Time To Take The Cyanide Pill
Friday, April 28, 2006 I think I get caught up waiting for a good post to pop into my head, one good enough to make up for the prolonged absences, one worthy of fine turns of phrase such as "assfucking liberal" or "big black double sided dildo". When I can't come up with one I just ignore the damn blog altogether. Well, it's time to, as Susan Powter would say, "Stop the Insanity"*.  To that end: I'm giving something new a shot. Short daily bursts- one everyday. My urge to use song titles as post headers has long been kicking around the five brain cells spared during my college years**, but it would also be a lie if I didn't say it's inspired by this blog I've recently discovered: Fresh Pepper?. Dude is funny as shit- please check him out. But, I'm hoping to take one step further and make the title an actual link to the song. Cause you all KNOW you just don't have enough hippie music in your lives. Whatever. Hopefully I'll remember how to do it and everything heretofore will be less boring than this piece of shit post. * Don't you just want to beat that bitch to death? **Christ I miss nitrous. UPDATE: I did it! It's linked!!! Please revel is my HTML coding prowess and then click the title to listen to some Dylan. Go on- it's good for you.  
Wednesday, April 26, 2006 How does the world see you? Like a Rolling Stone- Bob Dylan. "little miss lonely but you know you only used to get juiced in it"? Uh-oh...so it's gonna be THAT kinda game, huh?. Will I have a happy life? Valerie- Jerry Garcia & David Grisman "I shot my dog because he growled at you"? Shit dude- I can't even scrounge up a wedding date these days. I'll take it. What do my friends really think of me? All I Wanna do is Baby be Friends With You- Bob Dylan Are we sure that this question isn't "For the love of god why can I not get laid? Do people secretly lust after me? Paint it Black- The Stones Yeah- that's pretty much what I thought. How can I make myself happy? Tennessee Jed- Grateful Dead Better get back to Tennessee huh? What should I do with my life? I Will Never Marry- Emmy Lou Harris. Fuck you internet meme. Fuck you iPod. This game totally sucks. Seriously. Will I ever have children? Sugar Magnolia- Allman Brothers Band. Uh..I guess I'd procreate with Derek Trucks. Kid plays a mean gui-tar. What is some good advice for me? Don't Think Twice It's Alright- Odetta This is fucking freaky. How will I be remembered? Love Will Tear Us Apart- Joy Division Shoulda just been Suicide is Painless huh? What is my signature dancing song? Lovely Rita- Beatles I guess I do wiggle a lot when I hear it What do I think my current theme song is? Ophelia- The Band Hell yeah. What does everyone else think my current theme song is? Blinded By the Light- Bruce Springsteen Assholes. What song will play at my funeral? This land Is Your Land- Woody Guthrie. Jesus I need to stop being such a fucking hippie. What type of men do you like? The Obvious Child- Paul Simon I coulda told you that. What is my day going to be like? Oh the Wind and Rain- Garcia & Grisman Nope. 70 degrees and sunny. That means the whole never marry thing was wrong too, right? RIGHT?
Friday, March 31, 2006 I'm not sure I'm back for good or if I'm just posting because my second favorite republican said even he is tired of looking at that fucking picture of POTUS the clown. Maybe it's just been a while since I've had occasion to use the phrase, "big black double sided dildo" in casual conversation and I miss it. Either way, here I am. So, where to begin? It's been a crazy couple of months, some of it good, some it bad and some of it fan-fucking-tastic. Since I'm sure none of my three remaining readers want to hear a long non-sequiturious ramble about my life I'll just give a brief synopsis of a few choice cuts from the last few months- vignettes if you will. And away we go: Fuck you, Fuck you, You're Cool, Fuck you- I'M OUT. So, I finally nutted up and quit the job I'd spent three years hating so much it made me physically ill (and by physically ill I mean drunk and fat). I think I decided that there was no reason to continue trudging into the ninth circle of hell, master of one's own destiny blah, blah, blah. Also, as I'd alluded to, this blog had been outed at work. And by outed I mean some asshole found it, made copies and brought it to my boss and HR. That's right. My