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Only 365 Days until Xmas

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I hope you have all been enjoying stuffing your faces and gazing wall-eyed at your new pile of gimcracks, thinking of jesus and abusing the scarf your grandma knitted you.

I had a some lovely Turkey at Licketysplit’s house, which she served in an apron bedecked in stars. Christmas night is spent as usual searching for a bar thats open. Don’t You need drinks after spending the day listening to “Good King Wenceslas” and slurping egg nog while your mom asks if you have gained weight? So why did You not open My bar?? Its totally irresponsible, people need drinks!

Speaking of which, you are all invited to Lambchop’s New Years Eve Party. There will be tons of attractive and intoxicated people. We will likely have karaoke and greet the dawn standing on the porch in our underwear, sucking the last of the Freixenet from the bottle. My New Year’s Resolution will as usual be to never do this again.

Don’t you just love new beginnings?

-xo

The true holiday miracle

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No, not oil in a lamp or loaves and fishes or the great pumpkin. I lost four pounds since Thanksgiving. My pants fit again.

Thanks, lack of interest in things I previously enjoyed. Including snacks and booze. And I suppose some credit goes to trudging to work in the snow instead of driving, because we can’t give up our precious parking spot to actually use the car. Oh no. Someone might plunk a busted-up chiffarobe in the space, and if we move it when we come back, we’ll lose our windshield to a brick. It’s Somerville, not some medieval fiefdom. But you wouldn’t know it from all the lawn chairs. And the best part? The snow is pretty much gone. The douche bags down the street who never use their garage and driveway will be claiming street space until motherloving April.

I was going to make a holiday card, but maybe not.

-xxoo

I must be wearing a natty lapel pin

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I think it says “Abuse me.” Why else would I be doing work on a saturday for a job from which I’m fired in the future? While my christmas shopping goes undone, the laundry stays filthy, and my husband is a shivering, hacking heap in the spare bedroom. Where are my candy suckers and visits to the petting zoo? I’m resigning myself to the fact that I obviously perpetuated some atrocity in a former life. Or possibly three weeks ago, I’m just not sure anymore.

-xxoo

Lolly lolly

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I am finishing the Big Move (from one bedroom to the one right next door). It took a while, because I did it one sweater at a time. I have already started painting in the new posh pit. I am taking a break to twirl a lollipop and wonder where the cigar in my pocket came from.

If you know the answer to this ponderous riddle, do rattle my cage. I will be here listening to Roxy music and flexing my new muscles until its time to go see my fellow Smuggler play at the Somerville theater. Do come, and slip mysterious objects in my pocket. I won’t remember!

-xo

Lambchop gets a Forcefeeding

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The agonies of my Tract continue, and so tomorrow I have to endure a battery of tests. I have to fast until morning, at which point I will show up to the office, sample proudly in hand, and be forcefed some kind of dairy concoction until my liver bursts. Oh wait, thats foie gras. No, I will then be bled for two hours. I wonder when they are going to bring out the leeches?

This procedure is utterly pointless, as there is NO WAY I am lactose intolerant. Me and cheese go way back. We like the same things! For a time I was trying to learn how to say “I like cheese” in as many languages as possible, merely to generate variety in the expressions of love that I whisper to Cheese. This actually came in handy when I got caught stealing cheese from the dining hall where I was pizza girl. When asked by the manager what I was doing carrying cheese with me into the coatroom, I simply repeated “I like cheese…” to his every query until his jowls quivered and his face turned red. He eventually gave up. Wouldn’t you?

After all the starving and bleeding, I get to stagger all starved and bled to WORK, where a colossal mountain of someone else’s failure awaits me in great papery dunes.

But it ain’t all bad news, folks- I got a call from the Sisterhood today. If all goes well, I shall soon be mentoring a 7-15 year old girl. I just hope they won’t be requiring any samples.

-xo

Break up to make up

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America, these are scary times. I get through them just a bit more easily thanks to a few important people. I would say I add more important people every year than I subtract. Then there’s the people I’m out of touch with even though you live across town. What’s your damn deal? Who stops writing back first? Who lets the calls go to voicemail? Many times I’m guilty. Life gets overwhelming.

Like this week. I had to hop in a cab yesterday to get home to take Mr. H to Rehydration Camp. That’s like Guantanamo Bay, with Tylenol and surly nurses. Today the little sucker had to go back again because he couldn’t breathe, and it turned out he has pneumonia.  He never really gets sick, so when he calls in the middle of the afternoon to say “Can you come home,” it’s a pretty big deal. I had this horrible thought that he might kick off even as I waited in line at CVS to purchase the exciting thermometer with 3 modes. You can tell which mode it’s in because the stick man on the LCD points to his head, his armpit, or his ass.

After all the prescriptions were filled, we sat on the couch and got weepy talking about how neither one of us is ever allowed to die or become gravely ill. I realize how my definition of family has changed over the years. For all intents and purposes, a lot of my blood relatives are nutbags. My own parents are kind and well-intentioned, but they just don’t understand half the stuff that comes up in our lives. Weddings? “In my day, you changed your name and liked it!” When I was busy doing the pee-pee dance about getting laid off, released from 1999-style hell, my poor mudder was unsettled. Until I put it like this: “I motherfucking retired. Like Coolio.” Retirement, that they get. “Oh. Well, CONGRATULATIONS!”

But I’ve got my boo, and we’re a family. We make big scary adult decisions. We are getting life insurance. We use the cat as a child substitute, because she’s people too. And then there’s the rest of the tribe, the friends we can count on no matter what. Sorry to be a sap, but it’s true, and you know it. Don’t underestimate what you have for a snot-covered second. It’s worth more than a job or a new car or even shoes. Sure, work kept me in cartoon underwear for a while, but there’s more to life than lame-ass pyramid charts and capabilities presentations. We’ve got empires to start, hairstyles to try out.

So thanks for being my people, people. All those rude conversations about other people’s outfits, all those rounds of drinks, oh, those times we paint each other’s nails, they mean so much.

-xxoo

I’ve got the fever for the flavor

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…of the totally hypothetical layoff package!

From here on out, I recommend that larger layoffs be conducted like American Idol auditions. (Because waiting around all afternoon is the pits. I mean what if I had a dentist appointment?)

“Group two, please step forward.”

“Group one, you’re going to L.A.!!!!!”

And then group two would get cut on by people with British accents. Although that’s darn near what happened to me. But if I say another word, I might potentially jeopardize my theoretical agreement. Oh wait, just saying this much is bad enough. Maybe I’m making this all up. You just don’t know, do you, gentle reader?

In any case, I am unreasonably pleased.

p.s.: Lambchop, I have it on good authority that there is a magic bus that goes down Brighton Ave all the way downtown, thus avoiding the indignities of the train. Or is that just for poor people, whose ranks I may or may not be joining?

-xxoo