August 25, 2005
They're Coming To Take Me Away, Ha Ha!
I am so freaking stressed-out right now. And I don't mean barking-dog-crying-baby-rush-hour-traffic stressed. I mean about-to-implode-into-a-pile-of-goo kind of stress.
This is not the kind of stress cured by a pedicure or cookie dough or a new gown for Barbie. This is the kind of stress that can only be cured by a heavy, blunt object to my skull.
Why so stressed, you ask? Strap in.
Thursday Stress: First meeting with family counselor.
Friday Stress: Talk to Husband's Ex.
Saturday Stress: Throw party for 30 people.
I've given it much thought, while gasping for breath and holding back the projectile-vomit, and I've decided that I have three options here.
One, I can succumb to the ennui already setting in. What with the not-eating and not-sleeping, I'm pretty much one stiff breeze away from just toppling over anyway. Then Willowby can scoop me up, spirit me home, and prop me up on a chaise lounge in front of the parlor window. I'll wear a shawl, clutched around me with trembling hands, and gaze wistfully out of the window as my life ebbs slowly away.
Two, I can embrace my destiny as a white, middle-class, suburban housewife and become addicted to sleeping pills and Zanax (not just for airplane trips anymore!), and perhaps the occassional glass of wine when no one else is home. Just me and the dog, sitting in the silent kitchen, drinking chablis.
Three, I can just let the insanity take over, Hollywood starlet-style. The police will find me at 3:00 a.m., wandering in someone else's backyard, wearing only my underwear and mascara-raccoon-eyes, and talking to Elvis.
Which should Wenchie choose? Call in and vote now! 1-800-CRAZY-PW
Posted at 02:23 PM | Comments (13)August 24, 2005
One-Year Link-Heavy Crapfest
Happy Birthday to Blog!
Happy Birthday to Blog!
Happy Birthday, dear Bloggieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Happy Birthday to Blog!
Well, with all the drama going on, I completely whiffed the One Year Anniversary of when I started blogging -- August 18.
Blogging has brought me much joy, much new friends, and recently, much sorrow.
And now the word much has lost all meaning to me and sounds weird. You know how you do that -- where you say a word over and over again until it becomes nonsense and doesn't mean anything anymore? Much, much, much, much, much. It's how I finally got comfortable with the word VAGINA! C'mon, Mom, try it! (But only if Dad's not around!)
Anyhoo, I figured I'd follow the time-honored tradition of crappy sitcoms and do a "clip show" of the past year. And then I'll jump a shark tank on my motorcycle, have a baby, and my life will officially be over.
Let's pull out the scrapbook, shall we?
Awwwwwww, there's Wenchie's very first post! Cootchie cootchie coo!
(Heh-heh, heh. She said cootchie.)
And who can forget the times wacky Husband had to go to the E.R.? The first time was too bizarre for any less than one, two, three entries. But it wasn't until his second visit that he earned his nickname -- Mr. Drillbit.
We've learned a lot about me over the past year. We've learned that I'm Norwegian, I've starred in a movie, I wrote a Christmas letter (I'm not proud), I love my dog, I'm stupid enough to blog about work, I like to make fun of people, I often enjoy deep, intellectual conversations with my friends, and I'm going to Hell.
And I have scurvy from not eating for a week, and this Diet Coke with Lime isn't helping as much as I thought it would.
And I have a zit on my chin today that can probably been seen from the International Space Station.
Heather, I can't believe you didn't get me a Morningfield's cake for the occassion. The anniversary-occassion. Not the space-zit-occassion.
Posted at 03:11 PM | Comments (3)August 23, 2005
You Get What You Deserve
Well, I got my second piece of hate-mail today. (Dooce, I'm gaining on you!) Too bad, psycho_babbling_brook -- I'm sure you would have liked to have been the first, but Heather's brother beat you to it. Sorry!
Speaking of Heather's Brother's rant, it was really funny, whereas this one is just, well... confusing and weird. I'll let everyone read it in its entirity, to get the full effect:
WTF?You've your panties in a twist because your stepdaughter is going to university? Horrid ppl always find something to complain about.
