Friday, February 29, 2008

The B word.

I'm off to the MOA to find a birthday gift or two for a couple of gals, and then I'm doing some much needed brassiere shopping.

The girls need a few new slings, it seems.

No boys, it's not nearly as sexy as it sounds, trust me.

Well...unless you count how, when there are a few of us in the fitting room together we will tenderly and gently "help" one another get the bras on just right. Or, how sometimes we get so excited when one fits really well that we will hug each other and "accidentally" kiss.

In our underwear.

See? Not exciting at all.

Happy Friday my little leopard-clad mosquito bites.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

Someone poke her with a stick to make sure she's still breathing...

Five things I will not be doing today:

1) Brokering world peace singlehandedly
2) Getting a massage
3) Sipping cocktails by the pool with my manservant, Renaldo
4) Winning the lottery
5) Getting to third base with Clive Owen

Five things I probably (maybe) will be doing today:

1) Eating something I probably shouldn't (any suggestions?)
2) Writing a lame blog post
3) Frittering away my morning doing pretty much nothing, thereby accomplishing exactly zero before work
4) Meowing "Beethoven's 5th" while chasing the cat around the house
5) Buying tickets to see Martin Short! At a casino!

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Mom always said that it's good to share.

Today is the day that some of us are participating in "Blogshare": a large group of bloggers posting anonymously on other people's blogs for one day. This concept was started by -r- of And you know what else fame and she is gracious enough to coordinate a ton of blogs for this.
I don't know why I do it, as I have no secrets I keep from y'all, but it is kind of fun to have a "guest blogger" on my own page for a day.

So, that being said, today's post is not written by me. It is from another blogger from another blog on planet Blogovia:

I generally am a ridiculously open book on my blog, so I'm at a bit of a loss as to what to write about now that I can be anonymous. This time around, I think I'll take the approach of telling a story that I wouldn't post on my own blog because it makes me sound like a horrible person. Hell, for all I know, I've already posted it on my own blog and I've just forgotten. But here goes.
When I was in high school, I had what can only be termed a MegaCrush on a certain boy, who we will call Bill if for no other reason than the fact that I would probably never find myself attracted to a guy named Bill. Except shit, I once had a crush on an actual boy named Bill, but whatever. BILL.
My crush was completely absurd, because not only did I have this crush - I was extremely shy. I wasn't one of those girls who would tell someone I had a crush on a guy and hope he found out. NO WAY. Instead, I would have been mortified if he had known. This could, of course, be why I didn't have any boyfriends in high school and could also be a sign that I was not exactly the most self-assured of teenagers. But I digress. I even once set Bill up with another girl in order to throw him off the track of thinking I had a crush on him, because I really could not bear the thought of rejection.
Silly Anonyblogger-in-teenage-years.
Well, this crush was so excessive that it...well, it lasted. Throughout college, in fact. I mean, sure, I had a completely different boyfriend and went to a school that Bill did not attend, but I swooned anytime I saw him when I went home to visit or anytime I heard updates about him from another friend. I loved me some Bill.
I liked Bill because he was ridiculous and, well, more human than the other boys I knew. When the other boys were being macho and cool, Bill was doing things like crashing his car into a tree (completely sober, mind you) and singing in the high school chorus. I liked Bill because he was a complete and utter mess.
And, well, the crush continued on despite the fact that I saw him once a year.
It turned out that my best friend from college married one of Bill's best friends, which meant that my connection to Bill - tenuous as it was - continued on, so that I heard through the grapevine one day that he was engaged to his college sweetheart.
And it just so happened that I ended up at the same bar, with the same group of friends, as Bill - almost ten years after college and about a month before Bill's wedding. And because I am no angel, and with the aid of more than a few beers and perhaps a drink or two of Maker's Mark and ginger ale with a twist, I found myself talking to Bill and saying the following evil words: Bill, it's a DAMN shame you're getting married in a month, because I had a crush on you all through high school.
I'm not proud. Okay, fine, I'm an even worse person than I'm letting on, because I actually am a little proud. That took guts, y'all. Not only did it take got results. We spent the rest of the evening talking about how he, in fact, had had a crush on me as well. !!!! (OMG) !!! And then, dear readers, it happened. Two weeks before his wedding, Bill called the whole thing off.
And I saw Bill at a 4th of July party the next month (we were living in different states at the time), and he told me that I played a role in the wedding cancellation.
And then I made out with him. And, because i was going through a floozy and apparently-horrible-person phase, I also later that night found myself kissing another engaged guy while his fiance was asleep upstairs. And then even later that night, kissing another guy who I'd known since Kindergarten, and you can judge me for this, but all I can say is (a) the guy was a freakin' Green Beret, and if that didn't sound paradoxically H-O-T to my little liberal tree-hugging anti-war soul, well, I dont' know what did; and (b) well, shit. I had never been the girl that all the guys wanted to make out with before, and before common sense about my harlot-like behavior could kick in I instead was just enjoying myself. Sue me. But I digress.
Unfortunately, what Bill didn't tell me was the fact that another girl from high school had ALSO confessed to having a crush on him, and that I wasn't the SOLE reason he called off his wedding.
And Bill also didn't tell me that he was STILL, ten years later, a complete and utter mess.
And he also didn't tell me (because, really, how could he know?) that I would no longer find the idea of being with a man who was a complete mess quite as attractive as I did in my high school days and that I might not find it fun to semi-long-distance-date a guy who was still receiving calls from his ex-fiancee and juggling me, her, and the other girl who played a role in the cancelling of his engagement. Whoops.
All's well that ends well, though, I suppose, as Bill later got back together with his college sweetheart, and then married her, and then joined the Peace Corps and moved to Africa with her.
But I can't help feeling a teensy bit guilty (and yet, oddly proud). Whether that makes me a horrible person or not, well, you can just keep your thoughts on it to yourself.
The End.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

