Pirate Wench

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June 30, 2005

I'm Naming My Next Pet "Cooter"

I just never know what's going to generate comments on this blog. I mean, I can spend days perfecting something I think is really funny and well written, and I won't get one damn comment from you people!

(Not that I'm bitter.)

And then, I can throw a bunch of crap at the screen, have only the most putrid and moist pieces of it stick, and people just can't shut up about it, as if I'd just hired a Scientologist to follow my fiance around.

(Hmm. Dated material. That's not going to read well in a couple months. Or, hopefully, a couple days. Enh, screw it. It's staying.)

Example: My Jump-the-Shark, Best-of-Comments, A-Very-Special-Pirate-Wench post, which has since become known as simply... That VAGINA Post.

(Yes, VAGINA, like CHRISTIAN BALE, must be capitalized. So it hath been decreed, and so it shall be. In the name of the cooter, the bod and the holy wench. Amen.)

The VAGINA post generated a lot of emails in a short span of time! You people sure like to talk about the VAGINA!

my sources say "fanny" in the UK is "cooter" here in the US.
so, basically, my darling wenchie, should she ask for one of her beloved fanny packs while in the UK, may very well provoke a deep, mortified blush. or perhaps a smack?

Posted by: heather at June 28, 2005 02:23 PM

"Fanny" is UK slang for VAGINA. God, that looks so majestic in caps.

Posted by: Heather's timid co-worker at June 28, 2005 03:25 PM

the second British definition (noun)...
although i'd give my left nut to be physically present when you asked, say, muskrat_john to explain it to you.

Oh, wait. I don't have a left nut... ;)

Posted by: celticelff at June 28, 2005 06:50 PM

Fanny in Britspeak means one's womanly parts. Which is why the notion of a fanny pack is coffee-snorting amusing to a Brit, no doubt.

Posted by: Mickey at June 29, 2005 02:40 AM

ok, we've just established that your dearest fans all love vagina.
or, at least, love to type it.

vagina vagina vagina.

be sure to let us know what your web search terms are this week, in your stats page!

{grin}

Posted by: heather at June 29, 2005 08:21 AM

Ahh, so refreshing to see your readers are up on slang ;) So next time you don your pink-fanny-pack, just remember.
*evil chuckle*

Posted by: celticelff at June 29, 2005 09:21 AM

I'm so calling it my Vagina Pack from now on.
And it's somehow appropriate that it's pink...

Posted by: Pirate Wench at June 29, 2005 10:28 AM

Pink VAGINA Pack...sheer brilliance. I've decided to now use caps at all times when typing VAGINA and will use the word as often as possible. Heather & PW, I genuflect before you both for giving us a forum to express our appreciation of the VAGINA.
And Heather...can you believe you typed a sentence that says "your dearest friends all love VAGINA"!?!? That is why you are most excellent. It's SO TRUE too! I mean, I'm really a big fan of them.

Posted by: Heather's timid co-worker at June 29, 2005 10:42 AM

And it all culminated in the following email from Heather's Timid Co-worker, CCed to Heather:

Alright you two... if you keep up with this "blog" fad that the kids are all talking about, I will never get anything done. How many times a day can I "refresh" the PW page to see what sarcastic observation about humanity, animals, Wisconsin, child prodigies, genitalia and Barbie subculture PW has made? It is becoming debilitating.
Heather you're so full of baloney too. You're all, "Oh, you should check out my friend's blog. She's really funny." Like you were doing me a favor. Now that I'm hooked, I can see it was all a part of your plan to get me fired for lack-of-production so you can take over my premium, back-corner, cubicle.

...back to filing my sexual harassment paperwork against Heather for wearing open-toed shoes and getting me all ramped-up about typing the V-word constantly.

What V-word? You mean... VAGINA?

(Indeed, I can just see my Top Ten Search Keyphrases this week. Man, I am all about the asides today.)

I love HTCW. I want to have $ex with his brain (as the self-proclaimed gigantic blue PEN15 and white man-boobs are... well, frankly, not that appealing). He should have his own blog. He's way funnier than me.

Bow to my majestic VAGINA!

Okay, enough of the vag-speak. Thank God my Mom is on vacation this week and won't be reading this. I'm firing up the grill tonight for dinner. Would anyone else like a hotdog?

Posted at 07:37 AM | Comments (6)

June 28, 2005

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things!

Know what I love about you, my loyal readers -- and commenters? You're at least as funny as I am. And when funny people read my blog, it means I can believe that I'm funny.

(You like how I do that? Turn it around and make it all about me?)

So here are some of my favorite comments from recent posts. These aren't the only ones that made me chuckle and snigger and guffaw. It's just a smattering.

(Those are fun words!)

From: Heather’s Birthday: The Journey Ends
Re: Five-layer chocolate cake with buttercream frosting.
"I must say, in many ways you are a girl after my own heart. (Probably after it with dull utensils and a shocking lack of respect for where the blood splatters, but that's an aside.)"
~ some_other_dave

From: Pimpin’ In My Hooptie
Re: The car disintegrating around me so that I scooch to a halt on my smoking buttocks, legs splayed out in front of me, still holding the steering wheel, a la Wile E. Coyote.
"This whole entry was just an excuse for you to talk about your 'smoking buttocks,' wasn't it?"
~ Marty

From: When Doves Cry, It’s Because of This Sweater

Re: The doves are still crying.

