All posts by Licketysplit

Love my way

Uncategorized, , ,

If it’s Tuesday, it must be Wednesday. I seem to be operating under a different time zone. I have a hard time falling asleep at night because the days are sunny and I want to pee on fire hydrants, but that’s OK, because the animals are on parade. Ocelots and apes! Donkeys and alligators! They look like felt hand puppets in shades of magenta and yellow. Oh, it’s a hippo. There goes the puffin. I think the antelope is a jerk. If I really can’t sleep, I crush the animals with Tetris blocks.

I fired the cleaners last month because they were making meth in the guest bathroom with MY Sudafed. They still show up once a week and sadly press their noses against the window, but I shout “NO!” in Spanish, or maybe Portuguese. So now I am cleaning everything in sight, ADD-style. I have to abandon what I am doing at least every ten minutes and go do something else, but things eventually get done. I had a conference call the other day, and what the other participants did not know was that I was on a ladder in the tub, scrubbing the corners of the ceiling with a toothbrush dipped in bleach. Cleanliness, Godliness. Fumes. All that.

Later I picked up trash on the street uncovered by melting snow while yelling into my headset. I wasn’t on the phone then, just yelling. OK, I was on the phone. But headsets make everyone look insane. So does picking up trash, but I can’t help that. it’s in my blood.

Go forth. Nip. Tuck. Spackle. Exfoliate. Oil those hooves. Shine your horn. Shake those bones.

Spring: what’s with it

Uncategorized, , , ,

Give me 2 days of sunlight here in typically crappy New England, and I feel like I am on a meth bender. I am the greatest! Look at me run up and down the stairs! Sex sex sex! Oh wait, no, birds, pie! I bought an Umbrellas of Cherbourg-style trenchcoat and a chrome multi-drawer under-sink organizer! Look at that dog; see that dog?

About that dog. I saw some dogs! My favorite had to be the celebrity terrier. People on the street holler “Is that Goblin? Hi, hi, Goblin!” Goblin does not say hi. She lets her entourage handle the little people.

Many thanks to David and Rob for allowing me to stay at their lovely home. A pile of straw in the yard would have sufficed since I am barnfolk, but no, I was allowed in. Safe from Balto-zombie attacks and the chilling laughter of children. Don’t worry, I also give thanks via letterpressed notes. It’s what God and Miss Manners want.

Southwest Airlines: I did not know they were a “funny” airline before I flew. Cripes. By the time the air hostesses started singing, I was contemplating throwing myself out window. Also, they have no assigned seating. Passengers are divided into groups A, B, and C, and the A group is allowed to storm the seats first and hog the overhead bins. I was an Alpha both times by virtue of genetic superiority and a fabulous new hair cut, so I was able to pick the most avoidant seat (exit row). The Betas shuffled and muttered “I’m glad I’m not an Alpha, so much pressure.” The air hostess made a packet of peanuts race a packet of pretzels down the aisle during takeoff, and the Epsilons were truly concerned with the outcome of this contest. Pretzels won. Don’t lie, you were emotionally invested just reading this.

To celebrate my return home, we were supposed to watch a bunch of Japanese zombie movies, but Heather and I crossed our wires. So Mr. H and I went to the packy*, because we are in love, and that’s what people in love do. It was 10:45 at night, and the nearest packy closed early! So we went across the street to the next nearest packy. Also closed! So we went down a whole block to the next one, and encountered a loud woman with mall bangs slurring “Didja ever try this beef jerky? I swear, it’s the answer to yah prayahs!” She fell into a display of Tooters test tube shots on her way out. God wanted this.

*When I first moved to Boston, I thought that was a reference to a Pakistani person. It means liquor store. Who knew?

Oh for….sometimes I wished people was like dogs, Luke

Uncategorized, , ,

It’s get-up-and-go Monday, and that means I got out of bed well before noon. I don’t like it any more than you men, but it’s how science and the Lord need me to be. I have already done distasteful things like send invoices and print labels and finish the leftover wine in a glass that was on the coffee table. That last one was not as bad as I thought it would be. I think it was Gewurztraminer.

Later, I turned on the TV, and it started on the surgery channel. Instead of operations, they were showing something called “The Baby Human.” That program featured researchers showing babies clown masks. Guess what? The babies cried, because CLOWNS ARE FUCKING SCARY. Where can I get an Obvious Grant? So far, my preliminary findings include the fact that traffic can be stressful. I confirmed this between 1 and 3 pm. Also, people dislike closing doors on their fingers. At least I do.

