Thursday, January 29, 2009

discombobulated discombobulation.

I'm feeling discombobulated and random today, so that's what I'm dishing up for y'all.

Totally random pictures in no particular order:

As a food "professional", I rarely use recipes, nor do I need to. This particular skill has resulted in a stunning lack of effort in our daily meals as of late. We are on a regular rotation of "Taco night", Morningstar Farms fake Buffalo wings and a salad, Pizza that I cook via handing the delivery driver a handful of cash, Frozen organic burritos or leftovers in any combination of the aforementioned items.
So...I'm actually using recipes every once in a while to get back in the habit of experimenting with new flavors and such. The other night I wanted to try a recipe out of one of Rick Bayless' books, which the Mr. gave me at xxxmas as what I consider to be a silent plea for better dinners. I took mental inventory of what ingredients I had, and I settled on enchiladas with potatoes, carrots, chicken and an interesting sauce with ancho chiles.
Now, obviously I know what I'm doing when it comes to food. I can brag a little- I'm a very good cook. I don't think I've killed anyone with my cooking in at least 6 months, and they never actually proved that I mixed up the powdered sugar and the Comet Cleanser that one time and I have the court records to prove it, dammit.

But this sauce?:
This, my friends, is what evil looks like in sauce form. So. Bitter. I expected it to be somewhat on the bitter side of things from the ancho chiles, and I actually like some things a little bitter (like my cold, hard, heart), but this sauce was so wrong that I would have to make up new words to adequately describe it. "Sneedenblahg" comes to mind.

Never a quitter, I set to work to repair the saucal deformities. I added a bit of sugar, a bit of honey, some balsamic vinegar, some lime juice, the sweat from a newborn's brow and a bit of olive oil. Much better. Once it was incorporated into the final product, I'd say that it was actually pretty freaking delicious. I just feel bad for anyone making this who may not know how to "save" things when cooking goes horribly wrong. Sorry- I forgot to take a picture of the final product, but trust me when I say it was the most magnificent-looking platter of food ever to be seen by human eyes in the history of the planet or any other planet that supports human life.

Trouble, sitting amidst the wreckage, plotting when he will next step in his own poop and run around the house, me chasing him with cleansing wipes (turns out that day was yesterday.)

My designated popcorn bowl. I don't know why I felt the need to take a picture of this. I paid a dollar for it 15+ years ago. I make my popcorn the same way every time: dry-popped in the microwave, drizzled with extra-virgin olive oil, fresh ground black pepper generously sprinkled on, and a liberal dusting of parmesan cheese. No butter, best popcorn ever.

Two days after I bought this nectarine, unripe, this is what it looked like. I hate winter produce in MN.

Why everything I own is covered in cat hair.
The end.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

A fresh coat of something

(Boys- pretend you're reading about football. Or naked women. Or nachos. Or, just come back tomorrow.)

My blog wife Gwen got an amazing vintage coat the other day, which reminded me of an obsession of mine that I kind of forgot about once I started obsessing about things like cat poop and stray hairs.
Hello, my name is Whiskeymarie and I have an odd addiction to vintage coats.
"Hi, Whiskey!"
I'm up to about 28-30 now, having gotten rid of a few along the way. Yes, I used to have more. I think I like them because they're totally unique. I tend to lean towards colorful ones, much like my love of sparkly things and rainbows.

A sampling (ignore the bad photography and "I haven't bathed or brushed my hair yet" look):

I bought this orange leather number at an Uptown vintage store now long out of business. I think I paid $40 for it, which at the time (9-10 years ago) seemed like a lot for me. I freaking love this coat. It's got metal fasteners like the kind on your yellow raincoat when you were a kid.

I like orange, it seems. The next one was part of three awesome winter coats that my awesome mother-in-law gave me. I love them all, but this one is the most fun to wear. It weighs about 60 pounds, and I'm guessing it has a lot of mohair in it as it's fuzzy. It has round ball buttons and is warmer than my poofy down coat, so it's a nice one to have on insanely cold days when I want something fun that doesn't make me look like a burnt marshmallow.

