Waiter! I hate to be a bother...but there seems to be a severed head in my soup.

Today I shall regale y'all with a true tale from the restaurant world.

This is a "yes, this really happens and this is where the joke comes from" kind o'story.

*the names have been changed because I never liked their real names anyways.




Once upon a time, at a little restaurant in a land called Minneapolis, there was a guy named Derwin. Derwin had just recently been hired as a "wait assistant" at an upscale neighborhood cafe (f.y.i- a "wait assistant" generally assists the waitstaff: gets water, runs food, gets bread, clears tables, etc...In this particular restaurant this was a coveted position as the wait assist was paid a fair wage and recieved generous tips from the waitstaff. They very often made well over $100 a night in tips).
Derwin was entirely unqualified for the job, but his friends worked there and the owner loved his friends, so Derwin got a job. Derwin was a lovable, slightly nerdy guy with a large head (literally) that seemed to fit right in.

One of Derwin's first shifts on the job was a very busy weekend night. It was early summer, a beautiful night, and the place was buzzing. "Derwin is doing a great job tonight" his spectacularly beautiful and smart boss, Bourbonmaggie noted. "He's a natural".

At virtually the exact second that the stunning and multi-talented Bourbonmaggie noted this fact, and when almost no one was looking...poor Derwin sliced his cute, chubby finger wide open with the bread knife.

He was a real trooper, that Derwin. He washed the blood off (and hopefully the knife), slapped a band-aid on and went directly back to work.
The witty and wise Bourbon (as she was known to her friends) had not seen this as she was busy running a restaurant and brokering world peace, but others did. Bourbon, oblivious and slightly buzzed from her "coffee" simply beamed at how well the evening was going. Things were good, and she loved her staff.
Her little Derwin was a winner, she thought. A great addition.

Let us now fast-forward about 1.5 hours into the past-future. Dinner service is at its peak, the kitchen is tense and heated as restaurant kitchens tend to be at 8:00 on a weekend.


The superhero server, Shamie, enters the kitchen with a strange, harried and pissed off look on her face. "This guy at my table says his tuna had a bloody band-aid on it."

"What?" Bourbon didn't seem to understand what she said.

"He says that when it came to the table, there was a bloody band-aid perched right on top of the fish."

"What? No way. No fucking way. What a scam. He's totally lying. Like it's even possible for that to happen", Bourbon says, her anger rising.

"I'll go get it" says Superhero. "I'll be right back"

Superhero goes, then comes back a minute later with the offending plate in hand. Sure enough, there's a gross bloody band-aid perched on top like some sort of gothic garnish gone wrong. Really wrong.

Bourbon looks at it. "Shit. What do we do? Who brings a bloody band-aid to a restaurant just to scam them? What an asshole."

Superhero smirks, pissed. "I know, but what should I do? The guy is being kind of o.k. about it, but other people are starting to notice that something's up."

"Shit shit shit." (Pauses) "Fine. Comp the table- but be quiet about it. And get him some new fish- stat."

"Sure, fine." Superhero exits.

What the fuck??? Bourbon thinks as she jumps back into "saving-the-world one table at a time" mode.

Fast-forward to the end of the night. Derwin has gone home and the remaining staff are gathered around the bar having wine and discussing the evening, particularly the "band-aid" incident.

Randomly, mid conversation, the server Bettie pipes up. "Derwin cut himself tonight. I bet it was his band-aid. No one else cut themselves."

Bourbon snaps her head around. "What?!?"

"Yeah, he cut his finger, and he was the one that dropped the food at that table. I bet it was him."

Fuck.

Yeah.

"Duh, you think?" Bourbon intelligently replies. She starts slowly shaking her head. "That fucker. I'm going to kill him."

(pauses for a bit, laughs to herself)
"Can you get me another glass? I think I need a drink."

The end.

Well, actually- as a side note: Derwin did not get fired, and eventually we all laughed about it. He never fessed up, though I'm sure if we would have brought the CSI team in his ass would have been cooked. I think he actually thought that I'd make him pay back the $200+ that I ended up losing on the table in question.
He turned out to, eventually, be a great server.

Thank jebus the papers never got a hold of this story. Or the health department.

There you go- the bloody band-aid story.

All true, unfortunately. All true.

The princess and the pee

*The following dialog takes place in my head. The scene: Me leaving a very long (8 hours) catering in the middle of nowhere. The picture is me going to fetch my car parked in a field minutes prior to the pee incident in question. I have a 40+ minute drive ahead of me at this point.



(Enter scene, about 5 minutes into the voyage)







Man, I probably should have peed before I left. No big deal. I'll be fine. I have an iron bladder and none of the bathroom doors locked that house anyways. I'm tired of trying to pee while sitting sideways on the can so I can hold the door shut with my foot.
I probably shouldn't have had a bottle of water right before I left. Oh, and about a quart of iced tea. Whatever. No big deal.
You'll be fine- just turn some loud music on, open the sunroof and try not to think about it.
I love driving home with the wind in my hair, I feel good...Mmmm Mmmm Mmmm...(I'm singing this part and bobbing my head from side to side)

(about 15 minutes in)

Holy cow, I really have to go. Should I stop? Naw. I can make it. I'll sing to get my mind off of it. STYX, yes STYX will help. "I'm sailiiiiiing awaaaayyyyy.....set an open course for the virrrrgin seeeeaaa..." No, not so much with the STYX. Not working to distract. Need distraction.
Maybe I need to make sweet vocal love to Steve Perry instead- good idea. (switches discs) "Just a small town girl. Livin' in a lonely world...She took the midnight train goin' anyyyywherrre..."(continues singing loudly and badly)

(about 25 minutes in)

O.k. Just breathe and don't think about it. Holy balls I have to go. I just want to pee at home. I can make it. Is that a gas station? Should I stop?...shit! Too late, missed the exit. I can do this. Little breaths. little breaths. Why are my arms tingling? Are they filling up with pee? Am I going to go into pee shock? Did I just make that up?
Shit shit shit.
Hey! I have a paper cup! If I can hoist myself up while still keeping my seatbelt on, I can slip the cup under... (fumbles with cup, navigates the reality of actually executing this move)
No. I can wait. I can wait. I can wait...(keeps looking at discarded cup, longingly)

(about 30 minutes in, going through downtown Mpls now)

Oh lordy.
Maybe I should stop. Seriously. This is starting to hurt. Bad. My toes are numb- is that something I should be concerned with? Oh dear god, not another...AAAHHH! Damn potholes. Kegels, kegels, kegels, breathe, breathe, breathe... (turns music down) Focus on driving. Where's that damn cup? There must be a gas station around here. No, NO! FOCUS! You're SO CLOSE to your clean, cozy, non-biohazard infested bathroom. You can wait. You can. Sure. You can.
Can you?
Maybe I could just stuff this old sweater under me and pee on that. I don't really like it anyways. Too matronly. Would that work? Could I pull that off?
No, that would totally soak through to the seat. Or would it? Jesus, I can't believe I'm actually considering using a sweater as a pee sponge. Is this what I'm reduced to? Pee sponge?
Oh, FUCK I have to go. Pee pee pee, la la la...
Look at where you're going, my dear. Watch your speed. You don't want to be the girl that peed her pants while getting a ticket. No you don't. No you don't. (shakes head in shame)
Breathe...
Wait, do I have to go anymore even? Doesn't feel like it. Or does it? I'm all tingly down there. OH! Did I...? (Checks for "wetness" manually- sighs relief) No? Good. Oh there it is- I just went numb from the waist down for a minute. No big deal.
La la la...
AAAHHHH!(another pothole)

