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By Zach Oberman |
This Superhero Diary is based off of the first few issues of Trinity, by Kurt Busiek. It's starting off strong, and we're looking forward to seeing where it's going. |
Author: Wonder Woman
Mood: Exhausted
Listening to: Norah Jones
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Even when you're a superhero, sometimes you need a day off. I've never wanted to be one of those women whose lives revolve around their careers, and I believe we all need a little me-time every once in a while, even though it might mean a few people die in a train wreck.
Well, tomorrow I'm taking a personal day. I need it. I have three episodes of Girls Next Door lined up on my Tivo (I heart Holly!), and I haven't painted my toenails in weeks. And you know what I'm going to wear? Something OTHER THAN A GOLDEN BUSTIER.
Do you know how long it's been since I had one little day to just sit around and read Page Six? There's always some kind of threat on a cosmic scale that could tear apart the very fabric of our yadda yadda yadda unless we blah blah blah, until I'm finding out that Brangelina had the twins two weeks after it happened. It's like I never have time for anything other than Truth, Justice and the American Way, which is great, until the morning when you wake up and realize that you are well past thirty and single.
This week was a killer, starting when Batman, Superman and I were attacked out of nowhere by these random furry, werewolf thingies. One of them even burned the back of my shoulder with some sort of magical brand. It hurt, but that's not a big deal. What's annoying is that it's summer, but I can't wear any of the cute tank tops I just bought because now I've got this ugly magic tattoo on my back, like I just got back from spring break in TJ.
Then today we had to fight the Crime Syndicate. They come from an alternate universe that's the opposite of our own, where they are like the evil version of the Justice League. They have an evil version of Superman (Ultraman), an evil version of Batman (Owlman), and so on and so forth. My personal counterpart is both evil and tacky, which I guess is a compliment, in a way. You should see what this woman wears: black one piece, black gloves, black boots and a black cape... it's the latest in hooker funeral-wear. (And her cape totally makes her shoulders look mannish, which would be funny if I wasn't thinking about getting one to cover up the mythical tramp stamp some witch put on me. )
What drives me crazy is that any time I have to fight a woman, all of the other guys half-ass it so that they can keep one eye on us. What is that about? I'm wearing the battle armor of an Amazonian champion. It was forged by Hephaestus, as in the guy who also makes Zeus's lightning bolts. What I mean is that the odds are pretty slim that a boob is just going to pop out, but of course everybody needs to watch, just in case. The worst was a couple years ago when I was battling Cheetah. She fights dirty, and while we were going at it, she pulled my hair. I swear to gods*, instead of helping, Superman turns to Flash and says, "I'll give you a thousand bucks - go get as much baby oil as you can carry."
Supposedly all these things - the crime syndicate, the magical graffiti artist - are related. We keep hearing mention of a trinity, referring to me, Batman and Superman. We don't know what it means yet, but it doesn't help that there's always been a lot of sexual tension between the three of us. Here I am trying to solve the mystery, and Superman keeps saying stuff like, "I don't know what this whole 'trinity' thing means, but if it's like a threesome thing, then, y'know... I'm down. I'm just saying." Which is then followed immediately by Batman rationalizing that it's not gay if they're doing it to save the world.
It's the story of my life: two men, except one of them is a bad boy and the other is married. My mother always told me this would happen. So if anybody needs me, I'm going to be in a bubble bath with a bottle or six of Chardonnay.
*Yes, I said "swear to gods." I'm not about to subscribe to your monotheistic traditions - gods make up half of my family tree. On Thanksgiving we eat griffon, then uncle Poseidon drinks too much ambrosia, makes some inappropriate jokes involving Leda, Zeus and some unlikely inter-species sexual positions, then passes out on the couch.