One thin wafer...

Suze reminded me that it is that glorious time of year again. That special time when wandering gangs of rogue 'tween girls accost every stranger in a 20-mile radius and shame them into buying 47 boxes of mass-produced cookies at $14/box.

God, how I love those expensive little nuggets of mass-produced goodness. But, oddly enough, I never am approached to buy them anymore. I guess they must have gotten the memo about the '"cocktail party for cookies" that I hosted with the local troop a while back.
Oh, whoops. I almost forgot about the restraining order. Sorry. When you have as many of those things as I do you tend to lose track. Usually my secretary keeps me on top of those things.

So, as I won't actually be partaking of the gluttony this year, I thought I'd take a moment to suggest a few new varieties of cookies for next year, maybe. Sure, the thin mints are delicious, and the coconut ones make me quiver a little inside in that "special way" that only chocolate and coconut can, but c'mon. Humor me.

#1) Swinealongs - a buttery shortbread round topped with caramelized bacon, drizzled with chocolate and sprinkled with sugar coated bacon bits. Remarkably, trans-fat free. Really, everything is better with bacon.

#2) Thin Thinnies - Low-cal and aspartame-sweetened crispy wafers sprinkled with saccharin granules and dipped in delicious spring water. Only 2.5 calories a piece! Eat up!

#3) Whiskey Jingles - For Mom & Dad only! Whiskey-soaked cake rounds topped with whiskey nougat drizzled with whiskey ganache and topped with crunchy whiskey nuggets. Would come with coupons for $3/off a bottle of Jameson and a free 7-day supply of Vicodin.

#4) Wasabi Tassies - For an entry into the International market- this would feature a rice cracker, topped with wasabi cream and pickled eel. The entire cookie is then dipped in guava jelly and sprinkled with powdered monkey testicles. This cookie is rumored to both promote virility and cause hallucinations.

#5) Prunella Fiberbottoms - For the "older" demographic, this little gem is a gastrointestinal marvel! Oat bran and flax seed wafers topped with a luscious prune whip, sprinkled with wheat bran and dipped in Exess-lax brand chocolate coating. 47 grams of fiber in each one! Eat up! But don't leave the house any time soon! And watch for cramping!

#6) Atkinsettes - Splenda- candied beef jerkey rounds with a layer of butter and lard sandwiched between them. Zero carbs, 650 calories a piece.

#7) Sugar Sweetfoils - This one really appeals to the 4-8 age range, for whatever reason. Rock sugar wafers dipped in caramel with a layer of buttercream icing topped with a marshmallow, then dipped again in chocolate, then rolled in powdered sugar, drizzled with more caramel and topped with pop rocks. Each one comes with a pixie stick and wax lips.

As a former girl scout (and yes, I have the badges to prove it) I just think you need a little more variety in your offerings. Take some time, think about it and get back to me when you've made your decision.
I will be waiting by the phone.

