March 31, 2006

Boy-Child-K-Bob

If you ever go to Disney World, I heartily recommend the Dining Plan. It's convenient and a great value.

No, this blog is not sponsored by Disney (although I would totally sell out, if they offered). I'm serious. You get one snack, one counter service and one table service per day.

A snack is anything from bottled water to ice cream. Counter service is some sort of sammich/burger, two sides, a drink and dessert. (I can't believe Food isn't a category in my sidebar.) Table service is appetizer, beverage, entree and dessert. And 90-95% of the time, it's truly yummy-licious. I dare you go to hungry on this plan.

The Disney Dining Plan -- or -- Why America Is Obese. Seriously, there'd be a lot more damn room on the Jungle Cruise if there wasn't an ice cream stand every twenty feet.

We ate in Mexico, at a steakhouse, in an Olde Tyme Inn with Minnie & Friends. One particular evening, we were supping at an Italian restaurant (where I had pumpkin creme brulee for dessert, arghlrghlrghl...). We hadn't gotten halfway through dinner when Boy Child announced he was cold.

Now, when Boy Child says he's cold, it can mean one of two things. It can mean he's really cold because he has 0% body fat. Or it can mean he wants to snuggle but doesn't want to sound like a Sally saying it.

Billi flat-out refused to eat yet another meal with Boy Child in her lap, so Boy Child climbed into Mr. Billi's lap (I think I dubbed him Brad?).

And promptly konked out.

We were in a full restaurant during the dinner rush, and little dude was out cold. Seeing him asleep there, right next to Brad's steak, reminded me of my favorite line from the movie, "The Addams Family."

Said Morticia of Pugsly, "How sweet. He looks like a little entree."

So I said it. And Billi laughed and proceeded to garnish him. With the lemon from Dad's iced tea. On his forehead.

Boy Child didn't even flinch.

Well, the whole table died laughing, except for Brad, who was [pretending to be] horrified. But you know he wanted to laugh, too.

Boy Child's new nickname is Lemonhead. And we've made a pact to call him that for the rest of his life and never tell him why.

Until his wedding day, when I will include it in my toast.

Posted at 02:33 PM | Comments (1)

March 30, 2006

Awkward!

Scene -- at the Walgreen's pharmacy, Wenchie is picking up a prescription for her allergies. A young man behind the counter is on the phone, looking at a computer screen.

Young Man: Says here, side effects include loss of sex drive, inability to get an erection, decreased interest in sex, and decrease in amount of ejaculate. ... No, the rest is just standard rash and itching, if you're allergic. ... Yeah, I would call you doctor about that. ... You're welcome. [hangs up the phone] Can I help you?

Wenchie: Well, I'm better off than that guy!

Posted at 07:48 AM | Comments (1)

March 29, 2006

"The Girl Who Kissed a Roach"

I was hoping this "America's Next Top Model" episode's title was some sort of euphemism for smoking a joint, and we were going to see the girls intert, bloated on Cheetos, and debating who would win in a fight -- YaYa or Camille. Sadly, this was not the case.

(Actually, this was last week's episode, but since I was riding the Maelstrom at the time of it's airing -- again, not a euphemism -- I had to catch the rerun last night.)

Oh, and I found out from Television Without Pity that the girls are living in the house where the Black Dahlia was supposedly murdered. My first reaction is that this is some sort of foreshadowing of events to come, but I doubt we could get that lucky.

Anyhoo, this is the none-of-these-bitches-knows-how-to-walk episode, featuring Miss J., whose position on this show has officially outgrown his ability, or like-ability, for that matter. And his critiques of the girls' walks are so vague, I find myself yearning for the explicit direction of Jay Manuel, "Bring it! Think of the desert! Have a thought in your head!"

So they do some runway modeling for Jared Gold, whose clothes are supposed to be crazy and edgey and intimidating and YOU CAN'T HANDLE THIS FASHION! But they're really just hideous.

(Is it just me, or does Kari look like "The Corpse Bride"?)

Jade and Jared set the stage for their still-to-come fag-hag-tranny love-fest by having a little exchange wherein Jade informs Jared that her look is "eccentric and fierce" or "strong and weird" or some such shit, and Jared is all, "Omigod! Mine, too! Let's be BFFs forever!"

Now, here's my take on this. If, indeed, you do have "a look," is that something you need to tell someone, if you are, at that moment, standing six inches away from them?

I mean, I don't walk up to people and go, "Hey, I'm a large-breasted blonde with a girl-next-door vibe." Because I'm assuming they can see that. And if they're blind, well, they can just grope me or whatever.

But if you have to tell a non-blind someone what your "look" is..., well, I think you know where I'm going with this. Jade should have just said, "I know I look like a walking Q-tip, but please don't use my head to feather your eye-liner, Jared."

The girls' runway walks are judged by Jared and his little clique of "stylists." Now, really. Are these people anything more than assholes in shitty clothes who like to tell you that your clothes are shitty? And if so, where do I get an application?

So the girls wear his fugly clothes and walk for his fugly friends, and the added glitch is that they have to have a little bejeweled Giant Madagascar Hissing Cockroach on a leash because OH MY GOD! THAT'S INSANE! WILL THE FASHION WORLD STOP AT NOTHING?! And oh, the faux-hype. I'm on the edge of my seat. *zzzzzzzzzzz*

Of course, you know there's gonna be the one girl who freaks out, just like the one with the fear of heights, and the one with the fear of snakes, and the one with the fear of spiders. And predictably, it's Gina because they're trying to make me hate her so much that I actually start rooting for Jade to beat her down. It's all a conspiricy.

