All posts by Licketysplit

Subjective units of discomfort

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Yes, we’re floating in space. We’ve been off our pills for a while now. We’re on drugs though. We’ve got vitamin sunshine. Thanks, Tom Cruise. Let me know how assassinating the president of Venezuela goes. See, I half pay attention. That’s all you get, current events. Fifty percent of my attention span, dispensed in spotty intervals.

So last weekend? We took a bus to hell? Yes, we did. I am still angry with that bus. To get to our destination, one can either take a ferry from Portland, or park in a satellite parking lot and get shuttled to a dock on Cousins Island, where one is then hauled on a smaller boat. This smaller boat ride only lasts fifteen minutes, versus ninety minutes from Portland. Thinking we were being efficient, we opted to leave from the satellite parking. We do enjoy parking. Turns out the shuttle is actually an old school bus with cloth seats infused with wet dog. People who go on vacation to Maine are all about bringing their large smelly purebred dogs. Oh, this is my Portuguese Water Dog. OK, it is. You got me.

The bus rocketed along narrow pocked roads, and Mr. H and I kept looking at each other, in total disbelief that no one else seemed to be bothered by staring death in the face. When we finally got to the dock, the bus had to turn around and back down a hill on a narrow strip of road for some reason. This strip of road is right next to water, with no guard rail. I contemplated throwing up in a panic, and then the bus lurched forward again because some asshole in a Volvo wagon had gotten off the car ferry and was trying to come up the hill. So we got to back down the hill twice. That’s a lot for your money.

That bus haunted us for the entire weekend, because we knew the only way back would also involve it. We tooled around the island in the fog, and every now and then that bus would loom out of the mist like the clown in It. In this photo, the bus is lurking right below the surface of the water, just waiting.

EDIT: This just in: a new view of the hell bus, courtesy of this man.

I hate you, bus! We did have a nice time, when we weren’t thinking about the bus. “Oh, look at the view. These goat cheese mashed potatoes are divine!” “But the bus!” Incoherent babbling and fist-shaking, like an America’s Funniest Home Videos clip of a toddler who has been tricked by a Slip n’ Slide. It took several scotches to forget about the bus, but I can’t drink scotch all day now, can I?

Is a joke still a joke if you have to explain it?

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A talent agent was just sitting around his office minding his own damn business one day. His next appointment came in, and he asked “How may I help you today?”

“Well, I have a mildly popular internet web log,” said the lady seated across the desk.

“Oh, I don’t represent people who write on the internet. They are just terrible people.”

“Trust me, you’ll like my personal internet homepage. Let me just tell you a little bit about it.”

“Eh, OK, you have until my secretary gets back with my half-caf cap.”

The chick who writes on the internet cleared her throat.

***

Back from the Hotel Stephen King in Maine. It was foggy. We took several boats. I saw many dogs. We rode bikes for approximately 10 miles. My ass still hurts. People in graduate school talking about graduate school really irk me. On the subject of loudly overheard conversations that one might go to an island to avoid.

I am eating watermelon for breakfast, but it’s almost lunch time. I keep having dreams about ex-boyfriends that make me wake up sad. Why. I’ve gone through the entire rolodex at this point. Oh well. Later I have a conference call. I’m parked in the driveway, in case you wondered.

***

The talent agent sat back in his seat and sighed heavily. “Any what do you call your personal internet homepage?” he asked.

“The Aristocrats!”

Same time tomorrow

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This crappy website simply could not exist without our vast network of spies, also known as Revenue-Optmized Partner Affiliates. We learned today that someone in an office somewhere is handing out candy bars doctored to read “HERESHEIS” to announce the birth of a female child. What does one hand out for a male child? NUTRAGEOUS? I thought the birth of a child was celebrated by tying the child up in a burlap sack and heaving it off a pier, but I learn something new each dew-freshened day. My friend suffers from new child ownership, and it seems all children want to do is eat and sleep. What spite! Enjoy it while you can, li’l buddy. Here sheis indeed. Alles was ich zu meinem Geburtstag bekommen habe war dieses scheiss T-Shirt.

