vomitola

February 29, 2004

An Auto-Generated Message of Goodwill for My Poor Sick Pal Clammy

Lambchop and ClamShandy
  • Will never adopt four stylish children.
  • Choose not to listen to music together occasionally.
  • Would like to misspend their youth again.




February 27, 2004

Spring fever

I am once again a germy mess! I should be quarantined, in one of those rooms with the built in black rubber gloves. That way, someone could reach in safely and apply cold compresses to my fevered brow. Luckily, the wireless access extends to the bedroom. Once I am well, I am still not leaving the bed.

Random observations:

- People's Choice would be a great name for a Chinese restaurant.
- The hawks that live along the river bank have figured out that we have a cat to eat, and they inch closer to the deck every day. They are practically pressing their beaks against the storm door now.
- I'm hungry, why does no one bring me food? Just a little Kraft dinner? Bastards. I give and I give.

In other news, the storied baby shower for a relative is a week away. People are pestering me by asking what they can bring. This would not be so bad, except that most of these individuals are untrustworthy and will volunteer for something and then not do it! I found this out at my wedding, natch. To that end, I'll have to purchase the important items anyway, even if they swear up and down that they'll bring something. So I thought of assigning things I need around the house anyway. "Um, you can bring trash bags and dish soap." Or maybe "The baby needs a massage gift certificate, or a tasty bottle of rioja."

-xxoo




February 26, 2004

Fashion Police Update



I have been encouraging the receptionist on my floor to not only Inform on those who violate the dress code, but to prepare a full Joan Rivers style report every day, on everyone's dress. Why stop at simply policing open-toed shoes and corduroy pants (strictly VERBOTEN)? We should report the magenta blazers, the bulky shoulderpads, the cheap perfume, and the continued presence of holiday sweaters. Just this morning I saw some cellulite hugging oatmeal pants in the copy room! We should also give commendations for snazzy eyewear and slimming pencil skirts. I shall be preparing a full review for HQ!

I have not seen that old plastic faced gorgon, Ms. Rivers, do her thing at the Oscars. I have not seen an award show, or a star-studded tribute of any kind while I was in Berlin. So I actually plan to have a Grouch the Oscars night at my house. Which will involve champagne, tiaras, and lots of jeering. I suppose it will also involve watching the oscars.

-xo




February 25, 2004

Dressing for Excess



I have just heard that dress code infractions at the ol' McJobby Job le Job are to be noted by the receptionist and reported to HQ. Does this mean no more feather boa? Is my tweed cap to be silenced? So I am working on my resume, which causes me to think in bulleted lists of the Things I did Yesterday:

*eat a canoli
*watch a film about noodles
*read a book about waiting, entitled "Waiting".

Buy a copy of Wired magazine and note that the aforementioned trio Freezepop have a full pager in there. I am preparing myself for them to be hugely famous so that I can write a tell-all. I better start stealing their underwear.

I asked everyone at dinner if they were to be inducted into the Make a Wish Foundation through clerical error and not, say, leukemia, for what would they ask. We had two Bowie-related requests (I would do an exhibition with the Man in Pants. Picture me quaffing wine at our opening, full of mutual adulation!) One wish was to go on tour opening for Duran Duran. Another would modestly wish for a house. Asians are so practical!

And strangely of all, one of us would like to be nine years old. Permanently. Which sparked a lively discussion on the value of consciousness and creativity versus an unconscious sort of happiness.

Personally, as much as I am avoiding adulthood, I would never return to the age of nine. My paintings are better now. Oh, and so is the sex.

-xo





Why do birds suddenly appear?



The man upstairs from me has a piano, and he's been playing "April in Paris." I can hear it through the ceiling, and sometimes a peel of a woman's laughter. We smile and nod in the hallways, as we are both persons of leisure, doing leisurely things.

I don't think I can ever work in an office again. Life is is going swimmingly, and it directly relates to not dragging myself in to be abused every day by people with no understanding of what my job actually entails. I'm still doing freelance, but on my own terms. Now I'm just waiting for summer time, when I'm told the living is easy.

-xxoo




February 24, 2004

A Pocket Full of Poses



There is a certain kind of mood, a scent in the air as soon as it stops being so wretchedly cold, and suddenly I am 15 again, walking the long walk past Journal Square and the jailhouse (the inmates howling out the windows for us to lift our skirts) to my high school, my headphones tuned to Book of Love, Howard Jones, Heaven 17 and Depeche Mode.

