August 27, 2008
Parts 'n' Hooters
Ah, my minions. Much has happened in the 843 days since my last post. We're almost done building the mission church, and BoBo's cubs are all healthy and growing fast.
Enh, who cares about that shit. America's Next Top Model Season 11 starts next week Wednesday! Here's a fun game to play:
Remember that old Sesame Street song? "One of these things is not like the others; One of these things just doesn't belong!" Look through the photos of the new meat and guess which one of them used to have meat!
That's right, models! Now Tyra isn't the only she-male on the show! There's a transsexual in the bunch!
Not sure of the difference between a transvestite and a transsexual? Well, a transvestite is a person who dresses up as the opposite sex, but keeps all their parts and may or may not be gay. A transsexual is someone who gets their original parts surgically replaced with the opposite parts. And I'm not talking about McNuggets here, folks!
(Or wait. Am I...?)
Who said my blog is for entertainment purposes only? We learned something today, boys and girls!
Anyhoo, this means I'm going to have to renew my commitment to blogging recaps of the ANTM episodes. That's gonna be hard, what with me working an excruciating 24 hours a week now!
And speaking of work, there's been more fall-out from The Hooters Incident, as it has come to be known. I brought baked goods to work today, of which Official Title partook.
And then. After eating the fruit of my labor. He dared to ask Rose, "Did Wenchie really work at Hooters?"
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And the bitch was laughing so hard, she didn't even correct him!
OH!!! MY!!! GOD!!!
I can see that this is going to take more than cookies to correct. I may have to bake a big cake. And then jump out of it.
Posted at 07:23 PM | Comments (4)August 14, 2008
The Cow and the Crown
I have a friend named Hercules who lives in Greenville, IL. I believe it was originally named Hicksville, IL, but they changed it last week.
He emailed me a few days ago and included this observation, which I love (any typos are his own):
I don't get the whole Americas Top Model thing, so I always enjoy your work between seasons. Along those lines, last week was the county fair. The 17-year old that won the beauty pagent sold her prize winning 4-H steer 45 minutes before the queen contest. It was over 90 degrees in high humidity, I was pretty impressed that she could show an 1,100 pound bovine and then go off and win a queen contest. Only in rural America do we judge our livestock and women for entertainment.
Oh. My. God. Miss 4-H is my new hero.
Okay, first, her cow won a prize. Now, I have no idea what criteria they use to judge cows. I only have one: tastiness. So not only did she do all sorts of farming-type things involved in raising a barnyard animal, but she refrained from eating it. And that, in itself, is amazing.
So then, she sold her prize-winning cow. And I'm assuming it was an auction because what the hell else do you do for fun in Greenville, IL? Do you think she showed the cow like the chicks at the Auto Show show cars? I'm picturing some broad in a backless evening gown lying over the back of the cow in a provocative manner.
Damn, now I'm hungry and horny.
And then?
Bitch got off the cow to go put on a tiara and a sash! Day-um! She's like Wonder Woman! I'll bet the girls she beat didn't even smell like cow! Whoooo-wee, she's a humdinger! I mean, how hott do you have to be to win a beauty contest with manure on your shoes?
God, I love her. It'd almost be worth going to Greenville to meet her.
Ooh, I wonder if she got her likeness carved in butter?
Post-Posting Addition
Okay, after Hercules read my blog, he sent me this:
You actually pretty much hit the nail on the head. I have heard about 4-H auctions for years, but only attended the one last week, because I was filling in for the farm reporter on the local radio station.
"FILLING IN FOR THE FARM REPORTER!"
BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!
Posted at 03:27 PM | Comments (3)August 03, 2008
Wenchie Is Blogging On a Sunday?
Weird, I know. I'm so disappointed in myself for neglecting my blogging duties. I'm going without nail polish for a week as punishment.
I had many great blogs in my brain but no time to get them into MoveableType, so let's just recap the week, shall we?
Monday after work, I drove from O'Hare to Elburn, Illinois, to go to a friend's brother's memorial visitation. I didn't even know Elburn existed until I read the obit and Googled the place. But they have their own website! Who knew!
After getting off the expressway, Google said that I had seventeen miles before reaching the funeral home. Since I had left right from work, I was like, Oh, good, I'll stop somewhere and grab something to eat.
People. There is seventeen miles of NOTHING between the expressway and Elburn. I saw a sign for "Coon Creek Country Days," but that's not until mid-August. No food on a stick for me. Luckily, there was a huge platter of brownies and cookies in the funeral home basement, and my friend let me partake.
On Tuesday, I went to Gurnee Mills with Billi and our Norwegian cousins, who are in the country for a few weeks. They are the perfect house guests, and here's why:
1. They bring me European candies, chocolate and marzipan.
2. They clean up after themselves.
3. They rent their own car and are self-sufficient.
4. They make coffee as soon as they get up every morning.
5. They love to shop!
As much as we crab about the high price of everything here, apparently, it's still way cheaper than Norway. So when they're here, they buy a new suitcase and hit all the outlet malls. It's so awesome! They also like sight-seeing and going to see live music and stuff, but it's mainly about the shopping. Wheeeeeeee!
I had another medical facial on Wednesday evening, my third. And my skin must be getting better because it was much less painful this time around. The only bad thing was the high-school-esque zit by my left eyebrow.
But the redness is definitely fading from my face! I'm wearing much less make-up now! Oh, don't get me wrong -- I'm still a total whore for eye make-up. I just don't have to wear as much foundation and concealer anymore. Tra la! Tra la!
Thursday, I was a hippie for a day. After putting out a box of clothes for Am Vets, I met Garrance and Sue at Starbucks. She had just been to see Dr. Hottie, I had an appointment in 45 minutes. Oh, how we loooooooooove to tag-team that poor man.
I used my Starbucks card to purchase an iced mocha. Yup, I'm Starbucks' bitch now. I'm a total fucking tool. I'm not proud, but I'm earning rewards points. Totally worth selling my soul for rewards points.
Sue and I had plans to go to a Concert In The Park on Friday night. The title of the concert was "Big Band," so we were thinking Brian Setzer Orchestra or some such frivolity. But apparently, Big Band means something different to the good people of Concert In The Park.
It was jazz, people. There were improvizational trumpet solos. ACK! In short, it was a nightmare. I was surrounded by Sue, Cyndi and half a dozen gay men, and it still wasn't fun. So we left. So much for our attempt to do something grown-up and cultural! We'll know better next time.
Yesterday, Barbie Joe and I went to Gigi's and looked at vintage Barbie crap for three hours, which really makes a person work up an appetite. So we went to Gale St. Inn and each indulged in a variation of BBQ pork. Joe had a full slab of the ribs, I had a pulled pork sandwich. We barely had to chew, it was so tender. Which was good because, after sifting through an entire bin of Barbie shoes and hats, I was too exhausted to chew.
I'm going to the folks' house this afternoon for Dad's birthday party. I got him two CDs -- Charro and bagpipe music. What? It's his fault for being so damn impossible to shop for! One year, I got him a bag made out of a bull scrotum.
Well, at least I'm bringing booze and two cakes -- Buttery White Cake with Fluffy Chocolate Frosting and a Chocolate Mint Angel Food Cake. He'll be drunk and hopped up on sugar when he opens his gift, which should lessen the blow.
I have so many blogs in my head! I'm making it a goal to get at least two of them typed up this week. Don't desert me! My flagrant neglect doesn't mean I don't love you!
Posted at 12:47 PM | Comments (0)July 14, 2008
Farewell, Faithful Friend
A moment of silence, please, for the end of an era. An era marked by two decades of organization, simplicity and perfection. The era of... The Chandler's Assignment Notebook.
Since high school, I have been using this compact, highly functional planner, not only to schedule my activities, but to make to-do lists and shopping lists. It is my Bible. My trusted friend. My secret lover.
"Thank you for your patronage over the last several decades. Unfortunately, Chandler's Inc. has officially been closed for business. We will not be selling the Assignment Notebook or DateBooks in 2008 or beyond. Best of luck and well wishes to all of our past customers."
My GOD, how could they do this to us???
My current Chandler's is dark green and has pirate stickers on it. Last year's was grey with Hello Kitty stickers. There will be no 2008-2009 Chandler's.
At first, I was paralyzed with devastation. How am I going to LIVE?!?!
But then I remembered Anne, who lives and dies by FranklinCovey, so I surfed on over. Because why take time out of my day to drive over to Office Max and see what they have to offer, when I can spend two hours of work time designing my dream organizer online?
Now, I'm not going to go all seven-habits-of-highly-effective-people on you. Mainly because I don't really know what I'd want to be highly effective at. I'm pretty good at the stuff I want to do, and if I can't perform a task effectively, I either make Husband do it or learn to live without it.
But I did buy a binder, some flowery planning pages, and a page-holder. I'm starting small. Like imitation-leather-on-sale small. After using a $12 Chandler's every year since I was a freshman in high school, I can't really justify spending $100 on a leather cover. But I like the one I got. It's faux-patent-leather and shiny! And I will refrain from putting any stickers on it... for as long as I can.
Crap. I'm going to have to change purses when it arrives. I can't very well carry my $70 organizer in my $7 Target purse.
It's reversible!
Posted at 06:23 PM | Comments (2)June 21, 2008
Dr. Late Bloomer
Sue has become simply impossible to live with since I did a whole blog about how kickass she is. She struggles under the delusion that a mention on my blog elevates one to ROCKSTAR status.
She was getting acupuncture by Dr. Hottie on Tuesday, and she's all, "Wenchie blogged about me! Didja read it? Didja? Didja? Huh? Huh? Didja? Didja? Huh? Didja? Huh? Huh?"
(She occassionally channels a Pomeranian named Fanny McTwiddles who died of a caffiene overdose in 1978.)
And Dr. Hottie is like, "What's a blog?"
And his indentured servants are like, "BLOG?! She has a BLOG?!"
And there's where I relinquished control of my entire world.
So Sue gave them the URL, thinking they would be treated to the heartwarming post about how fabtacular she and her fellow teachers are. Instead, the staff of Hottie Chiropractic came upon the ass-zit blog. Apparently, Sue was unaware that I had updated. And updated so... descriptively.
For three years -- THREE YEARS -- I've been telling Dr. Hottie about my blog. I mean, at the very least, you'd think he'd want to monitor it for mentions of him! But no. No, he pretends to be Mr. Studious Professional Intellectual I Only Read Time Magazine And Medical Journals What Means This Blog Thing?. And the day he finally jumps on the Pirate Wench bandwagon? It's the ass-zit blog.
On Wednesday, my friend KT emailed me: "I need to go see your hot chiropractor. My back is killing me!" So I gave her his info, and I really need to send him a bill for all this advertising I give him.
I told KT to tell him that she's a friend of mine, thinking he'd be remotely grateful that I'm sending him more business. And instead? He's all, "Did you read her blog today? It's hilarious!"
*sigh*
Three years of talking about my blog, and now I'm a fucking genius. Because of the ass-zit blog.
I hate him so much.
