Friday, November 30, 2007

This is the end, my friends. It's over. No, no- it's not you, it's me.

Finally. Done.

No no no more NablopoChristThisWasHardMo.

A few items of note about posting every day:

1) You will not have any time to read other blogs. Period.

2) You will spend 2-3 hours each day trying to think of something to write on that or the next day's post, only to end up taking a picture of your feet and calling it a day.

3) Your ass will grow at a rate that is best illustrated with the following equation:

Time sitting trying to think of something to write x time spent actually putting the post together + meals consumed while held prisoner by the computer + looking up and realizing that you've spent 3 hours at the fucking computer and you really need to go to work now so I guess you won't be getting anything resembling exercise again today x 3.14159265...


Approximately 1.37 inches per week.

4) You will consider petitioning the board of directors to have Nablopomo held in the month of July, when you really hardly work at all and have nothing better to do than build dioramas, garden in your underwear, make pickles, take up smoking and blog. You will also consider holding your own July Nablopomo regardless of the board's decision.

5) You will wake up at 6:45 this morning and spend 4.5 hours (!!!!!!) trying to finally catch up and read everyone else's blog, which is the reason you like doing this "blogging" thing in the first place, only to realize that you've only made it halfway through your blogroll. You will then punch yourself in the face, just for fun.

6) You will get up, open the window and scream loudly as you realize that once again you need to get to work and you haven't done a damn thing yet except sit in front of the fucking computer.


8) You will yell out the window again (this time to the crowd of neighbors gathered beneath the window) that there is no need to call the police. Nope, everything is fine here. No, I'm not being attacked by that wandering band of dwarves that has the whole neighborhood up in arms. Move along, folks. Nothing to see here.

9) You will acknowledge that you have no one to blame but yourself for this, and you will admit (silently) that it was actually kind of fun to post every day. Fun like pity sex is fun, but kinda fun nonetheless.

Now, someone needs to get me a tall, frosty mug of champagne- stat.

That'd be great- thanks.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

The gentle ting-a-ling of the holiday bells...

I love fucked up christmas music, so I just bought this.

In fact, I bought two copies. One for me, one for a hair band loving friend of mine.

I'm all warm and tingly inside from the holiday cheer. Or maybe that's the whiskey starting to kick in- who can say?

I also bought this- an item I am a little less proud of (but still excited to get) for vastly different entertainment value:

(Feel free to click on either of these to go directly to to get your own. You know you want to...)

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Bad, bad kitty.

Well, you've seen my slippers. Now it's all shot to hell.

I may as well out myself.

I have a bit of a problem.

It starts here...

My chair, where my butt is firmly planted typing right now:

Having trouble reading? Here, I'll turn on a light for you.

Better? Great.

Going somewhere? Don't forget your purse, young lady.

Cold? How about you put on your "fur" coat and snuggle into the guest bed?

Want to go out and get a drink or three?

Well, first I have to tell you a secret.

I may as well just put it all out there.


Hello, my name is Whiskeymarie and I'm a 29 year-old geriatric named Esther.

Esther likes her leopard, yo.

Tell me, do you think it's too...much?
I didn't think so either, thanks.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Ode to Nablopomo, or how I work the word "gay" into a poem twice.

It seemed kind of fun,
It seemed ever so gay. (you know, happy)
Post every day this month!
Every. Freaking. Day!

Day one I set lofty goals,
Day two I talked to myself.
By day nine the crazy was showing,
I dressed up like a christmas elf.

Day ten caught me off guard,
Day fourteen I talked about poop.
On day twenty I got a turkey tattoo,
Twenty-one had me in a gay techno group.

This isn't so easy, you know.
This is really quite hard.
Posting every day
Has turned me into a Tard.


Right now, all I can give you is a blurry picture of my cheap-ass tacky slippers.

Maybe later, if you're good and ply me with cocktails I'll show you my mittens.

One can hope.

Monday, November 26, 2007

Tell me something I don't already know, Lady Universe.

I usually don't post these sort of things, but this one was so RIGHT ON that I felt compelled:

You Are a Losing Lottery Ticket!

Full of hope and promise.
But in the end, a cheap letdown.

Deep down I always knew it.

If anyone knows of a quiz where I can find out what kind of feminine hygiene product I am, what b-list movie actor from the 70's I most closely resemble, or what type of infectious disease I would be if I were an infectious disease, please let me know.

These quizzes are getting out of hand! Stop I tell you, just stop!

Unless it's funny- then by all means pass the info on to me.

Sunday, November 25, 2007


Dateline, Duluth:

Reliable sources report sightings of the reclusive and brilliant Whiskeymarie von Partypants out on the town with a new beau. Ms Partypants appeared to be intoxicated and possibly without underwear. Her reps declined comment.

Ms Whiskeymarie, who is married, released this statement this morning through her lawyer:

"Mr. Smileypants and myself were out with a number of other people Saturday night celebrating the Thanksgiving holiday. Mr. Smileypants has been one of my backup dancers for 11 years now and the relationship is strictly platonic. He is a great comfort to me during the long, lonely months when I am touring Eastern Europe and Greenland. We have great conversations, that is all. I am a happily married woman."

A close friend of the pop phenom spoke with E! television under a guarantee of anonymity: "She is so totally having a fling with Smileypants, it's been going on for years. Everyone knows- even her husband. I can't believe you guys didn't figure it out yet. I mean, have you seen her kids? The white, pasty skin, the delicately drawn features? C'mon! Are you kidding? Little Smilerina looks just like her daddy, and it ain't the one her Momma's married to."

