Tag Archives: martini

Holy holy hannah

My waking life is much more satisfying than my dream life. But this might only be due to the poor quality of my dreams lately. Last night I dreamed about eating a bowl of cereal. This took about a million years. It was Grape Nuts! I don’t even eat cereal. So tedious. Take a bite, and then another bite, and if one is having fruit along with the cereal, one must worry about ratios and golden rectangles and cosines. It is too much.

But sometimes the universe just tosses a delectable bon-bon right into my mouth, Jolene. No, more like an everlasting gobstopper. People humiliate themselves without me lifting a finger. I complain, and the problems solve themselves. My lips to God’s ear. God said to have Kraft dinner again today, but I told God this would be directly contradicting Jessica Simpson. We have struck a solid bargain with tuna right out of the can and a martini. I’m kidding about the martini, Lord. I don’t drink until Happy Hour, and that is not now.


Dear Ask the Internet*:

A friend keeps sending photos of her child. Her child looks crosseyed. Should I ask what the hell his problem is? I really wonder. You’d think he would have grown out of it by now.

Signed, an Observant Jerk

Dear Jerk:

Sorry, Google doesn’t know enough about what is wrong with your friend’s kid yet.

Yours, the Internet

Tomorrow: Find out what the internet thinks that stuff stuck in your keyboard is.

*Snaps to Lisa, who also likes to tell people what is wrong with them.

Rouge Rising Star

Last week’s entertainment brought us to the opening the very talented Scarlet Harlot, our own Julie Lohnes, at the Chase Gallery on Newbury Street. I lay on the pink velvet, I walked barefoot on the installation. Miss Lohnes, like me, delves into the Secret Life of Women. This work will seduce you with pinks and fleshy colored wax that beckons with sultry, amorphic forms. Something revolting is at the same time revealed to us in the presence of so much pink crushed velvet, like the cheap evening gown of a stripper, upon whose pillowy softness you are invited to tread. This work approaches tackiness and beauty with such care that they are not to be extricated from one another. The luxury here is inevitably louche and mysterious.

Straight up our alley!

We celebrated with Red Splendour martinis, made of pomegranate and vodka. They made my mouth sticky.


P.S. It’s funny when cats fall down and attack children.