Tuesday, December 30, 2008

No, I'm not showing you my "beer-can" underwear, so don't even ask.

Random photos from the last two weeks, in no particular order and probably of no particular interest:

My half-assed christmas tree this year. I wasn't lying when I said that I just threw green lights in a potted palm and called it a day.

My pantry. It is still painted "little old catholic lady pink" and still has the shelf liner paper from the previous owner, Helen. I have grand plans to organize/paint/clean out the body parts I have stored in the corners while I'm on break, but knowing myself as I do I know I will pull everything out, get frustrated, then stare at it and order out for pizza for two days until a few glasses of wine inspires me to put it all back the way it was.

The other side. There's a George Foreman grill in there somewhere, and for some reason I keep thinking I'm out of sugar every time I go to the store, so I have two or three 5# bags of the stuff. Maybe we all can get together and make lollipops or fake crack or something.

We have a near- complete collection of superhero glasses from (I think) Burger King in 1973. We also have some Rocky & Bullwinkle and Looney Tunes ones. I (a.k.a. "wiggle fingers") am not allowed to use any of these- instead I get a nice, plastic Spongebob Squarepants sippy cup like the rest of my 30-something peers. I also have some vintage clown bowls that a friend gave me as she is terrified of clowns. I may have given them to her in the first place as a joke, I can't remember. I get it confused with the time I rented a creepy lady-clown for her birthday that surprised & scared the shit out of her while I laughed, and laughed, and laughed...

Good times.
There is also a Snoopy Sno-cone machine there that you can barely see, and a Farrah Fawcett insulated coffee mug and some misc. Pac-man glasses. I'm not sure what having all of these items says about us. I'm just going to pretend that it says we're awesomely cool.

For some reason I keep my 70's knit beer-can hat in there too. What? You don't have one?
I probably keep it in there because the pantry isn't heated very well, and in the dead of January I have to gear up with a snowsuit, moon boots and electric socks whenever I am cooking and spending any sort of time in there. One of you knitting-types really needs to bring these back.

Yes, I made another stupid fort for the kitties. Shut up.

In the "food porn" category, I made golden beet & beet greens risotto with chicken, loosely based on this recipe.

It was delicious.

I also had a bunch of cipolline onions that I wanted to pretty up somehow.
I blanched them first (boiled with skins on for 4-5 minutes, then cooled & peeled) then I got them nice and caramelized with olive oil & salt & pepper. Finally I cooked them with balsamic vinegar until they were a lovely color and the vinegar was reduced to a syrup.

They're like onion candy- so sexy and good that they make you feel like you might need a home pregnancy kit the next morning. We just ate them as is, warm.

I made shitloads of cookies this year (all on xxxmas eve-eve and xxxmas eve, no less), but my favorites are the simple butter & sugar cookies with almond-flavored icing. I love these ones as they look like snowballs. Damn evil, delicious, not covered in dirt and dog pee snowballs.

Someday they are going to find a way to get back at me- I can see it in their eyes that they're plotting and planning...
If I go missing, start with the cats- they're the ones with the motive. My body will probably be pretty easy to find as they'll most likely try and hide me in the litter box with all the other turds.

The other night I made a simple green salad with a warm dressing that had a tiny bit of bacon, some lemon, onions, a touch of jalapeno and some chopped up cipolline onions from the previous pic. Then I softish-poached an egg and sprinkled some roasted red pepper (from a jar) on top.
God, this was good. Slap your Grandma good. Lick the plate AND the table good.

Then Pan seared wild-caught Copper River salmon on black bean quinoa with a jalapeno-lemon-tomato relish.
Nom, nom, nom.

It was so good, Trouble licked my face clean. Good boy.


Monday, December 29, 2008


On a scale of 1-10 I'd give this christmas a 4, maybe 4.5.

Good, not great.

I ate a lot, drank a lot, opened presents and was halfway naked in a hot tub. So, yeah. The usual.
The usual, except kind of lackluster, and at times- frustrating and irritating.

If this christmas was a TV show, I'd say it was like the last two seasons of The Love Boat- still marginally good, but kind of "forced" and with d-list instead of b-list celebrities. When Julie the Cruise director was replaced with "Judy" the cruise director they lost me. Sure, you still have Issac & Gopher, but where's the Julie? WHERE'S THE JULIE????

But...ahem. I digress.

To sum up- christmas? Meh, with a side of woo-hoo, a dash of bah and a smidge of neat-o.

