Use this time to finally dislodge that piece of spinach from your teeth or other productive pursuits.

Dearest internets:

As a loyal, non-paid "employee" of blogland, it has come to my attention that I have approximately 4.5 months of vacation, sick time and "none of your damn business" time accrued.

Although I am still remorseful over the "hot dog incident" that sparked some 325-odd lawsuits, and Betty in human resources still isn't speaking to me, I believe that I am still entitled to those benefits outlined in my contract.

Therefore, effective today, June 29, 2008, I am officially taking a week off (well, week-ish off anyways.) I will be working on my house and flossing my cats, in case you're wondering. I may also spend some quality time lounging by the pool (bathtub) with my loyal manservant Renaldo (my husband and/or cats) bringing me daiquiris (Boone's farm) and hors d'oeuvres (Doritos).

I just need a break.

Have a great week and don't cheat on me while I'm gone. Oh, and I marked all of the liquor bottles- lord knows I can't trust you kids.

XO

WM

***********************************************
(boys can stop reading now...)
(Seriously, stop. There's nothing for you to see here.)

And...

I mentioned recently that my lovely gal Lollie is preggers. She was gracious enough to invite me to her shower a few weeks ago in Florida, but alas- I could not go. My other gal Worker Mommy suggested we throw her an internet shower and was gracious enough to do all of the work, including this post-in-a-post:

Presenting the mother of all Online Showers!

Hosted by the two WMs

The lovely Lollie (link) is expecting her first little wee-nut August 2^nd! As much as we wanted to hop on the first plane headed to sunny Fl to celebrate with her in person sadly that wasn’t to be.

So we, the two WMs: WhiskeyMarie & Worker Mommy are throwing her one helluva of a cyber shower and you’re all invited!

We’ve got presents from some terrific sponsors and games so grab a drink, sit back, relax and we’ll tell you how you can join in the festivities and possibly take home some goodies of your own.

The presents: Happy Panda Baby graciously offered to sponsor this shindig and will be sending their super hip flawless sleep set for the baby to be - because we know that any baby of Lollie’s will be just that - flawless.

The folks at Belli Skin Care, who make the most divine natural and safe (link to testing) products for expectant / new moms and babies have offered up a gift from their fabulous BelliBaby line.

and

Finally, what’s a party with out cake? Mommysbabycakes is donating a fabulous three tiered diaper cake and matching diaper bassinet/k pictured for mom and baby. The cool thing about this cake is that all items are 100 % reusable and this cake will not make you gain extra lbs! Check out Mommy she’s got some of the best prices out there.

And you …just how do you fit in? Well we want you to share the love.

The Games:

Create a post in honor of Lollie and her baby using the following 20 words : nursery, diaper, bottle, onesie, crib, stroller, binky, booties, blankie, baby powder magician , practical , fedora, cinema, petunia, bison, airplane , organic , computerized, gesture.

Easy right?

Now go forth and create. And please be sure to come back here and let me know once you’ve posted your masterpiece. You have until July 11^th at which time WM, Lollie and I will select 2 winners to receive their choice of a $20 Visa Gift Card or I-Tunes Gift Card

And for a chance to win a $15 I-Tunes Card ? :

Lollie’s due date is 8/2 but we all know babies typically come when they want to. In true baby shower style leave a comment guessing the gender, the birthdate and the weight. (if it helps any Lollie was 8lbs 4 oz and her guy was 5lbs 6oz.) The closest guess whens (although don’t expect to see this particular prize until August)

Congratulations Lollie we heart you so and to all the rest of y’all “Game On!”

XO

From your hosts

The WMs

'Cause, Um...I'm um...kind of um...sort of umm'ed out.

Because I am both lazy and...
Oh, drifted off there.

Lazy. Yes.
Ummm...Enjoy.




Whiskey does Friday from Whiskeymarie VonPartypants on Vimeo.
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What I think about when my brain isn't full of squirrels, rainbows, and unicorns.

I wonder what it would be like if I were a man.

I have man hands, I always leave the lid (not to be confused with the seat 'cause that would just be weird) of the toilet up, I like a good steak and a sturdy martini, and after sex I tend to opt to look for the remote and possibly a sandwich rather than "cuddling".

I like to think that I'd be a good-looking dude, but really- who knows? My quirky brand of "Whiskey" might not translate so well to the testosterone-fueled half of our species.

I like to think that I'd look like this:

Or this:


But I fear that the reality would be a bit harsher:

Or:


Reasons I could be a man-

• Big, manly hands
• I can enjoy a stiff, non-fussy cocktail
• I can enjoy good beer
• I drive aggressively
• I enjoy no-frills, straightforward sex with little chit-chat
  
• I'm an awesome trash-talker
• I'm usually full of shit
  
• I swear too much
• I forget important dates like anniversaries and birthdays
• I am generally uninterested in reality shows about dating, dancing or "becoming a star!"
• I think about other things when you're going on and on and on about that one thing I won't remember anyways
• I scratch myself inappropriately

Reasons I'm probably NOT a (non-transvestite) man-

• I like wearing high heels and makeup
  
• I drink cosmos and white wine
• I usually smell pretty
• I dream about cake sometimes
• I'm really fascinated by malls and enjoy frequent trips to them
• Generally, I don't burp or fart in front of anyone
• When you're going on and on about that one thing I won't remember anyways...I'm probably thinking about the cats and how cute they are. That, or Clive Owen humping me.
  
