Thursday, July 28, 2005

Suh!!

All you people who said I was ugly yesterday can kiss my furbutt AND I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING. Screw you guys! I am adorable when it's not eight million degrees outside!! And did I or did I not already mention the TRIPLE RAZOR CLAWS that I am sporting and that are pointing right at your knee right now, ready to scratch you SO BAD?? HELLOOOO. Deadly animal over here! If I can figure out how to keep you from running away from me, you are SO GONNA GIT IT.

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Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Sodden Sloth. Also Cross.

I am sooooo GROSS right now!!! Look at me! I was only outside for ten minutes and my fur is all wet and matted in some parts and sticky and spikey in other parts and my algae is drowning and all I can do is lay on my stomach in the air conditioning. And Dido keeps coming on the Party Shuffle and I HATE Dido!! I mean, not as a person but as an unbearably boring singer-type. It takes me all afternoon to cross a street and her music is even too slow for ME. I wish she would go sing her stupid slow songs in the middle of the freeway. But everything is slow these days! Slothville has fucking tumbleweed rolling through it and everyone who is left is lying on their porches asleep with tongues hanging out. And where does all this goddamn dust come from??? I am sleeping ON my air conditioner tonight. If I can hang from a branch I can hang from an air conditioner. Some asshole with a clipboard was like, "Do you have a minute for the environment?" and I was like, "I have my WHOLE LIFE for the environment, dickweed, but my air conditioner is on FULL BLAST in my empty apartment right now - today is NOT the day to talk to me about the environment! This is not global warming, this is global HOTTING, fuck off!!" *From "Overheard in New York: Girl #1: Ugh! It's horrible out! It feels like I'm in someone's lung! Girl #2: What? Girl #1: It's just so moist and warm out here; it's like being in a giant lung. Girl #2: ...that's the most disgusting description I think I've ever heard. --74th & Madison But TRUE!! And I wish I had thought of it.

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Tuesday, July 26, 2005

A Nervous Day

New Guy's mom is having heart surgery..........right this second. We were talking about it last night and it just ain't cool, man. I mean, heart surgery, no matter what kind, is a big deal and it's scary. He and I both find the wellspring of our emotional well-being in our mothers, partly because both of our fathers are dead. I mean, if my mom were having heart surgery right now, I would be so flipped out. I can't even contemplate life without her in it. I can't even get near that thought. And he is right inside that thought all day today. Last night he said, "It's tough when you're down to one parent." I said, "Tell me about it." There is no reason to think she will not come through the surgery without a problem. But I keep thinking, "I really hope I have the chance to get to know her better..." I can't help it.

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Monday, July 25, 2005

The Children Survived

The weekend was lovely, but man is it ever difficult to sleep in a different bed from your boyfriend who is IN THE SAME HOUSE. It drove me nuts and caused me to surrupticiously paw him all weekend long. There was a lot of this: *sitting around doing nothing* *smooch* *smooch smooch* *SMOOCH SMOOCH* *faces mashed together rather appallingly* (squeaky voices) "UNCLE NEW GUY, UNCLE NEW GUY! LOOK WHAT WE FOUND!!!" *hands in pockets, puffy lips, children crashing into our knees carrying something totally uninteresting* But other than his mother calling Ted Kennedy an ass and his stepdad bitching about Harvard liberalism before he found out that I'm getting my degree there, it was great. Actually, even those parts were kind of great. It was all very entertaining. I met a lot of new people whose names I cannot now recall. I replenished the tan, spent many hours on the boat and I'm pretty sure I pooped without getting caught. Sweet!! I think my favorite part of the whole thing was watching the New Guy and his brother earnestly casting over and over with Spongebob Squarepants fishing rods that belonged to the girls who, by the way, survived my visit unscathed. The rods were about the length of two chopsticks and if they had actually caught anything would have immediately snapped in two. This honestly entertained all of us for a good hour. Sorry I don't really have any pictures I can show you.....oh, wait, yes I do. Here is a picture of my boyfriend's ass. Pretty cute, eh? He's wearing boxers with hearts on them and he would look at me with a VERY MEAN FACE if he knew I posted this.

