Friday, July 25, 2008

I'm gonna eat you up, nom, nom, nom...

Well kidlins, I'm off to fly the friendly skies and give the Pacific Northwest a full-frontal assault. I figured I'd post before the Valium kicks in and I start drooling and mumbling about monkeys.

If the house we're staying at has in-ter-net, you'll hear about it before next Friday. If not, you'll have to use your imagination.

Imagine me wrestling a bear.

Or maybe imagine me yodeling and mountain climbing with a guy named Buck McSalmon while wearing jaunty lederhosen.

Or maybe you can imagine me and Fraiser Crane discussing the finer nuances of this year's batch of Cabernet beside a roaring fire in his swanky high-rise pad with a view of the Space Needle.

Or you could, more accurately, imagine me eating everything in my path between Seattle and Portland with the ferocity of a pre-hibernation Grizzly. Keep your kids outta my way, I tells 'ya- nothing even remotely edible is safe.
Watch out.

So, don't think of this as goodbye- think of it as farewell until Oregon kicks me out and takes a restraining order out against me. A week sounds about right.

Happy Friday, my smoked salmon nuggets coated in bear meat and dipped in Tilamook cheddar fondue.
Happy Friday.



Wednesday, July 23, 2008

I really should copyright this brand of thievery.

Yes, Sir McGone of IHOB fame, to answer your question- yes indeed I made a t-shirt of the drawing.
And no, you aren't getting any of the royalties. How else do you think I'm paying for this trip and my house renovations? Huh?

Try any funny moves and your ass is toast, mister!

Nothing screams, "Narcissist!!" like wearing a tee with your own face on it, dont'cha think?

Well, it maybe screams "Dork!" too, but that's neither here nor there.

Happy b-day, Falwless (who has a fabulously fabulous blog and a cute new kitty that I should probably mention here). Your b-day drawings are awesome with a capital A.

And to you all- Happy Wednesday, my wet t-shirt clad blobs of jiggly goodness. Happy Wednesday.


And if you're keeping track (which I know you are): TWO DAYS until my "vacation" from my "vacation". Woo! Don't worry- if you forget I'll totally remind you. I'm a real giver like that.


Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Whiskeymarie will have her revenge on Seattle

So Friday marks the beginning of my one-week "vacation" from my job, which as of right now I believe my official title is "Queen Fancypants of Not Working".
Not working is reeeeallly tiring, you know? Sleeping in, wandering around the house in my underwear, talking to the cats all day, lots of quality "magazine time"...

You know, hard work. Man oh man, I need a break.

I've got the house/cat sitter arranged, all of the travel arrangements/car rentals have been confirmed, so it looks like we're ready to go! Yay flying! Yay Valium!

We'll be in Seattle from Friday afternoon until Sunday morning, then we're driving to the Oregon coast for the rest of the week. For anyone living in/near either place, if you catch the scent of bacon and whiskey in the air, it's just me. Just ignore the sirens.

A few items:
  • I am meeting up in Seattle with my doppelganger, the other WM for a glass of wine, maybe some nibbly things, and such and such later Saturday (this Sat, the 26th) afternoon. Any of my other Seattle bloggers want to join us? E-mail me (it's in my profile) if you do and I'll let you know where. Here's your chance to punch me in the face for that one thing I said that one time.
  • We are only in Seattle a nanosecond, and pretty much all of our time there is spoken for, but I would LOVE any suggestions of things we have to/should do in Oregon. We are staying in a house right at the water's edge in lovely Seaside, OR. We are planning a day trip to Portland, maybe a trip to Mount Hood (tee hee, that sounds dirty), and a winery tour (duh)- any opinion on these, or anything else we should do?
  • I know. I'm not even gone yet and I miss me already too.


Sunday, July 20, 2008

I didn't post the "less than sane post", and that has made all the difference.

I keep several notepads at my desk at all times, and very often I write down blog ideas so as not to forget them.

