Argh.I'm still stuffed.
Quit poking me, dammit.
Just let me lay here, will ya?
Stupid pumpkin pie...
.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Is that your ass, or do you have a 17-pound turkey in your pocket?
Argh.I'm still stuffed.
Quit poking me, dammit.
Just let me lay here, will ya?
Stupid pumpkin pie...
.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
I'll talk about poo and drunken antics tomorrow, I promise.
As usual, I'm a big, fat liar.
I found a few more Thanksgiving pics. Nothing too exciting, but since I'm scanning and posting my life in all of it's questionably glorious glory here on the in-ter-nets, I thought I'd give 'em to y'all.
Tomorrow's the big day, and I figured that maybe a few of you could use some place setting/decorating tips and a little trip down Whiskeymarie Memory Lane (mind the speed bumps!)
This was my Grandma's house. We usually rotated T-day and Xmas between hers & ours. This is the spread all laid out in the dining room:
And no, that is not a bundt cake. That is my Grandmother "fancying things up a bit" by baking the frozen bread dough in a bundt pan. You'll also note the pitcher of "le Kool-aid" on the table for the youngins. We actually did use china this year, my grandma's china was surprisingly lovely- plain white with a platinum band and a simple gray/silver rose in the center. For a lady who grew up in a house with a dirt floor, she could really surprise us when she classed it up.
The lady in question:
She was a hoot. Coarse, yet sweet as pie. Funnier than hell and a no-nonsense attitude- that lady didn't fuck around. She didn't lie, and she could cook like nobody's business. As you can well tell, she and I were two peas in a pod. I miss that old broad.
At her house, you had two choices as to where you could eat: The kitchen alcove or the living room. Everyone wanted the kitchen.
The house had a little alcove that had a table and two long benches to sit on. I liked sitting in there so much (and not getting stuck in the living room with Uncle Bob who made so much noise eating that I often thought I was eating with an elderly wild boar) that I would often stake out a spot, then I would wait until EVERYONE had filled a plate and sat down before I'd shimmy under the table (the only way to get out) and go to fix a plate and hope that there were still marshmallow yams left.
(Mom & Dad were sporting matching honkey 'fros that year, as you can see.)
I loved that spot at my Grandma's house. It was where the dishiest and most interesting conversations took place. It was where loud, heartfelt and often ridiculous arguments happened, and it was where I learned a lot of my family history.
It was where, one Friday the 13th, the adults played card games until the wee hours of the morning, not realizing that the kids were in the living room watching a "Friday the 13th" movie marathon. I think I was 8 or 9- I didn't sleep well for weeks after that. For a kid who lived waaayyy out in the boonies who went to an old-school totally-what-you-see-in-the-slasher-movies summer camp, watching three gory movies based in those same settings freaked my shit out.
Good times.
This is my favorite picture of the alcove- it was taken before I was born, but is pretty much exactly how I remembered it, minus the happy people that were always around it:
I miss having that spot to go to.
In their later years, I could always count on walking in the front door of the house, my Grandma perched on her stool in the kitchen by the coffee maker (always on and always full of very weak Arco coffee), my Grandpa sitting at the end of the table. I usually walked in mid-argument with those two, as a day didn't go by for them without bickering. Honestly, had they not been bickering, we all would have wondered what was wrong with them. They taunted each other, they made fun of each other (my grandma started doing impressions of how my Grandpa talked funny after he had a stroke- most people would think this is mean, but he laughed every time she did it), and both of them were always right about whatever it is they were "discussing", even when they both were totally wrong.
Grandma would pour me a cup of coffee and offer up some of her perfect carrot cake or chocolate chip cookies (she always had one or both on hand), and I'd plop down at the table and join in the conversation, which generally turned to "when are you going to have a baby?" the minute I walked in the door.
Sigh.
Good times.
I don't have that place to go to anymore, but I have these pictures, and I have the stories. Oh yeah- and I have plenty of family secrets that I learned sitting there nicely tucked away. Sometimes it pays off to shut up and listen.
I hope you all have your "place", or at least that you someday find it. Me? I hope to have one again someday. Maybe at my house, maybe somewhere else.
In the meantime, could someone stop my parents from manhandling each other at the table? It's kind of skeeving me out:
Happy Early Turkey Day, my monster huge slices of pumpkin pie with a bucket of whipped cream.
Happy Early Turkey Day.
XO
WM
.
I found a few more Thanksgiving pics. Nothing too exciting, but since I'm scanning and posting my life in all of it's questionably glorious glory here on the in-ter-nets, I thought I'd give 'em to y'all.
Tomorrow's the big day, and I figured that maybe a few of you could use some place setting/decorating tips and a little trip down Whiskeymarie Memory Lane (mind the speed bumps!)
This was my Grandma's house. We usually rotated T-day and Xmas between hers & ours. This is the spread all laid out in the dining room:
And no, that is not a bundt cake. That is my Grandmother "fancying things up a bit" by baking the frozen bread dough in a bundt pan. You'll also note the pitcher of "le Kool-aid" on the table for the youngins. We actually did use china this year, my grandma's china was surprisingly lovely- plain white with a platinum band and a simple gray/silver rose in the center. For a lady who grew up in a house with a dirt floor, she could really surprise us when she classed it up.The lady in question:
She was a hoot. Coarse, yet sweet as pie. Funnier than hell and a no-nonsense attitude- that lady didn't fuck around. She didn't lie, and she could cook like nobody's business. As you can well tell, she and I were two peas in a pod. I miss that old broad.At her house, you had two choices as to where you could eat: The kitchen alcove or the living room. Everyone wanted the kitchen.
The house had a little alcove that had a table and two long benches to sit on. I liked sitting in there so much (and not getting stuck in the living room with Uncle Bob who made so much noise eating that I often thought I was eating with an elderly wild boar) that I would often stake out a spot, then I would wait until EVERYONE had filled a plate and sat down before I'd shimmy under the table (the only way to get out) and go to fix a plate and hope that there were still marshmallow yams left.
(Mom & Dad were sporting matching honkey 'fros that year, as you can see.)I loved that spot at my Grandma's house. It was where the dishiest and most interesting conversations took place. It was where loud, heartfelt and often ridiculous arguments happened, and it was where I learned a lot of my family history.
It was where, one Friday the 13th, the adults played card games until the wee hours of the morning, not realizing that the kids were in the living room watching a "Friday the 13th" movie marathon. I think I was 8 or 9- I didn't sleep well for weeks after that. For a kid who lived waaayyy out in the boonies who went to an old-school totally-what-you-see-in-the-slasher-movies summer camp, watching three gory movies based in those same settings freaked my shit out.