Monday, February 25, 2008

Dottie Ann Partypants, Winter Park, Florida resident and sexually active senior citizen.

I don't know how he did it, but the wise and all-knowing Dr. Monkey Von Monkerstein managed to snag an invite to the lovely city of Winter park, Florida from my reclusive yet fun-loving Great Aunt Dottie.

Dottie has made Winter Park her home since the great blizzard of '72 when her fourth husband, Wilbur, was found frozen like a popsicle in a rather "uncompromising" position with the family's pet sheep, Ewegenia. After Wilbur's untimely demise, Dottie packed it all up into her 1959 Edsel and headed south to bask in the sun and be closer to Kennedy Space Center, where she awaits the eminent return of her one true love, JFK.

Dr. Monkey was kind enough to send me this picture of Dottie's street. Dottie's apartment is upstairs in the blue building. She now makes her living selling hats and hat accessories at the "Hats, hats, hats!" outlet in St. Augustine.

Let's go inside and visit a bit, shall we?

Dottie was "rutabaga queen" in the 1953 rutabaga festival in Askov, Mn- so she likes to keep things a bit formal, her being royalty and all. She's always dressed and has her "face" on.

Hi Dottie!

Her guests barely have time to sit down before she's dragging out the martini shaker and getting things started.
Slow down, Dottie! You do realize that it's only 8:30 a.m, right?
Oh, you're making breakfast martinis? With coffee vodka and cinnamon bun garnish? Sounds great!

See? If we just put it in a teacup no one knows the difference!

Dottie likes to keep her brain active by keeping up with current events. She reads the paper every day. Unfortunately, Dottie is one cheap old bird, and she just keeps reading the same papers over and over.

Wow! Men on the moon? Again?
What a strange and miraculous world we live in!

Hmmm...what's in this other paper?

Finally! I knew that Richard fella was up to no good. He was a bit too "jowly" for my taste.

Time for more "tea".

Mmmm...delicious, delicious 'tea".

Time for exercising! No one wants to see a jiggly Dottie! No sir!
Two minutes a day keeps the flab away!

She wants to look extra foxy tonight as she has a date with a male model!
Stanley models for catalogs, medical brochures and incontinence products. He's a real catch.
Dottie loves a man who appreciates the ease of one-piece dressing as much as she does!

Well, it's been nice to visit, but I've gotta run! I have to get waxed before my big date tonight! Stanley is picking me up at 4;00 for the early-bird special down at the Sizzler, and then it's back to his bachelor pad for a little geriatric lovin'. Oh yeah.

Thanks for stopping by for a visit! And thanks to Dr. Monkey for picking my grand-neice, Whiskeymarie to win his postcard contest! She's a real wiener- oops! I mean wiener.

Friday, February 22, 2008

Sure, a bottle is nice, but nothing beats the value of my 5-liter box, that's for sure.

Why, oh why do I always give the gifts I want?

Sure, I get that smug self-satisfaction of knowing that I am giving the most awesome gift EVER in the history of awesome gifts, but dammit- I just want to keep it for myself.

I deserve it more. Don't I? I suffered through two- count 'em TWO whole work days this week feeling like my veins, sinuses and lungs were filled with jell-o pistachio pudding (remember that one? The pretty green one with chunks of nuts in it? It was like green snotty evil with shards of disappointment and nuggets of failure suspended in it. Remember that?)

We have a wedding to go to in the lovely metropolis of Duluth, MN tomorrow night. The groom is a looooong time high-school friend of my Mr's. The bride (who we like) is relatively new to us, but she's cool. She doesn't seem to mind that J hasn't taken down the lace curtains and lawn ornaments from the former owners from when he bought the house something like 4 years ago.

She must be a saint.
Or blind.
Either way, we're a.o.k. with her.

We've known J forever. He was one of the few that stood up to me when I was being a "difficult" wife (to put it mildly), and he (like me) lets go of a grudge pretty easily. He is notorious for the "purple teeth" of red wine drinking, and once he dry humped another friend while wearing a construction helmet with antlers, and somehow Sammy Davis Jr. was involved...
I love J. Tons.

I don't know a ton about the future Ms. J, but...
One thing I know for sure: They like wine...and I like wine. Glorious.

So, rather than sign them up for a "wine of the month" club where they get "iffy at best" selections from some wine geek with a ponytail, ill-fitting jeans and a penchant for masturbating to Smurfs cartoons, I signed them up for their own personal wine club.