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Friday, July 22, 2005

Sloth in Enemy Territory

This weekend is the Sloth/New Guy parental swap weekend. I'm meeting his and he's meeting mine. As mentioned very recently, my parents are ex-hippies and ultra liberals. I know, you're shocked! I told Mama Sloth (who put me on the birth control pill when I was fifteen and made my fifteen-yr-old uber-Catholic boyfriend come with us to Planned Parenthood after that night I came home with smeared makeup and a rat's nest in my hair) that New Guy's parents will make us sleep in separate rooms at their house and she collapsed in convulsive laughter. Old fashioned people are funny. And New Guy (can we come up with a proper nickname soon, please?) is really close with his mom so I'm going to be very well-behaved (leaving the crack pipe and anal beads at home) but anyone who makes their 34-yr-old son sleep in a separate bedroom from his girlfriend as though that is going to restore our virginity is suspect until further notice. Oh, also, her husband (New Guy's stepdad) is a Conservative Republican with a capital C and a capital R which spells capital OH CRAP, I'M GOING TO HAVE TO DUCT TAPE MY MOUTH SHUT. On top of that, this big house we are going to in Boothbay has one bathroom with a tub and a hot water heater the size of a paperclip. So there are pooping AND bathing issues to be dealt with. Sloths only poop once a week, but what if tomorrow is the pooping day??? I sense imminent peristalsis-related humiliation. On top of THAT, there are two small children staying in the house at the same time as us. New Guy's nieces, age 4 and 5 or 6 or something. I don't know - they're all the same around that age, right? When he told me that he's going to send them up to wake me up tomorrow morning I tried to gently discourage him, reminding him that sloths are not morning creatures and that we sometimes accidentally kill people who bother us when we are not all the way awake yet. He insisted they would get a kick out of it and it would be cute and funny. I said, well, I'm not sure what is cute and funny about dead children and trying to wash blood out of my fur when there is only one bathroom and I am sure to run out of hot water, but ok. Just make sure you tell them you love them the night before because you will never get the chance again. Peep these fuckin razor claws, muh-fuh! Why you think I have these babies??? Then we will drive down to Portland to meet my parents who don't come equipped with little kids, maddening political views, or hangups about my sex life and who have two bathrooms with a normal sized hot water heater. My goal this weekend is to make it to Sunday evening without murdering anyone's offspring or letting on to my new boyfriend that I have bodily functions. Have a great one, y'all. P.S. There is a very strong possibility that Davy Rothbart may be staying in my parents' guest apartment on his Portland, Maine tour date. I know, I can't believe it either.

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Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Urgent! (Updated *sigh*)

One of you lives in North Carolina and now I can't remember who it is. Who is it?? Which one of you??? ****************** Well MapQuest just told me to never mind anyways. Stoopid MapQuest!! The story is this (best appreciated if you are old school Slothville and remember the Rothbart debacle of last Fall): Davy Rothbart of Found Magazine just emailed me. He's going to be in Boston with his brother on September 20th. Yay! I am going to be on the Outer Banks. Boooooooooooooooooo. He is going to North Carolina next. Yay! His closest stop is 4.5 hours away from where I'll be. Booooooooooooooooo. Why the fuck does North Carolina have to be so fucking big?? Why can't things be all squished together like they are here? If North Carolina was like Massachusetts I could just take the fucking subway to Durham and it would be like 4 stops. Graaahhhh!!! I even have a bunch of found things to give him, too. This is so disheartening. But hey, at least he doesn't seem to be afraid of me and my year-old spaztastic behavior. Could be worse, I suppose.....restraining orders and whatnot.....

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Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Let's just quit kidding ourselves, eh?

So. The new kick-ass, take-no-prisoners promise from Mr. Bush Jr.: he will fire anyone in his administration who has "committed a crime" in connection with the Valerie Plame case. Uh huh. For all you folks who are getting excited that Karl Rove might be fired over this, here's what he has to say to you: Rove ain't goin' nowhere. They'll figure out a way that even if, yes, he acted like an amoral turd with no soul, he didn't actually commit a crime. Just give it a few days. They'll work it out. Actually, Karl will work it out since he is the one who does all the thinking for the administration in the first place. But, since I don't want to leave you depressed and dejected after all that wasted hope that Karl might actually get canned, I'll leave you with this instead. Rock, paper, tiger claw!! ****************** *From "Overheard In the Office:" Co-worker #1: So they made me change my password. The old one was really cool. "Sloth," you know, like the animal. Co-worker #2: There's no such animal as a sloth. I think sloth is supposed to be like a sin or something. 1697 BroadwayNew York, NY

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Monday, July 18, 2005

Monday Morning Mini

Hello Slothville peeps! I hope you all had a wonderful weekend. Remember how we used to do Monday morning minis all the time in this neighborhood? Well, they're back. 1. The air today resembles what it might feel like if one were to stand over a pot of boiling water and breeeeeathe. 2. I'm dating a Yankees fan (shhhhhh!!) 3. This is a very very big deal, even if you don't know it yet. 4. I have discovered that the best thing about my roommate being on vacation is that I can have sex with all the doors ajar and walk around nekkid. In this weather, the best thing about walking around nekkid is standing in front of the open refrigerator. 5. Currently on party shuffle: The Delgados. Happy cold-cooter Monday everyone! *From "Overheard in New York:" Girl: Do you know if Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes will have a Scientology themed wedding?...I wonder what that would be like? Guy: You probably kneel down on the altar after the vows, suck L. Ron Hubbard's cock, and then pay him for it. --L train Overheard by: Aaron Booth

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Thursday, July 14, 2005

As in "Full Release?"