With her fortune estimated to be in the thousands, Ms. Partypants stands to lose a lot in the event of divorce. Experts say it is probable that Mr. Partypants would most likely be awarded sole custody of the couple's two children, Smilerina and Smiledore, as well as the couple's 1,300 square foot estate and the fleet of cars that includes both a rusty 1997 Jetta and a late model KIA with a broken gas tank door thingy.

Her fans are shocked and devastated, and it appears that the Ukrainian faction of her international fan club will be boycotting her new album. The album: Drinkin' myself into your heart, stupid is due to be released early next week. This controversy will surely hurt sales, which were expected to be in the tens prior to this development.

Stay tuned here and on our sister AM radio station, KRUD1400, for any new developments.

Saturday, November 24, 2007

I believe this is what we call "phoning it in"

I am now suffering through the "second wave" of a hangover that has me wishing I would suffer an unfortunate accident wherein I lose the ability to swallow.

If my hangover were a person:

They would steal your lunch then throw the sandwich in your face for having ham rather than turkey.

They would borrow your favorite sweater and throw up jell-o shots on it.

They would put itch powder in all of your unders.

They would change all the clocks in your house so you're late to your Uncle Bob's funeral.

They would cook rich & delicious food for you then buy you cute clothes two sizes too small.

They would poop in your toilet and not flush it while you are on a two week vacation in Quebec.

They would buy seventeen rounds of martinis and let you think it's a good idea to walk home naked & wearing 4-inch heels.

Their name would be Percival Hootenanny and he would win the lottery and not give you one red cent even though you're living in a refrigerator box under a freeway overpass and you donated a kidney to him that one time.

That Percival, he's a real asshole.

I may be hungover, but at least I'm home now. We just drove 2.5 hours and I'm pooped. Let's pick up where we left off tomorrow, o.k? Mommy needs her beauty sleep.


Friday, November 23, 2007

No babies were harmed in the writing of this post.

Conversations from today's lunch with my girls at the (ick) Olive Garden in lovely Duluth, MN:

"So, I told her I got a balloon for her son, and she got all freaked out."

"Why is that?"


"And I said, balloons don't kill babies, babies kill babies."

"How did that go over?"

"Not too well, but I thought it was funny."


"Oh gross. There's a hair in my pasta."

"Ick. I ordered the same thing. Do you think I have hair in mine too?"

"No. No hair. Maybe feces, but no hair."


I ate too much yesterday, and it turns out I drank too little.

Happy "black Friday", my little helium-filled happy-face balloons.

Thursday, November 22, 2007

Maybe sometime I'll show you my turkey dance

We're heading up north in a bit for the big "eat till you bust a gut then pass out on the couch after politically heated debates at the dinner table and fourteen pieces of pie and eight glasses of wine", also affectionately known as Thanksgiving.

I'll be in Duluth all weekend- I predict that my posts this weekend will seem colder, windier, a little passive-aggressive, and I'll be lengthening my "O"s a little bit, a la "Fargo".

In the spirit of the season, here's a little clip for y'all. Oh my, I do love me some Kenny Rogers.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Ladies and Gentlemen! Please welcome the fabulous...

This posting every day is kicking my ass.

Nothing of substance today, just a few pieces of the shrapnel lodged in my brain today:

1) If I were to start a band, here are a few names I like:

  • Westward Ho (also a good hooker name, if you're in the market) (My all-girl group designed to help revive the careers of Courtney Love, Taylor Dayne and Rick Astley)
  • Twat Monkey (ditto) (Me and my three Swedish Friends- Gunnar, Ilsa and Jurken- will do ABBA covers in Portuguese)
  • Sasparilla Sunrise (this is my 70's style, soft rock group name. We wear knee-high moccasins, prairie skirts and braids and we sing songs with titles like "Natural lovin" or "bathe me in the golden rain of your love")
  • Hammertoe (My gay construction-worker death metal group. Our big hit would be "Rivet my beams, weld my joists")
  • Louisiana Bungburner (my blues band- our regular gig will be at the Famous Dave's BBQ on Route 5)
  • Koolaidcindy von Happypants (for my solo R&B career, I need to tone down Whiskeymarie von Partypants so I can appeal to both the 'Tweens and their Parents. Although, once I am seen in the tabloids making out with various married Actors while wearing no unders, I will change my name back.)

2) I passed by a dead squirrel on the sidewalk for the second time in a week. Neither one was smooshed, bloody, or showing any visible signs of trauma (thank you, "Forensic Files!"). I can only assume, as they both were under trees, that they had committed suicide. I believe we've got an epidemic on our hands here, folks. I took the liberty of setting up a squirrel hotline- you know, someone for them to just talk to, tree rodent to tree rodent. The number is 1-888-IMSQURL. Thank you for your attention to this matter.

3) I've had this song stuck in my head all morning.
Nope, I can't explain it either. If it is still there in a few hours I may very well jump out of a tree myself.

4) I'm about to eat the other half of my dark chocolate-covered marshmallow from Godiva that I bought the other day. Then I'm taking my scary sugar buzz and going shopping.

Until tomorrow...

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

It's all dark meat, baby.

