Monday, December 31, 2007

Tonight, if someone dares you to do something that seems marginally stupid- say yes. For me.

I know what you're thinking- "That Whiskeymarie, she's such a party girl! And it's New Year's Eve! I suppose that by midnight she'll be dancing to ELO in inappropriate clothing wearing a lampshade on her head and repeatedly yelping, 'look at what an awesome dancer I am!' whilst kissing strangers."

Well, you're kind of right.

It is new Year's Eve, I'll give you that much.

But other than that, you are going to be very, very disappointed.

Our New Year's is going to consist of what it does most years (not all- a few years ago we tore it up pretty good with my sister-in-law Maurey, Mr. Maurey and several other folks. The next day hurt. Bad.):
Me, the Mr, some champagne, fondue and staying home just doing whatever.

Scrabble may or may not be involved.

And maybe, later on, we'll put on a Mac Davis album and get our freak on.

We sure are rock stars like that.

Happy New year, my bubbly, fizzy glasses of sparkling ham-flavored wine.
Try to not lose your pants tonight.


Sunday, December 30, 2007

The truth will set you free. Well...unless it lands you in the slammer, that is.

Fran loves my innocent, down-home, folksy anecdotes about my days as a country midwife in rural Iowa.

Not really. She just likes it when I lie.

So much so that she tagged me to give you seven "altered" statements about yours truly that may or may not be wholly truthful.

I'm a dirty stinking liar, therefore this works for me.

Being that it's Sunday and all, I thought I'd give you:

The Seven Deadly Sins of Whiskeymarie
*, sponsored by the International Liquor and Wine Producers Association in conjunction with the Midwest Institute for Snack Food Engineering

Greed: I was once an avid collector of Garfield Merchandise. Oh, how I love that precocious little kitty and his hilarious antics! I attended trade fairs, swap meets and on-line auctions to fuel my habit. Within a year of starting, my collection had grown to the second-largest in the world. Mildred Virgeen of Grand rapids, MI had a slightly larger collection, and she possessed the crown jewel of Garfield-related memorabilia: The rare "Rappin' Gangsta Kitty" Beanie Baby. A production error caused 14 of these to be outfitted in a "Life ain't nothin' but bitches and hos" t-shirt. The company destroyed all but 3 of them. Mildred had one, and the other two were rumored to be locked in a vault on a remote island in the Pacific. My ill-planned & drunken attempt to steal Mildred's resulted in an 18-month stint at the Camp Brighton minimum security women's prison in lovely Michigan. Mildred has since obtained a permanent restraining order against me and I am forbidden from owning or even coming within 50 feet of any and all Garfield-related merchandise.

Gluttony: I once entered, and won a competitive eating contest. I entered the Carver County "Pork-o-Rama" sausage eating competition in 1997, following my brief stint in Europe as a sexual surrogate for uptight aristocracy with "mommy issues". I entered under the name "Kandi Kielbasa" and was nearly beaten by the contest's 6-time champion, Phillip St. Cheesesteak. We were in the final 30 seconds, with me in a distant second, when Mr. St. Cheesesteak was stricken with a rare but fatal condition known- in layman's terms- as "killer meat sweats". After being haunted by the bloated, greasy ghost of Mr. St. Cheesesteak every night for two months, I used half of my winnings to commission a bronze statue of our fallen hero that now sits in a quiet park in Eustis, Nebraska.

Lust: My torrid, on-again, off-again affair with Marky Mark (aka Mark Wahlberg) was the reason he and the Funky Bunch broke up. Ours was a sweaty, obsessive love. Our jealousy tore us apart. That and his total refusal to wear a shirt. Yeah baby, you look good, but it's Easter! C'mon! Grandma don't need none of those "Good Vibrations".

Sloth: I spent the better part of 1999 at home, on the couch watching reruns of "ALF" and "ALF: the Animated series" while working as a phone-sex operator by the name of Poontana. I gained approximately 565 pounds during this period and eventually had to be lifted out of my home with a crane and airlifted to the Minnesota Center for Dorito Addiction. I spent 9 months there where I learned to love baked Doritos and diet Yoo-hoo, and I weaned myself from totally implausible, alien-based, laugh-track accompanied television series.

Wrath: I am now a two-year chip holder from ABA, or Angry Bitches Anonymous. I first started attending meetings after an unfortunate incident involving "constructive criticism" from a co-worker, a can of bacon-flavored easy cheese and a pair of size-9 pumps. the "victim" agreed to drop the charges if I agreed to start seeking "help". I would have a 3-year chip, but I experienced a minor setback one year in when a grocery store clerk refused to accept my coupon for 25 cents-off of a can of butterbeans. Last I heard the clerk was walking normally again. This altercation was a violation of my plea agreement, and I served 80 hours community service cleaning the woods behind the rest stop on I-35.

Envy: In tenth grade I successfully planted a rumor that the school's homecoming queen, Cathie Johnsonandersonmaki, was working as a high-class call girl in the evenings. Cathie was dating Gary Neidermaarkenbrot, who I had been obsessed with since the third quarter of ninth grade. I doctored photos that made it appear as if Cathie was "entertaining" large groups of Japanese buisnessmen and local bigwigs and then pasted them around school. I was eventually caught when I had started impersonating Cathie, complete with a blonde wig and frighteningly dark tan, and trying to make out with Gary. Even though I was punished and sent to the St. Stalkerus home for wayward girls, Cathie never fully recovered from the humiliation and now works as a canner at the cat-food factory and lives with her 6 children (different baby-daddys) in Sunnyvale Trailer Park. Gary is now openly gay.

Pride: Today you see before you a professional ferret groomer. I currently use my talents as personal groomer to Twinkles, the current reigning king of the "Ferret Chow Cup", a yearly Ferret show held around the country at various Holiday Inn conference rooms. But this wasn't always the case. In the beginning, I wanted this, this...honor so badly that I wouldn't let on to anyone that I had never previously groomed ferrets. The first few years were full of heartache and tears as I paraded mangy ferret after mangy ferret in front of the judges. On one day in particular I refused to take advice from Terry Manlove, the top groomer in the country, to use non-toxic fur pomade on one of my clients. Once the rash subsided and an out-of-court settlement was reached, I swallowed my pride and started taking community ed classes to hone my skills. I am humbled and honored to work in this noble profession.

There you go.

*All information contained is neither implied nor guaranteed as a lie. Some information contained may or may not be completely accurate. No ferrets were hurt in the writing of this post.

Saturday, December 29, 2007

No need to dig out the rifle and hide in the basement.

I was making a few changes- you know, cleaning house- and I took the ol' blog private for a few hours.
Some of you were very concerned. No need to panic.

I'm back with new colors and a bit more streamlined.

