November 30, 2004
V-Show Review
Recently, I was forced to attend a high school "V-Show" because older stepdaughter, Ophelia, was in it. Today, I will recall some of the highlights for you, so that those of you who -- like me -- were total "drama freaks" in high school, can relive some of the sheer horror, and look back on your own variety shows with shame and dismay. And rightfully so.
And so you don't feel so alone, I, along with the rest of my church's high school handbell choir, rang and plucked "The Entertainer." I can't make this stuff up, folks.
The show opened with some kids making fun of the styles and attitudes of decades past, starting with the 50's, because that's the first decade that they think has it's own style. 1949 and prior, people always lived in grass huts, spoke in iambic pentameter and dressed like pilgrims. Then, the entire cast of, like, eight bajillion kids poured onto the stage and lamely rocked out to the stage band's version of "Rock 'n' Roll All Night" (AND PARTY EVERY DAY!).
Are you getting the same irony here that I got? Um, kids? This is YOUR PARENTS' MUSIC. THEY used to rock out to this. This is what you just finished making fun of, you stupid hooligans! Get off my lawn!
Okay, here we go.
"Falling" Three guys, two chords and one "original piece." The "singer" broke one of the cardinal rules of singing, i.e. you don't add H's when the same syllable is held over two or more different notes. "See-hee-hee." "Sa-ha-hame." Ugh.
"Wild Child" I don't know this song, but they were so trying to be the Ramones, while not even knowing who the Ramones are. Just once, I'd like to see a high school garage band who doesn't dress in all black and think they're soooo punk rock. What are you rebelling against? Originality?
"You Raise Me Up" Huh. Christian rock. In a public school. I wonder how long it'll be before some group of parents rises up and puts the kibosh on that? Anyhoo, he had an amazing voice. (No, not "You Lift Me Up." That's by the Thompson Twins.)
"The Freshman" Performed by a bunch of seniors. Get it? Ooooh, irony! After finishing, they walked off the stage and into police custody for underage drinking on school property. Real smooth, fellas. I know one of the guys and have kicked him out of every Sunday school class I ever had him in. So I couldn't help giggling when I found out.
"Disarm" First of all, I was totally blown away when Husband knew that Billy Corbin is with the Smashing Pumpkins. This act was cool, with the chimes, the timpani and eleven string players. And then they went and fucked it up with the worst singer ever. Even worse than Billy Corbin.
"Copacetic Banana Oil (Excellent Non-Sense)" Does that even make sense? No. So it must be cool. This was weird. It was a swing medley, and they were dressed 40's style, but half the chicks were dressed as guys and dancing with the girls-dressed-as-girls quite provocatively. And then there was some hat theme, where whichever "guy" was wearing the fedora got to dance with the lead chick.
"Angels" Oh my God. This "singer" made me cringe. It was so painful, I can't even describe it. She, like,... hiccupped or swallowed every other syllable. I'm sure she thought she was "stylizing" just like her idol, Britney, or something, but she sounded like she'd just had a stroke. Plus, she did that Mariah Carey hand thing, where you wave it around, and when the pitch goes up, your hand goes up, like you're Bugs Bunny conducting an orchestra.
"Here's to the Night" Holy crap, what self-indulgent tripe. A large group of girls -- whom I assume are the senior class, minus Ophelia, who wouldn't be caught DEAD doing something so awful -- sat on the stage and sang along with some CD, while photos of themselves where projected onto a screen behind them. Um, how do you get nostalgic about stuff like "last year" and "seventh period yesterday"? Gag.
"Malaguena" My stepdaughter. Plays piano like a prodigy, dresses like a pole-dancer. Seriously, she's fucking amazing, but I was so distracted by the huge red flower in her hair.
"Let's Boogie" Dancing by a group called "Dance II." Obviously, all the girls who couldn't get into "Dance". Proving once again that fat girls can dance!
So, what humiliating thing have you done on stage? I've dressed like a cow, played kazoo while wearing an inflatable horsie, and danced very badly to "Dance of the Reed Flutes". But that was all after high school and the handbells.
November 29, 2004
Oh, the Humanity!
