November 30, 2005

The Cure for the Grocery Blues

I hate grocery shopping. It's boring. There are geezers and people on cell phones in my way. Hauling groceries inside and putting them away makes my soul grieve for all the time I could be spending not wrangling groceries. And I hate cooking, which is grocery shopping's inevitable conclusion. Mind you, I loooooooooove eating. But groceries numb my noggin.

To make it more bearable, today, I decided to take a long lunch and do my shopping at the Dominick's near my work. That way, I'm somewhat comforted by the fact that I'm getting paid to do my grocery shopping.

(Yeah, I don't know how I keep my job, either. Probably because my boss doesn't know how to fax, or cut and paste.)

It was weird, going in. I don't like new places. I am old, crotchety and set in my ways. It was very scary. The deli in this place is about the size of my usual store. So many meats and cheeses! So many dips and salads I've never seen before! They had Brandy, Raisin and Brown Sugar Baked Brie that I could just heat and serve, for God's sake!!!

I am weeping with joy and longing as I type this.

And the soups! Each in its own clearly-labeled plastic compartment! Not all jumbled together on a shelf with other soups so you have to dig to find the one you want because the little label on the shelf edge said the cream of mushroom must be here goddammit so where is it?! Oh, truly, it was a thing of obsessive-compulsive beauty.

And how many yogurts and smoothies? ALL OF THEM! You know how you see an ad in a magazine of ten different flavors of yogurt, but you get to the store, and they only carry four of them, and certainly not the peach-raspberry? THIS STORE HAS EVERY FLAVOR OF EVERYTHING EVER INVENTED!!!

Ahhh, I'm still shaking. The whole experience was terrifying and exhilerating all at once. Like sex with a stranger. So I've heard.

I know I paid out my suburban ass for all of it, but it's sooooooooo worth it for the White Chicken, Roasted Garlic, Spinich, Mozzerella Alfredo Pizza alone!

So if you, like me, hate grocery shopping, the solution is just a simple change of scenery, and Spinach, Artichoke and Four Cheese Pockets heat-n-serve appetizers. Or? You can do like Nicholle does -- go to the local Polish grocery store and play Mystery Meal because you can't read the labels.

Posted at 02:20 PM | Comments (2)

November 29, 2005

Nuttin' for Christmas

Are you guys familiar with the song "Nuttin' for Christmas"? It was written in 1955, and the only reason I know of it is because it's on the Dr. Demento Christmas Album. It's charming little diddy about a young lad who has strayed slightly from the path of righteousness.

Anyhoo, the Chorale that I sing with has it in the Christmas program this year. We needed a few light things to balance out the Schubert and the Buxtehude. The words are a bit out-dated:

Nuttin' for Christmas

I broke my bat on Johnny's head;
Somebody snitched on me.
I hid a frog in sister's bed;
Somebody snitched on me.
I spilled some ink on Mommy's rug,
I made Tommy eat a bug,
Bought some gum with a penny slug;
Somebody snitched on me.

Oh, I'm gettin' nuttin' for Christmas,
Mommy and Daddy are mad.
I'm gettin' nuttin' for Christmas,
'Cause I ain't been nuttin' but bad.

I put a tack on teacher's chair;
Somebody snitched on me.
I tied a knot in Susie's hair;
Somebody snitched on me.
I did a dance on Mommy's plants,
Climbed a tree and tore my pants,
Filled the sugar bowl with ants;
Somebody snitched on me.

Oh, I'm gettin' nuttin' for Christmas,
Mommy and Daddy are mad.
I'm gettin' nuttin' for Christmas,
'Cause I ain't been nuttin' but bad.

So you better be good, whatever you do,
'Cause if you're bad I'm warning you,
You'll get nuttin',
You'll get nuttin',
You'll get nuttin' for Christmas.

Cute, but definately archaic. I mean, what the hell is a penny slug? So K decided that we needed new words -- if not for the concert, then at least to freak the hell outta the director at the dress rehearsal. And guess who she asked?