I bought one of my favorites (Gundlach Bundschu Pinot Noir) to wrap, and I am enclosing a card foretelling the arrival of six other of my personal favorites. (I picked three wineries I love, and chose two wines apiece. It wasn't hard to find two from each. I could have easily chosen 3 or 4 from each one.)

My choices (hey, it's the weekend and if I want to be a wine snob now so be it. Yeah.):

From Roshambo winery:
  • 2005 "Imago" Chardonnay
  • 2005 "Reverend" Zinfandel
I visited Roshambo a number of years ago, they are hip, fun and everything you want wine to be. The fact that they name their stainless steel holding tanks after pop stars should be enough (yes, they have a Prince tank.). No? Well, how about the fact that they sell terrycloth wristbands with the winery logo? O.k. Good.

From Croze Winery:
  • 2005 Smith Wooten Cabernet Franc
  • 2005 Croze' Vin d' Une Nuit
The Smith Wooten cab Franc is one of those wines that makes you forget your own name while you drink it- it's that good. Lush, rich, fruity and deep, deep, deep. Easily one of my favorite all-time wines. And the Croze' is a rose' that puts the others to shame. Drink it often on a warm sunny day. Shamelessly. Naked if you feel like it.

Finally, from L'Ecole #41:
  • 2006 Columbia Valley Semillion
  • 2005 Columbia Valley Merlot
This is an amazing little winery located in an old French-Canadian schoolhouse in Walla-Walla Washington. This Merlot will make you rethink Merlot (fuck you Sideways -though I adored the movie, especially for giving Thomas Haden Church another gig after Wings- for giving Merlot a bad rep). The Semillion is an amazing use of an often underused grape. Richer than most whites and kind of "thick", in a good way.


Now I'm thirsty.

Wine will help my cough- right?

What's your favorite wine(s)?

Franzia chillable red? Chateau Latour '58? Thunderbird "grape"?

Don't be shy...(I drink crap too, if it helps. Right now I have a glass of something that cost $7.99/bottle. I'd say it was full-bodied with a hint of aluminum and wood chips, and the lingering flavor of Welch's white grape). Delicious.

Have a good weekend, my little glasses of fermented squirrel sweat wine.


Wednesday, February 20, 2008

The chronicles of Hairnia. Or, alternatively- The curling iron, the bitch and the bad wardrobe.

Sure, it all starts out innocently enough. You have cute, naturally wavy strawberry blonde hair, rosy cheeks and a stunning patchwork jumper in that yellow/brown combo that all the kids are so keen on these days.
The world is your freaking oyster. You totally rule Ms. Mattson's kindergarten class. No one else cuts and glues construction paper with such precision and finesse. And unlike that one odd little girl in your class that seems to perpetually have her finger in her nose- you don't even like the taste of glue.

Then one day- you need a haircut, and Mom is too busy to take you so she sends you along with Dad to the Lumberjack mall in Cloquet, MN. Dad seems to be very busy as well (he mumbled something about some place called a "liquor store"), so he drops you off with some cash and instructions to "just tell them how you want it". This is an awesome responsibility for a 6 year-old- a responsibility you take proudly. "I won't let you down, Dad!"

Unfortunately, saying "I want it reeeeal short!" to the girls at Regis Salon means you look like this for a few months:

(Yeah- that butterfly stick pin really pulls the whole look together, I think. And you can't tell- but this thing I'm wearing? Yup- it's a jumpsuit. I seemed to really like the comfort and ease of one-piece dressing as a youth.)

Flash forward about 6 years...

Family portrait time!

Who doesn't love posing with Mom, Dad and the siblings in order to capture that one special moment that says "Hey! We're a family and we love having our picture taken together, dammit!"
Though, this particular picture seems to be saying, "Hey! I just discovered curling irons and ABC after-school specials! Let's go roller skating this weekend- I need a chance to wear my new rainbow shirt! I can't wait to start menstruating!"

A few more years...

Now you're cool. Oh. Yeah.

You have an Aqua Net budget at this stage of your life, as you seem to be going through a can of it a week. This single item constitutes roughly 25% of your weekly allowance. Following in a close second is blue nail polish and Little Debbie Nutty Bars.
You rebelled against the big-haired rocker girls in my school by becoming...
An even bigger-haired new-waver wannabe!