Get over yourself.
Why are you pissed about? You don't have enough as it is so you want more more more ... you get what you deserve.
How Not to be a Stepmother: Just Read Here
It just gets weirder every time I read it. So let's break it down, and perhaps we can make some sense of it, shall we?
You've your panties in a twist because your stepdaughter is going to university?
She -- and I'm saying she because I don't think men use the word "horrid" -- probably got this from my post about me turning Older Stepdaughter's room into my office. But I just don't see where my panties are any more twisted than usual.
Is it the part where I'm glad that I won't be there for the tearful send-off? Because I'm Norwegian, and all that emotion gives me hives. So clearly, my panties are twisted because... she's off to a great school with a big scholarship and has a great future ahead of her? Hmm. That's odd. I could have sworn I was happy for her. Well, who am I to say? Complete strangers must know best!
Horrid ppl always find something to complain about.
Hee hee! "Horrid!" Who says that anymore?
It reminds me of a nursery rhyme my Gramma used to say to me:
There once was a girl
Who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead,
And when she was good
She was very, very good,
But when she was bad, she was horrid.
I like how they rhymed "forehead" with "horrid."
Anyhoo, I don't really think one needs to be "horrid" to find something to complain about. And I still don't see how I was "complaining" about my stepdaughter going away to college. Very confusing.
Get over yourself.
Why? It's my blog.
Oh no! Do you suppose there's someone there with a gun making her read my blog against her will? Should I call 911? Was psycho_babbling_brook some kind of coded message about where to find her?
Oh, if only there were some way she could stop reading my blog and not have to deal with my inability to get over myself!
Why are you pissed about?
Um, we'll just pretend she said "What" instead of "Why," and didn't end a sentence with a preposition.
So, what am I pissed about? Let's see... I'm pissed about people who drive too slow in the passing lane. I'm pissed about the IKEA shelves that I need for my Barbies not being in stock for four weeks straight! I'm pissed about God letting Britney Spears and Kevin Federline procreate. And I'm pissed about poor grammar.
You don't have enough as it is so you want more more more ...
Oh, this is about me needing more IKEA shelves, isn't it? Well, in my defense, I've tried rotating the Barbies every month so they all get some shelf time, but they're just not happy with that arrangement. And now they've got Xena and G.I. Joe on their side, and frankly, I'm scared that, if I don't comply with their shelving needs, I'm going to wake up one morning to find all the Skippers with their eyes scratched out.
you get what you deserve.
Oh, if only that were true! Wouldn't it be awesome if everyone got what they deserved? What a truly Zen statement you have made there, psycho. Can I call you psycho, for short? Or would you prefer babbling?
See, I think there may be some truth in that statement, no matter how idealistic it seems. After all, Angelina Jolie got what she deserves. She's uber-sexxxy-hott, and she got Brad Pitt. Whereas Jennifer Anniston started that stooooo-pid hairstyle, and she lost Brad Pitt, so I guess she got what she deserved, too.
I think you're onto something here, babbling. I think Brad Pitt needs to come to my house and give me a good spanking.
How Not to be a Stepmother: Just Read Here
BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! I'm sorry, but that's just hilarious! Have I EVER claimed to know how to be a stepmom? Jesus, I'll be the first one to tell you that I have NO FREAKIN' CLUE what I'm doing! Don't EVER follow my example!
* * * * *
I do know what this is about. This is about me blogging about my stepkids. Just as my anger at Husband came out sideways at the girls, I can see now that I'm going to be "getting what I deserve" sideways, too, and in unexpected ways.
And I hope that psycho_babbling_brook gets what she deserves, too. A life full of bunnies and rainbows and gumdrops and bliss. A life deserved by everyone who has never done something stupid out of anger or hurt someone they love.
Posted at 02:02 PM | Comments (4)August 22, 2005
Snow Monkeys?
Subtropic wrote, for no apparent reason whatsoever and appropos of nothing:
Hey wenchie... since you are obviously an expert on the subject of Norwegians... what are the racial slurs for Norwegians? The only ones I know of are "squarehead" and "snow monkey." I'm writing a story and could use one or two more. If there are any.Maybe that's a slur in itself: they're just so darn nice and okeydoke nobody needs to insult 'em!
