I can't quit you.

O.k, this is awkward.

When we last spoke, I sort of "hit and ran".
I dumped a dark, quick, and cryptic post in your laps, then disappeared into the woods to live off of the land, write my long-awaited political manifesto and make squirrel casseroles.

I partook of your hospitality and then left a turd in your toilet before running out the door. Sort of a metaphysical "dine and dash", if you will.

If this post were a date between you and I, it would be that uncomfortable second attempt at a "real date" after we already had impulsive, drunken sex in the bathroom at that restaurant on our first one. We don't know what to say since we didn't bother with formalities and jumped right into pantsless frolicking.

I don't know what to say to you right now.

I'm overwhelmed at the response to my last post, to be honest. The very fact that so many of you took the time to comment and say nice things to me when you don't even know the details of the situation is just amazing, touching, and pretty much exactly what I needed to get through the last 10 days. I'm still going to emphasize that I don't feel like I deserve any of this kindness, but at the same time I'm so very grateful to have y'all. You complete me. You are the ebony to my ivory. I'm a little bit country, you're a little bit rock n' roll.

I don't know that things are any better right now, but I'm at least at a place where it isn't so fresh and raw. My future is still very uncertain, and I pretty much still exist on a steady diet of fear, humiliation and self-loathing. But...for now, I'm at least at a point where I am ready to face this, own it, and do whatever I have to do to fix whatever I can in this very daunting mess. I will not make excuses, and I will not dismiss my complete and total responsibility for whatever my fate may be.
I dug my hole, now I need to find a shovel, fill the hole up with the manure and dirt that is my life, and then I need to plant some nice flowers and maybe some tomatoes too. I like tomatoes.

Sorry to be so vague, but that's just how it's going to have to be. This is intensely personal.

So...
I'm back.

In what capacity, I don't know.
I just need to get back into something that at least resembles what my life was and should be. I need to think and talk about other things, other aspects of my existence. I need a sense of normalcy right now, in whatever way the word "normal" applies to me.

I don't even know how to thank you all for the comments you left. Normally in a situation like this I'd bake you a cake or something. You like cake, right?

I guess all I can say is thank you- every single comment and every single e-mail made a difference. You guys made me cry (in a good way) more than once. I am more grateful for having this outlet, this "place" than you will ever know. The very fact that you can muster up care and good wishes for someone that most of you have never met just leaves me speechless and very much humbled.
I still may not feel like I deserve any of this, yet I am so very, very glad that you were there for me. I owe you all so much right now. If I were there with you now I'd give you a big kiss and a hug where I let my hand drift down towards your butt ever so gently before I give your right cheek a little love squeeze.

All I can say is thank you- I owe you one.

Now- we'll move on and talk about other things for a while. Simpler things. Nice things.
I miss you- let's never be apart this long again, o.k?

Happy Friday, my little love-filled, sparkly leprechauns. Happy Friday.

XO

WM

Until later, my friends...

I'm so sorry.

Something terrible happened yesterday that I could have prevented, but didn't. In the blink of an eye my life has been turned upside down and I have no one but myself to blame. I am devastated, injured, humiliated and scared.

My poor judgment in this moment is going to follow us and haunt us for a very long time.

Right now I need to focus on this situation and the fact that I am returning to work very soon.

I can't find anything funny in all of this. I can't just write about things as usual while I feel like this. When all you're doing is crying, there isn't a whole lot of "funny" there.
I don't know how long it will be: a few days, a week, maybe a month or more. I just don't know.

I love you guys. I just need to focus on fixing the monumental destruction that is my life right now. I'm not asking for sympathy as, quite frankly, I feel I don't deserve it.

I'll miss you and will maybe pop up in comments, hopefully you'll still be here when I get back.

XO

WM

Just another day in Satan's nutsack.

I want my money back, you hear me?

Up until the last three or four years, one of the main reasons I choose to continue living in this delightfully passive-aggressive northern State of mine is that, other than a couple dozen "hot" days in the summer, the weather was great for a delicate flower like myself: Not too hot, plenty of gray days, perfect Falls, amazing Springs and typical Minnesota winters. You Southerners scoff at us, making fun of the cold and snow and not even having a clue what a "snotcicle" is, but for those of us who love this sort of climate as much as Hollywood loves cocaine, a crisp winter day with snow covering the ground can inspire tingly feelings in our crotchal region, such is our joy.

Now?
We haven't had a winter that isn't messed up in some way (unbelievably frigid one day, sunny and 45 degrees the next), Fall goes by so fast that if you stop to blink and blow your nose, you'll miss it. Spring is almost equally short these days, going from 20 degrees with snow on the ground one day to 60 degrees, sunny and confusing the plants the next.

