November 27, 2009
The Importance of Consistancy
To the shock of all, not only am I not doing some lame things-I'm-thankful-for post, I'm not even going to start talking about Christmas, yet. No, I'm still obsessing about the horror of Halloween. Namely, the Tootsie Roll Variety Pack of candy that I bought.
The fact that the Tootsie Roll Variety Pack has Dots in it -- for no apparent reason -- pales in comparison to this:
I am one of those freaks who loves the non-chocolate variety of Tootsie Rolls. There are orange, lime, lemon and -- inexplicably veering from the fruit theme -- vanilla. The vanilla Tootsie Roll comes in a blue wrapper, as seen on the right in the photo above.
Now, one might assume, according to the color, that the Tootsie POP, shown on the left, is a vanilla Tootsie Pop. But NO NO NO NO NO! One would be WRONG. For the BLUE Tootsie Pop is RASPBERRY.
I cannot get my mind around this.
First of all, the blue-wrapped Tootsie Pop is a very recent addition to the Pop line-up and is, therefore, unnecessary, unfamiliar and utterly frightening. I don't want exciting updates, people -- I want consistancy. I want good old fashioned reliability. I am forty, and anything that strays from the norm upsets my bowel schedule.
Even more disturbing is the fact that the raspberry Tootsie Pop and the vanilla Tootsie Roll share a color. Is pink not good enough for the raspberry Tootsie Pop? There are no watermelon or cherry Tootsie Pops, so it's not like pink was taken! I don't understand this decision to assign the same color to two completely different flavors!
I want whomever is responsible to step-up and take his flogging like a man. I'm tempted to write a letter to the company, but I'm sure that Grandpa Simpson has already done so. Now you kids help Wenchie find her purse.
Posted at 06:03 PM | Comments (1)November 24, 2009
Drawing the Line
Wenchie at work: BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!
PhD Boss: What's so funny?
PW: My friend just texted me a photo of herself in a cowboy hat, rhinestone belt, and the whore-y-est shirt I've ever seen.
PhD: Is she hott?
PW: She's totally hott.
PhD: Is she single?
PW: You can't have her.
PhD: What?
PW: She's mine, and you can't have her.
PhD: You won't introduce me?
PW: Absolutely not.
PhD: Why?
PW: Okay. Scenario one: you guys date, you break her heart, I'm forced to hate you. Scenario two: you guys date, she breaks your heart, I have to hear you whine about it. Scenario three: you guys date, you get married, I puke.
PhD: ...
PW: So you see my point.
PhD: You think I whine?
Posted at 02:52 PM | Comments (0)November 19, 2009
Takin' Care of Boobness
What did the gal from work call it? Ah, yes. The ol' Stretch 'n' Smash. Went for my forty-year mamogram today.
What is it with nurses wearing the scrubs with the Tweety Birds and flowers and peace signs and shit on them? I understand that the monotony of blue scrubs would annoy some women. I myself would welcome the disappearance of the daily obligation to pick out an outfit that is professional, flattering and color-coordinated all at once. But whatever.
And I understand why pediatric doctors and nurses wear Dora the Explorer scrubs, to distract the little children that they must stab with needles. But why a grown woman would wear a Looney Tunes-themed, psychodellic-print top to work with other grown women is beyond me. I was embarassed for her.
Perhaps she could sense my disdain because I had to wait fifty minutes before being called into that small, cold room. And I need to give props for the cute pink, beaded curtains. The technician said, "Yeah. We try." Ha! Gotta love someone who has no delusions about their circumstances.
Yes, they do try -- as shown by the adorable flowery design on the nipple stickers! [For the gentlemen: A sticker with a small, metal bead is placed on each nipple, so when the doctor is looking at the xray, they know where the nipple is oriented.] They certainly have become more festive in the five years since my baseline mamogram! I almost felt like a fabulous lap-dancer instead of some piece of meat that the technician had to unceremoniously position on the smashing machine like a butcher handling a slab of corned beef he's about to slice up for sammiches!
