May 31, 2005
Free Love at the Wisconsin Embassy
Friday night, Heather, Mord and I went to hear a friend sing at Skuttlebutt's, which is apparently the Wisconsin Embassy in Illinois or something because on the menu was "Ed's Fried Dough." Naturally, we had to order some, and it was everything Ed promised it would be, PLUS marinara sauce and pepperoni. God bless you, Ed.
Joe was good, as far as I could tell during brief pauses in the unrelenting slurping noises going on neaxt to me. Frenchie McPucker was all, "I just can't keep my lips off this man!" And I was like, "Could you at least hold my hair back while I throw up in my purse?"
I guess the bubba next to me interpreted my nausea as lonliness because, in the middle of a song, he called out, "Blondie!"
Now, I normally don't acknowledge Benny Hill look-alikes who think they are in my league because the last time they were sober they were twenty years old and hott, but since some folks at work call me Blondie, I reflexively turned towards Jabba before I could stab myself in the eye with a fork.
"I just called you that because I heard Joe call you that when you walked in." Great. "What's your real name?"
And because I'd already had an alcoholic beverage, my Kaluha-laced brain couldn't think fast enough, and I gave him my real name. And he nods and goes, "Jeff." Which, although horrifying at the time, in retrospect, was awesome because it means I can now use Jeff's real name when blogging insults about Jeff. So thanks, Jeff!
Needless to say, not only was my poor ego reeling from the man who apparently thought that I was old, obese, homely and shit-faced enough to welcome his attention, but I was pretty skeeved-out as well. I don't go to bars much (I prefer to drink at home. Alone. In the dark. Weeping.), so I'm not good at deflecting this kind of attention. I mean, could my fucking diamond rings get any diamond-ier?!
Heather went right into high-school-protective-mother-hen mode and was like, "Don't worry -- I'll have Joe make-out with you so Jeff thinks you're with him."
Of COURSE! Why didn't I think of that? The obvious solution! Jeff will be completely intimidated by a man who just got done singing "Wastin' Away Again in Marijuanaville!" My friends are the best!
So Joe kissed me. And then Mord kissed me, for no apparent reason. And then Heather kissed me. So I felt her up. And just to be fair, Mord felt me up. And at that point, I'm sure Jeff was too busy questioning his own sexuality to wanna get involved with us free-love hippie freaks. And thus, my marriage was kept safe from Jeff... thru the shameless horniness of my friends... well, it made sense at the time. What the fuck does Ed put in his friend dough?!
Then Heather got mad that Mord got to feel me up and she didn't, so they broke up for five seconds, giving me just enough time to lick Heather. And when they reconciled, Mord was like, "I'll make you a deal. For every move you make on Heather, I get to cut off one of your fingers." (Yeah, they have jealousy issues.)
I thought about it, weighed the pros and cons, and came to the conclusion that his offer was a bit of a catch-twenty-two. "If I have no fingers, I have no way of pleasuring her."
"Well," he said, "There's always your tongue."
Which is a weird thing for a guy who wants me off his girlfriend to say. Soooo, if you'll follow me, I believe that, secretly, Mord actually wants Heather and I to hook-up.
Tune in tomorrow to find out who is the better kisser -- Joe or Mord -- and to hear about the Amish Old Navy commercial we witnessed. But for now, I have to work. These assholes always give me projects when I actually have something fun to blog about.
Posted at 01:05 PM | Comments (4)May 26, 2005
And He Wanted Ours To Match!
Something is going on in Illinois that upsets me.
They –- and we all know who they are –- are considering the idea of making it illegal to ride a motorcycle without a helmet.
Now, I don’t own a motorcycle, and if I did, I would probably wear a helmet. At least some of the time, like on the highway. I’ve dated bikers (Harley bikers, no less) and if you haven’t experienced the wind through your hair on a Harley, go out and do it right now. NOW! For God’s sake, quit reading this lame blog and do it!
I’ll wait.
...
See? That’s why it’s a shitty law. I’d wear a helmet, because my parents have already lost one child, and I don’t want them to go through that again (although, if they had to pick one to lose, I’m sure it’d be me). But I would never, ever make anyone else wear one. It’s just mean.
I remember hearing a story on the news when California passed their helmet law. One old biker dude took out his gun and blew his head off -– the ultimate wind-in-your-hair experience, I would imagine.
And when questioned, his wife simply said, “I understand.”
She missed him, hell yea, BUT... she understood why he couldn’t live inside a helmet.
I had this conversation with Husband two seconds after lying down the credit card for new bicycles:
“Now let’s pick out helmets!” he said.
“Haaaaa ha ha ha ha ha!”
“They have some really cool looking ones.”
“That’s great. Find a cool one. I’m gonna find the bathroom.”
“Want me to pick one out for you?”
“I’m not buying one.”
“What?!”
“Wait -– you were serious? You want me to wear a helmet to ride a bicycle?”
“Of course!”
“I’ve been successfully riding a bike since I was seven! I don’t need a helmet! I’m not riding down volcanos!”
“But you have to wear one!”
“There’s no law! And it’s gay!”
“Well, if you get in an accident and become a vegetable, and I have to take care of you for the rest of your life, I’m gonna be really mad!”
“Whatever, dude. I’m not getting a helmet.”
And you know, on the way home, I was actually starting to think about the vegetable thing. I was like, ‘You know, Husband does sorta have a point there.’
And then out of nowhere, he goes, “I’m sorry about the vegetable comment. That was really mean. You know I’d take care of you.”
And that, dear readers, is when I WON.
And please, don’t bother telling me about your friend Steve who wouldn’t be alive today if he hadn’t been wearing his helmet while out biking. I’M NOT WEARING A HELMET.