Sometimes my ideas are less than stellar.

Sometimes I am drunk when I think of them.

Sometimes I am just a tard.

Here, for your entertainment, are actual blog post ideas that just...didn't make the cut, exactly as I had them written down:
  • "I decided to try something new, so I'm blogging naked." I'm not quite sure how this one would have worked, but for once I'm really, really glad that I didn't follow through on something. Plus, I don't like the idea of anyone (even me) sitting on my furry desk chair naked.
  • "Why do teenagers smell so funny?" Um, yeah. I'm not really sure what inspired this one, but I'm pretty sure vodka was involved.
  • "Kitty Konversations" I hear you all thanking me for sparing you this one, and you're welcome. I had even planned out what potential conversations my cats would have if they could talk. One involved butt sniffing and the other was a debate on whether or not I should be kissing them on the mouth the way I do.
  • "Ask a truck stop hooker" Sort of a "dear Abby" post. I might still use this one.
  • "Why I don't trust people with small feet." This one was scrapped pretty much because I knew that it would only serve to prove my mental instabilities and the fact that I am one bump on the head away from saving my toenail clippings in a jar and wearing tin foil as clothing.
  • "Laundry day fashion show." This was an idea I directly stole from "The Vacant Lot", a hilarious TV show from the early 90's that got canceled pretty much the minute it started. I then realized that no one wants to see me in various sad combinations of sweats, pajama bottoms, wife-beaters, flip-flops and old, stained t-shirts.
  • "The one where I eat things that aren't really food." In a way, I kind of already did this, but I think I was going to take this one step further somehow. Then I realized that I'm not seven years old and I probably shouldn't be eating crayons.
  • I almost posted a video of me, loudly singing along to Air Supply's "All out of Love". Enough said.
  • "Freckle, mole or cancer: you make the call!" Again, possibly (probably) drunk.
  • Various "fake" love letters to celebrities I am currently stalking/have a crush on. Several restraining orders prevent me from posting these, but you all know who I'm talking about. Oh yes, you do.
  • And finally, a detailed analysis of my purse collection. Actually, I might still do this one for the girls, we'll see. If I do I promise I will use words and phrases like "boobs", "the big game" and "panties" in the post as often as possible to keep you boys interested.
So next time you wonder to yourself, "What the hell was Whiskey thinking with this post?" remember that it could be worse.
A LOT worse.


p.s.- Sexypants lady M, this is for you:


Friday, July 18, 2008

Bounty, beets and balls.

It may be hotter than the underside of Satan's nutsack outside, and the humidity may be making it so my hair takes 3.5 days to air dry:

But I'll be damned if I'll let a bad hair day stop me from hitting up the farmer's market.
Today's bountiful booty:

A ton o' pickling cucumbers (coming tomorrow: Pickles, pickles, pickles!!), homegrown broccoli, local tomatoes, a quart of amazing homegrown strawberries, fresh dill, pretty purple onions, kettle corn (!), just-picked beets and purple potatoes. All for around $22.

Where to begin?

The strawberries were so good I gust rinsed them off and stood over the counter hulling them and popping them into my mouth like, well...kettle corn. Exactly what strawberries should be: ripe, sweet and smelling so good that just having them in the car on the drive home makes you crazy to eat them. Getting these beauties in the summer is why I hate grocery-store strawberries so very, very much. Why eat styrofoam when you can have magic little nuggets of love?

I decided to roast the beets and figure out what to do with them later. I love me some beets. I think I'll save some for salads and make chilled beet-orange soup with the rest. I'll post a pic when it's done.

I roasted off the golden beets that I got at the co-op earlier this week as well.

And, since the beets were so fresh, the greens were nice and pristine, not like when you get them in the store sometimes and the greens have disintegrated into some sort of biohazard/composty kind of grossness.
I'm going to braise these for dinner tonight with some bacon and lemon.

Next up: purple taters!