If you haven't noticed, I've been avoiding the com-pu-tor as I'm just not feeling it at the moment. I'm still kind of sick and my head feels like it's filled with that jell-o with the fruit cocktail and cool whip in it that is slowly working it's way out of my body via my nose.

I have to kind of "build up" to regular posting again. Plus, I didn't take any pictures of christmas stuff. Not one. You KNOW how I like photographic documentation of my mediocre life. I'll blame it on being sick, tipsy, apathetic or lazy- take your pick.

I'm going to go now and find what's left of the cookies and shove them into my face. I think a little sugar will get me motivated to- you know, bathe and pull my ass off the couch. Then I'll try and do something interesting to entertain y'all with. Maybe I'll do something crazy, like PUT ON PANTS.

Happy Monday, my apathetic little gelatanous blobs of holiday fun. Happy Monday.


Oh, and I'm updating my links this week (long overdue). Some of you have gone private, so if that changes let me know & I'll move you from the bookmarks back to the link list. Some others have gone private & I'm not "on the list", so to speak. I can take a hint. Whatever.
If I remove anyone that I shouldn't, let me know.

Monday, December 22, 2008

Looks like I just stepped in a big, steaming pile of Christmas!

I know I've been notably absent from your action-packed lives as of late. I'm sorry I missed little Dottie's Christmas pageant, and I'm really sorry I forgot to pick your grandma up from her weekly poker game at the VFW (I sure hope someone finds her soon- how far could she have wandered in two days, really?).

I've been sick as a wino with whooping cough and a side of scabies, my dears. I'm achy, tired, and I'm pretty sure I just coughed up part of my spleen. Good times.

Since I'm just sitting here at home with kleenex stuffed up my nose and a warm mug of "special" tea, how's about I rummage through that big ol' box of photos and pull out some candy-coated christmas goodness for y'all?

A little "Whiskeymarie holiday retrospective bonanza starring Pheobe Cates as Whiskeymarie", if you will. Or, "Whiskeymaire's White Trash Hootenanny", if you won't:

Whiskey's first christmas, 1971. Poor little baby Whiskey looks confused. Perhaps she is overwhelmed by all of the sparkly things and packages, or perhaps she just pooped herself.

"That's right, fat guy. Keep those hands where I can see them. And give me a damn Barbie this year, will ya? And how about a Ken doll too, so I can play dirty Barbies again like my weird cousin from the South showed me. Thank you."

All I remember about this dog is that I tripped over him once and fell down the basement stairs.
You will note the awesomeness of the red/olive shag carpeting.

The year we got the BEST GAME EVER- Mouse Trap. This game had approximately 4,674 parts, and usually by the time you finally got it set up it was time for bed. Man, we LOVED that game.

My sister (the one with her tongue sticking out) may have just told me that Santa died in this picture. That would explain me screaming and running away. Well, that or she told me where babies come from. Either way, scary.

Christmas at the Farm with the Hee-Haw side of the family. The man in the Santa suit is Uncle Bucky, who you may remember from this post. I'd say that there is a 99% chance that Bucky is sweating cheap beer and brandy under that suit, judging from the sweat stains.

This is the year I was channeling both Dorthy Hamill and any random Charles Dickens character through my hair and wardrobe. I'm pretty sure this is also the year we got an Atari 2600 under the tree. Pong. Pong. Pong. We were the first people I knew that had an Atari.
Man, that was an awesome year.

Christmas morning in the early 80's. This is the year my Dad bought my Mom a Ronco Food Dehydrator in a sweeping fit of romance. That food dehydrator sat in the box in the attic for the next 8 years, unused. The following year I was recruited to do all of my Dad's shopping for him, including wrapping the gifts and acting surprised as to what was in them.

Look closely- I am this excited!!! to get a box of Love's Baby Soft Perfume. To this day, the smell of that stuff makes me barf in my mouth a little.

Pretty typical christmas eve with the menfolk at our house. Beers, salty snacks and a lively discussion about snowblowers, fishing lures and lumber.

Finally for today, Whiskeymarie on her way to the Snowball Dance at school. This is the one where the girls ask the boys to go. I asked a boy that I had liked (from Proctor- some of you know where this is), and he pretty much spent the night sulking and staring at one of my girlfriends. And- Yes, I still made out with him. Duh.

Between the gift wrapping, coughing up body parts and decking of the halls I don't know if I'll be back before Friday, my dears. I promise to say something socially awkward at an inappropriate moment at a family gathering if you will. Promise?