We at Vomitola have recently realized the need to breed a team of strapping farm hands to see us through the coming apocalypse. Ideally they will also shoot lasers from their eyes. We have our Zellwegers, but they are not keen on heavy lifting. They prefer to eat ice cream and run up the phone bill. The trouble is that I am not keen to birth a child myself. It seems so last century. Mr. H did find a promising development: New Harvest – Advancing Meat Substitutes. Surely this can be adapted to humans. It’s about time, Science. I’ve been waiting for you.

Today in cats: there is just no pleasing them.

And in this panel, Super Toad goes kerplooie

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Tuesday in cats: The Flaming Lips sure can clear a room (of cats).

Tuesday in Zellweger: Alert readers pointed me to this. So this is where Zellwegers come from! I am not sure what happened to my Zellweger. I sent her out to return my empties two days ago. She seems distracted lately.

Tuesday in my head: The front part hurts, sort of above my eyes. I think this is called a headache.

Tuesday should be Saturday: because then I’d be done with the worst of my work, and I’d be riding a bike around an island. Maybe this bike would have a sports bottle filled with margaritas. I had better get used to riding a bike for when we run out of oil. And I’ll get a chance to learn to be handy with a u-lock for beating zombies. Come on, apocalypse. My dad has been waiting for you for seventy years. Don’t keep an old man in suspense.

The head gasket and how it blew

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Oh, you don’t want that to happen. No sir. First the o-rings pop out, see, here, and then we have to cut this out of the main line, and I’ll just need these plastic bags to wrap it, yeah, sure, like a grocery bag, I’ll need… three’s good. If you hear a hissing noise, just ignore it. I’m not supposed to do it this way, but I didn’t have the right tool with me. Haven’t seen one of these things happen in five years. This’ll be two in ten years. I’ll be back tomorrow. Who could have known?

I should have killed the HVAC guy when I had a chance, two months ago. Now he’s trying to kill me. I think it’s a different guy, but what does it matter at this point? Oliver? Why is it doing the names in our bedroom? You can’t plug a two in with a six.

This just in!

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Recently it was brought to my attention that women are using the technology, including the computer! Did you know women use the computer? For a while I used a graphing calculator when I took a few years of calculus. I think that was technology, but I’m not sure. I also use a flat iron and a microwave on a regular basis. And I am pretty used to using the computer since I’ve done it every day since I was about twelve, but sometimes I like to stop and think about all the other fly ladies out there using the computer. For instance, my mom can use the computer, both instant messenger and email. I taught her how to cut and paste using only keyboard commands. That’s hot. She even attaches things to email. She can also use a table saw and a post-hole digger, but that’s like technology a monkey might use. Old school. My sister uses the computer. She’s also hot.

Some women use the computer to know about their periods and their lady mucus and stuff like that (Fertility Friend, OvuSoft). Some women use the computer to buy shoes (Zappos.com). Some women use the computer to plan their weddings (TheKnot.com, Indiebride.com). Some women don’t even have boyfriends, but they use the computer to look at pictures of engagement rings, and they use the instant messenger to send links to their other single friends. Some women eat oatmeal for women. That has nothing to do with the computer, but it’s still for women. Some women use online banking so they can make sure they didn’t spend too much on shoes.

Women are always talking and talking and talking, so of course they like blogs. They like to tell you about their hair and their periods. Ewwwww! Women think they are so funny. Some women are fat, and they use the computer to talk about that (3 Fat Chicks on a Diet!). And some are skinny, and they use the computer to look for pictures of Angelina Jolie to put on their fridge so they remember to throw up their Kraft dinner.

Some ladies are lovely shades of tan and chocolate (Brown Bloggers), and some ladies are plain pink (me, you can see my veins so easily). Some ladies live in countries outside of America! They don’t even talk English, but they still use technology. I have seen this while on vacation.

Some ladies have kids, and they like to talk about them. They are called mommy bloggers. Some have a huge boner for breastfeeding, and some are all “breastfeeding, no thanks.” Some of these ladies may use Craigslist to find a nanny. That means they are straight up bitches, because who would let someone else raise their child? Ladies use technology to snipe at the choices of other ladies. This is called the Mommy Drive-By.