This one is more of a spring coat, and it needs to be taken in as it is waaay too big. I paid about $20 for it at the Duluth Goodwill's annual vintage sale. It's made of silk and has a great little collar. Once I get it altered, I'll show you a better pic. Mostly I loved the pattern and the fact that it has billowy sleeves that you can't really see here.

I love the crap out of this pink cotton velvet number. I actually wear this one quite a bit, very often to dress up jeans. It's slouchy, has huge, round, velvet-covered buttons, and it just makes me happy to wear it.

This one is another one that I need to get altered as it is more of a "tent" on me than a "coat". I made my girl, Blondie, give it to me out of her humongous and fabulous vintage collection. Again, when it's finished I'll take a better picture. Mostly I love the pattern and the light silk fabric.

I call this one my "hellraiser" coat. I feel very stern in it, but it's actually a pretty fun coat. Ankle length, heavy silk, with an incredible iridescent faux bois (fake wood) pattern. I've never seen anything like it- the tailoring and craftsmanship on this one is astounding. It doesn't have a tag, so I have no other info about it. I've only worn it a few times- mostly in the winter when I'm really dressed up- but wearing it just feels special. My nonexistent makeup and barely-brushed hair don't do it justice here.
(My "stern" look. Intimidating, I know.)

This last one I hold on to just because my best friend's grandma gave it to me, and I love the dalmatian pattern. She gave it to me many, many years ago when I complimented her on it- she was cute as a bug. It's way too big, I never wear it, and I probably won't spend the $$ to get it altered, but I like keeping it around. I think maybe I'm waiting to find someone that it "fits"- both literally and figuratively- to give it to.

I have many, many more, and maybe sometime I'll show you selections from my vintage purse collection too. Or my vintage scarves. Or my vintage jewelery. Or...

Happy Wednesday, my silk, double-breasted, finely tailored little garments. Happy Wednesday.


Sunday, January 25, 2009

Adventures in search engine land...

To the two people who recently Googled "What's wrong with me?" that ended up here:

The way I see it, there are two possible outcomes to this situation.

a) You take my nonsensical gibberish as truth and incorporate my teachings into your daily life. By day three you will have lost your job, gained 5 pounds, consumed your weight in both cocktails and caffeine, spent $6,839.78 online, stolen all of the neighbor's cats which are now all wearing cute little outfits, your house will be littered with Doritos bags and empty boxes of Cheez-its, and your friends will be planning a hilarious, yet somewhat embarrassing intervention.


b) You realize that you're really not that bad off and you go on your merry way- thankful that just when you think you're the biggest weirdo on the planet, someone like me comes along to give you perspective.

So, in closing- I'll say both "I'm terribly sorry" or "You're welcome", depending upon the outcome of your visit here.

Happy Sunday, my little googly interweb nuggets. Happy Sunday.


Saturday, January 24, 2009

The secret ingredient

Taking a cue from my bloggy lesbian wife, Gwen- my night tonight in recipe form:

Totally Awesome Solo Saturday Night Shake and Bake

Take one (1) Pizza Luce 12" with chicken, broccoli, sundried tomatoes, goat and mozzarella cheese,
Movie(s) to be determined (can't decide if I'm feeling like the monumentally depressing but amazing Breaking the Waves with Ms. Emily Watson or something stupid with Will Farrell or 70's Woody Allen talkies, we'll see)
Sprinkle in:
  • Small Greek salad
  • Sauvignon Blanc
  • Kitty make-out
  • Dance party with old vinyl on our new turntable
  • Lindt Cherry-Chile Chocolate square or twelve (bought by the Mr. who knows my tastes so very, very well) for dessert
  • Dress-up time, props may be involved
  • Probable late night interweb drunken blogging and/or shopping
Shake well, and bake in a 350 degree oven for 1200 minutes,

Delicious, delicious Saturday night deliciousness.


