January 02, 2006
Happy New Yarrrrrrr!
The Christmas Shower Curtain
The one thing Husband hates above all the world's evils.
Posted at 04:01 PM | Comments (1)December 24, 2005
Hark, the Herald Pirates Sing
Yarrrrr, Merry Christmas, me mateys!
December 23, 2005
Daisy Meets Santa for the First Time
K and I had a lovely afternoon of Starbucks and shoe-shopping (new Sketchers -- yay!), and I was driving her home, when my cell phone rang. It was Nicholle, so I asked if I could call her back in ten minutes, so as not to be rude to K.
N: Are you on your way home?
PW: Yeah, I'll be there in about ten, fifteen minutes.
N: Okay, we'll meet you there.
Now, Nicholle is a very orderly person. In fact, she may be even more O/C than I, so drop-by's aren't exactly her thing. I was immediately suspicious, especially about the "we" part. I mean, if Nicholle was ever going to come over unexpectedly, I'd assume it would be alone with a suitcase in her hand, asking if I knew anyone who could do her a "favor."
Well, if J was with her, I figured she either got a puppy or a new car for Christmas and wanted to come show it off. I was so excited!
I got home and immediately tried to straighten up the place. J is a real estate agent, so I knew our house would be under intense scrutiny the entire time they were over.
Five minutes later, the doorbell rang. I opened it...
AND THERE WAS SANTA.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK! Oh, it was just J in a Santa suit. Still kinda creepy, but I was fairly confident he wouldn't ask me to sit in his lap with Nicholle right there.
"We're on our way to a party, and they just called and told us to stall for a little while. Can we come in and hang out?"
No puppy. Dammit. So I made some chai tea for J, since it would be inappropriate for Santa to smell like a brewery. But because they were on their way to her in-laws', I gave Nicholle the beer.
Here's Daisy posing against her will with the scary man wearing too much facial hair.
Immediately following the photo, Daisy ran in circles around the coffee table with her ears back and her butt tucked under her. I don't know why.
And as soon as Nicholle and Santa pulled outta the driveway, I slapped my digital memory card into the computer. Merry Christmas, J! Now you're as famous as your wife's panties!
Posted at 04:15 PM | Comments (0)December 22, 2005
You Know How I Know I'm Gay?
I wanna live here, in the Department 56 Dickens Village. Preferrably right next to the Staghorn Lodge.
Yes, this is part of my annual Christmas display at home. I actually bought the table specifically for the Dickens Village. And now I have to go change my Barbies into their Christmas outfits.
I am a gay man trapped in a (mostly-)straight woman's body. And "Brokeback Mountain" was PURE AWESOME!!!
Ah wish ah knew how t'quit yew, Heather!
Posted at 01:21 PM | Comments (3)December 20, 2005
750 South State, Part Two: Where Alicia Silverstone's Evil Twin Makes an Appearance
Yesterday, I received no fewer than two Christmas letters written by cats. Two. Just had to share. Now on to the real post.
So let me explain about the band's name. It's an address found in many cities, including Chicago. But if you live in Elgin, you're probably going, "Hmmm... why does that address sound familiar...?" Because it's where your Mom went to dry out after her most recent "episode." It's the Elgin Insane Asylum. Well, they probably stopped calling it that when they stopped nailing the inmates' genitals to the floor, but you know what I mean.
Now, the "stage" area for the band was not exactly ideal. I mean, I couldn't even SEE Wayne the Keyboard Guy and... was his name Chris? The drummer? Rolling Stone Magazine is driving a dumptruck full of money up to my house right now, begging me to come write for them.
On the "stage" with the band (and yes, I'm making little quote signs in the air when I say stage because, seriously, the owners couldn't find a better set-up?), was some sort of party. Complete with party favors, cake and Grandma. I shit you not. Grandma was six feet away from a speaker. What kind of ape brings their Grandma to some noisy, smokey bar?!
I really, really wanted to hate the guest of honor. First of all, she was homely. Second of all, she had dark brown hair with three -- count 'em, three -- platinum blond streaks in her hair. It was so fugly, like the mom at the end of "Poltergeist," only not hot. Third of all, did I mention that she brought her Grandma to a bar? Cuz she totally did. But I just couldn't hate her because she had a Power Puff Girls bag. You see my dilemma.
