December 21, 2011

Which Childhood Am I On Now?

First it's the Barbies, and then with the ridiculous amounts of Christmas decorations, and then with the tiny chairs, and then with the antique toys, and then with the Hello Kitty hoodies (which, oddly, I have never blogged about). I know people often talk about their "second childhood" (often as justification to buy or do something completely retarded), but how many are we allowed? Do we get nine, like cats' lives?

Here's why I ask. I recently moved forty Barbies, a bookcase, and a small dresser out of my home office to make room for a bed. No, I'm not sleeping in there (yet...); I just want The Girl Child or my Norwegian cousin to have a nice place to sleep when they visit, rather than an air mattress on the floor under my desk (literally), where, by morning, Stella has moved in and taken over half the mattress.

Yeah, it's amazing how much room you have when you relocate forty Barbies. Those bitches take up a LOT of real estate. They may be small, but they have HUGE personal-space issues. So now they are housed in the basement.

The most important decision in buying a bed is What Bedspread Should I Get? Of course, there was an ADORABLE quilt at Pottery Barn, but I figured that the bedspread probably shouldn't cost more than the mattress, box spring, frame, mattress cover, pillow and sheets combined. I do ocassionally have my practical moments.

Wanting something cozy and not contemporary-looking, I got on Etsy and found a pink chenille bedspread for thirty bucks! It's in perfect shape, and one cycle through the wash got rid of the grandma's-attic smell quite nicely.

I can't believe I managed to match the wall paint so well!

As for sheets, well before I even started thinking about getting a bed for my office, I had been eyeing a set at Target. But I thought Husband might not appreciate them in our bedroom.

Lookit all the adorable woodland creatures! With their vibrant colors and creepy, staring eyes! Hee -- hedgehog! Want a better look?

Sadly, the sheets are only visible when someone is actually sleeping in the bed, so I had to do something else to really give the bed the Wenchie touch.

Cast of characters:
Mommie Dearest's Raggedy Ann from when she was little;
a fuzzy, pink sheep Billi gave me;
the 22" dime-store doll that I played with at my Grandma's as a kid;
a furry, pink, handmade teddy bear that PJ bought me in Door County;
a stuffed cow that was my mother-in-law's when she was little;
a teddy bear from Husband;
and an old Holly Hobbie from the seventies.

Oh, and the striped pillow is a gift from The Girl Child, who made it with her own hot, sweaty, little hands and chose the material herself to match my office!

Now, it has occured to me -- and not without an unsettling feeling of creepiness -- that I have managed to recreate my childhood bedroom. I don't know what that says about me, but I'm sure that my therapist and I will figure it out together.

Posted at 10:57 AM | Comments (6)

September 25, 2011

September Photo Blog: Part II of II

I was quite the busy, little bee over Labor Day weekend. What with the extra day off work and all, it was an opportune time to redress the Barbies, who were still lolling around in what I'd put them in nine months prior. Heavens to Betsy! That just wouldn't do!

So I changed them into outfits reflective of the colors of fall leaves.

Too much time on my hands? You betcha!

So guess where this photo was taken.

This is my back porch. No, not in Alabama or the Appalachians -- it's an affluent suburb of Chicago. Not that you'd know that from looking at this photo. Yes, that is a generator behind the chair. Also, a green pail, two aluminum tubs, and a garbage can. I think there may be a shop-vac hiding there, as well.

I'm thinking of moving our fridge out here sometime soon. And maybe bringing up the futon from the basement, for when friends come over and want to whittle.

Did you notice the weird vegetative shells on the ground? Yeah, those are corn husks. People were shucking corn on my porch. Not I. Perish the thought! I don't shuck. Ever. And no, Heather, I did not make an Amish corn husk doll with the husks.

Did you ever see a fashion, and it just gets stuck in your head, and even though you know it's probably not a good idea, you just can't resist trying it?

[And men, let me just take a moment here to say that you are not immune to bad fashion ideas. I speak mainly of MAN-PRIs, i.e. capris for men. Always a bad idea, I don't care how young, hip and Californian you are.]

Anyhoo, here's me succumbing to skinny jeans and boots.

True, they are not the knee-high, black, leather pirate boots that you and I were both envisioning. But considering the amount of money I've spent on shoes lately, I figured I should keep my initial boot purchase under $100. Just until I'm ready to upgrade, mind you.

And now for the pièce de résistance.

There's some serious ick-factor coming up here, folks. Avert your eyes if you're squeamish!

This is Daisy's impression of a three-toed sloth.

Yes, Daisy had a toe removed. Ewwwwwwww! I know!

She somehow managed to get some whack-a-doo infection in her nail bed, and the nail fell off, and the infection wasn't responding to any of the high-end, designer antibiotics we were pumping into her. Lest we keep throwing good money after bad, we thought -- enh, just lop the thing off.

I'm kidding, of course. We did put a little more thought into it than that. The vet recommended taking it off before the infection got into the bone or the rest of her foot. And since our new lady vet is amazing, and I just can't say enough good things about her and her staff, we followed her advice. And now Daisy has but three toes on her hind right leg.

Oh, stop your fretting. She's fine. Three days after surgery, she was running around in the yard like nothing had happened, much to my dismay. Damn dog wouldn't keep her bandage on. I almost resorted to duct tape. Frankly, I'm surprised it healed at all.

But she's all fine now. Don't go feeling all sorry for her and let her pathetic eyes trick you into giving her another treat. She's got the I.Q. of a kumquat and doesn't even know there used to be a toe there.

So, freaks, what's on your camera?

Posted at 07:38 AM | Comments (2)

September 20, 2011

September Photo Diary: Part I of II

God, I have weird stuff on my camera. I mean, usually, it's loaded with photos of Billi's brood and/or my dogs looking stupid and/or Wisconsin landscapes. And Barbies. Always Barbies.

But lately, I have had... just... well, you be the judge.

This is my new, little friend at work. And this is his story of origin. Which is probably not comic-book-worthy, but it's at least Wenchie's-crappy-blog-worthy, so here goes.

I had just touched a Dove dark chocolate square to my tongue when my phone rang, and I could see that it was not someone who would completely understand if I answered the phone with food in my mouth. So I took the chocolate off my tongue and placed it on the little pad of stickies nearby.

When I got off the phone and stuck the chocolate back -- successfully, this time -- into my gaping maw, I noticed that the shape it left looked like a friendly choco-smile. What else could I do but draw two eyes?

And now, he is my own Wilson, like Tom Hanks had when he was on that deserted island and lost all that weight. Only made out of chocolate and not blood. Isn't he adorable? And like Wilson, my Wilson Jr. is embued with his own special personality. And I will keep him around forever.

Or until I build a raft and leave my shithole cubicle, and Wilson Jr. accidentally gets washed away in the storm. Whereafter I will always remember him fondly as the one who kept me company during my darkest days.

Yeah, I get a little bored at work sometimes.

Okay, photo two. This is The Girl Child. And this is what a ten year old girl thinks is a really cool outfit. (And I know this because I took her shopping and let her pick out an outfit all by herself.)

I'm assuming that, at school, this will be worn with Ugg boots on her feet. In her defense, this is way cuter -- and decidedly more feminine -- than the stuff I was wearing at her age. I could only describe my grade school style as Whatever the Boys Were Wearing That Made My Mother Cringe and Wonder If I Had Any Estrogen Whatsoever.

And then I hit 35, and the pendulum swung waaaaaaaaaaaaay the hell over to the other side. Now it's all sparkly nails and Hello Kitty! hoodies and false eyelashes. There is just no Happy Medium in Wenchie's World!

Hey, remember when I blogged about cleaning out my father's basement after a horrible flood? This is what the garbage men were confronted with during their route on the following Tuesday.

It may not look like much on my teeny-tiny blog, but trust me -- it cast a shadow over our Jeep Grand Cherokee. And it's not like he was hoarding feathers and packing peanuts, people! The man keeps WROUGHT IRON! And MOLTEN LEAD! And ALLOYS ANDIGIONOUS TO OTHER PLANETS! Those mutha-fockin' bags were HEAVY!

And that's all I'm allowed to say about it here because of the conditions stated in the lawsuit brought by the Waste Removal Workers of Cook County.

So let's end on a happy note. Look what Lola made me!

Isn't she adorable?! And she totally matches my office, which I love. And she has all kinds of cool textures on her! I could rub her nubbiness for hours! But then I would get her dirty, and I don't want that. So I just ocassionally caress her as I walk by...

And now I've said too much.

Posted at 07:40 PM | Comments (0)

September 05, 2011

Seriously, Wenchie, What's With You and Shoes Lately?

You wanna know? I'll tell you.

1. I need shoes for work. More than one pair. Because I'm not wearing my Danskos or my granny boots there anymore. [Yes, Heather, I know you are cringing. But at least I'm not wearing them to work, right? Are you gonna be okay?]

2. To the surprise of no one, I am picky as hell. I absolutely will not wear any shoe that doesn't feel like a slipper. I am just too friggin' old, and I don't need one more thing making me crabby.

3. Zappos has free shipping BOTH WAYS. And zero tax, which is pretty important when you live in a place where the sales tax is 10%. So it's like bringing the shoe store to me! Who could resist?!

For instance, who could resist these?

Patent leather penny loafers with a 1-1/2 inch heel by Anne Klein! So naughty-Catholic-schoolgirl cute! So exactly-what-I-was-looking-for! Sadly, they were squashing me like Spanx for feet.

Oh, did I not mention? I have wide feet. Flippers, if you will. I'm practically a mermaid. Yet another reason to shop at Zappos -- I can automatically see only those shoes that come in wide sizes! Like these!

Black boots to wear with my long black skirt. And my long dark grey skirt. Don't worry -- I will not be wearing the brown knee-socks with either skirt.

Say, have I posted these, yet?

These are the 50s hostess slippers that I wore to Older Step Daughter's wedding. And no, that is not authentic harvet gold carpeting from the 50s. It's the carpeting at work from the 2000s. Sad, huh?

Speaking of work, wore these a few weeks ago when I knew that no one else would be around and I would be on my feet all day.

Believe me -- my hips thanked me for it later! They actually sent me a thank-you card and were terribly miffed when my knees outdid them by sending me flowers. What kind? Why, Lady Slippers, natch!

Anyhoo, I routinely do searches on Zappos for Penny Loafers and Spectator Shoes. And then I narrow down the searches to Platforms and pray for something without stillettos. One day last week, I was rewarded with these!

Platform spectator shoes in black leather! The answer to all my prayers! Who cares that they're $180?! Of course, I ordered them! And know what? They felt like slippers! God be praised!

I put them on and ran through the house singing Alleluias! Lo, I posted them on high (on FaceBook) and invited others to behold the wonder that was the perfect shoes! I'm sure they are replicas of the shoes that Mary Magdalene wore when she danced with Jeebus at the wedding at Cana!

Which may be why they led everyone I know to cruelly and callously tell me that they look like nun shoes. GAWD, you people are mean! You know who you are!

I sent them back. But not without a heavy heart.

To clear the air of bad ju-ju, I give you these photos of cool Barbie shoes.

Barbie can wear these because she's on her back more than she's on her feet anyway.

Ha ha, Heather! Your giant man-feet will never fit into these! That'll teach you to keep your wimple remarks to yourself!

Posted at 03:17 PM | Comments (3)

July 15, 2011

Prison vs. Sanctuary

One day, Husband walked into my home office and said, "It looks like a bird sanctuary in here... inside a womens' prison."

I have no idea what he's talking about.

I guess one woman's prison is another bird's sanctuary.

Or something.

Posted at 03:24 PM | Comments (1)

June 20, 2011

Danka but No Danka, Dansko

About my feet.

The good news is, unlike Heather, my body hasn't gone so far as to recognize three-inch heels as "the new normal," so I will not be forced to wear ungodly-high heels for the rest of my life. (Heather is, as far as I can tell, not even 100% human anymore because she has basically changed the DNA of her feet.)

The bad news is, my awesome, grown-up 2-1/2" heels are no longer even a sometimes-option. At least, not at my current Body Mass Index. Which is just as well, lest I return to the hobbling, wincing gimp that I had recently been.

So, yeah -- the even worse news is, I spent $300 on two pairs of work shoes that I can no longer wear. And THAT, my friends, has got me a bit pissy.

But the bottom line is good news -- my foot will heal. I have not done permanant damage. Dr. Hottie has assured me that I will not be dealing with foot pain for the rest of my life.

Recently, I've ordered about three boxes of four shoes each, mostly black sandals for work, and a couple silver sandals for the wedding. All 1-1/2" heel maximum.