The weight of the world can be a heavy burden to bear.
But today I can't carry it on my back. I need to not let it bury me.
I do good things: I volunteer, I donate, I try to help people that are struggling whenever and however I can. The fact that we all even NOTICE these things says a lot about us, and that's why I love y'all so much.
Let's not forget this as the season progresses, o.k?

But, I need to move on...

I decided today that I need something to get me in the holiday spirit and remind myself that I should do my part every day to make the world a better place.

So I got a turkey tattoo on my butt.

Bad idea?

Gobble, gobble.

Monday, November 19, 2007

Sorry. I'm in a mood.

This time of year always does it to me.

I have a low threshold for seeing people struggle for the everyday things most of us take for granted.

It crushes my soul a little more each time.

Yesterday I watched an elderly man crossing very busy Snelling Avenue. It was a nice enough day, but he was wearing shorts. And a mismatched very light jacket.

Normally, "funny me" would write about his fashion choice in detail, sparing no prisoners. I could write a paragraph on the whole ensemble, in the right mood.

But watching him, with his slightly hunched back, shuffling gait, and obviously difficult journey with four heavy-looking shopping bags, I started to feel stupid, selfish and very, very small.

He moved so slowly that the light changed before he had time to get all the way across.

He was struggling under the weight of his groceries and other purchases. He was having a really hard time just crossing the street.

Some people were assholes, inching their cars up to kind of "push" him along.

A few honked.

I hate those people with every tiny cell in my body. I hope someday this is them.

I just sat there, helpless.

The light was long, I thought about my "struggles" versus this man's. I wondered where his life was when he was thirty-six. Had his difficult existence come about via bad life decisions, laziness, or refusal to adapt? Had he alienated everyone in his life so that he now had no one? Did a great catastrophe in his life force him into poverty?
Or, did everyone who could help simply...die?

I thought, How did he get to this point and how can I avoid this? Can I help this man? Is there any point in trying?

This time if year the struggle is everywhere: The mom in the grocery store that only has enough money for a few items, so she has to say "No" to her child when they ask for something little, but unnecessary.

The longer lines at the soup kitchen, and more kids there than usual.

Parents fighting with each other in Target because the stress of not having enough money this time of year is pushing them over the edge.

It's just suffocating sometimes, that's all.
Today is one of those times.

I should have given that guy a ride.
Or something.

Oh, and...

I do so love being the celebrity guest-star in other people's lives.

Thanks, h.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Do yourself a favor and get drunk before seeing this movie.

O.k, Beowulf? Um...yeah.

Brief summary:

  • Creepy CGI animation, kind of like that Tom Hanks Xmas dealie a while back with the train & such. I never saw it, but the commercials freaked me out, much like the animation did here. I hate hate HATE that creepy stuff. Just use real people, dammit.
  • The 3-D stuff was cool. We saw this at the MN Zoo on the IMAX screen and had to wear these GIANT glasses to get the full "experience". Blood and gore are infinitely more entertaining in 3D.
  • Even in CGI, a naked Viggo Mortensen is super tasty. Mmmmmm..., mmmmmm...good. You can pillage and conquer my village any day, Mr. V.
  • I wish Robin Wright-Penn would do more movies. Warning: Girl crush alert! She really does have a lovely face, that girl.
  • With all the Angelina hype, I have to say...meh. Knowing what she has been actually looking like for the last few years, I knew that they had to "pad" the CGI Angelina a bit. There's no way that sticks & bones Angie was the same bod that was on the screen. No. Way. And, I know her character was supposed to be the image of evil, but I just didn't buy it. And, (you'll understand this if you see the movie) why was her one son a mutated, scaly, hairy, dentally-challenged freak of nature, but the second son was, quite literally, a golden Adonis? I know Anthony Hopkins is no man-god, but I doubt his offspring would be quite so fugly.
  • The song at the end of the movie made me want to poke chopsticks in my ears until I could make darn sure that I was deaf. Holy mother of all that is wrong with music this song was craptacular. This is what happens when angsty teenagers that spend too much time at the Renaissance Fair are allowed to write songs.

So no- I didn't love it. But on the other hand, it wasn't the worst movie I've ever seen, so it's go that going for it, which is nice.
Save your money- see it on Netflix. Spend the cash you'll save on booze and pills, or maybe a discount pony.

Move along now- nothing to see here, folks.

My completely NOT A GEEK husband has corrected me. It was not Viggo M. that I was lusting after. It is some guy named Ray. With the CGI I couldn't tell the difference. Sorry Ray.
The Mr. said he didn't want me putting "bad information" out in internetland, cause' we all know there's none of that out there already.
Thanks, dear.

Saturday, November 17, 2007

Marshmallowy coats and chocolatey marshmallows

I bit the bullet and did it, sort of not on purpose.

I needed a new coat and I found myself knee-deep at Rosedale Mall with 2,784,987 other people today.

Like it or not, I was christmas shopping. Ick.

My main goal was to go to JCPenney (yes, JCPenney. Judge not judgers- fashion is where you find it.) I had been looking for 3/4 black, down-filled coats online- and they had one I liked- but I didn't feel like paying $15.95 for shipping. I stupidly assumed that I would find the same coat in the store, on sale, and would not only save on shipping, but would probably get it for 50% less.

I am, it seems, a complete dumbass.