Good times.
This is my favorite picture of the alcove- it was taken before I was born, but is pretty much exactly how I remembered it, minus the happy people that were always around it:
I miss having that spot to go to.
In their later years, I could always count on walking in the front door of the house, my Grandma perched on her stool in the kitchen by the coffee maker (always on and always full of very weak Arco coffee), my Grandpa sitting at the end of the table. I usually walked in mid-argument with those two, as a day didn't go by for them without bickering. Honestly, had they not been bickering, we all would have wondered what was wrong with them. They taunted each other, they made fun of each other (my grandma started doing impressions of how my Grandpa talked funny after he had a stroke- most people would think this is mean, but he laughed every time she did it), and both of them were always right about whatever it is they were "discussing", even when they both were totally wrong.
Grandma would pour me a cup of coffee and offer up some of her perfect carrot cake or chocolate chip cookies (she always had one or both on hand), and I'd plop down at the table and join in the conversation, which generally turned to "when are you going to have a baby?" the minute I walked in the door.
Sigh.
Good times.
I don't have that place to go to anymore, but I have these pictures, and I have the stories. Oh yeah- and I have plenty of family secrets that I learned sitting there nicely tucked away. Sometimes it pays off to shut up and listen.
I hope you all have your "place", or at least that you someday find it. Me? I hope to have one again someday. Maybe at my house, maybe somewhere else.
In the meantime, could someone stop my parents from manhandling each other at the table? It's kind of skeeving me out:
Happy Early Turkey Day, my monster huge slices of pumpkin pie with a bucket of whipped cream.
Happy Early Turkey Day.
XO
WM
.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Giblets, and all things giblet-related.
I realized this weekend, as I was looking for Thanksgiving pictures (and found exactly three) that people don't take a lot of pictures on the "feast of roast bird". Well, at least in northern MN in the late 70's and 80's in my family they didn't.
I have buckets of pictures from christmas, birthdays and Halloween, but the holiday centered around eating until we bust a vessel and Uncle Bob drinks too much Lambrusco and starts a fight with Grandma about who was more poor in the depression and then everyone falls asleep in front of the TV which is showing a "very special" Facts of Life?
Nope.
Nuthin'.
Here's what I've got:
For a few years, we raised chickens, turkeys and piggies. this meant that out T-day gobbler was "fresh from the farm", so to speak. This is a picture of the Turkeys we had in 1980, which was a good year compared to the year that I accidentally left the door to the coop open once and all of the turkeys escaped and were subsequently killed by our dog. That was a sad thanksgiving indeed. And, in case you're wondering- dog tastes nothing like turkey. Nothing at all.
Gobble Gobble.
And no, we didn't name the turkeys. They were kind of mean and we (read: me) were scared of them. Angry, pecking little fuckers.
Ours was not a Hallmark Holiday Special sort of Turkey day. We did not get dressed up, we didn't pull out the best china, crystal and silver. We didn't give Manuela, our maid, the day off and have a good larf over the fact that we accidentally put the lobster fork next to the grapefruit spoon whilst setting the table.
No, we pretty much just slopped everything in mismatched bowls, dropped it on the table and got the hell out of the way.
But as you can see from the fridge, we went all out with the decorations.
Oh, and you can also see that my Dad ditched the mustache that year, but kept the Jeff Lynne-esque glasses.
Finally, this one is from the year my Mom decided that we should all sit at the same table and eat like civilized people.
All I remember about this year is that conversation took an ugly turn (being that we were all forced to sit and look at one another while eating), and screaming ensued. This may have been the year that my Grandma and Grandpa were yelling at each other about who directed "Gone with the Wind". Years later, when I bothered to look it up, I realized they were both wrong.
Good times.
And yes- the children are drinking wine here. We had a very "European" approach to things at the VonPartypants household. children drank wine (grape juice), many "pommes frites" were consumed, and our dog was named "Oui" (Wee).
You can see that once again no expense was spared where the decorations were concerned. Only the finest paper turkeys graced our table.
The year after this we totally kicked it up a notch and put one of these at each "place setting"(paper plates & plastic silverware):
Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it, Martha Stewart. Hell yeah!
Happy Monday, my little giblet gravy-slathered stuffing balls. Happy Monday.
XO
.
I have buckets of pictures from christmas, birthdays and Halloween, but the holiday centered around eating until we bust a vessel and Uncle Bob drinks too much Lambrusco and starts a fight with Grandma about who was more poor in the depression and then everyone falls asleep in front of the TV which is showing a "very special" Facts of Life?
Nope.
Nuthin'.
Here's what I've got:
For a few years, we raised chickens, turkeys and piggies. this meant that out T-day gobbler was "fresh from the farm", so to speak. This is a picture of the Turkeys we had in 1980, which was a good year compared to the year that I accidentally left the door to the coop open once and all of the turkeys escaped and were subsequently killed by our dog. That was a sad thanksgiving indeed. And, in case you're wondering- dog tastes nothing like turkey. Nothing at all.
Gobble Gobble.And no, we didn't name the turkeys. They were kind of mean and we (read: me) were scared of them. Angry, pecking little fuckers.
Ours was not a Hallmark Holiday Special sort of Turkey day. We did not get dressed up, we didn't pull out the best china, crystal and silver. We didn't give Manuela, our maid, the day off and have a good larf over the fact that we accidentally put the lobster fork next to the grapefruit spoon whilst setting the table.
No, we pretty much just slopped everything in mismatched bowls, dropped it on the table and got the hell out of the way.
But as you can see from the fridge, we went all out with the decorations.Oh, and you can also see that my Dad ditched the mustache that year, but kept the Jeff Lynne-esque glasses.
Finally, this one is from the year my Mom decided that we should all sit at the same table and eat like civilized people.
All I remember about this year is that conversation took an ugly turn (being that we were all forced to sit and look at one another while eating), and screaming ensued. This may have been the year that my Grandma and Grandpa were yelling at each other about who directed "Gone with the Wind". Years later, when I bothered to look it up, I realized they were both wrong.
Good times.
And yes- the children are drinking wine here. We had a very "European" approach to things at the VonPartypants household. children drank wine (grape juice), many "pommes frites" were consumed, and our dog was named "Oui" (Wee).You can see that once again no expense was spared where the decorations were concerned. Only the finest paper turkeys graced our table.
The year after this we totally kicked it up a notch and put one of these at each "place setting"(paper plates & plastic silverware):
Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it, Martha Stewart. Hell yeah!Happy Monday, my little giblet gravy-slathered stuffing balls. Happy Monday.
