June 29, 2009

The Return of the King

When Billi and her kids left my house last weekend, the state of things were... pretty chaotic. Now, this isn't to say that Billi's kids are destructive or ill-behaved. No, the real problem is that these are not my children, so I pretty much let them do any damn thing they want.

MY children wouldn't be allowed near my Barbies, and they would be taught that rule immediately upon exiting the womb. But I routinely allow The Spare to pull my most expensive Barbie down from the shelf, while I wince and smile indulgently.

"It's only a doll," I tell myself. "I love him more than I love a doll. Letting him touch it a couple times a year isn't going to kill me."

Every time The Girl Child walks in my front door, she makes a bee-line for the Juicy Coutoure Barbies. Because they come with accessory dogs. But this time, in an unexpected departure, she asked to play with my Lord of the Rings Barbies. (I have Aragorn, Arwen, Legolas and Galadriel.)

After warning her that their clothes and accessories are NOT to be removed, I let her have at them. She also helped herself to Celtic Princess Barbie, Harlequin Romance Barbie, Isobel Barbie and a Superman Ken that I've dressed in a handmade Henry VIII outfit.

The Royal Court of Barbie kept her busy for quite a while. When Billi and the kids left, I was shocked to find Aragorn and Galadriel locked in a lovers' embrace.

Good Lord! I almost turned around and hurried back out of the room! Clearly, I had interrupted an intimate moment. It almost made me a little uncomfortable to look at them. And bare in mind, Girl Child is eight.

And then I noticed his hand in her hair.

Well! Galadriel is just moments away from getting herself ravished right on my desk! Man, Arwen is going to fuck her up.

[Bonus points to the commentor with the best Narsil or Anduril joke!]

Posted at 08:41 AM | Comments (2)

June 26, 2009

W.W.J.D.

Okay, I already love this new department I'm working in. Not only can I give my boss Ultimate Verbal Shit and he doesn't denounce me to Hell, he gives it right back to me! It's awesome.

Also awesome are some of the people who are on the various committees we're in charge of.

Take, for example, this email from one such committee member to me, my boss, and my boss' boss. I especially love his salutation:

Greetings, Holy Triumverate!

I have a "minutes" question. I will be receiving electronic minutes from Will. I will be keeping the minutes I take on my computer. Should I keep also a hard-copy file? Do you keep a copy of the minutes from the Network?

I know that when Jesus returns, He will want a copy (unless He will bring His own flash-drive).

Thanks & peace - Tom

Hee!

Posted at 07:50 AM | Comments (0)

June 24, 2009

Caer Ibomeith

I believe it means "love unrequited" in... faerie. Or something. I don't remember; it was over twenty years ago. It's the name of a poem I wrote on Valentine's Day of 1988, about a painting a saw in a book. The painting is La Belle Dam Sans Merci (The Beautiful Lady Without Pity) by Sir Frank Dicksee.

Please bear in mind that I was eighteen and terminally retarded when I wrote this drivel. Feel free to skim.

* * * * *

The trees gleem bare and black.
The earth is white and still.
'Tis the season of mists,
and a solitary knight
wanders the Kentish Hills.

He is still a very young man,
but his gait is shambling and slow.
The once-handsome face
is now strained and pale,
sunken eyes hold no more glow.

In the summer of that year,
the land was perfumed and hazy.
The air was laden
with the scent of primrose,
the dawn was as bright as a daisy.

One bright morning, he set out
the join the army of the king,
but the lanes were quiet,
so he slowed his horse
to listen to the blackbirds sing.

When into his dreams came a noise,
a fluttering near a tall oak.
He dismounted his horse
and strode to the tree,
yet no one replied when he spoke.

"Come out!" he called to the laughter.
And a woman, with eyes like a fawn,
stepped lightly before him
and stood in the lane.
She seemed to be clothed with the dawn.

Her robe was made of rose petals;
her head, crowned by fiery hair.
With a gaze as shy
as a wild forest creature's,
she met the knight's loving stare.

All thoughts of his duty then vanished.
His journey had lost its true course.
She willingly came
to his outstretched arms,
and he lifted her onto his horse.

In a language he'd never before heard,
she whispered, and the horse turned its head.
Towards sunny meadows
that lay beyond,
through the trees they started to thread.