"In 1986 I would have worn it with a black turtle neck, black mini skirt, cobalt blue tights, black socks and penny loafers with dimes in them. With a banana clip and big earrings. Oh! And cobalt blue eyeliner."
~ Anne

From: Band Names
Re: List of Top Ten Search Keyphrases
"I was in a band back in high school called 'The Salty Pirate Verb' -– we were a Queen cover band. Had to disband though. The football team kept beating us up at our own gigs. I don’t know why. They may have been uncomfortable with my sequined jumpsuit that highlighted my 'bulges.'"
~ Heather’s timid co-worker

From: Batman Purely, Awesomely Begins
Re: Whom to replace with CHRISTIAN BALE on my List of Five
"You can take Owen off -- because if push comes to shove I will shove you down an empty elevator shaft to get to that man -- so basically why have him on if you don't have a chance?"
~ Queen of Fucking Everything

From: Anne Makes My Dreams Come True
Re: Me buying a pink fanny pack
"Wow, Wenchie, on the off-chance that you have British readers, do you know what 'fanny' means over there? *cringes*"
~ Celtic Elff
[Seriously, I have no idea what “fanny” means in England, so if someone could enlighten me…?]

From: The Yin to Heather’s Yang
Re: A list I made of Anne’s nice qualities, cuz I was talking about Heather waaaaaaay too much.
"I can't believe you would even think about writing about someone else, Wenchie. after all we've been through together! I mean, I read stuff! AND I know stuff about things!!! THINGS!!!!"
~ Heather

From: And I Thought MY Dog Was Weird
Re: My sister's dog eating frogs.
"Frogs, worms, rabbit turds (nature's Milkduds), dead birds (she'd eat live ones if she could catch one, which she tries to every day), grass (seriously, she grazes like a cow), and flies! She actually caught a fly in the house yesterday. It was very entertaining to watch and I was happy to be rid of the little bugger. At least she's good for something!"
~ My Sister

And of course, there are the inevitable comments from people who want me to loose weight, borrow money from them, or enlarge my PEN15, but they're just not funny.

Okay, the PEN15 ones are a little funny.

Posted at 01:33 PM | Comments (11)

June 27, 2005

Batman Purely, Awesomely Begins

My movie reviews suck, but I don't care because if CHRISTIAN BALE self-Googles, I want CHRISTIAN BALE to come here. And cum here. But that's just...

Hokay then.

This post may contains a couple spoilers for Batman Begins, but probably nothing that would ruin your viewing enjoyment. Cuz seriously, you could be sitting in a pool of your own vomit, and I doubt that would ruin your viewing enjoyment. But still -- SPOILERS. There. I said it.

Also, this post is rather link-heavy, cuz I've been stalking CHRISTIAN BALE all morning on IMDB, but the links aren't really necessary, if you don't have the time.

Before I get to the list of awesome things about this movie, let me just get this off my chest. Katie Holmes was a waste of film. The red-shirt thugs had more depth than her. She was only there to spout platitudes and act as damsel-in-distress, and the movie needed neither.

Also? I don't buy her as the Manager of a Burger King, let alone a District Attorney. Christ on a cracker. A billionaire dressing up like a giant bat I can swallow (heh), but just how far do they expect me to suspend my disbelief?

Now, onto all the awesome things about the movie:

1. CHRISTIAN BALE.
2. CHRISTIAN BALE's buff, buff body.
3. It had ninjas!!!
4. Morgan Freeman. So adorable.
5. Liam Neeson as Head Ninja!!!
6. Michael Caine appeared to be sober.
7. Gary Oldman was a good guy and not a freak in any way, so I didn't have nightmares.
8. CHRISTIAN BALE looks equally good in a suit and tie as he does in skeevy hobo attire.
9. There was no Robin.
10. The car. There just aren't words for this car.
11. Scarecrow looked just as monstrously creepy with his mask off as he did with it on.
12. Baby Bruce wasn't annoying.
13. Did I mention? Yummy, dark and broody.

So, CHRISTIAN BALE is my god and king. AND? He's six-foot-two. He's going to have to replace someone on my List of Five, fer sure. Either Owen or Dom. Sorry, boys, but I can't resist a man who's handy with tools.

I saw the movie Saturday night with Marty, who is probably even more tired of hearing about CHRISTIAN BALE than you are, believe it or not. Unfortunately, Marty was the only male available to me at that particular time. He'll be outta the hospital in a day or two. But I'm still horny.

Posted at 10:21 AM | Comments (10)

June 24, 2005

Weather Is For Weathermen

Fuck, it is HOT today! I hate summer. Seriously, don't talk to me about cotton dresses and lemonade and sailing and getting a tan. Hot sucks. I'm sweating under my boobs. Understand?

My poor air conditioner can't even keep up with how jungle-hot it is today. I have it set at 76, but the indoor temperature is 81. EIGHTY-ASSCRACK-SWEAT-ONE DEGREES! That's just not right.

I didn't marry a rich man so I could sweat. I wanna go from my air-conditioned house to my air-conditioned car to the air-conditioned restaurant to the air-conditioned theatre.

