October 29, 2007
Percolating
Beans, beans, the musical fruit
The more you eat, the more you toot
The more you toot, the better you feel
So eat your beans at ev'ry meal!
Are beans a fruit? I don't think so.
So, I don't know what's going on with me lately, but I've spent the past three days farting up a storm. One would think that I have finally become my mother, but Spikette is nine years older than me, so she gets to become Mom first, and she hasn't mentioned the Constant Farting Thing hitting her, yet, so I'm going to assume I just ate something really, really noxious that's just percolating in my lower intestine.
Husband and I went out with PJ, Ramone, Egrau and J Saturday night to celebrate me and Egrau's birthdays. There were multiple bottles of wine and multiple desserts and multiple presents (and a multiple-heart-attack bill), so we were there for quite a while.
After a while, it became apparent that I was going to have to Break the Seal.
(For those of you unaware of Breaking the Seal, that's when you can drink and drink all night without peeing, but once you pee that first time, you're going to be peeing every 15 minutes after that. So Breaking the Seal is bad.)
Luckily, PJ drank twice as much as me (being Irish), so she had to pee, too. We went together!
And, as will happen when one sits down and relaxes one's nether regions, I let out a fart that lasted about 30 seconds. Damn, I wish Husband had been there to hear it!
Of course, PJ and I start laughing hysterically in the otherwise empty bathroom, and I go, "Dude, I'm sorry, but hey, these things happen."
She barely eeked out, "That's... okay!"
And from somewhere near the sink came a voice, "That's okay by us out here, too!"
Thank God I was already on the potty because I peed a little I laughed so hard. I could barely pull up my pants. PJ was doing that thing where you laugh so hard that you can't even make any noise.
It was a beautiful moment.
I'm a born entertainer.
Posted at 05:36 PM | Comments (1)October 28, 2007
"The Girl Who Gets a Mango"
Previously on "America's Next Top Model:" jumping, skating, crying, Janet goes home.
"You wanna be on top?" asks Tyra. Oh, quit falling in love with me, you misguided minx. It could never work.
Ebony is tired of the criticism, i.e. Jay saying she's "dry" and "too serious." So she's going to smile and "come off like a nice person."
Notice, she's not going to BE a nice person, she's just hoping to "come off" as one. Well, it's nice to know she entertains no delusions.
Ambreal is on the phone with her Dad and asks him to pray for her. Dudes, when I'm on the phone with my Dad, I'm already praying because I'm sure that Mom is dead. That's how often I'm on the phone with my Dad.
Heather is upset because she didn't realize she was giving only profiles in her photos. Biance says something half-heartedly encouraging, which is much better than her usual approach of giving Heather a swirly while screaming "Rain Man!" in her face. Clearly, she's plotting to kill Heather.
Tyson Beckford shows up, and apparently he's some great big piece of Big Deal, but I'd never heard of him. Dude doesn't even have his own website, so how can he be a big deal! I'm a bigger deal than Tyson Beckford. And Jesus. I'm a bigger deal than Jesus.
Tyson tells the girls to "use your good looks to better the world." I just love how delusional models are. They are to choose an item from the kitchen and use sex to sell it.
Well, that's easy. I do it all the time! "Here are the dirty dishes you left in the sink. Wash them, or you'll never see me naked again."
But the girls try another approach and make gross innuendos towards Tyson using various foods and small appliances. This would be hot, if only any one of them had an ounce of true sexuality running through their veins.
Tyson manhandles Heather, and she keeps her shit together nicely. She's my hero. But Ambreal will be sleeping with rotting fruit beneath her pillow for weeks because "Tyson ate my mango."
Tyra Mail! Something about being recognized, not just for your face, but for your cause.
The girls will be split into three, 3-person teams to do a 30 second spot for "Keep a Child Alive."
Heather, Ambreal and Jenah are a team. They have no idea what to say and totally suck wad. They use cue cards and chant their lines like corpses.
Bianca, Lisa and Chantal are a team. They had a great idea but flubbed their lines and forgot the name of the charity.
Sal, Ebony and Sarah are all from Africa, apparently. They are totally going to win, so says I.
But I am wrong. The suckwads win. And they win five-fucking-hundred dollars worth of product from Carol's Daughter. I'm nauseated with jealousy. Unworthy bitches.
Heather's name is drawn out of a... half of a coconut? So she gets to do a photo shoot for Carol's Daughter directed by Mary J. Blige, who is obviously disappointed to get a white girl because she fake-tans Heather. Which really makes her look great, so I'm torn.
Both MJB and the photographer (who is another "world famous" guy I've never heard of) both interview that they see her going far in the modeling industry and would totally book her.
Tyra Mail! Something about recycling outfits, and the girls think they are going to be "wearing trash." And the joke is so obvious here, I'm not even going to take it.
The girls have pizza and chicken nuggets for dinner, which means that The Girl Child is totally destined to be America's Next Top Model. They eat in the closet... because it's... warm in there? Or something? And they call it a sleep-over? I'm confused. Were they all raised in caves?
Ebony wants to go home. Heather continues to baffle Bianca.
Jay is at the photo shoot when the girls arrive, and he is so Tyra's bitch, y'all. Miss J gets to show up and walk a runway once in a while and then be on panel with the rest of the judges. While Jay is the one doing all the work.
The girls are going to do a high fashion editorial with different recycled material. (I know there's a Hillary joke in here somewhere, but I just can't find it tonight. Anyone?)
Heather is aluminum cans in a silver Jetson's outfit; Chantal is shredded paper in a kicky, flapper dress; Sarah is garbage bags and looks like my 1987 prom.
Sal is tires and knocks down part of the set; Ebony is bubble wrap, and who hasn't dreamed wrapping themselves in bubble wrap? -- but she is clearly phoning it in; Jenah is cardboard boxes.
Biance is oil and finally "smiling with her eyes;" Lisa is plastic bottles; Ambreal is newspaper.
Tyra Mail! Judging, the very thought of which causes Ebony to start chewing her lips. She "can't handle the criticism" and doesn't "think it's fair." Um, was she unaware of the contest aspect of the show?
At judging, Miss J and Nigel are both sporting 'fros, and Tyra looks classier than I've ever seen her look. I think Twiggy dressed her.
Sal took a great photo. Jenah's photo has attitude, and the girl in front of the judges finally looks like the girl in the photos. And I'm finally the kind of person that my dog thinks I am. Whatever.
