Category Archives: Uncategorized

Oh my Gawd!

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There were all sorts of characters afoot last night. We went to Jae’s for sushi. I don’t even know all what was in that boat. You could pan sear chicken brains and I would eat it. Pan-seared! For our entertainment, the waste of human life at the next table were getting drunk. The Goombas then impressed their lady friends by ogling me out loud and and then calling me names when I suggested they just take a picture. They even mocked my hat! Only INSANE people wear hats, especially in January.

I rarely ever get openly made fun of these days. That went the way of my Teri Nunn hairdo. So I am rather taken aback when it happens. What class it shows when a bunch of f?!?heads leer and stumble over some nonsensical putdown about the color of your jacket. I can’t wrap my mind around that level of brain activity.

But we went on to the Spinny bar, which revolves over the Charles River. They have frou frou drinks called Popsicles and a Russian DJ. We watched the revelry of what appeared to be Romanian Prom-goers. If they had played the Venga Boys, i swear we would have danced. The bar started to spin in many different directions.

I know you were all out there, enjoying this tinkly winter evening, because I saw you. And I smiled and waved, as long as you weren’t making fun of my hat!

-xo

Behold my Awesomeness

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I have finally finished my portrait of my roommate Abbs, a soft and lovely girl. I painted her like someone that you imagine smells nice…and has bruises on her legs. I have started a new one of a cigar sucking androgyn. An athlete with long brown hair and polka dots. I am going to paint all the lovely girls of my acquaintance, so stay tuned. Oh, and if you happen to be one of these, do volunteer! And pull the sailor suit out of your closet and your crutches and your favorite underwear and purple eyeshadow and get your cans over to my house!

In other news of stunning feats, I cleaned my room.

I am also pleased to report that I Feel F°!”§ing Awesome because I went to the gym yesterday and rowed 60 lbs, like, until I died. Then I came home and gorged on lasagna. Like Garfield. So I went back to the gym again today and redid my good work of yesterday. And I feel like I could kill someone with my bare hands. Like really overpower someone and strangle them while their blows across my chest grow weaker and weaker. ahem.

Hooray for feeling good!

It’s time for sushi and sake. and violence.

-xo

She’s a brick house

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Last night I went to the towniest bar on the entire planet with my sister-in-law. We watched a cover band, and overweight women throwing bras. I can’t even make this funny. I get uncomfortable around people with bad hair.

We’ve given the heave-ho to the evil, deceitful apartment people. They are refunding our money, but hemming and hawing about reimbursing us for the storage fee for our crap for the month we stupidly waited. I am thinking of calling the local paper and asking for the Bone To Pick Department. Now it’s off to look at ten or twenty apartments this afternoon. I am totally opening all the medicine cabinets and checking for water pressure.

Oh, confidential to Mr. Baby’s parental units: I am sure you get lots of parenting advice, and maybe you’ve already done this, but don’t you think it’s time to photograph him in a roasting pan or a soup tureen? I mean before he gets too big. I can’t tell you how often I fondly look back on my “kitten in the microwave” series and wish I’d thought to pose her in the toaster oven too. Now she’s just plain huge.

-xxoo

Anniversary in the Vomitorium

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Vomitola is celebrating its Very First Birthday! As we look back upon a whole year of gay porn star country singers, spectacular outfits, visits to the pope, and anal leakage, one has to marvel at the variety and depth of our experiences. Or one could content themselves with marveling at our sleek hairdos.

But it hasn’t all been one grand binge ‘n’ purge! Vomitola has had its troubles, too. The deadlines, the screaming fights over which Queer Eye is our favorite, the endless offers of sex. Why, Kitty Winn is still in Rehab!

Running the show here is an intense drama. We wish to thank all of you who like to read about our triumphant shopping trips and our tumbles down flights of stairs. We do it all for you.

-xo with sugar on top

Romeo and Juliet, they never felt this way I bet

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Now I bring you garish tidings of the Valentine’s Day candy retailing season. Vomitola loves you.

In other news, the Golden Globes were on last night! I think some people won some stuff. I was too busy eating my weight in cheese fries at the Outback, like a good American. Or as Mr. H said, “a good Australian.” Lambchop obviously didn’t catch the awards fever either, she was watching Das Boot and brandishing a trident. In the two seconds that I did see, Sofia Coppola accepted an award wearing flat shoes. Kudos.