(About 8 blocks from home, driving approximately 85 mph at this point)

Oh, so CLOSE! Hurry, shut the sunroof, turn the music down- BE READY, you stupid bitch. What if I can't walk and I have to pee in the driveway? I don't think I can walk. It hurts sooooo muuuucccchhhhh...
Damn stop sign. Go, go, GO! (yells out window) Don't they KNOW? I have to PEE.
BAD! NOW!
There it is. Oh, stomach cramp! Oh, I can't move. (pulls into driveway). (Throws open car door) Oooohhhh, it hurts, it hurts...can't walk, can't walk. (limping and hunched over) Hurry- one stair, two stairs, oh, did I pee a little there? No. No. NO. Focus. Keep moving, KEEP MOVING. Where's my key? WHERE'S MY KEY??? (labored breathing-nearly crying) Damn, damn, dam...oh- there it is.
(Throws door open, hurls purse and bag to the floor, flings keys onto the counter and starts hobbling upstairs- Quasimoto style.) Pee, pee, pee...I'm so happy. Oh, it hurts so MUCH.
I am an IDIOT.
Pee pee peeeee....

(slams bathroom door. Emerges minutes later, deliriously idiotic smile on face)

See? I knew you could make it.

(Turns computer on, finds this. Bookmarks for future reference.)

"You shouldn't be on the line any longer than needed - help is on the way"

After 47 minutes and 13 seconds on the phone (99% of that time spent on hold, listening to hold music and things like "stay on the line and experience our commitment to excellence") with Wells Fargo today, this man is my new hero. Try and watch to the end- it's worth every second.

Unlike my phone call today.

Chicken v. Dog

I think I'm a little more excited than I should be about getting this book in the mail today.

Yes, it's what you think it is.

Pictures of chickens.

I don't think I was drunk when I ordered it either.

There's a section on "chicken couples".

I want to get one of these. Or these.

I predict hours, or at the very least, half-hours of entertainment for yours truly. That and a newfound love of the cock (tell me you didn't see that one coming and I'll call you a liar.)








*******************************************


Good one, Mother Nature. You know, how you waited until I slathered pore-clogging sunscreen on, spent 30 minutes in the sweltering, mind-numbing heat watering the damn plants- and then the minute I step inside, you cloud over and unleash sheets of rain?
Yeah, that was funny.

I'll give you this one, you wily hussy.

Well played.


*******************************************


A while back I told my neighbor (who I barely know) that we were looking for a dog. I tend to get ahead of myself sometimes. I say "are" when I mean "might".
It's a flaw, and I'm o.k. with that.

She's a "dog" person: volunteers for a shelter, "fosters" dogs, at any given time has the Von Trapp family of dogs at her lovely home, etc... you get the picture. Her family rendition of Do-re-mi is awesome.

Well, the problem is- we never got a dog.

Now, whenever I run into her I can feel her contempt. She can smell that I'm not a "dog" person. She thinks I'm a liar (she's kind of right). She sees the lack of chew toys and poop in my yard and has deemed me weak.

Sorry neighbor lady, we just changed our minds, for now. We may get a chicken instead.

NOW QUIT JUDGING ME!!!!!!!!!!!!JUDGY McJUDGESTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hey- can't wait to see you at the block party! I'm bringing bars!
See you then!

Seven, seven, seven point five, seven...and six. Plus one.

A loooong time ago, in a land faaaaaar away...I was tagged by the lovely Aussie Rebecca to give y'all 7 random things about WM from the WM vault.

I'm generally not what you would consider an "overachiever" or "diligent" or even "someone with an attention span greater than that of a 3 year-old jacked up on Mt. Dew".
However, in an effort to improve the magic that is Whiskeymarie, I will not only comply, I will exceed that which is expected of me!
Take that, Sir laziness and Lady Sloth!

I give you: Several! Several random sevens!

The "scar" sevens:

#1) Scar in my left wrist, top: nasty swingset accident somewhere around 3 years old. The plastic seat broke and down I went. Fatass.

#2) Half moon scar around my bellybutton: A few years ago I found out I had an umbilical hernia- a condition usually reserved for small children and the severely obese. I guess it developed from years of manual labor on the docks, along with my scurvy. This is the only surgery I have ever had that involved getting put under and a refill of vicodin. Good times.

#3) Two scars, one about 1/4" across, one about 1/2" across -smack in the middle of my cleavage. This was the result of a hot sheet pan hurredly tossed into a rack- it bounced back and burned my boobies. And no, I'm not self-conscious about them. Jesus, I have so many scars I've all but given up on giving a shit anymore. I think people use them as an excuse to look at my breasteses.

#4) Smattering of faint white scars on my right knee: when I was 12 or so, I all of a sudden got this weird constellation of warts on my knee. We (me, my mom, the doctor) did everything to get rid of them- they were horrifying and icky. Then one day, after about a year, poof! Gone. I like to think that my offering up my virginity as a sacrifice to the god of dermatology (he lived behind the convenience store by my house- I think his mortal name was Doug) did the trick.

#5) Misc. 1/2" to 1" scars up my right forearm: These are from ovens at work through the years. I always seem to re-burn in the exact same spots, so I'm pretty sure these are never going away. I really should wear full body protection at work. And a helmet.

#6) Crooked hairline, faint scar on the right side: "Falling" into the corner of a coffee table, age 2. I kind of think my older sister was jockeying for domestic power and this was a failed attempt to de-throne me. I was 2 and cute, she was 4 and starting to enter that "gangly" phase.

#7) Giant (3/4") indentation on my left shoulder, back: I had a "suspicious" mole removed a few years ago. When it healed, it looked like a huge wart. I complained and they shot some stuff in it, three times. It then collapsed into itself like some sort of black hole. I am not entirely unconvinced that if I push on it 'just right' I will be able to travel through time.



The "right now" sevens:

Right now I am...

#1) wearing: a white "wife-hugger" (since we can't say the other thing anymore), cutoff old jeans (and no, I don't live in a trailer- I just have no class) and flip flops. Later on I am giving birth to my uncle/brother's baby in the bathtub in the back yard- c'mon over and watch!
#2) eating: 1 egg & 2 egg whites scrambled with veggie sausage & salsa.
#3) needing: lip balm (me getting up to look for some)(found the Aveda stuff on the end table- much better now.)
#4) looking at: the huge bunch of flowers I got for $5 at the farmer's market.
#5) planning for the day: not leaving the house under any circumstances. Well, unless I need a magazine. Or a popsicle. Or lunch.
#6) stunned: just got a call telling me that we need to tack another $1400 on to the cost of the chimney-removal party plan. Total estimate for the project: $6400. I'm going to go throw up now. I could plan two really great or three el cheapo vacations for that. Fuck you, Mr. House.
#7) watching: bad daytime t.v. There was just a herpes medication commercial on. Glad I don't have herpes.



