Rampant Consumerism

Water still not normal. My sister decided to risk it anyway and take a shower, though I notice she didn't wash her hair or face.
I went out thrift-shopping with a couple of high school friends. Most of my college friends live far, far away in mystical lands with real snow. I've kept in touch with Lisa and Taylor since I graduated high school. Everyone makes those empty promises to keep in touch for the rest of our lives, and gets all emotional and affectionate once yearbook signing rolls around and they don't actually have to see your face ever again. But Lisa and Taylor actually meant it.
We hit up some of the small local stores. Taylor has an uncanny gift for finding them. We tried on hats, laughed over outrageous dresses, and offered scorecards for the pants we found. I found a gorgeous silk jacket. It was deep blue, with silver dragon embroidery on it. Too big for me. Lisa is wearing it now, and I am contemplating stealing Linda Farrow's shrink ray out of the police lockup and using it on the jacket, because I want it. Sigh. Lisa looks good in it. Blue is not my color, no matter how much I want it to be.
I looked through bathing suits and raincoats and winter boots. Nothing worth having. What fabric stands up well to repeated submersion in ice? Does one even exist? Why don't any professional cryogenetics donate their gently-used costumes to thrift stores and save me the trial and error? I feel like I'm constantly reinventing the wheel here. If I ever make it to the big times, I'm going to write a book. Cryogenesis for Dummies, or maybe Everything You Wanted To Know About Your Superpowers But Had No Wise Old Mentor To Explain To You, or Stuff Nobody Bothered Explaining To Me That Could Have Made My Life As A Cryogenetic Much Easier If Only I Had Known What You Know Now You Lucky Reader.
I did get a cute leather vest, though. I need to replace the buttons, but it is totally awesome.

Confession

I have thought long and hard over whether I want to share this aspect of my private life with the internet at large. Whether I'm going to expose this ugly truth about myself to the judging eyes of millions. But since I've already shared other, more dangerous secrets, I might as well take the plunge. I hope you won't think worse of me for it.
I wear Crocs.
Yes, I just admitted to owning the dorkiest shoes since the invention of foot coverings. The one-piece plastic foam clogs. The industry standard for lack of taste. The shoes that are used to represent the fall of society's intellectual and aesthetic standards in Idiocracy. Mine are lime green.
It's not that I don't own and appreciate shoes. I do. I have shoes ranging from strappy sandals to snow boots. Sometimes I coordinate entire outfits around my shoes. I have spent ludicrous amounts of money on soft leather boots with tiny little pockets on the sides. And one day I will own a pair of knee high boots just like Flare's. So why have I surrendered myself to the nadir of footwear?
Because they're waterproof. There is nothing I hate more than squelchy shoes, and I have discovered the hard way that my shoes take a long, long time to dry out after I've used my superpowers. Sandals get slippery, rubber boots get full, and leather boots get hours of loving conditioning and heartfelt apologies after a soaking. Crocs get squeaky. That's it. And since I have not committed the cardinal sartorial sin of wearing Crocs with socks, all I need to do after an afternoon of cryogenesis is just towel them off and put them back on.
As much as I don't want to be the superhero who runs around in Crocs, I can't see a better solution. Crocs supply pretty much everything I need in footwear while I'm using my powers. Decent traction, impervious to damage by soaking, repels water (and ice), easy to care for, drains water instead of collecting it like little foot-shaped buckets. I'm weighing the prospect of universal mockery against the prospect of sensible shoes. It wouldn't be the most gaudy costume to ever come out of Florida...

Peter Parker's Secret Hobbies

How come every single superhero in the comics automatically knows how to make his or her own costume? Peter Parker, science nerd, is able to hand-sew a form-fitting and intricately patterned costume several times, from scratch, without any help. Clearly his Home Ec class rocked, if it can produce such professional results. And yet Peter has no other sewing-related hobbies. You never see him quilting, or designing his own shirts, or so much as patching his jeans. Shenanigans! I demand scenes of Peter Parker hunting for red web-patterned fabric on clearance racks.
Marvel seems to believe that people with sewing hobbies are at high risk for gaining superpowers. The Invisible Woman, Wasp, and Scarlet Witch all spent their time designing and sewing costumes for themselves and their teammates. Without even being asked! I totally need to start hanging out with people like that. As it is, I'm the one who gets suckered into sewing up the foot-long tears in my friends' ludicrously impractical gauzy skirts (seriously, I long for the day those things go out of fashion), but I doubt I'd be able to make an entire costume for myself, let alone one made out of something that could withstand constant soaking and low temperatures. The difficulties of working with the fabric aside, I have far too much dignity to wear a costume made entirely out of umbrellas.

The Utility of Belts

Utility belts are one of the most visible markers of powers status. It's almost without exception the small-time urban supers who use them. The big-time supers (you know, the ones who go to space and stop forest fires and crap like that) rarely bother wearing them. I guess there's just not much you can fit in a pocket that would be capable of stopping a meteor, or at all useful on a stopping-a-meteor mission. The big-timers usually wind up wearing those minimalist sleek outfits or high tech armor, and I guess when you're breaking the sound barrier it helps to have as little friction as possible. So they generally don't have pockets. But then again, they often have support teams, so I guess it evens out.
I would definitely fall on the side of utility belt users. Here is a list of what I carry in my purse for a typical trip to some place like Butterfly World or Goodwill or the mall:
Lip chap, Swiss Army knife, 2-3 band-aids, bubble gum, spare hairband, water bottle, pack of tissues, keyring (with flashlight and compass), camera, sunscreen, cell phone, wallet, small notebook, pencil, hand sanitizer, snack bar, floss, bandanna, pad and sunglasses. Ever since I've developed my powers, I've also carried around a couple little chemical handwarmer packs, in case I need to melt something really quickly. Lighters are just more trouble than they're worth.
I've never understood how boys can just walk out of the house carrying nothing. I don't think I'm a particularly high maintenance girl, either. I don't have makeup, mirrors, safety pins, jewelry or tiny hairbrushes in my purse (though I have to admit, a tiny hairbrush would be cool to have). But at the same time I can't really go out of my room without a purse and trust to fate to provide me with all my necessities. Maybe it's a girl thing, or maybe it's a control freak thing, but I like to be prepared for (minor) disasters, no matter how mundane an occasion seems at the outset. So imagine all of the stuff on that list, minus all the ID in the wallet, and of couse wiped clean of fingerprints, and add stuff like lockpicks, rubber gloves and shark repellant. Seriously, being a super involves some pretty weird emergencies, no matter what side you're on. How would I even fit all that stuff on something that is also supposed to be holding my pants up?