Ambreal looks sleepy and has "dead eyes," which we all know is the kiss of death. Say good-bye to Ambreal, kiddies! Lisa's problem is that she looks like "Modeling 101," and her poses are too obvious.
Bianca's face is stunning, and it's obvious that she practiced, so you know Tyra is eating that shit up. Sarah looks very high fashion.
Ebony is snarling in her photo. Eek. Chantal's photo with the crazy hair is magic, and I must admit, as boring as she looks in person, she takes some rockin' photos.
Then it's Heather's turn, so the judges take out their golden spoons and prepare to eat her up. She won the challenge, AND she took a photo looking straight into the camera (instead of profile), which the judges can't stop cooing over, despite the fact that I think her nose looks huge.
Deliberations!
Sal is improving. Jenah is sensational. Ebony doesn't want to hear their criticism. Which is true, but frankly, I'm pretty sure Miss J could make me cry in 30 seconds or less, so I can't really get too down on Ebony. At least she doesn't argue with them like Miss Yale did.
Sarah is... something that looks like "prttinstfoer," plus she's still losing weight, which continues to annoy Tyra because she hates being the fattest one in the room.
Bianca is in the top five best girls, but Lisa is stagnant. Heather is the best of the bunch.
Ambreal is meh. Chantal looks like the wind machine took over, and the judges are split on weather it's awesome or not. Hey -- at least she's taking risks, people!
Sal, Jen, Heather, Bianca, Sarah, Chantal and Lisa are called, leaving Ebony and Ambreal in the Bottom Two because they used to know how to model but have forgotten.
Tyra hands Ebony her photo, but in a surprise move, Ebony tells Tyra that she "don't wanna be here."
Instead of assuming that Ebony is a decent girl who has found that she doesn't like whoring herself out on national television, Tyra accuses Ebony of not liking "people telling you that you're not perfect."
But instead of taking Tyra's bait, Ebony simply says that "the chance should be given to someone who really wants it." Like Ambreal.
Tyra calls her a quitter and that she hates quitters, but Ebony is just so happy to be outta there. Now she gets to pee in private!
Ebony interviews that she told Tyra she was sorry for wasting her time, but modeling is just not what makes her happy.
They they show a video of Ebony's audition where she begs to be in the competition. Which I'm sure they meant to be a slam, but I think it just proves that Tyra and her flying monkeys delight in destroying young ladies' dreams.
Next episode: Tyra teaches them some "moves," the girls film a music video (PLEASE, GOD, don't let Tyra be releasing another single!!!), and someone gets carted off in an ambulence. Awesome!
And while we're on the subject of fashion, although the navy eyeshadow didn't work out, I totally need some navy nail polish. Oh, I'm going to the mall on Tuesday! I'll get some them, so me and Vicki and Heather can be triplets.
Posted at 01:01 PM | Comments (2)October 24, 2007
Rockin' the Ruffles
If you live anywhere in northern Illinois, you probably know this by now. But for my out-of-state friends...
I bought ruffled pirate underwear this weekend in Door County.
SEEEEEEEEEEEEE, Heatherrrrrrrrrrr! There IS something good in The Door!
Billi and Terri (Billi's neighbor and friend, and now my friend, too) dragged me into this boutique where the jeans were $168. And I was like, "A hundred and sixty-eight! These better make my ass look edible for that price!"
(Said the crazy lady who just spent $60 on a pair of sunglasses when Target sells perfectly good shades for $9.99.)
Remember that scene in "Grease" where Rizzo is in the bathroom at the drive-in with Marty, and she admits that she skipped a period? And then Marty blabs, and as they're walking back to the car, the gossip that Rizzo is preggo travels from car to car, so that by the time Rizzo gets back to Kenickie's car, he already knows?
That's not just cute movie shenanigans, people. It REALLY HAPPENS.
I was ready to leave the Door County House of $168 Jeans well before Billi and Terri, so I just stood by the door and tapped my foot. Until I noticed the display of ruffled panties. You know -- like the kind little girls wear under their Sunday dresses that provoke them to lift their dresses over their heads? Those panties!
I have been looking for those panties ever since I saw some hottie wearing them in Playboy. I think it was Drew Barrymore or Charisma Carpenter.
The ones I bought are black with little, white skull-n-crossbones on them. Hee! Soooooooooo cute!
At night in The Door, after they roll the sidewalks up, we basically just sat in our room watching non-cable t.v., doing our nails, eating fudge and thumbing through trashy magazines. We all called our husbands to say good-night, but whereas Billi and I were on the phone all of 2 minutes, Terri was on for like half an hour!
Her husband is very chatty, and he wanted to know what she bought. She was toying with the idea of going back and getting a pair of the same panties, so she told him that I bought them.
When she got off the phone, Billi called Brad, and the first thing he said was, "So I hear Wenchie bought some pirate panties."
People? No more than thirty seconds had lapsed since Terri hung up her phone and Billi dialed hers. Did Terri's husband lean out his window with a bullhorn or something?!
So, yeah, ruffled pirate panties. So cute on my ass that Terri and Billi each bought a pair. In different patterns, of course. Because no one's ass can rock pirate ruffles like the Wench's ass.
Posted at 01:05 PM | Comments (2)October 18, 2007
I Am the Plaything of Passion
This is the first part of my horoscope today:
It's all about the finishing touches today. Pay careful attention to grooming in the morning, and make sure you're stepping out the door dressed in the perfect look.
And now that my Sephora-employed Older Step Daughter has turned me on to all kinds of fabulous products -- and, in essence, made me as much of a make-up whore as I am a purse whore -- grooming is one of my favorite things to do.
For Christmas last year, Heather bought me a cute, little palette by Two Faced called The Plaything of Passion. It has two lip glosses, two eyeshadows and a blush. I've used all but the teal eyeshadow.
Until this morning.
I'm wearing a shirt with all different blues and greens, with a matching earring and necklace set in silver and turquoise. So I thought today would be the perfect day to audition my teal eyeshadow.
Okay, I'm turning 38 in a week and a half, but that's not too old to occasionally be hip and trendy, right?
Right?!
After applying the eyeshadow, I couldn't decide if I looky kicky or whorey. But since whorey has never been a look I've actively shyed away from, I decided that either was fine, and I went to work.
Two hours later, I went to the bathroom and decided that I look like Mimi from "The Drew Carey Show." So I wiped most of it off.
That's what I get for letting Yahoo! make grooming decisions for me.
