August 24, 2010
A Summer Retrospective
With a title like that, I'll bet you're expecting some wistful recounting of a romantic fling, or a retelling of some exotic vacation adventure. Wrong. Life only takes the summer off when you're in grade school. This is just stuff that happened while I was trying not to sweat. (Yes, I did more this summer than just obsess about my job. But not much more.)
Pedophilia
Jesus H. Glistening Christ, when did the neighbor's son get so damn hawt? Last summer, he was a scrawny twig who looked ridiculous in his hockey and football uniforms. But I caught a glimpse of him exiting their pool one July afternoon, and all of a sudden, the world went all slo-motion. He hoisted himself out of the pool with one arm, using chest and back muscles I didn't know existed. It was very Phoebe-Cates-In-Fast-Times-At-Ridgemont-High, only reversed. And then I snapped out of it and felt like a dirty, old lady. Now I can't even look him in the eye. I don't want to look at him because I don't want to get caught looking at him. *sigh*
The Date Is Set
Older Step Daugther will be getting married in a three-hour, Orthodox ceremony, to which I will be bringing a book. The date is set for July 3, 2011, which is kind of ironic -- giving up one's independence the day before we celebrate our country's independence. But then, I'm a bitter, cynical bitch. So I'll just shut-up, wear something conservative, sit in the back, and bring a really good present. Assuming I'm invited.
Frontierville
This little nightmare started on a Friday that I stayed home with a migraine. Once lying in bed groaning lost its magic, I got on the computer. Because what's better for a migraine than staring at a computer screen? Billi was on FB and, via FB Chat, pressured me to join Frontierville so she'd have more neighbors because neighbors = benefits. I didn't stop playing Frontierville until late that Sunday night. In case you're lucky enough to be unfamiliar, here's what it looks like:
Should be called Why-Wenchie's-House-Is-Messy-Ville. I haven't had one productive hour all summer. Thanks, Billi! Hope your laundry never gets done!
...
And now I'm thinking about what else I want to write about, but really, I just want to get back on Frontierville. I don't like where I have my windmill and want to move it. Perhaps over by the shed...?
Posted at 09:12 AM | Comments (3)May 03, 2010
I Haven't Experienced Linear Thought In Three Months
I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!
Oh my gawd, you guys, I can't blog at work anymore. I'm actually, I think, kinda important. I answered a phone call from the freakin' VATICAN last month. And this isn't even me-exaggerating-for-the-sake-of-humor; I'm totally legit here. (Did you know that even their low-level secretaries are cardinals? Dude was like, "This is Secretary Cardinal Brian Mueller." Seriously? I think I need a title change.)
And now that I'm trained to work on our website and spend half my days mucking around in HTML, I have become the person I feared -- the person who says, "When I get home from work, the last thing I want to do is sit in front of the computer." My blood ran cold just typing that!
I know I've been neglecting you lately, precious blog, precious admirers. And it would be easy to just shrug and say, "Oh, well, I'm busy. Out of my control!" And then snuggle my box of sangria on the couch while watching everything that National Geographic ever produced about ancient Egypt.
BUT NO! I will persevere! When the going gets tough, the tough get blogging! How do I think I'm going to get a novel written if I can't even commit to two measly blog posts a week?! I'm being tested. So here's some crap that's been rattling around my noggin lately.
* * * * *
If you leave a comment and tell me that I'm interesting, informative, or an excellent source of news, I'm going to assume that you are a spam robot. Also, if your name is zxcvbnm.
* * * * *
A few days ago, I was dead tired at 2pm. Not like I-had-pasta-for-lunch-and-need-a-carb-nap tired. More like my-plane-just-landed-in-Japan-and-I-haven't-had-solid-sleep-in-37-hours tired. It was weird. I actually went home after work and slept for two and a half hours, got up, ate dinner, watched "Dirty Dancing" (Damn, I'd forgotten how fucking hot that movie is!), and then went back to sleep for the entire night!
Now, I know that some people feel like they are a woman trapped inside a man's body. Or, there's the old joke, "Somewhere inside this fat body is a skinny person trying to get out!" So, is it possible to be, like, I'm a New Zealander trapped inside a Chicagoan's body? Because my internal clock just isn't on midwestern time. Is there such thing as an internal biological global shift?
If not, I am hereby copyrighting it and claiming all rights. Maybe I'll start a support group...
Posted at 06:26 AM | Comments (1)April 01, 2010
Office Zen
For April Fool's Day, I thought I'd unleash a bit of crazy on you -- wenchie-style. And not, like, omg-blue-nail-polish! crazy. I'm talkin' was-she-dropped-on-her-head-as-a-baby? crazy. So, you know -- the good kind!
Okay, this week I am obsessing about something completely new that has nothing to do with my appearance, PhD Boss' incomprehensible conversation skills, or Heather's boobs. I'm obsessing about...
My Neighbor's Office
Our across-the-street neighbors go to our church, AND the husband works where I work. They are awesome neighbors who love our dogs and bake us bread. He just happens to be an ordained minister, so I will call him Rev. Neighbor.
[Mom, you know who I'm talking about. You park at our house when you go to parties at their house.]
Rev. Neighbor is a department head and is, therefore, the inhabitant of one of the few corner offices at work. Now. What does one normally find in the offices of the executives where I work?
1. Desk.
2. Computer.
3. Shitload of books.
4. Photo of family.
5. Photo of yourself with the Pope/Archbishop of Cantebury/Random World Leader.
6. Ergonomically-designed chair on wheels.
7. Telephone.
8. Stacks of papers and files.
9. Various gifts from around the world that kind of make your office look like a Morroccan street fair.
10. Maybe a plant.
Right? Right. Variations on a theme of Typical Exec Habitat.
But in Rev. Neighbor's corner office?
1. Big rocking chair.
...
I am completely blown away by the genius of this. And I want to know -- what does he know that the rest of us don't???
Dudes! He doesn't have a desk! Or a horrible, vinyl chair that makes the backs of your thighs sweat and rolls around a hard, plastic sheet on five wheels!
Just a rocking chair.
That is brilliant. And you know what? He is one of the most productive, responsive, organized, got-his-act-together execs in the building. If not THEE most! Dude knows what he's doing.
The implications are staggering.
Yes, he has books. And some papers, although they are neatly filed away. And he has a phone and a laptop. But here's the key, in my theory -- he doesn't treat his office like a combat staging area; he treats it like an extension of his home.
Think about it. What's more personal than a rocking chair? Everyone who has one has a story behind it. "My grandfather made this" or "My mother used to rock me to sleep in this" or "I bought this at the Cracker Barrell after eating too much biscuits and gravy."
In his office, he is comfortable. He is content. He is relaxed. Jeebus in a Jamboree, this guy has a level of pure Zen going on that one rarely sees in this hemisphere!
So what would happen if we just... took away all the desks? No more laminate workspace. No more beige cubicle walls. No more metal cabinets. Just a little personal space with a nice throw rug and perhaps a floor lamp for task lighting. Maybe a rice-paper folding screen for a little privacy and ambiance.
What if we all brought in a comfy chair, and a side table that reflects our individual style? (I'd have Husband build mine.) Stay with me here, folks, I'm dead serious. Think of the feng shui!!! What are we doing by positioning ourselves behind a big hulk of metal and faux wood? Think of how the energy would flow if we all came out from behind our desks!
My stars, I'm practically giddy!
What if we walked around the building and talked to other people instead of sending emails from our desk? That's what Rev. Neighbor does. If I email him, he calls me on the phone. If I call and leave a message, he comes up to talk in person. It's crazy. He acts like... like we're neighbors. All of us.
I have been pondering this for a week. I'm going to have to just flat out ask him what his personal work philosophy is, and then try to apply his answer to my whole life, thereby solving all my problems.
Or else I'll just write the new "Who Moved My Cheese?" and call it "Rocking Chair Office Zen," and everyone in the corporate world will eat it up, and it will become The Next Big Thing, and I'll make a bazillion dollars.
There are many paths to achieving inner peace.
Posted at 08:16 AM | Comments (2)March 30, 2010
Old Dog, New Tricks
OHMYGOD, YOU GUYS, LOOK WHAT I LEARNED!!!
SLIDESHOOOOOW!!!
Okay, I admit, I learned it in a company training session, for use on the company website. But of course, I'm going to use it here first!
Think of all the possibilities! Baking! Dressing Barbies! The-Changing-of-the-Seasons montages!
Yeah, expect to see a LOT of slideshows in the future. At least until I tire of them.
Posted at 01:34 PM | Comments (0)March 04, 2010
Say Yes to Crack
My new BFF's name is Carole.
I don't know who she is or where she lives, or why in the hell she reads my blog (I'm pretty sure she's not a friend of my Mom), but Carole read one of the top ten best websites of all time -- Go Fug Yourself -- and recognized a Wenchie shout-out!
AND?! Carole emailed it to me! Which is more than the rest of you sad sacks ever do!
I'm mentioned in the same paragraph as Courtney Love and Raging Conjunctivitis! It's a dream come true! (For the full article -- and full photo -- go here.)
Pirate Wench: Inspiring celebrities since 2005!
I could not be more pleased. Or cracked out. And now, Carole and I are gonna go to Macy's and try on couture dresses that we have no intention of buying.
Posted at 08:50 PM | Comments (0)February 12, 2010
The Dream
I have a friend who has a boyfriend. A boyfriend who dreams. And shares those dreams with her. In writing.
Stupid boy.
Luckily, he barely knows who I am, let alone my secret identity, so it's safe to share it here with all of you.
Enjoy.
So last night I dreamt that I was at Bristol Ren Fair, with my family, and I got really tired of waiting around with them to do something, so I wandered off into a shop that was in the center of the fair that looked like an old farm house. I went inside and it was kind of like a sterotypical movie like Moroccan street market. I was wandering round through it and I ran into you and your mom and dad and sister.
No, English is not his second language. But I believe Runonsentence is his first language.
You were wearing a costume, but it was kind of weird...blousy pants and boots, and then a blousy top with a half-corset sort of thing on the outside. The top was very gauzy, and I could see all of your nubbly bits. Which was really cool.
Nubbly bits?
But you were annoyed at me, because I was wearing my video camera hat and was threatening to post video of you onto YouTube as soon as I got back.
Oh, irony.
So we all went walking as a group, and we suddenly were in another part of the field, and there were all of these mini-tornados all around us. You could walk through them, and they would kind of break up and fall apart, and it tickled. So we did this for a while, until I spotted this GIANT tornado heading right for us.
I think this part is a premonition that his ridiculous dream will get posted on the internet, and he won't be able to escape the embarassment.
We started to run, but the tornado kept chasing us, so finally I grabbed your hand and dragged you under a building and then the tornado whipped through the building and ripped it off of us, but I was holding onto you and some floor joists to keep us from going up into the tornado, but unfortunately it did rip your shirt off,...
Oh, of course it did. How unfortunate.
...so you were topless and that was really cool because to hold onto you and the floor joists I had to bury my face in your chest, but you were all annoyed that your shirt got ripped off, but somehow my hat video camera stayed on my head, and that didn't make any sense, and I agreed, and thats when I woke up.
Woke up and decided it would be a really good idea to commit this to email and send it along.
You know, if it wasn't for most people in the world being completely out of their minds, I wouldn't even have a blog.
Thank you, people! You make it almost worthwhile to have to put up with you when I'm not blogging!
Posted at 07:46 AM | Comments (0)December 01, 2009
O.C.D. Scorpios Beware!
Today's horoscope has me PANICKING!!!
If they see any errors, don't be defensive -- just fix what needs to be fixed and be grateful you caught it in time. It won't take very much of your time to double-check your to-do list, and it might even pay to have someone else look it over for you just in case. Run your info by someone you trust, preferably a friend or close family member. If you don't take the time to cover all of your bases now, a tiny little detail could come back and bite you later.
Are you kidding me?! How can they be so non-chalant about "run your info by someone you trust" and "a tiny little detail could come back and bite you?" Thank you, Yahoo, for sending this anal-retentive water sign into a total tailspin. You ruined my morning. Bastards.
While I was getting ready this morning, I made a list of things I need to do and errands I need to run tomorrow.
WHAT IF I'M FORGETTING SOMETHING AND I PISS OFF SOMEONE WHO IS DEPENDING ON ME FOR SOMETHING???
Immediately upon arriving at work, I made a list of all the stores I need to visit at Woodfield.
WHAT IF I SKIP A STORE AND NEED TO GO BACK?! TO WOODFIELD! IN DECEMBER, FOR GAWD'S SAKE!
You see what this is doing to me? And just now, I emailed myself three more reminders. And wrote one on my hand. Because, yeah, tomorrow is pretty much my last day on earth, and I want to make sure that Jeebus doesn't have to look at dog hair on my floors when the rapture comes. He didn't die so that I could forget a Christmas gift for my nephew!
What if I run around all day, and tomorrow night, as I'm falling asleep, I remember one more thing I should have done? The whole day will be RUINED! All that effort for NOTHING!
Oh who am I kidding? I'm not falling asleep. Ever again.
Posted at 11:31 AM | Comments (0)November 27, 2009
The Importance of Consistancy
To the shock of all, not only am I not doing some lame things-I'm-thankful-for post, I'm not even going to start talking about Christmas, yet. No, I'm still obsessing about the horror of Halloween. Namely, the Tootsie Roll Variety Pack of candy that I bought.
The fact that the Tootsie Roll Variety Pack has Dots in it -- for no apparent reason -- pales in comparison to this:
I am one of those freaks who loves the non-chocolate variety of Tootsie Rolls. There are orange, lime, lemon and -- inexplicably veering from the fruit theme -- vanilla. The vanilla Tootsie Roll comes in a blue wrapper, as seen on the right in the photo above.
Now, one might assume, according to the color, that the Tootsie POP, shown on the left, is a vanilla Tootsie Pop. But NO NO NO NO NO! One would be WRONG. For the BLUE Tootsie Pop is RASPBERRY.
I cannot get my mind around this.
First of all, the blue-wrapped Tootsie Pop is a very recent addition to the Pop line-up and is, therefore, unnecessary, unfamiliar and utterly frightening. I don't want exciting updates, people -- I want consistancy. I want good old fashioned reliability. I am forty, and anything that strays from the norm upsets my bowel schedule.
Even more disturbing is the fact that the raspberry Tootsie Pop and the vanilla Tootsie Roll share a color. Is pink not good enough for the raspberry Tootsie Pop? There are no watermelon or cherry Tootsie Pops, so it's not like pink was taken! I don't understand this decision to assign the same color to two completely different flavors!
I want whomever is responsible to step-up and take his flogging like a man. I'm tempted to write a letter to the company, but I'm sure that Grandpa Simpson has already done so. Now you kids help Wenchie find her purse.
Posted at 06:03 PM | Comments (1)November 16, 2009
F to M Haiku
A little spam-robot haiku to brighten up your Monday, courtesty of "femdom."
Around the: Strapon,Shemale strapon Lesbian,
Strapon f to m
Huh. I'd always thought that strap-on was hyphenated...
Posted at 01:56 PM | Comments (1)August 24, 2009
The Celebration Continues
Tomorrow is the One Week Anniversary of My Five Year Blogging Anniversary! Yeah, I'm almost as tired of it as you are. But I still thought it would be fun to look back on the PW.org subheadings from previous years.
(You'll note that the lists starts in 2005, although I actually started blogging in 2004. That's because I was originally found on LiveJournal. I didn't start the subheadings until Heather created this site for me in 2005. Little bit o' Wenchie trivia there for ya. I'll take Crappy, Pointless Blogs for $500, Alex.)
2005
I can't make this stuff up, folks.
Soccer Moms Tied & Gagged
On my cPanel, I saw that this is what someone Googled, which brought them to my site. I don't know why.
Home of the Hashbrown Sammich
From a sign outside a restaurant in Wisconsin.
The Salty Pirate Verb
No idea.
Now on the Pirate Party Menu - Lean Cuisines!
God went on vacation and left me in charge!
"Turtle Head" is the new VAGINA!
What the -- ?
Hooliganism, Debauchery & Shenanigans
On the top of Santa's Shit List
2006
Practically a Lady
This is what my cousin Ramone calls me.
on the top of the Worst Dressed List
Not Your Average Smelly Pirate Hooker
When she was good, she was very good; and when she was bad, she was horrid!