Hey man- Frankie say "Relax!"
Yes- this is a "Dance Naked" t-shirt. Yes, those are checkerboard walls and curtains.

Then there was the unfortunate incident wherein the pubic hair of a 70's porn star took your head hostage. Your family couldn't come up with the ransom money for about a year, so you learned to just smile through your pain.

Once Bushwana VonPuberstein got her money and went on her merry way, your options were finally open! Now you could finally let the real "you" out.

Turns out, the "real you" was Grace Jones' younger albino sister.

Oh! Hey- remember that time you joined the Blind Miniature Golfer's tour? You all sure were fun to watch, but the 9-hour rounds were a bit...much.
That was nice how you sculpted such a lovely hair helmet to protect yourself from stray balls. Cute shoes though. Very "Mary Jane goes Goth."

I loved when we all did that whole "Urban Pirate" thing.
Remember how you had all sorts of ruffly shirts in different colors? Remember how you ALWAYS wore them with leggings or jeans that were ALWAYS tucked into your knee-high black suede boots from Baker's? Remember how this was the night you made out with the cute neighbor who looked like young, skinny Elvis while your boyfriend was in the next room? Remember?
Good times, matey.

Then remember how you finally said "fuck it" and just cut it all off one day? And dyed it almost black? And kept it that way for years?
It was too bad that whenever you didn't wear makeup and had jeans and a baggy shirt on that people called you "sir" or "dude" or "what are you- some sort of man-hating lesbian?"

To which you would reply: "Yes, yes I am. The fact that, you sir, are wearing "dad jeans", dirty old Reebok hi-tops, an "I'm too sexy for this shirt" t-shirt and one gold hoop earring have nothing whatsoever to do with my disinterest in you sexually. Obviously I must be gay."

Though you do kind of look like you're oogling your friend's boobies here, truth be told.

Well, I hate to tell you, but I think it's time for a new 'do.

Time to go back to your "roots", if you will.

Time to get back to your salad days.

Time for "keepin' it real."

Time to get back into the wild experimentation and total disregard for actually looking attractive of your youth.

Here is my suggestion, just take a few days and consider it:

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Be careful what you wish for...

My lungs feel like they are filled with delicious sausage gravy. Chunky, thick, oozing gravy.

I'm coughing like an 80 year-old asthmatic, unfiltered Camels chain smoker.

I ache everywhere. Even my...oh- nevermind. I guess that one isn't necessarily "illness-related".

I'm taking the day off to feel like crap. Woo. Hoo.

Guess I'm getting that quality "magazine time" I wanted after all.

Cocktails anyone?

Robitussin Cocktail (recipe actually found online):

1-1/2 oz. cherry vodka
1-1/2 oz. root beer schnapps

Stir, without ice, and serve.

Go and have one for me, o.k? I'm trying the real thing for a bit first.


Update: I just realized that I still had christmas cookies in the freezer. Maybe this day isn't so bad after all. Mmmm...cookies. Mmmm...freezer-y cookies...

Update #2: I ate two of them and they were delicious. I may eat two/twelve more. Hey- it ain't my belly that's hurtin' today so shut up.
The belly needs sweet cookie love.

Monday, February 18, 2008

A lot, a little. Some, not so much. Money well spent, money wasted.

This weekend was a blur of eating, cocktails, shopping, musical theater, and knitting fashion shows.
Don't tell me I don't know how to live large.

Saturday we had tickets to this at the Guthrie. I don't think I have both enjoyed and despised a show so much. On one hand, it had Tom Waits songs back to back, a great stage and fabulous lighting and props. On the other hand, it had "musical theater-y" people singing Tom Waits songs and sort of sucking the gravel out of them in a dramatic, "musical theater-y" way.

Meh. It was fine, I guess.

The Mr. took this picture in the lobby of the Guthrie. Good thing he's cute, 'cause he can't take a decent picture to save his life.

The Mississippi river and Mpls NE skyline are the view. In person it's stunning. And I'm standing on a glass floor where you can see four floors down. Scary.

Dinner after was at Cafe Havana, a Cuban-esque restaurant that is located pretty much next door to this place. I bet they have fun neighborhood block parties. We had ceviche, caramelized plantains, slow-roasted pork with rice & beans and avocado-stuffed salmon. They also have these delicious drinkies that are basically a mojito in martini form with a splash of champagne. Mmmm, mmmm, drinkies. We ate ourselves into a food coma.