Tip to my fellow hogan-owners: Don't take the last appointment time of the morning. Again, I had to wait fifty minutes in my blue robe, listening to some crappy talk show and then some crappy soap opera, while trying to concentrate on my book. Personally, I resent that they just assume we all want to watch talk shows and soap operas. They couldn't put on the Comedy Channel? Everyone likes funny!
I'm also kind of upset that, despite the fact that at least half of the other eight women in the waiting room were born well before the invention of the television, I was the only one with a book. Don't people read anymore? Who doesn't bring a book to a hospital waiting room?
The actual mamograms -- three on each boob -- took about five seconds. The tech kept apologizing for smooshing my boob to the point that I could no longer breathe, and I was like, "Hey, I can stand just about anything, if it will save me from dying of cancer." She was like, "That's a good attitude to have." I'll bet she hears lots of whining about the smooshing. There were quite a few women in the waiting room even more well-endowed than I. I KNOW! And the bigger the boob, the harder the hurt. No fun, granted, but SO much better than one's hair falling out. I'm just sayin'.
Besides, the peeling off of the nipple stickers is WAY worse than the smooshing of the melons. I chose the rip-'em-off-fast-and-get-it-over-with-approach. Wow. That'll wake you up! Thank God the place was so chilly. I was able to put my freezing fingers on my nipples for a moment until the pain subsided enough for me to put my bra back on.
All set for another year! Go get 'em smooshed, ladies! BOO-BEEZ FO-EH-VAH!
Posted at 05:00 PM | Comments (1)November 16, 2009
F to M Haiku
A little spam-robot haiku to brighten up your Monday, courtesty of "femdom."
Around the: Strapon,Shemale strapon Lesbian,
Strapon f to m
Huh. I'd always thought that strap-on was hyphenated...
Posted at 01:56 PM | Comments (1)November 13, 2009
The Culmination of All That Is Good In the World: Part II
When we last saw our heroine, Princess Barbie was cheerily supervising the color scheme of her fabulous new cake gown!
[And when we last saw our herion, it was being mainlined by the royal baking wench because SWEET JESUS SIX HOURS OF MY LIFE ON A CAKE!!]
The R.B.W. (royal baking wench) envisioned a three-tiered skirt. The underskirt was green frosting, as seen in the previous blog. The second skirt would be the eye-matching blue fondant.
Yes, that's one of Husband's old undershirts being used as a template. I figured -- underskirt, undershirt, whatever. I'm pretty sure it was clean.
Clearly, the blue skirt didn't get centered as nicely as the R.B.W. would have liked, but what do you want? I'm new at this! Luckily, Princess Barbie starts drinking mimosas at 8:30 on weekends, so she didn't even notice.
The bodice and overskirt was purple fondant. Barbie and I became awkwardly intimate as I molded the slimey play-doh to her torso. Well, I was probably the only one who was awkward. Whorey McSpreadlegs didn't even bat an eye.
TAH DAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Can you believe I found a choker to matche the blue skirt?
Once Princess Barbie and the R.B.W. arrived at The Girl Child's party, Billi decided that Barbie needed to show more cleavage.
I guess Billi didn't want to be the one broad at the party with her hogans spilling out of her party blouse.
The giant sugar and chocolate structure EASILY fed all eleven people at the party, with plenty of cake left over for Brad to gorge himself on the next day, until he felt like puking.
Inevitably, Barbie had to leave the modest comfort of her gown.
Not that she minded. In fact, once in her small, edible skirt, she plum forgot the formality of the ocassion and started a fondant fight with Dora the Explorer.
Then Brad got a hold of her, sent Dora exploring, and bent Barbie over the cake. From there, things just got weird. And the R.B.W. left Barbie at the party to find her own way home. She eventually did... a week later, buck naked in a cab.
Posted at 10:53 AM | Comments (1)November 09, 2009
The Culmination of All That Is Good In the World: Part I
Once upon a time, Princess Barbie dreamed of a new dress. A dress made of sugar and rainbows and the birthday wishes of little girls.
So Barbie swept into the kitchen, buck nekked, and called, "Wench! Bake me a new gown!"
Now the royal baking wench was no dummy, so she got out her finest chocolate cake recipe, which called for pudding mix, sour cream, and spun unicorn hair. And to make sure that the gown was full enough, she made two batches of batter, for two round pans and one ceramic mixing bowl.