I'm kind of copying a salad I learned to make from a caterer I worked with, with a few tweaks. It is basically sliced, cooked purple taters, crisp-tender green beans, edamame and finely chopped red onion tossed in a dill/basil/mint vinaigrette with lemon and mustard.

It is so very pretty and so very delicious.

Yummy, yummy, yummy I'll soon have love in my tummy.

Happy Friday, my fresh-picked homegrown little nuggets of farmy goodness. Happy Friday.


Oh! Gosh! I almost forgot! I totally had a dream last night that I was pregnant and that I had to have it (for whatever reason. Maybe we needed to repopulate St. Paul or something and they'd take whatever they could get, even my potentially "wrong" baby) but I knew that it would come out all messed up on account of me liking box wine and prescription medication more than I like breathing, so I kept punching myself in the stomach while I was getting ready to go to the Emmy's. I picked out a nice gown, sucker punched myself and was on my way.
I woke up sweating and hungry for pickles.

But I'm not pregnant, in case you're wondering. Or thinking about calling the authorities. It was a dream, people. A dream.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Au currant.

Hey there.
I'm back from shopping.

I got all of the stuff you asked for- but unfortunately for y'all I either ate it, wore it, drank it or did unseemly things with it already.

Sorry. You know I can't be trusted with "to-do" lists. C'mon! Have we met?

What I bought:
This tank top for $5:I can't decide if it's ugly, but hey- it was $5!
I also bought curtains for the entryway (you'll get a pic when the whole thing is finished and my fancypants light is installed), weird soaps and candles on sale at Pier 1, Three giant bags of groceries from Trader Joe's, and a buttload of cheap wine, also from TJ's.

When I got home I got started on my project for the day: Making currant jelly.

For those of you unfamiliar with red currants, they are teeny-tiny little berries that grow in clusters on a big bush (tee hee. Big bush.)
We had two such bushes when I was growing up, and currant picking day always seemed to fall on the same day that the temperature was so high that it made your face melt the moment you stepped outside. And man oh man, those tiny little fuckers sure are a pain to pick. My mom would do spot-checks on us during the 15 hours it took to pick them, bringing us tupperware glasses of Kool-aid and allowing us a 15-minute lunch break for bologna & cheese sandwiches with potato chips on the side. We were not to miss ONE SINGLE CURRANT. They all had to be picked. Each and every one.

Currant jelly was a sacred and holy thing in our house. I believe some sort of ritual happened on the eve of the harvest. I vaguely remember a naked midget, a bonfire, chanting and bobbing for apples...
but I could be wrong.

So, as an adult you would think that I would have put those days behind me- that I would push those memories deep into my psyche only to be extricated in future years by a highly-paid professional.
I went and planted one of those beasts in my own yard, and wouldn't you know it- I can't kill the thing. It's coated with currants. Beautiful, translucent red orbs so tart they make your cheeks pucker.

I missed currant jelly, my sisters miss currant jelly. If you've had homemade you get it.

I have to make currant jelly- it is my destiny. Kind of like Highlander with fruit- there can only be one lady of the jelly.

So, here's the first stage:

Pretty currants in a bowl. I picked out all of the leaves and about 1/2 of the stems then gave them a rinse.

Aren't they pretty?:

Cue tangent...
Oh, and this is what I made for dinner last night. Isn't it pretty too? Mixed greens, bean sprouts, chicken, rice noodles, radish and fresh basil with a spicy peanut dressing. I also cooked up some potstickers (came frozen in a bag).

So, back to the currants. I put a bit of water in, mashed them a little with a potato masher, then brought them to a boil. I cooked them for 5 minutes or so.

Then the whole mess got strained and this ruby red liquid was the result:

I added a ton o'sugar and some lemon juice, then let it simmer for a looooong time.

To kill some time, I made the cats a maze out if IKEA boxes:

I think Trouble won, but Pooter seemed to enjoy it more. I just ended up getting lost in the dang thing.

Tick-tock, tick-tock...
Finally! It's ready!