If you're just joining us, you can bring yourself up-to-date on Dr. Hottie by going here and here. (Somewhere along the way, he went from Dr. Angel to Dr. Hottie. I don't know why.)
Enjoy! I'm sure I'll soon be blogging about his restraining order against me! What fun!
Posted at 05:41 AM | Comments (1)June 12, 2008
Spam Haiku
Get bigger today
Become a new man with us
No problems with size
Impress your girlfriend
Get her into bed today
Supersize it now!
(Twenty-four per week
is too many hours to work.
Need more time for blog!)
May 28, 2008
Haikus for a Busy Week
graduation brunch
how much bacon for fifteen?
where do I seat them?
lunch deliveries
"south of austin" means nothing
if you've lost austin
temp job expanding
three days a week through July
this always happens
put out fires all day
came home and slammed a blue moon
do i need a.a.?
my fans are leaving
too much work, not enough blog
come back, my minions!
t.m.i. alert
popcorn plus booze plus sliders
equals bad poopies
April 03, 2008
The Kovalic Wench
You may have noticed -- if you are a regular and observant reader -- that my left-most icon has changed from Vampire Slayer to Pirate Wench. What hasn't changed is that it's still by the same artist: the tall, talented and handsome John Kovalic.
[If you're still seeing the Slayer, you need to delete the saved temporary internet files. I did Tools, Internet Options, Temporary Internet Files, Delete Files.]
I got an email yesterday. "Send me your picture, A.S.A.P.!" Well, now. I must admit, I do love a clamouring fan. Especially when it's a clamouring fan that I'm a fan of myself. Such an intriguing command! Turns out John wants to immortalize me -- AGAIN -- as a ginormous favor to me... (as payback for what, I can't say). I guess one could say that I am his... muse.
(God, I couldn't be eating this up any more if I had a fork, a knife, and a jar of Miracle Whip!)
Since I am actually less of a narcissist on film than I am in print, I could only find one picture to send to him. It's the one where I was a cat at work for Halloween (only he gets to see the whole picture because he knows me).
And I wrote: "Attached is a photo of me. If you need more, I'm sure I can scrounge them up, given a bit more time. Just remember -- big boobs, broad shoulders, long legs. Oh, and I mostly wear contacts now. And I have 3 tattoos. And I'm sure this is neither appropriate nor necessary, but I would ride you like a wild donkey if you drew me as a pirate and sent me a copy."
He wrote back: "WOW, that is some Barbie collection behind you! Anyway, I'll send something along as soon as it's drawn!"
You see how he does that? Cleverly ignores my offer of sweet burro sex? He just likes to tease me.
Later that day, I received something close to the drawing you see above, but with, like, platinum hair.
I wrote, "No way did you whip that out in half a day! Are you really that good?! Um, my hair isn't really that blonde. It's more... auburn, since I stopped coloring it. But I guess you're the artist and free to practice artistic license. The hogans are incredibly accurate! It's like looking in a mirror!"
I felt I had to end on a positive note, after whining about the hair color. ... And since I wasn't done with my critique. What? You know how obsessive I am!
He wrote back with a version of the picture containing the hair color you see here and said, "No that I'm obsessing about this, BUT... I think this is closer."
Oh, wouldn't that just be terrible to have some gorgeous man obsessing over my hair? Some gorgeous straight man? Alas, the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, how they do plague me!
I wrote back, "MUCH better! But why am I wearing bicycling shorts? Am I, like, Arobics Instructor by day, Pirate Wench by night?"
Seriously, I HATE the formal-shorts-with-tall-boots look. If I ever needed more proof that John is straight -- and I don't -- it's that he thought it was okay to have me wearing shorts with boots. Any gay man would know better.
He replied: "EGAD! And there I was, tryin' to work in some more skin..."
Men! So single-minded. But it led to the IMAGE OF PERFECTION that is the final version of Kovalic's Pirate Wench.
You know how it's always "DaVinci's Mona Lisa" or "Michaelangelo's David"? I think this masterpiece will inevitably go down in history as "Kovalic's Pirate Wench." And that's just fine by me!
I wrote to him, "PERFECTION! God, my tits defy gravity!"
To which he replied, "Yes, but what about the cartoon?"
See? This is why I love him. Most people know John as a wonderfully gifted artist, writer and humorist, but I just know him as one of my favorite groupies.
Posted at 11:26 AM | Comments (3)March 04, 2008
Elastic
Since discovering that I can text any other Verizon user unlimitedly for free, I've been bugging the hell out of poor Sue, who kindly indulges my infatuation with this new toy. She even deigns to amuse me by occasionally instigating the texting.
On Valentine's Day, I received this message, quite out of the blue:
the elastic in my valentine underwear is shot. It's been around my knees all day.
WHAT?!?!
Now, I took this to mean one of two things:
1. That she had spent the traditional day of romance getting boned in some unseemly situation that prevented her from completely removing her panties, in which case -- good for her!
2. That she had the runs.
And while I was certainly rooting for option one, option two was hilarious, too. Because The Boy Child and I have roughly the same sense of humor.
When I saw her a few days later, I asked her about it, and she confessed that it was neither.
Imagine my disappointment.
The text message was quite literal. Her Valentine underwear was apparently so old that the elastic had simply ceased to perform its fuction, and her skivvies were around her knees for no other reason.
Bummer.
Well, I guess I know what I'm getting her for her birthday. Although that will mean rummaging through the bin of Extra Small panties at Victoria's Secret. The skinny bitch.
Wait a minute. If she's so slender, how did the elastic get so terribly stretched out? Perhaps... from Valentine's Days past?
I'm just determined to make this dirty somehow!
Posted at 10:23 AM | Comments (2)February 14, 2008
I'm a Dirty Old Lady
Okay. So there's this nice, young man who works here. His cube is near mine, so although he's technically in a different department, I run into him often.
I'm not gonna lie -- he's pretty easy on the eyes. Dark hair, dark eyes -- just the way I like 'em. But I'm sure he's at least 15 years younger than me, and since it's completely out of the realm of possibility for him to be interested in me, he's a blip on my radar only to the extent that I know his Mom.
I mean, yes, I'm married -- exclusively -- so that right there is enough reason not to think about him. But my point is, even if I wasn't married, there's no way he would think of me as anything but That Old Lady Who Works On The Other Side Of The File Cabinets, so it's a complete non-idea.
So when he walked past with his long, normally-free-flowing hair in a ponytail, I asked him about it. Because I'm bored out of my skull, and hairstyles are a nice distraction.
He explained that, this past summer, he'd cut off his long, long hair and donated it. And now, he's growing it out to do it again, and it's gotten to the point where it's bugging him, so it's ponytail time.
Well, not only could I relate to hating hair in my face, but I, too, donated my hair! We are kindred spirits, so we bonded over that for 30 seconds. So far, our interaction was fairly standard and not out-of-the-ordinary, according to the standards already set by our previous conversations.
And here's where I probably crossed the line from tell-me-about-your-day-to-distract-me-from-mine to come-sit-on-my-lap-you-adorable-slab-of-bacon.
I was like, "That's really sweet. I would love to have your hair. It's so pretty."
Yeah. I actually said that.
In my defense, his hair is gorgeous. Jet black and thick and shiny. And he probably doesn't use a drop of product on it. It's Fantasy Hair.
Five minutes after he walked away, I realized that, although I had meant, "You're a nice person, and you were fortunate enough to inherit good DNA," he probably heard, "Come let me run my fingers through your locks, you succulent stud."
Not good.
I swear to God, people, I was not hitting on him.
So I turned to Smokey and said, "Oh my God. Do you think he thinks I was hitting on him?"
"Well, that's what I thought!"
"Oh, shit! ... Should I tell him I wasn't hitting on him, or would that just make things more awkward?"
"Um, more awkward."
"Oh my God. I'm a dirty, old lady!"
"Yup!"
And his Mom? Is the head of the H.R. department. I expect to be escorted from the building any moment now.
Posted at 03:28 PM | Comments (4)February 06, 2008
Wandom Wednesday Wamblings
I'm so focused on anticipating when they're going to close the office, I can't entertain naught but 30-second thoughts.
There's an episode of "America's Next Top Model" on tonight! Apparently, it's a Best Of compilation from past seasons. All our favorite drama! Which means they'll have plenty of Jade, and they MUST include "Bitch poured beer in my weave!" Classic television.
In the parking garage this morning, I saw a bumper sticker that said, "Gun Control means using both hands." Awwwwwwwwwww, yeeeeaaaahhhhhhh! Have I mentioned that I am dead-on with a BB gun?
Little known fact about Wenchie -- I used to have shooting contests with the boys down the road and whupped their asses. Their Dad called me Calamity Jane. Of course, after seeing HBO's "Deadwood," I'm more convinced it was as much for the colorful way she expressed herself as for her trick shooting.
Well, the snow is doing lots of blowing around but not enough accumulating for my aspirations. I aspire to go the hell home, snowblow the driveway, and take a nap. I find that if I set my goals reeeeaaaaally, really low, I don't often disappoint myself. It's a good system, and I'm sticking to it.
This weekend, Husband and I are trekking up to Door Co. They're supposed to have single-digit weather there, so we're bringing lots of movies. And books. And KY.
"But Wenchie," you're asking. "You can read and screw and watch movies at home. Why go all the way up north?"
Because Husband and I are so compulsive that if we're not physically removed from the things we have to do, we will not sit down and relax. Also? The dogs are annoying. It's nice to get away from The Evil Incarnate That Is Stella.
Lunch time!
Posted at 12:01 PM | Comments (0)January 15, 2008
Boston Legal Is a LIE
This morning, I left the house at 8:10 to catch the train downtown. I finally stuck my key in my front door at 5:40 this evening, well after it had gotten dark. And cold.
If I told you I spent three hours today actually listening to testimony, I would be exaggerating.
What the deuce is with all the sidebars??? Denny Crane doesn't need this many sidebars! Unless, of course, it's to proposition the judge or opposing council, which, I assure you, these lawyers would rather die than do.
At one point, after the billionth objection, council for the defense (whom I love because Lord that woman dresses magnificently!) actually rolled her eyes and said, "Jesus Christ!" It was awesome.
Court today started at 9:30. And yet, it was 10:50 before the jury was let into the court room. The book I started yesterday at jury selection? I've almost finished. Gonna have to bring a fresh one with me.
Around 3:45 this afternoon (after having been told to wait in the hallway at 3:00), the judge called us back to dismiss us for the day. Because apparently, the two lawyers have issues they couldn't resolve in the remaining hour and a half.
People, these are DAYS of my LIFE here! DAYS that I will NEVER get back! Days without the internet! Emails left unanswered! Personal belongings left unauctioned! Blogs left unposted! Purses left unpurchased!
Thank God that Sue has Verizon, like me, so I can text her unlimitedly for some kind of amusement. Hey, who else has Verizon?
As we were leaving, the judge told us to be sure to be at the court house by 9:15 the following morning, "Because I want to start right at 9:30."