From IMDB:
Hilton Photos Published in HustlerHotel heiress Paris Hilton [normally, I would do a link to her, but I just can't bring myself to do so] is sending male temperatures soaring [who exactly???] after "Hustler" publisher Larry Flynt printed photos of her kissing another woman. In one of the photographs, a skimpily-dressed Hilton [like that had to qualify that she was skimpily-dressed, as if that wasn't the norm] can be seen smooching an unidentified brunette, who has her hand on the reality TV star's breast [like this doesn't happen to a million girls every New Year's Eve]. The pictures are thought to be three years old and, according to Flynt, are "quite erotic, even artistic, certainly compared to her videotape." He tells website Pagesix.Com, "I think people will see a new Paris Hilton."
What -- a new artistic WHORE?!
Why? Why is she famous? Why, God, WHY?!
Okay, if you find her attractive, please tell me why. I promise I won't mock you. I really, REALLY want to know what the deal is with her.
Now her brunette friend is gonna come crawling outta the woodwork and get famous for feeling up a no-talent whore, and they'll have a show together.
And yet I'm still not famous! C'mon, Heather, let's get busy.
November 24, 2004
A Thanksgiving Story, as Told By Nicholle
I keep telling her to start a blog, cuz really, her family and in-laws provide endless material. But until she does, I'm going to quote her here:
"We don't do Thanksgiving over at Aunt Jo's anymore, thank God. Because my Dad hates her and is just waiting for their mom to die to he can write his sister out of his life forever. She's completely psycho."Thanksgiving at her house was always a crap shoot. Sometimes she'd do turkey, but sometimes she'd try to get all international and do flaming ice cream and spaghetti and ruin our lives. The last year we were there, she made turkey, so we were all grateful for that.
"But then there's Mitsy the poodle. Yes, they have a poodle named Mitsy. That right there is reason enough to hate them. And they put bows in it's hair and everything.
"So at dinner, Dad was like, 'Awwwwwwww, how cute. Mitsy fell asleep on my shoe.'
"Except that Mitsy wasn't asleep. Mitsy was dead. And my Dad was the one who had to put her in a plastic Jewel bag because everyone in Aunt Jo's family was crying too hard. So Mitsy spent the rest of Thanksgiving dinner out in the garage next to the cases of pop.
"The rest of the dinner didn't go very well. We left early. And as soon as we got in the car and pulled out of the driveway, we all started laughing hysterically.
"Best. Thanksgiving. Ever."
Warms the cockles of you heart, doesn't it?
As for me, I'll be driving through wind, rain, snow and weather alerts to get to Indiana, where we will stay with my in-laws for two days. All twelve of them. In one house. Where they will talk about tractors and sheep manure.
Don't get me wrong. My in-laws are super-nice, and I'm going to hell for saying this,... but sheep manure? How is that a two-hour conversation?! Thank God for Gameboy. On the up-side, they'll probably give me something to write about.
And I learned something today in South Park. Our lives are all just fodder for someone else's blog.
Obligatory List of Things I'm Grateful For
1. Dropsey McDrillbit, my thoughtful husband
2. Heather's TiVo
3. My Family, because I've seen worse
4. My Job, because I'm leaving super early today
5. Pumpkin Pie & Stuffing
November 23, 2004
Is This What the Rest of My Married Life Is Going To Be Like?
Saturday, I was looking forward to many uninterrupted hours of getting all our Christmas decorations up. But did that happen? NoooOOOooo. Mr. Fix-It had to go to the emergency room. Again. We walk in, and everyone's like, "Norm!"
One more visit, and he gets a free appendectomy!
Okay, we want a skylight, so when we got a new roof, the roofers did the outside part of the skylight. Husband just had to install the reflective tubing and the cover on the stairwell ceiling. And since the man has vast home-repair and remodeling experience, neither of us thought anything of it.
So, he went into the attic and drilled a small hole where we want the skylight to go. Then he came back down. Without his cordless drill. For whatever reason.
Okay, some makeshift scaffolding in the stairwell, and Husband does his thing, using "the enclosed template to make the appropriately-sized circle", then cutting it out with his little, electric saw.
Yes, he was cutting a 12" diameter circle. In the ceiling. Above his head. You can see where this is going, can't you? Yes, along with the circle of drywall comes the cordless drill crashing down. Because it was lying right there. And he cut a perfect circle around it.
