Friday, December 23, 2005

And a 'Splosive New Year!!!

Earlier this evening, after ten hours spent at the hospital followed by a couple glasses of wine, my mother hollered at the top of her wee lungs, "HAVE A HOLLY JOLLY CHRISTMAS!!! IT'S THE BEST TIME OF THE YEAR!!!" To which I responded, "YOUR APPENDIX MIGHT 'SPLODE AND IT WON'T SNOW, BUT AT LEAST YOU'RE NOT A QUEER!!!" And then we laughed for waaaay too long. So, as you may have sussed, the Appendichristmas sitch wound up a bit more serious than we thought. Turns out, with the pain my stepdad was enduring, John Wayne himself would have peed his chaps and begged for his mammy. The organ in question was no longer in evidence as it had been torn asunder by its own infection ('sploded). After two and a half hours of surgery he was wheeled out of the OR with an IV, a tube through his nose draining his stomach, a catheter, and a whole lot of, "Get these fucking tubes out of me." I have to be honest, it was really gross. (I think I'll delete this before he gets outta the 'pital.) So we're having Christmas in the hospital this year and goddamn if it isn't all on me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. The parentals had planned on doing their shopping on the exact day that a certain useless, pinky-sized extension of the intestine decided mutiny was on the menu so I guess that last-minute frenzied shopping gag-fest I put myself through last night was actually worth the years of my life that it cost me just so there can be SOME presents to go around. ...........That sounds pretty complainy, doesn't it? Pay no attention to the Grinch behind the Sloth! Truly, every time someone you love goes under general anesthesia, the world just stops until they wake up. The world is slowly getting back on its axis tonight, but seeing my stepfather, who anyone should be lucky enough to know, all taped up and puffy and miserable was really scary. It was the first time I had a premonition of what lies ahead for us because it was the first time I had ever seen him look old. But enough of that. He's awake and it's almost Christmas. You know the refrain: "God bless us, every one..." I don't believe in God, but I sure as hell believe in thin excuses for sneaking booze into a hospital. Baby Jesus <--- annoyingly vindictive


Merry Appendichristmas!!

Last night I called my parents to wish my mother a happy birthday. She was busy saying goodbye to some guests so I chatted with my stepdad while I waited for her to get on the phone. "I ate something that disagreed with me," he said. "I have a really bad pain in my stomach. It won't go away." Our friend Bev, who happens to suffer from chronic colitis, had assured him that it was a rebellious colon but I was unconvinced. It was my stepfather's demeanor that unsettled me. He has something like two months of sick time accrued. He never calls in sick and even when he is sick, he just powers through it like a warrior. So when he said, "I hardly ever get sick but when I do I guess don't handle it very well...." the worry bees started a-buzzing. That statement is patently untrue and the fact that he had convinced himself of it in order to explain how miserable he felt led me to believe that he was experiencing a level of misery that was all new to him. "Don't rub it!" I said. "Maybe you should go to the hospital," I said. "I think I'll wait and see how I feel tomorrow," he replied. Yeah, so my stepfather is currently in the hospital on a morphine drip, awaiting his emergency appendectomy. Methinks someone mebbe pissed off the Baby Jesus this year, eh? Way to go!


Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Why you gotta H8?

I only had to click on "next blog" once to stumble upon this curiosity. Because I tend to voraciously scroll down the page it took me a moment to understand the premise... Ok, I still don't really get it. Insights? ~After further consideration it seems like a community forum sort of thing. But hating America is as dumb as hating any country. You can hate the people in power or the people trying to attain power, you can even hate a culture. But a country? That's like saying, "I hate Earth" because there happen to be people on it and people generally suck. That's not Earth's fault. America is awesome! It's just that a whole bunch of people who live inside of it happen to be complete assholes with a lot of power. That's not America's fault. Besides: America includes more than the United States, eh? Don't be hatin'!


Horror Top

You know how some fools, upon ingesting something particularly odious, say, "Oh my god, this is so gross, YOU HAVE TO TASTE IT!"? Well, I used to pity those fools. But now I'm one of them. I accidentally looked at this picture of Carrot Top working out and now I'm making you look at it too because if I don't, if I have to carry the burden of this horror alone, I will (not kidding!!) set myself on fire in the middle of the street.