From a poem my Grandma used to recite to me. I have no idea why.
Nobody puts Wenchie in a corner!
a.k.a. Alice in WonderBra
2007
W is for Wayward, Winsome & Wry
Only tested on animals that aren't cute.
Searching for the purple banana 'til they put me in the truck.
You should know this one.
Always in The Bottom Two
Ask not for whom the Wench blogs. She blogs for thee.
You'll never see a more wretched hive of scum and villiany.
This one, too.
In her satin tights! Fighting for our rights!
Name that theme song!
When the Wench is out a-wooing, who can woo so well?
Lifted from "Sighing Softly to the River" from "Pirates of Penzance." It's actually quite a beautiful and underrated ballad.
The jig is up, the news is out -- they finally found me.
We sing a love song, as we stroll along, walkin' 'round in ruffled underwear!
2008
But you can call me Wenchie.
Don't hate me because I'm beautiful; there are so many better reasons.
The morals of a Shark, the ethics of a Swine, and the Blackest soul this side of Hell
I forget where this is from...
Putting the Fool in Tomfoolery
Providing 100% of the U.S. RDA of Vagina
Does she walk? Does she talk? Does she come complete?
Your Own Personal Jeebus (reach out & touch blog)
Rock on, Depeche Mode!
I don't need permission, make my own decisions -- that's my per-blog-ative!
I mis-quote a lot of songs, apparently.
Bloggin' around the Christmas tree, it's a happy va-jay-jay!
2009
Your Favorite Social Disease
Ev'ry time I see you falling, I get down on my knees and blog.
Is this also Depeche Mode?
Payin' anything to roll the dice just one more time.
Now loitering on a Facebook page near you.
The Unexamined Life
I'm a snogger. I'm a flogger. I'm a midnight blogger.
I am NOT a Role Model
Come for the breasts, stay for the brains!
A quote from "The Big Bang Theory," my new favorite show.
Well, that brings us up to date. Nothing more to see here. Move along, folks.
August 18, 2009
My Half-Decade Anniversary
HAPPY FIVE YEAR ANNIVERSARY TO ME!
Five years ago today, I launched my blogging career with this, my maiden post. Since then, I have found great friends, stretched my writing capabilities, and even signed some autographs. Okay, one. But, hey, at least it wasn't for my Mom!
Five years... *sigh* Why the hell aren't I famous, yet?!
As some of you know very, very well, there have been some rough times in the past five years, and I have become even more embittered. I like to think it's part of my charm. So it's no surprise that I have some thoughts about the sunshiney attitude with which I inaugurated a blog which has since celebrated all things vagina-y, fucked-up, and hate-filled.
1. You don't have to be hungry to eat ice cream.
But you do have to be alive in order to eat it. So don't eat it every day. Have a salad once in a while. It'll suck, but you'll thank me later.
2. If something needs to be done, just shut up and do it.
Seriously, people, martyrdom creates so much more drama than necessary. If someone asks you something, and you say Yes but then spend the next several days ragging about it, do us all a favor and shoot yourself in the head. You know who was a martyr? Peter. So unless your hanging upsidedown with nails in your extremities, don't come bitching to me.
3. Always say “please” and “thank you.”
Even if it's someone you know really, really well and with whom you have a really, really casual relationship, like your parents or your spouse. Manners tell people that you are educated and worth not shooting in the head.
4. Tip generously.
If you can't afford to be generous, stay home and make yourself a PB&J.
5. If it's cold and rainy out, nap.
I really can't stress this enough.
6. It's okay to be geeky, nerdy and/or uncool.
I'm pretty sure that nerd is the new cool. In fact, it might have been the new cool for so long now that it's already passe. But I don't think it's retro, yet, so yeah, put those comic books back in the basement and hang your head in shame like a good, little nerd. I'll let you know when it's okay to come back out.
7. You don't have to answer the phone.
Your cell phone is for YOUR convenience, not everyone else's. That's why it has an Off button.
8. Smile at people.
Especially if you're insulting them or giving them total shit. It makes them think you're flirting, and you can get away with being an absolute jackass.
9. Use your turn signal.
I don't care where you are or how much traffic there is or what any of your external or internal influences are -- USE YOUR FUCKING TURN SIGNAL. ALWAYS.
10. Be the only one laughing.
I often am. Usually at completely inappropriate times in a movie. That's why I go on Tuesdays. Yup, that was me.
Thank you all for reading. It means more to me than you know. Thank you all for commenting -- we're nearing 2000 total! Thank you, internet, for making it possible to write for people despite not having a publisher... or talent.
Thank you SOOOOOOOO MUCH to Heather -- my Muse, my Designer, my Fan Club, and The Wind Beneath My Wings. Without her, you'd all still be reading Dooce.
You may now commence leaving me congratulatory comments and sending emails full of gushing love -- or hatred, whatever -- to piratewenchdotorg@yahoo.com.
Posted at 03:02 PM | Comments (6)July 06, 2009
Patriotic Rant, Grandpa Simpson Style
Now, I don't like to use my blog to preach. Who wants to listen to that? Ocassionally, I will expound the virtues of Barbies vs. Bratz, or rag about people with particularly rude habits. However, as a rule, I stay away from politically charged topics.
I don't give a shit what any celebrity thinks about America or recycling or the war or whatever -- so it's safe to assume that you people would rather go tidy up the kitchen than hear what I have to say about our local parades. And if such is the case, please go clean. The food stuck in your sink drain is starting to smell.
(Please bear in mind that this rant does NOT pertain to our Norwegian Day Parade, 17 Mai, because that always rocks da hizzouse.)
When I was little, our parades used to be something to anticipate for days before and talk about for weeks after. There were quite a few marching bands, including all the high schools, the Shriners and the local competition-level drum and bugle corps. The Shriners also rode those giant olde tyme bicycles, tiny cars, flying carpets. One year, I lucked out and got to ride on a flying carpet because one of the Shriners knew my parents. Score! I'm sure my sense of euphoria was only heightened by the diesel fumes I was sucking down. Double-score!
There was a middle-aged, mentally challenged man, named Chickie, who lived in our town back then. In fact, he lived right down the street from me. He would ride his bike all over town and was very friendly and talkative, so everyone knew him. The mayor always let him carry a big American flag and lead-off the parade, and he got such a kick out of it. I kind of miss Chickie. If this were The Great American Novel, instead of some lame-ass blog, I might say that The True Spirit of the Patriotic Parade died when Chickie did...
I do NOT, however, miss Chickie's self-proclaimed girlfriend, Charlotte. She, too, was a bit challenged, but not as beloved as Chickie. One time, she chased my friend and I down the street, beating us with her giant, black purse. You know how hard it is to run from a crazy person? Crazy people are HELLAFAST, and it didn't help that we were laughing hysterically. Ah, good times.
Anyhoo, I remember my parents teaching me to always stand when the veterans and American flag went by, and when the National Anthem was played. And it seems to me there were more soldiers back then. Did a contingency of the Illinois National Guard march in our parades? I don't know. I just know that there was a lot more focus on the real significance of Memorial Day and Independence Day.
The focus now? Candy. Everyone throws it into the street so the kids can run and get it. Besides being a safety hazard, and a bitch for the city to clean up afterwards, I kind of resent our days of patriotic remembrance being turned into Spring-Halloween and Summer-Halloween.
Here is Stella displaying a small fraction of the crap that we carted home from the Memorial Day parade.
I also don't like -- oh, my God, I am so Pa Kettle today -- I don't like the politicians using the parade to campaign. Speaking as someone who believes that politicians are much more interested in the good of their wallets than the good of the city/county/state/country, they have no business taking up space in what is supposed to be a tribute to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, as they are most often the ones getting in the way of my liberty and happy pursuits.
In addition to all the campaign flyers distributed at the parades, every local business uses it as an opportunity for free advertising. It's sickening. They print up leaflets with American flags on them and what? Honor our coutry's heros by giving us $5 off our next order? C'MON!
And here's where everyone under the age of eighty tunes out. If you haven't already.
BACK IN MY DAY...
Everyone dressed in uniform and walked in formation. Hell, the Girl Scouts and Brownies wore hats and little, white gloves. None of this aimless milling about. If there was a dance troup, they danced! If there was a band, they played! Every organization had homemade banners and carried them proudly. And everyone dressed like they were in a parade, not taking out the garbage.
Our town's Memorial Day parade was so disappointing this year, I skipped the 4th of July parade. I like going and cheering when the vets go by, but next year, I may leave right after that. Or maybe I'll demand that the city hire me to be the parade coordinator.
Okay. Sadly getting down off my soapbox now. Sorry for being such a crotchety old coot today.
Posted at 07:52 AM | Comments (2)July 01, 2009
Round Food and Low Expectations
I am the only one in my department today. PhD Boss is in Columbus, Ohio. Rev. Boss is in Detroit, Michigan. And Executive Administrative Assistant is in bed, I hope, because she sounded like crap yesterday. Either way, she's not here spreading her germs, and that's what counts.
Well, actually, the Intern is here, but she's so tiny and adorable and passive, she's barely even a blip on my radar. And she certainly doesn't have the balls to tell me to stop painting my nails (mirror-finish baby pink!) and surfing Facebook, so she's basically a non-entity.
Husband is going to give a presentation at Vacation Bible School this morning. I don't know why. I mean, besides the fact that he was asked to. He doesn't bible-school-aged children anymore. I think he just likes talking about plants. He's going to teach them about growing tomatos or something. My eyes glaze over at the very thought, so I don't know how the young 'uns are going to take it. Two minutes of plant-talk, and I'd be BEGGING to build a diorama of Noah's ark.
Anyhoo, his presentation was at 10:00 a.m., which means that we could go out to breakfast together without fearing recourse from our jobs! This concept is rare even on weekends, and unheard of on weekdays.
So, we went to the Pancake House. (Not to be confused with International House of Crapcakes, which I will not even dignify with a link.)
My entire breakfast was round this morning. I got ten silver dollar pancakes, two sausage patties, and orange juice, which comes from a round fruit. It was very Sesame Street-esque. Are coffee beans round? Because I had two cups of coffee, too. And now I'm waiting for the bathroom to be vacant so I can go poop in the round potty.
Today's blog was supposed to be about the Gay Pride Parade, which I attended over the weekend. But I have a TON of photos to go through. So you have that to look forward to.
What I'M looking forward to is painting our butt-ugly powder room this weekend. And in order to find a previous post on said powder room, so that you can see photos of it and shrink in terror, I typed in "bathroom" in my blog's Search box. It came up with 81 blogs containing the word bathroom. I may have some sort of fixation. Anyhoo, here's the post, so you can see why I'm so eager to change the walls.
In theory, it should only mean one trip to Home Depot for paint and a new light. The foil actually comes off the wall very easily, leaving only the backing to scrape off. And with the help of toxic chemicals, that should be a breeze. And then we paint, and I can hang pretty things on the walls! Yay!
Now, I can't argue that we could -- and should -- get rid of the tile on the walls. And the floor. But frankly? I'd rather spend the money on a 50" t.v. than a whole remodel. I can live with partial-ugly. And with my standards set so low, I should be able to fit in a nap on Friday and still be done in time to watch a couple epsides of Burn Notice before betime.
And now I've just jinxed us by talking about what a snap it will be, so we'll be divorced by Monday, surely.
Posted at 10:27 AM | Comments (1)June 19, 2009
The Lord Said To Noah...
Ho-kay, stream-of-consciousness post today because I have been A.W.O.L. and have prepared nothing.
VERY quiet at work today, which is why I have the opportunity to sit and blog like the reprehensible slacker that I am. There was a company picnic planned for today, but I didn't sign up. And those of us who didn't sign up must report for work. Nice, huh? Truly I say to you, 'tis better to be at a picnic with random co-workers than at work, but the principle of forced fellowship just grates on me.
I have a few good friends here at work with whom I socialize, and I am kind and professional to absolutely everyone else in the building. I just don't particularly feel the need to break bread with those not on my Fav List in the vast buggy-ness of a forest preserve. Add to that the awkwardness of meeting peoples' spouses and/or children, and that's just too much fake merriment for me.
Wanna boost morale, H.R.? Give us all $25 and bus us to Woodfield for half a day, then let us go home. It would endear you to us forever, and the next day, we could all chat around the coffee maker about what we bought. Voila! Fellowship!
Anyhoo, those who signed up for the picnic get a free day off today because the picnic was cancelled due to the Severe Thunderstorm Alert in the area today. Lucky bastards. And I'm stuck here, watching the sky grow ever blacker, until it finally burst forth in copius amounts of water and lightning.
Kind of a scary view I have from the tenth floor. And the lights keep flickering. I'm sure the power is already out at my house, and I'm getting nervous about water in my basement. The only other person on this floor today is the head of my department, and I made him promise to hold my hand if we have to walk down ten flights to get out of the building. It's not a romantic thing -- I'm just afraid of plummeting to my death in the dark. Two of my phobias at once! Phobia overload!
He told me I can go home as soon as I've finished any pressing work I have (i.e. nil). And I may do just that, go home for lunch and not return. Water... basement... scary... panic. Good God, it's really coming down! When will Jeebus send the rainbow?
Posted at 10:22 AM | Comments (1)June 05, 2009
Breakfast at the Pottery Barn
Let me preface this by admitting that I love Pottery Barn. I love everything about it, with the exception of the prices. I want to live in a Pottery Barn catalogue. Specifically, I want to live here,...
...eat here,...
...blog here,...
...and sleep here.
*sigh* I love the way they decorate. A twig bowl here, seashells under glass there, a chalk board on the wall with today's menu:
Melted cheese sandwichesTomato bisque
Pecan tartlettes
Dear God, who eats like that at home?! I WANT TO KNOW! So I can drop in on them. I am fascinated by the kind of food eaten by the people who live in the Pottery Barn. I am fascinated by the kind of leisurely, organized, simplified, casual-yet-elegant lifestyle they lead.
Recently, this photo from their summer catalogue caught my eye:
I don't particularly care for the table -- I'll bet that mosaic top is a bitch to clean. But rather, I am intrigued by what the Pottery Barnites are having for breakfast.
Grapefruit halvesButtery croissants
Bloody Marys
Heavens! Really? A light breaking of the fast with half a fruit, a small roll, and a GREAT BIG TUMBLER OF VODKA? This is me giving you a half smile and knowing glance. Those Pottery Barnians are lushes!
Now, Lord knows I'm not adverse to alcohol in the morning. I've been known, when on vacation, to add a drop of some sweet liquer to my coffee. I had a mimosa at Egrau's graduation brunch.
But I associate crack-of-dawn imbibing with huge, sprawling, all-you-can-eat brunch buffets. You know, so there's plenty of waffles and bacon and biscuits and gravy to soak up the booze. Lest one still be stumbling around in one's pajamas come lunchtime, blearily staring into the fridge, looking for a yogurt and a martini.
Then again, a martini would have a olive or two in it, so the yogurt really isn't necessary. In which case, a Bloody Mary is practically a salad, what with the stalk of celery!
No wonder everything is so casual and leisurely in the Pottery Barn. They'll trip over the glass coffee table if they try to move any faster.
Posted at 07:40 AM | Comments (1)May 29, 2009
The Game Is On!
That's was the subject line of an email I received from K (a.k.a. Mrs. Garrance, a.k.a. A and Kelly Garrett's mom). The body read as follows:
The game is on, and you're IT! Describe ME in one word.... just one single word. Send it to me and to me only. Then send this message to all your friends and see how many strange & interesting things they say about you. This is really fun!Here's how to play:
1. Hit the reply key and send me my one word.
2. Then return to this message, and forward it to your friends (including me) and see what people say about you when limited to one word!
So I played along, although with some trepidation. I expected... well, at first, I didn't feel like I was fishing for compliments. But the more emails I received, the more I felt like I had manipulated people into saying something nice about me. What a weird "game."
Frankly, I was expecting a lot of back-handed compliments, like "unique" or "outspoken." So I was really taken aback by the responses I got. Even Spikette overcame the urge to say "weird."
Of course, I didn't send it to my Dad. I'm pretty sure he'd say "hippie." And I didn't send it to my step daughters because I didn't want to put them in the awkward position of feeling like they had to be nice about The Evil Stepmom.
I guess the REAL test would be to send The Game to all of one's not-so-friends, huh? Nah, I already know what my frenemies say about me. There wouldn't be nearly as many surprises from them as there were from my real friends:
Nephew said "fun." His mom, Spikette, said "talented."