Then I told this story to the gal in the cube next to me, to try out the material and see if it was blog-worthy. And she's like, "No, it looks really natural!"
Proving that she is the kindest human being on the planet. And very likely color blind.
Tonight, Spikette is dropping off my latest Avon order, which includes some on-sale $3 navy blue eyeshadow because I want to try the color without investing a lot of money into it.
Although, since the teal was such a disaster, am I right to be a wee bit wary about the navy blue?
Posted at 05:15 PM | Comments (4)October 17, 2007
"The Girl Who Was Afraid of Heights"
Previously, on "America's Next Top Model,"... I don't know. Bitchery, crying, underwear, does it really matter?
The house is a MESS, and the girls are eating on the furniture with food falling out of their mouths. To make it clear how much this disgusts me, I will tell you my Joe story.
Joe, my Barbie friend, is a wonderful person. He's gracious, generous, and has a lovely singing voice. However, whenever I mention him, it's like, "You know, my friend Joe. He can eat an entire McDonald's Big Breakfast in my car and not spill one crumb."
That's how much I abhorr slovenliness and cherish neatness. Cleanliness IS godliness.
I think Janet, like, bitched them out and got them organized with chores and stuff, but I wasn't really paying attention because Egrau called, and I hadn't talked to her in EONS, so I wasn't about to say, "Not now -- America's Next Top Model is on." But believe me, if it was anyone else, I would have.
We talked about migraines and thyroids and our uteruses (uterii? utereese?). And then I'm like, "Dude, we've been talking about medical shit for half an hour like we're 80."
And she's like, "Well, I can tell you about the pretzel incident I had on a flight yesterday."
And I'm like, "You had a pretzel incident and waited this long to tell me???"
I'll tell you the pretzel incident some other time.
Tyra Mail! "Spring forward, fall back." Oh no! The girls will face the difficult challenge of changing all the clocks in the house!
Benny Ninja is having the girls jump on a trampoline and pose at the top of the jump. When did he become a regular? He freaks me out. I'll bet he can suck his own penis -- he's that limber.
And remember, girls -- you can't have trampoline without tramp! Work those poses!
And suddenly, there are naked girls in the pool, and I have no idea why because I'm still on the phone with Egrau. The naughty bits are pixelated anyway.
The girls are taken to the IceOPlex where some skaters are showing off. They're going to have to pose in the air on the ice. Yikes. Some guy named Lloyd Eisler is there, and he has a TERRIBLE beard. It's like someone pasted a big, square patch of faux gorilla fur on his chin.
And listen to what Wikipedia has to say about this Canadian douchebag:
"Eisler appeared in the 2006 FOX television program Skating with Celebrities in which he was partnered with actress Kristy Swanson. They reportedly began an affair while his wife Marcia was eight months pregnant with their second child. Representatives for both Eisler and Swanson have confirmed the couple are dating, but deny that the affair began before the Eislers filed formal separation papers in November 2005."His wife Marcia has resumed using her maiden name and also changed their children's names to her maiden name as well. Swanson and Eisler welcomed a son at 1:36 p.m. on Friday, February 16, 2007 and named him Magnus Hart Swanson Eisler.
"Effective October 6th, 2006, Eisler was suspended from coaching in Canada by Skate Canada. This was after allegedly sending sexually suggestive e-mail to a 15-year-old student. Eisler was coaching in the United States, where the Canadian Ban does not apply, at the time it was announced."
So, yeah, this is the guy you want fondling impressionable, young models. Good call, Tyra.
Hey, it's Dani! She looks... miserable. I guess even beautiful people get PMS. Mind you, at this point, I'm still on the phone with Egrau and only half-watching the girls get held in their air by Canada's Biggest Skating Douchebag.
Heather can't seem to do a damn thing. It's weird. Lisa wins. Bianca fumes. Lisa gets to do a photo session with Dani featuring plaid clothing. I assume it's for Seventeen?
Tyra Mail! "Never look down." Unless you're not sure if you zipped your fly.
Jay is on top of a tall building. Ambreal sees him and starts crying. Maybe it's the height, maybe it's Jay... I'm just saying.
The girls are all in Matrix leather pretending to be gargoyles. Boy, they're really running out of stuff, eh?
Ambreal is freaking out. Ebony is "dull as dishwater," and then she gets in front of the camera and is "amazing," according to Jay, who can't figure her out.
I finally get off the phone with Egrau, after a 52 min. call.
Tyra Mail! Judging. Lisa and Ambreal are nervous. Why is Lisa nervous? Didn't she win the skating challenge? I missed something here, and I think it had something to do with people hating on Lisa.
The girls get to see their best photos.
Ebony is stunning and shows no fear. She still won't smile for Tyra because her "gums are too big."
Chantals legs are to die for, and yet Twiggy thinks she's "not raunchy." Twiggy's so sweet.
Ambreal's pose is robotic and almost comedic. She looks uncomfortable.
Sarah is very ungargoyle-like. And you'd think that would be a compliment, but not in Tyra World.
Bianca is one of the best shots they've seen. Tyra loves her eyes which are in an "open squint." Now I wanna see Snippy Bitch imitate the open squint.
Janet's underwear is showing in her photo.
Lisa's body is great, her shape is great, she looks scary and awesome, very gargoyley. But Mama Tyra can see some hurt in her, and Lisa confesses that the other girls have grown "distant" from her. Tyra helpfully tells her to "never dull your shine." And Miss J tells it like it is with a simple, "Jealousy!"
Heather is stunning, as always, but is always giving a profile shot. It's her comfort zone because she doesn't like eye contact. The judges tell her to change that.
Jenah is strong and beautiful in photos, but needs more polish in person.
Sal looks high fashion, and Tyra thinks that being scared of being in the Bottom Two again pushed her to really excell.
Deliberations.
Ebony is two people. Chantal needs to be less sexy. Ambreal is not high fashion. Sarah just doesn't work.
Bianca is beautiful and totally sold it this week.
Janet doesn't look like a model. Lisa lacks confidence but looks amazing. The judges want to see another side of Heather -- like the front.
Jenah is extraordinary. Sal gave great eye contact.
The girls are called, in order of how much fickle Tyra likes them this week: Lisa, Bianca, Ebony, Chantal, Jenah, Sal, Heather and Sarah.
Janet and Ambreal are in the Bottem Two. Because Janet needs too much coaching, and Ambreal is getting worse instead of better. But Tyra loves her sistahs, so Janet gets sent packing.
