May 31, 2006

From the Sublime to the Obscene

And speaking of Barbies and fashion (it is really a wonder that any man reads this blog), just thought I'd show you what the ladies are wearing this season. And I do use the term ladies very loosely here, as the blonde seems to be perpetually sporting the Just-Fucked Look.

The rest of the crew, however, aren't quite so tasteful:

Yes, it's vintage lingerie time in Wenchie's office. My underthings, however, are brand new, thankyouverymuch.

This is the stuff they were selling to little girls in the 1960's. Not collectors, not perverts -- white-bread, Howdy-Doody, sugar-n-spice little girls. I get such a kick outta that, I gotta tell ya.

Husband pointed to the third from the right and said, "She's my favorite." Eep!

And... that's all I got. Today is pretty much a wash. I spent much of the day trying to lower my blood pressure via chocolate, as the color printer has chosen me as its sworn enemy.

I'll try to be more interesting tomorrow. But -- no surprise -- I'm not making any promises.

Posted at 02:00 PM | Comments (2)

May 30, 2006

Unbridled Purse Lust

Those around me lately have noticed that I've become a bit of a purse fetishist. If it's pink and costs more than $200, I want it. Coach, Dooney & Bourke, Prada, Kate Spade -- I want them all. The more ridiculously pretentious, the better. I want the ones that are so ugly, if they cost $15 at Penney's, no one would buy them; but because it's a COACH purse, it's worthiness is validated by the preposturous amount of money one has to shell out to carry it home.

See how that works? Yeah, neither do I.

I don't pretend to understand my designer purse fetish. I'm not proud. In fact, I'm a little embarassed. Especially that time another purse fetishist and I were both eyeing a little pink number on the Coach clearance rack ($135 -- such a deal!), so I picked it up and rubbed it all over my entire body, thereby ensuring she wouldn't buy it.

Not my proudest moment. But I recovered.

[Nicholle, when you see your Christmas present and realize that it, too, came from the Coach clearance rack, rest assured that it touched only my hand and then the sterile inside of a shopping bag. Wrapped in tissue.]

[And for those of you who doubt I would really do such a thing in the middle of Nordstrom's, you should also know that I wore my hair in Princess Leia braids when I saw "Star Wars Episode Three" at my local movie theatre on a Tuesday night, and I have licked my dessert plate clean in a very crowded Buca di Beppo's. I don't embarrass easily.]

I am enthralled with any purses that have little snap-closure pockets on the outside. I am entraced with the petite wallet-on-a-string "wristlets." And I am fascinated by the fact that Coach makes tennis shoes to matchy-match their purses. Matchy-match!

So Heather's like, "When are you going to blog about your purse obsession?"

And I'm like, "Never. People will be bored, and I'll sound like a shallow, superficial, materialistic bitch."

And she's like, "So?"

I hate it when she traps me with her cast-iron logic.

At lunch, I saw a woman with a miniature doberman pincher in a green argyle sweater, and I suffered the insane desire to have an accessory dog that I could dress up and carry around with me. Dudes, tiny hoodies!!! This is obviously an offshoot of my unbridled purse lust and should be considered even more dangerous than gauchos.

Then Heather informed me that many designers make pet carriers. THIS is why I love America.

Posted at 01:37 PM | Comments (1)

May 26, 2006

Some Things Never Change

Check out the new Barbie Fashion Model Collection available in 2006.

From left to right: Stewardess, Teacher, Waitress, Nurse, French Maid.

On Mattel's official Barbie website, they claim that this series of dolls "celebrates the working woman." One fishnet at a time.

I was a waitress for seven years, and I don't ever remember celebrating it.

A little memo from me to you, Mattel -- the Flight Attendants of the world would like to welcome you to the twenty-first century. They stopped being called Stewardesses in 1977.

It's not that I mind the outfits. Let's be honest -- they're totally freakin' adorable, and I want every single one of them. But did you have to say "celebrates the working woman?" Really? In 2006, is this what we still think of when we hear the words working woman?

Couldn't you have included something like Civil Rights Lawyer or Paramedic? I'm sure you, Mattel, in your infinate tackiness, could have found some way to make them hot 'n' trashy. I'd like to assume that these are coming out in 2007, but I'm sure I'll be greeted only by Secretary and Lifeguard.

Which I will buy.

I hate you, Mattel.

Posted at 01:43 PM | Comments (5)

May 25, 2006

Let Me Introduce You To Mr. Sidebar

As you may or may have not noticed -- I'm sure most of you never even glance over there -- but over the past few weeks, I've been revamping my sidebar a bit. (Mom, that's the column down the right side of the screen with the pink heading bars and links and such.)

This was prompted partially by boredom, and partially by an email exchange I had with Fresh Pepper?. I was mortified when he took me off his sidebar, but he dried my tears, set me on his knee and explained that he juggles his links around a bit, to keep them fresh. That way, we of the MTV Generation are more likely to pay attention to them.

And this made sense to me. I was a blogoholic having a moment of clarity -- what I needed was less sidebar.

Indeed, the result of much futzing is a sidebar more worthy of your scant attention span. I'll give you the nickel tour, starting at the top.

Click on "Proposition the Pirate Wench" to email me with your dreams, your desires, your death threats. But remember that I only check it once a day, so don't use it if you're a friend who already has my private email address (Mom), which I check much more often. Like obsessively. I'm checking it right now.

Back! Next is Recent Mishaps, my four most recent blog entries. In case you've been in bed sick or outta town for a few days. Or bound and gagged for a while (you know who you are).

Objects of My Fickle Love are just that -- my most favorite and oft-changing set of links. They are people, places and/or things that I am familiar with and heartily endorse with much squealing and drooling and licking..., or that I'm hoping to become familiar with soon. And if that's not a big enough hint, let me remind you that my birthday is October 30.

I used to keep OOMFL in alphabetical order, but that requires thought, so now I'm just putting my most recent additions at the top, to make it easier for all involved. Also, I'll never have more than eight. Why eight? Well, maybe eight is the number of Cadbury Eggs I can consume in one sitting. Or maybe it's my total number of toes. Or tattoos. Perhaps it's the number my numerologist ascribed to me upon learning of my full name, my birth date and my hat size.

Actually, there's no reason -- just a random number that I picked. Nine looked like too many.

Guess how often I read my Everyday Reads. Give up? Every day. Except sometimes on weekends. And when I'm sick. Or on vacation. But I often check them several times a day, so it all evens out.

I have three men and three women on my Friends & Lovers list -- I'll let you decide who is which. And no, these are not my only friends; the others just don't have blogs. Even though they should. Nicholle, I'm looking at you.

Nor are these the only other blogs I read. They're just the ones I read most often. And MostlySunny is temporarily on hiatus. Chances are, if you've commented on my site, I occasionally catch up on your blog. Why am I telling you this? You don't care. Let's move on.

Whatever I'm currently reading is On My Nightstand. I may do the rare pointless book review, but that just seems so highbrow for this blog. Feel free to email me if you want my not-worth-a-damn opinion on a particular book, or if you just want to mock me for taking so long to read it.

Almost Famous (an unoriginal title totally ganked from the movie) are my friends who are in bands. Or in Joe's case, is a band unto himself. If any of them are playing near me, or anywhere particularly interesting, I'll try to put it in the sidebar. If I remember. I'm awfully busy.

Hide 'n' Seek is where you can search my site for particular subjects, like vagina or Heather. And yes, as you may have surmised from past posts, I can see what people have searched for on my site. However, I can't see who has searched for what. So go ahead and search for ugg boots or tied up goats or whatever -- I will giggle, but I won't know who you are.

Organized Chaos (is a really gay title, I just realized) are my categories. Why I couldn't just call it Categories, I don't know. Trying to be cool and failing miserably, I guess. So if you wanna see all the photos I've taken, or read about my dog, or -- for the anal retentive -- see all my lists, that's where you go.

Beyond that is my monthly archives, i.e. My Sordid Past. Can you believe I've been blogging since August 2004? It seems like only yesterday I was wondering what the hell I would find to say every day. Nothing. Not one damn worthwhile thing. Anyhoo, Heather recently added a scroll bar to my archives! Isn't it neato? She's a genius, I tell you! GENIUS! I just wish it was lavender.

After that, Misc. Etc. is just... I have no idea. Seriously, I guess it's important stuff that supposed to be there because Heather put it there, but I don't know what it is.

And there you have it. These links are fully endorsed by the Pirate Wench. Peruse them as it suits you.

Posted at 02:10 PM | Comments (4)

May 24, 2006

Hot Foot

Today, my eyes are all puffy, and I look 100 years old because I was awake for two hours last night with Hot Foot.

You knoooow -- Hot Foot? When your feet are really, really hot? Like baking hot, but the rest of you is fine, or even chilly? It only happens at night?

Am I the only one who gets this?

Look, if "Restless Leg Syndrome" and "Seasonal Affective Disorder" are valid ailments, then Hot Foot should earn me a few hours of sick time, or at least a little sympathy. I couldn't sleep! It felt like someone was holding my feet under the warming lamp at Bennigan's like a plate of nachos!

I tried to stick my feet out of the blankets, but then my shins got cold. Actually, the rest of me was quite chilly, so I don't know what the hell was going on with my feet. It's not funny!

I wonder if it's because of my gout? Was I drinking last night? Yes, I have gout. Told you I'm 100.

Seriously, I have body temperature issues. I'm pretty sure I'm a reptile. What with my aversion to sunlight, I'm probably a descendant of the Sleestacks.