Seven favorite foods:

#1) homemade mac & cheese with bacon and roasted tomatoes
#2) anything with good goat cheese. I would brush my teeth with goat cheese if it didn't give me such stank breath.
#3) any and all cured pork products.
#4) roasted vegetables, especially beets, onions, broccoli and sweet potatoes.
#5) pickles- only dill. Sorry bread & butter/sweet pickle lovers, here we must agree to disagree even though everyone knows I'm right.
#6) cereal- particularly Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch and anything with marshmallows.
#7) Anything with duck- especially duck confit, one of the least healthy things on the planet, but fuck if I care- it's delicious.
#7.5) Marshmallow anything- except Peeps.



Seven favorite words:
#1) Delicious (I say this way too much. I once had a student that hated this word. I would drag it out for him. Deee-lissshhhhuuuusss....)
#2) Fuck (It's just such a useful word. Really.)
#3) Booty (both the bodonkadonk and the pirate form)
#4) Scootch (as in "scootch your ass over here"- I think I may have made this one up)
#5) Schmutz (as in "you've got some schmutz on your face- here, let me get that with this kleenex that I will moisten with my tongue")
#6) Monkey (It's fun to just say this randomly, especially with people you don't know real well.)
#7) Cocktail (not only does it have the word "cock" in it, but it means delicious wonderful boozy concoctions are forthcoming.)



And finally, six "new-to-me/relatively new-to-me" blogs very recently added to the links list- therefore you should read them too. I insist. Really. I mean it. Read them, dammit, if you know what's good for you (me, staring you down):

#1) Constant Winter- She is what I aspire to be when I grow up.
#2) Extraneous Kickassery- because it's nice to have the boys around too.
#3) Fruit Loops and Porn- she has naked Gary Busey. Enough Said.
#4) The Paper Treehouse- Margee, Martha, Marsha- take your pick.
#5) Prison Industry- Another boy to balance out the estrogen overload.
#6) Rebecca James- not really new to me, I just got around to linking my Aussie lady.

Addendum for a dumdum (i.e. ME):
#7) Nocturnal + Tendencies - tech-savvy video guy- always interesting & a little on the edge...

The rest of you know how much I adore you. Plus, I've been reading the rest of you , like, for-ever. Duh.
And, as an aside- I don't know about anyone else, but I read ALL of the blogs on my blogroll. I'd like to say I only have time now, when I'm not working, but I really read them all- all the time. I may miss a few days here & there, but I don't miss much. I am obsessive, if nothing else.
I just want you to know that my love is real- not the fake kind promised in those commercials during "Blind Date" re-runs at 1:00 in the morning- just so you know.

I am also needing of a hobby, it seems.

XO
WM

Insert pickle joke here (or) my weekend: a photographic journey

I made pickles this weekend.

Seventeen jars, to be exact.

I plan on making more next weekend.

I am a woman obsessed.

I will perfect the pickle. Perfect pickles.









Round one.

Extra dilly, extra crunchy. I can't even understand the idea of "sweet" pickles. Ick.

A few jars of jalapeño pickles too.













At the grocery store on Friday, I spotted these.

They were positioned at kid-level, in case you were interested.

59-cent candy cigarettes.

I didn't think you could buy these anymore, so of course I bought a pack, just to be cool.

I'm going back today to see if they have any more- I'll buy whatever is left. Who knows when I'll find them again??









Me, pretending to need a light.

They look disturbingly real, and I look disturbingly moronic trying to like I actually know how to smoke.

Dork.

I spent 20 minutes posing with fake cigarettes.

I need a life.









Me, channeling my inner bad girl. We'll call her "Vivian".

Vivian seems to have some sort of tic.

Vivian also appears to be chewing on her bubble-gum scented tobacco stick.













Vivian is obviously confused.

She ate the damn thing.

That Vivian, she ain't so bright, it seems.

F.Y.I.- Most definitely NOT kid-friendly "grape" flavor.












Nothing special here, just some crazy looking melon from the farmer's market. It smelled amazing- my car still smells like melon.

It was delicious.

I love you, freaky melon.












And finally, me trying to simultaneously re-create and photograph my potential audition moves for "Dancing with the stars"

This is some sort of interpretive-dance/me channeling my inner Dorothy Hamill arabesque sort of move.

I'm totally going to win.









Not pictured: frothy blender cocktails- most notably the one we made in an attempt to make room in the liquor cabinet by using up bits of booze left in bottles. Turns out our light rum/dark rum/tequila/strawberry/blueberry margarita was mmm-mmm good.

Also not pictured: Bison hot dogs and sweet corn for dinner last night. Man, those bison make a good dog.

Also also not pictured: The giant bag of kettle corn (also from farmer's market) that is pretty much gone now. Not pictured out of shame. Hateful, evil kettle corn.


The end.

Meet Nerdwina Von Nerdenstein

Oh, and I Simpsonized myself today:









Even as a cartoon I'm a sexy broad.


Nice rack, my dear.


Meow.


My god, I truly am a nerd in my little own land of Nerd in the country of Nerdotopia on the planet Nerdanus.

"Future to the back" or, alternatively: "Twice the eighteen year-old girl I used to be" . Plus, an addendumdum.

18 years since this picture was taken. Holy shit.

1989.

I repeat, holy shit.

I decided to give my 18 year-old self a jingle and see where we stand, as last I remember we weren't on good terms.




The following transcripts were taken word for word during our brief meeting at the local McDonald's over happy meals and diet cokes:
(Old Whiskeymarie will now be referred to as OWM, and young Whiskeymarie will be referred to as YBHWM, or Young with Bad Hair Whiskeymarie)


OWM: "Hey, thanks for making tome to meet me. As I remember, you had a pretty busy social calendar." (smiling and nodding)

YBHWM: (sullen) "Um, have we met? Hello? I can't believe you don't remember- how OLD are you anyways? Christ, you look like, what...forty five? (Rolls eyes) You know all I do pretty much like 90% of the time is talk on the phone with Waffle about the things we wish we were doing and the parties we wish we were invited to. I have no life. I live in the middle of nowhere- remember?"

OWM: "Hey! Not fair. You know I'm only 36. That's why I called. I'm eighteen twice over and I wanted to see how you feel about it. That's all. You don't have to be so mean about it, you know. And, um, no- I guess I forgot about the whole bored all the time thing."

YBHWM: "Sorry. I just never thought I'd be, you know- your age. So, what's it like? (big, inquiring eyes) I bet you totally go to parties all the time and meet lots of hot guys- right? I bet you're a real big deal now that you took the New York fashion scene by storm. You did do that, right? (gesturing wildly) Wait, wait! I bet you started our own modern dance troupe that tours constantly and you have a different guy in every city- Paris, Hong Kong, London...god, I bet that's exciting! Tell me! I am dying to know what you've been up to- whatever it is I'm sure it's totally cool."

OWM: "Um..."

YBHWM: "What? Why are you looking at me like that? Hey (squinting)...what's that on your finger? Is that a...oh god NO! Is that a WEDDING RING??? Tell me you didn't. I am totally going to hyperventilate if that's a wedding ring. You did not get married, did you? 'Cause if you did I'm totally never going to speak to you again, I swear." (stern look, eyes REAL big)

OWM: (big, fake smile) "Um, yeah. I know we said we never would get married, but I kind of changed my mind. He's real cute! Really! And we did it in Vegas- I thought you would approve! I know we didn't plan to do this, but...you know."