She cries and says, "Mama Janet has left the building." Oh, that's the reason. Tyra doesn't like having another Mama around!
Next week... I don't know. I had to pee.
I'm outta town Thursday night through Sunday night, my darlings! Catch you on the flip side! In the meantime, own your look and BE FIERCE!
Posted at 09:09 PM | Comments (1)October 15, 2007
The Unanticipated Poop
One of Billi's neighbors conveyed this story to her, which she promptly relayed to me. And to the rest of the neighborhood.
I have, or course, paraphrased it, since I heard it secondhand, but I remain true to the facts.
Bear in mind that the original telling of the story is a woman. This factors in greatly.
"I was watering my lawn last night, and the sound of the water made me have to pee. I didn't want to go inside because then the kids would start bugging me. So I thought, Well, my husband and my son do it -- why not me?"It was dark out, so I just went to the side of the house and squatted down. Suddenly I realize that I had to poop, too!
"So I did!"
*cricket*
*cricket*
WHAT THE HELL DO YOU SAY TO THAT?!
I mean, I had many things rushing through my mind, but I didn't bring them up because I know, from the story, that there were no intelligent answers.
No answers, and yet, so many, many issues.
First of all, if you don't want to enter your own home for fear of your own children -- to the extent that you will deficate in full view of the neighbors -- it's time to re-evaluate your parenting skills.
Secondly, what the hell are her husband and son doing peeing in their yard all the time? Does she lock them out of the house? Do they each only have one kidney, forcing them to empty their bladders the second they are full? I mean, when you're camping -- fine. But when there's a perfectly good bathroom 20 steps away, there's no reason to engage in such freedom. They live in a subdivision, not on a farm.
Thirdly -- and perhaps most importantly -- who gets a mere second's notice to a bowel movement? I always assumed I was normal in having at least 2 min. to find a comfortable place to drop the Browns off at the Superbowl. Am I just one of the lucky few? Do most folks find themselves running to the bushes with a turtlehead poking out?
I think that a normal adult human with a normal, functioning gastro-intestinal system, when presented with the issue of an unanticipated poop, should be able to slam the sphincter shut for the time it takes to get to a nearby toilet.
The bottom line is, if this chick routinely gets no notice as to when a poop is coming on, she must be shitting herself daily. Perhaps that's why her children run her out of the house?
And finally, if she's going to take the time to actually TELL people the story of pooping in her yard, wouldn't it save time to simply grab and Sharpie and write, I was raised by wild dogs, on her head instead?
Posted at 04:35 PM | Comments (2)October 14, 2007
"The Girl Who Goes Bald"
Previously on "America's Next Top Model," Miss J is a nurse, Kimberly goes home... and I wrote something that looks like IIrenoir. Huh. No idea.
Snippy Bitch is watching this episode with me, and during the commercial break that follows the opening credits, she does her imitation of Tyra doing, "Dead eyes. Live eyes! Dead eyes. Live eyes!" Hee!
Victoria is confessing to the other girls that she feel at a disadvantage because modeling wasn't even her dream until three weeks ago. Uh-oh, don't let Tyra find out!
Sal tells the group that she's "never gonna be in the bottom two." I call foreshadowing!
Tyra mail! Something about metamorphesis, and the girls go wild, knowing that they're getting makeovers. I wouldn't be so excited if I were them. I mean, have they ever seen the show?
Chantal thinks they're going to cut all her hair off, and I hope they do because she's boring as toast.
Jay, Miss J and Tyra are there. Miss J has to get in on the act and is wearing a skull shirt. Enough with the Wenchie shout-outs! I get it -- you love me! Sheesh! Can't we just keep this between Tyra and I? Next think you know, Nigel will show up in an eyepatch or something.
Instead of artist's renderings, this time, we get to see how the girls will look through the help of a little C.G.I. Which looks like crap, so I hope they didn't blow the budget on it. Bianca is going Beyonce, Chantal is getting a weave, Jenah (formerly Jenna) is going blonde...
Wait! Who's getting shaved?
The weave/wig they take off Ebony looks extremely painful. I mean, it's like glued and sewn to her head! Ow! Someone says they hope she didn't pay a lot for the wig, and she says it was free.
All the makeovers are totally cute. Well, except Sal, who looks like Prince Valiant. Why would they cover up her eyes and cheekbones like that?
Appropo of nothing, Lisa has really bad hair. It's like 80-year-old-lady thin. Definately not model hair.
Jay is talking to one stylist about the blonde highlights that are supposed to go in Bianca's hair, but her hair is way too damaged. Jay tells Bianca that her hair is beyond saving, and they're going to have to shave it all off and use wigs for photo shoots. They even have a Beyonce-esque wig handy to give her. Who keeps that kind of shit on hand? It's probably one of Miss J's.
She's upset and feels "defeated," but as they cut and shave, she just sits there silenty and wipes away the occassional tear. I must say, she really takes it like a trooper, compared to girls in past seasons. It's quite disappointing. I want drama! And frankly, we ALL wanted to see Miss Thing brought low.
Tyra mail! Something about "backstage." Ooooh, couch auditions?
Nigel is there, causing Sarah to moisten her panties, but Nigel's wife is there, too, so alas, they're forbidden love must wait. Some Cover Girl consultant is there, too.
This is the make-up challenge, and the winner will shoot a little "how-to" video for Cover Girls newly revamped website. Well, whoop-di-shit.
The girls have five minutes to do their make-up -- the theme is "dramatic eyes and nude lips" -- find their dress among huge racks of clothes, and walk down the runway.
Sarah wins with her "winged eye" which is a "big gamble." I'm underwhelmed, but whatever. Lisa is just glad that Sal didn't win.
And for those of you who care, here's Sarah's video. (You have to scroll down past the garish Top Model ad at the top.)
Tyra mail! Are you ready to be deflowered? From the other room, Husband yells, "Yeah, baby!"
There's a photoshoot in the woods, and the girls are all going to be different kinds of flowers and plants.
One time, for a performance of "Iolanthe," Lola Beth made the costumes for the chorus of fairies, and I was an iris.
It breaks down like this: Bianca, sunflower; Janet, hydrangia; Heather, weeds; Chantal, baby's breath; Lisa, bamboo; Sal, tulip; Ambreal, rose; Victoria, cactus; Jenah, rose; Ebony, bird of paradise.