Waitami'ute, waitami'ute. Did you, yer honor, of the hour-and-twenty-minute-late-start, just admonish US, the consistently prompt jury, to arrive early? Because I know that all y'all ain't gonna be ready to let us into that damn room at 9:30, SO STOP PRETENDING!!!
$17.20 a day, divided by three hours of actual work is still way less than I'm worth. Doesn't she know who I am?!
Posted at 08:27 PM | Comments (2)January 14, 2008
I May Never Poop Again
Sitting on a wooden bench for eight hours today has permanently impacted my sphincter. Not to mention the damage it wreaked on my lower back. Jesus, I'm old.
So, yeah, I got called for jury duty Monday and managed to remain on the bench all day... only to be sworn in at 4:45. Fifteen minutes AFTER we were supposed to be sent home for the day!
The judge said it was the longest jury selection she's ever been a part of. That does not bode well. She also predicted this case lasting the rest of the week. I'm not sure my colon can take it.
So don't expect much blogging this week. Beatrix's story will have to wait a little longer.
Well, at least the woman who smelled like diarrhea was sent home.
Posted at 10:05 PM | Comments (0)December 24, 2007
The Post-Christmas Rush
And the rushing doesn't stop with Christmas Eve, or even Christmas Day, oh no.
Tomorrow evening, I'll be going to Billi and Brad's house for dinner and more present frenzy. Husband will be staying home with his daughters for some undiluted daddy-daughter time, and that's just as it should be. But me -- I am obligated by The Bonds of Sisterhood to go be The Only Other Sane Person At Billi's House.
The Guest List
Billi
The Girl Child
The Boy Child
The Spare (going on 36 hrs. of over-stimulation, by that time)
Brad
Brad's father (the racist harbinger of doom)
Brad's mother (the poker addict)
Brad's sister (fairly cool)
Brad's sister's third husband (the professional stand-up comedian)
Brad's sister's third husband's father (think Grandpa Simpson)
Mom
Dad (down in the basement with the bar and t.v. all night)
Me
Never has a sitcom had such an entertaining ensemble cast.
One of the running gags is that Billi, Mom and I have a pact -- if one of us sees another trapped being talked at by Brad's father, we are sworn to interrupt and call them away from him. Even better? Brad knows about this and doesn't even get mad at us.
Wednesday night, I'm taking Kelly Garrett to dinner for being my 1,500th commenter. I'm sure I'll here more vomit stories. There will be no boofing. I will not be ordering the chili.
Thursday night, we have a rehearsal for Bottle Band. We have a gig Friday night at a big holiday fest at a local... place. I'm not even telling you because I don't want the stalkers to show up. We'll be the only Bottle Band there, so it won't be hard to figure out which one I am.
I have no idea what music we're doing. I told the director he'd better write an arrangement of "Santa Baby" for me, but I think he thought I was kidding.
Oh, and I work all week.
Then I get to get up early Saturday morning to go to Indiana with Dick, the girls and the dogs, to do Christmas ALL OVER AGAIN with his family. Sweet Jesus, I'm exhausted just thinking about it. Fifteen people (and at least four dogs) in one house. It's The Beverly Hillbillies without the Beverly. I know I won't be getting any sleep, but at least I'll get more presents.
And we won't be coming home until after lunch on Sunday. Oy. Thank God they are the least dysfunctional family I'm associated with. Oddly enough, they're also the only one that doesn't drink... I think there's a moral in there somewhere, but I'm not going to look to closely. Morals suck.
God Jul, everyone! Be good to yourselves!
Posted at 10:49 AM | Comments (0)December 21, 2007
The Christmas Rush
For most people, the Christmas rush starts the day after Thanksgiving. They battle the malls for presents. They're out on the coldest day of the year hanging lights. They panic because they can't get their damn kids to cooperate for a photo by the tree to send out with their cards.
For me, the Christmas rush hasn't started, yet.
I started Christmas shopping in August and was 75% done by Thanksgiving. God bless Amazon and Sephora. One of our Christmas trees was up on the day after Halloween. I suffer no delusions that my idiot dogs will sit still in front of the tree without licking themselves, so I don't even try.
Which means that during December, I've had time to do the things that actually get me in the Christmas mood. I've sung in several Christmas concerts. I baked and decorated gingerbread cookies with Younger Step Daughter, Nephew, Girl Child and Boy Child. And my house looks like Saint Nick moved in and brought all the elves.
(Yes, Garrance, I will have a Christmas tree photo blog within the next few days.)
So I've been pretty chill. Work today will undoubtedly be uneventful. People have been taking the last of their vacation days (lest they loose them), and there was a mass exodus yesterday evening. The lights aren't even turned on in the department next to me, and a tinsel tumbleweed just drifted by.
No, my Christmas rush starts today when the clock hits 4:00. This evening, I will start the Mad Cleaning Frenzy that will continue until 15 minutes before my family arrives for Christmas Eve dinner.
Tomorrow, my fellow second soprano SS and I will be getting henna tattoos on our hands! I'M SO EXCITED! A new spa opened up next to Dr. Hottie's office, so I stopped in a grabbed a brochure. I'm not much interested in the threading, tanning or airbrushing, but then I saw
Henna Tattoos - $10
That's a mere 20% of what they cost at the damn Renn Faire! And what could be better than the opportunity to cause the entire family to engage in simultaneous eye-rolling when I serve Christmas dinner with henna designs all over my hands? Hee!
After that, Nat is coming over to introduce her 6 mo. old weiner dog to my monsters. That will definitely be taking place in the kitchen.
Somewhere in there, I'm going to bake cookies and Rice Krispie treats and eat dough until I'm sick.
On Sunday, Egrau, J, PJ and Ramone will be over to celebrate a bit and exchange presents. Because, you know, why NOT have a bunch of people over the day before I'm hosting Christmas Eve? What could be less stressful than that?
And by hosting, I don't just mean cleaning the house and cooking dinner. Hosting also includes herding the dogs so they don't spaz out and barf on the presents and bodyslam The Spare; creating an individual, age-appropriate treasure hunt for each niece and nephew (except for The Spare -- he can just hunt for the stuff he hid last time he was over); and oiling my rusty fingers well enough to get through some carols on the piano.
Even the dogs are getting into the action. At 4:45 this morning, in preparation for the big event, one of the dogs -- I don't know which -- contributed some lovely sphincter syrup to the dining room carpet. Shaped like a bell. How festive.
Posted at 08:58 AM | Comments (0)November 27, 2007
A Shred of Dignity, a Tissue of Puffs
I have finally reached the point in my headcold where I sound worse than I feel. The mucus has officially taken over my body, but at least walking from my bed to the couch doesn't exhaust me anymore.
People, you wouldn't believe the stuff coming out of my nose today: Play Doh, raspberry Jello, artichoke hearts, ground beef. I had no idea that stuff was in there! I certainly didn't put it there!
And when I blow my nose, I can feel it traveling from, like, the back of my neck, through my sinuses and into the Puffs. It's quite a disconcerting sensation.
And don't ask me to post photos. I have one shred of dignity left, and I'm trying to ride it out through the end of the year.
Know what else is gross? After I blow my nose, I can hear little pops and squeaks inside my head as all the snot redistributes itself to restore the phlegm equilibrium. It's like there's a whole little world inside my head. Well, okay, another one.
At night, a half an hour before bed, I start The Sacred Nose-Clearing Ritual so that I can lie down without suffocating to death. (I tried sleeping standing up, and I just don't know what the horses see in it. Maybe it's easier with four legs?)
First, I down my Nyquil. Next, I blow my nose until I see stars. Then I apply two shots of Anefrin to each nostril. When I can breathe freely out of both nostrils at once, I quickly go to sleep before anything changes.
I don't need an alarm to wake me up because I just wake up when all the drugs have worn off and I can't breathe anymore. Then comes the morning fun of blowing out all the stuff that accumulated in my head during the night.
So, where does that stuff stay all night, anyway? Seriously, it's like a cup and a half of goo before I'm done. Where was it all stored for eight hours? Must be that part of my skull that should house the Math part of my brain, except that it got left empty and became a mucus storage tank by default.
I haven't been this sick in a while, but I know exactly why The Cold Fairy chose now to kick my ass. Because I have a Chorale Christmas Concert this weekend, and my church Candlelight Service next weekend. In which I have a solo. So of course I'm sick.
I don't think I've been well for any Christmas singing activity at any point in my entire life. On the up side, I'm always well by Christmas Eve!
Enjoy your meals today, my friends. And if they include any of the aforementioned foods, well... I'd apologize, but I'll be laughing too hard.
Posted at 08:05 AM | Comments (6)November 07, 2007
I Need Rich Friends
There is nothing in the world I want more than...
Not world peace. Not a long and healthy life. Not true and lasting love. Just this barbie.
And I'm sorry I had to put a link instead of a photo, but Mattel says that usage of her image is punishable by death. Which is completely understandable because, well, LOOK AT HER!!!
She is the embodiment of all things perfect and sunshiney and bisexual! I need her in my life!
She is rainbows and ponies and wind in your hair! She is dark chocolate and live music and always having the perfect witty retort!
And none of you cheap bastards are going to buy her for me, so I'd better step-up the eBaying. I need some rich friends.
You know what Vicki got for her birthday? From a friend? Not a sister, not a sugar daddy, not someone whose life she saved. Just a friend.
She got a $300 Dooney & Bourke purse.
People, I think you know what I'm getting at here. Vicki is not special. She is not more deserving of extravagance than I am. True, she's not shallow and spoiled and selfish like me, but that doesn't make her a better person!
Oh, wait. That's pretty much the definition of Better Person, isn't it? Okay, switch tactics.
I will totally have sex with whomever buys me Pirate Barbie. Male, female, cyborg, undead zombie alien -- I don't care.
[And Husband, since you're already entitled to sex with me by default, I will totally let you tie me up and do horrible, nasty things to me that you've only read about in books... that you found in my nightstand.]
All right. Pony up.
[And in related news, Coach is now making a skull and crossbones key fob.]
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)July 19, 2007
Frappuccinos for Femininity
Maybe it was the naughty thrill of having a day off in the middle of the week. Or maybe it was the high of winning TWO long-sought-after purses on eBay -- one Coach, one Dooney & Bourke -- within ten minutes, from the same seller, who gives discounts for shipping multiple items. But yesterday was just one of those Gee-it's-great-to-be-alive! days.
I awoke from my Nyquil-induced stupor that morning fairly well refreshed, albeit with cramps and a period-headache. But instead of focusing on the Why me? aspect of the pain, as I slipped one hermetically-sealed, cylindrical package from its box, I looked at it from a different point of view.
Aren't we women lucky to live in an age of tampons and Midol? Only a hundred years ago, women were still sticking wadded up towels in their bloomers. No wonder they never wore pants!
And not only are we not exiled to the red tent once a month, but P.M.S. is generally accepted (among the more enlightened, ahem) as the genuinely valid, debilitating affliction that it is! Gone are the days of hysteria and wandering uteruses! (Uteri?) Gone are the diagnoses of, "You should have a baby. That'll calm you down."
We are so, soooooooooooooooo fortunate!