YBHWM: "Fine. Whatever. He better be super cute, that's all I'm saying. But, please, at the very least tell me you have a cool job. Hopefully something that involves non-stop first-class travel as manager of a cool band or something like that. Or, did you skip to 'plan B'?"

OWM: "Plan B? I don't remember that one. Refresh my memory. Remember- I'm old." (rolls eyes)

YBHWM: (with genuine sincerity) "Plan B was: marry someone famous and/or just filthy rich but 'difficult', stick with it just long enough to make sure you'll get sweet alimony, then 'snip-snip' you cut 'em off. Divorce. Easy street, no more working- ever. The plan was perfect! This guy you married is famous, right? Rich? Come on- dish the dirt!"

OWM: (scratching head) "Um, have you always been this shallow? I don't remember being this shallow. Plan B is a stupid plan. Did you really think that would work? And, no- I didn't resort to plan B. Sorry to let you down." (rolls eyes- again)

YBHWM: "Oh don't give me this crap. You're shallow and you know it. Deal with it. Whatever. (pauses) Hey- what's up with your hair?"

OWM: "What do you mean?"

YBHWM: "I mean, when did it get so boring? I thought we agreed we'd always keep it short. Real short. And when did you stop frosting it? One color hair is sooooo 1982. Ick."

OWM: "I got tired of looking like a man, that's all. I realized really short hair with a leather-heavy wardrobe wasn't such a great combination after all. Whatever. I don't care if you don't like it- I think I look better now than you ever did." (smug, bitchy smile)

YBHWM: "HAHAHA! As if."

OWM: "Whatever." (angry smirk)

(long, awkward pause)

YBHWM: "I like your shoes- nice pointy toes the way they should be. At least you got that much right. But what's up with those jeans? When did you start wearing bell-bottoms? Puh-leeze tell me those aren't in style."

OWM: "These are not bell-bottoms, my dear. They're called 'boot-cut' and yes, they're most definitely in-style. I think they make my legs look longer- don't you? I like them. So there." (gives defiant look)

YBHWM: "Well, yeah, I guess your legs look o.k, but remember? I like tapered. Or pinned- how come you don't have any safety pins on the bottoms? (a little whiny) Don't you remember how I'll spend 20-30 minutes to get all eight pins on each side 'just so'? Pinned & tapered pants will always be cool, I know it."

OWM: "Um, actually- no, not so much. That kind of went out mid-nineties. Sorry. You'll get over it- I promise. (pause) Hey- here's something- remember those giant portable phones that people started using?"

YBHWM: "Oh yeah! Those were totally stupid. I bet you all laugh about that now- stupid big phones. Remember how retarded people looked talking on them? Like, um, hello? I'm talking to you from the grocery store. Hello? I'm walking on the street talking on my stupid phone. Dum dum de dum, I'm on my phone..." (singing at this point)

OWM: "Um, actually I have one in my purse right now."

YBHWM: "NO. WAY. (looking skeptical) No freaking way. I don't believe you- liar."

OWM: "Look- it's real small" (pulls out phone and shows her)

YBHWM: "Wow. Who'd have thunk it? So, do you use it all the time? I bet you get a million calls a day if you need to have one of those."

OWM: "Well, to be honest sometimes I'll go for a day or two without getting a single call. Believe it or not I kind of like it that way. Really, I do."

YBHWM: "Oh that is so sad. (shaking head) When did you become such a dork? Seriously. (look of pure disgust) Do you have NO social life? Please- tell me you go out and whoop it up all the time. Please. Some of the time? Once a week? Do you EVER go out anymore?"

OWM: "Um...speaking of which- is that my phone ringing?"

YBHWM: "I don't hear any ringing." (looks suspicious)

OWM: "It's on vibrate- sorry, can't explain- it's a 2007 sort of thing. 'Hello? what's that? You need me there RIGHT NOW? O.k, I guess so..." (hangs up)
(talking really fast) "I forgot a...thingy I have to go to. Sorry, It's an emergency at work. Oh, shit, I forgot to tell you about my job- I am such a scatterbrain sometimes. But you already know that, don't you- hahahaha. (insincere and uncomfortable laugh)
I'm Duran Duran's tour manager. Yup. And I have a series of best-selling books on how to be fabulous. Uh-huh. I wish I could tell you all about it, but I've gotta run! Maybe next time. We should totally do this again- call me!" (makes phone gesture with hand- practically runs out the door)

YBHWM: "Um, o.k. I guess. Sure. Whatever." (eye roll) "Hey- but I don't have your number...
(under her breath)
"What a total freak. Oh my god- weird AND old- that totally sucks." (goes up to get a chocolate shake and apple pie)

End transmission.


******************************************************
Addendum:


This is what pinning was. I couldn't find a picture, so I re-created it for y'all.

Tomorrow:
Re-creations of popular 80's dance styles with a "hip-hop" edge, "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure" as expressed through performance art, and my long awaited thesis on Dippity Do hair gel and its ramifications on the post-Clinton generation.

That or another post about what I made for dinner...

Hate on, haters.

I was going to write a post today about how tired I am from work today and how I have a 13-hour day tomorrow in an effort to muster up some sympathy.

Then I remembered that after tomorrow, other than the random catering...


I don't work again until August 20th.


I'll just shut my pie-hole now, o.k?

Sense and sensible underwear

Things I understand:

* the baker's formula
* how to operate a food processor
* why it's not a good idea to drink a bottle of red wine when all you've eaten all day is licorice and a protein bar
* why we don't greet each other by smelling butts, like dogs do
* how to drive a stick shift, though I have only marginally grasped this one after 10+ years of doing so
* why clothing made from PVC is never a good idea
* why this website is awesome
* where babies come from
* wine- drinking, purchasing and ordering in restaurants
* how to "work" the cookbook of the month club
* why yodeling is cool
* how to make sauces
* why puppies and kittens make us all mushy
* why mini-golf beats maxi-golf any day
* how to be ladylike- I do, I just choose to ignore this one
* why pork products in all their glorious forms make the world a better place
* that any painting is better if done on black velvet:



*Images from the permanent collection at the Whiskeymarie Museum of Modern Art




Things I don't understand:

* quantum physics
* basic physics
* Lindsay Hohans career
* how to properly operate a computer
* why TV ads for feminine hygiene products, birth-control pills, stool softeners and hemorrhoid products make me want to hit the television with a baseball bat
* how to carry on basic conversations in social settings
* why Phil Hartman had to die but David Spade gets to live
* who buys things like this
* why monkeys aren't good pets
* what heterosexual woman would choose to fuck someone like Newt Gingrich
* why mushrooms can't taste like something good, instead of tasting like feet soaked in old beer
* why I can't just win the powerball, dammit.
* how to whistle
* why people whistle
* why whistling makes me angry
* why all I can remember from two years of Spanish in high school is "hola" and "una limonada por favor"
* why I am incapable of not eating this as often as possible
* why I couldn't come up with a real post today

Narcissist, Nihilist, Nincompooperist.