(And having once observed your head in public, I can attest to the complete lack of right angles or parallel lines, although I can't vouch for what's inside. But your thinking seems too curvaceous to support much squareness.)
First of all, we are not "darn nice and okeydoke!" Underneath these stoic exteriors, we are white-hot burning cauldrons, boiling over with... hot... stuff and... with the passion and... oh screw it. I'm not fooling anyone.
Actually, this is the first I've heard of "squareheads" and "snow monkeys." And I gotta tell ya, I'm not seeing the connection. Nor do I know of any Nordic-type slurs. I mean, we're all just so damn gorgeous, it's hard to come up with anything! So people half-heartedly mock our alabaster skin, and then go home to cry quietly in the dark over the unfairness of it all.
Don't hate me because I'm beautiful!
However, if I were going to mock us, I'd say something like "horn-hats" or "herring-breath."
Yup. That's it. I'm out.
Posted at 04:13 PM | Comments (3)August 19, 2005
Pneumonia Is Pnot Phunny
Adding to my intestinal distress lately, Molly has pneumonia. It started off as kennel cough, which reared it's phlegmy head the day after my parents brought her home, and has since turned into a potentially-fatal case of pneumonia.
Excuse me? How is pneumonia even an issue anymore? Didn't that go the way of consumption and ennui and vapors? It's not like Molly was living in a drafty, mildewy castle on a moor!
Yesterday, the vet gave her a mega-bionic-anti-pneumonia shot and told them, "If she doesn't get better, take her back to ACS, and they'll put her down for you."
HORRIFIED!
You don't give up on your new dog, just because she's costing you an average of $100 a day, and you are on your knees every 10 minutes cleaning up puke or mucus from your oriental rugs! I shudder to think what would happen if little Wenchie had taken sick 35 years ago.
"Oh, the new one? Well, she's got an ear infection, and she's not responding to the rum. Clearly, she's defective, so I think we're just gonna take her back to the hospital. And then I think we'll pick up a new kitchen table at IKEA on the way home."
Also, if Molly dies, it will scar Mom, who won't want to get another dog and risk going thru all this again. So I'll be forced to buy a dog and leave it in their yard in the middle of the night. Is that a felony? Leaving something instead of stealing it? I don't think so. I mean, it's anti-stealing, so logically, I should have one of the felonies erased from my record, no?
Luckily, the drugs have perked Molly up a bit, and she was actually walking about and wagging her tail when I visited her last night. I wanted to comfort Molly, and to talk Mom out of returning her, which was easy to do. (Mom's secretly a softie. Shhhhhhh!)
I also wanted to lecture my Dad on the virtues of taking his turn cleaning up the canine bodily fluids once in a while! Do we all understand now why Mom was reluctant to get another dog? It's because Ward Cleaver considers any kind of caretaking to be woman's work. No one will be surprised the day he doesn't wake up, due to the waffle iron imbedded in his skull.
I go, "Dad, you have to help Mom clean up the dog puke! You wanted a dog, too!"
He goes, "Hey! I shaved my moustache!"
Posted at 01:24 PM | Comments (3)August 17, 2005
HEED MY WARNING!
This would be much easier if I were Catholic. Then I could be talking to some decrepit drunk behind a screen who won't remember what I'm going to say anyway, instead of talking to THE ENTIRE INTERNET.
Yup, it's confession time.
So, y'all know I'm married. And y'all probably know that I'm a stepmom. Yeah, I married a guy with two daughters who were, at the time of our nuptuals, 11 and 14. Now they're 15 and soon-to-be-18.
I HAVE TEENAGED STEPDAUGHTERS.
I'll give you a moment to let the horror of that sink in.
Not because they're particularly horrific people, mind you. But they're teenaged girls. And all teenaged girls, by their very nature, are horrifying. I know -- I was one.