It was like a fucking cartoon, that drill falling from a circle in the ceiling. I swear, I've seen the same thing happen to Wile E. Coyote, but with an anvil instead of a drill.
Husband yelled, and I was like, "What. What? WHAT?! Will you answer me?!" Of course, I'm picturing a missing hand or a saw imbedded in his skull.
"The drill fell on my foot. This isn't gonna be good."
In the kitchen, he took off his perforated shoe and his perforated sock, and there was the hole. We both looked at it like, "Huh." Then he put his foot down and put some weight on it. And then the blood started gushing!
Now, granted, he didn't hit an artery. There wasn't an arc of blood spouting across the room. But when a loved one is, quite literally, standing there in a pool of his own blood, it's GUSHING. So I got a towel.
"Oh, don't use a clean towel!"
"So I should put a dirty towel on your gaping wound?"
"That's a nice, white towel! It'll get ruined!"
"Yes, it's white, therefore I know it's been washed in hot water and bleached! It's the closest thing to sanitary we've got! So put it on your foot and let's go!"
The man put a drill in his foot, and he's arguing about a towel. Looking back, I probably should have handed him a sanitary napkin. That would've been hilarious.
"Okay, let's go," I said.
"Wait, I wanna clean up this blood first."
"Will you get in the car!"
"There's blood all over the floor!"
"So what? We'll get it later!"
"But it'll dry!"
"You're just standing there, getting more blood on the floor! Get in the damn car!"
And a feeling of deja vu swept over me. Sweet Jesus, deliver me from stupid, stubborn men. I had to keep reminding him to keep pressure on the gaping, gushing wound. I dropped him off at the door of the ER and parked the car. When I went in, the security guard was like, "Are you with Mr. Drillbit?"
Great. Yes, I'm Mrs. Drillbit.
So they checked him in and put him in a room, and the attending doctor looked like a very young Baryshnikov. Husband kept saying it didn't really hurt, but there was no one else in the ER at the time, and Dr. B. looked happy to have something to do, so he did some xrays.
A few minutes later, we heard from the other room, "Hey, he broke it! Come look!"
Dare I say he sounded... excited? So we looked, and sure enough, of all the ways that stupid drill could have landed, it split Husband's bone right down the middle. I don't think he could have done it that well if he'd been trying.
More waiting. Lots of waiting. For antibiotics and a temporary cast and a nurse to clean it and what not. My Saturday afternoon -- shot. Then another doctor came in.
"Are you Mr. Drillbit?"
Oh for God's sake. His mother gave him a name!
"Yeah, that's me."
"Can I see?"
So Husband takes off the gauze to show him, and it starts bleeding again. Thanks, Dr. Nosey! (See? I can make-up annoying nicknames, too!)
"Did it go all the way through?"
"No."
"Oh, cuz that would have been even better!"
So I've learned something today, folks. I've learned that people don't become doctors because they care deeply for their fellow man and want to end suffering. No, they become doctors because the things that make most of us gag, make them go, "Cool!"
November 22, 2004
Your Disney Self-Actualization
So I went and found "What Disney Villain Are You?" Because, honestly, that's going to give a much more accurate picture of our personalities.
I was hoping to be Maleficent from "Sleeping Beauty". She kicks ass because 1.) her name; 2.) her outfit; 3.) her aloof, superior attitude; 4.) she can turn into a DRAGON!
But, alas, I was Scar.
You are Scar from The Lion King. A sly and witty
feline that wants to upsurp his brother's
kingdom.
What Disney Villain are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
So. I'm sly and witty? Well, duh. And I seek to usurp the establishment? Yeah, that's about right. I don't exactly relish the idea of being a mangy cat, but hey, at least I'm droll and superior.
Nicholle is Ursala, which I'm totally envious of because she has a much better song. However, she was having some trouble with her Disney self-actualization.
"How can I apply my Cinderella/Ursula undertones to the workplace? Clearly I slave all day while everyone else mocks me with their free-wheeling break policies. [A not-so-subtle jab at me, since my boss keeps no tabs on me whatsoever.] But I am priming myself to be C.F.O. with my shining I.T. star Doogie at my right hand. And the place lends itself to decorating with pumpkins.