Here I was, wallowing in my existential mini-crisis.
Without going into details, I'll say that some of it came from a brush with the past that left me feeling a little unsettled and inexplicably shaken.
Some of it comes from the general sort of malaise that seems to hit me this time of year.
Damn summer.
Some of it comes from needing to give my life a little kick in the ass. Love my job (mostly), love the Mr. (even though he can't seem to find the faucet to refill the ice cube trays- ever), love my friends.
It just seems like everything is so predictable lately.
And when I say "everything", I mean "me".

That's all.
Nothing to worry about.

I'm still going to say inappropriate things, wear impractical footwear, drink too much wine and go on loving monkeys as much as I ever have.

Sigh.
Really, I don't know what the fuck the answer is. If I figure it out I'll let you know.

But for the most part, I'm over it and moving on.

I shall wallow no more.
The end.

Technical difficulties

Something's not right here.

Nope, things are just a bit "off", if you know what I mean.

Pants on? Check.

Mascara on BOTH eyes? Check.

Lunch money pinned to jacket? Check.





Then someone tell me what the hell is wrong, because I'm just not feeling "right" at the present moment.
It feels like I'm missing out on a party I never even heard of or would even want to go to.
Or, like I know I have an appointment somewhere for something- but I have no records of it and no one has sent me a postcard with a sad puppy on it that says "don't forget!" like the dentist's office does.

It's unsettling, really. I'm all fluttery- and not in a good, warm & fuzzy kind of way. More in an edgy, I may snap kind of way.

Sorry for the service interruption. We will resume our regularly scheduled programming as soon as we can figure out where the fuck the problem is.


**********************************


On a side note- has anyone else come across this ad lately in magazines? All I know is that man makes me unsettled in a very, very good way. And try all you want, there's no way to prove that I licked the picture in my Vanity Fair August issue. The paper is all wrinkly from the humidity, that's all.

Just 'cause I need this right now. Today. Just 'cause.

It's really gross how much of a girl I am. I should be ashamed.

What my toes were making sweet foot-fetish love to last night. The red suede heels are as soft as what I imagine a newborn CareBear's bum would be.

I may never take them off.

For what they cost, I really may have to wear them every day for the rest of my life- and that's o.k. with me.

Turns out that extravagant purchases made on the tail end of a mini traumatic/psychotic episode can work out after all.

XOXO to you, nu shooz.

Oh, and you too, new shoes. I think I'm going to go and kiss you...again. No tongue this time, though. That kind of gave the Mr. the puke shivers.

You're a poet and you didn't even know it...

Ms. MMM at The Paper Treehouse wrote a lovely poem about denting her husband's car this week. Upon further discussion, she suggested (probably as a joke, but hey- my life can be a joke sometimes) a "bad" poetry blog.

So, I set one up. That's just how I roll, y'all.





Here.

I haven't had a chance to compose anything myself yet, but feel free to start without me.
Anything you want, random as you want.
Whatever.

Three pointless questions for a Friday

#1) Have you ever been fired from a job?

#2) Do you read in the bathroom?

#3) How old is your oldest pair of underwear?



O.k, I'll start:

#1) No, never. But I really should have been from at least three that I can think of. Kind of like boyfriends, I could never get employers to "break up" with me, hard as I may have tried. I once was temporarily let go when the building I worked in burnt to the ground, if that counts. And no, though it was arson, it wasn't me. Promise.

#2) No, never. Ever. I don't get it. I don't want to read in a room that is used for pooping and other sorts of unsavory behavior.

#3) I had to sift through them to try and remember. My best guess is 6 years old. Um, yeah. Not ALL of them mind you, just one or two pairs. And yes, I am throwing them away as we speak.

Um...yes and no.

Successes this week:

• Finished the class with the 5-8 year olds without accidentally killing any of them and without causing anyone to go home and tell Mom that "teacher said a bad word today." When I was done with the final class yesterday, my glee was such that had I been a happy little puppy, I would have been running in circles while simultaneously peeing and barking.

• I successfully started a new workout program. No, I will not tell you the details as I don't want to jinx it. Suffice it to say that I fully expect to look like this within a few weeks, so I think my expectations are realistic. Wish me luck.
  

• Realized that the $1 fat-free frozen yogurt cones at IKEA make me much happier than they really should. Currently working on raising my expectations for happiness.
  

• Decided to forgive myself for ignoring the numerous piles of crap currently laying around the house. Also decided that the first step on the road to recovery is admitting you have a problem, so I consider the fact that I can acknowledge this shortcoming to be a complete success.
  

• Signed up to volunteer at the local Salvation Army soup kitchen. No, I'm not kidding. I am a mockery of myself.
  

• Managed to look away as I started laughing at the little girl in class this week that boldly declared' "I can lick my toes! Wanna see?" Also, I managed to stop her before she could successfully remove her sandal to demonstrate.
  

Not so successful moments:

• Managed to lose my debit card twice in one week. the first time I got it back (left it at a bar the night before whilst drunk with Maurey and the spouses), the second time not so much. I think it was more "stolen" than "lost" the second time. I didn't notice until the next day, but for some reason whoever had it only used it to the tune of about $140 at various gas stations around town. Why they stopped there, who knows? I say, if you're going to steal, don't be so half-assed about it. Dare to be more, my much-despised, thieving, asshole of a foe. Don't be such a quitter next time.
  

• Gave myself two very ugly burns on the same arm this week. The little darlings kept tugging on me/screaming/running right when I'd have my arm in the oven, causing me to flinch. I would then spend the next hour gritting my teeth and trying to not emotionally scar the darlings for life. I have named the burns "Cat Girl" and "Joe".
  

• Tried to sign up as a potential bone marrow donor at a drive that was being held by a Sorority located by the U. I tried for 35 minutes to find the place, then gave up. I realized when I got home that I had driven by it three times. Hey! Here's an idea- if you want people to participate in your Sororities annual "let's pat ourselves on the back for doing this" community activity, how's about making a sign next time? Bet you had a great turnout, didn't you? I'll try again at the next one somewhere else. I wouldn't trust you idiots with my blood anyways, so there. (Note to self: buy GPS system. Soon. You, Whiskeymarie, YOU could get lost in a round room. Seriously. Get one.)
  

• Ended up spending $100 on printing vacation pictures because I lied to my gal Waffle and told her I had already done it. I promised everyone who went on the trip copies and I already have copies from all of them. I like putting things off- and off, and off, and off... She'll be in town tomorrow and the only way to get them in time and cover my lie was to spend the extra $$. No, she doesn't read this, either, in case you're wondering. She has already informed me that she thinks blogs are "gross", and I'm o.k. with that. So, I got away with a lie, which I feel is a success, but I know that to be morally correct I need to put it in this category. Fine, but I'm not happy about it.

Score:
Whiskeymarie - 6
Gods of life as a cruel joke- 4


***********************************

And, I almost forgot to acknowledge that I was voted a "Rockin Girl Blogger" by both Butrfly Girl and Nancypearlwannabe. How very rude of me.
I guess I rock, which I've been told by the elders in the village is a good thing. I will try to live up to the title with every ounce of my being. Wait, no- that's too much pressure. I take it back. I think instead I will try to not screw this up somehow. That, I think I can manage.
Thanks for thinking of me, you sweet things.

On that note...