Also, don’t ever expect me to wear elbow pads, knee pads, shin guards, safety goggles, carpel tunnel wristlets, steel-toed boots or a hard hat.
However, I do wear earplugs when I go shooting. I mean, c’mon, I’m not a total idiot.
Posted at 11:32 AM | Comments (8)May 25, 2005
Retarded, Yet O.C.D.
You people are no help. God, what do you do all day at work, if not my bidding?! Only Lori Ann, Mickey and Mordecai could be bothered to help me write my blog description. Lucky for me, they're all smarter than me, so it turned out utterly fabulous. Despite the fact that the rest of you suck. And by "suck," I mean "have way better things to do than enable my expanding ego."
Here's what we/they came up with:
"The delightfully snarky Pirate Wench takes on co-workers, Barbies, family and pop culture. She is irreverent, yet adorable. Self-indulgent, yet funny. Drunk, yet thought-provoking. Join her on her descent into Hell! WARNING: Do not read while drinking, as Pirate Wench will not be held responsible for computer splatter-damage."
They said "brief description," so I stopped at three "yets", but there are soooooo many other "yets" I wanted to put in there.
Blonde, yet smart!
Self-righteous, yet slutty!
Church-going, yet hellbound!
Sturdy, yet hott!
Lazy, yet verbose!
I could go on all day, but now the word "yet" is ceasing to make sense. Yet yet yet. See? Weird.
Posted at 03:21 PM | Comments (5)May 24, 2005
Pirate Wench's Patented Guide to Junior High Insults
Take a word from Column A and combine with a word from Column B:
Voila! Something to call your BFF when they walk home with someone else or don't pick you first for kickball at recess!
"Dawn didn't spot me right for my pennydrop, so I fell and broke my Swatch watch! She's such a buttwipe!"
Hee hee! They make me giggle. I think dicklick is my fav, 'cause it rhymes.
Posted at 11:29 AM | Comments (3)May 23, 2005
This Is a Public Service Announcement
Gentlemen. Please. For the love of all things holy.
Is anyone fooled by this? Besides the wearer?
I wasn't fooled, and yet, I was entranced. So much so that I almost missed my stop.
Do you see how the part starts on the bottom of the back of his head? And never gets higher than two inches over his left ear? He literally has to comb half of it UP.
Now, guys, I feel for ya. I really do. I know it must be hard to loose your hair. God knows, if I lost mine, I'd become a hermit and launch bottle rockets at anyone who approached my house. But I wouldn't comb my hair up. No matter how desperate I became.
But this? This fools no one into thinking you have a lush, Fabio-esque head of hair.
But actually, I don't blame the men. No, I blame their barbers! What shitty barber college did they go to that taught them it was okay to do this to their clients?! This poor man paid good money to look like this!
I'm so upset, I have to return to My Happy Place by thinking of sexy bald/balding men.
Patrick Stewart, better known as Jean Luc Picard
Bruce Willis, better known as Ashton Sr.
Vin Diesel
Samuel L. Jackson
Billy Zane
Ving Rhames
My Hott Boss
Bruce Campbell
Okay, Bruce Campbell isn't really balding, but he's a permanant resident in My Happy Place, and I'm sure his shiney scalp would be every bit as lucious as the rest of him.
But I digest.
ALSO bad: The Skullet. That's where you're going bald in front, so you grow a ponytail in back to compensate, but it really just looks like your hair slipped or something.
In short, gentlemen, aging gracefully and confidently is sexier than any combover or toupee. And a big, fat wallet doesn't hurt.
You may now return to your regularly scheduled... whatever.
[Photo courtesy of Heather's camera-phone]
Posted at 02:20 PM | Comments (6)May 20, 2005
Food Critics
Jerry's parents both work for the same organization and therefore, sometimes have to go on the same business trips together. When that happens, Jerry stays at our place. He likes to stay in Case's room because she has a lava lamp and glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. Grooooooooovy!
A while back, when switching Daisy from puppy chow to dog chow, I did much deliberating and product research. Not because I'm one of those freaks who thinks of her dog as her very own offspring (*cough* PJ *cough*), but because she was pooping FOUR TIMES A DAY. And dude? That's just too much poop.
I finally found a fancy-schmancy, nouveau-cuisine, oven-baked dog food that's made with less fillers, so she eats less and, consequently, poops less, while still getting the nutrition she needs. Yes, we have our dog's food shipped from Texas. Bite me.
Jerry was staying at our place when we got our first shipment of dog food. So Husband poured a bag into the big Container Store vat in the pantry, and Daisy was totally spazzing out, whining and tap-dancing around the vat. Which, naturally, made us wonder if this dog food tasted way better than, say, your average dog food.
Well, there's only one way to find out, right?
We each picked up a kibble and nibbled on it. And really? I think it tastes like drywall, which is also what Milkbones tastes like to me. Yes, I've tried a Milkbone. I'm CURIOUS, okay? God! You'd think you people have never stuck anything questionable in your mouths! Dog food is good enough for homeless people! What -- are you better than homeless people?!
Wait a minute. Of course, we are.
Anyhoo, there we stood, nibbin' on the kibble, and Case came by.
"What are you guys eating?"
"Kibble."
"Ew! ... Lemme try."
Then Jerry came by and saw Case eating something, so of course, he wanted some.
"It's dog food."
"Ew! ... Can I try some?"
So we generously shared our kibble with him, and we all four pretty much agreed that we couldn't see what Daisy was so excited about.
Fast forward a couple months. Jerry was eating dinner with his folks and apparently didn't care for what his mother was serving.