Also on the "stage" was the handicapped -- sorry, "differently abled" -- bathroom. I guess they had no where else to put it, so they just built a little closet on the stage and put a Harp sign and a creepy animatronic Santa on top of it. Very weird. And very awkward going to pee because you had to cross in front of the band and everyone knew you had to pee. Which is why I waited until breaks. So only half the bar knew I had to pee.
Unlike the regular barsluts. They would just flounce across the stage, holding hands with their girlfriends, and both go in the bathroom at once. I can only assume they were going to have hot lesbian sex, and isn't that the best testimonial I can give 750 South State? If you can subliminally convince girls to act out your fantasies in the bathroom, then you are a damn good band.
But I'm still obsessing over the party. Why in a bar? Why on a stage? Why the Congratulations, Graduate! paraphenalia? Who graduates in the middle of December? Beauty school? Clown college? DeVry?
Oh, get over it, Wenchie. You will never understand these people and their strange ways.
I suppose I should name a couple songs the band played, huh? Well, I easily recognized most of them. Like "Higher Ground" a la Red Hot Chili Peppers. And they sang "Mr. Brightside" waaaaaay better than those damn kids in the V-Show. And... dammit. I recognized more songs than that, but hell if I actually know the names. Oh, they did a couple songs by Bare Naked Ladies, which made me squeal with delight! Don't ask me which ones, tho'.
Let's see, what else did they do well...? They encouraged audience participation, which is always good, as long as the audience can't be heard over the band. They sang three-part harmony! Granted, it's not jump-over-the-shark-tank-on-your-unicycle hard, but I've done it, and it does take some effort. I think all six of them sang, at one point or another. Which is exactly how The Beatles worked, so I don't think I'm outta bounds when I say they are going to take the world by storm within the next three months. Mark my words. You heard it here first. Rocketed to stardom by the Pirate Wench.
And whilst they sang, it occurred to me, "Hey. I could do that. I wonder if they need a chick singer? I don't even have to sing lead. I could just be their doo-wop girl. I've always wanted to be a doo-wop girl... in a cage... wearing white pleather boots... and some fringe..."
I'm sorry -- what was I talking about? Oh yeah -- me as chick singer. I can also play tambourine, and maracas, and finger cymbals, and bottles. Call me, guys!
And just as my dreams of riding their coattails to fame and fortune were about to be realized (as far as you know), they were dashed by Katie. Adorable Katie. Little, cute, young, sexy Katie, with her perky hair and even perkier ass. She was like a photo negative of Alicia Silverstone circa "Clueless." How the hell am I supposed to compete with that?!
Well, Kutie Katie sang with the band and ruined my evening with her mere existance, so Laura and I left after the second set. And according to widespread reports,...
WE MISSED A CATFIGHT CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE IT?!!!
Allegedly, the two barsluts who were standing in front of us all night and holding their cigarettes, like, inches from our faces and my immaculate, vanilla-scented hair, got into it right in front of the stage. And according to reports, they got beer on some of Nick's guitar stuff and snapped some cables.
AND WE MISSED IT!!!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Can you imagine?! We would have had front row seats! I even had my camera at the ready! It would have provided blog-fodder for WEEKS!
Frankly, I blame Katie for making me miss it.
Posted at 02:12 PM | Comments (1)December 19, 2005
750 South State, Part One: How Do You Not Like a Band with Four Guitarists?
We all know that all firemen are hott, right? I mean, it's just a fact of nature, like all large-breasted women are sluts, and the pyramids were built by aliens.
And we all know that all rockers are hott. Case in point: Jack Black actually gets pussy. 'Nuff said.
So what do you get when you combine Fireman with Rocker? Holy shit -- you get off-the-charts hottness. And I was contemplating some joke here about it being a good thing that they're firemen so they can keep the heat under control or something, but it just sounds gay, so I'll skip it.
Went to see fireman-rocker band 750 South State on Saturday night, because of this backstory. My friend Laura came with me, which was so cool of her, because it was witch's-tit cold out AND we had to drive, like, 40 miles to get there.
The first thing I noticed is that -- aside from losing the Coke-bottle glasses -- Matt has not changed at ALL since high school. He still has all his hair, and he hasn't gained an ounce. Bastard.
So there I am, drinking my Diet Coke, fanning the smoke away from my face, and writing in my tiny notebook. It's literally 2 x 2.5". Gee, I wonder why I didn't get hit on? Matt's wife came up and introduced herself, saying that Asst. Chick Boss told her to look for a "tall strawberry-blonde," but I'm sure Mrs. Matt was just being kind and didn't want to tell me that she was actually looking for "a woman so dorky that even beer-goggles would not help her."
