December 30, 2005
Good News & Bad News
Those of you who don't have your very own website probably don't know all that goes into maintaining this thing. There's the task of coming up with crap to blog about, yes. But there's also the changing of the icons, the updating of the links, and the deleting of the spam comments. Oh, wretched, cursed spam comments!
Several times each day, I have to go into my Comments page and separate the comments of my treasured readers from the spam crap. The wheat from the chaff, if you will. (Yes, I'm occassionally awake at church.) Some days, there are as many as 60 spam comments!
You see what I go through to provide you with good, clean, blogging fun? You didn't know that, did you? Well, I do it all willingly, unselfishly, with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. For you, dear readers. Por vous.
The good news is, the spam commenters have stopped trying to sell me online gambling, weight-loss drugs and Ethiopian banking opportunities. The bad news is, they are now trying to sell me porn. And, from the looks of it, not very good porn, either.
gay twinks hot teens
What is a "twink"? Am I missing out on something good here?
pre teen flasher virgin teens
Ew. Just... ew.
hairy pussy galleries
I thought it was just the opposite that was desirable? I guess I can stop buying my razors in bulk now. I love the thought that it's a "gallery." Like there are all these photos of cooters hanging on white walls, while a bunch of Euro-trash walks around drinking wine and saying, "Yes, but what does it mean?"
teen pregnancy teachers fucking students
I don't get this one. Do the teachers educate their students about teen pregnancy by day, and try to impregnate them by night? Are the teen pregnancy teachers living double lives? Or, more likely, am I missing the point entirely?
lesbian lovers free videos of lesbians
Oh, sure. I get this one after Christmas.
yugioh porn mardi gras girls
What does Yugioh and Mardi Gras have to do with each other? Come to think of it, what does Yugioh have to do with porn? This title reminds me of some bad japanese translation of an anime series title.
put my pussy on your dick girl models
Well, I have to give them credit for not beating around the bush.
young girl models thong world
Wait a minute. There's just one girl modeling the entire thong world? She's going to be awfully busy. And chaffed.
blowjob clips lesbian orgy
If I were a lesbian, I'd be very offended that my orgy was being billed with blowjob clips.
hentai lesbian
What's "hentai"? Is this another Japanese thing? Boy, they sure do love their porn, don't they?
hot young teens asian girls hot
So hot they named it twice! You know, guys, there are homely Asian women out there. I've seen them. And Asian women are not privy to ancient sex secrets that the rest of the world isn't. Just get over it.
granny pussy
Oh, dude.
hot college girl saggy tits
This is an oxymoron. And, thus, very poor marketing.
galleries of hot moms
Another gallery! My favorite!
red hot chili peppers amateur porn
Is this what I think it is? Cuz I would LOVE to see the Red Hot Chili Peppers sex tapes. Unless Paris Hilton is in them. Which she probably is. Cuz she's in all of them. Except mine.
December 29, 2005
Two and a Half Inches of Lethal Bling
I'm considering spending some of my considerable Christmas bonus on a bit o' bling for myself.
(Some of you are thrown by the whole idea of me getting bonus money for, basically, blogging and chatting on IM, right? I know. It's a mystery.)
Go here, click on swords at the top, and check out the necklace. I'm thinking of getting it in silver. (Take note, my admirers: I don't wear gold, only silver and platinum. Keep that in mind when shopping.)
So what do you think? Hott or tacky? Or a little of both? Please vote; this is one of those rare occassions when your opinion matters, so take advantage of it.
Posted at 01:14 PM | Comments (6)December 28, 2005
Ninja Bacon Pancakes
Things People Were Shopping for On the Internet When They Were Directed To My Site
1. assjet 2000
Is there such a thing? My curiosity is piqued, to say the least.
2. huckleberry pie costumes
Oh dear. Some mild-mannered, cat-dressing house-frau was just trying to complete her doll collection. Poor thing was probably horrified to hear that ol' Huck, allegedly, plays for the other team.
3. darling diva pink lemonade soap
Someone please send me some of this!
4. squirrel in a pirate outfit
Wait, forget the diva soap -- I'd rather have one of these.