"But how am I a slimy sea urchin who wants to have a lovely voice? Oh yes. I lurk around the soaking wet (per some people) bathroom to catch the lovely chanteuses who make la toilette so charming."
Nicholle uses big words.
Anne was Snow White's Evil Stepmother. (Now that should've been me!) I don't really see Anne envying youth and beauty. She's pretty much of above that. I do, however, see her trying to get that shrill bitch to stop her insipid singing. Did the Evil Queen have a name?
Now, there's an interesting story about Anne and the movie "Snow White". She and some friends were watching the video one night in college, and during the singing with the animals in the forest, Anne was heard to have said, "Shut up, Bambi! Your mom's toast!"
I'll bet she thought "Dumbo" was a comedy.
Posted at 08:44 AM | Comments (0)November 19, 2004
Once Upon a Scream
Which Disney Princess are you?
The funniest thing about this is that it was sent to me by my friend Anne, who is, in a nutshell, Daria meets Wednesday Addams.
But it turns out that Anne has a secret identity -- Belle! Which makes sense, since she's definitely the most down-to-earth of all the princesses. I just can't see Anne singing in public. I can, however, see her rolling her eyes and hoisting a 300 lb. beast onto a horse. "This is just so typical. I have to do everything around here!"
Heather is also Belle. "You are loving and giving and can always see the good in others. You love to read and spend time with friends." Okaaaaay. Hmmmm. Well, she does walk, read and sing all at the same time, so I guess I can see that. "I am the GAYEST PERSON EVER!" Her words, not mine.
Nicholle turned out to be Cinderella. "I'll take it. I always wanted to be blond." Belle would have been the obvious pick for her, too, because of the brown hair and the reading. But "my desire for nice clothes and a manor won out."
Now, I had some trouble taking the test right from the start. Am I blond or golden blond? Hard to say. And the color on the box says "medium blond", so that's no help. In the end, I went with golden blond because I'm a total fucking narcissist about my hair.
I am most like [drumroll, please]... Aurora, which is awesome because "Sleeping Beauty" is my favorite animated Disney movie (non-animated: "Mary Poppins").
"You love all woodland animals, especially owls."
That is so true! Especially stuffed and hanging over my fireplace! No, seriously, when I was little, I had a dream that my dead grandmother came to me and told me that my totem animal is the owl. Which is weird because Gramma was Norwegian and not Native American. But who am I to argue with deceased relatives? And I think a raccoon would be the coolest pet. You know, without the rabies and the biting and the ruining of all my stuff.
"You like dreaming,..."
Right again! I'm dreaming right now! That someone is reading this! And it's Bruce Campbell! And he thinks I'm so clever and adorable that he's going to run away with me to a castle in the forest!
"...but be careful you don't sleep away your life waiting for true love's first kiss."
And yeah, like I didn't stop believing in "true love's first kiss" when I was eight. More like "true love's fat wallet."
Anne was quite upset about my affinity for "Sleeping Beauty" because "she's the most passive damsel-in-distress!" And I agree, Aurora's a tool. But I can totally get behind the idea of a 100-year nap. Especially one where you don't drool, and you wake up looking fresh as morning dew on a rosebud.
Obviously, I'm way too jaded to be a princess. Plus, I lack an 18-inch waist.
Posted at 08:39 AM | Comments (0)November 17, 2004
Ten Guidelines for Pissin' Me Off
In no particular order:
1. When ordering in a restaurant, don't make eye contact and be sure to say, "Gimme."
2. Call in the middle of "America's Next Top Model."
3. Get in front of me in the far left lane and do 60 mph.
4. Call me "just a secretary."
5. Agree to do me a favor, and then bitch about it the whole time.
6. Make me look at vacation photos of people I don't know.
7. Tell me all about the diet you're on. No, really. List for me everything you're not eating.
8. Be late and don't call.
9. Talk to me when you're in the basement and I'm in the bedroom.
10. When in a public place, just stand there in the doorway/bottom of the escalator/middle of the hall, because you are, of course, a hologram, and we can just walk through you.
Posted at 08:36 AM | Comments (0)November 16, 2004
The Sleepover of the Ring
So I was e-mailing with a friend about how my scale and my life-sized cut-out of Legolas are in the same room, and how I always weigh myself naked -- Legolas being one of the reasons. And he's all, "Some Elves get all the luck. :-)"
(Oh, right, like your e-mails are all linear and lucid and eloquent!)