XO
.
Friday, November 21, 2008
The one where I pretend you can't buy my love even though you totally can.
So, round one of the "Great Whiskeymarie Mail Project" went off fairly smoothly. I didn't accidentally send anyone either of my cats and I haven't been questioned by the FBI yet, so all is good. If you sent me your address and didn't get anything, let me know as I am retarded and may have missed a few. And, on a side note- If I accidentally mailed anyone my unders I apologize. I seem to be missing a few pairs and can only guess as to their fate. Also, if whoever got the package with the white powder and the firearms could just go ahead and send it back to me, that would be awesome. If not, no big deal, just expect my next posts to be conspicuously devoid of a's q's and z's as my left pinky finger will be missing.
Thanks- you're a peach.
I send stuff out, all over the world (literally- I sent mail to Paris & Vienna this round), and I really, truly expect nothing in return. I enjoy just sending stuff out, hopefully making someone's day a little nicer by getting mail that isn't from the Cable company or the oil change place.
But...
Some of you feel compelled to send stuff back, thereby completing the circle of life and saving the Lion King.
I have been slow in my thank you's for my fun, weird, tasty and pretty gifts. I realized I was nearing the 45-day etiquette limit for random mail thank-you's, so today I want to give an internetal high-five to my darling little love monkeys that took time to think about me, put stuff in a box, and mail it out so that my sexypants mailman could be blessed again with the glory of my smiling face.
Behold-
From my girl Ciarra in CA, I got a totally awesome, vintage-y black glass bead necklace & earrings:
I can't wear the earrings right now because my ear-holes hurt from wearing dangly earrings on my big, messy night out this week. Damn ear-holes.
From my girl Katrin in Vienna, I received a little box of tasty treats. Schnee balles!!
All weekend after I got these crunchy-coated balls of marzipan yumminess I would randomly blurt out "Schnee Balles!" just because it's fun to say. But damn you, Katrin. Now I'm addicted to these little love nuggets, and since I don't see a trip to Austria in my future, when I start shaking from withdrawl I may need someone to "talk me down" so to speak.
Schnee Balles!!:
My funny, lovely Patti sent me a super cute vintage-y sparkly bracelet that I pretty much demanded she give to me. The word "subtle" means nothing to me.
Please feel free to ignore the pasty white skin underneath the sparkles:
My bad boy John sent me the furry goodness that is keeping me and my pussies warm and cuddly at night:
Sir Bananabottom says "hey". He's so soft and smooshy. I love him.
My girl Amy in TX, who is fast becoming my adopted southern sister, sent me tasty treats that play to my weaknesses- wine, chocolate & the kitties.
Kittie wine! I think it's almost too cute to drink, but I predict I will do so in a fit of online shopping burnout in the very near future:
She also sent me a block of chewy, fudgy, brownie-esque goodness called "Miles of Chocolate". I can't really describe this wonder except to say that it tasted like what I imagine would be the result of brownies mating with fudge and fairies in some sort of magical three-way.
I have a picture, but the chocolatey goodness is long, long gone as I took most of these photos a while ago. No fudgey goodness for you! I ate it all!:
T.J. in Nevada sent me what I have been referring to as my "box o' fun!". I think he understands my love of randomly weird stuff. I totally love this package (that's what SHE said!):
Monkey socks, pens, a piece of the Berlin wall (complete with certificate of authenticity), an odd little pocket knife/tool, some pretty, polished rocks, and coins from around the world:
Look closely and you will see...monkey!
Well played, T.J. I loved, loved, loved this box o' fun.
And finally, my doppelganger, the ebony to my ivory, the love of my life that is the "other" WM sent me a little something to keep me warm during the cold MN winter:
She knows me so well- she sent me spicy cock.
I love her.
If I forgot anyone I'll be back later with more. And a HUGE thank you to all who have sent cards, postcards and letters back to me. I'd scan them all, but I don't think my ass can take sitting at this desk that long.
You guys are wicked awesome and if I were there with you right now I'd shove my tongue in your mouth in an awkward attempt to french kiss you, and then I'd touch you inappropriately in your "special" place.
Happy Friday, my sparkly, chocolatey, boozy cock nuggets. Happy Friday.
XO
.
Thanks- you're a peach.
I send stuff out, all over the world (literally- I sent mail to Paris & Vienna this round), and I really, truly expect nothing in return. I enjoy just sending stuff out, hopefully making someone's day a little nicer by getting mail that isn't from the Cable company or the oil change place.
But...
Some of you feel compelled to send stuff back, thereby completing the circle of life and saving the Lion King.
I have been slow in my thank you's for my fun, weird, tasty and pretty gifts. I realized I was nearing the 45-day etiquette limit for random mail thank-you's, so today I want to give an internetal high-five to my darling little love monkeys that took time to think about me, put stuff in a box, and mail it out so that my sexypants mailman could be blessed again with the glory of my smiling face.
Behold-
From my girl Ciarra in CA, I got a totally awesome, vintage-y black glass bead necklace & earrings:
I can't wear the earrings right now because my ear-holes hurt from wearing dangly earrings on my big, messy night out this week. Damn ear-holes.
From my girl Katrin in Vienna, I received a little box of tasty treats. Schnee balles!!
All weekend after I got these crunchy-coated balls of marzipan yumminess I would randomly blurt out "Schnee Balles!" just because it's fun to say. But damn you, Katrin. Now I'm addicted to these little love nuggets, and since I don't see a trip to Austria in my future, when I start shaking from withdrawl I may need someone to "talk me down" so to speak.
Schnee Balles!!:
My funny, lovely Patti sent me a super cute vintage-y sparkly bracelet that I pretty much demanded she give to me. The word "subtle" means nothing to me.
Please feel free to ignore the pasty white skin underneath the sparkles:
My bad boy John sent me the furry goodness that is keeping me and my pussies warm and cuddly at night:
Sir Bananabottom says "hey". He's so soft and smooshy. I love him.My girl Amy in TX, who is fast becoming my adopted southern sister, sent me tasty treats that play to my weaknesses- wine, chocolate & the kitties.
Kittie wine! I think it's almost too cute to drink, but I predict I will do so in a fit of online shopping burnout in the very near future:
She also sent me a block of chewy, fudgy, brownie-esque goodness called "Miles of Chocolate". I can't really describe this wonder except to say that it tasted like what I imagine would be the result of brownies mating with fudge and fairies in some sort of magical three-way.I have a picture, but the chocolatey goodness is long, long gone as I took most of these photos a while ago. No fudgey goodness for you! I ate it all!:
T.J. in Nevada sent me what I have been referring to as my "box o' fun!". I think he understands my love of randomly weird stuff. I totally love this package (that's what SHE said!):
Monkey socks, pens, a piece of the Berlin wall (complete with certificate of authenticity), an odd little pocket knife/tool, some pretty, polished rocks, and coins from around the world:
Look closely and you will see...monkey!Well played, T.J. I loved, loved, loved this box o' fun.
