Let's get it on

If I published a wedding mag, I would call it either Big Fat Bride or Fucking Crazy. The simple fact is that weddings bring out the worst in everyone. Welcome to disordered eating (not because you're trying to lose weight, but because you simply feel sick all the time), the worst fights of your relationship, and every decision you make being scrutinized by your mother's neighbor's manicurist.

Today I raced over to South Station on my lunch hour to pick up my accessories. When I found out there was a Fenaroli store in Boston, I almost dropped dead from delight. They were able to find the very last pair of a particular shoe in my size across the country and overnight them here. I highly recommend them to anyone who finds themselves in the precarious position of getting hitched. The rep in Boston and I got to talking while someone was packing my stuff up attractively. She's getting married soon, and we were comiserating about the last minute details. She mentioned she wasn't even on speaking terms with her fiancee.

"Ha," I said, "that's what no one ever tells you when you get engaged. Did the fight go like this by any chance? 'You're an idiot, what was I thinking, I hate you, Oh God, at least we can get divorced!"

"YES, so I'm not the only one! Don't forget 'What do you mean you told your mother THAT?' and 'I wish we were both dead!'"

So there you have it, ladies and gents. Premarital rage. Mike Tyson-style. Perhaps Mike said it best when he said "I'll fuck you til you love me, bitch!" Ah, just the thing to put on the programs! I do love an epigraph.

In short: go. to. Vegas.

-xxoo

Posted 5:16 PM by Licketysplit

Ooh, it's shakin' (It's electric)



This morning I was thinking of a dear friend from high school who won't be able to travel from LA for the wedding. I will miss my plucky Tibor* dearly, but then again we do get into trouble when we are together.

We used to sit next to each other in an English class taught by a deluded harridan. We had to take an essay test on A Passage to India, a tedious endeavor at best. By page 3, my energy was flagging. Right in the middle of a paragraph on the Marabar Caves hoo-dee-doo, I wrote "I know who you are, you're my toothbrush."

I kicked Tibor and pointed to my page. At the top of his third page, right in the same spot, he wrote "No I'm not, I'm electric."

We forgot about our lark until the following week when we got the tests back. Teach came by our desks and asked "What IS this about? I even went back to re-read that chapter to see what you were referencing!"

"Well, you're one up on me," I said. "I rented the movie." I still got an A-. Everyone loves a weasel.

-xxoo

*name sort of changed, but I'm sure you can figure it out, you are ever so smart!

Posted 3:46 PM by Licketysplit

Or are you just happy to see me?



I was in Pottery Barn the other day (I KNOW, but I like their picture frames), and I saw that the powers that be at the 'Barn are pimping out fake fruit. Aw man, now I can't find suitable pictures on their site. It's all tasteful autumnal garlands and shit. Understated Halloween decorations.

Anyway, so I had some serious lust in my heart for this fake fruit. There were pears, apples, grapes, pomegranates. Luscious and bountiful. Just like my gramma used to have on top of her wood-paneled telly. I was going to indulge, since we've recently acquired an actual coffee table and need to festoon it in some manner. But it was $20 for a bunch of grapes!

So I got to checking, and I found out that fake food is expensive. That banana split up there is $47! Now I almost feel bad for shoplifting all those barbecue displays from Sears when I was a kid. I had a fixation, I tell you. It was the little lines on the fake hot dogs.

-xxoo

Posted 8:35 PM by Licketysplit

The business of strange people

According to the ol' Crate & Barrel registry, we are at t-minus 12 days until W-day. Please God, we mutter, make it come even sooner. Sure, the favor tins haven't been dropped off at Teuscher to be filled with sweeties, my harlot dress is still hanging in an alterations shop, and Mr. H is a rugged wooly mammoth in need of a visit to his stylist. The florist hasn't been paid, the programs aren't written, nor are we exfoliated. But I'd show up in pajamas, my hair crusted with ape dung (aren't you glad I specified just which kind?) if it would stop the constant flood of bizarre questions from assorted helpless out of town types.