Jade kisses the roach. That's right. She kisses it. Because, even though she's ugly and bitchy and delusional, she's smart enough to know that that's the kind of weird-ass fetish that's going to get Jared all worked up.

And it does. Jared pops a stiffy while gushing his critique on Jade's performance, proving once and for all that Jade is, indeed, a man. She wins the challenge, and Gina's disgust is awesomely palpable. I love how the editors always cut to her reaction whenever a scene focuses on Jade.

On the phone that night, Jade whines to daddy that the other girls "mistake her confidence for arrogance." Again? Delusional. And again? Confidence means that you don't have to shove your "confidence" down everyone's throat all the time.

[God, this recap is getting so long, and I'm only halfway done! A testimony to my love/hate relationship with the show, I guess. Oh, did I mention that Husband watches it, too? Cuz he totally does, and don't let him deny it. This is his third season!]

Then comes what turns out to be my favorite photo shoot EVAH. (Well, second only to the 40's pin-up/muscle car shoot. Go ahead, click through them -- I'll wait...)

This shoot explored the underlying sexual themes of the fairy tales of yore. In a completely artistic and tasteful way, of course. There were so many corsets and poofy shirts and boots and bloomers, I thought I was at a pirate wench convention!

Brooke was The Emperor's New Clothes, which is about a man, and then they got all up in her face again about being tranny. Seriously, what did they expect?!

Danielle was Snow Black (because you know it would have killed Tyra to have Snow White). She looked amazing, as usual.

Furonda was a big Meh as Rapunzel.

Gina was Sleeping Beauty, and the one time she looks kinda cute, they yell at her for looking cute instead of "sleepy."

Jade was miscast as Little Red Riding Hood, when she should have been the big, bad wolf. The judges practically lick her photo.

Joanie, whom the judges normally like, got panned as Cinderella cuz the up-do really enhances her jaw. Plus, her dress is totally boring, no? And where's the tiara?

Kari got type-cast as Goldilocks, which really isn't going to help her break out of the "commercial" box they put her in. What -- she couldn't be Snow Black?

Leslie was the Big, Bad Wolf. Insert "eating" joke here. Too bad her boots got cropped outta the photo cuz they were brown and suede and fabulous!

Because they love her androdginous look so much, they made Mollie Sue Little Boy Blue. Which isn't so much a fairy tale as it is a nursery rhyme, and I would have made her the Little Mermaid, but whatever. Nothing these people do makes any sense. Tyra says Mollie's nose looks tense. (Hee! That rhymed!)

Nnenna was The Princess and the Pea or The Princess Who Kissed a Frog or something. I don't even know anymore. Dress 10; looks 3.

Sara was Gretal, sans Hansel, and why didn't they just have Brooke be Hansel? LOVE the dirndl SO MUCH! They hate her face. I hate her hair.

Then comes the judging and the final challenge, which is really the most horrible, unfair thing I've ever seen on this show. I mean, I've seen them make a girl whose best friend just died pose in a coffin at the bottom of a grave, and that still wasn't as mean as this.

They had to walk in front of the panel in these platform shoes, famous for making a world-famous model fall on her ass in the middle of a fashion show. Cuz that's fair. And not at all likely to end in injury. WHICH IT DID.

Dr. Nick and his assistant proclaimed Danielle's pinky toe "strained... sprained." But dudes, I saw her fall, and girl was a lot more messed up than that. Still, she sucked it up, smiled and hobbled like a trooper on her crutches. Smart girl -- the judges love that. Smile through the pain, honey!

After all the girls were done -- some for the better, some for the worse -- Tyra proclaimed, "That was the most nerve-wracking challenge we've ever done! I didn't breathe the whole time!" Bitch. I mean, I know it's hard to come up with new and exciting drama for us blood-thirsty viewers, but that was just plain mean. I wanna see Miss J. walk in those shoes.

In the final two -- Kari and Gina. And when Tyra handed Gina her photo, Gina looked even more shocked and confused than Kari did. And, indeed, Gina's self-loathing reflected the loathing we all feel for her. And isn't that what this is all about? Sisterhood.

Tonight: JANICE, bitches! Thank God.

Posted at 12:05 PM | Comments (1)

March 28, 2006

I Am Jasmine's Hero

You may be wondering, "So why did a people-hating, crowd-phobic curmudgeon like Wenchie go to Disney World during spring break?"

And I have no good answer for you, except that that's when Boy Child and Girl Child were there, and I am their slave.

I touched on it a bit yesterday -- the screaming, garment-rending rage I felt being surrounded by a mass of humanity's barrel-scrapings. But... try as I may, I just can't find words strong enough to describe the murders I committed in my heart as I had to walk around the bajillionth cluster of people who decided to stop and read their map IN THE MIDDLE OF A DOORWAY OR BUSY WALKWAY!!!

*pant* *pant* *pant*

Okay. Regroup.

Rude people just make me want to smother them to death with their own spleen, and then smother them in BBQ sauce and eath them. And then digest them, and poop them out on the sidewalk in from of the Spears-Federline homestead, so Kevin could walk in it.

I can't think of a better punishment for rude assholes than being poop on the bottom of K-Fed's shoe. Assuming the damn hillbilly is even wearing shoes that day. Poop twixt K-Fed's toes. Very fitting.

[Mom, Kevin Federline is married to Britney Spears, and he's Uber-White Trash. He's so trashy, he makes Britney look like Jackie O., for God's sake.]

[I feel it's very important to continue my mother's education.]

Anyhoo, I saw a pack of frat boys harassing Jasmine.