Princess Barbie was quite pleased that the mixing bowl was the perfect shape for her gown.
But Princess Barbie was a big girl now and didn't want a pink cake. So she instructed the royal baking wench to use cool colors. Cool as in from-the-blue-end-of-the-color-spectrum, not cool as in totally-rad.
[Did you know that you don't even have to mix yellow and blue to make green? They sell green food coloring in the same pack as the blue, red and yellow, as if it were a primary color. I'm not sure how I feel about this as, aside from being inaccurate, it also leads to the red food coloring running out waaaaay before the rest of the little bottles in the pack.]
The royal baking wench had to use a lot of frosting between the layers, in order to keep the top-heavy cake from toppling over. Once assembled, Barbie jumped right into the middle, taking the top-heaviness to new heights.
As the baking wench frosted the cake, Barbie kept sticking her fingers in the bowl and licking them off.
"I can eat whatever I want and never gain weight!" she giggled.
Fuckin' Barbie.
Now, here's the super-easy fondant recipe, since I know y'all are gonna ask, and I'm suddenly a cooking blog, apparently.
1 cup clear corn syrup1 cup white shortening
1 tsp. clear vanilla
2 lbs. powdered sugar
You mix the first three ingredients together, and then sift in the powdered sugar so you don't have any lumps. Needless to say, I didn't bother trying to find clear vanilla, and it didn't make one scrap of difference in the color of the fondant. Also, if you're halfing the recipe, one lb. of powdered sugar is about four cups unsifted. So now you know.
"But Wenchie," you say. "That's not real fondant."
And you are correct. Because the recipes for real fondant called for crap like glycerin and unflavored gelatin. And who wants to invite that kind of hassle into their life? Not even for Barbie, people. Not even for Barbie.
Anyhoo, the faux-dant (if you will) got kind of slimey, so the baking wench took off her wedding rings and mixed it with her hands. Ew. I think I still have Crisco under my nails. That stuff just does NOT wash off. On the plus side, the thin layer of goo did help keep my hands from turning blue. (There's one of those sentences that's surreal even in context.)
Barbie wanted the blue of the dress to match her eyes, the demanding bitch.
Tune in later this week for the completion of Barbie's cake gown!
Posted at 03:23 PM | Comments (1)November 04, 2009
I Don't Wanna Hear It
Well, it's getting to be That Time Again. I feel compelled to compile a list of the things I don't want anyone to say to me ever, ever again.
1. I'm not ready for winter.
2. It got so cold out!
3. Seems like just last week it was in the 70s!
4. I hate winter.
5. Cold enough for you?
6. Is it summer yet?
7. I can't believe it's so cold out!
8. Aren't you cold?
9. When is that global warming going to kick in?
10. I think this cold weather is because of the global warming.
Suck it up, people! You live in Chicago! Unless this is your first winter here and you moved here from the equator, this is not new. Coldness is not a surprise. But let's review, shall we? Just in case some idiots need a refresher course.
Spring in Chicago = flash floods.
Summer in Chicago = jungle-like humidity.
Autumn in Chicago = absolutely perfect but ridiculously short.
Winter in Chicago = bitter, freezing, deathly cold, and that's without he wind chill factor.
There. See what I did there? Now you are unable to be caught off guard. Huzzah for you!
And as long as I'm satiating my anal-retentive need to make lists, here are the few exceptions to my Never Talk About The Weather rule:
1. If it is wamer in Anchorage, Alaska, than it is here.
2. If the snow on the ground, without drifting, measures four feet or higher.
3. If you are having to scrape ice off your car in August.
4. If it is hailing big enough pieces of ice to render one unconscious.
5. If it is hailing frogs.
6. If it is raining blood.
7. If you have only ever seen snow in pictures.
8. If you are homeless and could die from cold.
9. If you are an honest-to-God farmer with a working farm and depend on mild weather in order to feed your family.
10. If you are an autistic savant and your one area of expertise is weather.
If none of these apply, then you can either shut up or move. Those are your only two options.
Now go put on a sweater.
Posted at 03:29 PM | Comments (4)