There were these, by Naot:

I know they're a little Anne-of-Green-Gables, but I like that. And what I really like about them is that they actually have a back to them, so I wouldn't be making that flip-flop sound in the office, which I hate. I don't ever want my shoes to announce my presence -- I want my presence to announce my presence! Of all the black sandals I ordered, these were my favorite. Alas, they were too narrow.

Another pair by Naot:

I've come to understand that Naot is supposed to be Mecca for comfortable-yet-relatively-stylish shoes. And yet -- they leave me cold. They just don't carry wide sizes. You know, you'd think that a company making quality shoes would realize that feet come in different widths. They are made in Israel, so perhaps God's chosen people are all blessed with normal-sized feet?

Here's a pair by some hippie company, whose name escapes me:

They are the comfiest damn things I ever put on my feet. LITERALLY, like walking on pillows, and I know that's a cliché, but I'm not being paid to say it, so you know it's true. However, they are ugly as hell, so there's no way I'm wearing them.

These are by Aravon, which is apparently some non-gym-shoe line of New Balance, a brand that is apparently paying Dr. Hottie to mention them every time he sees me:

Clearly, they're too big. (And please ignore the sock-lines on my ankles.) They were pretty comfy, so I could have just ordered a size smaller. But something about their construction looks... cheap. Not cheap like Paris-Hilton-walk-of-shame, but cheap like I-got-these-at-Payless. The patent leather looks like pleather to me. Again, not wearing them!

[And this is the point where all the men go, "They all look alike! And why am I reading about sandals?!" Except for Marty, who's all, "I like the second pair best."]

Ah, my beloved Dansko:

I REALLYREALLYREALLY wanted these to be The Ones. They are adorable, and I already have two pairs of non-sandal Danskos -- one clog and one platform loafer. Alas, after wearing them around the house for twenty minutes, I had to admit that I just wouldn't be comfortable wearing them around work for eight hours. It's not that they were uncomfortable in any specific way, it's just that they didn't do anything for me, ya know? I feel like a traitor to my people, but I'm sending back the Danskos.

So here's the best of the bunch:

By Naturalizer. Yes, I am officially my grandmother. I might as well just be wearing white orthodics. Oh, I guess they're not hideous, but they're not as cute as I'd like them to be. *sigh*

Ah, well, the search goes on, thanks to the fact that the finalist pair cost half as much as any of the others, so I can afford to buy more. Ironic, no? Maybe I just don't have rich-bitch feet.

Also continuing is the search to find silver wedding shoes, now that I cannot wear my fabulous Ode to a Glamazon:

I never even tried them on. It would have been even more painful to say good-bye if they had fit well. Now, I can just pretend that we didn't work out, and fool myself that I didn't get dumped by the best shoes that ever happened to me.

Instead, I bought these:

They kinda remind me of the gold hostess slippers that Mommie Dearest used to wear in the 70s. However, I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing...

Anyhoo, I have a few more shoes to buy and try on, and probably return -- both black sandals and silver slippers -- before I call this quest fulfilled. I have a whole slew of goodies in my Zappos.com Favorites list. Never fear, I will keep you posted!

By the way, here is my hottie bitch sister, Billi, in her outfit for the wedding:

[Author's note: The pile of dirty clothes next to Billi are NOT hers; they are The Girl Child's.]

She texted me this photo and asked, of her shoes, "Too trampy for the wedding?"

So I lied and said, "No! They're awesome!"

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! I can't wait to be in the bathroom at the reception and overhear what the bridesmaids have to say about her!

Posted at 10:57 AM | Comments (3)

March 03, 2011

Transformational Transformation!

"Transformative" is a word I'd never heard until I started working for Jeebus, along with "missional" and "visioning." But last weekend felt pretty transformative, not on any grand, life-altering scale, but in the sense that I feel I am no longer being overpowered by my hair, or overshadowed by my glasses.

It took me ten tries to take a photo of myself over the shoulder and in a mirror. It's harder than it looks! It should be a friggin' Olympic event!

Anyhoo, here's my ratty, hippie hair, as of Saturday morning.

Yeah, completely out of control. Too much upkeep, and very little pay-off, as there are very few gorgeous men stopping me on the street, begging me to let them run their fingers through my supple locks.

BUT! Here's my hair sans five inches on Sunday morning!

I expect a stampede of hair fetishists to mob me at any moment!

Okay, here are my old glasses.

I don't like the way the top of the frame cuts me right across the top of my eyes. This is what I get for letting the 97-year old receptionist help me pick out frames. (Seriously, is she my optometrists mother? Why does he keep her? She can't even walk!)

Anyway, here are my NEW frames, that I picked out all by myself!

Nice, eh? So, yeah, I'm pretty happy with the overall package. I'm no longer hiding behind my glasses or drowning in a swamp of hair.

I guess now all I need is a new ass, fewer chins, and a complete wardrobe overhaul. Baby steps, Wenchie. Baby steps.

Posted at 06:37 AM | Comments (3)

November 02, 2010

As You Wish

Contrary to popular belief, this blog is not ALL about me. I mean, okay, it's mostly about me. Like, to a very high percentage. But every once in a great while, I do so enjoy making you smile. (A rhyme!)

So, as per your request, I give you...

Sonny

I texted Lola to send me a photo of her Sonny doll from her iPhone, and I received this weird, Where's-Waldo?-esque series of pictures.

This is Lola's gargoyle, Ned. Ned has replaced Cher in Sonny's new act because Ned requires very few costume changes.

And some trampy blonde has replaced Cher off-stage.

*sigh* Isn't it always some trampy blonde?

Posted at 06:24 PM | Comments (1)

October 07, 2010

He's a Lumberjack and He's Okay

This is the tree that needed to come down. It looks like Dr. Seuss' back yard because Husband already cut all the dead branches off, as high as he could reach. On a ladder with a hand saw. I was in the kitchen with the window open and the phone nearby, listening for The Accident.

Cousin Ramone came over to help Husband, despite my aunt's certainty that someone was going to lose a limb!!! Isn't it cute how he's wearing plaid? That's Ramone holding the ladder for Husband, who is tying a big rope to the top of the tree.

We gave Ramone the honor of making the first cut. And uttering the first profanity.

"This blade is dull as shit." So he exchanged his gas-powered saw for Dad's electric saw, which was nice because it wasn't as loud. At 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday.

I told Husband to be the one holding the rope that steered the tree to its final resting place. If someone was going to hit the house or take out a telephone wire, I thought it should be the homeowner. Nothing ruins Thanksgiving dinner like a lawsuit!

This is an action-shot of the tree actually falling.

Taking a photo of falling trees is not only difficult to time, it's also kinda stupid.

The tree and its trunk, parted for all of eternity.

All the crap behind our shed is now entirely too visible. Note to self: add this to Husband's To Do list.

"The chain is loose, but I don't really know what I'm doing here. Any ideas?"

Surprisingly, this did not end with a trip to the Emergency Room, although I will admit that I did get the small cooler down from the shelf in the garage, just in case we needed to keep an appendage on ice during the ambulance ride.

Now for the fun part -- dragging all the branches to the curb. Luckily, I had made an amazing coffee cake, so I was excused from manual labor.

This is the treasure that was found buried in the debris under the tree. Can't imagine how old it is. Is it just me, or is Spiderman's thigh almost... disconcertingly muscular?

Posted at 09:37 AM | Comments (3)

August 30, 2010

Inappropriate Vacation Photos

Would you expect anything less?

Happy Monday, my peeps! Here's some barnyard porn because I have absolutely nothing intellegent to say.

Chicken va-jay-jay!

Horse erection!

All the parents were busy being proper and directing their kids' attention away from the ginormous equestrian boner, but I felt compelled to point and laugh. It is what we in the education profession call a "teachable moment."

How else are they going to learn that schlongs are hilarious? Won't someone please think of the children?!

Posted at 06:07 AM | Comments (3)

July 26, 2010

Movie Review: Toy Story 3

If you haven't already seen "Toy Story 3," I highly recommend it. It may very well be the best of the trilogy. Yes, they merchandized the hell out of it. But if you can overlook that, you'll be doing yourself a favor. Three-year old The Spare (Billi's youngest) was sitting next to me, and he only said three sentences during the entire movie. This from a kid who talks even when he's asleep.

I can tell you two things about this movie without giving anything away.

1. I didn't see it in 3D because I don't enjoy vomiting. There's something about my eyes that just doesn't jibe with the whole 3D thing. Probabaly because I myself am superficial and one-dimensional, and that's how I prefer to see the world. But the 2D version of "TS3" lacked absolutely nothing.

2. This movie, in my mind, will always be entitled "Ken Gets His Groove Back."

I almost had a happy-pee when I saw this scene:

During the fashion show, in my head, I was going, "Have it, have it, need it, have it, don't want it, need it..."

Pixar really did their homework because those were all actual Mattel outfits. Of course, the Lederhosen would never fit a Superstar Ken body because they were made for Original Ken, who was much leaner, but... oops! My nerd is showing.

The Ken featured in the movie is from the 80s, but the last outfit that Ken wears in his fashion show -- the piece de resistance, if you will -- is from the 1968 Live Action Ken.

Whom I own.

Awwwwwww, yyeeeaaahh. That's the complete, original outfit on the 1968 Ken. Yes, those are orange, satin pants, why do you ask? Live Action Ken is named so because his knees bend and his waist pivots, which was a big, fat, hairy deal for a Ken doll the year before I was born.

It was funny seeing Ken up on the big screen. It was like, "Hey, I know that guy!" I hope he'll still take my calls. I wonder which Hollywood starlet he's going to dump Barbie for...?

Posted at 07:25 AM | Comments (1)

April 20, 2010

What the Easter Bunny Brought Me

Because nothing says Our Savior Is Risen like a plastic tramp in gladiator garb!

[Text taken directly off the box she came in. Well, mostly.]

Posted at 08:25 AM | Comments (1)

February 08, 2010

What I Got for Christmas

Christmas was pretty sparse this year -- by necessity and choice -- as I'm sure it was for a lot of you. Of course, we bought gifts for my step daughters and niece and nephews. We're not monsters, for God's sake. And Husband and I bought each other stocking stuffers.

But I made a pact with everyone else I know -- "Don't get me anything, and I won't get you anything." Everyone was very agreeable. Which means that what I did get remains that much clearer in my memory.

And I can't believe I haven't showed you guys this stuff, yet. Look what Husband got me!

Yay! Girlie pirate gigabytes! Awesome.

But this is what really floored me.

Naughty nurse outfit! Can you believe that?! Something about this purchase makes me think that he secretly wants to play Barbies, too...

"Ready for your spongebath, Mr. Wenchie?"

And then THIS!

How did Husband know that Barbie Basics are, like, all the rage in the Barbie world this season?!

Here's a Top Model Barbie and a Milan Model Barbie doing what they do best -- modeling their new accessories!

Either he's been spending time with Joe behind my back, or he really IS gay from the waist up, as I've always said.

(Yes, I know there's a third possibility, but I shall just ignore the obvious and remain confident that Husband just knows my Barbie tastes really, really well.)

Posted at 05:47 PM | Comments (0)

February 01, 2010

The Giving Never Stops

Your green nail polish is waiting for you, Miss V. Whenever shall I see you again?

It's called "Lime Lights!"

And because Miss V. loves dark humor...

At work, Alpha has been trying to to figure out what gifts Head Boss should bring on his tour of all the important world religious leaders next month. (No, I'm totally serious. Head Boss has met ALL of Jeebus' rock stars. Yes, they let me work with important, holy people. Can you believe it?!)

For the Pope's gift, I suggested, "a nice burning-heretic-scented candle."

And then I remembered that Alpha is Catholic.

D'oh!

Hey, at least I didn't suggest one that smells like a boys' locker room. Because THAT would've been over the edge.

Posted at 06:24 AM | Comments (2)

January 28, 2010

P to the W to the... That's All I Got

I discovered that, while I have many things in my house that begin with the letter P, I have very few that begin with the letter W. A startling revelation, indeed.

I am referrring, of course, to Vicki's request that I post "a photo spread of things that begin with the letters P and W."

Your wish is my command, fair Vicki! Let's start with P for Pirate and...

Plate! You guys, I'm Scandinavian. Of COURSE, I collect Royal Copenhagen. I got at least a dozen of these plates.

Polar bear! My Royal Copenhagen collection is not limited to plates. I also have a RC bunny!

Pirate minis! Weird that I'm not a gamer, and yet I own three minis. (Not pictured: Legolas.) In retrospect, I should have put a nickel in the photo so you could see how truly miniscule these things are. They stand less than an inch tall!

Pussywillows! You would not believe how old these things are. They're from a tree long since gone, that stood behind the neighbors' garage at my parents' old house... where I have not lived for twenty-one years. Assuming they don't turn to dust before then, I'm having these pussywillows buried with me.