And, as a side note for Zibbs and Gwen- I believe I was supposed to post a crappy gift for a sick person here, but I'm pretty sure that as I am dealing with SARS or Avian Flu or the Whooping cough that I am the very person who should be at the receiving end of such crappiness. And don't give me that crap about needing to be "terminally ill" or something. Sheesh.

Have a happy Holiday, my beer-swilling, santa suit-wearing, sweaty sugar cookies. Happy Holidays.


Wednesday, December 17, 2008

As usual, I start with crotch-talk and end with cat turds.

  • I pulled a muscle in my crotchal region yesterday. I was attempting to not fall on my bum at work after stepping on a slimy piece of onion. I didn't fall, but I felt something "snap" in the area in question, and now I'm in pain. Looks like I won't be doing the splits or cracking walnuts open with my thighs anytime soon.
  • After seeing this disgustingly cute video of the kitten that loves broccoli, I decided to see if my turdlets feel the same way about the stinky green stuff. I nuked a piece in the microwave for a few seconds, cooled it, then let the two inky beasts have at it. They freaking LOVED it. Trouble snarfed the whole thing down and made a weird, low, gutteral, rumbling noise whenever anyone came near or if Pooter tried to horn in on his broccoli action. It was hilarious, and when I get a chance I'm shooting my own kitty/broccoli porno.
  • I ordered a pair of jeans online, and instead of the size I ordered, they sent me a size 1. As in "smaller than a size TWO." Then, when I returned them and re-ordered, they sent me the wrong jeans. Instead of cute, booty-huggin', flattering jeans, I got baggy, high-waisted, tapered "mom-jean" nastiness. I'm not sure what the universe is trying to tell me, but I'm pretty sure the universe needs to just shut the hell up and mind it's own business.
  • I love the show 30-Rock so much that I want to take it out behind the middle school and get it pregnant.
  • Instead of a tree this year, I threw green lights in a potted plant and called it a day. And no, I'm not joking.
  • If the internets didn't exist, no one would be getting gifts this year. I would have to make everyone macaroni art and hope for the best. Anyone on my gift-giving list should hug their computer and offer up a sacrificial virgin to Al Gore for giving us the bounty that is online shopping.
  • I ate an entire (large) bag of white-cheddar popcorn the other day. My fingers still smelled like cheese the next morning. If we're keeping score- Shame-spiral: 1, Whiskeymarie: zero.
  • I've spent so much time at work lately that I'm starting to enjoy the gentle hum of the flourescent lights and the pasty glow it gives my already-freakishly-pale skin. This fact might explain the lack of quality posting as of late. After Friday I'm off for almost three weeks, so I promise to tell you all about my fallopian tubes (they're fine, thanks for asking) and maybe I'll give you the play-by-play of the action that was "Whiskey scooping out the litterbox this morning." Good stuff.

Happy Wednesday, my cheddary broccoli crotchal injuries. Happy Wednesday.



Monday, December 15, 2008

Sofa king cold

Come! Move to Minnesota! It's fun!
Today at 6:30 p.m, this was the temperature according to my garage:


Please send mittens, a fireplace, electric unders to thaw out my lady bits, and ample booze to make hot toddies a.s.a.p.

I thank you in advance.

Friday, December 12, 2008

Three, that's the magic number. Yes it is, it's the magic number.

It's been a busy week, so I don't have much to talk about that isn't work-related, and I'm sure you are uninterested in ways my department is looking to trim our budget in the next year (two ideas we're mulling: using cheaper "variety" meats such as squirrel and hobo, and possibly setting up a brothel in one of the unused classrooms).

I have been encountering odd things in "threes" this week, a fact that I am finding both interesting and slightly disturbing. In no particular order:
  • I passed three midgets/little people in a 30-minute time span. They did not appear to be together, nor was there any sort of convention that I was aware of.
  • I keep encountering the quote, "Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end." First on Mr. Smither's blog, then on a poster at work, then on a magnet in a store. Is the universe trying to tell me something? Is "the end" some sort of butt reference? Is something wrong with my butt? I'm confused.
  • I tripped three times in two days. No injuries, but what little shame I had left seems to have moved on to greener pastures. I'm re-considering working knee pads and a helmet into my daily wardrobe.
  • Without thinking about it, I ate dinner leftovers for breakfast three days in a row. Today it was curried couscous & veggies that I mixed up with some eggs. Maybe tomorrow I'll have steak and a baked potato or lasagna. I see stretchy, nondescript pants in my future if I keep this up.
Also, I've been going through my 67,845 pictures on my computer and getting a bunch printed up. I have a pack of 294 that will be arriving at my doorstep any day now. Only 67,551 to go...