They traveled that way for hours,
now in forest, now in field.
From time to time,
the lady spoke softly.
The knight plucked the meadow's fair yield.

From his flowers, she fashioned a garland,
a crown for her blazing red hair.
When the sun shone high,
she began to sing
to the knight who accompanied her there.

She leaned down and peered into his eyes,
with the afternoon sun at its peak,
and the look was of such
an absorbing love
that his longing forbade him to speak.

She continued to weave her net
of melodies 'round the knight,
who forgot all caution
and blessed the heavens,
forseeing none of his plight.

With the afternoon drawing to a close,
she spoke, and the horse stopped its pace.
In a small group of birches,
he lifted her down
and gazed once more into her face.

He saw there inexpressable saddness.
Tears glistened in her moss-green eyes.
He kissed her then,
but she drew away
and sang him her grieving good-byes.

Light as the mist, her voice coiled
around him; his eyes fought to close.
He swayed for a moment,
then sank to the ground,
but he just couldn't leave his fair rose.

He glimpsed, for a moment, her draperies
and the bright tendrils of her hair.
She bent to watch him,
the leaves spun above,
so he closed his eyes and slept there.

Dawn came, and the knight awoke
with a premonition of dreadful grief.
The lady was gone,
having taken his heart--
an aching her could not believe.

Each hour, he knew, would be empty.
It was as if he had watched her die.
A life of yearning
was all he would know,
of calling to hear no reply.

Sick with desire, he rose
and searched through field and pine,
retracing their path
again and again,
but still he could find no sign.

The first day passed, and the next.
The flowers faded in the fields.
The birds ceased singing,
and still the knight wandered,
while the farmers harvested their yields.

Through the long months, he hunted,
a silhouette, frail and gaunt.
The pale, winter moon
barely lights his way,
bereft of hope, but not want.

Now, he can walk no further,
drained of all youth and power.
He finally lies down,
the wind starts to moan,
and he dies, all alone, that same hour.

The farmers who find the body
say little, their faces set grim.
But safe in their homes,
they whisper of magic
and the love that had victimized him.

Mortal-Fairy love run deep.
Of its current, you'd best be wary
and speak with fear,
as all mortals do,
who speak of the powers of Fairy.

* * * * *

Oh my God, it just goes on and on and on, doesn't it?! Yes, Wenchie used to be a hopeless romantic. Try not to faint.

I imagine this is what it was like for Bruce Campbell when he and I first met...

Posted at 08:43 AM | Comments (1)

June 22, 2009

Happy Day After Father's Day

10 Things You Probably Don't Know About My Dad

1. He got his appendix out when he was in grade school, and the first thing he asked his doctor when he woke up from surgery was, "Can I sleep on my tummy now?"

2. Whenever his mother couldn't find him, she would always check the alley first, where he would undoubtedly be garbage picking.

3. He can play most stringed instuments, including guitar, banjo, ukelalee and violin.

4. He fixed Jeeps in the U.S. Army during the Korean War.

5. He can build anything. ANYTHING.

6. He used to build his own firearms as a child, and once shot a whole clean through his parents' garage -- in one side, out the other.

7. Homemade firearms is mainly responsible for his hearing loss. Kids, don't try this at home!

8. Within my lifetime, he was able to do a handspring. I shit you not. I've seen it, when he was in a production of Oklahoma.

9. He has sung the romantic tenor lead in many Gilbert & Sullivan operettas, including The Gondoliers, H.M.S. Pinafore and Patience.

10. When he calls me his "lump," he swears it's short for "lump-of-sugar."

Posted at 08:03 AM | Comments (1)

June 19, 2009

The Lord Said To Noah...

Ho-kay, stream-of-consciousness post today because I have been A.W.O.L. and have prepared nothing.

VERY quiet at work today, which is why I have the opportunity to sit and blog like the reprehensible slacker that I am. There was a company picnic planned for today, but I didn't sign up. And those of us who didn't sign up must report for work. Nice, huh? Truly I say to you, 'tis better to be at a picnic with random co-workers than at work, but the principle of forced fellowship just grates on me.

I have a few good friends here at work with whom I socialize, and I am kind and professional to absolutely everyone else in the building. I just don't particularly feel the need to break bread with those not on my Fav List in the vast buggy-ness of a forest preserve. Add to that the awkwardness of meeting peoples' spouses and/or children, and that's just too much fake merriment for me.