N.B.: for the purposes of wedding etiquette, 'out of town' also includes people who live 20 minutes away and typically know how to help themselves. There is surely nothing someone who is in the throes of planning a major event would rather do than book other people in for manicures! This is the beauty event of my young life, now please do endlessly explain what YOU plan to wear. Not to worry, the photographer has been armed with a "do not commemorate" list, much as the band has their "do not play" list.

And apparently being married across Boston Harbor is practically a scene right out of Uncle Tom's Cabin, with guests forced to hop across from the mainland on floating chunks of ice while being pursued by slavering hounds. "I saw the water taxi is going to stop running, can I take a regular taxi?" We picked the spot for the stunning view of the city skyline, but had I known I would end up having to hire an amphibious assault vehicle, or heaven forfend, tell people to take the damn T, we might have made a different choice.

My standard answer to these nervous nellies is much the same as my code for living: "Ask the concierge!" Although somehow they have mistaken ME for the concierge. Is it my silly little hat? My wing tips or name tag? What gives me away, I wonder. A pox on them.

***

Deep breaths. True, all I accomplished on my day off today was fielding endless calls and emails (and eating 2 pudding cups). But I did have a swell weekend, thanks to the undeservedly fine weather. After a quick stop at Fenaroli in Fort Point to clear up my shoe woes, we were lured into South Boston by the jutting bones of the new convention center. After a thoroughly random drive, we ended up at Castle Island, loafing in the shadow of the giant fort and watching planes take off. We enjoyed greasy ridged fries from the snack bar and meeting friendly dogs. File it under things I never fucking knew about, and go see the Harbor Islands website.

Later that day we sprawled out in the shade in Columbus Park, full of orange gelati from the North End. Life is good even if having a wedding isn't. But it'll be quite the bash. We picked the single worst song ever written for our first dance: "I can't stop loving you," by Phil Collins. Relatives will probably wonder why all of our friends are laughing uncontrollably. Then we drink, straight on til morning. I hope someone remembers to put us on our plane the next day.

-xxoo

Posted 6:49 PM by Licketysplit

The Tango of the Manatee

Last night Mr. H noted that his parents were in particularly chipper moods when he did the usual once-a-week speakerphone ordeal. "Ewwww," I said, "Maybe they just did it."

After many exclamations of disgust and some hearty cackling, he finally wheezed out his best Antonio Banderas: "They cannot contain their passions; it is all the fault of the tango!"

From my position flailing on the floor in weeping hysterics, I said "Ah yes, the mysterious, sensual tango of the heated hippo!" This was quickly amended to "Manatee," and now we can't stop laughing. We revisit this horrid trope every hour or so, and it shows no sign of getting old. God help us if we develop sound effects.



--

In other news, we finally got our confounded marriage license. The most surprising part was at the end of the delicate dance between windows in the cavernous basement of city hall: we were handed a goodie bag. It contained samples of Downy, Pepto Bismol, a carpet spot remover, whitening toothpaste, and assorted coupons. So take heed, newlyweds are apparently prone to dyspepsia, halitosis, and spotty carpets! Apparently we should have registered for a Bissel steamer. Or a tarp. Or a hose-wielding zookeeper.

-xxoo

Posted 12:59 PM by Licketysplit

Bugs like us



Go view this charming little movie for Peter Kuper's new treatment of The Metamorphosis.

Lambchop and I feel a kinship with Mr. Samsa, as we frequently end up flailing on our backs. Also with Mr. Kafka, as we both have tuberculosis.

-xxoo

Posted 3:25 PM by Licketysplit

Botox Baby



A scandalous report is apparently being circulated abroad concerning yours truly. From Providence to Boston, it is being whispered

"She's had plastic surgery!"

For the record, this is the grossest falsehood. I am quite satisfied with the size and relative situation of my features. I can't seem to find out what miracle procedure I am supposed to have undergone. A little botulism here, a bit of a peel there- giant inflatable pillows inserted neatly into my bottom lip perhaps? Cushions of molded plastic nestling in a pad of fat to give desperately needed shape!

Sorry to disappoint all my little hens, but my cheekbones and worry lines are all my own. If I do decide to staple my face someplace behind my ears or get my tail clipped like a young Doberman, you wee nattering pigeons shall be the first to know. I will send you each a bar of soap rendered from my own fat. Now quietly continue envying me at a distance, please.

