All posts by Licketysplit

Tell me about the rabbits, Trista

Uncategorized, , ,

from the desk of Kitty Winn

Dear Kitty Winn, prescription

A few months ago I slugged it out with a few dozen other girls on a popular TV show. I won the affections of a lunkish Midwestern kinda guy. Everything was really dreamy for a few weeks, but then he looked at another girl in a bar! I did what any self-respecting person with crazy eyes would do and hucked the engagement ring at his head! I mean, I’m his fiancée! That alone should demand he pluck out his offending eye. We had a connection! And he didn’t see it that way. I like the idea of making a guy get down on his knees to re-propose every few days. I think guys like that too, it makes them feel like they have a special job to do. But then he just got all weird on me and wouldn’t spend the holidays with me. What’s with that, I’m his fiancée! And then he didn’t love me anymore. But I’m his fiancée! I have a ring! Should I keep it, Kitty? I won it fair and square.

-hella crazy

Dear Helene,

If I had one of those automagical Tivos, I would have zapped right past you, because you scare me so much. But I needed to see Trista lead Ryan around like a trusty St. Bernard. Yes, you do have crazy eyes. But Ryan seems to be on some serious veterinary tranks. Is he slightly retarded? Or is it just that rocky mountain high. At any rate, I hope Trista doesn’t let him pet her pretty hair too long. He’s got big strong hands.

Stay away from me,

-Kitty

P.S. Sure, keep the precious, go right ahead! Fine by me!

Hurry up and wait: a travelogue

Uncategorized, , ,

The two feet of snow Boston received a few days ago are still snarling things. Last night it took a full hour to drive from zee Back Bay to Mr. H’s house in Slummerville. There was honking and gesticulating, and failure to yield to emergency vehicles. And then there were the other drivers, ba dum dum. No, I’m teasing. Of all the rages I am known to enjoy, road rage is not among them. I did read about one severe case of snow rage. In Framingham. Isn’t that the town where people kill each other at their kids’ hockey games? Go figure.

And I won’t even get started on the T. The rage has disipated to a collective ennui. If it had a sound, it would be a low-pitched whiny “nnnnnnnnnuuuuuuhhhh.”

It’s finally warm enough to go out without gloves and a ski mask, so to celebrate living through a hellish drive, we walked to Rudy’s Cafe, the margarita mecca of Teele Square.

On the way back, I noticed a salon called “Skin Skedaddle.” What is the meaning of this? “We extract to the point of disfiguration. People will skedaddle when they see you!” That’s almost as good as Hair-azz, which briefly existed next to the Outback in Burlington. And let’s not forget what always, always cracks me up in Porter Square: “Long Funeral Service.” It used to be Long-Hurley, which was passable, but I guess there was some sort of schism.

But yes, I’m just rambling. Must be hibernation wearing off. Must focus. On…who won the Bachelorette! I’m going to subtitle this: And Shamu makes 3

Good God, who would have thought she would choo-choo choose Ryan?  He’s a poet, and he don’t even know it. But Charlie, Charlie had a serious hair problem. I kept flashing back to the footage of melancholy sea birds after the Exxon Valdez. Anyway, any guy who can tolerate the booming cadence of her biological clock totally deserves her. My stomach crawled up into my throat during the scene where she and Ryan, or maybe it was Charlie, were feeding bread to ducks. She cooed “Ready? Over here!” and I could picture her perfectly in maternity overalls, herding tow-headed children around on an “educational” experience.

I topped off my evening with a nightcap of “I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here!” Melissa Rivers blinked back tears as she realized she was there to be “humiliated” by having creepy crawling bugs and rats stuffed down her pants. Zen. And you bet your ass I will also tune in tonight to watch the Bachelor “follow-up” with Aaron and tearful Helene. I’d like to say I have something better to do, but somehow this has become important to me.

xxoo

Hell is other people?