5. porn doggie style pictures video -ale -grooming -gay -bakery -ebay -dogpile -forum -quiz
I think this person needs to narrow down their search if they want to find that perfect gift for Uncle Leon.
6. silky dresses and diapers for men stories
Two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree!
7. pie ninja bacon pancakes pirates
Pure. Awesome.
8. roofers leather knee pads
Oh, suuuuuuuuure they're for roofing.
9. bruce campbell panties
As soon as I finish this stupid post, I am Googling these and buying myself a pair.
10. jello oh my darling dessert
I know how you feel, my friend. Oh, my precious, darling Jello.
December 24, 2005
Hark, the Herald Pirates Sing
Yarrrrr, Merry Christmas, me mateys!
December 23, 2005
Daisy Meets Santa for the First Time
K and I had a lovely afternoon of Starbucks and shoe-shopping (new Sketchers -- yay!), and I was driving her home, when my cell phone rang. It was Nicholle, so I asked if I could call her back in ten minutes, so as not to be rude to K.
N: Are you on your way home?
PW: Yeah, I'll be there in about ten, fifteen minutes.
N: Okay, we'll meet you there.
Now, Nicholle is a very orderly person. In fact, she may be even more O/C than I, so drop-by's aren't exactly her thing. I was immediately suspicious, especially about the "we" part. I mean, if Nicholle was ever going to come over unexpectedly, I'd assume it would be alone with a suitcase in her hand, asking if I knew anyone who could do her a "favor."
Well, if J was with her, I figured she either got a puppy or a new car for Christmas and wanted to come show it off. I was so excited!
I got home and immediately tried to straighten up the place. J is a real estate agent, so I knew our house would be under intense scrutiny the entire time they were over.
Five minutes later, the doorbell rang. I opened it...
AND THERE WAS SANTA.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK! Oh, it was just J in a Santa suit. Still kinda creepy, but I was fairly confident he wouldn't ask me to sit in his lap with Nicholle right there.
"We're on our way to a party, and they just called and told us to stall for a little while. Can we come in and hang out?"
No puppy. Dammit. So I made some chai tea for J, since it would be inappropriate for Santa to smell like a brewery. But because they were on their way to her in-laws', I gave Nicholle the beer.
Here's Daisy posing against her will with the scary man wearing too much facial hair.
Immediately following the photo, Daisy ran in circles around the coffee table with her ears back and her butt tucked under her. I don't know why.
And as soon as Nicholle and Santa pulled outta the driveway, I slapped my digital memory card into the computer. Merry Christmas, J! Now you're as famous as your wife's panties!
Posted at 04:15 PM | Comments (0)December 22, 2005
You Know How I Know I'm Gay?
I wanna live here, in the Department 56 Dickens Village. Preferrably right next to the Staghorn Lodge.
Yes, this is part of my annual Christmas display at home. I actually bought the table specifically for the Dickens Village. And now I have to go change my Barbies into their Christmas outfits.
I am a gay man trapped in a (mostly-)straight woman's body. And "Brokeback Mountain" was PURE AWESOME!!!
Ah wish ah knew how t'quit yew, Heather!
Posted at 01:21 PM | Comments (3)December 21, 2005
I Heart Wayne Smith
Okay, one more thing about 750 South State, and then I'll shut up, I promise. Unless I can get Matt to write a guest-blog about the catfight. Then that will be the last thing, for reals. Until their next gig. Oh, suck it up.
Last night, I got this email from Wayne Smith, keyboardist:
Thank you so much for your review, its always nice to hear someone likes our music. I am Wayne the keyboardist hiding behind the big speaker/wall, wedged next to Brian and the drummer. I do remember seeing you there, but I didnt know you were a pro reviewer/reporter or I could have done something impressive. I hope I wasnt rude to you, if I was I'm sorry. Thanks for coming out and the glowing review. WayneWayne Smith
Firefighter, Paramedic
city of Elgin fire dept
Red shift
h-123-555-9099
Oh, sweet, naive Wayne. Let's break it down, shall we?
"I didnt know you were a pro reviewer/reporter" OMG, how cute is that?! He thinks I'm a pro! Poor thing is going to be so disappointed when he finds out I'm just some bitchy loser with a $12/mo. domain name and a vocabulary that consists primarily of "totally," "VAGINA" and "Well..."