ramblings about degenerate alcoholism, the death of god and big black double sided dildos were printed out and disseminated about my place of employ. That was fun. The best part was when my boss, the one who I said should be beaten to death with a bag full of her own $500.00 shoes, called me into a meeting. I walked in and saw the pages spread out before her and she opened with, "we need to talk about this Cyanide Pill business". Did you ever feel like you were going to go into cardiac arrest, piss in your pants and start maniacally laughing and crying all at the same time? Well, it was kinda like that. I ended up not getting fired, though my boss did say two poignant things- first, that my moral superiority is sickening and second, that if I hated working there so bitterly, then why was I still doing it? I gave it some thought and my answers were fuck you and you're right, respectively. I currently have a new job which I absolutely love. I always thought people who actually liked their jobs were either an urban legend or just straight up liars. I am here to tell you- not true. But, given that I am an alcoholic and not an idiot- that's all I'll say about the job. I'm not the best at learning from past mistakes (please refer back to oh, say, the rest of my fucking life) but this is one particular brand of learning disability I'm not looking to exemplify. So, now, in the words of the bloviated Bill O'Reilly, "I will never mention it again". Except he was talking about mashing falafel balls on his assistant's breasts and shoving a loofah up his own ass. I'm just talking about work- but hey, like I said, there's always spring break. Fat Drunk and Single is No Way to go Through Life I was actually thinking of renaming the blog as such, but I figured that would REALLY upset my mom. Also, the fact that I am all three is really torturous enough for everyone involved. No need to harp on it. Much. Not much cooking on the dating front, though there is a lingering chance that I might have some fun in the upcoming weeks. Thank Christ for that; if I go much longer I'm going to become revirginized. This could present a whole host of problems as I'm pretty sure there's no way I could possibly squeeze my fat ass back into the Ford Escort where I lost it the first time. What? You all KNEW I was from Jersey. Either way I'm keeping it light. Life is good right now and I'm not looking to fuck with the equilibrium. I'll keep you posted should this change. Marsha, Marsha, Marsha Exciting news- My friend C is getting married and has asked me to be a bridesmaid. While you might think a bitter spinster like me would be all shook up about attending yet another wedding, I'm psyched about this for so many reasons. First I know C will be an awesome bride. She will never make her bridesmaids wear champagne or puce, nor will will she choose a dress that will make me look like a little taffeta sausage. Second, I'm pretty sure that her bridemaid gifts will be something that could get you arrested in most states and maybe even executed in the South. Most of all, I'm psyched to be in the wedding because I was there when it all began. And by "when it all began" I mean the night many years ago when we were living at the beach and she looked at me through squinted eyes and said, "go get JXXX" with that look that said, "I'm drunk, I'm tired, he keeps asking, so yea, I'll just fuck him and get it over with". Who knew such things could flourish into a lifetime commitment, dual homeowership and a dogbaby? I told you fuckers romance wasn't dead. So, that's about all for now. It's good to be back. It's even better to have been able to type the words big black double sided dildo, not once, not twice BUT THREE TIMES. Dorothy was right. There really is no place like home.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006   WASHINGTON - Samuel Anthony Alito Jr. became the nation's 110th Supreme Court justice on Tuesday, confirmed with the most partisan victory in modern history after a fierce battle over the future direction of the high court.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006 Ew...did I just say that out loud? UPDATE: One call down, one probably not coming. Oh well, at least I don't have to shave my legs. Besides, it's probably a bit much to ask God to give with both hands, especially since I spend so much time making fun of his kid.