Here's one of Pooter & Trouble in my underwear drawer the other day:

Now you can say you've seen my pussies in my panties.

Happy Friday, my furry yet well groomed elasticized lace bloomers. Happy Friday.


Wednesday, December 10, 2008

I dare you to lick that metal pole.

Don't get me wrong- I love that winter's here...

but waking up today to -6 degrees, gray skies and a 13-hour work day is just wrong wrong wrong.

It's so cold outside that when I stepped out the door this morning I'm pretty sure my vagina froze shut.

I'm getting a nice, warm blanket, some slippers and my mittens, then I'm crawling under my desk for a nap. Wake me up when it's time for lunch.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

I'll even mention you, the "little people" in my acceptance speech, I promise.

An award, the starry-eyed hope of another award, a list and random crap I need to attend to today, in soothing bullet form, so as not to irritate your colon:
  • Ms. Giggle Pixie saw fit (or was just drunk enough)to bestow an award on me last week, and for that I am grateful. Any day where someone recognizes the awesomeness that is me is a good day indeed. Allegedly I "measure up". I'm just going to assume that this refers to my astoundingly high I.Q. or my wicked skills with a tape measure, and not the size of my flipper-feet or man-hands.

With the award comes a bit of a tag/meme, which I will graciously do now, and not just because she sent me a congratulatory box of Franzia Chillable Red, which I may or may not have had with breakfast this morning:

#1) Say something nice about the man in your life.

Easy one. First, he seems to not be pissed that I basically forgot his birthday this weekend. That means: no gift, no cake, no dressing up in tall boots and boy short undies and nothing else to do the "happy birthday dance" for him. He's a saint. Second, he is handy with both electronics/tech-y crap and house stuff. This is good because I still haven't mastered the use of the remote for the TV, and I seem to have difficulties turning my computer on and off sometimes. Third, he's cute to begin with, but he's aging REALLY well. Salt & pepper short hair & a scruffy beard with his olive skin and pretty green eyes...sigh. He's going to look George Clooney good as he gets older, while I have a sneaking suspicion I'm going to start looking like Patti the Daytime hooker from "My Name is Earl" as I age.

#2) List six ways that you measure success in your life.

  1. Making it through the day without becoming a potential Darwin Awards recipient.
  2. If I can make someone laugh so hard that they pee a little or accidentally fart, that's a good day.
  3. Staying gainfully employed despite my total lack of interest in staying gainfully employed.
  4. Not getting anything stuck in my nose or ear that required tweezers to extricate, that's a good day.
  5. Still fitting in 8 year-old jeans despite a near-legendary love of Doritos, cheese and bacon.
  6. Managing to stay married after he: saw me dressed up as a deranged mime that one time in the middle of a weekday, gets rudely awakened at 2-3:00 a.m. every time I go out with the girls because I can't find my keys IN MY OWN DAMN PURSE, puts up with my incessant commentary on his cookoo driving when I'm a passenger, has to listen to me singing to the cats and watch me break out 80's dance moves for them, and has to eat some of my more "experimental" dishes that are generally conceived and executed after 2 too many glasses of wine.

I'm supposed to pass this meme on, but you all know very well that this blog is the "Ed Gein" of blogs. This is where memes go to die a tortured, semi-sexual, gory death. The last meme that came here is still sitting in pieces in my freezer, waiting to become a nice winter stew. I have a lampshade made out of the skin of another meme. You get it.

  • I've been nominated for a Drysdale Award over at Grant Miller Media. My category is "Blog With the Most Pictures of the Blogger". Finally I am being recognized for my unique brand of narcissism. Get over there and vote for me (as well as my lovely fellow blog pals, unless they are competing against me, in which case I hope they get an uncomfortable, yet non-contagious rash which renders them unable to be a nominee). Go! Vote! If I win we'll have champagne, I promise. I'll have yours in your absence because I know how much you hate to waste perfectly good champagne. You're welcome.
  • I have been at my current job 4 years now, yet despite this I regularly encounter fellow employees in the hallways that are either pretending that they don't know I work here, or they think I'm the dumbest student in the history of 2-year schools. Today, yes today, someone who has ignored me for the last four years actually gave me a little head nod when I passed them in the hall. A HEAD NOD, PEOPLE! I have arrived! Maybe in another four years I can get administration to start spelling my name right.
  • I really need to get my cookie baking done. I taught/hosted a cookie exchange class at work this past weekend, which allowed me to eat many, many cookies, but alas I have none to call my own. I need to get on this as my cookies are awesomely pretty and delicious and I enjoy rubbing everyone else's noses in that fact over the blessed holiday season.