Link |

Ah, youth.

Now that my boyfriend is growing a beard, he's looking more Peter Hortony than ever!! And with the havoc that it's wreaking on my face, I'm looking younger and younger by the day.... Thank YOU, sensitive skin!!


Bush Gone Wild

Caught on tape: George Bush assuring us that, duh!, wiretapping requires a court order! The Patriot Act is just a harmless bit know, whatever. Caught on camera: Eliza Dushku has the right idea about Bush. More updates later. I have a lot of free time on my hands today......


Monday, December 19, 2005


Happy. To me. A new decade. Existential crisis alert: ORANGE


Friday, December 16, 2005

Oh, it WOULD BE.

I'm getting sick. I can feel it. *sigh* The timing of the sloth - it is impeccable.


My Awesome Job

I am the approver for all travel reimbursements and invoice payments in our massively huge department. This is the kind of shit I deal with every. Single. Day. Dear A - In the future, please don't hang up on me. I'm just trying to do my job which revolves entirely around making your job easier. I could send this over to the Travel office and wait for it to come back just so that when I tell you it was not enough documentation you will see that it was Travel who said so, not me, and then maybe be even a tiny bit polite to me. I guess you think I'm some kind of mean, demanding nitpick but when was the last time something was sent back to you from the Travel office? I am thorough in my work so that things don't have to be done twice. If you prefer, from now on I will just send things over incomplete and wait for them to come back before contacting you, to save myself the trouble of wrassling with you over paperwork. It certainly doesn't seem to be worth the trouble. -Slothy Dear Slothy - I fully understand that you are trying to do your job and prevent complications down the line. My frustration is not with you but with a ridiculous system that occasionally boils down to outright harassment. The documentation I supplied is very clear -- and complete; the vouchers are clearly made out in the amount of $39.95 per month in the name of [Vendor]; the letter on the [Vendor] letterhead stationery clearly acknowledges payment for the month of July, and even though the amount is not stated all the other vouchers are for $39.95/month, so one could probably correctly assume that the July figure was for the same amount. I appreciate your attention to detail, but I would also like to think that the people at Travel can demonstrate common sense occasionally and not subject everyone to this frustration when everyone has made a good effort to supply what is required. Thanks. A Dear A - This is absolutely confusing to me. Some people just include an MRA (missing receipt affidavit - trumps all other paperwork) with everything they do in case I need it, which I rarely do. Some people see the provision of a requested MRA as exactly what it is: 30 seconds to fill out a piece of paper and stick it in an interoffice envelope with my name on it. Then there are the people who act as if I am asking them to do something morally reprehensible. As though providing an MRA is tantamount to drowning a sack of kittens. If I asked you to drown a sack of kittens then I would completely understand if you hung up in my ear, but an MRA? The Travel desk sees hundreds of these transactions a day. They have neither the time nor the inclination to dig into the minutiae of "assuming" things, not to mention that while yes they are strict, they are simply following IRS guidelines. I have done this job for several years and it never ceases to amaze me how personally everyone takes these rules - as though they are a personal attack. There is nothing personal about it. The rules are the rules. I didn't make them up and I don't even enforce them - Travel does. Go ahead and expend energy on being mad if you want to, but I don't see why you have to shoot the messenger in the process. If you want me to send this reimbursement over to Travel as-is, let me know. I'm more than happy to do it. -Slothy p.s. You're a stupid cow.


Cult Much?

From today's MSN celebrity gossip: Dec. 15, 2005

Psssst. Did you hear? Katie Holmes has a bit of a crush on Tom Cruise. And it seems the only way she can truly express the deep feelings she has for her future baby daddy is to repeat the same automaton-like soundbites she's been spouting since they first stepped out together eight long months ago.

"I'm so thrilled!" the glassy-eyed starlet mantras to OK! magazine. "I want to tell the whole world."

You don't say.

Any bets on the next word Katie uses to describe her much-mocked romance with the L. Ron Hubbard-loving, shrink-hating, wedding date-pushing Cruise? We'll give you a hint: It's not "incredible."

