Tag Archives: Attack!

Dee Lusions, American Beauty Queen

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As a symptom of existentialism, I have taken to berating myself for not accomplishing X or Y. Why haven’t I sold a screenplay yet? Oh, you have to write one first. But I have so many ideas! Can’t people just sense their genius and fill in the blanks?

So I have lowered my sights. I am going to do absolutely nothing with my life. This, now this is meat I can sink my teeth into. This is a caribou, freshly killed by a Palin. ATTACK!  Right now I am in bed, eating chocolates, without a care in the world! It’s amazing what adjusting one’s expectations can do. I had best expect not to gain weight from these chocolates. Life’s a beach!

Silver BALLS

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I have a child I have to keep routinely somewhat entertained so she doesn’t eat my eyes. She used to be a baby, and now she is not, and thus horizons broaden. We just finished painting our own Christmas balls, it’s beginning to look a lot like. Then I read the directions, and it seems I should have had us do this in a well-ventilated area. Oops! No wonder things feel a bit woozy. Well, if it’s the last thing I do, I will post to Vomitola. Viva balls!

Tomorrow is the annual FIESTA DE LAMBCHOP. I am on a major memory lane kick, as is my right when I have 7 years of content in the can, so here are some past ways we have celebrated Lambchop’s birthday.

2003, Huzzah, huzzah!

Unfurl the gossamer banners, and don your t-shirt featuring dogs having a tea party! Pipe lurid pink icing flowers on a solid slab of marzipan, and flood the streets with confetti, for it is Lambchop’s birthday! And not just any birthday, oh no. It is a special number, but I shall leave that for her to reveal in her own good time.

Then we said it with ABBA!

2004, Joyeux anniversaire, Lambchop

Wherein we exploited animal labor. Never work with children or animals. Balls.

I am planning something big for tomorrow. As soon as I plan it. I don’t have time to hop the shuttle to New York for us to get matching tattoos.

Won’t you help me prepare this year’s offering? What word jumps to mind when you think “Lambchop?” If you don’t help, she is getting one of our fresh poison christmas balls.

Now someone is asking me how to work a glue gun. As if I know! ATTACK!

Bats in the belfry

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Someone actually arrived at our site by searching for “what’s good about November.” Well, I swan. Someone also arrived by looking for “anal scrabble,” which is frankly more plausible to me than something being good about November. Here, a proud listing of how much I hate November:

November 2, 2005 ,”This Also Just In”

It’s November, Charlie Brown. Outside forces continue to vex, astound. Inside forces also unfavorable.

October 31, 2007, “Handwashing is Key,” wherein we establish that while October sucks, November is worse.

October is bungled logistics and petty grievances and the horror of taking a shower every day. October secretly arranged to go out to lunch with your Saturn Return and talk about you, and then they strike up a friendship born of shared distaste for you and stay up late on the phone, planning new pranks.

November 1, 2007, Now I Know How Joan of Arc Felt

Allrighty, what’s good about November? [ed.- I’ll be darned, we tried!] How psyched are you for November? Guy Fawkes day!!!!!! That is in November. Thanksgiving is in November, and that’s generally fun if you put aside historical context and all. I make a mean quinoa pilaf. Veteran’s Day, well, that could be a downer. Depends on who you ask. Halloween candy on sale? Don’t need that and would not want to catch obesity from looking at it funny either. Christmas decorations will slowly start to become more contextually appropriate. I think we should just neatly excise October and November from the calendar. Halloween can be moved to September, right after my 25th birthday. The Vomitola calendar is awesome. St. Croix’s Day is a real day! So is “everyone’s attractive” day! Except that is not really true. We just pretend and feel better.

November 9, 2007, “That the night come”

Take that, NO!vember. I am going to get on a plane and go somewhere…five to ten degrees warmer than here. Yes, well played, me. Well played! The only catch is that I am going with a ybab, and I have to decide whether to strap her to my back and carry the carseat while carrying the bag on my head, or strap the carseat to my back while dragging her on a leash attached to a cute animal backpack, or perhaps check her at the curb and pay someone to push me along in a Smarte Carte (“we’re the carts at the airport and a whole lot more…” More! I like that. OMINOUS).

Whoa, clearly winter 2007-08 was a rough one. Why didn’t someone just stick me on a treadmill in front of a happy lite watching a DVD of Caribbean waves for the whole month of November? Why don’t gyms have that set-up, anyway? I will do it and make a killing. With optional lead apron rental.

Like a little lamb lead me to the slaughter!

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Oh duckies, it is wet out there! I just swam home, after returning some overdue puppets. These things happen when one is as careless a lunk as I.

I was just at the doctor to find out how never to have any more children, and she had many helpful answers and diagrams. The more you know.

She ran down the usual health questions: “Have you become an alcoholic since I last saw you?” Not for lack of trying, lady.

Then she regaled me with tales of showing up at the crack of dawn to hospital committee meetings and storming out dramatically. I suggested that stress is a killer, and she agreed that she should start crazy pills or risk being non-functional until March. Hey, is this is a HIPAA violation if I’m the one talking about the doctor?

Anyway, we compared happy lites and exercise routines, and she told me about magical $59 fares on Southwest to the Caribbean. All medical professionals should be so helpful! She is going to St. Something in February, the perfect timing for escaping winter, and she mentioned she had no one to go with yet, but she was going anyway, and I almost hopped off the table to volunteer. We could party! We might see Zellweger skulking around. ATTACK!

Attack!

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Spirits are sagging, energy is flagging, and lots of other things that rhyme, too! The only thing that appears to be soaring in an inspirational fashion is my credit card balance. Steve Strange told me it was ok to eat an entire pint of Dulce Delight, but then he followed up with “when you are *thin*, you are always dressed up!” Should have hired Gore Vidal instead. Live and learn! Or, rather, semi-live in a state of crippling anxiety and learn…not so much.

I didn’t learn anything last night by watching Attack!, a WWII film starring Jack Palance and Lee Marvin. Palance’s character gets run over by a tank, then crawls down a flight of stairs with a ruined arm and a busted leg, praying for enough breath to kill Eddie Albert for being a total cowardly a-hole. His death rictus was stellar. I mean, I could really relate.

Sometimes the difference between winners and non-winners (trying to be sensitive here) isn’t in the bank statement or the appealing angle of one’s nose, but simply having the will to continue. It takes guts to do anything in this world, because precious few people are going to care about it, and even fewer will foot the bill. But do something anyway. Of course, Palance fails to kill the captain and dies horribly, crying to be sent to hell. But that was bound to happen.

Don’t be discouraged, by WWII films or by life itself…attack! And while you are up, please bring me back a sandwich. You would have done for Gore Vidal.