And now? On Mother's Day, I send Mom a big bouquet of flowers and a card thanking her for not killing me, and then I get down on my hands and knees and annoint her feet with scented oils, which kinda freaks out the other people in the brunch buffet line, but screw them. They didn't have to raise me! Seriously, I was an Olympic contender in Eye-Rolling.
So did y'all see the front page headline on Monday's Chicago Tribune? BLOGS CAN BITE! (I'd link to it, but you have to register with your email address to read it, and I don't wanna. Go look it up yourself if you're so interested. Do I have to do everything around here?)
It's all about how blogging can get you in trouble, and it features Heather B. Armstrong, first person to get fired for blogging about work, as if anyone in the world hasn't heard of Dooce, yet! Crimeny!
Folks, I should have listened. I should have heeded Dooce's warning. Heck, the name of her blog is now a verb! How could I ignore that?! Clearly, I'm a retard.
In February, I started a blog on LiveJournal about being a stepmom. I wrote about how much it TOTALLY SUCKS HAIRY DONKEY BALLS to be a stepmom, and I got a lot of empathy and support from strangers who stumbled upon it.
Which is ironic, if I may get dramatic here for a moment. In my home, I often feel like Bart Simpson, jumping up and down, waving my arms and screaming, "Pay attention to me! Pay attention to me!" To no avail. But the people who read and commented on my blog brought me such comfort. I'll miss that.
Anyhoo, the point is, it's gone now. And if you hadn't read it, lemme tell ya, it got MEAN. I mean, Wenchie's trademark snarkiness taken to all new depths. It was really, really bad. Repressed anger is not your friend. I definately needed a place to vent and rant, but it got way outta hand.
And they found it. My stepdaughters found it.
I'll give you a moment to let the horror of that sink in.
How? I don't know. Doesn't matter. Do they know about this one? Meh, probably. But I don't care. I love this website and am damn proud of it.
My marriage? Don't know, yet. There are so many unanswereds. Can anyone ever forgive me? Can the marriage be saved, if we both want it badly enough? When does the next season of "America's Next Top Model" start so I can get my mind off this for a bit?
Am I sorry? You bet your sweet ass I am. Have I learned anything? Um...
DUH!!!
Hey, I know lots of people have gotten fired for blogging, but has anyone gotten divorced because of it? Would I be the first? Would I be famous? Cuz I could really go for a lucrative book deal, and maybe a movie on Lifetime or something.
And the real question. Who would I get to play me -- Kirsten Dunst or Reese Witherspoon...?
Posted at 10:29 AM | Comments (14)August 16, 2005
Fetching Hat Fetched Quite a Price
Okay, I will cop to being every kind of weirdo.
I collect Barbies. Dude, I have over 150 of them prominantly displayed in my office.
I sing Gilbert & Sullivan in my car.
I have Hello Kitty! garbage can and pajama bottoms.
I went to Wizard World.
I blog, for God's sake!
But I will never know what possessed someone to pay $102.50 for a Barbie hat I sold on eBay.
Granted, it's a swell hat -- vintage pink satin pillbox with a little bow on the side. Looks so fetching on Barbie! I'm selling some childhood toys on eBay for a friend of mine (for a 20% cut).
But $102.50? Seriously?! There are people starving in... somewhere! I wouldn't spend that much on a hat for myself! Mainly because I look retarded in hats, what with my moon-face and all. Okay, bad example.
But I think you all get what I'm saying here.
I may be a total spaz, but at least my Barbies aren't wearing outfits that cost more than my outfits! Wait, that's not true. Hard Rock Barbie and a couple of the Silkstones are...
What the hell was this blog about again?
Oh, right, charities for starving people in... various locations. Give generously, my friends!
Posted at 04:10 PM | Comments (2)August 13, 2005
Molly for a Moustache
My father is Norwegian. 100%. This means he is a lot of things. He is tall. He is blond. He is sturdy. He can withstand cold water that would kill a dolphin. He can eat creamed herring without gagging. But he cannot grow a beard.
I mean, dude can hardly grow a chest hair, let alone a full beard. And yet, he tries. Every year on vacation, he stops shaving. And it's so, so sad. He looks like he has the mange.