Heather clearly feels singled out as the weeds, and I must say, it's an unkind choice for the girl who is already feeling outcast. But she works it, like we all knew she would.
Sal's tulip needs more expressive eyes. Victoria feels "ridiculous" as the cactus, and she's just oh-so-above-it-all, isn't she? I'm getting a real Elise vibe from this bitch.
Chantal is "too Maxim." Hee! Jay and the photographer and both telling her what to do, and usually contradicting each other. She breaks down. Boo hoo.
Tyra mail! Judging.
Victoria, now that she's sucking, finds the whole thing "so ludicris" and must "find out why [she] did poorly." Um, cuz you're a snob who thinks that, if America finds you pretty, your brain cells will start dribbling out your ears?
Chantal is freaked out by her sucky performance and is convinced she's going home.
Again, appropo of nothing, Jenah has really big ears. She shouldn't tuck her hair behind them.
The judges look at the photos with the girls.
Victoria's neck is all wrinkled. Twiggy starts to say something, and Vic interrupts with, "Lemme get one thing straight."
Ohhhhhhh, bad move, Little Miss Yale. And seriously -- what the hell does she have against Twiggy? Twiggy's probably the kindest judge there!
Victoria continues on to say something to the effect of,... Oh, I don't remember, and I forgot to write it down. Something about personality. She's so going home. Tyra does NOT put up with backtalk, chil'!
Sarah's photo looks like she turned into ivy, which I guess is good.
Lisa had a great face as bamboo, but she needs to take more chances.
Sal's tulip photo is not good. Her eyes and neck got totally lost. Well, the eye thing is their fault because that hair-do is just terrible.
Jenah so impressed the photographer with her impression of moss that he's going to book her, once the competition is done.
They were expecting to be blown away by Janet, but she ended up too posey.
Ambreal -- beautiful body, dead eyes.
Heahter worked that weed costume. The judges call her haunting and say they're drawn in by the photo. Nigel calls it art.
Bianca wore her Beyonce wig to Panel, but the judges make her take it off. I must say, at the photoshoot, she really seemed to be owning her baldness. She was even smiley and bubbley. But it didn't translate to her photos, and she looks stiff and amateur.
Chantal had a difficult shoot, and it totally shows in her face.
Ebony's photo looks angry, so Tyra mocks her by imitating her. Nice. What would your Mama say, Tyra? Ebony looks terrible in person, but her film blew them away.
The judges discuss amongst themselves.
Vic is just mean. She may go to Yale, but she's not wise enough to be charming.
Sarah is loosing weight, which takes her out of the plus-sized category, but she's still not thin enough to be a regular model. Uh-oh. Tyra gets on her high horse and says that it's good that they're talking about how losing weight isn't always a good thing.
Janet looks very "men's magazine," according to Miss J. And how would he know?
Jenah they like a lot a lot.
Bianca is so strong. They thank God that the hairstyling went awry because it really turned out for the best. And I must confess, she does look pretty good bald.
They love Heather's eyes, and the photographer says she did exactly what he told her to do.
Ambreal is fading. Lisa is too safe.
Ebony needs to change her attitude, but she was perfect during the shoot.
Chantal was born with the pretty gene but that's about it. Doing baby's breath should have been easy -- all she had to do was act like a princess -- but she couldn't even pull that off. Ha ha!
Sal's eyes ain't there, but that's because that shitty wig they gave her covers them up! I'm certainly no Sal fan here, but I think they're being really unfair.
The judges are done deliberating, and all the girls are handed their photos except for Vic and Sal, which sounds like two Italian men, but is really two arrogant wanna-bes.
See Sal? This is why you never brag about not being in the bottom two. I believe the official term is Self-Fulfilling Bitchiness.
The judges love Vic's look, but she's not appetizing in person. Sal's face is just okay.
But in the end, Mama Tyra hates inner-ugliness more than outer-ugliness, so Victoria goes packing back to Yale! YAY! Go look up Elise and talk about how modeling was beneath you both anyway.
The first thing Victoria does is take off her heels, and I'm so with her on that. She sounds happy to leave because her "heart is not in this," and she'd "rather go home than take some other girls dream."
But didn't you already kind of do that, Vic? I mean, some other girl could have made it to the final thirteen if you hadn't finished your homework early that day and auditioned on a whim. Don't kid yourself, honey, you're still a dreamkiller.
Next week: The girls have to pose in the air, held aloft by male ice skaters. On the ice. The afraid-of-heights girls are going to have some issues. I just wanna see some blood bounce on the ice.
Posted at 09:35 AM | Comments (0)October 11, 2007
I Em To Smart
So I'm sitting there at a stoplight, staring at the butt of the car in front of me because what else is there to do at a red light? I don't want to chance making eye contact with the freaks I'm forced share the road with.
And I'm like, "Hey! That's my same exact car! Same model, same color, same year. Huh."
Because these things fascinate me in the pre-coffee hours of the day.
And then I noticed that the car had bars going across the back, like some sort of animal containment contraption.
Wait a minute... I have bars going across the back like some sort of animal contaiment contraption!
...
Is that my car?
And people, I actually looked around the car I was driving to make sure it was really mine.
And then I went to work and cured cancer.
Posted at 08:07 PM | Comments (1)October 10, 2007
Dispelling the Myth
Okay, class, settle down. Now, there's been a lot of talk about me and Door County Lesbian Rock-Climbing lately. I just want to set the record straight because I can't believe you people would think that of
me. I don't know what I could have said to give you such a skewed picture of me.
I am going to Door County next weekend. I am going with a group of women and no men.
However, I am not, under any circumstances, a rock-climber.
Do you really think I would give up my deeply-held belief in manicurism and do something that would completely ruin my nails?! I'm hurt that you could think I would be so easily swayed from my vanity, shallowness and superficiality.
As for the lesbianism, well... our suite has two beds, and I'm going with three other women. Even I could do that math in my head.
I was at a party with said women over the weekend. (Notice I don't call them ladies.) Our conversation went from List of Five Famous Guys We'd Boink to List of Five Famous Chicks We'd... I don't know -- Scissors? Munch? I'm not up on the lesbo-lingo. Heather, help me out here.
Anyhoo, we're naming our women, and I'm like, "Who's that girl who always plays a skank?"
And without missing a beat, the redhead goes, "Juliette Lewis."
I know whose room I'm sleeping in.
Posted at 05:23 PM | Comments (5)October 09, 2007
Baboon Foreplay
It's been uncharacteristically hot this October. (That's a lot of letters in that word.) I don't like hot. I don't like summer.