But Summer?
Summer can kiss my ass.

It's ungodly hot day after day after day after day after day....and repeat.
The sun is always shining, it's always in the 80's and 90's, and it almost never, ever rains. My lawn looks like shredded wheat. I gave up trying to keep the flowers alive- they're on their own now, it's survival of the fittest at this point. I'm sweating from every inch- I'm pretty sure my pancreas was perspiring yesterday. The weather forecast causes me to say very unladylike things, and I'm seriously considering becoming a super-villan so that I can invent some sort of laser (I'm thinking of calling it the "Whiskey wand") that allows me total domination over the world's weather. I'd wear a cape and carry an "umbrella of doom."
But, then that meddling Batman would come after me, then all sorts of car chases and explosions would occur, then we'd meet in a final battle to the death in an abandoned office building...
well, you get the idea.

This isn't what I agreed to when I signed my "I'll live here" contract. I'm no lawyer, but I think I'm entitled to some sort of compensation for pain and suffering, as well as breach of contract.

Minnesota? Are you listening? I'm calling you out, beyotch. If you wanna do this old-school style then meet me at the railroad tracks for fisticuffs. Bring a switchblade and brass knuckles cause' this is going to end NOW. Just me and you. Mano y mano.

If not, If you're too much of a panty-waste, you can expect to hear from my lawyer, Lionel Hutz.

This ends now, you hear me? Give me back my old weather or prepare for the consequences, you lying hothead. Get a good doctor or a competent lawyer, assface, because I'm coming for YOU.

Word.

My big, fat, Midwestern weekend.

So...
One one hand, I successfully avoided having to go to Menards this weekend. On the other hand, I ended up at IKEA on a Sunday afternoon, pushing my way through masses of sweaty Midwesterners looking for that perfect "Schmaarsbrod" end table while trying to not step on the screaming children that seemed to be serving as wiggly, red-faced floor tiles.
One bathroom sink, two dressers and $450 later, we left IKEA hoping that this would be our last trip to the "much assembly required" monolith, but knowing full well that we were probably just deluding ourselves. Damn you, IKEA! Damn you and your fat-free frozen yogurt cones for a dollar! Damn you, you damn dirty apes!!!

So, if we're keeping score (all amounts wildly approximated):
Menards: $1100
IKEA: $56,987
Me: $0

But, casa de VonPartypants is starting to take shape. The plumbing for the new bathroom is roughed in:
If all goes well (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!), then this beauty will be ready for finishing within two weeks.
How sad is it that I am so very happy about having TWO toilets in my house that I get a little teary every time I think about it? But seriously, after the "oh god, if he doesn't get out of the bathroom soon I may have to poop in the back yard like a dog" incident, I think I'm due.

The rest of the weekend:

• Cleaned the garage- we are finally "styrofoam free". Well, at least for a day or two. seriously- does this stuff breed? Every time I turn around there seems to be more if it that I need to find a way to get rid of. We contemplated building a backyard fort with it- kind of an "urban igloo", if you will.
  
• Went to "Pineapple Express", thus setting a world record for me, personally. Two movies in two weeks ("Dark Knight" last weekend) is seriously a record for me. How sad. I loved this movie (Liked Batman too- Christian Tastybale was scrumptious). I have a huge crush on Seth Rogen these days, and the scene with him carrying James Franco out of the building in his tighty whities and striped tube socks pretty much sealed the deal. What can I say? I like 'em goofy, and a honky 'fro never fails to get this girl into a bit of a lather.
  
• Had bloodies, deep-fried walleye and nachos with my girl Blondie here. What a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
• Shopped for furniture- who knew that it would be so very hard to find a decent round coffee table? If I don't find one soon, I'm just going to go ahead and make one out of leftover Styrofoam and packing peanuts. Hell, if I just spray-paint the whole thing and add some sparkles, I'm sure no one will notice.
  

Also: bike rides along the Mississippi, sausage, jalapeño and pineapple pizza, wine, reading, staying up too late, watching TV on our NEW 42" LCD flat screen, a new purse, watching my bank account dwindle to nothing & not caring, cat wrangling, vodka tonics, a fancy cheese plate for dinner with the Mr. at home, stressing about going back to work in a week, getting ready for the garage sale that we had to postpone a week ( to this Friday and Saturday!), going to the Farmer's Market, and taking pictures of my cats to bore you with:

I hate it when I can't remove the Pooter stains from my sink-

A rare moment where Trouble wants to purr and make out with me-


Happy Monday, my spicy little Bloody Marys with extra "love spice". Happy Monday.