And damn, $4 coffees and damn. I get up to all kinds.

Going to hell, going to hell.

Who would leave Charlie Sheen?

Uncategorized, , ,

It’s Tough Love Thursday over here. During a commercial break in the surgery show I like so much, I caught two seconds of Dr. Phil’s oversized maw saying “You’ve really got to pull your head out!” I never found out whom he was addressing, so I will assume “all of us.” So I switched back to surgery, pondering this message from our next President of the United States, and whaddya know, they were pulling a head out on that show, too! It’s like God is talking to me.

OK, God is talking to me. He keeps sending me a bat. I can’t be sure if it’s the same bat every time, but they all certainly share the same accusatory aloofness. God also said to order pizza. God frowns on poor life decisions, like smoking crack and having children with people you don’t like. God approves of putting thought into one’s hairstyle and good fuel economy. God said to start a spaceship religion, but I only got halfway through filling out the non-profit tax forms. I wonder how the Lutherans managed? Those things are complex.

God also provided me with a handy list of things to talk about on internet “blogs.”

1. What have you eaten lately?
2. What do you plan to eat in the future?
3. Read any good NYT articles?
4. How’s the weather? Do you have any thoughts on how the weather is?
5. What are your terrible, boring hobbies?
6. Do you have a child? Is it developmentally on schedule?
7. Date much?
8. What gives you the damn right?
9. Isn’t Michael Jackson strange?
10. Pets. You must have pets, a well-adjusted person like you.

Mornin’ sunshine

Uncategorized, ,

Sometimes the paparazzi has a crappy week at work, and you are not wearing pants or makeup, but you say “Hey honey, I’ll hold still, and I promise not to make faces.” This means something else in other relationships. In my particular situation, it means I remain patient for twenty minutes with a flash going off in my face, or not, or maybe we change lenses. Damn people with hobbies and interests, using them as an outlet to relieve stress. That’s not how it’s done! The proper response to stress is to pull a blanket up over one’s head, or lie on the floor, kicking one’s feet in the air like a dying bug.

There are other photos where you can sort of see down my shirt, but I am saving those for when I start internet dating.

I am just kidding, I do not date the internet. I’ve also decided not to drown Mr. H after all. I guess I could have saved myself the cost of plane tickets, as I was planning to drown him in Spain since I’ve never met an elaborate scheme I didn’t like. If it involves passports, all the better. Lambchop asked me for advice the other day, and I came up with a complicated lie that may have necessitated phony blood samples and defrauding the federal government. And me impersonating a doctor. Sensible girl that she is, she opted for the truth. The truth is a coy mistress, or something. I don’t have time for the truth, or makeup, because I am on-the-go, or not getting out of bed before noon on a weekend, or most days, for that matter.

No, I am not such a creature of leisure. I really am on the go. I’m going to Baltimore again for an emergency trash-picking summit, and then I’m not drowning Mr. H in Spain. Does anyone want to watch the cat for me? I need some damn me time, with chilled golden spoons over my eyes.

Punish me with kisses, parking

Uncategorized, , , ,

Ohhhh, internet, internet. This monkey was at the other end of the hall. He is also sultry. I should have checked the other floors for enticing wildebeests or come-hither warthogs.

I know you are wondering where I’m parking during this latest snowstorm. As it turns out, I’m parked in the driveway. Suck it. I never thought having a parking space would be so exciting until after I lived in Somerville. I used to feel like the biggest asshole leaving a table in the space after I dug it out, but if I didn’t, someone else would do it right back to me. And if you move a table to park, you get a brick through your windshield. It is the Code of the Jungle.

The pedantic church bulletin board down the street says “Do unto others as if you were others.” My first thought was that they meant that one should do all one’s dirty deeds under an alias or assumed identity. That’s how I usually work anyway. I am right with the Lord.

Yesterday I didn’t take my Mother’s Little Helper, and when I realized it, I thought “Wot’s the worst that can happen?” See, crazy people are always looking for an excuse to stop taking their medication. We feel better, so we must be cured. Well, I guess, kinda. I’m not curled up in a ball* weeping, so that is a huge plus. But I do get the sensation of an electric shock to the middle of my chest every time I move my head. This is not entirely unenjoyable. I like pills in a universal sense, and I also like negative pills. Good day to you, too. Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a yogurt** with my name on it.

*With my small frame, I can curl up into a very small ball.

