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Can’t keep a good lunch down

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My fellow Americans, I am ill! I went out among you, and what did I find? You still have no idea of the benefits of properly heat styling your hair, you cannot fathom the number of calories in an Outback menu item, and your feet are featureless blocks of concrete that even Michaelangelo couldn’t chisel and rasp back into shape. You can’t open your garage door because the garage is too full of Costco leavings. Your S.U.V. is cold out there in the driveway!

Making New Year’s resolutions that you won’t keep is only a month away, so why not start now, so you can feel bad about yourself for longer? Do you want me to carve some suggestions onto stone tablets? That worked out well a few thousand years ago, but even those have finally worn off. I’ll see what I can do. Does setting your Christmas tree on fire count as a burning bush?

Ho ho, as you can see, I am in what can clinically be described as a bad mood. I have post-holiday letdown. Thanksgiving is really the only good holiday. Christmas is the more stressful also-ran.

Look at it from my perspective: the kid gets 8 days off from school in December! On yet another day, I have to show up and act like people while the kids do some tappa tappa singa sing or something, and my own child will refuse to give me the present she made in front of the whole class.  Also, I have been commanded to transport a flan on a 3-hour drive! Do people not realize how sensitive and temperamental pumpkin flan can be? Lives may be lost.

And then there’s this:

Pie in the Sky

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I lost count at some point, but I think I may have eaten seven (7) pieces of pie over the holiday weekend, a new personal best. I also ate a grilled baby octopus, some black pudding (made of blood!) and 1/4 tray of brownies. Others may pervert the true meaning of Thanksgiving, making it about sports and “sexy” turkey costumes, but with us the shameful overindulgence of the day is kept alive.

Also it’s Christmas. I came across the first seasonal musical offering on the radio on Thanksgiving Day. It was “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas.” It ended up being anticlimatic as a harbinger, since I heard it 15 times in the days that followed on the 3 stations that were ONLY playing Christmas music, in spite of the fact that there are apparently only 4 Christmas songs. Maybe it is pointless to try and note the start of xmas using music as your guide. Or maybe I spent too much time in the car. Especially as it cut into my pie eating time. It need not have, as it turns out. As we drove down 495 in our tuned-to-xmas mobile, we saw a woman driving in the next lane with an unwrapped pie held aloft on a plate. In her hand. With a fork.

That sighting is probably the better bellwether of the holiday season. Seen anyone eating an entire pie while driving? Oh, it must be Thanksgiftsmas!! Time to fill out stockings with meringue and watch Kate’s Secret! For truly ’tis better to give than to receive.

Thanks, friends, for a lovely holiday!

Scanners

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I went to the airport, and it turns out you have to have a ticket to be groped! Pay for play unfair! What if I just want to be sure I am not a threat to myself in my own home or car? Who will think of the children? And grope them.

If you’re going to be gadding about in a metal bird of death this holiday season, or if you’re going anywhere near North Korea, you’d be wise to study Kitty Winn’s victim tribute photo tips. To add a touch of modernity to Kitty’s sage advice, I suggest uploading a few flattering shots at print resolution and making them into a Facebook album called “OK to use in the event of my exotic death.” Some people just can’t see the forest for the trees.

Now go forth and conquer! My flan is done. Let it be known.

Thx

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Now you have done it, Vomkiteers.  Once one begins to celebrate things, one becomes addicted, eager to celebrate more things.  Last night I ate the last of my birthday cake and ice cream for dinner.  Eyes blazing with sugar, chin dusted in frosting, nose tipped daintily in chocolate, we ask ourselves- what’s next?  For god’s sake man, what are we celebrating next?!?  Fortunately, at this time of year there is no lack of occasion for parties, florid ramblings, and gluttonous pie consumption.  Tell me, will it hurt when it’s all over? 

Yes, I know I should really stop licking my plate and put my pants back on.  You are clearly on the side of those buttery crumbs scattered with grains of raw sugar.  You would take their part over mine wouldn’t you? But you can’t take Thanksgiving away from me, I won’t let you.  Don’t come any closer!