And in that charming way that little boys have, he said, "Gross! This tastes like dog food!"
Thinking that she'd shut him up, his mom said, "Really? How do you know what dog food tastes like?"
"I had some over at Pirate Wench's!"
Jaws dropped, forks clanked to the floor, and Jerry won that argument.
Great.
Posted at 03:13 PM | Comments (1)A Cry for Help, Without the Pesky Overdose
In an effort to pick-up more flying monkeys... er, readers, I'm going to register on Chicago Bloggers.
In the application, they ask for a brief description of my blog.
GAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
With all my wit and wisdom, I have no fucking clue how to describe this thing. Hard to believe, I know, but it's true. I hope you can still love me.
AND I hope that you can help me. How would YOU describe my blog?
Posted at 08:44 AM | Comments (4)May 19, 2005
Linky McLinkerstein
Yeah, so Heather's obviously as bored an unmotivated as me today because she keeps sending me links to amuse me. And since there are few things I love more than spreading unproductivity, I'm sharing them with you, my beloveds.
Napolean Dynomite Shakes His Money-Maker
If you saw this movie and didn't cheer when Napoleon got up there and danced his little heart out for Pedro's campaign, then you have no soul. After it loads (worth the wait), hit the 1 button to get it started. Nicholle peed her chair and has to request a new one from management. Heather recommends the Star Wars music; I, however, am a Popcorn fan. But whatever you do, don't use Time to Party! It's that stupid music from the Six Flags Great America commercials that were sent to us directly from the Innermost Circle of Hell. Am I crazy or is Napoleon's dance number kinda... sexy?
Baby Goggles
Since Heather's Sister got knocked up, Heather's gone all maternal or something and is shopping for baby gear. Now, God bless her desire to protect her future niece/nephew's eyes from harmful UV rays, but this kid looks like the love child of The Fly and Ru Paul. I wish she'd just go back to Danish modern furniture on eBay.
Two-Headed Baby
And then there's this piece of work. I know I should be feeling overwhelming sorrow and sympathy for this baby and her family, but I'm too exhausted by the effort it's taking to suppress my gag-reflex. Seriously, it's not for the faint-of-heart. But by this time, you've already clicked on the link, so -- sorry!
Aaaaaaand, yeah. That's pretty much my morning in a nutshell.
Posted at 09:09 AM | Comments (0)May 18, 2005
Contents of the Nuclear Pantry
I'm totally ripping off Max's anthopological blogging idea. Except it wasn't really his idea in the first place; it was some Phil McCracken guy, so I don't feel too bad about the stealing.
But to differentiate myself a tad (as Max differentiated himself by doing his freezer instead of his fridge), I'm going to log the contents of my Nuclear Pantry for posterity.
*sigh* Fine. If you're too lazy to read Max's insightful and intriguing blog, I'll sum it up. The concept is to list the contects of... something, then create "a 'bio' for each product, including assumptions, beliefs, and reflections about them," so that when people read my blog 1,000 years from now, they'll learn something about the time I lived in. Or something.
And now I have to make a disclaimer:
To All Anthropologists of the Future -- I am in no way representative of my time. Please do not hold anything you find in my blog against my people.
Next on the agenda, two explanations about the Nuclear Pantry. What is it, and where did the name come from?
My Nuclear Pantry is the huge stash of groceries I have stored in the bottom file drawer of my desk. I am not a human. I don't eat three big meals a day. I'm a cow. I graze. I probably eat something little every two hours. So I keep a variety of food items near me at all times.
The name Nuclear Pantry was coined by GC, of JELLO! fame. A bunch of us were vacationing together, caravaning to our destination in Iowa, and we were an hour and a half late getting going because Christine took fucking forever loading her car.
In addition to the normal stuff one packs -- and over-packs -- for a trip, she also packed many, many food items. Including, an entire palatte of canned Beanie Weinie. Seriously, like, sixteen cans. Because... they don't have grocery stores in Iowa??? Freak. GC thought perhaps she was anticipating a nuclear holocaust, and thus the name was born.
Anyhoo, here's my list. Get ready for an historic event.
Orville Reddenbacher's 94% Fat Free Kettle Korn
This was purchased because actual fat-filled kettle korn is awesome, and I was hoping that this would be a nice way to satiate my sweet tooth in a not-too-unhealthy way. Yeah, not so much. The box is about 6 months old now, yet I can't throw it out because there are children starving in Ethiopia. Without microwaves.
Kraft Easy Mac
I think I've already covered this here.
Country Time Pink Lemonade Mix
I'm not sure why I have this. It's turning into crunchy rocks. I think it sounded like a good idea when I bought it, cuz I love lemonade, but I never remember that I have it. Or maybe I just resent the images of swimmin' holes and apple tress and front porch swings that it conjures up while I'm stuck in a cubicle.
Del Monte Lite Sliced Peaches
I have to force myself to eat one fruit and one vegetable -- in some form -- every day. I know, I'm supposed to have, like, twelve servings or something. I'm working up to it. Get off my back.
Del Monte Lite Sliced Pears
Ditto.
Canfield's Diet Cream Soda
Yet another attempt to satisfy the sweet tooth without the calories. Hugely more successful than the fat-free kettle korn. However, were I able to actually find Diet Mug Root Beer anywhere, there would be no need for any other beverage. Damn you, Mug, and your shitty distribution!
Quaker Oatmeal Squares Cereal
These are totally yummy for snacking, and much less bad for you than chips or Cinnabon. In fact, they may be The Perfect Food, as I can lower my cholesterol while stuffing my face, and they require no preparation or utensils! Ah, a sad little glimpse into my priorities.