Keep repeating: "Change is bad except this time where it might actually be good unless you don't like it then I'm sorry but that's how it's going to be for now and we'll see if I stick with it and aren't monkeys awesome? Change is bad except when..."

And, exhale.

Another episode of "Wow, that's random!"

Freida bee once said that she'd like me to list my 10 favorite kinds of pie.
She also asked for a picture of me on the toilet, but I'll save that for another day.

So, if you care:

10. Key lime (I like it, but it's not lust)

9. Chocolate cream (only if it's homemade)

8. 3.14159265358979323846...

7. Rhubarb (just rhubarb, no strawberries)

6. Hair (Bwahahahahaha! Holy crap I never get tired of that joke.)

5. Lemon meringue (Only if it's fresh- I hate when the meringue gets all sweaty)

4. Vanilla custard (sometimes simple is best)

3. Fresh peach (I rarely have this one, but dear jeebus I do love it. Even better with blackberries or blueberries added)

2. Coconut Cream/Banana Cream (tie. dead heat. can't choose.)

1. Sour cherry. Hands down, my all-time favorite. Don't even have to think about it.



Speaking of blackberries, I had some, along with blood oranges, for breakfast today. I just thought you should know I have eaten something other than floury, sugary cookies and crap lately.
They were delicious.


New Jammies! (Part one of two):


Friday, December 28, 2007

That Mabel, she's a real ass.

My ass and I were having a lively discussion today.

Mabel (yes, that's her name. I can name my ass if I want- so there.) argues that the reason she is starting to resemble a pair of cheap pantyhose stuffed with jell-o salad is because of my total disdain for any sort of physical exercise lately.
I had to disagree. I believe that there are several factors at play here:

1) Global warming. The weather is all fucked up so I can't get outside and do the things I like to do as often. I detest indoor exercise as much as I detest non-alcoholic family functions. Sure, I'll do it, but I ain't gonna like it or be any good at it.

2) I firmly believe that I was abducted by an renegade group of experimental doctors at a young age. They implanted me with a chip somewhere in my body that would allow me to have the metabolism of an Olympic athlete until the age of 27, when the chip would self-activate and bring my metabolism to a screeching, smoking halt. I believe that they have been monitoring me this whole time, and they are the reason my doctor's office 'needs" to weigh me each and every freaking time I walk through the door. These same doctors are also responsible for my intolerance for excessively loud R&B music and teenage hooligans as I get older.

3) The earth's gravity is increasing (my unsubstantiated theory, keep your opposing views on this one to yourself) therefore it is harder to move around. You know when you feel like you absolutely, positively CAN'T get off the couch? Well, maybe you really can't. Maybe gravity has increased so much that we are incapable of moving in certain situations. I also believe that certain foods are more affected by this increased gravity as well. A few of the foods most affected are: cheese, anything "chippy", dairy-based dips, burritos, pizzas (all crust styles), olives, cured pork products and anything in the chocolate family. I am currently working to prove these theories and my report should be finished by the spring of 2019.


Mabel agrees with numbers 2 and 4, but she says that I'm pretty much full of shit on the other two.

"Shut up, Mabel! Don't make me squeeze you into a too-small and too-short swimsuit again! That was no fun for anyone involved, but I'll do it again if you push me too far, I swear!"

O.k, breathe.

I think I need some cheap bubbly out of an old-school glass in a rotating, top-floor cheesy hotel restaurant to calm down:

Much better.

Now, someone go and get me a damn cookie already.

Thursday, December 27, 2007

rutabagas and heroin

Did you miss me?

Yes, I know it appeared as if I had simply been abducted by friendly and lovable aliens that took me to the planet Martinitron and made me their queen...but the reality is that I briefly joined a "movement" that required me to move to Idaho and work on a communal rutabaga farm and take on several more husbands whilst navigating the murky waters of a "movement" that wanted me to relinquish all of my worldly possessions and dress in a gray sack dress.

I said "Thank you, but no." and here I am.

I've been back home since Tuesday night, but needed a little "Whiskeymarie time" to get un-discombobulated and wash the rutabaga stink out of my clothes.

I have to say that this was not the most relaxing christmas weekend that I've had. Nope.

Some highlights:
  • Went to a friend's annual party on Saturday night directly following the drive up and a brief visit with my dad. Much fun was had, including (but not limited to): buckets of wine, dancing, puppies, hot tubbing, eating meatballs, more wine, trying to steal someone's pants, being carried on someone's shoulder like a sack of monkeys, staying up to 6:00 a.m, waking up in an ill-fitting swimsuit, someone (not me- I promise. I would tell you if it was and can prove it wasn't if you doubt) peeing their pants, teabagging (again, not me- we have photos to prove it), and having potato chips and Cokes for breakfast.
  • Woke up after the party to a gargantuan snowstorm. Got out just in time to get stranded- hungover- at the in-laws, which is never a pretty thing. I love them dearly, but they need a bigger house. My mother in-law wakes up at oh...4:30 a.m. and has no concept whatsoever of "being quiet". Her idea of "quiet" is postponing the marching band coming through until 8:30 or so- at least until after we've had our coffee.
  • Spent most of the time stranded at the in-laws either reading magazines, sleeping or staring at the walls. Seriously. Staring. I haven't been that bored since I last watched Saturday Night Live. Reading electronics instruction manuals zonked out on Valium would have been more exciting.
  • Xmas eve was good- lots of presents, lots of wine, lots of food. I love presents.
  • Xmas day was more family stuff- more presents, more food, more wine, more socializing.
  • After the last family gig we drove home in ANOTHER FREAKING STORM. This drive almost ended in divorce. I am a control freak, so when the weather is bad I like to drive. If I don't drive I spend the whole trip going "Ooh, ooh- watch that!" "Slow down!" and "What are you- drunk? Cause that's how you're driving, Drunky." I am not a good passenger in these situations, but I was an even worse driver on Tuesday. I was screaming at points, nearly crying at others, and blaming the Mr. for everything from the weather to why my feet hurt, to why he is the reason everyone else drives so shitty. Charming, I know.
  • Then when we finally got home alive, we had to shovel. The only thing that made me feel better was hurling myself into a pile of snow and making a snow angel. That was fun.

I needed yesterday to just lay around, read and contemplate why I needed to eat 47 cookies in the last 24 hours.
And I needed to eat more cookies. 47 just doesn't seem like enough. That muumuu isn't going to fill itself out, you know.
I also read an entire book yesterday. A whole book! Granted, it was Nikki Sixx's "The Heroin Diaries", but fuck it- that counts. And I have to say that, as far as addiction memoirs go, this one easily ranks somewhere in the top five. Calling his drug days debaucherous doesn't really even scratch the surface. This book takes debauchery and wipes its bum with it. A fun read, well worth 6-7 hours of my time for the 350 some-odd pages.