By the by, I should mention the things for which I am thankful.  I am thankful to have good health.  My hands still work for painting, my legs are still perambulating.   My finances remain hilariously deplorable, which reminds me to be thankful for consistency.  And of course I am thankful for Licketysplit, the best mate any cut of meat has a right to ask for.

Are you going to eat the rest of that?  What do you mean, there is nothing left?  I can plainly see a quarter of a pie crust and a drizzle of chocolate and cardamom on your tray!

you’re not gonna reach my telephone

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After much grumbling, I finally got rid of my 4-year-old phone. It was a great phone. I could drop it, step on it, and get it wet, and it didn’t seem to care. It had a flippy little keyboard so I could text like an old person. It vexed Verizon that I would not upgrade, and that’s always nice, to vex.  But it was time to join the modern world, and it was free to do so, and thus I was tempted. STUPID IDEA, ME.

My new phone has many baffling features like a touch screen that enables me to randomly call people just because I scroll down a page with my hammy little thumbs. Mr. H tells me I need to get apps, apps. Fine, I’ll have the clams casino. Be a love and fetch that. It will only enfatten my thumbs.

The single worst feature, however, is a whole screen devoted to “favorites.” I dutifully stuck a few of my finer human companions in there. But then it occurred to me that there is no delete, so once someone is added, they are a perma-favorite.

What, you never suddenly decide you hate someone? You are never crossed, or even vexed? I want a phone that supports a scorched earth relationship policy in the favorites department. Mr. H suggested that I could delete the entire contact, but where’s the fun in that? I want to leave the object of my scorn in the ol’ memory banks, and change the display name to something embarrassing for when that person calls, crawling back like a worm. Lambchop gave me this idea years ago, and it works a treat!

You should see what YOUR name is in my phone. Haha! We will all laugh together, anal prod.

Never Before and Never Again

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Complain and ye shall receive! I had a truly fantastic birthday, cialis thanks in large part to the squillion birthday messages I received. Facebook is such a “this is your life” (when it is not busy being “this is my life”.) It was very touching to hear from childhood friends, link old and new friends, treatment one fish two fish red fish blue fish. Other highlights included:

And this:

They’re Smoking Cigars

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Today is the much revered day of Lambchop’s birthday. I cannot be there with her, but I can only hope she is brunching in style and wearing her fanciest socks. May traffic part before her, and may hipsters spontaneously molt their beards at the very sight of her. Is a clean-shaven Brooklyn too much to ask for one special day? Also, there must be dumplings.

She is, after all, the Mary, and don’t let her tell you otherwise!

We all know she is lovely and inspiring, yet she is utterly impossible to shop for (do I get her more wigs? More doll heads? A clipboard? What?). After a few hours of cursing the personal shopper at Saks, I was at loose ends. So I got myself a haircut. It’s the least I can do since she’s the one that has to look at me!

XXOO!!!!!! We and all the other personalities love you, Lambie! What would we do without you?  We miss you, Boddddyyyyyyy!

Silver BALLS

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I have a child I have to keep routinely somewhat entertained so she doesn’t eat my eyes. She used to be a baby, and now she is not, and thus horizons broaden. We just finished painting our own Christmas balls, it’s beginning to look a lot like. Then I read the directions, and it seems I should have had us do this in a well-ventilated area. Oops! No wonder things feel a bit woozy. Well, if it’s the last thing I do, I will post to Vomitola. Viva balls!

Tomorrow is the annual FIESTA DE LAMBCHOP. I am on a major memory lane kick, as is my right when I have 7 years of content in the can, so here are some past ways we have celebrated Lambchop’s birthday.

2003, Huzzah, huzzah!

Unfurl the gossamer banners, and don your t-shirt featuring dogs having a tea party! Pipe lurid pink icing flowers on a solid slab of marzipan, and flood the streets with confetti, for it is Lambchop’s birthday! And not just any birthday, oh no. It is a special number, but I shall leave that for her to reveal in her own good time.

Then we said it with ABBA!