And finally, my doppelganger, the ebony to my ivory, the love of my life that is the "other" WM sent me a little something to keep me warm during the cold MN winter:
She knows me so well- she sent me spicy cock.I love her.
If I forgot anyone I'll be back later with more. And a HUGE thank you to all who have sent cards, postcards and letters back to me. I'd scan them all, but I don't think my ass can take sitting at this desk that long.
You guys are wicked awesome and if I were there with you right now I'd shove my tongue in your mouth in an awkward attempt to french kiss you, and then I'd touch you inappropriately in your "special" place.
Happy Friday, my sparkly, chocolatey, boozy cock nuggets. Happy Friday.
XO
.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Tastes like victory.
So...
Hows about we just say that my BFF Waffle and I ended the evening by peeing in the back yard because we couldn't get in the house even though the keys were in my purse which was hanging off of my shoulder and leave it at that?
OK?
Thanks.
Oh- and? If someone could do me a favor and dispose of this dead squirrel that seems to have expired in my mouth (judging from the taste), that would be awesome.
Hows about we just say that my BFF Waffle and I ended the evening by peeing in the back yard because we couldn't get in the house even though the keys were in my purse which was hanging off of my shoulder and leave it at that?
OK?
Thanks.
Oh- and? If someone could do me a favor and dispose of this dead squirrel that seems to have expired in my mouth (judging from the taste), that would be awesome.
Monday, November 17, 2008
The bargain bin that is my brain
Things I'm finding odd/interesting today:
- My arms are sore today even though the most strenuous thing I did yesterday was lift a forkful of french toast into my pie-hole.
- In the four years I have been at my present job, we have had no less than 5 different types of toilet paper dispensers in the women's washrooms.
- People who wear flip flops with a winter coat in November in MN.
- That whenever a co-worker starts a sentence with "I hate to bother you, but..." the next 5-15 minutes of your life are going to totally suck donkey balls.
- The fact that I haven't french kissed my new, hot pink Kipling bag yet ($30 on ebay, suckas!).
- the fact that I've been at work since 6:45 a.m, and yet I still have another 6-7 hours left before I'm done. It's 2:02 in the afternoon now. Tomorrow? Repeat.
- Turns out, overall in the big scheme of things, I'm not a huge fan of sandwiches. This surprises even me.
- How much I like writing with a freshly sharpened pencil.
- That, upon learning that one of my students (as told to another student and overheard by a fellow instructor) occasionally will shit in his own hands while in the shower just so "he can wash it off right there" did not surprise me, knowing this student even minimally.
You're welcome.
Happy Monday, my poopy little French toast monkeys. Happy Monday.
XO
Saturday, November 15, 2008
The house that George helped re-build.
For the past week or two I had been trying in vain to get a hold of my plumber, George (briefly mentioned previously here), to finish up the new bathroom as we have finally tiled and such.
I tried and tried to leave him a message, but his voicemail said that he couldn't receive messages. I e-mailed, but got no reply. Finally today his phone let me leave a message, and I asked him to call me back so we could finish the bathroom and some other work that hadn't been done yet.
A few hours later, Serge, George's Russian apprentice, called me back. He left me a message, which I found odd as I usually talked directly to George.
When I called him back, he told me something that made me catch my breath.
He told me that George killed himself this past week. He shot himself.
Just like that.
.
.
.
When I was opening my restaurant, I somehow randomly ended up calling George to do our plumbing for the kitchen. The work was hard- a large portion of the floor had to be dug up for drain pipes, and the building's existing plumbing was a mess, to say the least. He and his guys did an amazing job, and considering how much work was involved and how long it took, we got a very fair deal with the price. Unlike the electrical, we never had any issues with the plumbing at that train wreck of a business venture.
I liked him- he was one of those straight-to-the-point people, which I always appreciate. I suppose that someone in a business where you have to give what are often very large dollar quotes to sometimes unreasonable people with sometimes unreasonable demands makes you that way. I felt like he was honest and just wanted to get the job done right the first time.
This is why, over the years, I have called him whenever I needed plumbing done at the house. If I feel I can trust someone, I will work with them as long as I can. They will always get my business, even if the guy down the street who I don't know will do it 20% cheaper.
George was a good guy. He had a sense of humor even when they had to rip my basement apart with a jackhammer to install pipes. He wouldn't let me help him haul out the rubble in what seemed like 4,675 5-gallon bucketfuls. If he said something was going to get done, I knew it would, eventually. I always thought he was kind of cute, truth be told.
I guess I don't know how one is supposed to feel when their plumber dies.
I feel bad for his family- Serge said that George and his wife had divorced a year or so ago, and I knew that he had four daughters. When he had finished work on the restaurant, my business partner and I told him to bring his family in for dinner on us, and one night he came in with his wife and family. His daughters were adorable and well-behaved, his wife seemed very nice.
He was young, too young- the same age my Mom was when she died- 44.
I'm not looking for a debate on suicide here, and I certainly don't think a "sorry for your loss" is in order as I really didn't know him, and really I'm not sure if I should even be thinking about this at all, but...
I am thinking about it and for some reason it bothers me. I know people's problems are often much larger than what anyone imagines, and I know that sometimes people can't be "saved", but it always breaks my heart to hear that a good, nice, valuable person felt such desperation and despair that they found this to be the only solution. It crushes my soul a little.
I guess all I can do is hope that his family can find a way to deal with this awful situation and eventually come to terms with it. I know first hand the chaos that ensues when someone dies suddenly- so many ends to tie up, so much unfinished...stuff. It can be overwhelming.
I hope they find some solace in a situation that- to me, seems incomprehensible.
Sorry you had to go, George. You'll be missed.
I tried and tried to leave him a message, but his voicemail said that he couldn't receive messages. I e-mailed, but got no reply. Finally today his phone let me leave a message, and I asked him to call me back so we could finish the bathroom and some other work that hadn't been done yet.
A few hours later, Serge, George's Russian apprentice, called me back. He left me a message, which I found odd as I usually talked directly to George.
When I called him back, he told me something that made me catch my breath.
He told me that George killed himself this past week. He shot himself.
Just like that.
.
.
.