I walked in, completely unaware that there was some super-duper-mega-awesome sale going on that ended in 10 minutes.
But I saw coats were 60% off- how could I be so lucky, I retardedly thought to myself.

Again, me? Dumbass.

I rifled through the racks looking for the coat or a reasonable facsimile. I didn't find THE one, but there was an almost cuter version just calling my name- puffy, but not too puffy, good fabric and part (50%, not exactly what I wanted, but close) down filling. I tried it on, it fit perfectly. I started mentally carving the plaque that would be presented to me when I won the 2007 "Shopper of the Year" award sponsored by Grey Goose Vodka on VH1.

The I looked at the price tag.


Are you fucking kidding me??

How does the SAME store have a BETTER jacket online for less than 1/3 the price?

I started laughing to myself as I put it back on the rack.

I KNOW it was still a good deal for a down coat, but I couldn't do it on principle. Nope.
I am nothing if not strong in my consumer beliefs.

Thou shalt not gouge thy customer, Sir JCPenney.

So, I decided since I was already at the damn mall I would do a little damage to the christmas list.

I looked at the men's department a bit. I hope the other girl looking at the same rack of sweaters I was didn't hear me when I called them "fucking ugly". It just slipped out, kind of loudly. Just pretend I have Tourette's.

At Macy's there was ANOTHER ginormous one-day freak out going on and there was a DJ playing lame techno music in the cosmetics department. It was a little too much. Makeup salegirls were much more aggressive than usual, and they were jumping over each other to "fix" me.
Ladies, I know I looked like shit. Eight pounds of Benefit/Prescriptives/Clinique cosmetics are not going to change the fact that I'm in ripped jeans, a stocking cap, tennies, and my hair is kind of fuzzy today.
Sparkly eyeshadow ain't gonna make a dent today, but kudos to y'all for trying.

I made a stop at Godiva (chocolate biscuits for the Mr's grandma, a dark chocolate-covered marshmallow for me), the Body Shop, Gap (big mistake), and Herbergers. There was some old lady who was dressed up like Ms. Claus wandering the sales floor there. Every time I turned around she was RIGHT THERE, freaking me out in her bonnet and red dress.

Lady, I value my personal space. Back the fuck off. And tell your husband I want lots of presents, thank you.

Ultimately, I did find the coat.

At Marshall's.

Calvin Klein, 100% down-filled and a perfect fit.

It has a crazy collar that will come in handy on those -30 degree days, not to mention on those days that I up and decide to go on a bank-robbing spree:

I was worried it would be too confining, so I tried a badass kick:

Worked fine.

I love my new, warm lovely coat. And it was only $80.

Merry christmas to me.

Oh, and I'm going to see Beowulf tonight in 3D. No, I'm not that excited about that fact either.
I let you know tomorrow how it was.

Friday, November 16, 2007

Brief interviews with hideously sexy broads

It was a near-perfect fall day here today, so I decided to walk everywhere I needed to go.
I had a work meeting and a lunch with my pal Leon- a perfect 5-6 mile trek on this crisp, sunny day.

Here is me at the store where all the cool kids hang out. I hear they host raves in the off-hours.

A pause to take a picture of the street named after my Grandma.

After I got home, I found a bulky letter from my girl Lollie sitting in the front porch.

That sexy little minx sent me a present!
Food flavored lip balm!!

My sister and I used to make chocolate peanut butter chip cookies all the time. Maybe I'll make some this weekend in honor of all of us broads.

At first I was confused as to how to use these things.
They smell really good, so maybe they go in my nose?

No, that was just uncomfortable and squishy feeling.

Since they smell so delicious, maybe I am supposed to eat them...


I figured it out now.

Here's me with my shiny, peanut-buttery smile and a big thumbs-up for the Betty Crocker lip balms!

Happy Friday, my chocolate-coated, peanut butter and fudge-stuffed frog's legs.


Thursday, November 15, 2007

In today's episode Whiskeymarie will be played by that one actress. C'mon! You know the one...

So, I tried to post a prequel to this, but blogger hates me lately (or maybe you can see the post and I can't, it involves an awesome award and other gloriousness)- blogger likes to fuck with me like that.
I am partaking in an interesting idea proposed by -R-.

An anonymous blog share, of sorts. A large group of us signed up, and we are posting anonymously on other people's blogs for one day. It was entirely random, and in it's randomness, perfect.

So today's blog is not authored by me.

It is a fellow blogger that needs to get something off her chest (yes, it is a girl in this case). For whatever reason she can't post this on her own blog and I'm down with that. Who am I to judge? Lots of times there are things that even the most "put it all out there" of us can't put all out there. Such is life and having a job and family and responsibilities.

Ladies and gentlemen: A blogger's confession:


Know what I never want to admit to my blogging public?

I like to fight.

If I'm even the slightest bit cranky, I will pick a fight with my significant other before you can blink. In calmer moments, he and I have rationally discussed this strange proclivity of mine. He does his best, he really does, not to take my critical outbursts too seriously. Occasionally, he succeeds in making a joke as I'm slipping and sliding into the argue-y place, which jolts me out of my funk. Other times, his lighthearted jokes only make me angrier and only make me assert more vehemently that I am really angry and I am SERIOUS about this.

And, you know what? I have behaved this way in every relationship I have ever been in. This ain't new. My past loves ended for a variety of reasons, but my tendency to fight it out has always battered the relationship. So far, I don't think my significant other and I are in danger of failing. For the most part, our relationship seems solid and we're happy together. But I worry sometimes that he'll wake up in 20 years and think, "If I hear her criticize and pick a fight with me one. more. time. I'll explode."