XO

I really should get better health insurance.

The following takes place at the office of Dr. O'Pootertoot, renowned psychoanalyst and Nobel prize winner, as he attempts to get to the heart of Ms. Whiskeymarie VonPartypant's psyche. He is wearing leiderhosen and a cowboy hat (as he often does) and Whiskey is lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling and mindlessly shoving a pencil in her nose.

Dr. P: "So Whiskey, last time we spoke, you indicated that you felt extreme feelings of isolation and paranoia lately. What do YOU think is the cause of these problems?" (The doctor pulls out rubber gloves)

Whiskey: "Well, I haven't left the house in a week, and that tall dude with the bloody hockey mask and hacksaw keeps showing up on my doorstep asking if I want to talk about Jesus. Do you think either of these things could be a problem here?"

Dr. P: "Oh no, no no no. I think you're ignoring the more obvious issues as well as projecting your feelings on to others." (he pulls a tube of something out of the desk drawer)

Whiskey: "Really? Cause the dude said if I don't join his church that he's coming back when I least expect it and chopping me into a million bits. He sure seemed sincere. But, I guess I see your point- maybe it all is just me being coo-koo nutso again. "

Dr. P: "I feel like we've had a real breakthrough here today, Whiskey. By admitting that you're a coo-koo nutso whack job, you've taken the first step. I think that many, many years of invasive and intrusive psychotherapy, coupled with high doses of Lithium and vodka should at least get you to the point where you'll stop seeing 'imaginary' serial killers. But unfortunately you'll still never leave your house- in your condition that would be a terrible idea." (he dims the lights)

Whiskey: "Whatever you say doctor- you're the professional! Thanks for your help, I'll be on my way now!"

Dr P: "Not so fast, Whiskey. Before you leave, I'd like to do a thorough full-body check for any possible signs of the devil that you may be marked with, and then I always like to do a exploratory anal probe with all of my patients." (he locks the door)

Whiskey: "Well, if you think that's necessary, I guess..."

Dr P: "I said I like to do it, I never said it was necessary."

And...scene.

In the hopes that this unfortunate situation never happens again, I am actually leaving the house today and going out and doing something fun, stupid, unnecessary or illegal.
Meet me for lunch and we'll have martinis.

Happy Friday, my adequately lubricated latex gloves. Happy Friday.

XO

In the time it took me to do this post I could have built a replica of the Great Wall of China with toothpicks

We're having internet issues here at VonPartypants headquarters.

My fancypants mega awesome "faster than a speed reader on crack" service has been sloooooooow.
"Dial up service circa 1994" slow. "Your aunt Bertha with a walker and pumped up with morphine" slow. "Waiting in line at the DMV" slow.

It took me 20 minutes to get logged on to blogger and upload this picture of my laptop, so until this is fixed (hopefully between 6:00a.m. and 11:00p.m. today, according to the testy man on the phone yesterday), I'll be m.i.a. for a bit more.

But really, other than:
-the fact that we had a jackhammer in our basement yesterday along with a giant pile of dirt
-the fact that our plumber said "this job really SUCKS" and "how old IS this house?" more than once yesterday
-the fact that I've been obsessively smelling my cats- their fur smells really good this week for whatever reason
-the fact that I have spent most of my week sitting on my butt, waiting for plumbers, handymen, etc...to either call or show up while phone-stalking the salesman who sold us our new couch which was supposed to be delivered almost two weeks ago and is still not here
-the fact that I keep eating an oddly delicious mixture of whole wheat pasta, chickpeas and eggs with parmesan cheese
-the fact that I had dinner with some old friends and the best line of the night was "Cindy McCain needs a good, swift kick in her taco"
and,
-the fact that the fact that I'm getting ready for a garage sale that I'm having with a friend next week and I'm far more excited to do this than I should be,

I got nothin'.

Maybe later, my binary bits of interesting but useless information. Maybe later.
XO

Is "handyman porn" an actual genre?

So I'm just going to go ahead and put it out there:
I, Whiskeymarie, ass-kicker extrordinaire, love having men fix things/build things/use power tools so I don't have to. I'm happy to throw on an apron and bake a bundt cake while guys who know more about lumber than I know about my vagina, hammer, saw and plumb my house into submission.

Yes, I know I'm an embarrassment to women's rights activists everywhere. I'm aware. But I don't give a shit.
I actually consider this to be a huge act of self-actualization and assertiveness on my part.