Sunday, January 08, 2006 Ever since this whole thing happened, (and we'll call it The Thing Which Cannot Be Named, or, going forward, TTWCBN), everything has felt off kilter. I don't know how to describe it besides saying that I feel like something has been taken from me- forcefully. Ripped away. Whatever. I told you I was going to get dramatic. All I'm sure of is that something I once had is gone. I can keep writing and I changed the name of the blog and had it erased from every cache web crawler I could find, but I'm still scared to say what I mean. It's like the last place I had to vomit out the things I can't put anywhere else, the sort of flotsam and jetsam in my head, no longer have a safe place to land. Things come and go and I'm the last person to mourn for that which is transient in nature- I studied me some philosophy motherfucker, so I know all 'bout transient shit. I guess I just never thought my little corner of the web would become one of those things. I've made a lot of mistakes in the last couple of years, some minor, some major, and some the kind that you reel from for the rest of your life. But for some reason I found comfort in this space, this thing, this piece of the ether that was mine. And now that is gone. Does it get filed under mistakes made? I really don't know. All I know is that, once again, there's something else I want back which I just can't have. And it sucks. I'm going to keep trying though, both because I want to and because I need to. I guess we'll just see how it goes. Wish me luck. Or whatever. Either way, I'll land on my feet- I might even live to tell a crib death joke. One can hope right? This song sounds like this post feels. Wasn't kidding about the drama :)
Thursday, January 05, 2006 Most people won't notice, but I have deleted several posts from about a year ago. I hated having to do it, but I'm pretty sure I hated it less than I would hate having to give up a regular income in favor of living down in the Bowery giving hand jobs for crack. But hey- I'm open minded, so we'll see. Overall you'd think that the whole experience would have soured my feelings towards self publishing and the relative indelability of putting your thoughts, feelings, and fiction out on the internets. Please be assured- it has not. It's also got me thinking about why people are drawn to putting their private lives and thoughts into the most public of forums. Where does this tendency towards emotional exhibitionism come from? I don't really have any answers but I'm going to keep peep show flashing my psyche (and psychosis) to the interweb until I figure it out. Please place your quarters anywhere you see fit. Tissues are on the night stand.** **See kids, nothing's really going to change around here. But please do take a moment to tip your 40 in honor of the passing of the title of the blog. For reasons of privacy, it has to change. I don't know what I'm going to call the new incarnation yet. Until I figure it out, the blog remains nameless. In the meantime, the suggestions box is always open.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006 I can't begin to say how lucky I am to be guest blogging on the new super-secret version of "Time to Take." As luck would have it, those of us back to work today were treated with an awesome behind the scenes look at what brought down Jack Abramoff... perfect for my first blog entry. It's not shocking that a Republican staffer of DeLay would cheat on his fiance. What is shocking is that a DeLay staffer would share his deep dark secrets and then cheat on his fiance.
After the Ambulances Go
So here we are- a whole fresh year. We all know I'm not the sentimental type, but I'll admit it. I like New Years. I really, really do. I could wax poetic about how, as a devout secularist, it's the closest I get to having a holy time- but that would most likely make me sound like an asshole. So, I'll just say that I like the pomp and circumstance of the holiday. Anytime you can attach meaning to the need to be blackout drunk and behave like a trashwhore with a German triathelete who has pieced nipples is good by me. And I mean that in the most hypothetical of ways. But, as much as I love New Year's I tend to get a little maudlin on the day after the first day of the year. Maybe it's that I'm overstuffed by my traditional Last Supper before I attempt to get unfat in the coming year or the fact that I have to go back to work tomorrow for the first time in two weeks or even that my estrogen levels are spiking and behaving like a goddamn WMD. More likely it's a reaction to the fun being over. See, I have a terribly juvenile affinity towards fun. Even as a small child I was always loathe to go to bed just because I was afraid that someone, somewhere, might be having some fun that I'd miss out on. This has not changed. Back when I was still carrying on the facade that I could marry the Republican, I always found my favorite parts of the re-laaaaaationship* were the nights when the weekend, holiday, or party was over and we would hunker down and watch a movie or something dumb like that. I can't really explain why besides to say that those times always remind me of this Dylan tune (I warned you) called "Desolation Row". Click here to listen. There's a line somewhere in the song (ok, at 2:01)** which talks about how, "the only sound that's left, after the ambulances go, is Cinderella sweeping up on Desolation Row". All I can picture is an empty street littered with the slick combination of freezing rain and muddy remnants from last night's party. And out there amid the wet trash is this woman, alone, sweeping up and readying herself and her street for the next day's return to business as usual. It's sad and it's sweet (sorry Billy Joel) and it sounds just like how I feel right now. I guess having someone around on nights like this helps to either stave off the feeling or at least my identification with it. Ugh. I just read all this back and am now thinking these feeeeeeel-ings*** might be much more the product of weapons grade estrogen than I originally thought. Whatever. I'm going to take a shower and valium and start the year anew. Let's all hope I don't get fired tomorrow because my boss found my blog this weekend. Yup. You read that right. We'll talk about it later. Happy New Year to all and to all a good night. * This word should heretofore always be read in the most annoyingly needy voice that you, dear reader, can muster. ** Yeah, I know. I have issues. Deal with it. *** To be read in the same annoying tone as "re-laaaaaaaaaationship".