So I'm like, "Yeah, and he always says something obvious like, 'Boobies!' Or pseudo-fortune-cookie like 'A red sky at dawn -- weight has been gained this week'."
Seriously, have you watched those movies enough to notice just how fucking DIM Legolas really is? I mean, great in a fight, no doubt. And retains maximum prettiness, even while getting man- and dwarf- and orc-sweat on him.
But at the Sleepover of the Ring, you're totally going to put your sleeping bag next to Gandalf's for the deep, 2 a.m. conversation because Legolas only caught on to Aragorn's whole diversion plan after the 5 years olds who were (inappropriately) in the audience did.
Legolas is just there to braid your hair and make consolatory noises while Aragorn can't decide if he should break up with his girlfriend or not, and what do women want anyway?
Merry and Pippin are making prank calls, while Gimli finishes off the last of the pizza and spills beer on your parents' new couch. No one really notices that Frodo and Sam are in the kitchen being anti-social.
Boromir leaves early.
November 11, 2004
Thank You
Okay, this is a "shout out" (I am sooooooo white) to my brother-in-law, who is the most supportive person in my family (besides Husband, but he's clearly motivated by sex) about the whole weight-loss thing.
It's not like the paramedics are going to need a crane to get my lifeless, couch-fused body to the morgue, but I'm... Rubenesque. In an era when, sadly, it's no longer sexy. Bottom line, I'm still hot, but I ain't happy.
Now, Mommy Dearest, altho' she clearly lives in a glass house, likes to throw stones in the shape of commenting disapprovingly on what I eat. Father Dearest is even more senile, and therefore, less subtle.
Older Sister recently dropped a lot of weight and looks fabulous, but she likes to offer me the clothes she's too small for now, and frankly, I find that offensive. First of all, she dresses like our mother. Secondly, I steered waaaaaay clear of the weight issue when she was heavy, so you'd think she could at least return the favor.
Younger Sister, like me, has struggled with the yo-yo-ing weight since having kids. She understands, so it's a non-issue between us, which is totally cool.
But brother-in-law went the extra mile.
He actually said to me, as I was screaming, "No! No! I won't sign up for the health club! I don't care if the company pays for it! You can't make me! You're not the boss of me!"
And I quote, "Well, I love you and just want you to get in shape so you're happy."
Stunned silence.
Best. Brother-in-law. Ever.
November 10, 2004
A Wench's Eye View of Dorkstock III: Part Two
So John wasn't the only one who was hounded for an autograph on Sunday. What do you think of that, Mr. I'm So Kewl I'm a Cartoonist Fancy Pants?
I overheard a gentleman ask Lori to sign something, but I couldn't make out exactly what it was (his chest?), and she bustled outta there before I got a chance to ask. Perhaps the Igor Bar recipe? I don't know. Maybe she'll read this and tell us. Cuz how cool is it to be asked for one's autograph?!
After things wound down and everyone was coming down off their Igor Bar high, Marty and I talked John into grabbing dinner with us before heading back to Wisconsin (more like plied him with booze and carbs). Apparently, it was Bring a Skanky Ho and Get In Free Night. And me wearing appropriately-sized jeans and a hoodie! I suppose I could have unzipped it to my belly button, but I would have been chilly, having just emerged from the warm, monkey-house-scented cocoon of a gamer-packed gym.
The woman across from us was wearing a top that barely covered her nipples it was so low-cut. She had a very small baby with her, so I can only assume it was a breast-feeding-convenience thing? I guess.
Then there was the woman in the light pink ultra-ultra-low-rise-meet-the-pubies jeans. With her exposed roll of flab spilling over her waistband and covering her top button. *shudder* I mean, I have a roll of pudge, but I cover it the fuck up!
I ordered my meal, Spazagna, simply for the comedic value. And because I couldn't find anything wrong with pasta drenched in two kinds of sauces -- alfredo and marinara. What's not to like?
John followed suit and got the Smashers, which consisted of crispy chicken cut into bite-sized pieces, on top of mashed potatos, covered in country gravy. Eat up, Cletus! It was comfort food heaven. You could stick your head in that bowl and forget every asshole who every dumped you.