I already do it all: I am the #1 breadwinner/bringer of the bacon in my home, I cook, I clean, I garden, I decorate, I grocery shop, I do laundry and I set up the trapeze and wading pool of jell-o when it's time for a little bow-bow-chicka-bow. Sure, the Mr. does his part too- but being a bit of a control freak, I tend to don my cape, boots and american eagle bustier and try to do it all, all the time.

I'm a busy, modern woman. I'm comfortable with passing on this sort of stuff.
I don't need to prove anything to anyone.

Plus, truth be told, I have a bit of a thing for guys that are "handy". Nothing gets my engine purring quicker than when a man whips out his hammer and knows what to do with it.

Right now the plumbers are here, doing some very invasive work that hopefully means I will have a brand new bathroom in short order. I think they're Russian, these guys. I was kind of hoping that George, my plumber, would have sent the me-ow super sexy dude that did some work here a while ago. He was cute, tall, nearly bald either by choice or heredity (always a plus in my mind), handy, and he had that thick...Russian accent. I (like many other shallow and easily impressed women I know) am a sucker for an accent. If you're dropping your "r" in an attempt to learn the English language, chances are I'm thinking about dropping my drawers for you.
I'm such a cliche'.

My favorite parts of a "handy" man? Probably not the parts you think, my little dirty birds.
His arms and hands.
I love when men have kind of rough and maybe a bit scarred/calloused hands. I like a little muscle on the arms (not too much) and ropy veins. Dudes with manicures do nothing for this girl. To me, a man who is willing to get grimy, sweaty, bruised and abused in the pursuit of home improvements is probably willing to do the same in the sack. And, oddly enough, I noticed back in my dating days that guys who worked well with their hands tended to be really, really good in the, (ahem...) "oral" areas as well, for whatever reason.

So go ahead, boys. Let me be the girl. I'll bring you lemonade and cookies while you get down and dirty. I don't mind at all. I might even wear heels and fix my hair.
Just be aware that if you are even remotely attractive, I'll be thinking deliciously impure thoughts about you and your tool belt. If you want to avoid me molesting you with my eyes, I suggest you wear a long-sleeved shirt and gloves, otherwise all bets are off.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find a fan and a cool drink- I seem to be overheating a bit.

(And yes, the answer is yes. The Mr. is a pretty handy guy with very handy hands of his own.)


****************************************
Addendum:

Poobomber totally predicted this would happen. Finally the elusive blue yak is revealed...

Dr. Zibbs- you so sexy. Thanks for giving us ladies something to fantasize about:


.

BULLET!!!*

*just for you, Jon.

I haven't used bullet points in a while and thought you may be missing them.

Here's my day, random and in comfortable list form so as not to chafe you.

• The "handyman" I chose to build a wall is proving himself not so handy. I estimate I have spent 8.5 hours waiting for him to call, or for him to show up. If we were dating, this is the point where I would start sleeping with his roommate.
• I'm giving him a "get out of jail free THIS TIME" card simply because when he showed up for measurements, he was sporting a righteous 'stache and old school white leather Reebok high-tops.
  
• Hello, my name is Whiskeymarie and I am addicted to these.
  
• I'm wearing a Japanese Froot Loops t-shirt as I type.
• My neighbors directly across the street (the only neighbors we've actually talked to as far as actual conversations go) moved weeks ago and we didn't even notice. I guess they were readying the house for the Realtors when I saw them and said Hi today, and she's like, "Oh, we moved. " End of conversation. Just like that. We'll see what moves in. I hope they're English- I've never had English neighbors before. We could get together for tea and crumpets and share a larf about the Queen. Good times.
  
• Right now, my pants, jeans and dresses are in the closet downstairs, my underwear, jammies and 1/2 of my shirts are in the bedroom dresser, the other 1/2 of my shirts, my work clothes and my t-shirts are in the old "closet room" still, and my socks, misc. accessories and tights are in the guest room. If I can't make up my mind immediately every morning, getting dressed involves no less than 14 trips up and down the stairs and 27 cries of "Motherfucker!", such is my frustration.
  
• I'm sick and tired of summer, and summer is sick and tired of me.
  
• Later, I'm going to stain a door. I don't think I've ever stained anything before, unless you count the food stains that are constantly appearing out of "nowhere" on my white shirts.
  
• I survived my one day of work this week- thank you all for your kind words and sympathy cards. I'm glad y'all understood the gravity of my sorrow.
  
• I forgot to show you what my little sexypants girl, Gwen, arranged to arrive when I returned from my trip.