Hunt's Fat Free Pudding Snack Packs
The Other Perfect Food. Most of the chocolate taste, none of the fat. Surprisingly satisfying. It's got a good beat, and it's fun to dance to -- I give it an 8.5.
Diamond Shelled Walnuts
I've always loved walnuts. My grandpa would always make me shell them for him to put on his cream cheese on toast, and we would make a game out of who could come up with the biggest, unbroken piece. But I never ate them because: nuts = fat. Right? But now I find that they're a good source of omega 3 fatty acids, which are, apparently, not as heinous as we'd originally thought. So bring 'em on!
Smarties Candy Rolls
Do these things even count as food?
Hill's Bros. Cappuccino Double Mocha Mix
For those mornings. You know the ones. I don't like coffee really, so it has to taste like a candy bar in order for me to drink it. Why not a Diet Coke, you ask? I just can't do pop before noon. I know, that sounds totally Amish, but there are just some things I can't subject my stomach to in the morning. Lucky Charms, for instance, are a dinner food.
Tastefully Simple Toffee Coffee Mix
Yummy-licious, caffienated, and only 70 grams of fat per serving!
Campbell's Chunky Hearty Vegetable with Pasta Soup
A good, quick lunch, because I'm too lazy to make and pack myself a lunch in the morning. And the deli downstairs get old fast. And if I went out to lunch every single day, like I'd like to, I'd be even fatter.
Campbell's Soup At Hand Classic Tomato
Ditto above, minus the pesky spoon requirement.
I wonder what future anthopologists will conclude about the Pirate Wench...
Posted at 02:04 PM | Comments (3)May 17, 2005
Gag Me
Well, Mordecai certainly isn't as verbose as many of my interviewees. Except when it came to talking about Heather, of course. Take your insulin, folks. And then go to Nouveau Broke for his answers.
Oh, and for those of you as out-of-touch as me, this is Rory Calhoun.
Posted at 01:00 PM | Comments (2)Terms of Endearment
When I was young, way back in time, and candy bars were a quarter, I thought the most perfect, wonderful, validating words ever possibly uttered were, "I love you." Oh, how I longed to hear them! I made deals with God. I made deals with Satan. I made deals with the butcher at Jewel. And when finally that first boy said it to me, I thought I would just die of happiness.
A half-dozen boyfriends -- and a half-dozen confessions of love -- later, it occurred to me that maybe "I love you" didn't have the magical, life-sustaining power that I had originally thought. And by that time, I had stopped getting taller, and my family DNA was settling in. So the three most important words in the world became, "You're not fat." He got sex, I got ice cream -- it was a win-win situation.
"You're not fat" has sustained me for quite a while. But recently, a man told me that, although I never finished college, I "come across as very well-educated." Really? Moi? Goddamn but that's even better than "You're not fat!" If I wasn't married (and we weren't in traffic), I would've been on him like The Boy Child on Lucy. And truly, I thought I had finally heard the pinnacle of affectionate outpourings. Dude thinks I'm smart!
I recently joined a local choral group, and we rehearse once a week in the music room of the high school that my step-daughters attend. (It'll all make sense in a moment, just bear with me.) Because they are teenagers and in desparate need of expressing themselves as hugely and retardedly as possible, there's always stuff written on the black boards. Stuff like Brass is the Ultimate Section! and Mr. Madder smokes chalk.
Last night proved no different, and the chalkboard had this to say:
Nick C. completes my world domination scheme
Is that not the fucking coolest thing you've ever heard?! I immediately wondered who this Nick C. person was and wished I was him.
I mean, to complete someone's world domination scheme -- THAT has to be The Ultimate Pillowtalk. If someone said that to me -- "Pirate Wench, you complete my world domination scheme" -- I would collapse in his arms, rip off his clothes and start amassing my flying monkeys.
Posted at 07:54 AM | Comments (1)May 16, 2005
Answer Me These Questions Three
Okay, it's five, but that didn't rhyme. As promised, Mordecai. (And I'm not calling you "Heather's Boyfriend" because, between you and me, she's getting just a little too pleased with herself at how everyone surrounding her is identified via their relationship to HER.)
1. If you ever did an autobiographical film, who would you pick to play yourself, and why?
2. How do you picture your funeral?
3. You work for the government and find out that the President is involved in some seriously illegal shit. By blowing the whistle, you would be framed on an unrelated matter, fired, publicly humiliated and raked over the coals. Would you do it?
4. An eccentric millionaire offers to give $1,000,000 to the charity of your choice if he/she drops you off on Michigan Ave. butt-ass naked, and picks you up again after you walk four blocks. If you had a body guard so no one attacked you, would you do it? Would your answer change if the money were for yourself?
5. On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being "meh" and 10 being "insta-boner," how good of a kisser is Heather?
I'll Tell You What I Want, What I Really Really Want!
Several days ago, Heather's Timid Co-Worker posted my 100th commented, and as a token of appreciation, I opened myself up to any humiliating question he wanted to pose. And was rewarded with this:
Heather is the reason I've come to enjoy the dickens out of your site, so I thought I'd pose a question that touches on a topic near and dear to her heart:My question to you is, what Spice Girl are you most similar too? I'm not talking about the superficial, physical similarities NECESSARILY, but rather beneath those multiple, complex layers that really make a Spice Girl tick. Explore the dynamics of your choice and peel back those emotional Spice Girl layers.
For the record, I am not gay but rather bored out of my mind here at the office and a bit delirious from huffing model-glue in the bathroom for the last hour.
The dickens, even! Something tells me that HTCW isn't the only one of my readers who huffs model glue, but that's neither here nor there. Couldn't he have asked me something easier, like which Monkee I'm most like? (Totally Mike.) Well, onto my answer.