Now for the things that start with the same letter as Wenchie...

Watch! I'm kind of impressed at what a nice picture my camera took.

Wheat! Is it weird that I have wheat in an antique bottle as decor? Heather is having a stroke just looking at this photo.

Woodcuts! I like leaves. I have no idea where I found these. Probably the flea market.

Wonder Woman! Last, but certainly not least.

I hope you've enjoyed today's tour of Wenchie's Alphabet. Today's blog brought to you by the letters P and W, and by the number sixty-nine. Tee-hee!

Posted at 06:36 AM | Comments (1)

December 28, 2009

In the Bleak Midwinter

This office is a ghost town. No, I take that back. It would be really awesome and much more exciting if there were actual specters around here. As it stands, we are haunted by the empty cubes that are a daily reminder of the people who were laid off and Jesus H. Eggnog-Drinking Christ, when did I get so morbid? Dickens' ghost of Christmas future is going, "Dude, she's such a buzzkill."

Anyhoo, I'm bored, and morbid, so I walked around and took some photos.

These are the signs on the wall in the bathroom.

These are on the wall next to the sink, which is a stupid place for them. No one reads them there because, while we wash our hands, we are busy checking out our hair in the mirror and making sure there's nothing in our teeth from lunch.

The signs should really be posted inside the stalls so that we have something to read while we are doing big potty.

Here is the nativity scene in the main reception area.

Have you ever seen Christmas look so sinister? Mary is wearing a black turtleneck and matchng eyeliner, and Joseph is cutting himself because it is all just TOO MUCH TO HANDLE! And won't everyone just LEAVE HIM ALONE?!

Here are the rest of the decorations in reception.

Sorry for the poor photo quality. It is hard to fit this much holiness in one photo. How many manger scenes can YOU count, boys and girls?

And here is MY contribution to the Christmas spirit.

Snot tissue made from recycled Christmas trees!

No, not really.

Posted at 10:35 AM | Comments (0)

December 04, 2009

Keepin' It Fresh. And Real.

So, yeah, I'm on FaceBook. Where I am Wenchala McPirate because FaceBook, in it's infinite wisdom, wouldn't accept Pirate Wench as a valid name. (It's apparently some guy's shitty job to sit in a room and "review" names all day, and he didn't like any of the first five variations on Wench that I tried.)

[Also? I love that they're like, "Not the Wenchala McPirate you're looking for? Search for others!" Won't the real Slim Shady please stand up? Dudes. Pretty sure there are no other idiots going around calling themselves Wenchala McPirate.]

I confess, in a desperate bid for your affection, I have for years been trying to come up with a gimmick to set my blog apart for the thou-billion others. But they're all taken. Food, sex, photos, religion, politics, weight-loss, motherhood, celebs, making fun of other blogs -- it's all been done. By the time I entered the blogging world, Dooce had already been fired, and Julie Powell had already cooked her way through Julia Child's cookbook.

You guys, Dooce's fucking DOG has his own calendar for sale. Is it so wrong to long for my tiny, tiny sliver of adoration? Does it make me a bad person to be a whoring whore who whores for your love?

Don't answer that. It's rhetorical.

Here's my criteria for Wenchie's New Gimmick:

1. Must allow me to be even more creative than I already am.

2. Must allow me to connect with my beloved flying monkeys on a daily basis.

3. Must require very little effort from me.

The obvious solution? Daily photos!

Now, I know that my blog already features posts that are photo-based, but they require cutting and pasting and cropping and resizing and uploading and are generally in complete opposition to criteria item number three. Therefore, the photos that I will feature daily on my FaceBook page will be taken with my lovely and talented phone. So not only will they be poor-quality photos of completely stupid things, they will be even MORE blurry and retarded than everyone else's!

And there, my friends, is my gimmick. Completely shitty photography of things you wish you could erase from your brain. And no, it's not going to be like "outsider art" where it's so crappy that it's somehow profound. It's just going to be plain, ol' crappy. My gift to YOU, world!

In fact, I guarantee that you will look at these photos and feel a warm, smug glow of self-satisfaction when you think to yourself -- Jeebus on a bicycle, not only do I take better pictures, but my life is SO much more interesting. Just knowing how lame Wenchie is makes me feel better about myself. Thank you, Wenchie!

You're welcome, my darlings. You're welcome.

Took me ten minutes on Thesaurus.com to come up with a Wench-worthy name for my ***NEW FEATURE***. Contenders included Slapdash Snapshots, Incidental Images, and Wenchie's Totally Gay Photos. But I finally settled on...

*** ARBITRARY APERTURE ***

Nice, huh?

In short -- *snort* when have I ever made anything short?! -- go Friend me on FaceBook and vastly improve your life. You won't regret it!

P.S. Well, duh, the photos will be accompanied by snarky comments. Like I could help myself!

Posted at 11:01 AM | Comments (2)

September 18, 2009

Halloween Came Early

So I was outside with the dogs a few mornings ago, and it was all cool and half-lit and foggy and quiet. I love mornings like that.

While the dogs found the perfect spot on which to leave their gift of poo, I looked around at the dew-covered garden. The tiny-leafed ivy groundcover; those lace-like white flowers I can't remember the name of; snapdragons, which all bloomed for the second time this summer.

And I noticed that a band of small spiders had left a few tiny, delicate webs on the bushes and flowers, made dazzling and fairy-like by the dew.

And then EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!

Spiders laid a trap for me! They're not supposed to weave huge webs on manmade objects! They're supposed to stick to nature! I can't have bugs encroaching on my patio furniture! It's not like there aren't plenty of twigs and leaves for them to build on! Who do they think they are?!

I hadn't even begun to forgive the spiders when this asshole showed up.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

ON MY KITCHEN WINDOW! WHAT THE FUCK?!

How the hell did he get so high up?! Aren't grasshoppers supposed to stay in the grass? Hence their name? He's, like, seven feet in the air! Is he even indigenous to this area?!

And this photo is not even life-size. He (she?) was actually bigger than this!

God, nature sucks!

Posted at 10:09 AM | Comments (0)

September 07, 2009

Welcome to Ruralville. Population: Wenchie

...was among the many things in the middle of the damn road on this trip:

1. A lone cow, sans farmer or obvious destination.

2. Four tourists on scooters, riding four abreast.

3. A hitchhiker on a bicycle, laden with ridiculous amounts of camping gear, whom I took pity on and drove to the campgrounds. It wasn't until later that I found out that Schwinn + camping gear is pretty much the equivalent of big van + heavy couch.

Posted at 09:02 PM | Comments (1)

July 08, 2009

Loud 'n' Proud!

Top Ten Most Awesome Things About the Gay Pride Parade

10. Drinking before noon. On the street.

9. Leather. Leather. Leather.

8. Hot, mostly-naked men, smiling and waving at me.

7. Gay Republicans -- "Big dicks. Small government."

6. No kids running into the street.

5. Naughty Catholic Schoolgirl Dykes on Bikes!

4. Hott line-dancing cowboys!

3. Did I mention the leather?

2. Assless naughty catholic schoolgirl skirt.

And the number one most awesome thing about the Pride Parade?

1. My date.

Posted at 02:04 PM | Comments (2)

June 15, 2009

How the Other Half Lives

On my last trip to Door Co. with Billi and Terry, I saw some cocktails napkins that I almost bought for Heather. I think they were by Anne Taintor, and it was a picture of a woman lying in a very plush bed. The caption:

I love not camping!

But then I thought -- What the hell is Heather going to do with cocktail napkins? So I bought something for myself instead.

I know I've already blogged briefly about my last trip to The Door, but I don't think that post truly expressed my love of viewing nature from behind sturdy panes of glass.

Okay, I joke... a little. I like the outside... a little. But really, in my heart of hearts, I am a homebody. I love my house, I love being inside it's climate-controlled walls, and most of all, I love my home office and my huge-ass desk.

I love decorating my home. It's in a constant state of flux. I love rearranging the furniture. I even kind of like cleaning it because of how awesome it looks afterwards. Weird, I know.

Long story short -- I like being inside, and viewing nature from there. Which, in Terry's boss' summer home, was not hard.

All the beauty -- none of the weather. Or bugs. Or cruel, cruel sun that burns my skin and my retinas.

And if our government hadn't destroyed our economy, this is the sort of fireplace that Husband would be early-retiring in front of in three years.

Minus the red chair, of course. I have to admit, when inside someone else's house, I'm mostly picturing where I'd put my furniture. Some people snoop through bathroom cabinets; I mentally redecorate.

This place needs some color.

Oh, I'm just jealous. Bitterly, darkly, cravenly jealous.

Off to the Wisconsin Dells with Billi and her brood this week. Husband and Brad are coming along as well. It's not quite as picturesque as Door Co., and God knows, there will be no lack of running, screaming children that will need me to trip them while their parents aren't looking. But at least the waterpark is indoors.

Meanwhile, I leave you with this.

Jeebus' own waterpark.

See you on the flip side, my darlings!

Posted at 07:56 AM | Comments (0)

June 12, 2009

Procrastination

I just can't seem to get the job done this week. I have three posts about three-quarters done, but I'm just not motivated to wrap them up and do the finishing touches. I don't know why. So here are some photos that were in my phone.

Get a load of my new, giant cube!

I'm the luckiest gerbil on the block! I even have a bookcase! ...Although it is filled with I-have-no-idea what kinds of crap. But lookit how much work space!

Here is my nieces' "dog." Wearing a bubushka.

Or a kitchen towel. Or a napkin. Or someone's underwear. I'm not sure. And I put "dog" in quotes because, really, if it weighs less than a pound -- I think even you off-balance tiny-dog-lovers can agree -- it's not a dog.

You think I'm kidding? The dog literally weighs less than sixteen ounces. Want a better idea of just how teensy-weensy this dog is? Here is my nephew wearing the dog.

On his hat. The "dog" is so wee that it can run laps on my nephews cowboy hat. Oh, and it's name is Pippin. Of course. No idea what gender it is.

And speaking of ridiculous dogs...

Don't be alarmed. Stella doesn't have crippling arthritis, and she's not injured. She's just double-jointed or something. She always sits like this. She can stretch her paws out; she just prefers not to.

But I think you can understand why I haven't deleted these images from my phone.

Posted at 01:53 PM | Comments (0)

June 10, 2009

Weird Science

IT'S ALIVE!

I have created... L I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I F E !!!!!!!!!!!

It's my little mini pot of basil seeds that I bought in the dollar section at Target and planted and watered and GREW!

L I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I F E !!!!!!!!!!!

Screw you, Jeebus! I can make food from nothing, too!

And when it's full grown, I'm going to pluck it from its stem, put it between bread with tomatos and fresh mozzarella, and stick it in the sammich press!

L U U U U U U U U U U U U U U U N C H!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh. Sure. Husband grew this.

But he was raised on a farm, which means that he's a big cheater-show-off-poopie-pants.

"Oh, lookit me! I know which plants grow in the shade and which grow in the sun! I'm so special! I know how to arrange things so they look nice together!"

Whatever. He can make his own damn sammich.

Posted at 06:49 AM | Comments (0)

May 20, 2009

Door County Skies

Was in Door Co. this weekend, stimulating the local economy with Billy and her neighbor-friend, Terry. Terry works for a divorce lawyer in the Loop. And if you're a divorce lawyer in the Loop, it's pretty safe to assume that you eat bowls of money for breakfast.

Yes, Terry's boss has a summer home in Door Co. The kind of summer home that is bigger than my regular home. The kind of summer home where she tells us not to bother with the sheets and towels because the maid will take care of it.

I always complain that I don't know enough rich people. But I guess knowing people who know rich people is good enough because Terry's boss let us stay at her huge, gorgeous, maid-maintained summer home for free. Or as Al Swerengen would say, "Free gratis."

Here is the view that we had from the dining room, where we ate cherry cheese Kringle every morning and wine cheese and crackers every evening.

Of course, this photo was taken from inside the house because it was windy and cold that day, and I wasn't about to mess up my hair just for a photo to show you people. Can you believe the size of that deck?!

Luckily, the second day, the weather was perfect.

Now, parts of Door Co. are very rural, but, contrary to what Heather may think, there are no pigs and chickens roaming the streets. In fact, it is rare to see a farm animal of any kind on the main drags. But there he was! Random horse!

Weird. Well, at least it gave the bored and weary husbands something semi-interesting to look at while they carried their wives' purses and shopping bags and prayed for death. Love the Jack Daniels denim jacket. Classyyyyyyyyyyyyy!

Oh, and here's the shower where Billi and I showered each morning. Separately.

The perfect place to film a porno, no?

And speaking of breathtaking beauty, here is Saturday night's sunset.