"I hope I wasnt rude to you, if I was I'm sorry." I love this little pre-emptive apology. I have to wonder -- why would he think he was rude to me? Is he normally rude to everyone? Does he hate reporters? Was he off his meds? Did he have a blackout and is freaking out cuz he can't remember what he did but he knows it must've been rude cuz there's still the red outline of a hand across his face?
"h-123-555-9099" And then? He gives me his home phone number. Oh, the fun I could have with this if I weren't totally married and monogamous and faithful and Hi, Honey! Love you! I mean, does this not just scream Open Invitation To Stalk Me?
As soon as this cold snap is over, I'll be riding my bike past the Elgin Fire Dept. twenty times a day.
Posted at 02:07 PM | Comments (4)Sacrificing Princesses to the Volcano and Other Holiday Merriment
Now this is what all Christmas letters should aspire to! Long, but definately well worth the read!
Posted at 08:07 AM | Comments (0)December 20, 2005
750 South State, Part Two: Where Alicia Silverstone's Evil Twin Makes an Appearance
Yesterday, I received no fewer than two Christmas letters written by cats. Two. Just had to share. Now on to the real post.
So let me explain about the band's name. It's an address found in many cities, including Chicago. But if you live in Elgin, you're probably going, "Hmmm... why does that address sound familiar...?" Because it's where your Mom went to dry out after her most recent "episode." It's the Elgin Insane Asylum. Well, they probably stopped calling it that when they stopped nailing the inmates' genitals to the floor, but you know what I mean.
Now, the "stage" area for the band was not exactly ideal. I mean, I couldn't even SEE Wayne the Keyboard Guy and... was his name Chris? The drummer? Rolling Stone Magazine is driving a dumptruck full of money up to my house right now, begging me to come write for them.
On the "stage" with the band (and yes, I'm making little quote signs in the air when I say stage because, seriously, the owners couldn't find a better set-up?), was some sort of party. Complete with party favors, cake and Grandma. I shit you not. Grandma was six feet away from a speaker. What kind of ape brings their Grandma to some noisy, smokey bar?!
I really, really wanted to hate the guest of honor. First of all, she was homely. Second of all, she had dark brown hair with three -- count 'em, three -- platinum blond streaks in her hair. It was so fugly, like the mom at the end of "Poltergeist," only not hot. Third of all, did I mention that she brought her Grandma to a bar? Cuz she totally did. But I just couldn't hate her because she had a Power Puff Girls bag. You see my dilemma.
Also on the "stage" was the handicapped -- sorry, "differently abled" -- bathroom. I guess they had no where else to put it, so they just built a little closet on the stage and put a Harp sign and a creepy animatronic Santa on top of it. Very weird. And very awkward going to pee because you had to cross in front of the band and everyone knew you had to pee. Which is why I waited until breaks. So only half the bar knew I had to pee.
Unlike the regular barsluts. They would just flounce across the stage, holding hands with their girlfriends, and both go in the bathroom at once. I can only assume they were going to have hot lesbian sex, and isn't that the best testimonial I can give 750 South State? If you can subliminally convince girls to act out your fantasies in the bathroom, then you are a damn good band.
But I'm still obsessing over the party. Why in a bar? Why on a stage? Why the Congratulations, Graduate! paraphenalia? Who graduates in the middle of December? Beauty school? Clown college? DeVry?
Oh, get over it, Wenchie. You will never understand these people and their strange ways.
I suppose I should name a couple songs the band played, huh? Well, I easily recognized most of them. Like "Higher Ground" a la Red Hot Chili Peppers. And they sang "Mr. Brightside" waaaaaay better than those damn kids in the V-Show. And... dammit. I recognized more songs than that, but hell if I actually know the names. Oh, they did a couple songs by Bare Naked Ladies, which made me squeal with delight! Don't ask me which ones, tho'.
Let's see, what else did they do well...? They encouraged audience participation, which is always good, as long as the audience can't be heard over the band. They sang three-part harmony! Granted, it's not jump-over-the-shark-tank-on-your-unicycle hard, but I've done it, and it does take some effort. I think all six of them sang, at one point or another. Which is exactly how The Beatles worked, so I don't think I'm outta bounds when I say they are going to take the world by storm within the next three months. Mark my words. You heard it here first. Rocketed to stardom by the Pirate Wench.