2004, Joyeux anniversaire, Lambchop

Wherein we exploited animal labor. Never work with children or animals. Balls.

I am planning something big for tomorrow. As soon as I plan it. I don’t have time to hop the shuttle to New York for us to get matching tattoos.

Won’t you help me prepare this year’s offering? What word jumps to mind when you think “Lambchop?” If you don’t help, she is getting one of our fresh poison christmas balls.

Now someone is asking me how to work a glue gun. As if I know! ATTACK!

Almost Xmas

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The main character in Nick Hornby’s About a Boy takes special note of the first time in the year he hears a particular xmas song. Because his father made gazillions from a novelty xmas song, never had another hit and drank himself to death, he hates xmas. And I think, Ding Dong!, that’s me, I hate xmas, too!

I have tried playing this game of noting when I hear the first xmas song of the season. This year I yelled at a trio of eleven year olds for singing one in a car on Halloween, because they were throwing my count off. I mean, that can’t really count, can it?

I have not yet legitimately heard the first song, the first strains of cheer meant to make me wax all holiday and break out my Black Amex. Nevertheless, the race is definitely on. Last night the red, gold and green lights over Grand St. and Graham Ave. in Brooklyn were lit for the first time. I have grown to love these lights. Winter lasts about four months around here, sometimes longer. The holiday season, as irritating as it is in many respects, lights up my frigid, late night, wind battered bike ride for about half of that. I find myself actually enjoying passing beneath the glittering lights, where the streets were previously dark and desolate.

Now for the song. Which will it be? I am pretty much ok with anything except for Bob Seger’s version of “the Little Drummer Boy”. Think about it, all those thickly bearded p-p-p-plosives. Whosever idea that was, you are so fired from xmas. Ye Gods. It’s enough to make scrooges of us all.

Bats in the belfry

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Someone actually arrived at our site by searching for “what’s good about November.” Well, I swan. Someone also arrived by looking for “anal scrabble,” which is frankly more plausible to me than something being good about November. Here, a proud listing of how much I hate November:

November 2, 2005 ,”This Also Just In”

It’s November, Charlie Brown. Outside forces continue to vex, astound. Inside forces also unfavorable.

October 31, 2007, “Handwashing is Key,” wherein we establish that while October sucks, November is worse.

October is bungled logistics and petty grievances and the horror of taking a shower every day. October secretly arranged to go out to lunch with your Saturn Return and talk about you, and then they strike up a friendship born of shared distaste for you and stay up late on the phone, planning new pranks.

November 1, 2007, Now I Know How Joan of Arc Felt

Allrighty, what’s good about November? [ed.- I’ll be darned, we tried!] How psyched are you for November? Guy Fawkes day!!!!!! That is in November. Thanksgiving is in November, and that’s generally fun if you put aside historical context and all. I make a mean quinoa pilaf. Veteran’s Day, well, that could be a downer. Depends on who you ask. Halloween candy on sale? Don’t need that and would not want to catch obesity from looking at it funny either. Christmas decorations will slowly start to become more contextually appropriate. I think we should just neatly excise October and November from the calendar. Halloween can be moved to September, right after my 25th birthday. The Vomitola calendar is awesome. St. Croix’s Day is a real day! So is “everyone’s attractive” day! Except that is not really true. We just pretend and feel better.

November 9, 2007, “That the night come”

Take that, NO!vember. I am going to get on a plane and go somewhere…five to ten degrees warmer than here. Yes, well played, me. Well played! The only catch is that I am going with a ybab, and I have to decide whether to strap her to my back and carry the carseat while carrying the bag on my head, or strap the carseat to my back while dragging her on a leash attached to a cute animal backpack, or perhaps check her at the curb and pay someone to push me along in a Smarte Carte (“we’re the carts at the airport and a whole lot more…” More! I like that. OMINOUS).

Whoa, clearly winter 2007-08 was a rough one. Why didn’t someone just stick me on a treadmill in front of a happy lite watching a DVD of Caribbean waves for the whole month of November? Why don’t gyms have that set-up, anyway? I will do it and make a killing. With optional lead apron rental.