After dinner, it was getting late, but we decided to make a pit stop at an event that my gal Blondie was working with her boyfriend. He was doing sound for one of the bands, she did makeup for the models for a little runway show they had. it was in a cool old Masonic temple that a family currently lives in. How cool to live in a huge old building with a ballroom, gigantic rooms and all sorts of nooks and crannies? I'm kind of jealous.

Then home, and sleep.

Sunday we had a cheap and (as always) delicious breakfast here. I swear, dive bars have the best breakfasts, and they always make good, cheap bloodies to accompany your eggs & such. Fancy-pants brunches are so overrated. Give me a dive with the stink of Saturday night still lingering in the air anytime. I like my hashbrowns with a touch of trashiness, thank you very much.

Blondie and I went to the MOA for some much needed shopping therapy, and for the second time in my life I found myself trapped in the "place for fun in your life" with hordes of knitting-types there to attend some sort of knitting/crochet conference. How odd. They even had a knitting fashion show where they had models actually walking down a catwalk modeling afghans. Afghans, people. They were modeling blankets. I have never in my life been so disappointed that I forgot my camera, and I swore to myself at that moment that I would get a camera phone. Promise.

Purchases were made, martinis and burgers were forced down our gullets, and a good weekend was had by all.

I'm off work today, but I've got several items on the docket: yoga (done- sitting here still sweaty and gross. Ick.), lunch with my pal Leon, and dinner at a charity event in Mpls with a co-worker tonight. I kind of wish I had nothing to do- a "day off" would be awesome as my next 2-3 weekends are booked solid. I need to catch up on my sloth and magazines.

Maybe next month.

Hope y'all had a nice weekend, my sweaty little hobbits.

Saturday, February 16, 2008

How the heck did I end up in Iowa and where are my damn pants?

I'm at Flenker's this weekend in Iowa via the Internets. Stop over and say "hey hey!"

Or, say "who the hell are you and where is my wallet?"

Or, sing me show tunes.

Whatever. I'm not the boss of you.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Tomorrow: an extensive list of things I find ugly, itchy, uncomfortable, ill-fitting or particularly annoying.

Today is that day. The sappy, cheesy, syrupy sweet day where couples across the globe are reminded to show their love for one another by buying overpriced flowers, chocolates and ill-fitting unders. Tonight, fueled by marginally okay food and champagne from a local eatery, millions of men and women will enjoy mediocre making of the love followed by much "talk" about "feelings".

Valentine's Day? For me? Not so much.
I don't ignore it completely, but I refuse to get sucked into the hype. I prefer to keep it so low-key that it almost doesn't exist. I get amazing gifts for my birthday & xmas- I don't need an expensive bauble or FTD "love me do" bouquet to know my Mr. loves me.
If you're into it, great. Enjoy the day, embrace it, wear a red sweater and hand out candy hearts. Bless your heart for making up for us surly types.

That being said, and my surly demeanor aside- in the spirit of the day I will show you some things in my life that make me ooze love from my every orifice:

Where the magic happens, part one.
I love my little kitchen, as the first few restaurants I cooked in had the smallest kitchens imaginable. The phrase "nuts to butts" comes to mind. I got used to tight quarters and learned to utilize space really well. I especially love the retro cabinet above the stove where we store dozens of vintage glasses that we almost never use.

I love my sleek, sexy bitch Pooter. She's cold and aloof, but I like that in a woman.

Where the magic happens, part two.
The secret is out- I never make my bed. Ever. And it doesn't bother me one darn bit.
But I love love love my comfy, cozy little sleepy love nest.

I love my awesome new coat/dress from Club Monaco. It has a subtle shine and slightly puffy 3/4 sleeves. I anticipate wearing the crap out of this.

I love my new Juicy Couture dress that I got for about $35. It's simple red jersey with little fabric roses at the ends of the tie at the waist. I can't wait for warmer weather/our New Orleans trip to wear it.

I love high heels, though I seem to never have a reason lately to wear them. I guess I need to start finding reasons, as I have a ton of them and I'm tired of hearing their muffled crying every time I put on my ugly Dansko boots for work.

Maybe I should start wearing them around the house, with my jammies.

I love that I can buy my Mr. the exact same $2.99 box of chocolates each year and it makes us both so happy. Ralphie would be so proud.