See, I'm a sweater. No, not a cableknit -- I am One Who Sweats. Profusely. You're so turned on right now, aren't you? It's a lovely traight I inherited from my father. Thanks, Dad!
And while we're at it, thanks for the bad knees, the near-allergic reactions to direct sunlight, and the long, thick, luxurious blonde hair.
Hey, one outta four still ain't great.
This extra month of sweaty weather we've had means more opportunities for me to break out. Specifically, I'm talking about zits on my back.
This just keeps getting sexier and sexier, doesn't it?
Oh, don't act like you've never broken out somewhere weird. Like that random pimple on your forearm, despite the fact that you shower regularly. It's not beyond the pale to assume that the occassional tiny blemish shows up on my sweat-slicked back.
Right between my shoulder blades. A spot more unreachable than the top of Mt. Everest.
And it ITCHES! It itches like CRAZY! I'm rubbing up against door jams like a rutting moose, for God's sake! It's not lady-like!
Finally, I broke down and asked Husband to pop it for me, even though I knew what his answer would be:
"No!"
"Why not?"
"Cuz it's gross!"
"I'd do it for you!"
"I know, and I HATE it when you do that!"
"If you really loved me, you would pop my zit!"
"Stop it!"
"Billi would do it!"
"Then go ask her!"
He's so mean. All those times I drive his sorry ass to the E.R., and he can't pop one little zit. What a baby.
So the other night, I guess he was feeling a bit randy. He started that oh-so-subtle thing that husbands do where they rub your back and ask if you're sleeping.
Getting minimal response from me, he started scratching between my shoulder blades and then, very deliberately, scratched off the tiny zit between them.
What can I say? He got lucky that night.
Posted at 04:57 PM | Comments (3)October 08, 2007
I Can Bring Home the Bacon
Well, hold on to your socks people, cuz I'm about to say something shocking. Something shocking that doesn't include the word vagina, even!
Ready?
This working full time ain't so bad.
Now, now, settle down, my flying monkeys. Don't get yourselves all in a tizzy -- it leads to premature aging. I'm still the same ignorant slut you know and love.
Of course, that Husband is home to take care of the dogs and run to the Jewel at my every whim has everything to do with it.
I get up in the morning, take a shower, get the bathroom all to myself. Then I wake Husband's ass up by letting the dogs bounce off the bedroom walls until HE gets up and lets them out.
Pure. Awesome.
At lunch, I come home, make myself a sammich, survey the work he has done that morning, and offer helpful suggestions as to how he could best spend his afternoon.
Mind you, not ONCE in five years has Husband ever told me how to spend my days. Even when I was unemployed and napping every day. I don't know how it works, this delicate balance of the genders, where I can tell him what to do when he wouldn't DARE turn the tables. But by golly, I like it!
So far, he has:
1. Taken the two 7' x 3' mirrors down off our dining room wall. (I know that Mike Brady designed the whole room around the mirrors, but we just weren't feeling it.) Patched the holes, stripped off the surrounding wallpaper, and painted.
2. Stripped the hideous, faux-country, dog-gnawed wallpaper from the entire kitchen. Patched and painted all the walls but one. (We're waiting for wallpaper to arrive.)
3. Painted the back door in a satin paint because who the hell uses matte paint on a door that sees more traffic than all other doors combined???
4. Washed two-year old Halloween-prank eggs off our garage door and gave it a fresh coat of paint.
5. Installed laminate wood flooring in our t.v. room, and is now working on extending that floor into the party room.
I absolutely LOVE LOVE LOVE having him home! And he cooks me dinner! It's like I'm the husband!
"Honey, did you make an appointment with the vet for Daisy to get her teeth cleaned?"
"Yes."
"Can you vacuum this afternoon?"
"Sure."
"Oh, have you ordered the wallpaper, yet?"
"I'll do that as soon as I'm done fixing the strap on your purse."
"Can you re-tile the entryway next? I hate that white shit."
"Okay."
"I feel like Mexican tonight for dinner!"
* * * GLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!! * * *
And yet, he can't seem to find the strength to walk -- literally -- FIVE FEET to the laundry basket. All his sweat-sodden, paint-stained clothes have to sit on the little chair in our bedroom.
Until five minutes after I'm done doing three loads of laundry, when he will ask me, "When are you gonna do laundry? I have a lot of clothes that need washing."
Yes, you certainly do.
Posted at 09:51 PM | Comments (2)October 07, 2007
"The Girls Go Rock Climbing"
But none plummet to their untimely death.
Previously on "America's Next Top Model,"... well, I didn't see that part because SOMEONE wouldn't turn off the "Rome" DVD!
The girls practice walking, and Kimberly confesses to coming from a small town "full of churches and horse crap." If this recap gets too highbrow for you guys, just lemme know, and I'll dumb it down a bit for you. *eyeroll*
The girls are working on their looks, and Bianca purposely gives them faulty advice. Because it's a competition, you know. And she's a surly cunt.
Saleisha, whom I will from now on be calling Sal because Saleisha is awkward, leads some of the other girls in giving Heather a makeover. They pull her hair back and make her change her clothes. She seems to be enjoying the attention, which is nice.
It's a sweet, little moment, which Biana has to piss all over by saying it's a "pity call" and questioning whether or not Heather "deserves it." She really is a delightful, little creature, isn't she?
Tyra Mail!
The girls go to a building with a sign in front called Fashion Madhouse. Inside, it done up all haunted-y, complete with crazy person in straight jacket. A couple of the girls are crying. Jesus Christ. There's no crying in baseball!
Turns out the only dangerous lunatic there is Miss J, who is going to "cure their fashion ailments." By putting them in straight jackets and making them walk. I don't know what that's going to cure exactly, but it sure is a lovely visual!
Miss J actually says to the girls -- get this -- "It's so important that you use you legs."
Um. Okay. Cuz walking... is with the legs, right? Am I missing something here? Isn't the dictionary definition of "walking" pretty much just... "use your legs?"
Modeling is so hard!
And here is where I find out that the girl I've been calling Aubriel is really Ambreal. Well, serves her right for having such a goofy-ass name.
While walking, Miss Yale interviews, "I got into Yale. I should be able to walk, right?" You'd think so, wouldn't you? As long as you're not chewing gum at the same time.
Bianca charmingly interviews that, "The other girls need a signature walk beacause they have no personality. I don't need a signature walk because I got personality." True, dear, but not a good one.
