Tag Archives: altruism

Ladies and gentlemen, we are floating in space

A week ago, I was lolling about in a foreign land, as the natives pushed each other aside for the honor of turning down my bed. I might eat a prosciutto-wrapped fig if I felt so inclined, or dip a toe in my private plunge pool. The coffee came with a single perfect rose on the tray.

Today, I am sitting on my couch after a rousing session of “kill the bugs that come in when it rains.” The highs, the lows. I am also nagged by some sort of illness. Once it turned out not to be SARS, I lost interest, but still it persists, like a dense pimple-ridden suitor. Someone has suggested that I have “allergies.”

Allergies? Those are problems for OTHER PEOPLE! I thought I was breaking new ground in the inconvenience department when I became the first person in the entire world to suffer from jet lag, but this, this simply will not do. I have placed a call to my attorney, my plastic surgeon, and the liquor delivery service.

Speaking of other people, and their horrid little problems, some of you might remember that April 5 was to be “Have Sex With An Ugly Person Day.” Well, Lambchop and I tried. We honestly did. But we couldn’t find any of those poor unfortunates in our immediate circle. So we placed paper bags over the heads of our regular duty roster members, and gamely tried to look away from the still visible taut abs. It was a disaster. We felt robbed of a sense of giving. Here we thought we could be Ghandi for a day, only to take yet another turn on the usual golden lap. It breaks our heart still more to know that scores the world over will never know what it’s like to bed an attractive person! I weep; Lambchop weeps.


Tick Tock Goes the Clock

I am mooning over this typewriter. It’s only 11:04 (I know, shop because I am playing “Shout out the time!”) and I am soulless and sullen already.

I ran into a former professor on the train today and had to feel automatically sheepish for having a job. Because I want to be Somebody. I feel like I should go win a Guggenheim or something. There are even some of you out there reading this that surely find it amusing that I have a job at all, sovaldi never mind one that does not involve me being spanked. In the art game being unemployed is called ambition.

I did finish a painting last night and it wants to kick your a$$.

In today’s afterschool special, I am finally meeting my Little Sister. I hope I can impress an eight year old- she might actually be bigger than me!


Eighteen Things to Feel Good About That Have Nothing to do With It Being A Friday

18. If you can read this, you aren’t dead.

17. Batman!

16. Venti Latte

15. Doin’ the Butt

14. Finding out that someone else who isn’t you just got fired/demoted/a bad perm.

13. The number 13

12. Swivel chairs

11. STIFF, A book on the interesting lives of cadavers.

10. Cardigans with “Lambchop” stitched to the shoulder (you should all feel good about this)

9. Anticipation of Starsky and Hutch, the Movie.

8. The Miss Gothic Massachusetts competition

7. Andy Gibb’s smile

6. Someone probably admires you.

5. Lunch dates with ex-Mormons

4. Electric pencil sharpener

3. The Microscopic Robots of the Future

2. Sun rises

1. A new little sister!

(for those of you keeping score at home, I have a potential little sister through the Big Sister program. I am going to meet her soon! Until then, I am obligated to keep her identity confidential. Stay tuned!)

My house sits your ass down…

Oh, you know things are bad when the events of your life trot out UB40 songs in your head on eternal repeat. There has been a rat in the kitchen for a while now. Pennywise started out living in the basement and got greedy. We were content to trap him and out him into the street, but he is a wily fellow. Just when you think you have not seen him in ages and he must be gone for good, off to more posh digs in the dumpster behind Shaws, his shadowy step will be seen again. The line has finally been drawn in the sand, however. Pennywise has taken to sitting on our sofa, eating our snacks! There he was watching VH1 Classic and eating Seth’s cheese doodles like he was one of us. We could tell he was an imposter, though, because he didn’t warble along incoherently when they played Michael Mcdonald. So the exterminator is coming. The dawn shall rise on vengeance! YA MO BE DERE!

In other news, I received my letter of acceptance to the Big Sister program. I am going to go practice mentoring something. Like maybe the coffee machine or my pencil case.


Grover Sings the Blues

He’s so anxious, and he is always screwing up. He hollers and bounces off the wall. Need I tell you how strongly I identify with Grover? I was in a cafe today and I read a Grover poem in a Little Golden Book:

when my imagination

takes me by the mind

it leads me so far, so fast

my body’s left behind

yet that’s when I am most myself

lost in wish and dream

and coming back, I smile and think

“I’m more than I might seem.”

While I was reading it, Tom Jones was howling “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” on the piped-in music.

P.S. Lately I have been feeling uneasy about working for a Firm and squandering all my dough on likker and gewgaws, especially the way I ignore panhandlers. So I have volunteered to become a Big Sister. I know you people think I am inherently incapable of anything approaching sincerity, but I really want to give some time and take a kid to the library, and rollerskating, and listen to her problems.

Oh Shut Up.