The end result of my labours:

Only 7 (!) jars of the liquid gold. If I am feeling ambitious, the rest of the currants will be ripe in a few days.
We'll see.

Anyone have some toast?

Happy Wednesday, my ruby-red, sugar-drenched orbs of tarty tartiliciousness.



To hell with it- I'm going shopping. I'll be back later.

Can I get you anything?

Monday, July 14, 2008

The decider, now decided, done deciding.

Sequestration avoided.

Your honor, we the jury find the defendant guilty!


It's all over.

So now I can tell you all about it!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And please don't think that I take what we did lightly, as a person's life is going to be fairly significantly altered for a bit here, but still- I can't help thinking that I want the past four weekdays of my life back.

Lamest jury trial ever. And I watch Law & Order a LOT- I should know.

I just finished sitting on a jury for FOUR DAYS for 3rd-degree burglary. That's it. No murder, no gun play, no exposing one's genitalia in public. Not so much as a speck of public drunkenness.
The dude stole a laptop, the dude exercised his American right to a trial by jury. Ta-da!

The jury selection process for this MAJOR crime took all day Wednesday and almost all day Thursday. They asked us questions like:
"Have you or anyone close to you ever committed a crime?" (Yup. Not telling y'all about the pantsless debacle with the acrobats and the scooters and the "accident". Well, not today anyways.)
"Are you, or is anyone close to you involved in/employed in the legal field?" (Nope. Not unless you count my uncle who's a bikini inspector.)
"Have you or anyone close to you ever had a bad experience with the police?" (Um, I think it's best to say "no" here. Officer Jellyfinger knows what he did wrong. Oh yes- he knows...)
"Do you believe that the police can make mistakes?" (We all said yes. Very quickly.)
"Are you more of a 'big picture' person, or are you more detail-oriented?" (This is where I mentioned that I pay little or no attention to details. Ever. And they still picked me.)
"Do you enjoy working with others or do you prefer to work alone?" (And here is where I mentioned my control-freakishness and unwillingness to share my toys. They still picked me.)
They asked approximately 36 of us the same questions over and over and over and over...

Almost. Two. Days. Of. This.
And the waiting. The WAITING!

Once we were picked, we were told to report at 8:45 a.m. each day of the trial in order to be ready for the trial to start promptly at 9:00. Friday we started at approximately 9:45, and Today we started at 9:30. Every time we were told "five minutes", it meant "45 minutes."

Forty five minutes of waiting, 45 minutes of the trial, 20 minutes of waiting, 30 minutes of the trial. 15 minute "break", then wait, no- never mind. It's nearly lunch time, so let's just go ahead and break for lunch. We'll see you back here at 1:30 (1 hour, forty-five minute lunch).
1:30 arrives.
Then 1:45.
Then 2:00.
Then 2:15.
2:35 the court clerk comes knocking. "Are you guys ready?" All we can think is, "Are you fucking kidding?"
At 3:15 we take another 15-minute "break".
At 3:50 we resume.
4:30- time to go home.

The trial itself was boring- a few "objection, your honor's" here, a few "may we approach the bench's" there, but no big surprises.
He basically got caught red-handed stealing a laptop from a business. There was a ton of evidence against him, the owner of the building watched him go in the building after hours, and the cops caught him a quarter of a mile away.

But, for whatever reason he felt he was "not guilty", hence the trial.

My fellow jurors were a pretty good lot overall. The one holdout during deliberations was someone who hadn't really paid attention during the trial, so they were asking annoying questions and were trying to question the State's evidence, which was pretty much rock solid.
Note: If you are a juror, and you are going to zone out during the trial, or if you are "not understanding" the blatantly blatant obviously obvious crime set before you, get out of the jury however you have to, because your fellow jurors may start plotting your grisly death as the prospect of getting sequestered draws nearer.
One older (63-ish) female juror kept hitting on the young male juror that I (in my brain) referred to as "Sir Sexypants", which was hilarious. She was kidding, but I think she was just vocalizing what the rest of the lady-folk in the room were thinking. And fantasizing. And getting a little sweaty about.
We had a lot of time on our hands, cut us some slack.

