Tag Archives: consumerism

Glamour kitty

Oh, internet. It’s a big day. I have so much fucking laundry to do, and so much work to do, and I have to ingest some calories, and probably make a few trips to eliminate waste, and the house is dirty, but that has nothing to do with the waste. And it’s almost Mother’s Day, and that means I have to go get a wall vase from Pottery Barn that someone has been coveting.

Yesterday I had road rage supremo, and I soon tired of shouting insults related to the term “colostomy bag.” So Hulk growl and roar. This actually seemed to frighten people, and it made me feel a lot better. It was a tough day. I had to go to a funeral, and Google Maps steered me to Main Street in Springfield instead of West Springfield, even though I clearly entered “W” in my directions. I have the print out. Behold it. I finally found the place I needed to be through sheer Spidey sense, and all was well, or at least as well as it can be at a funeral.

But get this, the cat has finally learned to talk. If I say “Who’s the Kitty!!!!!” she says “Mee!” We could do this for hours. If I say “Who loves Mommy?” she says “Mee!” If I say “Do you want cheap Canadian Lasik?” she says “Mee!” I am going to be so fucking rich. With all the money I save on Canadian Lasik, I mean.

Brainnnnnnnss

Memo to self: do not go to grocery store on day before a holiday. People were tossing hams back and forth like footballs. Animals! I watched fat children waddling out of the store, already munching on candy. Maybe they brought it with them in the first place. Shopping hard.

Luckily, all I needed was salsa and beer, because we celebrate the Lord’s rising by having people over to watch a lot of zombie movies. What could be more fitting? Jesus was the original Undead. Besides, the zombie movie is the golden rectangle of movie formulas. I can’t think of an occasion when the zombie movie is not appropriate.

Inspiration Pointless


Meet new people, even if they look different to you

I went to the mall the other day. It seems public shopping arenas become crowded in proximity to forced calendar holidays. I asked the saleswoman in Bath & Bodyworks for gift suggestions. “I guess I’m after something that says ‘Now that you’re fat!'” No, I’m just being outrageously mean for no reason. It’s helping me get over a tough headache. I actually said “I need something for a new mom who doesn’t have a lot of free time.” Apparently, new mothers need spa slippers. And they need to exfoliate. But then, who doesn’t need to do that? What a freaking brainwave. I was informed that the mom in question would like sleep and liposuction, but would settle for a #1 Mom pendant and a card that reads “Your a great mom!” Sigh.

Also, I am trying to determine if selling ad space on a controversial website is a viable business model. Surely NowThatYoureFat.com would get me flogged on The Today Show eventually, even though it’s clearly satire. What does a truly evil organization, like the Klan, do for an online revenue channel? Oh my stars, they have a gift shop! I’m not linking to it, as that’s too horrible even for me, but I am sure you can figure it out. Hmm, is there a market for Vomitola sorority sweaters? Eta Pi Vomitola!

-xxoo

To do, oh, what to do

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

Burden

Hulk hurt self bulk shopping. Hulk not lie to you. Ouch.

Also, I am morally outraged because it turns out that Netflix does not stock pornography! What the? I mean I just assumed that they would when I forked over $20. It’s not like it’s a number one hobby or anything, but this is America! If I want to settle in with some microwave popcorn for “Weapons of Ass Destruction,” who is Netflix to turn down my hard-earned unemployment dollars? I wouldn’t have even noticed if I hadn’t been looking for “Something About Mary.” This reminded me to always try Keyword: Bukkake. No dice. I am drafting an angry letter right now.

-xxoo

bodies, rest, and motion

I’m taking a break from packing, my face blackened and smeared from newsprint. I make a great guttersnipe. In other fashion news, I accidentally dyed my hair burgandy. Does “Brazillian Bronze” sound like burgandy to you? Me neither. The picture on the box looked frigging chocolate brown to me. This is my karmic reward for taking matters into my own hands. I thought I’d save a few bucks (now that I’m unemployed in the future) and cover my sadly grown out highlights. I just never expected to turn into Shannen Doherty! I know this is a highly prized color amongst filing secretaries and teenage girls, but it’s just not right for me. So back I shall slink to my colorist. She will twit me mercilessly and leave me under the dryer a bit longer than necessary. Spiteful witch.

We’re down to the pile of strange wires and incomprehensible electronic bits and discs, so I’m letting Mr. H take over. I already packed 6 million pounds of glassware. You know how we roll. Like Crate & Barrel, apparently, with a sheet of butcher paper on the diagonal. Speaking of rolling, I also found a long forgotten bong! And my highschool yearbook! I’ve been throwing things away ruthlessly, because I realized my number one favorite pastime is trading stuff in for better stuff. Even Mr. H has caught the fever;I just saw him fling a framed baby picture of his neice into a Hefty bag. “I know what she looks like.” Applause! Applause!