Billi said, "Sassy. (Oh, you heard me!)" Dictionary.com says:
sas·sy (sās'ē) adj.1. Rude and disrespectful; impudent.
2. Lively and spirited; jaunty.
3. Stylish; chic: a sassy little hat.
I'm going to assume that she meant definition number two.
Egrau said, "Hystericallyfunny." Clearly, Egrau cheats. Or can't count.
Mom said, "LOVABLE." No surprises there. I mean, I should hope my own mother finds me lovable!
Scarlett said, "Vivacious!" And the bold is part of the original quote, I didn't add it.
Judy said, "CREATIVE" in pink letters. I don't know how she did that, making the letters pink within an email. I don't think I have that capacity. Judy may have to retract her word, due to my inability to be as creative as she is.
Snippy Bitch said, "Original, creative, verbal. OK... so I can't stick to one word! : )" Verbal??? That's one of those backhanded compliments I was worried about! But coming from a snippy bitch, it's definitely a compliment, so I'll let it go.
Mickey said, "Piratebootylicious!" I like that.
I got a "Confidant" from Marty and a "Billiant" from Laura.
Ooh! Another "Vivacious" from Oz! Let's see what Dictionary.com has to say about that word:
vi-va-cious [vi-vey'-shuhs] adj.lively; animated; gay: a vivacious folk dance.
Oh, dear God. I am a gay folk dance.
I'm stopping there. I can't take any more compliments.
Posted at 01:00 PM | Comments (1)April 22, 2009
Rolo Bits
Remember a few years ago, when it was all the rage for candy makers to make their candy in tiny versions of itself? Like Poppables, or something?
The Rolo version of poppable candy was like crack for me. I don't particularly care for the adult-sized version of Rolos, as they tend to glue your jaw shut. But the baby ones? Rolo Bits, I believe? They were the perfect ratio of chocolate-to-caramel. I couldn't get enough of them. For one weekend on vacation, I ate nothing but Rolo Bits and milk. Unhealthy? Yes. Regretable? Eventually. Worth it? FUCK YEAH.
And Rolo Bits were special because, unlike the other candies that were just round little pellets, Rolo Bits maintained the shape of original Rolos -- only smaller. It's like Rolo Bits were designed by adolescent, Japanese girls! So tiny! So desirable!
But apparently, Rolo Bits have gone the way of New Coke and Carnation Instant Breakfast Bars. I just can't find them anymore.
(Carnation Instant Breakfast Bars are another loss I am coping with. But I can't go into it here. One day at a time, Wenchie. One day at a time.)
And I really wanted some to bake them into chocolate chip cookies. So they would be Rolo Bits cookies. I'm devastated. It's frightening to know that I will have this life-long, unfulfilled craving.
I mean, I am 99.99% certain that I will never get to have sex with Bruce Campbell. He's married, I'm married, he lives in another state, he keeps renewing the restraining order. But at least Bruce Campbell exists somewhere in the world. There is always that 0.01% chance that someday, we will be trapped together in the elevator of a burning building, facing certain death, with only desparate, sweaty sex to keep our minds off our impending doom... not that I've given it much thought.
But Rolo Bits cookies? That will never happen. Because they don't exist. There is not even a pathetic 0.01% change that I will ever have Rolo Bits cookies.
That is so depressing.
I'm sorry, world. I did not consume enough Rolo Bits when they were on the market. I could not keep the poppable industry alive. I have failed you.
Posted at 06:30 AM | Comments (2)February 23, 2009
Wenchie's Stimulus Plan
Once upon a time, I was married to an alcoholic. He was my best friend and understood me in ways that most other people never do.
He understood that "Xena" was not about hot women in studded, leather mini-skirts -- it was about a code of honor. He understood why I have a deep, instinctive mistrust of cats. He understood my need to always rock the boat because it's a necessary evil, and if I'm going to have to be the black sheep, so be it.
But that fucker stole several hundred dollars from us each week to buy booze for himself and his toadies, and by the time I left him, I was thousands of dollars in debt. And I will never forgive him for the choices I was forced to make.
Electric bill or groceries? Gas for the car or that money we owe my cousin for dinner? Phone bill or dog food? Well, that last one wasn't too hard. ALWAYS pay the phone bill so that no one knows you're broke. The dogs could eat crackers and dog treats for a couple days.
Ah, there's nothing like the shame of being married to an idiot who is ruining your life. I hated to cop to My Biggest Fuck-Up Ever In A Long Line Of Fuck-Ups, but I had to cop to it in order to explain to people why I was divorcing the man that my friends and family liked so much.
He was fooling you, people! And, well, so was I. Of course, now I'm happy to tell anyone who will listen, like the entire internet, what a piece of dead-weight feces he was.
And we're nearing my point, which is Wenchie's Stimulus Plan, devised because I know what it's like to be flat broke. But before you assume that I'm going to regurgitate what I've heard or read somewhere else, here me out -- my idea is pretty new and radical.
When I was going through my divorce and living in Billi's basement and mooching rides off her because my car was reposessed, a person close to my family sent me a check for $500. Just out of the blue. And with it was a note that said they know how expensive divorce is, and they were giving me a gift -- not a loan -- because they could. And because I needed it.
That check became the deposit on an apartment for me. And I kinda feel bad mentioning it without mentioning all the other amazing things that people did for me during that time (you know who you are!). But I guess it struck me because of a.) the size, and b.) it came from such an unexpected source.
That single act has really shaped my thoughts about money. Like, Person A has money, Person B doesn't. Why can't Person A just give Person B some money?
Now, I'm not talking about propping up deadbeats or enabling addicts. But we all know some person or family whose life has taken a sudden and undeserved crash. We all know someone worse off than us, through no fault of their own. And if you have a job and they don't, a hundred bucks is going to mean a helluva lot more to them than it does to you.
So here's my Stimulus Plan. Decide what you can afford to part with, and go buy someone some diapers for their kid, or a $20 Target gift card, or fifty bucks cash stuck inside a St. Patrick's Day card. It's only money, people.
And yeah, the person receiving it will feel weird about it. So tuck it inside their wallet when they're not looking. But make sure they know that it's a gift, and that you don't care what they do with it.
(And a word of advice if you're the recipient: Know that what your friend is purchasing is their own peace of mind. They hate seeing you worry and suffer, so do your friend a favor and just accept it.)
And if you're still not convinced, remember that what goes around, comes around. The person you help out today will help you out in some completely unexpected way five years from now. Consider it an investment in your own well-being.
We're all in this life together. Let's be Pure Awesome to each other.
Posted at 07:50 AM | Comments (3)February 01, 2009
What Is Your Name? What Is Your Quest?
Man, I haven't been drunk-dialed in years! That was hilarious! Well, it was more like drunk-texting. I'm the one who had to do the actual dialing.
John Kovalic and I were having a deep and meaningful Twitter about Neil Diamond vs. The Monkees, when he suddenly lost the ability to type words and demanded that I call him. What followed was eighteen minutes of him gushing about how in love he is with his new baby daughter (and rightfully so), and five minutes of him demanding that I patronize the following Chicago establishments:
Hot Doug's calls itself The Sausage Superstore and Encased Meat Emporium. Well. That kind of sums it up, doesn't it? There is also Hot Doug's theme song, in three different remixes, if you follow the link on their site. Weird. I think I will skip the sausage music and go right for the Marty Allen, an obvious choice because of the GARLIC.
And who the fuck is Marty Allen, you ask? Yeah, I was wondering the same thing, so I looked him up on Wikipedia. He is a Jewish-American (I'm assuming) stand-up comedian, born in 1922. No wonder I've never heard of him.
Smoque BBQ is next on John's list of must-eats. Their motto is Low and Slow, which kinda makes my hoo-ha all tingley, but I'm not even sure if I'm thinking about sex or food... My desires are all tangled up with one another!
Paulina Meat Market reminds me of a joke I heard years ago and still remember: Name three Chicago streets that rhyme with vagina -- Regina, Paulina and Lunt. Get it?! Joe lives just off Paulina, so I think of vaginas every time I go see Joe. Which is ironic because he's gay.
And gay men like meat, so let's get back on topic, shall we?
John is a known foodie, and he has demanded that I make it my quest to visit all of these meat-themed eateries. I'm not sure how we made the conversational transition from adorable baby to meat. Nor am I sure what this says about me and John's friendship.
Okay, let's not think about that. I have a QUEST, and I have to stay focused. In fact, I am already in deep trouble because I was supposed to have been to all these places by now! Yes, he gave me a deadline. He can be quite bossy, when food is involved. Y'all think he's all sweet and humble and adorable, but I know the truth.
Anyway, my point -- now that I've babbled for half a dozen paragraphs -- is that John lives in Madison, and I can't visit these places alone. If I'm going to indulge in phallic food, I must be accompanied by an adult.
So who's coming with me? I will drive! I will even pick you up! But it has to be soon! Let me know, and we'll make plans! I'm actually off work all week, so now would be perfect.
And then I'm morally obligated to blog about my encased-meat consuming experiences here.
Because John said so. And he's much taller than me.
Reviews:
Smoque
Hot Doug's - coming whenever I get over to Heather's.
Paulina Meat Market - coming... I don't know, I should run there during my lunch hour sometime and pick up dinner.
December 19, 2008
Scattergories
SCATTERGORIES... it's harder than it looks! Hit Forward, erase my answers, enter yours, send it on to 10 people including the one that sent this to you.Use the 1st letter of your name to answer each of the following. They have to be real places, names, things, i.e. nothing made up!
These are Heather's answers:
YOUR NAME
Heather
BOY NAME
Hollis
4 LETTER WORD
hair
GIRL NAME
Hayley
(Hollis and Hayley? Thank God she's not reproducing.)
OCCUPATION
hooker
A COLOUR
henna
SOMETHING YOU WEAR
hat
BEVERAGE
highball
FOOD
haggis
SOMETHING FOUND IN A BATHROOM
haggis
A PLACE
Hapsburg, Germany
REASON FOR BEING LATE
Hard-on
SOMETHING YOU SHOUT
Hellloooooooooooo!
These are mine (using my REAL first initial):
WHAT IS YOUR NAME:
S****
BOY NAME
Samuel
4 LETTER WORD
Soup
GIRL NAME
Summer
OCCUPATION
Starlet
A COLOUR:
Sienna
SOMETHING YOU WEAR
Strap-on
BEVERAGE
Strawberry Margarita
FOOD
Spaghetti
SOMETHING FOUND IN A BATHROOM
Soap
A PLACE
Sheboygan, WI
REASON FOR BEING LATE
Storm
SOMETHING YOU SHOUT
Shit!
It's funny how many of these answers are interchangable. For instance, Shit! is also Something Found In A Bathroom, Strawberry Margarita is also a Reason For Being Late, and Spaghetti is also Something You Wear. If you're Spikette.
BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!
Anyone else wanna play? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
Posted at 10:37 AM | Comments (3)December 03, 2008
My Next Move
As I looked over my cubicle wall and out the window (I have to stand on tiptoe to do this) at the falling snow, I thought I should maybe read my horoscope to see how my commute home will be.
Wouldn't it be nice if horoscopes were really that specific? This is mine for today:
You have been introducing more spontaneity into your life, and all signs point to this being a good move. Sure, it may have encouraged more unexpected outbursts from friends, but no real drama. Nothing you need to concern yourself about. They might be having a tough time adjusting to the new you, but you are loving the increased positive energy and the unpredictability of your life right now. So keep on changing and keep people guessing about what your next move might be.
Spontaneity? Really? Those of you who know me personally are laughing your asses off.
Yesterday, I spontaneously took a two-hour nap. I didn't mean to. I meant to take a 45-minute nap. But NO! Unpredictable minx that I am, I slept until it was dark outside! Take THAT, societal conventions! I'm CRAAAAAAAAAAAZY!
Increased positive energy? Huh. That's what must be causing my headache. There's just no outlet for all this positive energy! My head is going to explode and white-hot sparks will shoot out and turn into faries! All this positive energy cannot be contained in human form! I am going to morph into something other-worldly! I AM ASCENDING!!!!!!!!
Wondering what my next mind-blowing, supernatural move will be? Probably Chinese chicken salad for dinner instead of leftover taco salad. Lemme tell ya, Husband will not be expecting that!
Posted at 03:24 PM | Comments (0)November 07, 2008
It's All About My Hair
There are few people I hate -- and pity -- more than the people who work at the kiosks in the malls. What a crappy job that forces them to be so annoyingly intrusive.
Billi and I were at Hawthorne Mall when we were accosted by some guy holding a fancy-schmancy hair straightener. And I was forced to wonder, "Did this guy receive any training before starting this job?"
I mean, he's selling hair straighteners. And he approaches the two people with the most fabulously straight, glossy and perfect hair in the entire mall! What was he thinking?! Clearly, we have no need for his product! Go bother the chicks with the crappy hair, dude; we're on our way to Mrs. Field's.
Speaking of hair, I'm getting mine cut today at 4:15. Glory Hallelujiah! I think it's been about six months since I've gotten so much as a trim because I was so scarred by the whole Locks of Love Incident (as it came to be known).
But now my hair is all fuzzy, dry ends, and I need a trim, lest I be pursued by more hair-straightener-vendors. In fact, I've been thinking for the last month that I need a trim. But I keep putting off calling because I only think of it first thing in the morning, when they're not open. And by the time the salon is open, I'm going about my day and thinking of non-hair-related things. Like purses and lunch and civil rights (thanks to my new job for that little incongruence!).
So I finally called on Tuesday to make an appointment. And all of a sudden, because my hair overheard my plan to shorten it's ranks, I cannot abide my hair one teensy-tiny bit. It has made itself completely heavy and intolerable, and therefore, it has been banished to a ponytail 24/7.
What's that about? On Monday, my hair was fine. Pretty even. Tamable with a small barrette. But now that I know it will soon be looking amazing and healthy and Breck-girl-y, I cannot stand it's current state. I don't even want to look at it. I barely even finished drying it this morning before diving for the rubberbands.
So what changed in that moment before dialing the salon, and the moment after hanging up?
Absolutely nothing. I am a total smacktard. Here endeth the lesson.
Posted at 11:53 AM | Comments (1)October 30, 2008
My Natal Day
Thanks, Mommie Dearest, for giving me a birthday!
Sorry about the big scar. You know you can never keep anything nice with us kids around!
Posted at 03:23 PM | Comments (3)October 23, 2008
My Mommy Said So
I got this email today:
"I don't know if you know it or not, but you have not blogged since Oct. 7th. I realize you are quite busy, but YOU must realize that I am not, and really look forward to your "adventures, etc." So when you have 15 minutes to spare, pull up your comfy desk chair, settle your cute little butt, and type a few lines. There is no more to say.Mommie Dearest"
So I have set my kitchen timer for 15 minutes.
What are my "adventures, etc."? Are they adventures that aren't really adventures, so she has to put them in quotes for the sake of irony? Well, she's right. My life is lame.
But she's also right about my butt -- it is cute. And little!
We are currently painting my home office, which is turning into a MUCH bigger job than the original, "Oh, honey, I just want to paint my office" that lured Husband to his doom a couple months ago.
First of all, I don't want one color. No, I want TWO colors. And a chair rail. Which he has to build and paint and affix to the wall. See, I couldn't decide if I wanted something earthy, like brown or sage; or something girlie, like pink or lavender. So I'm painting the top brown and the bottom pink. It's going to look kind of ridiculous, but I don't care.
Oooh, sage and lavender would also have been a cool combo...
And then, I want a new desk. And it has to be huge. HUUUUUUUUGE. Because I do lots of desky things, so I need space. I also do my make-up at my desk. 'Nuff said. So instead of giving Pottery Barn $3,000 of Husband's hard-earned money, I'm doing him a favor and letting him build me a desk.
At this rate, I'm going to have to blow him every night until Christmas.
Oh, also? I want the finish on all my office furniture to match my antique dresser that's in there, so I had to swap out the bookcases with the ones that are in the basement. That was no small feat. All the Barbies are in a laundry basket in the back room of the basement, and they are pissed.
I'm having a bunch of people over for my birthday next weekend, so I'm hoping that Husband will have everything built and installed by then. Then I can sweep in and hang curtains and pictures and arrange the Barbies on their shelves! I love that shit!