This is what I came up with:

Nuttin' fer Xmas, 2005

I stole a car and sped through town;
Somebody snitched on me.
I stabbed to death a circus clown;
Somebody snitched on me.
I dissected the neighbor's pet,
Snuck a gun on board a jet,
Searched for porn on the internet;
Somebody snitched on me.

Oh, I'm gettin' nuttin' for Christmas,
Mom and her boyfriend are mad.
I'm gettin' nuttin' for Christmas,
'Cause I ain't been nuttin' but bad.

I handcuffed Susie to a chair;
Somebody snitched on me.
Stole her cash and shaved her hair;
Somebody snitched on me.
I farted during Sunday mass,
Went kung-fu on Tyler's ass,
Smoked pot during English class;
Somebody snitched on me.

Oh, I'm gettin' nuttin' for Christmas,
Stepmom and Daddy are mad.
I'm gettin' nuttin' for Christmas,
'Cause I ain't been nuttin' but bad.

So you better be good, whatever you do,
'Cause if you're bad I'm warning you,
You'll get nuttin',
You'll get nuttin',
You'll get jack-shit for Christmas.

An instant classic, if I do say so myself!

---

If you don't know what gift to get for Christmas for your friends and family, try Christmas gift baskets! A huge selection of holiday gift baskets as well as various fruit baskets and great gifts for people at the office or your favorite teacher!

---

Posted at 10:37 AM | Comments (10)

November 28, 2005

I Put the $ in Chri$tma$

Here's Husband and I, Christmas shopping for The Girl Child:

H: Ooooh, here's a kit where she can uncover bones and pretend she's an archeologist!

PW: Omigod, they have the CUTEST Hello Kitty! shirts!

H: What about this keyboard? It teaches them to read music!

PW: I wonder what size shoes she wears now...

H: Hey, she can design build her own rollercoaster!

PW: Look -- sparkley!

Husband is all about the teaching and crafting and nurturing, and I'm just all about the bling.

I think it's clear who is the better influence here.

...

I meant me, idiots.

Posted at 01:49 PM | Comments (2)

November 24, 2005

Thanksgiving Photo Gallery

Brace yourself -- here's my Thanksgiving centerpiece.

Yeah, it's a little... busy. But hey, can you ever have too many gourds? I think not! We're not actually having Thanksgiving dinner at our house, but I like to set the table according to the season, regardless. I change it every month -- tablecloth, placemats, candles, bric-a-brack. I should do a montage for you guys sometime, in case you still have a shred of respect for me.

This is my dollie, Marie. She used to live at my Gramma's house, but when Gramma died, I got to keep her.

My friend Joe (of Barbie fame) sews doll clothes and made me a whole slew of clothes for her, including a little 7-piece Witch/Pilgrim/Nun ensemble. Just change a couple accessories and voila! A whole new costume! Yes, I change her clothes every month, too. What? My shrink said it's good to have hobbies!

These are a couple of things I'm thankful for this year, but I can't say them at dinner this evening because you're supposed to say stuff like "continued good health" and "all the loved ones gathered around this table" blah blah blah.

From left to right: From Philosophy, Ultra Rich Shampoo, Conditioner and Body Wash, Cinnamon Buns scent; Frango Candy Cane Chocolates; Beanpod Soy Candle, Sugar Cookie scent. (Beanpod Candles give off no soot when they burn!) My life is richer because they're in it.

My contribution to the Thanksgiving feast.

In less than an hour, these docile-looking ingredients will become that treasured culinary favorite -- Green Bean Casserole!

Now who could resist this face?

I could, especially when there's stuffing involved.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, people. And remember, today is the day the police get the highest number of domestic disturbance calls. Guns don't kill people -- holidays do. God bless.

Posted at 11:04 AM | Comments (5)

November 23, 2005

Nick C. -- Today the V-Show, Tomorrow the World!

Time once again for the Annual Review of Local High School's V-Show. Strap in.

Ghostbusters: The opening number, in which everyone in the whole show comes out and sings one song with the stage band. Didn't "Ghostbusters" come out when they were all still in diapers? Proving that even they know that new music is crap.

Frankenstein: Next, the stage band -- in which Case plays trumpet -- did "Frankenstein" by the Edgar Winter Group, which was really cool.