Weather is for poor people. And farmers. And... weathermen. NOT FOR ME.

Posted at 07:52 PM | Comments (2)

And I Thought MY Dog Was Weird

Here's Lucy, reclining on her Mommy's lap, like Cleopatra suffering from a near-fatal tummy-rub.

Wake me when it's time for my milk bath.

And here's her famous impersonation of a side of beef. She gets lots of requests for this one.

Is baby dog called 'veal' or something else?

I don't know if she was smoking it, or she just didn't realize she had grass hanging out of her mouth.

I don't inhale.

She also eats frogs. That's right -- frogs. Live ones.

Posted at 03:54 PM | Comments (3)

June 23, 2005

I Can't Believe I Passed Up the Pink Trucker Hat

Well, Sunday was Father's Day, so I took my Dad to the flea market because I didn't want to go to the bar. Or the library. Or the Art Institute because, every time we're there, he makes a scene in the middle of the armor wing.

"Where's the rest of the armor and weapons? I know you have tons of it in storage! Why don't you ever change the display?! I'm not renewing my membership until I see more armor!"

And then the guards come, and he's all contrite -- "Well, can I just get a behind-the-scenes tour?" -- but it's too late. And they kick us out without even letting us puruse the gift shop, so you know they're serious about getting the weapons-obsessed crazy man outta there.

So, flea market it was, causing me to get up at the crack of crack. Shower? Ha ha ha ha ha ha! I'm just going to smell like musty WWII paraphenalia and cheap tube socks when I get home anyway.

My first find was a table strewn with vintage Barbie stuff. Just scattered about like Barbie'd had a hissy and left it all for Ken to clean up. I found a brunette Scooter and started piecing together some outfits, tipping off the seller that I, indeed, know what the hell I'm looking at (much more so than he) and will probably pay more than the average person.

And when he said $35 for the Scooter, it was obvious that he'd had experience with INSANE doll collectors before -- of the Too Many Cats and Ferns set who sleep with creepy Marie Osmond dwarf-baby dolls -- because no Barbie collector in their right mind would pay more than $20 for Skipper's homely friend.

I talked the guy into $40 for the doll and a bunch of clothes. The lot was worth $100, so I made out, but I have to remember to be less eager next time and not drool on the clothes. I could've probably gotten it all for $20, had I not been prone on the table, foaming and growling at all who approached.

There were many great finds that day. Dad got a hand grenade he plans to use as a paper weight (I don't know what's wrong with the pistol he's currently using to hold down his unruly papers). Husband found 10 past issues of a magazine he already has A HUNDRED ISSUES OF. InnocentBystander got a bunch of Star Wars toys for his son, including a piggy bank in the shape of Jar Jar's head. *shudder*

Then InnocentBystander is like, "Hey, try this on!"

I made a face, "Yeah, cuz I need a pink trucker hat that says Princess on it."

"Well, they're all outta the Queen of the Fucking Universe ones."

Ha ha.

Dad has this habit of just taking off and not bothering to see where the rest of the group is -- and, dudes, this place is HUGE -- so I made sure to stop scanning for Barbies every once in a while and take stock of my entourage.

One time, I looked up to see Dad, Husband and InnocentBystander all lined up behind me, shoulder to shoulder. Which was weird because, for starters, they weren't looking at tools. And also because we're Scandinavian and like to keep a good three-foot radius of Personal Space around us at all times. Especially the men.

Clearly, they were hiding something. Something good. And something expensive. I plowed through them to find TABLES AND TABLES OF NEW BARBIES STILL IN THEIR BOXES! The gods were smiling on me that day, my friends.

Accepting his fate, Husband handed me $100 and sighed, "We'll come back around for you when we're done."

But I barely heard him. There was Clara Barton Barbie! And Product Placement Barbie! And Barbie as Forrest's Girlfriend! And Barbie Has Amazingly Huge Breasts for a Ballerina... oh, I could go on and on and on. Don't worry -- I won't. And I limited myself to Calvin Klein Barbie. I like her. She's not an insipid, blue-eyed blonde. And how cute is that jean jacket!

On the way home, my Dad said something to the effect of, "Did you notice that the flea market seemed to be filled with fat, ugly white trash?"

I glanced around the car. At our collective girth, not improved by the Homade Danish Coffee Cake table. At the way Dad's belt (with enormous belt buckle) was struggling to keep his pants up just under his beer belly and over his non-existant ass. At the way my unshowered hair was slicked back into a ponytail, without any use of product. At the goofy gardening hat I made my skin-cancer-candidate husband wear.

And I thought, Hmm. There, but for the grace of God, go us. I don't wanna wake up one morning to find my uncle in my bed, a banjo in the corner, and my car up on cement blocks in the front yard with fourteen dogs underneath it, so I didn't say anything to anger the Gods of Poetic Justice.

Posted at 09:59 AM | Comments (4)

June 22, 2005

But Is It Art?

My just-turned-6 nephew drew this. Can you guess what it's a picture of? Hint: My nephew ROCKS!

UPDATE: Anne got it right; I knew she would. It's Darth Vader and Yoda fighting! See?! What's hilarious is that both InnocentBystander and Lola seem to find Yoda a bit femm, what with his platform shoes and girlish figure.

BTW: It's the same nephew who wrote this.