Tuesday, January 20, 2009

A rare, but brief political moment.

Early observations from the inauguration:
  • I love that they keep showing the movers taking the Bush's stuff out of the White House as all of this is going on. Like it CAN'T WAIT. Like this is how they let the outgoing President know that they've been evicted- they just come home as usual and their stuff is gone like a bad breakup.
  • Bush Sr. and Barbara wearing matching purple scarves. If he had been just a factory worker instead of President, I would venture to guess that this would be the stage in their lives when they would start wearing matching satin bar jackets with their names embroidered on them to the local meat raffle and/or church.
  • Holy shit- that's a lot of people. I'm having a panic attack just looking at it. I'd hate to be stuck in the middle somewhere and have to pee.
  • It's nice to have to foxy chicks as the first ladies who don't appear to hate their husbands.
  • Dubya looks confused. Maybe he's wondering where the cake is. They said there'd be cake, dammit. I think it's oddly appropriate that he is losing his job right now. I'm guessing that he's not worried about how he'll pay the mortgage with his unemployment bennies, though.
  • Obama is wearing a red tie- I was kind of hoping for yellow, yet I'm not sure why I even thought about that.
  • I'm happy that I can pack up my elaborate escape plans to Canadia, which is somewhat bittersweet for me as they involved not only several donkey rides, but also a brief stint in the circus. On one hand, I would adapt well to the weather and my accent is already halfway there so I'd totally blend in- but on the other hand I don't think I could eat Poutine (or as I like to call it, Pootang) no matter how much Canadian whiskey I had consumed.
  • No matter what your politics or expectations of this administration, I think that most of us can agree that today is a pretty good day for us 'Mericans.

Friday, January 16, 2009

What's wrong with me, part 7,463.

Have you ever done that thing, where you're standing somewhere (doesn't matter where- grocery store, coffee shop, methadone clinic, etc...) where you look around and wonder, "If armed bandits burst in right now, took us all hostage and said I had to have sex with one person in here, who would it be?" (I know- you read about this happening all the time- scary.)

Just me?

I'll admit it, I have no shame- I do that a lot.

Sometimes there is a clear-cut favorite, the tall, dark drink of water with a nice smile and the butt you've been staring at the entire 12 minutes you've both been in line. Sometimes, due to a clear lack of viable male candidates, I look for the girl in the room that looks like she'd be fun to go shopping with- I'm fun to shop with and I'd sleep with me, so it makes sense in a blatantly narcissistic way. Sometimes I pick the 50-something guy with graying hair and blue-collar sensibilities because it's been my experience that those guys are generally fantastic in the sack- eager to please and unexpectedly dirty.

But the ones I have the most fun thinking about are the "dark horse" candidates- the ones that you'd pick just so that you could drunkenly brag to your girlfriends sometime that you did the deed with a guy with a glass eye who was wearing a cape and elf shoes. What about the seven foot-tall dude with the chihuahua and the bedazzled jeans? Well, if it comes down to him and the guy in the "Your mom is hot" t-shirt drinking a red bull and wearing a backwards baseball cap- You can bet I'm gonna push douchey aside for the sparkly giant. No contest.

So...I guess what I'm saying here is that if you see me in a public setting staring at you with a furrowed brow as if I were thinking real hard, there's a good chance I'm trying to decide between you and the one-armed guy with the tattooed face in the fur coat up at the counter paying for his frappuccino and the brunette in the corner wearing the great boots and awesome vintage dress clicking away on her laptop.

Just don't take it personally if I don't pick you.

Happy Friday, my imaginary deformed lovers. Happy Friday.