I cannot maintain my own body temperature. I have to take cool showers in the morning, or I'll sweat for the next two hours. Even in the winter. But after that, if I am sedentary for ten minutes, I'll be freezing. So much so that my fingers turn pale and my nose is cold.

At night, I go to bed freezing cold and snuggle up against Husband for warmth. And when I say snuggle, I mean plaster myself up against him so that every possible inch of me is touching him, and he keeps scootching over to the side of the bed to escape the crazy, living-dead lady.

Then, in the middle of the night, I'll wake up sweating and have to take some of the covers off. Sometimes I even go to the washroom and wipe myself down with a hand towel to mop up some of the sweat.

You are soooooo turned on right now, aren't you?

And NO, I'm not even close to menopause age, so wipe that knowing smirk off your face before I scratch your eyes out.

Posted at 01:10 PM | Comments (4)

May 23, 2006

I Hate People

I really do. I hate them.

Just so you know, if I've ever had to share the road with you, or walked near you in a mall, I've sent glaring hate-rays your way.

People are basically rude and don't give a shit about anyone around them. I, on the other hand, was raised to use my "inside voice" and stay out of other peoples' way in public places. I don't tailgate, and I don't cut people off.

Does this make me a superior human being? Yes. Yes, it does.

Nicholle and I were shopping at Local Huge Upscale Mall, and hating on all the people while planning our All Pink Bachelorette Condo (for when our husbands have finally had it). I finally used the mongo gift certificate that my amazingly generous Head Boss gave me for Christmas and invested in $140 worth of grown-up skin care products from Sephora. (By God, they had better be good.)

[The gift certificate also bought him the privilege of me not not doing an entire blog about how he does all the homework for his 17 year old daughter, who does not, in fact, have Down's Syndrome.]

Then we went to Jimmy John's for a couple o' sammiches, and since JJ's is way popular and only has seating for eight, Nicholle and I went and sat on a nearby bench to snarf. When we got up to leave, I noticed that I was sans Sephora bag. NOT. GOOD.

We ran -- okay, we walked quickly, let's be honest -- to Jimmy John's, and I panted (hey, it was several yards away!) to the guys behind the corner, "Did anyone turn in a shopping bag?"

"A Sephora bag?"

"YES!"

Oh, my beloved toner pads! My cleanser! My exfolient! Don't scare Mommy like that!

PW: Wow, that was really nice of them. I guess this means I can't be hating people for at least a half an hour.

N: My faith in humanity has been momentarily restored.

PW: Hmmm... Mine may be compromised slightly by that pink velour jogging suit and, more specifically, the tanorexia it accentuates.

N: I love how her friend is wearing flats, as if the gauchos didn't make her legs look stubby enough.

PW: And what the fuck is with high schoolers carrying Coach purses?

N: Seriously. Who buys a $500 purse so their brat can carry around her driving permit and Bonnie Bell lip gloss? She's just gonna leave it in someone's back seat anyway.

PW: It's totally cute, too. I have no qualms about knocking her down, if you'll grab the purse and run.

N: So... I guess we're back to hating people.

PW: Yep.

N: That was quick.

Posted at 02:12 PM | Comments (2)

May 22, 2006

Hardships Endured

I've heard tell that, the bigger your boobs are, the more painful a mammogram is. Chilling words, indeed, for one sporting a D cup and facing her first mammogram. Welcome to my Friday Morning.

No, welcome to my Last Tuesday Morning, because that's when I started freaking out about it.

We ladies who are fortunate enough not to have breast cancer in our family history, are supposed to get a baseline mammogram at age 35, then one a year starting at age 40.

A baseline mammogram. The mammogram against which all other mammograms are judged. Talk about pressure! I wanted to make sure The Girls were at their best, but how to do that when you're not allowed to wear lotion or perfume? Not even baby powder or deodorant! My breasts were naked and without adornment!

And cold.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

As you well know, I'm 36. And a half. I've been putting this off for some time now. And it's because of my mother that I haven't put it off another year and a half. My apples didn't fall far from her tree (thanks, Mom!), and she was always reassuring whenever I spoke of my impending mammo.

She's a very level-headed woman. Her Life Motto is, "Don't panic until it's time to panic." I love that. Don't freak out. Don't create drama. And if something could potentially save your life, suck it up and take the pain for a few seconds, ya bozo.

So I gave myself a pep talk: "Wenchie," I says, says I. "You are quite well endowed, it's true. But think of those women with boobs bigger than yours! You're hardly in the top percentile. What about those women who have to have their bras specially made? They must get mammograms, too. And if they can do it, you can do it. Ya big pansy."

So I did it. On Friday. Had to show up at 9:00 for a 9:30 appt., for the filing out of forms, and the changing into flattering hospital attire, and the superfluous waiting around that is mandatory when you're shelling out buttloads of money to be physically tortured.

The "gown" I had to wear (I love how these things bear the same title as the fabulous, designer-made garb that clings adoringly to Halle Berry's perfect form on the red carpet) had three sleeves. Three. I, like most folks I know, have only two arms.

I stood there in the dressing room, looking at the three holes, waiting for the design to suddenly make sense to me. I had visions of walking out into the waiting room and all the other women laughing at me. Junior high all over again. (Only this time, I could actually fill a bra.)

I put it on and sat down quickly. No one else looked especially stylish, so I calmed down and opened my book. Oprah was on the television set, and all the other women were watching. Which led me to wonder what's on the t.v. in the room where the men wait for their colonoscopy, and envy them. I hate Oprah.

Finally, my name was called, and I followed a petite, fairly attractive woman into a room. The three-armed gown, I figured out, was supposed to allow one breast to remain covered whilst the other one was being photographed. Like, at that point, modesty is of the utmost importance. Gimme a break. Just lemme wear a poncho or walk around topless because the three-arm gown is an awful lot of fuss for the illusion of decorum.

I say illusion because, once the breast is unveiled, it is Play-Doh in the mammographer's hands. Hoist it up, pull it onto the glass, smoosh it flat. Oh, shuh, thank God my other breast isn't visible. It's not about propriety -- it's about not letting the left breast see what lies ahead for it.

There were the hogans, exposed for all to see, and I'm like, "Sure is cold in here!" But we could both see that for ourselves, if you catch my drift. So when she put the stickers on my nips, it was just not possible not to laugh. The stickers have a tiny metal ball on each, so she can tell where the nipples are in the pictures.

And of course, I was looking at them thinking, "I wonder if she'd give me a pair for Barbie...?" But I chickened out and didn't ask.

She took two photos of each: one vertical, one horizontal. And it hurt, yeah, but not horribly bad, and only for a few seconds. Actually, I was giggling much of the time.

In trying to pose the girls for the best possible photo, she was like, "Okay, put your left hand over your head. Now hold your other breast out of the way with your other hand. Chin up. Suck in your stomach." Oh, pleasejusttakethepicturealreadyyyyyyyyyy!!!

Afterwards, I had to go back to the waiting room while the mammographer looked over my glamour shots to make sure she got what she needed. By then, "The View" was on the television. I hate "The View" more than I hate Oprah. They are screeching harpies. They are everything that's obnoxious about the female gender. Let's face it -- they are everything that's only funny when I do it.

Their "interviews" are anything but because a guest can't get the first part of a sentence out before being interrupted by Starr Jones and that red-headed chick being just bitchy and risqué enough to make the token twenty-something widen her eyes in faux-shock, but not enough to anger Barbara. And I totally stopped typing to make quote signs in the air because that's how truly horrifying they are. I tried to read my book, but the cackling gnawed at my brain. For thirty-five minutes.

Mammo-chick said it'd be "ten or fifteen minutes," and then left me to endure half an episode of "The View." I could get over the smooshing, but THIS. THIS! Was unforgivable!

I hate being pushy at hospitals because I know they're busy and understaffed and there's always some weird, unforeseen incident they have to deal with. But I had to do it. I asked one of the other mammographers if I could go. She checked with The Great and Powerful Oz, and five seconds later, I was released back into the wild.

Since I didn't want them tracking me, I went into the dressing room and set about removing the tiny metal balls from my nipples. And I can honestly say -- Worst Pain of the Entire Mammogram! Peeling that super-sticky sticker off my poor nip. I have no children! My nipples have not been nursed into tough, no-nonsense patches of hardships endured. They are pristine and sensitive!

For the second one, I decided to take the Band-Aid approach and rip it off quickly.

I don't recommend it.

Driving home, my nipples were still screaming obscenities at me.

(By the way, is mammographer a word?)

Posted at 12:45 PM | Comments (6)

May 19, 2006

Reasons I'm Never Having Children

1. They just throw up, like, anywhere. Not in the toilet. ANYWHERE.

2. "Mommymommymommymommymommymommymommymommy!"

3. I would blog about them, and they would hate me for it.

4. I would blog about them, and I would hate myself for turning into Dooce.

5. I'd have to start cooking real meals instead of just popcorn for dinner.

6. Puberty.

7. They have no respect for personal space.

8. I would home school them and make sure they are trained in all forms of weaponry and self-defense, and they would hate me for it.

9. I might have to occassionally consider Husband's opinion on how they should be raised.

10. They would want to touch my Barbies.

Posted at 02:51 PM | Comments (2)

May 18, 2006

"The Girl Who Walked Through the Ancient City"

The title of this episode of "America's Next Top Model" is deceptive because:

a.) "The Girl" implies that only one of the final two walked through the ancient city, when actually they both did.

b.) They did not walk through an ancient city but a replica of an ancient city.

So the episode is much less zen-like than we are led to believe. On with the show. We get recaps of the three girls left -- Joanie, Jade and Danielle.