This year, he took it too far. It was two weeks after he and Mom returned from vacation, and the "beard" and "moustache" (yes, facial hair that lame must be put in quotes) were still there. I was horrified. I mean, that plus the way he dresses -- he looked utterly homeless. I was expecting him to pull out a bible and a megaphone at any moment.
He finally gave up the "beard," praise be to God, be he clung stubbornly to the "moustache." And he grew it down the side of his mouth, too, so it looked like some weird fu-man-choo wanna-be. Ugh.
"Hey, Dad, are you auditioning for the next season of Deadwood?"
We tried EVERYTHING to get him to shave the thing. Every bribe we could think of, which isn't easy, cuz the man already has everything. In his basement. So then we tried the Peer Pressure tactic and had everyone we know tell him how awful it looks.
Mom was growing desparate. She hates facial hair. She also doesn't like dog hair. Or dog drool. Or dog smell. But Dad does. Dad LOOOOOOOOOOVES dogs. He wants one really bad. And fankly, I'd like Mom to have a dog, too, because Dad goes on business trips a lot. And frankly, even when he's there, he's not quite... well,... there.
So Mom pulled out the big guns. She told Dad, "If you shave off your moustache, we can get a dog."
His barber gladly did it for FREE.
Introducing... MOLLY!
They went to the Chicago Anti-Cruelty Society on Friday and came home with this little sweetheart. And I do mean sweetheart! What a serene and loving disposition! How could anyone give up this dog?!
She's a year old and still has some serious growing to do, judging by the size of her feet and how slender she is. Mom and Dad were told she's a German Shepherd mix, and if I had to guess what she's mixed with, I'd definately say Boxer.
Billi went with to choose the dog and brought Boy Child and Girl Child. When they got Molly out of her cage, the first thing Boy Child did was throw himself on her and shove his head in her mouth. Don't be alarmed; this is perfectly normal behavior for Boy Child. And Molly didn't bat an eye. So clearly, she was the right dog. She passed The Boy Child Litmus Test.
Are her ears not the cutest?!
Posted at 05:53 PM | Comments (7)August 11, 2005
And Now, By Popular Demand...
And by demand I mean, um... one person... but she can be very demanding! And she must be obeyed! It has been decreed! Decreed, I tell you!
I think Queen of Ass is a very visually-oriented person. Every time I mention something, she's all jumping up and down and, "Photos, please!"
Here are some of the things that QoA has requested to see in the past month:
1. My New Bracelet from Husband:
The little, silver beads are shaped like dragonflies, and I looooooooove the color! It was made by a young lady who works at our favorite breakfast place in Door County, and I like to support the locals.
2. My Tattoos:
Actually, two of the three. That's my ankle one, designed by my late grandfather, unbeknowst to him. He was a silversmith and worked in a famous jewelry store decades ago. It was called The Kalo Shop, and Grandpa was good. I mean damn good. So good, all his co-workers called him "Mr. Kalo."
He died when I was just a baby, so I never knew him, but I'm very lucky to own several pieces of his jewelry.
Dad still has lots of his drawings, the sketches he made before actually starting a piece. He was very into the acorn-oak-leaf motif -- it's a family thing. Our cabin up north is surrounded by oaks and other hardwoods, and Grandpa named it Oakwood.
When I was in Indian Princesses growing up (a YMCA-sponsored daddy-daughter organization), Dad was Tall Oak and I was Little Acorn. So I took one of Grandpa's broach designs to the Jade Dragon and had them tattoo it on me.
That was ten years ago, and I'm sure he's still rolling in his grave.
This is my first tattoo, on my hip:
I got it in 1990, mind you. BEFORE everyone and their mother got one! I'm the trend-setter. Let the records show that I was cool before anyone else.
3. And for no apparent reason, my pedicure:
Because it takes soaking and buffing and polishing and oiling to make feet look good. I hate feet.
Coming soon: the sword, a rare glimpse of part of my face (I'm an elusive creature), the tattoo on my shoulder, and The Girls.
