All posts by Licketysplit

The lights are on, but no one’s home

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This is to serve as official notice that I will be off in a Swiss sanitarium for the next few weeks to months. I have a lot on my plate, so much so that I’m practically in need of bariatric surgery. Glarmph.

What to do with this space is turning into a puzzler. Frankly, work sucks, planning a wedding sucks, and there are only so many times one can discuss either of those topics. I’ve also noticed in the stats that this site is read by some people who are in my general orbit but definitely not close to me. They don’t mention that they read it, as close friends will actually do, and that’s kinda creepy. Even total strangers write in and make themselves known. Shouldn’t you people be busy looking for Buffy fanfic or something? This is public, of course, and you have a right to read. This knowledge helps me rule out the extremely personal as fodder. Not that I usually run on and on about gynecological hijinks or the joys of separating my laundry, but it’s nice to touch on actual human experiences now and then. So if my contribution to this site can’t be personal, what does that leave? The topical? That’s sooooo irrelevant.

Indeed, there are enough people doing pseudo scholarly analysis, movie reviews, and in depth-coverage of what they ate for breakfast. Ah, self-publishing at its finest. The world cries out for another pastiche of NYT links!

So I leave you for now in the capable hands of Lambchop. At least until after September 1, when I am absolved of some legal doings and can speak freely about something particularly hilarious. Until then, Lambchop’s wee paws are as soft as a baby’s hindquarters. She’s been soaking in something…

-xxoo

Also

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“It was sooooooo good,” as Lambchop said. I can’t possibly sum it up politely. It made a lot of people who were not me happy, so I guess that’s a super thing. Plus we now own half a Crate & Barrel. And I accidentally shoplifted thank you cards from the Crane’s store today. Don’t worry, Bloodhound Gang members, I brought them back and paid for them once I realized I still had them in my hand. Not that the clerk noticed me walking back IN with them either. Hey, I was carrying a lot of other bags for a friend while wandering listlessly around the store. It’s just so distracting when one must decide between the ones with the silver deckle edge or the illustration of the cunning little teapot. The monogram? Just the Right shade of blue? OH GOD WHY GOD WHY.

I am going to fondle my red Kitchen Aid mixer now. Them’s the breaks, man.

-xxoo

What a cut-up

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This morning I awoke from a bizarre Tylenol PM-fueled dream that I was a spectator at a reality TV show featuring celebrity amputations. There was a glossy multi-tiered set, a cheering crowd, a dapper host (Ryan Seacrest?). I woke up, groggy and rubbing my eyes, not sure if I dreamed that or not. The name of the show escapes me, but I know it was something incredibly twee, like “Cut It Out!” Come to think of it, they should have gotten Dave Coulier.

The celebrities were pleased to be featured, and they were trotted out and an extraneous extremity was pruned with the benefit of local anesthetic, their choice of machete or mini guillotine. White uniformed medical professionals were in attendance, overseeing everything very seriously. The amputations had little catch phrases depending on the part in question. Jennifer Anniston got all the toes on one foot off; that one was called “The Footsie Tootsie.”

It all started getting hazy after something went awry with the severing of Jim J. Bullock’s forearm from the rest of him. A hazard of live TV I guess. Paramedics came, and then suddenly I realized the set was in the middle of a giant Pier 1. And Kirstie Alley was there, trying to sell me some fake sea grass. Arghhhhhhhhhh!

Can someone please tell me why there are C-list stars in my dreams? I am never taking Tylenol PM again, even if I stay up for 3 days. I’ve worked 7 days straight, looking at another 5. My marbles are rolling around in my head, all loosey goosey like.

-xxoo

Bless my buttons

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Today is stressful. I bet you people think my life is all fun and games, an endless blur of sucking champagne from the navels of cabana boys, but that’s a dirty lie. A misconception.

In a traumatic turn of events, I had to decide which stamp to use on my wedding invitation. I am allergic to my wedding anyway. The invites that we thought we could do ourselves ended up requiring an emergency overnight trip to Sir Speedy for printing. Sir Speedy lived up to his royal image and did a great job though. After much hemming and hawing, I went with the Andy Warhol stamp.

I know I’m not legally married unless the invite bears a “Love” stamp, but nothing says “this is a big production that bores me terribly” like Andy. The best part is that the invite requires 2 stamps, so I can have a proper Andy diptych. And Mr. H pointed out that it “works with our color scheme.” We love it, yes we do.

-xxoo

The fog

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Went to Peaks Island for the 4th.

Max from Where The Wild Things Are found a marble that looked like a bloody eyeball. Well, I spotted it, but made him dig it up with his wee paws.

It’s important to have a smashing rock. For smashing. Just wait til that kid reads Lord of the Flies.

It really was foggy.

-xxoo

It looks like a porcupine

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This morning at the mini mart, treat I almost got knocked over by a woman trying to haul her brood of monster children out the door.

“Bioré, prescription get OVER here!” she shrieked.

“Bzzzt!” went my cerebral cortex. Yes, medicine it really sounds like a bug zapper. Did I just hear that correctly? Bioré was busy ripping open packets of Fun Dip at the counter and had to be hollered at again and again. Yep, there was no way I misheard a more “traditional” name.

By the time I got my card out of the ATM, acid-washed mommy had succeeded in getting the kids back to the truck. Luckily Nivea, Olay, Almay, and Little Max Factor were better behaved.

-xxoo