So there you go. That's where I've been. I might even read another book today! Cause I'm cuckoo like that!

I'm back, I promise pictures and whatnot are coming. Maybe even pictures of whatnot.

Hope y'all had a nice little holiday, my little lard-dipped candy canes sprinkled with powdered freeze-dried elves.


Friday, December 21, 2007

Something to warm the cockles of your cockles.

I have nothing in the way of interesting anecdotes for you today. I am busy finishing up shopping, baking, cleaning, home dentistry and I would like to squeeze in one of my "Stripper Yoga/Prostitute Pilates" workouts today (I hear they're all the rage in Hollywood).

So I thought that instead of boring you with the comedy of errors that is my life, I thought I would tell you one of my favorite love stories ever. It has magic, intrigue, heartbreak and ultimately- happiness.

It is a classic tale of love, betrayal and redemption- not completely unlike "A night in the life of Jimmy Reardon" or "Cheerleader Camp".
If this doesn't bring a tear to your eye and a flutter to your heart- well, you're just not human.

On the wings of Penguins: A love story

Once upon a time there was a beautiful penguin named Olga. Olga was the nighttime bath attendant at the Russian massage parlor on 26th Street. She wasn't the prettiest girl that ever lived, but she was sweet as a bunny rabbit and had a gentle, fishy odor that one could describe as "pleasantly musky".
Olga loved her job dearly. But alas, something was missing. As much as she liked swabbing the backs of hairy Eastern European gentlemen, she longed to experience the kind of deep, meaningful love that she read about in books and saw in the movies.

So one day Olga took out a personal ad. "Short, slippery girl, 37, in search of true love seeks knight in shining armor to sweep me off my feet and dazzle me with adoration. Must be employed, 35-67, and have own bus pass. Polar bears or descendants thereof need not apply."

The next day, much to her surprise, Olga received an answer!

"Hello, Olga! My name is Garth. I am 46 years old and I am currently employed as a chef down at Paddywhack's House of Fish and Squid on Route 33. I am the proud owner of a 1984 Yugo which I would be honored to pick you up in Friday night for dinner and drinks."

Olga's heart leapt with joy. A date! Me! I am the happiest girl in the whole world!

She put on her finest sarong and donned a flirty hat when the day finally arrived. She had butterflies in her stomach (or was that the spaghettio's?) and dreams of happily ever after in her head.
He was even handsomer in person, she thought. So tall, so lanky, so cultured!
Garth brought her to the finest low-to-mid-priced supper club in town- the Bucket of Beef.
Olga felt lightheaded as Garth ordered a bottle of Cold Duck for the two of them, but she was too nervous to drink. Luckily Garth was thirsty and he happily finished off the bottle during the course of dinner.
They dined on the finest cheeses, fish and fruits. Olga was in heaven.

Olga had to excuse herself to the ladies room to tidy up her makeup and vomit. The excitement was simply too much for her.
While she was gone, Garth kept himself busy. Olga was gone nearly a half hour, composing herself and gargling, but Garth barely even noticed.

Later, before they left the restaurant, Garth needed to take a trip to "freshen up" himself.

Neither Olga nor Garth wanted the evening to end, so they decided to meet a few acquaintances of Garth's at Drunky McSexypants, the new hip lounge in the cities "Pork District".
Bruce and Hefferina knew Garth from high school in rural Saskatchewan. Bruce was now a manager for a struggling theater troupe and a minor television personality. Hefferina was the ex-trophy wife of Duke Crackerputz, the local underpants baron. Hefferina liked to party all the time.

They all settled into one of the cozy couches and had a few cocktails and some conversation. As the evening progressed, it became clear to Olga that Garth and Hefferina were doing some serious flirting. She started to pout, and Bruce put his arm around her shoulder to console her.

She and Bruce started talking and talking- they had so much in common! Before she knew it, Garth and Hefferina had disappeared.
Olga was furious at Garth for wandering off, but they WERE on a date after all, so she decided to go and look for him.
Imagine her surprise when she went into one of the lounge's "Snuggle Pits" and saw Garth and Hefferina in a most uncompromising position!

That was it.
Olga stormed back to Bruce and asked him for a ride home. He happily obliged, as he was quickly falling for Olga's fishy sweetness. The pungent herring odor was captivating in an inexplicable way. He drove her home, and before she got out of the car, Olga boldly kissed Bruce- right on the lips! It was magical and from that moment on they knew this was the real deal- they were in love.

The next six months were a whirlwind romance filled with flowers, candlelit dinners, fish fries, picnics, movies and much kissing. On Valentine's day Bruce proposed to Olga and they were married in a beautiful evening ceremony. The bride wore Vera Wangly, a little tissue-weight number with a matching veil. The groom sported a Calvin Kleenly silk tie. The honeymoon was an Antarctic Cruise followed by three days at a riverboat casino in Iowa.

They lived happily ever after.

What happened to Garth, you ask?
Well, he accidentally impregnated Hefferina that fateful evening in the "Snuggle Pit", and when he showed up at work the next day still whiskey drunk from the night before he was fired.

Paying Hefferina child support, coupled with alimony and child support he owed to his first wife- well, he was broke. The stress drove him to drink cheap hobo wine under the freeway overpass with his hobo buddies day after day.
He died a year later in an unfortunate "drank too much and fell off a chair into the path of an oncoming segway" accident.

The end.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

You say pajama, I say turnip. Got a problem with that?

So, my bestest gal Stacie tagged me a ways back with a "pajama" tag. Now that I'm actually home and having time to do it, I guess this means I should show y'all what I wear in the time after I get drunk and before I generally have to go to work. Much like cocktails, I like a little variety in my choices of what to sleep in.

Depending on which of my many multiple personalities is peeking out for the day, my choices can range from total nudity to fully clothed, with shoes, coat and hat still on. And yes, for today's exercise, we're going to call that "sleeping" rather than "passed out".

I'll show you a few examples of my p.m. ensembles that fall between those extremes:

These are my favorite flannel jammies that I like to drag out for slumber parties.
I like to call this girl "Katybear Cuteybuttons"

"How long should I keep my hand in the glass of water? Oh I sure do hope I win this game. I wonder if we'll all compare our boobies like we did at Sally McHanson's party last week? That sure was fun!"


Sometimes I just need to get my "China Girl" on and meditate before my Karate class.
I have named this girl "O-Lan"
O-Lan is a quiet, serene lady who likes to make tea, have crazy arty sex with David Bowie and arrange orchids.

Well, until she wants to kick some ass, that is.
Go for the balls O-Lan!