Marty got the marbled strip steak. I can't think of anything funny about that.
Slipping into a carb-induced coma, we knew we had to act fast, so we ordered dessert to counteract it. Two huge, fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies, two scoops of ice cream, and a galloon of hot fudge. Sugar buzz! That was on the 8th, and I'd already had all my caloric intake for the month of November.
Then I was showered with birthday gifties! Okay, it was not so much a shower as two pieces of hail. John actually parted with the Gilly and Carson cloisonné pins. They sold out long ago, much to my chagrin, and John swears that they weren't his last ones, but I don't trust him. That'd be so like him to give me something so cool, then lie to me so I don't feel bad about it. He's such a bastard that way.
So, that pretty much wraps things up. To finish, I'd just like to add, Bring GenCon back to Milwaukee! Thank you.
November 09, 2004
A Wench's Eye View of Dorkstock III: Part One
Know what's kewl? Out of the Box Games. They're the most original games I've ever played. Do all your Christmas shopping there. Seriously. And then get Apples to Apples for yourself, and play it with the family after Christmas dinner. It'll be the... Best. Christmas. Ever. I keep my copy in my car, so it's always handy.
So Marty and I arrived at Dorkstock just before lunch time and warmed up with a round each of both of the 10 Days games. I admit, the Africa one took a long time. I was educated in the public school system and couldn't find Nigeria is to save my contemptable, Aryan life. I deserve to die. Do your children a favor and at least buy them the U.S. one. ~Embarrassing quote warning!~ "I had fun while learning which states border Arkansas!" No really!
Then, some guys whose names I didn't catch -- but you will know them soon, when they get rich and famous -- let the Army of Dorkness demo their new game Cineplexity (not yet in production). It was so kewl!
The only thing I can compare it to is Apples to Apples, in that you don't really need to know anything, it takes 5 seconds to learn, and it sparks great conversation. And the occasional happy dance. You haven't lived until you've seen a 6'4" geek disco dance. (Yeah, John, I'm lookin' at you.) The only requirement is that you have seen a few movies in your lifetime. Any movies. Silent, black & white, talkies, porn, indie, camp, snuff, vehicles for Hollywood's hot-new-thing du jour. ANYTHING.
[You know, I was going to put the jist of the game here, but since it's not actually out, yet, I don't want someone to steal their idea. Not that I think any (or either) of my loyal readers would do something like that, but it'd be just my luck that it'd happen some other way, and I'd get the blame. And the lawsuit. And the opened can of whup-ass with the jaggedy edges and the cut fingers and the GLAY-VEN.]
It's interesting to note that, in the same way that "Cher" and "Giant Squid" will almost always win you the hand in Apples to Apples, "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and "The Passion of the Christ" are more versatile than you may be aware! Anyhoo... CINEPLEXITY. Coming this spring! Buy it! You won't be sorry!
Oh, and simultaneous with the playing of the Cineplexity was the eating of the Igor Bars. I gotta tell ya, Lori can deliver a sugar high like no other. Caramel is her plaything. Chocolate obeys her every whim. Chewy and yummy and noisy with all the orgasmic sighs and moaning and oh dear god the smacking of the lips.
Then John, Marty and I played Cloud Nine with a cool person named Jennifer, who won by being extra cautious, while the rest of us foolishly trusted our fellow players. Stupid, stupid us.
Tomorrow's exciting conclusion: Food, autographs, and less kissing of the Out Of The Box peoples' collective ass.
November 05, 2004
An Open Announcement To Everything I Work With
No, I do not know where my Boss is.
I do not have x-ray vision, and if I did, I certainly wouldn't be spending so much time in a place filled with so many unattractive people. So if you are standing at my cubicle and cannot see if my Boss is in his office from where you are, than neither can I.
My Boss does not notify me when he leaves his office. Nor does he give an estimated time of his return. He does not say:
"I'm going to lunch.""I am going to the bathroom, but I only have to pee, so I'll be back in just a minute."
"I'm going home for a couple hours because I don't trust my teenaged daughter to be home alone."
"I'm going to meander around the office and stop for conversation at random cubicles, so that when my wife calls, you have to jog up and down the halls to find me."