There were Jasmine and Aladdin in Epcot's Morocco, looking exotic and fabulous. And I must commend Disney for promoting a healthy body image for young women. Not only could you not see Jasmine's ribs, but she even had a tiny bit of belly -- just enough to be softly feminine.

She and Aladdin were signing autographs and taking pictures with little kids. There were probably a dozen lined up with their families. Off to the side were four frat boys. Clearly, they had been drinking their way through Epcot. Saki in Japan, tequila in Mexico, beer in Germany, sexual harassment in Morocco.

And it was such clever, clever harassment, too.

"Hey, Jasmine! Where's your little monkey? Can I touch your monkey? Wanna touch mine?"

Oh, bra-VO, Chett. Sure to make the ladies swoon. Belle will be green with envy.

So as Husband and I strolled by them, I said, casually yet loudly, "Wow -- harassing a woman who is contractually forbidden to defend herself. Real nice, guys."

And as soon as I started talking, Husband started walking very, very quickly. My hero.

Posted at 12:38 PM | Comments (3)

March 27, 2006

Quick Pictoral of Wenchie's Disney Trip

At work, I was greeted by 59 emails, which really isn't too tough to tackle. No, what's going to eat up my entire day is all the catching up I have to do on my favorite sites! Not to mention all the drama with Nicholle. Thank God my bosses are out for a couple of days! Isn't that considerate of them? I love them so.

[For those of you who don't know, half the fun... okay, maybe not half. But maybe a ten to twenty percent portion of the fun of my photos is the captions. If you put your pointer on the photo (Mom, you don't have to click it, just leave it there for a second.), you'll see a caption pop up. I always do that with my photos. And granted, some are funnier than others, but if you've got some time to kill and this is your first introduction to the beauty of roll-over captions, go back and check out some of my past photo-laden posts. This has been a public service announcement. We now return you to your regularly scheduled crapfest.]

We stayed at the Caribbean Beach Resort, which was really nice, and blissfully void of all the snooty Floridian Resort people who are too good to give us their bus seats for TWO ELDERY PEOPLE AND A PREGNANT LADY!!! FUCKERS!!!

Oh, for God's sake, no. I'm not preggo. Billi is! Visibly! And yet? NO SEATS OFFERED! It's amazing how the "Happiest Place on Earth" can make you hate people so much.

Anyhoo, we were near the resort entrace, so our bus stop was always the first one -- nyah-nyah, selfish people! And we were right by the restaurant, so we didn't have to take a bus in order to eat. Again -- nyah.

The weather was PERFECT. Never went over 85 or under 60. Not that I got any hint of a tan, but at least I got to wear short sleeves.

Boy Child LOOOOOOOOOOOOOVED the characters. He would run up to any character -- in full-on costume or make-up -- and practically hump their leg with joy.

If I took a photo of every character he assaulted,... well, I'd just have too many damn photos. And we'd have two of them all. Here's Billi ruining my photo op.

Girl Child, on the other hand, would only wave from a distance or slap them five. But it wasn't so much a hey-brothah-slip-me-some-skin as it was a run-up-and-touch-the-creepy-old-house-without-the-creepy-old-lady-who-lives-there-seeing-you. She preferred the rides.

One night, we had dinner in Japan, at one of those places where your table is the grill, and the guy makes it right there for you. It was fantastic! Best dinner there! But kind of humbling that Boy Child is more adept with chopsticks than I am.

At Animal Kingdom, we went on the safari ride, which was really cool, and this giraffe came so close to our car, I could have reached out and touched it, I swear. But I didn't. With my luck, it would have been the only carniverous giraffe in recorded history.

And my husband. God bless 'im. He'll do anything I tell him to. He stuck his tongue to the lamppost in the Narnia display. Any stupid thing for a photo. Here he is fondling Triton in Epcot's Italy.

Of course, there will be much more Disney-esque rambling in the coming days, and a review of Dame Edna's show, and we have to catch up on all the America's Next Top Model we missed! So much to blog, so few work hours in the day!

Posted at 11:10 AM | Comments (3)

March 17, 2006

So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehn, Goodbye!

Hokaaaaaaaaay, I just had a massive grabber.

Tomorrow, we're leaving for Disney World in Florida, with Billi, Brad, Boy Child, Girl Child, Mom and Dad. Lord help us.

And you know how you're supposed to check your flight with the airline to verify that it's still at the time you booked it at? (Ugh, I just ended a sentence with "at" -- how Chicagoan of me.)

Well, I checked our flight number online, and United said that my plane? The plane that's supposed to be taking me and my darling husband to The Sunshine State tomorrow at 11:00 a.m.? Had already left today at 11:00 a.m.

Heaping helping of PANIC with a side helping of RAGE, anyone?

Holy merciless fuckity fuck, calling the airline is ridiculous. I'd never experienced one of those talking menus before. And clearly, they had never experienced me because they couldn't understand a damn thing I was saying. WHAT DO I SAY TO JUST GET A DAMN TOUCHTONE MENU?!?!

The disembodied voice is like, "I'm sorry. Did you say your flight number was Z-5-3-Q-Orange?"

But they were just messing with me and intentionally ruining my afternoon because, when I finally got a live person on the phone (in India), the reservation was exactly as I had made it. "Well, FIX your WEBSITE then, BEE-YATCH!"

Now, all I have left to do is pack for Husband. And by pack, I mean buy the suitcase and buy some clothes to go in it. Great.

I'm getting a pedi at 3:00 because my toes will be revealed for the first time since September. And I have to be DONE with all our packing because we're leaving to see "Dame Edna" at 6:00, and our ride to the airport is coming at 8:30 in the morning.

