Rocker nutcrackers and a good black tea

I was sticking to my guns as a Colorado-raised gal and refusing to buy a space heater for my ancient, icebox-of-a-home. Today, I caved in.

Given that the high today was 7 degrees, it's safe to say that my purchase of a space heater really was a necessity. My icebox house, surrounded by thick, hanging icicles that can only add to the house's "creepy" vibe, does not have central heating. Instead, there are two large furnaces, one for each side of the room. The living room is completely unheated and the two upstairs rooms, converted into balconies, rely on the law of nature that pushes hot air up. Needless to say, with my door closed, the only thing keeping me from the natural elements is the insulation (if any) between the four oddly-shaped walls in my attic room.

Opting to suck it up and buy a space heater, I travel to Target (the temperature at a smoldering zero degrees). While walking through the aisles, I was struck by one particular Christmas item -- the rock star nutcracker.

Unlike the traditional Russian-military nutcrackers, this one was wearing black leather pants and had a guitar strapped across its little wooden body. To compliment Mr. Rock, the nutcracker next to him was a tough-as-nails punk nutcracker, with pink hair and a mini-skirt. I attempted to take photos of these bad-ass nutcrackers but failed because the memory on my camera phone is full with pictures I took of The Bravery and The Sounds during their shows last month.

I found these nutcrackers amusing, and I hope to return to Target soon to photograph, if not purchase these amazingly useless items.

Now I'm off to write a profile for work before I go to bed. I think my mental sanity is more important than doing an hour's worth of work off the clock.