Take a peek:


Stuff! I like stuff! Especially cute, funny, monkey-laden, cookie-rich stuff!

And, from the looks of this tank top she sent, she has me all figured out:




Someone give Crazy a cookie, then. Crazy can only survive with a strict diet of sugar, white flour and frosting. Don't make Crazy angry. You wouldn't like it when she's angry...



She sent along a note challenging me to do something stupid in my fancy new shirt and show her what I did.
Since I rarely do anything stupid, you'll have to give me at least an hour or two to produce results. Truly great acts of astounding stupidity take time, you know? But is IS almost happy hour time, and it IS Friday...
Chances are I'll be able to come up with something- I wouldn't bet against me, that's all I'm sayin'.

She also gave me a very, very small folding chair.

Fine then. We'll see how this goes. Hmmm...big ass, small chair. I don't see this ending well. I see an awkward and embarrassing trip to the ER in my future.

I think I'll see if I can get one of the cats to use it. I see Pooter lounging in the sun on it, trying in vain to get the white patch of fur on her crotch tan, a margarita in one hand and a tiny little thong bikini covering up her bits.

Thanks for the loot, Gwen!


You have successfully bought my silence about that time you shit your pants.
(makes zipping motion over mouth)
Yup. Safe with me, my dear.



Happy Friday, my naughty little flashes of Pooter bits. Happy Friday.

XO

Joining the ranks of the ranks. Well, for ONE day anyways.

I have to work a WHOLE day today- can you believe it?
I know! The inhumanity!
If you weep a little for me, that's o.k. -we all cry sometimes. I cry when I accidentally sleep in so late that I miss breakfast and have to go straight for lunch. That makes me sad.
If you feel the need, I accept sympathy cards- especially ones that have cash and/or gift cards in them.

This sucks- I had forgotten what most of you "employed" folks do all day. It seems my brain has reverted to it's "standby" mode where it focuses on monkeys, squirrels, my cats and what I'm going to drink for dinner.

Damn, Grandma always told me to marry for money instead of love.
I think that old gal was on to something...

Homespun yarns from life on the homestead.

Remember when I said I/we are remodeling our house?
Yeah.
Good times.
So, what started as "how about we finally re-do our crappy bathroom and maybe get a little plumbing and electrical work done" has now morphed into "O.k. Let's add a new bathroom, take away most of our closet space forcing us to sell our kidneys to IKEA for storage solutions, replace the flooring in 1/2 of the house, repaint 6+ rooms, completely re-decorate, get all new light fixtures, finally deal with the nightmare that is our basement, re-wire, replace appliances and, oh yeah- eventually we'll redo the crappy bathroom but not until everything else is done."
Yeah.
Good times.

The entryway I was so proud to have finished painting is, well...
the same.
At least I have the light I ordered and the rug came in, but buying curtains sucks and I don't feel like trying again yet.

So here we are:

Yup, that's a door there. Nope. Nothing else done since I was last bragging of my remodeling prowess.

My dining room is looking amazing though. Nothing says "welcome to my home, we're not hillbillies- really!" like having a washer and dryer as furniture. The delivery guys refused to take them down our rickety and narrow basement stairs, which is probably a good thing because when me and the Mr. tried to do it ourselves, the end result was us sweating and laughing as we tried to un-wedge the dryer from between a pipe and a wall. We got it back out, but not after scratching the shit out of it. I guess we'll wait for George the Plumber to remove the pipes before we attempt again.

You can see that I have already acclimated to having a washer & dryer in my dining room by using them as my landing pad for my purse and jacket & such. And, from the looks of it, it's going to be a week or two before they go anywhere. And yes- that's a microwave on the table.
Yeah.
Good times.

Oh, and- at the same time we bought the new W & D, we bought a new fridge. All of this stuff was delivered this past Saturday. We were so excited. Yay! A non-beige non-1982 fridge with non-smoke-colored drawers! Yay!
Well, yay only counts if the fridge actually WORKS. We waited all day for it to start cooling. Nothing. By Sunday I was pissed and we already had to get a ton more ice for the four coolers sitting in my dining room with the rest of the crap. Long story short, we FINALLY have a working fridge. Today. Yes, that was nearly 5 days without a fridge. Yes, I had to throw almost everything out. Yes, indeed, Whiskeymarie was breathing fire and cursing like a trucker on meth, such was her ire.
But, Whiskey is nothing if not a good "angry customer" and she ended up getting a better fridge (worth $300 more) that was the one she liked in the first place but was too cheap to buy. So, now all is well. At least in the kitchen.

Moving on...