Sometimes I just need to relax with a drink and a smoke and get my glamour on.
Nothing says comfort more to me than a bias-cut 40's nightgown and floor-length satin robe with heels and jewelery.
Meet "Ingrid VonDame"

Ingrid loves to languish, smoke, drink gin cocktails and dish out gossip and sexual innuendo.

Looks like Ingrid has been taking lessons from O-Lan!
Watch out boys- her man done her wrong and she's hopped up on cocaine and hooch!


But mostly, like you, I pretty much just wear stretchy pants, a super awesome t-shirt, slippers and a hat when lounging/dreaming of humping various celebrities whilst in a puddle of boozy drool.

Yup, I'm cool like that.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

My shrink told me I have commitment issues.

It's not you, it's me.

No, you didn't say or do anything to piss me off. This time.

I've just know.


So I think I'll have time to work on our "relationship issues" now.

Oh, and read your blogs.
I hate when we're apart. It tears me up inside.

You might be asking yourself, "Now that we're an item again, what can I look forward to seeing & reading on NWYTISB in the upcoming weeks, you sexy bitch?"

Well, you saucy little firecracker, how about:
  • Pictures!
  • Lengthy debates about various topics including but not limited to: pajamas, snack foods, politics, sex, silly putty (and various uses of), cocktails, education, butts, psychological disorders among tree rodent populations, feet (and by default, toes), what I want for christmas, why I'm drunk again, who I pissed off today, monkeys, pretty shoes, fiber and various angry tirades. (Just kidding. You know I don't discuss politics here.)
  • Pictures!
  • Product endorsements!
  • Captain America vs. Aquaman: Who would be better in the sack?!?
  • Pictures!
  • Why karma hates me so!
  • Tales from summer camp!
  • More dating stories!
  • Apologies to all sorts of folks!
  • Pictures!
  • Nudity!
  • Feet!
  • Monkeys!
  • Pictures of nude monkeys playing with their feet!
  • And so on!
Maybe tomorrow I'll wear something pretty for y'all.

Oh, how I've missed you.

Monday, December 17, 2007

The weekend that was...and wasn't


10:30 a.m.- Start running errands for work. Wondering if it's too late to call in lazy, knowing that this brief moment in my car is the last time I'll sit until 10:00 tonight.

5:00- Quittin' time/Happy hour for much of the world. Me? Still at work, running around like Britney at the international snack food and illicit drug convention. I wonder, if you're still at work, can you still participate in happy hour? It doesn't seem fair to miss out on discount cocktails for a minor technicality like that.

7:30- Still working, starting to lose steam. Thinking of making a Cokaccino, a drink patented by a former employer of mine that involves dripping a shot of espresso in a Coke, "Jag-bomb" style.

9:25- Almost done, so exhausted I am losing the ability to make coherent sentences anymore.
"You do go there, bumblebee sparkle hat." Came out when "Pick that up, put it here" is what I meant.

9:50- Finally home, collapse on couch, possibly stinky & definitely pooped. Start drinking my 32-oz. "Big Gulp" of wine.

1:00 a.m- Can't sleep. Maybe drunk, possibly still wired from the (again) overload of caffeine in my system. Vow to become vegan, caffeine-free, non-sugar eating exercise freak tomorrow.

2:00-ish- Finally asleep-ish.


8:30 a.m.- Wake up, need to be at work by 9:30 for cookie "class". Eat a bowl of sugary frosted shredded wheat. Wishing someone would make me some bacon and make me coffee. Vegan, schmegan. I really don't want to do this class, but once again it's too late to call in lazy.

11:00- Start the cookie baking extravaganza. Over the next 2.5-3 hours this group of 11 will make over 900 cookies. The cherry-white chocolate shortbread cookies and the Chocolate mint cookies are my favorites. The cappuccino kisses, Boozy chocolate rum balls and raspberry white chocolate bars are all pretty tasty too.

2:30- Finish cleaning up, going home. I am moving a little slowly due to the large number of cookies comsumed. Renew vow of vegannoncaffinatedsugarfreeexercisejunkie.

2:45-6:15- Try and rest a bit, agonize over whether or not to go to party. Watch court TV, read a bit of Harpers, decide I am too dumb in my present state to get much beyond "Harper's Index". Decide to read catalogs instead. Wonder if it's too extravagant to order $34 chocolates for myself.

6:15- Realize that if I have any chance of getting to Saji-ya on time to meet the Blondies for sushi, I need to get in the shower now. I consider skipping the shower altogether, but my stringy, greasy hair that I can practically mold into "hair art" rules that option out. That, and I'm pretty sure I'm getting a little on the gamey side of things. Stinkasaurous Rex.

7:10- Arrive late for dinner. I was ready on time (for once), but the Mr. wasn't. I'll let it slide cause he's sickety sick sick right now.

9:30- Stop at liquor store on the way home. Jameson and wine were purchased. Come to mommy, sweet sweet tastiness.

12:00-ish- Can't sleep again, putzing around on the computer instead. Decide against chocolate purchase, consider more jewelery from Etsy. Decide that bed is a better option. Finally, sleep comes a-knocking at my door (says he was lost- something about wandering around in Hollywood and everyone being too coked up for him to be of any use. No matter- he's here now). I think I woke up in the same position I fell asleep in. God it felt good.


9:30- Drag my ass out of bed after lengthy debate with myself if I could just lay there, awake until noon without needing to pee. Nope. Get up, start the day.

9:45 Start breakfast, make coffee. Hot sauce roasted potatoes, Peppers and onions on toasted homemade wheat bread with poached eggs and salsa. Not a bad way to start the day.

12:00- Have to drive 2+ hours for a family gathering. I have to drive alone as the Mr. is nursing a nasty bug. I am not looking forward to this.

2:30- Arrive in Cloquet, MN for the family shindig. Eat lots of cake. Drink lots of coffee. Try and avoid a few people as they are just so darn boring to talk to. Get cornered by one of them and secretly pray for an earthquake or minor stroke to avoid getting too deep into this conversation. No such luck. Mentally add this time to the growing number of minutes of my life uselessly sucked up by unavoidable, and kind of sad, conversations.

5:00- Most of the family goes out to eat at local restaurant. I silently pray in my car on the way that someone, anyone will order a glass of wine, so that I can. Lordy this conversing with your family stuff is hard. I love them all, but c'mon! No one? Not even a white zinfandel? C'mon!

5:00-6:30- Do alright conversationally, but at several points in the evening realize that there is no more deafening silence than the silence of 20 people in a private dining room all not talking at the same "awkward pause" moments. During one of them I counted 7 full seconds where no one said anything. The only noise was everyone quickly scraping something off of their plates to shove in their mouths so that the blame would lie elsewhere.

