All posts by Licketysplit

It’s a very modern world, but nobody’s perfect

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1985 was rad and all, but something bad happened in the future land of 2004, and the earth wobbled and wibbled. And then in 2005, the cat can’t decide if she wants to be in or out, and I totally agree with that position, although it can be tiresome. There are theoretical units of value in my bank account, which were placed there because I used some of my time to do taxing things like write emails and make food dance on the internet. I transmitted some of my imaginary holdings via some electrons to be turned into bottled water and antibiotics. Electrons wear pointed shoes and jaunty caps. Then I picked up an issue of National Geographic Traveler, because vacation planning just got harder. As if life isn’t hard enough.

I can’t stay in 2005. I am booking a retreat to 1979, because I had a dream where everyone was speaking gibberish and “Fantastic Voyage” was playing in the background. This seems to be as good an idea as any. In 1979, I had just started growing teeth and learning about my feet. Later that year, I tried macaroni and cheese for the first time and loved it. Come to think of it, everyone *was* speaking gibberish to me in 1979. Maybe this is why I grew up to enjoy pharmaceuticals of all kinds. I have hands? Wow! What went wrong, ma?

HAPPY 1985!

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Well, it’s been a great year, but we at Vomitola eagerly welcome 1985. Did you drink too much last night? We may have. We know because we threw up in the shower this morning, and it didn’t even phase us.

1985 is shaping up to be pretty swell, what with the Perestroika and the 7.2% unemployment. We can’t wait to watch Kiss of the Spider Woman and see Madonna live! And just think, twenty years in the future, we’ll get to watch the Willy Wonka movie starring that nice Johnny Depp from A Nightmare On Elm Street. Can life be any sweeter? Count your blessings, you jerks!

We’re off to crash and dream of a 1300 Dow.

Off the reservation

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Let’s run the numbers, shall we?

hours spent flying: 3.5

hours spent in airport: 11

crying children: 4

times I heard “I Shot the Sheriff” while sitting near airport Starbucks: 3

calories in a tall non-fat flavored latte: 210

cost of wireless access day pass: $7.95

cost to park car at airport: $66

hours spent with parents: 12.5

hours spent with stress-induced narcolepsy: 4

cost of flight and hotel: $750

amount of gift certificates received by Mr. H for Sharper Image: $200

things he might actually want at Sharper Image: maybe Robosapien?

amount of cash received: approx. 6 months of therapy co-pays

times i was offered cranberry bread: 9

times i was bitten by a cat: 3

moments of heart-stopping terror and pity upon opening ugly gift: 1

times i said “damn”: countless

times we saw a dog crap in the lobby of a nice hotel: 1

(pictured: actual lobby of our hotel, stunt double dog)

La Vita è Bella

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Norepinephrine, where have you been all my life? YOU are my new favorite neurotransmitter. You are cashmere socks and lollipops, whiskers on kittens and radishes cut like rosebuds, toe separators and expertly placed highlights. You are like that dream I had the other night, the one where I ordered “Canadian” Xanax from an internet pharmacy. When it arrived, it looked like Viagra and baby aspirin, but I took it anyway and spent the rest of the dream riding an old-fashioned velocipede around a tropical city, stoned out of my gourd. I even thought “I wish Lambchop could be in this dream!”

In preparation for flying this weekend, I would like to share my Top Tips for Travel with our dear readers.

1. BYOB

2. Wear a sleep shade, ideally as soon as you get into the airport. There are ugly people allowed in those things!

3. If a child is annoying you, take it aside and kindly explain that you will flush it down the toilet, where it will immediately freeze solid as soon as it hits the outside air, followed by a 30,000 foot plummet into someone’s rumpus room.

4. Stockpile your “Canadian” Xanax. I’d reserve this for long-haul flights.

5. Load up your iPod with the soothing sounds of meditation exercises. “I will devastate my enemies….I am adored as a God….I let you live….”

6. Freestyle. This part is really up to you. Whether it’s twitching, pacing, or screaming, you want to make this flight a memorable experience for the other passengers. They are counting on you!