You might think that strapping on a toolbelt and attending to my every whim just might get Husband off the hook for a birthday present. But you know me better than that, don't you, my darlings?
It had better come in a little, blue box.
Posted at 06:03 PM | Comments (0)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 (2)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 (1)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 (0)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 (1)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/Andie tickle-scene.
And we laughed and laughed and laughed. Apparently, Rosie thinks that retards sound like Pee-Wee Herman. Henh-Henh!
[Disclaimer: Heather and I are virtuous, empathetic people who would never make fun of retards; we were making fun of fat-ass bull-dyke Rosie O'Donnell, who was playing a retard.]
Anyhoo, the worthwhile point of this whole thing is what my fortune cookie said:
Your best plan is not to be your self.
SWEAR. TO. GOD.
Which means I probably shouldn't have written this post.
Meh. Oh well.
Posted at 01:53 PM | Comments (7)January 31, 2006
The Bitch Is Back!
Hey, everyone, look who's back! It's Psycho Babbling Brook! Yay! I love a good Attention Whore!
Unfortunately, "Psycho" (as I call her, cuz we go way back) wasn't feeling as verbose this time. Perhaps three of her seventeen cats coughed up hairballs simultaneously, and she was forced to leave her computer? Perhaps she ran out of Cheetos and had to run to the store? Well, whatever it was, I hope it wasn't a serious emergency. I do love her so.
Or maybe she was just too tired to come at me with both guns a-blazin'? It was, after all, 11:10 p.m. last night when she wrote. Which leads me to wonder -- what's so all-fired important about my blog that one would give up valuable sleep to compose a comment so late at night? Especially one as insightful as this:
"Boring crap. Don't you have anything worthwhile to say?"
Don't you have anything worthwhile to READ? At 11:00 at NIGHT? I'm usually screwing or sleeping then, so I guess I can see where you'd be a wee bit irritable.
See, this only serves to convince me of my vast talent and wit. If someone who hates me is still compelled to read my blog so late into the night, I must ROCK!
And? How is pirate porn not worthwhile? I'm curious, Psycho, what would be some worthwhile blog topics, in your opinion? See, "boring crap" isn't exactly constructive criticism, so I don't know how to make you happy here.
It's funny -- she knows I'm gonna make fun of her. She knows I'm gonna blog about her comment. She knows you guys are gonna join me in mocking her. So why comment?
My little Psycho friend and I -- we have something in common. We're both seeking attention, just in different ways. So we're not so different after all, are we, Psycho? You and I -- just wanting to be heard. Wanting a little feedback for validation. I'm just funnier than you.
And, I'm gonna guess, better lookin'.
(Please address any comments to Psycho Babbling Brook's secret underground lair at noangel@hushmail.com.)
Posted at 01:47 PM | Comments (5)January 13, 2006
Things I Should Be Able To Do
Don't you hate when you forget how to do something that you've been doing for 99% of your life?
Like swallowing. You're drinking your milk, washing down that Ho-Ho, and all of a sudden, you're not sure which tube the milk goes down. Do liquids go into my body via the same tube as solids? That makes no sense, since they exit my body via different shutes! What do I do??? In a panic, you pick the windpipe and are immediately reminded that you are an idiot because you suck at something you've been doing since you were born! People too young to tell their fist from a speculum can swallow better than me! I'm a failure!
And walking. Now, I can't say I've ever really mastered walking, but on flat concrete, wearing shoes I wear five days a week/eight hours a day, with no gum in my mouth, you'd think I'd be able to propel myself from car door to office building door without incident. But you'd be wrong if you thought that because, earlier this week, I fell off of my shoe and bent my ankle in half. Fell. Off. My. Shoe. Sheer genius. Be sure to catch me this weekend in the log-rolling contest!
And biting your tongue. Like your mouth can't tell the difference between food and body part. Between dinner, which tastes like pizza, and tongue, which just... tastes. So you bite your tongue because, hey, that's never been in here before! That sharp pain that causes your eyes to water and your chin to shoot down into your neck, is really saying, "Please don't chew me up and swallow me because you'll probably need me tomorrow when you want to close an envelope or fix Boy Child's hair."
In conclusion, I'm a 'tard.
The bench will now hear any opposing arguments.
Posted at 01:31 PM | Comments (4)January 09, 2006
What kind of Texan?
Heather was in Dallas this weekend, saw this and thought of me.
I'm so... honored.
Posted at 02:25 PM | Comments (0)January 04, 2006
Inquiring Minds Want To Know
Posted at 08:38 AM | Comments (1)December 21, 2005
I Heart Wayne Smith
Okay, one more thing about 750 South State, and then I'll shut up, I promise. Unless I can get Matt to write a guest-blog about the catfight. Then that will be the last thing, for reals. Until their next gig. Oh, suck it up.
Last night, I got this email from Wayne Smith, keyboardist:
Thank you so much for your review, its always nice to hear someone likes our music. I am Wayne the keyboardist hiding behind the big speaker/wall, wedged next to Brian and the drummer. I do remember seeing you there, but I didnt know you were a pro reviewer/reporter or I could have done something impressive. I hope I wasnt rude to you, if I was I'm sorry. Thanks for coming out and the glowing review. WayneWayne Smith
Firefighter, Paramedic
city of Elgin fire dept
Red shift
h-123-555-9099
Oh, sweet, naive Wayne. Let's break it down, shall we?
"I didnt know you were a pro reviewer/reporter" OMG, how cute is that?! He thinks I'm a pro! Poor thing is going to be so disappointed when he finds out I'm just some bitchy loser with a $12/mo. domain name and a vocabulary that consists primarily of "totally," "VAGINA" and "Well..."
"I hope I wasnt rude to you, if I was I'm sorry." I love this little pre-emptive apology. I have to wonder -- why would he think he was rude to me? Is he normally rude to everyone? Does he hate reporters? Was he off his meds? Did he have a blackout and is freaking out cuz he can't remember what he did but he knows it must've been rude cuz there's still the red outline of a hand across his face?
"h-123-555-9099" And then? He gives me his home phone number. Oh, the fun I could have with this if I weren't totally married and monogamous and faithful and Hi, Honey! Love you! I mean, does this not just scream Open Invitation To Stalk Me?
As soon as this cold snap is over, I'll be riding my bike past the Elgin Fire Dept. twenty times a day.
Posted at 02:07 PM | Comments (4)Sacrificing Princesses to the Volcano and Other Holiday Merriment
Now this is what all Christmas letters should aspire to! Long, but definately well worth the read!
Posted at 08:07 AM | Comments (0)November 15, 2005
Sneeze On Me
When I was married to Mr. Raging Alcoholic, I could count on a sinus infection every November. And not just any sinus infection, nooooo. The kind of sinus infection that eventually travels to your ear, and then your brain, and makes your doctor yell, "Why did you wait so long to come in?!"
"I thought I just had a cold!"
"Your pain tolerance is too high -- I wouldn't have lasted 24 hours with this."
Of course, I see this as a badge of psychotic honor. I CAN TAKE THE PAIN, YA PUSSY!
There was also the stomach flu every spring, the summer cold, the winter cold... you see where I'm going with this? Stress is bad for your immune system, as scientifically documented in my blog.
But nowadays? Now that I don't have to worry about whether to pay the phone bill or buy groceries? Now that I don't have to bail anyone outta jail? Now that I no longer have to wonder why a couple Teamsters "owe us a favor?" I can't even work up a good case of the sniffles.
I have been well for faaaaaaaaar too long.
Oh, I've taken a few sick days this year, but mostly it's to go build a bear at Hot Topic. Or wherever. What was that store called again...? Or it's because I have a paltry headache. Not even a migraine -- just a my-ponytail-is-too-tight kind of headache. Took one day for P.M.S. But a good stretch where you come back and people act all concerned for your life, but they're really just trying to discern if you're still contageous? No such luck.
Every once in a while, I'll go to bed achy and with a sore throat, only to be good as new in the morning, dammit.
I want a day off! I have a brand spankin' new (and I do mean spankin') Xena DVD collection to watch! I wanna hang out on the couch in my new fleece jammies with little sheep on them! I wanna call into work and not have to use my fake scratchy-voice that no one is buying anyway!
I think I'm gonna go lick the faucet handles in the bathroom.
Posted at 02:09 PM | Comments (5)November 10, 2005
Just To Be Clear
Several of you have inquired as to my whereabouts over the weekend.
By CNNRadio's Matt Cherry and Amanda MoyerSaturday, November 5, 2005; Posted: 9:45 p.m. EST (02:45 GMT)
(CNN) -- A luxury cruise line will re-evaluate whether to offer future cruises off the coast of Somalia after pirates attempted to attack one of its ships early Saturday.
For the record, I was nowhere near Somalia on Saturday. I was at The Girl Child's birthday party, eating Hello Kitty! cake and coveting Girl Child's new Barbies.
Yup.
That's my story, and I'm stickin' to it.
Posted at 11:04 AM | Comments (1)November 07, 2005
Moo
I got the most hilarious birth announcement in the mail. I know -- "hilarious birth announcement" sounds like an oxymoron, especially considering that most parents tend to be very reverent about their new off-spring. Most birth annoucements are all water-color pastels and downy angel wings and soft-focus photos.
This one is quite different.
On one side is the name and stats of the new baby: date, weight, batting average, turn-ons, turn-offs, that kind of stuff.
On the other side is a photo of their firstborn -- a boy who is about two now. I'm assuming the photo was taken at a petting zoo. You know how they have those big cardboard pictures of animals with a cut-out hole where the face is, so you can put your face in there and take a picture of you looking like a kangaroo or ape or whatever?
Well, they put Firstborn in the cardboard picture of baby cow, and the baby cow has a word balloon over its head saying, "My mother can make 10 gallons of milk a day!"
Best. Birth announcement. EVER.
Posted at 09:26 AM | Comments (2)October 28, 2005
I'm Loved
So, got a few birthday cards at work today. Let me give you a sampling:
Cover: Olde Tyme priest says, "Clean living, pure thoughts, good morals all make for a long life."
Inside: You're a goner.
Cover: Church Lady smiling indulgently.
Inside: "Remember, dear, it's better to be a year older than a month late."
Cover: PRIDE. GREED. LUST. SLOTH. ANGER. ENVY. GLUTTONY.
Inside: If you don't commit at least five of these today, you're just not trying.
I sense a trend.
Posted at 01:39 PM | Comments (3)October 25, 2005
Break-Up Note
Dear Automatic Flushing Toilet,
Our time together has been fun, but I'm afraid I can't take it anymore. The disappointment, the coldness. You're always in a hurry to get things over with.
At first, I was charmed by you. How novel! I thought. Now when people stand on the seat and pee down their own leg in an effort to stay completely sanitary, they don't have to flush the toilet with their feet and spread their nasty filth to my hands when I flush!
Truly, you were a dream come true, and I envisioned a happy relationship for years to come. You, me and my pristine hands. We'd have a passionate, clandestine kind of love, with fleeting visits in little out-of-the-way places. It all sounded so perfect!
But you turned on me, Automatic Flushing Toilet. You did. You started making assumptions. You thought you knew me. And that's when it all started to go wrong.
How could you? How could you routinely flush prematurely like that? You knew I wasn't done. I'm sure you think that all that cold water on my butt and thighs is cute and funny, but it isn't. It's just annoying.
You don't know me. You don't know what I need, what I want. How dare you presume to know when I'm done? You rude, impatient bastard. We're through.
I want my CDs back.
Pirate Wench
Posted at 02:18 PM | Comments (1)September 29, 2005
I Just Can't Even Think of a Title for This One
You know those people -- and by people, I mean women, cuz that's generally the only gender I share a public bathroom with -- who are convinced that they will die of ebola if they touch any surface in a public bathroom?
You know the ones I mean. They flush before they sit down. They put down paper on the toilet seat or, better yet, the floor. Oh, I've seen it!
They flush with their foot, no matter how high the handle is off the ground. They bring their own soap/hand sanitizer. And then they open the bathroom door with a paper towel and throw it away at someone else's desk. Seen that, too!
Isn't it ironic that these are the women who have no qualms about hovering over the toilet seat -- lest they touch it with the backs of their legs -- and SPRAYING THEIR URINE ALL OVER THE DAMN PLACE LIKE THEY WERE RAISED BY FERAL CATS?!
Isn't that odd? You'd think that these squeaky-clean germ-o-phobes would be more conscientious about making other people clean up their pee. Huh. Weird.
Posted at 02:38 PM | Comments (4)September 27, 2005
Cuz I Haven't Gushed About Heather In a While
This is how much I love Heather. I just got back from IKEA, where I finally laid my hands on a couple of the coveted Billy bookcases in the *new*beech*veneer*, upon which I will -- at long last -- be able to display the many, many Barbies that have been waiting patiently in storage, lo, all these many, many months.
And instead of staying home tonight and playing with, er... displaying my Barbies, I'm hanging out with Heather to scarf Chinese food and watch t.v. Cuz she means even more to me than Barbies!
Where does this burning devotion come from, you ask? Well, she proofreads my blog for ritarded speling errers every time I post, cuz she's creative AND smart AND hott, whereas I'm just creative and hott. AND? She introduced me to the Personal Humidifier!
When not at work, I don't even remember that I have contacts in, or that I ever wore glasses, or what the hell the hired me to do there anyway. But locked in that aquarium of recycled air all day, my contacts turn into beef jerky for lack of moisture. I think the air in our office was actually exhaled by dinosaurs and hermetically sealed in glass and wear-resistant indoor/outdoor carpeting. My contacts often just fall out of my eyes, and then I have to breathe on them and quick reinsert them, hoping they'll stick, like a little suction cup to the kitchen window when you're hanging a sun-catcher you got from your great aunt.
BUT NOW! Now I live in moistened bliss, my cube a tropical habitat. Barbie's Juicy Couture outfit is wilting, but I don't care! Think of the money I'll save on Renu drops!
I'm buying Heather an extra eggroll. She deserves it.
Posted at 02:51 PM | Comments (5)September 19, 2005
Avast, Ye Mateys!
Don yer eyepatch and grab yer cat o' nine tails! It's Talk Like a Pirate Day!
No, I'm not making this up.
Apparently, Dave Barry has written about it, too, but since not many people read him (because he's not as funny as me, or as hott), I thought I should publicize it here, too.
If you don't know how to talk like a pirate, here's a list of some basic vocabulary. Now you can say things like, "No prey, no pay!" And "I had cackle fruit and Nelson's folly for breakfast!"
To buy pirate "booty," go to Billy Bones' Locker, and remember -- my birthday is next month! Shop early, shop often!
Several things have happened today to make Talk Like A Pirate Day particularly special. Like Marcia Cross at the Emmy's. Technically, that was yesterday, but I didn't get to drool over her photos until today. Yeah, baby, I'd like to shiver her timbers! Yaaar!
We have a new woman starting in our department today, and one of the first things she said to me was, "I like your Barbie!" And not in that I'm-just-trying-to-humor-the-crazy-lady way, but in that I-love-her-dress-can-I-come-over-and-play? way. And? She admitted to still having all of hers from when she was young. Yup, she's gonna fit in just fine here.
The (in)famous blogger Fresh Pepper? has a new link in his sidebar -- ME!!!!!!! It was all I could do to keep from leaping from my chair and high-fiving Anne when she rushed over to tell me! He calls me P. Wench! Is that like P. Diddy? Am I cool now? I'M SO EXCITED and HONORED and FREAKED-OUT and HUMBLED all at the same time! Opps -- I think I just peed a little.
And while these are all wonderful things, the best way to celebrate Talk Like A Pirate Day is to go home, drink some rum, think of me and touch yourself.
Aargh!
Posted at 02:38 PM | Comments (4)September 11, 2005
How Very Flanders-esque
A two-sided sign in front of a church in Lake County:
MEMEBERS ONLY
TRESPASSERS WILL BE BAPTIZED
And...
FRIENDS DON'T LET FRIENDS
GO TO HELLPosted at 10:50 AM | Comments (1)
September 08, 2005
My Stars
Yahoo's Daily Scorpio Horoscope:
Your intensity is drawing people to you. You radiate power and confidence.
And I went through the whole day without knowing this. Damn. Another day of my natural animal magnetism, wasted.
Guess I'll go home, put on my sweats and eat some cheese.