Like my new "new" bathroom floor and bedroom floor? You have to look hard, but they're in there underneath the boxes of stuff I packed up to get shit out of the way so that now it looks like we're either moving out or squatting here. Someday the flooring may actually even come out of the boxes. Dare to dream, Whiskey. Dare to dream.


If you like the flooring, you'll LOVE my new bathroom:

If this project doesn't get moving soon, that garbage can is going to have an unfortunate second life as a toilet. I plan on running a hose from outside as a "shower" and will just stand in an old barrel to hose off. I'll class the place up by putting up one of those craft-fair signs that have a painting of an old guy sitting in an outhouse on a piece of wood. I'll have them personalize it with "Whiskey's terlet, poop once, wipe twice" or something like that.

Yeah.
Good times.

More updates to follow, but don't get your hopes too high, kids. This is going to be a while.
.

I've got my period, have you got an ampersand?

.
Dear Omnipotent Poobah of Punctuation:

It has come to my attention that you and I are incompatible, to say the least. I feel that you have not lived up to my expectations, and I would like to file a formal complaint.
Sir, if the rest of the world is a sleek, finely-tuned sportscar, then you are a vegetable crate strapped to a rusty wagon.

Specifically, what I'm referring to here is the abysmal lack of punctuation choices available to the average English Language consumer these days. Years ago, the average EL shopper was content to purchase their punctuation at the local Mom & Pop store. People were more frugal, and no one really needed more than a few commas here, a semicolon there. Exclamation points were luxuries, and the ampersand was reserved for when one was confronted with a life and death situation where typing out "and" would result in someone choking to death on their chipped beef on toast.

Not any more. With our go-go lifestyles and super caffeinated workdays, consumer demand for low-priced punctuation as well as innovations in punctuation have increased tenfold. The first problem has already been solved- punctuation warehouses like "The Period Palace" and "Asterisks, Colons and Question Marks, oh my!" provide bargain pricing on bulk punctuation, and as we all know by now- buying in bulk is good for the environment too.

But where oh where, benevolent Poobah, where are our innovations? Where is our punctuation of the future?

I kindly and humbly offer a few solutions (patents pending):

Very often I find myself in the uncomfortable position of wanting to show a level of excitement in my writing that an exclamation mark cannot seem to fulfill. Sometimes I want to show a little excitement in a situation, but not too much because I either don't like the person very much but pretend that I do, or I'm worried my excitement may force them to call the authorities again.
And on the other hand, when my excitement is such that I am jumping up and down and squealing like a baby piglet on crack, I don't want to come off as too forward with an entire row of Exclamation marks. Somehow, it just seems pushy.
My solution is this- a simple <> (the universal signs for "greater than" and "less than") combined with your exclamation mark would denote either your half-assed attempt at pretending to care about someone's big announcement, or your diagnosis of "borderline personality" from your doctor.

Example:
Your co-worker has e-mailed you a picture of their niece's birthday party at the local ant farm, and you couldn't give a shit if you tried. An appropriate response would be, "Wow Gertrude, it sure looks like you all had fun < ! Or, your estranged uncle Buford has just won the lottery, but his newfound religion, "Destitutionism" prohibits him from material excesses so he is giving it all to you. Your response: "Thank you so much, Unky B- we are pooping our pants with excitement as I type > !

See? Simple.

Another problem facing people today is the complete inability to punctuate properly. Years of pollution, toxins in the water and margaritas for lunch have reduced the parts of our brains that normally serve to help us write sentences without excessive or nonexistent punctuation to mush. Until we find a cure for this malady, a temporary solution is in order. Even I, a renowned monkey trainer and macramé artist, suffer from this affliction. I have struggled with the symptoms: What to do when you can't decide if a comma, dash or semicolon is needed? Do we just pick one randomly and hope for the best? Do we actually crack open a book or look up the proper usage on the internet?
Hell no! That would take too much time and we have a Parcheesi tournament at ten!

Instead, I propose another simple and innovative solution. Whenever one encounters a punctuation emergency of this magnitude, one should simply substitute my soon-to-be universally accepted symbol of "I don't know what the hell to put here so I'm using this."
A "generic" symbol, if you will.
I suggest: (**)
To me, (**) has a d'oh! quality to it, almost like a blank stare, and lets the reader know that you are painfully aware of your shortcomings as a human being.

Example: "When I went potty today (**) and before I dropped my drawers (**) I decided to paint clown makeup on my face (**) much like Giggles the hermaphroditic entertainer from Idaho.