Without arms you are!

Posted at 07:17 AM | Comments (9)

June 21, 2005

June 20, 2005

Anne Makes My Dreams Come True

You know, Anne doesn't need to get any scarier, but now, she's developing super powers. Now, I don't know if she's been working on it in her secret volcano lab, or if the Fates have just chosen to bestow them upon her. Either way, this does not bode well for us mere mortals.

It was our first night after browsing the Mall of America, and I was tucked in my hotel bed, while visions of fanny packs danced in my head.

Seriously, I need a fanny pack. A belt bag. A fag bag. Whatever you want to call it -- one of those figure-demolishing, around-the-waist purses from the 80s. Why, you ask? Why subject my waist to the thickening disfigurement of the fanny pack? Why, indeed.

Why, indeed. I don't even know what that means.

I'm going to Disney World in August (FREE, but I'll tell you more about that as the time approaches... or, let's face it, when I'm desparate for something to blog about), and in order to keep my hands free for shopping, groping Minnie Mouse and drinking my way through the Epcot countries. I need... a dreaded fanny pack. Don't try to talk me out of it! I've already made up my mind. Go on without me! SAVE YOURSELF!

Whew. Stay focused, Wench. So, I was dreaming about fanny packs. Specifically, pink ones, so I don't look like a dyke-trucker. (Please direct hate mail to dyketruckersarepeopletoo@stupidbitch.com) And I dreamed that we were at a purse store, and Anne found me a pink belt bag.

Obviously, I was obsessing. But that's one of the things that makes me charming, right? Right?

So the next day,... okay, I've babbled too long and totally killed the suspense. Anne found me a pink belt bag at Wilson's. And she found it in, like, five seconds!

I was like, "Oh my God! Anne! Last night, I dreamed you found me a pink belt bag! And now, you just did!"

And she was all, "Dude. You would have found it yourself eventually. I just didn't want to be here looking for pink purses one second longer than was absolutely necessary."

"Still. You totally made my dream come true."

To which she made her patented Disgusted Face.

Of course, there's always the possibility that I'm the one with the super powers -- able to predict events before they occur...

Yeah, I'm gonna go with that. Way less creepy.

Hey, guess what! I can tell the future! Wheeeeee!

Posted at 01:54 PM | Comments (6)

June 18, 2005

Chocolate or Vibrators? No Contest

Oh, for the love of Pete. You people are like Pavlov's dogs.

Blah blah, peanut butter, blah blee-blah bloh, Wisconsin, blabbity blah, vibrators, blah -- WHA-?! Did I just hear someone say vibrators?! I'd better go check it out!

Okay, okay, since you all want to know, I'll tell you.

Now, I wish I could be all naughty and be like, "Ooooh, I just couldn't live without my Rabbit or my French Tickler! I sleep with them under my pillow, just in case I have a dream about the entire case of Buffy and need them right away!"

But the truth is, there are plenty of other things readily available. Hands (mine and others'), tongues (just others' -- I'm not that limber), dildos, and of course, for you traditionalists -- penises!

(Hi, Mom!)

However, there's no substitute for chocolate. No carob. No white chocolate. No sugar-free low-carb chocolate-like substance is EVER going to give me the same satisfaction as stuffing a Dove Bar in my... face.

Posted at 10:10 AM | Comments (1)

June 17, 2005

Death Is Not an Option

Okay. InnocentBystander asked:

Which would you rather give up forever: movies or music?

Dude. That question doesn't even have the word "vibrator" in it! What was I so worried about? Thank God he didn't ask which I would rather give up forever -- vibrators or chocolate.

Well, assuming that death is not an option, and assuming I could still watch normal television (oxymoron, yes, I know), I'd have to say... I'd rather give up movies forever than music.

Reason the First: I mean, have you heard me sing? It just wouldn't be fair to rob the world of my rendition of "Hit Me, Baby, One More Time." Besides, what else would I do during my commute? Listen to current events on the radio? Learn a second language? Psh. I don't think so!

Reason the Second: "The Honeymooners," "Bewitched" and "War of the Worlds." And that's just this month! Where have all the original movies gone?! I don't think I'd be missing too much. Just keep writing those books, Bruce!

In all seriousness -- which is a rare commodity around here, so bask in it while you can -- music is much more a part of my daily life. And I do have a fabulous voice. No, seriously! Mooooooom, tell them!

And, Max? Keep trying, little buddy. Maybe you'll get comment #300. Or you could just, you know, ask me.

See the little Hail the Pirate Wench link at the top of my sidebar (courtesy of Heather, who remains at my beck and call)? Just hit it and PRESTO! You can email me! And ask me questions! Or tell me what a bitch/lunatic/hack/poser/butthole I am! Or beg to see photos of me in a wet t-shirt! Whatever your dear, little hearts desire!

I'm a full-service wench.

Posted at 07:37 AM | Comments (3)

June 16, 2005

Unsolicited Testimonial on Toast with Jelly

So. Mall of America -- pretty much just another mall, except that there's only one Starbucks in it, and there's an amusement park in the middle. Of the mall. Not the Starbucks.

We did some eating and some shopping and some watching of Mr. & Mrs. Smith. Anne and I were both kinda embarassed at how funny we thought it was. But then, we'd just spent six hours driving through Wisconsin, so consider the context, is all I'm sayin'.

