September 30, 2011
Black Heart, White Muzzle
It poured here last weekend, and after taking a particularly long time to decide precisely where in the yard to deposit their poop, the dogs were quite soaked and dog-smelling upon re-entry into my otherwise pristine home. So I pointed to the rug by the back door and told them...
PW: Sit! Stay.
Daisy: WOOF!
Stella: Christ in a kennel!
D: What?
S: Did you just bark at Mommy?!
D: Yeah. So what?
S: You don't bark at Mommy!
D: Why not? Bitch pissed me off.
S: How did she piss you off?
D: Oh, she's always ordering us around. Sit! Stay! Off! Other room! She's so fucking bossy.
S: Dude, it is not smart to bark at the one who feeds you, is all I'm sayin'.
D: What -- like she's not gonna feed me? I'd like to see her try it. I'd just eat one of Daddy's socks, and BAM! There's a thousand dollars in vet bills to keep me from dying. How do ya like that shit, Mommy?
S: Wow. You have really gotten an attitude in your old age.
D: Who are you calling old?!
S: Well, you are nine. And a half.
D: I am middle-aged, at most!
S: No, Daddy's middle-aged. In dog years, you're like... dead.
D: Oh yeah? WOOF!
S: That's some pretty tough smack you're talkin' outta that white muzzle of yours.
D: Hey, you know what?
S: What?
D: You know that patch of rug in the hall? The one that's your favorite spot to sleep on?
S: Yeeeaaahhh...?
D: I scooched my sphincter on it.
S: Bitch.
Posted at 05:43 PM | Comments (2)September 25, 2011
September Photo Blog: Part II of II
I was quite the busy, little bee over Labor Day weekend. What with the extra day off work and all, it was an opportune time to redress the Barbies, who were still lolling around in what I'd put them in nine months prior. Heavens to Betsy! That just wouldn't do!
So I changed them into outfits reflective of the colors of fall leaves.
Too much time on my hands? You betcha!
So guess where this photo was taken.
This is my back porch. No, not in Alabama or the Appalachians -- it's an affluent suburb of Chicago. Not that you'd know that from looking at this photo. Yes, that is a generator behind the chair. Also, a green pail, two aluminum tubs, and a garbage can. I think there may be a shop-vac hiding there, as well.
I'm thinking of moving our fridge out here sometime soon. And maybe bringing up the futon from the basement, for when friends come over and want to whittle.
Did you notice the weird vegetative shells on the ground? Yeah, those are corn husks. People were shucking corn on my porch. Not I. Perish the thought! I don't shuck. Ever. And no, Heather, I did not make an Amish corn husk doll with the husks.
Did you ever see a fashion, and it just gets stuck in your head, and even though you know it's probably not a good idea, you just can't resist trying it?
[And men, let me just take a moment here to say that you are not immune to bad fashion ideas. I speak mainly of MAN-PRIs, i.e. capris for men. Always a bad idea, I don't care how young, hip and Californian you are.]
Anyhoo, here's me succumbing to skinny jeans and boots.
True, they are not the knee-high, black, leather pirate boots that you and I were both envisioning. But considering the amount of money I've spent on shoes lately, I figured I should keep my initial boot purchase under $100. Just until I'm ready to upgrade, mind you.
And now for the pièce de résistance.
There's some serious ick-factor coming up here, folks. Avert your eyes if you're squeamish!
This is Daisy's impression of a three-toed sloth.
Yes, Daisy had a toe removed. Ewwwwwwww! I know!
She somehow managed to get some whack-a-doo infection in her nail bed, and the nail fell off, and the infection wasn't responding to any of the high-end, designer antibiotics we were pumping into her. Lest we keep throwing good money after bad, we thought -- enh, just lop the thing off.
I'm kidding, of course. We did put a little more thought into it than that. The vet recommended taking it off before the infection got into the bone or the rest of her foot. And since our new lady vet is amazing, and I just can't say enough good things about her and her staff, we followed her advice. And now Daisy has but three toes on her hind right leg.