Yeah, good thing you're not asking about the physical similarities, cuz there are none. Except for, perhaps, Ginger Spice's melons. So let's move on to their inner beauty, shall we?
I thought, at first, I was most like Baby Spice (the one in pink), what with the blonde hair and stuffed animal collection. But I am neither terribly young nor terribly brain-damaged.
Scary Spice (the one making a face like a jungle cat) is, perhaps, my exact polar opposite. Okay, yeah, I'm a little scary, but I'm scary in a bury-you-in-the-back-yard-for-eating-my-chocolate-stash way, whereas she's scary is a what-the-fuck-is-with-that-green-glitter-eye-shadow way.
Posh Spice (the one in the strappy sandals) is a tall, wealthy whore, and while that would seem like a perfect fit, I'm just not into clothes the way she is. And the last time I wore a spandex mini-dress, the other Bush was in office.
Now, breaking up the band with my diva attitude is so me, as well as Ginger Spice (the redhead), but no one in their right minds would make me an ambassador to anywhere.
One, two, three, four... oh, yeah! Sporty Spice (the one in orange)! The oft-overlooked Spice Girl. She is, arguably, the prettiest, i.e. she doesn't need to rely on green glitter eyeshadow and nipple-baring necklines to be attractive. She's more subtle in the way she presents herself, happy to let Baby and Ginger hog the spotlight, while she waits for the truly discerning connoisseur of female-pop-stars to notice and appreciate her.
And that's pretty much me. I know my place, and I'm cool with it.
I'm not the one that guys fight over. I'm not the one that sets them drooling. I'm not the one at the center of attention. I'm not the one whose photo they whack-off to.
But to any man who is truly appreciative of talent and wit, I Am The One.
Posted at 02:19 PM | Comments (5)May 12, 2005
Last Day of a Three-Day Week Randomness
I have BBQ sauce on my tank top from lunch, and neither Nicholle nor Anne told me about it. Okay, Heathers, we'll just see who gets a Barbie birthday card this year!
Well, yesterday's Plastic Dead People Show put me off deli meats and jerky indefinately. However, it did give Heather a chance to say "corpse" 137 times in an hour, so I guess it was a good day for her. (She has very different "good day" criteria than most.)
In other news, my photo is on the cover of our company's 2004 annual report. Being mailed out over the globe. With my pink, shiney face for all to see. My phone rang this morning, and when I answered it, all I heard was hysterical laughter. Yes, Anne, I know, I'm a retard. And thank you, Senior Claims Adjuster Guy, for pointing out just how shiney my face is. Yes, I'm 35 and still get acne. But you know what else? I'm 35, and I GOT CARDED YESTERDAY! So bite me.
Tomorrow is my first Summer Day (work a little extra for nine days, get every other Friday off), and I'm going power-shopping with Billi and The Children (of the Corn). You know what's awesome about Gurnee Mills? A bajillion stores, vibrating recliners, and sailors. I don't know why, but there's always sailors there. In their cute, tight, white pants. And their jaunty hats.
Anyhoo, my brain has already left work, so Mord is going to have to wait until Monday to be interviewed, and the rest of y'all are gonna have to wait until Monday for a decent blog.
Posted at 01:51 PM | Comments (2)May 10, 2005
More Q&A
Wow, Stuart really finished his answers in record time! He must have a job like mine -- heavy on the blogging, easy on the working. And I am so totally with him on his answers to one and two. When is Ben Affleck ever not an asshat?
Her Majesty, the Queen of Ass has deigned to answer the questions of her lowly subject. However, I am not at all pleased that I'm apparently going to have to get her approval before putting on my underwear in the morning.
Marty gets bonus points for multiple Gilbert & Sullivan references in his answers. He also gets Mongo-Hugo-Grando Bonus Points for using the words from a song I last heard sung by one of the persons on my List of People I'd Think Dead. How's that for kismet? Oooooh, creeeeepy!
And now, because you asked, Max, here are your questions. I hope they're weird enough for you. I know how you loves you some uncommon thought:
1. A charitable organization you believe in deeply asks you to perform in a fund-raising variety show for 1,000 people. Do you accept? What do you perform?
2. Everyone has that one friend or family member who is ALWAYS late. How do you handle it? Resentment? Acceptance? Confrontation? Can you be counted on to be on time?
3. For $1,000,000, would you be willing to have horrible nightmares every night for a year?
4. After a doctor exam, you are told that you have advanced cancer and only have months to live. Four days later, your doctor calls back and tells you that the tests were mislabeled, and you're totally fine. In those four days, you have learned things about yourself. Are the lessons worth the four days of anguish?
5. Say you're in a beautiful natural setting with food and shelter provided, but you won't see another person, for a month. Would this be paradise, or would it drive you insane?
And Groundhog, how nice of you to reciprocate! Here ya go:
1. For $1,000,000, would you got three months without bathing, brushing your teeth or wearing deodorant, if you couldn't explain to anyone why you were doing it?
2. Do you shut the door when you're home alone and peeing? What about when your S.O. is home, too?
3. Has your life ever changed drastically because of one seemingly random external event?
4. When did you last yell at someone, and why?
5. Would you go a year without $ex, if it meant a greater sense of contentment afterwards?
Now, let's use our collective peer pressure to get Nicholle and Heather to submit, too! Yay!
Posted at 01:23 PM | Comments (2)Grocery Shopping with Anne and her Mom
Anne: Why is there no Star Wars Cereal here?
Mom: What is that? [points to a box with R2D2]
Anne: Star Wars Crispix.