And whilst they sang, it occurred to me, "Hey. I could do that. I wonder if they need a chick singer? I don't even have to sing lead. I could just be their doo-wop girl. I've always wanted to be a doo-wop girl... in a cage... wearing white pleather boots... and some fringe..."
I'm sorry -- what was I talking about? Oh yeah -- me as chick singer. I can also play tambourine, and maracas, and finger cymbals, and bottles. Call me, guys!
And just as my dreams of riding their coattails to fame and fortune were about to be realized (as far as you know), they were dashed by Katie. Adorable Katie. Little, cute, young, sexy Katie, with her perky hair and even perkier ass. She was like a photo negative of Alicia Silverstone circa "Clueless." How the hell am I supposed to compete with that?!
Well, Kutie Katie sang with the band and ruined my evening with her mere existance, so Laura and I left after the second set. And according to widespread reports,...
WE MISSED A CATFIGHT CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE IT?!!!
Allegedly, the two barsluts who were standing in front of us all night and holding their cigarettes, like, inches from our faces and my immaculate, vanilla-scented hair, got into it right in front of the stage. And according to reports, they got beer on some of Nick's guitar stuff and snapped some cables.
AND WE MISSED IT!!!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Can you imagine?! We would have had front row seats! I even had my camera at the ready! It would have provided blog-fodder for WEEKS!
Frankly, I blame Katie for making me miss it.
Posted at 02:12 PM | Comments (1)December 19, 2005
750 South State, Part One: How Do You Not Like a Band with Four Guitarists?
We all know that all firemen are hott, right? I mean, it's just a fact of nature, like all large-breasted women are sluts, and the pyramids were built by aliens.
And we all know that all rockers are hott. Case in point: Jack Black actually gets pussy. 'Nuff said.
So what do you get when you combine Fireman with Rocker? Holy shit -- you get off-the-charts hottness. And I was contemplating some joke here about it being a good thing that they're firemen so they can keep the heat under control or something, but it just sounds gay, so I'll skip it.
Went to see fireman-rocker band 750 South State on Saturday night, because of this backstory. My friend Laura came with me, which was so cool of her, because it was witch's-tit cold out AND we had to drive, like, 40 miles to get there.
The first thing I noticed is that -- aside from losing the Coke-bottle glasses -- Matt has not changed at ALL since high school. He still has all his hair, and he hasn't gained an ounce. Bastard.
So there I am, drinking my Diet Coke, fanning the smoke away from my face, and writing in my tiny notebook. It's literally 2 x 2.5". Gee, I wonder why I didn't get hit on? Matt's wife came up and introduced herself, saying that Asst. Chick Boss told her to look for a "tall strawberry-blonde," but I'm sure Mrs. Matt was just being kind and didn't want to tell me that she was actually looking for "a woman so dorky that even beer-goggles would not help her."
And about this photo. It's really hard to take a picture of a band in a bar, what with all the moving around and dark, smokey ambiance and barsluts getting their heads in my way. This is as good as I could do. Please note that, although Matt's eyes do appear do be glowing with the fires of Hell, he is, in fact, not a demon, nor does he consume the flesh of Cocker Spaniel puppies between sets. That was just an ugly rumor taken completely out of context by the media.
So they did their sound check, and I can't remember what song it was (I am the best band reviewer EVAH!!!), but the lead singer, Brian the White Tornado, was really cute. Like, he could quit the band and become an actuary, and he'd still be cute. And he had this adorable way of getting his nose caught on the microphone when he sang.
After the sound check, Matt asked me, "How did it sound? What needs to change?" What? What do I care? You are FIREMAN-ROCKERS! I was too busy checking out your packages to listen, duh! God, isn't that why you joined the band in the first place?
When their set started for reals, Matt stepped up to the microphone, which kinda surprised me. And it turns out that Matt does most of the singing, but I didn't know that cuz dude was too humble to tell me! Which is a completely foreign concept to me cuz if I were the lead singer in a band, I'd have it tattooed on my forehead. And I'd hold my bangs back with a tiara so everyone could read it.