I love that I don't work until afternoons, so I can lounge around the house all morning in my jammies practicing my karate moves. I also love my worn-out and holey cashmere hoodie. I only wear it at home, so I'm going to say it's not sad that I wear something so trashy.

I love that my favorite lip balm is now also in gloss form. This stuff is like crack to me. I use it so much that I wouldn't be one bit surprised to find out that there was a 2 pound blob of it in my lower intestine somewhere.

I think I love these, though I haven't tried them yet. The caramel/dark chocolate/salt combo makes me quiver with anticipation. I long for it to be in my mouth. I lust for it's salty creaminess.

Oh yeah, and I guess I love this delectable little piece of man-meat:

Happy love day, my little squares of luscious, dark chocolate-covered ecstasy nuggets.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Give a girl a computer, she'll show you the world. O.k, maybe not the world. Maybe just pictures of cocktails and cake.

A few random pictures from the last week or so...

As you probably all remember, we had a major bridge collapse a while back. I was driving by the construction of the replacement the other day and snapped a pew pics of the progress, as I thought a few of you might be interested. They aren't great, as I was taking them while driving, but as you can see it's a pretty gargantuan project:

I also experimented with a new cocktail consisting of copious amounts of vodka, vitamin water (power-c flavor) and lemon. I'm calling it "healthy cocktail that feels good in my belly #1 superstar drinkie":

Want to see the "microwave safe" Michael Graves bowl I bought at Target that kind of heated up to a million degrees then sort of "popped" in the microwave? Holy hell the noise scared the crap out of me, and I may or may not have peed a little when it happened. Well done, Tar-jay- well done.

And why have I not had time to catch up on anyone's blogs, let alone actually have a weekend where I relax and pretend to be productive, you ask? Well, let's just say that if someone ever asks you to make 200 petit fours and a cake for them- say no. Actually, say HELL NO! whilst laughing maniacally and running away. Seriously. There goes two + days of my life I'll never get back.

I'm tired and cranky. And it's only Tuesday.

Monday, February 11, 2008

Saturday, February 9, 2008

Get out of my dreams, pick up a damn book.

The game is tag, it appears I'm "it".

Boxer rebel tagged me with a book meme, and a nice and easy one at that (my favorite kind!)

The rules: Pick up the nearest book of 123 pages or more. (No cheating!) Find Page 123. Find the first 5 sentences and read them. Post the next 3 sentences.

I actually had a stack of three books sitting near me. One was Vindication by Frances Sherwood, a book I've been meaning to re-read (for the 3rd or 4th time) for a while now. The second was Broken by William Cope Moyers (addiction memoir by Bill Moyer's son) that I've been trying to muster up the energy to finish- but it just isn't happening (a little heavy on the Jesus for me.)

The third is the one I picked up because I haven't read it yet. I picked it up used at Half-Price Books here in St. Paul a while back and then kind of forgot to read it.

It's called The Flesheaters by David Ireland.

I've never read anything by him before, but from paging through it and reading a bit about Mr. Ireland I'm guessing it will be interesting. I'm thinking Tom Robbins meets Dostoevsky meets Terry Gilliam meets Camus.

So here we go- page 123, sentences 6-8:

"The shopkeeper hardly saw the words. Papers were merchandise and carried news of merchandise: news of the world was a by-product. Absently the man picked up a packet of coloured balloons and put down 15 cents."

There you are.


Random, totally unrelated question:

Would you rather...?

a) Be stuck in the car on the ride home after a lovely dinner having to pee really bad after 2 cocktails and 2 glasses of water?


b) Be stuck in the car on the ride home after a lovely dinner having to listen to your wife singing Billy Ocean's "Caribbean Queen" in a voice that's way, way, way too loud to be comfortable, adding in the fact that she knows all the ad-lib "uh-uh-uhs" and "mmm, mmm, mmm's" and is bobbing her head like that?

Tomorrow- my thesis:

"Billy Ocean, the awesomeness of Billy Ocean's music, and how Billy Ocean's music influenced U.S./Middle East diplomacy in the early 90's."

Friday, February 8, 2008

Is that a rodent in your pocket, or are you just Huey Lewis?

This you may find very difficult to believe. You will shake your head while moaning "No, no, no, no..." in shock. You will rethink your choice of religion. You will start to think that maybe Grandma was right about you after all.

Here it is:

I have not always been cool.