I Want You To Need Me: Hmm. "Ghostbusters"? "Frankenstein"? Do I detect a horror motif this year? Well, that would certainly explain this act. Piano, female vocalist, some song I don't know. She must've been the only female solo who auditioned. And she must've been sleeping with all three student directors. And she must've kidnapped their families and thrown them in a pit with Catherine and Precious, because she SUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKED. Even Husband, who is generally of the oh-these-fine-kids-are-so-brave-to-get-up-there-and-perform ilk, was flashing me alternating looks of pain and astonishment.

Graceful Ghost Rag: The obligatory piano solo, which was a rag. The piece, not the soloist. So it was pretty good. Nothing Case or I couldn't play. In fact, way back in time, I auditioned for the same v-show with a ragtime piece. But I was blacklisted from v-show that year because I had punched one of the student director's girlfriend in the mouth because she pulled my hair because I intercepted her note in art class. Ah, good times.

Compared To What: I'm going to skip a description of this garage band, as the drummer made it impossible to hear anything.

The Thoughts I've Been Thinking: The big dance number this year was really good and really clever. I'm sooooooooo tired of seeing high school girls dressed in butt floss and push-up bras, writhing on the floor to piped-in club music. But this year's number was "If I Only Had a Brain" (hey,... naaah, too easy), played by the stage band and sung by one of the male students. The choreography was cute and very scarecrowy, the singer was great, and I didn't have to avert my eyes from any under-aged flesh.

Outlines: I can't remember what this was.

Fool on the Hill: Ah, an act with a message. I think. Or something. The guy playing the piano and singing was mediocre, but it was the rest of the stuff going on that I really had a problem with. There was a guy sitting on a bench, with his back to the audience, holding a blue balloon. Then there were several other characters randomly entering and exiting the stage -- mom with stroller, young lovers, guy selling red balloons, little girl on bike, and maybe a couple others, I don't remember. And at the end, the bench guy is the only one on stage, and he lets go of the balloon. Ooooooooh, how very poignant. Whatever.

If I Am: Guy with a guitar. Husband thought he was good. I thought he sang through his nose.

Weapons of Mass Percussion: This TOTALLY ROCKED THE HOUSE! Drumline, black light, glowing sticks and drums and confetti -- I could've listened to them all night! They really should've put them on later in the show because, really, they made all the acts after them look like ass. Well, almost all, as we shall see.

Intermission

Count Badula's Box & Toccata Blues: This was a swing version of Bach's Toccata in D minor, performed by the stage band. Neat arrangement, and they're very tight for a group of kids. What? I don't always have to be mean!

Thriller: Ah, just when I thought I wouldn't have to experience underaged pole-dancing -- HOOKER ZOMBIES! Bad concept, lame costumes, unimaginative choreography. They shouldn't have been made to follow the Scarecrows. Oh, if they only had a brain.

Bouree: Don't remember this either. Sounds like soup, but I don't remember anything about soup. Oh, wait -- I remember! This was Ophelia's hott friend-but-not-a-boyfriend rocking out on the flute like Jethro Tull! How could I forget that?! He was amazing!!! I bet 90% of the rest of the cast hate him for making them look like talentless knobs.

Mr. Brightside: I think this was the one decent garage band there. You know what I wanna see one year? Teenaged boys dressed in brightly-colored polos and kahkis with their hair combed, totally rocking out. Now THEY would be true rebels. Like when Metallica all cut their hair short. Hott.

My Kind of Town: Remember Nick C. of world domination fame? Well, I finally found out who he is. He sang this song, with piano and stage band back-up, and he ABSOLUTELY BROUGHT THE HOUSE DOWN. I actually whoo-hoooooooed at a high school variety show -- that's how fucking amazing this kid is. And you know what? I'm now totally jealous that someone else has claimed Nick C. for their own world domination scheme because he's clearly someone you'd want on your side. I mean, one has to sell one's soul to Satan for that kind of talent, no? God only doles out the rainbow-and-kitten-related talent, like writing children's books, or knitting doll clothes, or painting Christmas cards with your toes because you lost your arms in a combine accident. It's Satan that makes you sing so awesome that young girls throw their panties at you and grown women seriously consider committing a felony. Dude obviously has Satan in his corner, so he'd be damn handy in any world domination scheme.