We didn't actually watch it, but we could see it out of the corner of our eyes while we watched Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, which, if you haven't seen it, you'll need to rent immediately.

After torturing Heather the Nature Hater with many scenery photos, texted from my phone, she retaliated by sending me a photo of herself in a bubble bath.

Well played, Heather. Well played.

It's now my computer desktop wallpaper.

Posted at 08:12 AM | Comments (0)

March 25, 2009

Happy Birthday, Daisy May!

I can't believe you're seven and still afraid of the camera.

Goofy dog.

I can tell that she's starting to feel her age because now, when I say "Treat!" or "Out!" instead of running through the kitchen, sliding on her toenails, bouncing off the fridge and careening into the kitchen chairs, she gingerly tiptoes around the corner until she gets to the rug in the mudroom.

Maybe if I actually clipped her toenails, that might help.

P.S. There will be no talk of death at Daisy's birthday celebration, which will consist of kibble, some peanut butter yogurt treats, and maybe a butt-scratch. Mainly because I already know that she's being cremated, and I get all her stuff.

Posted at 08:17 AM | Comments (1)

February 19, 2009

I May Even Love My Phone More Than My Coach Purse

Hold on to your pants, ladies and gentlemen! I'm about to haul you into the twenty-first century at warp speed!

All the photos that you will see here today...

WERE TAKEN WITH MY PHONE!!!

I know, right? It's incredible!!!

Wait. What? Okay, yes, fine, shit on my animal crackers. It's been done before. I know. But it hasn't been done by me, and therefore, it hasn't been done to this level of atristry. So just shut up and humor me.

This is my meal at Smoque. Notice the way the sunlight glints off the tender chunks of meat.

The cole slaw is a little washed out, but in my defense, the sun was really bright. Yes, I felt like a person who had only recently left the sanctuary of her cave, taking a photo of my food. But such is my dedication to photo journalism!

This is my new work cubicle!

Yes, it looks like every other damn cubicle on the planet, but it's the first cubicle that I've been able to do with as I please in over two years, so it's exciting to me. You know how I do so love my decor! Can't wait until Christmas!!!

Okay, these are the weiners that Heather wrapped for my most recent Movie Night. Yes, when Heather arrives early and makes me leave the warmth of my home to pick up her happy ass at the L station, I put her to work.

Now, I know that there's nothing particularly interesting about Heather's weiners, but I took that photo so that I could show it to you in contrast to this one...

These are Heather's idea of crescent rolls. Apparently, I need to get Heather one of those Fischer Price balls with the differently shaped holes and the corresponding blocks because she has forgotten what a crescent looks like.

So, so very sad. But I hear she makes a mean salad dressing!

And in the time-honored tradition of the best being saved for last, I offer you Pig and Elk.

These are our latest purchases from The Frykman Gallery in Door County, lit by the cold, winter sun of Fish Creek.

When I saw the tiny pig, I squealed like... well, a pig. And Husband was like, "We're buying the pig, aren't we." There was no way I was leaving without it. You can't be sad while looking at that pig!

We got the elk because we already have a bear and couldn't afford the moose. We are currently saving up for a Santa in a Plane.

And that concludes our tour of Crap I Have Stored In My Phone. Tune in next time for Crap I Have Stored In My Camera!

Posted at 09:40 AM | Comments (1)

January 02, 2009

There's Something Sweet and Almost Kind

Here's a little game I like to play called...

Have You Been Paying Attention?

It goes like this:

Once upon a time, Sue texted me from Michael's -- what is husbands fav disney movie?

A couple weeks later, Husband and I opened our Christmas presents from her. Guess which belongs to whom.

"Little town,
It's a quiet village.
Ev'ry day
Like the one before.
Little town,
full of little people,
waking up to say...
Drink up, me hearties, yo-ho!"

Yeah, that's right. Husband gets all twitter-pated for Belle. His birthday is in February, and I swear to God, I'm getting him a Belle pillowcase. He'll love it.

Posted at 08:47 AM | Comments (1)

December 26, 2008

Stocking Stuffers

The first Christmas that Husband and I were married, he got all kinds of cool, manly, Eddie-Bauer-y stocking stuffers from me. Believe me, if he's ever lost in the woods, he's... well, he's screwed because I'm sure that everything he'd need would be in his other coat, but I can't be held responsible for that.

I got squat.

The next Christmas or two, he started to catch on. It helped that Billi and I would do stocking stuffers for each other. He was all, "What mean this -- how you say -- stocking stuffer?" He would go to Office Max and shop there for pens and post-it notes and other officey paraphenalia to put in my stocking.

I was not amused. His heart was in the right place, as he himself LOVES getting office supplies in his stocking. So in his defense, he was buying me something that he thought was really cool...

But seriously. One only has to look in my office, or our shower, or my purse, or our linen closet, or my dresser drawers to see that I am a Product Whore. Why not shop for stocking stuffers at Bath & Body Works, at the very least? Hell, I'd even settle for Target! The Beauty aisle is right by the Wine and Chocolate aisles! Can't miss it!

This year, I quit fooling around. I made a wish list on Sephora, emailed him the link and told him to stay the hell away from Office Max.

And God bless him, he listened. He was even clever enough to employ Older Step Daughter, who works at Sephora, to play elf. And between the two of them and Billi, I am going to be The Most Edible Wench On The Planet. (I had the reverb on when I typed that last part, so it'd be all echo-y. Didja hear it in your head? I did!)

Behold, I am a walking dessert tray!

Now, when you order the Minty Almond Cherry Chocolate Strawberry Vanilla Spicy Citrus Sweet Creamy Red Velvet Sugar Shortcake, be sure to ask you're waiter for two forks so you can split it. It's very rich!

Posted at 09:26 AM | Comments (0)

December 24, 2008

Mrs. Beasley and Pirate Barbie

Once upon a time, when Egrau was a little girl, she really wanted a Mrs. Beasley doll. If you'll remember, Mrs. Beasley was the little granny doll that Buffy carried around on the 1966 sitcom "Family Affair."

I actually have a Barbie-scale Buffy and Mrs. Beasley.

Joe got them for me a couple years ago for my birthday. Apparently, Buffy is pretty rare, Mrs. B. is even rarer -- her glasses alone are worth a fortune because they're the first thing to get lost and sucked up by the vacuum cleaner.

Joe spoils me.

And speaking of rare and adorable things, Buffy and Mrs. B. are sitting on a little chair that Billi made for me about 25 years ago, for Christmas.

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

Anyhoo, little Egrau reallyreallyreallyreally wanted a Mrs. Beasley doll. The tension was thick in the air that Christmas morning as stockings were unloaded and other, let's face it -- lesser gifts were opened. Egrau tells the story of Ramone, her little brother, anxiously scanning the presents, hoping that one of them would be a Mrs. Beasley for his big sister.

I swear, you guys, I am starting to tear-up while typing this. It's the cutest story in the whole world, how, as Egrau tore the wrapping off the final present, Ramone jumped up and down in glee, so excited to see Egrau get that which she wanted most in the whole world.

Is that not the sweetest, most selfless thing you've ever heard? A little boy made happy only by the happiness of someone else? Gah! It almost makes my heart want to shake off its bitter blackness and believe in mankind, just for one, brilliant moment...

Okay, it passed.

I wonder if, when choosing my Christmas gift last year, Egrau looked back on her own Mrs. Beasley and decided to "pay it forward." To revel in the happiness of someone else, to make a wish come true.

Yup, Egrau spent waaaaaaaay too much money and got me Pirate Barbie for Christmas! And although I am surely not worth that kind of money, Pirate Barbie definitely is. Just lookit her!

The jaunty boot...

The wicked pantaloons...

The cold hilt of the sword...

The lacey cuff...

The snug vest...

And the mercilessness of her stare...

Oh, how I love her!

'Though she would haul me 'round the keel just to watch me die, I would swear allegiance to her with my hat in my hand and my heart in my mouth.

Okay,... that was a little... awkward.

Quick someone do something to break the tension!

Yup, that did it.

I hear they're in preliminary talks about possibly doing a buddy picture together. Penny Marshall is writing the script.

Posted at 12:01 PM | Comments (1)

December 17, 2008

Cookies? Check. Ornament? Check. Pajamas? Dammit!

If I've done something twice in a row, is it fair to call it a tradition? It probably has to be three times. My Dad always buys everything in threes (three canons, three boatswain's whistles, three shrunken heads) because, according to him, "three is a collection," and that way, he already has a collection.

(The only thing my Dad doesn't have a collection of is empty spaces. Unless we're talking about the ones in his head. HA! Good one! High-five me, Mom!)

But I'm already assuming that I'm attending Vicki's Cookie & Ornament Exchange Party next year, so I'm calling it a tradition. ... Assuming I'm invited. I don't know. I pissed off Nicki by not choosing from the pile her hastily-wrapped ornament that she grabbed from the basement an hour into the party. So we'll see.

Anyhoo, I got an adorable, glittery penguin ornament, a container full of chocolately goodness... but I forgot to wear my pajamas. Well, I forgot to wear some pajamas. If I'd actually worn what I wear to bed, it would have curdled the hot cocoa.

In the spirit of all things yuley and noggy, here is a list of what I ate at Vicki's party:

1. a dozen little chocolate covered pretzels
2. 3 mini grilled cheeses
3. 1 spinach puff
4. 3 crackers with cheeseball
5. 3 crackers with warm artichoke dip
6. 2 shortbread cookies

It was probably bad ettiquette to put the chocolate covered pretzels on the couch right next to me, but they really are the ultimate PMS food -- sweet and salty, mmmmmmmmm.

"But, Wenchie," you say. "What delightful delicacy did you bless the masses with?"

Well, I came with a Tupperware container full of eggnog cookies...

...and left with these!

Damn good trade, I think! I literally ran to get my camera as soon as I got home, so I could take the damn photo and eat those little Reese's Peanut Butter Cup cookies already!!!

When those Christmas-colored adult-sized onesies go on sale at Target, I'm buying my outfit for Vicki's next party.

Posted at 12:50 PM | Comments (3)

November 10, 2008

The Ghost of Christmas Present

My annual, multi-family garage sale has now become something of a tradition. It's nice because every participant has their own focus, so there's a huge variety of stuff.

Dad brings antiques and weaponry; Jerry's Mom rids her closet of last year's couture clothing and accessories; Snippy Bitch brings crafts and crafting supplies; Garrance is all about the Christmas decorations and back issues of magazines; and I rotate out some home decor to make room for new stuff.

I defy you to come and not find something you can't live without! (It'll be the Saturday after Memorial Day in 2009 -- mark your calendars!)

As is bound to happen, we often find ourselves shopping each other's tables, especially when there are no more of Garrance's magazines left to look through. And I just couldn't believe that Garrance was only asking five bucks for this!

Daisy: Holy mother of God, what is THAT???

Stella: Looks like Mom got a new tablecloth.

Daisy: Not that, you dimwit! The dead-eyed dwarf with the bag of small, dead animals!

Stella: Oh. I dunno.

Daisy: We must alert Mom to its presence! MOM! MOM! Bring your gun and holy water!

PW: What the hell is your problem?

Stella: Don't look at me. For once, I'm not the instigator.

Daisy: This ogre broke into our house! KILL HIM!!!

PW: It's a plastic Santa. Plastic!

Stella: Mom, how long until dinner?

Daisy: Oh, my God! It has Mom under its spell! It's up to ME to save us all from certain dismemberment!

PW: You are the worst dog ever. Use your nose! Does it smell like a live being?

Stella: It smells like the garage.

Daisy: I'm not getting my nose anywhere near that thing! It's a threat to our very existance!

PW: Oh, I'll threaten your existance, all right. Now put down your back fur. You look ridiculous.

Stella: (lick) Tastes like the garage, too.

Daisy: How do you know what the garage ta-- Don't try to distract me! You're on its side!

Husband: Oh for Pete's sake. Just leave it where it is. She'll get used to it eventually.

Posted at 10:52 AM | Comments (2)

April 22, 2008

Puppy Action Shots: Part II

Cooper: Hey, Stella? Is it okay to play some more?

Stella: I don't know. I think Daisy is sleeping in the next room.

Cooper: Dang. Well, what if we play reeeaaal quietly?

Stella: Do you think we're capable of that?

Cooper: I don't know. What do you think?

Stella: I think... I keell you!

Cooper: Oh no! Here comes Daisy!

Daisy: Do I have to lie between you two?

Stella & Cooper: No, ma'am.

Cooper: I'm just gonna... lie here and chew on my foot.

Daisy: Make it so.

Cooper: Is she gone...?

Stella: I think she went into the living room.

Cooper: Then I keell you!

Stella: No! I keell you!