Well, it is not quite that time yet, but I have been waking up listening to Lifestyle and Freezepop and whaddya know it's skirt-lifting and chirping birds all over again.

-xo




February 23, 2004

Kitty Dukakii, Karaoke, and Bukkake



I am so sure you are all following along at home our adventures with a brand new drink, the Ktty Dukakis. This weekend we unleashed Kitty on an unsuspecting crowd at my house. They smelled her perfume and the glow of her cherries, and were lulled into guileless drunken bliss. Which explains the impassioned duet of Careless Whispers I did with my roomie. Or it explains my adventure in the broom closet, I know not which.

-xo




February 21, 2004

The hours

Tonight we celebrate a birthday!



So far I have managed to buy myself presents instead of buying them for the birthday boy. I just don't think he would enjoy a polka dotted umbrella as much as Lambchop and I do. I did get an extra bottle of wodka for the making of many rounds of the Kitty Dukakis. Perhaps we should just fill the bathtub?

In other news, my sister is staying with me until some shadowy future point. Yesterday we went shopping, and today I made her go to the grocery store. I was seized with a craving for Chewy Chips Ahoy!, and this reminded us of all the horrible crap my mother used to let us eat for breakfast. We could have anything, as long as we "had it with milk." I guess milk redeems even Little Debbie snacks or Entenmann's cupcakes. This is a far cry from early childhood, where we suffered through home-grown vegetable stews and TVP (textured vegetable protein) and weren't allowed store-bought cereals. A breakdown obviously took place by the time we started having fast food roast beef sandwiches every night. Five for one dollar! From Hardee's.

In still more loosely connected news, I joined a gym. It has a pool, so the thought of being seen in a swimming costume will ensure that I either go all the time, or never go at all.

-xxoo




February 19, 2004

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.

-xo




February 17, 2004

Fine dining



This being a blog, I am obligated to report on topics of food consumed and parking spots occupied. Tonight I had a lovely mahi mahi with a fruit salsa and coconut risotto, and the highlight of the evening was the creepy waiter we always get at this establishment. We parked right outside the front door, in case you were wondering. This is a one-horse town, with ample parking day or night, like South Park.

Creepy Waiter knows us by name now, and he delights in rattling off the specials while making an uncomfortable amount of eye contact. He always looks like he's about to crack up, and we try really hard not to do the same. On our last visit, he described salmon as a "pink-flavored fish," and mahi mahi is pronounced "maui maui."

He also let us know how swamped he was on Valentine's Day, and I deftly inquired "Wow, they must work you all the time, do you ever get a day off?" So now we know to come on Mondays instead.

Still, this is not as bad as the time Mr. H's mother picked the restaurant where the waitress rammed the bottle of wine between her thighs and pulled for dear life on the cork, right next to the table. I got kicked under the table when I said "Someone's been kegeling!"

-xxoo




February 16, 2004

Valentine's Day Round Up (on President's Day)



Valentine's Day is indeed our new favorite holiday- it has all the perfume and red fur you can ask for. The trick to avoiding any nauseatingly contrived sentiment is to celebrate it like we used to in the third grade, with little cards and candies for our friends (plus that doughy kid with the big ears our mom wouldn't let us exclude). So there were hugs and little gifts and red stillettos all weekend for me and Clammy, and all our pals. (Note: if you invite me to your house anytime ever, make sure you keep some martini glasses on ice, so I can fix myself a Kitty Dukakis.)

I feel a bit holiday'd out from Friday the 13th- President's Day. But it got us all to thinking about the special meaning of friendship and sharing as we dove into our chocolate raviolis on Vday. And me and Clammy realized just how lucky we are to have such swell pals and lovely profiles. We could not help but take a moment to feel for our less attractive brethren, who sit friendless and in need of a skin peel on this Valentine's Day. And we thought, "why, there must be a holiday for the these people...a chance for us to give something back to nature!" Hence, "Have Sex With An Ugly Person Day" was born. Come April 5th, when for us the warmth of spring generates excitement for summer parties and flirtations, we must think of those less fortunate. And have sex with one of them.

I don't get into Presidents Day at all. I don't even have a driver's license!

