Clean and sober

I came home last night and there were two big boxes on my bed. The accompanying note from Mother revealed that she decided it was time to clean out my bedroom closet (between the hours of 11 pm when I left and 3:30 am when I returned). "Keep or donate." Mummy, which charitable organization do you think would most likely benefit from my high school biology labs and feather collection? I'll call Amvets first. "An assortment of feathers you found in your yard between the ages of 4 and 9 years old? We can have a truck there by Wednesday. The Desert Storm folks will love 'em! They use them in their crafting room."

Mother, just because the doctors vacuumed out your uterus, doesn't mean you have to vacuum my room.

Besides, your womb is responsible for numerous crimes against humanity. We should go to the Applebee's to celebrate its removal!

Look at it this way - now there's more room for Bernard.

Vagina Review!

Let's face it - America loves vaginas. And they're always making headlines. Here is a brief summary of vaginas in the media from this past week. Enjoy!

1. Mother got a hysterectomy last Thursday, Valentine's Day. Now she'll never have the other daughter she secretly desires.

2. In other news, I have placed a bid on this Virgin Mary pretzel on eBay. I will dip it in mustard and consume it.

3. My vagina has been enjoying some free time lately and is planning a get-away to Antigua this Spring.

4. Bette Midler is slated to star in the new off-Broadway production of the 'The Vagina Dialogues.' Should be an interesting soundtrack.

5. My friend Cunty split her lip open after a night of heavy drinking after the Vampire Weekend concert last week.

Contesticles!

Here's the contest! If I receive 5 unique comments on this post by Sunday, 2/17/08, I will resume my frenetic blogging pace.

Good luck! And check out Mario's package for free!

olive, where are you?

where am i?

am i dead?
am i dreaming?
did i break my good hand?
did i break my bionic hand?

am i depressed?
am i distracted?

is it mother?
is it siobhan?
is is bernard?
is it the doorman?
is it cunty?
is it dum dum?

why did i break my "9th of every month" pledge?
what the fuck?
what's wrong with me?

have i been drinking?
does too much money and too much free time and too few hands mess with a person's mind?

happy valentine's day.

Monthly Newsletter

Dear Fan(atic)s,

I do not feel loved. I have reduced my output to mere scraps in the face of my dwindling numbers, or "hits" as they say on the streets. New diatribes will now be issued on the 9th of each month and I will provide no additional commentary in the interim period of longing you will all surely feel.

Like Tony Blair's conversion to Catholicism, I have "awoken to a new dawn" and now "know my place in God's grand plan." Let's face reality - there are only 5 interesting things about me and my public is not interested anymore:

1) I have an iLimb for a hand.
2) I used to have a hook for a hand.
3) I am a trust fund baby.
4) My trust fund is funded by insurance money obtained following the death of my father in a warehouse fire that, incidentally, resulted in the amputation of my hand.
5) My mother is the kind of aging alcoholic who still owns leather pants.

I am obsessed with the following:

1) All things Mario Lopez.
2) Dolphins and their dangerous arrogance and sense of entitlement.
3) Celebrities and historical figures who have not lost any of their limbs.
4) Doormen.
5) A server at a local coffeehouse.

Perhaps if my intern hadn't quit, things would be different, but, alas and alack, you will have to wait another month...

Loving and beseeching,


Olive, The Voice of Reason

Let's go to the movies!

Bernard, or as I call him, Bew-NAHD, feels sorry for me. Maybe because he and my Mom are alcoholics and it was his idea to make perfect Manhattans to keep them nice and loose during their Christmas movie marathon? He keeps bringing me food and stuff, like a harissa turkey sandwich from Greeno's Deli (it was fucking great - I will just give a quiet "Thanks" without making eye contact and without encouraging further discourse, as I find this is the best way to continue getting gifts).

By the way, here is the actual Christmas movie marathon list (I swear to Moroni) with commentary:

Christmas Shoes

Retarded movie starring Rob Lowe about a retarded boy who thinks his retarded mother who is dying of cancer needs new Christmas shoes in case she dies and meets Jesus. Oh my fucking God, do you believe this shit!!! Then some retarded good Samaritan buys the fucking shoes for the kid. Here's the twist though - the Mom dies in the end, not because of the cancer, but because she trips over the shoes and has a heart attack (this last part is just a guess)!

Other dumb-ass movies

I cannot do this anymore. Let's just say my Mother has already died inside.

More proof...

...that Jesus hates me. On November 19th, I slipped on a Maraschino cherry in the kitchen and shattered my ankle. I have been horribly depressed. I haven't felt like sharing lately. Sorry to all of my faithful acolytes.

One free guess where the offending accoutrement came from. "Oops," right Mom?