Tag Archives: celebrity!

Celebrity skin

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It occurred to me that I refuse to actually achieve anything in my life because I still consider fame a viable career option. One of these days, I’m going to get swept up in the current and deposited on Oprah. I swear. Certainly, this would be more difficult if I had the entanglements of a real career. Luckily, I am generally fancy free, although one client just accepted my ridiculous total whore price for what promises to be the most annoying job in history. I am going to word the contract so I can fire him at any time. And Mr. H can feed the cat if I am called to Hollywood.

I realized that I am ill-prepared for fame, so I decided to create a Learning Annex-style crash course on how to handle it.

Part One: Dealing with unwanted attention

I decided to stalk myself. I started by going through the trash. The bathroom trash is really not that interesting. It’s mostly dental floss, and tissues with odd stains on them. Is it blood? Makeup? What? You all have these tissues, do not try to act like you don’t. The kitchen trash was the motherlode. It was filled to the brim with liquor bottles, pregnancy tests, rubber gloves, and empty pill bottles. Great! Now I know the name of my pharmacist. I photographed everything. I left Zellweger a note to shred everything, even the banana peels.

Then I decided to practice my expression for when I’m photographed on the sly. I sat in the living room with a camera for what seemed like forever, but I didn’t spot myself. Finally, I caught myself in the bathroom mirror. Augh! I look so fat! The camera is adding ten pounds. Nevermind! Composure. Happy place. I took my shirt off and pretended I was on a yacht. Composure.

As I left for the grocery store, I put on my largest pair of sunglasses and a fur bikini top. I threw red paint on myself as I was distracted by fumbling with the car remote. That’ll teach me! Never again will I let my guard down.

Then I was recognized at Starbucks. “Your drink will be up at the bar, Licketysplit!” And then again, “I have a soy latte for Licketysplit! Have a good day, Licketysplit!” My God, can’t these people see I am just out for a quiet afternoon? There’s a time and a place for fawning over a celebrity. Composure! I smiled graciously and adjusted my sunglasses. I pulled out a Sharpie and signed the bar. I’m sure they’ll want to hang it on the wall in a glass case now.

Tomorrow: Part Two: Money management

Who would leave Charlie Sheen?

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It’s Tough Love Thursday over here. During a commercial break in the surgery show I like so much, I caught two seconds of Dr. Phil’s oversized maw saying “You’ve really got to pull your head out!” I never found out whom he was addressing, so I will assume “all of us.” So I switched back to surgery, pondering this message from our next President of the United States, and whaddya know, they were pulling a head out on that show, too! It’s like God is talking to me.

OK, God is talking to me. He keeps sending me a bat. I can’t be sure if it’s the same bat every time, but they all certainly share the same accusatory aloofness. God also said to order pizza. God frowns on poor life decisions, like smoking crack and having children with people you don’t like. God approves of putting thought into one’s hairstyle and good fuel economy. God said to start a spaceship religion, but I only got halfway through filling out the non-profit tax forms. I wonder how the Lutherans managed? Those things are complex.

God also provided me with a handy list of things to talk about on internet “blogs.”

1. What have you eaten lately?
2. What do you plan to eat in the future?
3. Read any good NYT articles?
4. How’s the weather? Do you have any thoughts on how the weather is?
5. What are your terrible, boring hobbies?
6. Do you have a child? Is it developmentally on schedule?
7. Date much?
8. What gives you the damn right?
9. Isn’t Michael Jackson strange?
10. Pets. You must have pets, a well-adjusted person like you.

Hello, Ian Curtis

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I saw him again this morning. It has been a while (because I am late to work every day). But there he was this morning on my train, cialis The Ian Curtis Guy. He looks like him, purchase stands like him, moves like him, and most importantly he never looks happy. Of course, he also never looks at me. I have smiled and gazed in his direction (he is not good looking , he looks like Ian Curtis!) but he is far too focused on looking like Ian Curtis to pay any mind to yours truly. He stood 2 feet from me (I want to make him a sandwich and sing him “Heart and Soul” in a goofy falsetto) but then we reached our stop and he disappeared, as always, onto the harbor, leaving me once again powerless to declare “I have this friend- he looks just like Ian Curtis!”

-xo

Rock in Pictures

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This is my roomie S. at our impromptu karaoke party on Saturday. I tear up when he sings I’m Not in Love. Even with the pornorific pencil moustache.

Last night one of the greatest rock bands ever was in our neighborhood. The first time I ever had a psychedelic snack, I was watching the video for Under the Milky way when they kicked in. I have not been the same ever since. Which is why I had to do a urine test when I applied for a job at a movie theater. Don’t worry, I always carry a spare. Oh but they still got it. Marty informed us that he has so much talent and charisma, it was bound to ooze onto the first two rows and coagulate there. At one point he needed a stool to support the weight of his genius. WE LOVE MARTY!

I quit my job. But I got another. I am going home to watch Bartleby.

Here are some more things that ROCK:

1. Leaving for sunny Berlin in a week-ish.

2. Orange Julius

3. Going to the roller rink this weekend.

4. Starsky and Hutch!!!

-xo

Fashion Police Update

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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

Dressing for Excess

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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

psst…we’re back

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The new year is off to a grand ol’ start. I am working on a laxative addiction! (note to the uninitiated, don’t believe a word of this-ed) Which reminds me of my favorite Disease-movie-of-the-week, “Kate’s Secret”. It was a riveting drama about bulimia starring Meredith Baxter Burney. She wolfs down a pound of cookies and a quart of milk in aisle six, and then yodels them behind the dumpster. She also consumes several pizzas and whoppers in a drive-by at several drive-thrus. Monday night CBS watching told me everything I need to know. About Everything.

Let it be straight that Lambchop=HEATHER. I could go by my given name, I suppose, but I have become so fond of the L’s that are stitched to my underwear, and the darling sequined bag that Licketysplit gave me for my birthday.

So, just to review, I, Lambchop, am the one who paints and huffs scotch guard and lives in Allston (formerly Berlin) and plans to revive the ascot. And some other stuff. Licketysplit is the married one in the Lowell Loft who is obsessed with shoes and lost causes and intends to make her living hawking tampons shaped like mice. Or something. We BOTH like shiny things.

-xo