And about this photo. It's really hard to take a picture of a band in a bar, what with all the moving around and dark, smokey ambiance and barsluts getting their heads in my way. This is as good as I could do. Please note that, although Matt's eyes do appear do be glowing with the fires of Hell, he is, in fact, not a demon, nor does he consume the flesh of Cocker Spaniel puppies between sets. That was just an ugly rumor taken completely out of context by the media.
So they did their sound check, and I can't remember what song it was (I am the best band reviewer EVAH!!!), but the lead singer, Brian the White Tornado, was really cute. Like, he could quit the band and become an actuary, and he'd still be cute. And he had this adorable way of getting his nose caught on the microphone when he sang.
After the sound check, Matt asked me, "How did it sound? What needs to change?" What? What do I care? You are FIREMAN-ROCKERS! I was too busy checking out your packages to listen, duh! God, isn't that why you joined the band in the first place?
When their set started for reals, Matt stepped up to the microphone, which kinda surprised me. And it turns out that Matt does most of the singing, but I didn't know that cuz dude was too humble to tell me! Which is a completely foreign concept to me cuz if I were the lead singer in a band, I'd have it tattooed on my forehead. And I'd hold my bangs back with a tiara so everyone could read it.
And can I just say? Matt's voice is AWESOME! Sorry, Brian. Your voice is nice and, truly, you are teh hottness, but Matt clearly has the superior pipes. It's just a fact of nature, like everyone with facial hair is evil, or Freemasons are behind every government in the world. And he kept his nose an acceptable distance from the microphone.
I was so impressed, I called Billi's cell phone. In a noisy bar. Adding to my dorky mystique, I'm sure. I yelled into the phone, "THIS IS MATT!" And then held it up. Like a dork. Are you sensing a theme here? I don't know if she'll know what the hell the message is, or even if she'll get it. Boy Child will probably listen to it first and then forward it to Paris Hilton's Blackberry.
Hmm. Well, this is gonna have to be a two-parter, because I still have four more pages of tiny notes, but I can feel that your eyes are starting to glaze over. Fine, go play some Bookworm or something. More tomorrow: dashed dreams, lesbian bathroom encounters and audience participation! Yay!
Posted at 01:13 PM | Comments (5)December 14, 2005
The Most Profane Man Husband Has Ever Met, a.k.a. My New BFF
Black Suede Paolo Come-Fuck-Me Shoes $85
1 Pair Victoria's Secret Black Thigh-Hi Stockings $14
Black Floor-Length Velvet skirt $100
Black Velvet Tank Top $38
Black Lace Pirate Shirt $48
Seeing Husband's jaw drop and land on his instantaneous erection:
PRICELESS
And wouldn't you know? What with the open bar and trays of food, I forgot to have someone take a photo of me, so you're gonna have to settle for more of my crappy self-photography.
Here's the top:
And here's the very bottom:
Then just imagine a long, velvet skirt in between, and you get the idea. And I know I looked good because I was getting checked out left and right by hot, young white-collar professionals! Dudes, I barely even made it to the bar before one of 'em started hitting on me.
He's all, "Oh, I forgot was I was going to order, I got so distracted by you!"
So Husband whips it out, pees on me and says, "John, have you met my wife, Wenchie?"
And John's all, "Wife? I'm sorry -- I thought she was your daughter!"
BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!
So we didn't stay and talk to John. Instead, Husband introduced me to Bob -- and I quote, "The most profane man I know." So naturally, he's absolutely my New Favorite Person, and we're BFFs and gonna try out for cheerleading together and if one of us doesn't make it then the other one won't be in it because that's how much we <3 each other.
He won my heart when he looked at the string group hired to play at the party and said, "Look, it's everyone who didn't make the football team."
Bob and Husband apparently have lunch together about twice a month, and Bob told Husband that he has to bring me to lunch sometime. So at least I managed to impress The Most Profane Man Ever. That's good Arm Candy, right?
Know what else I did? Drove down to the Loop MYSELF. Parked in an underground parking garage MYSELF. And walked to the correct building MYSELF. Rainman says I'm almost ready to drive to the K-Mart myself!
Once I left the party and got back in the car AND TOOK MY SHOES OFF, the first thing I did was call Heather. I'm like, "You'll be so proud of me! I didn't fall or anything!"