The Jimi Hendrix Experiment: A dozen kids on various string instruments doing "Purple Haze." Waaaaay cooler than it sounds.

Melissa: I just had Satan's minion and Jimi Hendrix thrown at me. Do you really expect me to remember anything else?

In My Life: Ugh. When did these become a tradition? All the seniors willing to humiliate themselves by participating, sing a sappy song while photos of themselves flash on a screen. I think I said "self-indulgent tripe" last year, but I'll say it again. Self-indulgent tripe. Needless to say, I was not one of those girls who cried during the bows of the last performance of "Brigadoon" senior year.

None of the Above - Keep the Scene Alive: I don't even know what that means. This band was so bad, the audience was actually laughing. I want the names of the yabbos who picked this act and put it on last, and I want them dead. I want their families -- dead. I want their houses -- burnt. I want their cars -- blown-up.

Gonna Build a Mountain: Traditional ending, and the cast still doesn't know the words. Some things never change.

Now I'm gonna send my parents a big box of cookies for enduring four v-shows and telling me, quite convincingly, that they were good.

Posted at 12:20 PM | Comments (2)

November 21, 2005

Munchkin

I was staying overnight at Billi's, and I helped give Boy Child a bath. And by helped, I mean sat on the counter and laughed at Boy Child's first stiffy. I'm so proud!

Now, he had the beginnings of a bit of diaper rash, so after the bath and before the footie pajamas, Billi put some Desitin on the red spots and then doused the whole area with baby powder.

Boy Child looked down upon his wee little freshly-powdered package and exclaimed, "Donut!"

Posted at 09:30 AM | Comments (4)

November 18, 2005

A Week of MTPB

Music To Pee By

dedicated to Nicholle
who coined the phrase

Monday, 10:32 a.m.
Favorite Things - Rogers & Hammerstein
I have no problem with this song, but what do you do when someone's in the bathroom and you really have to take a dump, and you know it's gonna be bad cuz you nearly died from your own farts? Do warn them? Do you painfully squeeze your buttcheeks together until they leave? Do you just go for it and figure, Hey, that's what we're here for?

Monday, 4:11 p.m.
Music of the Night - Andrew Lloyd Weber
Dear Christ, does anyone need to hear this EVER AGAIN?

Tuesday, 9:43 a.m.
From a Distance - Bette Midler
Now, I love Bette, I do, but what I want from Bette is tulle and tits and sequins and naughty banter. I don't want a message from God, and I sure don't want to be reminded that He's watching me... while I launch a sea-pickle.

Tuesday, 3:51 p.m.
Send in the Clowns - *sigh*
I wish I were making this up. I really do.

Wednesday, 10:19 a.m.
Cannon in D - Pachabel
Hasn't this song been played at enough weddings that it doesn't need to be played anywhere else, ever?

Wednesday, 11:35 a.m.
Tears in Heaven - Eric Clapton
I cry every damn time I hear this song. Without fail. And you know, if you're crying alone in a bathroom stall at work, it's really time to re-evaluate your life.

Wednesday, 1:36 a.m.
Lara's Theme - Some Russian Guy
My deepest regret is the eighteen hours of my life that I wasted watching this three-hour movie.

Thursday, 10:07 a.m.
The Music Box Dancer - Some Sick, Unimaginative Bastard
I took piano lessons for ten years when I was younger. My Mom made me learn this and play it over and over and over and over and over and over...

Thursday, 12:05 p.m.
Wind Beneath My Wings - Bette Midler
Every time I hear this song, I die a little bit inside. I came home from work once to find my first husband sitting alone, in the dark, watching Beaches and crying. When I stopped laughing, I told him to "Get a fucking job!"

Thursday, 3:04 p.m.
Witchcraft - Frank Sinatra
This song always makes me think of when Bart Simpson was working for the Springfield mob, and he walks into the kitchen singing this song and tells Marge to, "Gimme three fingers of milk."