You know, it's really freakin' hard to take photos of oneself. The angles are just all wrong!
P.S. Remind me to tell you stories of Indian Princesses sometime. We were totally the Delta House of the pseudo-Native-American world.
Posted at 08:21 PM | Comments (5)August 09, 2005
May the Glass Be With You
June 11
Anne and I went on vacation. We talked about lots of dumb stuff, including Glasses of our Childhood. Namely, Burger King Star Wars glasses, McDonald's Peanuts glasses, and the mini A&W mugs you could get at the drive-up, back in the day when eating in your car was a novelty and not a filthy, regretable way of life.
June 19, Father's Day
Dad and I went to the flea market. I found THE PERFECT GIFT for Anne! It's so AWESOME! And that's too much build-up, thereby ensuring that she'll hate it, but even that can't stop me from being so pleased with myself and the perfect alignment of the planets!
June 20
I stupidly emailed Anne, "I bought your birthday present at the flea market yesterday!"
And she replied back, "Is it a Burger King Star Wars glass?"
I shuddered, staring at my computer screen, my heart pounding, my mind racing. Can she see me right now? Does she know what I'm thinking? Can she watch me when I shower? Does she know I got up in the middle of the night last night and ate cold mac 'n' cheese right outta the Tupperware?
Okay, yes, we had talked about the Burger King Star Wars glasses on vacation, but we talked about lots of stuff! And what were the odds of me actually finding one! HOW?! COULD?! SHE?! KNOW?!
Clearly, she's the devil, and I'm the only one who knows, so it's up to me to destroy her. I'm gonna have to call Keanu Reeves or something. He'll know what to do.
I lamely emailed back, "I don't know how to respond to that."
August 8, The Day after Anne's birthday
I totally made her wait until her birthday to open it, even tho' she already knew what it was. I just hate her that much for guessing.
But did she know it was the Darth Vader glass? Huh? Did she? Huh, MISS SMARTY PANTS?!
Posted at 03:26 PM | Comments (3)August 07, 2005
Wenchie Dispenses Sage Advice
So I'm at one of Husband's Ex's family's parties,...
[Which sounds weird, I know, but Husband is still really close with all of them, so I go.]
...and the Ex's 25 year old niece, who has looooooong manicured fingernails and has never before initiated a conversation with me, comes up to me and says, "Oh, Wenchie, you'll know what to do! I have a question."
And my little heart swells with joy and I think, Hey, she needs some advice, and she's turning to ME! This is my chance to really make a difference in the world!
And she goes, "I have this cut inside my nose, and it really hurts! What should I do?"
Mmm hmm.
So I asked, "Why would I know what to do?"
She goes, "Well... cuz... you know... you're old, and you've learned stuff."
Mmm hmm.
So I said, "Use a Q-tip and put some Vaseline up there."
I may be old, but at least I know not enough to cut my nails before I pick my nose, for Pete's sake!
Posted at 08:28 PM | Comments (1)August 05, 2005
My New Underground Lair: Phase One
Oh my stars, my mind is such a void lately. Yes, even more so than usual, smartass. I can't think of anything even remotely interesting to blog about. This isn't even going to be interesting, but at least it has visuals.
(I know this writer's block won't last. It never does. I could never actually shut up for an extended period of time. Next week, I'll write four entries in one day. That's just how my muse works.)
Okay, I just took 5 seconds to take these photos and download them directly into my new computer (and now I have to go take a cold shower because that's just so kewl). I know it's hard to believe because of the fabulous quality, but none of them are staged. Not even the one with the dog. Except that I did remove my bra from the bed.
On Labor Day weekend, Husband's eldest, Ophelia, will go off to college. There will be tears and sobbing and wailing and the rending of garments, and I'm sooooooooooo glad I'll be 6 hours away in Chippewa Falls, WI.
Last week, Ophelia stopped by to clean her stuff outta her room. And now? It's mine, MINE, MINE!!! The room, not her stuff. I don't need any blue nail polish or back issues of Cosmo, thankyouverymuch.
My office is a work in progress that I thought I'd document here, for lack of anything else to blog about. The room is now in Stage One.