Danielle busted her toe in those stupid, platform heels Tyra made them all wear. Then she got her teeth fixed by the dentist. Then she went to the hospital quite sick. She receives accolades for being a trooper, but THE ACCENT! OH, MY GOD, THE ACCENT! THE HORROR! I've never had any trouble understanding Danielle. And would it really be so terrible to have a Cover Girl that Southerners could relate to? Get over it, Tyra. Her photos are better than yours.

They again point out that Joanie is from Beaver Falls. Is it because Beaver Falls makes then snicker? Or are they just so shocked that there are attractive people outside of L.A. and N.Y.C.? And we get to see more of the dentistry she underwent. Great.

Jade's recap isn't so much about what planet she's from or what she's gone through during the competition. It's more about what a raging bitch she is. More excuses, more arrogance. What, like we all forgot why we hate her?

This pre-show recap is completely unnecessary. As if anyone is sitting down to the t.v. and goes, "What's this show? Well, it's the season finale, and I've never seen the other episodes. I'll watch it!"

The girls are eating breakfast or something, and Jade has another head scarf on. I'd love to tell her she's pretentious to her face, cuz you know she'd have no idea what it means, and I could pass it off as a compliment, while Danielle and Joanie snicker behind her back. And then we'd all go to the mall and ditch Jade.

Jade tells the girls that she'll be happy for whoever wins. Riiiiight. Has a bigger lie ever been told? Then again, she's probably so sure that she'll be the winner, she's being completely truthful.

Danielle admits she's pretty strung out and tired of surprises. Jade jumps from her seat, screaming about someone being there and runs into the other room. Danielle is hanging from the ceiling by her fingernails. Jade starts laughing, and it dawns on the other two that she was totally messing with their heads. Nice girl.

Joanie interviews, "Pleeeeaaaase send Jade home! Her personality smells like a dirty diaper."

Joanie should totally be writing this recap.

Tyra Mail! The girls are gonna be easy, breezy and beautiful. Wanna bet?

Jay shows up with three envelopes, each containing a different script because they're each doing different commercials. But they're all for Cover Girl's new mascara.

Danielle is resolute, "I'm not going home because I have an accent."

Jade asks Jay, "Are we allowed to improvise?" I.e. Can she just make shit up as she goes along?

Um, no.

They meet the photographers, and he's all, "Eyelashes are hard to shoot." Oh, to have his troubles.

Joanie starts off as some charicature of a Barbie doll, and Jay tells her to "give me Joanie, not what you think a Cover Girl should be." And that's all she needs to nail it.

Jade interviews that she thinks people expect more from her because they can see how much potential she has. Oh, lawdy. I roll my eyes so hard that they do a complete 360, and now my retinas are all tangled up.

As expected, Jade is rambling and making shit up and not even remotely paying homage to the script she was supposed to have learned. And to make matters worse, her hair just couldn't be more awful. It's almost enough to make me feel bad for her. Almost.

Her bleached-out hair has gotten longer, frizzier and nappier. And there's just no hiding those roots. Geez, why don't they give her a touch-up or something? How is she supposed to "rock" terrible hair?

She's doing so poorly, Jay brings out cue cards for her. And she still can't say the words. Jay and I start to wonder the same thing -- can Jade read? I mean, for reals -- if she's illiterate, it would explain a lot: the insecurity, the over-compensation, the ridiculous vocabulary.

But, much to my chagrin, she finally pulls it together and gives them one great take. The director's assistant is probably mouthing the words to her, in exchange for a hummer later. Jay tells her it was great, but to me, it sounded like she was being sarcastic and thinking, 'This is so lame,' to herself the whole time.

The accent issue has Danielle in a tizzy, so she completely blanks when she gets in front of the camera. But, like the other girls, she sucks it up in the end and does a fabulous take. It's obvious she's trying to play down the accent, and it works.

Then they go to the still photos, and the photographer tells Danielle that her lashes look awesome.

Joanie is not used to her smile, yet, which I can understand, and needs some coaxing from the photographer.

Jade... oh, God, her hair. They dealt with her horrible hair by parting it on the side and plastering it down like Dennis the Menace. It's just awful. They also put her in a matronly mother-of-the-bride dress. I think Jay is making her look ugly on purpose, a tactic I heartily endorse.

Jade interviews that "modeling comes natural to me," and she's got her hands all over her face. The photographer is less than impressed and tells her "don't be too diva."

Tyra Mail! Only two will go on. Did the girls really need mail to tell them that? I mean, at this point, I think even Jade has caught on.

At judging, Tyra is in some all dusty-mauve ensemble that makes her look like a baby-doll-Victorian-hooker-grandma. I just can't wrap my brain around it. I guess maybe she's compensating for the lack of Janice?

Jade's photo is nice, but is it Cover Girl? No, because she's squinty and evil, and her nose looks really big. Okay, that last part wasn't the judges -- it was me. They say there's something... "hidden behind her expression." And from the looks on their faces, they're terrified to find out.

Jade, in return, offers more excuses, and the judges are clearly dumbfounded that she's still pulling this same crap. She says she hasn't taken acting classes and wasn't prepared enough for the commercial, then she goes off on a tangent about actors and how she is impressed and inspired by them.

And then, because she can see the incredulous looks on their faces, she ends with a kiss-ass, "And I'm inspired by you, too, Tyra." Yeah, throw her a bone because she was so hurt to be left off your Christmas card list, Jade. You knob.

Awesomely, Tyra corrects her with, "Everything you've been doing these past weeks has been to prepare you for this commercial, Jade." And then she adds something to the effect of, "I can't believe you're still arguing with us."

Joanie is wearing a grey tank top to judging. Doesn't she remember Tyra telling her that gray washes her out? Geez, if I were them, I'd prepare for judging like I had a date with Ian McShane (who has knocked Dominic Monaghan way the hell off my List of Five).

Her photo gets mixed reviews. Tight mouth, great eyes, looks like Grace Kelly. Joanie asks, "She was a dancer, right?" Which kinda makes me cringe. Tyra's aghast, too, as she almost shouts, "And a princess!" Hee!

Danielle makes Nigel melt, and honestly, she looks like an angel. Everyone she worked with said she was the most personable, and everyone on the panel gave her props for better articulation. Everyone but Tyra, that is, who just "didn't like it at all." BITCH!

Deliberations.

Miss J. and Twiggy jump to Danielle's defense saying that a little bit of voice coaching is all Danielle needs. Which is probably the nicest thing Miss J. has said all season.

Joanie just can't take a bad photo.

Jade is just dead set on being a model. Her photos are good, but she's always answering back.

At this point, I was terrified that Danielle was going home, and we'd be stuck with another half hour of Jade. So I went and got some chocolate during the commercial placed strategically to add drama. Whatever.

Joanie gets the first photo, and Tyra tells her that there's a 50% chance of being ANTM. Oh, there goes Ty-Ty, showing off her math skills again!

Tyra does her recap of the judges deliberations for both Danielle and Jade. Jade stands there, shifting her weight back and forth, fidgeting, looking anywhere but at Tyra while she's talking to her. It's like watching an upperclassman get busting for smoking in the locker room. I'm embarrassed for her.

And Tyra points out, "Jade, you're just standing there fidgeting and not saying anything, but you're still talking."

I'm so torn between love and hate for Tyra.

DANIELLE GETS HER PHOTO! Jade goes home! Step off, bitch!

She exits the room with, "Peace, ladies. Thank you." No insincere hugs, thank God. She just couldn't be more pissed, and that whole room just couldn't be happier to see her go.

While packing, she interviews, "My only regret is that they've made the wrong decision and will pick the wrong person to win. I'm just in a different realm. People don't know how to handle me."

Ever the cocky, delusional robot, Jade hums and snaps her fingers as she exits their pad. Oh, you showed us, Jade! You'll never let The Man get you down! The show a photo of the final three girls, and Jade disappears from it to the sound of her own finger snap, which I love because it's somehow so fitting. You did it to yourself, honey.

So now, Joanie and Danielle are the Cutest. Top Two. Evah. So cute, I can't even believe I debased them with that over-used phrasing. Sorry, gals! My love for you is real!

Tyra Mail! "Your body is your temple. Work it, and make me proud."

The girls are going to walk in some huge fashion show for "Issue." The runway is some big city they built on the water, and it's reeeeaaaalllllllly looooooooooooooong. It's also in the afternoon, and it's going to be 99 degrees. Fun, fun, fun.

Lots of going on and on about the runway and how much they both want to win. I guess, when there's only two girls left, and they're both pretty nice, you have to rely on a lot of filler.

Lots of nervousness and waiting backstage. Danielle has to walk carrying a drum. And she's wearing tie-dyed leggings under her outfit. Just like I did in 1986.

Joanie is so nervous that she worries she may be at her "breaking point."

Danielle walked too slow, according to Jay. She was just trying not to slip on the truckload of flower petals they dumped on the runway.

Joanie has a ton of feathers on her head. Honestly, all the clothes are really weird. I wonder if they get to keep what they modeled? Because where the hell are they going to wear them again?

Jay is so proud that they looked like models. Um, should someone remind him of the whole premise of the show? Can someone please get Jay a cue card?! Tyra is so proud that she's tearing up. She must have perfected that technique for her talk show. Joanie gets weepy, too.

Judging. The girls are in their runway outfits. Well, I guess that's one place they can wear them because they'll never look more ridiculous than Tyra.

At this point, I stopped taking a lot of notes because I was sure Joanie was going to win, what with Tyra being all about the hate for Danielle's accent.