I hope Nicole Kidman did not win anything for that wretched Cold Mountain. Mr. H has taken to mortifying me in public by repeating that clip where she says “I marry you, I marry you, I marry you,” replete with bad falsetto southern accent. He doesn’t understand why they keep showing that particular clip.

His take: “Is this movie about a retarded hot chick? Jude Law is thinking ‘This hot chick is retarded! I am going to score!'”

I guess it’s no more annoying than when the DeBeers ads are on around the holidays and he feels the need to hoot “I LOVE THIS WOMAN!” in parking lots.

-xxoo

Sooooo Good!

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My house is a really great place to watch bad movies. Because we have a fireplace and a lot of ire. Last night offered Ghost Ship, a movie whose only exciting moment occurred in the first five minutes when a roomful of people are halved by a rope and then slide apart like so many wide-eyed steaks. The Movie was aware that it had nothing else, and let us enjoy it again as a flashback later on.

P.S. Julianne Margulies is not Sigourney Weaver. Even in her mondo-sportsbra.

It’s another frostbitey day but I don’t mind. Licketysplit is going to come over and we are going to knit little caps with kitten ears on them. Then we are going to watch Squirm in between slippery mouthfuls of lo mein.

Someone come with me to Lisbon. We’ll eat spicy fish and get low octane New Englander tans and draw pictures of comically oversized genitals in the sand on the beach. We’ll go to a museum. Pretty please?

Let’s All Meet up in the Year 2000

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Herr Trinkwasser had a Pulparty last night. It’s great to get together and say We are Obsessed. We all put on sunglasses and the boys did their Jarvis imitations. There was deep trilling and manic shaking of hips. Oh Jarvis and your teetering glass of Whiskey. Oh Jarvis and your hands that dart like white birds.

They call me “chip whore” because I can consume my own weight in nachos.

I sat in a corner With Girls and invented vicious new rumors. They twirled sparkly swizzle sticks and snarky comments.

We Love Life!

Oh My Goodness!

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Ever just feel unloved? No, you are far too amazing? Well, if you ever do, just cut out Poor Little Rich Girl and make her dance to this perky little tune:

When I say it’s day

you say it´s night

When I say it´s black

you say it’s white

Tell me,

what’s wrong with you Baby?

At times I ought to hate you

You make me so blue

But honestly I can’t hate you

when you smile at me the way you do

Oh My Goodness!

I don’t know what it is thats so irresistible- the sailor suit, the squeaky voice, boing boing curls, or charmingly sucking on one’s pinky. In uncertain times, you better go with all four.

Bela Lugosi’s Dead

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Never you mind my earlier ramblings! I’ve gained purchase, a new lease on life. After my nightly Nyquil swig that allows me to breathe, I looked up cough syrup addiction because Crazy John told me that teens the world over guzzle tussin because the active ingredient causes hallucinations. I found all sorts of vile cocktail recipes involving tussin. Most of those were up there with the “Listo [Listerine] and OJ” and “Listo and Pepsi” favored by some of the homeless population. Apparently you have to drink a good six ounces, so I think I don’t have to worry.

Then I found this paean to tussin addiction, set way back in 1997. A proto blog. It involves goths, Charlottesville, VA, and the charming effect of hyperlinking every other word. Why, there’s even a glossary! This site should be laminated. Even the links are poetic: “Amy-“Gothic Amy”; we slept together once.” And there’s a photo gallery. Ah, the internet, fresh with dew.

-xxoo

It’s Thursday

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I thought it was Wednesday, I had to check! Being a woman of leisure is not all it’s cracked up to be. First, I haven’t encountered any actual leisure yet. Instead, I’m mired somewhere else entirely. Oh right, Dracut, Massachusetts. I keep telling myself it would be better if a) I weren’t working on a million piddly, stressful freelance jobs, and b) I weren’t living out of suitcases (more like off piles on the floor), and c) I weren’t still secreting ghee in my lungs. Also, since I “work at home,” everyone assumes I am doing nothing all day. So I scrabble around and prepare dinner for four, like a proper hausfrau. My revenge? Lots of roughage. My poor victims run from the table, groaning, filled to the gills with brown rice and broccoli.

Also, I now know that I definitely couldn’t stay home with a baby, although I suppose a baby would be more interactive than the cat. Even the cat is depressed; she deposits herself in the chair closest to the radiator and lolls there all day, not moving a muscle, not even for mousie.

So my question is: at what point do I give up and take off for the Mexican Riviera? Do advise.

-xxoo