Today, by the time we went to lunch the trial had concluded. As we had not yet deliberated, we were escorted to lunch through the streets of downtown St. Paul by two armed deputies. One poor juror had to go to the ladies' room during lunch, and she had to be escorted there by one of the deputies, who stood vigilantly outside of the door while she did her business. I decided it would be best to hold it.

Deliberations took a little over an hour. Eleven of us walked into the room knowing our decision already as it was SO FREAKING OBVIOUS THE DUDE TOOK THE LAPTOP. DUDE, WE KNOW YOU TOOK THE LAPTOP. SERIOUSLY. DUDE, JUST OWN IT, O.K?
But eleven isn't twelve, and so we sat and tried to figure out why this particular juror could not see something so very (here's that word again) obvious that a four year-old could figure it out. I think they just liked being "the decider". I think they needed the power trip. Had we been sequestered, all eleven of our fuses were so short that I think they would have had a power trip up their behind for holding out.

But they didn't, the verdict was "guilty" and balance is once again restored in the world.

The end.

I can't get called again for four years. Next time this happens I'm telling them that I'm currently being treated for bipolar disorder, anger-management issues, narcolepsy, a bad back, incontinence, a herniated vagina, and a prescription painkiller addiction.

That might get me out of it.
Oh, and I just googled the defendant, and now I think I see why such a big deal was made of what was such a "small crime". The guy has a record several miles long, including LOTS of stolen computers, brandishing a weapon at an officer and many other break-ins.
They say his theft totals are in the $300,000 range. One officer called him a "very prolific burglar".

Well then.

Makes sense.
I guess I don't feel too bad for him anymore.

Sunday, July 13, 2008

Disclaimer: Many potatoes were killed in the writing of this post.

Operation Fix this Fucking House is fully underway. We have a lot of preliminary stuff to do before we can bring in the big guns (electrician & plumber), including giving IKEA about $1600 of our hard-earned cash before all is said and done. Damn IKEA- with your tantalizing fat-free frozen yogurt cones for a dollar- I can't escape your Hostensnaarsgord clutch.

Here is a picture of the color I was originally going to paint the entryway, but then I decided that baby-poop greenish brown is not what I want greeting visitors to my home. Even Ralph Lauren baby-poop greenish brown.

I wanted something striking and different but not too dark or a color I'd get sick of right away. This room was painted with a semi-gloss Chinese red that I loved (with a gold-painted ceiling), but it had to go.
I settled on a soft metallic silver (again, Ralph Lauren- the metallics are worth the $$).
I love it, and when I finally get curtains, my fancy new light and get the rug in there it will be fabulous.

The reason for so many trips to Grundalhortenbordland/IKEA is that we own a 100+ year-old house that had exactly ONE closet when we bought it- a small coat closet in the entry.
That's it.
We worked around that horrifying (to me) issue by converting a room attached to our bedroom into a "closet room" that usually looked like this:

While having an entire room as a closet is lovely, we are now taking 2/3 of that room and adding a master bath, leaving only a small walk-through closet. I cannot live with only a "small walk-through closet." Nope. I have few (read: MANY) demands, but on this issue I can't budge.

So... we're adding gigantic storage units/armoire type things (93" high) in the entryway, our bedroom and the guest room in order to give us somewhere to hang our clothes.
This is where IKEA comes into play. They have all kinds of these things in all kinds of colors.
We had no choice.
This is the first one, in the entryway:

You can't tell from the pic, but it is a behemoth. Huge.
#2 is currently being assembled by the Mr. in the bedroom. He was making good progress last time I checked, but I just heard him turn the TV in there on to The Simpsons, so I'm starting to doubt that it will be completed today.
Oh Homer, you are both my hero and my nemesis.