Oh, stop your fretting. She's fine. Three days after surgery, she was running around in the yard like nothing had happened, much to my dismay. Damn dog wouldn't keep her bandage on. I almost resorted to duct tape. Frankly, I'm surprised it healed at all.
But she's all fine now. Don't go feeling all sorry for her and let her pathetic eyes trick you into giving her another treat. She's got the I.Q. of a kumquat and doesn't even know there used to be a toe there.
So, freaks, what's on your camera?
Posted at 07:38 AM | Comments (2)September 20, 2011
September Photo Diary: Part I of II
God, I have weird stuff on my camera. I mean, usually, it's loaded with photos of Billi's brood and/or my dogs looking stupid and/or Wisconsin landscapes. And Barbies. Always Barbies.
But lately, I have had... just... well, you be the judge.
This is my new, little friend at work. And this is his story of origin. Which is probably not comic-book-worthy, but it's at least Wenchie's-crappy-blog-worthy, so here goes.
I had just touched a Dove dark chocolate square to my tongue when my phone rang, and I could see that it was not someone who would completely understand if I answered the phone with food in my mouth. So I took the chocolate off my tongue and placed it on the little pad of stickies nearby.
When I got off the phone and stuck the chocolate back -- successfully, this time -- into my gaping maw, I noticed that the shape it left looked like a friendly choco-smile. What else could I do but draw two eyes?
And now, he is my own Wilson, like Tom Hanks had when he was on that deserted island and lost all that weight. Only made out of chocolate and not blood. Isn't he adorable? And like Wilson, my Wilson Jr. is embued with his own special personality. And I will keep him around forever.
Or until I build a raft and leave my shithole cubicle, and Wilson Jr. accidentally gets washed away in the storm. Whereafter I will always remember him fondly as the one who kept me company during my darkest days.
Yeah, I get a little bored at work sometimes.
Okay, photo two. This is The Girl Child. And this is what a ten year old girl thinks is a really cool outfit. (And I know this because I took her shopping and let her pick out an outfit all by herself.)
I'm assuming that, at school, this will be worn with Ugg boots on her feet. In her defense, this is way cuter -- and decidedly more feminine -- than the stuff I was wearing at her age. I could only describe my grade school style as Whatever the Boys Were Wearing That Made My Mother Cringe and Wonder If I Had Any Estrogen Whatsoever.
And then I hit 35, and the pendulum swung waaaaaaaaaaaaay the hell over to the other side. Now it's all sparkly nails and Hello Kitty! hoodies and false eyelashes. There is just no Happy Medium in Wenchie's World!
Hey, remember when I blogged about cleaning out my father's basement after a horrible flood? This is what the garbage men were confronted with during their route on the following Tuesday.
It may not look like much on my teeny-tiny blog, but trust me -- it cast a shadow over our Jeep Grand Cherokee. And it's not like he was hoarding feathers and packing peanuts, people! The man keeps WROUGHT IRON! And MOLTEN LEAD! And ALLOYS ANDIGIONOUS TO OTHER PLANETS! Those mutha-fockin' bags were HEAVY!
And that's all I'm allowed to say about it here because of the conditions stated in the lawsuit brought by the Waste Removal Workers of Cook County.
So let's end on a happy note. Look what Lola made me!
Isn't she adorable?! And she totally matches my office, which I love. And she has all kinds of cool textures on her! I could rub her nubbiness for hours! But then I would get her dirty, and I don't want that. So I just ocassionally caress her as I walk by...
And now I've said too much.
Posted at 07:40 PM | Comments (0)September 13, 2011
The Grass Is Always Sleeker
I confess. I have done the unthinkable. I have committed hair adultery.
I'll start at the beginning, as adultery is rarely (unless you're married to an NBA player) just a random, everyday act, like popping into Panera for a French toast bagel because someone posted about them on FaceBook.
No one thinks, Hmmm, they were talking about adultery on NPR. I think I'll go boink my son's soccer coach!