Also? I now understand that concept that is exclusively female -- suffering for beauty, which made Heather doubly proud. I feel like I'm finally a real woman. Are you there, God? It's me, Wenchie.
Posted at 02:54 PM | Comments (6)December 13, 2005
Paying for Fresh's Sins
Because Fresh Pepper hasn't asked me a question, yet, I'm punishing everyone by posting another photo of my dog.
I wonder what she dreams of? Probably ripping my throat out and seizing absolute control of her food bin.
Ask me a question, Fresh! You disloyal, verbally abusive, mean, selfish hypocrite!
More tomorrow on my Grown-Up Arm Candy outfit. Sneak preview: These are the winners!
Posted at 12:11 PM | Comments (2)November 24, 2005
Thanksgiving Photo Gallery
Brace yourself -- here's my Thanksgiving centerpiece.
Yeah, it's a little... busy. But hey, can you ever have too many gourds? I think not! We're not actually having Thanksgiving dinner at our house, but I like to set the table according to the season, regardless. I change it every month -- tablecloth, placemats, candles, bric-a-brack. I should do a montage for you guys sometime, in case you still have a shred of respect for me.
This is my dollie, Marie. She used to live at my Gramma's house, but when Gramma died, I got to keep her.
My friend Joe (of Barbie fame) sews doll clothes and made me a whole slew of clothes for her, including a little 7-piece Witch/Pilgrim/Nun ensemble. Just change a couple accessories and voila! A whole new costume! Yes, I change her clothes every month, too. What? My shrink said it's good to have hobbies!
These are a couple of things I'm thankful for this year, but I can't say them at dinner this evening because you're supposed to say stuff like "continued good health" and "all the loved ones gathered around this table" blah blah blah.
From left to right: From Philosophy, Ultra Rich Shampoo, Conditioner and Body Wash, Cinnamon Buns scent; Frango Candy Cane Chocolates; Beanpod Soy Candle, Sugar Cookie scent. (Beanpod Candles give off no soot when they burn!) My life is richer because they're in it.
My contribution to the Thanksgiving feast.
In less than an hour, these docile-looking ingredients will become that treasured culinary favorite -- Green Bean Casserole!
Now who could resist this face?
I could, especially when there's stuffing involved.
Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, people. And remember, today is the day the police get the highest number of domestic disturbance calls. Guns don't kill people -- holidays do. God bless.
Posted at 11:04 AM | Comments (5)November 03, 2005
This Should Shut Her Up
Ever since my spectacular claim in the comment section of her site:
"My rack is so fabulous, it changed Husband from a Leg Man of 46 years... into a devoted Breast Man."True story."
Queen of Ass has been clamouring for photos of me. It's always Boobs Boobs Boobs with her! Sheesh! I just don't understand her obsession. (VAGINA!)
Yet even now, with her boob-photo-lust sated, she is again taking up the cry of Photos Photos Photos!
Well, FINE.
(Note the Army of Barbies in the background. Creeeeepy! All those eyes!)
Now SHADDAP for a while!
Posted at 09:06 AM | Comments (8)October 26, 2005
It's Berry Awesome!
I've been wanting to post about my Adventures in eBaying for a while now, but I was afraid that someone would find my auctions, then bid on and win something cheap, just to find out my real name and address and stalk me. Because, really, who wouldn't buy some piece of crap they don't want, just to find out a smidgeon of info on me?
Besides, it's finally gotten cold enough at night that Heather has stopped showing up drunk at my bedroom window at 3 a.m. -- I don't need another reason to turn on the hose.
So this post is about the many, many smelly, vapid-faced Strawberry Shortcake dolls I auctioned off recently. And while I'm thinking about 80's cartoon-and-toy icons, I have to tell you guys -- Mom's cell phone has as one of the ringtone options... THE SMURF THEME SONG! Laaa Laaa La-La La Laaaa, Laa La-La La Laaaaaaaaa! Swear to God! I'm so jealous!
Anyhoo, when not reading the LOST and America's Next Top Model recaps, I've been selling Strawberry Shortcake dolls for a friend on eBay. And as my level of nausea increased, so did The Obnoxious Factor in my description of those sweet, little dollies.
Take, for example, Huckleberry Pie.
About whom I wrote:
This is Huckleberry Pie and Pupcake, token male of Strawberryland and instigater of many girlie catfights, I would reckon.In the interest of full disclosure: He comes with his hat, which is a bit scuffed on top. Pupcake says 1982 on the bottom. His clothes are clean and intact.