Here's where I blog and make myself beautiful:
Can you believe I found a Hello Kitty! garbage can?!
The bed is so outta here:
The poster is The Gashlycrumb Tinies. (Scroll thru the whole alphabet by clicking the little tombstones at the bottom.) I've had it since we got married, but it's taken me this long to convince Husband that it's not completely inappropriate to hang in a house where there are children. "N is for Neville who died of ennui." How is that not hilarious?! ENNUI!!!
I'm gonna need two more of those big IKEA bookcases for the Barbies:
Ooooh, sneak preview of my sword!
I hate this rug. The black shows ALL the Daisy hair:
The dog toy on the floor is a little Snoopy dressed in a bunny costume. It's her favorite! And there's not a tear on it. She just carries it gently around the house.
Coming soon: Out with the bed, in with the huge-ass dresser!
Posted at 08:18 AM | Comments (2)August 03, 2005
100 Things About Me: Part One
[I know this is totally teenagery, but I just can't think of anything to blog about, and I'm currently juggling four projects. Unfortunately, you're the ones who have to suffer for it.]
1. I took piano lessons for 10 years, ages 5 to 15, and I was awesome. Then I quit to coach the varsity track team and meet boys.
2. My shoe size is 8½.
3. I have over 150 Barbies.
4. I don’t eat seafood. My mantra is “Nothing from the sea!” And yes, that includes shrimp. And tuna.
5. When I was a senior in high school, I won the Gwendolyn Brooks Illinois Poet Laureate Award and got to miss my graduation ceremony to go meet her. She was kewl.
6. I wear thong underwear cuz I hate VPL.
7. I have three tattoos. (I can hear Queenie now -- "Pictures, please!")
8. I have the recipe for Tollhouse Chocolate Chip Cookies memorized.
9. I have two sisters.
10. I’m the middle child.
11. I was often mistaken for a boy when I was a kid.
12. I’ve never finished a game of Monopoly. And I don't care.
13. Two years ago, I had my appendix, four inches of intestine, and a mass the size of a softball removed.
14. I still have my wisdom teeth, my tonsils and my gallbladder.
15. When I was little, and the other kids were taking horseback riding lessons or skiing, I was folk dancing.
16. I’m 5’8” in my bare feet.
17. I love the Beatles; can’t stand Elvis.
18. I have a 3 year old yellow lab named Daisy.
19. In 1986, I had mono and slept for three months straight. Prior to diagnosis, I had done ALL the rehearsals for both “Hello, Dolly!” at school and “The Pirates of Penzance” with a local theatre group. I wasn’t able to do any of the performances. I'm still bitter about it.
20. I have cousins who live in Norway and visit us every few years.
21. I have no qualms about skinny dipping, anytime, anywhere.
22. I suck at sports and hated every moment of every gym class. Except for the one day I climbed the rope to the top of the gym and was one of only three girls to make it into The Tarzan Club.
23. I cannot snap my fingers.
24. I didn’t get my period till I was 15.
25. I gained an entire bra cup-size when I was 20, without gaining any weight.
26. I’m the only one in my house who knows how to load a dishwasher.
27. From the time I moved out of my parents’ house at 19 to when I married Husband at 32, I moved nine times. I owe sooooooo many people!
28. Favorite authors in junior high: V.C. Andrews and Stephen King.
29. Favorite authors now: Neil Gaiman and Tom Robbins.
30. I lost my virginity two weeks before my 17th birthday.
31. I’ve seen “The Princess Bride” over 20 times, most of those in the theatre.
32. My favorite movie of all time is “Young Frankenstein.” It’s just brilliant.
33. When I shave my legs, I miss three hairs on each kneecap EVERY SINGLE TIME.
34. When my Mom was preggo with me, she was so sure I was going to be a boy, they didn’t even bother to pick out a girl name. I was Bradley. On the way home from the hospital, they got my name from a billboard. True story.
35. When I was little, my Mom wouldn’t let us get a dog, so she let us have hamsters, mice and gerbils. I named all mine after Gilbert & Sullivan characters. Nerd alert!