There are usually events leading up to the final act, signs that the relationship is not going well.
For instance. My hairdresser, Lynn, confessed that she had insomnia one night, so she went into the bathroom and started just hacking away at her own hair over the sink, like some emo chick who just got dumped by her boyfriend of seven weeks. She gave herself some weird reverse-mullet thing: business in the back, party in the front. Who does that?!
Anyhoo, remember how I wanted to get my hair and make-up professionally done for Older Step Daughter's wedding? Yeah, I felt the need to compete with all the glamour I knew would be there. I don't know why. I usually have more self-confidence than that.
I went to Lynn for a test-run. People, she air-brushed my face. I'm not even kidding. I felt like a Grateful Dead concert t-shirt.
The eyeliner was thin and black and not even blended. Very weird and old-fashioned, I felt. And the eye shadow was just... too, too much. And not like over-the-top-drag-queen too much; just it's-the-80s-and-I-just-got-my-first-acting-job-in-a-Ratt-video too much. Plus, she used plums on my eyes and peach on my lips. Faux pas!
Needless to say, I hated it. I went home, washed it off -- which took a long, long time because sweet Jeebus, did she use oil paint??? -- and vowed that I would do my own make-up for the wedding, with a tiny-bit-heavier hand than usual and some false eyelashes. Perfect.
The hair wedding-test-run, on the other hand, was smashing! I had long, Disney-princess waves!
I felt like I was running through a meadow in slow-motion! A chain of daisies spontaneously adorned my head! I loved it so much, and so did everyone else in the salon, and I was an instant celebrity. As I should be!
And I felt good inside, knowing that, although Lynn's cosmetic talents were not going to be put to use on O.S.D.'s wedding day, at least I'd be having Lynn come over to do my hair that morning. I would have felt awful if I made her do the whole test-run and got her hopes up about extra pocket money and then dashed them.
What the hell happened on the morning of the wedding, I will never know, but the hairstyle that I ended up with upon Lynn's departure from my house was NOT the look-mommy-I'm-a-mermaid! waves pictured above. It was Texas-high at the crown, first of all. And the waves were stringy and messy and just UGH. I did NOT look like a princess!
I immediately got in the shower and washed all that product out of my hair. My hair doesn't need product, people -- my hair is PERFECT just the way it is!
And that's the lesson that I learned that day, boys and girls. I am perfect just the way I am. And anyone who disagrees can suck it.
However, even the perfection that is my hair can stand a little updating. And yes, I am getting to the adultery part soon. Sit tight, my turtle doves. I decided, as I do about every other year, that my straight, boring hair could stand a little updating. So I went to Lynn with the directions for her to "cut off four inches and put in some layers."
Of course, I should have given her more direction, talked more about my personal vision for my hair.
Here are words that should describe my hair:
1. Polished.
2. Sleek.
3. Well-groomed.
Here are words that should NEVER describe my hair:
1. Sassy.
2. Rock 'n' roll.
3. Wind-blown.
Going into the salon, I was thinking Milla Jovovich circa the red carpet.
Lynn was thinking Milla Jovovich circa "The Fifth Element."
Yeah, it takes a total goddess to pull off that look. And I'm just, er... not the same kind of goddess as Milla Jovovich. You know, the kind that people want to see naked. I'm the other kind.
The cut I got from Lynn was the Wikipedia definition of the J.F.L. (The Just-Fucked Look, for those of you not in the know. Mom.)
[Okay, I just did a Wiki-search on J.F.L., and they asked me, "Do you mean J.F.K.?" Sooooo many jokes, so little time.]
My hair was sassy and rock-n-roll and wind-swept. In a word -- awful. You can't put J.F.L. hair on someone who's weekday uniform is a cardigan and loafers with a sensible heel. You just can't. It's stupid-looking. So I went home and put it into a ponytail and thought about what the hell I was going to do with it for work the next day.
[Hint: It was a ponytail.]