Or: "It was fun, except for the one time it wasn't fun (**) you know (**) that one time when you got that thing stuck in your (**) you-know-what and the park ranger had to call in backup (**) you know, that one time.

Again, so very simple.

A few quick examples if other ideas I am currently working on:

• Any word starting in "A" can now be written simply as @. All of them.
  
• The word "and" is outlawed. & is king. All hail &. Disregard the above rule when "and" (from here on to be known as &) is being used- that would just be too confusing.
  
• Any sentence referring to water will be completed with ~~~~ instead of a period. Ditto for snakes, performing the "worm" while breakdancing, & mustaches.
  
• Any sentence written at night will be solely punctuated by asterisks, denoting stars.
  
• Sex, and all heterosexual sex acts, will be denoted by: t+o. Lesbians: o+o, gay men: t+t. Now, now. calm down. It's just simpler and much more sanitary this way, trust me.
  
• Rambling sentences will trail off with <<<, denoting when we all do that hand thingy when someone is talking too much and you're all like "blah, blah, blah" with your hands.

Your attention to this matter is appreciated and I look forward to hearing your input and decisions. The future is now & we don't want to be left behind < !

Sincerely,

Whiskeymarie VonPartypants
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If you were in Oregon this week and smelled bacon, well...that was me.

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Yup.

I'm back from the glorious Pacific Northwest. I'm full, I'm relaxed, I'm a little windblown and may possibly be on the wagon. Or not.

I know, I know- the last thing most of you worker bees want to hear about is some layabout like myself going on a wonderful vacation where they leave their nonexistent worries, their laptop, and their liver behind.
I know.
So, I thought I'd make you feel like you were there and enjoyed every cheesy, winey, beachy, touristy and eat-y moment with me. Just pretend that I kicked the Mr. to the curb and you and I jetted off on a: romantic getaway/girl's weekend/"Hey we just broke out of rehab- let's have some fun!" vacation.

Make believe is fun! Imagining is fun!
Well, except when your mom told you that one time to "imagine" yourself with a boyfriend because no one wants to kiss a potty mouth, and then she said while you're at it why don't you "imagine" getting someone to marry little Miss MessyMessy because no man in his right mind marries a slob...

But otherwise, make believe is fun! Right?

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Day one of our journey has us flying the friendly skies. Look at us all hopped up on Ativan taking pictures of ourselves in the bathroom! Wasn't that a hoot how the people waiting in line looked confused, probably because they kept seeing a flash going off in the potty in the sky?
That was fun. Not quite "flying coach and packed in tighter than Tommy Lee's junk in a speedo" fun, but fun just the same.




I'm so glad we decided to spend two days in Seattle before heading to the shore! I love Seattle so very, very much. Cooler weather, not too much sun to burn my "delicate little flower" pasty white skin, a big body of water, and relatives living there so we have a free and lovely place to crash.

Since all we did the first night was enjoy a fabulous meal in a stunning Hilltop house surrounded by nothing but amazing view after amazing view and got waaaaaayyyyy too drunk on wine and was kind of (but not too) retarded, perhaps we should skip to day two.

Good morning! Let's go to Pike Place market- I hear they throw fish around and stuff.

Holy crap, that's a lot of people, but we came here to see things, and see things we will, dammit!


Didn't you love those perfect raspberries that we bought and ate the whole pint while we walked around? I sure did. Yum. Remember how we bought Ranier cherries and ate fish and chips and drank that lovely local brew that helped your hangover a teensy bit?
Yeah, me too.

Oh, there you go again...you.
You never miss a chance to catch me fondling myself in public, do you?
If this whole cooking thing doesn't work out, I think I have found my next place of employment.



Wasn't that fun meeting up with the other WM and the Mr's cousin later that night? Boy howdy, we sure drank a ton o' wine at that fancy place. That other WM is quite a sexy little firecracker, don't you know. We drank, we ate, we gossiped , she licked you and we all told each other many of our dirty little secrets...
Too bad I can't tell you any of them or show you pictures, but we dished, broke glassware and photo'd plenty.
Evidence exists. Trust me.
And we looked hot.
Again, you'll just have to trust me.


Wow- didn't Sunday come fast?

Before we knew it, it was time to round up bail money and head to the Oregon coast. That side trip we drove to Portland sure was fun- too bad we only had time to pick up our relatives from the train station and attempt to park to get the "holy grail of donuts donut" here. I was so sad to not procure a MAPLE BACON DONUT for myself that some of my Mr's relatives took pity on me and bought me a few on a day trip later in the week. Bacon and donuts- it's a winning combination. Yum.