"It's amazing," she enthuses for the umpteenth time. "I'm so proud to be with him. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. I feel like he's made my life. I love him."

So much so that she and Tom, who recently came in second on Star magazine's list of the tackiest couples of 2005 (they were topped by Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown), are now even dressing alike.

On Wednesday night in New York, the "Dianetics"-devoted duo stepped out in matching togs, with Cruise sporting a brown topcoat and Holmes, who is rumored to be about six months along with a baby boy, donning a mocha-hued sheath that emphasized her endlessly scrutinized belly.

The occasion was an annual fundraiser for the New York Rescue Workers Detoxification Project, a Scientology-backed program co-founded by Cruise after Sept. 11 that claims to help firefighters and others exposed to toxins from the collapsed towers clear their systems.

The New York Post says supporters who forked over $6,250 for a ticket were given the chance to glad-hand and strike a pose with Cruise at the event, which reportedly raised $1.6 million, about $400,000 more than last year.

"I started this project out of the great respect I have for the courage and service of the rescue workers," the toothy star declares to "Entertainment Tonight." "When I started this project I was in a position where I knew I could help. I absolutely consider it an honor and a privilege to be here to help these men and women."

But some are glibly taking issue with Tom's idea of help, which, according to the organization's Web site, revolves around a Hubbard-devised "precise regimen" of "exercise, sauna bathing, and vitamin, mineral and oil supplements."

The Post, citing medical professionals, calls the purification process "worthless quackery consisting of sauna sweating, ingestion of cooking oil and large doses of niacin," adding that it has raised concerns within the New York fire department because participants are purportedly counseled to stop taking their prescription medications or using inhalers.


Yes, great. Could Tom Cruise be any scarier? I can't help but wonder what Katie Holmes is going to give birth to. If anyone sees her eating raw liver I hope the appropriate actions will be taken. (As in, send in the S.W.A.T. team...)


Short Attention Span Friday

It's about time we had one. I'll be updating throughout the day today. First off, guess what my sister got my for my birthday? An email!! In the email she says that she's going to be in Argentina next week. Awwwwww, I'm so touched. Those are some thoughtful fuckin' birthday wishes. On whatever planet she lives on.


Wednesday, December 14, 2005

I Have Arrived.

Nothing equals an imminent party in its ability to send a sloth into reeling panic. Suddenly, my surroundings come into sharp focus. I never before noticed how the Lucille Ball and David outfit magnets are globbed all over our refrigerator like arterial spray. And why do our block letter magnets read "FEEL QUEER MAN BOOTY?" Did I do that? Oh my god - last year's Christmas card from my mother is still on the freezer door! Panic! Panic!! When did I acquire thirteen half-empty boxes of tampons? And this shampoo - I bought it a year ago and never opened it. Does shampoo go bad? The walls of my shower, they longer there. This smooth white substance covering the inside of the shower makes it pleasantly resemble an ice cave, but I doubt my guests will see it that way. Oh my god, is my toilet CROOKED?? Panic! Panic!! Look at this stack of paintings and mirrors that I never put up on the walls when I moved in over a year ago.... They are sitting in the only spot in my bedroom that has not been declared (secretly, just to myself) a biohazard. Gah!! A pile of Patricia Cornwell books!! Ohmygodohmygod, where can I hide these? "The DaVinci Code" in HARDCOVER??? Panic! Panic!! The arboreal environment in which I live could use a little work. Soooo......... My yuppie status is official. I have hired a woman to clean my apartment. Check out the legs on that filly! She cleans good too. I love it when they prance. It's so...ethnic. What? I'm TURNING THIRTY. I cannot be expected to scrape shower walls and cross over into a new decade in the same week. It's hard enough hanging up all the clothes that have migrated out of the dense foliage of my closet to the more spacious and sunny terrain of my bedroom. I don't know why they insist on doing this. I try to tell them that the fresh water is at the caves - you have to move inland! But they insist on frolicking on the beach and getting themselves all crinkly in the process. I banished them to one chair that groaned and collapsed under the weight of eight hundred thousand wrinkled blazers. My biggest accomplishment: I corralled all of my sandals into a bag in my closet. The Blahniks made a feeble swipe at me and the Gabriella Rochas got a respectable swing in there. It was the Danskos that did the most damage. GodDAMN those bitches were mad! I'm getting my retina re-attached next week. Tonight The Den is coming over with picture-hanging accoutrements and the lights are going up. My apartment WILL be festive. Oh yes.


Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Momma Sloth

It's a balmy 17 degrees here today. Rejoice! Things I learned about my mother over the weekend: 1. When she was a child of an age when you still believe that what you do can affect what is on television, she used to beg and plead with Dorothy at the end of "The Wizard of Oz" to only click her heels twice or, alternately, to not click them at all because who on earth would want to go back to a black and white life in the dustbowl after living for even a brief time in Technicolor? 2. She has a cowgirl crush on this cowboy: I really can't imagine why... 3. If she were in an airplane and the guy who was about to take her to jail got hit on the head with a metal suitcase and passed out while the plane was crashing, she would SO NOT PUT AN OXYGEN MASK ON HIS STUPID FACE. 4. If you get her drunk enough she will laugh all the way home. Holidays are complex emotional events. After feeling melancholy about the family I no longer have, I spent the weekend with my parents and started feeling jolly about the family I do have. Tuesdays suck less in December.


Monday, December 12, 2005

Monday Shameful Shoe Gallery

Some days it just seems like the whole internet is broken. Grah! After a spate of technical difficulties that left me on the verge of unprecedented violence, I offer you this week's Shameful Shoe Gallery. Make sure you lace up that........sneaker! Boot! Horrible, cheap piece of human excrement! You could SAY that anyone who wears this shoe DOES NOT IN ANY WAY deserve to be strung from a tree and riddled with hollow-point bullets, but those are just words. Silly, untrue, misguided words. Let us never speak of this again. For SOME REASON, I honestly couldn't tell you why, this shoe is on sale for 81% off!! Why? Why? It has all the things we like about shoes: kitten heel, slingback, distracting plastic ornamentation, metallic, pointy toe, curled up pointy toe reminding us of a leprechaun, it's charming, like Lucky Charms, like a rainbow, like a pot of gold, like a fucking leprechaun, it's all metally and shamrocky and leprechauny, you just want to tweak its little cheeks and steal its money, am I right? Am I right? I know! Aaaaaaaaaagghh!!! Get it off! Get it off!! Fucking mummy boot just took a chunk out of my leg!! Where the hell is Brendan Fraser when you need him? Jesus, that guy is NEVER around! know, there's a cream for that. Look into my are getting verrrrrrry sleeeeeeepy..... I am a gorgeous shoe..... I am soft and comfortable and there is nothing wrong with the teal suede, loafer, sequin combination.... I am fashionable.... I am beautiful... You want to buy me.... When I click my heels you will wake up and remember nothing except that I do not in any way represent a sorry, geriatric attempt at the sparkly shoe trend.... Oh dear. This shoe has several issues. First of all, it's gender-confused. Sweetie, if you can grow that kind of facial hair, you should consider lightening up on the pink. No, I don't mean lighter pink! I mean, try some argyle or something. You might love it! You NEVER KNOW. Second of all, did someone forget to tell Gabriella Rocha that the "justache" went out with 70's porn? The only guy who still embraces the justache is Ron Jeremy and NO ONE emulates THAT guy anymore. What is this, a club? You and pink-stache up there trying to form a little group? Look, you made a valiant effort, I'll give you that. The pink is inoffensive, your facial hair is under control, the sparklies are pretty. I can see you've put a lot of work into your outfit. Small, teensy problem: YOUR WING WANG IS HANGING OUT. EVERYBODY CAN SEE IT. What is this? The inept transvestite club? Man, these Unitarians will let ANYONE meet in their church basement. No standards at all, these people! And another week gets under way! Ciao!