Posted at 07:50 AM | Comments (1)

April 21, 2008

Puppy Action Shots: Part I

Cooper: Um, Stella? Can I play with my rope now?

Stella: No! I keell you!

Cooper: Not if I kill you first!

Stella: You cannot escape my Headlock of Dooooooom!

Daisy: What the hell is going on in here?!

Stella: Nothing!

Cooper: Nothing! Just... lying around.

Cooper: You wanna... hang out with us?

Daisy: Certainly not.

Cooper: Are you sure?

Stella: Dude, seriously, don't push it.

Cooper: It'll be fun!

Daisy: Are you trying to smell my butt?

Cooper: No! Just... I thought I saw a crumb in the corner.

Daisy: Whatever. Keep it down. I'm trying to make Mom give me a treat by thinking about it really hard.

Cooper: Is she gone?

Stella: I think so.

Cooper: So, you wanna play... ball?

Stella: No! I keell you!

Cooper: Cuteness will always prevail!

Posted at 07:34 AM | Comments (1)

March 17, 2008

Trashy-Whorey

Like most of us, Heather is many things to many people. Sister, daughter, wife, BFF, confidant, fag hag. But my personal favorite side of her is The Trashy Whore.

Now, I can't tell you where she works (she has sworn me to secrecy!), but I can tell you that it fits her trashy-whorey-ness just perfectly.

For example, this is what she brought home from work the other day:

Curious to see what they look like on? I'll bet you are! Especially you foot fetishists...

No, that's no my grandpa wearing black patent leather hooker shoes. That's Egrau and her sexy black socks. Heather was pretty damn impressed at how well Egrau rocked those things like she was merely wearing gym shoes. But Egrau is a flight attendant and has developed Feet Of Steel. I don't think she can feel a damn thing below her knees anymore.

How hott is Billi?! Seconds after this photo was taken, Billi flipped her plastic-encased feet behind her ears and exclaimed, "Yup -- they work!" And then she got up and danced like a stripper.

I really need to get a pole installed in my kitchen. I feel I should note that this all happened after Billi had consumed two wine coolers and a beer. In the space of an hour. (Ha ha, Billi -- now Mom's writing YOU out of her will, too!)

No, this is not my tranny friend -- although I could see how the man-hands and size 10 feet would lead you to believe so. It's just Heather. She's so awesome at pulling together a look, it's hard to believe she's not a drag queen!

Of course, Sue was wearing her shamrock socks. Or sham-socks, if you will. But she wouldn't show me her panties, so I can't confirm whether or not they were green. Or... present.

And because my Irish friends will pop a blood vessel if I don't acknowledge this National Day of Drinking in some way...

There ya go. Happy St. Pat's.

Posted at 08:02 AM | Comments (3)

February 18, 2008

Things I Have Too Many Of

Nail Polishes (full size): 16

At the moment, I'm wearing black, with a top coat of silver glitter. It represents the limitlessness of outer space. Because I'm deep like that.

Nail Polish Minis: 16

Fifteen shades of pink and one black. Hmmmm, there's a joke in there somewhere...

Hair Products That Smell Like Food: 11

The one in back on the left is Vanilla Birthday Cake, I believe. And how come every time I try to type birthday, it comes out bitchday? Never fails.

Lotions, Creams & Ungents -- Most of Which Smell Like Food: 23

I'm so well-oiled, it's amazing I don't slide right outta my clothes, out the door and into the street.

Labrador Retrievers: 2

In retrospect, one would have been puh-lenty.

Posted at 09:59 AM | Comments (3)

December 25, 2007

Merry Christmahanukkwanzaadon!

Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I promised Garrance a Christmas tree pictoral. Here ya go, bay-bee.

This is the requisite Tree In the Front Window.

Yes, that is a Barbie angel on top.

Every year since the dawn of time, Husband has handmade an ornament to distribute to friends and family. One design, limited edition, each year. I put up these trio of trees to showcase his ornaments, and I'm toying with the idea of leaving them up year-round.

Yes, those are milk cans the trees are perched upon. Unfortunately, the Coach box under the trees is not for me. It's for Older Step Daughter.

Here's the basement tree. We have to have one in the basement because that's where we open all the presents.

Like the Star-Wars-Lord-of-the-Rings backdrop? Nerd alert!

This cluster of trees is also in the basement, and they do stay up year-round, complete with pinecone lights.

Some men love high heels, some love latex. Husband? He has a pinecone fetish. These were display trees at a Christmas shop in Door County. I bought them for $20 because they have little pinecones on them!

One of these years, I'm going to send out a cute photo of my dogs as a Christmas card. But not this year.

Next year's not lookin' too good, either. I think I'm gonna have to wait until someone gifts me a better camera. Or less-retarded dogs.

Posted at 12:51 PM | Comments (2)

November 30, 2007

All In All It's Just Another Brick-Colored Wall

Through the magic of the photograph, I bring you Before and After images of my kitchen wall!

Why just one wall? you ask? Because the rest of the kitchen really isn't worth looking at. One wall is all stove and fridge and microwave; one is all sink and cabinets and counters; and one is just doors to the dining room, living room and hallway to the bedrooms.

Seriously, our kitchen is retarded. We have a huge Sub-Zero fridge, two ovens and a stove with industrial grade burners -- all here when we moved in. So clearly, the previous owners were serious cooks. BUT. We have about four and a half inches of counter space. The square footage of the kitchen is really big... but there's no damn counter space. I hate our kitchen.

Adding to my hatred, for quite some time, was this:

Note the outdated wallpaper and ginormous dog kennell. What you can't see is the place behind the table where the dogs ate away the wallpaper... and some of the wall. Although, if you look closely, you can see where they did the same thing by the back door.

And what the hell is with that little half-wall? Seriously! Why put up a half wall if you're not going to put in a COUNTER TOP?!?!

Thanks to the magic of unemployment, Husband transformed our once-drab wall into this!

Yes, that's red gingham wallpaper. Husband almost went blind putting it up. I love it so much, I can't even tell you.

Of course, we don't have chairs, yet. Stella has started gnawing the woodwork around her favorite window at the front of the house, so we're certainly not going to invest money into chairs just yet.

Hmmm, I wonder if I could swap Stella for the chairs? On Craiglist, perhaps?

Dog owner seeks to swap black lab for 4 kitchen chairs. Dog has all shots. No weirdos.

Posted at 01:37 PM | Comments (0)

August 30, 2007

The Rainbow After the Flood

Ah, I love the sound of woodchippers and gas generators in the morning!

Actually, post-flood life around here is settling down. Most people have their power back, and the debris is mostly cleaned up. Here's our story.

This is the day the rains came. You can see the dark patches of water on the carpet. For once, it's actually water and not dog poop or puke. How novel! Oh, and the rolled up rug on the left? Also wet.

All the boxes piled on tables and such are full of things I've promised to eBay for various people. Methinks I've over-extended myself. For example, here is just part of the second largest Charlie's Angels collection in the U.S.

Unfortunately, dozens of video tapes got wet with muddy water. But Kelly is cool and assured me it's no big deal. Thank God! I was afraid I was going to get karate-chopped.

When the weathermen started predicting another bout of rain that would make our neighborhood, in a nutshell, uninhabitable, I started hauling stuff upstairs.

It all ended up in the dining room, since we're cavemen and often eat standing up at the kitchen counter anyway. Yes, that's Stella's little silhouette in the corner. I'm so tired of looking at that damn cage. But I think she likes being tucked away in her own little cave. I know I'd like to crawl into some unnoticable corner of the house and curl up!

While I was hauling heavy shit upstairs, Husband was working on a project of his own. He bought a couple new sump pumps, batteries and pipe, and he rebuilt the entire system.

These are the times I am sooooooooooooooooo glad to be married to him. He doesn't loose his temper under duress, and that man can fix and/or build ANYTHING.

Growing up on a farm, his parents didn't call a professional to come out and deal with any plumbing or electrical problems they had. When something needed doing, Husband's dad got a book from the library, and the whole family learned what had to be done.

Pretty damn smart, if you ask me. I'm such a sissified city girl, my only solution is to make a phone call, open my checkbook and grit my teeth.

Husband and I actually work pretty well together, when it comes to projects like this. I'm the brawn and he's the brains. I.e. I haul heavy stuff while he figures out plumbing.

Afterwards, I moved allllllllllllllllll the t.v. room furniture over to the dry side of the room.

(The "Titanic" poster is his, okay? It was here when I moved in, and he won't part with it. Unfortunately, it survived the flood.)

Then Husband ripped up all the wet carpeting, and I moved allllllllllllll the t.v. room furniture over to the non-carpeting side of the room.

The couches were easy. It was moving all the damn books that killed me. I may have to rethink this facade of intellectualism I try to keep up...

You'll notice that there's a few feet of space between the leather sofa and the t.v., so we can still watch. I don't mind that my entire house is topsy-turvy, as long as I can sit on my ass and watch the boob-tube.

We dragged all the dead carpeting and mushy video tapes and such to the curb. Wenchie Ave., Where Floor Covering Goes To Die.

Our neighbors two doors down had it worst. They had three feet of sewer water in their basement. They literally had to throw out every single thing. A third of their worldly posessions were curb sculptures.

As if invitations had been sent out, all the lawn care guys in the county started trawling our streets for treasures. They were picking some chairs off our neighbor's pile of sewage-sodden stuff, and the guy who lived there was trying to explain to them that it was wet with sewer water, but the garbage pickers didn't speak English. It was pretty funny to watch. They couldn't understand why this guy didn't want them to take his garbage!

Since then, I've been on carpet shampooing duty. Every other day, I lay one carpet out in the driveway and go to town with the Bissel. Then I just let it lay there to bake in the sun.

Last night, we brought home 20 boxes of faux-wood laminate flooring for the basement floor. Next week, I'll show you why, along with HGTV-worthy before and after pictures!

Posted at 03:35 PM | Comments (1)

August 07, 2007

Purses: Wooley Not-So-Mammoths

Had to reach way back into the closet for these purses. They're all wool, so they only come out during the winter months.

This one is Apt. 9, which is probably some Kohl's brand, but I don't care because I think it's so cute. Pinstripes! They're slimming!

You know those pug dogs that are so ugly that they're cute? This purse is the pug of handbags. It's a handpug. Seriously. Blue plaid? But it's Fossil, and they know much better than I do what's hip and cool, so I'm going with it.

This nubbly, little Coach number is one of the purses that sparked this whole self-indulgent debacle. I won my sky-blue Dooney for $75, and then, for no apparent reason, clicked the little link below the seller's name that says View Seller's Other Items. This purse was ending in 8 min., so I waited. And watched. And sniped. Got it for $20! YEA, BABY!

All the purses in today's post are brought to you by eBay and the letter W.

Posted at 03:10 PM | Comments (2)

August 01, 2007

Purses: The Fabric of My Life

Have you ever wondered where I get my amazing, gripping and socially relevent ideas for blogs? It goes a little something like this, via I.M...

Heather: so, what else is up, these days?

PW: I got a dooney purse and a coach purse off eBay for about $100 total!

H: ooh! sweet!

PW: I should really do a purse blog, like a bad catalogue

H: have barbies in each of them. in matching outfits.

PW: I love you.

H: and I ruv you!

PW: seriously, I have a lot of purses. I have to get started!

H: I have a bunch, most are boring. althoug I just found out that my favorite, a sort of bowlling ball looking bag, is just big enough to hold a bottle of champagne.

PW: you're a drunken whore

H: but I'm YOUR drunken whore.

And then Heather put down the crack pipe and went back to work, leaving me to scamper around my house, cackling maniacally, rounding up accessories and checking the light in each room.

I just... I'm such a huge gayrod, I don't even know how to verbalize it.

But aren't these little ladies the cutest? They're like twins whose mother had the good sense not to dress identically.

They're faux, of course. But I'm contemplating replacing them with the real things. I'll get 'round to it on eBay, but right now, I'm working on an eBay list that includes the following must-haves: a mousepad with a wrist rest, The Virgin's Lover by Philippa Gregory, and a really cheap 2007 wall calendar to hang in my new work cubicle.

Is this not the quintessential summer purse? I ask you! Is it not?! This was the purse I used during July. (Yes, I rotate my purses monthly. Shut up. And I keep a list so I don't repeat too often. Shut up.)

It's vibrant! It's warm! It's... in the crook of a tree! You can't get more summery than green foliage!

I want to sleep with this Dooney & Bourke Quilted Sac.

Not only does it allow me to say "sac" in polite company, but it's blue, which is my favorite color.

I will use my sac in September. But for now, I'm toting this kicky little Fake Spade number I borrowed from Billi.

Swapped her for a faux-Prada. I totally got the better end of the deal.