I was a little disillusioned that we'd spent all freakin' day in a car surrounded by Wisconsin drivers -- who are no better than Illinois drivers when it comes to knowing what the fuck the far left lane is for, DICKSMACKS!!! -- just to get to a mall, of which there are several awesome ones within a half an hour of home, when we discovered...
P.B. Loco.

That was one loooooooooooong sentence, dude.

But who cares! Did you hear the angels singing when you read P.B. Loco? Probably not because I'm sure there's a P.B. Loco in heaven, and all the angels' mouths are gooey with sweet, sweet peanut butter.

P.B. Loco is a store ALL ABOUT THE PEANUT BUTTER. It is, indeed, a wonder to behold. And I say that reverently, from my heart.

They have different flavors, like Banana, Cinnamon & Raisin and White Chocolate (all of which I brought home to Husband), and toppings like apples, vanilla cream cheese and pickles.

You can have one of their sammiches off the menu, or create one of your own. Anne was brave and had the Tropical Twist, but I'm a chicken and had White Chocolate P.B. with bacon bits. It was in-fucking-credible, with the melty-creamy-sweet and the salty-chewy arghlrghlrghlrghl... I'm telling you, it's goddamn BRILLIANT!

The possibilities are endless! One of the teeny-boppers sitting next to us had Creamy P.B. with marshmallow spread and M&Ms. That'd be so awesome! For the first three bites... and then I'd need a gallon of milk. And a root canal.

Oh, and the sammiches are served with a handful of animal crackers. Charming! Delightful! Love it!

I know, I'm going on and on about some stupid peanut butter store, but you weren't there! You can't imagine the glory that is P.B. Loco! I can't wait to go back. (PJ?) I'll be stalking the website to see if/when they're opening one in Chicago. In the meantime, I think I'm gonna have a P.B. party with, like, a buffet of toppings and stuff! Wheeeeeee!

Hey, maybe that's what a Pirate Party Menu entails...?

Posted at 09:39 AM | Comments (1)

June 14, 2005

I Am So Dead

Oh, crap. Here I was, getting all excited that I'd get to reward another one of my beloved winged monkeys with the honor (albeit dubious) of posing another question to Yours Truly.

I was at 198 comments earlier today. Who would it be? The surreal Max? The scathing Queen of Ass? The impetuous Scarlett?

No. It's InnocentBystander. InnocentBystander posted my 200th comment. I am so screwed. See, altho' I can't share the info with you, I know who he is.

And I'm. So. Fucked.

This is scary.

Okay, InnocentBystander, hit me. You're the 200th Commenter. Ask me anything. I shall answer.

Posted at 05:54 PM | Comments (4)

Why I Love Wisconsin

Because beyond The Cheddar Churtain, you can buy your Cheese, Fireworks, Ho-Made Fudge, Ammunition, Moccasins, Adult Literature and Packer Paraphenalia ALL IN THE SAME PLACE! While you're filling your car with gas!

God bless you, Wisconsin.

Posted at 03:13 PM | Comments (1)

June 10, 2005

It Has a Four-Story Lego Showplace!

Well, my darlings, I am off!

No, not off-kilter, ya snotty little brats. Off into the wild blue yonder! So far as it extends into Minneapolis, that is.

Anne and I are leaving tomorrow on a roadtrip to the Mall of America! We were going to go to historic Williamsburg, Virginia, but that just wasn't feesible for various reasons, and we figured -- Hey, Mall of America, next best thing to educational, cultural... I don't even know what I'm saying here. The thought of that much shopping is just FREAKING ME OUT, MAN!!!

Hopefully, I'll have fun stuff to blog about. It'll be tough, tho'. Anne has developed this defense mechanism of blurting out "NO BLOG!" at random intervals. And I have to respect that. Why? Because Anne is scary.

Catch you on the flip-side, my lovlies!

UPDATE: You know, I'm kinda scared about being away from my beloved Internet for days on end. Especially when TheSuperficial.com is posting stuff like Jessica Simpson's new video. Jesus General Lee Christ, this woman's ass should come with a Surgeon General's Warning.

Caution: Prolonged staring as Jessica Simpson's booty may cause to you masturbate until your genitals go numb.

Posted at 10:14 PM | Comments (3)

June 09, 2005

Meeting the Whole Famn Damily

Know what’s always a good story? How people met their spouse.

My parents met in high school, and Dad used to ride Mom around on the back of his bike, until his mother finally said, “When are you gonna marry that girl?!”

I met Husband in the percussion section of the musical-comedy group we’re both in. I joined it in 1990, a mere (and hott) 20 years old, so Husband was still a 32 year old Ned Flanders look-alike married to The Ex. I played cymbals, he played bass drum. Neither of us are percussionists, by the way.

But even funnier, I think, are the stories of meeting your Significant Other’s parents/family, as was discussed over dinner one night with my cousins and their S.O.s.

Egrau met J when she was dancing on the bar at a biker bar downtown. The bartender said that, if he got eight women to dance on the bar, he’d give everyone in the place a free watermelon shot. And Egrau was all, “I get to dance on the bar AND get a free shot?! Sign me up!” She looked down while dancing, and there was Mr. Fabulous.