So I was watching tv last night and a commercial came on for Friendly's. I should preface this by saying that I was raised by hippies who gave me "fruit leather" and granola and snow peas to take to school while the other kids gnawed on their Charleston Chews and smoked their candy cigarettes and made fun of me for not knowing what fluffer nutter was. They also made fun of me for not knowing what an orgy was, but that's another story. The point is, I don't do restaurants like Friendly's or Applebees or Buggerboob Creek or whatever it's called. I've never stepped foot in a KFC or a Taco Bell, although I hear they are the same thing nowadays? I've been to some fast food places, but only under dire circumstances and I usually just get the fries. Everything else on the menu gives me the heebie jeebies. (Although now, after seeing the special features on the "Supersize Me" dvd, I wouldn't go near those fuckin' fries for anything, man. Holy shit, are they gnasty.) Anyway, the commercial showed this dad and his 6-yr-old son tv-shopping and then deciding, because they loved each other soooo much (much more than television) that they would just go to Friendly's and spend quality time together instead. Ah. Sweet and domestic - men can be that too! Then, at the end of the commercial, the voice-over informed me that every meal at Friendly's comes with a "happy ending sundae." ........excuse me? Is ANYONE capable of hearing the phrase "happy ending" without picturing an Asian teenager giving a fat, hairy white man a handjob on a massage table? Is this just me? Am I the pervert here? Please, someone back me up.

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Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Make your voice heard...(updated)

...........or not, whatever But I do recommend that you all click on over to Crushed by Inertia to vote for the Worst Person Alive. You would have thought I would vote for Rick Santorum wouldn't you? And yet..........an even worse individual has been nominated (in my slothy opinion). How is this even possible, you ask? A WORSE person than our most reviled, dead-baby-loving, faggot-hating senator? Well, check it out for yourself and vote. Props to the conduit - Horsey's blog - which I have been very much enjoying lately. *Update:* As you have probably heard by now, Rick Santorum blames Boston for the Clergy Sex Abuse scandal (or perhaps he's just mad that we found out about it). Here is good ol' Rick in his own words: ''When the culture is sick, every element in it becomes infected. While it is no excuse for this scandal, it is no surprise that Boston, a seat of academic, political, and cultural liberalism in America, lies at the center of the storm." Still didn't vote for him, though. I think my choice for Worst Person Alive is far more insidious. It has been mentioned before that I have this fantasy in which I seduce Joel Osteen, get him to do all sorts of things to me that would probably horrify his wife and then use the resulting film footage to destroy his marriage and his career. I'm not kidding. I'm totally attracted to him and would have sex with him in a heartbeat. And then you had better believe that I would do my best to drive him to suicide by running his entire life through the shredder.

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Monday, July 11, 2005

Easy Like Sunday Morning...

Well, the new guy and I actually slept until noon. What? I'm a SLOTH, people!! What do you expect me to do? Get up at 10 o'clock in the morning on a Sunday? Get REAL. Anyway, we went for coffee at Diesel Cafe where they give you an iced latte unmixed in an actual glass and for some reason it is heartbreakingly beautiful to watch the dark espresso bleeding into the white milk. Then we read the paper and chitchatted over the top of it. Then it was off to the Rosebud Diner where they serve breakfast all day and I crammed eggs benedict into my maw like if I wasn't fast enough someone might steal them from me and make me cry. Then we went to the store and bought mojito ingredients because, as it turns out, we are both mojito snobs and my boyfriend makes the BEST mojitos I've ever had. He even has his own mojito muddler that someone made for him and engraved his name into. One of his residents grows pineapple mint so we mixed that with organic mint from the store and we drank mojitos all day on the roof in the sun. I wore a pair of his boxers and he let me cut one of his t-shirts into a little tank top and we proceeded to slowly but surely get completely snookered in the breezy sunshine. Then we went out to dinner and sat on the patio in the perfect weather, sipping wine and eating spicy seafood pasta puttanesca. It was a perfect Sunday. Next thing I knew he came bolting into the apartment at 8:30 this morning and said, "Slothy!! It's 8:30!! You have to be ready in 15 minutes!!" He'd been off somewhere dealing with some emergency or other. There were people making a ruckus fixing something on the outside of the building and the cleaners were making a ruckus on the inside of the building. The whole place sounded like the invasion of Normandy. He was like, "We have to get out of here NOW, before the tenants start coming after me," and we fled. So now I'm here. In my stupid cube. Luckily, a tan renders makeup application less urgent. Happy Monday everyone! Blaaaaaaaggggghhhhhh............