Good fortune also brought me not one, but two Starbuck's within 5 min. of my home! Oh, hail Grande Cafe Vanilla Light Frappuccino No Whip! Thou are blessed among beverages, and blessed is the fruit of thy beans!
I don't think it's any mere coincidence that caffiene is also the perfect P.M.S. remedy -- it's a gift from above, banishing the lethargy and headache and stimulating the bowels! God be praised!
(I also got an Almond Toffee Bar, which didn't hurt either and I highly recommend.)
Then I got sixty bucks from the ATM and headed up to Billi's to explore downtown Antioch, where I found an adorable antique dresser for a steal, but it's probably juuuuuuuuuust a tad early to be redecorating Younger Step Daughter's room for a guest room, eh? She still has one more year of high school left.
But I did find a few other things to suit my fancy. The local chocolate shop had MARZIPAN, which isn't exactly easy to find. And the resale shop had TWO pairs of my favorite jeans for $16 each. You can't pass that up!
The sky was sunny, the kids were well-behaved, the dinner was garlic-laden -- it was great to be alive!
Jesus, who put a nickel in me? I should probably make Midol and caffiene a part of every morning.
Posted at 02:23 PM | Comments (1)July 13, 2007
The Week in Review
Oooh, it's Friday the 13th! No wonder you've got such bad luck as to be reading this post!
Husband and I started redecorating the kitchen and adjoinging mudroom/pantry over the weekend. And God forbid I let the man do any project easily -- I'm having him move the whole phone from the kitchen to the mudroom. So he has to relocate all the wires and shit and then patch up the wall. I'm so demanding.
And that's when I noticed that the internet went out again. Which is like cutting off my hands and cutting out my tongue and WHY DON'T YOU JUST KILL ME ALREADY???
So I had my I.T. guy over on Tuesday. Yeah, I have my own I.T. guy. I'm that important. Actually, it's just Marty. But he has three kids and his wife can't cook, so he's not in any huge hurry to go home after work.
He came over and wove his computer wizardry spells for over an hour, much of which he spent on the phone with Bill from SBC. I think they're going steady now, but Marty's not talkin'.
And when nothing worked, Marty clipped electrodes to his nipples and stood on the roof holding rods of tin foil. Nuthin'. So I snapped a photo and sent him on his way.
Tuesday night, it finally occurred to me. Hmmm... the internet stopped working when we disconnected the kitchen phone, sooooo... why don't we try hooking it back up?
Duh.
Well, c'mon, people. You can't expect me to be this good lookin' and brilliant!
So there's my gripping tale of internet woe. Let's see... what other minutae of my life have you been deprived of?
I listed a dumptruck-full of purses on eBay yesterday. I have a friend who is even more of a purse whore than I am. Except that she's a pastor, so I probably shouldn't refer to her as any kind of a whore. Enh -- throw another sin on the pile, boys!
I'm plugging along at the new job, slowly but surely. There's a TON to learn, forms and reports and such. Nothing terribly difficult, just a lot to keep straight. This is where my O.C. is an asset! And the more I can do on my own, the more my boss will be gone, so that's as big an incentive as you could ever give me.
The cicadas are gone from the neighborhood now. I can walk my dogs in relative calm and safety. (I say "relative" because, apparently, now a coyote has moved into the neighborhood. Speaking of eBay, I'm currently bidding on a big anvil.) However, I hear that, at some point, the eggs start dropping from the trees. Like rain. Well, that certainly triggers the ol' gag reflex. I'll be calling in sick that day for sure.
My Victoria's Secret shipment came today! Actually, they had to put it in two shipments. Hee! Annual clearance sale! Stock-up time! I got four bras and five panties. Little Known Wenchie Fact: All my panties have to have at least some pink in them. It's just a thing I have.
But the redecorating of the mudroom isn't going so well, my friends. See, we chose red. Okay, I chose red, and Husband chose not to argue. Now, I don't know if you've heard, but when it comes to paint, red is the hardest color to apply because it's damn near impossible to get the color even.
As we found out while applying the second coat. Therefore, the second coat, technically, didn't actually get... applied. Husband started using the F Bomb, and that's when I knew it was time to come up with a Plan B. See, Husband isn't as comfortable with Fuck as I am (although he's making wonderful progress with Vagina), so when he starts sounding like me, it means then I have to be the rational one. Scary, no?
Anyhoo, I've been taking photos at every stage and will encorporate them into a stunning pictoral blog come August.
Holy crap. The summer is, like, half over. And all I've done is bought some panties, hid from cicadas and futzed around on eBay. I'm such a loser.
And you're still reeling at the thought that a pastor would be friends with me, aren't you?
Posted at 06:31 AM | Comments (4)May 24, 2007
I Am So Jealous
My friend has a stalker.
I don't know why he has a stalker and I don't. I'm certainly better looking than he is. I'm the one with long, flowy hair. I'm the one with the fantabulous knockers. It's just not fair!
But it's still funny as hell.
He's married. She's married. They live in different states. She's weirdly homely, and yet she's tenacious in her decade-long pursuit of my friend. Despite the fact that, during this decade, she has gotten married and squeezed out two children. Children that she, no doubt, wishes had a different father. It's all very sad. And creepy.
And hilarious!!
Don't believe me? Read for yourself. Penned by her, for him:
I love the cool space
Just above your skin
Right before my hand
Touches you
The way my hand
Glides over your face
Smooth and soft and warm
To your chin
And the look in your eyes
When you feel it too
I know you do
Without saying a word
But you never can
Never will
Even though I see
How acutely you want to
Kiss me
Instead we dance
Together
Every now and then
Pretend that
It doesn't mean anything
One day
I swear
My eyes will finally convince you
To finally just do it
Kiss me!
Soft and gentle
Wild and passionate
Quick and desperate
Whatever way
You can justify in your mind that
You can
It's funny
I don't even know why
I want you to
BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! "My eyes will finally convince you"???
If he's not swayed by this heartfelt tome, then he's just a cold-hearted bastard.
But now on to the real issue: Why isn't anyone writing me crappy poetry? Oh, I got plenty of it in high school. I even inspired an entire notebook-full in college. Plus a song!
But lately? No. And I'm really pissed. If anyone deserves to be stalked, it's me. I was going panty-less while Paris was still forgetting to pull up her Pull-ups!
Posted at 05:30 PM | Comments (3)May 21, 2007
Strap In and Prepare Yourselves
Our phone and internet connection has been crap for six months. We bought two new phones before we realized, "Hey, our DSL is compromised, too. Gee, do you think it's... the phone line?!"
For months, we've been saying that someone needs to call SBC and get the damn thing fixed. But we both had a different idea of who someone was. I thought it was Husband; he thought it was me. I think we were just waiting each other out, hoping the other would call and we wouldn't have to.
Why? Boy and girls, have you heard of a thing called Automated Phone Hell? Well, I'm here to tell you that such a thing does exist. I have been there and lived to tell the tale.
But the tale is very boring, so I won't tell you. Suffice to say, I tried four times to call, went through a different automated maze each time, and never got to talk to a live person.
Eventually, fate smiled upon me, and I was treated to a recorded message that told me I could file my complaint online!
Angels sang while I went through the hassle-free process on SBC's website. Of course, I had to do it on Mom and Dad's computer, which means I had to suffer through dial-up. But I have a lovely, new afghan to show for it, and the repair guy came out today.
God be praised, he was polite, knowledgable and efficient, and our connection is FIXED!
The point of all my babbling is this: I will be able to blog on a much more regular basis now. So will my friends and family start injuring themselves hilariously? I need some good material.
Thank you.
Posted at 01:42 PM | Comments (0)March 26, 2007
And In the Careful-What-You-Wish-For File
Over the past couple of weeks, I've had an on-again-off-again romance with a low-grade fever.
Annoyed that I was tired and unfocused, but at the same time, not really sick, I found myself wishing I'd just get well, or be flippin' sick enough to stay home from work already, dammit!
Lo, I have been smited.
Not only am I sick enough to stay home from work, I'm sick enough to drown if I don't remain in an upright position. I'm sick enough to warrant actual pity from my husband. (The one who didn't think his massive staff infection was anything to worry about -- remember?)
I'm sick enough that I still haven't cleaned up from Spikette's birthday party last night. And you know how I feel about a messy house.
In the Pros column, I can't taste a damn thing, so hocking up phlegm wads isn't as heinious as one might think. I'll have to write that one down in my Gratitude Journal.
Posted at 07:42 PM | Comments (1)March 18, 2007
Day After St. Patrick's Haiku
empty Guinness cans
found on my lawn this morning
Vicki, was that you?
[P.S. Yesterday's blog about Billi's infirmery generated more comments than any other blog EVER. You people sure do like to commiserate!]
March 09, 2007
Babbling about Mileage and Work and Whatnot
Just got back from the gyne. He checked under the hood, and the ol' vagirino is good for another six months or 6,000 miles -- whichever comes first.
And speaking of mileage, my Check Gage light finally went on today. Why do I say "finally?" Because I haven't put gas in my car since February 20th! And we all know I'm an arrogant, environment-hating SUV-driver, so that's really saying something!
My new commute is so awesome. Five minutes to drive from home to parking space; five minutes to hobble from parking garage to desk. I think, commuting to my previous job, I was working just to put gas in my car!
By that way of thinking, if I didn't have to drive to work, I would need to work... Hmmmmmmm. Well, I'd still have to drive to almost-Wisconsin to see Billi & Brood, so I guess that's worth working for. Sort of.
Speaking of work, as you know, part of my duties is answering the department phone and directing calls. (Ironic, no?) Since I only work five hours a day, when I come in every morning, there are voice messages waiting for me.
This morning, I got the following call from a local number (name changed to protect the guilty):
"Yeah, I'm calling for Tonia Stanford. She stole my car. She's driving my car, and she doesn't even have a license. She got her license suspended, but she took my car anway, and I want my car. So tell Tonia Stanford to bring my car back."
That's it. No name or number or anything. Giggling to myself, I assumed it was a wrong number. But just for the hoo-ha of it, I checked the company phone list.
And there was Tonia Stanford.
I was like, Oh my God, someone who works here got her license suspended and stole some guy's car. That is so awesome!
Well. As a receptionist, it is my moral duty to deliver phone messages. So I emailed Ms. Stanford:
"Hi! Someone called this department looking for you. He didn't leave his name, but he said something about wanting his car back. I thought I should probably tell you."
I mean, what do you say? I was kind of embarassed for her, knowing that I know she's a felon. But I had to tell her, right? What if she didn't realize that he didn't want an illegal driver stealing his car? I was obligated to tell her!
Awesome. I work with a criminal, and this job is STILL better than working with old G.M.
Posted at 03:56 PM | Comments (1)January 16, 2007
We Assure You That We Can Get You Laid
That's what the spam subject line said. They assure me that they can get me laid. Oh, great, cuz I was totally losing sleep over that.
Here's the body of the email:
Interested in having sex with people who live just minutes from you? Meet girls, guys, couples who just think about getting laid?Well, our system can make this happen.....
71% of members hooked up using our system.....Guess what... it's free.....