Posted at 01:53 PM | Comments (3)

July 31, 2007

White Trash Summer

You guys, the summer is two-thirds over, and I haven't been skinny dipping with even half of my hott friends. I've only had, like, three Lynchberg Lemonades. I'm a shitty, friend. I'm a shitty, sober friend.

I wish I could say I've been scuba-diving shipwrecks or following the Sasquach migration or something. But no. Where have I been? Door County and the Renaissance Faire. Could I be more white trash?

After I got meat-on-a-stick at the Ren Faire, I got this:

A henna tattoo. And why did I get a henna tattoo, branding me as a smelly hippie for the next two to three weeks? Because I had nowhere to go that evening, so I didn't want to get my face painted.

I now want to get henna supplies and a book and do my entire body. Seriously. I love this. I'm gonna write my name on Husband's ass while he sleeps. And maybe give Younger Step Daughter a moustache.

But more on the Ren Faire later.

So it's summer, and I'm so tired of my toe. Yes, the nail is still attached. But it's disgusting, and I swear, looking worse instead of better. The part that, apparently, absorbed the impact, in the nail bed, has grown out into view. It's a blood-colored ridge that runs across my entire nail.

And I'm so sick of wearing nail polish that's black or brown or eggplant. I want summer colors on my toes! So I threw away all decency and painted them lavender.

Pretty, no?

Lest you think that my summer has been all sunshine and deep-fried Milky Ways and lavishly decorated appendages, my summer has also been the internal struggle of not wanting that damn huge, metal dog cage in my kitchen, and not wanting to let the world's largest termite to run free in my home.

Look what that bitch Stella did to my wall.

Now, it could be that she's just as disgusted with the prior owners' decorating as I am. But more likely, she's just a retard who eats wallpaper. Oh, crap, it just occurred to me that there's probably lead in that 40 year old paint. The cycle of retardedness continues.

So what's more white trash than a henna tattoo, a dubious toenail and a partially-eaten home? Not much. Oh, my truck is starting to rust along the bottom, too. Perfect.

Posted at 04:12 PM | Comments (4)

July 24, 2007

Puppy Review

A couple of my friends got puppies this year. You can tell them apart from a Swiffer Duster only by the presence of their eyes. I don't understand tiny-dog ownership. I need a dog I can trip over and not kill. I just don't have the physical coordination for tiny dogs.

Anyhoo, here's Lola Beth's ball of fluff, Gracie. Note that Gracie has more stuffed animals than The Girl Child.

This is Peanut, recently acquired by Laura. Apparently, Peanut is deathly afraid of the other dogs in the neighborhood. But I would be, too, if I was 4 inches tall and my owners named me after food.

And for good measure, here's a photo of Stella thrawting my every attempt to take a good photo of her.

She is, indeed, the Bart Simpson of dogs.

Posted at 02:56 PM | Comments (5)

July 17, 2007

Falsies

At last! The long-awaited Wenchie False Eyelash Review!

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE?

VICTOR-VICTORIA

After much debate, I ended up buying two different kinds. But the lady at Sephora was correct in her prediction -- I like the drag queen ones much better than the natural-looking ones!

Which leads me to wonder: Is there something about me that screams Drag Queen? Must be the big shoulders.

Posted at 02:00 PM | Comments (5)

June 27, 2007

Holy F*cking Short!

You'd be so proud of me, my darlings. I didn't cry or squeal or freak-out in any way. My hair stylist even gave me a lollipop when it was all over!

Okay, brace yourself. Before and After! (I know you've already seen the Before -- it's for effect.)

Before...

During...

AFTER!

And even more After...

So. I don't hate it. It sure is cooler! Especially on days like today, with the typical Chicago weather -- 90 degrees in the shade and 3,700% humidity. Lovely. I have to wring out my panties every twenty minutes. Which makes for a tricky commute.

Anyhoo, a moment of silence for The Immaculate Hair. Shown here with my consolation pedicure:

I've decided my new look is "sassy." That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

I guess if I've learned anything from this whole ordeal, it's that longer isn't necessarily better.

Unless, of course, you're talking about penises. Then it absolutely, positively is better.

And when it comes to thicker, why, thicker is good for both hair and penises.

Interesting...

I'm sorry -- what we were we talking about?

Posted at 10:19 AM | Comments (5)

June 25, 2007

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Can you believe I even used that title? Wasn't that the name of a Bugs Bunny episode? I'm so embarassed.

Well, as I'm sure you've surmised from my plagerized title, I'm getting my hair cut tomorrow. And why is that blog-worthy? you're wondering.

A. Because it's my hair, and I have been named She of the Immaculate Hair.

B. Because I'm getting ten inches cut off. TEN!!! That's a lotta damn hair, people!

It's a crime against humanity, I know. But as upsetting as I'm sure it is for all of you, be assured, it's for a good cause. Locks of Love. Their mission statement is:

To return a sense of self, confidence and normalcy to children suffering from hair loss by utilizing donated ponytails to provide the highest quality hair prosthetics to financially disadvantaged children.

See that? Highest quality hair. Well. I'm practically obligated, aren't I?

But here's the thing. It takes a long time to grow ten inches of hair. Especially when one is actually growing an extra surplus of hair so that one is not bald when the ten inches is cut off. Now, I likes me some long hair, but it's gotten ridiculous.

The washing, the rinsing, the conditioning, the combing out of the knots, the drying, the curling/straightening, the brushing, the styling -- dudes? My arms are tired.

And now, the requisite Before photos. I'll have the After photos on Wednesday. On Tuesday, I will be crying too hard to blog.

This one I took in February. I know because Valentine's Day was the only day I ever wore red nail polish. A mistake I won't be making again.

Do you know how hard it is to take a picture of your own hair? This is my hair Sunday morning. It's pretty much been my standard 'do since retiring. It's easy to grown one's hair out, when one doesn't ever have to look professional.

But said 'do doesn't cut it in an office environment. Unless, of course, I were at the office after hours. Vacuuming and emptying waste paper baskets.

No, I need to look polished and put together. And since we all know I couldn't care less about my wardrobe, I often let my hair do most of the talking for me. And right now? It's saying...

"I'm a damn hippie."

Yes, this is the cascade of glory that is undergoing the knife at 2:00 p.m. Tuesday. My hair dresser is positively quivering at the idea of giving me A Whole New Look. I, however, am less enthusiastic.

So why go through with it now? Why not wait another six months? Well, frankly, what with my employment beginning today, I want to be able to sleep in another 20 minutes each morning, and I can do that... with ten inches less hair.

So. Who wants a lock?

I had this I.M. conversation with Marty, who took the news fairly well.

PW: I'm cutting 10" off my hair on Tuesday. Want a lock?

M: sure! I'll put it in my hope chest

PW: Ok, I'll save one for ya.

M: 10"??? how will I recognize you?

PW: Please. Like your eyes ever make it higher than my chest.

M: sometimes your hair hangs down in front and kinda covers your boobs

PW: Wait. You have a hope chest???? Fag.

M: I'm kind of excited to see it

PW: the short hair?

M: yup

PW: for you, it'll be like not having sex with a whole new woman

Seriously, who wants a lock? I will be selling them for a small fee. Or a small gift. Or a kiss. With tongues.

Posted at 07:48 AM | Comments (3)

June 22, 2007

Ol' McWenchie Had a Farm

E-I-E-I-HO. Hee!

Last month, we went to Indiana to visit Husband’s folks for Mothers Day. [My gift to my Mom is that I wasn’t around. Haaaaaa ha ha ha ha ha ha!] While there, we stopped by Husband’s Sister’s ranch, where she trains dogs to herd sheep. Like Babe. Only with dogs.

This is Husband’s Sister’s champion sheepherder, Ally. She’s a Belgian Tervuren. She’s smarter than you.

This is Husband’s Sister’s Great Pyrenees, Soliel. She and her brother, Patu (lower right corner), protect the sheep. In this photo, they are protecting the sheep from Husband’s loving hand and scratching fingers. Good Soliel!

How many dogs does Husband’s Sister have? you’re wondering. She currently has six. And three cows. And a flock of ducks. And a herd of sheep. Including 43 baby lambies. And a partridge in a pear tree. She’s utterly insane but fun to visit!

This is Husband’s Sister’s cows, along with one of her sheep. She has waaaaaaay more sheep, and I do have a photograph of all of them together, but it totally creeps me out because they’re all looking into the camera. It’s like a zombie film.

Husband’s Sister’s Friend just had a litter of Shelties. Well, SHE didn’t but… oh, never mind. Sitting in the shade, under an umbrella, in a pen, on a colorful blanket, were five six-week old Shelties. Their faces are so tiny, Japanese schoolgirls are squealing with glee half a world away, and they don’t even know why. I’m telling you, I’ve eaten sandwiches bigger than these dogs. This one already promises to be an excellent sheepherder.

These are our nephews holding puppies. Don’t let them fool you –- they are evil and vicious and will eviscerate you as soon as look at you. The puppies and the boys.

I don’t know which I love more -– the puppy or my manicure. Yes, I got a manicure right before visiting a farm. What of it?

This puppy is so cute, I want to nurse it. Now good luck getting THAT mental image outta your head. HA! Happy nightmares!

This is Stella with Husband’s Mom. No, my mother-in-law is not a midget -– Stella really is that big.

And in case you doubt how big Stella has gotten, here she is about to eat a helpless puppy.

I just realized, I have no photos of Daisy from this trip. I guess she was forgotten among the carnival of puppies and lambies and baby moo-cows. Poor Daisy. I feel bad. I’m gonna go give her a Snausage.

Posted at 05:24 PM | Comments (1)

June 20, 2007

Saving Seats

Look out, bitches. There's a new Silkstone in town. And she's a redhead!

For years, I had been content with having just three Silkstones. One of each flavor -- strawberry, chocolate and vanilla. Neopolitan naughtiness. Three fit very well on my little shelf.

But when I came across one for $25 at a doll show -- well, my darlings, you just don't pass up that kind of bargain. But my little shelf is getting crowded.

They hate her soooooooooooooo much.

When she came over and asked to sit at their table for lunch, they were all like, "Oh, sorry, we're saving this seat for Legally Blond Barbie." But she new damn well that Legally Blond Barbie was eating with Calvin Klein Barbie and the Juicy Couture Barbies.

Posted at 04:31 PM | Comments (1)

April 18, 2007

Wanna See Somethin' Gross?

Actually this one isn't that gross... until you hear how I did it. Got it washing out the inside of a soup can before throwing it in the recycle bin. Yup, just rotated that "safety" inner edge across my hand.

You just cringed and inhaled sharply through your teeth, didn't you?

And I couldn't even swear properly because Boy Child and Girl Child were present, so I'm like, "God--! Sonuva--! Mother--!" Highly unsatisfying.

Luckily! I had onhand the pirate bandaids that Marty gave me! Actually, once my hand stopped throbbing -- three days later -- I was tickled to have an excuse to use them!

I was especially delighted to find the "treasure" contained within each box:

Yup, that's a pirate duckie. Two concepts I wouldn't have necessarily put together myself, but it's... cute. In a disturbing sort of manner.

Anyhoo, THIS is The Grossness you were warned about in the title.

No, that's not plum toenail polish. That's my toe. Just in time for sandal season.

I had borrowed a bunch of folding chairs from Spikette for Husband's 50th birthday party. So of course, they rattled around in the back of my Explorer for two weeks before I drove the grueling four minutes to Spikette's house to return them.

And one would think, after listening to them shifting around for all that time, it might occur to me that the chairs were no longer stacked neatly, as they had been when I loaded them in.

But no.

Shifting contents were the furthest thing from my mind when I opened the back and half a dozen metal chairs slid out and onto my foot.

Yeah. I caught the full brunt of a speeding folding chair square on my big toe. And again, Nephew was present, so I could utter no blue streak, despite the tears in my eyes and the ringing in my ears.

I didn't look at my toe until the next morning. I didn't want to see it. Actually, I didn't want to see it even then, but I was at Dr. Hottie's for an ankle check-up, and I had to warn him not to touch my toe, upon penalty of agonizing death.

So he did. "Does this hurt?" I hhhhhhhhhhhhate him.

He said he was checking to make sure it wasn't broken, even though everyone in the world knows there's not a damn thing that can be done for a broken toe. But he moved it around, with all the glee of a ten-year old boy poking roadkill with a stick.

Then he looked at it closely and said, "Oh, I bet your nail is gonna fall off!"

Bastard.

I mean, looking at it, he's probably right. But he doesn't have to sound so damn excited about it! Boys are weird. He'll probably keep me coming in for ankle check-ups all summer, just so he can watch the progress of my molting toe.

No cute open-toe summer shoes for me this year. My mama raised me right, and you just don't inflict this kind of thing upon your fellow man.