Friday, 10:07 a.m.
Memory - Andrew Lloyd Weber
Oh, God, seriously?

Friday, 12:29 p.m.
Blue Velvet - ...I have no idea
All I can hear is Dennis Hopper screaming, "Mommyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!"

[If this list seems short, it's because some of the music was unidentifiable by me, not because I've stopped peeing every 20 minutes.]

Posted at 02:01 PM | Comments (6)

November 16, 2005

Doncha Wanna Fanta?

People! I do NOT like going to the bathroom at 2:30 and finding a bit of BBQ sauce from lunch on my chin! WHY WOULD YOU NOT TELL ME???

I hate you all. Punks.

Making me walk around with BBQ sauce on my face for two hours. Assholes. You think that's funny? Huh?!

Oh, and God forbid I should eat a spinach salad! I might not find out until I brush my teeth that night!

You know what? Restaurants should have little mirrors in the booths so patrons can check themselves before leaving. Or a little handmirror at the table or something.

And? It should be socially acceptable to tuck the tablecloth into your collar.

And speaking of horribly awkward segues about people spilling food on themselves, Nicholle dripped Chef Boy-R-Dee on her sweater and then dabbed it with Fresca.

This just in: Fresca is not Club Soda.

Posted at 02:43 PM | Comments (4)

November 15, 2005

Sneeze On Me

When I was married to Mr. Raging Alcoholic, I could count on a sinus infection every November. And not just any sinus infection, nooooo. The kind of sinus infection that eventually travels to your ear, and then your brain, and makes your doctor yell, "Why did you wait so long to come in?!"

"I thought I just had a cold!"

"Your pain tolerance is too high -- I wouldn't have lasted 24 hours with this."

Of course, I see this as a badge of psychotic honor. I CAN TAKE THE PAIN, YA PUSSY!

There was also the stomach flu every spring, the summer cold, the winter cold... you see where I'm going with this? Stress is bad for your immune system, as scientifically documented in my blog.

But nowadays? Now that I don't have to worry about whether to pay the phone bill or buy groceries? Now that I don't have to bail anyone outta jail? Now that I no longer have to wonder why a couple Teamsters "owe us a favor?" I can't even work up a good case of the sniffles.

I have been well for faaaaaaaaar too long.

Oh, I've taken a few sick days this year, but mostly it's to go build a bear at Hot Topic. Or wherever. What was that store called again...? Or it's because I have a paltry headache. Not even a migraine -- just a my-ponytail-is-too-tight kind of headache. Took one day for P.M.S. But a good stretch where you come back and people act all concerned for your life, but they're really just trying to discern if you're still contageous? No such luck.

Every once in a while, I'll go to bed achy and with a sore throat, only to be good as new in the morning, dammit.

I want a day off! I have a brand spankin' new (and I do mean spankin') Xena DVD collection to watch! I wanna hang out on the couch in my new fleece jammies with little sheep on them! I wanna call into work and not have to use my fake scratchy-voice that no one is buying anyway!

I think I'm gonna go lick the faucet handles in the bathroom.

Posted at 02:09 PM | Comments (5)

November 14, 2005

Closing Doors

Husband is physically unable to close anything or turn off anything.

Examples:

1. When getting silverware/toothpaste/potholder, he always leaves the drawer open an inch or so. AL. WAYS.

2. He leaves for work after I do, so I often come home to find that the water in the bathroom is still running. A thin stream, yes, but one that's been on for EIGHT. HOURS.

(He moves me to superfluous. periods. like no one can!)

3. I often come home to find the back door unlocked, and sometimes, even STANDING. OPEN.

4. He'll be in his office in the back of the basement, and yet EVERY. LIGHT. IN THE HOUSE. is on.

Makes. Me. Mental.

I've even come home a few times to find the garage door open. Like Thursday night. You know, after working a full 7.5 hours (quit laughing!), I just want to have a fudgcicle and look at catalogs. I don't appreciate having to enter my home with my musket at the ready and do a sweep of the entire house.

But my irritation turned to puke when I saw that the door from the garage to the house was also open. And Daisy wasn't running to greet me.

DAISYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!