When I was opening my restaurant, I somehow randomly ended up calling George to do our plumbing for the kitchen. The work was hard- a large portion of the floor had to be dug up for drain pipes, and the building's existing plumbing was a mess, to say the least. He and his guys did an amazing job, and considering how much work was involved and how long it took, we got a very fair deal with the price. Unlike the electrical, we never had any issues with the plumbing at that train wreck of a business venture.
I liked him- he was one of those straight-to-the-point people, which I always appreciate. I suppose that someone in a business where you have to give what are often very large dollar quotes to sometimes unreasonable people with sometimes unreasonable demands makes you that way. I felt like he was honest and just wanted to get the job done right the first time.
This is why, over the years, I have called him whenever I needed plumbing done at the house. If I feel I can trust someone, I will work with them as long as I can. They will always get my business, even if the guy down the street who I don't know will do it 20% cheaper.
George was a good guy. He had a sense of humor even when they had to rip my basement apart with a jackhammer to install pipes. He wouldn't let me help him haul out the rubble in what seemed like 4,675 5-gallon bucketfuls. If he said something was going to get done, I knew it would, eventually. I always thought he was kind of cute, truth be told.
I guess I don't know how one is supposed to feel when their plumber dies.
I feel bad for his family- Serge said that George and his wife had divorced a year or so ago, and I knew that he had four daughters. When he had finished work on the restaurant, my business partner and I told him to bring his family in for dinner on us, and one night he came in with his wife and family. His daughters were adorable and well-behaved, his wife seemed very nice.
He was young, too young- the same age my Mom was when she died- 44.
I'm not looking for a debate on suicide here, and I certainly don't think a "sorry for your loss" is in order as I really didn't know him, and really I'm not sure if I should even be thinking about this at all, but...
I am thinking about it and for some reason it bothers me. I know people's problems are often much larger than what anyone imagines, and I know that sometimes people can't be "saved", but it always breaks my heart to hear that a good, nice, valuable person felt such desperation and despair that they found this to be the only solution. It crushes my soul a little.
I guess all I can do is hope that his family can find a way to deal with this awful situation and eventually come to terms with it. I know first hand the chaos that ensues when someone dies suddenly- so many ends to tie up, so much unfinished...stuff. It can be overwhelming.
I hope they find some solace in a situation that- to me, seems incomprehensible.
Sorry you had to go, George. You'll be missed.
Friday, November 14, 2008
When the rug doesn't match the drapes: misadventures in style.
My week:
Work
Work
Work
Sleep
Work
Bathe, maybe
Work
Pick nose, inspect findings
Work
Finally become least socially-active person in the US according to the google
Work
Sleep
Make out with cats
And...
Work.
Don't believe me? I have a pile of five day-old, gross smelly dishes and a left knee that is causing me to limp like a pimp that both prove my point.
I'm pooped.
As I have nothing to tell of any interest, I'll make you feel good about yourselves instead and pull another picture from the pile.
Having a bad hair day?
Oh, no no no no no no you're not. As I seem to be on some sort of overzealous quest to prove to the world that I was incapable of having a good hair day prior to May 2006, I give you another installment in "Whiskeymarie- that bitch's hair is WACK!" or, "This is what it sounds like when follicles cry" :
I think I can safely say that, at least for today...I win.
I have to go now- you get two guesses where I'm going. Here's a hint- it rhymes with "lurk" "jerk" and "Coach McGuirk".
Happy Friday, my hard-working, permed and colored little helper monkeys. Happy Friday.
XO
Work
Work
Work
Sleep
Work
Bathe, maybe
Work
Pick nose, inspect findings
Work
Finally become least socially-active person in the US according to the google
Work
Sleep
Make out with cats
And...
Work.
Don't believe me? I have a pile of five day-old, gross smelly dishes and a left knee that is causing me to limp like a pimp that both prove my point.
I'm pooped.
As I have nothing to tell of any interest, I'll make you feel good about yourselves instead and pull another picture from the pile.
Having a bad hair day?
Oh, no no no no no no you're not. As I seem to be on some sort of overzealous quest to prove to the world that I was incapable of having a good hair day prior to May 2006, I give you another installment in "Whiskeymarie- that bitch's hair is WACK!" or, "This is what it sounds like when follicles cry" :
I think I can safely say that, at least for today...I win.I have to go now- you get two guesses where I'm going. Here's a hint- it rhymes with "lurk" "jerk" and "Coach McGuirk".
Happy Friday, my hard-working, permed and colored little helper monkeys. Happy Friday.
XO
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Is that a cattle prod in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?
Last winter, my dad gave me a large box of old family photos and told me to let my two sisters know that he had boxes for them as well. This past week, my younger sister finally got hers, and we spent the better part of last night going through them on what was her last night in the US for a good, long while. We sat there on my couch, giggling and going "Ooh...look at this one!", wondering who the hell some of the people in the pictures even were, feeling sad for people we've lost, and laughing our asses off at how horrifying most of the pics were, primarily owing to the fact that we were raised in the 70's and 80's.
Yikes.
I'm holding onto her pictures for now as she is going back to India today (where she lives with her husband) and couldn't have the extra weight in her luggage. That's fine with me, as now I have hundreds more photos to sift through, pick out the doozies and post them in the discreet and private forum known as the In-ter-nets.
I'll give you a random and delicious taste of the glories to come:
This next one was taken at a family reunion from my Mom's (read: farmers) side of the family. If you will, please take note of the fancypants girl totally rockin' the shit out of her purple outfit front & center. If this were a traveling minstrel group, we'd call it "Lil' Whiskeymarie Purplepants and the back-40 singers". Or something like that. Whatever.
I don't remember this reunion specifically, but I do remember that at more than one of the gatherings for this side of the family that there was some serious "kissin' cousins" action going on. These reunions always involved LOTS of booze, and usually several husbands (including my Dad once) had to be left on the Farm overnight to be picked up the next day by pissed off wives. Two other incidents I specifically remember from these festive events: My great-uncle Grosspants hit on my 12 year-old sister in the pasteurization shed one year (they were dairy farmers), and one year the guy in the picture with the yellow shirt (top row, sticking out) wandered off and wasn't seen for two days. Eventually he was located at a local bar, but no one (including him) knew what had become of his two "lost days."
I can't make this crap up, trust me. It's all true:
I love this newspaper clipping of my Mom helping judge a livestock show. I can't imagine why she was there as she grew up in West Duluth without so much as a chicken or bale of hay in sight, but her Dad was a butcher, so maybe she had an "in" there. She looks so cute in her little sweater and pencil skirt. Me-ow:
This one made me snort. My dad sporting a honkey 'fro and 70's 'stache. How very Bob Ross of him. And the sweater? The sweater.