Posted at 08:19 AM | Comments (5)

April 16, 2007

Wenchie Bueller's Day Off

Locals call it "The Bean." Other nicknames include "Huge Waste of Money" and "What the Hell Were They Thinking?"

Locals calls it "The Crashed U.F.O.," "The Exploded Beer Can" or simply "The Eyesore."

This is where I like to plant my soapbox when I stand on it. Makes me feel like I'm speaking in the Forum in Rome.

There's a gorgeous stained glass exhibit at Navy Pier.

Unfortunately, the ferris wheel wasn't working at the time. Or fortunately. I don't know. I seem to have developed a fear of heights since 9-11. Or more specifically, a fear of plummeting to my death.

And on that note...

The End

Posted at 02:39 PM | Comments (2)

March 20, 2007

Good Morning, Bitches!

Here's a photo op I noticed the other morning. It's some of the girls sporting The Millicent Roberts Collection, the light of the dawn coming in through my office window.

Artsy-fartsy, no?

Actually, they look more like a Barbie line-up. Someone's been out shopping with Winona Ryder again!

---

If you love Native American barbie dolls, you may also be intrigued by the history of Native American dolls and many other Native American cultural items and interesting American Indian history in depth.

---

Posted at 08:22 AM | Comments (1)

March 19, 2007

Bad Feng Shui

So... you know how I'm completely insane? Well, I got a real bee in my bonnet yesterday afternoon. I'm gonna completely feng shui my office at home! I'm so excited!

I've always been very intrigued by feng shui, and I very much enjoy getting rid of clutter. I'm always looking for stuff I can throw out. Even if it's not mine. Okay -- especially if it's not mine.

Anyhoo, I was thinking. Where do I spend most of my time? My office. And what does it look like? Well, it's one-third Barbies and totally crammed full of furniture.

This looks like a job for Super Chi!

For instance. Look at the Love & Marriage section of my office.

That's right -- I'm married to Barbie. Explains a lot, doesn't it?

And here's the rest of the girls, in the Fame & Reputation section.

Which means that people see me as a Barbie. Great. Hey, my eyes are up here, buddy!

Oh, and check out the Life Path section.

My make-up, my hair station and the Silkstone bitches. It's a wonder I'm not a hooker.

So I've made up my mind. I'm moving everything around, sending one-third to one-half of the Barbies to the party room in the basement, and bringing some positive energy into the room, especially the areas of Love, Creativity and Prosperity!

I'll let you know if all my dreams suddenly come true.

---

If you are looking into building a new home, there are many options. For example, a small sized modular home may be a good choice, if you don't want a very large home or can't afford one. A timber framed type home can sometimes be more expensive and time consuming, depending on your home builder and/or architect.

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Posted at 07:52 AM | Comments (3)

March 07, 2007

Billiweiss

I thought I'd share with you a few photos from Husband's 50th birthday party a couple weeks ago.

Surprisingly, this is not Britney Spears, but I can understand why you'd think so. Not every woman can juggle motherhood and alcoholism with such aplomb. This is actually Billi, after handing off her child to the caterer.

Remember the story of Lemonhead? The heartwrenching drama of one woman's attempt to garnish her child with fruit? (If not, you can start reading at the fifth paragraph down, "We ate in Mexico,...")

When Boy Child grows up, he'll he happy to find out that he's in good company. That is a Leinenkugel's Berryweiss on The Spare's head. As he sleeps. Dreaming, no doubt, of beer bongs and slutty co-eds.

Ah, the piece de resistance. Or something. I don't speak French.

The look for spring is fur, fur, fur! On the bottom, Husband sports a natty jockstrap made of real rabbit fur, compliments of K & G's recent Alaskan vacation! On top, The Boob Pillow -- a tradition of sorts in this crowd. The fur is faux, but the comfort it brings you is real!

Yes, that's The Spare in the photo. And yes, that's a beer next to him. I expect to hear from the Department for Child Services any moment now...

Posted at 08:46 AM | Comments (2)

February 26, 2007

When Does the Book Cart Come By?

My internet connection has been down. Who knew you had to pay the bill? Please enjoy this photo of my dogs while I delete many days worth of spam comments.

Posted at 05:47 PM | Comments (2)

January 03, 2007

A Star Wars Christmas

First, Redhead Silkstone had to get dressed for the party.

She's all, "What -- this old thing? Why, I only wear this when I don't care what I look like!"

Bitch, please.

Here's capitalism at it's finest. Ol' Dubya is so proud of us!

Yes, we have wood panelling in the basement. I'm not proud. It was there when we moved in, and now that it's become known as "The Brady Basement," we just don't have the heart to change it. Besides, it goes so well with the brown shag carpeting!

The Boy Child got some Star Wars action figures. And THANK GOD because the fourteen thousand he has at home barely keep him occupied.

Obi Wan is either going to deliver the smackdown WWF-style on the stormtrooper, or he's going to make sweet, intergalactic love to him. And with Boy Child calling the shots, it could go either way, really.

This photo of Darth Boy Child is kinda fuzzy because I had already taken two ping-pong balls to the head.

Later, Husband cauterized my gushing headwounds with a lightsaber, so I'm okay.

This is Darth Boy Child's mentor, Darth Sheldon, seen here donning his reading glasses because he can't see Yoda without them.

Yeah, he needs a haircut, but it's so difficult with the helmet and all.

Posted at 06:58 AM | Comments (0)

December 08, 2006

Stella Bella

We went to visit our puppy last weekend, since she's not old enough to leave her mother, yet. And I learned something that day -- black dogs are very hard to photograph.

But I did my best...

And yes, I have every intention of standing on the back porch yelling, "Stelllllllllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" While she's in the back yard. That's the whole purpose of the name!

Also in the running for names -- Xena and Heidi. Yeah, I put Xena forward as a joke so Husband would take the other two possibilities more seriously. You know, kinda like, "Mom, Dad, I have a terminal brain tumor. I'm kidding! I'm just gay!"

But he went for it! He wants to name her Xena! *sigh* It's so hard to use reverse-psychology on him because I never know when he's gonna go completely mental.

Posted at 08:04 AM | Comments (5)

October 31, 2006

Rockin' the Frocks

Well, the girls threw a hissy when I told them it was time to change out of their summer frocks. I think they just like saying frock. They were making frock jokes even as they were kicking their shoes off.

You don't see a lot of women wearing hats nowadays.

I made them change into their Halloween costumes.

Yes, that's a riding crop she's holding. She wanted to be a pirate, but I told her that everyone is going to be a pirate this year.

The one in the middle is a French Maid Who Wears Her Mistress' Jewelry While Her Employers Are Away At Another Charity Ball.

The blonde is a... Madam at a Chinese Brothel. I guess. I don't know -- she just really wanted to wear that dress.

Me? I'm gonna put on real clothes, maybe a little make-up, and be a Normal, Healthy Person for Halloween. Not a very creative costume, but it's about all I can muster after the week I've had.

Happy 'Ween, my little treats!

Posted at 01:56 PM | Comments (1)

October 30, 2006

(CR)Happy Birthday to Me!

Well, it's Day Six of The Birthday Illness, and I'm getting better... slowly. I have to give major props to Husband, who bent over backwards to keep my birthday from sucking completely.

He baked me a birthday cake! After I showed him where the electric mixer was, and the round cake pans. And the eggs. And he now knows how to tell if a cake is done baking using only a toothpick and a well-trained eye!

He did a lovely job frosting the cake -- chocolate, natch -- and once the cake was completely covered, he was like, "What do I do with the leftover frosting?"

"Leftover frosting?" What the hell is leftover frosting?

I'm like, "Dude! There's no such thing as leftover frosting! You just keep frosting the cake until the frosting is all gone! Frosting is NEVER leftover! Were you raised by wolves?!" And so forth.

He even got me Barbie glitter candles and insisted upon lighting them and singing for me. Awwwwwwwwwwww.

He also went and got my favorite dish from my favorite restaurant -- bowtie pasta with vodka sauce from Graziano's. And as a gift, he got me...

AN IPOD!!!!

It's pink! And it's sooooooooo kewl! Thank God I'm home sick so I can figure out how to work the dang thing!

Now I need a Coach iPod carrying case.

Anyhoo, being stuck at home with barely enough energy to properly dispose of all my snot-laden kleenex, it's been the perfect time to sit in front of the t.v. and change clothes on all the Barbies. And it's about time, too, because it's October, for Pete's sake, and some of them are still in tank tops and hootchie skirts!

First, I dressed Jenny (Japan's version of Barbie) and her similarly-proportioned friends:

It's a wonder I'm not in prison, isn't it?

Then I did all fifteen Fashion Avenue Barbies:

Or as I call them, Fashion Victim Barbies.

Aren't they an ethnicly diverse group? But I couldn't fit all fifteen of them in the photo, so Miss J made them walk a catwalk made of Jello, and the winner got to pick three friends to be in my photoshoot.

The other eleven are pissed. Drew poured a beer in Christie's weave.

Posted at 01:09 PM | Comments (0)

August 09, 2006

The Social Event of the Yarrr: Part II

So, what can I say about Nicki's Pirate Block Party?

Let's see... I was almost sexually assaulted by her husband the minute I arrived. At least, I think I was. He was pretty drunk, and his vocabularly was not quite accurate, so he was either hitting on me, or asking me if I play volleyball.

Here is the kick-ass pirate flag that Nicki painted freehand:

She did it while the black material was laid flat on her garage floor. And when she lifted up the flag to hang it, the paint had seeped through, so there is a skull and crossbones on her garage floor! Officially making her the coolest person I know!

So, Nicki, whatcha gonna do with the flag now...?

Here's her garage (so you all can stalk her) and the pirate ship they built on top. Bear in mind, it was 100 degrees the weekend of the party, and her garage has a black tar roof.

On which they assembled another black flag, black sails, black crow's nest (or something) and black cannons. You have to admire that woman's dedication to house decorating. Thank God they won the Best House Award so no one had to die.

Here's a couple of the guests snarfing down my fabulous chocolate chip cookies:

Yes, I turned my oven on in 100 degree weather. That's how dedicated I am to chocolate, in all its various incarnations.

(Note the cannon in the lower right-hand corner. Dad's.)

Nicki's many tropical-themed contributions to the grub included an idea she got off the internet: Rum-Soaked Marshmallow-Pineapple-Banana-K-Bobs. But when she put them on the grill, the marshmallows incinerated before the fruit even got warm. I don't think it was a home-tested recipe. So we ate them raw, and they rocked.

And the guest of honor, the namesake of The Salty Beagle, the numbnut who wore a fur coat to a block party in July -- Charlie:

I wore a pirate t-shirt and shorts. I wanted to go in full pirate regalia, but I didn't want my liquifying body to pool in my leather boots.

Nicki's husband wore no fewer than SIX different outfits thoughout the course of the afternoon and evening. Cher was like, "Dude, what's with all the costume changes?"

Also? This "temporary" pirate tattoo is still desperately clinging to my leg. I'm starting to suspect that it's some kind of supernatural brand, and I've been marked to play a prominent part in the coming revolution. Which I always thought would include aliens and/or Freemasons. Who'd've thunk it would be pirates?

Posted at 01:41 PM | Comments (3)

July 20, 2006

The Bidding Starts at Five Dollars

Six months before their scheduled arrival, we found out that my Norwegians cousins were coming to visit us in July.

Two months before their scheduled arrival, my sisters and I hammered out the schedule of when they would be staying with whom.

One day before their scheduled arrival at our house, Husband put in a new, working toilet and sink.

No, not in The Pinecone Bathroom -- that one works. In The Headcheese Bathroom.

And why do we call it The Headcheese Bathroom, you query? Take a look for yourself.

Oh, yeah! That is prime 1968 real estate, bay-bee! Dig it! Of course, that brown, foil wallpaper is on the ceiling, too! You can't have too much of a good thing, know what I'm sayin'?

What's that? Oh, you want to see the sink counter closer? Well, check this out!

Hence -- The Headcheese Bathroom.

Now, over the years, many people have proclaimed our bathroom to be "Fabulous!" As a historical time capsule, perhaps -- but as an actual room in the home of not-completely-insane people? No. It's an atrocity.

Unfortunately, since we put off any work until the day before the Norwegians were due to arrive, we didn't have time for a complete gutting. Still, you can see how big of a difference just changing out the appliances made:

I tried, in vain, to cover up as much wallpaper as possible. The prints are tres chic, oui? I got them in a posh, little gallery called "IKEA." Perhaps you've heard of it?

The sink and counter are still in one very large piece in our garage. No doubt they will soon end up on a friend's lawn, in the dead of night. Probably filled with geraniums.