And can I just say? Matt's voice is AWESOME! Sorry, Brian. Your voice is nice and, truly, you are teh hottness, but Matt clearly has the superior pipes. It's just a fact of nature, like everyone with facial hair is evil, or Freemasons are behind every government in the world. And he kept his nose an acceptable distance from the microphone.
I was so impressed, I called Billi's cell phone. In a noisy bar. Adding to my dorky mystique, I'm sure. I yelled into the phone, "THIS IS MATT!" And then held it up. Like a dork. Are you sensing a theme here? I don't know if she'll know what the hell the message is, or even if she'll get it. Boy Child will probably listen to it first and then forward it to Paris Hilton's Blackberry.
Hmm. Well, this is gonna have to be a two-parter, because I still have four more pages of tiny notes, but I can feel that your eyes are starting to glaze over. Fine, go play some Bookworm or something. More tomorrow: dashed dreams, lesbian bathroom encounters and audience participation! Yay!
Posted at 01:13 PM | Comments (5)December 16, 2005
Christmas in the O/C Ward
On November 2, our Christmas tree was up and had lights on it.
On November 4, I had 75% of the Christmas presents wrapped and under the tree.
By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, I had angry pilgrims protesting on my front lawn. They were all pissy because they thought I had completely forgotten their special day.
I threw some greenbean casserole at them and hollered, "Get yer damn silver buckles outta my ass and go protest Marshall Field's!"
I love Christmas. Well, mostly, I love Christmas decorations.
My Christmas cards went out the first week of December. However, I have a few left over, so if you want one, email me your address. I promise not to post them or auction them off on eBay.
I bought my last Christmas gift on Wednesday.
Don't hate me because I'm beautiful -- hate me because I'm anal-retentive.
Posted at 03:24 PM | Comments (2)December 15, 2005
Show Me On the Ornament Where Santa Touched You
Santa Claus is one scary mother-fucker. Seriously. He makes reindeer fly -- textbook witchcraft. He sees you when you're sleeping?! Gah! I can hardly close my eyes in December; I'm too afraid I'll open them and Santa's face will be right there, one inch from mine, eyes wide open, his Southern-Comfort-breath hot on my face.
Oh, most of you have bought into the whole benevolent toy-giver thing. And I bet you'd get into a van if someone offered you candy, too, huh? No? Then why are you accepting gifts from a being who defies all known laws of the universe?!
A clever few have figured it out. But they can't exactly go to their local newspaper and have them print a story -- "Santa Is Evil." Noooo, the danger is too widespread. So they try to get their message across is more subtle ways, hoping to get the facts through our brainwashed, nog-soaked skulls. Listen to your Christmas ornaments, people -- they're trying to tell you something!
Behold:
Husband and I thinned the herd of ornaments this year, while we decorated the tree. There was lots of:
"Is this yours?"
"I've never seen it before."
"Well, it's not mine."
"Meh. Pitch it."
But I had to take a photo of these before they went into the garbage. Clearly. Oh, where to start?
With the big one on the left, naturally. Do I have to point out what's wrong with a man who raises him arms and legs when you pull a little ball hanging between his legs? I hope not. Let's move on, shall we? Before we all need therapy.
The one in the middle almost changes my mind about Santa. He's putting a naughty kid into his bag. I don't remember that part of the Santa legend -- abducting the naughty children after the gifts are distributed to the nice ones. But I gotta admit, this is a practice I can firmly stand behind. In fact, I'm starting my own list.
You know, nothing says Christmas Spirit to me like a frog peeking out from behind a mushroom. Because, you know... um... frogs are green. And mushrooms, er... well some mushrooms can make visions of sugarplums dance in your head... I guess. Oh, I give up. There's just no justification for that thing.
In case you can't see it clearly, the ornament in the bottom right-hand corner is Santa... with a sheep coming out of his beard. Well. There's something you don't see every day. I just... I'm speechless. Did Santa invite the sheep to stay there? Did the reindeer kick Mr. Wooly out of the barn? Or rather, is Santa's beard infested with sheep? Neither scenario makes it okay. Sheep don't belong in facial hair. They belong on my plate. With some rosemary and a dollap of mint jelly.