Mom: Well, what is that? [points to a box with Anakin Skywalker]
Anne: Star Wars Corn Flakes.
Mom: Then what is Star Wars Cereal?
Anne: It’s Star Wars Cereal!
Mom: Oooh! Look at this. [picks up a box of Star Wars Froot Loops cereal bars]
Anne: Mom. I couldn’t eat Froot Loops when I was five.
Mom: But you can send away for a Star Wars Darth Vader cookie jar!
Anne: Because we need a Star Wars cookie jar? We aren’t going to eat Froot Loops cereal bars!
Mom: [puts the box in the cart] If you don’t be quiet, I will give the cookie jar to your brother.
Anne: You were going to do that anyway.
Barbara Walters I Ain't
Okay, Marty, here are your questions:
1. Which gender has it easier in our culture? Have you ever wished you were of the opposite $ex?
2. You are given the power to kill people simply by thinking of their deaths. The person would die a natural death, and no one would suspect you. Are there any circumstances under which you would use this power?
3. Would you rather be extremely sucessful professtionally and have an unsatisfying private life, or an extremely exciting private life and have a barely tolerable professional life?
4. You live to be 90, and for the last 60 years, you can retain either the mind or the body of a 30 year old. Which would you choose?
5. When was your most recent fight, what was it about, and who won?
Queen of Ass, your name made me laugh out loud, and I admire your courage. Here are your questions:
1. Does Queen of Ass mean that you have a fantastic ass? (If so, please post photos.) Or does it mean that you're a big fan of other peoples' asses?
2. Would you be willing to become extremely ugly if it meant you could live for a thousand years at any age you want?
3. What was your worst nightmare? (Like real one, while you were asleep, not speaking metaphorically.)
4. Do your close friends tend to be male or female? Younger or older than you?
5. What was your worst experience with drugs and/or alcohol?
And Stuart, my brave boy. I'll try to be gentle:
1. How would you react if you found out that your significant other had a lover of the same $ex before you started dating?
2. For an all-expenses-paid vacation anywhere in the world, would you be willing to pull the wings off a beautiful butterfly with your own hands?
3. When, where and what did you last sing at the top of your lungs?
4. What is the worst psychological torture you can imagine? (Even minor physcial injury doesn't count.)
5. A very good friend pulls off a practical joke that took tons of planning and made you look ridiculous. How do you react?
I can't believe there were only three people who would open themselves up to interview. The rest of you -- hang your heads in shame.
Marty, Stuey and QoA, lemme know when you post your answers, and I'll link to them. Happy soul-searching!
Posted at 08:40 AM | Comments (3)May 09, 2005
A Subtropical Interview
Subtropic couldn’t resist, so why should I? The deal:
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your LJ with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
And since there are few things I like to talk about more than myself, I demanded an interview and got these AWESOME questions:
1. You wake up tomorrow and find that you have the heightened olfactory abilities of a dog. How will this change your life? What will you roll around in?
It would’ve been a nice trait to have after I discovered that Ophelia had a kegger in our home while we were on vacation. I’m pretty damn sure I know what went on, but the keen sense of smell would have told me approximately how many were there, what they smoked, what rooms they were in, what $ex acts went on, etc. But seriously, if I had a dog’s ability to smell food everywhere, that’d just make it even more ridiculously hard to resist food. In ten years, I’d make the news when they had to remove a wall of my house to get my dead, bloated body out. The paramedics would be like, “God, what did she roll in? Is that Oreos?”
2. (Stole this one from author John Dufresne.) You run into someone that you haven't seen for 20 years. Maybe you were friends, or dated casually, but there was never a relationship. During your conversation, you notice that there is a picture of you in his/her wallet. He/she is aware that you've seen it. What happens next?
Actually, something close to that happened. Eight years after we barely dated, an ex wrote me a letter, mailed to my parents’ house. Turns out, he’d been carrying a torch all those years, even becoming a drunk and then drying out. I was horrified to think that I caused him all that angst. And also, I just wanted to yell at him, “Dude, I’m so not worth it!” But back to your question and what happens next. I ask why it’s there and, whatever the answer, end the conversation quickly, out of sheer awkwardness. And then obsess over it for the rest of my life.
3. After you reached maturity, you had the ability to change $ex at will. However, the process is extremely painful, comparable to childbirth, and goes away after ten years. How often have you gender-flipped, what made you want to, and do you still have your original equipment?
So, I get to experience childbirth-like pain and be a man. Um, where's the supposed up-side? After the novelty of whacking off a few times gets old, I sure as hell don’t want to be a man for ten years. First of all, I don’t want to have a $ex thought every three seconds. I already have a hard enough time focusing already. Second of all, assuming I’d still be 35, straight, white and middle-class, I’d be one of the last groups it’s still “okay” to discriminate against. Forget it. No deal.
4. You ran over a dog with your car. You see the dog by the side of the road, still moving. Would you continue on your way, go back and try to help it or go back and put it out of its misery? (Or carve another notch in the dashboard...) How about a cat? A squirrel?
I’d go back and try to help it, without even thinking. A cat? No, sorry. And I know that cat-lovers everywhere are FREAKING OUT, but I just don’t like cats. In fact, I fear them. How do I know it’s not just pretending to be dying so it can lure me over and then STICK ALL ITS CLAWS IN MY FACE?! I’m not saying I’d laugh, I just wouldn’t stop. A squirrel? Been there, done that. Had to pull over for a minute, trying not to faint or barf. The tail was still twitching!
5. A relative you can't stand is dying, and needs a kidney transplant. You are the only person with a matching tissue type. Would you donate your kidney? What if the person is a pedophile? A murderer? At what point is the life not worth saving?