But that's where their exciting story of free, geographically-friendly sex ends. I did not click the supplied link because I do not want a porn virus on my computer.
I'd call up Marty to come fix it, and he'd be all, "Yeah, I really don't see a problem. In fact, it may take me hours to find one. Why don't you go make me a sammich?"
(I don't know why Marty becomes Jim Belushi in my head.)
So let's examine the selling points of their ad, shall we?
Interested in having sex with people who live just minutes from you?
Yes! In fact, he's in the basement right now. Can't get more convenient than that, unless you're going to have a helicopter hover his/her/their prone, naked body(ies) over me while I go about my business, just in case I happen to trip, fall and land spread eagle on my back with my skirt up over my head. And that almost never happens.
Meet girls, guys, couples who just think about getting laid?
I'll politely ignore the fact that that's not even a sentence and move on, so as to avoid bringing you even more shame.
Who are these crazy people who think only about getting laid?! Wherever would I find such oddities?!
Oh, that's right... everywhere. I tend to leave my house at least once a day, so I'm pretty sure I'm running into actual human beings who are thinking about sex. Probably even while they're talking to me. They're called NORMAL. I'll bet my Mom is thinking about sex right now.
Well, our system can make this happen.
So can mine. It's called The Walk Up To Any Man & Take My Top Off System. Works like a charm.
71% of members hooked up using our system.
Dudes, I could stand in the middle of Bennigan's swinging a dead cat and have a higher success rate than that.
Guess what... it's free.
*sigh* I'm tall and I possess long hair, a nice rack and a pulse. I have never paid for my own dinner, drinks or weed. Free, immediate, no-strings-attached sex just couldn't BE more available to me!
And that's not bragging. It's just simple biology.
Seventy-one percent. HA! I just don't think I'm their target audience.
(Okay, Mom, cut it out. Now you're just being creepy.)
Posted at 04:53 PM | Comments (2)January 11, 2007
R.I.P.
So, Nicki and I, being the wild party animals that we are, spent an hour and a half talking about death and funerals and such.
Her father's first wife, M, finally drank herself to Jesus, and Nicki's mom, J, has made it very clear that she's not going to the funeral. Why? As she puts it, "M wouldn't want me there."
I think that's totally viable, and J is showing much decorum. And I couldn't help but wonder, If Husband's Ex dies before me, would she want me at the funeral? Would it be appropriate to go; or would it be better to stay away?
Can I get a ruling on this?
Would I want her at my funeral? Probably not. Well, I don't think it would be in poor taste for her to show up, ...as long as she's not wearing a party hat and hanging on the new widower.
And what about the girls? Husband would want them there, but I really couldn't blame them if they had better things to do. They could just come for the free potluck luncheon afterwards and be like, "Oh, sure, we were there for the service -- we were in the back."
But I'm not as concerned with that as I am with my eBay account. What if I put twenty things up for auction and then get hit by a bus? Who would mail the items to the winners? Who would even know what was going on? NO ONE! The money would just sit there in my Paypal account. Or God forbid Husband opens some check addressed to me from Karl in North Haverbrook. I really don't need that kind of speculation going on post-mortum.
Eventually, complaints would be filed, and all those eBayers would get their money back from my Paypal account. But they'd be bitter, and their bids would lack that carefree anticipation they had before I died. And that would be my legacy -- a shitload of negative feedback on eBay.
I'm going to have to type up some sort of informal will for Husband that will include my eBay and Paypal screen names and passwords. And, of course, the bank and account number of my eBay checking account.
Oh, I'd also have to include the name of the fru-fru dog food we get and the website I order it from. Lest Daisy be forced to eat, God forbid, Purina!
I also think it should include some kind of call sheet. Like who to inform when I die. I mean, I can't have New Girl sitting at her desk at work and get an email from the V.P.'s assistant, "We regret to inform you of the passing of one of our employees, Pirate Wench. Wenchie worked here for eight years, and temped here several years before that."
Meanwhile, New Girl is in hysterics and has to go home because she'd be so incredibly grief-stricken by the news of my demise. In fact, she'll probably have to take the whole week off. And I wouldn't rule out Xanax, 24-hour bedrest and long-term disability. She really looks up to me.
But seriously, would Husband know how to get in touch with Heather? I suppose, after a few days, it may occur to him to check the Contacts on my cell phone. But what if I get hit by a train? It's unlikely the phone will survive the impact.
What about my boss? HB will need to start interviewing for my replacement immediately, before the printer runs out of paper. I guess it's up to my brother-in-law who works here to take care of that. But not until after he has erased all the Xena slash-art from my computer. (Thank God I'm related to someone in the I.T. department!)
And finally, my blog. Or blogs. Well, my LiveJournal and MySpace can rot in cyberspace, for all I care, but this blog. My devoted readers will need the news broken to them gently. I hope Heather has started drafting my eublogy. And it had better contain the words Pure Awesome.
Posted at 02:28 PM | Comments (4)January 09, 2007
Doctor's Orders!
I had quite a scare today, my friends, and I would appreciate some love and compassion. Preferrably along the lines of, "Oh, poor sweet baby," accompanied by smooches and hair-stroking.
And speaking of stroking, I totally thought I was stroking-out early this morning. And not in the good way.
I had about a thirty second flash of lightheadedness at my computer. Nothing terribly unusual. I've had them enough to know that it's nothing, or I'm fighting a cold, or I'm typing faster than my brain can think.
But five minutes later, I experienced something I'd never experienced before. No, not buyer's remorse, assholes. Blurred vision!
BLURRED! VISION!
And I'm not even drunk! My peripheral vision in my left eye went all wavy. At first, I found it hard to focus on what I was typing.
And then it got worse, and I'm like, "Holy shit! Waves! Why is my eye wavy? Am I having a stroke? I'm having a stroke! Shit! I don't have time for a stroke! I have to take the puppy to the vet, pick up Younger Step from her trumpet lesson, and then meet Vicki for dinner! I can't do that if I'm drooling and listing to the left!"
My immediate reaction was to do what I always do in important, life-altering situations -- I.M. Heather. She agreed that I should go to the E.R., but she wouldn't leave work and drive me there. (I know, right? She's a terrible friend.)
Stranded by her lack of compassion, I called my eye doctor. (Well, that and I kinda felt stupid. I mean, going to the E.R. for "wavy vision" is even more lame than going for heartburn.)
Dr. J's assistant put me on hold and came back with three questions:
Asst.: Have you experienced a lot of stress lately?
PW: I don't know. What's a lot? Our puppy had diarrhea, and we were at each others' throats all weekend. Does that count?
Asst.: Probably. Have you gotten enough sleep?
PW: We had to clean runny poo out of her cage, every hour, all night long. So, no.
Asst.: Have you had a lot of caffiene lately?
PW: I just had a big mug of chai tea in an attempt to keep myself awake.
She put me on hold for another few seconds, then came back with my prognosis, "Dr. J says that living with Husband is too stressful. Go home and take a nap."
Oh, he is so my favorite doctor. I'm seeing if he can do my next pap smear.
Posted at 10:08 AM | Comments (5)December 15, 2006
I'm All Over the Place Today
It's official. I have ceased to exist in the eyes of everyone around me. I am off the radar screen of reality.
People, I died my hair auburn, and no one noticed. AUBURN! Reddish-brown! That's, like, as far away from blonde that you can possibly get without going completely Cindy Lauper!
Heather? Nope. My parents? Uh-uh. Husband? No. Co-workers? Only one.
New Girl is the only one who loves me. Crap, I guess I gotta go get her a better Christmas present now.
And no, I'm not keeping the auburn. I'm going light brown next time, but not even the tiniest amount of red looks good with my very-pink complexion.
*sigh* Not that it really matters, since no one seems to be able to lift their eyeballs up past my melons anyway!
I saw Heather last night when we went to watch "Totally Awesome" at the condo of Gay A, from Thursday Night Dinners. I cannot, by any stretch of the imagination, recommend this movie. At all. To anyone. It was horrible. Not even the Mudslides could save it.
Granted, Heather may have been too distracted by the stench of the movie to notice my hair... but I don't think that's the case. No, she was having too much fun with my Gay. He even drove her home. Because I'm too lazy (and scared of minorities) to drive into the city on a work night, but that's not the point! The point is...
I don't even know if I can type this. My heart is broken.
The point is that they sang show tunes together! Heather! And my Gay! Those cheating bastards! I -- I don't even know who I'm more mad at!
Probably Heather. Openly gay Gays are pretty hard to come by out here in the 'burbs, so she can't have mine! If she steals him, I'm so stealing hers.
Oh, that's right! I said it! Heather, I'm stealing your Gay! And you know which one, too -- B!!! He's the perfect Gay -- so cute! So witty! And fully portable!
...
Okay, how did I go from bemoaning my hair color to portable Gays?
Anyhoo, enjoy some Ross the Intern Meets the Crocodile Hunter. Click the link -- you won't regret it!
Posted at 02:08 PM | Comments (5)November 29, 2006
Only YOU Can Make a Difference
Right at this very moment, there is half of a Morningfield's birthday cake sitting in my fridge. Chocolate cake with buttercream frosting. Heather and her mom made me take it home last night. MADE ME! Evil bitches. (Looks like Santa is bringing me another chin for Christmas.)
Of course, that was after we got drunk and talked about how stupid men are. And made fun of Heather's Mom's socks.
They were threadbare, and she's like, "I can't help it! They're my last pair!"
Jesus H. Barefoot Christ. I had to go to Target today and buy the poor woman some socks. So I'm setting up the Heather's Mom's Socks Foundation. For just pennies a day, you can sponsor one of Heather's relatives!
Heather's Brother just moved to Hawaii and needs money for a coconut codpiece. Heather's Dad needs money for a haircut. And Heather herself needs money for kicky, new Christmas stilettos!
Please give generously.
Posted at 12:40 PM | Comments (3)November 03, 2006
Wenchie Responds to Some Recent Comments
Regarding Where the Magic Happens:
"I gotta get me some of that magic!" -- garrance
Um, are you coming on to me, Garrance?
"Now ad kids and thier bullhonkey into that conversation." -- jocelyn
HA! You said 'bullhonkey'! That's now officially my New Favorite Word! BULLHONKEY! It's so versatile, so full of meaning! I love it! Hee hee! Bullhonkey.
Regarding The Curse of the Brown Pants:
"This very thing is why internet shopping was invented and supported, and has thus grown to such epic proportions." -- elle
Don't you think I tried their website first, Miss Smartypants?! I wasn't raised by wolves! They don't have their products on their website! They're, like... minimalists or something! I don't get it.
Regarding Princess Charming:
"Do you feel weird about buying and wearing a piece of someone else's past?" -- elle
My immediate response was, "Nope." And then I searched my soul and came up with..., "Nnnnnope." And then I thought, Is there something wrong with me? Should I feel weird about wearing a piece of someone else's history? And honestly, I never really thought about it. I just figure, I'm one more stop on this particular object's journey through the universe. And when I'm gone, hopefully it will be sold again on eBay for a nice sum. In the meantime, it looks awesome on me!