Rock on this weekend, my little monkey breads, rock on. (Me holding up my hand in the universal "rock lock" salute)

Every picture tells a story of "wow, that's random."

Because I was waiting here, at the computer, for my MARCH vacation pictures to upload to Wal-fartdotcom (judge me not- I have about 500- yes- seriously- FIVE HUNDRED pictures I need, and they were the cheapest), I thought I'd give y'all a few to ponder.


With minimal descriptors:







I think I posted this before, but this is from the Bahamas trip in March. We were all fairly intoxicated the entire time.
Good trip.
This is me at a beach bar/restaurant where we had perfect fried whole snapper (enter snapper jokes here) and many, many local brews.











Flowers currently in my home right now. Some purchased, some from the garden, all arranged by me.













I felt inclined to make shadow puppets while waiting for my pix to upload.
I think this looks like a hook-nosed old man with no teeth, kind of like Chet Baker after the heroin.








I thought this one looked like a dolphin.

Look! He's smiling.

Happy Dolphin.








This is what happens to a 100+ year-old chimney when it decides it doesn't want to live at my house anymore.

I have hauled 4.5, 5-gallon pails of dirt-like debris out of the basement already (hello, asbestos! Hello, lung cancer- breathing is overrated anyways!), and I expect to haul out much more before the professionals come around to remove the beast.

I hate this fucker.

I can't wait until he's gone.

He is going to cost $4-5,000 to remove.

Shit, I could buy a defective Chinese baby girl for that much money (don't even bother with the hate mail, I KNOW, but it's not like you come here for the PC touchy-feely banter- so don't even bother.)









This is me trying to lick my husband's face last weekend.

I cut him off a bit so as to protect his privacy- but from what you can see, doesn't he look happy?

I don't have bangs yet here, and my hair was dirty and uncooperative that day.
So what to do with the raggedy-assed hair?

Hey there ponytail, sure am getting tired of seeing your played-out coif around here.


I think I'll try to bring back banana clips. I think the time has come once again to rock the 'nana clip.










And...

That's all I have time for- I have to get up at the ass-crack of dawn tomorrow to have my last play-date with the kidlins, and my CA sister is in town tomorrow night, so if I don't get back tomorrow- see you Friday.

If the darlings don't go all "Lord of the Flies" on me tomorrow, that is.

Did I mention I have kids next week too???

(Me, with creepy clown-like perma-grin on my face. Me, praying for a tornado, or hurricane, or tsunami to hit the building before Monday...)
(Me, trying in vain to kick my own ass.)

Seeking work replacement- must love cats.

"What's that you say? You have to go? I know it's been a rough week and all, but I thought you guys would tough it out longer than this. No?"

"Well then...farewell to you my once steady companions- Miss Sanity and Madame Sex Drive."

You see-
And I know several of you that are going to bask in the glory of this-

This week, for whatever mentally inexcusable reason, I agreed to teach a cooking class for...
(drumroll, please)



Fifteen, yes, FIFTEEN children, ages 5-8. Though, they are mostly in the 5-6 range. Oh dear.


What ever could I have been thinking? I'm guessing I was too busy thinking about butterflies and waterfalls to contemplate the dumbfounding stupidity of this decision.

Two days down, two to go. If I make it through Thursday alive I am celebrating with a martini the size of Jay Leno's head. Maybe two.
Maybe eight.


A little bit of how today went (3 hour class):

* 2 "group" potty breaks (my building was designed by Dali. Nothing makes sense. Girls bathroom on one side of the building, boys on the other.)

* 2 "individual" potty breaks

* One teary child, sitting on the floor (Joe had been hitting and tormenting the girls on his team all day- until one of them punched him. Then he started bawling. I had to explain to Joe why he probably shouldn't hit people, especially girls who have a Mom with more tattoos than his uncle Wally from the docks).

* One adorable but hyperactive girl that insisted on being a cat all day. "Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow"...well, you get it. I cut her some slack because she kept hugging my legs and saying "I love you teacher". I heart you too, kitty-cat girl.

* One girl who kept complaining that her belly hurt from eating too much frosting, but kept eating it anyways. We engaged in a brief tug-of-war for the frosting bowl. I won.

* Joe (yes, again. He's got Chef written all over him- seriously.) trying to kiss the girls, taking pure joy in them running away, screaming, with me yelling after them to stop running and screaming.

* Every time they all would get something to drink, within 15 seconds someone would drop theirs on the floor. We'd clean up, then someone else would spill.

* The cat girl kept burping really loud.

* One girl insisted on telling me, FIVE TIMES- while I was trying to stop 2 other kids from playing "hey we're frogs" in the kitchen- how she likes to make her favorite sandwich. This is a VERY detail-oriented little girl, I discovered. "What's that? Sure you can tell me something. Oh...the sandwich again. Goody."

* Cat girl took a rolling pin and rolled it up my chest before I could stop her. She said she wanted to "flatten me out." Um, thanks?

* At noon, when all I wanted to do was get started on cleaning up the federally-declared disaster site that was my kitchen, I had to sit and wait for three parents that were late for pickup. Then, when finally they arrived, they seemed to think that I personally had signed the work order for the construction going on that made parking so hard. O.k, yes I did. I spend 50% of my day thinking of ways to make the other 50% of my time more "challenging". Yup.



I'm pretty sure that my birth control questions have been answered at this point.


I think I've been what the experts refer to as "scared sterile".

Blasphemers, champagne cocktails and moustache wax

Most of my weekend, organized with bullet points for your reading comfort.

• I saw Sicko on Saturday. The 26-ish guy who sold us our tickets at the mega-stadium-forty-three-screen googolplex in Suburban St. Paul had an old-timey waxed curlicue 'stache and well manicured long fingernails. Hmmm. I am guessing he saves up vacation time at MegaMovieLand in order to train for weekends as "Sir Mustacheride" at the Renaissance Fair every year. I would bet serious cash this guy has a life-sized cut outs of Lord of the Rings characters at home. This guy never ever has had sex with anyone but himself. And, to top it off, the movie made me depressed beyond comprehension. I was fighting back tears of anger, and I looked at the 50-something guy next to me just as he happened to glance over- and he was crying. There is no way to not feel defeated and disheartened after this movie. I'm better now, but I want to riot in the streets. Join me?
  

• After the movie, we went to a neighborhood joint for a beer (I was really unsettled from the movie- seriously. I thought alcohol was a good idea). This would have been a nice after-movie reprieve from the heat, except the loudmouth douche at the bar made relaxing entirely impossible. I couldn't enjoy my nachos or 22-oz. frothy brew one bit. Dear Sir Douche- no one gives a shit about your opinion on the "liberal media", your denial of global warming, your views on talk radio, or what a talented but under appreciated athlete you were in high school in 1978. Give it up. This is why your friend sitting next to you would rather watch t.v. with no volume or subtitles than participate in this retarded conversation. This is why that bitch of a wife left you. You. Are. A. DOUCHE.
  

• Tonight it rained for a while. Good thing. The heat is turning me into Jack Nicholson a la The Shining. All heat and no cool makes Whiskeymarie a dull girl, all heat and no cool makes Whiskeymarie a dull girl, all heat...I think the Mr. started to worry when I asked him to dance (by himself so I could watch) in the kitchen. Just to entertain me. Tomorrow it is supposed to go back to Spring Break in Dante'ville. I'm starting to lose track of what circle I'm in- I think I'm at the inner ring of the seventh. I'll have to consult my map. Let's see...River STYX (come sail away...) to the left, Harpies to the right...yup, seventh.
  

