Category Archives: Uncategorized

Drive by

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This is just to say…I would like to be done coughing, I would like it if my clothes were not housed in trash bags on the floor, and I am a big fan of the serial comma. David rightly spits upon the AP.

Pop Culture round up: certain readers found The Story of Nicholas inappropriate fodder for MLK day. No offense was intended to Dr. King’s legacy, and I thought the story spoke for itself. I guess just wait until February; we’ll surely have a treatise on how all Black people look alike for Black History Month.

John Kerry, huh. I love it when the media gets things all wrong.

American Idol is starting again. Paula Abdul’s eyes seem to be migrating to opposite sides of her face. The effect made me yell out “Oh my God, she’s wearing a Halle Berry mask!”

The Apprentice is a good show if you’ve ever worked with marketing goons who are into “teambuilding.” I believe it is on Wednesday nights. I totally fire people the same way as Donald Trump. “This has been a really hard decision…no it hasn’t, you’re fired!”

-xxoo

A story

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It is a terrible story. The Story of Nicholas. (as told by Mr. H and his parents)

Mother: One day the boys came home, and they asked if their friend Nicholas could come over and play. I said “who the hell is Nicholas?”

Mr. H: So we pointed out the window, at the kid in the yard.

Mother: I said “Isn’t that Johnny? His name is Johnny. Why are you calling him Nicholas?”

Mr. H: We said “we don’t know.”

Mother: Then I realized– and I said “Don’t call him that anymore, his name is Johnny, call him that.”

Me: I don’t get it.

Mother: He was the only black kid in Acton!

Father: sotto voce, in loud restaurant: Nigga lips!

Me: Oh my God.

Mr. H: I wondered why I’d say “Hi Nicholas!” and he’d hit me!

Me: *snorted Chardonnay out of my nose*

Mr. H: The big kids used to tell the little kids to call him that, and we thought they were saying Nicholas.

Poor Johnny.

-xxoo

Frau In Exile

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Some of you have been asking “where in the H-E-double-hockeysticks is Lambchop?” The answer is Maui, of course. In an evening gown. Like Tina Louise.

For those of you who prefer reality, and some of you actually purport to, I am still hackiliciously ill. I almost took a day off work. My pal Stu offered to drive me in, however, and so I put on my fur hat and 12 degrees below zero sure does interesting things. We were off to a merry start, breathing thick plumes of vapor and fiddling with the radio, but the joke was on us. We had a FLAT. I did finally make it, thanks to the umcomplaining speed with which Stu changed the tire. It is possible to get through a situation like that without ranting a vile stream of oaths. Who knew?

I worked two hours of overtime just so I could get a complimentary taxi ride home.

Unfortunately, there went my ride to go see my friend’s gallery opening in New Haven. My old pal Chris Mir is among my favorite living painters. Plus, he is really hot, which everyone should be if they can help it. I will fill you in when This Charming Man opens again in New York.

Aside from my adventure yesterday, I have been keeping to my room, because when I laugh, I am bent over in a coughing fit and its getting a bit too urchin-y. So I will emerge at some point, swan-like and breathing velvet. See you then!

-xo

Put on a little makeup, makeup, make sure they get your good side, good side

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Brain sandwiches still on some menus, via Salon.

A picture is worth a thousand words.

As you can see from the image above (not the sandwich, the other one!), I have Inner Beauty, oh yes I do. But I’ve also been having a wicked case of the Mondays, and I realized last night that this is directly correlated to how long I’ve been neglecting to apply makeup! Sure, there were other traumatic events, like a half-assed moving/living situation, illness, and job loss. But honestly, it all comes down to the upward curl of my lashes, the highlight on my brow bone. I was a fool to think I had no one to impress, because in doing so I’ve failed to impress myself.

So let this serve as a warning: spackle ye cheekbones while ye may. Go get a haircut, and a real job, lest you find yourself planted on the couch wearing sweats for the next 8 months, drooling as Dr. Phil chastises you for eating the Kraft Dinner cheese packets right out of the box.

-xxoo

I’m OK, you’re OK

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A flash of peripheral motion caught my eye out the window, and I looked up to see a red-tailed hawk on the ground, bending and bobbing over something. Then it swooped off, clutching the limp dangling body of a squirrel. Stupid squirrel, of course you’re going to show up against white snow. Duh. My mother used to dress my sister and I in bright colors, to avoid hunters, she said, but maybe she was trying to attract hawks.