• Thinking about, talking about or being forced to watch sports makes me hate humanity for creating them
• Negative on the whole "having a penis" thing, positive on the whole "possessing a vagina" thing.

My alter ego, Jamesonmorty Von Penispants/ Man Me:


He's no Clive Owen (and he's a bit hairy, it seems), but after a few (thirteen) cocktails he might look good enough for a drunk make-out.
Maybe?
Or not. Whatever.


*Props to Moe Wanchuk for making me think about this the other day on this post.
.
.

Thank you, sexy mailman...

In the mail yesterday I received a rather suspicious-looking package. It was ticking and white powder was falling out of it. It smelled like rotting bananas and hickory smoke.

I opened it anyways, hoping it was illegal drugs, bacon and maybe a new alarm clock.
No such luck.

Turns out, it was a belated b-day gift from my gal Lollie. I love Lollie, and not just because she sends me gifts, but that does increase my affections (hint, hint, wink.) I love her because she likes to play with dolls and she's preggers- who doesn't love a pregnant lady? Huh?

She got this awesome apron for me- I have been wearing it around the house all day in an effort to channel my inner housewife, but I'm afraid to get it dirty so I'm refusing to do any actual housework while wearing it.

Whoo whoo is that in your pocket, Whiskey?
Why, it's Mr. Shinygoldowl.
I love him and am going to find him a permanent home in Casa de Whiskey.


Later on, I had a delightful sing-along with Mr. VonBaconsteiner (I believe he is Fernando's 2nd cousin, twice removed by marriage. Am I right, McGone?) and Happy Monkeyface.
Know what song we sang over and over and over? This one. Duh.

Happy Monkeyface is surprisingly good at harmonizing.

Then- as well you would expect- I tried sticking Mr. Vonbaconsteiner up my nose with little success.

Thanks Lollie! Give yourself a big, bacony, monkey-breath kiss from me!

XO

Is that your Farvenugartenmorg, or are you just happy to see me?

Glorious Monday.

Did you do anything fun this weekend? Get arrested? Have to apologize to the neighbors again? Wake up in your underwear next to a bearded woman in the back seat of your car in the parking lot of an Applebees?

Nope- me neither.




My astoundingly pedestrian weekend, in bullet points for your reading comfort:

• Started phase 1 of Operation Fix this Fucking House, which involved two trips to IKEA, the purchase of a closet system/armoire thingy (named something like Farvenugartenmorg which is roughly the size of a 50's Cadillac), the partial assembly of said Cadillac, and the realization that we can't finish assembling the Cadillac until I paint the Foyer, so now we are living in a sea of Cadillac parts.
• Got drunk and blogged.
  
• The Mr. and I realized at approximately the same moment (when I was punching my liver and saying "shut up you!") that we reference the Simpsons approximately 5-8 times a day, and we always do it at the same time and giggle like lobotomy patients. We are dorks.
  
• Decided that the Lambada (a.k.a "The Forbidden dance") needs a comeback. Working on this one.
  
• Didn't run in Grandma's Marathon (or the half, like this brave soul). Didn't even consider running in Grandma's Marathon. Remembered that I don't run unless it involves bacon, vodka, or missing cats.
  
• Realized that I was turning into that person when I sat and stared at four nearly identical green-gray paint chips for 10 minutes, noting the subtle differences between them and how this one is a tich more gray, yet this one is a scooch more green...I then punched myself in the face so you wouldn't have to.
  
• Started counting down the days until next week, when I am thankfully done teaching my class and my summer of leisure begins. Don't get too jealous- fate has once again decided to kick me squarely in the place where my balls would be if I were a man and actually had the jinglies. Yes folks- I, Whiskeymarie VonPartypants will be doing my civic duty and performing (I'm training with Bela Karolyi as we speak) JURY DUTY. And don't tell me to "just get out of it", o.k? I already did that once, and that's why I got roped into doing it now. Used to be, you just told them you were a commie and got out of it, then you were off the hook until the next time your name came up in the lottery. Not so much now. Now, if you want to be excused you have to list "alternate dates" that you would be available. And, go figure, they want me there on the "alternate dates" I listed. Bastards.
  
• Also: Ate sushi, had a lemon drop martini, wrangled cats, ate cheese, shopped online, smelled my finger, cut my bangs too short, sweat a lot, made rhubarb cake, had a fat-free frozen yogurt cone at IKEA, watched the beginning of Battlestar Galactica season 4, cemented my place in the nerd hall of fame, ate prunes, talked to myself a lot, sang songs about cats, washed dishes and forgot to shave my legs.
  

