Category Archives: Uncategorized

The lights are on, but no one’s home

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This is to serve as official notice that I will be off in a Swiss sanitarium for the next few weeks to months. I have a lot on my plate, so much so that I’m practically in need of bariatric surgery. Glarmph.

What to do with this space is turning into a puzzler. Frankly, work sucks, planning a wedding sucks, and there are only so many times one can discuss either of those topics. I’ve also noticed in the stats that this site is read by some people who are in my general orbit but definitely not close to me. They don’t mention that they read it, as close friends will actually do, and that’s kinda creepy. Even total strangers write in and make themselves known. Shouldn’t you people be busy looking for Buffy fanfic or something? This is public, of course, and you have a right to read. This knowledge helps me rule out the extremely personal as fodder. Not that I usually run on and on about gynecological hijinks or the joys of separating my laundry, but it’s nice to touch on actual human experiences now and then. So if my contribution to this site can’t be personal, what does that leave? The topical? That’s sooooo irrelevant.

Indeed, there are enough people doing pseudo scholarly analysis, movie reviews, and in depth-coverage of what they ate for breakfast. Ah, self-publishing at its finest. The world cries out for another pastiche of NYT links!

So I leave you for now in the capable hands of Lambchop. At least until after September 1, when I am absolved of some legal doings and can speak freely about something particularly hilarious. Until then, Lambchop’s wee paws are as soft as a baby’s hindquarters. She’s been soaking in something…

-xxoo

A Day in the Life of a Scrivener

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No one ever talks to me here.

Save the occasional directive from my boss.

As he scuttles by my desk and burrows in his office.

But Today

I was cheerfully addressed with some small talk

By a suited gentleman in the elevator

I was grateful.

He had toilet paper streaming from the back of his trousers

I thought “I should tell this nice man and spare him further embarrassment”

The grand atrium lobby was teeming with office workers. It was an ice cream party.

I stopped him before he could enter with his paper streamer

My information made him appear stricken and humiliated

He said “How embarrassing”

I nodded and said “Yes” very sweetly with a glued-on smile and strode off to end the pained moment

I sullied the only friendly interaction I have had here

I should have said

“It happens to everyone”

Gay Day

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Light the candles, physician delicately scented of hydrangea, health sip a manhattan and nibble at some hot pepper chocolates! In between all the delighted squeals of praise for the Fab Five, I have heard complaints that “Queer Eye” is enforcing the stereotype of homos as refined, attractive, youthful and creative people. Heavens no! I urge anyone who finds this an ill-applied and offensive distinction to march in protest. Please choose a remote location so that I may safely ignore your bloated visage, painful body odor, and the misspellings of your poorly handwritten sign.

Lambchop fully supports myths of beauty. Feel free to assume that I, being female, am perfect in every way. That violets blossom in my tiny footprints as I emerge from the bath like a silken Aphrodite.

The only drawback to being female that I can see is that Carson Kressley will never take me shopping!

-xo

Coming to Amerika Update

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Wow. A job AND a place to live. It almost seems like too much to ask. I am going to have the poshest pit in town. (as soon as I can scare up enough dosh to replace the suitcase in which I sleep with an actual bed. Hurray for both large suitcases AND compact women!)

My new room is pink!

Forces conspire against a body- i am skint, I am grateful to work in Siberia, my plate seems always full of something of something tasteless, the weather is very swimming pool-like, and I locked myself out of the house-sit around midnight. There I was, out in the swimming pool night on one side of the door, convulsing, sweating and jerking futilely at the handle, while on the other side a comfortable bed and two attention hungry, squalling cats. Hurray again for compact women (and unlocked kitchen windows)!

Did I mention I am skint? Nary a pot to pee in!

As depressing as one’s bank balance and minimal decorating style may be, I am glad to be in the Americas. My friends have given me money and food and taken me to see awful films. They have listened to me grind my teeth and chew my nails and weep. They have stood by me while i unleashed obscenities at locked doors at midnight. They have made me laugh and gotten me drunk. And most importantly of

all, they have Given Me Money.