Somewhere in the universe, Kahn is thinking, "Damn, that bitch is loud."

Somewhere in Milwaukee, Husband got a call from his whimpering, completely FREAKED OUT wife.

PW: DID YOU COME HOME BEFORE LEAVING FOR MILWAUKEE?! [Please, God, tell me he only left the door open for two hours instead of eight.]

H: No. Why?

PW: Because... [Wait a minute. I left after him this morning. So if he didn't come home this afternoon, then...] BECAUSE I LEFT THE GARAGE DOOR OPEN AND DAISY IS GONE!!!

The horror of my dog being gone was quickly replaced by the even more horrifying thought -- IT WAS MY FAULT! I left my house wide open for burglars and crackwhores and ninjas and teenagers and raccoons!

But how could that be?! I'm the responsible one! I'm the one who walks around the house turning off lights! I put everything away! I lock up tight before going to bed! I'M NOT THE STUPID ONE!

Except Thursday, when I was.

But I still totally blamed it on Husband when I called the police and asked if they had picked up a runaway dog. I mean, c'mon, what were the odds? He leaves shit undone all the time; I did it ONCE. It's more-likely-to-the-bajillionth-power that he'd be the harbinger of some disaster! So really, was it a huge stretch that I blamed it on him? No. No, it wasn't.

So the cop asked me the make and model of the dog I was looking for. Like, do people do that? Randomly call up police stations and hope there's a stray they can claim for their own? They'd still have to pay the $20 Dog Without Tags and $20 Dog Running at Large tickets (yeah, that's right), so it's not that much cheaper than just going to the Anti-Cruelty Society and picking up a pooch.

Then again, I've been to the Anti-Cruelty Society, and believe me, you get waaaaaaaay less hassle from the cops.

Isn't Dog Running At Large a great name for a band?

Anyhoo, before you people start sending me hate mail about WHY DON'T YOU HAVE TAGS FOR YOUR DOG? SHE NEEDS TO BE REGISTERED AND HAVE ALL HER SHOTS! Relax. Take a deep breath. Have an egg nog shake from Steak 'n' Shake -- they're fabulous.

I do have tags for Daisy. They just aren't on her when she's inside because they're noisy and annoying, and the whole point of this is that I wasn't expecting her to be outside that day.

The people at the animal hospital where she was impounded -- like a car, minus the Denver Boot -- were really nice. They didn't even charge me, so I thanked them profusely for taking good care of my dog.

And how do I know they took such good care of her? Because, when it was time to leave, she was like, "I'm sorry, what? You want me to leave these nice people, and the little puppy they let me play with, and the treats, and the petting, and the land of milk and honey, to go with the woman who left me to be eaten by wild animals? I don't think so."

But the part that really chaps my ass? This means I can no longer rag on Husband for leaving stuff open. Dammit.

Posted at 01:51 PM | Comments (3)

November 11, 2005

Two Conversations, One Smart Secretary

Head Boss: Could you make me a folder called Avian Bird Flu?

Pirate Wench: You know that's redundant, right?

HB: What?

PW: Avian bird.

HB: ...

PW: Avian means bird.

HB: No it doesn't. I once dated a girl who worked at a zoo.

PW: An aviary is where birds live. An aviator is someone who flies, like a bird.

HB: Oh. You're so smart!

So of COURSE, I had to relay this to Heather (via IM). My main motive being, to crack her up. My hidden motive being, to prove to her that, although I need her to proofread my blog every day, I still know stuff about things. THINGS!!!!!!!!!

H: i dated a girl who worked at a zoo?

PW: I know, that's like, "I'm not a doctor, but I play one on t.v."

H: i know!

PW: I'm married to a landscape architect, but I can't remember to water a fecking plant

H: I dated a cop, but that doesn't mean I know what to do at a traffic stop

PW: I dated a clown, but that doesn't mean I've killed people!

Posted at 10:51 AM | Comments (5)

November 10, 2005

Work Reviews

It's time again for Employee Reviews. Now, I understand that, for many people, reviews are a way of making sure that both you and your boss know that you've worked your ass off, taken on more responsibilities and totally deserve a big, fat raise.