That's my little sister in his lap, wondering why one of the dudes from Boston is in her house.
I guess they were giving babies away for christmas in 1977 too:
Oh, and a here's a random picture of Kenny Rogers:
That's just a teaser, y'all. So very much more to come...
I can't wait to put these together a little more coherently and wow you with the wonder of the VonPartypants clan and their crazy fashion escapades through the 70's and 80's. I have so many stories to tell. Pride will be lost, shame sprials will be spun, and you will learn how my Mom managed to raise three marginally (humor me) dysfunctional girls over the course of two decades while holding a cigarette in her hand THE ENTIRE TIME:
Such a classy bunch, we are.
Happy Tuesday/Wednesday my little photographically-challenged moustache hairs. Happy Tuesday/Wednesday.
XO
Yikes.
I'm holding onto her pictures for now as she is going back to India today (where she lives with her husband) and couldn't have the extra weight in her luggage. That's fine with me, as now I have hundreds more photos to sift through, pick out the doozies and post them in the discreet and private forum known as the In-ter-nets.
I'll give you a random and delicious taste of the glories to come:
This one is me (left) and my sisters, all dolled up for "International Kitty day". Our newfound love of the 3/4" barrel curling iron is apparent, as is my love of turquoise terrycloth dresses and wicked awesome lace-up white sandals. And, as you probably already noticed- our parents were avid collectors of fine art and furniture. I believe that me & my older sister are wearing pantyhose, as most 10 and 12 year-old girl children did back then:
This next one was taken at a family reunion from my Mom's (read: farmers) side of the family. If you will, please take note of the fancypants girl totally rockin' the shit out of her purple outfit front & center. If this were a traveling minstrel group, we'd call it "Lil' Whiskeymarie Purplepants and the back-40 singers". Or something like that. Whatever.
I don't remember this reunion specifically, but I do remember that at more than one of the gatherings for this side of the family that there was some serious "kissin' cousins" action going on. These reunions always involved LOTS of booze, and usually several husbands (including my Dad once) had to be left on the Farm overnight to be picked up the next day by pissed off wives. Two other incidents I specifically remember from these festive events: My great-uncle Grosspants hit on my 12 year-old sister in the pasteurization shed one year (they were dairy farmers), and one year the guy in the picture with the yellow shirt (top row, sticking out) wandered off and wasn't seen for two days. Eventually he was located at a local bar, but no one (including him) knew what had become of his two "lost days."
I can't make this crap up, trust me. It's all true:
I love this newspaper clipping of my Mom helping judge a livestock show. I can't imagine why she was there as she grew up in West Duluth without so much as a chicken or bale of hay in sight, but her Dad was a butcher, so maybe she had an "in" there. She looks so cute in her little sweater and pencil skirt. Me-ow:
This one made me snort. My dad sporting a honkey 'fro and 70's 'stache. How very Bob Ross of him. And the sweater? The sweater.
That's my little sister in his lap, wondering why one of the dudes from Boston is in her house.
I guess they were giving babies away for christmas in 1977 too:
Oh, and a here's a random picture of Kenny Rogers:
That's just a teaser, y'all. So very much more to come...
I can't wait to put these together a little more coherently and wow you with the wonder of the VonPartypants clan and their crazy fashion escapades through the 70's and 80's. I have so many stories to tell. Pride will be lost, shame sprials will be spun, and you will learn how my Mom managed to raise three marginally (humor me) dysfunctional girls over the course of two decades while holding a cigarette in her hand THE ENTIRE TIME:
Such a classy bunch, we are.
Happy Tuesday/Wednesday my little photographically-challenged moustache hairs. Happy Tuesday/Wednesday.
XO
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Bless us oh, McGone*, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive...
Gah.
We did some shopping for the house this weekend and everywhere we went was packed. We had to go to IKEA, and you would have thought that they were giving away non-defective newborn babies for how crowded it was. The whole place reeked of Swedish meatballs, sweat and panic. I may have slipped on an unfortunate shopper who had been moving too slow and was trampled into goo by the credit card-wielding masses, but I was too focused on getting my Grundelhooger shelving unit and Trunsplatz garbage can to bother to look.
Here in Mpls/St. Paul, Ikea is directly next door to the Mall of America so it's TWICE THE FUN TO GO THERE, PARK THERE, AND TRY AND NOT KILL PEOPLE THERE.
Cars! Everywhere! It was pretty much pedestrian pinball just getting into the parking lot.
Oh, and that same day we had to go to a store near Rosedale, yet ANOTHER mall that was crawling with lovely, pasty, bargain-crazed Midwestern folks- kind of like Old Country Buffet on "Steak night".
The Mr. and I braved through this festering pustulance as best we could, and we even managed to not vomit at Pier 1 as Xmas music was blaring from the heavens above/the ceiling tiles as we searched in vain for an end table. We left empty-handed and humming "jingle bell rock" against our wills. We are considering experimenting with hallucinogens the next time we are forced to go shopping anywhere near a mall on the weekend. Any suggestions?
But here it is folks...the most wonderful time of the year!!!!?!?!
This song pretty much sums up how I am feeling about christmas already. Sung by my boy Bubbles, from the show Trailer Park Boys (pictured above- he loves the kitties too). If you haven't ever seen the show- you need to do so.
You can thank me later:
Better hurry! Only 45 days, 3 hours and 58 minutes until the big day!!
Woo. Hoo.
Oops, make that 57 minutes. C'mon people!!! Run!!!!
*In honor of our new lord and savior, McGone. Praise be to the keeper of the swine.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Next week I'm just posting my grocery list and calling it a day.
Random bits on a snowy Friday (and I know I was tagged eleventy billion years ago by Mojito and someone else for a "random" meme. I am lame and hopefully this will count. If not, please contact my "people" and they will arrange to have a nice underpants bouquet sent to your house)
I will arrange them in bullet form so as not to leave a mark, much like beating you with a sock full of oranges:
Happy friday, my ambitious little list-maker heart-breakers. Happy Friday.
XO
I will arrange them in bullet form so as not to leave a mark, much like beating you with a sock full of oranges:
- I have been working 13-14 hour days this week, but I have today off, thank the almighty McGone. I used to work stretches like this no problem, but after this week I am pooped, brain-dead and limping. Seriously. Limping. I need a freaking Hoveround.
- I ate that egg/whole wheat pasta/chickpea combo for breakfast again today. I know this is weird, but that's the joy of being a grown up- I can eat pancakes for lunch like poobomber, or I can eat beans and pasta for breakfast. Maybe I'll eat Lik-m-Aid for Dinner.