I'm at work, and I should probably get some actual work done that doesn't involve crossword puzzles or seeing how fast I can shove a cream cheese bagel in my face.

Happy Tuesday, my champagne-soaked flesh cookies. Happy Tuesday.



Monday, December 8, 2008

Me busy. No speak gud.

Can't talk. Busy.

To sum up my weekend:

Onion Rings
Triscuits and cheese
Craft Fair
Chinese take-out
Homemade soup
Finding both of the cats in my underwear drawer
Snow angels
Kind of sort of "forgot" the Mr's birthday. Oops.

The end.

Friday, December 5, 2008

Internet porn that probably won't get you fired

To prove to y'all that I don't exist solely on a diet of Doritos, bad coffee and despair, here are some pictures of things I have cooked here at Casa de VonPartypants over the last few weeks.

I know how you guys love the food porn.
"Oh yeah, baby. Roll me up, dip me in salsa and gnaw on me like a beef burrito. Oh yeahhhh. Slather me in sour cream and guacomole, tiger. Mmmm Hmmm..."

Tofu spring rolls with fresh basil:

Leek and pork potstickers. Truth be told: these are from a bag, frozen. But I love this brand and am way to lazy to make potstickers from scratch at home on a weeknight.

Spicy beef & broccoli with orange:

French toast on multigrain ciabatta bread:

Chicken, roasted poblano pepper, roast corn and queso fresco quesadillas (insert outdated Napoleon Dynamite joke here):

Not food, unless you're into cat: the other, other white meat, but I thought I'd show you the habitrail I made for the kitties out of two boxes I had from my new lamp:

Butternut squash/rosemary/spinach & chicken lasagna loosely based on this recipe. It was good, but I "lightened" it up a bit, so it wasn't as rich as it could have been. If I make it again, I'm going whole-hog with the cream, cheese and such. But still, it was pretty darn diggily darned good:

Just a picture of St. Paul looking all pretty and christmas-y at the corner of Selby and Snelling at dusk. See, Gwen? I can muster up a bit of fucking holiday spirit TOO!:

Sweet potato and black bean hash with poached eggs and low-fat jalapeno "hollandaise":

One of the rare times I follow a recipe. This is one of my all-time favorite soups, out of the Olives cookbook. Carrot bisque with bacon. This soup is beyond wonderful- simple, but the flavor and texture makes me all tingly in my nether regions:

Since I was on a roll with the whole "following recipes" thing, this is out of the same cookbook. It is a Portugese-style dish with turkey cutlets pounded thin and rubbed with an amazing spice rub. They are in a sauce with chorizo, fennel, tomatoes, onions, almonds, garlic and lemon.
So. Good.
I served it on wide whole-wheat pasta noodles:
How about you?
Eat anything good lately, or have we been concocting "entrees" like "le Chefboyardee beefaroni on a bed of crispy barbequed potatoes with a delicate sauce of melted cheese de Nachos" from the vending machines at work again?

Come on, fess up.

Happy friday, my warm, melty layers of squash & cat lasagna. Happy Friday.


Monday, December 1, 2008

"Laying tile" and other euphemisms.

Since I haven't mentioned "Operation Fix this Fucking House" in a while, and since WE ACTUALLY HAVE A ROOM DONE (did you hear that? Was I yelling loud enough for you?), I thought I'd give you an update. I know you're all dying to hear about things getting hammered and nailed (that's what SHE said!).

We have lived in our home nine years now, and that entire time we have survived with one very, very, very, very sad excuse for a crapper. I'd show you pictures of the old bathroom (still there, waiting to be gutted and re-made much like Joan Rivers' face), but not until the "after" is ready. It is so very bad, and so very embarrassing, that I cannot even express it in words other than:
Ugliest. Bathroom. Ever.

We always knew we were going to redo it, so I just did the best I could to pretty her up enough so that any houseguests we may have had didn't get confused and think that they had been magically transported to a rest stop bathroom in Haiti or something. Well, nine years later we are finally getting around to it.
Ugliest. Bathroom. EVER. Think: the kind of bathroom you see in the Serial Killer's house in horror movies. Yes- that bad.