NO!!! TIME!!!

But I'm not freaking out, nooooooooo.

Anyhoo, my darlings, I will not return to The City of Big Shoulders until Saturday the 25th, and I will not return to blogging until Monday the 27th.

Tah-tah! Kissies!

Posted at 02:40 PM | Comments (2)

March 16, 2006

"The Girl Who Is a True Miss Diva"

Um, could you narrow it down a wee bit for us, Miss Tyra? The "America's Next Top Model" girls who are not divas is a much shorter list, a list that starts and ends with Nnenna.

But I guess they were referencing Furonda, whom Miss J. aptly dubbed "E.T. with a wig." She showed up at the house with a list she'd typed up, one copy for each girl, of her rules. The rules included stuff like:

1. The best person to discuss me with is me. [The underlines are hers.]

2. I will treat you exactly the same way you treat me, or worse.

3. Do not be all up in my business unless I invite you there.

Upon first glance, yes, this looks totally obnoxious, and had I been there, I would have been mocking Furonda right along with the rest of them, preferrably from the comfort of Mollie Sue's lap.

But after thinking about it a bit, I have to admit that Furonda's rules are little more than common decency, disguised in ebonics. Clearly, the girl has done her homework and watched the show. She knows what's coming. Unfortunately, her little list isn't going to be able to stop it, as the next scene we see is several of the girls sitting around talking about the ones who aren't there.

But isn't that why we tune in? Yes. Yes, it is. So shut up, Furonda! And beam your stupid rules back to The Mother Ship.

The makeover episode is always my favorite because there's always at least one girl who hates her haircut and cries, which is awesome. Which, in turn, pisses off Jay Manuel, which is even more awesome.

Although, I have to say, compared to previous seasons, these makeovers, as a whole, weren't very drastic. For example, they made the Asian girl's hair darker and straighter. Quel surprise!

They really screwed up Sara's hair. If there are two things we learned from Yoanna, it's a) you can have back fat and still be America's Next Top Model; and b) the mohawk thing doesn't work.

Mollie Sue got the Mia Farrow haircut that went unfulfilled for Tyra last season. And she looks AMAZING and even more minx-like. Hey, is a that a tattoo on the inside of her right wrist? Kewl.

Another fav -- they buzzed Nnenna's head, and she looks even MORE feminine and gorgeous. How does that happen? So far, my money's on her for winner.

And because Miss Tyra doesn't disappoint, she took the girl she hated most and totally fucked with her. In the spirit of giving Miss Beauty Pagaent a boy-cut, they cut Jade's 'fro and dyed it yellow, with matching eyebrows.

Oh, they said it was "honey," and indeed it sort of looks okay in her makeover photo. But it was yellow, my friends. Yellow, yellow, yellow. Yellow like a used Q-tip. Yellow like the bile that spills forth whenever she opens her pie-hole.

Jade HHHHHHHHHHATED it. And the little fairies of delight joined hands and did Ring-Around-the-Rosie around my heart!

Later, sporting her Q-tip head, panties and a bubushka, Jade sat outside the telephone room and bitched about how she hasn't been able to talk to her family all day, not since the makeover, which she so clearly wants to bitch about to ears more sympathetic than her fellow wanna-bes, who have this irritating habit of laughing whenever she talks.

(Wow. That was a really long sentence. I'm sure Gina would have gotten lost halfway through.)

So Wendy is on the phone with her Mom, who is talking about the eight and a half feet of water in their Katrina-beset home.

Outside the door, Jade is all, "I haven't been on the phone all day."

Like that's anyone's fault but her own? I have a hard time believing she was first in line all day, and the other girls kept cutting in front of her.

Hey, Jade, if you wanna talk on the phone, how about getting in line before 10:00 at night? And then? How about politely waiting your turn instead of harassing the person who got there before you? You know, if you hadn't spent so much time throwing a jealous tantrum over Furonda's extensions, you could be on the phone right now!

But you're not. So suck it up, bitch. And try to comprehend that there may be more pressing conversations than the one about your fugly hairstyle.

And then Jade gets on the phone and is like, "These other girls are obnoxious."

Holy crap.

The drama continued when Wendy and Jade went head-to-head in the Final Two. My heart sank as soon as I saw that because you know they're gonna keep Jade around for as long as possible. Poor Wendy got sent back to her aqua-house, and Jade's ferret eyes will still be around to chill our blood next week.

Posted at 09:23 AM | Comments (0)

March 14, 2006

Shortest. Workday. Ever.

Well, that was a waste of a shower.

Ack! I used my $23 conditioner this morning, too! Dammit!

Yeah, I'm home sick. Felt fine when I went into work. Twenty minutes later, I was praying to God, Please don't let me blow chunks at my desk.

There was no gradual, Hmmm, I feel weird. It was very sudden -- nausea, light-headedness, and that freaky thing where your body is freezing then sweating then freezing then sweating. I hate that.

Now, our office takes up half of one floor of a building, so it's very loooooooooooooooong and narrow. The lobby is smack dab in the middle of the office, and the bathroom is outside the lobby doors.

My cubicle is at the furthest possible location from the lobby, and thus, the bathroom. I walked there briskly, praying to God, Please don't let me blow chunks before I get there. I don't wanna have to use someone else's garbage can.

Thank God, the feeling subsided after I stood in the stall for a while. Cuz the last thing I wanna do is stick my head where a thousand people have had their asses.

I went into my boss' office and told him, "I know I just got there, but I'm going home. I felt fine until fifteen minutes ago, and now I'm all light-headed and nauseous."