Tuesday, December 20, 2005 So, it's all happening. The entire NYC system of mass transit has come to a grinding halt, leaving already harried and irritable New Yorkers to walk to work in Arctic weather. If someone doesn't get beaten to death in the streets over a cab before this whole thing is done, I'll be very surprised. Every once in a while something happens in the world that causes me to make an imperceptible shift to the right. For instance, when I lose too much money in taxes to afford to donate to charities I'd like to support or, say, that time the Democrats couldn't get their shit together long enough to beat the WORST. PRESIDENT. EVER. in a general election. I worry that if the strike goes on too long it will become one of those things that edge me a little bit more to the right. I mean, you get enough of these minor and barely noticeable shifts to the right, and you wake up one day living in bunker in Montana with fifteen heavily armed home-schooled children who call you "Maw". Oh well. Keep your fingers crossed that this strike ends peacefully and soon. Because if I have to have 15 kids, my ass is going to get REALLY fucking fat.
Sunday, December 18, 2005 In fact, every Sunday for the last month has found me, unkempt and unwashed, sitting on the floor, mildly hungover and searching the web for a free tutorial on how to attach MP3s to the site. There has been much hysterical frustration, rending of garments and yelling at inanimate objects. But today the floodgates were opened and it all came together. Listen up internet- I hope you like yourselves some Bob Dylan BECUASE I HAVE DONE IT! I'm uploading, I'm storing, I'm ripping and hotlinking. I am locked, loaded and ready to unleash my musical taste into the ether of the 'net. I'm as close to giddy as I get. I've said before that I'm a music junkie and it happens to be true. That's not to say my musical taste is beyond reproach, because I know a hell of a lot of people who would politely beg to differ. If fact, there's a bass player who I took a few tumbles with in college that deemed my collection to be, "The worst CD collection known to man". He may be right or wrong, but it's my URL and I'll play anything I damn well please. MWUUU-HAHAHAHA!!!! Actually, it's far less sinister than it sounds, but I think it will very much change the nature of the blog. For starters, it ended my hiatus much sooner than expected. I'm sorry, I love you internet. Let's have makeup sex and never be apart again. As a peace offering, I give you one of the coolest things I have EVER seen. The iTunes Signature Maker goes through your iTunes library and puts together a personalized clip based on how many times you've played a song or how highly you've rated it. (Via Kottke). Basically, it creates a single clip of what your entire musical taste sounds like. God bless the internet. Click here to listen to my clip. And now, I'd like to announce the first ever TTTTCP contest. If anyone can correctly identify 5 songs from my signature clip I will make them the subject of my first ever podcast. Yes, you read that right. Overconfident in my geektastic technological ability, I've decided to give podcasting a try. If you don't know what it is, I suggest you look it up dear. So, stick around. Between the music, the contest, the podcast and a potential guest editor, things are getting exciting over here at the Cyanide Pill. This hiatus is definitively over. Oh, and by the way, in case you were wondering, this is the song that sounds like Sunday feels. Fast Train- Solomon Burke
Monday, December 12, 2005 Excited to begin my hermit weekend, I rushed home Friday evening, tore off my work clothes and climbed into pjs in 3 seconds flat. I flopped into bed while simultaneously digging for the remote and booting up my computer. I'm pretty sure I heard a swooshing sound as every muscle in my body started to go limp. And then it happened. No connectivity? Why isn't the TV working? "Reboot," I said to myself, "reboot and don't freak out". Please note: rebooting is the adult technological equivalent of blowing into your Nintendo game cartridges. It might work, it might not, but hell...you've got to try something. Reboot.....nothing......hysteria creeping in. This can't be happening. Still nothing. The hysteria starts to overtake me and I'm pulling wires from walls and plugging stuff into other stuff with no real plan or understanding of what I'm doing. I think I might have actually left my body at some point. And then it becomes clear- all systems are not go. The cable is down. I repeat- THE CABLE IS DOWN. A quick call to Time Warner confirms a power outage in my area and that they have no idea when it will be back up. No, no, no, no. As much as I am loathe to admit it, I'm a TV person- though I can live without it. But to be internetless? Holy. Fucking. Crap. I'm pretty sure I went through the 5 stages of death and dying while I came to terms with being totally DISCONNECTED to the interworld. Denial- This is the part where I wandered aimlessly around my apartment, repeatedly and incoherently muttering, "This can't be happening. This can't be happening". Anger- This is where I yelled at the poor Time Warner customer service rep out in Minnesota telling him, "This is TOTALLY UNACCEPTABLE. I don't know how they do it out in Cowtown or whatever pockmark in the prairie your teenage mother squeezed