• Today, breakfast at the new Luce' in St. Paul. ONE DOLLAR mimosas. Amen. Does this bargain of a lifetime exist in Duluth? Dear Jeebus, I have found thy blessed diner of the 'morn.
  

• My new bangs, while possibly the most perfectly cut forehead fringes of my life, are cursed. I forgot what heat and a sweaty forehead does to them. I look like I washed my hair with K-Y. This is going to be a LOT of maintenance. At least before I had the shorties I could just sweep the greasy front hair back into the perpetual ponytail. Sheesh.
  

• Season four of Reno 911. I think I peed a little.
  

• This was for dinner Sunday- not the most adventurous thing I've made, but really good nonetheless. Spicy ginger-orange salmon salad:

I thought this might balance out the nachos, Sunday-night cheese plate, beers, wine, baked Doritos (let's stop kidding ourselves, shall we? "Baked" does not absolve this sin, my sweets. It merely refers to the state of mind of the inventor), and other miscellaneous crap consumed this weekend.

All of it, I might add...

Totally worth it.

C'mon, life is too short to eat celery. Seriously.






Hope you all had a good weekend.
(me, kissing you on the cheek hello.)

But it already came true...

Sunday is my Sister-in-law's b-day. happy b-day Maurey!
Summer seems to be the "birthday season" with my family and friends. I love birthdays. Not just my own (though I do so love presents. Not to be greedy, but I would like to initiate the concept of 'conception day' just to make things interesting. Think about it, that's all I'm asking. Although, this will make for some very awkward conversations with the parents. Just think about it- and if you have time to sign my petition that would be great.), and where the hell was I..? Oh yeah, birthdays.



Whenever my own birthday rolls around I inevitably think of Sixteen Candles. I can't help it.
Oh sweet Jake, you set the bar so high.
Every birthday should have that magic.
Come to think of it, every girl should have a Jake Ryan. Meow.


Today, because my mind often randomly turns to things like spider monkeys and string theory, I wondered...





Where would Jake and Samantha be now?
What if they got married and lived happily ever til' now?

Would the magic still be there?

Let's take a peek, shall we?
Come along, my little bon bons...

Universal Conglomerate and Dead Horse Pictures presents-

Molly Ringwald as kooky Samantha and Michael Schoeffling as our favorite heartthrob Jake in...

35 candles!

(opening scene. Enter to: a mid-to-upper class suburban Chicago kitchen. "Sam" rushes around, looking for something. "Jake" sits at the table, reading the paper, eating a doughnut and drinking coffee)

Sam: "Where the hell did you put Jake Jr's permission slip? Is that a doughnut?"

Jake: "Yes it's a freaking doughnut. I didn't have the slip in the first place. Why don't you check that $400 suitcase you call a purse?"

Sam: "You gave me that purse! If you thought it was too expensive you shouldn't have bought it in the first place. Whatever. Where the hell is the slip?"

Jake: (muffled by chewing) "Check the pile on the dining room table. It's where you leave everything else."

Sam: (looking in the other room) "Here it is. Finally." (hollering) "Jake Junior! Samilita! Hurry up or you'll miss the bus!" (turns to Jake) "You know, Samilita's junior prom is coming up. I'm going to have to take her to buy a dress if that boy she likes asks her."

Jake: "You mean that guy Drake? His family is loaded. Let's hope that one works out." (winks)

Sam: "Jesus christ, Jake- she's only seventeen. Just because you and I got married when we were eighteen doesn't mean she has to."

Jake: "Oh, here we go again." (mocking in a high-pitched voice) "You got me pregnant, you did this to me, you ruined my chances of going to college on that art scholarship, blah, blah, blah."

Sam: "Don't."

Jake: "I seem to remember that there were two of us on that dining room table that night. Remember? We cracked the top, if I remember correctly. Man, my Mom was pissed about that one."

Sam: "Yes, of course I remember. How could I forget? It took 20 minutes to get that taffeta nightmare of a dress off. Remember what you said? You said you had control, that we didn't need a condom. Look how that worked out."

Jake: "Speaking of which, someone has a birthday tomorrow..."

Sam: "Don't remind me. God, I feel so old. Thirty freaking five."

Jake: "What do you want to do? Dinner? A party? I could buy a cake, we could climb up on the table..."

Sam: "Good one, big guy. With that spare tire of yours we'd probably end up with a broken table and nasty splinters. How about you try coming up with something more original than that tired old schtick? Seventeen years ago that worked- not so much anymore dear. Give it up already."

Jake: "Fine." (mumbles something about hoity-toity and wishing he married the money-grubbing blonde)

Sam: "Let's just have some people over for a barbecue on Saturday. Farmer Ted and his wife, My sister and that new husband of hers- what's his name again? Mario? Flavio? Shit. After 5 of them I can't remember anymore. At least this one isn't in prison already, which is a good thing. Let's just make sure we hide my jewelery, you know?"

Jake: "How about your brother? We haven't seen him in a while. Probably not since your parents, you know...died."

Sam: "Until the police officially clear him of the charges he's not setting foot in this house. I know in some states euthanasia is legal, but it isn't here. Plus I don't like how he tries to get Samilita to sit on his lap all the time."

Jake: "Fine."

Sam: "This should be fun. Just try to, you know...watch your drinking. I don't want a repeat of the Henderson's barbecue last summer."

Jake: "What? Christ, you slap one gigantic broad in the ass and you never hear the end of it. Jesus!"

Sam: "It was funny! It was! It's just that now Janey Henderson won't speak to me. It makes PTA meetings kind of awkward. But it was funny. Really funny. I love the way she squealed and dropped her plate. Classic."

Jake: "Yeah, that was funny. That's what I love most about you, Sam. You get me after all these years."

Sam: "Back at 'cha, big guy."

(they kiss)

and...scene.

A brief but necessary plea for female "plumbing" advice- sorry boys.

Next week, I have to say bye-bye to my beloved IUD. This makes me sad. IUD and I have had a good run for the last 1.5 years. He has been successful in not only keeping me baby-free, but also PERIOD FREE for most of that time as well.

But, alas, ours has not been an entirely loving, caressing, sweet-talking relationship. He has been harassing my ovaries and they are threatening to go on strike if I don't do something about it.






While I love spending a day, every 2-3 months or so, curled up in a ball contemplating taking up Heroin, I have decided to throw in the towel.
It's you or me, my plastic, slow-releasing hormonal friend.
We were supposed to have more time together (up to 5 years, to be exact).
But, like any great love, ours is doomed to be cut tragically short.

This sucks.
I haven't had to deal with pills, cramps, mood swings or crotch bleeding for so long now.
Unfortunately I am one of the very rare few that develops cysts from the IUD. Rotten, painful, wishing I were getting invasive dentistry instead of having cysts sort of cysts.

So, now, I need to find a new pill. Or something.

Or maybe it's time for a baby.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Just kidding. Whew! I slay me.



Back to reality...