Uncategorized, , ,

Dear Kitty Winn,

I am a sad and lonely act, gagging for sex. My sympathetic friends have helped set me up on a couple of dates, but every time I found myself on the road to snog city, some part of me would panic and find fault with the guy-like I didn’t like his side parting, or he said “wicked” once too often. But then I go right back to repining my celibacy. Naturally, my friends are no longer sympathetic. Perhaps you can answer the question that’s on their minds- “what the hell is the matter with (me)?!”

-Cry for love

Dear Crybaby,

It’s not you, it’s them! Actually, that’s not true, it’s YOU, YOU, YOU, but I cheered you up for a minute right? One possible course of action is to re-evaluate your romantic timeline. Perhaps you are letting the woo drag on a bit too long? It helps to have already sampled the milk before you let the cow start to annoy you. So hop to it and kiss on the first date (be safe of course). If it’s sex you want, sex ye shall have! Then you’ll have at least a 3-10 day cuddle hormone-fueled fog before you start to blink, rub your eyes, and notice the object of your lust sways his hips like a woman or lets the fork touch his teeth.

Believe me, there is no relationship lacking this phase of revulsion. Your “Oh God, how did I get here?” moment could come in 2 days, or 20 years. But if it’s worth pursuing, you’ll forge ahead. You’ll know when.

Alternately, if it really seems that no one measures up, maybe your friends just don’t know anyone good! Maybe you need to ditch your friends for more attractive ones, with more suave, attractive friends of their own.

Failing that, figure out what’s eating you about yourself. If you don’t like yourself, you are likely a cranky poop, on your way to being a nosy old bat. And who’s going to want to be around such an obvious open wound? Maybe all these losers are really trying to drive you away because you are so insufferable and pathetic that they don’t know what else to do?

Oh, put the letter opener down! Turn off the oven! Kitty is just trying to provoke. Sadly, the answer is that you are the key to your own happiness. No one else can make anything better if you don’t allow them. It’s ok to be a solitary soul for a while. Try to put the cravings for love aside and find it within yourself. Think Buddhism. What Would Richard Gere Do?

Keep Kitty updated, Crybaby, as your problem is more thorny than anticipated. Relax, be yourself, and before you know it, you’ll be picking out a thermos for that special someone, not an ordinary thermos either.

Fortitude,

-Kitty

I love you like a fat kid loves cake

Uncategorized, , ,

It’s a slow news day. Boston is under a blanket of white stuff….much like the one under which Vomitola staff frequently finds themselves. I was toying with the idea of a post called “Things I have spilled on my desk.” Last week it was chowder. Corn chowder, not man chowder. Heather. A co-worker walked into my office and said “Aw man, I missed the bukkake.” A few days later, marinara sauce. Same co-worker walked in, he of impeccable timing, and said “Aw man, I missed the placenta!” The moral of all this? I’m a saucy girl? Bukkake is always amusing? I don’t know what to tell you. I’m ashamed of myself, really. And I do clean it up, it’s not like it festers for days! Surely that’s more important than the snow out there. I feel for all those poor Fox news bastards shivering out along the highway in their parkas. “It appears to be snowing, yes, quite a bit. I’d stay inside if I were you. Don’t walk on the Charles, morons!”

That out of the way, I should explain the title of the post. It’s from the song “21 Questions” by 50 Cent. 50 is a numerological cipher, he is! He is really on the pulse of America’s damaging love affair with food. Witness 50’s take on the obesity epidemic:

Fat, fat, them Snickers got your ass getting fat, fat

Those cookies got your ass getting fat, fat

That Cake got your ass getting fat, fat

Bitch you grown, that ain’t baby fat, fat

In the gym I see your ass up on the Stairmaster

But you got it on level two bitch go a little faster

Look girl, I ain’t gonna lie, I’ll tell you how I feel

They should handcuff your big ass to the treadmill

He’s really on to something, huh. The secret to weight loss is definitely to reduce intake while increasing activity. I’m not sure diet experts would agree that one should handcuff him or herself to gym equipment, but I’m sure 50 cent was speaking in metaphorical terms, citing willpower as a virtue. In fact I’m inspired to get a personal trainer! Brawny Hans will have me lithe and limber in no time.

xxoo

Do it for Science!