6:30-7:00- Say our "Minnesota Goodbyes".

9:20- Arrive home. Collapse on couch with wine and Esquire. Stay up too late reading magazine, but decide that dammit, I will do at least ONE more thing this weekend of my choosing.

11:45- Go to bed, sleep like a log. Vow to become a vegannoncaffienatedsugarfreeexercisejunkie tomorrow.


9:30(!) a.m.- Wake up, wonder why you don't have someone to bring you bacon, eggs, a doughnut and coffee in bed.

10:00- Blog.

11:11- Realize you have to get your ass back to work.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Head cheese. And head cheese thoughts.

So, no offense to my gracious hosts, I decided to go another route.

I realized that a 40 minute drive (each way), coupled with aforementioned shoe removal, coupled with not knowing more than three people total at said party...
Well, we just said fuck it.

Well, and the Mr. isn't feeling well at all.

We went out with Blondie and Mr. Blondie to get our raw fish on at Saji-ya. I freaking love Saji-ya.
And now that they have a roll called the Incredible Hulk? Well, I may never go anywhere else.

Freshest damn fish, gloriously boozy cocktails, generally good service...
It turned out to be a lovely evening all around.

We had a great time. And I got to keep these on during the whole experience. Seriously. No one thought they were covered in shit or anything:

Maybe at the next party I am invited to I will share the tale of the recent day I spent with a pig's head in my front seat: (Don't look if you're timid):

Yup. That's a pig's head. Turns out you can buy them for $7.99 at the asian/latino market.

And yes, you can make head cheese with them. And yes, head cheese has everything to do with head, nothing to do with cheese.


Sorry you asked?

Me too.

Happy Sunday.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Nice socks, they really compliment your...whatever.

So I have to get up by 7:30 and I can't sleep for a couple of reasons:

1) I discovered a new energy drink that is the energy drink of my dreams: No sugar, no artificial sweeteners, and it tastes like a good bubbly water. Hi-ball energy water. God I love you, but I seriously underestimated your potential.

2) I had my first big-'ol cup of coffee today in probably 2 months. What the fuck was I thinking having an energy drink and REAL coffee in the same day??!?? Is this what crack feels like? I'm not totally sure I hate this feeling- check back with me after a few weeks on the street.

3) I have another extension "cookie" class to "teach" tomorrow. Since I did the first one with one of the biggest hangovers of my life, maybe I should try this one with 95 seconds of sleep and vivarin. Although, the last time I took vivarin was in high school where I took, oh...47 of them and ended up puking up black stuff for 2 days.
This could be fun?

4) I'm all worked up about a party we're invited to tomorrow night. I was invited about 3 weeks ago and I still haven't rsvp'd. Yes, I am an asshole. Here is why I hesitate to go:
  1. For whatever reason, every time I have run into this couple in the last 2 years I have been shitfaced. No, I am not always shitfaced (despite my cool facade), and I don't know why karma hates me.
  2. (And this is really the reason for my anxiety)...They have a "shoes off" policy at their home.
Yes, I know I should be respectful of their rules.
Yes, I know the majority of you out there are "shoes off" kind of people.
Yes, I know I'm going to piss you off right now.

Here it is: "Shoes off" for a party is really not exactly my cup of tea. (Me being very, very polite here)
There you go.
I run a "shoes on" kind of house. Have I caught ebola yet? Nope. Do we catch colds and the flu more often than healthy Olympic athletes? Nope. Is our house a dirty, rat-infested cesspool?
Again, Nope.
I get not wanting your carpet to get dirty in the NORMAL scheme of things. I get not wanting some careless cad dragging dog shit into your home. I get whatever germs you are seriously phobic of. I get it.

I'm just not getting why you need to enforce it during a party.

Sorry. I don't. Never, ever will.

I think it's kind of not cool to invite people to your home for a PARTY, where they would think hard about their outfit, considering your hip, cool friends, and then tell them to take off the most important part of the outfit.

Don't have a party then. (Am I being a jerk? Hmmm...)

Sorry, I can't and won't plan an outfit around socks.

I even brought a NEW-ish pair of shoes to your house once when you had a party and you said no! Even when I showed you how the shoes were practically brand new and perfectly clean.
But then I saw a girl who was a closer friend of yours in cute heels in your basement.
What the hell?

Do you think I have shit on my shoes? Cause I don't. Trust me, it only happened that one time in San Fran.

I don't function well without a "full" ensemble.
I just think it's not fair to invite people into your home and then expect them to be uncomfortable.

Get the damn rugs shampooed right after or don't have the damn party. (Again, me? Being a jerk here? Am I?)

Sorry, I know this won't sit well with many of you, but I grew up in a "shoes on" house. It was clean and we rarely got sick, so you will have to try hard to convince me of those two points.

I just don't get how it is appropriate to ask people to do this.


I know I'm the minority.

Rather than berating me for my opinion, should I go to the party or not? I kind of told the hosts I would, and I usually have fun (for the most part) there, but this is seriously pissing me off and it tends to ruin the experience for me, however shallow and freakish that may sound.



And yes, I still have a few memes to get to, and I am happy (and kind of excited!) to do them. Just give me a few days until I am on my THREE AND A HALF WEEK BREAK FROM ANY AND ALL WORK to do them.
I feel that then, and only then, can I truly do them justice.
Thank you.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Land of sky blue waters, bundt cakes, Grain Belt Premium and passive-aggressive bullshit


Welcome to our facility. If you don't mind removing your shoes that would be great. Oh no! I'm sorry- I don't think they're dirty or anything, so's just that we have carpeting and stuff. Oh, nevermind. Forget it. You don't have to take them off if you don't want to. We just got the carpet cleaned, but I suppose we can get it done again...

You're going to take them off? Great! Here- put on these paper booties and we can go ahead and get started.

Welcome to MNPARF, or the Minnesota Passive-Aggressive Research Facility, an award winning program designed to develop, market, refine, engineer advancements and train "team leaders" on the finer points of Passive-aggressive behavior, so that they may go out and spread the knowledge and shame far across the land.

MNPARF has existed since 1875, when our founder Sven Gaardmurkenvaarkun started a retreat for area mothers to come, relax, and just spend a few days learning new methods for making their children feel bad about not doing enough chores around the farm. These mothers learned how to utilize newly patented phrases like "If you feel like it", "Only if you want to" and "that's okay, I'll just do it. No big deal".

Around 1917, just after Mr. Gaardmurkenvaarkun's death from syphilis, the facility expanded into three separate locations: The Twin Cities area chapter, the Iron Range chapter, and a satellite chapter in rural central Minnesota. This "three point system" allowed us to reach more people than ever before. Now husbands and wives as far away as Gilbert could learn how to muddy the waters of their relationship through mixed signals and disappointment.
Directly asking for what you wanted was now a thing of the past! Instead, we trained individuals to dance around touchy subjects in an effort to not only NOT get what it is they wanted in the first place, but to also make the other individuals involved feel confused and uncomfortable.