He goes, "Same thing with my daughter this morning! She was getting ready for school, when all of a sudden, she got light-headed and nauseous. So she went back to bed."

"That sounds like a great idea."

Damn. I really liked my outfit this morning, too. Waste of a perfectly good outfit. Oh, screw it, I'll just wear it again tomorrow. It's not like I was seen by more than half a dozen people!

My outfit now? Well, as you know, the rule about sick clothes is that they are worn for comfort ONLY, and fashion matters not a whit.

Blue knee socks; aqua, capri-length, Hello Kitty pajama pants; Happy Bunny t-shirt; grey sweatshirt with my company's logo on it. I am a vision, truly.

I've slept for three hours, but I'm still yucky. I don't think the soup and Girl Scout cookies helped much. I think I'll go back to sleep. Hopefully, I'll return tomorrow, my usual perky self.

Heh.

Posted at 01:48 PM | Comments (6)

March 13, 2006

A Hallmark Moment

So I showed up at Thursday dinner, and Mom and Dad were sitting on the couch, about two feet apart. Now, it's a big couch, but I like my personal space.

So I stood on the other side of Dad and said, "Move over."

He looked at where I wanted to sit down and said, "Why? You're not that wide."

*sniff*

Sweetest thing he has said to me in years!

Posted at 01:44 PM | Comments (1)

March 10, 2006

Putting the "Fun" in Funeral

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mock death and suffering, and to find the lighter side of family tragedy. If you're particularly sensitive to this sort of thing, re-read "It's Berry Awesome!" instead -- it's one of my favs.

So a friend of mine, whom I will call Bob in order to protect... well, him, had to attend a wake and funeral yesterday. It was for his uncle-in-law, who swallowed a .22 rifle. On the couch. While his wife was in the basement. Boy, that'll teach 'er, eh? Asshole.

Normally, this sort of occassion would call for Mrs. Bob to step in, it being her crazy family and all. But Mrs. Bob has wrecked two cars in as many years, making Bob a tad uncomfortable with the thought of her making the five-hour drive downstate.

So Bob bravely volunteered to drive his eldery mother-in-law and her even-more-elderly sister the five hours. Each way. To the funeral. And this was no "Driving Miss Daisy," no, no, no -- this was Driving Miss Morose-y and Miss Never-Shut-Up-y. I'm gonna perform a couple miracles in Bob's name, and he'll be a saint before Christmas -- watch for it!

When you're at a funeral where the only people you know are annoying and weird, and you didn't really know the deceased, there's not much else to do but textmessage the Wench. Especially since there was no food. (For which I'm having the widow excommunicated from the Lutheran church. No hamsalad sammiches?! NO JELLO?!?!)

So he wrote me about their five-hour conversation in the car:

Suicide.
Depression.
Suicide
Depression
Suicide.
The Great Depression.
Suicide.
Depression.

And he wrote me about how the widow still has the same bouffant hair-do she had in the 60's, and the last funeral she was at, she left in the deceased's car.

And then he's like, "OMG, the casket has DEER on it!" And I'm all, "Dude, you have to take a picture with your phone and send it to me!"

So he did.

No, Heather, he did not take a photo of the corpse.

Posted at 01:27 PM | Comments (9)

March 09, 2006

Sleep Study: Part Two

So, I laid there for a while, having to pee, trying to ignore it. Which was about as effective as trying to ignore all the wires banded to my skull.

I thought, "Well, maybe it's just nervousness? And I don't really have to pee? I'll just try to fall asleep."

Then I realized I was freezing cold. But I felt like SUCH an IDIOT calling him when he had just turned out the lights five minutes ago. The crappy hotel-esque bedspread was just on a chair at the foot of my bed. So close, and yet so far.

I contemplated doing some elaborate thing where I'd scooch down to the bottom of the bed and try to hook the bedspread with my foot and manuver it up to my hand. But aaaallllllllll that would be on camera, and I don't feel like ending up on the internet or something.

I probably laid there, shivering and crossing my legs, for about an hour. I'm such a retard. Some "sleep" study patient I am.

"Um, Wenchie? This isn't an awake study. Could you at least close your eyes or something?"

Now, Sayid's real name was... well, phonetically, it was something like "Howl-leder." But he said I could just call him by his last name, Hussein, because I was butchering his first name.

So I was lying in the dark room, all hooked up to wires, and I called out feebly, "Hussein? Um, could you come here for a minute?"

Of course, he was real nice about it, but I still felt like a dork. "Could you unhook me so I can pee?" In the history of the whole world, NO ONE has ever met their true love at a sleep study. The whole situation is just too awkwardly intimate and humiliating.

Hussein also turned the heat up (no, unfortunately, that's not a euphemism for anything), so I think I might have slept for a few hours. He said I did. But I was sooooooooooo tired when I woke up.

I stupidly went to work that morning instead of taking a nap. The night after the sleep study, I fell into a coma and got the best night's sleep I've had in months and months. Hmmm, didn't Alanis once sing a song about just that sort of thing?

In the morning, it took Hussein another fifteen minutes to detach all my wires and peel off all my electrodes. Ow. After they were all off, I looked in the mirror at the remaining glue, and it looked like I had just gotten the pearl necklace of a lifetime. (Mom, I'll explain that one to you tonight at dinner.)

I washed my hair three times and still had globules of spoo in it. But my sleepless arms were so tired by the third lathering, I gave up and convinced myself that ponytails hide a multitude of sins.

At work, I wore a sweater with a plunging neckline -- like always, 'cuz I'm a ho -- and after being there a couple hours, I realized I still had two very red squares on my chest for all to see. Lovely.