Coming soon: My list of Things I did not like about 2004. Yup, just phoning it in. Go to hell, I still have to assemble gift baskets for people I don’t like.

Signs

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We at Vomitola attended various parties this weekend, and one included a “yankee swap.” I had never heard of such a thing, but it turns out this is an exercise wherein everyone gives each other $20, like in Caddyshack. Sometimes this $20 is first transmuted into ugly crap you don’t want in your house. My heart just sank when I saw things like “Mexican tortilla grills” come out. Mr. H and I actually got $20 in cash in an envelope, making a cool $2 over our contribution, a bottle of merlot I grabbed out of the wine rack as we raced out the door. I didn’t even wrap it; I tied a damn bow on it and scraped off the price sticker. Still, it proved popular, maybe because it was not Trivial Pursuit or some kind of oil dipping set. I instinctively prodded Mr. H to grab the lone envelope, thinking that, at worst, it would be movie passes. Everyone was too polite to swap for the cash, but I will re-gift that $20 like damn.

I read a sign outside a little olde-tyme convenience store, called a superette or a spa or something, and it said “LEAN HAM.” Now I take things very literally, and I am compliant by nature. EAT. DRINK. LOUNGE. RESERVE PIE NOW. These are urgent calls to action. If I had any ham, I would have leapt out of the car and tilted it just so. Instead I just spent the weekend saying “LEAN HAM” and laughing.

What else. I switched dry cleaners because the employees of the more conveniently located one are just too unattractive. My fear of ugliness is at a new high, and I recently learned there is an actual term for it: cacophobia. Holy damn. When I was a kid, I was afraid of amputees (strangely, there were a lot of them in the backwoods) and this one tree that had been hit by lightning. Over the years, this has turned into a fascination with obesity (I am now only 362,250 extra calories from morbid obesity!), and a tendancy to see people I don’t know as misshapen trolls. Like David Sedaris said, “Everyone looks retarded if you put your mind to it.” I would bring this up to my therapist, but he is not attractive! Ethicist, what should I do?

damndamndamnhellhell.com

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Internet, give me hugz. I just dropped sashimi in my shoe. Why was I having sashimi for breakfast? Why the hell not. This eating thing is nothing but trouble, might as well make it interesting. I am never going to become obese at this rate.

My doctor gave me a lecture on high cholesterol, and he said that I am not allowed to eat bacon, sausage, duck, goose, shellfish, baloney, hot dogs, or olive loaf. I was not aware that olive loaf was a diet staple for anyone. We learn something every day, I suppose. I don’t eat any of those other things either, except a nice duck breast in a wine reduction maybe once a year, so who the hell knows. He got this faraway look in his eyes and mumbled about how he missed roasting an entire duck on his BBQ spit. Project much, tubby?

Maybe it’s possible that apathy turns into cholesterol. I should have asked, but I was too busy yawning. Then I told him my theory on how problems are for losers, and clearly I have no problems. I said “Do you see these? These are visible hip bones! These are abs! You must have someone else’s results.” Then he showed me my actual numbers, and apparently that damn whore will do anything to charge my insurance for an office visit. Whore! Damn hell. Hell.

peoplewhoamitoargue.com

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Well, today marks some damn hell day in the countdown to Chrismakwanzukkah. We at Vomitola feel it is appropriate to present some holiday memories, and maybe some Top Ten lists as the filthy pagans do like to read those. My sister the moose already started unveiling dirty laundry, so why can’t I?

Let’s see, back when we were just tots, my parents would pile the presents (likely to include collections of Garfield comic strips) on the couch, with a note saying “From ‘Santa.'” That’s right, there was no Santa Claus. We didn’t go in for that. I really don’t remember much else, until a few years later. Then we had a house with a mirrored fireplace, and some poinsettias would go in there. We had this crap-ass navity scene where you mixed up the plaster yourself and molded it and then painted it. Parts of the figures broke off when we tried to punch them out of the mold, so that was one afflicted-looking heavenly host. I don’t know why we even had this since we didn’t go to church. Anyway, that would go on a TV tray in the fireplace with the poinsettias. I have some pictures of that after my sister and I knocked all the figurines over and drew a mushroom cloud on a piece of notebook paper and hung it behind the manger. My favorite figure was the camel.