Danielle had Miss J's walk. Everyone looks at each girl's entire portfolio, and there just isn't a bad photo in the lot. Tyra asks if there's anything the girls would like to say, and both graciously thank the judges for the experience. Very classy.

The girls leave the room, and the judges declare this race the hardest one yet. The girls are neck in neck, and for once, I completely agree. Usually I have a clear winner in mind, but this time, damn.

The girls come back into the room holding hands. Awwwwwwwww! I start to hope that Tyra will make ANTM history by choosing TWO winners, but I realize that that probably wouldn't fly with their sponsors.

Much suspense and breath-holding... and Danielle is the winner! I'm so happy for her and sad for Joanie at the same time! It's very emotional! And now I'm going all Tyra on you guys -- how embarassing.

Joanie is incredibly gracious and tells Danielle, "The best girl won." And consider my heartstrings yanked because that is a damn cool thing to say after losing something so important to her. I have completely forgiven her for being so catty in the last episode.

Danielle is all teary and says to the camera, "I'm a Cover Girl, Mommy!"

Aaaaaand that's where I lost it. Alert the media and wake the pope -- Wenchie has a soft spot after all.

Well, now what am I going to read on Television Without Pity? "Supernatural" is over, too. For the season, or for good, I don't know. Well, there's always Mondo Extras and my Xena DVDs! And "Deadwood" starts up again on June 11th! YAY!!!!!!

Oh! Almost forgot! Husband wasn't home to watch; he was downtown at Older Step Daughter's end-of-the-year recital, which started at 8:00. He called at 8:27 to ask who won. BWAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

I'm sorry to confess -- it didn't occur to me to lie and say it was Jade. He would have screamed to drown out the whole horn section.

Posted at 01:42 PM | Comments (1)

May 17, 2006

Rodney Dangerfield, Move Over

This blog has a rating of NC-17

Inspired by my WBV post, a male friend of mine randomly IMed me with too much information on his wife's cooter, insisting that I'm going to have to take second place to her.

"It's like throwing a hotdog down a hallway," says he, ever the classy gent.

F: My wife's vagina is so large, once when she sneezed a watch I had lost two years earlier fell out.

PW: EWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

F: It's so large, it has it's own weather patterns.

PW: it's so large, it has other smaller vaginas orbiting it

F: When she opens her legs, I have to make sure that the door is open, otherwise the rush of air into it will pop my ears.

PW: OH MY: GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BWAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAHA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

F: She has yodlers hanging out, just for the echo effect.

PW: when she has an orgasm, she whistles

F: Bruce Springsteen once had five sold-out shows there.

PW: HAAA HA HA HA HA HA! you aren't making these up!

F: The Bears have contacted us about using it for a winter practice field.

PW: the pictures from the NASA probe haven't returned yet

F: LOL! Evel Knievel once wanted to jump it. (Only time someone wanted to jump it, matter of fact...)

PW: hee! the government wants to store nuclear waste there

F: Had a group of hobbits and elves come rushing out, crying, because someone got killed by a Balrog.

PW: HAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! you aren't making these up!

F: I am. Right of the top of my head. You've inspired me.

PW: Trump is trying to build a bigger one.

F: lol! FEMA is wanting to use it to house disaster refugees.

PW: man, I have to blog this

F: don't use my real name. Don't need your mom's opinion to drop on me.

PW: awww, but I gotta give you credit! besides, she's already numb to talk of vag

Posted at 01:42 PM | Comments (4)

May 16, 2006

Soda Machine Outage... and Outrage

Remember the G.M. of our company, famous for such emails as Stewards of Electrical Resources and Pig Sty? Well, he's at it again. Yes, we pay him six figures a year to write this:

V.P. has elected to keep your price of soft drinks at $.25 even though it cost the company $.65 per can. This cost includes the cost of the soda, machine rental, service, and overhead to the vending company. This is an employee benefit and intended for employee consumption while at the office.

We are periodically reminded of the machine being out of a specific soda. The machine is filled three times per week. Our outage of a specific brand has increased substantially in recent weeks. Why are we having an outage with more frequency? We have fewer employees within our space than when we first moved. Are our employees drinking more soda? Are people taking advantage of the subsidized price and taking the drinks home or to other areas? We had one employee observe a member of the cleaning crew purchases many and place them into a basket for removal from the area. I do not know if increased outage is one primary reason or if there are several contributing factors.

Here is what has been done:

1. I met with the building management and they will communicate to the cleaning crew that they should not be purchasing subsidized goods or removing goods from tenant space. While we do not object to them having a soda for their own use while in our space, purchasing multiple drinks at our subsidized rate and removing them in inappropriate. Depleting the supply is inconsiderate and inconvenient to you.

2. Executive Secretary checked with the vendor and found a timer can be installed which will render the machine inoperable during certain hours. This would certainly stop the purchase of drinks after regular office hours. I do not want to do this as it would inconvenience employees here after normal hours.

Other options:

1. We could eliminate one of the other drink options so more Diet Coke could be available. That may please the Diet Coke drinkers at the expense of those preferring the product eliminated.

2. If the low price is influencing the purchases, we could reduce the amount of company subsidy (increase cost at the machine). I do not think that is something you want us to do and I do not think V.P. wants that to happen.

3. Adding another machine is not an option for consideration.

Suggestions:

1. If you observe inappropriate use of the vending machine, tactfully reminder the offender and/or report the incident to an appropriate person.

2. If you are having a group function that may require a large quantity of drinks, consider purchasing your needed quantity of drinks elsewhere rather than depleting the supply in the vending machine.

3. If the machine happens to be temporarily out of your favorite soda, consider trying an alternate brand until the machine is refilled. Better yet, consider the filtered water.

4. If you are really attached to a specific brand that is not available from the machine, you may find it in the Atrium Shop (non-discounted price).

5. Remember that we do not have a supply of drinks to replenish the machine and we do not have a key to access the machine. The vendor is here on a regular schedule (Mon, Wed.& Fri. morning) and is the only one able to refill the machine. Let's try to patiently wait for the vendor to arrive and refill the machine.

6. Let's continue to monitor the usage without currently implementing additional changes.

Well. I knew I just had to blog it.

I was drafting some witty comments to go with it, when I received this from co-worker Ann O. Nymous, which is much funnier than anything I was coming up with:

Solution 1

1. Compare the daily fluctuations in soda inventory against the badge reader data on the restroom doors.

2. A decrease in soda inventory that coincides with an increase of trips to the restroom would implicate a suspect.

Solution 2

1. Install retina scanners, fingerprint scanners, or card key readers on the soda machine.

2. The information from these access devices can be correlated to the fluctuations in soda inventories, thereby allowing the determination of the individual (or individuals – we cannot rule out the possibility of a conspiracy) consuming excessive amounts of soda.

Solution 3

1. Install realistic-looking, artificial bushes and trees in the lunchroom.

2. Wearing camouflage clothing, appointed company officials can hide in the fake bushes and trees and await for the arrival of the cleaning people

3. When the cleaning people are observed removing excessive amounts of soda from the machine, fire a tranquilizer dart into their shoulder or haunches. The amount of tranquilizer needed will vary from cleaning person to cleaning person – depending on their weight.

4. Once darted with the tranquilizer, follow – at a safe distance – the cleaning person(s) until they drop.

5. Once down, they can be weighed, their teeth and nails can be checked, and blood can be drawn. The glucose levels of the blood can aid in determining whether “too much” soda has been consumed by the cleaning person. Also, if the cleaning person was carrying soda cans, these can be collected and returned to the soda machine.

6. The sleeping cleaning person will awaken within 20 minutes, with only a slight headache and a thirsty sensation which will undoubtedly cause them to return to the soda machine for a drink.

Posted at 12:17 PM | Comments (4)

May 15, 2006

"The Girls Go to Phuket"

Didn't I just do this? I never thought I'd say this, but thank God this is the next-to-last episode of "America's Next Top Model." Although I have found more truly likable girls this season, Jade's continued presence is just unbearable.

Speaking of which, we open to see Jade. Bitching. Again. "I've been in the Bottom Two so many times! I don't belong there! I don't know why people keep getting a different perception of me!" When is someone going to shred her face with their fingernails? When?!

Danielle is in the pool with Sara -- bow-chicka-bowwwwwww -- and is obsessing over her southern accent, which Tyra keeps calling "ghetto," even tho' it isn't. She said she speed-talks and her words get jumbled together. I disagree; I've heard every hilarious thing she has said. I think Tyra is just a snob.

Sara is talking about the mall thing again. Yawn.

In a surprise move, Joanie gets bitching and starts talking smack about Sara, saying that modeling isn't her "real passion." So I guess she doesn't deserve to be there? Well, I didn't exactly grow up dreaming of the glamorous world of typing and filing, but I'm good at it, so who gives a crap?

Tyra mail! [Insert unclever rhymey thing here] -- go-sees!

The girls arrive at a temple and meet a designer who is going to teach them a bit about Thai customs for their go-sees. Jade is awed about the biggest temple she's ever seen close-up. Temples are in the log cabin family, doncha know.

Thailand means country of smiles, so the girls must smile all the time, like being in a wedding that lasts your entire life. You must take off your shoes before going inside, which I kinda like because it drives me nuts when people track shit into my house. Also, if you go visit someone, it's customary to bring them a gift.

Man, I could really get into Thailand. If not for the fakey-smile thing.

Then she gives the girls their portfolios of all the photos they've had taken over the course of the competition. And I gotta tell ya, if you're trying to break into modeling, that right there is a huge deal. It's gotta be worth thousands of dollars.