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Thursday, July 07, 2005

Blair's Burden (updated)

London. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. My first thought was: "I wonder if the attacks were contingent upon London being chosen for the Olympics." I went there before 9/11 and was shocked to see police with machine guns. I'd never seen such a thing. Then we flew out of Paris and were evacuated from Orly due to a bomb scare. It was all so strange and frightening. Then it seeped into our country and our subconcious as well. Or I guess it flew in on a couple of planes. Londoners have been dealing with terrorism for a very long time. Much longer than we have. But that doesn't make the terrorism any less terrifying. I feel so awful for their city. *Update: a bit of good news as counterbalance - emergency contraception has been approved for over-the-counter use by a veto-proof margin in Massachusetts. There is NOTHING our Mormon Governor, Mitt Romney, can do about it. Just a tiny ray of sunshine....*

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Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Sloth on Land

I have emerged from the Chesapeake Bay very pink, but intact. Here are the events as I recollect them: On the first day the wind was bad and thunderstorms were imminent. The radio kept telling us that we were in the midst of a "major marine weather event" even though all we could see was haze on either side of us and after motoring to Bloody point we sailed right quick over to our anchorage on the Eastern Shore under a good wind. We finally figured out from the radio babble that we had been in a narrow corridor between two violent thunderstorms, which explained why there was not a single other boat in sight. We didn't get a drop on us, but I learned a lot about how a boat absorbs lightning in the ensuing discussion. (If built correctly, a boat is quite a good place to find oneself in a thunderstorm, as it turns out.) Surprisingly, the water was nettle-free (usually the jellyfish are everywhere this time of year, looking up at you insolently from the water, tentacles waving, nematocysts at the ready, going, "What? You don't feel like swimming?") so we put our bathing suits on and paddled around in the warm water, startling ourselves silly every time something brushed against us. The fireflies that night were their own fireworks show. They blinked sedately in the treetops and I watched them until I fell asleep swaddled in a blanket on the deck. The next day we did nothing. I finished "The Secret History" by Donna Tartt which was absolutely mesmerizing the whole way through and the first book I've read in a while that presented that old conflict: I can't put it down, but I don't want it to end... The following day we had a perfect wind and we screamed into Whitehall Bay like we were being chased by pirates. On the way there we sailed through a roving cloud of Japanese beetles which, instead of flying by us, decided to come in for a landing. They bombarded us, exoskeletons clattering down onto the deck like Skittles. "Oh GOD!" they moaned collectively, "We were so TIRED! Thank GOD you stopped by, we didn't think we could go any further!" Then they wriggled around on their backs for a while until they could find some shade to sit in. My uncle looked at me, three or four beetles on his hat, several on his arms and legs and many on his shirt, and said in the flattest possible voice, "It's Beatlemania." We swam at Whitehall Bay too, and my uncle finally caught a nettle (probably the only one in the whole bay) on the leg. Ouch. Being a Pennsylvania Dutchman (and therefore disinclined to complain about any physical ailment beyond being seriously maimed), he insisted it didn't hurt much but just "tingled." Right. I've been stung by those ne'er-do-wells and they fucking HURT. All of this meant that I couldn't complain about my cramps even though they were killing me because they were probably killing me less than his nettle sting and I wasn't about to be the sissy on the boat. That night the car lights on the Bay Bridge behind us looked like a string of diamonds as people poured into Washington D.C. for the fireworks. I watched them until I fell asleep swaddled in a blanket on the deck. (I slept outside every night. THAT'S a vacation.) The day after that, we motored home, picked up some guests and went to watch the fireworks. I've never been that close to fireworks before - we were anchored right underneath them - and of course I forgot to bring my camera. Sorry. It was fun, even when some people got seasick. I stood with my arm around the tucked-in mainsail and drank a Corona while I watched people puke under an exploding sky. Good times. I have to admit that I sort of forgot how smokin' the new man is until he came to the airport to get me. He pulled up to the curb in his car and I thought, "Wow, that guy's totally hot." And then the totally hot guy was grabbing my suitcase and making out with me at the same time and I was glad to be home.

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