In my case, however...

Why are you laughing?

In my case, a review is just pointless. What is my boss going to say? "File faster! Type smarter, not harder! Xerox outside the box!"

Seriously. I work as hard as I need to in order to do my work in a timely fashion, which rarely requires me to work my ass off. And my responsibilities just... never change. (And I married up, so I don't really need a big, fat raise.)

And Head Boss, God bless him, he doesn't even know what time I get in every morning, let alone what I do all day. How is he supposed to fill out a five-page questionairre on my performance? And how am I supposed to read it with a straight face?

He really shouldn't be required to say more than, "No complaints. Occassionally types my daughter's papers. Great hair."

So he says to me, "Wenchie, do you mind if I just copy what I wrote last year?"

"Go ahead. It's not like I'm actually gonna read it."

Meh, at least he's not making me write it myself. Although I'm sure it crossed his mind.

Posted at 02:57 PM | Comments (1)

Just To Be Clear

Several of you have inquired as to my whereabouts over the weekend.

By CNNRadio's Matt Cherry and Amanda Moyer

Saturday, November 5, 2005; Posted: 9:45 p.m. EST (02:45 GMT)

(CNN) -- A luxury cruise line will re-evaluate whether to offer future cruises off the coast of Somalia after pirates attempted to attack one of its ships early Saturday.

For the record, I was nowhere near Somalia on Saturday. I was at The Girl Child's birthday party, eating Hello Kitty! cake and coveting Girl Child's new Barbies.

Yup.

That's my story, and I'm stickin' to it.

Posted at 11:04 AM | Comments (1)

November 08, 2005

It's a Small World After All

After five years of promising to do so, Head Boss FINALLY hired an assistant for Chick Boss. I guess I will call her Asst. Chick Boss.

Now the women outnumber the men in our department (one step closer to my World Domination Vision...), so we toasted our majority at a local eatery.

We talked about what we did over the weekend, and Asst. Chick Boss said that she went to hear her sister's husband's band play.

ACB: He grew up in P.R., so sometimes they play around here, and when they do, I like to go hear them.

PW: He grew up in P.R.? So did I! What's his name? I might know his family.

ACB: Kenneally.

PW: Holy crap. First name?

ACB: Matt.

PW: SHUT! UP!

ACB: Do you know him?

PW: Yeah, I only went to kingergarten through senior year with him!

Actually, Billi knew him better than I did, as she dated one of his friends and they hung-out. In fact, I seem to recall that Billi and I took Matt and a different friend to our cousin's wedding because e knew they'd actually dance with us (an endeavor most men won't even attempt), and neither of us had a boyfriend at the time anyway.

And I'm pretty sure I was wearing a tunic-length sweater over a mini-skirt and cream-colored tights. So yeah, that's how long ago THAT was.

So I asked how he's doing, and what he's doing, and she's all, "Yeah yeah yeah -- have your sister give me some dirt on him!"

Oh man. That's so mean. I knew him in high school. No one should have to answer for their high school crap when they're in their thirties. I know I wouldn't want to!

Instead, I think I'll just see if Billi wants to come with Asst. Chick Boss and I, next time they play around here. If you're in the area, check out 750 South State. I think Matt plays the banjo or something.

Posted at 01:38 PM | Comments (3)

November 07, 2005

Moo

I got the most hilarious birth announcement in the mail. I know -- "hilarious birth announcement" sounds like an oxymoron, especially considering that most parents tend to be very reverent about their new off-spring. Most birth annoucements are all water-color pastels and downy angel wings and soft-focus photos.

This one is quite different.

On one side is the name and stats of the new baby: date, weight, batting average, turn-ons, turn-offs, that kind of stuff.

On the other side is a photo of their firstborn -- a boy who is about two now. I'm assuming the photo was taken at a petting zoo. You know how they have those big cardboard pictures of animals with a cut-out hole where the face is, so you can put your face in there and take a picture of you looking like a kangaroo or ape or whatever?

Well, they put Firstborn in the cardboard picture of baby cow, and the baby cow has a word balloon over its head saying, "My mother can make 10 gallons of milk a day!"