Happy Monday, my socially stunted, nerdy little Sci-fi aficionados. Happy Monday.

XO

Fair warning.

I'm drunky, so I've been laid down the law (is that even a sentence??).

You'll notice that there are scribble marks beneath my post script.

This is because I have been unable to write "w's" without adding an extra "dub" today. I am not so coordinated, it seems.

This is because I am drunk. Super "wine drunk", if you must know. I'm "thinking of getting a sensitive yet sexy tattoo on my lower back" drunk.

I love you guys. Totally. Love.
Wet kisses and maybe a quick boob-shot love. We're drunk and I'm not into you but I feel sorry for you so I'll make out with you love. We already scrogged in high school so I feel obligated to be nice to you love.

Drunkily yours,
WM.

The one where I start stealing my neighbor's cats.

I've been walking to work this week, despite the 80+ degree temps that, though mild for many of you southern folk, tends to make me sweat in places that I didn't even think sweating was possible- like my eyelids and belly button. It's nice out, I walk to work, dammit. I don't make the rules, but I'll be damned if I'll break them.

I usually follow a bike path situated along the fence that runs down 35E. This is a nifty little path that, on my bike, gets me downtown in about 6 minutes. Next time I'm spending an afternoon drinkin' on the patio of the Liffey, I know how I'm getting home. This path is REALLY secluded at points, and more than once I have run into meth heads perparing to have some sort of meth fest in the woods. I have also encountered snakes, low-flying birds, snooty "bikers" in their totally gay spandex shorts, several dead squirrels and more empty booze bottles than I could count (none mine, thank you very much.) But, it's shady and makes the journey to work so quick that I would be embarrassed if I didn't walk.

Coming home last night, I was about 4 blocks from my house when I spy something familiar: a black cat scurrying across the sidewalk. "Funny..." I thought. "That kind of looks like one of my cats."
The thought then crossed my mind that one of my furry prisoners had possibly escaped- visions of cat-exploring and bird carcasses dancing like butterflies in their little brain. I like to think that they would set up their own little fiefdom and rule with a gentle but firm hand, making sure that no cat, whether they be a stray or a pampered Persian, goes without Friskies and a friendly daily butt-sniff. I like to think that I'm not a freak and thinking about these things is normal, so humor me.

The cat in question had darted under someone's porch. I had a bad feeling about this situation, so I stopped by the house and started meowing/calling to the cat. I heard a faint little "mew", but no sign of the inky dark kitty.
"That's not your cat, silly. Go home" I thought.
I walk in the house and the Mr. comes bounding down the stairs. "Trouble got out. I can't find him."
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
Instantly I blamed the Mr, which seemed perfectly reasonable to me.

I started mentally filing for divorce as I tossed my bag down, started hyperventilating and ran back out the door.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Fuck!"
The Mr. looked sheepish. I don't handle this stuff well. My poor little guy, out there all alone...
Who will give him squishy food, I asked myself. WHO WILL GIVE HIM SQUISHY FOOD???? CAN"T SOMEBODY THINK OF THE SQUISHY FOOD????????????????????

O.k, so I REALLY don't handle this sort of stuff well.

So, I ran back (flailing or freak-out running might be better terms) to where I saw the black cat.
"Meow, meow, meow" I called to the porch. God, I was talking to a porch. What a tard.

Five minutes of meowing, crawling around on my hands and knees in a stranger's front yard and mentally signing the divorce papers in my head later, I see a black furry face appear.
I gingerly approached the beast and noticed he didn't have a collar on. Bad Trouble! You escaped your collar too? You're a crafty one- that's for sure, you little scamp.

The cat hopped up the stairs of the neighboring house and began meowing. I hurried up to him and went to pick him up to smother him with kisses and take him home.
About half of a second before I scooped him up, I realized that this cat was fatter than Trouble. Too late.
I had him in my arms and realized that "Shit!" "This isn't my cat!"

Just then the front door opened and a startled-looking woman appeared.

"Um, Mycat'smissingandIthoughtthiswasmycatbutit'snotmycatandI'm
sorrybutIthoughtitwasmycathaveyouseenmycat?"

She looked at me and testily says: "No, that's not your cat." as she grabbed him out of my arms and quickly ducked into her house.
As she was closing the door I tried to get a plea in. "My cat got out. If you see him, he's wearing a skull and crossbones collar..."

She looked horrified.

"Um, thanks." I mumbled. Door slams.

Damn.

We found the little turdlet safe and sound at the next-door neighbors, tucked percariously under a scratchy shrub.

All is well with the world. And after a stern talking-to about actually watching the cats when they go outside, I've decided to give the Mr. another chance. But he's on thin ice, that one. I think he owes me something either sparkly or boozy for my pain and suffering.

Well, pain and suffering and the fact that I am now going to be regarded in my neighborhood as a cat thief. A drunk, meowing, watering the plants in my pajamas, singing to myself cat thief.