Wanna boost morale, H.R.? Give us all $25 and bus us to Woodfield for half a day, then let us go home. It would endear you to us forever, and the next day, we could all chat around the coffee maker about what we bought. Voila! Fellowship!

Anyhoo, those who signed up for the picnic get a free day off today because the picnic was cancelled due to the Severe Thunderstorm Alert in the area today. Lucky bastards. And I'm stuck here, watching the sky grow ever blacker, until it finally burst forth in copius amounts of water and lightning.

Kind of a scary view I have from the tenth floor. And the lights keep flickering. I'm sure the power is already out at my house, and I'm getting nervous about water in my basement. The only other person on this floor today is the head of my department, and I made him promise to hold my hand if we have to walk down ten flights to get out of the building. It's not a romantic thing -- I'm just afraid of plummeting to my death in the dark. Two of my phobias at once! Phobia overload!

He told me I can go home as soon as I've finished any pressing work I have (i.e. nil). And I may do just that, go home for lunch and not return. Water... basement... scary... panic. Good God, it's really coming down! When will Jeebus send the rainbow?

Posted at 10:22 AM | Comments (1)

June 15, 2009

How the Other Half Lives

On my last trip to Door Co. with Billi and Terry, I saw some cocktails napkins that I almost bought for Heather. I think they were by Anne Taintor, and it was a picture of a woman lying in a very plush bed. The caption:

I love not camping!

But then I thought -- What the hell is Heather going to do with cocktail napkins? So I bought something for myself instead.

I know I've already blogged briefly about my last trip to The Door, but I don't think that post truly expressed my love of viewing nature from behind sturdy panes of glass.

Okay, I joke... a little. I like the outside... a little. But really, in my heart of hearts, I am a homebody. I love my house, I love being inside it's climate-controlled walls, and most of all, I love my home office and my huge-ass desk.

I love decorating my home. It's in a constant state of flux. I love rearranging the furniture. I even kind of like cleaning it because of how awesome it looks afterwards. Weird, I know.

Long story short -- I like being inside, and viewing nature from there. Which, in Terry's boss' summer home, was not hard.

All the beauty -- none of the weather. Or bugs. Or cruel, cruel sun that burns my skin and my retinas.

And if our government hadn't destroyed our economy, this is the sort of fireplace that Husband would be early-retiring in front of in three years.

Minus the red chair, of course. I have to admit, when inside someone else's house, I'm mostly picturing where I'd put my furniture. Some people snoop through bathroom cabinets; I mentally redecorate.

This place needs some color.

Oh, I'm just jealous. Bitterly, darkly, cravenly jealous.

Off to the Wisconsin Dells with Billi and her brood this week. Husband and Brad are coming along as well. It's not quite as picturesque as Door Co., and God knows, there will be no lack of running, screaming children that will need me to trip them while their parents aren't looking. But at least the waterpark is indoors.

Meanwhile, I leave you with this.

Jeebus' own waterpark.

See you on the flip side, my darlings!

Posted at 07:56 AM | Comments (0)

June 12, 2009

Procrastination

I just can't seem to get the job done this week. I have three posts about three-quarters done, but I'm just not motivated to wrap them up and do the finishing touches. I don't know why. So here are some photos that were in my phone.

Get a load of my new, giant cube!

I'm the luckiest gerbil on the block! I even have a bookcase! ...Although it is filled with I-have-no-idea what kinds of crap. But lookit how much work space!

Here is my nieces' "dog." Wearing a bubushka.

Or a kitchen towel. Or a napkin. Or someone's underwear. I'm not sure. And I put "dog" in quotes because, really, if it weighs less than a pound -- I think even you off-balance tiny-dog-lovers can agree -- it's not a dog.

You think I'm kidding? The dog literally weighs less than sixteen ounces. Want a better idea of just how teensy-weensy this dog is? Here is my nephew wearing the dog.

On his hat. The "dog" is so wee that it can run laps on my nephews cowboy hat. Oh, and it's name is Pippin. Of course. No idea what gender it is.

And speaking of ridiculous dogs...

Don't be alarmed. Stella doesn't have crippling arthritis, and she's not injured. She's just double-jointed or something. She always sits like this. She can stretch her paws out; she just prefers not to.

But I think you can understand why I haven't deleted these images from my phone.