Friday, December 09, 2005

Friday in the Universe

Good morning, internet. I hope you've had a nice couple of days. I am one of only two people in my office today as the sky is sending down a shower of dandruffy delight and everyone else seemingly took one look outside and said to themselves, "Yeah. Right." My office window faces out onto a narrow courtyard which also serves as a sort of wind funnel, blowing the snow that just fell right back up into the air again. As a result, my little piece of the world looks like a snowglobe today. A snowglobe featuring a sleepy redhead clickety-clacking on the keyboard, feeling nostalgic, wishing she could get her shit together for the holidays. I bought lights. And this gold star wire stuff to wrap around things. But I don't have a wreath yet and I need to do laundry in the most desperate way imaginable and I don't have a domestic bone in my body and I'm turning 30 in a week or so and sometimes I just wish the world would slow down a little so I could catch up. On Wednesday night I went to see my second-most-favoritest band in the wholewideworld, Calexico, at Avalon. They're touring with Iron & Wine and, although I can appreciate a little Iron & Wine now and again, I don't believe that the distinctly Ent-like appearance of the lead singer is a coincidence. Their songs are long and slow and haunting and luscious and they will put you to sleep as reliably as a codeine overdose. Calexico, on the other hand, is all kick and sass, so I was disappointed that they played first as I was in an Ent-induced coma by the end of the show. When I arrived home there was a package from my Aunt Suzi that said "Open Now," the assumption being that any packages I receive around this time I will will stow away until my birthday or Christmas. Yes, I actually do that. So I opened it and there was a card from her saying that they are sorry they won't see me this year for the holiday and here are some of Grandma's Christmas ornaments. Well, I just fell apart. I called The Den sobbing and after an exhaustive cry I passed out dramatically on the couch where my roommate found me the next morning with dried mascara rivulets on my cheeks. It's the second Christmas without my grandmother and I'm looking out the window at the snow falling on a world that doesn't have her in it anymore. All of those little things that made her unique - the way she tucked her strawberry blonde hair behind her ears, the way she ran her finger around the rim of her wineglass, the way she loved too much and forgave not enough - are gone. They exist nowhere else in the world. We went to this latest war with Iraq soon before my grandmother died and when it began, she cried and railed, powerless, at the television because she had lived through so many wars, had served in the foreign service, and knew better than her children or her grandchildren what the real cost of war would be. And now there are thousands of people - American and Iraqi - who no longer exist in the world either. All of the things that made every single one of those people absolutely unique are just.....gone. I mourne my grandmother because I can. I can remember all of the bits of her that are lost - all the tiny, quirky things I miss. But I don't know how to mourne all of these other people that deserve no less than abject sorrow from each and every one of us at their sacrifice. This holiday is going to be a horrible, wretched time for so many families who remember the way their son or daughter or mother or father crooked a finger when making a point, ate soup in their favorite bowl with that wonky spoon, tugged on a necklace for comfort, sat in the car in the driveway for a few minutes to finish a song on the radio.....loved in their very own special way that will never be replicated anywhere in the world ever again. It's snowing on a world where so many people no longer exist. Our contemporaries, our ancestors, and someday, us. My friend Emily is going to give birth sometime next week. Cold and snow and death and's all so much bigger than one person or one war or one conviction or one sleepy redhead clickety-clacking on the keyboard, feeling nostalgic, wishing she could get her shit together for the holidays.


Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Short shorts

1. Thanks to my friend Steve, I have discovered Pandora. She's the bomb. All you have to do is type in the name of a band or musician or song that you like and, based on your perceived tastes, Pandora will create a streaming radio station of other songs she's pretty sure you'll like too. You can create multiple stations and it's a cinch. If you're like me and have trouble finding new artists to listen to who fall comfortably into the not-quite-defined genres that you like, trust me and give this a try. 2. Someone called me a "tard" a couple of posts down. I still remember the first time I heard that word. I believe I was wearing a rugby shirt, tapered jeans and a whole lotta Aquanet. I sort of miss "tard." Has its time come round again? Can we reintroduce "tard," "grody," and "gag me with a spoon" to the popular lexicon? Does this mean that "talk to the hand" and "don't go there" have only 15 years to wait and "for reals" has 25? It's sort of like the cycle of baby names. My great aunt's name was Eleanor. I used to hate it and think it was a weird, old fashioned name, but now I'm sort of loving it. My great uncle's name was Earl and now there is a popular tv show starring a dude named Earl. Madonna's new name is Esther. ........well, I guess everything, including "tard," comes back around. I'm wearing pointy shoes with flared pants today - I'm the 70's AND the 80's! What was intended as a limp-fisted insult has instead succeeded in making me feel sweetly nostalgic.... 3. There are lots of things to like about Penn and Teller, but this is my new favorite. ******************************** From "Overheard in New York": Guy: ...And she had the nerve; she didn't even ask me to be her friend. She just sent me her profile! Chick: Omigod, you should so send her a frowny. --Columbia University Overheard by: djlindee