-xo





Love is in the air



I hereby declare it officially spring. It doesn't matter that it's still freezing. From this day forward, I shall dress in the colors of the sherbert rainbow: lemon, lime, raspberry, and orange. Of course "raspberry" is controversial. In the sno-cone universe, it's blue, but I am going to be a purist and interpret this as pink. Onward, it is time for ballet flats and hair ribbons! Moisturize as ye have never moisturized before!

We at Vomitola headquarters are fresh off a whirlwind St. Valentine's Day. It is our new favorite holiday, and the table behind me is still strewn with pink petals and red tinsel hearts. Gentle Lambchop stirred up a fine new cocktail, the Kitty Dukakis. It tastes like a raspberry lemonade and smells of perfumed love letters and heaving bosoms. We have also come up with a plan of outreach, of tender ministry, so that all may enjoy a sip from the loving cup. I leave it to Lambchop to explain this proposition in a bit. Umbrellas aloft!

-xxoo




February 13, 2004

Look out Charlie Brown!



It's Friday the Thirteenth, and as you can see, Charlie Brown is about to get bollocked by a tribesman. I guess because it is also Black History Month.

We here at Vomitola like to reserve special days like these for taking stock. So here is a handy checklist on how we are doing:

Job: Lambchop (1) ; ClamShandy (0)
Marriages: Lambchop (1, failed); Clamshandy (1, still good)
Children: Lambchop (ha!); Clamshandy (hmmm...)
Friends: Tons, thanks!
Cocktails: The Maryann and Ginger for both of us please!
Chicken Sandwich: Lambchop (1); ClamShandy (still waiting on that info.)

-xo




February 12, 2004

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood

I am still in my jammies, drinking cold coffee. It's the little things. Last night I made "asian-style pasta." You know, because peanut sauce is such a staple of Chinese and Japanese cuisine. Does Martha Stewart really need a charge of racism at this point? It was wicked good though.

Here's how to make the sauce: combine equal parts peanut butter, honey, lite soy sauce, and rice vinegar, about 3 tbsps each works well. Add a few cloves of minced garlic, and 2 tbsps minced ginger. Whisk! Aggressively! You may alter the proportions to taste. I personally went a little lighter on the vinegar and added a smidge more honey.

This goes well with soba noodles (Martha said to use pappardelle, ew), steamed veggies (to serve 4: 1 eggplant, 2 red peppers, 2 big handfuls of snow pea pods), and your choice of sauteed chicken strips or firm tofu cubes (my addition, Martha was feeling leaner).

Ah, Vomitola. You never know what you're going to get. As a palate cleanser, I've just been told there is a midget insta-marriage show on Fox. Er, a little people reality marriage show.

-xxoo




February 11, 2004

Reverie



I was at the gym today, feeling the dark side of the force. Flexing anger through burning muscle. Although, there's only so much posturing I can do when I carry a Hello Kitty discman. Anyway, I was at the part of the song that goes "tell me baby how does it feel/I know you like the roll of the limousine wheel". Everytime I hear that my mind departs from the physical effort. I am dreaming of riding in a long, dark car, ensconced in soft fake white fur to which perfume still invitingly clings, in perfect makeup and glasses as shiny as the windows.

Well, its time for more pretense. Tonight was made for dancing!





Don't have a whack attack



So I got a message from a friend the other day, "hey, I saw you in the street today and it looked like you were mumbling obscenities under your breath..." That's right, cursing and raving is not just for the homeless and the criminally insane anymore! What can I say I am having a bad couple of days. And I am Irish.

But then I was over at my neighborhhod Hess station and LO! If you buy a drink the size of a cruise missile, you get it in a fancypants Starsky and Hutch cup. I am more excited about the release of this movie than a person ought to be. It's because it bodes well for the realization of my life long dream:

The Dukes of Hazzard: The Movie

Just think about that for a moment, won't you?

-xo




February 10, 2004

I am the Amazing Fucking Kreskin

Behold, thrill as I pull ZIP codes out of thin air. There is just nothing more satisfying than issuing invitations from a spottily assembled guest list. At first I'd call or email the postally neglected person, but now I'm just making stuff up. It's for a baby shower, and it's not like I'M going to get any presents out of it. Now we're down to the question mark section of the list. I think I'm just going to write "Aunt Rita, Massachusetts" on the envelope and see who shows up.