Uncategorized, , ,

Hello boys and girls, Kitty Winn here. You may remember our distraught young writer from yesterday, Pine Fresh. Well, he’s risen to the challenge and provided us with a smorgasboard of personal information. Kitty did have to coax a bit, but we’ve arrived at an intriguing profile. So sit back, enjoy, and prepare to pounce on this tasty morsel!

Kitty Winn: So, give us some basic statistics.

Pine Fresh: Human male. 5’8″, 156 pounds. I’m a guilty white liberal. A yuppie.

KW: Hobbies and interests?

PF: I like art, both creating and looking at it. I enjoy going to see bands or DJs, but I don’t like the club scene so much. When it’s not too cold I like to just wander around the city and try to get lost in a new neighborhood.

KW: Favorite food?

PF: I like sushi, or spicy chinese eggplant.

KW: Favorite sad movie/ favorite funny movie:

PF: For sad, I think you have to go for “Happiness”, and for funny I really like “The Usual Suspects.”

“Oswald was a fag” is such a great line. And “No, give ME the gun, you motherfucking cocksucker.”

KW: Favorite reading material, printed and online:

PF: Books I liked: The Corrections (I know, I know), magazines I read: the New Yorker (for the articles!) and The Economist (for the cartoons!), and websites I like include boingboing.net.

KW: And he also meant to add “Vomitola!” What are you listening to right now?

PF: Public Enemy, “Fear of a Black Planet.”

KW: What makes you a good fling?

PF: I’ll call once or twice, and I’ll get the hint if you aren’t interested!

KW: What makes you a good long term relationship (LTR)?

PF: I listen to and respect my partner. I always make sure the other person is having as good a time as I am.

KW: Come on, let’s give our hopelessly immature readers a treat.

PF: I have nice muscles? I smell nice?

KW: Good enough. Favorite kitchen implement?

PF: Tongs.

KW: Nasty boy!

So there you have it, gentle readers. If you are a comely lass in search of a partner in the greater Boston area, write Kitty with a summary of qualifications, and we’ll see if we can make the first Vomitola.com love connection.

swoon,

-Kitty

Playing cupid

Uncategorized, , ,

Dear Kitty Winn,

I hate valentine’s day. I keep seeing fun valentiney things to do and then realize I have no plans, and even if I had a date, it wouldn’t be the kind of sincere and loving date that would be worthy of the extravagant valentiney things. When I was dating someone, I hated valentines’ day and was disgusted by all the extravagant gifts that the season demanded I give, and by the whole commercial insincerity of it all.

I know what other singles will be doing. The really cheezy corporate-owned bars in The Alley have a singles flirt-fest where there will be incredibly drunk incredibly lonely people looking to have incredibly awful guilt-wracked fear-of-dying-alone sex with strangers. The various titty bars in town will be full of incredibly drunk, incredibly lonely guys and very distant, mildly disgusted strippers who don’t quite have to think about what they’re doing since they’re coked out of their minds.

But what can a single Boston boy do this friday? I’m a human male with a pulse. Surely someone has lowered their standards enough for me!

-Pine Fresh

Dear Pining,

Human? Male? That’s always been good enough for Kitty! I don’t know what’s wrong with girls these days. Or do you need a boy? You didn’t specify. If it’s boymeat on your mind, there’s always the Ramrod (it’s military gear night!), or Jacque’s.