They’d been dating a while when J picked up Egrau, who was all decked out in fuck-me boots and hooker earrings, ready to go out clubbing. It wasn’t until after they were on the road that J broke the news that he needed to “stop by” his mom’s house and take her two air conditioners out of the windows.

Egrau was, of course, horrified. And with good reason. But when they arrived, J’s mom and aunt were equally horrified, but for a very different reason. They were in their house dresses and hair curlers. Mortification all around! Wheeeee! And the “stop by” turned out to be two hours. Two hours of Tassle McPoledance drinking tea at the kitchen table with Patty and Selma.

Ramone met PJ’s mom when he drove PJ beyond the Cheddar Curtain to pick up a gun cabinet from her parents. Then he drove back there to get her mom and all her things, so she could live with PJ during the divorce. Then Ramone moved in with the two ladies. To live in sin. That’s one cool mom.

However, that was waaaaaaaaaay before any of us even knew that Ramone had a girlfriend. He kinda keeps to himself. Like the Unibomber. There were rumors flying around the family that Ramone had been spotted with a cute brunette, but none of us even knew her name.

And you know how Ramone chose to indoctrinate PJ to the family? AT MY WEDDING. She met the whole damn family at once and was forced to spend all day with us. SOBER even, lest she give a bad, drunken (albeit correct) first impression.

Yeah, she wins.

Posted at 10:54 AM | Comments (1)

June 08, 2005

I Like to Smell Like Food

On Saturday, me and PJ went over to Mom's house for a lesson in making Swedish pancakes. I'm not sure if we retained any information, but we got to eat Swedish pancakes, and that's what counts.

Afterwards, we walked over to a big Antique Fair they had going on in the town square. And what did I buy? A BARBIE! Natch!

Rule #2 in Barbie Collecting: If you find a Malibu Barbie that only needs a shower and a brushing to restore her to her original beauty, and you find her for under $15, BUY HER. Got mine for five bucks. She showered with me this morning.

(Since you asked... Rule #1 in Barbie Collecting: Barbie hates that crocheted crap your grandma made for her. I'm sorry, but she's a bitch that way, and there's just no arguing with her.)

I also got some Royal Coppenhagen plates for, like, 1/3 of their book value! Which is only exciting if you, too, are Scandihoovian and retarded. When Younger Step Daughter goes away to college, her room is becoming the Scandihoovian Guest Room. Catholics who have converted to Lutheranism don't count.

I'm kidding! Gol! You Catholics are soooooo touchy!

When Older Step Daughter leaves for college -- IN TWO MONTHS!!! -- her room is becoming my Barbie Office. I should probably warn her at some point...

Anyhoo, we saw this guy drinking a Starbucks Frappuccino, and upon recognizing our lust, he goes, "It's a new flavor! Mint chocolate chip!" Well, that clinched it. We had caffienated calories for elevensies.

Then we walked over to the Farmers Market and spent half an hour with under-the-boob sweat running down our stomachs, waiting in line at the cheese tent. But it was TOTALLY worth it because they had GARLIC DILL CHEESE CURDS, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! And? Cheese Guy was totally adorable! I want to be his little cheese maiden and frolic in the meadow with him and his goats.

Uh... sorry... what was I talking about?

I don't remember. But I know I was on a whole shopping theme, so I'll just continue with that.

Yesterday, Anne and I hit the Bath & Body Works Semi-Annual Sale for yummy, half-off, smelly things! I got some body lotion in Warm Vanilla Sugar, Sun-Ripened Raspberry, Apple Martini and Black Raspberry Vanilla. Are you seeing a trend here? I like to smell like food!

I'm particularly in love with my new Cucumber Watermelon Shower Scrub, but I can't find it on their website, and now I'm terrified that it's some discontinued product that they were getting rid of, and now I have to go back and BUY IT ALL!!! Hmmm, maybe Nicholle will come with me...?

I'm just so enamored with my skin right now. It's all smooth and yummy. I just want to smell and touch myself all day. Which isn't as erotic as you might hope. But a co-worker did say Good Morning to my legs earlier, so I must be lookin' good!

Posted at 12:29 PM | Comments (0)

Your Diabetic-Coma-Inducing Moment of the Week

A friend had a feral cat give birth underneath her backyard shed.

Look! Our own sandbox!

Awwwwww. It nearly makes you forget that they're almost certainly infested with fleas and worms. How precious.

Posted at 08:23 AM | Comments (5)

June 07, 2005

More Jello Humor

After dinner, Husband and I were just sitting at the kitchen table chatting. He was wearing khakis, and I noticed a blob of Jello on his crotch.

"Dude, you spilled," I said, pointing.

"It must be premature e-jello-lation!"

He was so proud of that one, he laughed for, like, five minutes.

Posted at 09:32 AM | Comments (2)

June 06, 2005

Made To Pee Outside

People may be wackos, but at least they never fail to disappoint me.

Top Ten Search Keyphrases for PirateWench.org

1. pirate wench
2. wench
3. kidnapped bound gagged naked made to pee outside
4. pirate workout
5. plastered pirate
6. pirate wench costume
7. lean cuisines
8. pirate party menu
9. googles women wearing panties
10. napolean dynomite dance

And now, my horrified comments because, really, how can I resist?