Later, Bianca and Sal get into a fight and agree that they are not each other's competition. It's an awkward moment for all.
Bianca then interviews that if Sal is going to get all up in her grill, she's going to take the competition up a notch. "I'll start cutting up clothes. I am a model. I can be very high fashion."
I take a moment to have a little fantasy where Bianca does cut up the other girls' clothes. And the other girls all wear them to Panel, where Tyra inquires about them, and the girls all narc on Bianca, inspiring Tyra to go absolutely ape-shit on her. Now that would be good television. Unfortunately, you know Bianca is all talk, and we're not going to get anything exciting outta her.
Tyra Mail! Something about "bound to be a success." Are the girls going to be bound again? Now I've got a hankerin' to see that movie.
Roy Campbell is there to to the girls they're going to be in a couture fashion show given by Colleen Quen. The girls must embody "the spirit of the garment." The winner goes to Paris to be in Quen's 2008 show.
Sweet, merciful Jesus, the gowns are GORGEOUS. But the girls are wooden and don't seem to embody anything at all, except fear.
Ebony and Sarah bump on the catwalk. And this is a big, freakin' deal every single season. Oh no! Bumping shoulders! Is this the biggest faux pas you can commit in the fashion world? Well, with those bony shoulders, it's probably more painful than it looks.
Heather has bad posture but looks elegant. Somehow. Sal has good movement. Bianca is very strong but needs to find her soft side, too. Kimberly's soul is empty, says Quen. Ouch. That's kind of harsh considering all Quen did was watch her walk for 30 seconds. Damn.
Ebony denies the bump was deliberate, and I don't care enough to speculate either way.
Sal is the winner, which sends Bianca off to stomp on the sour grapes and interview that the things she should have won. Whatever.
Next, the girls do some sort of rock climbing shoot. In evening gowns. A couple girls are afraid of heights, but neither have a freak-out.
Sal, at first, looks like a "model on a wire," but then turns awesome after Jay yells at her. When he asks Victoria what she was thinking of while posing, she says something about being "a sea nymph on acid."
Ho-kaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.
Ambreal is "stunning" and "disgustingly fabulous." I miss what goes on with Chantal and Ebony cuz I'm eating sweet potato pie, but I don't care about either of them that much anyway.
Sarah and Kimberly are utterly forgettable. Jenna is awesome, Heather is amazing, and Sal is proud of Heather.
Tyra Mail! Time to see the judges!
Heather isn't looking forward to having to say good-bye to any of the girls. Bianca, in sharp contrast, says that Heather was gorgeous and is going to go far, "So I have to stop her."
And why does that make me love her just a teeny bit?
At Panel, Miss J has a fro, Tyra has bangs and a French accent.
Heather totally delivered. Janet us uber-sexy but needs consistency in her photos. Ebony thinks she's going home, but her legs are great, and I just noticed how bony her shoulders are. That bump must've hurt!
Kimberly is charming but disappointing. Chantal is edgey, to my surprise. Sarah looks great with her "cock of a neck." Wha---?
Lisa's got her hootchie leg way up in the air, which might explain why her face looks self-conscious. Sal looks like the girl next door and needs to fight that.
Bianca has an awkward pose and looks mad. She says that anger is the emotion that comes easiest to her. What a coinsidence! Same with everyone withing 10 yards of her!
Victoria looks questioning. Ambreal is niiiiiiiiiice and elegant. Jenna has a great back.
And the Cover Girl of the Week is HEATHER!!!
The judges deliberate.
Heather always gives a great photo. Janet is sexy. Bianca is "mad as hell" and "doesn't have it."
Tyra thinks the competition is too much for Ebony. Kim has "no nutritional fashion value" and tends to "go hootchie." Chantal... I can't read what I wrote.
Sarah is awkward. Lisa gave a brave shot. Sal has a lot of courage, too, and gave good face even upside down. Jenna is stunning. Ambreal is not your typical model.
Victoria seems to argue with Twiggy a lot. Weird. They show a clip from last episode, too, and it does seem that she's got it in for Twiggy. Wouldn't it be cool if there was some weird backstory? Like Twiggy had an affair with Victoria's Dad or something?
All the girls are called except for Kimberly and Bianca. And since I hate Bianca more, I know she's not going home. And I'm right.
Bianca stays, but Tyra confesses to being the only one that likes her.
Kimberly leaves crying and upset because she just wanted everyone to be proud of her. Awwwwwwwwwww.
Next week: Wenchie's favorite episode: MAKEOVERS! Someone gets all their hair cut off! AWESOME! Okay, anyone who wants to come over and watch this with me is officially invited! I'm serious! Other people's pain is more fun when shared with friends!
Posted at 10:31 AM | Comments (2)October 05, 2007
Career Schmareer
Wenchie has a bit of melancholy today, my pets. I just had to leave a job for the third time this year.
In February, I quit my job of nine years because I was the only one with the cajones to stand up to a douchebag.
This spring, I worked for Mr. Frowny Face until I'd swallowed all the bile that I possibly could.
Then in June, my dynamic ass starting working for Husband's financial advisor of twenty years.
And today? Today I left him in the lurch. It sucked. And now I'm having to learn a whole new job. Again. All new names, new acronyms, new email system, new copy machine, new supply room.
I don't like change. Well, change that's not about purses, I don't like.
This only serves to make me hate GB more. Hmmm... what's more than the white-hot rage of a thousand burning suns?
It's possible I'm just romantisizing Days Gone By, as we poets are wont to do, but I had a pretty good thing going at Eight-Year Job. I'd earned a pretty good amount of respect, considering the scant politeness that managers usually show secretaries. I knew my way around the mail room, and the politics. I was comfy.
I wonder -- will Wenchie ever find a real home for her spectacular typing skills and attention to detail? Or am I doomed to roam the earth like an unemployed Cain?
My youthful fantasies of knights on unicorns have been replaced by a yearning for The Perfect Job.
*sigh*
In the meantime, enjoy The Gashlycrumb Tinies. They always cheer me up.
Posted at 12:30 PM | Comments (2)October 03, 2007
Lil' Wenchie's First Blog
I didn't really keep a diary growing up. I started a few, but it was too hard to think of something to write every single day. I just wrote the occassional horrible poem. No incriminating names -- just vague angst.
I still have them all. God knows why, they're all terrible. But it's 8:34, and I'm totally strapped for a decent blog topic, so I turn to my old poetry.