- It's snowing again today. This makes me happy. It has been very warm for November, but the heat has been on at work anyways. By the end of my 13-14 hour days this week I was shiny, frizzy, and uncomfortably damp in all of my dark regions.
- The cats are going in for a checkup tomorrow, and when the office called to confirm their appointment the last thing she said was "And don't forget to bring in a fresh stool sample for each of them!" in a cheery voice. Um...seriously? I don't know if I am woman enough to try and catch my kitties' fresh poo and put it in a jar. I'm pretty sure that if I do this I am officially 100% pride-free. Finally! Gah, I am so grossed out right now.
- I always knew I walked faster than 99.9% of the rest of the population, but I realized this week that sometimes I walk really stiffly and lean forward a bit as well. I caught my reflection in a window and was horrified. God, I'm like a sweaty, clomping giraffe.
- I'm making cookies today. And soup. And maybe bread. And if I have time, maybe I'll forage in the woods for berries, mill my own flour, kill and prepare a duck for roasting and loom several yards of my own fabric. Just kidding- I don't have time to make bread today.
- I'm posting my "to do" list for the weekend here so that maybe for once I'll get it all done. I've been told that shame is a powerful motivator for some people, but I'm too lazy to look up this "shame" thing on the Wikipedia. I'll assume it involves nudity, an audience and flourescent lights, which is a perfectly fine motivator for me. To do:
- Paint the dining room
- Find homes for all of my homeless clothes. Adopt them out to hobos if necessary.
- Put cat poop in a jar
- Eat cheese
- Paint my manky toenails
- Order curtains
- Refinish buffet in dining room
- Sexually assault the Mr.
- rake leaves
- buy end table, storage unit and lamps for living room
- Get haircut or buy Flowbee
- Do kegels
- Organize pantry
- buy new slippers
- Pluck that hair
- Learn Spanish
- get more fiber in my diet
- Research fiber content of common cheeses
- buy a frivolous article of clothing in a difficult color
- Paint the kitchen
- Replace kitchen floor
- Order carpet for hall/guest bedroom
- Install new flooring in bedroom & walk-in closet
- Take up smoking
- Wear high heels to make breakfast
- Dust/sweep/vacuum
- Laundry
- Craig's list a bunch of crap I'm getting rid of
- Master the art of origami
- Take a nap
- Take 687 photos of the cats
- Make something interesting for dinner
- Dislodge that thing from my ear
- Wash windows
- Re-enact musical numbers from Xanadu while wearing roller skates and a blonde wig
Happy friday, my ambitious little list-maker heart-breakers. Happy Friday.
XO
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Mavis, no one cares about your mad scrapbooking skillz. Seriously.
Can't talk. Working. 13-14 hour day. Argh. I'm tired, I need sugar, and I have to pee.Talk amongst yourselves.
Just watch what you say- this nice couple from South Dakota doesn't need to hear about your vagina again, and they REALLY don't want to hear that story involving the hookers from Amsterdam, the kilo of hash and the jar of vaseline.
Bob here enjoys reading the new Testament, long walks in the corn fields, sock suspenders and going to bed early after a nice bowel movement.
Mavis likes to knit sweaters for kitties, ribbon candy, nice orlon underwear with plenty of coverage and online gambling.
They sure are a nice couple, that Bob and Mavis.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Two turntables, no microphone.
Instead of having a life where I actually leave the house and get out and do things with actual people and have a social life, I was ONCE AGAIN toiling away on "Operation Fix this Fucking House" much of the weekend.
I did get out for brunch at the Triple Rock today with my gal Blondie (fried egg sandwich for me with veggie sausage), and I met my other gal Waffle at the Place for fun in your life for shopping and dinner on Thursday. So, if that counts as a social life, then woo. hoo. I'm a freaking rock star.
Today I was prepping the dining room for painting, and in doing so I had to push all of the furniture to the middle of the room. I decided to dust off the old Victrola and put on a few of those new-fangled "record" thingies that all the kids seem to be so keen on these days.
We actually have two record players- the old-school one pictured here where you can "stack" the records to play in order, much like a CD changer except scratchy and with a lot of groaning and whirring and clicking in-between records. Our other one is a regular turntable (not two, no microphone) that I bought in 1991.
Wanna see some of our LP collection? Sure you do!
C'mon- it's schizophrenic and odd and slightly disturbing. exactly what you'd expect.
This is only a small sampling of our collection, which is constantly being added to as I find new and interesting oddities at garage sales and thrift stores.
First up is what I stacked on the old record player to listen to while I washed walls and taped the trim, all side one:
I knew the words to each and every song in that stack, and sang them loudly to the kitties who spent much of the day hiding under furniture in the hopes that I wouldn't see them and continue the serenade. I LOVE Bread, the band. "Everything I Own" makes me tear up every time I hear it. It's very moving when I cry and sing at the same time. You should see it. The DD album is the first one they put out. It's the one with "Girls on Film" on it. Me-ow.
We also have an extensive collection of Sesame Street and Muppet albums. I'd like to blame the Mr. for this one, but some of them came with my dowry. "Grover sings the Blues" is AWESOME. Most of the collection is pictured here, but not all of it. The David "Daydreamin' on a rainy day" album is in a frame in the Mr's office:
Anyone else remember Slim Goodbody? I do. I don't remember him being as creepy as he is here, but I will give him points for his glorious honkey 'fro:
I take NO responsibility for these next albums. However, this may give y'all some insight into the mind behind the man I live with and with whom I knock of the boots:
How sad for me.
We also have a decent amount of "crap rock" or "butt rock", depending on what part of the country you're from. We have listened to that Survivor album way more than I should admit to. Ditto the Asia and Boston albums. We bought them in the Heat of the Moment, I guess:
In the "oddities" category, we have quite a selection. Here we have an album by the critically acclaimed band "Leatherwolf", as well as a demo album for the Hammond Organ model #X-66. Oddly enough, the Hammond album is fun to listen to. Also here- the Fat Albert Halloween album, "Pac-Man Fever", a Kojak album (with book), the Slim Whitman 15th Anniversary (Of what, I've never figured out) album, and an album by the McAuley Schenker Group who, I believe, are Canadian.
Two, yes TWO Hall and Oates albums. The one on the right has Daryl and John's sisters on the cover.
Oh, and the gayest record sleeve EVER on the inside:
Oates naked. Um...sexy?
When I was a punk rock girl, I was obsessed with this anarchist punk group from England called Crass. I bought a bunch of albums and thought I was edgy. I still think the albums are really good, and they fold out into posters- perfect for the pseudo-anarchist girl from small-town Minnesota to put up in her bedroom to scare her Mom.