I owe this nature hour to the backyard of Mr. H’s parents’ house, where we’re still bunking. The evil building management people say our new place will be open for business on February 1, and that the holdup is the state elevator inspection people. I wonder if they have heard the phrase “cross my palm with silver.” It seems to be indicated. I have also heard of a person called a “permit expediter.” Apparently they hand out $100 bills all day at City Hall. Maybe this doesn’t work with a state agency, although I don’t see why it wouldn’t.

Some alert and concerned readers have asked if Lambchop and I are both stark, raving mad. I would have to say we’ve both seen better days, but in many ways no more so than usual. She handles the mania, and I am in charge of ennui. You see, we are a team! We both might fancy a trip to someplace warm, involving umbrella drinks!

-xxoo

Apathy Level: Bartleby

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Since my lifeforce got sapped by showing up every day to a dying husk of an office to do nothing, I’ve been a bit weary. Yesterday I had a pitched 30 minute battle with myself re: whether or not I should get up to use the bathroom.

I had to get a second opinion. The person I tapped felt that I *should* definitely get up and go. He or she was scandalized to envision any sort of elimination outside of tiled surroundings. Still, I wasn’t convinced.

I started to wonder “If I sit here long enough, will I just go ahead and go, or will my bladder explode? Does toilet-training override basic biological need?” Sometimes when I’m walking down the street, maybe to go to the subway, I also think about what would happen if I just stopped moving. I’d never get home. I might eventually freeze on the street, like some sort of mythological unfortunate. What does it feel like when you just can’t push yourself any farther? How do you know when you’re licked?

Epilogue: Did I go to the bathroom? I’m not saying. Just don’t check the plants in the corner.

-xxoo

Hospital Johnny

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In a grim display of foreshadowing, I watched the grade B Zombie Nightmare last night. This morning found me arising at an unholy hour to go to the radiologist. I found myself sitting in a little Kabine with a bench and a mirror and a Barium shake. I lay on a table that tilted me like a bottle of pop to shake my contents. The cute technician took photos of my small intestine. He let me keep the plastic barium shake bottles with the built in crazy straw. They have pictures of Tracts on them. I wiped the chalk from my mouth and put on lipgloss. I think the pale blue hospital johnny suits me.

I want to go blonde and learn to play the harp.

I want to do portraits of all my friends ( I am working on a smashing one!)

I have learned something valuable- on the train, people tend to give a person room when they are drinking out of a bottle with a picture of a Tract on it.

A narsty bank teller refused to give me money on false pretenses, and the replacement card still has not arrived, leaving me stone broke at lunchtime after having to fast before my appt.

This evening I came home to be washed in bill collection threats- they toppled menacingly from my tray over my head, like a bucket of pig’s blood on prom night.

The last thing I consumed before my pre-radiology fast was a flute of champagne.

-xo

Just because

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Mr. H has a Dennis Kucinich AIM icon, and so do I. So every conversation must begin:

Hello Dennis Kucinich, I’m Dennis Kucinich. Say that enough times and it loses all meaning.

Go Kucinich, Go.

I wish there were a Dennis Kucinich AIM bot to talk to. I guess I could pretend RecipeBuddie is Dennis Kucinich.

That’s not an endorsement, he’s a bit tetched. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like him. And I like YOU too. There, aren’t we off to a good start? It’s snowing upwards outside my window. There is always an updraft in that alley.

-xxoo

Come away with me… to Erotic Ireland

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Pointless search terms clip show, past month or so:

bea arthur

girlhood

john currin

kitty winn

a magzine about littering

boymeat

brazillian flip-flop

conway savage

cowgirls

curlers

dior ipod cover

green tea anal leakage

guatemalan ponchos

hello my honey hello my baby

how to get lizzie mcguire hairstyles

how to papasan chair problem cushion slip

carson kressley horse

marabou christmas tree

pink marabou tree

nine layer dip recipe

snake and jake’s

pop you in the pooper

3 dots on knuckle tattoo

fair spanish ladies

a list of all the lipsmackers

boston cat lady heidi erickson

amex centurion card picture

If there is a rumor about Carson Kressley and a horse, please send me detailed mail. I am all a-twitter, does it mean Catherine the Great style cavorting, or a heroin problem? Although I doubt Carson would do anything so bad for the complexion. If you find out how to do your hair just like Lizzie McGuire, let me know that as well. If your papasan is slipping all over the place, try not having sex in it. And remember, we are tops in anal leakage.

-xxoo