Right now I'm in the process of getting dinner ready. Nothing too exciting, just herbed turkey burgers & potato salad.
I got these adorable little new potatoes at the farmer's market. I didn't want to have to cut too many of them up, so I thought just boiling them whole & then tossing them with a lemon/mint/parsley/dill vinaigrette would be best.

Before we eat, I'll toss some crumbled feta in there. Yum.

Oh, and...

Pooter and Trouble say "hey."

Other than a minor psychological breakdown (thanks to y'all for your lovely words) which I am completely recovered from, the weekend was very, very nice. My house may be a total pit from all of the projects, I may have ate my weight in junk, and I'm pretty sure I haven't washed my hair in 4 days (I can't remember- don't worry, I'll be taking care of this tonight), but I did get to go down an Alpine Slide, I kicked ass driving go-carts, I got to hang with friends at a BBQ, attend a day of birthday festivities, get a bazillion loads of laundry done and make out with my cats, so I'll put this weekend in the "win" column.

And, another exciting! jury duty! update!:

My alleged singular week of performing my civic duty will be stretching into week two tomorrow.
I am so bored with and sick of the whole thing. I can't wait until I can tell y'all about it so you can re-live the boredom with me. I started counting the freckles on my arm the other day while sitting there listening to the riveting testimony. Riveting.

The word "sequestered" has been used more often than I am comfortable with. Staying in a hotel with 11 strangers a mere 2 miles from my own comfy house is of no interest whatsoever to me.
Hmmm...I wonder if the hotel will have wi-fi. Do you think that "blogging while sequestered" is allowed? Can I bring my cats?

I'll keep you posted on my findings...


Saturday, July 12, 2008

So fickle.

Sorry I took that last post down. I never do that, but I decided that I don't need the whole world in on my shit right now.
If you already read it, fine. It's no big deal. I'm not one to shy away from anything, I just don't feel like being that "open" today.

I changed my mind.

I'm a girl, that's what I do.


Thursday, July 10, 2008

Well-hung jury.

I'm in! I'm on the jury!


As you can tell, I'm trying to get excited about being a juror on a criminal (!) trial, but honestly I was praying to Maurice Gibb that they wouldn't pick me.
"Dear Mr. Gibb- I've gotta get a message to you. I can't stand the jive talkin' anymore. Please get me out of jury duty so I can start mending my broken heart. Thank you, my benevolent and almighty Maurice."

I'm tired of sitting, doing nothing.

And I can't tell you anything about the case, which is killing me. Really, it's not that exciting, but my life is so boring right now that ANYTHING out of the monotony seems awesome. Christmas with the Osmonds awesome.
Sort of.

That's it for today.
Seriously. That's it.

I'll let you know how day 1 of the trial went tomorrow.

Well, as much as I CAN tell you, which isn't much. Maybe I'll take notes on what people wore.
Or what I ate for lunch.
Or who farted.

Whatever, I'm bored.


And, for the record, I've actually had time to be catching up on my blog-reading yesterday & today, but my fucked com-pu-tor won't let me comment. Let it be known that I was there in spirit and left you a lovely bundt cake.
I'm shaking my fist at YOU, Mr. Technology!

And, one of my fellow lady-jurors was in the bathroom stall today doing her bizness while the rest of us waited in line. She farted VERY loudly. Twice. All we heard after that was a surprised-sounding "Oh! MY!"
I decided to come back later. I'm already tired of other people's farts.

And, I purposely told the lawyers on the case today when they were still interviewing us that I was "a total control freak" and "I don't like working with other people" and "I like to do things my way. MY. WAY." and "I tend to overlook details in favor of the big picture" and I also referred to "bums" and "hobos" and they still chose me. Moral of the story is: honesty just gets you goddamn jury duty. Lie when you can, people. LIE. The truth is never a good idea.

Be afraid, people.
Be afraid.

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

I'm the decider!