If it’s females you’re after, I’d stake out Victoria’s Secret. Look for the girl buying sexy undies. And then talk to her less comely friend who’s been dragged along for the ride! Or you could camp out next to florists and the Godiva store, noting who peers in longingly. Because good boyfriends have already sent flowers and candy to work by now, so chances are they’re single. Finally, who says all strippers are coked out of their minds? There are plenty of nice ladies who are strippers. Of course they won’t like you if you have a negative attitude like that! Judge not lest ye be judged, Kitty always says.

Of course that’s a rotten lie. Kitty loves to judge people!

Realistically? Does it have to come to that? I’d suggest going somewhere non-date-y with a group of friends. Scorpion bowls in Chinatown can’t be beat. Scamming on friends of friends is always a good bet anyway. Or I can open up the floor to readers. Provide me with some vital statistics, and maybe we can palm you off on a lucky Vomitola fan!

warm-heartedly yours,

-Kitty

A sensitive problem for a sensitive individual

Uncategorized, , ,

Dear Kitty Winn,

Attachments: right.scr, e23132zb24v[1].jpg

-frillysimsATmindspring.com

Dear frillysims,

That was SOME question. I would have to say that obviously I don’t know you very well, but you’d probably want to talk to a doctor sooner than later. I hear there are also some good hotlines for that. You don’t want to risk life-long infertility, now do you? And good lord, think of the cosmetic ramifications!

regards,

-Kitty

Pee Ess: Kitty is using a Mac, you can’t touch her with your zany microsoft scripting, even if she DID open attachments from strangers!

Author, author!

Uncategorized

I hereby enjoin Cara to publish her magnum opus, “Che es signoro Smith?” It’s a rollercoaster of suspense and drama, about a polar bear who disguses himself as an Italian and kills people. Cara worries that her writing peaked in 8th grade. I say “that’s ok, Orson.”

We spent a year of our life working on an epic called “The Possum Waffle Saga.” I hope my mom still has those old Word Perfect files. That was without a GUI, just F-keys. Old School, ya hear? Anyway, TPWS was set in Broadass Creek, West Virginia. It featured Bubba and Lurleen Bippus, a common law married couple who came up with a unique food marketing idea for roadkill. They had wacky adventures with a cast of thousands, including Japanese tourists, Elvis impersonators, and even Punxsutawney Phil. Each chapter was a self-contained episode, except for one cliffhanger surrounding the groundhog. Oh, memories. I think I was 11 and she was 8. Or we might have been younger. It was a big deal to say “ass.”

xxoo

Entertain meeeee

Uncategorized, ,

So while Heather was off having stiff ones forced down her throat, I must have been at the movies. This weekend I saw How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. I expected a candy-coated piece of fluff, but it turned out to be all that and then some! It was entertaining to the nth degree, although don’t think I’m about it review it. Overthinking violates my policy of perpetual amusement! Besides, just like there are those who clean toilets, there are people to write reviews. Like the Times. If you liked Office Space, give this a try. Seriously. It’s the same brand of retardation, with more carbonated pop. Ok, the end was sultifyingly predictable, but such is. There are less fun ways to spend an hour and a half.

Speaking of peppy, a clever reader alerted me to the madcap world of Pokey the Penguin. Love it. Love Pokey.

Now I’ve got to make tracks home through the snow so that I can adequately prepare for the final episode of Joe Millionaire. Every passing day my lust for cheap, thoughtless entertainment grows. I wonder if it’s a new form of depression? Maybe it’s just my patriotic duty. I used to be one of those “oh I don’t have a TV” people, but no more! If I can manage to maintain a trash culture-fueled stupor, I don’t have to think about the REALLY bad things going on. Sometimes if the negative does intrude, I just throw money at the problem! It’s amazing. A well-timed $50 to the humane society or the foodbank really helps the pleasant fog roll back in. (Except never give to WBUR. They’ll hound you every 2 months for the rest of your life. Do I LOOK like I want a tote bag? I finally pretended to be deceased.)

Remember boys n’ girls, thoughtful analysis is for simps! Up with boobies!

xxoo