I just noticed that he's wearing two different shoes. How odd. They're both brown and the same shape, but one is a little lighter and has hearts on it. Won't Strawberry be upset when she finds out her boyfriend has a little cross-dressing habit?!
Anyhoo, face paint is flawless on both boy and dog, and he still smells, well, presumably, like a huckleberry, altho' I have no idea what a huckleberry actually smells like.
Now, clearly, little Huck is gay. Well, I'm not sure any self-respecting gay man would wear overalls, but surely he's a little confused about his gender because he's the only guy that stuck around for the Eternal Tea Party & Fruity Perfume Expo that Strawberry Shortcake seems to be all about.
But I imagine that anyone collecting Strawberry Shortcake dolls is not the kind of person who wants to hear my jaded assessment of their beloved childhood friends. I also imagine that they have lots of cats and knit little outfits for them. And all the cats have names like Mrs. Sipsy Dimpleton and Lord Bootsie of Hackupafurballshire. And they are not the kind of people amused by my sick sense of humor. In fact, they thought "Anne of Green Gables" was a little racey and wrote heated letters about it to PBS. (I think about this way too much.)
Anyhoo, this is Purple Pie Man, Strawberry Shortcake's archnemesis and Hater of All Things Pure and Good and True.
I just couldn't auction this with a straight face. I mean,... *sigh*. I have my reputation to think of! So I wrote this:
This is Purple Pie Man and Berry Bird, foe to all in Strawberryland and general harbinger of doom. You can tell he's evil by the handlebar moustache.In the interest of full disclosure: He comes with his hat and spoon. He also has his apron and aqua tee-shirt, worn over his... purple tights. Or is that a loincloth rather than an apron? I don't know. His whole ensemble is a little confusing, and personally, I don't think I'd be scared of anyone who dressed like this. Especially the way his shoes curl up on the ends, like elf shoes.
Anyhoo, his face paint is flawless, and his clothes have no holes or stains. This doll is very clean and in great shape. He still smells grape-ilicious! (I'm so tired of opening plastic bags and sticking my nose in.)
Now, what do you have to do to be the archnemesis to someone named Strawberry Shortcake? Her only goal in life is to have the best scones in all of Strawberryland. How hard is it to thwart that? Just set her timer back when she's not looking so that they burn and -- POOF! You're an evil warmongor!
(By the way, where is Strawberry Shortcake's Swedish friend, Lingonberry Pancake? There's the token African-American Orange Blossom, the token Latino Café Olé (I'm not making this up), the token frog Crèpe Suzette, and the token stoner from Amsterdam Mint Tulip. Why is it that my people are always overlooked?)
But my favorite is the darling Plum Pudding.
Why is she my favorite? Because she sold for $72.77!!! That's why!
She's the super-rare Party Pleaser Plum Pudding! (And how's that for annoying illiteration?) You can tell she's a Party Pleaser because she's wearing a pretty dress and her owl is playing the accordian. Because nothing says PAR-TAY! like an accordian-playing owl!
I think, by the time they got to Plum Pudding, they were really reaching for fruit-related desserts. I mean, plum pudding -- who eats that? Unless her glasses are meant to indicate that she's the token Brit in Strawberryland? Or possibly the town librarian?
Well, here's what I had to say about her:
This is Party Pleaser Plum Pudding & Elderberry Owl. You can tell she's a Party Pleaser because she's wearing her best dress, and her owl is playing an accordian. I mean, what's a party without an accordian?!In the interest of full disclosure: She has her hat, still attached to her head by those little plastic thingies (which, I imagine, are giving her a huge headache). Elderberry is in perfect shape and says 1984 on the bottom.
Face paint is flawless on both doll and owl. Plum Pudding's clothes are without holes or stains -- in fact, if it weren't for the tiny scuffs on her shoes, you wouldn't even know this doll had been played with.
She smells like I would imagine plum pudding smells, if I had ever smelled it, but since I haven't, I guess I'm just going to have to assume that Kenner is accurate in their recreation of the plum pudding scent.
I'm going to hell for this one:
This is Strawberry Shortcake's token Latino friend, Café Olé and her pet donkey Burrito (which is either a very small donkey or a tastey meal from Chipotlé).
I also alleged that baby Butter Cookie is the love-child of Raspberry Tart and Huckleberry Pie. All this sweetness has made me bitter.
