Tag Archives: liquor

Welcome to Stockholm

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On Wednesday, my adorable mini captor celebrated two months of breathing. Not to mention pooping and barfing. It takes a village something something. Something indeed! I didn’t particularly care for her (or anything) for most of those two months, but we’re on a roll now.  We’ve had to learn each other. It’s been hard. Calculus hard. Middle East peace hard.

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Today she demonstrated her first poor taste when she enjoyed the “Hampster Dance Song.” And since I am a terrible mother, I bought it for her from iTunes. Three minutes of Hampster Dance is soooo much better than 30 seconds. There are nuances. Nuances make a baby giggle and bounce. The liquor bottles on the shelf in the kitchen also make her giggle. So do the Japanese postcards in the bathroom. In a few more days, we’re going to find out how she likes “Snakes on a Plane.” I wonder if it will rate as highly as watching laundry spin?

It’s not a crack house, it’s a crack home

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Mr. H and I had a lovely weekend a few states away. Despite the supreme foolishness of bringing helpless life into the world and blowing out an entire wall of poorly wired outlets with a table saw, we still like each other. I trust this is because no one else will have us.

We sat and stared at boats swimming around being boats, and we realized that we are terrible, terrible people with mostly self-created problems. Ah, we already knew that. But it’s nice to sit and reflect, isn’t it? Then we went and had ice cream since I get dirty looks when I order whiskey. The people at Coldstone Creamery have to sing when they get a tip. That may be a worse problem than some of our stupid problems.

Jebus

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Anthropological findings based on the scrawling on the used boxes the moving company dropped off for us to fill:

* People with mudrooms also name their children Aidan and Ava

* People named Pete have enough “nic-nacs” to fill a large box

* People with children named Aidan and Ava are also heavy drinkers, because a few of those boxes were totally soaked in wine at some point

* People who get these boxes after us will know that we own a lot of “crap” and more “crap”

* I don’t believe in the expectations that labels enforce

* I prefer surprises

* I don’t own a Sharpie that works

And in other news, I just noticed that the street up by the Cracker Barrel is called “Internantional Way,” not “International Way,” as I had previously assumed.

Boulevard of broken spleens

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Today I am Honoring My Feelings, and I feel that I should eat an entire chocolate cream pie. But Feelings Are Not Facts, so I won’t. Or something. I think I need some Vitamin Tequila and some Me Time. See, I am coming to terms with the crushing realization that I have virtually no problems save being me and nipple confusion. Damn you, mother!

I got a hot tip that I could probably haul an abandoned CAT scan machine out of a dump in Brazil, so I have new plans to convert Mr. H’s Saabaru into a roving radiology wagon. If I pry the rear seat out, I’m sure the machine would fit. For good measure, I’ll install lead plating somewhere. And I’ll need an air-brushed sign: CAT scans, $20, meow meow! I can diagnose a brain bleed just as well as a trained professional. Look, this one is in the shape of Cookie Monster. If your brain is bleeding, I can’t help you, but I will be sure to let you know, as if you had toilet paper on your shoe. I will do it politely but firmly.

Oh, I am taking a moment to enjoy watching that dog dash away from the boulangerie with a string of sausages. Well, look at you! You are so cheeky! Run.

And….pie!

I’m a planner

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Later I plan to be very drunk.

Last night I shared a bed with a seven-year-old, a la Michael Jackson. Or not. But someone decided sleeping on the floor in a Disney Princess sleeping bag is scary, and our creepy old house is, well, creepy. Just because bats sometimes roost in the rafters, and the place is haunted. So we watched the bonus DVD of The Incredibles approximately twelve times until the whimpering stopped. For once, I’m not talking about Mr. H. His niece and nephew were over for a sleepover as part of a long-promised birthday gift for his brother. The rightful parents managed to sleep until 8:30 this morning, which is about two hours better than I did. Urchins! I mean choir of angels.

I’ve been thinking about children a lot since a close friend is soon to deliver (a human baby). I am reading a book called The Birth Partner in preparation for the big event. So far, reading has consisted of opening the book to an illustration and yelling “euuuuaaghhhh!” and then making Mr. H look at it. I think I’m supposed to be there to keep my friend from punching someone. Every time I see her, I stifle the urge to shriek “Boil some water!” or “I don’t know nuthin’ about birthin’ no babies!” But I keep it together because I know she’d hit me. And she’d have the right to give it back even worse some day. Perhaps when I’m sitting in the V.I.P. lounge at the airport, sipping a drink while my purchased child is trundled off the plane on the luggage conveyer. Oh. You say they let children fly in the main cabin these days? I wouldn’t know; I am always schnockered on tranquilizers during flights.

Oh, but I jest. Someday we may inadvertently create life. Scratch that, I am going to get so, so pregnant! Probably while drunk. I can’t wait to lie to a child of my own. I told li’l nephew to concentrate on turning on the DVD player with the power of his mind while Mr. H used the power of the remote to turn it on, and the kid totally bought it. Later, a woodchuck came up to the deck door. Nephew screeched “What’s THAT!” The animal released his bowels and ran off, and we told the lad it was a river chipmunk.

And this concludes another episode of Bad Idea Theatre.

Sharks are jumpin and the cotton is high

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Heyyyyyyyyyyyyy sexy! I’ve got Zellweger down in the basement Zellwegering the laundry. She knows her way around the delicates, that girl.

