Category Archives: Uncategorized

Just meeeee for you, and you for meeeee

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Things are looking up. I finished the wedding thank you notes that so plagued me. Sample: “Can you believe we haven’t even thrown these at each other yet? I am sure they would hold up admirably even if we did, owing to the high quality.” I resisted the temptation to say “Thank you for contributing to our wedding slush fund. We used your generous check to pay some teamsters to deliver the garden chairs.”

And the book deal, well, snap, that was easy! I should have tried getting one years ago! Lambchop and I are kicking off the writing process with a viewing of Mean Girls. Then we’re getting matching tattoos. I got the idea for the design from the latest issue of Martha Stewart Living. You’ll have to buy the book to find out what it is!

-xxoo

To do, oh, what to do

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I made a “to do” list the other day, titled “Things hanging over my head.” It started out innocently enough.

1. Roll over errant retirement accounts from two jobs ago, which involves contacting people in jail

2. Finish wedding thank you notes, now that “the gift too heavy to mail” has arrived

3. Purchase more attractive filing cabinet, file random pieces of paper

4. More fucking laundry

It devolved from there.

5. Figure out life’s “special purpose”

6. Purchase first home in a state where a shitty ranch is still 450k

7. Get own TV show

8. Reproduce, or not

9. Vomitola book deal

10. Get job, any crappy job

11. Stop occasional weeping fits, they tax delicate undereye skin

12. Give up on all of the above and purchase Baskin Robbins franchise

13. Figure out what to make for dinner

These are in no particular order, but you get the idea. Most logically, we would get the book deal before the TV show. I’m just saying. You know where to find us.

-xxoo

Ladies and gentlemen, we are floating in space

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A week ago, I was lolling about in a foreign land, as the natives pushed each other aside for the honor of turning down my bed. I might eat a prosciutto-wrapped fig if I felt so inclined, or dip a toe in my private plunge pool. The coffee came with a single perfect rose on the tray.

Today, I am sitting on my couch after a rousing session of “kill the bugs that come in when it rains.” The highs, the lows. I am also nagged by some sort of illness. Once it turned out not to be SARS, I lost interest, but still it persists, like a dense pimple-ridden suitor. Someone has suggested that I have “allergies.”

Allergies? Those are problems for OTHER PEOPLE! I thought I was breaking new ground in the inconvenience department when I became the first person in the entire world to suffer from jet lag, but this, this simply will not do. I have placed a call to my attorney, my plastic surgeon, and the liquor delivery service.

Speaking of other people, and their horrid little problems, some of you might remember that April 5 was to be “Have Sex With An Ugly Person Day.” Well, Lambchop and I tried. We honestly did. But we couldn’t find any of those poor unfortunates in our immediate circle. So we placed paper bags over the heads of our regular duty roster members, and gamely tried to look away from the still visible taut abs. It was a disaster. We felt robbed of a sense of giving. Here we thought we could be Ghandi for a day, only to take yet another turn on the usual golden lap. It breaks our heart still more to know that scores the world over will never know what it’s like to bed an attractive person! I weep; Lambchop weeps.

-xxoo

Tick Tock Goes the Clock

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I am mooning over this typewriter. It’s only 11:04 (I know, shop because I am playing “Shout out the time!”) and I am soulless and sullen already.

I ran into a former professor on the train today and had to feel automatically sheepish for having a job. Because I want to be Somebody. I feel like I should go win a Guggenheim or something. There are even some of you out there reading this that surely find it amusing that I have a job at all, sovaldi never mind one that does not involve me being spanked. In the art game being unemployed is called ambition.

I did finish a painting last night and it wants to kick your a$$.

In today’s afterschool special, I am finally meeting my Little Sister. I hope I can impress an eight year old- she might actually be bigger than me!

-xo

Continuing Chronicles of Bartleby

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There is nothing better than sitting in a dark, climate-controlled office, shivering in a summer dress with a sun burn. I should search for a dusty air filter to stare at.

The last few days have been very jolly in the way that people can’t help being when the weather changes- long bike rides along the Charles, new clothes, parties and dirty jokes. I get a bang out of strolling around my neighborhood with a bright pink cocktail in hand.

The newest of the new drinks on offer at my house is the Los Angeles Iced Tea, which still has five kinds of liquor but replaces sour mix with Rock Star. This concoction gives rise to some interesting dreams. I woke up convinced not only that Prince showed up to our party, but that I had run into some ex-type bastard to find that both of his legs had been amputated. He invited me for a drink and I stood him up. Ha! Stood him up, he had no legs! His Purple Badness was not in actual attendance, but I can hold out hope that ex-bastard is scooching around on a dolly somewhere. No doubt he is merely off taking his James Spader lessons.

But I am not bitter, see how the sun it does shine.

-xo

Its the little thing’s

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I am sure 10% of the reading audience just clapped hand to breast and shrieked. The other 90% plodded on, unruffled. Most likely the members of the majority are foreign, or perhaps just American. You hurt mama when you misuse punctuation.

The it’s/its quandary, which really isn’t much of one, is oft-tilled ground. Yawn. When you feel a burning need to write “it’s,” read your sentence aloud using “it is.” Does it make sense? “The bird flapped it is wings.” No, that is unacceptable. In that case, use “its.” “It is time for tea.” OK, go nuts with “it’s,” you have my blessing.

What truly baffles me is the folks who have started stuffing extra apostrophes into plural nouns, as if they need dressing up. Example: “I bought some new skirt’s.” “All the other mother’s want to have lunch.” In the latter case, it is possible that the writer meant “All the other motherfuckers.” I might let that slide.

In any case, here’s a handy cheat sheet for forming plurals. Click on “English Plurals” for pictures of cute animals. Please note that the plural of “dog” is “dogs.” Not “dog’s.” “Two dog’s did not go to the park.” Do not try to tell me otherwise. I will kick you in the shin’s.

In short: I blame….Dick Cheney, you, your parents, my parents, Big Tobacco, television, Big Food, and the fact that every single thing that appears on the intarweb is a first draft. Including thi’s.

NEXT WEEK: Everyday is not like Sunday, but every day is.

-xxoo

HIATUS

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The vomitorium is simply not the same while Clammy is traipsing about Tokyo, ampoule offending other cultures, there eating fish that are still twitching, try and leering at strange men while her husband rattles in the grip of SARS. Oh how we kid- he just has a cold, and Clammy is not so much of a leerer as a sneerer.

I am sure every last one of you have seen this by now. I have always wanted a chicken of my very own to order around! Some friends of mine created this, and its wild success has been such that we had a chicken themed party last week, including exploding peeps in the microwave and cockspur rum. I highly recommend the Cock ´n´ Coke. Make it a stiff one!

-xo