And this concludes today's lesson. Please scour your own trees for these warnings from benvolent ornament-makers. God bless them, every one.
Posted at 02:48 PM | Comments (2)December 14, 2005
The Most Profane Man Husband Has Ever Met, a.k.a. My New BFF
Black Suede Paolo Come-Fuck-Me Shoes $85
1 Pair Victoria's Secret Black Thigh-Hi Stockings $14
Black Floor-Length Velvet skirt $100
Black Velvet Tank Top $38
Black Lace Pirate Shirt $48
Seeing Husband's jaw drop and land on his instantaneous erection:
PRICELESS
And wouldn't you know? What with the open bar and trays of food, I forgot to have someone take a photo of me, so you're gonna have to settle for more of my crappy self-photography.
Here's the top:
And here's the very bottom:
Then just imagine a long, velvet skirt in between, and you get the idea. And I know I looked good because I was getting checked out left and right by hot, young white-collar professionals! Dudes, I barely even made it to the bar before one of 'em started hitting on me.
He's all, "Oh, I forgot was I was going to order, I got so distracted by you!"
So Husband whips it out, pees on me and says, "John, have you met my wife, Wenchie?"
And John's all, "Wife? I'm sorry -- I thought she was your daughter!"
BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!
So we didn't stay and talk to John. Instead, Husband introduced me to Bob -- and I quote, "The most profane man I know." So naturally, he's absolutely my New Favorite Person, and we're BFFs and gonna try out for cheerleading together and if one of us doesn't make it then the other one won't be in it because that's how much we <3 each other.
He won my heart when he looked at the string group hired to play at the party and said, "Look, it's everyone who didn't make the football team."
Bob and Husband apparently have lunch together about twice a month, and Bob told Husband that he has to bring me to lunch sometime. So at least I managed to impress The Most Profane Man Ever. That's good Arm Candy, right?
Know what else I did? Drove down to the Loop MYSELF. Parked in an underground parking garage MYSELF. And walked to the correct building MYSELF. Rainman says I'm almost ready to drive to the K-Mart myself!
Once I left the party and got back in the car AND TOOK MY SHOES OFF, the first thing I did was call Heather. I'm like, "You'll be so proud of me! I didn't fall or anything!"
Also? I now understand that concept that is exclusively female -- suffering for beauty, which made Heather doubly proud. I feel like I'm finally a real woman. Are you there, God? It's me, Wenchie.
Posted at 02:54 PM | Comments (6)December 13, 2005
Paying for Fresh's Sins
Because Fresh Pepper hasn't asked me a question, yet, I'm punishing everyone by posting another photo of my dog.
I wonder what she dreams of? Probably ripping my throat out and seizing absolute control of her food bin.
Ask me a question, Fresh! You disloyal, verbally abusive, mean, selfish hypocrite!
More tomorrow on my Grown-Up Arm Candy outfit. Sneak preview: These are the winners!
Posted at 12:11 PM | Comments (2)December 12, 2005
I Have To Buy Grown-Up Clothes
Much of the reason behind Husband's buy-more-clothes comment is the fact that his new company's Christmas party is tomorrow night, and I have to be there, a la Glamorous Arm Candy.
And I don't wanna goooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.
There's gonna be all hoity-toity people there from the Mayor's office and shit -- yes, THEE Mayor. Richie M. himself. Kill me.
Now, I'm flattered that Husband thinks I'm good-looking enough to be arm candy. And I'm flattered that he wants me to be there, despite the fact that I'm sure he's sweating the inappropriate comment I'm apt to make to absolutely the wrong person.
But I'm just not designed to be arm candy, people. I'm designed for jeans and sneakers, and little else. Glamorous is just not in my genetic make-up. Billi got all the glamour genes, and that's just fine with me because I got all the important genes, like parody-writing and making fun of people.
I've had to buy an entire outfit for this event. First, I got a floor-length velvet skirt from Marshall Field's. Then I slapped down the $16 for one pair of Ultra-Control Top nylons from Victoria's Secret, which means I can't go to the bathroom all night, lest I put out an eye or something.