Thursday, January 15, 2009

Coming soon: Office Space Cage Fight to the Death 2009

Working in a shared office with people who TALK LIKE THIS ALL THE TIME EVEN WHEN THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT THEIR KIDS BODILY FUNCTIONS AND WHAT THEY'RE GOING TO EAT FOR LUNCH SHOULD I HAVE PIZZA OR A SANDWICH WHAT DO YOU THINK KATHY? suddenly got better now that I entered 1998 and discovered the joy of headphones and really loud music. Next thing you know I'll be driving one of those fancy LeCars all the kids are talking about if I keep this "modernization" trend up.

I just hope I don't accidentally start singing, because right now I'm listening to The Lords of Acid and me blurting out in a sing-songy voice, "In the ass..." might not go over so well. Whatever. If I have to listen to you have a conference call ON SPEAKERPHONE FOR FORTY MINUTES, then kiss my ass- you're listening to me sing if I feel like it, buster. I may even bust a move in my cubicle, if the mood strikes.

I hate people- not you guys, of course- but all those other jerks.

Happy Thursday, my frozen, -24 degree little worker bees. Happy Thursday.


Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Titillating Tuesday.

So...I'm back at work after 19 glorious yet fairly uneventful days off, so I'm as busy as a whorehouse on "free syphilis testing" day. I forgot what this whole "work" thing entails.
Turns out- it entails actual work. Go figure.

So just a few random notes for you to ponder as you go about your day, in new and improved bullet form, now with 25% more "bulletlishisness":
  • I was walking down the stairs at work yesterday, in my chef's coat, and a random chubby dude asked me how long I had been working in food- totally out of the blue. I said, "I don't know, about 12 years I guess." His reply? "Wow- you must be OLD." I told him he "must be retarded" and left him in my dust.
  • I accidentally scheduled both a dentist and my yearly pelvic probe for the same day. I do not recommend doing this. Your day will not be as glorious as you think it would be- trust me on this one.
  • My dentist told me to stop brushing with toothpaste. He said my teeth are sensitive to the abrasives in it, so now I'm brushing with mouthwash, which is kind of odd. Minty and refreshing- but odd.
  • My gyno couldn't find my cervix. Seriously. I don't know where it went, but after what seemed like an hour of her spelunking in my lady bits, she struck gold. I was unaware that one's cervix could just go and wander off like that. My advice- put a homing device on that thing, ladies. The last thing any of us needs is to see our reproductive parts on the side of a milk carton.
  • I am in deep love with this website. I have been drooling over their catalog since I got it in my mail-hole. Kind of pricey and a little preppy, but the sale prices are good and the dresses are delicious.
  • Because of work, I missed last night's No Reservations. Damn you, work.
  • My sickness that started DECEMBER 18 is still lingering in the form of a sloshy head and strangely viscous snot that refuses to go away. It's time for a full-frontal attack in the form of uber-healthy eating, no wheat, no wine, any vitamin I can get my hands on, gallons of water & tea, and if all that fails I'm going to give heroin a try. Anything for my health, I say.
  • To explain my last post further, my Paternal Parental unit basically dumped me via e-mail last week. Yes- that's as charming as you think it would be. Honestly, I'm kind of over it- so no sympathy is required. I'm good.
  • I ate seven different kinds of cheeses yesterday. I think I may have a problem.
Off to work now, dammit. That bacon isn't going to bring itself home, fry itself up in a pan and fall into my mouth in crispy bacon deliciousness on it's own, you know.

Happy Tuesday, my minty and refreshing little cheese curds. Happy Tuesday.


Sunday, January 11, 2009

Helen, we are sorry to inform you that you have been downsized.

Dear Universe:

I regret to inform you that a huge mistake has been made due to an oversight in your clerical department. I know Helen in the typing pool is a busy woman (and occasionally "loopy", if you catch my drift), and we all know you just "let it slide" when she accidentally sent all those babies to Brangelina, but the incompetence stops here, buckos. I have good reason to believe that I, Whiskeymarie VonPartypants, was somehow dropped by your worker storks into the wrong family, and I believe the same error has been made with my siblings.

