Monthly Archives: June 2012

Men Who Hate Women

Too bad I didn’t have this WW crown when I was working there. I could have summoned my inner Amazonian and kicked his ASS!

{Apologies to Stieg Larsson for borrowing his original book title}

I’ve had my mind on comics and comic book stores a lot lately, and so I’ve been thinking about the BEST job I ever had, ever. But because of one guy, it was also one of the most horrible workplace environments, ever.

In the mid-90s, I took a second job at a comic book/collectibles store to make extra money, and to try to forget about how bad my once-awesome-but-now-terribly-corporate video store job had gotten. I used to buy my comics there, and had discussed my rampant Clive Barker obsession with the owner several times, as he always seemed to have several signed books, figurines, etc. (as I found out later, he was good friends with Clive! SCORE). So, when I mentioned that I was looking for something part-time, he thought it would be awesome to have a chick working there who knew her stuff. It was a quick hire. I don’t even remember an interview, really. I had become so chummy with most of the staff that they already knew and liked me.

All of them I guess, except one.

For the purposes of this story, I will just call him “Dick.” It seems appropriate.

Dick had relocated to the fair city of Lynnwood from some small town in the mid-West, and as I came to find out, hated women. Not just a little, a lot. Or maybe it was just me? I guess I never quite figured it out. In any case, Dick was polite and accommodating when other employees or the manager/owner was around, but as soon as we were the only two in the store, he would have me do the most insane things, backed up with the excuse that “the owner” wanted it done. Continue reading


The 2012 Clothing Experiment

My (blurry) face: not representative of the joy I actually felt when I saw this dress on me. Apologies for the crappy dressing room shot!

At the beginning of this year, I decided that I wouldn’t buy any new clothes (with a few exceptions). Instead, I would thrift clothes, buy vintage clothes from re-sellers, and/or attempt to sew my own. The exceptions are underwear (duh), Converse (double duh), and leggings. Because it’s kind of impossible to find good used leggings.

My main motivation was to save money—so I could spend it on important things like my hair. You might laugh at that, but the one time I colored my own hair was so unsatisfactory that I basically just cried for 3 solid weeks until I could have my stylist fix it. Anyway!

The other reasons were:

1) I realized every year I end up with a closet full of clothes in which I only really wear half of it. Since most of my clothing is cheap (designer prices have never made sense to me, and let’s face it—designers generally don’t make anything over size 10), I would end up buying 3x what I need; the same dress, tank top, tee, and skirt in 5 colors. And then only wear 1 of each.

2) Pajamas are my crack. I seriously buy new pajamas about every 2 months. And since I went on a GIGANTIC pj buying spree before my surgery, I don’t need any new ones for about 5 more years.

3) I figured it made environmentally friendly sense. I’m no eco-crusader, but outside of my clothing, which I still (mostly) buy from morally irresponsible companies like Old Navy, Gap, Victoria’s Secret, and H&M, I try my best to purchase from local retailers. So, why not make a move to make sure at least 90% of my clothing is bought locally too? Continue reading


How to Sing Karaoke, Sober

Not an actual representation of me on stage, but I am most definitely drunk in this photo.

Okay, that title is a bit misleading. Because it sounds like this entry will be a primer on how-to do something, and it’s something I’m not even sure I can do. But, seeing how it’s the eve of the big Three Imaginary Girls 10th Anniversary Rockstar Karaoke New Wave Bash, I felt like I had to write something about how my massive stage fright might hamper my desire to get up there and belt out a few tunes.

See, I suffer from this thing called “being old.” And yes, I know I’m not that old. And yet, for some reason, the combination of three things has a tendency to make me very, very, very ill: standing for extended periods of time + being out late + booze. Basically, if I’m out at a show, drinking even the littlest bit of alcohol is like injecting poison straight into my veins.

Even like 1 glass of cider can make me feel like I’m going to hurl all night—waking me up about every 30 minutes to stumble into the bathroom, praying I can eject whatever is making me feel HORRRIBLE as quickly as possible.

After asking my doctor 100x why this is, she said, definitively, and for the 100th time, “You’re just getting old, my dear.” Auuugh. Really? I mean, I realize I probably ruined my bladder with all that Bacardi and Jose Cuervo in the 80s (and 90s … and 2000s) but COME ON (wo)MAN. Continue reading


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