The quest for the perfect top is proving fruitless. Well, I found the perfect top -- TO DIE FOR -- but of course, it was only in a size 6 petite. Don't make me laugh. The only choices out there seem to be spagetti straps, no straps, 30 lbs. of beading, faux fur, or mother-of-the-bride.
I found two Liz Claiborne tops, so I have two fallback positions, lest tonight proves pointless, also. One is a basic white blouse, French cuffs, very classy. The other is a V-neck black sweater, MINIMAL bead detailing. And while they're both very nice, I was hoping to make more of a statement.
Maybe I'll wear antlers. Fuck it, I should just go Naughty Santa and be done with it.
Heather is taking me shoe-shopping tonight. And by taking me, I literally mean holding my hand and pointing to what I'm going to buy. And I will follow her advice blindly because I'm so intimidated by anywhere that isn't Shoe Carnival.
After the shoe-shopping -- assuming that it takes us less than two hours to find dressy, black shoes THAT I CAN STAND IN without needing a double amputation -- she's gonna take me on one last hunt for The Perfect Top.
I'm thinking black, striped, silk blouse and lots of cleavage. She's thinking cap-sleeve, empire-waist, jewel tones. I expect to hear lots of this:
W: This makes me look pregnant. What about that one?
H: Elvira called from 1985 -- she wants her blouse back.
W: Well, the green one shows my tattoo. Husband will kill me.
H: Why don't you just buy a fucking opera cape and take me home?!
December 09, 2005
PANTIES Is the New VAGINA
As some of you may have heard on the news, the midwest got some snow yesterday.
Who am I kidding? Of course, you heard! SNOW IN THE MIDWEST! SEVERAL INCHES! I'm sure they heard about it in Bahrain, for Pete's sake! Notify the National Guard! We're gonna need tents and bottled water over here!
When did we get so pathetic that snow in the midwest became something to freak out about? When did a little slush become a reason to do 10 miles an hour on a straight-away? When did we start thinking that weather is something that only happens to other people???
It's December! In Chicago! There's going to be snow, people! What are we -- Floridians?!
Yes, it was the first real snowfall of the season. Yes, it happened just in time for the evening commute. Yes, there were actually several inches of accumulation. And yes, -- hold onto your panties -- THAT'S NORMAL.
It usually takes me 20-30 minutes to drive home from work. Last night, it took me an hour and 45 minutes. Because the fucktard at the front of the line lived in the Congo all his life and had never seen snow before yesterday.
I spent an hour and 45 minutes in the car with an insane, old Sicilian woman I work with. Because she's too scared to drive in the snow. And you know what? THAT'S TOTALLY AWESOME! I applaud her! If you can't handle the amount of snowfall we got yesterday, PLEASE CARPOOL UNTIL MAY!
Thank God the old lady had cookies in her purse, or we might have starved to death.
Nicholle really had the right idea. She tried waiting the storm out at work while surfing the internet, until about 7:00, when she decided, "I'm just not dealing with this shit." She checked into a hotel, went shopping across the street, bought a new sweater, washed her undies in the sink, and had a breakfast of: scrambled eggs, biscuits and gravy, lemon poppyseed muffin, and juice. Then she drove about 15 yards to work this morning.
Let's see. Slightly damp panties vs. stuck in a car with a crazy Sicilian for almost two hours. Yeah, Nicholle definately made the better choice.
Now she's gonna kick my ass for writing about her panties. Hee! I just like saying panties!
Posted at 01:46 PM | Comments (5)December 08, 2005
Call Me "Princess Kissyfur"
So we all know that I think Christmas letters are totally gay, and we all know why, as I covered that last year. Yet, because I went and set precedent, I was obligated to write another one this year. Now, I always try to test the limits and try new things in my writing, and I was desparately searching for that little extra-special-something that would set my Christmas letter apart from all the rest. Thank Baby Jesus, my muse Heather came up with it.
"Write it from Daisy's point of view!"