36. I weighted 8 lbs. 14 oz. at birth.
37. I love garlic.
38. I am Second Generation American.
39. My eyes are blue-grey.
40. I’ve noticed my CD collection consists of a large percentage of soundtracks -- movie and musical.
41. I have both my earlobes double-pierced, but I haven’t worn any earrings in the second holes for years.
42. I got an A in every single English class I ever took. EVER.
43. I flunked out of Algebra II in high school.
44. I’m a mezzo soprano.
45. Currently, I have participated in 156 transactions on eBay.
46. I’ve been on David Letterman’s show, twice. And yes, I mean on stage, not in the audience. And no, it wasn’t for Stupid Human Tricks.
47. Luke Perry once checked out my ass.
48. I have a dead tooth (a canine) and a veneer on it.
49. I hate pot roast. It's stringy.
50. I very deeply believe the old adage that Actions Speak Louder Than Words.
Posted at 03:13 PM | Comments (6)August 02, 2005
Arrr, I Got Yer Pirate Butt Right Here!
Well. I am humbled. My stats say I had 388 unique visitors stay for over a minute in July. (If they stay for less than a minute, they're probably spiders, robots, worms, ex-boyfriends, etc.)
If I added together all my relatives, friends, co-workers, health care providers, casual acquaintances, enemies, minions, stalkers, bank tellers, grocery baggers and neighbors, I STILL don't know 388 people.
So for 388 sentient beings to be -- freely and of their own will -- reading my dorky blog, well, that's fucking AMAZING. Now, if each of my 388 readers were to send me a dollar...
Top Ten Search Keyphrases for July
1. pirate wench
2. piratewench.org
3. wench
4. morningfield s
5. naked wench
6. gagged pirate queen
7. owen wilson licks ass
8. slutty pirate
9. owen wilson licks butt
10. pirate butt
To all of you who wanted to know more about Owen Wilson's ass-licking habit, I say -- WELCOME! You have a home here! Come, be enfolded in the bosom of acceptance! No one here will judge you for your pervy, tongue-bathing fetish! We embrace normal people and sickos alike!
Get great Halloween costumes at our convenient costume store online. Everything you need in costumes from A to Z. Pirate costumes and even adult costumes for dress-up time or for fun!
Posted at 03:11 PM | Comments (2)
Daisy
And for no apparent reason, my dog, on vacation from her otherwise grueling and dreary life:
'Cause...!!!
It's my Hott Boss' birthday, so I made his favorite cookies for him -- Snickerdoodles. He was scarfing them down and offering one to everyone who walked by his cube. So I IMed him. (Yeah, I installed AOL IM on his computer specifically so I could annoy his cocky ass with as little effort as possible on my part.)
PW: Dude, you don't have to make sure they're all eaten TODAY.
HB: yes i do
PW: Um... why?
HB: cause
PW: You're like a petulant teenager with the monosyllabic answers.
HB: so
seriously... he should have a Xanga account cuz he types like a high school freshman!!!! ; P
Posted at 12:14 PM | Comments (2)August 01, 2005
Sure, She's Smart, But Can She Spell "Precocious"?
Here's a conversation my sister Billi had with The Girl Child (4-1/2) while they were looking at kids' costumes in a catalog...
Billi: Awww, here's a baby dressed as Humpty Dumpty!
Girl Child: I don't like Humpty Dumpty because I don't like off-the-wall comedy. [points to a baby dressed as Elvis] Who's this?
Billi: I don't think you know him. That's Elvis.
Girl Child: Oh, I know him. He's sexy.
The Girl Child has plans to run for mayor next year, as long as the voters don't hold her Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue pictoral against her.
Yeah, Billi's screwed.
Posted at 03:56 PM | Comments (1)Little Christians All Over the Place
COOLEST THING EVER
And you can bet your sweet ass I did CHRISTIAN BALE.
Oh, and Bruce Campbell. Can't forget Bruce. He was in town this weekend, and the idiot forgot to renew the restraining order. So you know what that means! Mwah ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaaa!
Posted at 01:50 PM | Comments (3)