-xo

Posted 9:56 PM by Lambchop

Office Space

Fresh from a relaxing sojourn in more troubled parts of the world, say hello once again to your favorite unwholesome helpmate, the Miss Manners of the massacre, Stella Nuance.



Listen up, ya mugs, I've been busy. I scored a pretty sweet consulting gig with Idi Amin. Crazy coot was trying to make a "comeback," as his people put it. Comeback, what, now he's Jamie Lee Curtis? What a piece of work. Couldn't complain about the service at the villa, but try making a suggestion to that guy! I was nice as pie, "Aw, Idi, baby, you hired me for MY expertise, right? And my expertise says you should wear an ascot. NO, it doesn't make you look chubby." That sonofabitch wouldn't know "avuncular" if it bit him on the ass. Needless to say, I had to extricate myself from my contract a bit early. Stella doesn't take any guff.

So after hiding out for a few days, I've been thinking a lot about how a good lair really is the foundation to most of villainy. It's the seat of professionalism, after all. Who's going to believe you're worth the dough if you're still using a cell phone the size of a brick and loitering in the back of a rusted out Suburban? No way, we're doing it up right. You need business cards so thick you could use one to slit a man's throat (I recommend a nice brushed metal), and enough furniture to convince the boys from the IRS that it's an actual working office.

First stop: a new computer.



Now I fancy this one not just because it's illegal to export it to certain countries. I'm a sucker for packaging, and this new G5 is clearly a product of an Evil industrial design team. It could also be camouflaged as a microwave oven if one were to be raided for one's files. Either way, don't put a cat in it.

I must turn my attention to décor. Crate & Barrel really knows their stuff. Check out these keen desk accessories.








Form AND function! Never miss another message, and no more fumbling around for poultry shears when you really need them, during, say, negotiations with an independent contractor. And those clips have many a use "in a pinch."

What could be more evil than Pottery Barn? Try keeping one these phones around for an air of legitimacy.



Never plug it in though, the feds will be on that like flies on shit. Yeah, I know, "80 clams for a phone, Stella?" It's a bit steep, but have you ever tried cold-cocking someone with one of those receivers? Effective and unexpected. And the red one also keeps a frisson of Cold War excitement alive.

So now that I've covered the Do's, let's get to my favorite part: the Don'ts. Don't work too hard. That's what the help is for. And ergonomics are so very important. Experts recommend avoiding repetitive motions. To that end, for office discipline problems, choose a taser over a flail or a cat o' nine tails. Don't skimp on a good chair either. The help can make do with kneeling on the floor, after all, their childish bones are softer! But you should go ahead and spring for the Aeron for yourself. If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

Now, now, no need to thank me for this wealth of advice, I'll have my assistant prepare an invoice. Pepito! Take dictation!

Ciao,
-S.N.

Posted 1:01 PM by Licketysplit

Soooo Good!



from the NY Times:

"While pretending to teach a lesson in compassion, it wallows in the perks of privilege. Its real message is that beauty, wealth, a shrewd fashion sense, expensive bed clothes and, above all, an ironclad sense of entitlement can help a girl conquer the world. That's all it takes."

They say that as though it were Wrong!

-xo

Posted 11:44 AM by Lambchop

The lights are on, but no one's home

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

Posted 10:33 PM by Licketysplit

A Day in the Life of a Scrivener



No one ever talks to me here.
Save the occasional directive from my boss.
As he scuttles by my desk and burrows in his office.
But Today
I was cheerfully addressed with some small talk
By a suited gentleman in the elevator
I was grateful.
He had toilet paper streaming from the back of his trousers
I thought "I should tell this nice man and spare him further embarrassment"
The grand atrium lobby was teeming with office workers. It was an ice cream party.
I stopped him before he could enter with his paper streamer
My information made him appear stricken and humiliated
He said "How emabarrassing"
I nodded and said "Yes" very sweetly with a glued-on smile and strode off to end the pained moment
I sullied the only friendly interaction I have had here
I should have said
"It happens to everyone"

Posted 7:50 AM by Lambchop

Gay Day



Light the candles, delicately scented of hydrangea, sip a manhattan and nibble at some hot pepper chocolates! In between all the delighted squeals of praise for the Fab Five, I have heard complaints that "Queer Eye" is enforcing the stereotype of homos as refined, attractive, youthful and creative people. Heavens no! I urge anyone who finds this an ill-applied and offensive distinction to march in protest. Please choose a remote location so that I may safely ignore your bloated visage, painful body odor, and the misspellings of your poorly handwritten sign.

