Monthly Archives: November 2012

obligatory gift guide post


It’s the beginning of suicide…I mean holiday season! I really meant holiday season, not like I’m estranged from my family and hate to go home because of the drinking  followed by the neck wringing that ensues, or anything. Nothing good ever follows a few middle aged aunts polishing off an entire magnum sized bottle of Yellow Tail Shiraz. Nothing.

So with these happy holiday memories in mind, here’s a nifty guide to help you choose just the right gifts for every member of your clan from slightly slow second cousin Claire to the sister you never knew you had until your father revealed his secret second family at last year’s Christmas. There’s a gift for every one, even those that are especially hard to shop for.


For the not-so-man in your life, you know that guy that just lurks around the edges of your social circle and mouth breathes on you at the weekly happy hour? For him, I suggest a full sized Japanese body pillow. It says, “I care about your loneliness but only in as so far as this gift helps you stay away from me.”


Your parents deserve a chance at coital bliss now that you are out of the house. Empty nest syndrome? More like “we be doing it now that we can’t have babies no more syndrome!” Am I right, my middle aged readers? (Of which there are none of you) Be completely appropriate this holiday season and get your parents an anal training kit! You know they never tried that while you in the house for fear of the noise! They’ll love it especially with this 50 gallon tub of lube!


For your alcoholic aunt, nothing says that you love her than getting her a few months supply of pee pads! We’ve all been there. Those times when you’re so drunk, you just forget that you didn’t get out of bed, think you are in the bathroom and just pee the bed. What? You haven’t been there? Maybe I do have a problem. Nah! Probably not! This is totally normal behavior. You can get a great deal on the aptly named GoodNites on Amazon!


For the passive aggressive lady in your office who sometimes you just wish would speak her fucking mind and shove her back handed compliments up her butt, this useful and hilarious set of Talk to the Hand post-its! Nothing says, “I don’t give a shit about your personally” than giving office supplies.


Finally, for YOU an illegal prescription for Xanax. Seriously, how else will you make it through your Uncle Kenneth’s racist diatribes at family dinner. Treat yourself, down one of these with a glass of nice red wine and blissfully zone out. “What’s that you said Uncle Ken? About Obama being a monkey in the White House just throwing shit at the walls until something sticks? I thought you finally were congratulating me on finishing up grad school.” Isn’t Xanax just the best?

Happy holidays! Try not to fuck it up too much!

Does anyone else have these things that they thought were real as a child but turned out to be dreams?


When I was a kid I used to go camping with my family at this place called The Wolf’s Den. I was convinced that there was a cemetery either on the grounds or just beyond them. After all, I was seasonal friends with an albino kid who also camped there every summer, so why wouldn’t there be a cemetery. It was New England after all.

The albino kind, whose name was Ryan, and I had a lot in common. We both liked to stay in the shade while we were camping and supposed to be being all outdoors. Him, out of necessity and me because the sun made it hard for me to read Lord of the Rings for the fourth time. I just thought that we were both kind of dorky, I willfully ignored the fact that all Ryan talked about was being on the junior high basketball team and how he would be schooling those kids on the court if only it had some shade. I wanted to believe that he liked be-dorked and be-speckled me, but he was just a bored jock who was glad to have some to talk to.

I thought that there was this cemetery in the woods behind the campground for years after we stopped bringing our pop-up camper there. It had a high wall that people would practice shooting off, there were remnants of broken pottery and old bottles littering the grounds. The monuments were early 1800′s old and had the lichen growth on them to prove it. I loved and hated going there. It was quiet and peaceful but also a creepy reminder that you will be forgotten.

Turns out, that cemetery is not real. I must have had this reoccurring dream when we went camping at The Wolf’s Den that over the years my brain had turned into a real memory. I suppose as any kind whose family didn’t get them, I needed a respite and my brain made one for me. I went back as an adult and walked the grounds and the woods around it searching for the path and the wire fence that we would duck under to get to it. All I found was old growth forrest and bucolic meadows. There was no cemetery, no wall, no ceramic remnants. It really was just a dream. And I was pissed that reality just made a cliche reality.

some people just don’t know how to handle a disaster

In this sketch, it turns out that person is Mayor Bloomberg’s interpreter.

Why yes, I know sign language. #fb

Why yes, I know sign language. #fb

Bloomberg and Callis: an intimate shot.

Bloomberg and Callis: an intimate shot.