P.S. Someone named "queenkissyfur" bought a couple of the dolls. I'm gonng go out on a limb here and guess that she has multiple cats.
Posted at 12:44 PM | Comments (4)October 24, 2005
Build-a-Dork
This is what Billi and I did last week. This is what I took off work for. Yup -- Build-a-Bear.
Guess which one is mine!
If you didn't guess the white bear with the Hello Kitty! t-shirt and panties, hang your head in shame!
Billi chose... a monkey. A dozen cute bears and puppies on display, and she chooses... a monkey. And she didn't name him George! What the hell's the matter with her?!
She named him Leroy.
Whatever. I love his outfit. Boxers and a Cookie Monster t-shirt. I wish I was wearing that right now. And riding a unicorn.
Posted at 02:34 PM | Comments (2)October 07, 2005
Yeah, They're Real
Because I can't think of one damn thing to blog about today.
I just thought I'd share some joy with you guys. And gals. Autumn weather is finally here, I get to leave work early today, Heather is soon to be an auntie, and my hooters are fabulous. It's a good day!
Won't be writing again until Thursday because I'll be in Door County eating all the apple- and pumpkin-related food items I can get my mitts on. So this photo will be up for six days, giving Mom ample time to write me outta the will.
I know what Billi's thinking: "Now post one of your cooter so I can have all your Christmas presents!"
Posted at 12:28 PM | Comments (7)September 24, 2005
Oh Dear. Now I've Done It.
I've gone and dyed my hair fire-engine-red. (I know, I know, redheads shouldn't wear pink.)
I've always wanted to be a redhead. They're so saucy! So sexy! So unconventional! So daring!
I tried some strawberry blonde shades. (I don't even remember what my natural color is.) And they looked cute. But they just weren't that fiery red I crave! I wanna be Marcia-Cross-red!
So I picked up a color called "Desert Sunrise." Could they be any more vague? I've never been to the desert, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't look anything like this in the morning!
And it sure doesn't look like the color on the box. If it's still this color in the morning, I sure as hell ain't going to church.
Lucky Husband -- he gets to pretend he's having sex with a mysterious stranger tonight! A saucy, mysterious stranger!
Posted at 09:36 PM | Comments (9)September 21, 2005
Plumb Tuckered Out
Lucy and Milo, after a full day of trying to viscerate each other.
Posted at 02:06 PM | Comments (1)September 02, 2005
Hardcore
And his current favorite song is "School's Out" by Alice Cooper.
September 01, 2005
Wenchie Went On Vacation and All We Got Are These Lame-Ass Photos
Ah, a blogger's last resort. The post of laziness. The entry of ennui. Photos.
I know many of you were probably worried that I had been killed and eaten by my stepdaughters, but fear not -- I was able to hold them off with my ninja skills until Husband arrived home.
Actually, I was on VACATION for four days! Which was pure awesome! And relaxing! And fattening! And oh-ho-hoooooooooooooo, do I have the stories for you, my dearest minions! You're just going to have to wait until tomorrow because I'm currently suffering The Curse of the Vacationer, i.e. Lots o' Crap Piled On My Desk.
This is the back of my Explorer. Guess how many friends I took with me? Two -- PJ and Egrau. That's right. This is what three women needed to survive for four days and three nights. And we didn't even bring make-up!
This is my family's shack. I mean shanty. I mean cabin. It's a rear view, so you stalkers (you know who you are!) can't drive around Wisconsin and look for my cabin, in order to catch a glimpse of me drinking Kaluha at 7:00 a.m. and yelling at PJ to hurry up in the shower because I have a turtle head poking out.
This is some of the scenery from our hike through the woods. "But Wenchie, that doesn't look like woods." Right you are! That's the beach. After hiking past thirty "NO TRESPASSING" signs and five barking dogs, we decided that walking back along the beach was less likely to earn us an ass full of buckshot. But we did get scolded by an old lady, which was awesome, and I totally felt like The Little Rascals.
Here are some of the new animal friends we made. This petting zoo cow can put it's tongue up it's own nose, and did so many times. I don't know if he was trying to dislodge a booger or just gross us out. The motives of cows continue mystify me, despite all the time I spent with them in the wild, learning their ways and eventually being accepted into the group.
This is a goat up on the roof of the famous Al Johnson's Restaurant, where we had tastey Swedish pancakes and an even tastier waiter. I'm not sure whether this goat was letting me know what he thought of me, or if he considers this his best side for photos. I know even less about the ways of goats than I do of cows.