I worry that by then, it will be too late.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Hey, a few more random bits here. Wake up, dammit.

The Medal of Awesomeness

Awarded by
to WhiskeyMarie

Thanks, Suzel. It's like you know me and fully understand my awesome awesomeness or something. What time does will the car be coming to pick me up for the awards reception?

Should I wear something tasteful, or is another "nipple slip" expected?
Fine, fine. Anything for publicity...

Thanks again, my dear it is totally awesome. Oh oh oh! Did I say the word enough yet?

How gross am I? This gross? How about this gross? If not that, how about this? No? Maybe this...

Also, tomorrow I will be featuring a guest blogger, courtesy of -R- and her brilliant idea, Blogshare.

More info tomorrow...

Warning: Scat references ahead. You've been warned.

I have briefly discussed it before, but at work I am blessed to have a key to one of the only private "water closets" in the building. This is a ladies-only can designated for the few of us girlfolk working in our department.

Well, I walked in last night and saw something disturbing (beyond the usual horrors described in the previous post):

The toilet seat was up.

And there were pee splatters distinct to those prevalent in the urination rituals of some of the lesser-evolved menfolk in our species.

Oh sweet Jebus, there's been a breach! Repeat, there's been a breach!!!!!!!!!

(I might add here that the boys in our dept. have their own private crapper NEXT DOOR to ours.)

I have heard tales from the Mensroom that even make me- foulmouthed, crass, inappropriate girl that I am- shudder from the sheer inhumanity involved. Tales of an "odd" dishwashing staff that seems to have no regard for aim or the olfactory senses of the rest of the human race. I have heard whispers of "he was in there for an hour!" and "we may have to just burn the building down to clean out the funk" and "It's like someone just threw a paper bag of shit against the wall."

And I knew, among these whispers and rumors, that whatever complaints I had about our water closet were of no consequence compared to tales from the men's room.

But I don't give a shit (pun intended).

Just because "Bill" the dishwasher is systematically destroying the plumbing and tilework of your bathroom doesn't mean that you get to migrate into ours. Just buy a damn air freshener already.

You are not ladies, you may not use the ladies' room.
Are we clear on this?

Because- just so you know, I don't have much going on in class this week. Monitoring the can usage would give me a mission, a purpose. I would very much enjoy busting you red-handed, whoever you are.

Then I'm telling everyone.

I may even send out a system-wide e-mail.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!(me, laughing maniacally and rubbing my hands together)

I mean it.

Stay the fuck out.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

I think about this so you don't have to.

I'm starting to get ready to start thinking about possibly starting to consider christmas preparations. I promised myself that this year I am going to get this shit done sooner. And by sooner, I mean get it all done by Dec. 22 instead of Dec. 24. Yup, I'm a real go-getter.

But I can't decide...

Should I start by baking cookies and freezing them?

Or maybe I'll just make a ton of cookie dough and eat it raw until it makes me puke at 2:30 in the morning, right when Mom & Dad finally kicked out drunk uncle Ted and went to sleep.
Or maybe I shouldn't have been taking nips off of Dad's cocktail there on the table, but it sure makes baking fun! Look at me- don't I look like I'm having fun?

Or, should I schedule my visit with Santa before the lines get too long?

I like to pay extra for a little extra "face time" on the old guy's lap. My favorite part is when Santa lets me dig around in his pants pocket to find my "special" present. Funny thing is, I never get to take the wiggle worm home. Santa says that it will be safer with him. Oh well, he promised me that I would be getting that Mouse Trap game I want so bad, so that's o.k. with me.

Or maybe I could just sit here and pick crap out of my teeth while the rest of you run around shopping like crazy people. What's that in there- spinach?

Monday, November 12, 2007

Stick THAT in your pie-hole.

I am a slow runner it seems.
I have been tagged again, this time to give you ten, yes ten! random facts about the colossal pile of weirdness that is me me me.

I was tagged by the lovely Ms. Freida Bee, whom I adore because she is funny, odd, witty, multi-talented and smart, much like yours truly.

I decided to do this tag around a theme for once, the theme being food and cooking.

So here we go...
Ten glorious oddities and gems to put in the "Who is this Whiskey lady anyways, and what the hell does she know about cooking?" file:

I'm not as picky about my knives as a lot of "food people" in that I'll use several different brands. That being said, I do have a few favorites.
This knife (plus the matching paring and santoku knives) are my favorites at home. They are from Napa Style- they feel wonderful in my hand, are easy to sharpen, and the stripey wood handles are prettier than a lot of the "nice" knives out there.

For work, my favorites have always been and always will be Global knives. They are razor-sharp, lightweight, well-balanced and very well-designed. All that and they sure are pretty too. Well worth the investment, though they are kind of a bitch to sharpen sometimes.

#2) I hate hate hate eating cookies, muffins, desserts, etc...warm from the oven. Ick. I can't stand when the chocolate chips are still melty. My Mr. regularly burns his tongue on chocolate chip cookies that have literally JUST come out of the oven, which grosses me out completely. The only warm baked good I like is bread. I even like bread pudding cold. Really though, my favorite desserts are usually the ones that are supposed to be cold anyways: custards/creme brulee', mousses, cold tortes, and the like.
I am aware that I may be the only living human being to feel this way.