Regarding ANTM recap "The Girls Who Go To Texas":
"That medical student short hair chick model ghost is Alyse or something. She was the one who always did stupid shit with that seasons winner. The one that married Brady. Why can't I remember her name, but I can find the unknown chicks website. Heh, I'm a loser, but here you go!" -- B.J.
ADRIENNE! She married Peter Brady, and she had that terrible, nasal accent, remember? I'm so geeking out over having Elyse's website. Thanks!
Regarding The D Man:
"The well-known approach in royal circles: "An heir and a spare". You could call the new one "the spare". -- some_other_dave
You win. Billi's third child shall from hence forth be known as The Spare.
Regarding Depp Is a Poser:
"And you have tattoos??? How come I never knew?" -- Laura
Because you never let me keep the lights on when we have sex.
Regarding Luke and Han, Sittin' In a Tree:
"Too funny. If that guy saw some of the stuff my kid did with his two G.I. Joes, he'd probably have a stroke." -- subtropic
Got pictures?
Regarding Open Call:
"Do I get to go help you buy bras?" -- Anxious Applicant
Sure! Wait a minute... who is this?
* * * * *
Remember, kids, if you ever have a comment or question that doesn't necessarily pertain to a specific post, you can always email me at piratewenchdotorg@yahoo.com! I'll always answer!
Posted at 01:54 PM | Comments (0)October 25, 2006
I'm Hot-Blooded, Check It 'n' See
I just took a four-hour nap. Which means I'm really sick, and that this sore throat isn't just from laughing with Vicki 'n' Nicki last night.
(We saw "Marie Antoinette," and I must say, there are far too few shoe 'n' pastry montages in my life. If you go see this movie, get really stoned first. You won't regret it.)
If I weren't sick, I would have taken a one-and-a-half hour nap. That is the nap of a normal person (not the 20 minute naps Husband takes and then has the gall to feel completely refreshed afterwards).
But a four hour nap means my body is fighting something. And for once, it's not the urge to punch someone.
Posted at 03:26 PM | Comments (2)October 19, 2006
Mea Culpa
Headache. Cramps. No blog. ANTM tomorrow, I promise.
Posted at 01:56 PM | Comments (2)September 29, 2006
You'll Be the First To Know... After I Find Out
So last night I had a dream that Billi was being induced today because yesterday was her due date, but when I woke up, I remembered -- oh yeah, she's not scheduled to be induced until Monday -- which I thought she'd find funny, and really I just wanted an excuse to call her, but when I did, her father-in-law answered the phone so HELLO! obviously he's there to watch The Children because Billi's in the hospital scrunching out Child the Third, but I didn't know that until after I got to work and after I had stopped for a grande frappuccino at Starbucks and sucked it down like the magical elixer it is so between the vast amounts of caffiene -- which, if you'll remember, I have 99% sworn off of due to my ability to stay awake for days at a time -- and the excitedness I'm feeling about the impending New Nephew, my hands are shaking and my heart is palpatating dangerously and THERE'S JUST NO FRIGGIN' WAY I HAVE THE WHEREWITHALL TO BLOG TODAY!!!
Posted at 12:46 PM | Comments (0)August 25, 2006
Famous Last Words
A woman here at work was telling me about her grandfather's death. It's a Summer Friday here, so most of the office isn't around, and at these times, we are prone to long, meandering conversations.
We talked about farming, then animals, then dogs, then euthanazia, then hospice, then suicide, then death, then the afterlife. It killed a good half-hour of the morning, which was awesome and brought me that much closer to a long lunch at the mall.
Anyway -- her grandfather died at home, under hospice care, of cancer. The last few days, he was so drugged, he wasn't even conscious. But one night, around midnight, he was suddenly wide awake and talking to his wife about all the things he had to do. And he told her he loved her and gave her messages for other family members.
He was dead by morning.
This is not, by any means, the first account of pre-death lucidity that I have heard. And among my many and varied and ever-changing beliefs is the belief that some people are granted one last chance to say what they need to say.
My even-stranger theory is that this last "moment of clarity" is to ensure that the dying person can reconcile themself with their situation, thereby ensuring that they won't resist the "crossing over,"... wherever that crossing may lead them. I don't know. My theories on THAT are too many to list here -- my favorite being The Great A-Ha.
Anyway, it got me thinking -- what if I am one of the lucky souls who is granted one last, precious opportunity to speak? What if I am fully aware that it is, indeed, the last time I will speak to my loved ones? What would I say?
Well, of course, I'll have to include, "Always remember that I love you."
As unimaginative as it may be, it's basically a given, and who am I to balk at tradition? Besides, if those poor people are gallant enough to be at my stinking deathbed, the least I can do is throw them a bone, eh?
But then what? Love is a good opener, but what about a closer? The final zinger! The ta-daaaaaaaaaa! I can't go out without a punchline.
The old axim, "Always leave them wanting more," is good advice in any situation. Except meals.
That would be pretty cool, to whisper, "Tell Billi I never saw..."
And then die.
Everyone would be like, "WHAT? Never saw WHAT?!"
BWAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! Damn, they'd be talking about that for years to come!
Or I could pull a Citizen Cane and murmur something like, "Tell Rosalyn it's behind the drawer."
Hee! They'd tear my house apart and drive themselves nuts, not even knowing what they were looking for! And I certainly don't know any Rosalyns, so I'm sure theories would abound on who she is and her connection to me! Oh, it's all so very Victorian-novel. I love it.
It's all well and good to scheme, but let's be honest -- my last words will probably be, "Make sure... the mortician... washes... my hair..."
Posted at 03:42 PM | Comments (1)August 22, 2006
Kindness & Sour Cream
The other night, I had a few friends over to watch a movie, so I made some munchies. I excell at munchies.
Finger food? Good! Fork and knife? Bad.
Appetizers and desserts? Good! Entrees? Bad.
Food I can graze on while standing up and going through the mail? Good! Food I have to sit down and make a commitment to eat? Bad.
Anyhoo, I got out the Daisy brand sour cream, and printed on the hermetically-sealed foil inner-wrapping was the following proverb:
"Kindness is a bridge to life's opportunities."Fresh thoughts from Daisy
Wow, I WAS going to take this kitchen knife and plunge it into my eye socket, but NOW, I'm going to use it to add this yummy sour cream to a spinach and herb dip and serve it to my friends, who will never know of my brush with suicide because I was saved by an anonymous marketing stooge.
Thanks, Daisy!
Posted at 02:34 PM | Comments (3)August 11, 2006
Once Upon a Stall
So Nicholle hurt her foot or her ankle or her knee or had a hip replacement or something -- who knows with her anymore -- so she has prescribed for herself mandatory comfy gym shoes for the next... indefinate amount of time, which is kinda presumtuous of her, but I guess that's one of the perks that comes with doing payroll -- no one says boo to her for fear that she'll mess with their check.
That was really long. Been watching too much "Deadwood." I hope Ian McShane gets paid by the word.
Anyhoo, I was bored, so I had two root beers and occupied myself by going to the bathroom every five minutes. I walked in and saw under the stall door a pair of white gym shoes, and I almost said Hi! before I noticed that they were New Balance and not Adidas. Thank God for brand recognition!
Sooooo... what was my point?
Oh yeah. Don't you hate it when you spend an hour willing your sphincter to stay shut against a brewing fart, to both spare your co-workers' delicate sensibilities, and so you don't blow your last remaining shred of dignity (so to speak); and when you finally make it into the bathroon, where it farting is tolerated -- if not encouraged -- you can't fart for the life of you?
Yeah, I hate that, too. Almost as much as I hate all these run-on sentences.
Boy, I am all about the sphincter action this week.
And you know what else I hate? Okay, I know that everyone has their favorite stall, the one that they always head to out of habit. But everyone should also have a back-up stall, in case there's someone in, or -- and this is important -- immediately adjacent to, your favorite stall.
Because if there's someone in the stall next to your favorite stall?
YOU USE ANOTHER STALL!
If there are eight stalls, and I'm the only other person in the bathroom, don't take the stall right next to me! I'm not interested in bonding with strangers in that capacity! I cannot stress this enough!
Simple bathroom etiquette, people. Read it, learn it, live it.
Posted at 01:35 PM | Comments (2)July 27, 2006
Humid
I have to tell you about me weird dream about Fresh Pepper, but first, I have to complain about the weather.
It's hoooooooooooooooooooooooooot, you guuuuuuuys. Seriously, my deodorant has already given out by the time I arrive at work.
Last week, after work, I got into a car that was well above 100 degress inside. (My next car will be white!) And you know what happened? My usually supple, moist, youthful skin started to tighten. Right on my head! I could feel the heat wicking away my moist suppleness! It was insane!
And now, an IM conversation about the weather, between Billi and myself:
PW: don't go outside. it's a sauna
Billi: Ug.
Billi: I was gonna set up the pool for the kids.
Billi: I might die though.
PW: maybe it's less hot by you
Billi: It looks humid out.
PW: yeah, it's gross out
PW: I'm wearing a sweater cuz it's freezing at my desk
Billi: ha.
Billi: I'm wearing a tank top.
PW: wait -- you can SEE humid?
Billi: It's... like..... hazy.
Billi: and there was condensation on our windows this morning.
Billi: humid....
Billi: SHUT UP!
PW: HA!
PW: I'm blogging that. That was hilarious.
Billi: I'm so glad I can entertain all your readers.
PW: I'm also waiting for the right moment to blog, "I just had some underwear that I was going to put on, and now it's gone."
Billi: Who said that?!?!? about the underwear?
PW: YOU!
Billi: WHEN?
PW: several months ago
PW: I was dying! we were on the phone!
Billi: seroiusly? Why did I tell you that?
PW: I don't know -- you were probably muttering to yourself
Billi: I'm Mom.
PW: oh thanks for making me picture Mom without underwear
And since there's no graceful way to transition from that to Fresh Pepper, here's my dream about Fresh Pepper, even though he's "on hiatus," and I have no idea when/if he'll ever be back:
So Fresh and I apparently had a mutual friend, a guy. And Fresh had asked him to go make sure his apartment looked okay for some new girl he was bringing home. I happened to be visiting Mutual Friend at the time, so he brought me with.
What we found was that, in an effort to rid his apartment of all things that might keep him from getting a second date with the new girl, he had totally 40-Year-Old-Virgin-ed his apartment. It was bare as Old Mother Hubbard's cupboard.
Mutual Friend was like, "Oh my God, she'll think he's a serial killer. We have to get some stuff back in here!"
So we went and got furniture and stuff from... somewhere. IKEA? That's what it looked like. And we totally feng-shuied his apartment and put it back together so it looked like a page out of the Pottery Barn catalogue. (Note to self: stop reading so many catalogues.)
As we were finishing up, I mused to Mutual Friend, "I suppose it would be tacky to take a picture of myself in Fresh's bed for my friend Nicholle. Cuz seriously, she'd DIE of jealously."
And Mutual Friend was like, "Yeah, that would be tacky."