Hurray for Amerika!

(tank you very much)

-xo

Also

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“It was sooooooo good,” as Lambchop said. I can’t possibly sum it up politely. It made a lot of people who were not me happy, so I guess that’s a super thing. Plus we now own half a Crate & Barrel. And I accidentally shoplifted thank you cards from the Crane’s store today. Don’t worry, Bloodhound Gang members, I brought them back and paid for them once I realized I still had them in my hand. Not that the clerk noticed me walking back IN with them either. Hey, I was carrying a lot of other bags for a friend while wandering listlessly around the store. It’s just so distracting when one must decide between the ones with the silver deckle edge or the illustration of the cunning little teapot. The monogram? Just the Right shade of blue? OH GOD WHY GOD WHY.

I am going to fondle my red Kitchen Aid mixer now. Them’s the breaks, man.

-xxoo

A Memoir

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Back in the days of MUDs and alt. binaries.naked.teens Lambchop met Licketysplit on alt.rollyoureyes. After exchanging copious emails on strange diseases and the Pointlessness of Everything, we discovered our mutual love of booze drunk out of paper bags, Edward Ka-spel, gummy treats, and Douglas Sirk movies (same thing). So we arranged to meet on a subway platform. As we hurtled toward the station from opposite directions, we steeled ourselves to encounter a mouth-breathing, hunch-backed, pasty creature with spectacles and bad hair. Covered in eczema. (of course had that been the case we would have both kept walking.)

Needless to say, we passed muster and ran gaily off to consume Night Train under a bridge. These are the things that I think about on a Friday morning when I sit in my silent cubicle with nothing to do, pretending I’m Kafka.

Especially now that our Licketysplit is getting married. I really thought she was kidding. I thought the thousands of dollars she has spent on hand woven baskets and ermine place settings was all an elaborate scheme to make her beaux dance with her, and score a toaster. But her shower is on Sunday and I am very happy for her. She won’t forget beneath which bridge to find me.

-xo

Postcard for Berlin

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(we interrupt the schedule griping and carping to umm…gripe and carp! in german!)

Eine kleine Frau sitzt im Buero in Boston und denkt an Euch. Nach zwei Wochen fernsehglotzen in meiner Unterhose, unhealthy spiele ich Sekretaerin in einer Anwaltskanzlei. Wenn es nichts hier zu tun gibt, zeichne ich kafkamaessige, alptraumhafte Skizzen von Menschen die im Buero sitzen und nichts zu tun haben. Ich male mein zweites Kampfbild im Atelier. Obwohl ich so fleissig bin, finde ich irgendwie noch Zeit oft betrunken zu sein. Nach wie vor bin ich Eure,

heather

Everything’s Coming Up Roses

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Poor Licketysplit is floundering in a sea of tulle and chintz! Bridal fittings are not for the faint-hearted. They require the desire to stand for hours in the center of a puff-pastry-like object, facing the mirror, and barking orders in manner of Leona Helmsley to the fawning sprites with mouths full of pins. Our Lickety has that sort of courage…screw it, we are calling on Gaultier! Then she can sit on a sofa eating chocolate cherries while Heidi Klum manxes around in various outfits until lickety has found the one that rings her bell.

I attended a wedding on Sunday in Andover, the place where White People were invented. This was my first voluntary wedding, and I was only on my second drink when I was surprised to be overcome by a feeling of joy and pleasure while watching my friends shake hands with their guests, looking happy but confused. Who knew there was something else to be done at a wedding besides cringe?

Congratulations, J&J!

While others are joyfully uniting, I am afraid I must part from my daytime swain, Mr. James Rockford. I have finally wormed my way into some kind of job. It requires trousers with a crease and non-threatening footwear. It also requires punctuality and attention to detail, so I hope you will all include me in your prayers or bag-waah or whatever the hell it is you people all do when you aren’t watching people humiliate themselves on tv.

-xo