Health Day

Blagh, getting sick. I'm going to try to head this off with vitamins and rest. I do not want to risk things getting out of control like last time. Now is really not the time to out myself as a cryogenetic. Hell no. Take care of yourself, internet denizens.

Winter Wonderland: I'm Confused

I just heard about the Global Thermostat project. I don't know what I could possibly say. I wish ours was a world in which things like this don't happen. Why do so many people want to destroy the world? How can they be so selfish that they think their vision of the world is worth all the lives they take to achieve it? I'm a freaking cryogenetic, and even I don't want to live in an ice age. This is our damned planet. It belongs to baseline humans, superhumans, metahumans, cyborgs, xenoids, plants, animals, fungi, and whatever else I've overlooked. We all have to live on this one planet. We're not getting another one. The Pan-Galactic treaties are very clear about that. And yet it seems like every day another person tries to destroy it.

I can't think about this anymore. I can't think about the people just like me who are dying. Since this is my blog, I'm going to be selfish and talk about me now. I need the distraction, and the best part about navel-gazing is that I never find something traumatic in there. I'm going to ignore the rest of the world, and the looks on people's faces whenever they hear the word cryogenesis. Here's what's been happening in my life.

Internet's been down here for days due to a combination of nasty thunderstorms and DJ Livewire redirecting communications satellites for some interstellar crisis. The power's been down too, and you can imagine how pleasant that is in June in South Florida. Cryogenesis has never tasted sweeter. On that note, I've been researching peppermint. Science students bear with me here, I know I'm bastardizing this. Peppermint contains menthol, which chemically triggers TRPM8 receptors. TRPM8 receptors are sensitive to cold, which is why peppermints make your mouth feel cool. So I'm wondering if the sporadic spontaneous peppermint taste is less a sign of impending brain tumor doom, and more a matter of crossed wires in my chemical receptors that interpret peppermint and cryogenesis the same way. Or maybe I can produce menthol? I'm confused. Maybe I should conduct a scientific experiment and smooch someone to determine whether or not I'm only imagining the peppermint taste. Or I could just ignore the problem and eat another peppermint humbug. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.

Candyland Fail

Babysitting. The kid is asleep and I'm just poking around on the internet until the parents return. Since this isn't Myke's place, I feel secure that nobody is hijacking my internet connection to listen to every word I type. Or read every word. Whatever.
I was playing Candyland with the kid earlier. It's been updated. Since when is Queen Frostine a princess? Seriously, she used to be this awesome queen with the world's coolest blue cupcake dress and transparent blue hair. Now she's just another pink Barbie-wannabe on ice skates. And she's blonde. What the hell? She had a killer, trademark look, and then she traded it in for sparkly snowflake barbie, now with fluffy earmuff accessories. Way to downgrade there. Crap, gotta go. Parents just pulled up.

Laurence Olivier Wants You To Upgrade Your iTunes

Wow, it's been a busy week. For starters, I have a new computer. It survived the electricity thing, and then I kinda more or less drop kicked it. Into the pool. It was an accident, and not really as hard to accomplish as one might think. Anyway. My new computer is tiny. Like, about the size of a hardcover book. It was cheap. It didn't come with much memory at all, and the reason I haven't posted for a while is because Mycroft kidnapped it for some sort of upgrade. Maybe a bulletproof casing. Even though he could do that in like a minute, I think he's been holding on to it in the hope that I'll decide I don't want a computer after all. He seems to think giving me a computer is morally equivalent to letting a rabid hyena babysit a toddler. He finally mailed it to me this morning, and I've been monkeying around with it. It talks to me. The computer, I mean. It constantly nags me to approve esoteric functions and back up my data, and it's very supercilious about it. If I say no to something it wants me to do, it asks me if I'm sure twice, explains why my choice is wrong, and then reminds me five minutes later. And it speaks in Laurence Olivier's voice, which is why I haven't destroyed it yet. I'm not sure if I owe Myke, or if I should kill him. I mean, I was totally fine with a normal computer. This is like owning a toaster that can do your dry cleaning. It's great, but confusing and not entirely necessary.
In other news, I am bald. Well, not entirely. I have something that could be charitably described as a pixie-cut-in-training on my head. It turns out that there was an awful lot of damage from the electricity and heat of that evil hairdryer, and I had to lose pretty much all of my hair. I bought a new hairdryer, but I haven't had the nerve to use it yet. Also, I have no hair to use it on.

How Not To Use Cryogenesis

Well, it finally happened. If I could find a time machine, I would set it to earlier this evening, and bash my hair dryer to pieces to prevent this atrocity from ever occurring. There was something of an incident. It turns out, cryogenesis and hairstyling have never before mixed for a damned good reason. I had the coolest hairdo ever, and I pinned it in place with carefully applied ice instead of gel. I took a bajillion pictures, which I will carefully delete from my camera blah blah blah because I'm not an idiot who leaves evidence around. I'm just an idiot. I shocked myself while defrosting my hair. My eye is still twitching, and it's been hours. My hair is... there are no words in the English language to describe my hair. Let's come up with a term that means "resembling a poorly groomed yeti due to cold-induced brittleness and electric shock". But don't put my picture in the dictionary beside it, because I don't want to go down in recorded history as the person with the worst hair day ever including people with lycanthropy.
Uh, gotta cut this short. Still carrying a residual charge and my laptop is freaking out. Ow.

Back to Blogging

Water is blissfully back to normal, and I've been busy. Babysitting, looking for plants that can withstand ice, weeding the garden (weeds cannot withstand ice, as it so happens), looking for a place a little bit more private than my pool to practice cryogenesis now that my little sister has decided it's swimming weather, and wearing my awesome black leather vest. I've been unable to post because of the weekend rush of parents trying to escape their offspring. You try posting with kids looking over your shoulder and howling about bedtime stories. Seriously, the Gregson boy must be Nosferatu, judging by his sleep cycle. I've been making sure to order garlic sticks with the pizza, just in case.

On the good news front, they finally arrested Dr. Wilde. That creep was hanging out at a zoo. The monkey exhibit, of course. Some supervillains are just extraordinarily hard on endangered species. Remember Snow Leopard a couple years ago, who was all "Snow leopards are my totem, so that gives me the right to wear a costume entirely made out of their fur"? Yeah, the clip of Goldenrod smacking her seven ways to Sunday is one of my YouTube favorites. Snow leopards are just too damned adorable. And there's another great cryogenetic name I can never use, thanks to that jerk. Not sure what happened to her costume. Isn't it a felony to even touch something like that?

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.