Damn. But I was totally thinking of you, Nicky! Even in my dreams!
I think Mutual Friend and I are going to get those necklaces that say "MUT FRI" and "UAL END." Those are so bitchen.
Posted at 02:03 PM | Comments (0)July 25, 2006
Sorry I've Been So Remiss
The cold that I never got all winter has finally caught up with me and is kicking my snot-laden ass with a vengence.
I'll be back soon. I had the weirdest Nyquil-induced dream about Fresh Pepper...
Posted at 04:51 PM | Comments (1)July 19, 2006
Try Something New!
[Note: This is not today's "official" post. I just felt compelled to share my joy.]
My horoscope for today:
Reach out and try something new today -- and be aware that this task may require a shopping trip or other expense. You need to shake up your usual routine and remember what it feels like to try to make sense of your surroundings. Put yourself in unfamiliar territory, both literally and figuratively. Try a restaurant in a different part of town -- take a position in a discussion just for the sake of argument -- check out a radio station you usually skip right by.
How cool is a horoscope that tells me to go shopping and out to a restaurant?!
All you Scorpios out there must do the same thing! Let us band together to try new entrees and accessories! Viva la Shrimp Lo Mein!
Posted at 10:41 AM | Comments (0)July 10, 2006
Warning, Will Robinson!
As much as it kills me, my flying monkeys, my blogging will be a bit spotty this week, as I have house guests -- my cousins from Oslo, Norway.
If I don't blog at all, please do not desert me, for I will return on Monday with a vengence!
In the meantime, I'll leave you with this thought:
If they can communicate with some space probe on Mars a gajillion miles away, then why the hell can't I communicate with my sister in another suburb while I'm driving near a forest preserve?!?!
Posted at 01:53 PM | Comments (6)June 26, 2006
Facial Quality
When I went to the bathroom just now, there were two stacks of boxes outside the door, obviously for restocking. One was paper towels. The other was:
Facial Quality Bathroom Tissue
Wha-huh????
Okay, I'm assuming that Bathroom Tissue is what they call toilet paper in polite circles. Because paper towels are taken care of in the other stack of boxes, and there's no kleenex in the bathroom. One can only conclude that Bathroom Tissue is what we all use to wipe our hoo-has and/or sphincters.
So.
Why use the qualifier Facial Quality???
I don't want to think about using something on my butt that I'd use on my face, or vice-versa! It's all so weird! Like, this is their way of saying -- Soft enough for your face, but made for your ass? That's a terrible marketing idea!
Especially when you consider that their so-called Facial Quality Bathroom Tissue is barely preferrable to drip-drying. I gently exfoliate my face in the shower every morning; I'd never let that burlap near my face.
Yes, these are the things I think about while I pee.
(I really should make a new Category called Potty Talk or something; it's such a common topic with me.)
Posted at 01:51 PM | Comments (0)June 18, 2006
Move 'Em On, Head 'Em Up, Rawhide
Oi, I have been on my feet since 7am Friday. Deeds include defrosting and cleaning out the entire fridge, organizing a five-family garage sale, and hosting a Father's Day BBQ. Hence my absence on Friday.
And, I'm sorry to break it to you, I will forthwith continue to be absent until Thursday. I got an emergency telegram from Wisconsin that the economy needs more bolstering, and I'm just the gal to bolster it. I'm even bringing in The Big Guns to help me -- Egrau and PJ.
Until then, my lovelies, sleep well and dream of me. Perhaps, upon my return, Garrance will have made his requests...?
Posted at 09:55 PM | Comments (2)June 07, 2006
Wenchie Waxes Philosophical
Newsflash: I have been known to use some eyebrow-raising vocabulary on this blog.
Fuck, asshole, shithead, cunt, retard, dicksmack... Actually, I don't think I've used dicksmack, yet. Better get on that.
I use them because I think they're funny. I like words. I like to play with them. And I'm not going to limit myself to only those words it's okay to say in front of Grandma because I like to have a wide range to choose from.
(And, to my mother's credit, she has yet to chastise me about any of them. She's one cool broad.)
I don't really think there are any "bad words." Granted, I don't like being with Boy Child and Girl Child at the mall and seeing some skeez in a shirt emblazoned with The F-Bomb. That's just classless.
But is the word -- in and of itself -- "bad?" I don't think so.
What is a word but merely the expression of an idea? It's a name. It's not the thing it represents. And while the idea behind the word might lack the purest of motivations, is that the word's fault? No. The word is doing its job and clearly conveying the meaning.
So if someone is a total douche, doesn't it make sense just to call him a total douche? It's not a "bad word" if it's an accurate word. And should the wordsmith be condemned for using a word correctly, to best convey his/her message or thoughts? Again, I don't think so.
If I say, "Dean a really bad person." You'd figure Dean routinely comes in late for work and rarely picks up the tab at lunch.
But if I say, "Dean is a total dicksmack." It clearly conjures up the picture of a smarmy figure who steals money from his mom and routinely comes onto his buddies' girlfriends.
See? There's a difference. Just like there's a difference between irritated and totally fucking pissed off. They convey varying degrees of the same general principle and aren't always interchangeable.
I've had some people comment that my vulgar language is "beneath me." When, clearly, it's not. The only thing beneath me is my office chair right now, and I have no idea where I was going with all this. I guess I just wanted to get it off my chest.
Thanks for listening.
Posted at 01:53 PM | Comments (5)May 25, 2006
Let Me Introduce You To Mr. Sidebar
As you may or may have not noticed -- I'm sure most of you never even glance over there -- but over the past few weeks, I've been revamping my sidebar a bit. (Mom, that's the column down the right side of the screen with the pink heading bars and links and such.)
This was prompted partially by boredom, and partially by an email exchange I had with Fresh Pepper?. I was mortified when he took me off his sidebar, but he dried my tears, set me on his knee and explained that he juggles his links around a bit, to keep them fresh. That way, we of the MTV Generation are more likely to pay attention to them.
And this made sense to me. I was a blogoholic having a moment of clarity -- what I needed was less sidebar.
Indeed, the result of much futzing is a sidebar more worthy of your scant attention span. I'll give you the nickel tour, starting at the top.
Click on "Proposition the Pirate Wench" to email me with your dreams, your desires, your death threats. But remember that I only check it once a day, so don't use it if you're a friend who already has my private email address (Mom), which I check much more often. Like obsessively. I'm checking it right now.
Back! Next is Recent Mishaps, my four most recent blog entries. In case you've been in bed sick or outta town for a few days. Or bound and gagged for a while (you know who you are).
Objects of My Fickle Love are just that -- my most favorite and oft-changing set of links. They are people, places and/or things that I am familiar with and heartily endorse with much squealing and drooling and licking..., or that I'm hoping to become familiar with soon. And if that's not a big enough hint, let me remind you that my birthday is October 30.
I used to keep OOMFL in alphabetical order, but that requires thought, so now I'm just putting my most recent additions at the top, to make it easier for all involved. Also, I'll never have more than eight. Why eight? Well, maybe eight is the number of Cadbury Eggs I can consume in one sitting. Or maybe it's my total number of toes. Or tattoos. Perhaps it's the number my numerologist ascribed to me upon learning of my full name, my birth date and my hat size.
Actually, there's no reason -- just a random number that I picked. Nine looked like too many.
Guess how often I read my Everyday Reads. Give up? Every day. Except sometimes on weekends. And when I'm sick. Or on vacation. But I often check them several times a day, so it all evens out.
I have three men and three women on my Friends & Lovers list -- I'll let you decide who is which. And no, these are not my only friends; the others just don't have blogs. Even though they should. Nicholle, I'm looking at you.
Nor are these the only other blogs I read. They're just the ones I read most often. And MostlySunny is temporarily on hiatus. Chances are, if you've commented on my site, I occasionally catch up on your blog. Why am I telling you this? You don't care. Let's move on.
Whatever I'm currently reading is On My Nightstand. I may do the rare pointless book review, but that just seems so highbrow for this blog. Feel free to email me if you want my not-worth-a-damn opinion on a particular book, or if you just want to mock me for taking so long to read it.
Almost Famous (an unoriginal title totally ganked from the movie) are my friends who are in bands. Or in Joe's case, is a band unto himself. If any of them are playing near me, or anywhere particularly interesting, I'll try to put it in the sidebar. If I remember. I'm awfully busy.
Hide 'n' Seek is where you can search my site for particular subjects, like vagina or Heather. And yes, as you may have surmised from past posts, I can see what people have searched for on my site. However, I can't see who has searched for what. So go ahead and search for ugg boots or tied up goats or whatever -- I will giggle, but I won't know who you are.
Organized Chaos (is a really gay title, I just realized) are my categories. Why I couldn't just call it Categories, I don't know. Trying to be cool and failing miserably, I guess. So if you wanna see all the photos I've taken, or read about my dog, or -- for the anal retentive -- see all my lists, that's where you go.
Beyond that is my monthly archives, i.e. My Sordid Past. Can you believe I've been blogging since August 2004? It seems like only yesterday I was wondering what the hell I would find to say every day. Nothing. Not one damn worthwhile thing. Anyhoo, Heather recently added a scroll bar to my archives! Isn't it neato? She's a genius, I tell you! GENIUS! I just wish it was lavender.
After that, Misc. Etc. is just... I have no idea. Seriously, I guess it's important stuff that supposed to be there because Heather put it there, but I don't know what it is.
And there you have it. These links are fully endorsed by the Pirate Wench. Peruse them as it suits you.
Posted at 02:10 PM | Comments (4)May 14, 2006
Happy Mothers Day
When you hear the words "step mother," what springs to mind? It's probably some devious, cackling hag with cruel eyes and a pursed, frowning mouth. Thank you, Walt Disney. Thank you, Grimm brothers.
For ages, the step mothers of Cinderella and Snow White have been the heading under which all step mothers are filed. It's not only unfair, it leaves us floundering.
Where are our role models? Where are our guides? What do we have to do in order to be considered a "good" step mother? And who makes the rules because, sometimes, frankly, the real parents don't know what to expect, either. While society happily provides many guidelines for mothers and fathers, step parents are left to figure shit out on our own.
"Blended families" (doncha love that term? it's so delicious, so smooth and creamy!) start out with a lot of high expectations. He expects his new wife to love his children as his own; she expects the children to be receptive to her attempts at becoming a family member. Both expect way too much.
We don't mean anything to these kids. We're just strangers their fathers married without consulting them. At best, we're nothing, vapors, ghosts. At worst, we are an intrution, an obstacle, a foe.
Of course, the whole situation sucks for the kids to deal with. They're children, and their whole lives have been ripped apart.
But while it's socially acceptable -- and, indeed, expected -- for kids to be angry and unresponsive and to act out, this behavior is not tolerated from adults. The kids have an outlet -- the step mom. And we have to suck it up because we're the grown-ups.
My shrink told us that the role of step mom is the hardest in any family. Harder than the real mom. Harder than the step dad. Step moms are, traditionally, the scapegoats for every bad thing and bad feeling that happens in the family.
Step moms are blamed for decisions they don't make, things they never said, and influence they simply don't have.