Lovely.

Happy friday, my fuzzy little free-roaming turdlets. Happy Friday.

XO

Another reason why the FBI is "keeping an eye" on me.

So, we're remodeling soon. In order to be able to afford a project like this, we opted to re-finance the house over me taking a side job as a "special needs" stripper. Pasties give me a rash, and on the plus side we got a better rate, our payment is hardly going up, and such and such.
So when you do this, the bank basically sends you a big-assed check which will then serve as your "remodeling fund".
We got this big-assed check last week (and by the way, UPS- leaving a priority envelope on my front stairs where any yahoo could walk buy and steal my new bathroom, new wiring and pretty new other stuff is totally not cool), but I just got around to depositing it today.

So I walk into the bank, fill out the deposit slip, then sidle up to the teller.

Him: "Hi there, what can I do for you today?"

Me: "I'd like to deposit this into my savings, but I can't remember my account number. Could you look it up?"

Him: "Sure, just let me take a look at that..." (pauses.) "So, can I ask why you have such a big check?"

Me: "Oh, yeah. I sold a kidney."

(crickets) (teller makes a frowny face)

Him: "Um..."

Me: "Just kidding! We refinanced, blah, blah, blah..."

He reaches under the desk and pushes the silent alarm. Security comes running and I'm dragged off screaming "I'm kidding! Can't anyone take jokes about selling your organs on the black market anymore???"

O.k, that last part didn't really happen.
But the rest did, and I learned today that no- no indeed- people do not think organ-selling jokes are funny anymore.
How come no one told me?

Let's travel 'round the world, just you and me punk rock girl...

1986-1989

I totally thought I was punk rock.

Sure, when the real, original punk explosion happened I was knee-deep in play-doh and barbies, but dammit, I needed to rebel and I liked leather.
And, I liked rebellious "bad" boys who liked leather.

Living in a very small town outside of an 80's, Reagan-era, depressed smallish city to a teenager was equal to living in the seventh circle of hell. I wanted excitement and noise, I got farms and a town square that consisted of two gas stations, a beauty shop and a museum devoted to the milling of grain. No car and no one to drive meant another Saturday night listening to records by Fear and the "Let them eat Jellybeans" compilation at Waffle's house while her mom brought us sodas and rice krispy treats and we pretended we were listening to NKotB. Sure, the treats were delicious, but we were pretty sure that Sid and Nancy never sat around wishing they were cool while snarfing Doritos and Funyuns. Sid and Nancy didn't have to hide records with songs like "Jesus entering from the rear" from their Moms.
Sure, there was that whole heroin thingy, but you get the drift.

I was growing out of my love for Duran Duran and bubblegum pop. I started listening to the local college radio stations.

It just clicked.

Where before I loved Wham! (god, how I LOVED Wham!) (O.k, still do) and Huey Lewis and the News, my interest now leaned towards bands like GBH, The Germs and the Dead Kennedys.

Today I found a box that had a bunch of buttons I used to wear back then.

Such a rebel.



Seems I was a Gumby-lovin', peaceful sort that volunteered occasionally for Planned Parenthood (keep your debates to yourselves, people.) And I guess I thought I was of English descent and had visited New York, though I hadn't.

I also wore a lot of black and embraced my darkside. Soiuxie and the Banshees, the Sisters of Mercy, Bauhaus and Christian Death provided the soundtracks to our darker moments. "Darker" moments meaning not getting asked to dance at the local teen dance club "Faces" when the Smiths were on, or chipping my blood-red nail polish on my longish fingernails.



Looking at what we wore and what we did to our hair, you can tell we still had a pretty good sense of humor. Sane people don't pair clunky, knee-high lineman's workboots with green fishnets, a vintage sundress, an army surplus bag and spiky orange hair. The Violent Femmes, The Dead Milkmen and The Dickies kept us entertained those days.


I suppose I should regret the hair, the unfortunate clothing choices and the time spent huddled over a record player that could have been better spent studying for my SAT's.

I suppose I should.

But I don't.

Holy crap, it was a lot of fun.
It was silly.
It was at times really, really stupid.

It was difficult and liberating.

It was perfectly flawed, perfectly perfect.

I don't regret a single second of it.

Rainy days, Mondays, and poo.

No time today AGAIN, as poo and other unsavory bits have backed up through the floor drain into my scary basement over the weekend and I am too grossed out to think.
Right now two dudes are down there snaking the thing out. Last time this happened, a few years ago, the guy who came out to fix it just (o.k, even I'm gonna get the puke shivers now)...

just stuck his bare hands down there & dug it out.

Ugh.
Gag.

The dudes today don't seem to be interested in such nastiness, luckily. But I'm still disgusted. I hate my old house sometimes.