This one is still appropriate today, 20 years after I bought this album:
A little bit of everything here- Iggy Pop, Ryuichi Sakomoto, the Germs, Bronski Beat, the Dickies, Alison Moyet, the soundtrack from the first "Decline of Western Civilization" (the punk one), some Coil (creepiest cover of "tainted love" EVER), some Queen, Skinny Puppy and Pig. Kind of a potpourri of weirdness here:
The back of the Dickies album. It's called "Killer clowns from Outer Space" (yes, like the movie.)
You'll note that they also do a cover of the song "eep-opp-ork (Uh,uh)" from the Jetsons. I freaking love the Dickies:
I also have a rather impressive assortment of K-tel/Ronco albums from the 70's/early 80's. These were collections of current "popular music" put out by these companies. The funny thing is, when they couldn't get permission to use original songs, sometimes they had terrible covers of often terrible songs. Hi-larious. I love the artwork on the albums:
I listened to "Super Sonic" today, and I was surprised how many of the songs I knew all of the words to. I changed the words to Dr. Hook's classic to "When you're in love with a beautiful Pooter" for my cute furry girl, and I sang it to her very loudly. Oddly enough, I think she knew it was a serenade and she just sat and listened. We're now afraid that she may be either deaf or retarded because no one would willingly sit through that crap.
"Knock on Wood" is easily in my top three favorite disco tunes of all time, and once I got extra credit in Spanish class in high school for translating "The Devil went down to Georgia" and singing it to the class with my friend Blondie.
"Operation fix this Fucking house" aside, it was a pretty good day overall. I shook my booty, I sang a lot (loudly) and I got a few things done.
Not bad at all.
XO
I did get out for brunch at the Triple Rock today with my gal Blondie (fried egg sandwich for me with veggie sausage), and I met my other gal Waffle at the Place for fun in your life for shopping and dinner on Thursday. So, if that counts as a social life, then woo. hoo. I'm a freaking rock star.
Today I was prepping the dining room for painting, and in doing so I had to push all of the furniture to the middle of the room. I decided to dust off the old Victrola and put on a few of those new-fangled "record" thingies that all the kids seem to be so keen on these days.
We actually have two record players- the old-school one pictured here where you can "stack" the records to play in order, much like a CD changer except scratchy and with a lot of groaning and whirring and clicking in-between records. Our other one is a regular turntable (not two, no microphone) that I bought in 1991.
Wanna see some of our LP collection? Sure you do!C'mon- it's schizophrenic and odd and slightly disturbing. exactly what you'd expect.
This is only a small sampling of our collection, which is constantly being added to as I find new and interesting oddities at garage sales and thrift stores.
First up is what I stacked on the old record player to listen to while I washed walls and taped the trim, all side one:
I knew the words to each and every song in that stack, and sang them loudly to the kitties who spent much of the day hiding under furniture in the hopes that I wouldn't see them and continue the serenade. I LOVE Bread, the band. "Everything I Own" makes me tear up every time I hear it. It's very moving when I cry and sing at the same time. You should see it. The DD album is the first one they put out. It's the one with "Girls on Film" on it. Me-ow.We also have an extensive collection of Sesame Street and Muppet albums. I'd like to blame the Mr. for this one, but some of them came with my dowry. "Grover sings the Blues" is AWESOME. Most of the collection is pictured here, but not all of it. The David "Daydreamin' on a rainy day" album is in a frame in the Mr's office:
Anyone else remember Slim Goodbody? I do. I don't remember him being as creepy as he is here, but I will give him points for his glorious honkey 'fro:
I take NO responsibility for these next albums. However, this may give y'all some insight into the mind behind the man I live with and with whom I knock of the boots:
How sad for me.We also have a decent amount of "crap rock" or "butt rock", depending on what part of the country you're from. We have listened to that Survivor album way more than I should admit to. Ditto the Asia and Boston albums. We bought them in the Heat of the Moment, I guess:
In the "oddities" category, we have quite a selection. Here we have an album by the critically acclaimed band "Leatherwolf", as well as a demo album for the Hammond Organ model #X-66. Oddly enough, the Hammond album is fun to listen to. Also here- the Fat Albert Halloween album, "Pac-Man Fever", a Kojak album (with book), the Slim Whitman 15th Anniversary (Of what, I've never figured out) album, and an album by the McAuley Schenker Group who, I believe, are Canadian.
Two, yes TWO Hall and Oates albums. The one on the right has Daryl and John's sisters on the cover. 
Oh, and the gayest record sleeve EVER on the inside:
Oates naked. Um...sexy?When I was a punk rock girl, I was obsessed with this anarchist punk group from England called Crass. I bought a bunch of albums and thought I was edgy. I still think the albums are really good, and they fold out into posters- perfect for the pseudo-anarchist girl from small-town Minnesota to put up in her bedroom to scare her Mom.
This one is still appropriate today, 20 years after I bought this album:
A little bit of everything here- Iggy Pop, Ryuichi Sakomoto, the Germs, Bronski Beat, the Dickies, Alison Moyet, the soundtrack from the first "Decline of Western Civilization" (the punk one), some Coil (creepiest cover of "tainted love" EVER), some Queen, Skinny Puppy and Pig. Kind of a potpourri of weirdness here:
The back of the Dickies album. It's called "Killer clowns from Outer Space" (yes, like the movie.)You'll note that they also do a cover of the song "eep-opp-ork (Uh,uh)" from the Jetsons. I freaking love the Dickies:
I also have a rather impressive assortment of K-tel/Ronco albums from the 70's/early 80's. These were collections of current "popular music" put out by these companies. The funny thing is, when they couldn't get permission to use original songs, sometimes they had terrible covers of often terrible songs. Hi-larious. I love the artwork on the albums:
I listened to "Super Sonic" today, and I was surprised how many of the songs I knew all of the words to. I changed the words to Dr. Hook's classic to "When you're in love with a beautiful Pooter" for my cute furry girl, and I sang it to her very loudly. Oddly enough, I think she knew it was a serenade and she just sat and listened. We're now afraid that she may be either deaf or retarded because no one would willingly sit through that crap."Knock on Wood" is easily in my top three favorite disco tunes of all time, and once I got extra credit in Spanish class in high school for translating "The Devil went down to Georgia" and singing it to the class with my friend Blondie.
"Operation fix this Fucking house" aside, it was a pretty good day overall. I shook my booty, I sang a lot (loudly) and I got a few things done.
Not bad at all.
XO
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