Sorry to go all m.i.a. on y'all after leaving you hanging with so many questions.

"Who would pick someone like Whiskey for jury duty? Are they nuts? Can't they see that she's drunk?"

"Does Whiskey even know what a jury is? I'm pretty sure she thinks habeas corpus is a cocktail..."

"Can I scream 'objection!' just once? Please?"

"Is that your gavel or are you just happy to see me?"

"Don't you hate pants too?"

Jury duty has been fun! You know, fun in the way that someone punching you repeatedly in the ovaries/balls is fun. Fun in the way stomach flu is fun. Fun in the way that advanced algebra is fun. Fun in the way that getting your period while camping is fun.


Well, turns out I kind of got picked (finally! And just in time- that 2004 issue of Motorsports weekly in the jury room was starting to look like some pretty good reading) for a criminal trial today. I'll find out for sure tomorrow. I'm already practicing my speech: "Yes, your honor. We the jury find the defendant guilty of stealing our hearts. He is guilty on all charges including: first degree bringing the funk and grand being too sexy for his shirt larceny."

But, that's pretty much it for my excitement meter today. That's it. That was my day.
Well, I guess I also learned that when you stick 24 people in a tiny room that the men and women will predictably still find a way to segregate themselves and most of the women will resort to conversations involving the words placenta and cesarean, that someone sitting near me in the jury box farted and it smelled like death twice over, that some of my potential co-jurors need to just shut the hell up before I manually do it for them, that even when you are told no less than 453 times to not even bring your cell phone into the courthouse, some cracker-looking jackass will not only bring his in, but forget to turn off his country song customized ringer, and that people are annoying and overall I don't like them much at all.

And, my computer is fucked, so I may be a bit m.i.a. for a day or two more.


I miss you guys. Make out with yourself drunk for me, then don't call yourself the next day. You know- the way I wouldn't.

Good times.


Monday, July 7, 2008

Tomorrow: Paint drying! Grass growing! And stuff!

Jury duty, Day 1:

I rode Dirk (my sexy new bike- and yes John, his last name is Diggler) to the gorgeous art-deco building that houses the Ramsey County Courthouse in lovely downtown St. Paul at 8:30 this morning.
As I was passing through security, I caught a snippet of the conversation the two security guards were having.

*Sketch from the R. Kelly trial.

Security guard #1: "I just wasn't that into this movie."
Security guard #2: "And you call yourself a Will Smith fan? Humph."

In the jury room- a windowless, fluorescent-lit demonstration in oppressive institutional interior decorating- I checked in, took my "Guide to how you got suckered into Jury Duty" pamphlet and plopped into a very uncomfortable chair.

And waited.

And waited.

Then my butt went numb.

Then we were given a 15-minute "break". We all chuckled and looked around. A break from what? Ass-widening? Blank-staring? October 2006 Better Homes and Gardens reading?

Then we came back and waited some more. I watched the twitchy guy to my right get up, sit down, get up again, sit down again, get up and leave the room for 30 seconds, sit down again, get up for a glass of water, sit down again, get up again and just stand there, sit down again, get up and ask the woman at the desk a question, sit down again...
At least I wasn't sitting next to him. I guess that's a plus.

Then more waiting. I listened to the grizzled older woman who seems to have made a career out of jury duty discussing with anyone who would listen how last time this happened, and last time that happened, and when she was here last time they did things this way...
Hell, at $20/day, who wouldn't want to be a regular?

Then more waiting.

No one got called AT ALL.

Then my group was dismissed at 11:10. I apologized to the people sitting around me who had to stay, but I suspected they were grateful I was leaving as I was really sweaty from the bike ride and probably smelled. Plus, my allergies are haywire today so I kept sniffling and blowing. And it was so quiet in there that every time I took a sip of my iced coffee, I felt like everyone in the room could hear me swallow. And my hair was really fucked up from the bike ride and I was feeling self-conscious about it even though there were several people there in what appeared to be pajamas.