Reading through them, trying to find one that makes me cringe slightly less than the rest, I came across what can only be... A Blog
Entry. Written September 11, 1986:
All That Way For Nothing
I imagine that, from the air, we must have looked like thousands of ants swarming to our little hill, but to me, the traffic on the Kennedy looked like a huge parking lot.
"Take the L," Mom said. "Traffic will be busy."
"On a Saturday?" I asked, rolling my eyes.
"It'll be busy," Mom repeated her warning.
But being the teenagers we are, we drove -- and got stuck in traffic.
We crawled nearer to the city, and I caught the stifling, sour smell of industry. The buildings grew in size as we were gradually consumed by Chicago.
After driving the wrong way down several one-way streets, Cara and I finally opted to park the car and walk. It was decidedly safer.
"Ever hear of one-way sidewalks?" Cara joked.
One step and we were quickly drawn into the shuffling crowd of women in blazers, skirts and tennis shoes; smart-looking yuppies with yellow ties and tassled, leather loafers; and black men reeking of cologne with orange feathers in their white hats. Despite our own funky dress, it was impossible for us to stand out.
Soon, we came across two huge, glass doors bearing the famous Gucci symbol. Cara appraised the building, then stared at me. I easily recognized the obnoxious look in her eyes.
"You wanna?" she asked, grinning.
"No. Absolutely not. No way. It's out of the question."
We went in.
A fake-looking woman sniffed in our direction, then briskly walked away, not smelling money. Under the suspicious eye of a bulky security guard, we surveyed the wares in a proud display case.
"A hundred and forty dollars for a watch?" Cara screeched.
With my face aflame, I dragged my giggling friend out of the store.
All the commotion made us hungry, and after examining the meager contents of our purses, we stopped at McDonald's.
"Welcometomcdonaldsmayitakeyourorder," babbled the dazed-looking woman behind the register.
Fifteen minutes later, with undigestable lumps in our stomaches, we were once again swept up by the crowd, our destination in sight: The Art Institute.
In front, a woman unsuccessfully fried to take a picture of her leering little boy on one of the massive lions as passers-by unknowingly drifted in front of her. I pitied her for a second, then paid my money and was given a little, pink clip so I could walk freely around the museum.
After the first room of paintings, we didn't even bother to pick up our feet as we walked. All the youthful energy that had posessed us earlier that morning evaporated, leaving us with fifty more rooms and no desire to see them. Then we thought of the five hard-earned we had spent to get in there.
We toured the fifty rooms. We laughed, had a good time, but I can only remember three things we saw: a giant carving of a hand that looked like it would make a great couch; a photograph of a bald man covered with bees; and a realy scummy-looking guy with purple hair and four earring staring at a totally black painting. I wondered what such a person could get out of a dark screen.
We began out trek back with a sense of dread. My numbed legs moved at their own pace. I could neighter speed them up nor slow them down. Only my nose was alive, with the different food smells wafting out of each restaurant we passed. I distracted my hunger-headache by concentrating on identifying each one: pizza, french fries, gyros, soft pretzels.
I was never so happy to see Cara's faded red heap of junk. I collapses on the vinyl and slept all the way home.
The End
Oh my God, that was so boring.
However, I am proud that, at sixteen, I knew to write "passers-by" and not "passer-bys."
You gotta take your victories where you can.
Posted at 08:51 PM | Comments (1)October 02, 2007
Learning from the Master: Part I
Last week, I had the honor and priviledge of witnessing, firsthand, the wonder that is Aunt Doreen's Purse Collection. Not merely a smattering of trendy, brand name bags; her collection is, indeed, the story of her life.
Some purses date back to her college years, and one was purchased specifically because it so strongly resembled the purse she longed for in grade school. Yes, grade school. While the rest of us were drawing horses on the sidewalk with chalk, she was thinking, "Gosh, that purse would look just swell with my Maryjanes!"
It was like going to a gallery where you actually understand the art. Like going to a museum that's not boring! Every purse had a story -- where she got it, what event she specifically bought it for, when it was lost and found again -- I think I learned more about my Aunt in that afternoon than I have in all my 37 years.
Which pretty much makes me Worst Niece In The World, I know. What do you want -- I'm a slow learner.
Now, Aunt Doreen is a purse connesseur, but she's not a purse snob. There's a distinction. Sure, she has some Coach and some Dooney & Bourke, and some other brands that I'm not nearly classy enough to have ever heard of before. She has an antique purse with a hand-worked silver handle. Beautiful!
But she also has some twenty dollar tote bags and cheap-o, plastic handbags. Stuff that's cute and she bought for a specific purpose, you know. I certainly wouldn't bring my Dooney on a flight to Japan.
And you know how cool she is? She's like, "If you ever need a purse for some fancy occassion, just let me know and you can borrow whatever you'd like."
Awwwwwwwwwww. She thinks I get invited to fancy occassions. She's so sweet.
(to be continued... because it's after 7:30, and I still have to pack up some eBay crap to ship tomorrow, and write a letter to my cousin in the Marines, and paint the nails on my right hand. Photos tomorrow, I promise...)
Posted at 07:40 PM | Comments (1)October 01, 2007
Frosting
Nearly six years ago, The Girl Child turned one. As tradition dictates, she got her own little cake to do with as she pleased.
If memory serves, she was initially confused. She poked it with her round-tined fork a bit, looking quizically at the expectant audience surrounding her.
Billi got a little bit of the frosting on her pinky finger and shoved it in Girl Child's tiny, trusting mouth. Girl Child then plunged her entire head into the cake, and thus began her life-long love affair with buttercream.
Two years later, The Boy Child was in the same situation. He enjoyed the frosting... as long as Billi was feeding it to him. But when he got some on his hand, he immediately demanded a washcloth to get the sticky goo off his fingers.
(We worry about Boy Child.)
This weekend was The Spare's first birthday. It took him a while to get going with the cake. Personally, I think he was playing to the crowd and drawing it out on purpose. But once he got going, it was pure art.
He bulldozed the top layer of the teeny cake right off the bottom layer. He slapped it and stirred it until his entire fork and right hand were indistinguishable from the frosting.
Then he started flinging the mess onto his surroundings, which quickly caught the attention of Lucy the dog. It was at this point, out of fear for her walls, that Billi decided to take the cake away from The Spare. And the wailing commenced.
I love that kid.
Posted at 05:53 PM | Comments (0)