Number Four
Made to pee outside. I don't understand this. Is the soul purpose of the kidnapping just to watch someone pee in the woods? Why not just take some friends camping? Seems like an awful lot of trouble for very little pay-off.

Number Four
Pirate workout? So, pilates and step-aerobics aren't workin' for ya? What would a pirate workout entail? Hoisting the mainstay? Dancing a hornpipe? Digging a really deep hole?

Number Five
Plastered pirate is redundant. That you're drunk off your peg-leg is pressumed when you assume the title of Pirate.

Number Seven
This is the actual page I'm sure they found when searching on lean cuisines. Wouldn't it be funny if Heather's dumbass co-worker was searching for a sale on Lean Cuisines and found that page about herself? That's too good to even hope for.

Number Eight
If you're reading this, and you're having a party that includes a pirate menu, PLEASE INVITE ME!!!

Number Nine
*sigh*

Number Ten
I'm so excited about Napolean Dynomite fans finding me. Nerds of a feather!

Posted at 02:02 PM | Comments (3)

June 03, 2005

Truly a Bold Statement

One of the VPs here has an outfit that just kills me every time he wears it. And it's not like he ever wears the pants with a different shirt, or the shirt with different pants. No, this is an outfit, for sure.

Finally, I worked up the nerve to say, “Dude, I’ve gotta get a picture of that outfit.”

“Is it really bad?”

Yes, those are little flowers on my shirt.

“No, no, no! It’s bold!”

“Do I look gay?” (He's definately a good ol' boy and, therefore, a homophobe.)

“No, a gay man would have better shoes.”

“Okay, good. Cuz my wife and kids were making fun of some outfits I bought and telling me I look gay.”

Oh, I cannot wait to see the new outfits!

And lest I give you the wrong impression, I have absolutely no business whatsoever critiquing peoples' appearances. I can barely dress myself, which is why my wardrobe is half black, half all-the-same-style-shirt-in-different-colors.

Yes, I have the long, golden tresses and the round, ample melons going on, but those things aside, I'm a wreck. Especially in the summer.

You see, summer and I don't get along. It makes my silky hair fuzzy and fluffy, and not in the adorable-cuddly-kitten kind of way. I brought my skirts out of hibernation for the first time yesterday and blinded two of my co-workers when I got outta my car and the sun glinted off the fish-belly skin of my legs.

Today, I wore some cute, strappy sandals to work, and by 10am I was ready to amputate my feet because strappy = cutty-into-my-footy, and walking around on bloody stumps would be more comfortable. I'm now in white gym shoes, which really go well with my all-black ensemble. I'm wearing a black Eddie Bauer v-neck t-shirt and black pajama pants. To which I added a necklace because that makes it "dressy" and, therefore, "work appropriate."

No fashionista I. I'm just a bitch with a camera who likes making fun of people.

Posted at 08:55 AM | Comments (9)

June 02, 2005

The Amish Old Navy Commercial Graduation Party

After Joe's first set Friday night, full of plenty o' good ol' fashioned Wisconsin-esque cuss words, an odd group started to converge on Skuttlebutts. There were white shirts, and ties, and Docker khakis, and pink cardigans, and flowery dresses... all very disturbing in a Wisteria Lane sort of way.

Plus, the group was made up of a large number of adolescents. In a bar. A bar with booze and fried dough and cuss words and partner-swapping and waitresses with over-tweezed, Costaguatamexirico eyebrows -- none of it child-friendly!

And yes, I'm probably being hypocritical, seeing as how I grew up grifting cheeseheads at billiards for jukebox money in Wisconsin taverns (Thanks, Dad!), and I turned out okay. Except that my first husband was a raging alcoholic...

Okay, I was right. A bar is no place for children. Yet there they were, in all their peach-fuzz, glitter-nail-polish glory. Celebrating -- get this -- AN EIGHTH GRADE GRADUATION!

"Honey, what should we do for Taylor's graduation? I really want something to do something special!"

"I know! Let's go to my favorite bar! I hear they have Coronas for two bucks a bottle, and Mighty Joe will be singing about STDs!"

"Perfect! I'll wear my new Old Navy cotton sundress!"

Seriously. At least my Mom had the decency to glare disapprovingly when my Dad took 14-year old Pirate Wench to drive him home.

Needless to say, Mighty Joe was pretty upset at having to clean up his act for the young 'uns or face the wrath of the JC Penney Catalogue Model Army. He was planning on starting his next set with his Ode to Sperm-Burping Gutter Sluts Medley.

But I gotta say (note: the following is NOT a paid endorsement), dude managed to keep both the Amish and the Drunk entertained for the rest of the evening, and THAT'S NOT EASY. I was pretty impressed.

Okay, enough of my gushing and on to the corruption of America's youth.

There was a kid there, he was wearing... oh, I don't even remember now, but obviously it warranted a sound mocking because I directed Heather's attention to him. I was sitting there, looking at him, smiling and talking in a very conspiratorial way when the kid looked up.

Well, I don't give a fuck what some 13-year old kid thinks, so I just kept staring, smiling and talking. And the look on this kid's face, I was like, "Oh, fuck. He thinks I'm telling Heather to pass him a note in study hall cuz I want to jump his pre-pubic-hair bod and smooch a bone I'm old enough to have sired."