Good weekend, nothing exciting. Rueben burgers, cleaning, pizza, wine, garage cleaning, bloody marys & brunch at the Triple Rock, a little shopping, some Battlestar Galactica (geeks, I know), a rainstorm or two, but no "marshmallow anus insertion silly". Sorry. I can't think about the booty and it's various functions right now anyways.
Gross.

Inertia.

I'm crazy busy today and I'm getting a ton of shit done (long overdue). Can't stop for good post. Or real sentences.

Random:

• I saw a rather hugely chubby man driving a Dodge Neon today, and he was wearing earmuffs. Earmuffs. Not headphones, not ear buds- freaking earmuffs. People, it's over 70 degrees today.
  
• Ever see someone, a total stranger, that you can only associate with one location, and then you see them out of "your own personal context" and it seems odd? That happened today. I saw I guy I can only recall as the obnoxious loudmouth tard from a bar by my house, but he was mowing the lawn at a nearby elementary school. Nice to see he's employed. I was reminded of a time when I ran into one of my students while grocery shopping. He wasn't the brightest bulb on the tree, and he says, "You go grocery shopping too? Cool." I guess in his head I didn't exist outside of the building I work in. Odd.
  
• I have seriously listened to the Dandy Warhols' song "Minnesoter" approximately 439 times in the last few days, for whatever reason. I need to exorcise it from my soul and move on.
  
• And, to whoever googled "marshmallow anus insertion silly" and ended up here: so sorry for your disappointment. If I get drunky at all this weekend maybe I'll give it a try. I'll keep y'all posted.
  

Have a great Friday my speedy little worker bees. Happy Friday.




Oh, And?

Pick a good one for me this weekend, will you?


XO

-WM

What did you have for dinner, and did you take pictures?

So a few nights ago the Mr. and I were sitting around and discussing our teenage/kid eating habits, for whatever reason. I was wistfully recalling how I liked dipping chicken in melted butter and how I would eat 6 chocolate-chip cookies in one sitting, and he reminisced about Arthur Treacher's, now long-gone from Duluth.
It got me to thinking- if I loved these foods so very, very much in my youth, how would now-29 year-old me feel about them? Would I still roll my eyes in joy at the first bite of the tasty morsels and eat every last bite? Or, would my gag reflex kick in and my body bloat to beached whale proportions from the salt content alone?

Well, you know I had to find out.

So, as I was dining alone tonight (the Mr. was otherwise occupied at a Star Wars impersonators convention), I decided to make an entire meal- appetizer, main course and dessert- of my old favorites. You know- the stuff you needed to exist on in your 12-16 year-old days. The foods that were unnaturally colored, freakishly high in fat and salt, and that came in whimsical packaging. These were the foods that I ate at least weekly, if not daily as a spry youth. I should remind you that I was as tall as I am now (5'8"), and I weighed about 17 pounds even though I consumed roughly 15,937 calories a day when I was 12-16.
I hate getting old.

So...
I stopped at my local WT market and made a few purchases, as I normally don't keep cheese in a can around the house (I bet you think I'm kidding, don't you?)

Once home, I started the evening right and smooshed noses with this guy:

Poured myself a big glass of this:

Then I set about making "appetizers". Back in the day (much as it is now), appetizers meant one thing - cheese and crackers. Fancy goat cheese, brie and imported European crackers, you ask?
Hells, no.
Cheese and crackers back then meant only one thing- Easy cheese (I prefer cheddar/bacon flavor, but the store tonight only had plain ol' cheddar) and some sort of Nabisco brand snack cracker. In this case, Wheat Thins. Also acceptable: Triscuits, Ritz, or Chicken in a Biscuit (which my sister & family LOVED with this dip. Gross.)

And...viola!


It was pretty much what I remembered: cheese-like, fluffy and oddly creamy. Not bad, actually, if you enjoy that sort of thing. And I forgot that I totally hate Wheat Thins, but whatever.
My fondest memory of Easy Cheese (and yes, I have several) is when me & my BFF Tallgirl would lounge around her giant TV room on the weekends (totally unsupervised) watching Canada's answer to MTV, "Much Music" piped in via the GIANT satellite dish in her yard. We also watched tacky 70's porn on the "High Life" channel occasionally while shrieking "gross!" and "eeeewwwww!" staring at the gigantic bushes and jerry-rigged "apartment" sets.

We ate more Easy cheese sitting in front of her TV than any human should consume in an entire lifetime. We would lay on the floor and just shoot it into our mouths, the cheese moving in that slow-motion way it does.
Good times.


For the main course, I chose a meat (summer sausage), a vegetable (potatoes), and a starch (Pasta) in the form of my three favorite things to eat as a pre-teen/teen.


First up: A delightful summer sausage and american cheese sandwich on the finest grocery-store brand white bread, paired with Ore-Ida's finest Tots de Tator.
To say I loved this sandwich combination growing up is not doing my adoration justice. There were points in my life where I would have (and maybe did) eat this for breakfast, lunch, early dinner and dinner. No mayo (hated it, still do), no mustard (didn't like it then, do now), no greenery, no butter. Zip. Nada. Just smooshy white bread, greasy meat and the kind of cheese that sticks to the roof of your mouth every time you eat it.
My favorite tots were the kind with bacon bits in them (even then my love of pork knew no bounds), but the store didn't have those so I settled for plain with Heinz Catsup.