Man oh man, did we stay in a nice house or what? Remember how you peed your pants when you saw how close to the nice end of the beach it was and that you could smell the fresh ocean air the minute you got out of the car and it made you so happy that you started planning ways to move there?

Home sweet swanky home, at least for the week:

How very lucky we are-

we could have ended up in this place:



Gosh, how many times did we walk up and down the boardwalk? It was so nice and picturesque. People were so friendly, they didn't even seem to mind you drinking that 40 in the paper bag and puking a little in front of their children.



Here we are posing on the beach in Ecola (not to be confused with e.coli or Ebola) State Park. I'm sure glad you got a little sun that day- you sure were pasty.



That was cute how you just kept mumbling "pretty beach, pretty beach..." while rocking back and forth and staring maniacally at the waves. Adorable.


We had quite a hike that day, didn't we? Six miles on the Tillamook Trail with a 1,200-foot elevation? Holy balls, it sure was a tough one, but the stunning views and banana slugs were worth it, I think.


When you took this picture of me to prove that I could, indeed, hike somewhere that didn't involve a martini and a barstool at the end, well- that sure was funny. I think I proved my hiking awesomeness that day. I wanted to tackle the hike that had a 3,200-foot elevation later in the week- but alas, we ran out of time. Had it not killed me I think it would have at the very least conjured up some wicked cool hallucinations.


Lookout #1 gave us a view of this lighthouse built waaay out in the water. It was funny when you suggested moving there so that I could never find you again and you could have some peace and quiet. Good luck, bucko- I'd find you in two days, tops. I'm crafty like that.


It was a looooooooong way down. One slip and we would have been compost for the slugs.


When we were finally back from the hike, FOUR HOURS LATER, we were more than content to just put our feet up with a beer and watch the sun set.
Well- that is, after we had a chef-prepared (no, it wasn't me, silly. I don't cook on vacation- it's a rule) dinner with garlic cream halibut, paella, pear, raspberry & goat cheese salad and key lime cheesecake for dessert.
And after we drank lots of wine.


The next day I had a hankering for a corn dog. I figured that if I was going to violate my "no wieners" rule and eat my second one in 15 years that it should be in the form of a deep-fried, hand-dipped wiener from the place next to the bumper cars on the main drag.
Mmmmm....delicious, delicious wiener.
I love me the wiener.

Wiener.


After all of that gluttony and wienery, we decided to head to the beach and soak in the sun a bit. Remember how you made fun of my feet and called them "busted"? And then I kicked you in the crotch?
That was fun too.

Almost as much fun as playing in the sand, wading in the (pretty cold but not too bad for a Northern MN girl) water, looking for sand dollars, dozing in the sun and having margaritas on the beach was.
Almost.


You sure were a clever little trickster when you tried to substitute butter for my SPF 70. I figured out the ruse when I heard sizzling and smelled bacon.
You so silly.


I sure wish you hadn't cried like a baby when I told you that it was time to go home. Not your proudest moment, methinks. You knew it would be your last chance to see the mountains up close and before they looked like this:


Say bye bye to the beach!


Good thing you forked over your weekly wine allowance to the airline so that you could upgrade to first class on the way home! However, I am worried that now that you've enjoyed the amenities (read: free booze) of the front, roomy rows, you will forever be ruined. Coach will seem even more like a factory farm than it already does. The $4 wine will leave a bitter taste in your mouth and no one will care if you want a pillow.
Flying will, once again, suck balls.

Yeah, yeah- I know we did a lot more stuff that I didn't write about here. No, I'm not going to tell them about that trip to the underpants factory you wanted to go on so desperately. No one cares. And yes, I left out the part of how I consumed approximately 15 pounds of Tillamook cheese, bushels of Doritos, 3 pounds of guacamole and 45 bottles of white wine in a week. No one needs to know that, and thank you for outing me and sending me into a shame spiral. Everyone already read about my little "escapade" with the flea circus and the pet store in the paper the other day. Just let it go, o.k?
Geez.

This is exactly why I never take you anywhere, dammit.
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And, yes- I know I was a total slob and pretty much lived in my gray hoodie all week. It's called a vacation, folks. Vacation from glamour, vacation from makeup, vacation from basic personal hygiene. It was lovely. I highly recommend it.

Psyche!

I'm back...
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But I need a minute. Sorry to be such a tease.
I promise pictures and such and such, but little to no nudity whatsoever.
O.k, fine.
Nudity it is.

I'll be back later with a trip recap, my little naked nubbins of tasty monkey flesh.
Then, we'll talk.
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