Then I don’t remember a damn thing for another ten years. Wait, one year I think we had to go decorate a nursing home with tinsel. Lambchop came back to Virginia with me one year during college, and we amused ourselves by seeing the Beavis & Butthead movie. We got Chinese food on Christmas day with my family and some other stragglers, and later my cat had explosive diarrhea on poor Lambie. Oh, at the Chinese place, a giant roach crawled out of the center of the lazy susan that bore the pu-pu platter. We dispatched him with terriyaki skewers and roasted him in the little flame. My dad got a free Heineken from the unmoved owner. My mom also made a chocolate fondue, which consisted of melting a can of Betty Crocker frosting over some sterno. It was uncomfortable to say the least.

A few years ago, Mr. H and I went to Virginia, and my mom had made little construction paper stockings and scotch taped them above the mirrored fireplace. Inside there was cash!

Last year Lambchop came over, and we made a turkey at my house. Then we went to the movies and got nachos and beer.

This year, who the hell knows! Lambchop and I have the heebie jeebies. I am shaking like a leaf. I hope we get to watch some porn.

And I promised you maggots a Top Ten list, so here goes:

Vomitola’s Top Ten Numbers of 2004

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

Yeah, the order just worked out that way.

peoplewhatistheirdamnproblem.com

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Oh, what’s with all the existentialism? I have got it so bad. It comes and goes, but this year it started in July. I tried to cure myself via routes including drinking, listening to music really loud (esp. the Arcade Fire album), rolling on the floor, and not showering. Then I remembered I had this video game wherein these cavemen kill other cavemen, and that was so good for a while. But eventually I gave in and went to an existential therapist. I told him about the French-talking dog, and the baby that eats everything, and the torture, and the apostrophe problems. He said “we are all complicit, and we are so fucked.” And I got a prescription for nihilism, and found out I have slightly elevated cholesterol, despite not eating anything.

I am not sure nihilism is the right course of treatment. I am starting to think staying safely above the treeline is the answer. See, I went out in public, to the store, and it was such a trial. First at the Target, and people were so squat and vile. Misshapen like very trolls you might find under a river bridge. Then I had to go to the grocery store on another day, and I like to push the cart around, but damn, the products are arranged just so, and all the colors pop out, and I hate the other people. They are so ugly! IN MY WAY! And don’t they realize there is food all around them, and that is what their problem is? I am not about to tell them though, they are on their own. I have done my share of public service, back when I was a Starbucks worker giving all the fat people skim lattes instead of the half-and-half or whatever it is they ordered. Anyway, so I say “debit exact” nice as you please and I get out of there. I like to punch my PIN in with two fingers, like I am really typing.

That is about it, except last night Mr. H did the funniest damn old thing. His mother has this habbit of bending at the waist and sticking her butt out when she is looking for something in the bottom shelves in her kitchen, so he hunkered down and made a rump and yelled “WHERE IS MY FRANKENBERRY?” while appearing to reach for something, and I almost died. I made him do it again, with Cookie Crisp. We went through so many different cereals.

Finally, go nominate us in the Most Inspirational Blog category. Or Best Weight Loss, we aren’t picky.

igotnothing.com

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Recent events:

* attended most lackluster holiday parade ever. Floats included an ambulance, a snow plow, a city bus with the sign set to “happy holidays,” and a Toyota Tercel that apparently made a wrong turn into the parade route.

* could not look away from Nick & Jessica holiday special. SO GOOD. Jessica emoted like a well-meaning special education teacher, and it was truly mesmerizing to watch her lick a pole.

* saw Pixies. Damn, damn, damn.

* was vomited on.

* am only 357,000 extra calories from being morbidly obese!

* did not die of cancer, although a friend’s husband did. same friend’s parents were sucked out of a plane a few years ago. la la la, i have no problems. shut up shut up shut up.