Monday, December 05, 2005

Monday Shameful Shoe Gallery

It's going to be a good week - I can feel it. I'm making lists, getting ready for my party, Christmas shopping... There's snow on the ground... My boss is late.... A kick-ass gospel choir performed at the function I went to on Thursday so my soul-food quota is filled (oh yes, I was swayin' and clappin', praise Jesus!) Friday I got drunk at our holiday party and then went to see "A History of Violence" which was waaaaaaaaay better than I expected it to be - thriller quota filled. Saturday went to a baby shower where I gave away my tiny mitten collection and got an earful of labor/pooping/episiotomy talk which more than filled my please-stop-talking quota. Quotas: I set 'em up, I knock 'em down. Right! So here, without further ado, is our weekly Shameful Shoe Gallery. PETA style!! (mostly) Ok, look. I don't know what the bunny did to you. I've heard that they eat crops, I've heard some stories about carrot-stealing and leaving little blue jackets lying around, but I'm not convinced the punishment fits the crime here. A turnip goes missing and suddenly you feel that stuffing the rabbit in a wiffle ball and sticking your foot up its ass is appropriate? Jesus Christ, dude. Get some fucking perspective. Check out this overly complicated, open-air, futuristic-yet-strangely-eighties boot! Wait, that Tina Turner in there?? Look, she's peeking out down by the heel. "Two feet enter, one foot leaves..." Uh, ahem, excuse me - again, I really must protest. The Moonboot Moth is a protected species. You can't just use the caterpillar for whatever you damn well please. Besides, shoving your foot inside a Moonboot pupa has been linked to prostate cancer so THINK TWICE. Okaaaaaaaaaay. Well, all I have to say about this boot, which proclaims the (presumably female) wearer to be the "King of Kings," is that it costs $1400. I think that's all the information we need, don't you? *Sigh* Excuse me. I guess you did not get the memo or perhaps you do not subscribe to the PETA newsletter or perhaps you are just an ignorant dickhead, so it is up to me to inform you that FRAGGLES ARE CAPABLE OF FEELING PAIN AND EMOTION. How do you even live with yourself? How do you EVEN. LIVE. Boot Jenga!! See how many pieces you can remove before you are left barefoot and frostbitten in the snow, fucking retard. One upholstered loveseat plus one fuzzy, yappy, carpet-peeing, guest-annoying, trash-tipping, tampon-eating dog equals...........this. Recycle, recycle, recycle!!! Finally, I would like to offer an apology to all those who have been adversely affected by my unfortunate addiction to raw onions. You know who you are, and I believe there are several thousand of you. At least two of you suffered egregiously this weekend and I do honestly feel bad about that. But not enough to stay away from Indian buffet for lunch today. Onion chutney will be had, oh yes. Happy Monday!!


Thursday, December 01, 2005

Quickie Updates

1. I got all the way to the bus stop before realizing I was wearing these: Apparently I don't choose my shoes, they choose me. Too late now! And tonight I'm wearing these to a function: So I'm not good with authority, sue me. 2. Anyone else getting a little tired of the weird-animal-as-personal-demon theme on "Lost?" Anyone? Anyone else want to be ravaged by Michelle Rodriguez? Anyone? 3. Public Service Announcement: I have discovered the ultimate, no-fail hangover cure. V8 juice with a little too much Tabasco sauce added. Yes, I know they make spicy V8 now. It's not the same. 4. I did not, apparently, win the Daily Show couch raffle. My ass cheeks demand an explanation. That's it! It's a busy day!