The pasta was not so much "al dente" as it was "al Krafte". No fancy mac and cheese here- just good ol' Kraft Mac & cheez with the adding the butter and the milk with the dusty cheese packet.
I remember LOVING this stuff.


The sandwich? I give it an A+ for living up to the nostalgia. Seriously, the combo sounds gross but is oddly satisfying. I ate most of it, may have another tomorrow.


The tots were gross. Starchy, dry and tasteless. Then I remembered that the only way I like them is deep-fried, dusted with fennel and served with tarragon aioli, like they do here. Once you've had fancy-pants tots, the regular baked ones taste like horseshit.


The mac & cheez was good, but a bit bland in an oddly pleasant way. I remember it having more, I don't know...flavor?
I think the "nutritionally void food" overload was starting to get to me here, but I hung in like a real trooper.


For real, what was left on my plate. Not a "clean plate club" member, but to actually have done so would have surely made me barf.


Plus, I still had dessert! Yay!

My all-time, most favoritest in the history of favoritest mass-produced sweet snacks has to be the Little Debbie Nutty Bar. Crispy, waxy, fake chocolatey & peanut-buttery...
Um, delicious?
In a close second and third are Little Debbie Oatmeal Pies and Hostess Twinkies. A true connoisseur of Le Twinkies can tell when one is "fresh" vs. "not so fresh". Tonight? Not so fresh.


The oatmeal pie was good. I see that Ms. Debbie has upped the ante a bit and made the oatmeal pie "double decker", meaning an extra cookie and layer of greasy/creamy, fluffy white stuff.
These are always nice and chewy, and because it's oatmeal I feel like it helps clean my arteries as it clogs them. Plus the 18 grams of fat help grease the wheels, if you catch my drift.



The Twinkie sucked donkey balls. Stale, tasteless and bland with an odd overtone that could best be described as "lemon Pledge-like". I don't ever need to eat one of these sponge nuggets ever again.


The Nutty Bar didn't disappoint, though it seemed a bit "waxier" and "slipperier" than I remembered. It's still fun to pull the wafers off in layers to eat them. I guess for TWENTY EIGHT grams of fat, it better be fun to eat.

Overall, I had mixed feelings about my dinner.
I re-acquainted myself with a delicious sandwich, yet I endured crappy tots, bland macaroni and dry Twinkies. I consumed approximately 5,873 calories in one sitting, yet I feel like I might need nachos later.

And I also ended the meal feeling like I will need one or both of these before the night is done:


Do I miss the food of my youth, you ask? Well, that's a stupid question.
That's like asking an old Seaman if he misses the roar of the ocean or the hot gay sex below deck.
Of course I do, but the disease and queasiness makes our love impossible, silly.

Eat carefully, my dears. Eat carefully.

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

Update:
Other than a few alien-like rumblings from my belly region this morning, and the possibility that I gained 5 pounds in one sitting, I seem fine. Bloated, but fine.

"Iron gut WM" : 1
WT dinner : 0

What? What? What? What? What? Really?

To answer your questions concerning my brief absence:

1) No, Tammie has not killed me and buried my body in the back yard. No, this is not Tammie writing this. Yes, Tammie may have run into some trouble with the law- an outstanding warrant or eight may have been involved- and she may be otherwise "occupied" for a while. If you're interested, visiting hours are 3-4:00 Mondays and Fridays.

2) Yes, I may have almost asphyxiated myself and the Mr. Sunday night cooking dinner. And yes, I had to look up how to spell asphyxiated.
Lesson to be learned here:
Thai eggplant + tons of spicy chili-garlic paste + scorchingly high heat = open all the windows and cough uncontrollably for an hour. Toxic fumes, but delicious nonetheless.

3) Yes, I teach people how to cook. Be afraid.

4) Yes, my life is boring right now. I'm working and I have a marginally unhealthy attachment to my cats.

5) Yes, I am seeking therapy for this. My PA (pussy-lovers anonymous) group meets later tonight in the basement of St. Chardonnay church. They talk about cats, right?

6) Yes, I still like cheese.

7) No, there's no one else. I had drinks with that one blog the other night and we may have made out- but we're keeping it platonic for now. I am like Air supply- I'm totally Lost in Love with you.

8) My ovaries are still fine, thanks for asking.

I'll take the fish and houseguests, please.

So my mooching, thieving, slutty drunk cousin Tammie is staying with us. AGAIN.

She just showed up knowing that I can't say no to family. But man, that girl is a piece of work. She actually had the balls to video herself (god, I hope she has clothes on) and asked me to post it on my blog.