Some ladies want kids real bad but can’t have them easily, so they are infertile bloggers. But through technology, some of them go on to have kids. Wow! Some women just use the shit out of technology.

Sometimes the ladies like to step away from the computer, say to buy some douches and have brunch and catch a matinee of Must Love Dogs. If they do that, they can always take their cell phones. We ladies don’t want to miss when we might be ovulating. You can ovulate during brunch! If that happens, close your legs tightly and breathe into a paper bag.

Personally, I’d probably skip out on Must Love Dogs. I catch all my Diane Lane movies on planes. I watched Under the Tuscan Sun on a plane ride to Japan, and it worked to put me to sleep. Technology again. Can you imagine: there are ladies flying though the air right now, some of them even ovulating. I used the computer to get those plane tickets too. It was so hard, what with the clicking and the typing. And I had to pay for the tickets, with money, from a job. I found that job using the internet. Lucky! My job was to make food dance on the internet, via technology.

And now back to getting married and pregnant, because that’s all most ladies think about. You might need a dude for that, so you can use technology like a digital camera to take a picture of yourself and put it on a website where you tell a man that you’d be in Paris if you could be anywhere right now. And that is code for the man to remember to pick up a rose at the gas station before he comes to your house to bang you. Because Paris equals romance! He probably used Mapquest.com to find your house, but that’s OK, because technology is old hat for the gentlemen. They are so good like that.

After all your banging, if you think you might be pregnant, the internet can even give you a pregnancy test.

Whoa, sometimes the world just gets so overwhelming for a lady that all I can do is apprise you of the ferociously itchy mosquito bites on my toes. Now I have to take a break from using technology to get in my car and drive somewhere and use my debit card to buy something. While I am doing that, I will probably text message some people. I just found out you can do that. I will feel guilty about using oil to power my car. Stay strong while I am gone. I still love technology, always and forever.

Scream like a baby

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Internet, I cannot provide you with the filth I had planned to smear today.

A new baby is here, innocent and, well, a little fat. He could stand to lose a few ounces. Never too early to watch the figure.

Please welcome Declan Patrick*, delivered this morning by an Italian Oompa Loompa. His mother and father are resting after a long night (time actually extends like pulled taffy when one is in a hospital). We laughed, we cried, we hurled. I feel like I just stepped off a long haul flight, and I didn’t even have to do any birthing!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to zombie my way into the shower and then attend a wedding. Maybe I can work in a funeral too.

*David, you are exempt from even thinking about children, although your song was the hit of the maternity ward.

What the Duff?

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Today Vomitola.com is closing early for birthing. Boil some water! Didn’t I tell you I was secretly 9 months pregnant? No, I’m just retaining fluids. Stop looking at me.

I just got my friend’s call from the hospital, and it went something like “ow! ow! ow! motherfucker!” So off I go to attempt to be soothing. I bet I can calm her down to “ow! ow! cocksucker!” in no time. A little aromatherapy is all it takes. I have even packed the emergency morphine-filled bon-bons.

I really hope the Oompa Loompas have a special song for when they bring out the baby.

Linger on the sidewalk where the neon signs are pretty

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No, I still don’t feel like setting up the voicemail service on our new phone line. People might leave messages. Ugh! People! Dropping their messages like so many errant pigeons. And I would have to record a greeting, and when do I feel like greeting anyone? Why do I have a phone at all?

I was out today, as is my custom, and I noticed that Lowell seems to have bus service. The bus doesn’t have a number. Instead, one is greated by a scrolling marquee that reads DOWNTOWN CIRCULATOR. Indeed. Take that, Baltimore.

I wonder if I can write in essay form ever again? Probably not. Blast you, internet! I have the attention span of Mr. H or that dog across the street. Now I am thinking about hash browns. I am remembering song lyrics. Hmmm, hashbrowns again. Am I hungry? Maybe I am. Should I buy a plane ticket to Hong Kong? Internal bad idea meter says Yes! Christ. The mortgage underwriter wants proof of my income for the last few years. Dur, don’t they know everyone lies on those applications? How much could I make selling a kidney in Hong Kong? This could be an investment in my future. Dear Lord, deliver.