Best. Birth announcement. EVER.

Posted at 09:26 AM | Comments (2)

November 06, 2005

Getting Ready

I had spent Saturday morning being domestic. I was wearing the jeans I had raked leaves in and the shirt I had baked cookies in. We were due at The Girl Child's birthday party in an hour.

Husband contemplated the contents of his closet and asked me, "How dressed up are you going to get?"

"...I might change my shirt."

Posted at 06:51 PM | Comments (0)

November 04, 2005

Here Comes... The Bride!

Now that the All About Wenchie birthday week is over, I have to put up with A YEAR of All About Heather. Why? She done gone and got herself engaged.

There'll be no living with her now.

I now need a new name by which to mock her, and since Bridezilla is already taken (by that heinous t.v. show that encourages young women to act like monsters to that the rest of us can watch smugly and say to the men in our lives, "Well, at least I'm not that bitchy."), I'm considering the following:

1. Bride Kong

2. Frankenbride

3. Bride-ula

4. Bride of the Black Lagoon

5. Bride of the Opera

6. The Invisible Bride

7. Bride of Bride

8. Attack of the 50 Foot Bride

9. Jurassic Bride

10. The Bride!

Well, you get the picture.

She's getting hitched in Vegas, and I am crossing my fingers for the Elvis Chapel! Because, for one, it would make a GREAT blog entry, and two, I'd get to wear jeans.

The other option I'm rooting for is having the service on some Spanish gallion or something, because then I can dress like a pirate. And rape the bride.

Initially, I think I was in the running for Bridesmaid, and lemme just tell you -- I would only do it if I got to wear lime-green chiffon with a matching floppy hat and a big taffeta bow on my ass!

But I think I dodged that bullet and Heather's Brother is going to do it. Which is fine because he looks much better in hats than I do.

Okay, gotta go -- have to see how many times I can say, "Oh, you'd look gorgeous in that gown!" and still sound awe-struck and sincere.

Posted at 11:07 AM | Comments (4)

November 03, 2005

This Should Shut Her Up

Ever since my spectacular claim in the comment section of her site:

"My rack is so fabulous, it changed Husband from a Leg Man of 46 years... into a devoted Breast Man.

"True story."

Queen of Ass has been clamouring for photos of me. It's always Boobs Boobs Boobs with her! Sheesh! I just don't understand her obsession. (VAGINA!)

Yet even now, with her boob-photo-lust sated, she is again taking up the cry of Photos Photos Photos!

Well, FINE.

(Note the Army of Barbies in the background. Creeeeepy! All those eyes!)

Now SHADDAP for a while!

Posted at 09:06 AM | Comments (8)

November 02, 2005

Birthday Weekend Update: with your host, Wenchie McPirateson

Ah, a birthday with the McCabes. The free-flowing wine, the pink buttercream flowers, the laughter, the love... *sigh*

But I think my favorite part of my McCabe birthday party was when Heather's Dad told completely racist jokes, interspersed with the occassional abortion joke for good measure.

Heather bore the shame quite well -- face down on the table; long, flowing locks strewn across her frosting-smeared dessert plate -- in a manner both sexy and utterly despondant. I give her great credit for resisting what I'm sure was an overwhelming urge to impale herself on her dessert fork.

But, hey -- there was MORNINGFIELD'S CAKE! How bad could it have been?

The next night, at my next Italian restaurant birthday dinner, Boy Child and Girl Child were model children. No screaming, crying, fighting or trying to escape. And just when I was starting to feel bad about not going out to fight the Pod People and get the real Boy Child and Girl Child back, Jenga made me realize that that would not be necessary.

They were each building a tower out of the wooden Jenga blocks. Girl Child, being older and, therefore, more dexterious, built a taller tower. So Boy Child marched over and, rather matter-of-factly, smacked her tower onto the floor.

"Boy Child! That was mean! Tell Girl Child you're sorry!"

To which he replied, "I'm not."

And Girl Child said, "He's just jealous because my tower was bigger."

Well, well, well. Just five years old, and already she has a firm grasp of how the male psyche works.

Posted at 11:24 AM | Comments (3)