Every day (everyday) I think “Man, this is it, the day I finally eat the whole thing.” But I never do. You know why? Because I am Bartleby. I prefer not to. Also, I am too lazy to walk to the fridge. I wish the ceiling would just rain Captain Morgan and Diet Coke. I could tip my head back like a baby bird.

What do I prefer, you ask? Well, there’s shouting at the help, kicking the pets, and cheating on my spouse. And heavy, heavy drinking. This morning’s plans were spontaneous: I ran someone off the road for the first time in a long while, and that was great. After evading the police, I arrived home just in time to lay a trap for the mailman. I’ve hidden a black widow spider in the box! Now I’m going to have Consuela (my dumbass housekeeper with the stereotypical housekeeper name) throw out all the expired yogurts.

Brainnnnnnnss

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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.

Ten pounds of nothing in a five pound bag

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Man, it has just been a pigfucker of a week. Lambchop had to suffer business travel, and I had to recuperate from illness and deal with a client that told me “wooden” is spelled with a double “d.” It was all I could do to refrain from lapping from a bowl of beer at 10 a.m. yesterday. Then I realized “You work at home, idiot, go nuts.” Ha! I am a little slow on the draw.

This shot proves that children are vampires. Can you hear the hissing? That’s two inches of my sexy hip in that shot. The paparazzi doesn’t miss a damn trick around here.

Why are there children everywhere? I had a baby over again, and I let him play with the hairdryer in the tub and make fajitas. Everyone’s all “when are you going to have the sex and get the pregnant?” And I’m all “why, you want to watch?” They probably do. Perverts. I prefer children on a time-share basis. But, like going to an actual timeshare, someone is always waiting to pounce on you and make you go to a seminar on why you should invest further. I am the best Auntie ever, because I let the kids have all the coffee they want, and I never met a repetitive game I didn’t like. I honed this skill by taking drugs. Ask me what I can do with glitter putty.

Be sure to tune in on President’s Day, when Lambchop and I launch spirited campaigns for President of Vomitola! We promise to assassinate each other’s characters and woo you with false promises and titillating images. Then you’ll vote, and one of us will be left crumpled and whimpering on the bathroom floor as the other begins eroding civil liberties. OK, I am off to pluck my eyebrows in preparation for the evening gown competition.

You Can Pin and Mount Me, Like a Butterfly

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While Licketysplit is filling buckets, buckets full of love, I am covering the phones here. It reminds me of when we had a Sunday radio show. We were doing lesbian kisses before they invented them for TV. But that was only because we were hoping it might offend someone. Anyway, one time after the usual 4-hits-of-acid-saturday-wake-up-go-to-taco-bell-sunday, we arrived at the station and wolfed down some burritos. I played “the Choke” and “Lunchbox” while ol’ Skanky LaRue was off puking. Get well soon darling!

I am celebrating Valentines Day in a lofty fashion- by eating an enormous onion bagel with melted cheese and tomato. I assure you, it is a most romantic sandwich.

If I lack spirit today, it is because I threw a Valentine Ball at my house this weekend. We had a fog machine, a dazzling array of baked sweets, and a glass punch bowl filled with tequila. The walls were covered in construction paper hearts, heart tinsel, and red paper lantern lights. It was really beautifully done, thanks to the help of my roommates, and an opinionated six year old. Me and Echo hung hearts and decorated cupcakes in hot pink sugar and tiny red candy lips. The party itself was a whirl of dancing and cherry filled Kitty Dukkake. I am pretty sure I had a good time, for I recall delighted faces, dancing to “Xanadu”. I am also pretty sure I didn’t get into any fights, fall down the stairs, or start stroking my roommates’ chest hair and calling them “papi”.

Yesterday I was not awake for very long. Mainly long enough to watch Footloose, which I had never seen before. It has probably been a while for most of you, so let me remind you: Footloose is inexpressibly painful in its dorkiness. And while I love dancing movies, the one part of the body that I don’t want to see “loose” are the feet. Or that musical theater thing where people bow their legs, knees knocking back and forth. I must have a chat with you, 1980’s, and find out just what the hell we were all thinking. One interesting factoid about this film is that nearly all the cast went on to successful careers afterward. Mysterious. Since the film I am currently making is approximately 50 times as awful as Footloose, perhaps its release will catapult me into untold riches.

My future finances thus secured, I bought two import box sets of Morrissey singles, spanning decades of Morrissey. It is the age of Morrissey. All Morrissey, all day. Which is very fitting for Valentines Day. I think i will kick off the next hour with “Unloveable”. We’ll be right back after Licketysplit is done yodeling her groceries.

-xo

Blizzard Bazaar

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It was winter over here at my igloo as well.

I don’t have anything else to say about that apart from “Very Strong Rum”.

Today I played hooky from LegalHut and finished a painting. I also shoveled and had a chicken sandwich. Finally, I put on some pants because we were having an Open House at my house, looking for a potential new roommate. And I want them to think I am the sort of person who wears pants. Hoo boy, the parade! My favorite candidate described our living room as “wild”, and one of the others broke a cardinal rule by sporting such as culottes. There was a pretty nice boy who is studying to be a Masseur, and the less I say about that the better. Just to make sure that we find the best possible fit, I have placed a new ad here.

-xo