In the meantime, we decided to add another pee station to Casa de VonPartypants so that when we demolished the old one we'd have facilities during the re-build. Oh, that and I wanted another one so that when the Mr. went in for one of his 45-minute "meditation sessions" that I'd have an alternative to a plastic grocery bag and the back porch should an urgent call come from the evacuation fairy.

Being that we have an old (100+ years) St. Paul house with not a lot of extra room (1400-1500-ish sq. feet total) for such things, we finally decided after much debate with contractors and plumbers to put one in what was formerly known as our "closet room."

This room is located directly off of our bedroom, with the entrance only accessable from the bedroom itself, not the hallway. I'm guessing it was designed as a nursery, which I find hi-larious. Good one, old timey house-builders. Good one.
Lord, how I loved having an entire room for a closet. We filled that motherfucker UP:

And, as you can see, since we were the only ones who ever saw it, I didn't really feel the need to keep it "clean" or make it so you could "walk on the floor without tripping over shoes". I would regularly find dustbunnies that were so big the cats thought I had adopted them a new friend.
Man, I love having another bathroom, but the walk-through closet we are now left with after splitting the room in 1/2 (pictures forthcoming once it's done) doesn't really cut the mustard. This is why we have bought 2 GIANT armoire thingys from IKEA and are planning on buying a third.

This is from September, when we started construction & before we added the plumbing:

My future bare-bum throne:

Now that we're basically done (still need one or two things on the walls), I am thrilled with the results. This has not been an easy project as the inner workings and such of our house are seriously challenging to the pros, let alone tards like us. And, we have obstacles like radiators, oddly-sized windows, plaster walls and sloped ceilings upstairs to deal with on top of everything else. To say our house is "difficult" to remodel is like saying that Gary Busey is "a wee bit cookoo".
We chose to do all of the work (minus the plumbing rough-ins) ourselves. That would have been bad enough, but then our plumber died and we (read: the Mister) were left to finish it ourselves or pay someone else to do it.
I feel like everyone out there should give Mr. VonPartypants a big round of applause and a long, soulful french kiss, as he not only got all of the plumbing hooked up, but he also did the tiling (I grouted), painting and trim with a minimal amount of swearing and throwing things. I did things like put up curtains, sing to the cats, and make room for my toiletries. I rock.

It is a tiny bathroom (5'3" x 10') with a sloped ceiling, but I am seriously in love with it. I would make out with it if it weren't where we do the poo and other unsavory acts.

Le commode and le sink:

An owl print on the wall that I bought before I had the kitties, but it looks just like them- Trouble looking startled in the front, and Pooter looking confused and petite in the back:

No room for a tub, so we had to put in a fairly ugly, yet functional, corner shower:

Practicing so that I get it just right on the first try, kind of like the Olympic tryouts:

The pictures make it look smaller than it really is, but I'd say that it's definitely cozy. And I think that, like me, it's much cuter in person.

Oh, but how I adore it, and it is so very, very nice to finally have one. damn. room. done.

Yay, us.

Making babies vicariously through others

Today, myself and a few other bloggers are throwing a bit of a virtual baby shower for boozy Mom extrordinaire, Gorillabuns. She's ready to pop any day now, so we sent her a Target gift card and a gift card for dinner for her and the Mr. so they can get the hell out of the house one last time before their life revolves around poop and all things poop-related.
I'm not really sure how I came to know this lovely, trash-talking, hat-wearing, velvet Elvis-owning broad, but I'm sure glad I do. She came around pretty early in my blogging "career", leaving funny and sometimes drunken comments that were generally returned by yours truly in a similar fashion. She's about to have her third, adding yet another goofy, hilarious and disgustingly cute kid to the Universe. For that, we should thank her.

If I had to adopt a Mom that was roughly my age, she'd make the cut. I think it's totally wicked awesome that she promised to name the baby after me: Whiskeymarie if it's a girl, Ginsoakedbruce if it's a boy. Remember- you promised, my dear!

We truly are two peas in a pod:

Make sure you check out everyone else participating- all funny, smart, generous, gorgeous, sexy, talented and modest gals (and dude), much like myself:

Angella: dutchblitz.net
Whoorl: www.whoorl.com

Happy Monday, my little baby-making uteri. Happy Monday.