The girls are given, like, $80,000 baht to buy presents, which is like $1.57. They go to what I assume is the Thai equivalent of The Dollar Store. Jade buys flowers, and Danielle buys little elephants. With this whole Thai gift-buying policy, I would imagine that every house in Thailand is just packed full of chatchkies and knick-knacks and gagadills.

Sara almost forgets her portfolio in The Baht Store.

When they're done shopping, the girls are each to take a little taxi called a tuk-tuk to all their go-sees. The tuk-tuks are like a cross between a moped and a mini coup.

Jade is all upset because she wants doors and windows on her car. Now, I'm all for living in the lap of luxury, but honestly, the tuk-tuks don't look all that bad. Maybe she's afraid of getting shit thrown at her? Or an assassination attempt?

Whereas Danielle is just afraid that they'll take a wrong turn and end up in Korea. Apparently, she's been taking geography lessons from Jade because one would have to take a wrong turn and then drive through the entire country of China to get to North Korea. Oh, Danielle, don't make me hate you, too.

At Sara's first go-see, the lady loves her gift, but Sara is too tall and too old (22).

Joanie goes to some place where the theme is Alice In Wonderland meets Best Little Whorehouse In Texas. She must do her best runway walk wearing a huge frog mask and frilly, yellow lingerie. Apparently, all the animals are meeting for tea with the Mad Hatter, and then swapping partners.

Just minutes behind Joanie is Jade, but unfortunately, there are no stalking laws in Thailand.

Jade watches Joanie's go-see and interviews, "I don't know if lingerie is Joanie's thing. She doesn't really have a lingerie body. I have a lingerie body."

Maybe, Jade, but you also have a paper-bag face. The Alice In Whorehouse In Texas designer doesn't like how Jade is "moody" and not smiling. Huh. You'd think that watching Joanie work at a "level" so far beneath her own would make Jade smile. Weird.

Danielle forgets to take off her shoes, but the designer really likes her portfolio.

Sara is walking for the designer, who tells her to "walk more gentle." Like she's walking on the fragile bubble that is Jade's reality. Having chosen a new stalkee, Jade watches Sara's go-see and cackles. I'm sorry, the all the usual words -- bitch, twat, stalker-alien-robot -- just don't cut it anymore.

Unhappy with her waning appearance, Danielle deadpans to the camera, "Do you know what heat and humidity does to a black girl's hair?"

And I can honestly answer -- no, I don't. But judging by the look on her face, it ain't good. My hair is pretty darn straight. I once spent a week in Atlanta in the middle of August, and my hair burst into ringlets. Ringlets, people!

At the 4:30 p.m. deadline -- which they were told was very, very important -- all four girls are stuck in traffic. Not exactly their fault. Sara and Joanie arrive back at 4:45, which isn't too bad, but I'm a rude American, so what do I know?

Danielle arrives at 5:05, and Jade strolls in at 5:40 with her what's-the-big-deal? attitude. Jade made sure to see ALL the designers on the list, regardless of time, because she decided that that was the most important thing -- not getting back on time so people don't have to wait on your skinny ass.

Sounds like Jade knows she's not going to win, so she's getting her face in front of as many people who might possibly help her post-ANTM career.

The designer bawls them all out and reads the list of comments collected from their go-sees. Sara has huge potential but seems a little stiff. Danielle's appearance in person was not good (am I the only one who can't see this Black Hair Humidity Issue on her?), but her photos were well-liked. Jade was not as nice as the other girls. Joanie doesn't stand out.

The winner would have been Danielle, who would have won a rack of clothes from each designer on the go-see, but since everyone was late getting back, no one wins.

Well, at least it wasn't Jade.

Danielle goes, "Please punch me in the face."

Tyra mail! Something about "just wanting to say Phuket." Which is pronounced [foo-ket'] and is a providence famous for its diving and snorkeling.

"The water and Jade -- we mix." Oh, I love it when people talk about themselves in the third person. It makes Wenchie want to throw her shoe at them.

The girls have to take a plane there, and they get to stay at this amazing house right on the ocean, where Joanie suddenly turns into a bitch. She's angry with Sara and complains to Danielle about modeling not being Sara's passion.

Danielle, wisely, tells Joanie to focus on herself and not on Sara. Which is probably Danielle's way of saying that she doesn't want to hear Joanie's bitching, but that doesn't stop her! She goes on that Sara copies her and shouldn't be there and blah blah blah.

Tyra mail! Something about taking a bath because they're going to get dirty...? Oh, she's just not even trying anymore.

Tyra comes for a visit, in a do-rag and pajamas. She talks about how Phuket is paradise, but on December 26, 2004, it was struck by that huge tsunami. Blah blah must respect history and culture blah blah celebrate rebuilding blah blah. Moment of silence, holding hands in a circle. *sigh* Are the girls going to put on their bathing suits soon? I think Tyra got this show confused with her talk show.

Danielle starts to cry and is really affected by it, which is kinda cool that she's so empathetic. Is there anything I don't love about her?

Joanie interviews that it made all the crap between them disappear for a moment. Aaaaaaaand then they're back to hating Jade.

Jay appears to explain that their shoot is for Elle Girl magazine, Apple Mobil and O.P. swimwear, and all the reps for these products are going to be watching the shoot. No pressure or anything.

Danielle is still freaked out by the thought of bodies floating in the very water they're going to be posing in. Jade admits to being intimidated by having Nigel as their photographer. Probably because he's a total pervert.

The waves are really rough on Joanie because she's only slightly heavier than seaweed. She is "fierce" and "works it" anyway.

Sara poses on the rocks and is completely tense. Nigel keeps telling her to relax her face. Or sit on his. It's hard to hear, what with the waves and all.

Jade is standing on some boat that keeps rocking, but she stays on it because she knows that Nigel will admire her plucky resolve.

Danielle is STILL freaking about the tsunami victims, and Nigel gives her some very good advice about not letting it ruin her shoot and focusing on the beauty of the place.

The girls leave Phuket on a plane and head back for a "stressful elimination." Yeah, I've never been so keyed up. Tyra mail, go before the judges, yadda yadda yadda. Danielle is nervous about her photos and her accent.

Commercials. My phone rings. It's my Mom. How considerate of her to call during commercials! Because you know I don't answer the phone while I'm watching t.v. -- not even for Mom.

M: I don't know why, but I'm watching "America's Next Top Model."

PW: HA! I know why! It's because my recaps drove you to it!

M: Are you watching right now?

PW: Of course.

M: Okay -- what's with the two skinny, white girls? Why are they even on the show? They're ugly!

PW: Yeah, but they give good face.

Officially the Coolest Conversation I Ever Had with My Mom.

Judging!

Joanie looks awesome. Jade looks washed out because she's wearing a shirt that matches her skin color and her hair color. Ew. And as long as we're all judging, can I just say that Twiggy looks great? She seems to be aging a lot more gracefully than most beautiful, famous women.

The girls will be judged on two photos -- the polaroid taken at their go-sees, and the bathing suit photo. Tyra says that the polaroids are more "real." She also gives us a demonstration of her "real" booty and her "model" booty. One is huge, and one is huge and tucked under.

Danielle's polaroid is okay, and she explains how the hot and sweaty tuk-tuk ride affected her hair. The Elle Girl shot is too sexy for a girls' magazine. Tyra explains the difference between modeling for men and modeling for women.

Tonight's "America's Next Top Model" is brought to you by Opposites!

Sara's polaroid looks shy and too amateur. Also? She can't smile with her eyes. What is she...? Is she pruning the tree? Trya smiles with her eyes and looks terrifyingly manic.

Jade needs to smile and show warmth in her polaroids, and in life in general. Is it just me, or does she have a lazy eye? Her photo is good. If you like girls who look like they're always about to cut you. Tyra remarks that she looked stiff in a lot of her photos, and Nigel jumps to her defense about the rocking boat.

Tyra loves that Joanie finally "looks modely" in front of the judges. Her polaroid shows that she needs to push her arms and shoulders back. They looooooooove her photo and say she looks really young. Jade's sun-damaged forehead wrinkles in dismay.

Deliberations.

Joanie and Jade get photos, which means, yes, Jade is in the Final Three. Words fail me.

Sara has progressed, but has she progressed enough? Can Danielle learn to be articulate enough to be a Cover Girl spokes model?

Danielle stays, and Tyra lies, "Accents are beautiful because they show where we come from." She's such a hypocrite. Twiggy probably shamed her into it.

On Wednesday: SEASON FINALE!!! Don't be calling my house.

Posted at 02:24 PM | Comments (0)

May 14, 2006

Happy Mothers Day

When you hear the words "step mother," what springs to mind? It's probably some devious, cackling hag with cruel eyes and a pursed, frowning mouth. Thank you, Walt Disney. Thank you, Grimm brothers.

For ages, the step mothers of Cinderella and Snow White have been the heading under which all step mothers are filed. It's not only unfair, it leaves us floundering.

Where are our role models? Where are our guides? What do we have to do in order to be considered a "good" step mother? And who makes the rules because, sometimes, frankly, the real parents don't know what to expect, either. While society happily provides many guidelines for mothers and fathers, step parents are left to figure shit out on our own.

"Blended families" (doncha love that term? it's so delicious, so smooth and creamy!) start out with a lot of high expectations. He expects his new wife to love his children as his own; she expects the children to be receptive to her attempts at becoming a family member. Both expect way too much.