-xxoo

The Simpsons Are Going to Japan

Thanks to my pal Thrifty J for pointing out the stupid cheap $360 fare from Boston to Tokyo! Huzzah. Turned out to be a misprint (it normally would have been $3000 for us to fly on those dates), but American honored it anyway. When I called to finagle it, the world-weary Texan lady who answered said “Oh, the Boston thing again.” Sigh. And now it’s gone, and someone probably got fired. I can’t wait for April. We’ll pirouette ‘neath daintily falling cherry blossoms, and I’ll croon “Hot Child in the City” with some drunken businessmen. Mr. H is all hot to go to a country n’ western bar.

Other than that stroke of luck, today was a major ass-ramming. And not in that good way. Just as poor Heather suffers from ailments of the tract, there seems to be a capricious gnome squatting in my chest. His friend Stabby lives in my throat. Maybe it’s rabies. I’m about to hit the Nyquil pretty hard.

We took Spare Cat (a stray who lived on the front porch) to the animal shelter last night, and he savaged us right and proper. I understood, I really did. I don’t like to get crammed in tiny boxes either, even with my very small frame. You’re right, I *can* curl up into a very small ball. Oh no, you flatter me! It didn’t help that Spare Cat had space madness from being stuck out in the cold. In a triumph of my mother’s meddlesome DNA, I made him a wretched little insulated hovel on the porch, which is how he survived the past week. If anyone is interested in a handsome devil of a white cat (with big blue eyes and an extra toe), I can point you in the right direction. Unfortunately he does not play well with other cats, which is why we couldn’t keep him. And he’s got a meow like a rusty hinge.

-xxoo

Deutschland Ueber Boston

Herr Werkhausen has come to visit me from Berlin, his first trip to Amerika! Two things you can’t find in Berlin are sweet potato waffles and non-potato root-type objects. Fascinating!

There is more Americana in store!!! Long, leafy walks, Thanksgiving dinner, & the Simpsons in English. But if someone really wants to feel like an American, we must teach them how to fritter away their money. I mean spending great flipping wadges of cash on utterly useless items such as rubber goldfish suspended in handsoap, a Dukes of Hazard thermos, a Mr. bubble t-shirt or an issue of Rolling Stone with a List in it.

So I am sending Herr W. back to Berlin with blue bathwater dye. And then we are going to the harbor and eat a nice piece of fish.

Honorable ME-ME-MEntion: the Women’s Art Organization of Berlin has published a new book and it includes the work of yours truly! If you wish to purechase a copy, email Lambchop and she will procure one for you to the tune of a C-note. (Shut up, I had to buy my own copy, too).

-xo

Bullseye

Sadly, going to Target is not as high-spirited and monochromatic an experience as the TV ads would have one believe. There are no rockettes or dancing christmas trees, and Mark Mothersbaugh is not hovering up in the front office personally DJing over the PA system. I did not see Isaac Mizrahi either. I believe he is in his lair in Trenton, busy laughing, absolutely splitting a side over all the girls who are hoping “you can have high fashion at Target, really.” You can’t. Please do not embarass either one of us further by pretending it’s true. What are you, a communist? I love a bargain as much as the next gal, but crap is crap. It’s Mom Jeans.

But we still managed to make impulse purchases. How do they do it? I came for packing tape and cat litter, I departed with a fleece throw. I didn’t need a giant Toblerone bar, yet I left with one anyway.

It’s just as well, because I ate a few segments of that for dinner: a new level in culinary incompetence even for us. I thought butter noodles a few weeks ago was the absolute nadir, but I was wrong. We’re moving one week from today, and we’ve gone from eating off paper plates to just not bothering with actual food. Well, we did have some apple pie. That’s half a Cider Jack and half a Harpoon Winter Warmer. Spicy. The traces of apple in the cider will prevent scurvy.

Then I capped off the weekend by working on a particularly wretched DHTML-laden freelance project. It seemed like a great idea back in September, but of course the other parties involved assed around until November, and then the client demanded it be live on the 26th. Because the day before Thanksgiving is such a crucial time for web browsing. Why am I not better at saying no? Oh, right, I’m a whore.

-xxoo

Le car, vroom vroom

Two weeks ago, a butterfly flapped its wings in Moscow. Today I impulse-purchased a Volkswagen. And you know what? I instantly started to drive like a total asshole. Like I’m from Cambridge. For my next trick, I’ll pop out a few kids and let them pull shit off the shelves in Bread & Circus while I yap into a cellphone headset.

Oh, the car. It’s Galactic Blue (hooray for Science!), with lots of bells and whistles and even jimcracks and doohickeys. And technically it was not a purchase, but a lease. So at some point over the holidays I’ll have the pleasure of explaining to my parents and other older family members that I do not actually have “anything to show for it.” It’s the matrix, ma.

Another plus: we got rid of Mr. H’s Ford Focus. Now the family of spiders that lives in it is someone else’s problem. Shudder. I am certain Super Townie at the dealership plans to set the white whale on fire and roll it into a lake. And he’d be right to do it.

-xxoo