Depends on the age, really. The two relatives of mine I can’t stand are well over 70, and I just can’t justify slicing myself open, only to get 5-10 more years of asshole behavior. But if it were a child, or the parent of young children, I’d do it. But ONLY because, if it’s a relative, then I probably have other relatives who love him/her, and I’d do it for them, not the actual recipient. Pedophile or murderer? No way. Fuck ‘em.
* * * * *
Now. I don’t care who you are, if I know you or not, if you've ever commented or not -- I’d love to interview you! Leave me a comment! And when you answer the questions, I’ll link to it here.
Yes, for God's Sake, I KNOW!
I spelled congratulations wrong ON PURPOSE, people! Do you think I don't obsessively triple-check my entries before I post them?! What part of anal-retentive do you not understand?
I admit, the occassional spelling goof does get by me, as I have yet to achieve perfection. But I do strive for it, and I think it shows, most of the time.
So do you think I wouldn't have caught a misspelled word in a one-word title?! Where's the faith, people? Where's the love?
In the show "Wicked," during the part where all of Oz is celebrating Glinda's engagement to Fiyero, they have a banner that says "Congratulotions!"
And I thought, "Hee! They said lotions!"
Hence my title. Now get off my back.
Posted at 07:54 AM | Comments (5)May 06, 2005
The Yin to Heather's Yang
Seriously, all the Heather-love made me throw-up a little in my mouth.
Ten Reasons Why Anne Is Cool
1. Cuz she volunteers at a bird rescue shelter, despite birds being kinda scary. (What? They are!)
2. Cuz even tho’ she’s officially opposed to blogging at work, she still reads mine every day.
3. Cuz she’s nice to old people, even when they’re nasty to her.
4. Cuz when I was in the hospital, she went against every fiber of her being and BOUGHT ME BARBIE STICKERS.
5. Cuz she reads and knows stuff about things.
6. Cuz she has a Snoopy pillow on her big, official-looking, leather office chair.
7. Cuz when I owe her money (which is pretty much always), she never mentions it.
8. Cuz she doesn’t need C-3PO to translate for R2-D2.
9. Cuz she doesn’t spaz when my blonde dog sheds and slobbers all over her black clothes.
10. Cuz when I warned her I was gonna blog about her, she said “You better say something nice about my Mom!”
Anne’s Mom smells like the first lilacs of spring, her smile evokes rainbows and gumdrops and baby angels, and I would totally vote for her for President.
Posted at 03:56 PM | Comments (2)$EXU@L1TY
Okay. So. A few weeks ago, I was blogging about how double-T-hoTT I am because that's one of my favorite subjects. And yes, cynics, I'm overcompensating because I really look like Quasimodo. Get bent.
And after crafting such a fine, fine posting, I was horrified that I couldn't get it to Save or Preview, either as Draft or Publish. My pretty, pretty site was rejecting me! How could I go on? WHY DON'T YOU JUST KILL ME if I can't blog!!!
So I do what I always do at times like this. I cried and IMed Heather in a panic, making her stop in the middle of a work project and ATTEND TO MY NEEDS NOW!
Which she did, if only to shut me the hell up.
First, she emailed the hosting company, which is a totally logical, grown-up thing to do, so I never would have thought of it. Then she tried a bunch of magic internet stuff, and finally, shook a rainstick at it and sacrificed a live chicken. All for naught.
But she did figure out -- through methods known only to her -- that it was something in the body of the posting that was being rejected.
What?! Something that I wrote was being rejected?! Inconceivable! This is an outrage! I demand justice!
So, while I was dusting off my trusty torch and pitchfork (shuh -- like they ever sit long enough to get dusty), Heather calmly and methodically pasted my little anecdote, sentence by sentence, into my website to find the offending word(s).
And now I can't even tell you what that word was because it'll just refuse my post again. Wait -- I have a way!
$EXU@LITY
The hosting company people emailed us back quite quickly and explained that the site was rejecting my post because it had a word in it that was often used by spammers, and in order to protect my site yadda yadda yadda blee blah bloh.
It was quite rational and understandable of them, but seriously, with all the freaky shit I've blogged about, you'd think this would have happened before! Soccer moms tied and gagged, for God's sake!
Oh, great, here comes Mr. Pee $tain again.
Anyhoo, if you see weird words like se# toyz or h0tt wett teen@aged grrls in my site, you’ll know why. THE MAN IS CENSORING ME!
May 05, 2005
Congratulotions!
Heather's timid co-worker is the author of my 100th comment! Woo-hooooooooo!
The winning comment reads as follows:
Listen, it's taken YEARS to develop these things and I'm damn proud of them. Besides, they're finally the size and shape I like and I'm not letting you rain on my man-boob parade.
Yeah, I have no idea, either.
And for achieving that dubious honor, HTCW, you get to ask me any question you want -- no matter how ridiculous, personal or bizarre -- and I'll answer it here.
No pressure.
Posted at 04:06 PM | Comments (4)May 04, 2005
We Jinxed Anne
A couple weeks ago, I don't know how we got on the topic, but we were talking about what we'd do if we got cancer and our hair started falling out. Oh, yeah, like you sit around and discuss Nietzsche all day! Shut up!
Anyhoo, our reactions ran the gammit.
Anne said, "I'd chose to shave mine all off myself, rather than have cancer take it from me!"
Nicholle said, "I'd shave mine off, but only in hopes that it would eventually grown back thicker."
I said, "I'd desperately cling to every last strand of mine!"
Hey, I never claimed I wasn't petty and superficial.