If you check your records, you will see that we (myself and my two sisters) are fine, hard-working, marginally upstanding and contributing members of society. Other than a few "experimental" sexual episodes in the late 80's and early 90's, and yes- we dabbled in the occult that one time (really- who hasn't?), you will see that, overall, we have fulfilled our end of the bargain. We are good to our fellow humans (well, unless they take the last piece of cake, then buster- all bets are OFF), we take care of one another (especially after a bottle or three of red wine), we give back to society (yes- giving my leftovers to that dude on the freeway ramp counts), and we try to always wear clean underwear. All of our evaluations from the Human Resources department have been, at the very least, neutral. This fact alone should testify to our deserving of equally worthy parental units.

I'll give you this much- you hit it out of the park with our Mom, kudos to your placement team- I owe you guys a beer. Man, that gal could cook, and she swore a mean streak that a trucker would have been proud of (except the f-word. Nonononono on the f-word- ever.) Her almond danish was legendary, and she would have fought a hundred rabid raccoons to keep us safe, if need be. Wherever you have placed her now is very, very lucky- her presence and her chicken and rice soup with dumplings are deeply missed. Send her a little thank-you note, will you?

No, sirs- the item which I am taking issue with (and have filed in a formal comlaint with your supervisor) is your choice of our paternal caretaker, which appears to be defective. We are aware that the warranty on Model #DAD71 expired a number (35) of years ago, but we feel that as responsible businesspeople that you should at least consider repairing or replacing the unit in question due to the high number of faulty parts. The damages (in no particular order) include:
  • Failure to love unconditionally, as is generally required of the Parental models.
  • Unusually high moral judgement threshold (especially given the unit's, ahem...past errors in judgement.)
  • Exceptionally sensitive "holier than thou" meter (probably just low on humility fluid, my guess.)
  • Inability to understand the "awesome factor" of the aforementioned siblings due to faulty humor gage.
  • Extremely elevated levels of Pious fluid, due to what we believe is a broken religiousiosity pump.
As you can see, the unit is functioning at an extremely unsafe, yet surprisingly functional level. I request immediate repairs or replacement to avoid any breakdowns, which could prove embarrassing for both myself and your company. If I am forced to attempt to fix the unit myself, I cannot guarantee the results as factory-certified parts are no longer available.

Your attention to this matter is greatly appreciated, and I thank you in advance for your cooperation.


Whiskeymarie VonPartypants, middle child.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

New year, new look for blogs of yore.

It was time for a change.

Now I have some flexibility, some cute new headers, and more kitties per square inch.

I cannot thank my lovely piece of internet man-meat, John enough for doing this for me. I really should mail him some of my unders for this one. And maybe a fine, 5-liter box o' wine.

Happy Saturday, indeed.


A nip here, a tuck there...

A bit later today, may be unavailable for your viewing pleasure for a teensy bit.

Don't panic- here, have a nice, strong cocktail to calm your nerves- I'm not going anywhere. Well, I'm going to the bathroom in a minute, and I may go say "hey" to the hobos under the freeway bridge tonight, but other than that, I'll still be here to tell you tales of magical underpants and mischievous squirrels.

I'm just doing some much-needed construction & updating and such. My internet boyfriend and foot fetishist-extraordinaire John (pictured) has graciously done some amazing com-pu-tor magic for me. I'm pretty sure I may owe him a kidney or my virginity or something for doing all of this- we're still working out the details.

Hopefully I'll see you later with my facelift complete. I asked for the $29.99 "crazy cat lady" special- wish me luck!!


Update: Done and done! Send french kisses and pictures of your feet to John for helping me out! New year, new look.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Not so much aiming high as aiming for somewhere in the middle...