Posted at 04:02 PM | Comments (2)August 24, 2005
One-Year Link-Heavy Crapfest
Happy Birthday to Blog!
Happy Birthday to Blog!
Happy Birthday, dear Bloggieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Happy Birthday to Blog!
Well, with all the drama going on, I completely whiffed the One Year Anniversary of when I started blogging -- August 18.
Blogging has brought me much joy, much new friends, and recently, much sorrow.
And now the word much has lost all meaning to me and sounds weird. You know how you do that -- where you say a word over and over again until it becomes nonsense and doesn't mean anything anymore? Much, much, much, much, much. It's how I finally got comfortable with the word VAGINA! C'mon, Mom, try it! (But only if Dad's not around!)
Anyhoo, I figured I'd follow the time-honored tradition of crappy sitcoms and do a "clip show" of the past year. And then I'll jump a shark tank on my motorcycle, have a baby, and my life will officially be over.
Let's pull out the scrapbook, shall we?
Awwwwwww, there's Wenchie's very first post! Cootchie cootchie coo!
(Heh-heh, heh. She said cootchie.)
And who can forget the times wacky Husband had to go to the E.R.? The first time was too bizarre for any less than one, two, three entries. But it wasn't until his second visit that he earned his nickname -- Mr. Drillbit.
We've learned a lot about me over the past year. We've learned that I'm Norwegian, I've starred in a movie, I wrote a Christmas letter (I'm not proud), I love my dog, I'm stupid enough to blog about work, I like to make fun of people, I often enjoy deep, intellectual conversations with my friends, and I'm going to Hell.
And I have scurvy from not eating for a week, and this Diet Coke with Lime isn't helping as much as I thought it would.
And I have a zit on my chin today that can probably been seen from the International Space Station.
Heather, I can't believe you didn't get me a Morningfield's cake for the occassion. The anniversary-occassion. Not the space-zit-occassion.
Posted at 03:11 PM | Comments (3)August 23, 2005
You Get What You Deserve
Well, I got my second piece of hate-mail today. (Dooce, I'm gaining on you!) Too bad, psycho_babbling_brook -- I'm sure you would have liked to have been the first, but Heather's brother beat you to it. Sorry!
Speaking of Heather's Brother's rant, it was really funny, whereas this one is just, well... confusing and weird. I'll let everyone read it in its entirity, to get the full effect:
WTF?You've your panties in a twist because your stepdaughter is going to university? Horrid ppl always find something to complain about.
Get over yourself.
Why are you pissed about? You don't have enough as it is so you want more more more ... you get what you deserve.
How Not to be a Stepmother: Just Read Here
It just gets weirder every time I read it. So let's break it down, and perhaps we can make some sense of it, shall we?
You've your panties in a twist because your stepdaughter is going to university?
She -- and I'm saying she because I don't think men use the word "horrid" -- probably got this from my post about me turning Older Stepdaughter's room into my office. But I just don't see where my panties are any more twisted than usual.
Is it the part where I'm glad that I won't be there for the tearful send-off? Because I'm Norwegian, and all that emotion gives me hives. So clearly, my panties are twisted because... she's off to a great school with a big scholarship and has a great future ahead of her? Hmm. That's odd. I could have sworn I was happy for her. Well, who am I to say? Complete strangers must know best!
Horrid ppl always find something to complain about.
Hee hee! "Horrid!" Who says that anymore?
It reminds me of a nursery rhyme my Gramma used to say to me:
There once was a girl
Who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead,
And when she was good
She was very, very good,
But when she was bad, she was horrid.
I like how they rhymed "forehead" with "horrid."
Anyhoo, I don't really think one needs to be "horrid" to find something to complain about. And I still don't see how I was "complaining" about my stepdaughter going away to college. Very confusing.
Get over yourself.
Why? It's my blog.
Oh no! Do you suppose there's someone there with a gun making her read my blog against her will? Should I call 911? Was psycho_babbling_brook some kind of coded message about where to find her?
Oh, if only there were some way she could stop reading my blog and not have to deal with my inability to get over myself!
Why are you pissed about?
Um, we'll just pretend she said "What" instead of "Why," and didn't end a sentence with a preposition.
So, what am I pissed about? Let's see... I'm pissed about people who drive too slow in the passing lane. I'm pissed about the IKEA shelves that I need for my Barbies not being in stock for four weeks straight! I'm pissed about God letting Britney Spears and Kevin Federline procreate. And I'm pissed about poor grammar.
You don't have enough as it is so you want more more more ...
Oh, this is about me needing more IKEA shelves, isn't it? Well, in my defense, I've tried rotating the Barbies every month so they all get some shelf time, but they're just not happy with that arrangement. And now they've got Xena and G.I. Joe on their side, and frankly, I'm scared that, if I don't comply with their shelving needs, I'm going to wake up one morning to find all the Skippers with their eyes scratched out.
you get what you deserve.
Oh, if only that were true! Wouldn't it be awesome if everyone got what they deserved? What a truly Zen statement you have made there, psycho. Can I call you psycho, for short? Or would you prefer babbling?
See, I think there may be some truth in that statement, no matter how idealistic it seems. After all, Angelina Jolie got what she deserves. She's uber-sexxxy-hott, and she got Brad Pitt. Whereas Jennifer Anniston started that stooooo-pid hairstyle, and she lost Brad Pitt, so I guess she got what she deserved, too.
I think you're onto something here, babbling. I think Brad Pitt needs to come to my house and give me a good spanking.
How Not to be a Stepmother: Just Read Here
BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! I'm sorry, but that's just hilarious! Have I EVER claimed to know how to be a stepmom? Jesus, I'll be the first one to tell you that I have NO FREAKIN' CLUE what I'm doing! Don't EVER follow my example!
* * * * *
I do know what this is about. This is about me blogging about my stepkids. Just as my anger at Husband came out sideways at the girls, I can see now that I'm going to be "getting what I deserve" sideways, too, and in unexpected ways.
And I hope that psycho_babbling_brook gets what she deserves, too. A life full of bunnies and rainbows and gumdrops and bliss. A life deserved by everyone who has never done something stupid out of anger or hurt someone they love.
Posted at 02:02 PM | Comments (4)August 22, 2005
Snow Monkeys?
Subtropic wrote, for no apparent reason whatsoever and appropos of nothing:
Hey wenchie... since you are obviously an expert on the subject of Norwegians... what are the racial slurs for Norwegians? The only ones I know of are "squarehead" and "snow monkey." I'm writing a story and could use one or two more. If there are any.Maybe that's a slur in itself: they're just so darn nice and okeydoke nobody needs to insult 'em!
(And having once observed your head in public, I can attest to the complete lack of right angles or parallel lines, although I can't vouch for what's inside. But your thinking seems too curvaceous to support much squareness.)
First of all, we are not "darn nice and okeydoke!" Underneath these stoic exteriors, we are white-hot burning cauldrons, boiling over with... hot... stuff and... with the passion and... oh screw it. I'm not fooling anyone.
Actually, this is the first I've heard of "squareheads" and "snow monkeys." And I gotta tell ya, I'm not seeing the connection. Nor do I know of any Nordic-type slurs. I mean, we're all just so damn gorgeous, it's hard to come up with anything! So people half-heartedly mock our alabaster skin, and then go home to cry quietly in the dark over the unfairness of it all.
Don't hate me because I'm beautiful!
However, if I were going to mock us, I'd say something like "horn-hats" or "herring-breath."
Yup. That's it. I'm out.
Posted at 04:13 PM | Comments (3)August 01, 2005
Little Christians All Over the Place
COOLEST THING EVER
And you can bet your sweet ass I did CHRISTIAN BALE.
Oh, and Bruce Campbell. Can't forget Bruce. He was in town this weekend, and the idiot forgot to renew the restraining order. So you know what that means! Mwah ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaaa!
Posted at 01:50 PM | Comments (3)July 27, 2005
Jeepers Creepers
GUESS WHAT I'M NOT WEARING RIGHT NOW???
(I guess that's not really a question... ah, who cares.)
I know several of you are voting for panties. And many of you are voting for a bra. And you in the back, you said an air of piety? Dude, I don't even know what that means. But you're all wrong.
It's GLASSES!!!
I have been wearing glasses since the sixth grade, when I was having trouble seeing the chalkboard, just like in all the After School Specials -- "Why Can't Wenchie Read?"
That's over two decades, and I've kinda gotten used to being a cyborg. The glasses are just always on. They're part of me. Wenchie has ten fingers, two eyes, one nose, seventeen personalities, and one pair of glasses. And I'm okay with that. Really, with the blonde hair and the big boobs, I'm kinda grateful for something that goes against the stereotypical bimbo look.
In the early 90's, I tried contacts. It seems every man I've ever dated or married (current Husband aside) has tried to get me to wear contacts and/or get my hair permed. I mean, ditching the glasses I understand cuz they always have to be removed to a safe location before necking. But the perm? What the fuck? I have great hair! I just don't get that at all.
Anyhoo, the contacts sucked. My ridiculously sensitive eyes never got used to them. After a mere two hours with them in, I'd look like Spicoli just getting outta the van. "Dude, I'm so wasted!" Bloodshot to hell, with an added bonus: The Desire to Gouge My Eyes Outta My Head with a Rusty Spoon. Fuck, they hurt.
So, I just resigned myself to being mechanically enhanced for the rest of my life. Surely others have heavier crosses to bear. It's fine. And with my discovery of prescription sunglasses, all the better to see you without squinting, my dear!
But contact technology has come a long way in the past decade. Contacts are ridiculously comfortable, 99% breathable, and can even correct my astigmatism! And when I put them in and wore them outta the office at JCPenney's, I couldn't believe how FREE I felt. Free of those stupid things hooked behind my ears and sitting on the bridge of my nose and making my eyes look smaller than they are.
I wasn't expecting the ENORMOUS JOLT OF CONFIDENCE it gave me! I always thought I had accepted my glasses, deep down in my heart of hearts.
But I guess I hadn't.
I bought some NORMAL SUNGLASSES on the way outta the store. Here's a jolt -- I have never, ever in my life bought normal sunglasses. All the sunglasses I've ever worn cost $300-$400.
But now? I can buy $10 sunglasses! Sunglasses I can lose or sit on or trade with someone or give to a homeless person or throw off a bridge because they only cost ten bucks! I can buy ten pairs! All different! One for each of The Many Moods of Wenchie! It's INCREDIBLE!
My first pair are pink, square and rimless. I call them my Charlie's Angels shades. I'm not sure why. I think I'm gonna get some Blues Brothers ones, and some Hello Kitty! ones, and some with rhinestones! BECAUSE I CAN!!!
And I also bought me a celebratory purse. Well, they were right by the sunglasses!
Know what I've noticed? I'm kinda pretty. I mean, I'm not gonna turn many heads, but I have really pretty eyes. And I can see them. You have to understand, I've only ever seen my eyes with my glasses on, when my fun-house-mirror prescription makes them appear smaller; or with my glasses off, in the mirror that's too far away to see clearly. But I can see my face now.
And so can everyone else. It's weird. To me, it looks kinda... blank and empty and plain. I wonder what it looks like to other people.
Posted at 12:58 PM | Comments (2)July 20, 2005
Wisconsin Scenery
Signs I Saw While North of the Cheddar Curtain
(No, not war-pestilence-famine-plague signs. I mean words-with-big-letters-visible-from-the-road signs. Smartass.)
In front of a dairy farm:
Batman 6
Joker 4
No idea what that means.
On the side of what I assume is a fine, reputable eating establishment, altho' we did not stop to eat there:
Home of the Hashbrown Sammich
In front of what is, apparently, THE BEST STORE EVER:
Cheese
Ho-made fudge
Liquor
Moccassins
Fireworks
Souveniers
Adult books
Of course, we went in.
And in front of a church (I forget which flavor of Christianity):
God didn't go on vacation and leave you in charge!
Well, crap. I'm gonna need some help here digging all of the Old Style bottlecaps out of the couch.
Posted at 11:57 AM | Comments (2)July 14, 2005
Not Motivated to Work Today
Okay, tomorrow, I leave on a five-day vacation with my cousins, their spouses and dogs, that will entail most or all of the following:
1. No less than 5 lbs. of bacon consumed.
2. Many things blown up and much ammo used.
3. Someone will get something gross on them from some animal.
4. Cocktails begin at breakfast.
5. Someone will see someone else's spouse naked.
For these reasons and many others (including napping and shopping), I'm excited and cannot focus on one damn thing today. Therefore, today's blog will be random thoughts that make no sense and interest no one. You've been warned.
Ever have one of those zits that just won’t go away, no matter how many times you pop it? I just popped one on my forehead for the third time, and the day’s not half over, yet!
Is it too early in the morning to be injecting Diet Coke directly into my veins?
I made a Sleestak reference in the elevator today, and of the four other people on board, NO ONE got it. Why do I come up with my best material when it’s completely unappreciated? Do you realize how long it's going to take for another Sleestak-reference-opportunity to come around? DAMMIT!
I’m conducting an experiment to see how long it’ll take the cleaning crew to remove the following items from underneath my desk: one Good ‘n’ Plenty, three pieces of Kix cereal, a big flake of Butterfinger.
And now this, because it caught my attention:
Owen Wilson Licks Butt for Two Hours
Yes, you read that right – licks butt, not kicks butt.
Okay, yeah, it’s kinda weird. And okay, granted, he didn’t give the most intelligent reply; but in his defense, his tongue was probably too tired to talk very well.
Now, the problem I have with this report is that it’s completely one-sided. We don’t get to hear the lickee’s side of the story. It’s quite possible that she asked him to lick her butt for two hours, and he was just being an accommodating lover.
Frankly, ...I could think of worse ways to pass the time than to have some cute guy lap at my ass like a saucer of sweet cream. In fact, if a guy were to find my booty so luscious that it warranted a two-hour tongue-bath, I think I’d be pretty goddamn delighted and honored!
And on that note, lunch.
Posted at 11:30 AM | Comments (3)July 13, 2005
Beltless in Seattle
Every morning, Anne, Nicholle and I break out of our beige cubes and walk around the exterior of our building. (Twice around is a mile!)
Wait, ammend that -- every morning, Anne and Nicholle meet in the lobby at our pre-ordained time, bitch about me never being on time, think seriously about Heathering me, call me in a huff, and then I have to pee.
And THEN we walk around our building.
There's not much to see -- trees, trollish smokers from Verizon, the landscapers, the daycare Baby Parade. But yesterday, right outside one of the entrances, I found a belt.
Just lying on the ground. It's a woman's leather belt, and the bitch has a Scarlet O'Hara waistline. But... it was just lying on the ground. Right outside an office building.
How do you not know that your belt has fallen off? Especially if it's there to keep your pants up because, you're obviously so skinny that you have no ass to do the job?
And then how do you not notice that it's missing, and go retrace your steps to the car? And how is there no one around you, in the morning rush to work, that sees it and says, "Hey, your belt just fell off!"
And why the purple filling in the Hostess cupcakes? WHY, GOD, WHYYYYYYY?!
So, I picked it up and took it with me. I don't know why. It's sitting on my desk right now.
This morning. Same entrance. A white sock. Only a few feet from where I found the belt.
Someone in our building is spontaneously molting her clothes and doesn't even realize it.
I hope I find a shirt tomorrow.
Posted at 02:12 PM | Comments (3)June 30, 2005
I'm Naming My Next Pet "Cooter"
I just never know what's going to generate comments on this blog. I mean, I can spend days perfecting something I think is really funny and well written, and I won't get one damn comment from you people!
(Not that I'm bitter.)
And then, I can throw a bunch of crap at the screen, have only the most putrid and moist pieces of it stick, and people just can't shut up about it, as if I'd just hired a Scientologist to follow my fiance around.
(Hmm. Dated material. That's not going to read well in a couple months. Or, hopefully, a couple days. Enh, screw it. It's staying.)
Example: My Jump-the-Shark, Best-of-Comments, A-Very-Special-Pirate-Wench post, which has since become known as simply... That VAGINA Post.
(Yes, VAGINA, like CHRISTIAN BALE, must be capitalized. So it hath been decreed, and so it shall be. In the name of the cooter, the bod and the holy wench. Amen.)
The VAGINA post generated a lot of emails in a short span of time! You people sure like to talk about the VAGINA!
my sources say "fanny" in the UK is "cooter" here in the US.so, basically, my darling wenchie, should she ask for one of her beloved fanny packs while in the UK, may very well provoke a deep, mortified blush. or perhaps a smack?