And I'm sure you're now all on the edge of your seats, wondering what malady has beset your beloved Wench. Well, I'm a lazy, procrastinating Wench, and I only just now made an appointment for a follow-up consultation with the doctor, so it'll be another couple of weeks before any of us know why I find it so difficult to do something that most people do instinctively.

Walking without tripping, eating without spilling, sleeping without waking up every half an hour -- there are kindergardners who have a better grasp on these things than I do.

In the meantime, I've quit caffiene entirely. Oh, lawdy, how it do suck. But I do feel better. I still can't sleep at night, but I'm less groggy during the day. I even managed to blog twice today! Get me -- I'm oddly coherent! Coloring within the lines even!

Well. Upon re-reading, I'll have to print off today's post and read it tonight when I'm having trouble sleeping.

Posted at 01:27 PM | Comments (5)

"The Girls Go Bald"

No, not my step-daughters. And my hogans are already bald, thankyouverymuch. No, I'm talkin' 'bout the po', delusional girls who want to be "America's Next Top Model." Anyway, I didn't name the episode -- Tyra did.

Ever since I started a blog, I've been wanting to share my thoughts and passion regarding "America's Next Top [Unemployed] Model." But I know it only appeals to a small, deeply deranged percentage of my audience, so I couldn't very well make it a regular part of my blog.

Instead, I'm making it an irregular part of my blog. An "extra," if you will. Every Thursday or Friday, in addition to my regular blogging activities. Feel free to ignore them.

That said, here's my thoughts on this season's gaggle of wanna-bes, in no particular order:

Brooke: Scares the shit outta me with that monster chin, but I like her in spite of it... no, perhaps because of it. She'll be out early, tho', cuz she has no idea what she's doing. Loved the Daisy Duke outfit.

Danielle: Face in serious need of electrolysis and some anti-yellowing agent, but pretty and knows how to work the poses. Could be in the race for a while, probably even to The Final Three.

Furonda: Tyra, what the hell is she doing on this show? Clearly this season's token She-Male. (S)he makes the Chin Monster look delicate and feminine. You're outta here, Furonda, and take your stupid, made-up name with you. Oh, wait, I guess I gotta give her props for hugging Kathy at the end. That was sporting.

Gina: Of all the gorgeous Asian women out there, they pick this broad. I don't care how big her cheekbones are -- she's homely. I was hoping she would alcohol-poison herself right outta the competition.

Jade: Oh, now this bitch is a piece of work. Whatever happened to winning by just doing your best? What's the point of shitting on your competition? Clearly this season's token Angry African American Woman. Camille and YaYa welcome you, Jade. And of course, they'll keep her around for a while, purely for the drama. Certainly not because of her beady, feral eyes.

Joanie: I want to dismiss her for her bland, mall-rat looks, but she takes a good photo. Maybe her make-over will fix her hair. LOOOOOOOVE the make-over episode!

Leslie: I like her. If for no other reason than nothing about her bugs the shit outta me.

Kari: I was thinking Kewpie doll, but then the judges, in their infinite wisdom, compared her to a Bratz doll, and I almost peed in my pants. I think she's more porn star than high fashion.

Kathy: Yuck. So glad she's gone. Her voice was so ingratiating, and her face was so pinched. Like a redneck Nicole Kidman.

Mollie Sue: Oh, how I love her. Mollie, Mollie, Mollie. She looks like a sweet little kitten who is just about to snap and scratch your eyes out. *sigh* But she's "robotic," according to Tyra. And you know, if you're not acting like a fool, challenging the other girls to "Bring it!" every three seconds, or willing to cry every time to talk to Tyra, you're "robotic" -- and you're out. So farewell, sweet, sweet Mollie.

Nnenna: The current front-runner, due, in part, to her African-themed sob-story, which Tyra just ATE UP. I'm picking her for The Final Three.

Sara: Another mall-rat with bad roots. Nice lips, tho'. Um... I can't think of a damn thing to say about her.

Wendy: Oh my God, this competition is going to eat her alive. This Hurricane Katrina survivor might have stood a chance if Nnenna hadn't one-upped her on The Pity Scale. But now she's just "that sad girl with no eyelashes."

Two other thoughts...

These girls are sluttier than usual. It sure didn't take this particular group of ladies long to get naked with each other. Most of the time, they make us wait until the third or fourth episode. Hopefully, the token Lesbian/Bi-Sexual will reveal herself soon.

These girls are dumber than usual. When Jay told them they were "going bald" for a photoshoot, they actually thought they were going to have their heads shaved. I hope, as they get eliminated, Tyra shaves their heads on the way out as punishment for not figuring out that Jay was talking about a bald cap. Morons.

For better recaps, go here.

Posted at 09:27 AM | Comments (3)

March 08, 2006

Sleep Study: Part One

I arrived at my sleep study at 8:45 on a Monday night, already wearing my pajamas. Yes, I know it was too cold for babydolls, which is why I was wearing a sweatshirt and yoga pants. Perverts. Okay, I'll throw you a bone -- I wasn't wearing a bra.

I was dismayed to discover that my sleep... uh, technician? -- was hhhhhhhhhhhhott. Already I was doubtful I'd get any sleep -- knowing Sayid was watching me via voyeur-cam wasn't going to help.

Okay, wait, must ammend -- he was hott except for the hat. He was wearing one of those wool knit caps. I don't know why. Fashion statement? I've never really understood the whole hat-indoors thing. Except for Easter, of course. I mean, was he a skater punk? Was he able to work all the machinery while stoned? Did I want a skater punk in charge of my sleep study? Did I have a choice? No, but I obsess. It's what I do. Obsess.