And tomorrow:
There was an old lady
Who swallowed a fly.
I don't know why
She swallowed a fly.
Perhaps she'll die!
August 13, 2005
Molly for a Moustache
My father is Norwegian. 100%. This means he is a lot of things. He is tall. He is blond. He is sturdy. He can withstand cold water that would kill a dolphin. He can eat creamed herring without gagging. But he cannot grow a beard.
I mean, dude can hardly grow a chest hair, let alone a full beard. And yet, he tries. Every year on vacation, he stops shaving. And it's so, so sad. He looks like he has the mange.
This year, he took it too far. It was two weeks after he and Mom returned from vacation, and the "beard" and "moustache" (yes, facial hair that lame must be put in quotes) were still there. I was horrified. I mean, that plus the way he dresses -- he looked utterly homeless. I was expecting him to pull out a bible and a megaphone at any moment.
He finally gave up the "beard," praise be to God, be he clung stubbornly to the "moustache." And he grew it down the side of his mouth, too, so it looked like some weird fu-man-choo wanna-be. Ugh.
"Hey, Dad, are you auditioning for the next season of Deadwood?"
We tried EVERYTHING to get him to shave the thing. Every bribe we could think of, which isn't easy, cuz the man already has everything. In his basement. So then we tried the Peer Pressure tactic and had everyone we know tell him how awful it looks.
Mom was growing desparate. She hates facial hair. She also doesn't like dog hair. Or dog drool. Or dog smell. But Dad does. Dad LOOOOOOOOOOVES dogs. He wants one really bad. And fankly, I'd like Mom to have a dog, too, because Dad goes on business trips a lot. And frankly, even when he's there, he's not quite... well,... there.
So Mom pulled out the big guns. She told Dad, "If you shave off your moustache, we can get a dog."
His barber gladly did it for FREE.
Introducing... MOLLY!
They went to the Chicago Anti-Cruelty Society on Friday and came home with this little sweetheart. And I do mean sweetheart! What a serene and loving disposition! How could anyone give up this dog?!
She's a year old and still has some serious growing to do, judging by the size of her feet and how slender she is. Mom and Dad were told she's a German Shepherd mix, and if I had to guess what she's mixed with, I'd definately say Boxer.
Billi went with to choose the dog and brought Boy Child and Girl Child. When they got Molly out of her cage, the first thing Boy Child did was throw himself on her and shove his head in her mouth. Don't be alarmed; this is perfectly normal behavior for Boy Child. And Molly didn't bat an eye. So clearly, she was the right dog. She passed The Boy Child Litmus Test.
Are her ears not the cutest?!
Posted at 05:53 PM | Comments (7)August 11, 2005
And Now, By Popular Demand...
And by demand I mean, um... one person... but she can be very demanding! And she must be obeyed! It has been decreed! Decreed, I tell you!
I think Queen of Ass is a very visually-oriented person. Every time I mention something, she's all jumping up and down and, "Photos, please!"
Here are some of the things that QoA has requested to see in the past month:
1. My New Bracelet from Husband:
The little, silver beads are shaped like dragonflies, and I looooooooove the color! It was made by a young lady who works at our favorite breakfast place in Door County, and I like to support the locals.
2. My Tattoos:
Actually, two of the three. That's my ankle one, designed by my late grandfather, unbeknowst to him. He was a silversmith and worked in a famous jewelry store decades ago. It was called The Kalo Shop, and Grandpa was good. I mean damn good. So good, all his co-workers called him "Mr. Kalo."
He died when I was just a baby, so I never knew him, but I'm very lucky to own several pieces of his jewelry.
Dad still has lots of his drawings, the sketches he made before actually starting a piece. He was very into the acorn-oak-leaf motif -- it's a family thing. Our cabin up north is surrounded by oaks and other hardwoods, and Grandpa named it Oakwood.
When I was in Indian Princesses growing up (a YMCA-sponsored daddy-daughter organization), Dad was Tall Oak and I was Little Acorn. So I took one of Grandpa's broach designs to the Jade Dragon and had them tattoo it on me.
That was ten years ago, and I'm sure he's still rolling in his grave.
This is my first tattoo, on my hip:
I got it in 1990, mind you. BEFORE everyone and their mother got one! I'm the trend-setter. Let the records show that I was cool before anyone else.
3. And for no apparent reason, my pedicure:
Because it takes soaking and buffing and polishing and oiling to make feet look good. I hate feet.