Posted by: heather at June 28, 2005 02:23 PM
"Fanny" is UK slang for VAGINA. God, that looks so majestic in caps.
Posted by: Heather's timid co-worker at June 28, 2005 03:25 PM
the second British definition (noun)...although i'd give my left nut to be physically present when you asked, say, muskrat_john to explain it to you.
Oh, wait. I don't have a left nut... ;)
Posted by: celticelff at June 28, 2005 06:50 PM
Fanny in Britspeak means one's womanly parts. Which is why the notion of a fanny pack is coffee-snorting amusing to a Brit, no doubt.
Posted by: Mickey at June 29, 2005 02:40 AM
ok, we've just established that your dearest fans all love vagina.or, at least, love to type it.
vagina vagina vagina.
be sure to let us know what your web search terms are this week, in your stats page!
{grin}
Posted by: heather at June 29, 2005 08:21 AM
Ahh, so refreshing to see your readers are up on slang ;) So next time you don your pink-fanny-pack, just remember.*evil chuckle*
Posted by: celticelff at June 29, 2005 09:21 AM
I'm so calling it my Vagina Pack from now on.And it's somehow appropriate that it's pink...
Posted by: Pirate Wench at June 29, 2005 10:28 AM
Pink VAGINA Pack...sheer brilliance. I've decided to now use caps at all times when typing VAGINA and will use the word as often as possible. Heather & PW, I genuflect before you both for giving us a forum to express our appreciation of the VAGINA.And Heather...can you believe you typed a sentence that says "your dearest friends all love VAGINA"!?!? That is why you are most excellent. It's SO TRUE too! I mean, I'm really a big fan of them.
Posted by: Heather's timid co-worker at June 29, 2005 10:42 AM
And it all culminated in the following email from Heather's Timid Co-worker, CCed to Heather:
Alright you two... if you keep up with this "blog" fad that the kids are all talking about, I will never get anything done. How many times a day can I "refresh" the PW page to see what sarcastic observation about humanity, animals, Wisconsin, child prodigies, genitalia and Barbie subculture PW has made? It is becoming debilitating.Heather you're so full of baloney too. You're all, "Oh, you should check out my friend's blog. She's really funny." Like you were doing me a favor. Now that I'm hooked, I can see it was all a part of your plan to get me fired for lack-of-production so you can take over my premium, back-corner, cubicle.
...back to filing my sexual harassment paperwork against Heather for wearing open-toed shoes and getting me all ramped-up about typing the V-word constantly.
What V-word? You mean... VAGINA?
(Indeed, I can just see my Top Ten Search Keyphrases this week. Man, I am all about the asides today.)
I love HTCW. I want to have $ex with his brain (as the self-proclaimed gigantic blue PEN15 and white man-boobs are... well, frankly, not that appealing). He should have his own blog. He's way funnier than me.
Bow to my majestic VAGINA!
Okay, enough of the vag-speak. Thank God my Mom is on vacation this week and won't be reading this. I'm firing up the grill tonight for dinner. Would anyone else like a hotdog?
Posted at 07:37 AM | Comments (6)June 18, 2005
Chocolate or Vibrators? No Contest
Oh, for the love of Pete. You people are like Pavlov's dogs.
Blah blah, peanut butter, blah blee-blah bloh, Wisconsin, blabbity blah, vibrators, blah -- WHA-?! Did I just hear someone say vibrators?! I'd better go check it out!
Okay, okay, since you all want to know, I'll tell you.
Now, I wish I could be all naughty and be like, "Ooooh, I just couldn't live without my Rabbit or my French Tickler! I sleep with them under my pillow, just in case I have a dream about the entire case of Buffy and need them right away!"
But the truth is, there are plenty of other things readily available. Hands (mine and others'), tongues (just others' -- I'm not that limber), dildos, and of course, for you traditionalists -- penises!
(Hi, Mom!)
However, there's no substitute for chocolate. No carob. No white chocolate. No sugar-free low-carb chocolate-like substance is EVER going to give me the same satisfaction as stuffing a Dove Bar in my... face.
Posted at 10:10 AM | Comments (1)June 10, 2005
It Has a Four-Story Lego Showplace!
Well, my darlings, I am off!
No, not off-kilter, ya snotty little brats. Off into the wild blue yonder! So far as it extends into Minneapolis, that is.
Anne and I are leaving tomorrow on a roadtrip to the Mall of America! We were going to go to historic Williamsburg, Virginia, but that just wasn't feesible for various reasons, and we figured -- Hey, Mall of America, next best thing to educational, cultural... I don't even know what I'm saying here. The thought of that much shopping is just FREAKING ME OUT, MAN!!!
Hopefully, I'll have fun stuff to blog about. It'll be tough, tho'. Anne has developed this defense mechanism of blurting out "NO BLOG!" at random intervals. And I have to respect that. Why? Because Anne is scary.
Catch you on the flip-side, my lovlies!
UPDATE: You know, I'm kinda scared about being away from my beloved Internet for days on end. Especially when TheSuperficial.com is posting stuff like Jessica Simpson's new video. Jesus General Lee Christ, this woman's ass should come with a Surgeon General's Warning.
Caution: Prolonged staring as Jessica Simpson's booty may cause to you masturbate until your genitals go numb.Posted at 10:14 PM | Comments (2)
June 08, 2005
I Like to Smell Like Food
On Saturday, me and PJ went over to Mom's house for a lesson in making Swedish pancakes. I'm not sure if we retained any information, but we got to eat Swedish pancakes, and that's what counts.
Afterwards, we walked over to a big Antique Fair they had going on in the town square. And what did I buy? A BARBIE! Natch!
Rule #2 in Barbie Collecting: If you find a Malibu Barbie that only needs a shower and a brushing to restore her to her original beauty, and you find her for under $15, BUY HER. Got mine for five bucks. She showered with me this morning.
(Since you asked... Rule #1 in Barbie Collecting: Barbie hates that crocheted crap your grandma made for her. I'm sorry, but she's a bitch that way, and there's just no arguing with her.)
I also got some Royal Coppenhagen plates for, like, 1/3 of their book value! Which is only exciting if you, too, are Scandihoovian and retarded. When Younger Step Daughter goes away to college, her room is becoming the Scandihoovian Guest Room. Catholics who have converted to Lutheranism don't count.
I'm kidding! Gol! You Catholics are soooooo touchy!
When Older Step Daughter leaves for college -- IN TWO MONTHS!!! -- her room is becoming my Barbie Office. I should probably warn her at some point...
Anyhoo, we saw this guy drinking a Starbucks Frappuccino, and upon recognizing our lust, he goes, "It's a new flavor! Mint chocolate chip!" Well, that clinched it. We had caffienated calories for elevensies.
Then we walked over to the Farmers Market and spent half an hour with under-the-boob sweat running down our stomachs, waiting in line at the cheese tent. But it was TOTALLY worth it because they had GARLIC DILL CHEESE CURDS, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! And? Cheese Guy was totally adorable! I want to be his little cheese maiden and frolic in the meadow with him and his goats.
Uh... sorry... what was I talking about?
I don't remember. But I know I was on a whole shopping theme, so I'll just continue with that.
Yesterday, Anne and I hit the Bath & Body Works Semi-Annual Sale for yummy, half-off, smelly things! I got some body lotion in Warm Vanilla Sugar, Sun-Ripened Raspberry, Apple Martini and Black Raspberry Vanilla. Are you seeing a trend here? I like to smell like food!
I'm particularly in love with my new Cucumber Watermelon Shower Scrub, but I can't find it on their website, and now I'm terrified that it's some discontinued product that they were getting rid of, and now I have to go back and BUY IT ALL!!! Hmmm, maybe Nicholle will come with me...?
I'm just so enamored with my skin right now. It's all smooth and yummy. I just want to smell and touch myself all day. Which isn't as erotic as you might hope. But a co-worker did say Good Morning to my legs earlier, so I must be lookin' good!
Posted at 12:29 PM | Comments (0)May 25, 2005
Retarded, Yet O.C.D.
You people are no help. God, what do you do all day at work, if not my bidding?! Only Lori Ann, Mickey and Mordecai could be bothered to help me write my blog description. Lucky for me, they're all smarter than me, so it turned out utterly fabulous. Despite the fact that the rest of you suck. And by "suck," I mean "have way better things to do than enable my expanding ego."
Here's what we/they came up with:
"The delightfully snarky Pirate Wench takes on co-workers, Barbies, family and pop culture. She is irreverent, yet adorable. Self-indulgent, yet funny. Drunk, yet thought-provoking. Join her on her descent into Hell! WARNING: Do not read while drinking, as Pirate Wench will not be held responsible for computer splatter-damage."
They said "brief description," so I stopped at three "yets", but there are soooooo many other "yets" I wanted to put in there.
Blonde, yet smart!
Self-righteous, yet slutty!
Church-going, yet hellbound!
Sturdy, yet hott!
Lazy, yet verbose!
I could go on all day, but now the word "yet" is ceasing to make sense. Yet yet yet. See? Weird.
Posted at 03:21 PM | Comments (5)May 17, 2005
Gag Me
Well, Mordecai certainly isn't as verbose as many of my interviewees. Except when it came to talking about Heather, of course. Take your insulin, folks. And then go to Nouveau Broke for his answers.
Oh, and for those of you as out-of-touch as me, this is Rory Calhoun.
Posted at 01:00 PM | Comments (2)May 12, 2005
Last Day of a Three-Day Week Randomness
I have BBQ sauce on my tank top from lunch, and neither Nicholle nor Anne told me about it. Okay, Heathers, we'll just see who gets a Barbie birthday card this year!
Well, yesterday's Plastic Dead People Show put me off deli meats and jerky indefinately. However, it did give Heather a chance to say "corpse" 137 times in an hour, so I guess it was a good day for her. (She has very different "good day" criteria than most.)
In other news, my photo is on the cover of our company's 2004 annual report. Being mailed out over the globe. With my pink, shiney face for all to see. My phone rang this morning, and when I answered it, all I heard was hysterical laughter. Yes, Anne, I know, I'm a retard. And thank you, Senior Claims Adjuster Guy, for pointing out just how shiney my face is. Yes, I'm 35 and still get acne. But you know what else? I'm 35, and I GOT CARDED YESTERDAY! So bite me.
Tomorrow is my first Summer Day (work a little extra for nine days, get every other Friday off), and I'm going power-shopping with Billi and The Children (of the Corn). You know what's awesome about Gurnee Mills? A bajillion stores, vibrating recliners, and sailors. I don't know why, but there's always sailors there. In their cute, tight, white pants. And their jaunty hats.
Anyhoo, my brain has already left work, so Mord is going to have to wait until Monday to be interviewed, and the rest of y'all are gonna have to wait until Monday for a decent blog.
Posted at 01:51 PM | Comments (2)May 06, 2005
$EXU@L1TY
Okay. So. A few weeks ago, I was blogging about how double-T-hoTT I am because that's one of my favorite subjects. And yes, cynics, I'm overcompensating because I really look like Quasimodo. Get bent.
And after crafting such a fine, fine posting, I was horrified that I couldn't get it to Save or Preview, either as Draft or Publish. My pretty, pretty site was rejecting me! How could I go on? WHY DON'T YOU JUST KILL ME if I can't blog!!!
So I do what I always do at times like this. I cried and IMed Heather in a panic, making her stop in the middle of a work project and ATTEND TO MY NEEDS NOW!
Which she did, if only to shut me the hell up.
First, she emailed the hosting company, which is a totally logical, grown-up thing to do, so I never would have thought of it. Then she tried a bunch of magic internet stuff, and finally, shook a rainstick at it and sacrificed a live chicken. All for naught.
But she did figure out -- through methods known only to her -- that it was something in the body of the posting that was being rejected.
What?! Something that I wrote was being rejected?! Inconceivable! This is an outrage! I demand justice!
So, while I was dusting off my trusty torch and pitchfork (shuh -- like they ever sit long enough to get dusty), Heather calmly and methodically pasted my little anecdote, sentence by sentence, into my website to find the offending word(s).
And now I can't even tell you what that word was because it'll just refuse my post again. Wait -- I have a way!
$EXU@LITY
The hosting company people emailed us back quite quickly and explained that the site was rejecting my post because it had a word in it that was often used by spammers, and in order to protect my site yadda yadda yadda blee blah bloh.
It was quite rational and understandable of them, but seriously, with all the freaky shit I've blogged about, you'd think this would have happened before! Soccer moms tied and gagged, for God's sake!
Oh, great, here comes Mr. Pee $tain again.
Anyhoo, if you see weird words like se# toyz or h0tt wett teen@aged grrls in my site, you’ll know why. THE MAN IS CENSORING ME!
May 04, 2005
We Jinxed Anne
A couple weeks ago, I don't know how we got on the topic, but we were talking about what we'd do if we got cancer and our hair started falling out. Oh, yeah, like you sit around and discuss Nietzsche all day! Shut up!
Anyhoo, our reactions ran the gammit.
Anne said, "I'd chose to shave mine all off myself, rather than have cancer take it from me!"
Nicholle said, "I'd shave mine off, but only in hopes that it would eventually grown back thicker."
I said, "I'd desperately cling to every last strand of mine!"
Hey, I never claimed I wasn't petty and superficial.
Then late last week, Anne started seeing lights and lost her appetite. So over the weekend, I moved her into my front room and started feeding her ice chips and telling her stories about the lake that used to be in my back yard but isn't anymore because the ducks carried it off.
No, not really. But I wanted to.
It was a week of doctor visits and worrying and hospital tests and freak-outs. Of course, I'm thinking, "It's a toomah." And I started drafting Anne's eulogy blog.
It was beautiful. Too bad I won't be able to use it. Well, at least not anytime soon. Turns out she's fine. Just some ocular migraine and a sinus infection that she has no other symptoms of because of all the allergy medicine she ingests.
Or as Anne called it, "The sinus infection that could not be diagnosed until after ruling out a cerebral hemmorage."
It's a good thing that Nicholle has been outta town on business this whole time, or she would have made an MRI appointment for herself and gone out shopping for turbans.
You know, if you think about it, it's kinda creepy. I mean, all we had to do was think about cancer, and Anne started showing these mysterious symptoms. We're like the Witches of Eastwick or something! The Power of Three! Like those chicks on Charmed! Only not slutty.
Posted at 11:43 AM | Comments (4)April 28, 2005
Seriously, Don't Even Bother Reading This
To the tune of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer"
Wenchie the red-nosed blogger
Has a very runny nose.
The whole thing is sore and peeling
Because of very frequent blows.All of her frequent readers
Used to laugh and call her cool,
But since she’s been on cold meds
She blogs like a goddamn fool.Then one groggy afternoon,
Wench thought to herself,
“Hey, I know a remedy!
Why not do a parody?”Then all her readers left her
‘Cuz she’s just a waste of ROM.
They knew they’d find more humor
If they went to Dooce.com.
See? I warned you.
Posted at 12:52 PM | Comments (2)April 27, 2005
More Sudafed-Induced Blathering
Well, I'm still breathing outta my mouth like an inbred, knuckle-draggin', banjo-pickin', tube-top-wearin' hick, so buckle up and prepare for yet another post that wanders around like my dog finding the perfect place to poop. Goddamn sinuses.
And speaking of white trash (oooh, that was almost a segue!), at the Kane County Antique Doll & Toy Show on Sunday, Joe and I were talking about what white trash food we like to indulge in every once in a while.
Okay, so mac 'n' cheez isn't so much every once in a while for me as it is two times a week, but that's okay. At least I'm not doing crack.
(Which, much like I lose time, is a great justification for many things. "Yes, I purposely tripped a toddler in Toys R Us, but hey, at least I'm not doing crack!")
Ever had fried baloney/bologna? Damn, but that's even better than fried Spam, which, by the way, has to be brown and crunchy on the outside in order to be any good. But when frying bologna, you must be sure to make cuts around the edges, or it'll curl up on you.
(I think it's bologna when it's a food, and baloney when it's an untruth. That's what I'm going with, anyway.)
Tater tots. Biscuits 'n' gravy, oh Gawd, that's sooooo good! Country-fried steak. Basically anything on the menu at Cracker Barrel, really.