Posted at 01:53 PM | Comments (0)

June 10, 2009

Weird Science

IT'S ALIVE!

I have created... L I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I F E !!!!!!!!!!!

It's my little mini pot of basil seeds that I bought in the dollar section at Target and planted and watered and GREW!

L I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I F E !!!!!!!!!!!

Screw you, Jeebus! I can make food from nothing, too!

And when it's full grown, I'm going to pluck it from its stem, put it between bread with tomatos and fresh mozzarella, and stick it in the sammich press!

L U U U U U U U U U U U U U U U N C H!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh. Sure. Husband grew this.

But he was raised on a farm, which means that he's a big cheater-show-off-poopie-pants.

"Oh, lookit me! I know which plants grow in the shade and which grow in the sun! I'm so special! I know how to arrange things so they look nice together!"

Whatever. He can make his own damn sammich.

Posted at 06:49 AM | Comments (0)

June 08, 2009

Well, It Has Happened

Actually, it probably happened well before now, but I just didn't notice with The Girl Child because there were still -- not one, but TWO adorable children immediate following her, so her transition from Sweet Angel to Mouthy Little Snot just didn't register.

Plus, since she is FEET taller than anyone else her age, I probably haven't asked her to sit on my lap since she was five. It's like having Billi on my lap. She just doesn't fit anymore.

The Spare isn't really a lap-dweller by nature. Once in a while -- like when I catch him playing with The Boy Child's D.S. and don't narc on him -- he will throw his arms around me and give me a kiss. But in general, he is not a cuddler.

The Boy Child is my cuddler. Always has been. Even at age six, he's still skinny enough to fold himself into thirds and fit very neatly in my lap, with room to spare even! And I relish every cuddle-session because I know that it could be my last.

But what the hell happened to his mouth? Mother Nature flipped a switch two months ago, and now my precious darling is all with the "I KNOW!" and "O-KAY!" and explosive sighs and rolling of the eyes. It is amazing and horrifying.

What happened to the little boy who adored me and did whatever I said? Who's this little shit with the attitude, testing me to see if I'm really as stupid as he hopes I am? Why is the cute phase so much shorter than the annoying phase? I'm going to have to wait another fifteen years until he's remotely tolerable again!

I expressed this to Billi, my concern for Boy Child's ever-darkening outlook towards his elders, and she assured me that Girl Child went through the same thing at six. We just have to wait it out. Or "nip it in the bud," as she put it. Which I assume means "beat it out of him." Right? I'm pretty sure.

I wonder if I'll get to do any of the actual beating, or if I'll just hand him off to Billi. "You just wait until your mother gets home!" Oooh, I'd be so good at saying that!

Instead, I find myself saying stupid stuff like, "Is that how you talk to me?" To which the answer is clearly, "Yes!"

I also found myself saying, "I really don't appreciate your attitude!" To which the answer is clearly, "Good!"

There's really nothing I can say that won't just give him another opportunity for follow-up smart-mouthy-ness. Yup, gonna have to beat him.

Posted at 12:59 PM | Comments (0)

June 05, 2009

Breakfast at the Pottery Barn

Let me preface this by admitting that I love Pottery Barn. I love everything about it, with the exception of the prices. I want to live in a Pottery Barn catalogue. Specifically, I want to live here,...

...eat here,...

...blog here,...

...and sleep here.

*sigh* I love the way they decorate. A twig bowl here, seashells under glass there, a chalk board on the wall with today's menu:

Melted cheese sandwiches

Tomato bisque

Pecan tartlettes

Dear God, who eats like that at home?! I WANT TO KNOW! So I can drop in on them. I am fascinated by the kind of food eaten by the people who live in the Pottery Barn. I am fascinated by the kind of leisurely, organized, simplified, casual-yet-elegant lifestyle they lead.

Recently, this photo from their summer catalogue caught my eye:

I don't particularly care for the table -- I'll bet that mosaic top is a bitch to clean. But rather, I am intrigued by what the Pottery Barnites are having for breakfast.

Grapefruit halves

Buttery croissants

Bloody Marys

Heavens! Really? A light breaking of the fast with half a fruit, a small roll, and a GREAT BIG TUMBLER OF VODKA? This is me giving you a half smile and knowing glance. Those Pottery Barnians are lushes!