By 10:00 a.m. the next morning, bedecked in said ponytail, I was dialing the number of my friend's "girl" at an upscale, new salon in our town. She actually had a spot open that evening, which I took as a sign from God that He didn't like my hair, either.
Okay, my friend's "girl" -- since I once quit a job because my boss kept calling me his "girl" -- has a name, and it is Danni. And she is adorable. Long, black hair she wears in a braid over one shoulder, impeccable make-up and nails, and just enough baby fat to make her cuddly. Er, not that I tried to cuddle her. Although I did propose marriage when she started massaging my scalp during my hair wash. But I was just kidding... as far as she knows.
One of the first things that Danni did was even out the part between my bangs and the rest of my hair because the line was uneven. She said, "I'm just a perfectionist that way."
*SWOON* She had me at perfectionist. Because if there's anyone I want at the helm of my hair, it's a fellow control freak.
So, you tell me, boys and girls -- can you blame me for cheating on Lynn? Clearly, we do not have the same outlook on life. But is that enough to break-up with her, ask for my CDs back, and put a ring on Danni?
You be the judge.
Posted at 08:44 PM | Comments (5)September 05, 2011
Seriously, Wenchie, What's With You and Shoes Lately?
You wanna know? I'll tell you.
1. I need shoes for work. More than one pair. Because I'm not wearing my Danskos or my granny boots there anymore. [Yes, Heather, I know you are cringing. But at least I'm not wearing them to work, right? Are you gonna be okay?]
2. To the surprise of no one, I am picky as hell. I absolutely will not wear any shoe that doesn't feel like a slipper. I am just too friggin' old, and I don't need one more thing making me crabby.
3. Zappos has free shipping BOTH WAYS. And zero tax, which is pretty important when you live in a place where the sales tax is 10%. So it's like bringing the shoe store to me! Who could resist?!
For instance, who could resist these?
Patent leather penny loafers with a 1-1/2 inch heel by Anne Klein! So naughty-Catholic-schoolgirl cute! So exactly-what-I-was-looking-for! Sadly, they were squashing me like Spanx for feet.
Oh, did I not mention? I have wide feet. Flippers, if you will. I'm practically a mermaid. Yet another reason to shop at Zappos -- I can automatically see only those shoes that come in wide sizes! Like these!
Black boots to wear with my long black skirt. And my long dark grey skirt. Don't worry -- I will not be wearing the brown knee-socks with either skirt.
Say, have I posted these, yet?
These are the 50s hostess slippers that I wore to Older Step Daughter's wedding. And no, that is not authentic harvet gold carpeting from the 50s. It's the carpeting at work from the 2000s. Sad, huh?
Speaking of work, wore these a few weeks ago when I knew that no one else would be around and I would be on my feet all day.
Believe me -- my hips thanked me for it later! They actually sent me a thank-you card and were terribly miffed when my knees outdid them by sending me flowers. What kind? Why, Lady Slippers, natch!
Anyhoo, I routinely do searches on Zappos for Penny Loafers and Spectator Shoes. And then I narrow down the searches to Platforms and pray for something without stillettos. One day last week, I was rewarded with these!
Platform spectator shoes in black leather! The answer to all my prayers! Who cares that they're $180?! Of course, I ordered them! And know what? They felt like slippers! God be praised!
I put them on and ran through the house singing Alleluias! Lo, I posted them on high (on FaceBook) and invited others to behold the wonder that was the perfect shoes! I'm sure they are replicas of the shoes that Mary Magdalene wore when she danced with Jeebus at the wedding at Cana!
Which may be why they led everyone I know to cruelly and callously tell me that they look like nun shoes. GAWD, you people are mean! You know who you are!
I sent them back. But not without a heavy heart.
To clear the air of bad ju-ju, I give you these photos of cool Barbie shoes.
Barbie can wear these because she's on her back more than she's on her feet anyway.
Ha ha, Heather! Your giant man-feet will never fit into these! That'll teach you to keep your wimple remarks to yourself!
Posted at 03:17 PM | Comments (3)