Posted at 02:27 PM | Comments (4)

July 17, 2006

Hey, Baby, Do Those Legs Go Aaaaaaalllllll the Way Up?

Don't die, Hope! I can give you a reason to live!

See, a while back, Nikki asked me if they make thigh-highs for Barbie.

And the answer to her question is, of course...

Awwwwww, hell, yeah!

Over the weekend, I was fortunate enough to catch The Bitches on their way to open call auditions for "Caberet," and they were more than happy to vogue a bit for me.

(Funny how can I remember to fulfill a reader's request for Barbie thigh-highs, but I can't seem to get around to blogging about The Fate of Molly, or Indian Princesses, or Wenchie's Summer Surgery '03.)

(And speaking of remembering, GARRANCE, have you come up with your List of Demands, yet?)

Posted at 01:42 PM | Comments (3)

July 06, 2006

Our Flag Was Still There

I'm home in bed with a headache today, my lovelies, so here's a photo for ya.

Happy [Belated] Independence Day!

Posted at 01:52 PM | Comments (3)

June 28, 2006

469 on Thee eBay

I think I've mentioned before that I eBay a little. Okay, I eBay a lot! (Is eBay a verb?) I was going to write about how geeky I am when my feedback hit 300, but that moment came and went rapidly. Now I'm at 469, and 300 is like Pfft, 300 is for pussies. I'll blog it when I hit triple digits.

Anyhoo, whenever I list stuff, I always send Heather a link cuz she likes to point and laugh at the crazy lady who tries to add a little humor to her eBay photos and descriptions. When she saw this one, she insisted that I blog it. And I always do what Heather says. (That's my story, and, under the advice of my lawyer, I'm sticking to it.)

Heather has entitled this photo "What up, bitches!"

The doll was not actually for sale -- the auction was for the nightie. But it just looks so naughty on, I had to have PJ model it. Seriously, Mattel sold this outfit to little girls in 1962. And people complain that Bratz dolls are too trampy? Fugly, yes, but trampier than this? No one out-tramps a Barbie, bucko!

(Golly, when did I start channelling Richie Cunningham?)

And since we're doing Barbie, I had to include this one as well.

I call it, "Who has balls? Oh, nevermind -- I do."

Dude, you'd better hit those tennis balls right at Barbie because if she has to run around to hit them and breaks a sweat, she's going to come right over that net and give you a beating that would make Alexis Carrington cringe! That skirt didn't pleat itself!

Posted at 01:58 PM | Comments (5)

June 15, 2006

Barbies 'n' Beige

Photo spread today because I'm moonlighting at work. Doing a PowerPoint presentation for a co-worker's husband, for which I'm being paid. Haven't decided how much, yet, 'though...

Anyhoo, it took much searching and toil on eBay to finally bring together this vintage vacation-in-Holland look for Midge and Allan (Barbie and Ken's best friends, duh):

And since that small glimpse of my desk no doubt left you wanting to see more, here's where the magic happens:

Now you know why some of my posts are so uninspired. Could there BE any more beige?!

Posted at 04:00 PM | Comments (5)

June 09, 2006

I Got the Bottom Three

I have been wanting a set of these miniature chairs from Pottery Barn since 2004. I don't know why. We've discussed my mini-chair fetish with no insights forthcoming -- let's just accept it as reality and move on.

I found half the set on eBay, and that's quite enough for me. Because, really, who needs six miniature chairs when three miniature chairs is plenty? I mean, six miniature chairs?! That's ridiculous!

The woman who sent them must've only wanted three of the set, also, because the three she sent me still had tags on them. Each chair had a tag that admonished me "Decoration Only." Well, good thing they told me! I was going to sit in one! THAT would have been embarassing, eh? Especially the trip to the E.R. for removal...

Anyhoo, here are the chairs, quite at home on our bedroom wall with the rest of the brick-a-brack.

Yes, that's a Christmas stocking and Santas. No, this photo was taken last week. What's your point?

Posted at 02:44 PM | Comments (8)

May 31, 2006

From the Sublime to the Obscene

And speaking of Barbies and fashion (it is really a wonder that any man reads this blog), just thought I'd show you what the ladies are wearing this season. And I do use the term ladies very loosely here, as the blonde seems to be perpetually sporting the Just-Fucked Look.

The rest of the crew, however, aren't quite so tasteful:

Yes, it's vintage lingerie time in Wenchie's office. My underthings, however, are brand new, thankyouverymuch.

This is the stuff they were selling to little girls in the 1960's. Not collectors, not perverts -- white-bread, Howdy-Doody, sugar-n-spice little girls. I get such a kick outta that, I gotta tell ya.

Husband pointed to the third from the right and said, "She's my favorite." Eep!

And... that's all I got. Today is pretty much a wash. I spent much of the day trying to lower my blood pressure via chocolate, as the color printer has chosen me as its sworn enemy.

I'll try to be more interesting tomorrow. But -- no surprise -- I'm not making any promises.

Posted at 02:00 PM | Comments (2)

May 01, 2006

Eva's In the Hizzouse!

AB wanted more pictures of my dog, so here they are.

A lovely profile shot:

She's turned away from me because she hates it when I take pictures of her from above. She says it makes her look dumpy.

That's my office she's in. I hate that rug. I want a pink one. Hey, remind me to show you guys photos of my completed office. It's been on my To Do List for quite some time now. You'll be horrified.

While Husband was away at Timberframing School (a.k.a. Amish Fantasy Camp), he charged me with the care of his newly planted snowpeas. For me, this meant making sure they got enough water, and taking them inside if there was frost at night.

For Daisy, this meant licking them.

And this is one of Daisy's cousins, Eva (Egrau's dog):

Isn't she regal?

Eva used to live with the late and great Tango the Canine Cop. She was the main bitch in his harem, before he went to bite bad guys in heaven (I'm sure God imports some from hell specifically for this purpose).

Now Eva has a new brother, Deuce, or Shithead, as J calls him. Yeah, Deuce isn't quite as well-trained as Tango was, hence the affectionate nickname. (Remind me to get some photos of Deuce, too, he's gorgeous.)

In Deuce's defense, few dogs are as brilliant as Tango. And Eva is no exception. She's... not so much book smart as she is street smart. She's fast! She can catch a tennis ball when whipped at her head at point-blank range.

...

Not that we'd ever whip a tennis ball at her head. That would be wrong.

Posted at 01:05 PM | Comments (3)

April 17, 2006

Sometimes I Hate Myself

It's 8:13 a.m., and I'm stuffing M&Ms in my piehole, completely negating that minty-fresh, newly-brushed feeling. It's the only thing that can possibly counteract the despair I feel.

Fresh Pepper has removed me from his Links list.

I've been rejected by a guy who bakes pastries, lives in his parents' basement, and can't speak intelligently to a female to save his life.

I want to die.

When I lamented to Nicholle, she offered this solice, "I would say, 1 He hates ANTM, 2 His latent lust for you is too risky in his new relationship, 3 Your most recent post is more up his alley & he will be sooo sorry"

Which means she's probably been drinking since 7:00 because Nicholle never offers solice when mocking laughter is an option. Either that, or she sincerely pities me because my life really has become that pathetic and boring.

Oh, God. I'm Dooce. I've gone and fixed my marriage and, consequently, jumped the shark. Husband and I are all disgustingly content and shit, and now I no longer have that fathomless well of evil hatred to draw from.

I'm doomed.

I enter as Exhibits A, B and C -- Easter decorations:

Exhibit A

I have pastel plushies on the mug-rack in my kitchen, people! I'm scared to look outside -- I'm afraid there will be Easter eggs hanging from my bushes, or a little sign on the front lawn that says "Caution: Bunny Crossing!"

Exhibit B

So Garrance and K had a couple cute little bunnies in their table for Thursday Dinner, and I just had to have one! So I went to Marshall Fields, like they said, and indeed, found a couple of the little 8" bunnies. But wait! Why have 8 inches of bunny when I could have TWENTY inches of bunny?!

Husband took one look at the huge bunny on our coffee table and said, "Huh. I've never really... done Easter decorations."

I have to be in dire straights if Husband can so easily call my coolness into question.

Exhibit C

Those eggs? Hand painted. By me.

Clearly, I have but two options: take my leave of life; or sabotage my marriage, thus regaining my previous venom.

Because, if Jessica Simpson has taught us anything, it's that fame trumps marriage every time.

Now, on to make my marriage a living hell. So many options, but which one is right for us? The sudden and complete loss of interest in sex? Public eye-rolling and condescension whenever he speaks? Rapid and random changes in mood?

Or perhaps the most insidious of all -- accepting the Lord Jesus Christ as my personal savior.

Posted at 01:58 PM | Comments (6)

March 27, 2006

Quick Pictoral of Wenchie's Disney Trip

At work, I was greeted by 59 emails, which really isn't too tough to tackle. No, what's going to eat up my entire day is all the catching up I have to do on my favorite sites! Not to mention all the drama with Nicholle. Thank God my bosses are out for a couple of days! Isn't that considerate of them? I love them so.

[For those of you who don't know, half the fun... okay, maybe not half. But maybe a ten to twenty percent portion of the fun of my photos is the captions. If you put your pointer on the photo (Mom, you don't have to click it, just leave it there for a second.), you'll see a caption pop up. I always do that with my photos. And granted, some are funnier than others, but if you've got some time to kill and this is your first introduction to the beauty of roll-over captions, go back and check out some of my past photo-laden posts. This has been a public service announcement. We now return you to your regularly scheduled crapfest.]

We stayed at the Caribbean Beach Resort, which was really nice, and blissfully void of all the snooty Floridian Resort people who are too good to give us their bus seats for TWO ELDERY PEOPLE AND A PREGNANT LADY!!! FUCKERS!!!

Oh, for God's sake, no. I'm not preggo. Billi is! Visibly! And yet? NO SEATS OFFERED! It's amazing how the "Happiest Place on Earth" can make you hate people so much.

Anyhoo, we were near the resort entrace, so our bus stop was always the first one -- nyah-nyah, selfish people! And we were right by the restaurant, so we didn't have to take a bus in order to eat. Again -- nyah.

The weather was PERFECT. Never went over 85 or under 60. Not that I got any hint of a tan, but at least I got to wear short sleeves.

Boy Child LOOOOOOOOOOOOOVED the characters. He would run up to any character -- in full-on costume or make-up -- and practically hump their leg with joy.

If I took a photo of every character he assaulted,... well, I'd just have too many damn photos. And we'd have two of them all. Here's Billi ruining my photo op.

Girl Child, on the other hand, would only wave from a distance or slap them five. But it wasn't so much a hey-brothah-slip-me-some-skin as it was a run-up-and-touch-the-creepy-old-house-without-the-creepy-old-lady-who-lives-there-seeing-you. She preferred the rides.

One night, we had dinner in Japan, at one of those places where your table is the grill, and the guy makes it right there for you. It was fantastic! Best dinner there! But kind of humbling that Boy Child is more adept with chopsticks than I am.

At Animal Kingdom, we went on the safari ride, which was really cool, and this giraffe came so close to our car, I could have reached out and touched it, I swear. But I didn't. With my luck, it would have been the only carniverous giraffe in recorded history.

And my husband. God bless 'im. He'll do anything I tell him to. He stuck his tongue to the lamppost in the Narnia display. Any stupid thing for a photo. Here he is fondling Triton in Epcot's Italy.

Of course, there will be much more Disney-esque rambling in the coming days, and a review of Dame Edna's show, and we have to catch up on all the America's Next Top Model we missed! So much to blog, so few work hours in the day!

Posted at 11:10 AM | Comments (3)

February 14, 2006

A Valentine's Day Poem

Barbies are red,
Balls are blue,
These babes are hittin' it,
But not with you.

Posted at 08:13 AM | Comments (6)

January 17, 2006

So Many Martinis, So Little Time

Here are The Bitches of Eastwick in their New Year's Eve couture.

Note that the one in the middle is still wearing what she wore to work on Friday, December 30th. Note, also, that she has a purse in which to stow her bra and/or panties. 'Cuz bitch ain't goin' home until Sunday afternoon!

The brunette is all, "Roses, hmm? I'm still not putting that thing in my mouth."

The blonde has been drunk since Wednesday.

Posted at 02:25 PM | Comments (5)

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!

Posted at 05:07 PM | Comments (4)

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 30, 2005

Pretty In Pink

Yeah, I was bored.

Posted at 10:21 AM | Comments (2)

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.

Posted at 08:15 AM | Comments (2)

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!

Posted at 01:54 PM | Comments (4)

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:

Posted at 03:00 PM | Comments (1)

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 (3)

April 04, 2005

Boy Child Is a Genius!

Posted at 12:24 PM | Comments (1)

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)