Riveting, I know.

Maybe tomorrow I will be able to give you a play-by-play of someone picking their nose.

It's going to be a long week, folks. Get comfortable.

Sunday, July 6, 2008

Voted "most likely to forget to wear pants."

Where: Mid-American public school classroom
Who: Ms. Tastybottom's Freshman summer special ed Civics class

Ms. Tastybottom:
"Students, let's all welcome our new classmate, Whiskeymarie VonPartypants. Whiskey recently transferred here from Our Lady of Eternal Damnation Catholic Girl's School due to "antisocial behavior involving gasoline and fireworks" which I am required to tell you, but have been legally forbidden to discuss further. She will be finishing out summer session here at Richard Nixon High. I have been advised to notify you all that she is heavily medicated, so if you notice her rolling on the floor mumbling about monkeys and prom, it would probably be best to find a teacher or the school nurse and find her something covered in cheese immediately. Let's all give a warm hello to Whiskey!"
(mumbled hellos)
"Yesterday we all started sharing stories from our summer vacations, and it is my understanding that Whiskey just recently returned from what she calls a 'blogcation'. Oh my, I have no idea what that is, so maybe Whiskey could come to the front of the class and tell us all about it!"

(Whiskey stands up, teeters a bit, and shuffles to the front of the class. Ms. Tastybottom notices that Whiskey is wearing pink fuzzy slippers, a cheerleading skirt, half of a clown costume and a Dolly Parton wig. The smell of gin and salami lingers around her.)

"Um, so yeah. I took a vacation from my blog. Yeah. I didn't actually go anywhere, unless you count Menards or the back yard, I just didn't blog so I called it a vacation. Yeah. I made a list of everything I did so I wouldn't forget, on account of me being drunk the whole time. Here it is:
  • Slept a LOT.
  • rode Ethel everywhere (until today when I cheated on her).
  • Bought $300 bike today off of Craig's List for $175. I tooled around on my new friend and fell in love. I'm naming him Dirk. Don't tell Ethel.
  • Started a "clean living on weekdays" program marginally successfully.
  • Ate my weight in brown rice, edamame and garbanzo beans. Every day. Plus, I'm drinking non-caffeinated water again. Who knew this stuff was clear?
  • Sweat, prayed for rain.
  • Painted my entryway. It took five coats of paint, a change of mind resulting in the purchase of yet another gallon of $42 Ralph Lauren paint, and most of my patience & sanity to finish the job.
  • Ordered a pretty new light for the entryway which was almost immediately backordered. Bastards.
  • Ordered a new rug for the same room.
  • Realized that I love spending money.
  • Sweat some more, started learning the correct steps for a rain dance.
  • Hung out on a patio with Stacy drinking beers, rode my bike home a wee bit wobbly.
  • Discovered the secret for eternal life, then proceeded to use it in a trade with a hobo for a half-eaten snickers bar. Shut up, I was hungry.
  • Made spicy chicken tamales, tuna ceviche, spicy braised chicken, several awesome salads, many frozen fruity blender drinks, 14 gallons of iced tea, sourdough pancakes, grilled flank steak with mango salsa, balsamic white bean salad, sweet corn and loads of egg white scrambles.
  • Wondered if I was normally sweaty, vs. grossly sweaty. Still undecided. Offered up my virginity to the rain gods after handing them my "tweaked" credentials. Still waiting for their reply.
  • Sat in the back yard with the Mr. and a friend until waaaaaaay too late drinking grapefruit gin & tonics and enjoying a non-sweltering moment.
  • Got a juicer, now use "juice" as a verb.
  • Ordered a new couch (dark red).
  • Watched helplessly while my debit card burst into flames.
  • Found religion, prayed for rain, lost religion again.
  • Stuffed a kleenex in by bra between my boobs as sort of a "sweat maxi pad". It worked.
  • Took regular dance breaks.
  • Yeah.
The End."