We don't mean anything to these kids. We're just strangers their fathers married without consulting them. At best, we're nothing, vapors, ghosts. At worst, we are an intrution, an obstacle, a foe.

Of course, the whole situation sucks for the kids to deal with. They're children, and their whole lives have been ripped apart.

But while it's socially acceptable -- and, indeed, expected -- for kids to be angry and unresponsive and to act out, this behavior is not tolerated from adults. The kids have an outlet -- the step mom. And we have to suck it up because we're the grown-ups.

My shrink told us that the role of step mom is the hardest in any family. Harder than the real mom. Harder than the step dad. Step moms are, traditionally, the scapegoats for every bad thing and bad feeling that happens in the family.

Step moms are blamed for decisions they don't make, things they never said, and influence they simply don't have.

In short, we're in a bit of a pickle, and it takes a lot of work for us to come to some sort of peace with our lives and our new families. Constant work. Mostly by repeating the mantra, "Let it go. Let it go. Let it go."

Which sounds uncaring. And we should never say it out loud, lest we be publicly scorned and made to sit in the stocks while people throw rotten cabbage and rutabagas at us. Because no one knows about the good things we do for those kids.

No one knows about the times we defend the kids to their fathers, when they've gotten more mad than the situation warrants. No one knows how we cry and worry and lose sleep when those children are having trouble in school, or with friends, or with the aftermath of their parents' divorce. No one knows how enraged we get when their own parents seem unaware or unmindful of their pain and struggles.

No one notices that we clean their rooms, and wash their sheets, and buy the foods we know they like, and make sure they sit down to eat a decent, home-cooked meal once in a while. It's really, really easy to see the crappy mistakes step moms make in learning to be a stepmom. It's harder to see into our hearts, and see how hard we're trying.

We do the work, we buy all the holiday/birthday gifts, we cook, we clean, we worry. But we don't get the rewards that moms get. No one is happy to see us. No one wants to spend time with us. No one comes to us with their hurts or their triumphs.

We do the things that Moms do. We rejoice at the good news and cry at the bad. But we usually receive this news second- or third-hand. No come comes to us for accolades or comfort. We are removed from the children we help care for.

Being a stepmom is lonely.

Okay, blah blah blah, enough of that. Just, please, remember your step moms. They're not crazy, stupid bitches. Would Dad have married her? Remember that she's trying to find her place in an already-established family. Help her, welcome her. Buy her a friggin' card already.

Posted at 08:53 AM | Comments (9)

May 12, 2006

Little Man Tate

Nephew will be seven this month, and he's reading at a college sophomore level, or something like that.

Each week in class, they have vocabulary words to do. Normally, he won't even deign to go over the one-syllable words with Older Sister (who really needs a real name here). However, he's at the age where he still likes his teacher, so when she asks, he will answer.

Recently, she asked him to say a sentence using the word been.

He said, "I've been around."

Posted at 02:37 PM | Comments (2)

May 11, 2006

Deliver Me

Billi is currently pregnant with her third child, as you may have surmized from her comments recently. On Saturday, she goes in for the ultrasound where they find out the sex of the baby.

(The baby, by the way, is called Cashew because, when Billi told me she was pregnant, she said the baby was the size of a cashew. Cuuuuute!)

I'm all for this procedure because I want to start in with the Assigned Gender Roles as early as possible. If it's a girl, I'll help Billi paint the nursery pink, and I'll start buying frilly dresses. If it's a boy, green nursery and overalls.

I know I'm supposed to be all, "Oh, I don't care what sex it is. I just hope it's healthy with ten fingers and ten toes. Or eleven would be cool, too." But I am openly rooting for a girl. Girls are more fun to dress, and -- let's be honest -- the world just can't take another Boy Child.

PW: I'm so excited about Saturday! You have to call me on your way home from the ultrasound! Okay, you can call Mom and Brad's Mom first, but then you have to call ME!

B: Why don't you just come with us? It's really cool!

PW: What?! I can't come with to your ultrasound!

B: Why not? We're bringing the kids.

PW: Because that's, like, Sacred Beautiful Family Moment.

B: Oh, please. It's my third kid. You could be in the delivery room, for all I care.

PW: Okay, I'll come with!

B: Hey... do you wanna be in the delivery room?

PW: NO!!!

B: Why not?

PW: Again -- Sacred Beautiful Family Time.

B: No, it's not. I'm inviting the neighbors! Japanese tourists! Bring a picnic lunch!

PW: Dude. Seriously?

B: Yes!

PW: I don't think I could handle seeing you in all that pain.

B: I'm not in pain. I get an epidural!

PW: Yeah, but there must be some pain.

B: Nope. Don't feel a thing.

PW: You're just saying that to make me feel better.

B: I'm serious! I'm totally numb!

So I thought about it. I mean, since I refuse to reproduce myself, how many opportunities am I going to get to witness the miracle of birth? I would be pretty stupid to turn it down, right?

I decided to do a little research, so I went to www.YouTube.com and found a three minute video of a birth to watch.

By the two minute marker, I had to put my head down between my knees. I was praying, "Pleasedon'tletmefaint. Pleasedon'tletmefaint. Pleasedon'tletmefaint."

I quickly closed the YouTube window on my computer because I didn't want anyone discovering my prone body and looking up to see a placenta on my screen.

When I finally felt capable of standing up, I hurried to the bathroom, my face hot, the rest of my body shivering cold. I stayed there for about five minutes, pressing my forehead to the cool metal of the stall wall, until I was sure I wasn't gonna spew chunks.

I don't think I'm cut out for the miracle of birth. I'll just send a nice floral arrangement or something.

Posted at 01:26 PM | Comments (4)

May 10, 2006

Come Play With Us... Forever

It's that time of year again -- The Season of the Twins. Yes, it is as ominous as it sounds.

I will be a prisonor in my own home all summer, May through September. Which you wouldn't think would happen in a neighborhood where old people take walks after dark, there's a pastor across the street, and the man next door once got outta the shower to find me some nutmeg. But it does happen. And one day the pastor and nutmeg guy will be telling reporters what a nice, quiet neighbor I was.

There are lots of kids in our neighborhood, including the requisite teenaged boy who apparently broke the bass dial in his car and can't turn it down and who certainly doesn't know anything about the paintball splatters on my garage door. But in general, they're all pretty good kids.

Except for the twins, Vito and Vinny or whatever. They're five years old, and they won't leave me alone.

They're like those twin little dead girls from "The Shining." Without the dresses. Or the Exploding Blood Elevator of Doom. But the wan, parasitic expressions are dead-on. Forgive the pun.

These boys see my car from down the block as I'm coming home from work, so by the time I pull into my driveway, there they are. Waiting for me. And as soon as I open the car door, the questions start.

"Where's your... the guy who lives here?"
"You mean my husband?"
"Yeah, him."
"He's at work."
"Oh. When does he get home?"
"Not until much later."
"Oh. What are you doing?"
"Going inside to start dinner." (Lie.)
"Oh. Can you let Daisy out so we can play with her?"
"Well, I don't let her out in the front yard cuz there's no fence."
"Oh. Can we come in and play with her?"

What the fuck? Didn't they ever learn about Stranger Danger? Don't invite yourself into anyone's house, kid! If they're not already a homicidal maniac, you'll probably drive them to it.

These kids make me dread coming home. I resent their endless questions, their eagerness, their neediness. And I know this makes me an evil, Satan-worshipping, puppy-eating, light-extinguising, flower-whithering, rainbow-squelching Nazi, but when I get home after work, I just want to be left alone. To build my giant sun-blotting-out machine. Is that so wrong?

Oh, also? They ring my doorbell. Over and over and over. And I have to answer it because they know I'm there, and they will just keep ringing.

Sometimes I go out of my way to approach my house from the opposite direction, and maybe they won't see me! Or if they do, I'm so sneaky that it'll be too late, and I'll be inside before they get to my house, and then I can just pretend I don't hear the doorbell because if I didn't see them, they're not there.

Of course, I would never hurt them or be mean to them. I just want them to go away.

One time, Husband and I were going out for dinner. It was still light out, so he reminded me to make sure those twin boys weren't behind the car before I pulled out. Like I'm driving on my permit or something.

So I'm backing up, and I go, "THUMP-thump."

And Husband goes, "You know, when I was little, my uncle once backed over one of the neighbor's kids and killed him."

Oh, for fuck's sake. Of COURSE, he did. Because every time I am being funny, Husband knows someone who got killed that way.

He's like the Dad from Freaks and Geeks -- "My uncle had lots of kids in his neighborhood. Know what happened to them? THEY DIED!"

He's gonna make a great 80 year old man.

Posted at 02:01 PM | Comments (1)

May 09, 2006

"The Girl Who Is Rushed To the Emergency Room"

Oh my God, "America's Next Top Model" is on again TOMORROW, and I haven't even reviewed last week's! Where has the week gone?!

I'll start by expressing the disappointment of the entire world that Jade wasn't rushed to the hospital with a broken nose and concussion after being pummeled by her fed-up roommates. I think Tyra should have to answer to the United Nations for her part in all this.

We open with Furonda moaning about being in the Bottom Two, Sara vowing to fake the confidence she doesn't possess, Danielle reading scripture, and Jade being an ignorant twat.

Jade calls Joanie "demanding" to her face (I don't know why... perhaps Jade was thinking of a different word?), and then interviews behind her back that Joanie doesn't look like a model. Well, I guess Jade just figured out who is likely to win, or at least be in the Final Two.

I would just like to point out that Danielle is apparently a religious girl, and yet she doesn't feel compelled to shove it in everyone else's face, CAMILLE! Danielle is sweet.