**Tonight is quesadilla night instead. Satan demanded Thai pasta last night, at totally the last fucking minute.

Million dollar sammich

Uncategorized, ,

Whassup, Internet? I watched ten minutes of the Oscars. Hilary Swank had her dress on backwards, and Chris Rock is black! Oh, oh my. Swank swank swank I like to say it swank. Antonio Banderas sang some song about Shrek with Beyoncé. I think.

It’s that time of the year where Mr. H and I start looking at our bank account, thinking “Hmm, there’s money in here, we should really give to charity or take a trip to Pluto or something.” But then Magic Larry’s secretary always calls to say I owe a whompin’ tax bill. I am trying to see if I can deduct money I spent this year if I first thought about spending it last year. Oh well. Maybe we’ll just vacation in Baltimore, where there is a hotel decorated with that incredibly louche primate depicted above. You can see I lack Mr. H’s fundamental photography skills, like holding the camera still. I can’t help it if I am a jittery person. Maybe we should just stay quietly at home and achieve our goal of seeing every zombie movie ever made.

Mmmm, and here is my hotline to satan that Lambchop mentioned the other day. He lets me live. He says we should have quesadillas tonight, and who am I to argue?

And the Oscar goes to…

Uncategorized, , , , ,

O best beloved internet, today I took some time from my busy schedule to worry about getting that bird flu and whether or not Hilary Swank will wear Vera Wang. Then that baby of my acquaintance stopped by. Here’s the thing with babies: They are swirling existential voids. People think babies don’t know anything, but they are wrong. Babies know they are helpless and insignificant, and this rightly pains them. This one is constantly suicidal, throwing himself at electrical outlets with tongue extended. He is also good at seeking out buckets containing one inch of water. I feel bad stopping him since he seems to really know what he wants, but I am pretty sure assisted suicide is illegal, even in this godless liberal state. Not that I looked that up, so don’t believe junk you read on the internet.

This disjointed rambling brings us to the results of our Vomitola election. I know you’ve all been irritated and jittery waiting for these results. I praise those of you who voted multiple times, especially for me.

And the winner is —

Cease! Desist! Impudent whores, I claim this puny electronic fiefdom in the name of superior intellect.

While I am no stranger to the pleasures of the flesh and the mother’s milk of the vine, one cannot build a nation by telling the little creatures that they do not have to toil if they do not wish to do so. Indeed, I rather admire the notion of enslaving the sans-culottes. However, I simply cannot abide the necessary company of rogues and japesters required to bring this to fruition. Let them exist under the iron rule of my ministers, out of sight and distance of hearing.

Thus, I see no other course than to appoint myself Monarch in Perpetuit. It is for your own good, you incompetent strumpets! Democracy is pointless and ugly simply because the pointless and ugly are allowed as much of a say as I. Now yield me my due as sovereign, and I will endeavour to rehabilitate the status of this intellectual cesspool.

-Melvin I

No, no, you illiterate slattern, Licketysplit for President!

Uncategorized, ,

I’m glad Lambchop reminded me we were running for president today. I was down in the town with the little people, purchasing a new car. Disposable autombiles are a brilliant invention, and every President’s Day, it is a great thumping thrill to get a new one and heave the old one into the mire. I am getting my name airbrushed on the side this time!

Now, I am not here to wow you with facts about cursing parrots or obesity, as Lambchop has attempted to do below. And I must also point out that my opponent’s pro-drug platform is no different from the current administration’s. You need vision! You need innovation! You need a haircut, and you could stand to lose ten pounds! Turn to me as I debut my platform:

There Are People to Do Those Things

As you may have guessed, Licketysplit stands for leisure. I prefer not to, and I know you feel the same way. If you gave a damn, your feet wouldn’t look like that. My party embraces indifference and ennui, but we still like to keep up appearances. You won’t catch us spreading liberty — if other countries became tolerable places to live, no one would sneak over our borders to clean out my garbage disposal or chaffeur my new car! I speak from solid experience that you will be hard-pressed to make someone wear a silly little hat and epaulets if he’s grown up in a culture of free expression.

So let the third world languish in third place, and let’s try to look as if we rightfully inhabit first! I stand for a plunge pool on every roof, a heated towel rack in every bathroom, and a mini bar in every bedroom. Don’t you want your grapes peeled and your sea salt imported from the Himalayas? Don’t you care about an adequate supply of tranquilizers for our annoying senior citizens (and for everyone, really)?

Vote Licketysplit for President of Vomitola! You can do it without even getting out of your chair.

Ten pounds of nothing in a five pound bag

Uncategorized, , , ,

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.