No, I don't see any connection between that and my insomnia, why? Are you a doctor??? Quit distracting me. It's already too nice of a day out to be here at work, trying to make one stack of filing last the entire afternoon.

So.

Sayid goes, "I'll take about thirty or forty minutes to get you all hooked up."

Oh great. First, he scrubbed the contact points on my body with some sort of varnish-remover/exfoliant. Two on each calf, two on my chest, two on my neck, and twelve on my head.

TWELVE.

On my HEAD.

Know how? First, he put down a glob of glue. Literally, it was the consistency of a glue stick. In my hair and on my face. My HAIR.

Then he pressed the electrode into my skin practically. This guy did not have a gentle touch. Then he secured all the electrodes with tape. In my HAIR.

Dudes, my hair is, like, sacred. It's honey-blonde, it's long, it's silky, it's soft, it's thick, it's void of split ends. I wash and condition it every day. I spend more money on my hair than you do on your car. I had a friend whose roommate called me "She of the Immaculate Hair."

And Sayid put sticky crap in it. To say I was horrified is an understatement.

And THEN, there were tubes running into my nose and two straps on my head holding everything in place.

The two electrodes on my chest were stuck there with duct tape. Don't worry -- the girls were in no way harmed during this sleep study. The ones on my calves had wires going all the way up the inside of my pajamas, so they could all be hooked up to the shit on my head.

Ahhhhhhhhh, yes, now I'm ready for Mr. Sandman! Sooooo comfy!

I've never had any problem going to sleep. Falling to sleep isn't the issue for me. It's staying asleep once I pass the four or five hour mark. However, that night, falling asleep was an issue. A big, BIG issue in a hazard-orange jumpsuit.

And five minutes after Sayid left my room, I had to pee.

Posted at 02:44 PM | Comments (3)

March 07, 2006

The I Actually Have Something Interesting To Write About But Have No Time Today Blog

You know what movie I hated? "Stepmom." This movie came out about the same time I became a stepmom, so a fellow stepmom and I went to see it together.

I will cop to being all kinds of naive when I entered stepmotherhood. Indeed, I was so naive, I thought this contrived piece of dung might shed a little light for me on my newly acquired role.

(And why is it that, in movies, when they want to show that someone is a cold, career-driven, anti-family, urban hipster, they're always a professional photographer? Does the mecca of motion pictures have something against still pictures?)

The movie started out all right, but halfway through, it became "The I Have Breast Cancer Movie." Which really irritated me.

First of all, I don't like ANYTHING that makes me think of Susan Sarandon's breasts.

Second of all, okay -- I'm a big fan of breasts. Therefore, breast cancer sucks. I support research to cure it with my hard-earned money. I personally hope to take The Girls to the grave with me. Unless Heather wants them stuffed or something, I don't know. Point is, breast cancer is a horrible reality for many, many people. I get it.

I just don't want it tacked onto my otherwise perfectly crappy, indulgent movie just because Hollywood couldn't think of a better ending. There I was, eating my Junior Mints, wondering if Ex-Wife and Stepmom would ever come to some kind of understanding... buuuut that wasn't even necessary because they conveniently killed off the Ex-Wife.

"Gee, Ex-Wife, I guess I never looked at it from your point of view. Maybe we could both learn something from each other, huh?"

"What? I'm sorry -- I couldn't hear you over my BREAST CANCER."

Worst. Resolution. Ever.

And because of that, I don't want this to become "The I Have Insomnia Blog," but I have to tell you about my sleep study. I'm not going to have PirateWench.org became the story of my long struggle with sleepiness. I just gotta tell you this story cuz, well, it's rare that something legitimately bloggable comes down the pike for me. Mostly it's just crap.

But I'm running outta time, so it's gonna have to wait until tomorrow. I'll leave you with this mental picture: Me, with twelve electrodes on my head, lying in bed calling, "Hussein?"

Posted at 02:50 PM | Comments (3)

March 06, 2006

Mom and Wenchie Review the Oscars

Lucky for you, we only watched the last fifteen minutes, so this review is very short. Like our attention spans. I've added links galore for those of you who live in a cave.

Mom: I didn't care for all the blond, pale girls in blond, pale gowns.

PW: Yeah, they need a trip to Old Navy, and a stop at the food court on the way.

Mom: I think Frances McDormand* looked hideous. I hope she did that for a coming-up role.

PW: Well, we can't all be Zandra Whatshername.

Mom: Felt sorry for Lauren Bacall. Shakey, but still a icon.

PW: Yeah, same with Stockard Channing. Oh, wait -- that was Maggie Gyllenhaal.

Mom: I have never seen Jon Stewart before, and he was MAVELOUS.

PW: Did you know that his news show is not really a serious news show?

Mom: Charlize's Black dress with Big Satin Bow was great.

PW: My Gene doll has a dress like that.

Mom: What the heck was "The Constant Gardener" about?

PW: No one knows. But I'm pretty sure it's not about gardening.

Mom: The best was Merle and Lili, doing their stand-up routine. They should put that on DVD.

PW: I think it's pronounced Meryl.

Mom: The Pimp song didn't do anything for me, but of course, I'm very mature.

PW: So is Laura Hutton. Damn. She's lookin' ridden hard and put away wet.

Mom: George Clooney is THE MAN.

PW: Are you transferring your obsession? Tom Cruise is going to be devastated!

Mom: I think Heath looked queer in his weird earring. Still loved the movie.

PW: Please tell me that lapel pin was a sword. And that's the end of my gay cowboy jokes. I promise.