Anyhoo, to wrap up this segment, embrash your inner White Trash and have some starch and unidentifiable meat products today!
Okay, on to my own personal beef (meat -- beef -- get it???). When did "Secretaries' Day" become "Administrative Professionals Day"? That's more than double the syllables, which is just too much work for me to say.
And when did secretary become a bad word? Why is it insulting to be called a secretary? I don't get it. Are there still people out there who think that secretaries file their nails and make personal calls and sit on their boss' lap to take dictation? And if so, are we really fooling those people by changing the title?
When I started at my job, my title was Underwriting Assistant. Which is fine and whatever I don't care. I know what I do. I get paid well for it. I don't care if I even have a title. But then people outside our office would call me and ask me questions about underwriting.
I'm like, "I don't know nuthin' 'bout unnerwritin'!" See, in their attempt to superficially elevate my position, my company falsely led people to believe that I even know what underwriting is.
So now, I go by Underwriting Secretary, and no one gets confused. A rose, by any other name, still does the typing and filing, still is the only one who knows which way the letterhead goes in the printer, still covers your ass and makes you look good.
And what did my bosses get me for Secretaries' Day? They all left town for the week. KICK. ASS.
And now for my Final Thought, kinda like Jerry Springer's, only not.
You know how you're walking down a long hallway, and someone's coming the other way, and you don't know what to do for those ten seconds? Like, do you smile and make eye contact the whole time? Do you pretend to just have noticed them as you pass them and say a quick Hi? Do you pretend to examine your cuticles?
I always get these weird urges to do something so retarded that it just nullifies all the awkwardness altogether.
Like today, my sister's boss (who used to be one of my bosses) was coming towards me, and I had this huge urge to take the Karate Kid stance and then almost kick him in the face when he got close.
That would be awesome.
Posted at 01:16 PM | Comments (0)April 26, 2005
Wenchie's First Vitriol
Well, in a proud, proud moment, I had my Hate Comment Cherry popped by Heather's Brother today! Yay! I'm a true blogger now!
Stumbling over to this website thru a link on Heather's site, he came across this post about Heather's birthday.
For those of you who can't be bothered with linkage, here's the paragraph about him:
Heather's Brother is totally retarded, and I probably shouldn't even say that because he may actually be "learning disabled," which just puts me one ring closer to Dante's Inner Circle of Hell. Dude leaves notes and snack foods in really odd places in Heather's room, and he has the handwriting of a serial killer.
It still makes me giggle. But not so Heather's Brother, who had this to say about it (I have in no way edited his comment):
I hate heathers friend!!!!!!!!!!!!Deal with that as best you can, most likely with sleepless nights and worrysome caffine driven days for you should know revenge is on its way
Now, not only does his poor grammar and spelling kinda help prove my point, but I think dude is unclear on the subject of Exaggeration for the Sake of Humor.
But mostly, I think it's just projection. The "sleepless nights" and "caffiene-driven days" paint a clear picture of a man unable to speak his true heart. It's obvious he's madly in love with me, and so overwhelmed is he by his feelings that he cannot find a way to express them, leaving him only to rage against the cold and lonely world he has created for himself.
There, there, Lil' Bus Rider. Don't you know what it means when a girl punches you on the playground?
Posted at 01:57 PM | Comments (1)April 12, 2005
Thrift Store Couture
Over the weekend, I was thrift store shopping with Lola and Joe. Joe and I were looking for Barbies, natch, and Lola was costuming a couple shows.
Well, I only found one Barbie (a bellybutton Kira without hideous 80's eye make-up -– do you know how rare that is?!), but I did find a cowboy skirt. Oh yeah, a red, three-tired, cotton skirt with cowboys on it, that had obviously been living in someone’s attic for the past 50 years. It’s ridiculous times ten. So I bought it.
It was only $2.50, and somehow, Lola and Joe convinced me that it goes with everything and would look absolutely darling on me. Damn crack pushers. This is how they got me to start collecting Gene dolls. Five hundred bucks later, and I’m still hanging out with these people. I JUST DON’T LEARN!
Then they had the following conversation about how I should present it to Husband:
Lola: You should put it on with a red bra and denim jacket and be like, ‘Honey, look what I bought!’
Joe: Or without the bra and jacket…
Lola: Ooh! Little, red sheriff star pasties instead!
Joe: Or maybe just a cowboy hat and boots!
Lola: With spurs!
Lo, such are the Powers of My Hotness that I had a straight woman and a gay man imagining me in naughty outfits! BOW BEFORE ME! MY SENSUALITY BEGUILES ALL!
I also bought a Hawaii shirt for a luau I’m attending next month. It has little, vintage woody station wagons on it, and also surf boards and palm trees. I bought it solely so I can start conversations with, “Wanna see my woody?” Because I’m TWELVE!
Posted at 12:29 PM | Comments (2)March 30, 2005
Random Crap
You're getting random babbling today because, although I have an actual post drafted, it must wait for a photo. The photo is key, because sometimes, even I can't do something justice with words. One hint: it's not a sweater or a dog. Hopefully, if the photo monkey at Walgreens cooperates, you'll get it tomorrow.
The icon in the upper righthand corner of my masthead is ME, courtesy of The Mini-Mizer, which you can also find to your right, under the heading "Links," a.k.a. Compelling Ways To Be Unproductive.
However, as Heather pointed out, I'm "not really fat and blocky." And for that, she gets an extra portion of gruel lowered into The Pit this evening.
The featured Barbie icon is "Fashion Model Lisette."
So there's a BBQ joint across the partking lot from where I work. Anne, Nicholle and I are there at least once a week, usually on Fridays, for the past nine months.
And every single time we walk in, the host(ess) asks us, "Have you been here before?"
YES, we've been here before! MORE OFTEN THAN YOU, apparently!
And we noticed that this place seems to have quite the turnover rate. We very rarely see the same people, which is weird, considering how often we're there.
I miss Danny. He was tall and kinda cute and had his name tattooed in big, curly letters ON THE SIDE OF HIS NECK. I'm assuming he's now in prison, or he left the state in order to avoid child support payments to his babymama.
Nicholle goes, "I'll bet this is the kind of place where they chop up their employees and feed them into the fire."
And Anne goes, "Yeah, definately."
What? Nicholle makes one of her trademark ridiculously paranoid statements, and Anne agrees with it? Okay, that's unsettling.
When Nicholle says something retarded about catching bird flu from the finches in the building atrium because she read an article about it on the internet, I can easily dismiss it because she's insane. It's what makes her so charming.
But when Anne agrees, then... it must be true. Because Anne knows stuff.
Poor Danny. All he wanted was to run the Guess Your Weight booth at the carnival. But he ended up being part of the hickory smoke that made my burger so dang tastey. God bless you, Danny, wherever you are.
Posted at 01:23 PM | Comments (2)March 24, 2005
Yes, It's All About Anne Lately
So Anne goes to her assistant, MA, “I need the thing for the place.”
And MA gets up, goes to a drawer, pulls out a set of keys, and hands Anne the exact key that she needs.
Did you just get chills? Me, too.
It reminds me of the time I was at Older Sister’s house, sitting on the couch watching t.v. with her husband, when she screeches from the kitchen, “Who put stuff in the here and didn’t do this?”
And immediately, her husband answers, “Oh that was me!”
I had to ask him, “Are you just saying that, or do you really know what she meant?”
His answer? “She said, Who put food in the garbage disposal and didn’t run it.”
Spooooky.
But Anne can take it one step farther. She can say to MA, “I need a thing,” while making some sort of rock-paper-scissors hand gesture, and MA will go to the supply catalog and order precisely what Anne needs.
I guess all those years of Charades are really paying off.
Posted at 01:34 PM | Comments (0)Follow-up by Anne
So instead of adding a comment here, like a normal person, Anne always feels compelled to email me. Here's her thoughts on yesterday's post:
(And, yes, I write about Anne alot. No, I'm not dating her. She's just funny!)
O.K. I've been know to mutter, "Is that all you've got?" after an 8 inch drop. But how about we not tempt and/or taunt Mother Nature on the 23rd of March. If we get an April blizzard, I am blaming you.I will call NBC with the story and they'll broadcast your name and address so you will have TP'd trees to clean after you have shoveled your driveway. And your sweet neighbor boy won't do it because the snow will have been enough to kill his little league game but not enough to close the school and he'll be mad at you.
It is irresponsible to bring the wrath of Nature down on us all because you are irritated with the driver of a little car.
Yes, Nature will totally obey me. I have that kind of power. FEAR MY WRATH!
Posted at 08:26 AM | Comments (0)March 23, 2005
Oh, the Weather Outside ISN'T Frightful
God, Chicagoans are getting soft.
A light dusting of snow this morning, not even enough to cover the grass, and people are driving 10 miles under the speed limit. It's not pudding on the road, people! Jesus, it's barely discernable as snow!
The Blizzard of '79, man. Now that was snow! We jumped off the porch roof of our house into it! Schools and businesses were closed for days! When the snowplows finally started clearing the streets and pushing the snow into huge piles on the streetcorners, we didn't go over it or around it, we tunneled through it!
We need another winter like that to remind us of who we are. We're Chicagoans, dammit! We laugh at snow flurries! We put cement blocks in our trunks and chains on our tires and cry to the grey sky, "Is that all you got, bitch? You call that snow? I can still see my garage! BRING IT ON!"
I'm driving behind a Camry this morning doing 30 mph in a 40 zone, and I'm just embarassed. What have we become -- Floridians? Are we gonna stop wearing shorts and bring out the Gortex when the temperature dips below 65?
My dad used to build sledding hills and ice skating rinks and igloos in our backyard. Igloos, people! BRICKS OF SNOW! When was the last time we had a winter like that? And you know what else? Snow is pretty!
Mother Nature, hear my plea. I know you're a vindictive bitch. I know because I planned my wedding for June 1, knowing our church isn't air conditioned, but thinking, "How hot could it be June 1?" Yeah, 90 degrees hot!
So don't act like you can't hear the collective Windy City whining when the weatherman mentions two inches of snow. Don't pretend like you're not preparing a smackdown. Put us over your knee and teach us the meaning of the words WINTER IN CHICAGO. We deserve it.
Posted at 01:08 PM | Comments (2)March 21, 2005
Sorry for the Incoherent Rambling
I’m so not motivated today. I can barely summon the will to go pee or get something to eat.
The problem? My bangs. They’re too long and driving me crazy. Of course, I had all weekend to cut them, but they weren’t too long until I woke up this morning. Yesterday, bangs fine. Today, bangs intolerable.
And yes, I trim my own bangs. Because I get my hair cut so not often. Which, I guess, would be seldom. I get my hair cut so seldom that I’d be Cousin It if I waited for Linda to cut them along with the rest of my hair.
So as soon as I walk in the damn door this afternoon -– which will be early because Top Boss isn’t here today, so… why am I? –- I’m cutting my bangs. And until then, they’re so annoying me that I can’t possibly do anything else but eat and read the “America’s Next Top Model” recap on Television Without Pity. I can’t file with these bangs, are you kidding?! I can barely see!
Over the weekend, I played “Halo”! Oooooh! Does that make me cool now? Or not so much because I should have been playing “Halo 2” to actually be up-to-the-minute cool?
Anyway, I sucked. Billi’s husband made me play with him. I don’t know why. The controls are so hard to get used to! You have to look around with one hand, but move around with the other. I can barely walk around in real life. Enhanced computer generated walking is just way beyond my grasp. So I spent the whole game just trying to figure out where he was and follow him through doors and crap.
At one point I literally held up the entire game and almost ruined it because I was standing in front of the tank he was driving, which was on fire, and I forgot how to move. Plus, in my defense, there was a wall next to me. A WALL!
I’m like, “Dude, I so suck at this.”
And in a fit of unprecedented kindness, he’s like, “No, you don’t! You’re doing great! You’re distracting the enemies with your style of… running!”
Amazing, tho’, I was a better flyer than him. Also, I did manage to kill something, about once every ten minutes. Mostly by falling and landing on it. I plummeted to my death A LOT.
Which is probably the biggest reason I didn’t like the game because I have a huge fear of plummeting to my death. Must’ve happened to me in a previous life or something because I can’t even go on roller coasters. Seriously, not even the wimpy Disney roller coasters.
My other huge fear is having something weird happen to me –- like being abducted by aliens, or having some ghost want me to solve her murder for her, or slipping into another dimension –- and nobody believes me. Which is part of the reason I have this blog, so if I start seeing dead people, I can write about it here, and one of you has to believe me.
Posted at 12:06 PM | Comments (2)March 15, 2005
Sappy Ode to Heather
Wanna hear something funny? And by funny, I mean -- totally gay? When we were in high school and doing "Brigadoon," during rehersals, we would change the words from "Heather on the Hill" to "Heather on the Pill." Tee hee! Get it? Cleverness.
We also changed "Jeannie's Packin' Up, Jeannie's Movin' Out" to "Jeannie's Shackin' Up, Jeannie's Puttin' Out," but since there wasn't actually someone named Jeannie in the show, it wasn't as funny as the Heather one.
Anyhoo, yesterday, I finally finished transferring all the archived posts from my LiveJournal account to here, and tonight, I'm taking Heather to a thank-you dinner. Because, seriously? She's, like, 95% of the reason I even have this site.
And isn't it pretty? I'm finding it even harder to work lately because I just like to sit and stare at my site. My pretty, pretty site. Sometimes I just coo and fawn and caress the screen.
I've always loved writing and have always dreamed of being published, but since I usually wrote for an audience of one or two (including myself), it was always more of a fantasy than an actual goal. Besides, how could I ever figure out what one thing to write about when I have so much to blathering to do?!
But then, 10 years after the rest of the world got on board, Heather introduced me to the world of blogging. So I poked it with a stick and said, "What blogging? Look fun... Me like!"
It was also Heather who encouraged me to start my own site. And by encouraged, I mean did all the research, presented me with options, registered my domain name, designed my site and taught me how to use it.
Yeah, she probably went a tad beyond encouraging.
And once my site was up, I realized that this is possibly even better than being published (NOT THAT I'D TURN IT DOWN!) because it was never about fame or fortune for me. This way, I get to write all the time about whatever I want! And I know people are reading cuz I get feedback!
This is really more of a dream come true than a hobby. So, thanks, Heather! And thanks to everyone who indulges me by stopping by here once in a while! It may be just a two-minute break in your work routine for you, but it means more to me than you know.
Posted at 09:34 AM | Comments (2)March 09, 2005
I Know What You're Thinking! (Yes, They're Real)
This is so awesome. I've always wanted a superpower. Now I'm just that much closer to TAKING OVER THE WORLD!!!
Lemme 'splain.
Yesterday, Nicholle were discussing the merits of banking our sick days (we earn one a month at Initech, and they roll over indefinately), as opposed to those people who take them every month just because they have them. Stoooooopid!
I just don't get that. I mean, one good bout of stomach flu -- or, in Nicholle's case, "that bird disease" -- can cost me a week. Why would I not want to get paid for spewing bile from both portals?
Anyhoo, it's funny that we were talking about the importance of sick days yesterday because I'm totally having to take one today. No, I don't have "that bird disease" (it's called West Nile Virus, Nicki dear). I'm just currently producing a level of mucus that renders me unfit for society.
And isn't that weird?! I was just talking about using sick days, AND NOW I'M USING ONE!!!
Not convinced? Okay, hold onto your socks.
Night before last, I dreamed that The Big Boss HB asked me to put together a PowerPoint presentation for him. And when I got to work, there is was, waiting for me on my desk, HB's outline for a PP presentation he needs.
I'M TOTALLY PSYCHIC!!! MWAH HA HAAAAAAAA!
I also had a dream that I was making out with Angel, Vampire with a Soul, so I'm just waiting to see how that pans out.
Posted at 02:48 PM | Comments (1)March 01, 2005
BECAUSE I CAN!!!
So, my Hot Boss (as to differentiate him from my Female Boss and my Head Boss), was over at my desk explaining to me some Excel worksheet he wanted me to do blah blah blah.
And because I'm sooooo in love with my own pretty, pretty website, and I go there a bajillion times a day just to sigh, "Ooooh, pretty!" I was compelled to show it to Hot Boss.
And the nervy bastard actually said, "Oh, how nice that you have time to do all of that at work."
And then he snots, "I'd better take that back or you'll put it on your blog."