#3) My favorite sandwich is a good Reuben, no Thousand island.
My love for sauerkraut knows no bounds. Really, my love of cabbage knows no bounds. Cabbage rolls, cabbage soup, cabbage cupcakes...
I am from hearty German stock, and at several points during my early years my mother decided to make sauerkraut at home. you would think that going to school smelling like fermenting feet for weeks at a time would deter my love, but not so much.

#4) I am cooking a pot of black beans right now. Not for dinner (I'm doing Asian tonight), but just to package up and have around as nothing compares to homemade black beans. I do mine with onion, bay leaf, oregano, chipotle, smoked paprika, garlic and salt and pepper. The key is to not add the salt until the beans are already a pretty much cooked through. If you add the salt too early they get kind of crunchy, which is yukky.

#5) When tomatoes are in season (especially heirlooms), I can make a meal of sliced tomatoes with balsamic vinegar and a little salt. There is no more perfect moment than when you first bite into a ripe, flavorful tomato. I should not have written this as the next time I will see a great tomato for less than $5/tomato will be late next July, and this makes me want to cry. Serving mealy, refrigerated tomatoes is a crime and perpetrators should be punished by being force fed pickled pig's feet with a side of rancid egg salad.

#6) My Mom made the best chicken & rice soup with dumplings in the entire universe. She used no recipe, so I have no guide in my quest to re-create it. I have tried several times and it wasn't nearly as good. I guess I don't use enough love. Do you think that partially hydrogenated love-flavored substitute will work? Damn, I miss that soup.

#7) Lately I am obsessed with these protein bars. They are really good, which is odd for protein bars as they normally taste like sawdust wrapped in brown construction paper.
I don't like a lot of starch (and it doesn't like me at all), so a bar of this sort is always a good little fill-in meal/snack. I know it's Frankenfood, but...yeah. I like them, dammit.

#8) I miss working in a restaurant. There, I said it. I know I don't miss a lot of things about it: the hours, the tension, the borderline psychotic/possibly homicidal co-workers and the pay for starters. But I really do miss the hustle, the pushing through a busy night, the prep before dinner service, the commiserating after all was said and done...
I don't know if I entirely miss owning a restaurant, but I do miss being my own boss. As much as my current job rocks, I still liked being the boss of me much more than actually having a boss.
Maybe I'll do it again sometime, maybe I won't- time will tell.

#9) I cannot STAND to hear people chew/eat. I need some sort of background noise or it completely makes me ill. I can't even stand to hear MYSELF chew in a quiet room. Growing up, I couldn't eat cereal with my sister because listening to the slurps and crunches made my skin crawl.
I also can't stand to watch people eat certain foods.

My big #1 hated food to watch people eating is chicken wings. Dear god I can't watch anyone sucking and chewing on those gross little things. We have a friend that will very dramatically and almost pervertedly suck every last bit off the bone whilst eating them. Usually I can't be in the same room while he does this.

#10) Sometimes, occasionally, even I have no idea what the hell I am doing in the kitchen- believe it or not. I tackle complicated recipes and procedures sometimes without having any idea how the hell I'm going to pull it off. the trick is to get a knowledge of the basics and use common sense. It also helps to be confident and ballsy. Usually, if you have no idea what something is, chances are no one else does either. If you run into the unfortunate situation where you are "fudging" things and some arrogant "foodie" cunt tries to call you out on it feel free to stick that person's plate down your pants and rub it around a bit before you plate up their dessert.
Even when your best laid plans fail, I have always said that there is no shame in putting an honest effort in and still fucking it all up. Such is life. It happens.
Move on, get over it and order a damn pizza already.

There you go- I'm going to make dinner now.

Happy eating, my little porcelain bowls of chicken and love stew, happy eating.

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Rock on, little dude. Rock on.

So I'm back from my vehicular trip to the great white north, and I'm not even hung over today.
And yes, I know I was supposed to be updating you with a real post and such about my activities while I was actually there, but I was actually too busy with the activities to sit down and talk about them. Go figure.

I went up this weekend just to hang out with my girl Waffle. We haven't had a weekend for the two of us to just hang out and do stupid stuff for a while, and I have a long weekend so it seemed like a good time to do just that.

Waffle and I have been friends for 25+ years now. That's a long time to play my straight man, bless her heart.
In case you haven't noticed, I can be a real handful. She is a saint.

And, she has a lovely home with a lovely guest room that I have claimed for my own. I always get dibs because I'm special like that. She even kicks the dog out of there when I visit.

A little tidbit about Mrs. Waffle:
She has never read my blog and never will. She knows about it, but the first thing she said when I first told her about it was "blogs are gross." She thinks that it's weird to put your life out there for all to see, and she (accurately) thinks that it's a touch narcissistic. I asked her if we had met before, because if she hasn't figured this out about me by now, well she just hasn't been paying attention then. She knows how it works: I'm Homer, She's Marge.

Now I think it's funny to tell her all about stuff I do here, because it disgusts her. When I told her this weekend about dressing up like a prune just for fun, this is the face she made:

I love to gross her out. She is very easily disgusted, that poor, poor girl.
I also love to motion to her that I have a secret for her, then I burp in her ear.
Good times.
We had a great weekend.

Tidbits from the past two days:

Here is visual proof of the previously mentioned snow.