-xxoo





February 09, 2004

Domestic Blitz

I am going to take a moment out of my busy Betty Lunchbucket schedule to tell you how much I hate TV birth shows. Not to mention average Amerikan expectations of birth in general. That should be enough to ensure that most of you stop reading right there. Meow meow meow meow....pushing the limits of Vomitola. First mormon slander, now afterbirth! Hey, speaking of all that, congratulations to Dooce and her husband!

As I was busily folding laundry, I flipped to TLC hoping to find someone with bad hair to mock. Instead, a hapless woman was wincing and grunting flat on her back in a hospital bed, pumped up with labor-causing drugs. The doctor came in, inserted an entire arm, and tut-tutted because the woman's failsafe valve hadn't managed to open up any further since the last time she was checked, a whole hour before. They'd been at this entire process for about eight hours, since they started the labor induction that morning. So off she went for a c-section! I guess if your child doesn't fly out of you like a hot buttered football in the first hour, you are just shit out of luck. There was no apparent distress for the baby; it seemed like the doctor just wanted to get the show on the road.

I find my latent hippy dippy side coming out like nobody's business as I contemplate the terrifying abyss of future parenthood. I'm still not totally sure what I want to do, or when, but I am pretty sure I don't want "it" as seen on TV. Until recently I always thought I'd want to be drugged out of my gourd if I had the misfortune to whelp anything. That philosophy (of staying drugged out of my gourd) has served me well up until now, so why mess with it? But I remember seeing my mother have my sister, so I know a natural childbirth is possible, with no screaming or flailing even. Of course I flip hurriedly past those photos in the ol' family album. The first time Mr. H met the parents, we both stared at the first page, puzzled, until I realized what we were observing.

Basically I just don't like being told what to do. Damn it.

-xxoo




February 08, 2004

Mormons 'r' Us



Last week I went to lunch with an ex-Mormon, and one of our crew was looking intimidated by the vastness of the sushi buffet. To which I remarked "what's the matter, you look like Elizabeth Smart at the altar". We here at Vomitola firmly believe in Lowering the Bar.

Last night I was visiting another friend of mine who is an ex-Mormon. She's a rocker, and is going to feature in my next one-hit-wonder, the Mormon 5. Just call me Mary Ellen, crooning about ironing my pinafore and contemplating my dirty pillows. But Motown.

Cripes its 2pm and I am still not dressed. Maybe because my roommate has hosted a party that has been going 'round the clock for two days. I am going to go out and get a hot dog. Thanks for Caring and Sharing!

-xo





Extrem-Relax

I am taking my cue from a skilled eurotrash impersonator of my acquaintance and prefacing everything with "Extrem." I also like to say "Super-Cool" (pronounced SoooPAIR) and "Giga-Cool."

The new Air cd, Talkie Walkie, is indeed Super-Cool. Extrem-Sexy. I can't stop listening to it. It works for making out, for drinking wine, for driving, for staring out the window, for ironing, you name it. It makes me turn up the collar of my jean jacket and muss Mr. H's hair.

I also bought Hai! by The Creatures, and ees giving me Super-Mega-Goth flashback. I am this close to cutting really short bangs and buying tons of used clothing again. I find myself missing the days of velvet blazers and poppy red hair streaks, of cheongsams and high heeled boots. That and hearing "I Dig You" in that Monster.com ad. I must admit that my knowledge of the Cure's catalog and side projects is shockingly extensive. I'm also going through old CDs and sighing, "Alien Sex Fiend, AWWWWW!"

Aw, screw it, I don't have a job! I can have interesting hair yet again! Where's the Manic Panic?

-xxoo




February 07, 2004

Back in the Saddle



My Dear Troubled Readers,

It has been a grueling couple of months of self-denial at the Betty Ford. They would not let me smoke in the hot tub, and my massages with Nils did not include Happy End! But even though it was my own soul that lay troubled in a bed lacking Egyptian cotton, you people still had problems of your own. How selfish! Especially you unattractive lot- you are rather tempting fate to begin with by having concerns. (I will never forget the day I realized that ugly people have lives, too, I nearly fell in the shower!) In any case, I have returned to my manse and my refrigerator filled with champagne and I shall right your sorry, sordid worlds once more.