After the mid-1940's we experienced a tremendous amount of growth, and in 1968 we moved our headquarters into the facility you are standing in right now. Our most recent membership drive brought our total enrollment to just under 4.9 million. We are happy with these numbers, but wish they were a little higher. Well, wish might be a strong word. Maybe if our team leaders work a little harder next year and maybe if they had brought in new caterers...
Oh, nevermind! They're doing an awesome job! Maybe next year it will be even more awesome, don't you think? Not that it isn't awesome now, don't get me wrong- I love my job.

Um, moving on...

Some of you may have heard of a terrible subversive movement to combat MNPARF called VPPKPAFO, or the VonPartypants Program for Kicking Passive-Aggressiveness the Fuck Out. I hear their membership is rising, and we need to hold true to our beliefs. We cannot let AA (or, aggressive-aggressiveness) overtake PA! We must discuss it quietly in huddled groups in our offices, only to stop talking and smile at you when you walk by because we wouldn't want you to think we were talking about you, even though we usually are. Here, let me compliment that tacky sweater you're wearing just to go the extra mile.

In a bold move, we have resorted to the most PA of all PA tactics, one that we normally reserve for only the most heinous of offenses:
We have started leaving carefully-worded, yet stern notes written on post-its on the front door of their leader's home. Extreme? Indeed. But history has shown us that it is always better to express your wishes and needs through polite, yet slightly bitchy notes left when that person isn't around to discuss the matter face-to-face. While data on the actual effectiveness of this tactic is somewhat fuzzy, we stand by our decision.
They know what we mean. I'm sure they can tell that we're really, really mad this time. But we are not animals. We signed the notes with little smiley faces to show that, while we mean business, we don't want you to hate us, o.k?

What's that? Oh, my assistant just handed me an update, folks. It seems that someone from VPPKPAFO has sent us a fruit basket. Oh, how nice. Let's read the card, shall we?

Go fuck yourselves.
If we see you in a dark alley we will kick your ass.
We hope you choke on the apples."

Well folks, it's gonna be a long one. Go home and polish your note-writing skills, sharpen your underhanded compliments and practice your "pretending not to care even though you really do" face and come back next week ready to fight. Well, maybe not fight. Maybe just a quick game of "feigning indifference".
Hey! I know! I heard that they're allergic to peanuts! Let's give them a Snicker's bar.
That'll show them who's boss.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Whiskey and fashion, part deux.

Roll up your sleeves, fix yourself an olive loaf sandwich and pop that can of Bud. It's time for a Spring fashion preview, folks.
"But it's not spring!" you say? Well step up and get on board, because in the fashion world it's already Mid-Fall 2079. Chartreuse is the new orange and human-skin accessories are hot, hot, hot!
Hey- you snooze, you lose.

I know you, much like me, are sitting there thinking, "What ever shall I wear to Imogen deStarchycorn's annual "Spring fling" bash to raise botox money for underprivileged children?"
Well that's where I come in.
Consider me your "Window to Couture", if you will. I am your "clothes whisperer".

I consider myself to be fairly on top of things, fashion-wise. I know well enough to NEVER wear my monkey-fur espadrilles with my pony-skin chaps (double fur- big no-no!!), and I learned the error of my ways that time I showed up to the post-grammys party at Applebee's (on the arm of a certain Mr. G, first name rhymes with penny- shhh!) in pasties and pantaloons. Sure I take risks, but I learn from my mistakes, and that's why I'm here to help.
Let me help you.

Our first little number is a kicky ensemble that says "I'm fashion-forward, but I still love my country enough to wear a giant american flag/knickers get-up that was made in France".
God bless America, and god bless Chanel for giving us this. I believe the house of Chanel is currently in talks to change their name to "Chanel's International house of Freedom", but no word yet as to when the official change may take place.

These next two are what I like to call "When Vince Neil bets drunk and starts a spring line". I was just discussing with my fellow fashionista, Lita Ford, how there really aren't enough pants that lace up the front anymore. And how much did we all miss the GIANT. white, high-top Reeboks with multicolored laces?

Thanks for the inspiration, boys:

Next up, nothing says "Spring!" like having a pair of fluffy testicles strapped to your shoulders!
Who says florals are distracting or unflattering? Why, this young, 5'10", 100-pound lady looks positively radiant and curvaceous in this elegant frock. I can only imagine that it would be positively stunning on the average, 5'5", 135-pound female. Look out, boys! Me-ow.

You know how some days you wake up and think, "Is it cold outside? Should I wear something furry and warm or should I wear something made up entirely of discarded wrapping paper?"

Well, you don't have to worry about making that decision anymore!

Don't worry, boys! We thought of you here too.
This says, "I'm ready for combat, but I'm gonna make sure I'm ready to party, yo" to me.

Much like y'all, I love a good jumpsuit. I think the ease of one-piece dressing coupled with the figure-flattering (and flaw hiding!) flow of the fabric just works for a gal like me.
Hell, if it's good enough for 2.2 million prisoners, well- it's good enough for me.

If you're on a budget and can't afford Anna Sui, try here. With a few modifications and a little bedazzling work, you'll have yourself a catwalk-worthy masterpiece in no time at all.

And finally, the line that seems to encapsulate the psyche of the american woman as beautifully and as poetically as any designer has ever in the history of fashion been able to:

Thank you, Comme de Garcons. Thank you.

I knew this Mentally-ill mime thing would be a hit.

Dress carefully, my little ruffled and pintucked china dolls. Dress carefully.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Eight things you really could go through life not knowing, but what's the fun in that?

Welcome to Memepoblomo.

I am slowly working my way through a number of memes I have recently been tagged for. Could I just not do them and let the meme die a slow, quiet death?
Sure I could.
But I am nothing if not gracious and accommodating, and I really don't have anything else on the books to write about today, so here you go:

Tagged by the lovely Gwen to give you eight random facts about yours truly.

Being a random sort of girl I will happily oblige.
No theme this time, unless you count "random" and a theme.

#1) As a kid, and into my early teens, I was a voracious ice-eater. I would seriously sit down with a tray of ice and crunch, crunch, crunch. At least until my Mom or dad would catch me and tell me to cut it out. I even had specific types of ice I preferred, and the process of deciding which varieties were best was a complicated one involving size, "crumble" factor, clarity and flavor. I found out in later years that this habit falls into the Pica category of "disorders". Pica usually refers to the kids who eat glue, dirt, worms, crayons and such, but ice is also included. Luckily I didn't wreck my teeth, and luckily I chose ice instead of worms.