Coming soon: the sword, a rare glimpse of part of my face (I'm an elusive creature), the tattoo on my shoulder, and The Girls.
You know, it's really freakin' hard to take photos of oneself. The angles are just all wrong!
P.S. Remind me to tell you stories of Indian Princesses sometime. We were totally the Delta House of the pseudo-Native-American world.
Posted at 08:21 PM | Comments (5)August 05, 2005
My New Underground Lair: Phase One
Oh my stars, my mind is such a void lately. Yes, even more so than usual, smartass. I can't think of anything even remotely interesting to blog about. This isn't even going to be interesting, but at least it has visuals.
(I know this writer's block won't last. It never does. I could never actually shut up for an extended period of time. Next week, I'll write four entries in one day. That's just how my muse works.)
Okay, I just took 5 seconds to take these photos and download them directly into my new computer (and now I have to go take a cold shower because that's just so kewl). I know it's hard to believe because of the fabulous quality, but none of them are staged. Not even the one with the dog. Except that I did remove my bra from the bed.
On Labor Day weekend, Husband's eldest, Ophelia, will go off to college. There will be tears and sobbing and wailing and the rending of garments, and I'm sooooooooooo glad I'll be 6 hours away in Chippewa Falls, WI.
Last week, Ophelia stopped by to clean her stuff outta her room. And now? It's mine, MINE, MINE!!! The room, not her stuff. I don't need any blue nail polish or back issues of Cosmo, thankyouverymuch.
My office is a work in progress that I thought I'd document here, for lack of anything else to blog about. The room is now in Stage One.
Here's where I blog and make myself beautiful:
Can you believe I found a Hello Kitty! garbage can?!
The bed is so outta here:
The poster is The Gashlycrumb Tinies. (Scroll thru the whole alphabet by clicking the little tombstones at the bottom.) I've had it since we got married, but it's taken me this long to convince Husband that it's not completely inappropriate to hang in a house where there are children. "N is for Neville who died of ennui." How is that not hilarious?! ENNUI!!!
I'm gonna need two more of those big IKEA bookcases for the Barbies:
Ooooh, sneak preview of my sword!
I hate this rug. The black shows ALL the Daisy hair:
The dog toy on the floor is a little Snoopy dressed in a bunny costume. It's her favorite! And there's not a tear on it. She just carries it gently around the house.
Coming soon: Out with the bed, in with the huge-ass dresser!
Posted at 08:18 AM | Comments (2)August 02, 2005
Daisy
And for no apparent reason, my dog, on vacation from her otherwise grueling and dreary life:
June 24, 2005
And I Thought MY Dog Was Weird
Here's Lucy, reclining on her Mommy's lap, like Cleopatra suffering from a near-fatal tummy-rub.
And here's her famous impersonation of a side of beef. She gets lots of requests for this one.
I don't know if she was smoking it, or she just didn't realize she had grass hanging out of her mouth.
She also eats frogs. That's right -- frogs. Live ones.
Posted at 03:54 PM | Comments (3)June 08, 2005
Your Diabetic-Coma-Inducing Moment of the Week
A friend had a feral cat give birth underneath her backyard shed.
Awwwwww. It nearly makes you forget that they're almost certainly infested with fleas and worms. How precious.
Posted at 08:23 AM | Comments (5)April 04, 2005
Boy Child Is a Genius!
March 29, 2005
Who's My Cute Wittle Babyface? You Are! Yes, You Are!
Yeah, so, I love my camera, and I love dogs. Hence the inevitable result.
This is my dog, Daisy the Shedomatic. Last year, she ate the fuzzy bunny ears, so now she's forced to pose with stuffed bunnies and basket.
Nice try, Wigglebutt, but you're not getting out of it that easily! I've got a pirate costume with your name on it for Halloween!
Note the worried look on her face, like, "Oh, God, are the other dogs looking?"
Here she is in all her regal glory, basking in the sun from the kitchen skylight. Note that this time, the look on her face says, "You don't have to worship me. Adoration will suffice."
Last but certainly not least, unless we're talkin' size here, Lucy. She looks so innocent without The Boy Child's head in her mouth, doesn't she?
But don't be fooled! She's evil, I tell you! Eeeeeee-viiiiiiiilll!
Posted at 09:48 AM | Comments (0)March 23, 2005
Lucy and The Boy Child
It just doesn't get any cuter than this.
Posted at 08:22 AM | Comments (1)