Tyra Mail -- something about being "in a strange position." Are the girls doing yoga? Does anyone care?

The girls are taken to a theatre and meet some artistic director whose name I'm not even going to attempt to recreate here. Those Thai people have some interesting names! Anyhoo, the girls are going to learn Thai classical dance. Lots of pointy hats and backward-bent hands. The movements tell a story, so I guess it's kinda like hula, only without the fruity drinks and sexy hip-shaking.

I like how, when the dance instructor tells them that, to have their hands above eyebrow level when they're dancing conveys arrogance, we get a quick close-up of Jade. As if we'd forgotten!

And we're treated to Jade interviewing, "I don't have an ounce of arrogance in my body." I don't know if that's even relevant to their dance lesson, but it's still funny.

In the middle of the lesson, Danielle starts to get a migraine, and she gets faint, "like an out-of-body experience."

The dance lesson is over, and the instructor tells them, "Be beautiful, but not arrogant." Again, camera on Jade. I'm beginning to think they're making her wear a sign or something.

At lunch, Joanie finally snaps and breaks the cardinal rule of Don't Look Jade In The Eye. She asks Jade why she's so defensive, and Jade couldn't more aptly prove her point when she sings, "Liiiiiies! Liiiiies!"

Honestly, all Joanie is doing is asking a question. She's not even being snotty. And then Jade goes on to spout gems like, "You're perceiving me as something I'm not," and "Are you Tyra?"

In perhaps my Favorite ANTM Interview EVAH, Joanie goes, "When I'm next to her, all I smell... is bitch."

And while the girls are wrinkling their noses at Jade's foul stench, they don't even notice that Danielle is carried off-set, crying, breathing painfully, and in really bad shape.

Danielle says that her body is all numb and shaky, and her eyes are twitching, and frankly, I'm kinda scared for her. It's pretty unnerving.

The rest of the girls get ready for their Thai dancing, and although there don't appear to be any assistants in the room with them, they put on their ornate costumes correctly and with great ease, even down to the exaggerated eyeliner. Are we supposed to think they did that by themselves?

Joanie says she's sick of Jade winning. Joanie, you're Nobel Prize is in the mail. Jade says that she "fits the image" of a Thai dancer. Yes, Jade, we get it -- you're an ethnic chameleon. And now Thailand is going to fly a plane into the ANTM headquarters for the insult.

Joanie dances first for the audience, and she's actually really, really good. I'm impressed how she picked it up so quickly.

Jade interviews, "She's really good, but I'm not intimidated. She's not at my level."

Uh-huh.

Sara looks really uncomfortable on stage, like she's praying to get it over with without looking like too much of an idiot.

Furonda, the poor dear, has no clue what she's doing, so she just starts being silly. She has her hands above eyebrow level, to the horror of the entire audience. Then she goes into a hip-hop-hula thing. Oh dear.

And the winner is JOANIE! Finally, some justice! She picks Sara to share her prize because Sara hasn't won anything. Sara kinda takes offense at this and interviews that she doesn't want Joanie's pity. But she's no fool and totally goes with her.

Danielle is in a hospital room in Thailand. God, doesn't that just send shivers through your soul? She's upset that she's stuck there with an IV in her while the girls are dancing. I say, Lesser Of Two Evils.

She says she was just dehydrated, and although the doctor wants her to stay and rest, she leaves.

Sara and Joanie win a nice dinner with the dance instructor which, as prizes go, is pretty sucky. I mean, it's no diamonds!

Tyra Mail -- Burn your bikini because you're going to rock it in trunks. Or something.

Danielle's face is hurting (well, it's killing Jade!), and she's in no shape to do a shoot. We find out the whole story is dehydration, exhaustion and food poisoning. Man, that sucks. But she gets outta bed anyway.

I'm pretty much HHHHHHHATING Tyra at this point, for making the girls feel like they have to endanger their health in order to stay in the competition. I guess she's just setting them up for the reality of bulimia in their future.

They get to their location, and Jay Manuel rides in on an elephant. He tells they girls they will ride the elephants to the location of their shoot and then pose with them. Cool! I love elephants!

Jade is in awe and says, "Wow. To be next to an animal that preposterous..." The elephant is thinking the same exact thing.

I'm not sure what word she was searching for there, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't preposterous.

Today's shoot is for the Venus Vibrator electric shaver. Oh, God. The girls shave their legs right there. Classy. There's a douche commercial in their future, I just know it. And they're going to have to douche right there on the beach.

Danielle is the first to pose with the elephant, and it gets spooked by the camera flashes and walks away. "Bitch, please, I have such a hangover."

And then, the second best interview of all time. Jade is still talking about how awesome it is to be posing with an elephant because -- get this -- "the elephant is in the dinosaur family."

This set off Husband laughing hysterically. I have a 7 year old Nephew who can give Jade a lesson in animal families, if she'd like. Chapter One: Mammals and How They're Different. Dear Christ, "the dinosaur family."

Her shoot is sucking ass, and for the billionth time, she blames it on Jay's direction. Which, I agree, is rarely insightful, but seriously.

Furonda is leading with her jaw in all the photos. I'm sad cuz she usually takes good photos. Jade calls her, "the weakest link." I'm surprised Jade, in all her evolutionary wisdom, didn't call her "the missing link."

Joanie wows Jay and circus trainers everywhere by standing on the elephants lifted front leg. She's so awesome. All her shots look fabulous, and Jay is shocked at how the elephant and she seem to have a connection. I love her so.

Jade again has to remind us that, "I don't pay attention to Joanie. She's not on my level."

Liiiiiiiiiies! Liiiiiiiiiies!

Sara totally copies Joanie's moves, and not very well. Oh, Sara.

Jade's delusion continues, because her lips are moving, "I am a threat. The girls see that and will be happy if I leave."

AND SO WILL THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE, YOU STUPID TWAT!!!!!!!!!!!

Judging.

This week's retarded challenge is to convey three emotions, with a mask on, using the Thai dance moves they learned, but while still posing like a model. The emotions are sensuality, despair and compassion. I could do this.

Furonda is "high energy" but horrible, which is code for "total spaz." Her photo is nice.

Sara... I can't read what I wrote about her three emotions posing, but she gets called on copying Joanie, and not even very well.

Jade danced but didn't pose for her three emotions. Her photo looks like she's flying. They say her legs look weird and she was stiff for the whole shoot.

Joanie is consistantly fabulous. Period.

Tyra explains to the judges that Danielle was in the hospital the day before the shoot, and that asshole Nigel actually calls her "high maintenance." Jesus, why doesn't he just accuse her of the vapors and a wandering uterus? She had FOOD POISONING, Archie Bunker! The rest of the judges are impressed that she took such a gorgeous shot while sick.

Deliberations.

Jade is photogenic but knows better than everyone else.

In their infinite compassion, they agree they can't fault Danielle for being in the hospital and missing the dancing challenge. They wish her speech was "less ghetto."

Joanie is awesome on film but can't perform in person.

Furonda dances to the beat of her own drum.

Sara is much improved, but is it too little to late?

Joanie, Sara and Danielle get their photos. Of Furonda and Jade, Furonda goes home. That's it -- I'm officially an atheist. (Wait, do I still get Christmas presents?)

Jade can stay with a warning from Tyra, "Don't be your own worst enemy, Jade." Why not? She's everyone else's.

Furonda struts out of the room with her fierce-yet-goofy signature walk, endearing her to my heart even more, and hopefully making the judges regret their decision.

Next week: Bad waves threaten a beach photo shoot, and Jade is a stupid, stupid bitch. Oh no -- waves!

Posted at 11:59 AM | Comments (2)

May 08, 2006

Sibling Rivalry

This is the way it went down.

Nicholle's sister, Vicki, does these... voices. (Nicki and Vicki -- ain't that sweet? I'm pretty sure they did a banjo act together last year at the county fair.) She can achieve Robin-Williams-in-his-prime levels of funny voices without the aid of cocaine. Or an all-over body hair rug.

Nicki and Vicki were in the car (which, amazingly, was not a '56 Chevy with the muffler missing and a gunrack in the back), and Vicki had been doing her German Voice all day, when she decided to switch to her Retard Voice. (Blaire!)

N: Now combine the two!

V: What?

N: Do Retarded German!

V: I can't!

N: Why not? If you can do German and you can do Retarded, why can't you do Retarded German?

V: Why is nothing I do ever good enough for you?!

Posted at 02:15 PM | Comments (1)

May 05, 2006

A Post for Simpsons Nerds

Last October, I turned 36. This October, I'll turn 86. I take six different prescriptions a day. An oxygen tank and sensible hair-do can't be far off.

My friends, who are slightly younger than I, are also in rapid decline. (Well, as rapid as one can go with heel spurs.) Nicholle has some retinal tumor thing, and Heather may or may not have macular degeneration.

Today, Nicholle is getting her tumor ultrasounded to make sure it hasn't gotten any bigger, and Heather is going to see a specialist to get a definate answer on her potential white cane and Paris Hilton sunglasses (although I suspect she'll get an answer sooner or later anyway -- I'm just sayin').

Like a good friend, I was trying to cheer up Heather, via IM:

PW: hey, did I tell you that Nicholle has a retinal tumor?

H: you DIDN"T!

PW: you guys can learn braille together!

H: awesome!
H: or, we could just make you read outloud to us!

PW: HA!
PW: she's had it for a while. it doesn't get any bigger, it's tiny

H: is it a blind spot? how did the find it?