#2) I threw my virginity to the wolves when I was 16. There you go. I really just wanted to see what the big deal was, and it turned out to be less spectacular than I thought it would be. But really, whose first time is ever anything to write home about?

#3) I own 58 pairs of shoes, give or take a few. I think this is reasonable. In fact, I was shocked at how low this number was when I actually counted. I haven't counted purses in a while, but I'm marginally sure that the number is in the 60-70 range, which is down from my all-time high of around 100. I like choices. So there.

#4) I can't eat without spilling some of whatever it is on myself. I really should buy one of these. Please, anyone- save me from myself.

#5) I am a butt looker. (No, not licker, you dirty bird. Looker.) I look at everyone's butt. All the time. I'm not sure why, but I really can't help myself. No one is safe- I am an equal opportunity tushie peeker. You've been warned.
I actually got busted doing just this at a bar last weekend. The bartender came up to me and said, "I saw you looking at that girl's butt. You are so busted." So I just owned it. Yup. Ladies, gents, perky 20-something, saggy 60-something, gigantic and dimply, toned and taut.
Look at someone's butt, look inside their soul...

#6) I would wear all cashmere, all the time if my finances would allow. If you're needing any gift ideas for me, how about these:

Yup. cashmere undies. Click on the pic for more info.

They're a real bargain. Not that you can really put a price on my happiness or anything.
Feel free to get me the coordinating bra, which is really a steal at the low, low price of $325.
Do you think that anyone makes cashmere kleenex? My nose really deserves the best.

#7) If I'm really crabby, play this song for me. Makes me stupidly happy every time. Yes, I know how cliche' I am. I'm o.k. with that.
Quit judging, Judgy McJudgester.

#8) I want to get a dog and name it T.J. O'Pootertoot, after a skit from the Ben Stiller Show. I couldn't find a clip of the sketch this comes from, but to sum up: T.J. O Pootertoots, a family fun restaurant is serving pooterburgers and the like. Turns out pooterburgers and the like are actually...people! "Pooter is peeeeooople!".
I love the idea of having a little-ish dog and calling, "Here Pooter, Pooter, Pooter!"
The Mr. isn't completely on board with this idea, but like that matters. Pooter is what I want, Pooter is what I'll get. Try and stop me.

So there you go- eight more random bits from the wonder that is Whiskeymarie.

Sunday, December 9, 2007

Smooshy, rice goodness and cupcakes

Friday night the Mr. got his favorite meal for dinner, in honor of it having been his 45th birthday on Thursday.
Really though, he doesn't look a day over 35- well, 38 tops.

Smoked salmon risotto.
I limit this dish to only once or twice a year due to its "heart episode" inducing qualities.
But damn, it sure is tasty.
He also got a lovely tomato & avocado salad, homemade wheat bread and the most adorable little cheesecake cupcakes with fresh raspberries and whipped cream, which I forgot to take a picture of and you will just have to imagine the cuteness. But they were really cute. And tasty.

Whew. My jeans started to cry a little as I typed that. "You aren't going to try and cram THAT ass in us, are you????", they screamed. Nooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Suck it, jeans.
You'll stretch as much as I need you to, dammit. I'm in charge here.

What is the secret to delicious smoked salmon risotto, you may ask?
*You will see here that I am incapable of winking in an even remotely normal manner. I look like I have an unfortunate tic and am hopped up on red bull and crack.

Eat anything good this weekend, my little muffintops?

Saturday, December 8, 2007

Sure I'll tell you a story! It's about that one time, with that one thing, and that guy...

I am a tag-magnet these days, which is fine with me. I like the whole meme thing, as long as I don't have to do things like tell you my favorite color of toenail polish or flavor of yogurt. (Fine. Fire-Engine red, and vanilla. C'mon people! We can do better than this!)

Just bear with me, my little blogerinas, mommy needs a few minutes to get through all of these memes.

This one comes courtesy of my sexy/comfortable shoe wearing goddess Freida Bee, as well as the lovely cake-loving NotSoccer Mom. Take that, Whiskeymarie! Twice!

Since you both tagged me for this, I just added on to the shorter of the two story thread (Freida's). Hope that's o.k, I just didn't want to post the same thing(ish) twice.

This is one of the more "involved" memes I've done, and I think it's a great idea. Here's how it works:

Splotchy started this story. Here are his own words to describe what this is.

"This has probably been done before, but that is not stopping me, oh no.

Here's what I would like to do. I want to create a story that branches out in a variety of different, unexpected ways. I don't know how realistic it is, but that's what I'm aiming for. Hopefully, at least one thread of the story can make a decent number of hops before it dies out.

If you are one of the carriers of this story virus (i.e. you have been tagged and choose to contribute to it), you will have one responsibility, in addition to contributing your own piece of the story: you will have to tag at least one person that continues your story thread. So, say you tag five people. If four people decide to not participate, it's okay, as long as the fifth one does. And if all five participate, well that's five interesting threads the story spins off into.

Not a requirement, but something your readers would appreciate: to help people trace your own particular thread of the narrative, it will be helpful if you include links to the chapters preceding yours."

I have avoided reading the other strands as to not be affected by their versions and may tag someone tagged elsewhere. If you have already been tagged, let me know. I certainly don't mind being tagged a little later to add another paragraph (or more if you wish) as the story develops.

I woke up hungry. I pulled my bedroom curtain to the side and looked out on a hazy morning. I dragged myself into the kitchen, in search of something to eat. I reached for a jar of applesauce sitting next to the sink, and found it very cold to the touch. I opened the jar and realized it was frozen. (Splotchy)

I was used to the house being quite cold in the mornings, as the night log usually burns out around one AM when I am dreaming cozily under my covers, not normally waking to put a new one on until morning. I was surprised because on the rare occasions that it actually had reached sub-freezing temperatures in the house, I had awakened in the night to restart the fire. I would have been worried about the pipes before P-Day, but there hadn’t been running water in two years and that was one of the few advantages to being dependent on rainwater, no pipes. (Freida Bee)

I rummaged around in the kitchen and found one of the few things that hadn't frozen overnight to eat- an expired granola bar. "Better than nothing", I muttered to myself as I tore off the wrapper and took a bite, trying to not chip a tooth in the process.
I thought I should go out to the shed and bring in more wood. The mind-numbing cold snap that had set in over the last few days seemed to be in no hurry to leave. Pulling on my heavy coat and wool hat, I considered for a moment what lay ahead for the day. Normally I would spend much of the day making any needed repairs to the house, cleaning, reading various newsletters, cooking, and just trying to keep busy in general. With no job to fill my time anymore I have found my newfound "freedom" to be both a blessing and a curse. Ever since P-day, the only job most of us have is to sit in our homes and find something, anything, to pass the time.
Well, that- and to stay alive. (Whiskeymarie)


For once I'll actually tag a few of you for this, rather than just leaving the meme whimpering & slowly dying of neglect.