you out in, but I'm in New York City and I NEED my fucking internet." Bargaining- It was at this point that I asked God to forgive me for the years of Nietzsche jokes, gambling and godless fornicating. You can take my TV, you can take my farm, but please Baby Jesus....don't take my internet. Depression- This is when I started feeling bad for myself. Poor Lisa...poor, poor Lisa. If I made more money and lived in Chelsea instead of shitty Murray Hill, I'd have internet right now. Forget internet- if I made more money and lived in Chelsea, I'd probably be at some fabulous party, surrounded by gay fashion designers all clamoring to make me signature couture gowns that lift, separate and disguise pear shaped figures. Acceptance- This is when I packed up my laptop to head out into the arctic night in search of free wifi to shoot in between my toes like the dirty internet junkie that I am. Once my heart rate, breathing and brain function returned to normal it dawned on me that I could just pirate off a neighbor. A few minor tweaks and I was up and running, albeit very sporadically due to a weak connection. It occurred to me at this point, all things considered, it's probably not healthy that I had such a meltdown due to lack of internet. I mean, I almost cried a little and I'm not even getting my period. Therefore, I've decided to take a minor hiatus from all things World Wide Web. There'll be no blogging, reading of blogs, or mindless 'net surfing for a bit while I concentrate on things that happen in the non virtual world. I will, though, probably allow myself to read Craigslist when I feel the urge. Because, hell, if one can't spend a few minutes a day perusing ads for Hot Trannies Who Love Cock and Skullfuckers, then life really isn't worth living. A girl's gotta have SOME fun, right?
Tuesday, December 06, 2005 The nature of my job makes the holidays a very hectic and annoying time. That and the fact that I'm pretty much an Atheist-Jewess-Christ-Killing-Godless-Fornicater-and-Drinker-of-Christian-Baby-Blood, well that doesn't really do much to conjur up an image of a fat woman wearing a reindeer sweater and blinking Christmas tree earrings, now does it? Or, maybe it's not so much the holiday season that's killing me right now but rather the fact that I spent the weekend in DC partying like it was 1986. Seriously- the whole fucking weekend was a cross between The Big Chill, Purple Rain and a Bret Easton Ellis novel. Don't believe me? You know what they say about pictures and words and whatnot so check this out:  I'm sure based on the above photographic evidence you'll all understand that posting will be light over the next few weeks while my little addled fucking brain recalibrates itself with naturally occurring serotonin and sober sleep.
Monday, November 28, 2005 Christ, I really need to get out more.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005 So, instead of a redesign (which I'm working on because my friend N. hates the color scheme and without her I'd often have to resort to drinking alone) here, in it's original form, is the inaugural post from this blog.
Huh. Well, at least my tone has remained consistent. Speaking of consistency, no one is more shocked than I am that I made it past the one year mark. I have this nasty habit of never finishing anything that I start- projects, self-improvements, relationships etc. In fact, the only thing I finish with any real regularity is a bottle of wine when I open it. I know, I know, why my parents haven't had me euthanized or sold into white slavery is really anybodies guess. Seriously (or at least as serious as I can be), I'm shocked that I've kept writing- even with the breaks I've taken along the way. I guess that means I do it because I need to, not just because I want to. Last night while reading through the year's worth of writing I noticed how many different things this blog has been about and become. There was the political phase, the (attempt at) humor phase, the whining phase, and the recent and very annoying sex-in-the-city-single-girl-bullshit, which I'm hoping is more or less over. I guess you could say the blog is sort of a map of where my head has been in the last year. And yes, I am aware that at points this map indicates that one of the places my head has been is located squarely up my own ass. But, I guess that's all part of the fun. I hope I keep doing this. It'll be fun to see where my head goes in the next few years. Yeah- I'm rooting for not up my ass as well. So thanks to Blogger for hosting this broadband sucking piece of shit for free, thanks to anyone who reads the crap I put out into cyberspace, and thanks especially to the free HTML tutorials I've taken, which not only make this blog possible, but also made it so that I can understand why a T-Shirt that says: < .tits. > < / tits > is so fucking funny. And now, before I make myself sick with all this sincerity and whatnot I'd like to leave you with a dirty little poem I picked up in Vegas a while back. Because for some reason that makes sense to me. Here's to a woman with whom I've been To her lustrous hair and her radiant skin..... She ain't got her cherry, but that ain't no sin 'Cause she's still got the box that the cherry came in. Thank you.
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Time To Take The Cyanide Pill 
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