[* I'd like to apologize for not finding a photo of Frances McDormand on the red carpet. You probably have no idea what my mother is talking about. Welcome to my world.]

Posted at 01:34 PM | Comments (3)

March 03, 2006

Georgia On My Mind

Husband turned forty-nine a few days after he got out of the hospital. And as soon as I typed that, I thought Is he gonna get mad at me for telling the Internet his age? But I'm anticipating some nudity or catfighting or police involvment or something at his big fiftieth bash next year -- something blog-worthy -- so what's the dif if I mention he's forty-nine now or he's fifty next year?

Anyhoo, on his birthday, he got this card in the mail:

If you can't read it because I had to shrink it, the handwritten note says:

From your friends at [Local] Hospital: We enjoyed seeing you again, and are glad we helped you make it to this birthday. We're sure we'll see you again soon.

And it's signed by:

Nancy C.
Dr. Richards
Georgia
Hector Gonzalez
Dr. Patel
Souvanna

Needless to say, we laughed our asses off and showed it to everyone we know. When he was in the hospital, after his files were checked by a few key people, the staff was soon calling him Mr. Drillbit. I'm not even making that up. He's a legend.

So we figured that it was certainly plausible that, thinking themselves so damn funny, the staff would send him a card. His date of birth and list of ridiculous mishaps were right there in his file for all to see!

Besides, Georgia was one of the names of one of the nurses. They had his nurses' names up on a board by his bed, and they were Georgia and Gracie. I remember thinking -- Two G names. Huh. What are the odds?

Husband proudly showed his birthday card to Mom, and she goes, "This looks like Egrau's handwriting."

My Mom -- the woman who can't remember what year it is; the woman who still calls me by the dog's name, even 'though Annie has been chasing bunnies in heaven for several years now; the woman who talks to herself more than she talks to anyone else -- saw right through the ruse that we could not.

I am bowing my head in shame.

It totally WAS Egrau's handwriting! How did I not know that? Egrau has been writing me notes for YEARS!

SHE TOTALLY GOT US!

Oh, and she got us even worse than we thought.

"Didn't you guys notice that it was a twenty-three cent stamp, and it wasn't cancelled? I just put it it your mailbox! And I just made up a return address for the hospital. You guys didn't notice?"

NOOOOoooOO!!!

Dude! How did she know about Georgia and Dr. Patel?

"Every hospital has a Dr. Patel."

I guess Georgia was just a lucky guess. Man, she got us but good. Our revenge will be served cold..., with dill sauce..., and a side of grilled asparagus....

Posted at 03:13 PM | Comments (1)

March 01, 2006

Adventures In Babysitting the Boy Child

Since Husband and I don't have little kids, we don't really have a lot of toys in the house.

Okay, okay, yes, I have a room full of Barbies, I know. But most of those Barbies are for looking only. Of course, that didn't stop Girl Child from taking down Juicy Couture Barbie and Naughty Catholic Schoolgirl Barbie and making them perform "The Lonely Goatherd."

Boy Child, on the other hand, made a beeline for my Bruce Campbell as "Ash" 12" action figure. *sniff* I was so proud! Even more so since Ash was brandishing his chainsaw and abducting a scantily-clad Belle at the time.

But since Boy Child was likely to get bored in 30 seconds and start playing with my mascara, I figured I should probably stock our home with a cornicopia of kid-friendly items. After all, there's only so many times I can watch SpongeBob without hurling myself headfirst into a wall until my head becomes a bloody pulp.

SpongeBob: "Squidward, I used your clarinet to unplug my toilet! Nah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!"

*shudder*

So I loaded up the kids and headed to the Mecca of All Things Wonderful & Cheap -- Target! For Boy Child, Whack-a-Mole. For Girl Child, The Duckie Game. Plus a couple o' puzzles, a doll, some plastic dinosaurs, and "The Wild Thornberrys Movie" (cuz it was only $5.50).

So they played Whack-a-Mole for five minutes. And then they played The Duckie Game for five minutes. And then they started running up and down the hall from the living room to my office.

Just running.

Back and forth.

After a little while, they added yelling while they ran, "Meatball! Meatball! Meatball! Meatball!"

They don't even eat meatballs.

But they seemed happy, so I let them be. I just sat in my office and played Zuma, and every couple minutes, they'd run in and catch their breath before running back into the living room and crash-landing on the couch.

And one time, as they both stood panting and giggling, Girl Child goes, "This is great!"

Great? Running down a hallway and getting sweaty is great? WHY DID I JUST BUY YOU FIFTY DOLLARS WORTH OF TOYS AND ENTERTAINMENT?!

Later on, they continued to ignore all the items that they just couldn't have lived without that very morning, and played with our chess board. Of course, they don't really know how to play chess, so they were playing house using the chess board and chess pieces. Every piece was assigned a role, usually by Girl Child.

"This is my guy."

"Dis is my guy."

"This is his daughter."

"Dis is his son."

"This is his wife."

...

"Boy Child, where's your guy's wife?"

"She died."

Nice.

I'm gonna see if I can scrounge up a big box and some twine and packing peanuts for next time they come over.

Posted at 02:53 PM | Comments (2)

You Don't Sing Me Love Songs Anymore

I got flowers delivered to me today, which is always a big deal in an office, so I've had many people nosing around my desk.

Tom: Hey, what are the flowers for?

PW: 'Cuz I'm awesome in bed.

Tom: Oh. Who are they from?

* * * * *

Oh, and Minty Michelle My Belle, you were my 800th commenter a couple days ago -- ASK ME A QUESTION!

Posted at 02:05 PM | Comments (3)