Lambchop fully supports myths of beauty. Feel free to assume that I, being female, am perfect in every way. That violets blossom in my tiny footprints as I emerge from the bath like a silken Aphrodite.

The only drawback to being female that I can see is that Carson Kressley will never take me shopping!

-xo

Posted 6:21 PM by Lambchop

Coming to Amerika Update



Wow. A job AND a place to live. It almost seems like too much to ask. I am going to have the poshest pit in town. (as soon as I can scare up enough dosh to replace the suitcase in which I sleep with an actual bed. Hurray for both large suitcases AND compact women!)

My new room is pink!

Forces conspire against a body- i am skint, I am grateful to work in Siberia, my plate seems always full of something of something tasteless, the weather is very swimming pool-like, and I locked myself out of the house-sit around midnight. There I was, out in the swimming pool night on one side of the door, convulsing, sweating and jerking futilely at the handle, while on the other side a comfortable bed and two attention hungry, squalling cats. Hurray again for compact women (and unlocked kitchen windows)!

Did I mention I am skint? Nary a pot to pee in!

As depressing as one's bank balance and minimal decorating style may be, I am glad to be in the Americas. My friends have given me money and food and taken me to see awful films. They have listened to me grind my teeth and chew my nails and weep. They have stood by me while i unleashed obscenities at locked doors at midnight. They have made me laugh and gotten me drunk. And most importantly of
all, they have Given Me Money.

Hurray for Amerika!

(tank you very much)

-xo

Posted 7:56 AM by Lambchop

Also

"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 mean "I am very happy I am getting married to a man who belongs to a family that would throw me a surprise high tea." Hee hee. It was surreal. But they like me, they really like me.

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

-xxoo

Posted 7:38 PM by Licketysplit

E-I-E-I-O

There is nothing quite like a bridal shower to make one feel like a prize pig at the fair.

-xxoo

Posted 7:29 PM by Licketysplit

A Memoir



Back in the days of MUDs and alt. binaries.naked.teens Lambchop met Licketysplit on alt.rollyoureyes. After exchanging copious emails on strange diseases and the Pointlessness of Everything, we discovered our mutual love of booze drunk out of paper bags, Edward Ka-spel, gummy treats, and Douglas Sirk movies (same thing). So we arranged to meet on a subway platform. As we hurtled toward the station from opposite directions, we steeled ourselves to encounter a mouth-breathing, hunch-backed, pasty creature with spectacles and bad hair. Covered in eczema. (of course had that been the case we would have both kept walking.)

Needless to say, we passed muster and ran gaily off to consume Night Train under a bridge. These are the things that I think about on a Friday morning when I sit in my silent cubicle with nothing to do, pretending I'm Kafka.

Especially now that our Licketysplit is getting married. I really thought she was kidding. I thought the thousands of dollars she has spent on hand woven baskets and ermine place settings was all an elaborate scheme to make her beaux dance with her, and score a toaster. But her shower is on Sunday and I am very happy for her. She won't forget beneath which bridge to find me.

-xo

Posted 7:46 AM by Lambchop

Postcard for Berlin

(we interrupt the schedule griping and carping to umm...gripe and carp! in german!)



Eine kleine Frau sitzt im Buero in Boston und denkt an Euch. Nach zwei Wochen fernsehglotzen in meiner Unterhose, spiele ich Sekretaerin in einer Anwaltskanzlei. Wenn es nichts hier zu tun gibt, zeichne ich kafkamaessige, alptraumhafte Skizzen von Menschen die im Buero sitzen und nichts zu tun haben. Ich male mein zweites Kampfbild im Atelier. Obwohl ich so fleissig bin, finde ich irgendwie noch Zeit oft betrunken zu sein. Nach wie vor bin ich Eure,

heather

Posted 8:09 AM by Lambchop