And as ridiculous as that sounds, let me be the first to point out that it wouldn't be the first time I was mistaken for a high-school-aged girl. SO THERE!

Mr. Dreamer kept on looking over. So when we were all necking and copping feels on one another, he got quite the show. I'm sure they never showed him a filmstrip like THAT in gym class!

Anyhoo, Joe dealt nicely by having the kids request good, wholesome songs from his playlist. And then he came over and asked me -- out of sheer desperation, I'm sure, "Do you sing?"

Now, normally, I answer this with, "Hell, yeah, I can sing! I can sing any damn thing you got!" But before I could, Heather blurted out, "She sings opera!" And I could feel my soul ebbing away.

Yes, okay, I admit, I have performed much Gilbert & Sullivan. I grew up on it; I love it. But I'm not "an opera singer." I don't have a vibrato you can drive a bus through, and I don't darken my vowels beyond all recognition.

Joe wanted me to sing "I Got You, Babe" with him, and I TOTALLY SHOULD HAVE! That would have been a BLAST! But, no, my control-freak anal-retentiveness kicked in, and my brain screamed, "You can't sing on stage! You haven't even warmed up your voice today!" I'm an idiot.

So poor Joe had to settle for the next best thing: Matt. Matt the eighth grade, tone-deaf, adorable little hobbit, with his untucked shirt and Julius Caeser hair-do. Dude couldn't carry a tune in a leather Coach briefcase, but he sang "Yesterday" with all the finesse he could muster, obviously trying to impress some little female hobbit. I hope it wasn't that one in the up-do and shoes she couldn't walk in -- she was a bitch. She talked smack in the bathroom about the girls at the Loser Table. Meanie!

On the way home, Heather and I were moved by Matt's dulcet tones to explore our own love of music. So we popped in my Wicked CD and sang at the top of our lungs. Thankfully, I had the car's child safety window and door locks employed, so Mord made it home safely, despite his many, many, many,... many threats to hurl himself into traffic.

Posted at 03:40 PM | Comments (2)

Love Means Never Having to Say "Which Goddamn Box Are the Extension Cords In?"

The wait is over!

For our anniversary, I got Husband...

drumroll please...

the Brother P-Touch PT-1750 Desktop Label Maker!!!

AND HE LOVED IT! He was up at 5:00 this morning in the basement using it, swear to God.

And what else he got last night, I'll leave to your vivid imaginations. I'll sure you'll do me proud.

Posted at 09:11 AM | Comments (1)

June 01, 2005

I'm an Idiot: Further Proof

We interrupt this Amish Old Navy commercial to bring you babbling about crap you don't care about, but it's better than actually doing work.

My AMAZING eBay finds arrived yesterday!

I got Barbie in King Kong for ten bucks, and she's actually sitting in a gorilla hand in the box. It's so adorable; she may be the one Barbie I never debox. [insert British lesbian joke here]

Also got the James Bond Barbie -- just the Barbie cuz who needs another friggin' Ken in another friggin' tuxedo -- Ken is the one accessory that Barbie doesn't need any more of. James Bond Ken looks too much like Frank Sinatra and not enough like Sean Connery for my taste.

Hmmm, I wonder when they're gonna come out with a kilted Ken...?

Anyhoo, today is me and Husband's third wedding anniversary. Who'd've thunk it. Three whole years, and still no actual bloodshed (the drillbit incident doesn't count). That's worth celebrating with a steak and a full-priced movie, no? You can send condolence e-cards to Husband via slaveofduty@yahoo.com. I'll be sure to forward them along.

(BTW. I love Anne, who called me and said, "Dude, your job sucks. It's 3:00, I'm bored, and you haven't blogged, yet." She's gonna be so disappointed with this.)

Speaking of Anne, we had the following conversation yesterday:

Me: Let the records show that it is now 12:53 p.m. on my anniversary, and I haven't so much as a Happy Anniversary from Husband, let alone a Thank You for the roses I sent him.

Anne: Dude. Isn't tomorrow your anniversary?

Me: Oh. Um. Yeah. Crap.

Anne: Okay, how is it that I knew that, and you didn't?!

Me: Uh... cuz you were at the wedding?

Anne: [you're-an-idiot laughter]

Me: Well, Big Boss thought today was Wednesday, so so did I!

Anne: You're an idiot.

I'm an idiot AND a crappy wife because I didn't even get him an anniversary present until today at lunch. I meant to! I've known what to get him for months now! I just haven't actually... gotten in the car and... gone to Office Max.

Yes, I'm shopping for an anniversary gift at Office Max! This is the kind of man I live with! He loves the paper shredder I got him. What?! Shut up!

He gave me my gifties last night. A watch with three leather interchangable bands -- one black, one brown, one red. And a big ol' gift certificate. Does this man know me or what?

Can't tell you what I got him, on the off chance he'll read this. I'll tell you tomorrow. Try not to lose sleep over it.

And this just now from Heather:

H: so, no new blog from the pw?
Me: I'M WORKING ON IT! Gol!
H: sssshaaaaaaaah.

Now get off my back, all of you! More on the Mighty Joe gig tomorrow, I promise.

Posted at 02:36 PM | Comments (1)

I don't need permission, make my own decisions -- that's my per-blog-ative!