Then late last week, Anne started seeing lights and lost her appetite. So over the weekend, I moved her into my front room and started feeding her ice chips and telling her stories about the lake that used to be in my back yard but isn't anymore because the ducks carried it off.
No, not really. But I wanted to.
It was a week of doctor visits and worrying and hospital tests and freak-outs. Of course, I'm thinking, "It's a toomah." And I started drafting Anne's eulogy blog.
It was beautiful. Too bad I won't be able to use it. Well, at least not anytime soon. Turns out she's fine. Just some ocular migraine and a sinus infection that she has no other symptoms of because of all the allergy medicine she ingests.
Or as Anne called it, "The sinus infection that could not be diagnosed until after ruling out a cerebral hemmorage."
It's a good thing that Nicholle has been outta town on business this whole time, or she would have made an MRI appointment for herself and gone out shopping for turbans.
You know, if you think about it, it's kinda creepy. I mean, all we had to do was think about cancer, and Anne started showing these mysterious symptoms. We're like the Witches of Eastwick or something! The Power of Three! Like those chicks on Charmed! Only not slutty.
Posted at 11:43 AM | Comments (4)Some Very Special Words
Words You Can't Say and Sound Like You Sincerely Mean Them
1. precious
2. classy
3. special
4. darling
Maybe it's just me, but I can't say any these words without sounding sarcastic. Seriously, you try it!
Now, is it because they're outdated, or because I'm inherently a sarcastic bitch?
Little bit o' both, mayhaps?
Posted at 07:45 AM | Comments (5)May 03, 2005
Lean Cuisines, Five for Ten Bucks
Today, I'm blogging about Heather's work because she's too chicken.
On Friday night, I was Heather's stunt boyfriend. D from work gave her two tickets to "Wicked" cuz he couldn't use them.
And let me just pause to say... FREE TICKETS TO "WICKED"!!! IT WAS WICKED AWESOME!!! RUN, DON'T WALK, TO THE ORIENTAL THEATRE!!!
Anyhoo, several weeks ago, D happened to mention in front of Heather and their co-worker, Andrea, that he had these tickets, which made Andrea sit up and beg and yap, "Heather, I'll totally take you!"
Now, mind you, Heather is not all that fond of Andrea. She's nice to her for the sake of office harmony, but Andrea is what is known in the workplace as a Hoverer. She'll submit a job ticket to Heather, and then come back and ask about it every hour.
So, in an act of passive-aggressiveness that I heartily endorse, for every time that Andrea asks, Heather moves her job ticket one place lower in the stack. Heh.
Well, apparently, D doesn't particularly care for Andrea, either, because he gave his "Wicked" tickets to Heather. And because Heather is a nice person, she considered inviting Andrea... for about a nanosecond. Then she put down the crack pipe and invited me. (Her boyfriend hates musicals, hence Wenchie the Stunt Boyfriend, and I love that gig because the benefits are awesome).
This morning, Heather got an email from Andrea. And then a split second later, she got another one with the subject line: PLEASE DELETE THAT LAST EMAIL! IT WAS MEANT FOR MY MOTHER!
Oh, c'mon. Who could resist that?! Well, Heather couldn't, and neither could you, be honest. Here's the email:
Hey Mom,
Just wanted to tell you I didn't end up saying anything to H today about the play. I did email her in the afternoon when I was bored b/c I ran out of options and she was a bit rude. But the funniest part was in the am when I asked her about a ticket and she started an email with trust me, if I had one, I'd give it to you or tell you....hahaaaaa.....yeah right....
D and I had a convo today too. Short but normal. I think he started it, but I had to be off to that stupid wkly to-do mtg so I didn't get any real info. We'll see...
And, Jewel had lean cuisines 5/$10! Amazing!
Love you,
Andrea
Heather laughed her ass off and, of course, immediately forwarded it to me.
PW: you should totally put it on your website!
H: she's too stupid to write something good.
H: and: who e-mails about groceries?
PW: the lean cuisine part is my favorite
H: totally.
PW: but what's really obnoxious is that it's written as if her Mom totally knows what's going on cuz she rags about you all the time
H: oh, I know. that's worse than if it was explicit, even.
PW: I still think you should it in your blog
H: tempting.
PW: want me to put it o my blog?
H: ooH! that's better!
H: (i've started a monster! Its' dooce Deux)
PW: and she says "H" in stead of Heather
PW: you must be a regular character in the drama of her life!
H: TOTALLY.
H: I'm going to flick boogers at her at recess. wanna come?
May 02, 2005
Band Names
Every month, I go to my Cpanel and see how much my readership has gone up (cuz I luvs me some readership!) and other such narcissistic info, like...
Top Ten Search Keyphrases for PirateWench.org
1. wench images
2. wench costume images
3. wench
4. pirate song
5. the salty pirate verb
6. voodoo curse pinecone
7. hello kitty apparell
8. bikini appendectomy
9. pirate wench images
10. nanny cam catches babysitter
What, oh what, is The Salty Pirate Verb? And should I have that or Voodoo Curse Pinecone as the name for my new band?
Posted at 09:38 AM | Comments (5)Table for Two in Hell
My friend Marty's brother was in the hospital briefly. And being the Boy Scout that he is, he spent lots of time there, even just sitting and reading while his brother slept. Awwwwwww, dear, sweet Marty. Right?
Think again.
We had this conversation via email/pager-mail:
Marty: I’m such a bad grandson. My grandmother came to visit my brother, and I’m mad because I can’t read my book.
Me: You’re going to burn in hell, so enjoy your book while you can.
Marty: I love your outlook on life. It's so refreshing. And to make matters worse, she gave me $20 when she left.
Me: Now you can buy another book.
Posted at 08:45 AM | Comments (1)