Now, Lord knows I'm not adverse to alcohol in the morning. I've been known, when on vacation, to add a drop of some sweet liquer to my coffee. I had a mimosa at Egrau's graduation brunch.

But I associate crack-of-dawn imbibing with huge, sprawling, all-you-can-eat brunch buffets. You know, so there's plenty of waffles and bacon and biscuits and gravy to soak up the booze. Lest one still be stumbling around in one's pajamas come lunchtime, blearily staring into the fridge, looking for a yogurt and a martini.

Then again, a martini would have a olive or two in it, so the yogurt really isn't necessary. In which case, a Bloody Mary is practically a salad, what with the stalk of celery!

No wonder everything is so casual and leisurely in the Pottery Barn. They'll trip over the glass coffee table if they try to move any faster.

Posted at 07:40 AM | Comments (1)

June 03, 2009

Must Love Dogs

In perusing the job ads on Craigslist, I came across the following creepiness:

Personal Assistant needed to work closely with stressed account executive. The ideal candidate needs to have excellent computer skills and be proficient in MS Office components especially excel and power point. Will need to anticipate and be attentive to the needs of this exec as well as willing and able to relieve pressure related to day to day stress of business. The situation requires the applicant to be flexible and open minded. The ideal candidate should have:

* Energetic/Friendly Personality

* A professional but intimate demeanor

* Attractive and fashionable appearance

* Excellent communication skills (written and oral)

* Knowledge of Microsoft Office Products

Respond with Resume and Photo

Anyone with a brain can see that this guy is looking for a secretary to diddle. Knowledge of Microsoft Office comes AFTER "attractive" and "intimate?" Ick. I will not be applying.

Found another ad that looked very promising, until I read: You must also like animals, as we have a dog.

Really? I "must" like ALL animals? What if I don't like cats and birds, but I like dogs, meerkats and owls? Can I still work there? I already hate these people.

Do I have to LIKE your dog in order to work there? What if it's annoying? Can't I just promise not to kick it? Or must I pet it and let it drool on me? What if I pet the boss and let him drool on me? Is that a fair trade?

Will I be required to WALK said dog? Pick up its poop? Does it bark incessantly?

What kind of dog? Is it old? Is it incontinent? Is there hope of it dying soon? If it eats my purse, will you buy me a new one? Even if it's Coach?

Is the dog required to like all humans in order to be there? Can I bring MY dogs?

Yes, I have dogs. Yes, in general, I like dogs. But I do not now, nor have I ever required anyone to like them, pet them or find them adorable.

Can the dog in question sign for packages and cover the phone when I'm in the bathroom? I'd like to see the dog's resume before we discuss my salary.

Posted at 03:26 PM | Comments (1)

June 01, 2009

The Seven Year (B)Itch

What I Am Doing Today On Our 7th Wedding Anniversary

1. Coloring my hair.
I try to do this when Husband isn't home. He knows I color my hair -- I mean, how could he not notice the ever-changing hues! But I try to maintain a teensy air of mystery. He doesn't need to see me dye my hair, or clip my toenails, or trim my pubes, or squeeze my blackheads. He's aware that I groom, that I'm not naturally perfect, so let's just leave it at that. (Oh, and a word about the color: I could not find a light brown, so I am mixing "Cinnamon Stick" and "Golden Honey." I think I'm going to end up as some lucious Greek dessert!)

2. Checking the front porch until his gift arrives.
Friday night, I moved his car, and I saw a gift bag from a nice store downtown in the back seat. I thought, "Shit! I didn't know we were doing presents!" See, our gift-giving fluctuates with our budget, and since I've been unemployed, I figured, well... Saturday morning, I quick got on Amazon and paid twenty frakkin' bucks to have the thing here today. Gotta wrap it before he gets home. Luckily, I did have the presence of mind to get a card before now.

3. Calling him every hour to nag him about coming home.
In theory, we are supposed to have dinner and see a movie tonight to celebrate. But since his normal home-arrival time is 6:30, we usually only have time for one or the other. We'll see, but my money is on either a "dinner" of Twizzlers and popcorn as we watch "Night at the Museum II," or a nice steak dinner and back episodes of "Boston Legal" on DVD at home. Anyone care to bet against me?

4. Wondering if, in recognition of our marriage, I should send a condolence card to my step daughters...

Posted at 07:50 AM | Comments (0)