Bitch is lucky I don't have anything else today.
In case you've forgotten the wonder that is "Tammie":

Tammie had been living in Winnipeg with her 68 year-old, one-armed boyfriend Randy.
I'm sure she'll tell you all about it here...


Untitled from Whiskeymarie VonPartypants on Vimeo.


Tammie needs to start filming at a better angle so she doesn't look like she has such a big-assed double chin.
Such an amateur.

Happy Friday indeed.

XO

WM (and Tammie!)

P.S.- Sorry for the delay in posting, but I am so technologically retarded that it took me 16 hours to figure out how to post Tammie's fucked up video to my blog. Hello, Tammie? No one, and I mean NO ONE, uses VHS anymore. Figure your shit out, bitch. And? 1987 called. They want their look back. Just an FYI.

I'm not touching you, I'm not touching you, I'm not...MOM!!!!!!!

The receipt on the left represents the lengths to which I will go to in my ongoing effort to never again have one-on-one human contact with strangers. (click the image to see it in all of its odd glory)

I opted to use a debit card to pay for three copies totaling twenty nine cents rather than have to go to the (not busy at all) counter to pay with actual money (coins scrounged from my car).

I find that this is becoming a bit of a problem in my daily life lately:

*I do all of my banking either on-line or via cash machines, often disoriented and asking the machines when we're nearing the end of the transaction, "do you have any lollipops?"

*I opt to buy clothing and shoes online, often paying for both shipping and returns, just so they're not "judging" me about my large-ish (9.5) hooves and less than conventional taste in fashion.

*I started using drugstore.com to buy things like lotion and cosmetics, when often times they are actually cheaper at the Walgreens 2 miles from my house.

*I have been spearheading the national campaign to get drive thru windows at Chipotle and Jimmy Johns. We're only 39, 994 signatures away from the 40,000 we need. Go, us!

* I recently spent 4 hours and 27 minutes yelling into the window of a residential residence, "Cheeseburger, nothing but ketchup and cheese, small fries, and a large vanilla malt! LARGE VANILLA MALT! PLEASE!" before I realized I wasn't going to have my wishes fulfilled. Alcohol may or may not have been involved. Sad Cheetos on the couch in front of bad late-night TV may have occurred, no one can really say.


What is wrong with me that I need to seek out any available option that doesn't involve actually talking to humans without an intercom involved? At what point did typing my credit card information into the computer become more desirable than discussing the finer points of cat collars with Tobie, the ambiguously ambiguous man (?) at the pet store? At what point do I start printing my political manifestos on cut up brown paper bags and plotting my coup led entirely by members of the Menudo fan club?

I'm a bit worried.

If I stop clipping my toenails and move to a cabin in the woods where I need to save my feces in a jar for "future scientific research", well...
I just hope y'all intervene.

Get me a nice haircut, a lovely hot-stone, salt-scrub pedicure, a handful of anti-psychotics and a tumbler of vodka and tell me how nice the world is.
Remind me that recluses rarely look sexy on the 6:00 news.
Remind me that physically sexually harassing strangers is fun! With a capital F!
Remind me that my husband will probably leave me for a non people-phobe.
Remind me that hairy, ungroomed hermits rarely get laid.
Remind me how much I secretly enjoy but act grossed out about the "too long" hug.
Remind me how much I love touching butts.
Remind me about how much I LOVE skeeving out people by putting my hand on their arm or shoulder when I'm talking to them, for fun.

Remind me that I can't give y'all a nice, big mushy, wet kiss when I meet you if I continue like this, therefore scarring you for life and causing you to recoil into your own little world where you neither touch nor directly speak to anyone.

XO (big, wet, mushy direct human contact kisses and hugs from me, even if it totally grosses you out)

WM

We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming...

I know I boycotted memes, but I've got nothing else today, and I can't say no to the lovely Freida Bee. I also can't figure out why Blogger insists on only letting me write in italics right now, but that's neither here nor there.

Because I'm unable to put together anything substantive today...

Ten years ago, what were you doing?

Ten years ago, I was in the final stretch of Culinary School and counting every second until I would be done. I’m glad I went, but I hated most of my fellow students by this point and needed to be the fuck away from them. Nighttime, I was working nearly full-time at my first cooking job- a medium-fancy seasonal place that was located on an old tugboat on the Mississippi river. The boat had been converted into a B&B/restaurant, but it was docked- it didn’t actually go anywhere. The boat was heavy, but it still moved slightly with the waves. After 8+ hours on board, I was usually a little “wobbly” back on land. I still consider this my favorite food job I’ve had (not counting owning my own place) and wish it still existed so I could work there part-time again. The kitchen itself was tiny- think butts to nuts- but it was horribly efficient and we all had a ton of fun. Two of us on the line could put out 200+ covers on a really busy night (we did all of the salads, appetizers and entrees- in other words, a LOT), but as fast and furious as it got, by the end of the night and after a glass or two of wine we were all friends again. I taught myself to really multi-task here, and finally learned, hands-on, what it all meant - this profession of mine. I don’t know that I would be where I am now had I not worked there first.