Ah, leave it to Heather to take an already gay idea to the next level of gayness. Once, writing from a pet's perspective was the sole territory of cat owners, like Queen Kissyfur. But I have ventured there, my friends, and broken down the barriers on behalf of all the canine-inclined (and canine-curious). I have traveled to the other side... to bring you this:
To my two-legged and four-legged Family & Friends,I just love this time of year! So many good smells in the house – cookies and visitors! Well, I’m another year older – three and a half – but I refuse to stop acting like a puppy! This year has been so much fun, with all the swimming in Door County over the summer. My other favorite place to be is Grandma & Granddad H.'s 20-acre farm. I run around like a crazy dog until my human cousins get too tired, and then I go inside to get spoiled by Grandma and Granddad. Thank goodness they're dog people! Now, on to the people I live with.
Having merged his company last year, Dad has been busy whipping this new, larger company into shape. I do believe he has used an actual whip on more than one occasion, but it's nice to see him doling out the injuries instead of receiving them. We're proud to announce that 2005 has been completely Emergency Room Free for Dad! He even managed to avoid injury while helping the men of the family re-roof the Door County log cabin! He has also resurrected his singing career and is adding his much-needed tenor voice to the Chorale for their Christmas concert.
Mom is in the Chorale, too, and it's nice they have something they can do together, especially now that Dad has some competition for her heart (other than me). Mom is madly in love with her very own, oh-so-cool personal computer. Besides it being much easier to put photos of me on her blog now, Mom has also started a sort of hobby-business, selling things on eBay for friends and family (for a small percentage, of course). In fact, it's been so lucrative that she was able to purchase her most vintage Barbie yet -- a 1963 #5 Brunette Ponytail!
Urban college life seems to really agree with Ophelia. As a mere freshman, she made First Chair French Horn in the orchestra! Some of the upper classmen got their noses bent out of shape about it, but they were quickly won over by her talent and charm! In her free time (ha ha), Ophelia is still working two jobs – at [clothing store], and as hostess at [local] Restaurant. And she still manages to have lunch downtown with Dad several times a month.
Case has picked up yet another instrument -- guitar -- and is in a band with some of her friends. They somehow find time to practice when Case isn't scoring ALL the goals for her soccer team, or working at the dentist's office, or marching with the band at football games. She even got to go downstate with the marching band when [high school]'s football team made state finals! They didn't win, but that's not the band's fault.
Plans for 2006 include Mom and Dad’s trip to Disney World with Mom’s family, a new car for Dad, some vacation time with the girls, and more swimming and relaxing up north. And no emergency rooms! Be good to yourselves in 2006!
Consider yourself greeted in a festive and holiday way.
(Thank God this only happens once a year. It takes nearly that long for me to feel clean again.)
Posted at 11:10 AM | Comments (5)December 07, 2005
A Play in One Act
Setting: Wenchie's kitchen, late afternoon.
Phone: Ring! Ring!
Caller I.D.: BILLI
Wench: [picks up phone] Hello?
Phone: BEEP! BEEP! BEEP-BOOP-BOOP! BEEEEEEEEEEP!
Wench: Hellooooooooo!
Phone: BEEP-BEEP!
Wench: GAH! [hangs up, grabs cell phone, dials Billi]
Billi: Hello?
Wench: Take. Your cell phone. Away. From the Boy Child.
Posted at 01:31 PM | Comments (2)December 06, 2005
Speechless
Last night, Husband said to me, "You really need to spend more money on nice clothes for yourself."
Which is good, because now I have to replace these pants.
Posted at 08:22 AM | Comments (3)December 02, 2005
Fresh Pepper Makes Me Sneeze
What kind of IDIOT wishes to be sick so they can have some time off work? I'll tell you what kind of idiot.
The kind of idiot who has gone through an entire box of Kleenex in less than three days. The kind of idiot who can barely swallow food without being strangled by the swollen glands in her neck. The kind of idiot who is now scared that she won't have a voice for next week's Christmas Concert.
How do you spell idiot? W - E - N - C - H.
But enough about me. This post is about Fresh because he's my 600th commenter!
Have you been around long enough to know this drill, Fresh? I don't remember. The rules -- you ask me any question in the world, and I answer it. You can read up on past questions here, so you don't repeat any. Not that I don't think you're perfectly capable of coming up with highly original and completely retarded question on your own, I just like the chance to give myself a free plug.
Ooh. Dirty.
Anyhoo, your task is set before you, Fresh. And to make things more interesting, I promise to take lots of cold medicine before I answer!
Posted at 12:21 PM | Comments (3)