I know there is a new pill that kinda does the same thing as the IUD (no periods) but I can't remember the name of it. I know it just recently became available. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

And yes, I know I could just skip the placebo pills and start on a new pack as another way to stop Aunt Flo from sticking her nosy and annoying nose in my life, but I'd rather have something that was specifically designed for this purpose. Plus, insurance-wise, this never works out (I've tried).

My doctor is trying to sell me on the Nuva-ring. Anyone have one of these?
I have this (maybe) irrational fear that the Nuva will be unweildy, uncomfortable and very, very weird.
Kind of like my less-than-successful trial of these was.
Not good, folks.
The bathroom looked like that scene in the Shining- you know, the whole river of blood thing.
You haven't lived until you have to clean up that mess.
Repeat: Not good.

Any input is appreciated regarding my ovaries, birth control, feminine hygiene products, Plastic ring thingys, IUDs, what wine to drink with Nutty Bars, manscaping, and if we're bored- the state of conservatism in the post-Reagan years.

I take that back. I run a clean show here- I wouldn't want to offend anyone.
Politics has no place here.
Move along.

But any input on my nether-regions and my continuing quest for copulation without procreation will be infinitely helpful.

God bless thyne undies as thine are fouled

And I know that NO ONE is reading blogs, this being our nation's birthday and all, I thought I'd throw in a pic of me with my new bangs.
This after a particularly hellish 4th, which I shall document tomorrow, as I am too drunk tonight.



And damn, those big hands.








To make the connection:

I think we squint alike.

And I love her moxie.

XOXO to you, Ms. Coolidge.

Crazy eights

I was tagged by Maurey today to come up with eight interesting things about myself.
Honestly, I don't think there's much left that I haven't already slathered in buttercream frosting and laid out on a chocolate cake for all to consume at this point. I think the only things I haven't covered thus far are maybe the inner workings of my girly parts and maybe the schedule of my bathroom visits.

But really, I don't even find those interesting.

Let's see what I can come up with...

First, the formalities:

1. Post the rules, then list eight things about yourself.
2. At the end of the post, tag and link to eight other people.
3. Leave a comment at those sites, letting them know they've been tagged, and asking them to come read the post so they know what to do.


#1) Whenever I run up and down stairs, if no one is looking (well, not directly at me anyways) I hold onto my boobies to keep them from bouncing too much. At a young age, I convinced myself that If I didn't take care of my future lovely lady parts by not aggressively jostling them, they would very quickly look like something out of National Geographic.
I probably, really shouldn't tell people this. But hey.


#2) I love gay dance music.




#3) I hate working, though I like (and, sometimes love) my job. If I won the lottery tomorrow, I would have my notice in by 6:00 a.m. the next day. Fuck work. Life should be about travel, spending time with the people you love and having time to soak it all in. I hate that work takes precious living time away from me. I feel it's supremely unfair that useless pieces of humanity like P. Hilton are handed everything and have no appreciation for it. But then again, life isn't fair and assholes succeed every day. Such is life.
Did I mention that I'm occasionally angry? Yes? Good.


#4) I'm pretty confident, and comfortable meeting new people, but for some reason I struggle with small talk. Sometimes I can't believe the strange things that will come out of my mouth when speaking with someone. I don't even always use complete sentences.
Example:
"Well, hello WM! Nice to meet you. I hear you are quite the cook!"
Me: "Nice to meet you too! Yes, um...cook yes real good. Um...oatmeal bread?"
Them: "Ah...well, yes, I see. Your job seems interesting. Do you enjoy it?"
Me: "Yeah, I enjoy it fine just so...good hours, cooking, kitchen monkey. Ha ha ha!"
Them: "I have to go...over there now. Nice to meet you."
Me: "Nice you too. Um...meeting!"

I've learned I can clear a room at a party in 10 minutes flat. Five, if I'm sober.


#5) I have been on only one blind date in my life.
I was at 1st Ave, dancing with a friend of mine next to a group of tall, cute boys. At the end of the night, this tall, dark figure pressed something into my hand and walked away. I didn't even get a look at his face. I didn't bother to look closely at what it was (a matchbook), but had the sense to stick it in my bra.
When I was getting undressed later at home, the matchbook fell out. I picked it up & inspected it a little closer. He had written: "Hi, my name is _______. I just moved back into town, so no phone yet. If you'd like to meet, drop me a note at ________." I was living with someone at the time, but wasn't happy. I waited and mulled it over for a week or so, then dropped him a note with my number. He called, we went out for coffee. It was easily in the top three first dates I've ever had. He was tall, cute and charming. I was smitten.
Long story short, I dumped the BF, made this guy the new BF and we dated for about 1 year before I walked in on him naked, post-coital with this super slutty girl I knew was trouble.
We Broke up, he begged for forgiveness, I took him back, then I cheated on him, then I met my now-husband & we broke up for good.
Started fairy-tale-ish, ended Jerry Springer-ish.


#6) I have never skied- downhill, cross-country or otherwise. I have, up until recently, considered myself more of an "indoor dog" in the winter months. I may consider doing one or both of these in the future. However, downhill may be a bad idea for someone like me, who is about as coordinated as a giraffe on roller skates.


#7) Almost all of my experimentations with illicit drugs have ended badly. While dancing in puddles in my underwear and a leather jacket was fun for like 10 minutes, the 24 hours of nausea and general craziness that went along with this one particular experiment was not worth it. Ditto the other substances. I don't even like the one everyone does- you know which one I'm referring to my little reefer monkeys. Not so much for me.
Know what I'm sayin'? Word.


#8) I worked briefly as a "model" in Minneapolis in the early 90's (no, not the naked kind you dirty little thinkers, you). This mostly consisted of "live modeling" gigs for boutiques and department stores. I am NOT proud of this part of my life. Nope.
I was really bad at it.
Really bad.
But damn, I was skinny.


I know I'm supposed to tag 8 people, but most of you have done this by now. If you want a tag, let me know and I will use my magic wand to bestow the tag on thou.

***************************

There you go.

Another installment in Whiskeymarie's adventures in narcissism.

Go forth and prosper, my apple dumplings.


***************************

Oh, and I'm making this for dinner tonight. I'll let you know how it is.

Addendum: The Coca (really, just a fancy name for a pizza) was amazing (yes, I caramelized the onions- they're always worth the time).
That crust makes me want to set up a shrine to the gods of pastry. I put goat cheeze on it.
I ate flour and it was worth every freaking bite. Also had a beet salad.
God I love food.

So THAT'S why I'm lopsided...

My "right now" purse.

Purchased at Nordstrom Rack about 6 months ago for the princely sum of $56 on clearance.

I am normally too cheap to spend $56, but Blondie and I had just had 2-3 martinis. One of my best drunk shopping purchases.














Contents of purse.

Not pictured: camera which I happened to be using at the time.

Why do I carry a checkbook?
I can't remember the last time I wrote a check for anything.

And the wallet?
About 2.75# of change in there.

Total poundage = 5
Well under the 6# max, but really, who needs 5# of shit?
I have a budweiser keychain in there, for christ's sake. And 3 of the SAME lipbalms.







Today I will be cleaning her out. Maybe even retiring her for a little while.


Maurey tagged me for a meme, which I will get to later today sometime. I need to run to the store right now for lip balm and Bud.