If he's in a meeting, that I can find out, as well as when the meeting is scheduled to be over. But then again, you have the same exact calendar system that my Boss and I have, so you can find that out just as easily yourself, from your own desk. Without interrupting me because I'm busy reading Dooce, for Pete's sake!
November 04, 2004
Reasons Why Today Kicks Ass
1. Those chewy Christmas mints are in stores once again, and I bought two bags.
2. I am the proud owner of the Galadriel Barbie, and GiGi will call me as soon as Legolas comes in.
3. I took yesterday off work and got 2/3 of my notebook-paper-length To Do list done.
4. I still have a couple more birthday prezzies to look forward to this weekend.
5. Something so ginormously important has flitted into The Realm of Possibility for me, that I can't even write about it here, lest I jinx it. But believe me, if it comes through, not only will I let you know, but you will die of the when-the-hell-is-she-going-to-shut-up-about-it-already! In the meantime, I'm just trying to avoid a stroke by making small talk. So, who else is going to Dorkstock on Sunday?
November 02, 2004
I Am Not Writing About the Election Today!
I have a 60 lb., 2-1/2 year old yellow lab named Daisy. My dog does not sleep with us. Dogs belong on the floor.
Now don't start with me. I am not mean. Daisy is well fed with top-o-the-line kibble. She has a comfy dog bed all her own. She has lots of toys, treats and attention. I just don't want the shedding, snoring beast on my pillow.
I used to dog-sit for an older, single woman's two shih tzus. Their list of "needs" included extensive daily brushing, a daily shower complete with shampoo and conditioner, and of course, they would need to be lifted onto the bed to sleep with me at night.
Yes, you read it right -- the woman not only slept with her dogs, she showered with them. Wet and naked with tiny, hairy yappers. Chilling.
Needless to say, altho' the dogs were not mistreated or ignored, they were not attended to in the fashion to which they had become accustomed. And they were none the worse for wear.
Which is a really long way of explaining -- I'm the only bitch allowed in my bed. I do, however, sleep with an over-active imagination.
When I was little, my nightmares were so bad, I would scream for my Mom, who would lay down with me until I feel back asleep, with the light on. Nowadays, Mom gets cranky if her phone rings at 3 a.m., so I cling to the Husband like he was the last lifejacket on the Titanic. And when my frigid toes meet his adorable butt-cheeks (I go positively fetal), he wakes up -- conveniently -- so that I may tell him my dream.
"A sorcerer?"
"Yes, but he was in the shape of an alligator, and I couldn't fly high enough to reach the ladder!" Silence. "It was really scary!"
"I'm sure it was."
Heartless bastard.
But the one I had on vacation a few weeks ago was really scary. Really! It starred that creepy, hairy dead girl from "The Ring" (I hate that bitch), with a couple cameos courtesy of "The Grudge."
[I have seen "The Ring." But I have only seen a trailer of "The Grudge." Yes, I had a nightmare about a trailer. I should mention here that I am the Queen of Wussdom.]
So I woke up in the pitch black cabin in the middle of the woods, knowing that the dead girl was after me. It was darker out than we city-folk can believe it gets. Husband was still back home, and a screened-in porch separated the cabin I was sleeping in from the cabin Dad was sleeping in. (The original cabin has the fireplace, but the new cabin has the bathroom. I'm partial to indoor plumbing myself.) That seaweed-haired bitch could just sneak in the screen door and strangle me with her white, gnarled, little hands without Dad even knowing!!!
I was terrified. Can't-move, afraid-of-the-windows, alone-in-the-dark-woods, can't-even-scream petrified.
But I gotta admit. There was one funny part to the dream. Me and two friends were in a boiler room, being chased by drippy-hair girl, running for the door. Friend One made it out. I reached the door, and it started closing, slowly but unstoppably.
I'm like, "Hurry up! The door is closing!"
Friend Two stops a foot from the door and is all, "The door's not closing by itself. You guys just don't want me to come with you."
Meanwhile, I'm stuggling to keep the haunted door open for her. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"
But seriously, it was freaking me out at the time. I laid there, praying for sunrise, which was hours away, not even daring to close my eyes. And it was in that most desperate hour that I succumbed.
I made that shedding, shoring, bed-hogging, butt-licking beast get into bed with me. And now there's fucking dog hair in my sleeping bag.