I managed to find some that wasn't yellow, just for you because I know you hate to play with the pee snow.

When I was little, I thought that the snow that fell from the sky was the same kind of "snow" that sno-cones were made of, so I would pour kool-aid on snow and eat it.

Now that I say/type that random fact about me out loud it occurs to me how gross it is.


We also went to an art auction to raise money for this organization.

I bid on a few things, and went home with two of them. This was one of my items:

I wasn't really overly excited about this one, but when we were looking at it, Waffle said that it was creepy and disturbing and who would want that hanging in their house?
I bid on it and told her I was going to put it in the guest room so she would have to look at the creepy playground girl's face every time she stayed over. I didn't think that my (very cheap) bid would win, but lo and behold...
So now I have to find somewhere to hang "Recess" in the guest room. maybe I'll tack it to the ceiling.

The lengths I will go to just to bug her.

The other item I really, really wanted. Shit, it practically had my name written all over it:

A very large B&W photo of a rockabilly midget with a sexy lady.

Let me say that again in case you didn't hear the first time-

Rockabilly midget.

And he's doing the whole "Rock on!!" hand signal.

God bless America.

I also bought new shoes to wear to the auction:

Trust me, they were much cuter with fishnets and my new wrap dress from H&M.

Though, I do think that I could start a whole new trend that Vogue magazine will refer to as "rugged sophistication."

Think "little black dress" meets "parka."

Think "cocktail party" meets "kegger."

Think "finger sandwiches" meets "Doritos."

I'm having the idea trademarked as we speak.

So there you go- a weekend update, midgets and all.

Now I'm off- I haven't seen much of the Mr. lately and I think he's starting to get ideas in his pretty little head about hiring my replacement. Good luck, mister. I doubt that "new wife" would be nearly as entertaining, and I'm pretty sure "new wife" has crabs- at least that's what the word on the street is.

Until tomorrow...

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Holy shit I almost forgot to post.

  • It snowed here today.
  • I'm hungover from too much whiskey last night- I'm so predictable.
  • I had lunch at Bridgeman's
  • Going to local art auction now.
  • Fuck I'm hungover.
  • Wii tennis and bowling are, in a word, awesome

Xo my little mustard muffins sprinkled with love-

yes, I know. Lamest post ever. You'll get over it.

Friday, November 9, 2007

Getting a jump on the holiday cheer.

With this whole posting every day thing, I haven't had much time to respond to any of your comments. And for that, I feel bad.
I will try to cover most of the bases here, briefly:
  • No, I am not on drugs. Not this week anyways.
  • I am shocked no one called me out on my claim to be 29- thank you.
  • Thank you for trying to convince me I'm not a piggy, piggy slob.
  • I really don't want Awesomebars to take over the world. Well, maybe not.
  • The zits are getting better, thank you for caring about my blemishes. I am now able to unconvincingly "cover" them up. Ha!
  • Glad y'all like my home cubicle/desk.
  • My ovaries are great, thanks for asking.

I completed my second and final round of the dentistry olympics today. One crown, two bondings and two small fillings later I am finally finished. I took the silver. That Romanian bitch beat me again, but I'll get her in 2011.

My mouth is so numb that I couldn't speak to the receptionist when I was finished. I could be drooling right now, for all I can tell. I feel like Mushmouth from the Fat Albert Show.

As horrifying as the drilling, drooling, gauze-stuffing and the assistant with the particularly aggressive suction tactics was, the most disturbing thing about my visit to the dentist today had nothing to do with my teeth.

It was what was sitting on the counter in the exam room. It was scary beyond belief.

It was my Dentist's Christmas family photo.

They were all dressed in red and green, they all had "Santa hats" on, they all had some sort of prop, and they all looked like they wanted to shoot themselves in the head for letting Dad (my very nice and gee-whiz dentist) and Mom sucker them into this. Four adult "kids" and the Parents. This was a recent photo.
It scared me.

I didn't have a chance to get a picture of this picture, so I decided to re-create a few of the poses for you here today.

I spent $3.50 at Walgreens on the hat and mug on the way home- totally worth it.

This is the pose I'll call: "Oh! My cocoa is too hot! Damn Mom, you tryin' to kill me, bitch?"

I call this next one: "Susie hasn't quite kicked that crystal meth yet, but she sure seems excited about christmas!"

This one I call: "Given the choice, I would rather be forced to make sweet sweet love to Larry King than have to sit with these people another minute. I wonder if they can tell that I filled my mug with scotch?"

And finally: "My children are brats and I'm having an affair with my Pilates instructor. Everyone thinks I'm naturally happy, but really that's just the antidepressants."

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night...

Tomorrow: Almost-but-not-quite-live blogging from the beautiful city of Duluth, MN!

Thursday, November 8, 2007

Give a monkey a sharpie and they'll show you the world.

Today I thought I'd dazzle you with my mad art skillz.

Exhibit #1 is my depiction of what I like to call "Remote control perfection: how to train monkeys to use the t.v."

In a perfect world, these are all the buttons you need.
And the answer to your question is no.
No, I did not think of this the other night when I changed the channel in bed, in the dark, and couldn't figure out how to get back to watching the dvd. No, I did not fumble with the remote of 5 minutes next to my snoring Mr. while I mumbled "fucking remote" and "stupid fingers".
Um, no I did not just turn the t.v. off and try to sleep out of frustration after first calling the remote an asshole.