Dear Kitty Winn,

I did the unpardonable, the unthinkable, and have been swiftly punished. I read my girlfriend's diary. And I found out she had not only cheated on me, but it seems she only decided to be with me when things did not work out elsewhere. Of course, this was all years ago, and we had what seems happy and committed relationship since then. I confronted her and she lied through her pretty little teeth, even when she heard her own words quoted (unbeknownst to her). The bitter lesson for me here is that there must be skeletons like this within every coupling. That we end up together just as much by happenstance as driven by specific desire. My girlfriend is not a bad person, and she didn't really do anything terrible, that's just the way people are. The curtain has been lifted and I can no longer believe that there is anything magical about love.

-filled with inertia

Dear Inertia,

My, my, you are quite the philosopher! So, you are disheartened by the inconstancy of the human character? How on earth did you make it this long?! Well, well, we no longer feel special. You are just going to have to bear this one. Human beings are fickle and cruel, but they also have soft lips and will cook you a nice meal. You should have been enjoying what you had. Have a chocolate, and next time you collide into another woman's life like a traffic accident, stay out of her private thoughts. And her underwear drawer.

-Kitty Winn




February 06, 2004

I have got a miniature secret camera











This was just playing around at Casa de la Carpeted Kitchen. I do not pretend that they are any good, but they please me nonetheless.

-xxoo




February 05, 2004

Internet, I'm soaking in it



Well, we're all moved in. Apparently my mother mistakenly spread the rumor that we purchased a condo, so relatives are emailing to congratulate us. When in Rome, right?

Effective immediately, I am changing my blog name to ClamShandy. I don't know, it just sounds filthy. Also, I'll be guest-blogging at my sister's blog for the next *unspecified period of time*. She's in some medical study on the heartbreak of colitis, or possibly hair don'ts. Then I'm trying to entice her to the great northerly east, where she will see that you can bilk people out of vast amounts of money per hour for making food dance on the internet.

-xxoo




February 03, 2004

Happy Groundhog Day Again!



The big move is tomorrow. We are wildly unprepared, but that's the beauty of having movers. If only they'd stay and clean up after us too. Part of me is tempted to just abandon the stuff in storage and live like wolves. We'll burrow, we'll chase things, we'll roll in dead stuff. It'll be great. Who needs furniture when you have wall-to-wall carpeting?

-xxoo




February 02, 2004

GO SPORTS

Like most of you I was watching The Game last night. And since I live in Boston, this entailed shrieking and touchdown breakdancing. After spraying our living room with champagne (typically, I caught it in the face), we took to the streets for the scheduled RIOT. It was tame compared to the last time, but we had fun trying to make the crowd chant "Morrissey" and "Equine Internet Porn". So pardon me if I am, umm, hoarse today.

Oh the laughs just never stop. Especially when the fire department hosed us.

In other news, there is a hot new band in your midst. We are Glamazon, Gdget, and Chickie Baby. We are Le Chevron. And our new single, Electrolyte, will be available as soon as we have made enough shrimp skewers for the release party.



-xo




February 01, 2004

Movin' on up

This morning Mr. H and I signed the lease to our new place. Our very nice landlord, who looks like Moby, handed over the keys even before the check cleared. Now that's small town livin'.

The place looks like this:



We have the second floor. The turret room is for the cat, or visiting crazy relatives. I could go on and on, but the kitchen is uncarpeted, and that's good enough for me. Party invites to go out as soon as we rescue our stuff from storage!

-xxoo





Oh my Gawd!



There were all sorts of characters afoot last night. We went to Jae's for sushi. I don't even know all what was in that boat. You could pan sear chicken brains and I would eat it. Pan-seared! For our entertainment, the waste of human life at the next table were getting drunk. The Goombas then impressed their lady friends by ogling me out loud and and then calling me names when I suggested they just take a picture. They even mocked my hat! Only INSANE people wear hats, especially in January.

I rarely ever get openly made fun of these days. That went the way of my Teri Nunn hairdo. So I am rather taken aback when it happens. What class it shows when a bunch of f?!?heads leer and stumble over some nonsensical putdown about the color of your jacket. I can't wrap my mind around that level of brain activity.

But we went on to the Spinny bar, which revolves over the Charles River. They have frou frou drinks called Popsicles and a Russian DJ. We watched the revelry of what appeared to be Romanian Prom-goers. If they had played the Venga Boys, i swear we would have danced. The bar started to spin in many different directions.

I know you were all out there, enjoying this tinkly winter evening, because I saw you. And I smiled and waved, as long as you weren't making fun of my hat!

-xo