PW: it's a tiny spot, I guess
PW: no idea
PW: "And then I realized we were no longer little girls, we were Little Women."

H: HA!!!!!!!!!!

PW: "For she truly was. My. Friend. Flicka."

H: dude. peeing over here. with the laughing. you MUST cut-n-paste that for nicholle.

PW: it's from the Simpsons
PW: Moe reading to the homeless people

H: ha!
H: I'm impressed with teh converstaional relevance, more than the source, of course.
H: how Often do you get to use THAT quote in context?

PW: just this once!
PW: I'm so glad you're impressed
PW: I'll have to tell Ramone. He'll be impressed, too.

Ramone and I have this thing where we try to fit a Simpsons quote into every conversation. One time, I sang him the "Here come sammiches!" song that Flanders sang, and he didn't recognize it, so I totally won for, like, the whole month!

So I emailed it to him. This was his response:

"A perfectly cromulent reference. Well done!

Ramone

A noble spirit embiggens the smallest man."

Oh, dear Christ, we're losers.

And I just accidentally saw the wrinkled cleavage of one of my ancient, fat, bitchy co-workers. So now I'm going blind, too. Who will read to us? It'll have to be Joy the New Girl. She's the youngest person I know who knows how to read. Well, okay, besides Nephew, but it'd probably be inappropriate to have him reading V.C. Andrews.

Posted at 12:11 PM | Comments (5)

May 04, 2006

This Is the BEST!

Okay, here are the top 10 searches that recently brought people to my site. My favorites have been bolded:

1. pirate wench
2. wench
3. pirate wench outfit
4. mint tulip party pleaser shoes
5. danielle jade mermaid
6. world s biggest vagina
7. draw the pirate
8. fuck me shoes
9. hold urine while puking
10. when she was bad she was horrid

I'm so glad that some Strawberry Shortcake fan was trying to find the shoes to complete her Mint Tulip Party Pleaser's outfit, and she came here. I wonder if she stayed to look around, or recoiled in horror and took a long, hot shower.

I just couldn't be more pleased that searches for "America's Next Top Model" are bringing people here! Bring me your poor, your tired, your bitchy, your accessorizingly-challenged!

How... why would anyone search for "hold urine while puking?" Is this a problem experienced by millions of Americans, peeing while puking? Did I miss the special "Dateline" broadcast?

I love that someone was searching for the line in some old poem my Grandma used to say to me, and it brought them here. I hope it wasn't someone's Grandma. I don't want to be responsible for a stroke.

And now, I have to tell you a story about The World's Biggest Vagina! But I'm going to clean it up a tad because even I have my limits. Seriously, it's that bad. Yes, even your favorite cunttard has standards of decency, paper-thin as they may be.

I was a big nerdy loser in school. All through school. My "ugly phase" lasted for over a decade. I had many nemeses, but one stands out in particular.

He was in my grade, and we were in the same Sunday school class K-12. We were friends for many years, but somewhere along the way, it occurred to him that he probably shouldn't be associating with someone as homely and weird as I.

But being a teenaged boy, he couldn't leave it at that. He had to break me down and crap on me. I imagine it was pretty awkward for our mutual friends, with whom we both ate lunch.

One day, he made a joke -- and here's where I'm cleaning it up -- that my vagina was so stretched-out from much usage that my next boyfriend would have to go spelunking to find my previous boyfriend.

It was the crudest thing anyone has ever said to me, before or since, and he said it in front of all our friends. It earned him the priviledge of wearing his Coke in his hair and on his shirt for the rest of the afternoon.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am the owner of the World's Biggest Vagina. And I'm trying to get Vaginal Spelunking acknowledged by the Olympic Board as a legitimate sport. Look for it in Beijing in 2008!

God, I so want to make World's Biggest Vagina my new masthead. I just fear the weirdos it would bring.

And as a side note, I think it says a lot about how far I've come in my relationship with my mother, that I now fear the creepy perverts of the world more than I fear reprimand from her. Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

Posted at 01:16 PM | Comments (3)

May 03, 2006

My Work Son

You know how they say that 75% of people have a "work spouse"? Well, I'm a secretary, so I don't have a "work spouse." I have "work children."

Hot Boss is my teenaged son. His cell ringtone is something by Metallica. He dresses poorly. He curses. He is suspicious of authority. And he's a complete moron.

Case in point. Our I.T. dept. has asked us all to go through our computers and delete old files, both on our hard drives and on the company shared drive. Knowing Hot Boss' utter imcompetence, I took it upon myself to go through all his files with him. Not only deleting old ones, but organizing the 800 files he has in his My Documents folder.

(It is my dream to someday get to the over 500 emails with attachments he has saved in Lotus Notes and save those damn files onto his hard drive, earning the praise and adoration of the entire I.T. department.)

Hot Boss is so technologically challenged that when I created a New Folder, he told me I should be working in the I.T. dept. Yeah, because that's what Brother-In-Law sits around all day doing -- creating New Folders. And sometimes? He Cuts and Pastes! Astounding!

"Okay. Where are the majority of your files saved? The C drive or the U drive?"

"I don't know. I save them all in Word."

"Yes, but where do you save them to?"

"To Word!"

"Dude, you can't save anything in Word. Word is just a program."

"But that's where I save them!"

*siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh*

So I went into the voice I use when explaining to Boy Child why he has to eat three more bites of apple before he can have fishy crackers.

"Okay, your My Documents folder is like a storage bin. It stores things on your C drive, so they're not taking up space on our server. When you open Windows and want to open a file, it will dip into your My Documents and only show you the files saved as Word documents. You can save IN Word, but you cannot anything TO Word. Word is NOT a storage device. Don't ever tell anyone that you saved something in Word."

"Oh, bite me."

"Hey, I'm trying to help you here! I'm trying to keep you from sounding stupid! I don't want you telling a client, 'Oh, I must've saved your proposal in Word'. Don't EVER tell ANYONE that you saved something in WORD. ... And don't ever wear that shirt again."

"Fuck you."

"Now, this is very important. If you delete a file, you are deleting it from your whole computer, whether you are in Word or Excel. You aren't just deleting it from Word or Excel, you are deleting it from My Documents entirely. Understand?"

I didn't tell him about his Recycle Bin. When he comes to me one day, freaking out that he deleted an important file, I'll just pull it outta the Recycle Bin, and he'll think I'm David Fucking Copperfield.

Posted at 01:00 PM | Comments (6)

May 02, 2006

Another Sick Look Into My eBay Life

Things I Won Recently On eBay That Should Be Arriving at My House Any Day Now

1. A teak, tealight candle holder from Pottery Barn. I will put my handpainted Ukranian eggs in it for next Easter. (Eggs also won on eBay.) I'll show Husband who does Easter decorations!!!

2. The JAQUA line of Buttercream Frosting body lotion, hand lotion and lip gloss from Bath & Body Works (discontinued). I will smell like cake! My lips will taste like buttercream frosting! Who wants a smooch? Not all at once!

3. The clogs to Barbie's vintage Holland outfit, which is now complete, and she will be wearing very soon! To work! (I already have Ken's outfit!) They'll be on my desk next week, when all the CEOs are in town for some pow-wow.

4. Philosophy's 3-in-1 Shampoo, Conditioner and Body Wash in White Chocolate Hazelnut (discontinued). I already have Pumpkin Pie, Egg Nog, Vanilla Birthday Cake and Cinnamon Bun. I'm a dessert table! (The title of my first book will be I Like To Smell Like Food.)

5. The CD soundtrack from "The Triplets of Belleville." Go here, scroll down, listen to "Belleville Rendez-Vous" (English or French), and tell me you are able to get that damn song outta your head. It's just not possible!

6. NARS matte eyeshadow in New York (plum brown). Way cheaper to test it out in the store and then buy it off eBay. And eggplant-colored eyeshadow makes my eyes look so blue, instead of their usual blue-green-gray-meh.

7. The Teacher Barbie Fashion Model outfit (sans doll) for one of the Silkstone bitches to wear. Hot for teacher!

Now, what do all these things say about me? They pretty much say that I live no where near any sort of reality. Huh. Bitchen!

Posted at 01:27 PM | Comments (4)

May 01, 2006

Eva's In the Hizzouse!

AB wanted more pictures of my dog, so here they are.

A lovely profile shot:

She's turned away from me because she hates it when I take pictures of her from above. She says it makes her look dumpy.

That's my office she's in. I hate that rug. I want a pink one. Hey, remind me to show you guys photos of my completed office. It's been on my To Do List for quite some time now. You'll be horrified.

While Husband was away at Timberframing School (a.k.a. Amish Fantasy Camp), he charged me with the care of his newly planted snowpeas. For me, this meant making sure they got enough water, and taking them inside if there was frost at night.

For Daisy, this meant licking them.

And this is one of Daisy's cousins, Eva (Egrau's dog):

Isn't she regal?

Eva used to live with the late and great Tango the Canine Cop. She was the main bitch in his harem, before he went to bite bad guys in heaven (I'm sure God imports some from hell specifically for this purpose).

Now Eva has a new brother, Deuce, or Shithead, as J calls him. Yeah, Deuce isn't quite as well-trained as Tango was, hence the affectionate nickname. (Remind me to get some photos of Deuce, too, he's gorgeous.)

In Deuce's defense, few dogs are as brilliant as Tango. And Eva is no exception. She's... not so much book smart as she is street smart. She's fast! She can catch a tennis ball when whipped at her head at point-blank range.

...

Not that we'd ever whip a tennis ball at her head. That would be wrong.

Posted at 01:05 PM | Comments (3)