If you don't want to do this, that's fine. But I shall at least attempt to keep the storyline alive. (I'm trying to choose those of you that I think might actually enjoy this. If you want in, by all means, consider yourself tagged.)


Twisted Noodle?
Aunt Dahlia?

Friday, December 7, 2007

It's not the thought that counts, dummy. It's the damn gift.

(And a big Fuck-you to Blogger here for randomly changing the size of the font and making it impossible to fix, even though I've tried like 8 times. Sorry if it's hard to read...)

When money starts raining from the sky like snow in a Duluth winter, do we just ignore the money? Do we pretend it isn't there? Do we deny ourselves the opportunity to go out and buy stuff and roll around naked in piles of the bills?

Hell no.

So when life drops a gift-themed meme in your lap during the holidays, you scoop it up in your arms and snuggle it in like a brand new puppy. You whisper sexy sweet little sweet-nuthins' to it. You get a tattoo of it on your right badonkadonk cheek.

And when the one tossing that meme to you the way she does (so sweet of her to wrap it up in bubble wrap for my comfort) is Franiam (No, you're not fran, she am), then you hold it that much closer and clean that schmutz off of its face with a kleenex and some spit.
This meme is your own flesh and blood.

(I really shouldn't build this up so much...)

Tagged by Fran to give you my 5 favorite gifts! With Pictures!!*
*(I actually have more than five. Feel free to write me a letter that appropriately expresses your disappointment in me and my inability to limit myself. Feel free to send me whatever literature on the subject you so desire. Feel free to understand that I may take your letter and your literature and poop on it.) (Also, I have not just limited this to christmas gifts. Trust me, you'll get over it.)

#1) This really is my number-one all time best gift. I will keep this until the day I die. I had thought that I lost this once and I was just sick thinking that it was gone.
My dear, departed Mom made me this blanket about 2 years b
efore she died. She loved to knit and crochet, and she wanted to make me a blanket. She let me pick the colors.
I love this blanket.
It's huge and the red & white make me especially happy this
time of year.

#2) This gift was given to me when I turned sixteen from my Mom & dad. It was all I wanted and I wanted it BAD.
My badass biker jacket.

I had just returned from a band trip to Florida (yup, real badass here) and my birthday had been, I think, either the day before we came back or the day of our return. Either way, I expected something big to be waiting. I thought, "It's my sixteenth! Surely there will be a parade, or at least Jake Ryan will be waiting for me in his shiny red car ready to whisk me away to my birthday cake that we'll eat on top of his parents glass-topped dining room table..."
But, in actuality I was greeted with bupkis.
My parents had a family thing planned for a week or so later, and they told me that yes, I was getting the leather biker jacket I so desperately wanted, but that they hadn't yet purchased said jacket as they thought I should try it on & pick it out myself.
The bastards! How dare they be so thoughtful??
But all my moody newly sixteen year-old ass could do was mope and whine that everyone "forgot" my birthday.

So dramatic.

I still have the jacket. It endured a lot with me. At one time it had various punk-rock things painted all over it and had spikes in the shoulders & lapels, but I've cleaned her up a bit since then. I never wear it anymore, but I'll never get rid of it. We were fresh new friends when I lost my virginity, we smoked our first cigarette together in the Duluth
skyways, it kept me warm hanging outside of "Faces" (anyone remember "Faces"? The all-ages "nightclub" underneath where Plaza IGA was/is?), it protected me at many First-Avenue shows...
I still love my badass jacket.

#3) This bracelet was given to me by my kindergarten boyfriend, Marc. I am pretty sure that he stole it from his mom. How I've held on to this all these years is beyond me. I just think that it was a sweet gesture, in the way that receiving stolen goods is "sweet". I still even wear it occasionally.
Marc also tried to give me a stolen class ring once, but Ms. Mattson, my teacher, took it so she could figure out who it belonged to. Marc never gave me anything after that.
Damn Ms. Mattson- way to take away my sugar daddy, bee-yo

#4) Number four, parts A and B, come courtesy of Mr. Whiskeymarie. This past year he outdid himself, gift-wise.
We never have really exchanged "big" gifts, either for birthdays of christmas. In the early years this was mostly because we rarely had extra $ to buy fancy toilet paper and non-generic Doritos, let alone frivolous purchases like presents. We exchanged cute & affectionate- but inexpensive- gifts.
Later on, it just seemed weird to buy each other anything big as we tended to both just buy the stuff we wanted whenever we wanted/whenever finances allowed.

But, this year he gave me these fab earrings for our anniversary. For someone who is scared to try and buy for me- the woman who has more jewelery than Britney has crazy- jewelery, he sure did a great job.

And he bought me a laptop. Where I am sitting right now, getting angry at my screen saver monkey. I hate it when he talks back to me.

That Mr, he sure knows how to treat a lady. That, or he sure knows what to do to get his crazy bitch of a wife off of his pimped out computer so she doesn't accidentally spill vodka on it.

#5) Finally, two gifts from two of the most amazing broads on the planet, my girls Waffle and Blondie.
Blondie gave me this perfume for my birthday this past year. It was REALLY expensive to buy and I never would have done it for myself. She is thoughtful beyond words and I am grateful every day that I have a friend like her. She helps me smell good and she brings me junk food, in post-blizzard snow, when I am hung over.
She is a saint.
And this smells amazing- like sexy roses. It makes me feel warm and lovely. I love it.

Waffle gave me this ring when I was sixteen. We regularly exchange fantastically marvelous jewelery as gifts, and have for years, but for some reason this is the ring I wear all the time. Pretty much almost every day. I've been wearing it for 20 years now, nine years longer than my marriage.
If I wear my rings from my Mr. on my left hand, and my ring from her on my right, does this make her my wife?
Hope not, 'cause that bitch CANNOT cook to save her life.
But she's cute, so...maybe?

Plus! A bonus!
#6-ish) My dad, whom some of you know I have a "challenging" relationship with, gave me a big box of pictures & stuff last time I saw him. It has TONS of my kid pictures, a pile of cards from my birthdays and christmas, my baby teeth and my mom's watch. Even though he should have done this a long time ago, I'll give him a bit of credit. This was a good gift.
Don't worry- I'll show you some of the pictures. There are some real doozies in there.

There you go! One meme down, one to go (tomorrow or Sunday, I promise!)

Happy Friday, my plump little bourbon-soaked prunes on ex-lax flavored ice cream.