Exhibit #2 is titled: "Either a spider laid her eggs in my chin or I'm brewing up two serious zits."

At my age (29) I shouldn't still be getting zits. This seems unfair and possibly illegal. And, if they insist on making an appearance, I would prefer that they aren't (approximately) the size of a skittle.

Tomorrow we will unveil my masterpiece: "American Gothic redux: Charo and Pauly Shore settle down on the farm"

Thank you for visiting. Donations are gladly accepted.

*Day eight? Nablopomo, signing out.

Wednesday, November 7, 2007

"Sunshine go away today, I don't feel much like eating..."

This past weekend we watched the Danny Boyle movie "Sunshine". If you haven't seen it yet, it's about 8 astronauts who travel into the sun to basically "re-start" it as the sun seems to be dying. If the sun dies, we die, and so on.
It was a mostly creepy and dark- but overall wonderful and thought-provoking- movie. A few plot holes, but no big deal as it was so very well done I don't really care. I don't want to spoil any of it for you, so I say just see it when you can- it is well worth your time.

The next day after seeing this film, I had a lot of thoughts going through my mushy brain, but mostly this movie got me thinking about food.
How does that work, you ask? Food? I thought this was a sci-fi-esque journey to save the sun?

Well, there was a scene in the movie where one of the crew was cooking dinner for everyone else. For some reason I found this to be odd. Not odd in that I didn't think that people in the future wouldn't eat, but I always assumed that astronauts would eat mushy concentrates out of foil packets and drink Tang. I just thought that their time would be better spent concentrating on not screwing up the mission and such. What to cook for dinner seems like it would take a back seat to the "bigger" issues.

But maybe not.

Maybe food is the one thing that is constant, the one thing we all can relate to. Maybe we all can't cook, but we all have to eat to live (though I don't know if me eating 3 pounds of jalapeƱo hummus and a bag of pita chips in one sitting is totally necessary for mankind to survive- the jury is still out on that one).
Everyone in every country has probably at one point or another gathered around a table of some sort to eat as a group. Everyone has favorite things that they like to eat, if given a choice. Everyone knows the joy of that first bite of something so wonderful and delicious that it makes you close your eyes and slow down just to make the moment last just a few seconds more...

But what if it weren't an issue?

What if tomorrow, or next week, the "perfect" foodstuff were developed that solved all of the world's hunger problems? What if Climate change made it so only certain raw materials could be produced- namely, this "perfect" food bar that for the sake of argument we'll call "Awesomebar"? What if they were rationed out so that no one went hungry, but no one got more than they needed?
This "Awesomebar" would simultaneously solve world hunger and the obesity problem. Everyone would get every possible nutrient they need: vitamins, minerals, fiber, calcium, protein, carbs, etc...

Food as we know it would be gone- poof!
Replaced by "Awesomebar"- now in cherry flavor!

What I'm mainly trying to get at here is: What would we do with all that free time?
Think about it- most of us (not just those of us who have made it a career) think about food, and we spend a significant portion of our lives in the pursuit of food. Shopping, dining out, cooking, thinking about cooking (what the hell to have for dinner again??), reading recipes, watching cooking on t.v, and on and on and on.
And let's not forget the time many of us spend obsessing about what the food does to us physically and emotionally. What if we all were at the weight we were supposed to be at and that was that? What if we all were that "perfect" size we strive so hard for? What if we got only the calories we needed and no more? What if the days of hating ourselves for eating half of a family-size pizza with extra cheese were gone?

I wonder if the world would see a renaissance the likes of which has never been seen before.

Would we all finally find time to write that novel, pursue that degree, finish those projects around the house, take up yoga, volunteer, spend more time with your family and friends, cure cancer, create art, broker world peace, finish our thesis, watch a "Battlestar Galactica" marathon or clean out our closets?

Would we use the time wisely or not?

Or, would we just sit around, remembering the "good old days" when pizza and hummus existed?

Maybe I'm thinking too much.
Maybe I need a snack while I ponder this...
Damn, I sure could go for an "Awesomebar".

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

Proof that I am a liar and a fraud.

O.k, I was kind of joking about my desk being "messy". It only stays clean because all I really do there is blog, shop on line and ponder the eternal question: "Is there REALLY always room for jell-o? Is there???"
Now, in an effort to redeem myself, lest y'all think I'm actually a neat, organized, hygienic human being (and as I seem to be including pictures on a daily basis lately), I present to you, dear friends- my "closet room":

You will note in this first picture that I seemed to just walk right out of my shoes. Yup. Just left 'em there.
I also seem to always have a sports bra hanging from the cabinet, even though I can't remember wearing one in the last month.
I also have a fourteen pound bag of salt water taffy that we bought on our trip just sitting there on my dresser.
Oh, and I haven't even officially unpacked from said trip. We got back two weeks ago, folks.
Two weeks. I just pulled out the dirty stuff and left the rest on the floor, in my "suitcase".

And yes- 95% of the time this is how this room looks. I am a slob.

View #2. You can see that I store things in old shopping bags. I am a klassy broad.

View #3. Seriously, I just have a pile of shit in the middle of the floor.
I would like to blame at least 50% of this on Mr. WM, but he really can only claim approx. 15% of the space as his own. If he tries to take any more, I growl and try to scratch his eyes out like a rabid cat.

There you go.

*Day six, over and out.