast with this stuff. My inner girly-girl has been coming out and trying all sorts of bizarre and unholy combinations. I probably look ridiculous. Surprisingly, I don't really care, but somehow, that's the best part. I don't know if I could've said that a full year ago.

There was a sale going on a month ago, and I bought a bunch of new goodies for far less than what my original eye shadow palette cost me. Awesome.

The end of the zoo posts.

There's some funny things at the zoo. Like a gigantic mantis statue that's basically there for no reason.











I actually tagged this as "Slenderman" on Facebook. I wonder if Slenderman actually swims?



Rule 34?

I always tried to keep myself tied to this world.

I am slowly growing more suspicious that the building directly next door is synthesizing itself a nervous system, but I don't have the heart to tell it that neurons should never be an external feature. It's not befitting of a lady.



 

My pantry isn't as stocked as it was a few weeks ago due to time and financial restraints, but that didn't stop me from cooking a satisfying dinner tonight. I asked Dinosaur Adam (yes, that's an obvious nod to The Tick) to pick up some beer on the way home, and I used it to bake some bread. He selected some Sam Adams blackberry concoction. I've never tried it before, but the result was a slight berry tone, so it was a nice touch for a peaceful summer evening.



There is no better -- or more agonizing -- smell in the world than bread baking in the oven when one is hungry. In the end, though, it was a success.



 

I've been listening to this song an awful lot lately:

http://youtu.be/woIiLtWzXAQ

I'm not sure if it has more to do with the sound itself or the multitude of happy, nostalgia-tinged memories attached to it.

Almost finished!

After this, there should only be one more zoo post.

Zelly managed to sneak one in here. He was sitting in an elephant jaw.

Onward with the zoo pictures

I'm actually making all these zoo posts at once and scheduling them to post. I don't want to overload them with images; I'm running out of things to say. So, there aren't many words for today's entry.

There's a monster in the laundry room.

I took a break from Harry Potter.

Every day is like Sunday.

The zookeepers got really mad when he kept slobbering all over the glass.

Zelly is really good at getting his picture taken. I'm not sure if that applies to all Lovecraft monsters or not. Notice how sad he appears when looking at the penguins. I think he was reminded of the time he was an intern for the Elder Gods in Antartica and got to eat albino penguins for lunch every day.

You suck, Aquaman.

As I said in my last post, all the creatures in the aquarium were strangely accommodating to Zelly. Well, except for the jellyfish, but jellyfish essentially lack complex nervous systems. Also, jellyfish are dicks.