I have found that the very act of putting a "resolution" out there (for me anyways) for the world to see pretty much gives said resolution a life span of roughly 14 seconds, or whenever I see something sparkly- whichever comes first. If I ignore it, if I make no grand, sweeping declarations, if I pretend that I enjoy mountains of miscellaneous papers, books, nonworking pens and empty teacups on my desk then it is ten times more likely that I will focus in and organize my damn desk. With a brain full of squirrels and monkeys, this is how it works, folks.

So...instead of "Things I will do/changes I will make in 2009/things I will hate myself in December '09 for not accomplishing", I give you-

Things I absolutely will NOT do and/or changes I resolutely refuse to make in 2009, no matter what. Even if you offer me a shiny nickel or non lice-infested and potty-trained helper monkey. Nope. Not going to happen:
  • I don't promise to call more often.
  • I can't say I won't eat the last bite of a shared dish just to be nice.
  • I'll try, but I can't promise to keep that secret.
  • I won't exercise when I don't feel like it, or if there is something really good on TV.
  • I will not deny the Pizza Luce' delivery drivers the sight of my smiling face at least once a week.
  • I refuse to apologize to my liver.
  • I won't stop picking at random invisible things on my face for entertainment.
  • I will not stop denying those rumors that deep down I know are true.
  • I refuse to try to be "in tune" and "sing well".
  • No matter how much you stare, I refuse to NOT dance a little at the grocery store if a kick-ass song comes on over the PA system.
  • I won't stop telling you how good you look in that hideous outfit.
  • I cannot promise that I won't bail on plans at the last minute because I want to stay home and talk to my cats.
  • I'm pretty sure I'm still only going to wear matching clothes about 20% of the time.
  • I can't say I'm going to be a nicer person, mostly because I think I'm pretty fucking nice already, which is as nice as I want to be.
  • I probably won't stop being obnoxious sometimes. Really, it's part of my charm.
  • I refuse to wear pants unless I feel like it.
  • I won't pretend I don't want the big piece of cake.
  • I probably still won't "play it safe".
  • I won't pretend to not enjoy it when I get my way/win.
  • I don't think I'll take up smoking, no matter how cool it looks.
  • I will not stop buying ridiculous shoes/clothes just because I haven't anywhere to wear them.
  • I don't think I'll stop playing dress-up.
  • I can't even pretend to try to not laugh when you trip.
  • I'll still act like I'm above gossiping, but I'll still totally gossip.
  • I won't lie except on the rare occasion when you wear those pants that makes your butt look big.
  • I won't stop sticking random things in my nose.
  • I won't stop kissing that picture of you, but I will stop with the tongue.

This? I think I can manage. These are resolutions I can live with.

Happy first Wednesday of the year, my little gossipy, nonmatching cat people. Happy Wednesday.


Saturday, January 3, 2009

A quick note to let you know I haven't been kidnapped by leprechauns again.

Sorry- I'm too busy spending approximately 8.5 hours each day playing with the kitties with THIS TOY to have a life right now. Please accept my apologies- it is like crack to them and they love it so much I'm pretty sure they would engage in a "kitty deathmatch" to gain control of this thing. It freaks their shit out which, in turn, is kind of freaking me out. I highly recommend getting one if you have a pussy of your own- you will not regret it.

My life is a virtual blizzard of excitement right now. Yup. Maybe later I'll tell you all about my recent adventures in shoveling, or I'll dazzle you with a tale of what I ate for lunch yesterday (Pho- it was delicious, end of story).

That being said, since I feel I need a life beyond the walls of my messy, under construction abode, and I need to converse in actual words with actual human beings, I'm off to the MOA with my girl Blondie to buy things like brassieres, high-end hobos and slippers.

I leave you with a picture I unearthed yesterday that pretty much sets the standard for "awkward" when referring to those horrible, uncomfortable, ugly years that I fondly remember as "Whiskeymarie's androgynous pre-teens."


You're welcome.

-The woman with not even one tiny speck of shame left formerly known as Whiskeymarie