TOO LATE, HOT BOSS!!!
MWAAAH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!
I have THE POWER! NOTHING can stop me! EVERYONE is at my WHIM! DANCE, little monkeys, DANCE! I can blog about WHOMEVER I want, WHENEVER I want! ALL SHALL LOVE ME AND DESPAIR!
And to those of you wondering if I'll use my newfound superpower for Good or Evil, I'd like to say, "Welcome, newbies!"
But you know what? I'm so not telling Hot Boss that he's on here because he thinks that everything is about him, and he thinks he's so cool!
I'm so all-over-the-place today. Go here for spam haiku. You won't regret it.
Posted at 01:19 PM | Comments (2)January 26, 2005
Why I Love PJ
She thinks -- not knows, mind you, thinks -- that one or both of her very allergic dogs may be allergic to goose down. So instead of, you know, finding out for sure what they're allergic to, or making the fidgeting, scratching, flaking animals sleep on the floor WHERE THEY BELONG, she's getting rid of her down pillows and comforter.
If I was guaranteed to be reincarnated as one of PJ's dogs, I would throw myself out of this window RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE.
January 10, 2005
Um... Yeah. What?
I'm so bored today, I can't even come up with anything remotely interesting to blog about.
Hey, you, in the back! The asshat who just said, "And today is different... how?" I'm gonna kick your ass at recess! You are so dead! 3:15, man!
So I'm thinking about the dozen or so bricks of cream cheese I must have consumed during the holiday season. Because, seriously, doesn't everything yummy have some amount of cream cheese in it? Think about it.
Tonight is Date Nite, Husband's Choice. And we all know this is going to end badly because, last time he picked, we ended up seeing "Alexander" (which I can't even bring myself to link to) -- and by "seeing" I mean "alternately napping during and laughing at" -- and I was forced to withhold sex as punishment. Drastic, I know, but if you've seen the movie, you'll know it was the right thing to do.
Adding to my boredom -- today's obvious lack of Nicholle and Anne. No random rantings or "Anne Is Dumb" stories. *sigh* And Heather is as bored as I am, so she's no help. And what do I keep her around for, anyway, if not to entertain me?!
Posted at 02:29 PM | Comments (0)December 12, 2004
I'm Shreiking in Hysterical Excitement, and Boy, Are My Co-Workers Pissed
Greetings from Amazon.com.We thought you'd like to know that we shipped your items today, and that this completes your order.
The following items were included in this shipment:
-----------------------------------------------------------
Qty Item Subtotal
-----------------------------------------------------------
1 The Lord of the Rings - The Return of the King $23.991 The Lord of the Rings - Special Extended Trilogy $77.98
-----------------------------------------------------------
Item Subtotal: $101.97
Shipping & Handling: $3.97
The Trilogy is for my Bro-In-Law (father of The Girl Child and The Boy Child) for Christmas, and the RotK is for ME! ME! ME! Well, I suppose I'll have to let those other people who live at my house watch it. But I know who Legolas really loves. They may watch and adore him, but he will never love them like he loves me!
December 02, 2004
Eau de Redenbacher's
So I'm eating popcorn at my desk, and one of the lawyer guys wanders over.
"I thought I smelled that. I wish they made a perfume that smells like that. I'd buy it for my wife. Then she wouldn't be able to keep me away!"
Um... dude? Are you, like, hitting on me?
Cuz that's totally fine. Just don't be thinkin' that I'm giving you any of my popcorn.
Never. Gonna. Happen.
Nicholle Reminded Me that I've Been Remiss
Back on November 4th, I talked about some "ginormously important" news, and then I never mentioned it again. Well, I'm sorry to blue-ball you, dear reader.
My news is that I'm going to have a short piece of mine published. In an actual book. That will be read by actual people. Which means that My Number Two Hugest Dream EVER will come true!
(My Number One Hugest Dream EVER is being a mermaid, but I can't find anyone to perform the operations.)
However, I haven't mentioned it since then because it got put on the backburner for the moment, and I don't want to jinx it by giving away any details. Rest assured, when the time comes, I'll tell you everything!
November 22, 2004
Your Disney Self-Actualization
So I went and found "What Disney Villain Are You?" Because, honestly, that's going to give a much more accurate picture of our personalities.
I was hoping to be Maleficent from "Sleeping Beauty". She kicks ass because 1.) her name; 2.) her outfit; 3.) her aloof, superior attitude; 4.) she can turn into a DRAGON!
But, alas, I was Scar.
You are Scar from The Lion King. A sly and witty
feline that wants to upsurp his brother's
kingdom.
What Disney Villain are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
So. I'm sly and witty? Well, duh. And I seek to usurp the establishment? Yeah, that's about right. I don't exactly relish the idea of being a mangy cat, but hey, at least I'm droll and superior.
Nicholle is Ursala, which I'm totally envious of because she has a much better song. However, she was having some trouble with her Disney self-actualization.
"How can I apply my Cinderella/Ursula undertones to the workplace? Clearly I slave all day while everyone else mocks me with their free-wheeling break policies. [A not-so-subtle jab at me, since my boss keeps no tabs on me whatsoever.] But I am priming myself to be C.F.O. with my shining I.T. star Doogie at my right hand. And the place lends itself to decorating with pumpkins.
"But how am I a slimy sea urchin who wants to have a lovely voice? Oh yes. I lurk around the soaking wet (per some people) bathroom to catch the lovely chanteuses who make la toilette so charming."
Nicholle uses big words.
Anne was Snow White's Evil Stepmother. (Now that should've been me!) I don't really see Anne envying youth and beauty. She's pretty much of above that. I do, however, see her trying to get that shrill bitch to stop her insipid singing. Did the Evil Queen have a name?
Now, there's an interesting story about Anne and the movie "Snow White". She and some friends were watching the video one night in college, and during the singing with the animals in the forest, Anne was heard to have said, "Shut up, Bambi! Your mom's toast!"
I'll bet she thought "Dumbo" was a comedy.
Posted at 08:44 AM | Comments (0)November 19, 2004
Once Upon a Scream
Which Disney Princess are you?
The funniest thing about this is that it was sent to me by my friend Anne, who is, in a nutshell, Daria meets Wednesday Addams.
But it turns out that Anne has a secret identity -- Belle! Which makes sense, since she's definitely the most down-to-earth of all the princesses. I just can't see Anne singing in public. I can, however, see her rolling her eyes and hoisting a 300 lb. beast onto a horse. "This is just so typical. I have to do everything around here!"
Heather is also Belle. "You are loving and giving and can always see the good in others. You love to read and spend time with friends." Okaaaaay. Hmmmm. Well, she does walk, read and sing all at the same time, so I guess I can see that. "I am the GAYEST PERSON EVER!" Her words, not mine.
Nicholle turned out to be Cinderella. "I'll take it. I always wanted to be blond." Belle would have been the obvious pick for her, too, because of the brown hair and the reading. But "my desire for nice clothes and a manor won out."
Now, I had some trouble taking the test right from the start. Am I blond or golden blond? Hard to say. And the color on the box says "medium blond", so that's no help. In the end, I went with golden blond because I'm a total fucking narcissist about my hair.
I am most like [drumroll, please]... Aurora, which is awesome because "Sleeping Beauty" is my favorite animated Disney movie (non-animated: "Mary Poppins").
"You love all woodland animals, especially owls."
That is so true! Especially stuffed and hanging over my fireplace! No, seriously, when I was little, I had a dream that my dead grandmother came to me and told me that my totem animal is the owl. Which is weird because Gramma was Norwegian and not Native American. But who am I to argue with deceased relatives? And I think a raccoon would be the coolest pet. You know, without the rabies and the biting and the ruining of all my stuff.
"You like dreaming,..."
Right again! I'm dreaming right now! That someone is reading this! And it's Bruce Campbell! And he thinks I'm so clever and adorable that he's going to run away with me to a castle in the forest!
"...but be careful you don't sleep away your life waiting for true love's first kiss."
And yeah, like I didn't stop believing in "true love's first kiss" when I was eight. More like "true love's fat wallet."
Anne was quite upset about my affinity for "Sleeping Beauty" because "she's the most passive damsel-in-distress!" And I agree, Aurora's a tool. But I can totally get behind the idea of a 100-year nap. Especially one where you don't drool, and you wake up looking fresh as morning dew on a rosebud.
Obviously, I'm way too jaded to be a princess. Plus, I lack an 18-inch waist.
Posted at 08:39 AM | Comments (0)November 16, 2004
The Sleepover of the Ring
So I was e-mailing with a friend about how my scale and my life-sized cut-out of Legolas are in the same room, and how I always weigh myself naked -- Legolas being one of the reasons. And he's all, "Some Elves get all the luck. :-)"
(Oh, right, like your e-mails are all linear and lucid and eloquent!)
So I'm like, "Yeah, and he always says something obvious like, 'Boobies!' Or pseudo-fortune-cookie like 'A red sky at dawn -- weight has been gained this week'."
Seriously, have you watched those movies enough to notice just how fucking DIM Legolas really is? I mean, great in a fight, no doubt. And retains maximum prettiness, even while getting man- and dwarf- and orc-sweat on him.
But at the Sleepover of the Ring, you're totally going to put your sleeping bag next to Gandalf's for the deep, 2 a.m. conversation because Legolas only caught on to Aragorn's whole diversion plan after the 5 years olds who were (inappropriately) in the audience did.
Legolas is just there to braid your hair and make consolatory noises while Aragorn can't decide if he should break up with his girlfriend or not, and what do women want anyway?
Merry and Pippin are making prank calls, while Gimli finishes off the last of the pizza and spills beer on your parents' new couch. No one really notices that Frodo and Sam are in the kitchen being anti-social.
Boromir leaves early.
October 18, 2004
I'm Home!
And in reading the comments posted to my last entry while I was away, I have to ask myself, does anyone really read these labors of love that I write for the world to enjoy? Or is this just a forum for men to fight over me?
And more importantly, do I care?
Blogging on the way, my beloveds. After I slog thru my e-mails and catch up on my reading. I missed "Lost," "America's Next Top Model" and two "Desperate Housewives!" Oh, the humanity!
And please, don't recommend Tivo. I know it's a wonderful thing, I know I would love it, but I hardly ever see Husband as it is. Another woman I could compete with. But Tivo -- sigh -- that little harlot is just too enthralling.
October 08, 2004
Bat, Bee, Caterpillar, Fish
So I arrive at work this morning. The sun is almost up. The caffeine is starting to take affect. And in a rare moment of complete awareness, I look down to notice that I have what appears to be guacamole on my khaki pants.
(I'm assuming it's guacamole because I don't want to think about what else might be that color.)
Trouble is, I can't remember when was the last time I had guacamole. So the real question isn't -- when did I get guacamole on my pants? No, no. The real question is -- how many times have I worn these pants since getting guacamole on them?
But at least I sound much sexier singing "Baby, One More Time" than Britney does.
And on that note, I'm off to the northwoods. I'm sure I'll have many experiences to relate when I get back, and by then, maybe I'll finally be ready to laugh about them. Last time, R got bat pee in his eye, PJ had a bee fly up her shorts, Egrau had a caterpillar fall into her bra, and I had a fish nibble my butt. And as God is my witness, it's all true, and it all happened in four days.
Until the 18th, my darlings!
October 07, 2004
And On That Note...
As a thank-you for helping my dept. organize the 2004 National Brokerage Managers' Conference, I received from one of the attendees a rather fine gift.
It's a nice, vinyl, folding, captain's chair, commonly seen enthroning Soccer Moms and front row parade-watchers. Only this particular model has a bonus: a little cooler built into the side.
And I think we all know what this means.
It means that, while I'm in the backyard next week, watching the sun set over the water, waiting for the bonfire to turn into hot coals for s'mores, I don't have to get up and go inside to get another Mike's Hard Lemonade.
And that, my friends, is Paradise.
October 05, 2004
Lucy in the Sky with Elephants
I met the most amazing person ever!
Quick backstory: My 18-year-old nephew has severe mental disabilities and recently lost his mother, so he requires a caretaker after school and on the weekends that his father travels. Because of the traveling, said caretaker also needs to be part housekeeper and cook.
In addition to all that, any caretaker also has to win the affection of a very challenged 18-year-old young man, who, tho' normally very sweet, can also be extremely stubborn and headstrong. Needless to say, they've been through several candidates in the past six months.
I hope the current one stays forever. I am in awe of her. Lucy. She left Czechoslovakia with $5 and a map of Chicago. No, wait, sorry -- she went to China, Taiwan and Egypt first because she wasn't sure where she wanted to end up. Then she got the map of Chicago.
She's 22, and she's been here going to school for a year and a half. So, doing the math in my head (no small task), she was 20 when she left her home with no friggin' money and went out to see the world and seek her fortune. TWENTY!
When I was 20, I was living back at my parents' house because my psycho-jealous boyfriend had kicked me out of our apartment. I quit college and worked more-than-full-time to get back on my feet and out of their house.
So basically, at 20: Me = Loser with no edumacation living in parents' house; Lucy = fearless world-traveler riding elephants through impenetrable forests.
I worship her. And to top it off, she's totally gorgeous, has a killer smile, a mind like a sponge, and a disposition like the perfect summer day.
Uh oh. I think I'm in love with her.
August 30, 2004
I'm Achin' for Your Icon
In my perusing of LiveJournal.com, I find myself very interested in people's icons. Some of them are photos, some are cute drawings, some are, frankly, a little frightening. It's fascinating to see what little 1”x1” doo-dad people choose to represent themselves.
And I just want to ask everyone, “Why did you choose this particular whatever as your icon?”
And since I assume that everyone in the world is dying to know every little thing about me (SHUH!), I'll give you the (hopefully brief) story on mine.
Originally, mine was going to be a photo of a particular Barbie I put together. She has two long, blond braids and she's wearing, a short, red & black plaid skirt; a white blouse, tied up; a black bra; white knee socks; black loafers and black sunglasses; and she's carrying a book bag with two text books. I call her Naughty Catholic Schoolgirl Barbie. I know, I'm depraved.
But that was before John sent me my current logo and changed my life! I laughed, I cried, it became part of me!
See, John illustrates some of the coolest games ever, for those of you who don't know. And he asked me to send him some pictures of me, so he could immortalize me as a cartoon character in one of his games! (Altho', some would argue that I'm already a character.) Needless to say, I was giddy and honored! Of course, then he asked for some photos of me with my clothes on…
And voila! I'm a Vampire Slayer!
Glee! Now, since I have moved on from 1983, my glasses, in real life, aren't quite that big. However, in general, I'd say it's a pretty darn good likeness. Certainly got the boobs and legs right!
Be honsest, who's sexier with a crossbow: me or Hugh Jackman? Okay, you're right, it's Hugh Jackman. But I think I'm in the top 10, at least.
(By the way, I want this outfit for my birthday. You have two months.)
So what's your icon? Where did it come from? Why did you choose it?
August 19, 2004
Techno-Geeks, I Bow to Thee
I got a new cell phone. Color screen. Small and shiney. Display on the inside and outside. Tons of features. I don't like it. I have become my mother, digging in my heels at advanced technology. (Mom has yet to master the cut & paste.)
There's just too much stuff! The instruction manual is four times as big as the phone! I don't need to check my stocks or know the time in Bangladesh or play gin rummy! I just want to dial and talk! And frankly, I don't even like doing that very much.
And these ring tones suck. They sound like that classical music set to a disco beat from the 70's. It's my own little Casio keyboard and drum machine, apparently. My old one had the 1812 Overture (a.k.a. “The Bad News Bears Theme”). I now had to settle for the generic “Latin” ring. It's the only one that wouldn't make me cringe in the middle of Target when The Husband calls to remind me to get shampoo. (Phone was Husband's doing, btw. He'll pay…)
And to add to my pile of gadgets, I just bought my very first digital camera! I'm quite tickled! And I'm assuming it'll be less bells-and-whistles-laden than my phone, although I'm hoping to find an x-ray vision feature.
I'm going to take my happy pills and read my camera instruction manual, and hopefully, the combination will take my mind off the flight to Omaha, NE (?!). But I'll give you that recap next week (she assured them, as if everyone were on the edge of their chairs).
Meantime, I should be going home to do laundry and pack for the trip, but am I? NoooOOOooo. Instead, I'm going to hang with Heather and watch some ”Freaks and Geeks”. Which you should do also.