In short, we're in a bit of a pickle, and it takes a lot of work for us to come to some sort of peace with our lives and our new families. Constant work. Mostly by repeating the mantra, "Let it go. Let it go. Let it go."
Which sounds uncaring. And we should never say it out loud, lest we be publicly scorned and made to sit in the stocks while people throw rotten cabbage and rutabagas at us. Because no one knows about the good things we do for those kids.
No one knows about the times we defend the kids to their fathers, when they've gotten more mad than the situation warrants. No one knows how we cry and worry and lose sleep when those children are having trouble in school, or with friends, or with the aftermath of their parents' divorce. No one knows how enraged we get when their own parents seem unaware or unmindful of their pain and struggles.
No one notices that we clean their rooms, and wash their sheets, and buy the foods we know they like, and make sure they sit down to eat a decent, home-cooked meal once in a while. It's really, really easy to see the crappy mistakes step moms make in learning to be a stepmom. It's harder to see into our hearts, and see how hard we're trying.
We do the work, we buy all the holiday/birthday gifts, we cook, we clean, we worry. But we don't get the rewards that moms get. No one is happy to see us. No one wants to spend time with us. No one comes to us with their hurts or their triumphs.
We do the things that Moms do. We rejoice at the good news and cry at the bad. But we usually receive this news second- or third-hand. No come comes to us for accolades or comfort. We are removed from the children we help care for.
Being a stepmom is lonely.
Okay, blah blah blah, enough of that. Just, please, remember your step moms. They're not crazy, stupid bitches. Would Dad have married her? Remember that she's trying to find her place in an already-established family. Help her, welcome her. Buy her a friggin' card already.
Posted at 08:53 AM | Comments (9)April 19, 2006
There's Nothing Wrong With Me
Awwwwwwwww, you like me! You really like me!
Thank you so much for your outpouring of love and support for my evilness. Normally I like cash and presents, but this was almost as good.
I was really thinking about my obsession with Disney Villians, trying to discern if it was the symptoms of some ancient evil within me. But I think it's just cuz the bad guys are, frankly, more interesting. They all have some major flaw that turns out to be their downfall. Whereas the heroines are just buffeted about their lives, reacting to the influence of others.
(I'm speaking more here of the traditional princesses I grew up on -- Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty -- and less of their contemporaries -- Belle, Ariel, Jasmine.)
Maleficent's downfall? Well, she was just a petty, spiteful woman, wasn't she? The originator of, "If I ain't happy, ain't nobody happy." And then she died.
But really, which one of us hasn't dabbled in a little revenge now and again? (Yes, Michele, I really will get around to answering your question one of these days.) I'm lookin' at you, Passive-Aggressives! Don't deny it!
Snow White's stepmom? Vanity, with a capital V, man. If botox and collegen and implants were available back then, you know she'd be all over that shit. In the end, she was so eager to squash the competition, she died.
But again, don't those 20 year old girls with the floating breasts and buttcheeks like melons really piss you off? Damn you and your unblemished youth! I don't care if you are skinny enough to wear gauchos and a shrug -- you may not look fat, but you still look retarded!
Uh. Anyhoo.
Cinderella's stepmom? Her achilles heel was ambition. Ambition to get her two skanky daughters married off. And in the end? Well, I think we're supposed to assume she was consumed by bitterness and jealousy and died a pauper.
But if I had to live with those talentless bitches, I'd be in a hurry to get rid of them, too.
Scar? Arrogance! Banishment.
Cruella DeVille? Materialism! Prison.
Jafar? Greed! Trapped for eternity.
Ursula? Power! Impalement.
Captain Hook? Revenge! Eaten.
Demon from "Night on Bald Mountain" in Fantasia? Well, he wasn't so much a villian, per se, as he just really liked to party.
The the point is, the villians are interesting because we can LEARN from them (in theory). Don't be evil, or you'll get the smackdown.
What does Snow White teach us? Sing well, play hard to get, and some guy you saw one time will take you away from the only friends you've ever had? What the hell kind of lesson is that?!
And Cinderella. Tsk tsk. What kind of girl needs to rely on mice to help her do everything? MICE! Of all things!
And Sleeping Beauty, for Chrissake, she was asleep for half the movie!
No, the villians are, by far, more multi-faceted. Plus? They can turn into things! Like dragons and witches and giants and -- and -- with the fire! And the lightening! And the glowing eyes! And the -- And the -- Oh, they're just so kewl!
Posted at 01:26 PM | Comments (6)April 10, 2006
My Speech, After My Award-Winning Solo at Saturday's Irish Concert
First, I'd like to thank The Big Man for blessing me with such a beautiful voice and the vanity that compells me to share it with the world.
I'd like to thank the chorale Director for giving me this solo, despite the fact that I didn't audition for it because it's right at my break and, therefore, shredded my chest voice.
I'd also like to thank K for assuring me that, although anyone can sing a "pretty" solo, it takes a special kind of personality to sing a "peasant-y" solo, with a slight Irish brogue.
Thank you, also, to my parents, for instilling in me, at an early age, a love of all kinds of music. And for supporting me by coming to see the concert (unlike any of my other family and friends, who all suck... except you, Snippy Bitch, you're the only one who loves me).
And I'd like to thank my dad, especially, for passing along the DNA that made possible a nervous flop-sweat so purile that I had to borrow some Old Spice deodorant from a male friend.
And lastly, thank you, A, for the deodorant. I'm sure all the other second sopranos are grateful, as well.
Thank you, and good night.
Posted at 02:44 PM | Comments (2)March 28, 2006
I Am Jasmine's Hero
You may be wondering, "So why did a people-hating, crowd-phobic curmudgeon like Wenchie go to Disney World during spring break?"
And I have no good answer for you, except that that's when Boy Child and Girl Child were there, and I am their slave.
I touched on it a bit yesterday -- the screaming, garment-rending rage I felt being surrounded by a mass of humanity's barrel-scrapings. But... try as I may, I just can't find words strong enough to describe the murders I committed in my heart as I had to walk around the bajillionth cluster of people who decided to stop and read their map IN THE MIDDLE OF A DOORWAY OR BUSY WALKWAY!!!
*pant* *pant* *pant*
Okay. Regroup.
Rude people just make me want to smother them to death with their own spleen, and then smother them in BBQ sauce and eath them. And then digest them, and poop them out on the sidewalk in from of the Spears-Federline homestead, so Kevin could walk in it.
I can't think of a better punishment for rude assholes than being poop on the bottom of K-Fed's shoe. Assuming the damn hillbilly is even wearing shoes that day. Poop twixt K-Fed's toes. Very fitting.
[Mom, Kevin Federline is married to Britney Spears, and he's Uber-White Trash. He's so trashy, he makes Britney look like Jackie O., for God's sake.]
[I feel it's very important to continue my mother's education.]
Anyhoo, I saw a pack of frat boys harassing Jasmine.
There were Jasmine and Aladdin in Epcot's Morocco, looking exotic and fabulous. And I must commend Disney for promoting a healthy body image for young women. Not only could you not see Jasmine's ribs, but she even had a tiny bit of belly -- just enough to be softly feminine.
She and Aladdin were signing autographs and taking pictures with little kids. There were probably a dozen lined up with their families. Off to the side were four frat boys. Clearly, they had been drinking their way through Epcot. Saki in Japan, tequila in Mexico, beer in Germany, sexual harassment in Morocco.
And it was such clever, clever harassment, too.
"Hey, Jasmine! Where's your little monkey? Can I touch your monkey? Wanna touch mine?"
Oh, bra-VO, Chett. Sure to make the ladies swoon. Belle will be green with envy.
So as Husband and I strolled by them, I said, casually yet loudly, "Wow -- harassing a woman who is contractually forbidden to defend herself. Real nice, guys."
And as soon as I started talking, Husband started walking very, very quickly. My hero.
Posted at 12:38 PM | Comments (3)March 10, 2006
Putting the "Fun" in Funeral
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mock death and suffering, and to find the lighter side of family tragedy. If you're particularly sensitive to this sort of thing, re-read "It's Berry Awesome!" instead -- it's one of my favs.
So a friend of mine, whom I will call Bob in order to protect... well, him, had to attend a wake and funeral yesterday. It was for his uncle-in-law, who swallowed a .22 rifle. On the couch. While his wife was in the basement. Boy, that'll teach 'er, eh? Asshole.
Normally, this sort of occassion would call for Mrs. Bob to step in, it being her crazy family and all. But Mrs. Bob has wrecked two cars in as many years, making Bob a tad uncomfortable with the thought of her making the five-hour drive downstate.
So Bob bravely volunteered to drive his eldery mother-in-law and her even-more-elderly sister the five hours. Each way. To the funeral. And this was no "Driving Miss Daisy," no, no, no -- this was Driving Miss Morose-y and Miss Never-Shut-Up-y. I'm gonna perform a couple miracles in Bob's name, and he'll be a saint before Christmas -- watch for it!
When you're at a funeral where the only people you know are annoying and weird, and you didn't really know the deceased, there's not much else to do but textmessage the Wench. Especially since there was no food. (For which I'm having the widow excommunicated from the Lutheran church. No hamsalad sammiches?! NO JELLO?!?!)
So he wrote me about their five-hour conversation in the car:
Suicide.
Depression.
Suicide
Depression
Suicide.
The Great Depression.
Suicide.
Depression.
And he wrote me about how the widow still has the same bouffant hair-do she had in the 60's, and the last funeral she was at, she left in the deceased's car.
And then he's like, "OMG, the casket has DEER on it!" And I'm all, "Dude, you have to take a picture with your phone and send it to me!"
So he did.
No, Heather, he did not take a photo of the corpse.
Posted at 01:27 PM | Comments (9)February 22, 2006
My Blog Is McLame
An email from Nicholle:
Shamrocks Shakes are at McD's for the seasonSuperSize Me, I'm Irish
* * * * *
Yesterday, an email from Daisy. Today, an email from Nicholle. What's wrong, Wenchie? Well, sometimes, I'm just boring, or have too much actual work to do. And sometimes, my friends are just funnier than I am.
All new material tomorrow, folks, I promise. Because Husband had a brief stint in the hospital AGAIN last week, and really -- what's funnier than that?
Posted at 01:03 PM | Comments (1)February 01, 2006
Retarded Fortune Cookie
Last night, Heather and I had carry-out Chinese food and pondered the question: Does anyone really eat Chinese food from the carton -- with chopsticks -- besides in the movies?
It's these Mysteries of the Universe that Heather and I tackle when we get together. During the hair-brushing, before we try on nightgowns and model them for each other.
We ate our Beef Lo Mein from plates with forks like we were nearly human, while we watched, "Riding the Bus with My Sister," starring Rosie O'Donnell as Beth, the lovable retard with a heart of gold and a lesson to teach us all; and Andie MacDowell as Rachel, her cold, resentful, career-driven sister who is eventually won over by Beth's retarded charm.
If you have not seen this movie, I urge you to send me your address so I can pass it along and share the joy. You'll never be the same after the Rosie/Andi