Five Things on Today's "To Do" List...

1.Get a few belated things in the mail & run a few mundane errands.

2. Maybe work out, maybe not.

3. Maybe shower.

4. Try to not: get in trouble, put my foot in my mouth, make promises I can’t keep, speak without thinking, lose my keys, have something stuck in my teeth, lose my pants, stare blankly at anyone, say “fuck” too much, eat too much cheese, pull anyone’s finger or punch strangers.

5. Learn Mandarin Chinese.

If I were a Billionaire, I would...

1.Buy an Island, turn into a unkempt recluse.

2. Hire a personal assassin on retainer.

3. Take yodeling lessons.

4. Hire someone to chew my food for me.

5. Start my own religion based on achieving a higher consciousness through dutiful worship of powerful aliens from the planet Partytron.

Three Bad Habits I Have...

1. Some people say I’m too successful and charming.

2. Spinning my wheels- never having time, yet getting nothing of any consequence done.

3. Procrastinating on things that need immediate attention, diving head first into things that could use a bit more thought and planning.

3.5. You. You’re a hard habit to break.

Five Places I've Lived

1. Minnesota (Duluth)

2. Minnesota (NE Minneapolis)

3. Minnesota (N Minneapolis)

4. Minnesota (Lowertown St. Paul)

5. Minnesota (Current home in St. Paul)

Five Jobs I've Had (I’ve listed a few before in another meme, I’m trying to not repeat here)

1. Plant nursery worker. (Just like Freida! This is the only reason I know anything about gardening)

2. Cook/Chef/Pastry Chef/Dishwasher/Server/Hostess/overall Kitchen whore

3. Call Girl (Just kidding- that’s my alter ego, “Champagne Misti”- not me)

4. Jewelry inspector at a wholesale jeweler.

5. Counter Girl at a Chinese restaurant (I pretty much sat and took orders for take-out. That's it.)

(This next one is my addition)

Three things I wish I could do today, but can’t:

1) Not work.

2) Win the lottery.

3) Advanced Trigonometry. I never was any good at math.

The donkey and the rhubarb

It's Sunday- not a lot going on, not much to say here. I promise a post with actual words and sentences tomorrow, but today is mostly visual for my ADD/marginally illiterate readers. I welcome one and all here at Blog de Whiskey, I am an equal opportunity offender/grosser outer.

Perfect day yesterday (well, aside from the tornado sirens in the evening and several downpours). I had no plans, so I just laid in the grass and looked up at this:

I laid there staring at the sky until a colony of ants started testing how ticklish I am (very) and the gnats made me look like a crazy person, swatting repeatedly at what- to the naked eye- seemed like nothing. Damn gnats. And while we're at it- damn Gnus too. You showoffs with your silent "g", you think you're so special, don't you? Huh?


I brought the furry turd factories out with me too. I'm afraid they'll run away if I bring them outside unrestrained which would cause my cold, hard little heart to break, so I restrain them & protect them with all sorts of harnesses, straps, flea collars and such and such. Poor things. The nerds of the cat world.
Pooter LOVES being outside:

Trouble/Mudbutt? Not so much. He hid in the currant bush the whole time:



I made the Mr. pick me a whole mess o'rhubarb as I had a project in mind.
I started by cooking a bunch of cut up rhubarb with a bit of sugar, some water and a few raspberries (for color.)

I cooked it until everything was nice and soft. Then, I strained the whole thing through my old-school chinois I got from my Grandma years ago.


So far, so good.
Then I took the liquid, cooked it one more time with MORE cut up rhubarb (and a little more sugar) and repeated the straining process. It sounds involved, but it really wasn't.

The end result:

You're probably asking yourself, "What ever is that crazy Whiskey going to do with rhubarb syrup? Is she going to use it on pancakes?(maybe) Is she going to pour it over her butter and bologna sandwiches? (no) Is she using this as a front for her moonshine production again? (I plead the fifth)

No, my friends. I had a much better use in mind for this seriously delicious stuff.

I introduce to you, the Rhubarbtini! (copyright 2008 Whiskeymarie Cocktail Enterprises, inc.)



And, yes- it did taste as good as it looks. Think tart cosmo with a lovely rhubarb bite. We also made rhubarb gin & tonics- maybe even better than the 'tini. I can't wait to see what else I can make with this.



Oh, and I got a double-yolker when I was making breakfast today. I used to cook brunch at a restaurant where another woman that worked there would tell customers that when they got a double-yolker it meant they were very, very fertile. This statement was usually met with a blank stare and uncomfortable giggle. This never stopped being funny to me.


That's all I've got for now.

Go out and enjoy your Sunday- the weekend is almost over and that means less time to do something so stupid that you:

a) get arrested.
b) get yourself filmed by Court TV.
c) get kicked out of the house.
d) lose your pants.
e) All of the above.


XO

P.S: I'll be humming the Donkey Rhubarb song all day...