July 25, 2008
Things My Dogs Can Hear
1. A banana being peeled anywhere in the house.
2. The other dog being petted.
3. The neighbor's Miniature Pinscher, Layla, inside the neighbor's house, standing near the neighbor's front door, thinking about barking.
4. The click of the neighbor's front door opening to let Layla outside.
5. The click of my La-Z-Boy before I get up, which signals that I might be coming upstairs, and might be passing the treat jar, and just maaaaaaaaaaybe I'll give them a treat.
6. Socks being put on, which signals that I'm sitting down and might be available to pet them.
7. My ass making contact with the toilet seat, which signals that I'm sitting down and might be available to pet them.
Posted by Pirate Wench at 12:02 PM | Comments (0)
July 22, 2008
Wallpaper of the Damned
We were going through old family photos the other day, when we came across these gems, and I knew I had to share them with you guys.
We're going way back in ancient history here, folks. The house I grew up in was a big, old, woodframe house built around the turn of the century. (The 1900 one, not the 2000 one.) High ceilings, hardwood floors, big windows, big closets, french doors, separate stairs for the maid -- fabulous.
The one drawback was that the walls were a little... well..., they were plaster walls, and there was settling, so painting them would only enhance the imperfections. The only option was to wallpaper each and every room in our two-story, four-bedroom, nine-foot-ceilinged house. I can't believe my parents' marriage withstood it.
I present to you now -- The Bedroom Wallpapers of My Childhood.
Let's start will Billi.
(How cute is she in those pigtails?!)
I don't know if you can tell, but that's green and yellow Holly Hobby wallpaper. Or as Billi said it, "Geen and lellow."
I don't know why she got a chairrail in her room. I didn't get a chairrail. Damn, spoiled youngest child. I also don't know what the hell that huge bookcase was doing in her room. I mean, she couldn't read. What was she going to put on it? Oh, that's right -- the thousands and thousands of stuffed animals that were showered upon the youngest child.
I am so sick of her. Let's move on.
Purple shag rug!
This is clearly the most tan that Spikette has ever been in her life. I love the knee socks -- hott! But mostly I'm glad that, by this age, Mom had stopped cutting Spikette's bangs herself. That poor girl has the most unfortunate collection of school pictures. "Oh, just let me trim your bangs so we can see your eyes in your picture!" Ruuuuuuuun, Forest! Ruuuuuuuuun!
That wallpaper is so truly disco. And yes, her bedspread is purple velvet. What -- you didn't know Spikette was a porn star in the late 70s?
Awwwwwwww, lookit that adorable, little imp. It's baby Wenchie! I remember that outfit. And that hair -- gah! I am rocking those Mickey Mouse sneakers. God, they're filthy. Must've been one of those articles of clothing that I developed an unhealthy attachment to and wore until they fell off me. Like the olive green, paisley pants.
Anyhoo, yes, those are pastel, gingham flowers on my bubble gum pink wallpaper. (Matching pink, gingham curtains not shown.) What I wouldn't give to still have that pink, chenille bedspread!
You will notice the railing attached to the side of the bed. That's so I wouldn't fall out of bed. Now, if you're thinking that I look a little old to still be falling out of bed, bear in mind that, to this day, I can trip on a bare floor and fall over while standing completely still. Grace, thy name is Wenchie.
Know where my incredibly-ornate-for-a-child's-room headboard came from? The dump on Washington Island, Wisconsin. It's brass and wrought iron, and it was painted some horrible color when my Dad found it. So he fixed it up and put it in the bedroom of a five-year old girl. Weird, huh? Well, I gotta cut him some slack -- Target and IKEA didn't exist back then.
What I really hated in that room was the radiator. See it dominating the background like a cast iron monster waiting to pounce? That damn thing was the bane of my childhood existance. For whatever reason, all the air that got into the system collected in that radiator, which means that the hot water was not in the radiator. We had to drain the air out of it several times a day, and it still got freezing cold! Thirty years later, I'm still not warm.
Not pictured is the sprawling Barbie commune that took up one half of my very big bedroom from age four to age fourteen. Ocassionally, the Barbies would load up the camper and drive over to Billi's room, but Holly Hobby hated those bitches, so the camping trips were often cut short.
Posted by Pirate Wench at 09:19 AM | Comments (3)
July 16, 2008
It's All About the Yankovic
I have a confession today, my darlings. Hold my hand, won't you? This is pretty difficult for me. I mean, as if you guys don't already think I'm the most disgusting, pathetic, whorey wench who ever sailed the seven seas, right?
I'm not proud.
I think Weird Al Yankovic is extremely jumpable.
What? I dare you to watch It's All About the Pentiums and tell me that he isn't just a leeeeeeettle bit hott in that silver Armani suit.
People, I saw Weird Al and his band in concert. Last weekend. In Merrillville, Indiana. I know -- that right there means I should probably kill myself for the good of all humanity. But seriously, forget what you think you know about Weird Al.
Forget Like a Surgeon. Forget Fat. Forget I Lost On Jeopardy. Forget his DeBarge hair-do and porn star moustache. Just forget the 80s completely, for all our sakes.
I'm telling you, that show was smokin'!!!
As hott as Al is, John "Bermuda" Schwartz (the drummer) is definitely the best looking one in the group. (Which is kinda like being the sexiest Traveling Wilbury, or the hottest chick at the Angela Landsbury Look-Alike Contest, but whatever. It is what it is.)
And I'm not just saying that because Mr. Bermuda got us backstage passes so I could get Al's autograph. Although, admittedly, that does pretty much make me his bitch. For life.
Actually, Jim West is pretty cute, too, with that curly, curly hair.
Oh, for fuck's sake, I'll just come out with it -- I would totally hook up with anyone and everyone in Al Yankovic's band. There. I said it. Are you happy? I'm a dirty, nasty whore who gets wet for a kinky-haired polka player and his band of merry, middle-aged men.
Fine.
Just leave me alone.
I hold steadfast to my conviction that these guys TOTALLY ROCK FUCKING HARD!!! I believe that there is NOTHING that these guys can't play.
It bears repeating.
NOTHING!!!
Smells Like Nirvana. Bedrock Anthem a la Red Hot Chili Peppers. Amish Paradise a la Coolio. And my current obsession, White & Nerdy a la Chamillionaire.
But the best thing about going to a Weird Al concert?
I was the slimmest, prettiest, classiest broad there.
I'm definitely going back. And you're coming with me.
Posted by Pirate Wench at 12:36 PM | Comments (4)