There. I said it. I feel better already. Kind of like how I feel after telling someone they have green stuff stuck in their teeth.

In fact, I was once so monumentally uncool that I willingly attended a Huey Lewis and the News concert in Duluth, Minnesota.

1984, maybe early 1985.

I was 13 or 14, and I was a bit of a tomboy. I had started experimenting with my appearance a little, and decided to frost my hair. "Frosting" (for those of you lucky enough to be blissfully ignorant of this heinous beauty application) was a brutal process where you put on this plastic bonnet thingy and pulled out chunks of hair through holes in the bonnet with what appeared to be a crochet hook. You would then have a trusted friend slather on the bleaching solution and 20 minutes later you would have "natural" looking "highlights" that looked like this:

*Turns out, frosting my hair also made me an awesome hula-hooper. Who knew?

Yes. Gross. I know.

My complete and total lack of reasoning skills and taste also held true in my musical choices. Though this was a short period in my life (not much more than a year later I would discover Lou Reed, The Dead Kennedys, Crass, British pop & punk and so on), it does me no good to try and hide it. Other people were there. Other people witnessed this nightmare. There are pictures.

I love love loved Huey Lewis with every fiber of my being. I thought he was cute. I loved the catchy songs. Hey! Did you know it's hip to be square? Cool! I listened to them in bed when I was supposed to be sleeping with one of those under the pillow speakers attached to my tape player.

When we (me, my older sister and my BFF Tallgirl) found out they were coming TO OUR TOWN SORT OF we freaked out a little.
Holy crap.
We decided we had to go, even if we had to spend every last cent earned babysitting that kid that liked to smell his own farts.
Dammit! This was our one big chance to prove how WE were the best fans ol' Huey ever had. We'll show him that yes, we do "Believe in Love!" Yes we do!

I guess my parents were familiar with HLaTN and the relative goody-goodyness of their music, because we were allowed to go. Our parents agreed to drop us off before and pick us up after (a few blocks away lest anyone think we weren't old enough to drive).

We found out that a local radio station was having a "banner" contest. Holy shit- this was our chance to shine! Basically, if you made a banner and hung it from the first tier balcony- it would be judged by the asshat dj's and the winners got to go backstage.
We toiled for hours at my Grandma's house a few days beforehand. What to write, what to write...
We finally decided on "We love Huey, but no News is BAD news." (I died a little inside just typing that). We painted our catchy slogan on a white flat bedsheet in big, colorful letters. We were determined to win.

When the day came, we were so excited that we wanted to get to the arena extra early. Since that meant a few hours less of having to listen to three girls squeal and go "OH MY GOD" over and over, my Mom gratefully dumped us off in the afternoon. We were something like 4 hours early.

Here I am sitting in the entrance to the Duluth Arena that day. You will note that the entry is pretty much empty.
Yup. Just us. So early that the doors were still locked.

You will also note my awesome outfit. A white t-shirt (my sister's) with pastel polka dots, pale pink pleated shorts, pink and white enameled earrings, and (you can't see them) cheap knockoff Keds with pink ankle socks. Oh Lordy, how I loved to match. I'm sure I was probably wearing pink blush, pink eyeshadow and pink shiny lipstick too. Again- gross.

The Hooters were the opening band. For years in my early adulthood I would tell people that, yes- I did go to this particular concert, but really only because I wanted to see the Hooters. Somehow that was marginally less embarrassing to me than admitting the real reason I was there.

We didn't win the banner contest, as you could have well guessed. Our disappointment hung on us much like the aroma of the Sand and Sable perfume that Tallgirl wore. For years I saved a piece of that sheet with a few letters still intact. At some point I realized that it was evidence of something shameful and horrifying, and that it needed to be destroyed. I believe I burned it.

I'm not sure what we thought would happen if we had won. I'm sure I had glorious dreams of Huey sweeping me off of my feet and hauling me to a state that would allow a 13-14 year-old girl to marry an already 30-something pop star with a penis rumored to be the size of a mid-sized ferret. I would tour with the band, make them cookies, suddenly be glamorous...


So there you go. One of the most embarrassing shows I ever attended. Don't worry- I'll tell you about the other ones sometime too.

How about you? Any concerts hiding deep in the back corner of your psyche? Let it out! Think of it as taking a big, steaming, mental crap.

Happy Friday, my little steamed corny turdlets. Happy Friday.